Toni Sihvonen (order #92780) 62.142.248.1

Toni Sihvonen (order #92780) 6
suckling pigs, and all the able-bodied men from every
stead it passes.
The army forms on a ridgeline to await its foes. Allied
cynings and aethelings, and their ealdormen, have joined
the fight. They ride horses, the better to see and exhort
their troops, but before the clash of arms they will dismount
- to be dressed in coats of chain down to their
thighs, don polished helms with hawkish face-guards, and
unsheathe rune-carved swords. Beside each noble is his
heorthwerod or hearth-guard of sworn men, some carrying
theod banners - ravens, axes, wolves, boars - that
flap in the sea wind. They are formidable men, fed from
a lord’s larder, equipped from his armory, and wearing his
gold curled around their biceps. They will earn it. Thegns
may make a fighting retreat, and ceorls can flee their
lord’s death, but heorthgeneats must win for their lord,
die avenging him, or live as nithings. Many are violent
madmen, kept by their lord as war-dogs: some are fullfledged
berserks. [Heorthgeneats as Squires: page
130. Battle Rage Passion: page 1231
Thegns have come from many theods. Strangers or old
enemies, they eye each other weighing weapons in their
hands. The Saxons carry the sword, the Angles the great
axe, the Franks the francisca, the Frisians the bow, and the
Jutes the spear - five hosts, five ways to kill. Each thegn
carries a seax, or long-knife, to carve runes and gut pigs.
Today six thousand seaxes will cut the throats of nine
thousand fallen foes. The best thegns crowd near the
byrdes they serve as gesiths, wearing chain tunics and simple
helms: the poorer thegns, with their leather coats,
shields, and spears, blend into the great fyrd - at its front
rank to lead the ceorls forward, and in the rear to keep
them from running away. On the army’s flanks, spearthegns
stand ready to form wecg a hero and his heorthgeneats
at the tip of a triangle, with twelve thegns in column
behind him: eleven, and then ten, and then nine
thegns in receding columns to his left, and the same to his
right: an arrowhead that will pierce the foe’s ranks. A
swarm of Frisian bow-thegns skirmishes forward, shooting
spite-arrows at the enemy and hoping to part a Briton
from his horse.
In the middle of the army, countless ceorls stand in a scildburh
(“shieldwall”), a waving sea of spears. They are five
men deep but a hundred or more wide, and, when the
Hel-horn is blown, a dozen such divisions rumble forward
as one. Wearing only leather armor, or none at all,
each ceorl crowds the man to his right, seeking the shelter
of his friend’s shield: without war skill. the whole host
may slant right against the foe instead of forward. They
know to advance, to about-face against an ambush, and
nothing more. They have long spears for the charge and
short spears to hurl at the charging foe (some are angons,
with heavy barbs that weigh down a hostile shield). Each
ceorl prays for fame in victory and for the favor of his
lord - or, if it comes to it, for anonymity in retreat. The
old and crippled ceorls, who will never be made thegns,
trail beside and behind the scildburh armed with slings
and rocks, or with rocks alone. [Battle Formations:
page 126; New Weapons: page 1251
All men, ruler, thegn, and ceorl alike, calm their nerves
with thoughts of loot but, by the chieftain’s will, they will
get none today. On a barren hill above the battle stand
the ceorl-born scops, who will record the fight in verse,
and the rune-wise goderes, seeking signs from Wotan in
the distant clouds. Presently, a runner from the army
gathers the goderes and leads them to the cyning on his
steed.
The king will dedicate his foes to Wotan’s favor. Every
one of them must die, a sacrifice, and all their stock and
women and lackeys and fine things must burn, break, or
drown for the Lord of Battles. Wotan will bless the Saxons
with great fury, but if a single foe lives, or if a Saxon takes
a single coin from Wotan’s hoard, the blessing-runes
reverse, to become dooms. A godere’s symbolic runecarved
spear is hurled at the foe, for Wotan strikes them.
At this sight, the Saxons feel fear - then war-fury.
Already, the war-wise ravens circle overhead.
[Sacrificing Opposing Troops to Wotan: page 1271
Then he bade each man let go his bridle,
drive away the horses and fare forward.
Set thought to hand-work and heart to fighting.
...
Bryhtnoth addressed his band of warriors
From horseback. reminded each man of his task;
where he should stand, how to keep his station.
He bade them brace the linden-boards right,
fast in finger-grip, and to fear not.
When his folk were fairly ranked,
Bryhtnoth dismounted where he loved most to be
and was held closest to his heart -
among his hearth-companions.”
The Battle of Maldon