‘Surrender!’ Ballista shouted.
The Brondings huddled, indecisive, almost overwhelmed by the magnitude of the surprise.
Heliodorus loomed above and behind them on the rail; bald, streaked with blacking, like one of his bestial native deities. At the stern, the massacre continued.
‘Surrender!’ Ballista demanded again.
‘Never!’ A tall young warrior emerged from the Brondings. ‘Never.’ He was unarmoured, his arms bright with gold. His hair was long and black; a man from the south. He had a blade in each hand.
‘Widsith Travel-Quick, I will give you the lives of your men.’ Ballista spoke almost conversationally.
‘I will not take them from you, Oath-breaker.’ The son of Unferth spat, then yelled at his men. ‘Clear the prow. There are only seven of them, many more of us. Follow me.’
Widsith leapt forward. Only one warrior, off to Maximus’s left, came with him. In a second the latter was dead, impaled on Wada’s sword.
Ballista took the first blows on his shield, giving ground. Sharp fragments of wood spiralled through the air. Widsith drew back. As he went to pounce again, Wada’s sword bit into his right arm. The weapon in that hand clattered to the deck. Too late he brought up the blade in his left. Ballista, his whole frame twisting behind the blow, sheered Widsith’s left arm off below the elbow.
The young son of the Amber Lord staggered sideways, until the side of the ship brought him up. He stared at the blood pumping from the stump.
Ballista went after him, stepping carefully on the slippery deck. ‘No need to look, it’s just as you think, the arm is gone.’
Battle-Sun blazed in the moonlight. It nearly severed Widsith’s neck. The young leader collapsed half over the gunnels. Ballista raised his blade. It took two more blows before Widsith’s head came away from his shoulders. Ballista rolled the body into the water. Gripping the long, black hair, Ballista held the grisly trophy aloft. ‘Surrender.’
It had gone beyond that, beyond reason. The Brondings tried to throw themselves over the sides. There were men everywhere, hacking at them. There was no holding the bloodlust.
Maximus went and stood by Ballista.
The killing spilled over into the shallows. Perhaps some got away.
Rikiar came back to Ballista and Maximus. The normally taciturn Vandal spoke:
‘The warrior’s revenge
Is repaid to the King
Wolf and eagle stalk
Over the King’s son
Widsith’s corpse flew
In pieces into the sea
The grey eagle tears
At Travel-Quick’s wounds.’
Maximus looked at Rikiar in surprise.
Rikiar said nothing, then took the head from Ballista.
When the killing was done, and the looting underway, the cost was counted. Two Romans and two Olbians were dead, one of the former and two of the latter badly injured. One Heathobard was missing, and could only be assumed lost in the sea. Given the odds, and the unaccounted slaughter among the Brondings, it had been a low price to pay.
Maximus walked the length of the boat with Ballista. The dead still lay underfoot, grotesque in their attitudes. Six captive women sobbed near the stern. Two had bad cuts. Near them lay the bodies of two children: boys, no more than twelve winters.
Ballista stared down at them.
‘Some things just happen,’ Maximus said.
XXVII
The Island of Hedinsey
Ballista watched the men digging down into the largest barrow in Hlymdale. They had come well prepared with picks, shovels, buckets and barrows, ropes and ladders. The treasure-fire on top of the mound had been extinguished. The men had been working for some time. Only their heads and shoulders could be seen now. Already a path had been worn in the grass to where the pile of excavated earth was steadily growing. Soon they would need the ropes to draw the buckets of spoil to the surface. It would not be long before the tomb of Himling was disturbed. Suitable offerings to appease his shade were ready.
The cyning Isangrim stood off to one side with his court, Ballista among them. Ballista had been uncertain if he would return to Hedinsey in time. After the killing of Widsith, they had spent the following day burying the corpses that could be found, their own and those of the Brondings. Maximus had been evidently upset when it had come to interring the children. The Heathobard women they had released had said the boys were servants brought with Widsith. No one admitted to their killing. Most likely they had come by their death blows in the chaos of the slaughter under the fallen awning.
Ballista had been in two minds about the burials. Loitering on the deserted strand had brought disaster to the son of Unferth and his followers. Ballista had no wish that the same fate should fall on himself and his men. There were said to be other Bronding longships in those waters. He had been tempted to honour their own fallen, bury the innocent and leave the enemy for scavengers. Yet to do that would have been only one step removed from what Widsith had done at Cold Crendon. Many men found it hard to fight unless they believed their behaviour better than that of their opponents.
After a night on the beach, at first light they had heaped stones in the Bronding boat, until her sides were only a hand’s breadth above the water. They had taken her out into the deep. They had smashed holes in her hull. The coal-black water had poured in, and the longship had gone to the bottom. The rest of that day had been devoted to another act of decency. They had taken the Heathobard women back to the settlement to the east from which they had been abducted. The wind had shifted into the east, and it had involved hard rowing.
The Warig had moored there for the night. In the morning the Heathobard who remained of the two that had come to Ballista on Hedinsey had asked to join the other two of his tribesmen who were already followers of Ballista. Four more warriors from that place had made the same request. Ballista had counselled them to remain and see to the safety of their village. Cruel war was coming to the Suebian Sea. Brondings or other sea raiders might return. The Heathobards had not been swayed. The northern code of blood vengeance was too strong in them. If he would lead them against Unferth and his followers, they would gladly die for him. Ballista’s hearth-troop needed men, and he had accepted their sword-oaths.
The wind had stayed in the east. The Warig had raced across the whale road. They had made Hedinsey the previous night after two days’ fast passage. Their reception had been mixed. Isangrim had not been minded to forget his threat of outlawry. He had spoken terrible words from his high seat. His sons and their followers were as bound by his commands as any other of his eorls and warriors. As outlaws, Dernhelm and his men could be killed without recompense. From a leather bag, crusted with the salt in which it had been packed, Ballista had produced the head of Widsith Travel-Quick. The cyning had smiled. Glaum, son of Wulfmaer, had whispered in his ear. Isangrim had waved him away. Morcar and Oslac had glowered. In this one instance, the cyning had said, no penalty would be enacted. Let no other flout his words, but Dernhelm and his hearth-companions had done him a great service. They had earned their place back in his favour.
Rikiar had taken it on himself to give thanks on behalf of all of them:
‘Ugly as my head may be,
The cliff my helmet rests upon,
I am not loath
To accept it from the King.
Where is the man who ever
Received a finer gift
From a noble-minded
Son of a great ruler?’
The Vandal had come to them as a thief. He was ill-favoured, and in many ways kept apart from their fellowship. He remained an object of suspicion. Yet no one could deny his skill with verse.