Warrior with the Pierced Heart

Christopher Bishop

Description

'It should have been a journey of just five or perhaps six days but, as I was to find to my cost, in life the road you're given to travel is seldom what you wish for - and never what you expect.'Wessex, 878. Despite his great victory at Edington, King Alfred's kingdom is far from secure as bands of restless Vikings still roam free, armed and intent on vengeance.Matthew is tasked with riding ahead of the Saxon army to rally support but a surprise Viking attack leaves him desperately wounded with an arrow lodged close to his heart.Rescued by a mysterious Pagan healer, Matthew survives and is determined to return to to his King and to the woman he loves but his journey is haunted by a warning that his wound will one day consume him. Along the way he is beset by danger and adversity and is forced to fight not just for his freedom, but also for his life.

Informations

• Publié par: Distributed by eBookpartnership
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781839785948
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WARRIOR
WITH THE
PIERCED HEART
Also by Chris Bishop
The Shadow of the Raven Series: Blood and Destiny The Final Reckoning
THE WARRIOR
WITH THE
PIERCED HEART
CHRIS BISHOP
Published by RedDoor www.reddoorpublishing.com
© 2018 Chris Bishop
The right of Chris Bishop to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design: Patrick Knowles www.patrickknowlesdesign.com
Map design: Joey Everett
Typesetting: Tutis Innovative E-Solutions Pte. Ltd
For James and Abi
A glossary of some of the terms used in this story can be found at the back of the book

