Wyrd Bith Ful Aræd
Not long ago I was in some monastery. Not for penance, no. A Heathen raid was my reason for being there. They had come down from their cold bitter northlands, across the sea. The year was 794 Anno Domini. Pirate attacks had increased significantly in the last twenty years, and Angles were tired of it. We formed the Fyrd, our cavalry unit we used to run down the horseless northmen. I had joined the Fyrd two years ago. That’s where I met Ælle, who had come from the region of Lindsey.
Ælle was more often than not pushed around. The kid was not much younger than I, 18 years of age. I, myself, am 19.  He was small, quick, and witty. His wit and speed had saved him in combat more than once. But before I get into our story, let me tell you a tale, a tale that will lead to vengeance.
Five years ago my village, Æscengum, was raided. Not by Vikings, but by Gaelics. Soldiers wearing fur and mail killed and slaughtered, and my village gathered all the strength it could muster. Fourteen year old me thought myself of little worth to this world, as my parents were slain in that very raid. Well, I grabbed a shield and sword from the nearest fallen warrior. I’ll never forget the man. An arrow protruded from his neck, and he had crumpled on his knee. Reaching for the weapons, I hesitated, staring at this man.
Arrows sung around me, blood spraying and fire crackling. People ran screaming wherever they could, and helmeted warriors swung swords and parried blows, the occasional casualty occurring whenever a man let his guard down. I snatched up the shield and lifted the sword. Turning, I saw the man who slew my parents. I could tell it was him by his helm. It was grand, made of finer material than all the others. He was large, and men flanked him as guards wherever he went. I watched as he threw a torch onto the thatched house next to him.
A feeling of hatred coursed through my veins. I readied my sword arm, hoisted my shield up, and charged. Whether it was luck, the will of God, or even perhaps the fates of the Norns, I caught the man unawares. He just wasn’t expecting a fourteen year old kid to charge him. I shoved him back, barely pushing him. He looked at me, stunned, unable to move. His mouth formed a scream but no noise escaped him. He looked down at his stomach, and so did I.
A stream of bright red fluid sprayed from his abdomen. I backed away, avoiding being covered by his blood, and he staggered backwards and fell in a crumpled heap. Two Saxon warriors bounded to my side and helped me fight off his two guards, who had blatantly failed to do their job. We rallied and pushed outwards in an attempt to thrust our foes outside of the village.
We pushed them back, and the death of their chieftain caused morale to plummet. They ended up routing and we were victorious. At least, that’s how everyone else felt. I lost my family. I lost everything I had, everyone I loved.
I stood at the edge of the village limits for hours. Mourning, thinking, praying. It was near sunset when Lundenne came to my side. She gave me a hug, and I could tell she was tired from dragging corpses all afternoon. A chill wind came, surely one of the last of summer. She shivered, and we sat down in the grass.
“I’m sorry about your parents…” she said after a while. I looked down. She brushed her hand through my hair, and I began to cry for the first time that day. Why had God done this to me? Why had he torn my family apart? We must have not been faithful enough. Lundenne leaned her head against my shoulder. Her body rocked with sobs. It was a sad day. I sighed and sniffed, wiping away tears. I looked up and saw the burning Æscengum. Smoke rose from the skeletons of burned out houses, mourning peasants roamed about aimlessly, weeping.
“I’m joining the Fyrd,” I told her. She sniffed and looked at me, and nodded. “On the day marking my seventeenth year, that is when I will join,” I continue. Another tear rolled from her eyes, and I stood and walked back to my burning home. I was greeted by the two Saxon warriors who had rushed to my aid after I had killed the Scottish chieftain. They were carrying his weapons and armor, and they handed it to me.
“You killed Brennen the Scarred, Ælfrid. All this,” Bernhardt thrust the spoils of my kill into my arms. “This is yours.” Bernhardt and the other man walked away glumly, still shaken by the raid on Æscengum. I looked at the weapons and armor in my arms.
“Brennen the Scarred,” I say to myself. “My parents are avenged.”

