The Battle of Maeldune

          I wrote this piece for an English project at school last year(I got a 100%!). Some of the text, mainly dialog in this piece is straight from the poem written I think in 1726, so it may not sound right, but it is! :) Sadly, some portions of the poem were lost due to some accident a while back, so we do not have the full thing. Enjoy! {/indent}

          P.S. Some terms are listed at the end in a small glossary, so be sure to look there if you don't understand what is going on! Please inform me if I have left anything out of the glossary that should be included, I have a feeling I left some things... {/indent}

The cool English sun beamed lightly down upon the large Norse fleet. It was August 9, 991 A.D.

Olaf Tryggvason stood at the prow of his Drakkar, the foremost ship in his large fleet. He smiled to himself as he thought of the past series of raids he had completed; how he had ravaged Kent and Sussex. He thought of all the plunder they had taken from his raid on Folkestone, the screams of the townsfolk at Thanet, and the flaming carnage at Ipswich.


He turned to look at his crew, strong, ruthless warriors, covered from head to waist in chain mail armor, heaving their oars at the thick waters, if it could even be called “water”, of the Panta. Olaf’s next goal was to raid the Essex town of Maeldune.

Olaf once again smiled to himself as he thought of the plunder to come.

“Full speed ahead!” he yelled, already knowing his men were going as fast as they could.

* * * *

It was a warm, sunny day in Maeldune: children at play all across the city; the women inside their huts; weaving beautiful cloths and other household items; the men hunting in the nearby fields; but this peaceful day would not last long, Olaf was soon to arrive!

* * * *

Olaf waited aboard as his army of close to 4,000 men emptied out of their 93 Drakkas. He gave them the order to set up camp here on Northey Island.

This small island was located in the middle of the estuary, and was connected to the mainland by a tiny land causeway. Maeldune did not lie far from the opposite side of the causeway, and, if the Vikings were lucky, the nightly tide had gone down. This small earthen bridge was only about one man thick, and the tides were so strong, and the causeway barely above the water, that the tides often flooded the bridge until about midday.

Olaf stepped off his ship, and observed as his men set up camp in the middle of the tiny forest island. He had beached the fleet on the far side of the island, providing cover from the mainland, and a hasty retreat if these Anglo-Saxons proved stronger than the others Olaf had conquered.

* * * *

Ealdorman Byrhtnoth was hunting in his fields when one of his thanes ran up to him, a grim look on his face.

“Sire, the Vikings – Olaf and his ruthless army – have arrived and set up camp at Northey. They plan to raid the town by nightfall!” said the young thane.

“Where did you hear this most dreadful news, Aelfnoth?” inquired the earl.

“It isn’t rumor sir, I saw them with my own two eyes as I was patrolling the coastline!”

“Ok, ready my men and arouse the fyrd, today we will stop Olaf’s madness!”

And with that, Byrhtnoth ran off, and prepared his war gear and prayed to God for the strength to vanquish his powerful enemy in the coming battle.

As soon as his personal thanes and the fyrd was battle-ready, Byrhtnoth led his troop to the mainland side of the causeway, and set up camp there to block the Viking’s way and prevent them from getting to the town.

It didn’t look like the Vikings would get anywhere today anyways, as the causeway was flooded, and surely the Vikings were not so stupid as to try and cross the oss’s thick, black ooze by foot? No man was powerful enough to resist being sucked down in the oss’s black goop, especially when weighed down by battle gear.

* * * *

Olaf sat outside the tent, sharpening his langseaxes, his favored weapon, to the point, where, if you merely touched the blade, it would cut the flesh.

Arnbjorn, Olaf’s second-in-command, ran up to the Viking chieftain.

“The Anglian dogs must have seen us coming, as they have taken the mainland side of the causeway, preventing us from getting across,” came the large warrior’s scruffy voice.

Olaf looked up from his weapons to his second-in-command. Arnbjorn was huge, and he wore no chain mail, only the large bear hide from a bear he had killed with his bare hands. He had once been a berserkr, long before even Olaf knew him.

“You said the causeway was flooded, right Arnbjorn?” The man nodded, “Then why don’t we just cut those fools down with our arrows? Then we could just walk over there unopposed, and raid the unprotected city.”

The warrior replied, “Well, the Anglo-Saxons are slightly out of reach. Not even Hrafn could hit ‘em!”

