JUDITH EXCERPT
Chapter 1
The bloodied hand axe arced gracefully around
a path that would embed it directly into the
side of Baldwin’s sweat-soaked skull. The
Northman wielding it was no stranger to
battle. A long, gray scar framed his face over
the left eye and numerous emblems of freshly
sprayed blood dotted his face and ragged
beard. With his eyes wide and nostrils splayed
like a warhorse rushing to the enemy, he
grunted as he swung. The sound blended into
the dozens of grunts and yells surrounding
Baldwin that conveyed the poetry of war. This
murky art surrounded him. It was in the
bloodied corpses of Northmen and fellow
countrymen that littered the battlefield and in
the unmistakable dank smell of blood and
entrails, like the butcher house on a hot
summer day.
Despite the long battle, Baldwin easily raised
his shield to intercept the axe in a glancing
blow, carrying the Northman’s arm upward.
Rather than dropping his shield, Baldwin
pressed it up and into the Northman’s
shoulder, turning the man slightly and opening
a vulnerable section of abdomen. With a quick
jab of his long seax—the smaller blade better
suited to close quarter battles than a
broadsword—Baldwin opened a small hole
between the man’s ribs.
The Northman dropped back; feeling the stab,
no doubt, but unaware he was already dead.
Surging forward again, wary this time, he
swung the axe in front of him, perhaps hoping
to knock Baldwin off balance with its force.
Baldwin easily leaned out of reach then
pushed forward. He jabbed again, knowing the
Northman would easily block it. It was no
longer about striking him; it was about
weakening him through blood loss. The
growing red spot on the man’s filthy linen tunic
pleased Baldwin.
The Northman stepped back again and
coughed, a trickle of blood on his lips. It would
not be long now. Baldwin gave a rapid glance
around to make sure none of this man’s pagan
colleagues were within striking distance, and
reengaged. He drove the small blade multiple
times in different points of attack, making the
Northman move his shield, each time a little
slower. On what would be the final jab, too
slowly. Baldwin buried the blade a full hand’s
depth into the man’s chest and twisted as he
pulled it out. The Northman dropped to the
ground and Baldwin looked for his next
opponent.
The well-disciplined defensive shield wall first
employed when these raiders breached
Harlebec’s shores was gone, replaced by an
open field melee. Pockets of men, two or three
in number, faced off with each other, taking
turns swinging heavy, sharp-edged weapons
into leather-covered wooden shields. Now too
close together to be effective, the initial efforts
of the archers were instrumental in thinning
the ranks of heathens as they raced ashore.
Perspiration ran freely down faces, especially
those wearing metal or leather helmets or the
thick leather padding over their tunics. Unlike
the first few fervent minutes of the battle,
exhaustion was beginning to affect both sides.
There was a slight hesitation before the next
axe swing, a small delay in the block, a
gathering of energy before the return strike.
This was the point of the battle where Baldwin
excelled.
Nearby he saw a Frankish city garrison soldier,
a man he recognized as one of the city’s lesser
nobles, meet his end by one of the ruses these
Northmen were fond of employing. As the two
exchanged blows, he watched the Northman
fall back out of sword range. As the garrison
soldier rushed to attack, the Northman over-
swung his long-handled axe. The soldier easily
ducked the wide blade, but before Baldwin
could move to assist the soldier, the Northman
yanked the axe back. The bottom of the blade
dug deeply into the soldiers back. He
continued pulling forward, easily sliding the
short blade in his other hand into the injured
soldier’s chest. The man screamed in anguish
as the Northman continued to bear the blade
into the man’s chest, gaining pleasure in the
sight of the Frankish soldier’s painful death.
Baldwin moved forward to intercept before the
Northmen had a chance to disengage. He
could not save the soldier’s life, but he could
ensure the Northman would not again employ
that trick. Scanning the battlefield around him,
he stepped over the corpse of the man he
felled and moved in to attack. The glee in the
Northman’s eyes disappeared, but it was not
fear that took its place, for these Northmen
were not afraid of death. Through the eye-
guards of the man’s steel helmet, Baldwin saw
the same look as the rabid animals that
sometimes appeared on the fringes of camp.
Baldwin was too late to gain advantage from
the Northman’s entanglement with the dying
Frank. The blond-bearded man easily ripped
the small sword from the man’s chest and
turned to face Baldwin. Blood ran in rivulets
from the Frank’s mouth as his body thudded to
the ground. This Northman was large and
strong enough to wield a long-handled axe
with one hand. His blood-spattered beard was
knotted and tied off in multiple strands,
looking like a great red hand with gnarled
fingers hanging under his chin.
With his surprise attack thwarted, Baldwin
slowed his advance and shifted to a more
defensive posture. These Northmen were
clever fighters and this man, surely someone
important from the metal helmet and chain
mail tunic, was no exception. Instead of
attempting the over-swing feint again, he
swung the long axe in a fierce blow aimed
directly at Baldwin’s shield. This man did not
appear as weary as the others on the field of
battle. Did he hope to cleave the shield in two
and make a hole for his sword? Was his goal to
embed the axe blade in Baldwin’s shield?
