King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and CnutWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
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King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and Cnut
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Olav II, King of Norway, 995-1030 -- Fiction
"There is a man worth fighting," he said to me; "he is foster
brother of Thorkel the High, who leads young Cnut, and he seems an
honest warrior enough."
Then all at once his face hardened, and he spoke in the sharp tone
of command:
"Get your spearmen forward--the horsemen are coming first."
And I saw even before he spoke that this was so, for they were
closing in across their line from the wings, and forming up for an
attack that they maybe thought would break the grim ranks of Olaf's
crew who were the strength of our centre.
So I gave the word, and my spearmen came quickly forward through
the viking line, and there stood two deep, setting the butt ends of
their spears firmly in the ground at their feet, and lowering the
points to meet the horses breast high. Olaf bade the front rank
kneel on one knee and take both hands to the spear shaft, and then
the thick hedge of glittering points was double. I had never seen
this plan before, but it was what Olaf had bidden us do if there
was a charge of horsemen. And I stood in the second rank with Prat
beside me, and behind me were the men of Olaf's shield wall. I took
my axe in my right hand instead of the sword, for the heavier
weapon seemed best against what was coming.
Now were the foes ready, even as the spearmen knelt, and a chief
rode out before them and gave the word to charge, and with a great
roar they answered him, spurring their horses and flying down on
us. The arrow shafts rattled on the bow staves as Olaf's vikings
made ready, and I cried to my spearmen to stand steady, for it
seemed as if that thundering charge must sweep the crouching lines
like chaff before it. And as it came we were silent, and no spear
wavered in all the long hedge to right and left of me.
They were but fifty paces from us; and then with hiss and rattle as
of the first gust of a storm in dry branches the arrows flew among
them, smiting man and horse alike, and down went full half of the
foremost line, while over the fallen leapt and plunged those behind
them unchecked, and were upon us sword in air; and the tough spear
shafts bent and cracked, and a great shout went up, and over the
shoulders of my men flashed the viking axes, falling on horses and
dismounted men, and the Danish riders recoiled from the steadfast
spearmen whose line they could not break though they had gapped it
here and there, while the arrows and javelins flew among them
unceasingly.
They drew back disordered, and then from the wings charged our
horsemen and broke them, chasing them back towards their own men in
disorder, while my stolid spearmen closed up again shoulder to
shoulder, and the level hedge of spear points was ready again. But
now they shone no longer, for they were dulled with the crimson
token of their work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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