***

Dragon ships. Only two, but we of the Fyrd knew not to underestimate Norsemen, even in such a small amount. Only 90 or so Viking warriors, compared to our 230 Fyrd militia. But victory was never assured.
My horse sighed, and I felt him reposition his hooves. He was nervous, along with every other horse and man here. I held my spear aloft, stabilizing it against my mount’s right side. My shield I carried in my left hand and my sword was on my belt. Around me were 230 or so Fyrd riders and they all shined in their mail and skull caps. The sun was shining, and a warm breeze was in the air. The first of summer. Warm winds bring tidings of raiding parties and, ultimately, another year of death.
Our captain shifted in his saddle. He looked at us, and back at the shore. I could tell he was nervous, too. He was new to the position. His name was Æthelstan, and he wasn’t much older than I. Ælle was by my side, as was Lundenne. They shifted in their saddles, fidgeting with their weapons nervously. I looked at them, and we watched as the incoming boats held their course.
The monastery was behind us, and we had left 40 foot soldiers behind to defend the monks. Æthelstan reached for the horn on his belt and set it to his lips. He hesitated, and then sounded a blast. It sang and we shouted in an attempt to boost our morale while lowering theirs. Still the ships came.
We watched as the ships beached. Mailed warriors flung themselves over the sides, grabbing their shields as they did. Archers could be seen following behind the men with shields. Their quivers were full, which told me that they were coming expecting a big fight. We watched as the two crews rallied together and formed a shield wall, placing archers behind the shielded men. One dark haired man stepped beyond his spot in the shield wall, bearing a white flag.
“A parley with Ælfrid of Æscengum!” we heard him shout in our language. I recognized my name and hesitated. Æthelstan looked back at me, and nodded his head. Lundenne and Ælle followed me out as I trotted to the man who stopped walking at about halfway between our two parties. He stood there, a great axe in his hands. He wore no helmet, and his hair was cropped short. He looked up at me on my mount. “Ælfrid?” he asked.
“Yes, that is I,” I replied, looking down at him.
“You killed my brother, five years ago, Ælfrid. I am here to avenge him, and take from your monastery while I’m at it. Wyrd bith ful aræd.” He smiled and showed his yellowed, rotted teeth.
I cringed. “And you are…?” I asked. He looked at me and stood up straight.
“I am Cormac of Raescithe,” He replied. He turned around and walked back to his line of men. “Prepare yourselves, Ælfrid of Æscengum, Rider of the Fyrd!” he called back to us. I stared at him for a while before turning around and trotting back to our line of cavalry. Lundenne and Ælle exchanged glances. “I never knew he had a brother,” I said. Lundenne looked at me. “All you knew about Brennen was his name, Ælfrid. God be with us…” she said. She looked down at the line of Viking warriors.
We saw one raise a horn to his lips. He blew it, and a magnificent sound came from the instrument. The raiders began beating on their shields and shouting ferociously. I repositioned my spear in my hand and sat low in my saddle. Æthelstan stared at their shield wall. He looked back at us all after a minute or two of listening to their chant.
“GEINNIAN!” he shouted. I spurred my horse and we charged forward on our steeds, approaching the Norse line at incredible speed. Lundenne and Ælle at my side, we lowered our spears. Their points impacted the shields of the Viking line. My spear splintered, and I charged through the infantry with my mount. Ælle peeled off with me, but Lundenne’s horse took an arrow to the skull and had collapsed. I watched as she regained her feet, and two unoccupied warriors advanced on her. I swung my horse around and charged in, drawing my sword. Lundenne can’t die…
An unseen spear penetrated my mount. Its steel point protruded through the horse and he collapsed, throwing me down onto the sand. I stood up, seeing Ælle hack at the man who had unhorsed me. I nodded at him, and he nodded back before rushing off to the thick of the fight. I charged for Lundenne, who seemed to be struggling with four warriors. She was holding them off, but would soon become weary, and I had to help her.
I reached the skirmish she was in and inserted myself inside the battle. Raising my shield, I let my adversaries recover. They returned with their full force, hacking and slashing. My shield parried their blows, and when they became tired, I bashed at them with my shield, causing them to stagger backwards. I kicked one aside and thrust my sword into the first warrior’s chest. He crumpled with a cry, and I turned to the one who had recovered from my kick. He reached for his belt and pulled an axe, and he hurled it at me. I threw my shield up and the axe embedded itself into my shield with a thud.
Lundenne had killed one of the warriors she fought with already, working on the second one. I reached for a spear and hurled it at the shield less warrior who was still alive, and it planted itself into his face. He reached for his head before dying and falling in a bloody heap.
I turned to help Lundenne. She recoiled from a parry made by the warrior who was still attacking her, and she threw another strike at him. She caught him in the arm and cut it off from the elbow. The man dropped his axe and fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Lundenne planted her foot on his chest and stabbed his chest, killing the man.
As she pulled her sword out, a fateful arrow, sent by a cowardly Viking archer, thudded into her skullcap. She fell over instantly. I watched in horror as my best friend, one who I called sister, lost her life. I looked around, time seeming to slow down. The bodies, the shouting, the screams…blood soaked sands, the horrors of war. I looked at my sword, it was slick with blood.
I looked up, and there he was, Cormac of Raescithe. In one hand he held his great axe, the head of which was dripping with blood. In his other hand he held a head, severed at the neck. I recognized it as Ælle’s. I started to walk forward, the same feeling of pure rage coursing through my being, much the same way as I felt the day I charged Brennen.
I picked up speed. Casting my shield aside, I gripped my sword with both hands, drawing it back and preparing a stab that would kill this Heathen. He threw down my comrade’s head and gripped his axe with both hands, a smile spreading across his face. He planted his feet firmly in the ground and still I charged, feeling the crunch and slosh of blood soaked sand and body beneath my feet. My stride has turned into a full on sprint by that point, and closing my eyes, I threw myself at Cormac with everything I had.
I felt my sword wrenched from my hands. I opened my eyes and watched with despair as my stab was blocked, my sword left my hands and Cormac’s axe swung at me. I lost feeling in my left leg. I stumbled and fell. Looking at my left leg, rather where it should be, I saw a stump. My trousers were soaked in blood and my leg was lying in the sand behind Cormac. I looked around. Fyrd riders were slain, everywhere. Few of our men were still alive. I thought of Lundenne. I thought of Ælle. I coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.
“So this is how it ends…”I said out loud. Cormac stared down at me, and whispered. “It’s time for you to meet your God, Ælfrid. Wyrd bith ful aræd. Fate is inexorable.” Cormac raised his axe, and brought it down. A thump and an instant of roaring pain, and then it was over.

Wyrd bith ful aræd
“Fate is inexorable”