Page 53 of The Refuge

Chapter 10

The moor they crossed on their way to Alnwick was wild, a vast open place, pulling Steinar’s gaze to the distant horizon where the sky met the land. To his mind, this level monotonous part of Northumbria in the east lacked the beauty of Talisand in the west with its rolling hills and rivers. Nor did it possess the majesty of Scotland’s lochs and mountains.

He lifted his gaze to the white clouds drifting aimlessly above and thanked God the day would at least be without rain.

He stroked Artair’s neck while watching Duff and the king riding in front of him, thinking how it would be to once again face hundreds of Norman swords. The well-trained knights were formidable, but he had learned much in the half-dozen years since his first encounter with them at Senlac Hill and no longer feared their blades.

The landscape changed as they approached Alnwick. The moor gave way to grass and shrubs and finally he glimpsed green meadows fringed by dense stands of trees.

It was the middle of the morning when they entered a forested area and the king raised his fist, halting the column of men. In the distance, Steinar saw a timbered castle set upon a grass-covered hill the Normans called a motte. He shuddered, for it reminded of the castle the Normans had built at Talisand.

At the base of the motte a palisade fence of wooden posts surrounded the castle and the buildings that supported the knights. At a minimum, there would be a stable, a blacksmith and an armory, but possibly also a chapel.

Outside the palisade was a cluster of thatched cottages. An unprotected village.

Malcolm turned to Duff. “We will make camp here.”

The two rode deeper into the forest where the trees grew in thick stands, too close in some places for even a horse to pass. Steinar and the men followed, picking their way carefully.

Walking his horse forward, Steinar assessed their cover, thinking the king had chosen wisely. Their presence was hidden in the trees, thick enough to allow them to remain undetected until they launched their assault.

Between the forest and the village, he had seen a river about twenty feet across running in front of the castle, the River Aln the men had spoken of on the journey south. The banks of this river would become their field of battle.

The king dismounted and called for his captains. He then retreated to a small clearing among the trees. Malcolm tossed back over his shoulder, “You, too, Scribe.”

Colbán was the first of the captains to ride into the clearing where the king and Duff waited. When the others began flowing into the grassy circle, Rhodri came to stand by Steinar and calmly folded his arms over his chest. “’Twill not be long now.”

Once the dozen men who made up Malcolm’s senior captains were assembled, the king addressed them in a solemn voice. “We have come to show the Northumbrians the Normans do not protect them. To remind the Normans they are not welcome here. This is our land and we claim it for Scotland.”

The men nodded and “Ayes” were raised in a loud chorus.

Shifting his gaze to Rhodri, the king said, “You and your archers will go before us. Rain fire on the structures. Draw out William de Tesson and his knights.” Then Malcolm’s eyes scanned the men, considering each face. “If there is plunder to be had, by all means let the men take it from the Normans.”

The men nodded their appreciation, their faces displaying their eagerness to meet the enemy. With Edgar standing among them, none could forget their queen had lost her country to the Conqueror to whom these Normans swore allegiance.

The group broke apart, each captain returning to his men. Rhodri said to Steinar, “If all goes well, this eve we will dine on fish from the River Aln.”

“Aye, and mayhap we will have many Norman swords to add to the king’s coffers.”

Rhodri nodded and waved goodbye as he went to rejoin his archers.

Soon they would face Norman swords. Some would die, others would be wounded. Steeling himself for the battle ahead, Steinar pulled Catrìona’s riband from under his mail and pressed it to his lips, breathing in her woodland scent and seeing before his face her fiery hair. “Soon. I will see you soon,” he muttered under his breath. Almost it was a prayer.

An hour later, Rhodri and his archers left the forest, walking on foot ahead of the king and his men. The bowmen forded the river with little difficulty, holding their bows and arrows high. All of the arrows bore the same linen-wrapped tips, which now appeared to have been dipped in oil. Once they were on the other side, Rhodri ordered them into a single line, standing close together.

Behind the archers, the warriors waited, some on horseback, some on foot, each wearing mail and helm and well armed. Steinar calmed Artair who snorted, restless for what was coming. Just behind Malcolm and Duff, he was close enough to watch the archers. Colbán and the rest of the king’s guard hovered nearby.

“Ready your bows!” Rhodri shouted. With their left sides facing the castle, the archers held their longbows in their left hand, an arrow in their right. “Nock!” Rhodri cried. In one practiced move, the archers nocked their arrows.

At Rhodri’s signal, two men carrying torches, who had been standing at the ends of the line of archers, walked briskly to the center, lighting the linen on the arrow tips as they went.

Too late, a cry of alarm went up from the palisade gatehouse.

Rhodri shouted “Mark!” and one hundred bows lifted as one. “Draw!” With powerful strokes reflecting a lifetime of training, the men drew back the strings to their ears.

Steinar could taste the tension in the air as shouts rose from the village. The archers waited with their flaming arrows for the next command.

“Loose!” Rhodri roared. Flaming shafts shot high into the sky like so many stars before arching and falling, some on the village roofs, some onto the fence posts. Still others speared the roofs of the outbuildings peeking above the palisade.