Baldwin did not wait to find out. He had a
clever plan of his own.
He parried back a step and deflected the axe
harmlessly to the side, but this Northman
displayed great strength. Baldwin felt the
vibration move from shield to fingers to arm.
Another few blows like this and his grip on the
shield would be in question. As always, he
scanned for other opponents as he circled just
out of range of the long axe. Always be aware
of your surroundings, his father had drilled
into him since he could lift a weapon and this
counsel had saved his life more than once.
The Northman’s next attack intensified,
perhaps sensing fear in his opponent from the
parry. He swung the axe, but Baldwin’s
movements kept him out of range. Baldwin
circled, ever wary of his surroundings. Soon
the Northman was positioned correctly. At the
next swing of the heavy axe, Baldwin pressed
in, blocking with his shield, and moving the
Northman backward. As the large man struck
out with his seax, Baldwin blocked with his
own and pressed harder. That is when the
Northman’s heel collided with the body of the
dead Frankish soldier. He tried to stay righted,
but his momentum carried him backward and
his other foot quickly met the corpse.
Baldwin finally saw the rabid look fade from
his eyes, replaced more with puzzlement than
with fear. As his body fell backward, Baldwin
rushed past, slicing into the man’s neck with
the sharp edge of his seax. He felt the slight
resistance of flesh and the bump of neck bone
as he dragged the blade across. The dying
Frank had received his vengeance and aided
Baldwin in the process.
Appearing in front of him was a lone
Northman, wielding a short sword and a
shield, this one nearly as large as the last. As
he rushed to meet the enemy, Baldwin
thought, what do they feed these pagans? The
man slowed and waited for Baldwin to
approach. When in range, the man swung his
seax in a long, slashing cut, which Baldwin
easily blocked, a little too easily. The seax was
ineffective for slashing cuts and better suited
to jabs. Those who fought with these tactics
did not live long enough to boast of them.
Baldwin suspected another ruse.
Following the slashing cut, the Northman
swung the edge of his shield toward Baldwin’s
head. He could see the bloody strip of steel
attached to the shield honed to a razor-sharp
edge slice past his face. Baldwin’s suspicion
had kept him a half step further away from the
Northman than was his custom, allowing him
to dodge the shield blade. This had worked for
the Northman before, but Baldwin would
make certain this heathen would fool no more
Franks. With the Northman’s shield out of
position, it was an easy matter to step forward
and jab a hole in the Northman’s side. The
man stumbled back and Baldwin jabbed the
blade into his neck. He dropped to the ground
in a spurt of red blood and Baldwin moved on.
Four steps later he met another Northman,
this one swinging a hand axe and carrying a
shield. The red-haired man was young, still in
his teens, and was visibly slow with his sword
thrust. Another ruse? Baldwin thought, or is he
as tired as he appears? With a cautious eye for
tricks, Baldwin traded blows with the man. His
increasing lag time betrayed the truth and
Baldwin dispatched him with a fatal jab to the
center of his chest.
With another glance around to find an enemy,
he spotted an older man exchanging heavy
sword blows with a leather-helmeted
Northman. He moved toward the pair to lend a
hand, but could only watch in admiration as
the older man not only kept pace with the
young Northman but outmatched him. Soon
the Northman’s parries were unsteady and his
swings were noticeably slower; this raider, too,
grew tired. As Baldwin reached them, the older
man parried a late thrust and backhanded the
double-edged blade across the man’s
midsection. A light shove sent the injured man
to the ground where he would no longer be a
threat.
“Do you require aid, old man?” he yelled to the
victorious Frank standing nearby with nearly
identical steel gray eyes and square jaw. The
man brushed perspiration from his graying
hair and cast a quick glance at Baldwin.
“Surely not from a lickspigot like you,” he
replied, all the while surveying the battlefield
for combatants. His tone was sharp, but the
half smile on his face revealed his true
meaning. He tipped his head toward the bank
of the River Lys, less than half a league to their
north. “The battle turns in our favor. Look for
them to break for the longboats.”
Baldwin nodded to his father, Audacer, Count
of Harlebec, as both men moved toward the
many skirmishes occurring before them. Since
Audacer had pointed it out, Baldwin could see
the heathens were fewer and his fellow Franks
had fared well. Many townspeople from the
garrison lay on the ground with mortal
wounds, men he knew. A few of the
unfortunate souls still lived, but not for long.
Somehow, the subdued groans and cries for
help from the dying were always disturbingly
audible over the din of clashing weapons and
grunts of exertion.
“Fresh reserves,” his father said, pointing his
sword toward the longboats. Baldwin looked
to see a dozen Northmen splashing toward
them at a heavy pace. Audacer was right: the
battle was turning in their favor, but these
Northmen were not going to flee. Baldwin
could see their tactic immediately. These fresh
troops planned to make easy work of the tired
Franks defending their lands.
“Form up!” Audacer yelled to anyone nearby
and available. Two other men appeared
carrying shields and spears. Baldwin knew this
limited number of soldiers would not last long
against twelve fresh Northmen. He went with
the first plan that came to mind.
