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  The fleet sailed upriver, the troops aboard making a belligerent clamor, blowing horns and bellowing and shaking rattles. King Æthelred’s army marched from inland to meet them and halt their progress, but the troops lacked both ferocity and steadfastness, as well as faith in their leaders to oppose the Vikings – besides the fact that at that time, not a single naval fleet in Europe was capable of fighting against Norse sea-kings. English books state as well that there was discontented murmuring and dissension in the English ranks, and King Æthelred’s commanders were preoccupied with undermining each other. Some of them wished to be friends of the king, and others to renounce their oaths to him – and English clerics assert that many a good man in the king’s army took bribes from the Norsemen. Some of them betrayed their lord free of charge and entirely on their own initiative, in the hope of personal gain, and the army fell into great disarray.

  As for King Æthelred himself, when he received news that the Viking army was on its way to London, he began vomiting more terribly than anyone has ever been known to, and lay bedridden in an out-of-the-way dwelling. Æthelred’s men were either killed or taken captive, apart from those who retreated inland and managed to hide themselves in forests or farms. The Vikings held course for London, arriving in the evening and mooring their ships tightly together on the river below London Bridge; they prepared to storm the town walls at daybreak. There was no army in the town, and none to defend it but the townsfolk themselves. When the Londoners came to realize that an overwhelming force was marching on their town, every one of them made preparations to defend his home and his possessions, each with the weapon, implement, or tool that he had at hand – there being a general shortage of arms normally considered suitable for war, and fighting men to wield them. Most of those who had any skill in arms were at work in the fields of their masters or served in Æthelred’s army, or had hired themselves out to other kings or sailed away on trading voyages. The men left in town were mainly old or children or youths, besides numerous women and cripples. There were also large numbers of lepers and beggars, as well as noseless fornicators and handless thieves. When the horns signaled the attack, and the Vikings, shouting and screaming, rushed onto the piers, rattled their weapons, and erected ladders against the city walls, they encountered these folk, each jabbing with his own lance. Some of the townsfolk fought with brooms, others with pokers, some with shovels or pitchforks, and many with clubs and sledgehammers. Graybeards and paupers, as well as maimed thieves, fought with their crutches, and children with their toys. The townsfolk showered rocks on the Vikings, while respectable dames and poor women joined in the attack, some pregnant, others carrying babies in swaddling clothes on their backs. Unspoiled maidens and foul whores stood side-by-side and poured boiling urine over the attackers, while others hurled simmering pitch or pumped water on them from the river. Flaming brands were cast at the fleet – fires broke out widely and leapt from ship to ship. It was not long before the fleet was one massive blaze, and great numbers of the Vikings’ ships sunk. The townsfolk also managed to wreck all the ramps and ladders that the Vikings had thought would gain them access to the city. Every Viking that did manage to make it over the wall was surrounded and thronged by the crowd and pummeled with all sorts of base bludgeons, or stabbed with carving knives and table knives, files and awls, pins and knitting-needles and shears, or bitten to death by the inhabitants and ripped to living shreds and thrown to the dogs.

  English books say that at this point, when King Æthelred hears this news, he is so terrified that the spew sticks fast in his throat, like an avalanche obstructed by a narrow gully – for the fear that a land’s rulers have of foreign conquerors is slight compared to their fear of their own subjects. When Æthelred hears how the townspeople of London are relentlessly burning and sinking the Norsemen’s ships, and boiling the Vikings in piss and carving them up with table knives, he feels utterly betrayed – to learn that now, in the space of one morning, the wisdom handed down by sage English kings of old, that the Norsemen are invincible, is to be proven false by a crazy rabble, weaponless and ignorant of warfare, after England’s army has fled to the woods or hidden itself in manger stalls. Æthelred rises from his bed, hale once more, and sends men in haste to Thorkell Strutharaldsson the Tall to deliver the message that he wishes to parley with him and sue for peace with the Vikings. The Vikings respond quickly by retreating from the town and rowing their ships down the river – those that were not burned or sunk. They summon King Æthelred to meet them at the mouth of the river. There they make a pact that is often cited in English books, with King Æthelred promising to pay the Vikings a tribute of four-hundred-and-eighty hundreds in silver. Æthelred, being penniless, offers to open every door in London to the Vikings, and to designate them protectors of the city, and he pledges to command that they be honored above all others by the people of the land and loved most fervently of all their leaders, and to place at their disposal, beyond all other authorities in England, all the city’s property and revenue. Thorkell and most of his men, being landless from birth, had never imagined claiming lands or kingdoms for themselves, but only of pillaging for kind or cash. In return for King Æthelred’s offer, they pledge their true willingness to defend him from those subjects of his who stubbornly pit themselves against illustrious warlords and eminent conquerors using table knives and ladles, brooms and crutches, or who pour piss on the heads of men of renown.