Olaf nodded, “I see. Well, prepare the men for battle; I think this prolonged tide will go down soon. I am going to have a little chat with that fool Byrhtnoth.”

Olaf got up, sheathed his langseaxes, and walked away. Arnbjorn knew that Byrhtnoth would not accept his captain’s offer, but Olaf would try anyways.

* * * *

Byrhtnoth was sitting at his camp, giving encouragement to his men for the upcoming battle.

Suddenly, a large horn blast came from across the river. It was Olaf, the Viking king, and, apparently, Olaf wanted to talk with him.

Byrhtnoth got up from where he sat, and walked to the river’s edge, being careful not to step in.

“What is it, Viking dog?” yelled Byrhtnoth to his adversary.

The Viking’s loud voice came from across the water, “Alas! My friend!” He was sweet-talking his enemy into a feeling of safety. “I come to talk of peace terms, not scorn, or receive scorn from you!”

Byrhtnoth was growing impatient with the Viking warlord. He knew what the Viking was about to ask, but he continued anyways, “AGAIN, I ask, ‘what is it you want, Viking dog?!’”

Olaf’s expression changed from friendly to stern, “If you give me your, and your people’s money, the best of your crop, and the finest of your women, my men and I will leave in peace, and permit you to live – for now.”

Byrhtnoth roared in laughter as he turned to face his men. “Should I accept this man’s offer, like the raven-starver he thinks we are? Or should I pray to God to give us strength, and give this heathen a fight?” Byrhtnoth raised his voice and his sword, to sound courageous to his men, and as if to suggest they fight.

His men all raised their bucklers and swords and shouted, “GIVE THE FOOLISH HEATHEN A FIGHT!” Although the Anglo-Saxon army was small, only about 1,000 men strong, they were confident that they could defeat this ruthless man and end his ravaging once and for all.

Byrhtnoth once again turned to face his opponent and shouted back, “My men and I agree, Olaf; it is not treasure you will get, but SPEARS! We do not accept your foolish danegeld!”

Cheers went up from the Essex army, creating large ripples in the water. It appeared that Olaf tried to reply, but the shouting and hooting of the English men drowned his voice out.

Olaf turned, and stomped off, his face as read as blood; blood, which would soon flow off of blades and wounds, dampening the soil.

* * * *

It soon became nightfall, and the causeway was still flooder, and those waters would be added to by the tide. An impatient Viking had earlier tried to cross the river by foot, but as soon as he set foot in the dark sludge, he was sucked underneath the surface, not even able to scream.

No man, not even Arnbjorn, had dared to disturb Olaf after he stormed off into his ten, following the English men mocking him.

The Vikings had lit their campfires, roasted some deer they had killed in the forest, and started singing their kveldsongrs. Their singing was terrible, they sounded like a cat that was repeatedly being jabbed by a brander, especially with the addition of their mead, but the songs were nice.

The pagan warriors also sent up prayers to their Vanir, hoping to defeat the English in the oncoming battle.

* * * *

The coming of the sun the next day was bittersweet; it was a beautiful, warm morning, but the sun would also have to light up the bloody battlefield.

The tide was slowly going down, and by midday it would be low enough for the men to cross.

Hrafn had been set as sentry on the coastline that night, and it was he who first noticed the tide was going down.

He rushed to his leader’s tent and awakened him. Olaf appeared to have gotten over his bad mood from the previous night, and seemed delighted by the fact that they would do battle with their enemies today.

Olaf rushed out of his bed, got his battle gear ready, and walked outside. His men had obviously already heard the news, as they were all battle ready: their scramseaxes and langseaxes sharpened, their axe blades made sharp, their swords sharpened, their spear points poisoned, their bucklers checked for cracks, and their chain mail checked for holes or damage.

“Today we will defeat these foolish Anglo-Saxons! We will burn and salt their fields, we will burn down their forests, we will take their plunder, and we will steal their women! To the beach!” And with that, the Vikings set off to the causeway, ready for a fight.

* * * *

When the Vikings got to the causeway, they looked out over the water at their enemy. Byrhtnoth, their foolish leader, called out to the Vikings, “You asked for treasure from us, so you would leave in peace, and if we did not fulfill your wishes, we would battle. If it’s a battle you want, then it is a battle you will get, foolish Dane! A battle that you or your men will not walk away from!”

