Excerpt Three of Sons of the Wolf

Ralph’s forces had ridden out two miles north of Hereford when they came across the amassing forces of Gruffydd and Alfgar. The Earl sensed the unease that was spreading throughout his men as the realisation that they were facing a far greater force than they had expected began to unsettle them. The horses felt it too; their ears were splayed back and they were baring their yellowed teeth. Their riders’ anxiety fizzled down through their trunks and their legs so that it seeped into the horse’s spine and nervous system. Fear filled the air with its unmistakeable tension and aroma.

“My Lord,” William said to Ralph apprehensively. “There must be four thousand of them.”

“But the scout said that there was half that number,” Ralph replied incredulously. “How can he have got it so wrong?”

“The sly vipers split up so that we would not know there was so many of them,” Malet replied. “Who would have thought that Alfgar could be so cunning?”

“Not Alfgar; Gruffydd more like. Alfgar would not be so clever. Gruffydd is the brains behind this.” Ralph shifted uneasily in his saddle. The enemy army was fast approaching. “We must send for reinforcements!”

William looked at him aghast. It was an absurd comment. “How can we? There’s no time. They’re bloody well upon us!”

Fitzscrob, captain of the middle-guard, rode over to them. “My Lord, the enemy are advancing. What should we do? We are overwhelmingly outnumbered!”

“What of it? We have the advantage. We have more cavalry than they. A man on a horse is worth two on foot. We can cut them down if we use the double circular formation and feigned retreat to break their lines,” Ralph replied. He knew that he was asking a lot from his inexperienced troops who were used to fighting in a shieldwall, but he had to save face...somehow. He looked out across the plain and saw the enemy vanguard advancing toward them, their pace quickening now as they got closer. The noise was thunderous. Trumpets were blaring and men were screaming obscenities at the “Saes bastards!” as they loomed toward them.

“My Lord, we will be cut to pieces! The men are untried and full of fear!” Fitzscrob shouted. “We must retreat and defend the town. It’s our only hope!”

Defend Hereford? This mob would overrun it in seconds, Ralph thought, his bravado beginning to wane. The enemy were thundering toward them now. Ralph’s fear began to overwhelm him. He lost all control of his bladder and his bowels as he sat quaking in his saddle. The ‘great’ army he had raised did not seem so great now.

Excerpt Two From Sons of the Wolf

Now, at the head of his unit, Wulfhere was staring at the large volume of men as they spewed over the crest of the hill, gradually making their way down into the valley below. They were a formidable sight, Gruffydd’s army, as they formed their lines, some two thousand and more warriors ten or so men deep. Hwitegaast snorted and slammed his right hoof into the ground, scuffing the dirt to show his discontent. Wulfhere gave him a reassuring pat on his withers and sighed deeply.

“Scitte!” cried Esegar, mounted next to him. “There are so many of them.”

Wulfhere puffed out his cheeks and wondered how six hundred mounted men supported by one hundred or so bowmen and no more than three hundred and fifty infantry men were going to triumph over Gruffydd’s vastly larger host.

“Aye, there are indeed,” he agreed with a shudder, hoping that their cavalry would compensate for their lack of numbers.

“Lord, look to the left flank.” Esegar’s voice was shaking.

Wulfhere looked to where Esegar had indicated. “Hell has arrived,” he muttered under his breath.

There were at least eighteen hundred more men, Wykinga, coming round the side of the mound in the valley pass to join the main army as they marched toward them. Their steel helmets flashed as the mist cleared. Sharpened speartips bristled as they augmented the lines of Gruffydd’s men, shouting “Odin! Odin!” The noise was thunderous as they invoked their deity to make them triumphant, whilst the Welsh called out “Llaith at y Saeson!” “Death to the Englisc!”

Wulfhere felt his stomach bubbling. He heard Esegar’s sharp intake of breath.

“Lord, we were greatly outnumbered. Now we are severely outnumbered,” his fyrdsman said with a sardonic grimace.

As Wulfhere’s eyes squinted out over the daunting scene of so many armoured men stamping their way across the green fields toward them, he felt his face prickle with fear and, despite the cold, started to sweat. He breathed deeply, trying not to remember the horrors of Dunsinane.

Gruffydd himself had a smaller mounted force, his teulu, but the amount of heavily armoured Norse foot soldiers alone far outnumbered the entirety of Ralph’s force. He gulped his nausea down into his gullet. They needed to charge soon, for if they didn’t the whole purpose of them as a mounted force would be pointless. Horses are rendered useless in a defensive stance.

Oh my God, he thought to himself, there is going to be slaughter unless we charge now!