15 spearmen and swordsmen on each side in support. Hugh took the right flank and Baldwin the left. This gave Alan 25 men, mainly thegns and their armoured men-at-arms that he had picked up along the way, to hold the front until the men from Wivenhoe arrived. Alan had them place themselves on the reverse side of the slope, lying down to hide their presence. There was muttering and dissent at this, the warriors wanting to stand and challenge their opponents in the traditional way, but Alan insisted on silence, stealth and ambush.
As the raiders struggled out of the mud by the water and onto firm earth the first of the men from Wivenhoe began to arrive in twos and threes and were put amongst the line which was to confront the enemy. Alan had four crossbowmen, who he stationed along the 50-pace wide frontline, when he noticed a thin man of medium height and dark complexion carrying what seemed an unusually long bow and arrows a full yard long. Alan walked towards him and greeted, “God Hael! That looks like a fierce grim weapon! What’s your name, and what can you do with that weapon?”
“As to my name, I’m Owain from Cardiff. As for my friend here, well your crossbowmen can shoot a bolt 200 paces, and if they are good can shoot two bolts a minute. At 200 paces, with no wind like this morning, I can ask you which eye you want me to put this arrow through, and shoot every five seconds.”
Alan clapped the Welshman on the shoulder. “You sound like the answer to my dreams! When we start, I want you to kill every Dane who looks like a leader or who is issuing instructions. Then kill the rest. Kill every mother’s son of them! How many arrows do you have?”
Owain smiled ruefully as he looked at the 100 or so Danes now forming up and starting to march up the clearing. “Not enough! Never mind, I’ll do my share!”
Just then Alan noticed Anne riding up accompanied by ten men. He hurried over, “What in God’s name do you think you are doing here? This is men’s work. You two, take your lady back to the village. You others, join the line.”
“Nay, Sir Knight!’ said Anne with spirit “This is my land and my people. I’ll stay.”
“Goddamn stupid woman!” muttered Alan under his breath, but obviously not quietly enough as Anne flushed with anger. Several of her accompanying warriors scowled; several others nodded agreement with Alan. “Right! Get over there in the trees,” he pointed behind and to one side. “Four men to protect you. That’s four men less I have in the line to fight the Danes. Move! Go now!”
Turning back to the developing battle, Alan saw the Danes were moving in four groups each about 25 strong; they were bunched together and were half way along the clearing, walking as if they hadn’t a care in the world, talking and laughing as they went. Alan moved to kneel on one knee next to Owain. “I want that one with the red cloak at the head of the lead group first, then pick your targets well.”
He raised a trumpet to his lips and blew once. A hail of arrows rose from the forest on each side of the clearing, striking down the unsuspecting raiders. Owain’s first arrow took the leader in the throat and he dropped like a marionette with the strings cut.
Volley after volley of arrows hammered into the ranks of the Danes, who in response turned outwards, resulting in a large inverted V-shaped formation. Owain carefully shot down any man who was trying to organise resistance and the Danes stood shocked and confused, crouching behind their shields. Because there were archers on both flanks the Danes’ shields were little protection as each group facing the trees was vulnerable to attack from behind and many fell with an arrow in the back.
To close the range the archers had stepped out clear of the trees and stood 75 paces away carefully and almost arrogantly selecting their targets. With a hoarse shout about 20 Danish swordsmen broke from the right flank to attack the archers who were galling them from that flank. After shooting two more salvos into the advancing Danes, the archers turned and jogged back into the trees, where their supporting troops were waiting out of sight. The 11 men still remaining from the Danish charge disappeared into the tree-line and were not seen again. Two or three minutes later the archers reappeared and the hail of arrows resumed.
Alan shouted to the men around him and they stood, seeming to rise like wraiths from the ground 70 paces ahead of the Danes, hammered sword and axe on their shields and shouted the ancient battle cry of the English, “Out! Out! Out!” The remaining Danes, now about 60 in number, could not resist the challenge and immediately charged the English line as an uncoordinated mob.
