Sworn Brother by Tim Severin

Author:Tim Severin [Severin, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Historical
ISBN: 9780330426749
Publisher: Pan
Published: 2005-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

I remembered how Grettir had lost the head of his spear when he threw it at Oxenmight. 'No, I would use it like a lance, thrusting at my opponent, keeping him at a distance, until I found an opening.'

'Right. So that's what I'm going to teach you lot. Swords are first-class weapons when they are in skilled hands and under the right circumstances. But for well-trained troops the real killing tool is the humble spear, straight and true, and with a shaft of hardened ash.'

So for the first ten days he drilled us only with the spear. He taught us to hold the weapon high in our right hands, the shaft projecting behind the shoulder, so that we could thrust downwards and use our body weight behind the thrust. It was tiring work, but nothing as exhausting as when we were issued with round limewood shields. 'Close up! Close up! Close up tighter!' he ranted as we shuffled sideways on the parade ground, shoulder to shoulder, holding our shields before us and trying to fill every gap in the line to make a wall. 'Closer together, you louts!' he would scream, and then come charging at us and deliver a massive flat-footed kick at the weakest man in the line. When his victim staggered back, leaving a gap, the instructor charged in, wielding a heavy baton and lashing out at the two men on each side who were now exposed. As they rubbed their bruises, he would bellow at the unfortunate man who had wilted, 'You fall and the comrades on each side of you die! Shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield, that's your only hope.'

Gradually we became better at withstanding his frenzied assaults. The line buckled, but did not break, and we learned when it was safe to stand with our shields rim to rim or — in the face of a massed charge — to form up in even closer order, our shields overlapping so that the rim touched the shield boss of the man to our left. Then our shield wall, the burg as our instructor called it, seemed to be nearly impregnable.

We became so confident in our defensive skills that the big Dane felt bold enough to question our instructor when he told us that we had to repeat all our training, but this time dressed in byrnies, the hot and heavy chain-mail shirts.

Our instructor smiled grimly. He ordered us to set up a shield on a wooden frame and place behind it a pig's carcass. He then went to the armoury and fetched a throwing spear. Marking off twenty paces, he took aim and threw the first javelin. The missile struck the shield, the metal head passed clean through and pierced the dead pig a hand's breadth deep. 'Now,' barked our instructor, 'you can see why in future you will drill wearing Odinn's web, your byrnies.'

So it was back to the armoury to try to find byrnies that would fit us, and then we spent

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