They advanced on horseback, accompanied only by twenty warriors, leaving Einar in charge of the rest of the host in Dunbar. Torstein and Thorir rode at Hárekr’s sides; those twenty men were not common warriors, but the elite among the elite of their army.
Approaching the indicated place, a wooded terrain in the border zone, they saw a well-established military camp. Hárekr estimated at a glance that there were about fifty soldiers guarding the place.
They approached at a slow pace. The messenger went straight to the main tent to warn King Osberht, who received him in person. He was a man of average height, wore a well-kept chainmail, and did not wear a crown.
The emissary bowed and informed him:
"My lord... The Northmen have already arrived."
King Osberht nodded serenely and ordered:
"I will meet with their leader tomorrow at dawn. Have them rest for today."
The messenger left the tent to accommodate the visitors in the tents destined for them. Thorir, who was extremely distrustful by nature, murmured to Hárekr while observing the tents:
"We cannot let our guard down for even a single second."
Hárekr agreed with a slight gesture. He turned to one of his elite warriors and instructed:
"Guard tonight. Take turns on watch and, if you notice anything strange, warn me immediately."
The warriors nodded and stationed themselves at strategic points around the tents of their three chieftains.
Torstein, stretching his arms wearily, told them:
"I will sleep. You stay on watch."
He downplayed the tension of the atmosphere, fully trusting in the guard of his men. Thorir looked at him and let out a shared laugh with his father before retiring to his tent.
That same night, in the early hours, what Thorir had so feared happened. Near the Vikings’ tents, a slight smell of smoke began to be felt. In the distance, the first flaming arrows crossed the air, falling directly on the canvas.
The warriors on guard saw them coming. Not having their shields raised at that instant, they could not block them completely. One of them ran in great haste toward Hárekr’s tent and then to Torstein’s and Thorir’s to wake them.
Hárekr came out into the open in sleeping clothes, without armor, and with only his axe in hand. Torstein and Thorir did the same. Meeting outside the burning tents, they discovered an entire formation of Saxon soldiers rushing at them. Get faster updates on novelping(.)com.
King Osberht watched the scene from his horse, satisfied with the "cunning" of his ambush and looking at the Northmen as dead men. Flanked by his well-armed soldiers, he began to advance at a slow pace.
Hárekr shouted to the few men he had around him:
"To me!"
"Skjaldborg! (Shield wall!)"
Torstein, furious at the betrayal, shouted at Hárekr while locking his shield:
"I told you, boy! These people are true vipers!"
Hárekr nodded in silence. For the first time since he landed on the island, he felt he was losing control of the situation. And already aligned in the formation, they received a rain of arrows as Osberht’s ranks closed in on them.
Hárekr glanced back: the dense darkness of the forest stretched out. They had no other alternative.
"Let us retreat step by step," he ordered in a low voice.
The twenty warriors in position took steps backward in a coordinated manner, shielding themselves from the clash. However, amid the disorder and taken by surprise, four of his men fell pierced by steel, leaving sixteen survivors when they reached the edge of the trees.
In the middle of the darkness of the forest, Hárekr pressed his mouth to Thorir’s ear and murmured:
"Brother... I have to risk your life."
He implied with his gaze the gravity of the maneuver. Torstein, hearing Hárekr’s words, immediately interposed himself:
"Let me take that mission. My son is too young to go to Valhalla."
Hárekr refused with a firm gesture. He could not speak loudly so as not to give away their position, and he instructed Thorir:
"Climb the nearest tree. I trust your aim."
Thorir understood the move instantly. It was practically a suicide mission: from the top of the tree he could shoot freely, but he was also exposed to being shot down. Even so, he trusted blindly in Hárekr’s calculation and replied:
"Brother... If I die tonight, I will wait for you in Valhalla."
Hárekr nodded. It was the only option they had left to counterattack: they could not flee on foot through unknown terrain because they would be hunted down one by one. Breaking the formation and ambushing them from the shadows was the only way to survive. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The remaining fourteen Vikings positioned themselves among the underbrush at the entrance of the forest. Osberht’s soldiers, celebrating in advance what they believed to be an easy victory, made their way into the trees one by one, convinced they would hunt them like cornered animals.
As soon as the first ten Saxons entered the shadows, the Vikings jumped on them from the thicket and slit their throats in absolute silence. Two torches fell to the ground and the dry leaves began to catch fire, although the cold and dampness of the night prevented the flames from spreading quickly.
King Osberht ordered his men with enthusiasm:
"Get in! We cannot let them warn their soldiers! Those pagan shits have to die here."
He advanced at the front of his personal retinue, a group of about fifteen soldiers, the most experienced and dedicated to his custody.
However, as the Saxons made their way into the forest, they fell one by one in the darkness. The Vikings’ tactic worked perfectly, until the smoke and the glow of the burning dry leaves ended up giving away their positions. The Saxon archers, stationed at a certain distance, began to release volleys of arrows. Hárekr and Torstein ordered the shield wall to be formed again.
Within minutes, the formation was surrounded on all flanks and the smoke from the fire began to suffocate them. Even so, the Vikings resisted firmly, executing every Saxon who tried to break the impenetrable wall. King Osberht, losing patience, shouted at his troops:
"Let us all attack together!"
His closest commander tried to stop him:
"My lord, do not be overconfident... Let the front men finish the job."
Osberht, anxious to claim the glory of killing a son of Ragnarr to consolidate his claim as the legitimate king of Northumbria, cut him off abruptly:
"Shut up!"
He spurred his horse and launched himself to the front, trying to charge directly into the shield wall.
Several meters away, above the top of a tree where smoke was beginning to rise from the base, Thorir looked at the king. He drew the bowstring, fixed the target among the foliage, and said to himself:
’He’s mine.’
He released the string. The arrow crossed the thicket and embedded itself directly in the king’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse. But, guided by the trajectory of the shot, a Saxon archer released an arrow toward the heights. Thorir had no time to dodge it: the tip pierced his side and he fell from the top of the branches onto the damp, smoking ground of the forest.
Torstein, seeing his son collapse from the tree, let out a roar full of pain and rage:
"AAAAAH!"
Hárekr witnessed Thorir’s fall at the same time. At that instant, reason clouded over completely and a frenzy of fury took over his actions. The steel of his axe was the only thing that spoke for him as they pushed their way toward King Osberht, whom his soldiers were trying to get to his feet in great haste.