Alan sounded his trumpet again and from the trees on each flank appeared a troop of mounted men-at-arms. They levelled their lances and as one charged the disorganized rabble, hitting them like two fists and punching in both flanks before wheeling to attack the unprotected rear of the Dane’s formation.
The front rank of the Danes had barely reached the English shield-wall when the main body, now only 20 or so strong, routed and ran for the boats. Half a dozen brave or foolish individuals continued to fight and perished in moments on the swords and spears of the English line. When the fighting was over the English warriors broke ranks and pursued the few remaining Danes down the clearing towards the mudflats.
Alan quickly called over Baldwin and instructed him to have the horsemen gallop down to the mud-flat, dismount and capture the boats, each of which held only a handful of guards and were grounded solidly in the mud on the outgoing tide. Moments later the riders were on their way, galloping down the corpse-strewn clearing towards the boats.
“Well, that seemed easy enough,” said a small voice from beside him. Alan turned and saw Anne standing beside him, the top of her head not quite coming up to his shoulder and her long red hair being blown by the breeze that was beginning to spring up. An aged thegn stood next to Anne looking embarrassed.
Alan removed his helmet, holding it by the nasal guard, and pushed back the coif of mail that covered his head so that it fell back around his shoulders, before using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “You’re Wulfgar, aren’t you?” demanded Alan of the thegn, who nodded in reply. “I gave you instructions before, about the protection of your lady. If you were my man, you would now be looking for new employment. When I give you instructions you will follow them, no matter what your lady may say.” Turning to Anne he added, “And you will do what I tell you, at least on the battlefield. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and stop our men massacring the last of the Danes.”
As he walked away he shouted, “Baldwin! Have our men strip the enemy dead and pile up the arms and armour back there. Any valuables are to be pooled and we’ll share them out tomorrow with the men of Wivenhoe who fought here. Get some men to scour the trees where the fighting took place, tend our wounded and get any dead ready to be sent home for burial.” Turning back he called out to Wulfgar. “Get your geburs to dig a big communal grave for the Danes. I want every sign of this battle removed within the hour. I’ll see you in the village in an hour.”
Including the guards who had been left on the boats, there were 34 able-bodied or slightly wounded Danes rounded up, stripped of weapons and armour and any valuables and standing under guard. All the badly wounded Danes had been finished off by the English by having their throats cut, the captors believing there was no need for the prisoners to suffer unnecessarily from their injuries.
The English archers, including Owain, were roaming the battlefield retrieving their arrows for future use. Alan walked up to Owain as he was cutting one of his arrows out of a dead Dane, threw him a purse of silver pennies as said, “When you’ve finished here, go see the Fletcher and see how many shafts he can make for you before dawn.”
Owain nodded. “This isn’t over yet,” he agreed, slipping the purse into his pocket.
An hour later Alan was satisfied with progress on tidying up the battlefield, although the mass grave was taking longer than it should. The two boats would be re-floated on the rising tide and Alan ordered them to be taken far up Barfleet Creek between Brightlingsea and Thorrington and hidden as well as possible. Four Danish sailors were released to assist under guard.
Alan trotted into Wivenhoe mounted on Odin, who was showing his disappointment at missing out on the morning’s activities by tossing his head and sidling whenever he though Alan’s attention had wandered. Alan gave a jerk of the reins to show his displeasure.
The ride to Wivenhoe took only a few minutes and as he rode onto the village green at the centre of the village Alan was for a moment struck dumb, before he applied his spurs to Odin’s flanks and galloped up to Wulfgar, nearly riding him down in the process. “God’s blood! Are you totally bereft of your senses?” he roared down at Wulfgar from the saddle of the prancing horse. He indicated the village green where soldiers and villagers were mingling, casks of ale had been broached and food was starting to be cooked over open fires, although it was still only mid-morning.
Anne appeared next to Wulfgar, “What is the problem? The men won a singular victory. Wulfgar told me that
