Enemies of the Crown (The Saxon Warrior Series) by Peter Gibbons

Author:Peter Gibbons
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2025-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

15

The war band spent the rest of that night tending to the wounded and burying the dead. Eighteen men had died, and three score taken serious wounds. Odo de Warenne lounged against a birch tree whilst the rest of the company dug graves and bound wounds.

‘He’s a devil, that one,’ said Wigs as he dug a grave using his spear to shovel clods of damp soil.

‘He’s going to get us all killed,’ Ecga replied. ‘We could have died last night.’

‘Offa’s dead,’ said Gis, ‘and Hedda, and Rothulf. Hedda was married to a cousin of mine. He had three children. Bloody Norman bastards.’

‘They’ve treated us like shit from the moment we left Winchester. We dig the shit pits, we forage for firewood, whilst they hunt for game and laze around drinking wine. It ain’t right. Norman bastards is right.’

‘Just dig and keep your teeth together. The Danes killed our lads, not the Normans,’ Beornoth warned them both. He felt it too, that Odo de Warenne was a fell spirit amongst them, a man without honour who fouled their luck and brought bad omens upon them. They were right. Odo’s failure to properly scout the countryside had allowed Pallig to approach unseen, and so Odo was as responsible for the slaughter as Pallig’s blades. But it would do no good to sow more discontent between the Normans and Saxons of the war band, and so Beornoth would hear no talk of it.

Odo glowered at Beornoth, his face already swollen and turning purple where Beornoth had beaten him. Beornoth turned towards him and crossed his arms. They locked eyes and Odo’s jaw clenched, the muscles beneath his beard working. They stood there like that whilst the men worked, and Beornoth would not break first. Five Saxons had died because of Odo’s incompetence. Beornoth could not forgive that.

A Norman warrior called to Odo. He grinned, spat, looked away from Beornoth and strolled to his Norman friend, ambling around the rest of the company hard at work preparing camp. Traitors to the crown must be punished, but Beornoth wondered if King Æthelred had made a mistake trusting the Norman warriors his mother had brought across the sea. There was an ill taint about the company, like the taste of a sour apple. Beornoth felt it in his bones. He couldn’t explain it, but the feeling was there. He could not talk to Wigs, Gis or Ecga about it without fuelling the fire of their discontent, so he kept his mouth shut and instead stretched his aching body.

The following morning was still and cold. Autumn had descended and trees shone like gold with yellowed leaves falling in clumps onto grass heavy with dew. They found Pinnock deserted, its gates open and its people waiting for them with frightened faces. They were Saxons, inhabitants of the town before the Vikings came and who had remained there once Pallig’s men had taken control. A fat man with thick lips told them how they had suffered at the Vikings’ hands.

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