Then Byrhtnoth turned around and grabbed his spear, and showed his men how to stand ready in battle.

Soon after he was confident with his men’s ability to fight, he turned around to face the Vikings. He called to his men and drew them up to the riverbank, awaiting the ebb of the tide.

* * * *

As the tide kept going down, and the causeway was almost completely uncovered, Byrhtnoth set a warrior to guard the bridge. He was a warrior war-hardened, Wulfstan.

After he walked on to the land bridge, two other high-hearted warriors joined him named Alefere and Maccus.

Very quickly, the land bridge was uncovered. The Vikings picked up their spears and ran across to the English defenders, where they steadfastly against their foes made defense, while their weapons to wield, they were able.

The Vikings, bitter that their enemies guarded them from passing a thin strip of land, begged the English to allow them a foothold, so it would be a good battle.

Then the earl, with his overweening heart shouted to the Vikings, “Now room is meted you, come swiftly to us, warriors to war. Only God knows who, at the end, shall possess this fight’s field.”

Then the war wolves went west over Panta. They carried their shields over the shining water. There Byrhtnoth, with his band of troops, stood ready against the raiders. Byrhtnoth, with his buckler in hand, bade his men to raise the shield wall, and made firm the ranks fast against their foes.

Now was the hour come when that the feymen must fall.

* * * *

The two sides stood opposite each other in the English fields, the Vikings set up their Wihada, the English their shield wall.

Then Olaf stepped out of the Viking ranks, and pointed his sword at Byrhtnoth,

“Kringlaugd wierd, ein spadi for qvoki ne skeifr drpr munni ne svinhqfdi!” he cursed at his foe. And as soon as he had appeared, he disappeared back in the ranks.

Byrhtnoth strode back and forth along the lines of his men exhorting them to stand firm, despite the Vikings threat, before the coming onslaught.

As dark shadows of circling ravens passed back and forth, a momentary hush fell on the battlefield. Then came the swish of swift sharp spears seeking the mortal flesh of adversaries.

The crazy beadscur yielded many deaths on both sides. An arrow from the bow of Wulfstan clipped Olaf’s Gjermundbu helmet clean off of his head, and onto the ground. Olaf, not even being hurt or worried by the arrow, was growing more and more angry with that Anglo-Saxon warrior.

As blood began to flow, the Vikings that had with them swords unsheathed and rushed forward to clash with Byrhtnoth’s valiant men in fierce and bloody combat.

Olaf, being in a state of fury, rushed madly toward the unexpecting Wulfstan, and they both locked in deadly combat.

They both dealt many blows to their opponent, but, because of their thick chain mail, only bruised their enemy.

Then Olaf, with his cunning battle tactics, threw off his buckler at his opponent, swiftly pulled out his langseax, and stabbed his opponent in the shoulder.

Taken back by the blow, Wulfstan stumbled back, tears of pain and sorrow filling his eyes. Wulfstan was large and a strong fighter, though, and did not fall over. Olaf quickly tried to plant his weapon through his enemy’s chest, but Wulfstan sidestepped the attack.

Once more, the two warriors locked in a fearful combat, but Wulfstan, who was losing more and more blood, was weakening.

Olaf saw this flaw in his opponent, and used it to his advantage. He quickly tired the English warrior, to the point where Wulfstan was wheezing, and coughing out blood.

Olaf stabbed him once more in the chest. Wulfstan looked up to the sky, let out a muffled groan, and fell back.

Olaf took no pity for the wounded warrior and cursed him saying, “Skreyja huglausi burlufotr,” and swiped off the Anglo-Saxon’s head. The lifeless, headless corpse fell to the ground, blood rushing from its wounds.

Hrafn, being Olaf’s best archer, sat behind the battle, and picked off the Anglian warriors from afar. Hrafn was not good with swords, but he had good skill with knives, which proved not very effective when locked in battle with a large sword-wielding enemy.

Wulmaer, Byrhtnoth’s nephew, saw the Viking warrior, and how he continually picked off men from a ways away, so he ran to his enemy, trying to engage in hand-to-hand combat.

But Hrafn was too swift for the young warrior, and soon he had plastered two arrows right through Wulfmaer’s shoulder. Quickly pulling out his scramseaxes, he finished off his opponent with a stab through the throat and chest.

