Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [221]
Port looked at him beseechingly, but the thane shook his head. The riders were already vanishing down the road.
Aelfgifu had just reached the tail end of the line when she saw her brother and his men streaming by, and though she did not know the reason, she wasted no time in hauling Edith from the horse and unceremoniously dumping her in the road; then she turned her horse’s head.
She caught up with them just as they climbed the steep path that led to the dune of Searobyrg. She saw Aelfstan waving at her angrily, heard him shouting at her to go back. But since she took no notice, there was nothing that he could do. “I’m coming anyway,” she cried, as her horse drew level with his; and so, serious this time, he told her their quest, as together they rode on swiftly over the ridges.
As they went, they kept their eyes peeled for signs of rising smoke that might signal the Vikings’ presence but there was none; and as they drew level with the thane’s farmstead below, Aelfgifu allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. It seemed that they were in time.
They were not.
The party of Vikings had made their way at a leisurely pace up the path from the farmstead where the main force had briefly paused on its way towards Wilton. Finding no opposition, they had not troubled to set fire to the place, and had sent scouting parties to the ridge above to see if there was anything there to plunder.
It was one of these which, just as they reached the crest, saw the Saxons coming towards them.
Aelfstan’s reactions were instant. Turning to his sister he cried:
“Ride to Port’s with the spare horses,” and he motioned two of the men to go with her. As Aelfgifu wheeled away across the open ground, he rode down upon the Vikings to cut them off.
There were ten of them, dark, swarthy men; three carried swords, the rest axes, and they rode small, sturdy ponies. By his quick action Aelfstan had caught them before they could give chase to the rescue party, and as they were still mounting the crest, he had them at a disadvantage.
The skirmish was brief. At the first rush the Saxons knocked half of them off their horses, and sweeping down on them again, with loud whoops, they stampeded the riderless ponies and cut down three of the Vikings where they stood. The third charge brought them to stern, hand to hand fighting, but although still outnumbered, Aelfstan and his men still had the advantage of the higher ground. They killed two Vikings and wounded three more before the rest of the invaders, thinking this was an unprofitable battle, turned their ponies and made their way down the track. With a shout of triumph, the Saxons wheeled about and went to look for Aelfgifu.
Port’s little farmstead lay in a long, narrow dip in the ground. The house itself was a modest five room structure with outhouses, facing south east along the dip, with a sheep pen on each side of it and a small hut for the shepherd. In front of it the dip extended two hundred yards, broadening a little towards the south east end where it rose to a lip of land. This natural declivity formed a sheltered spot within which the farm was invisible from the sweeping turf ridges above, and its inhabitants, looking out only on the bare edges of land above, lived in secluded silence, unaware of what was passing in the busier world of the valleys below.
Since Port had left early that morning the day had been uneventful. The shepherd and his son had gone up on to the ridges, and though once or twice around noon he had noticed that some of the distant sheep by the edge of the valley were stirring uneasily, he had assumed that it was only a passing fox that had made them do so: A little later, he returned to the house.
It was in the afternoon that a group of thirty Vikings passed swiftly and silently across the grazing grounds, while their smaller scouting party was having its encounter with Aelfstan. Although the sheep farm was invisible in its declivity, a thin column of smoke from the fire told