Our longest journey on this earth is from the cradle to the grave
Fools and heroes complete it soonest
Prelude
M ust my conscience be burdened for ever by all that transpired that first day after we left Chippenham? Am I to be blamed for all those who perished simply because I did as I was ordered? If so, then I must crave forgiveness even though I contend that I was not at fault – my only sin was one of undue haste and that I’ve freely acknowledged before God. Even though I might well have been counted among the number of those who were slain that fateful day, all that occurred still weighs heavy on my soul and thus I would now relate my account of those events – and all that followed – and will do so as faithfully as my memory allows.
You will recall that I, Matthew, christened Edward, third born son of the noble Saxon Edwulf, had forsaken my commitment to the Holy Church and declined the chance to become a warrior. Lord Alfred, in recognition of all I’d endured and achieved on his behalf, then offered to let me serve at his court as he sought to secure and restore his kingdom. He even agreed not to oppose my marriage to Emelda, the girl I loved, even though she was, in his eyes and that of many others, both a whore and the daughter of a traitor.
My first mission was to march ahead of Alfred’s army and prepare for his triumphant entry into Exeter to mark his great victory at Edington. Thus, with an escort of a dozen men together with Edmund, the boy I’d offered to adopt and whose father my brother had slain, I set off across our still troubled land knowing full well that bands of restless Vikings still roamed free, armed and intent on vengeance. Even so, it should have been a journey of just five or perhaps six days but, as I was to find to my cost, in life the road you’re given to travel is seldom what you wish for – and never what you expect.
Chapter One
E ven as we left Chippenham things did not bode well for our journey. One member of my escort was unwell and had to turn back, little knowing that the pains in his belly would serve to save his life. The weather then turned against us so that we struggled through the wind and rain until forced to seek shelter, thereby losing several hours of precious daylight. Little wonder then that when I saw the chance to make up lost time I was tempted to take it.
Perhaps I should have known better than to make haste through such hostile terrain but I was far from being reckless. I sought only to ensure that we reached Exeter in time so, rather than skirt around the forest when we reached it, I ordered my men to follow a trail which led directly through it. The trail was wide with a small stream running beside it and trees steeped high on either side. I knew that these offered the perfect cover for an ambush and was prudent enough to order my men to keep their rank and walk side by side, each of them raising a shield so as to offer protection from both flanks. As Edmund carried no shield I gave him mine then shared the cover of those behind me, walking with them to make a less obvious target.
At first everything seemed as it should. There was no sign of any Vikings and I knew that such a large group of armed men had nothing to fear from robbers. Even so, we remained wary as we pushed on hard for the rest of that day hoping not to have to make our camp for the night whilst still within the forest. Perhaps in our haste we grew careless or perhaps we were just unlucky. Either way, we walked into the Viking trap like a linnet flying straight into the talons of an eagle.
It was Edmund’s young eyes which saw them first and he at once drew his sword and raised it as high above his head as he could manage. I was not sure what had riled the boy but then caught sight of a glint of light as the rays of the setting sun struck the brightly burnished blade of a sword or perhaps a spearhead. I cannot say which but, like Edmund, I recognised at once what it meant. I turned to give the order to close up, but even before I could speak I was struck by an arrow which took me full in the chest. For a moment I remained standing, shocked by the sudden pain and by the sheer force of the strike. Then I staggered a few paces before falling, stunned and helpless. Although desperate to get up and relay my orders I found that I couldn’t move for I was pinned to the ground like a beetle stranded on its back.
Had I breath enough to shout anything it would have been for the others to save themselves. In truth, there was nothing they could do to aid me, and, in any event, they reacted exactly as they were trained to do, turning to defend themselves back to back with their shields raised and their spears poised.
Thereafter all I could hear was the dreadful din of battle. I guessed that the Vikings had come down upon us in force. Men were shouting and calling as they locked in combat, some screaming in fear or from whatever madness they find in battle whilst others acknowledged their wounds with groans or shrill cries of pain and anguish. As I listened to all this I was surprised not to feel more pain but then recalled being told that the full agony of death comes only as the end draws nigh – as if some last, dreadful spasm is needed to force the soul to actually leave the body.
With my hand, I reached up and found the shaft of the arrow. I couldn’t see it clearly as my vision was blurred but I could feel it well enough. There was blood from the wound but not as much as I expected, the arrow having blocked the flow of it. Even so, I judged that the arrowhead was embedded deeply enough, though I could not be sure exactly how far as part of the shaft had broken when I fell. From all I could tell it had pierced my heart or was so close to it as to make no difference; death would come as soon as it was pulled from my chest, or sooner. Certain that I could not survive the wound, I was tempted to pull it free myself and thereby hasten any final agony and be done with it; but to take my own life thus was against my Christian creed. In deference to my former calling as a novice monk I therefore lay back and prepared to endure what I was sure would follow.
During all that time the battle raged around me. I desperately wanted to see how my men fared but all I knew was that which I could hear. There was little comfort in that. Their screams seemed to echo from the trees and I knew that with such numbers set against them they would all be slain or taken soon enough. Even as I listened I kept seeing again that image of young Edmund with his sword held high and I prayed he would be spared even though I knew it was a futile hope; surely none would survive the blood fest which would follow such a crazed attack.
It was then, in what I thought to be my final moments, that my spirit seemed to leave my body. I found myself floating over the frenzied battle and looking down upon the slaughter.
What I saw saddened me beyond words, as my men were being slain and butchered. Like me, two of them had fallen to arrows as the Vikings attacked and they also lay dead or dying whilst the rest fought back against overwhelming odds. The Viking warriors numbered perhaps thirty or more and even having taken so few casualties seemed inclined to show no mercy. For them it was about vengeance, not stealing our supplies or looking for plunder, therefore only blood would serve to satisfy their cravings. Having split my small force, they had only to run the few survivors to ground to complete their slaughter. I watched as a man named Eagbert, whom I had chosen personally for the mission, ran towards the cover of the trees but was caught and skewered by spears from two sides at once. As he fell to his knees they twisted the shafts to increase his pain. Athelstan, another fine warrior, was slain with an axe blow to his forehead which all but cleaved his skull in two, whilst his brother, Aethelred, had been strung up against a tree and was being disembowelled, screaming as they pulled the entrails from his body.
I was helpless to assist but watched as the Viking warriors made themselves busy probing the bodies of the fallen with their swords and spear points to make certain that none still lived. Then I noticed that young Edmund had indeed been spared. I was at once grateful for that small mercy and could only assume that he had perhaps been recognised by one of his Viking kin.
Still looking down on them, I watched as the Vikings then started to strip the bodies, taking jewellery, weapons and anything else worth stealing. In my case they roughly turned my body over and removed my still sheathed sword ‒ the one Edwin had given me and which had once belonged to our beloved father. They also took my birth ring, my gold crucifix and my purse before stripping away my fleece jerkin and my shoes to leave me naked but for my undershirt and leggings. They would have taken all except that my shirt had been soiled by blood and the leggings by the fact that I’d