Edward, one of the earl’s thanes, was furious that Hrafn had so easily killed the young warrior. He charged towards the warrior, sword raised.

Before Hrafn could even react, Edward had sliced through the Viking’s helmet, through his mail coif, and through his skull, quickly silencing the Viking archer.

* * * *

The battle had been going long, each side holding their ground equally well against their enemy.

Byrhtnoth had clearly been the fury of the Viking’s attacks, but all who tried to attack the Anglo-Saxon earl lay dead at his feet.

Arnbjorn and another warrior named Ulfr plowed through the English defenses to get to the earl.

Ulfr raised his spear against his enemy, and plunged it right through the earl’s shoulder. But the powerful ealdorman simply raised his buckler, and broke the spear, springing the blade and shaft out of the wound. Before Ulfr could react to the earl’s fierceness, Byrhtnoth had plunged a spear right through the Viking’s neck, ending his life immediately.

Then Arnbjorn stabbed his sword, bursting Byrhtnoth’s breastplate, wounding him in the heart. Arnbjorn stood there, leaving the sword in his opponent’s chest. The poisoned point, through the ring-harness, stood at the earl’s heart.

Byrhtnoth laughed then at high-heart made thanks to God for his day’s work – the warriors he had killed that his Saviour had granted him.

Then a Viking loosed from his bow an arrow, and it rushed forth through the noble thane of Aethelred. And Wulfmeer, the late Wulfstan’s son, who had been by his chieftain’s side, took the arrow and loosed it with his bow, so that he who had wounded the earl lay dead on the field.

Another Viking warrior, named Arngeirr, rushed against the earl, wishing to take the earl’s treasure.

Byrhtnoth drew his sword from sheath, and smote at his enemy’s breastplate. Too soon, another Viking rushed the earl, and brought down his sword against the chieftain’s hand. The fallow-hilted sword fell from Byrhtnoth’s hands to the ground, for he could no longer wield his weapon.

The old warrior cheered on his men, ordered his good brethren to go forward to go forward. No longer could the ealdorman stand firmly on his feet. And with his dying words, the chieftain looked to heaven and cried, “I thank Thee, Lord of all peoples for all these joys that I on earth have know. Now, my Maker mild – O Lord of the Angels, may pass with peace – I do desire of Thee that the hell-fiends may not hurt it.” Aelfnoth and Wulmeer, who stood by their chieftain’s side, protected his body from the raving Vikings.

But Olaf, being able to throw two spears from each hand at the same time, quickly ended the two thanes noble lives.

The fled from the battle Godric, and left his good lord who had often given him many a mare, jumped on his lord’s horse, and took off with his two brothers, Godrinc and Godwig. Many other men who did not like battle fled also.

But Byrhtnoth’s proud thanes hastened eagerly to their lord’s body; for they desired two things: to lose their lives, or avenge their beloved lord.

Aelfwin boldly encouraged them, “Think ye of the times when we oft spake at mead, when we on the benches did raise up our boast, henchmen in the hall – about hard strife, now may each one make trial of how bold he be. Now will I tell my lineage to all, that I was in Mercia of a mighty kindred, mine old father – Aldhelm was hight, an old alderman wise – and rich in wealth; nor shall the thanes mid the people reproach me, that I would consent to flee from this fight, my home to seek, now my lord lieth low, slain in the strife; but yet it most grieves me, for that he was both – my kinsman and my lord.”

And with that, he went forth, and slew a Viking with his spear. He began to urge on his comrades and friends.

Offa shook his spear shaft and spoke, “Lo thou, Aelfwin, hast all heartened thanes at need – now our lord lieth, the earl on the earth – for us all is need, warrior to war, while he his weapon may have and hold, his hard blade, his spear and good sword – for Godric hath us, Odda’s coward son, all betrayed. For many men thought when he rode off on the mare, on that proud steed, that he was our lord. And for that cause are the folk scattered over the field, the shield wall broken. May his plan come to nought! For that he so many men hath set to flight.”

Leofsund spoke, his buckler uphove, his shield for safety – and that man answered,

“I do promise this, that I will not hence fly a foot’s step, but shall further go to avenge in the war my friendly lord. Then shall not need in Sturmere the steadfast soldiers to twit me with words, now my friend is fall’n, for that I returned home without my lord, turned from the battle, but the sword shall take me, the point and the steel.” And he, most angry because he despised flight, was killed.

