Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [222]
Aelfgifu and her party arrived at the other end of the hollow just as the Vikings were approaching the little farmstead.
Ahead of her, by the house, Aelfgifu could see Port’s wife and two children standing helplessly. Some of the Vikings already lay in her path, between her and the farm, and her two companions hesitated.
Quickly she measured the ground with her eye: it was a tiny chance, no more, but if she could just outflank the Vikings, if she could just, for a moment, get the horses to the farm, perhaps they might get Port’s family away.
Hardly bothering to see if her companions were with her, she seized the reins of the spare horses and dashed forward. Startled into action, the other two Saxons raced after her.
It was a daring move, and it almost worked; but before she could reach her goal, the Vikings moved swiftly to cut her off.
Frantically she tried to break through them.
In the fight that followed, futile though it was, the marauders were taken by surprise at the ferocity of the Saxons. Never had they seen a warrior fight more bravely or deal more telling blows than the splendid young Saxon who led the party. Dodging the fearsome battle-axes with amazing skill, cutting and thrusting powerfully with the short, single edged sword, this handsome mounted warrior killed four men without receiving a scratch while the other two Saxons, fighting hard, were holding their own. Admiring, but furious, a group of six Vikings made a concerted rush at them.
It was a glancing blow that knocked her helmet off, sent her hair tumbling down over her breasts, and caused the six Vikings to stare in astonishment.
“A woman!” one of them cried. A proud young Saxon woman had killed four of their number! They could hardly believe it. With a roar of fury and lust they rushed at her.
It was then that Aelfgifu experienced red anger: oblivious to all sense of danger, she struck right and left as if her rage alone could break through them and rescue the little family beyond.
So angry was she that she was hardly aware of the sudden arrival of her brother and the rest of the party. She was conscious that the Vikings were momentarily falling back; dimly she heard her brother’s voice crying – “Get her away.” But as she tried to strike at the Vikings again, she realised that someone was turning her horse’s head, and, it seemed only a second later, she found herself galloping away across the high ground, safely surrounded by the Saxons.
She turned, to find Aelfstan, riding close by her side, smiling at her.
“Port’s family,” she cried. “We must get them.”
But her brother only shook his head.
“It’s too late. We tried.”
And now, as they hurried her back towards the dune, she found that she was trembling uncontrollably.
It was fortunate that, in the heat of the little battle, she had not seen one thing; but Aelfstan had seen it, as he rode to her defence. By the farmhouse, three of the Vikings had seized Port’s wife. While two held her, the third, with a lascivious grin, was untying his belt. He was a large man, with a pock-marked face, which Aelfstan had committed to memory.
When the Saxons had been driven off, the Vikings turned their attention to the little group at the farmstead. After two more men had raped Port’s wife, they decided it was not very good sport, and killed her. The shepherd and his son were butchered too. There remained the slaves and the children.
The slaves ran to and fro, trying to escape: for three minutes the Vikings allowed them to do so in a scene that resembled a gruesome game of tag. Then they killed them. Now only Port’s two children were left. The elder was seven. Two of the Vikings stepped forward with their axes.
But they stopped at a shout from the ridge above.
The man who now appeared was huge; he was older than the other warriors and although on foot, he tramped down the slope with an air of authority. He had been scouting the area alone, but finding nothing he had come across to where he had heard the sound of fighting. Now his gruff voice echoed