[Norman Conquest 02] Winter of Discontent (60 page)

Realising that mounted cavalry would be useless in such a confined battlefield, with no room to charge or manoeuvre, Alan ordered the Wolves to dismount and
for
Leof and a groom to lead the horses to the rear.
Odin made clear his displeasure at missing the fight by tossing his head and sidling as he was led away.
No order was given by Robert of Mortain, but about half of the
200
horsemen followed Alan’s lead, discarding lances and drawing swords, forming a reserve force behind the main shield-wall.

“Just like old times, killing Danes!” Edric shouted to Alan above the din of battle.
From the shield-wall was heard
the clash of weapons on shields, battle-cries and the screams of the wounded as they fell and were trampled underfoot. Edric was standing with his green-painted kite-shaped shield hanging by a leather strap from his left shoulder and resting his single-handed battle-axe on the other shoulder.

English and Norman foot-soldiers continued to stream up the muddy track and join the
rear
of the army, while a steady stream of the more prudent Danes continued to slip away along the narrow track on the other side of the village.

On foot it was difficult to see how the battle was progressing, which was no doubt the reason that the bulky shape of Count Robert continued to sit ahorse to be able to see over the heads of his own shield-wall. Weighed down by his
chain-mail
and leather knee-length hauberk and the padded gambeson worn underneath, Alan was sweating despite the cool overcast weather and gentle breeze. Not satisfied with the way that his helmet with its typical Norman nasal guard was sitting on the mail coif that covered his head, he raised his right hand to adjust it so that it sat more firmly in place, although the we
ight and pressure on his head were
giving him a headache.

Alan and his ten men were standing in a group about twenty paces behind the
Norman
shield-wall, which was five ranks deep and was being forced slightly backwards by the press of men ahead of it and the
desire
of the swordsmen to have firm footing and not be tripping over the bodies of the fallen.

Suddenly a group of about thirty Danes, led by two huge figures each powerfully wielding double-handed war
-axes, broke through the shield-
wall. The axe-men were striking massive blows with their weapons, smashing shields and sundering men in twain. The axe-men ripped the shield-wall asunder and allowed a small flood of swordsmen and spearmen to follow and attack the rear of the shield-wall on each side of the breach.

“Forward! Move!” shouted Alan, drawing his sword. The beautifully balanced
and superbly forged and polished one-and-a-half-hand weapon, thirty-one inches in blade length, was a memento of that day three years
previously
at Caldbec Hill. “Advance in line! Keep your dressing and give mutual support! We fight as a team, not like this rabble!”

One of the Danish axe-men fell, pierced by three arrows from the
Norman
archers behind
the line
. Alan strode towards the other
axe-man
, his mind clear and focused. Suddenly the sword felt feather-light and he rose onto the balls of his feet like a dancer, ready for quick foot movement. Alan was tall at over six feet in height. The Dane was huge, over seven feet tall with a strongly-built body from his bull-like neck to his muscular thighs. He was unarmoured, wearing a hastily fastened tunic
which
indicated that minutes before he had been asleep, and his long matted and filthy brown hair hung lankly. There was an unholy gleam in his eyes as he saw Alan approach, noting the thigh-length
sleeved
hauberk and the nasal guard on the helmet that marked him as a Norman knight. Alan had chosen his opponent, knowing that he himself was the best swordsman in his band and this was the most dangerous foe.

Alan paused, two paces from the giant, who roared something unintelligible, spittle flying from his mouth as he stepped forward. Unable to get inside the blow, Alan stepped lightly back, looking for an opportunity to attack. As he did so, his back foot slipped in the mud and he dropped to one knee. With another roar the Dane unleashed a smashing back-hand blow, which Alan parried by thrusting out his left arm and the shield that was strapped to the forearm.

Alan’s judgment had been good and the axe crashed into the metal boss in the upper centre of the shield, preventing the huge blow from sundering both the shield and his chest. He felt a wave of pain as his left arm was broken like a stick, and instantly knowing that he would be unable to wield his shield
further
, he opened his le
f
t hand to let go the handgrip and turned the arm to allow the shield to drop free from the two leather straps on his left forearm, suffering ano
ther wave of pain as he did so. H
e
then
bunched his legs under himself, ready to thrust upwards towards the belly of the Dane, but as he did so Edric’s axe appeared from the left and thumped into the Dane’s chest with the dull sound like wood being chopped. Blood flew from the mouth of the Dane and he collapsed sideways. Unfortunately, Edric’s axe had stuck fast in the Dane’s chest, pulling Edric to one side as his opponent collapsed and left Edric open to a thrust of a spear to the throat by another Dane. Edric fell with a gurgling cry.

Alan rose and in two quick steps closed with the spearman and with a back-handed swing from just below shoulder height avenged his friend, the sword striking the Dane in his left armpit and biting deeply into his unarmoured body.
Alan
felt a blow on his left side, now unprotected by shield, the sword failing the penetrate h
is
chain-mail
armour and the force of the blow dissipated by the padded gambeson, but a sharp pain in his chest as he drew breath indicated
he
probably
had
several broken ribs. Other Norman men-at-arms were hurrying to the breach,
and
as they arrived Alan staggered backwards a
s he
felt a sharp burning pain in his right thigh as a spear
-
thrust came
up
under the
tail of the
chain-mail
hauberk
and slashed upwards, tearing flesh as it went. Alan collapsed and a wave of darkness washed over him.

