The shield wall fell into complete disarray. Enraged by Thorir’s fall, his two chieftains broke formation and charged forward as if death itself dodged their steps.
Hárekr advanced straight toward the king. Every Saxon soldier who tried to block his path was massacred on the spot; he let out his most savage instinct entirely, a true berserker frenzy. One of the Northumbrian commanders, seeing that scene of terror, reacted in time and drew his sword to cut off his advance.
But Hárekr did not act like a rational man. He lunged at him without caring about the blade, knocked him down with his own weight, and, using the flat of his axe, severed his neck completely, sending his head flying through the air. The Saxon soldiers, petrified by the brutality, were left unable to react. The remaining Vikings were not far behind: they fought with the ferocity of those who know they are fighting their last night on earth.
Torstein covered Hárekr’s back, shielding him through the flames until they broke through to where King Osberht was trying to flee, his steed. Just at the moment the king managed to mount, Hárekr gave a tremendous leap, knocked him to the ground, and dug his fingers straight into the wound Thorir had opened on his shoulder, tearing a harrowing scream from him that echoed through the entire forest.
Seeing their king fallen and the massacre complete, the few remaining Saxons broke ranks and fled in terror through the underbrush. The archers could do nothing anymore; they were poorly positioned and the fire cut off their firing angles.
With the king lying in the mud, Hárekr knelt over his chest and began landing savage punches on his face. Bloody, excessive blows that shattered every bone in Osberht’s face until he was unconscious. He would have kept hitting him until he killed him beyond recognition if one of his warriors hadn’t thrown himself on his back to try to pull him away.
Hárekr, blind with fury, threw him off with a violent swipe. Torstein tried to grab his arm and exactly the same thing happened. It took four of his men, panting and with bloodied bodies, to hold his wrists while they screamed at the top of their lungs:
"Calm down, Hárekr! It is done!"
Hárekr did not react to any call; his face was covered in blood. It was then that Torstein turned his face and saw his son coming through the smoke: Thorir was walking with a limp, holding his side where the arrow had pierced his body, but breathing and alive.
Torstein turned toward Hárekr and shouted at him with a broken voice:
"He is alive, boy! Snap out of it!"
Hearing those words, the frenzy broke within Hárekr. His breathing stopped for a second and his eyes focused again.
Little by little, the tension gave way. He looked around: the forest was being consumed in a slow fire, the terrified horses were fleeing toward the meadows, and the surviving Saxons were disappearing into the distance. On the ground, with what little was left of his face after the countless blows, King Osberht lay completely deformed and motionless.
Hours later, Hárekr and the rest of the survivors reached the bank of a nearby river. They washed the blood, soot, and dirt of the battle in the icy water. It was then that the warriors noticed Hárekr had a cut on his left pectoral that was still dripping blood; it was not a very deep wound, but it would not stop bleeding.
They did not have any healer or doctor in the group, neither to attend to Hárekr’s wound nor to help Thorir, whom they kept resting on an improvised stretcher made of branches. The arrow remained embedded in his side and, being such a delicate area, they could not extract it without risking him bleeding out on the spot. Read the latest chapters at novelping(.)com.
Torstein, observing his son’s condition and Hárekr’s injury heavily, said to the latter:
"We must return to Dunbar as soon as possible. The Saxon soldiers might be looking for us."
Hárekr shook his head instantly and replied:
"We cannot make such a journey. Thorir would not survive the road."
He said it with genuine concern in his voice. Torstein clenched his fists, aware that he was right: besides, they had lost all the horses during the fire and the chaos of the night, so they would have to make the journey on foot.
Torstein looked at him again and asked:
"What do you suggest we do then?"
Hárekr looked at the warriors he had left; only ten men remained standing. He addressed one of them and ordered:
"Go to the nearest Saxon settlement and bring me someone who knows medicine."
The warrior looked at him with doubt and replied:
"It is almost impossible... At this hour, the king’s soldiers must be patrolling the whole area to hunt us."
Torstein supported the man’s words and added:
"It is madness."
Hárekr walked slowly to a large rock by the river, leaned on it, and sighed with weariness before saying:
The entire group fell into a heavy silence, pensive in the face of the dead end. Suddenly, one of the warriors stepped forward and offered:
"Let me go. Even if they capture me or kill me in the attempt, I will find a way to bring back a healer."
Torstein and the others watched him with concern, but also with deep admiration for his bravery; of that bravery his people were made. However, Hárekr immediately interposed himself and stated:
"No. I will go myself. All of you stay here in safety."
Torstein was the first to protest in alarm:
"No! How are you going to go alone in that state?!"
Hárekr gently pushed him aside and explained coldly:
"I am wounded. If they see me alone and hurt, it will be easier to deceive them or pass myself off as a victim to get someone without raising too much suspicion."
Torstein refused flatly at first, but the lack of alternatives and Thorir’s critical condition forced him to give in. Deep down, he trusted Hárekr’s cunning and instinct much more than that of any other warrior in the host. At that moment, the absolute priority was to ensure his people survived.
Just as Hárekr was about to depart, he noticed movement a few meters from Thorir’s stretcher. King Osberht, completely numb from the beating and staggering from the pain, was trying to stand up. His face was disfigured and his shoulder was burning from the arrow wound, but miraculously he was still alive.
A cold, brilliant idea occurred to Hárekr at that very instant. He turned his face toward his ten warriors and ordered them aloud:
"Strip the corpses in the forest. Take all the Saxon armor you can find and let us get back to our king."
He said it pointing with his chin at the beaten king lying on the ground.
Osberht, feeling the cold stares of the Northmen on him, did not know what to say or how to react. Although he did not understand a single word of the language, the intention was brutally clear: his life no longer belonged to him.