I moved cautiously forward, trying to see if there were men I might help. I took two steps and heard far above me the pattering clatter of loose pebbles raining down. Fearing the rockslide had begun again, I glanced up and glimpsed instead a figure moving quickly back from the edge of the clifftop. In the same instant, I felt, rather than heard, a swift surge of movement and I jumped aside as a horse clattered by. There was someone in the saddle and it was Nikos. He blew past me like an evil wind, and disappeared into the dust and murk behind.
There was no time to wonder about this, for I heard a loud shout, which was answered at once by the roar of a multitude, or so it seemed. I turned to see swarms of men running down the steep hill before us.
The camp slowly stuttered to life. The eparch appeared. I ran to him. He stared at me in the dusky light. "Where is Nikos?" he demanded angrily.
"I saw him riding away," I answered, pointing out the direction behind me. "We are being attacked!"
Out of nowhere, King Harald appeared, long-axe in hand, leaped onto the nearest wagon and began bellowing his battle-call. Within moments there were Sea Wolves everywhere-though far fewer than there had been before-running, shouting, calling their swordbrothers to rise and fight.
Weapons glinting dully, the warriors raced to join battle as the first foemen reached the camp. The ring of steel on steel and the shouts of fighting men filled the valley and echoed through the ravine. I had no weapons-and would not have known what to do if I had-but determined to stay with Eparch Nicephorus and protect him if I could. This proved no easy chore, since he insisted on rushing directly into the thick of the fight to lend his aid.
"Here! This way!" I shouted, pulling him back from the toiling bodies before us. Indicating a supply wagon nearby, I said, "We can see best from there." Hastening to the wagon, I paused to help the eparch into the box, and then climbed up myself. We stood together and watched the fearful clash.
The enemy were not large men-at least, not when set against the Sea Wolves-but they were many and dressed in dark cloaks and turbans, making them difficult to see in the pre-dawn light. Even so, in those first desperate moments of battle, it seemed as if the superior strength and battle-skill of the Danes would win out. For the Sea Wolves stood to their grim work, shoulder to shoulder, each man protecting his neighbour's unshielded side, forcing the oncoming enemy back and back, one step at a time.
"You see, eparch!" I cried. "They are driving them away!"
The eparch, keen-eyed in the murk, said nothing, but gripped the sides of the wagon and stared at the dread battledance before us.
I looked in vain for Gunnar; I could not see him anywhere, and feared he must have been among those killed in the rockslide.
The Danes howled their full-throated battle cries, and I understood why they were called wolves. The sound was uncanny, striking fear into the heart, and weakening even the most stalwart will. Jarl Harald was fearless, standing in the front rank, his axe swinging with practised and deadly accuracy. Men fell before him-some shrieking in agony, some toppling silently, but all with startling rapidity. The axe-blade bit deep, its appetite insatiable.
As the first flush of battle passed, it became increasingly apparent that the Danes were even more sorely out-numbered than my first estimate. It may be that more and more enemy were arriving-reserves held back from the initial attack were perhaps being committed now-for it did appear that the numbers of dark-cloaked foe were swelling.
Slowly, painfully, the flow of battle turned against us. The eparch and I stood in the wagon and watched with growing horror as the Sea Wolves were inundated and engulfed by the ever-growing tide.
"Pray for them, priest!" Nicephorus cried, seizing me by the arm. "Pray for us all!"
Alas, I could not. God had forsaken me, and I knew my prayers would fall like infertile seed on the hard ground of God's stony heart. For all the good my prayers would do, I would have a better chance of saving us all by taking up a spear, and I knew well what a sorry warrior I would be.
I was spared further meditation on my worthlessness, however, by the sudden appearance of a grim-faced warrior waving a bloody war hammer. "What are you doing?" shouted the warrior. "Get out of there!"
I was jerked off my feet and pulled bodily from the bed of the wagon, then hurled to the ground where I lay squirming in an effort to get away. The eparch likewise was hauled kicking from the wagon and dropped, scarcely less gently, beside me.
"Aeddan!" shouted Gunnar, "you will be killed standing up like that." Before I could say anything, he shoved the eparch and me beneath the wagonbed. "Get under there," he instructed sternly, "and stay until I come back for you."
He was gone again before I could speak a word to him. The eparch asked, "What did he say?"
