I looked up. Night was fading and the sky was a dark blue, not a cloud in sight.

Then the dogs started howling.

Seven

So we had been heard. The crying of frightened children had alerted Gunnald’s men inside the warehouse and they had loosed dogs that now barked frantically. I heard footsteps, a shouted command, and a woman’s yelp of protest. I was standing at the door where the man we had taken captive was pinned against the wall with Vidarr’s sword at his throat. ‘How many men inside?’ I snarled at him.

‘Nine inside!’ he managed to say despite the blade’s pressure.

He had already been disarmed. I now kicked him hard between the legs and he crumpled, yelping as Vidarr’s blade sliced a shallow cut on his chin as he fell. ‘Stay there,’ I snarled. ‘Finan?’

‘Lord?’ he called from the stable door.

‘Nine men left,’ I called as I beckoned him.

‘And dogs,’ he said drily. I heard paws scrabbling furiously on the door’s far side.

The door was barred. I lifted the heavy latch and tried pulling and pushing, but it would not budge. And now, I thought, the men inside would be sending for help from the East Anglians on the bridge. I cursed.

And then the door opened. It seemed that the men inside wanted to loose the dogs on us.

Two dogs came, both big dogs, both black and tan with slavering mouths, both with yellow teeth and matted hair. They leaped at us. The first one tried to take a bite from my belly and got a mouthful of mail instead. Serpent-Breath sliced once, Vidarr cut from my left, then I stepped over the poor dying beast, saw Finan despatch the other, and both of us charged into the huge warehouse. It was dark inside. A spear flashed by my left side and thumped into the doorpost. There were screams.

The men defending the warehouse had loosed the dogs, and fighting dogs are formidable beasts. They attack savagely, apparently without fear, and though they are easily enough despatched their attack will force men to break ranks, so the skill of using war dogs is to attack at the same time. Let the dogs distract the enemy and, while that enemy is fighting off tooth and claw, hit him with spears and swords.

But the warehouse defenders thought the dogs could do all the work and, instead of attacking us, they just waited in a line that stretched between two cages. Women were screaming to my right, but I had no time to look because the defenders faced me, men with small shields and long-swords. I could not count them, it was too dim, so I just charged them and bellowed a war cry. ‘Bebbanburg!’

I teach my young warriors that caution is a virtue in warfare. There is always the temptation to attack blindly, to go screaming at the enemy’s shield wall and hope that sheer anger and savagery will break it. That temptation comes from fear and sometimes the best way to overcome fear is to shriek a war cry, charge and kill, but the enemy is likely to have the same impulse and the same fear. He will kill too. Given a choice I would rather be attacked by men maddened by fear than make the attack myself. Men in a rage, men acting on mindless impulse, will fight like wolves, yet sword-skill and discipline will almost always beat them.