Dunmer then spoke – shook his spear, a humble churl – called out above all, bade each warrior – “Byrhtnoth avenge! Now may not go he who thinketh to avenge his friend among the folk, nor mourn for his life!”

* * * *

The noble thanes continued their fight with the Vikings with a renewed vigour, even though they already knew the battle was over. They begged to God that they might avenge their friendly lord, and bring death to their enemies.

Aesferth, Aclaf’s child, fought the Vikings with a great ferocity. He fought as a man who had lost his money, his family, his house, his possessions, and his honor would if he met the band of robbers that had taken all of these things away. Often he struck men down.

Then stood Eadward the tall next to his slain leader’s body. He would not move even but a foot’s space, nor budge back, from his fallen lord.

Eadward shattered through the Viking Wihada, and fought with the Viking raiders. Countless bodies lay at his feet, their bodies mutilated, and their shields shattered.

Two Vikings now charged at the tall Anglo-Saxon hero. The first he killed with ease, but the second was large, and they locked in sword fight.

Eadward began to push him back when Olaf appeared from behind the Viking warrior. When Eadward saw the devilish smile on the Viking warlord’s face, he knew his opponent would fight relentlessly, and he would lose his life.

Olaf had his two langseaxes in hand, and he struck at the large Anglo-Saxon, blow after blow.

Eadward bravely stood his ground, but the constant blows against his sword and mail left him bruised and exhausted.

Pain suddenly struck through his shoulder; Olaf had pierced right through. He swung his large sword at the warrior, but Olaf nimbly stepped aside. The last thing Eadward saw before his neck’s bone-lappings were sliced was that evil grin on the warlord’s face. Eadward had worthily avenged his lord, and here he lay amongst the slain.

So did the honorable Aeturic; he had splintered shields, parried blows, and slain many. But a grisly blow to the chest from Offa the seaman ended the warrior’s life.

Wistan, son of Thustan, fought bravely, but was soon surrounded by the Norse invaders.

Oswald and Eadwald, brothers, kept urging on the men to fight the Germanic pirates, but were soon cut down.

Byrthwold grasped his buckler and yelled, “Thought must be the harder, heart the keener spirit shall be more – as our might lessens. There lies our chief all cut down, good man on the ground; forever may he grieve who now from this war thinketh to go. I am old in years – hence I will not, but by the side of mine own lord, by my chief so beloved, I think to lie.” And thus did the son of Aelthelgar urge the Anglo-Saxons on. Even Godric, and the men who followed him from the battle, cast many a spear, and slay many men. He smote and struck down until he sank down in the fight.

* * * *

The battlefield lay empty, except for the ravens picking at the dead bodies; the rank smell of slowly rotting corpses hit the air; the only noise was the cawing of ravens, fighting over the flesh of a dead warrior. The near sound of slaughter as the Vikings moved from the battlefield to ravage the town of Maeldune.

Not one thane, or militiaman, left that battlefield that day; the blades and spears of the Vikings had cut them all down.

Olaf took with him a special battle-trophy, though – Byrhtnoth’s head, which he had hewn from the corpse, lodged on a spearhead, which he would place at the bow of his Drakka.

And so ended these Anglo-Saxon’s noble attempt to end the Viking’s ravaging forever.


          Glossary of terms: {/indent}

- Danegeld: A tax levied in England from the 10th to the 12th century to finance protection against Danish invasion.

- Drakkar: Longships, langskip or drakkar were boats used by the Scandinavians and Saxons for mostly military purposes. They were the epitome of Scandinavian power and high in their admiration of material possessions.

- Feymen: Doomed men, destined to die in battle.

- Fyrd: The militia of Anglo-Saxon England.

- Langseax: Shorter than a sword, and lacking its protective quilloms, heavy and ill- balanced, a Langseax is a poor man’s sword, useful for close encounters of the thud kind. Given the nature of swords in this period of history (see sword below) this does not present a problem. The distinction between a scramseax, a longer scramseax (hadseax) and a langseax is debatable.

- Mete: To deal.

- Scramseax: These “butter knives” can be used as a last ditch, close-quarters defence by spearmen and sneaky people, but cannot cut through a mail vest. Their main usage is in the areas of surprise, desperation, eating food and the mercy-killing of the mortally wounded.