In the middle of the main street, the Saxons closed in from both flanks. They wielded spears and improvised pikes, and one of them, who seemed to lead the group, roared with rage:
"Northmen, you again, you pagan shits! Die!"
Around him, the rest of the guards began to chant the same word with violence: "Die! Die!"
Hárekr did not understand the Saxon language, but he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the imminence of the clash. With a powerful voice that rumbled over the roar of battle, he gave the order:
"Skjaldborg! (Shield wall!)"
His men reacted instantly. They grouped into three tight circular formations, locking their shields wood against wood and deliberately leaving the rear unprotected to entice the enemy’s confused advance.
The Vikings carried no long spears, only short axes. Each time a Saxon charged blindly against the wall of wood, a northern arm shot out between the gaps, dragged him inside the circle, and executed him on the spot. In that way, Saxon corpses began to pile up in front of the formations.
The Saxon leader, seeing his men fall one after another, shouted in desperation:
"Don’t be stupid! Back off a little and let them wear themselves out!"
The guards retreated a few steps, trying to keep their distance. Inside the shield wall, old Einar adjusted his grip on his blood-soaked axe and said to Hárekr with a bitter smile:
"We are ready for Valhalla."
Hárekr let out a brief laugh amid the uproar and replied:
"Old Einar, Valhalla is too little for us tonight."
At that precise moment, a thunder of heavy footsteps and war cries echoed through all the back alleys. Torstein and Thorir had arrived with the secondary contingent, falling squarely on the Saxons’ exposed backs. Hárekr’s trap had closed perfectly, unleashing a brutal carnage in the middle of the public street.
The Saxon leader, terrified upon seeing hundreds of Vikings surrounding them from the rear, understood there was no way to win. Desperate, he ran to his horse and mounted it in a leap to try to flee the settlement. The source of this chapter is novelping(.)com.
No one had a chance to escape. Hárekr, noticing the flight of the enemy commander, measured the distance in a fraction of a second, balanced his axe, and threw it with all his strength. The weapon spun in the air before embedding itself with a dry crunch in the Saxon’s collarbone and back, bringing him down from the horse definitively.
Hárekr raised his arm and roared ferociously at his warriors:
"Kill them all! Let none remain alive! Plunder the entire settlement and bring me its riches!"
Enraged by their leader’s order, the Vikings lunged at the survivors to complete the victory.
Screams of agony echoed through all the streets of the settlement.
"Ahhh!"
"Please, no!" —they cried in a foreign tongue that the men of the fjords did not understand.
After a few minutes of slaughter and plunder, the warriors began to gather again around Hárekr. They showed him several women they had brought bound by the wrists. Hárekr observed them without showing the slightest compassion and declared in a cold voice:
"Prepare them. They will receive the mark of slaves."
Einar, witnessing Hárekr’s severity, felt a pang of adrenaline combined with amazement. Many of those old and brutal customs had been softening among his people, especially among the Norwegian sailors who roamed these coasts. However, upon hearing Hárekr’s orders, it became clear to him that the young man had not come to trade or to make pacts: he had come to instill absolute terror.
Hárekr turned to Einar, who still remained absorbed in his thoughts, and ordered:
"Call our trader. Bring me a nobleman from this place."
His objective was to extract tactical information immediately. Within minutes, the Norwegian trader who traveled with the fleet to serve as interpreter and negotiator appeared. Assessing the ruins of the settlement, the trader explained to Hárekr:
"This is the border strip between the Kingdom of Alba and Northumbria. The place is called Dunbar... A fortification hated by the Picts and protected by the Saxons."
At that instant, two Vikings dragged over a man dressed in fine linen underclothes and a half-buttoned tunic, but whose well-kept face and manners betrayed his status and wealth. The prisoner trembled and screamed in terror. This chapter was taken from novelping . com without permission.
Distinguishing Hárekr among the others by his leader’s bearing, the Saxon noble fell to his knees on the ground and, between sobs, pleaded:
"Spare my life! Please, be merciful!"
Hárekr did not understand a single word. He looked at the trader, who translated the plea instantly. Immediately after, the interpreter addressed the Saxon in his own tongue:
"You are before the son of Lagertha, the most famous shieldmaiden of the Scandinavian world. He is a great warlord. Speak with respect if you wish to keep your breath. He wants to know what fortifications and cities remain around Dunbar."
The noble nodded frantically, paying homage to Hárekr with his forehead pressed to the ground, and began to hastily reveal everything he knew about the roads, the garrisons, and the nearby settlements.
"He says this is nothing more than a chain of small villages and fishing settlements without stone walls or large garrisons," explained the trader. "Further south lies the coastal fortress of Bamburgh and the lands of Lindisfarne, but the main garrisons are dismantled."
Hárekr raised an eyebrow, interested:
"Why are there no guards on the borders?"
The trader asked the Saxon, who replied trembling:
"He says Northumbria is bleeding itself dry from within. King ?lla, the man who killed the Viking king Ragnarr, usurped the throne and is in civil war against the former king, Osberht. Most of the noble soldiers marched south to fight among themselves. The north is unprotected, full of villages rich in cattle and monasteries with gold that no one guards."
Einar and Torstein looked at each other. Hárekr’s gambit of attacking from behind not only turned out to be audacious, but struck exactly at the Saxons’ open wound. In short, it was the best decision.
Hárekr observed the noble a second longer. Seeing the weakness of the Saxon, who preferred to sell the secrets of his own people just to save his skin, he felt deep disgust.
"I already know everything I need," said Hárekr in a cold voice.
With a slight glance, he signaled Thorir. The young warrior stepped forward, drew his still-bloody axe, and before the noble could finish his next prayer, cut off his head on the spot, silencing his sobs forever.