He awoke to see the face of Guy of Lyons, Robert of Mortain’s French churgeon, bending over him. “Still in the land of the living, with God’s good Grace and with the luck of the Devil, I see,” commented Guy. “Well, I’m afraid that your luck has run out and I’m going to have to take off that leg.”

“Be damned
to that
!” retorted Alan. “Lift me up so I can see and get a mirror.” He nearly passed out as he was levered into a sitting position, the person on the left grasping his arm. “Sweet Jesus! My left arm is broken, so leave it alone! So are my left ribs. Get me my satchel. Right, mix one spoonful of this powder into a cup of wine and give it to me to drink to dull the pain. It’s dried juice of poppy. Guy, nobody’s going to cut my leg off until it’s green and mouldy. Follow my instructions.”

Following Alan’s instructions Guy treated the thigh injury, tied off cut veins, cleaned the wound and dressed it with Alan’s antiseptic and anti-bacterial medicines before suturing the bone-deep eight-inch long gash closed with cat-gut. “Interesting,” commented Guy. “We’ll see if that works or if you are the architect of your own death. I still believe the leg can’t be saved. Now as for the arm and ribs, those are easy…”

When he recovered consciousness several hours later Alan instructed Leof and one of his men to ride to the caves at Flamborough and instruct one of the ships to proceed up the river. They were
30
miles from Lincoln and
180
miles from Thorrington.
It
would be a journey of
ten
days by jolting ox-cart which the three wounded
men
from his party were unlikely to survive
- b
ut they were only a mile from the river.

Sven arrived near
noon
the following day, the ship having rowed past the main force of the Danes and their ships at Axholme
without being challenged due to their disguise as Danes
. Alan, the two other wounded men Cuthbert and Leofwine, and the corpses of Edric and Wulfnoth
,
were carried carefully on stretchers to the ship, the wounded placed on straw-
filled palliasses on a grate that had been positioned to keep them dry from the several inches of bilge-water which slopped about in the bottom of the ship. Alan explained to Leof how to change the dressings on the wounds, apply the antiseptic and healing salves and
to
make an infusion of chamomile, comfrey, ivy, marigold and yarrow mixed with sea salt and boiled water- the latter to act as a mild pain killer and aid in repair of fractures and wounds.

The ship was rowed downstream and with a favourable northerly wind arrived a day and a half later at Alresford Creek, just a few hundred paces from home. Despite the relatively gentle motion of the ship on the short voyage compared to the long jolting journey they would have had by wagon along the rutted and unpaved roads, Alan was in a deep fever and unconscious when he was carried on his palliasse from the ship to his bed in the bedchamber at the New Hall.

Anne and most of the household met the ship and she held the hand of
Alan’s
uninjured arm as he was carried home
, the other arm being strapped to his chest
. In the bedchamber she had him stripped and herself sponged the dirt, sweat and blood from his body. Cuthbert and Leofwine were placed on beds in the barracks and assigned a nurse, neither
man
being married
. T
he corpses of Edric and Wulfnoth, wrapped in sheets, were placed in coffins in the Nave of the church ready for burial. Cuthbert died that night, finally succumbing to the massive injuries wrought by a heavy blow to the chest that had stove in most of the ribs on one side of his chest, the broken ribs piercing the lung and eventually caused him to drown in his own blood.
He was placed with the others in the church.

Three days later, a week before Christmas, Alan emerged from his delirium, opening his eyes to see in the candlelight
that
Anne
was
slumped in a chair next to the bed. “My lady!” said Synne, who been sponging the sweat from Alan’s forehead. Anne woke and bent over Alan, giving him a kiss.

“Praise be to the Lord! Blessed Lord Jesu and Mary have answered my prayers! Don’t ever do that to me again!” she instructed.

“What?”

“Get carried home on a stretcher. How do you feel?”

“Better to be carried on the sheet than be wrapped in it
-
and with God’s good Grace I hope to avoid that and keep the leg. Mortain’s churgeon
,
Guy of Lyons
,
wanted to cut it off. By the Rood, I’m weak, tired and thirsty!” He shifted slightly on the bed and gasped in pain before adding
,
“And
I
hurt all over.” He noticed he was lying naked on the bed, a thick and absorbent cloth under him soaked with sweat and a brazier with burning charcoal stood in the corner of the room, supplementing the heat radiating from the inner brick wall that was part of the hypocaust system that took the chill off the air in the Hall during winter.

“Leof has been tending you and seems to have a real skill for it. He’s been following Brother Alwyn’s instructions regarding the dressings and the medicine
s
and we’ve been spooning that and chicken broth into you. Here’s a cup of the herbal infusion, now turn your head and drink this while I send Synne to heat a pint of chicken broth.”

When s
everal hours later Alan
again a
woke it was
day
light. Brother Aldwyn, the infirmarer of
St Botulph’s Abbey at
Colchester, had been called to attend and he was demonstrating to Leof how to make a poultice of comfrey, ivy and yarrow, and how to
very carefully
make a pain-killing tincture of the boiled bark of white willow. Alan at first declined a dose of poppy-juice, aware of the dangers of addiction, but relented and swallowed a dose after Leof had unwrapped the bandage on his leg, the sharp stabbing pain each time the leg was moved proving too much
for him
. He called for a mirror and inspected the wound himself. “Not too bad. I may yet prove
Churgeon
Guy wrong and keep the leg! It has only a little inflammation
, thanks be to God!
Thank you, Brother Aldwyn. You’ve done a good job, Leof
!
Now apply this unguent and then the poultice and loosely bind the bandage. It doesn’t need to be tight because I’m not going anywhere. Erghh!”

“What caused
the wound
?” asked Synne.