  24

  AS MENTIONED earlier, King Æthelred had a wife named Emma – the most becoming of queens. Emma was a native of Normandy, and a sister of a great lord of whom we now tell: Richard, Duke of Normandy. Both she and her brother were descended from Rollo on their father’s side. By the time of this story, Duke Richard had landed in many a scrape, though few of these incidents shall be recounted in this book – most learned men, however, agree that he was among the more sensible of rulers.

  Stipulated in the covenant between the dukes of Normandy and the kings of France, their overlords, was that the former were obliged to maintain large, well-outfitted armies at all times, yet not to defend their capital of Rouen, but rather, to support the French monarch when he made war on other kings. The duke of Normandy’s army was paid its wages in silver – a significant source of revenue. Richard thus kept only a small garrison in the town, resulting in a lack of sufficient manpower to ensure that taxes need not be collected through a show of force – and the same went for the other demands that he made on the populace. For this reason, the peasants conspired against Richard, and, unbeknownst to the duke, met in assembly with representatives of many different districts to discuss ways to better their conditions. The territories – counties and duchies – neighboring Richard’s own were governed by men whom he could hardly call friends. These took every opportunity they could to provoke him unjustly, each encroaching on the duke’s authority as best as he could, and thereby enriching himself at the expense of the others. One such encroacher enters our story now, a count by the name of Odo – called Oddur in Iceland – who ruled over Chartres.

  Duke Richard lodged a complaint against this count, for the following reasons: Odo had married Duke Richard’s sister, Maud by name, who brought him in dowry a rich, spacious county, called Dreux in the French tongue. In the Icelandic tongue, it is called Draugsborg. After living for a time with Maud, Odo grew tired of his wife and fonder of most other women, and he sent Queen Maud to a convent, where he had one of the holy maidens serve her a poisoned drink. Despite having rid himself of his wife and taken other women, however, Count Odo would yield neither the castle of Dreux nor its surrounding lands to his brother-in-law Duke Richard. Richard now reclaimed the land from Odo, and they wrangled over it to the point of exhaustion. The ill will between the two increased, and each sent an army against the other: Richard ordered his forces to burn the county of Chartres, and Odo dispatched troops to ravage Normandy. The two armies, however, never truly fought it out, especially since most of the men on each side married into each others’ fam
ilies during these wars – that is, those who were not closely related or intermarried already. Folk from opposing camps settled down next to each other as if they all belonged to one and the same territory, rather than the two wrangled over by the count and the duke. While these sovereigns, swollen with wrath, fomented war between territories and preached thrashings, slaughter, and revenge for the love of Christ, causing their champions to chomp on the edges of their shields, their subjects invited one another to feasts, nuptials, and baptisms. All of these things combined to make it no easy task for Duke Richard to press his suit against Odo of Chartres, his brother-in-law by chance, rather than choice.