“Approach from the rear while I keep them
occupied,” he said. Sheathing his sword,
Baldwin stooped to retrieve a spear one of his
unfortunate countrymen no longer needed. As
he hoped, it was a heavy battle spear, and not
the light throwing spear. He rushed toward the
Northmen with his new weapon extended.
They reacted as he had hoped by raising
shields and longswords. The group fanned out
and began to circle Baldwin, their smirks
betraying the easy work they planned to make
of him.
Rather than engage, Baldwin used the spear to
keep the pagans at a distance. Back and forth
he whipped the spear, always threatening the
man who dared to step closest. Even a spear-
length away, he smelled the odor of nerves
and effort on them. They were perhaps the
less experienced raiders, left behind to guard
their plundered loot from Ghent and the boats
that contained it. Baldwin could not help but
smile. These Northmen were fond of ruses but
a true warrior learns from his opponents and
the men of West Frankia had learned a few
ruses of their own.
To a man, the smirks dropped from their faces
as Baldwin’s dodges and parries began to
annoy them. Green they may be, they were still
well-trained soldiers and Baldwin could see he
was only seconds from losing blood. A
concerted attack from multiple directions
would overwhelm his sole weapon and he
could feel the Northmen had no more
patience with him. But it was too late.
A Northman to Baldwin’s right dropped his
shield and arched his back before releasing a
wet scream. The pointed end of a sword
sprouted from the front of his chest followed
by a spurt of blood as it disappeared.
Audacer’s face appeared behind the falling
man with a grim smile of satisfaction. As the
heathens reacted in brief shock to their
comrade’s sudden death, Baldwin thrust the
spear into the first Northman whose gaze did
not meet his. To his left, two more heathens
fell from the rearward spear thrusts of the
garrison soldiers.
The raiders’ shock was momentary and they
wasted no time in defending themselves. As
quickly as he had thrust it, Baldwin abandoned
the spear and drew his sword. He engaged the
nearest Northman with a furious attack,
hearing Audacer’s blade meet the steel of an
opponent. The two spearmen maintained a
strong defense against several of the fresh
Northmen, but the odds were against them.
The Northmen could easily fight two men to
one Frank for a deadly advantage.
Baldwin pressed hard, but the Northman had
skill. They traded blows to the shield with
neither party gaining ground. He glanced
around as the battle allowed, but to his
amazement, no other heathens joined the
fight. Curiosity burned within, him but he had
no time to verify. The Northman grunted and
released a heavy backhanded cut. Baldwin
blocked it easily and returned with one of his
own. The Northman’s shield intercepted it.
Baldwin made no headway, but if the pagan
hoped to take his advantage on tired Franks,
he would find no reward with Baldwin.
Known for their ability to remain strong long
into the battle, both Baldwin and Audacer
traded harmless blows with these two raiders.
Baldwin spotted a soldier approaching on
horseback, but he did not wear the ragtag
apparel of a Northern raiders or the marginally
identical leather armor of the town’s garrison.
The soldier wore a chain mail tunic and metal
helmet. With his shield strapped to his back,
his sword shined brightly in the hot afternoon
sun. This was one of the elite personal guards
of their king.
The Northman spotted the new threat and
reacted by breaking off his engagement with
Baldwin and running toward the shore.
Baldwin looked around to see another group
of the king’s soldiers approaching on
horseback. In one swift movement, they each
pulled their horses to a halt and slid to the
ground. As they landed, their shields rolled
around the carrying strap to alight in their
hands, ready for use. A dozen more were
already beating back the pagan scourge who
had not yet retreated.
The guard who approached Baldwin’s battle
halfheartedly gave chase to his combatant, but
the Northman had reached the water. As
Baldwin watched, the invaders all began
abandoning their combatants and dashing
toward the boats. Those further south had to
run the gauntlet of Franks between them and
the boats and many did not make it. With no
more Northmen to fight, the battle was over.
The Northmen left alive were in their shallow-
bottomed boats in the river’s middle. Without
the sound of battle cries and metal striking
metal, all Baldwin could hear were the groans
of the dying and his own labored breathing.
“St Salvator remains safe for another day,”
Audacer said to his son, clapping a hand to his
back. They were glad words, but Audacer’s
lined face did not smile.
“Thanks to the riders dispatched from Ghent,”
Baldwin said. “I am afraid St Bavo’s Abbey did
not fare so well.”
Baldwin watched his father’s eyes roam the
field of battle. Bodies littered the ground in
patches of drying blood and the buzz of flies
began to grow already. Most were Northmen,
but too many were fellow Franks. These were
friends and neighbors, people he knew. “At
what cost?” Baldwin heard Audacer utter
below his breath.
“Indeed, father,” Baldwin said. “See to your
commanders, I will see to the wounded.”
Baldwin nodded toward the pocket of Franks
converging on their position. His father was
the count, the leader of these men. They
would be seeking orders. Audacer nodded
with the glint of a smile. “You will make a find
count someday, Baldwin.”
Baldwin moved toward the wounded, wiping
the blood from his sword on the clothing of
the first downed Northman he came to. He
sheathed it and began looking for wounded
countrymen who needed aid.
PURCHASE LINKS
COMING SOON