Aeleva; The Viking Saxon

Chapter 32

It was over. All the pain and hurt he had caused me. It lay with him, on that bloody battlefield. Crooked and dead.

The pain of our first encounter as ripe as the memories we had shared in the secret of the night. Each memory came in pairs. I could see him bathe in the river but then catch my eyes as he cut off the hand of the thief. I felt him tenderly stroke my face but then stand over his brother's dead body. All of those memories lay beside him in the dirt. Painted around him in blood.

He was dead.

The battle was over as soon as it began. The Danes ran for their lives, but the piers were destroyed. They had nowhere to go. They waded through the Marsh. Following orders to retreat. The boats lay miles into the Marsh, like a false haven. Danish big brutish bodies slid around in the mud. Feet getting sucked under as they fell into each other.

Arrows flew overhead. Hitting with a terrible accuracy. The men fell, one after another. It was horrifying to watch. The desperation of people fleeing from the hail. The last ones desperately scrambling over their comrades to get to the boats in time. One single boat got away. Carrying Sigurd Ring and 5 other men. One man was even hit as they rowed away, down the channel.

The field that was left, was the sight of hell.

Half human bodies lay buried in the mud. Broken and slaughtered Danes and Saxons. Bodies crumpled and twisted. Body parts poked up from the ground. There was a constant sound of moaning and crying, but it faded as Saxons went to silence the dead.

I waded into the now sludgy field. The blood mixing with the dirt to make a marsh of itself.

My eyes searched the field. Pale faces blankly stared up to the sky, watching as their souls departed. Some were unrecognisable from the mass of gashes on their face that pulled it apart.

My eyes froze on a familiar face. Sven, lying face up. My heart dropped when I saw him. But I did not weep, I was too empty.

I moved over to him and crouched down to kneel beside him. I wiped the mud of his ugly face. Showing me his great scar that ran down it.

He wheezed each breath. His lungs popped with each draw in. He had been a friend once. He had shown me kindness. It pained me to see him lying there.

He would not live, that was for certain. I placed my hand on his chest to feel the slow rise and fall. I spoke softly to him, to tell him I was there. But I knew, he could not hear me.

I took his axe and wrapped his hand around the hilt. Then took my axe and glided the Danish metal across his throat. His rasping ceased.

I bent down to his ear. "Gå til Valhalla, min ven." I spoke.

I also crossed myself for him, before turning from Sven for the last time.

I rose after a moment to see the Saxons picking the swords and axes and anything else of use, off the dead. The men kicked over the dead bodies to see if there was metal underneath. I did not want to be a part of this, nor did I need it. I travelled a few paces to fetch my sword, which had been thrown. Wiped it and sheathed it.

"You survived a Viking battle," Ealdorman Edward said to me as I approached him. He still had all his limbs and his charming smile did not waver. I was glad he was still alive. We had overcome immense odds together.

I smiled back and took in the chaos of the Marsh. Littered with bodies as if they were part of the landscape themselves.

"I did not know you spoke Danish," the Ealdorman said as he took in the blood-soaked waters next to me.