  Now the story shifts to King Thorkell the Tall and the Vikings. They made themselves at home in London as the honored guests of King Æthelred, receiving from everyone whatever they demanded, emptying the coffers of London and loading their ships with everything of value they could find in the town. Yet, after drinking dry most of London’s ale stocks and eating up everyone’s meat, and slaying most of the townsfolk they disliked, and lying free of charge with every woman they fancied, and having no chance for further exploits in the town for now, their grand adventure coming to an end, they grew dreadfully bored and demanded that Æthelred direct them someplace where deeds could be done. Sitting in London drinking ale was not the life for them, they said – they were bent on glory, and desired gold and jewels, or to go where the goods and treasures and other spoils they had acquired in London could be traded for coin.

  King Æthelred replied: “Great is your courage and your thirst for achievement, Vikings, and I will surely regret it deeply if I lose such defenders as you. If truth be told, I have never, since I lay in my mother’s womb, been as hale as I am now, ever since your arrival in London. Yet it seems to me that God has not intended for me to benefit any longer from your fellowship or support, and I shall therefore tell you what bargain I would make with you upon parting. I have been sent word by my brother-in-law Duke Richard in Rouen, that, like many a good king, he finds himself sorely pressed by his enemies, both from within and beyond his realm. In short, my brother-in-law Odo of Chartres sent his wife Maud to an abbey and had her murdered there, but now refuses to relinquish her dowry of Dreux to Richard. Since Richard has hired out his army to fight for King Robert in France, he lacks the manpower to wreak vengeance for his griefs closer to home. He is therefore offering excellent sums of money, along with other emoluments, to any company that will lend him support in marching against Odo and killing him and his rabble, and pillaging his territory and burning down Chartres.”

  When the Vikings heard this declaration, they took counsel and debated whether to throw their lot into this sovereign chess-match at the bidding and supplication of Duke Richard. To the wiser men in the company it appeared that the exploit here proposed would bring them great fortune. They sent a hasty reply to Duke Richard in Rouen, stating that King Thorkell the Tall was fully prepared to offer his forces in support. The Vikings outfitted their ships and rowed down the Thames, and upon entering the English Channel, they encountered a good wind. They hoisted their sails, headed for the mouth of the River Seine, and sailed upriver until they reached Rouen Castle, where they dropped anchor and sent envoys to inform the duke that King Thorkell Strutharaldsson had arrived, along with his vassals and personal guard, at the request of King Richard.

  Those in the castle were in no great rush to welcome the army – but at the end of the day, the duke’s legates finally came to meet Thorkell, bringing word that the marauders were to bathe themselves, comb the lice from their heads, and rub soap into their hair and rinse it, before presenting themselves to Duke Richard.

  Many a red-blooded man in the fleet considered this an outrageous injunction. For ages, sea-kings had deemed it far more regal to don lace-trimmed mantles and loads of weighty rings and jewels than to scrub and bathe themselves with soap and water, like women or pansies. Yet the Vikings dared not disdain this order, knowing as well that many a highbred baron, from both France and farther south, graced Duke Richard’s court. Only the highest standards of courtesy were adhered to in Richard’s castle, and those most lacking in fine manners were the greatest objects of scorn.

  When Thorkell and his men arrived at the castle, they were led to the royal assembly hall, where Duke Richard presided over his counselors and bishops and other men of rank. King Thorkell and his men were not exactly polished in appearance, nor were they practiced at pacing stone floors. Their raiments, though wrinkled, were embellished with splendid swords in sparkling hilts and various other decorations, and the shields they bore were gold-rimmed. Duke Richard did not let the Vikings come very far into his hall, but instead, he rose from his high-seat to go and meet them, accompanied by his marshals and bishops. Richard was short in stature, slender in build, and dainty of step – as he approached them, he held the haft of his sword in one hand and made the sign of the cross with the other. It was as if he were faced with tearing his way through a multilayered spider’s web. Duke Richard did not bow to his visitors, nor they to him, but he bade them welcome in the French tongue, and, summoning his interpreter, addressed them in these words as they stood there near the door:

  “My lord Thorkell and other distinguished commanders, I wish to inform you that with Christ’s guidance, we are engaged in manifold conflicts with men inside and outside the borders of this land who have made apparent their malevolence toward myself and God and Holy Church, and who are now besetting us. In these affairs I would ask your support, and offer you both advance payment when you begin, and a share in the spoils afterward. We deem it our most pressing task to take the fight to Count Odo, who styles himself Sovereign of Chartres. Odo of Chartres is an unrighteous ruler, who has flaunted the laws of Holy Church by beguiling women whom Christ, the son of Mary, did not intend for him, and murdering others whom Christ did not intend for him. Such a sovereign deserves nothing better than to lose his head. I ask that you join forces with me in killing this lecher and laying waste to his land, for the sake of our love of Christ and the righteousness that the blessed John the Baptist and the high priest Melchizedek wish to see rule the world – as do God’s beloved kinswomen, Sunniva and Belinda, patronesses of chastity. Yet we will not disavow that for this noble task, we desire no man in our company that has not received baptism and the Holy Spirit in water and word. I hereby give you the opportunity to be baptized forthwith, and cleansed of the evil spirit. Those who refuse to be baptized, however, are the enemies of Christ and ourselves and our Lord Pope and all holy men and women, as well as the counts and kings and archangels and thrones that righteously rule in Heaven and on Earth. Our bishops, who stand here with me, have therefore vowed to grant absolution in the cleansing flames of Purgatory to every Christian man who is eager, through divine inspiration, to bring down such an obdurate, unrepentant, and malicious rogue as Odo of Chartres.”

  After King Thorkell Strutharaldsson and his men returned to their ships, he summoned the chieftains in charge of his fleet and addressed them, telling them that a tasty morsel was theirs for the taking: chests full of gold – besides the immeasurable plunder they were promised upon subduing a mean-spirited, piddling count who ruled a territory nearby. Yet there was one catch, said Thorkell – with which some of them would be none too pleased. The Duke, he said, has given us a choice: either to be baptized, or never to fight beneath his banner.

  The chieftains spoke up and voiced various opinions on these tidings. Many in the fleet had in fact been baptized earlier, or prime-signed,1 for the sake of engaging in commerce with Christians, though few gave any thought to the religious tenor of the act. Far greater numbers among the fleet were heathens to the bone, and there were a few who considered any open practice of Christian beliefs to be more than sufficient cause for killing. Several exclaimed that Norse Vikings would never bend their necks to Christian men, or obey their commands – instead, they would set Rouen ablaze and murder the Duke and his bishops.

  Again King Thorkell addressed hi
s troops. He asked them to bear in mind that the men of Rouen were more than capable of exacting retribution – this would be different than slaughtering livestock and defenseless rabble in little coastal villages in Friesland or Jutland or Semigalia, or up north in Karelia. Richard, he stated, had both a well-armed company of chosen men to defend his castle and the backing of powerful kings in southerly regions. He reckoned it would be wiser to avoid risk by earning their keep through a paltry count such as Odo of Chartres than to wage war against rich sovereigns over which god lied least to people. It had often been proven in England and elsewhere that the friends of Christ were scarcely less doughty than those of Þórr. “Nor is it any secret in the army,” says Thorkell, “that my serving lad of late has been an English youth whom we call Grímkell, formerly valet to Ælfheah, the leading man among the Christians in England, whom you pelted with bones on the banks of the Thames. This lad is both skilled in interpreting dreams and a seer, and because of his gift of second-sight, he knows many a hidden thing in and upon the Earth, as well as what occurs above Hliðskjálf, the very seat of Óðinn, and he can tell all the news from Niflheim. This lad is a friend of Emperor Christ himself. I have it on good authority that Christ has sworn a solemn oath to wreak vengeance on us for the wrongs that we have done to his friends and kindred, and vowed that his vengeance shall be more portentous than the world has ever known, unless we yield to him in the matters that are of importance to him. Or,” says Thorkell, “is there a stench coming from White Christ that causes you to reject good money – and earn his hostility – rather than make him our friend?”