Sköll was laughing, and his men, up on the walls, were cheering. This was a spectacle, a crazed charge by drugged warriors, a revenge for Snorri’s defeat. Not every man who came toward us was an úlfheðinn, some other young men had joined the madness. There were probably about a hundred warriors altogether, most of them in the gray cloaks, though some were bare-chested, and many of them came without either shields or helmets. They believed they could not be harmed because the henbane had given them the courage of the insane.

And we made the shield wall.

Which meant it was discipline against madness.

Rorik had brought me a dead man’s shield and I tried to stand in the front rank, but Finan unceremoniously pushed me to the third rank. “You’re not recovered, lord.” He did the same to Sigtryggr, who was unable to hold a shield, then turned to look at the approaching men. “Shields up!” he shouted. “And use spears!”

The charging men screamed. I had an impression of wild faces, unbound hair, mouths open, fierce eyes, long swords, and then the leading men leaped at us. Was it because they believed they could fly? They leaped as if to jump over the front rank and were met by spears. I saw a savage-faced man screaming at us, jumping at the men in front of me, and Beornoth just lifted his spear and impaled the Norseman. The man, still screaming as blood appeared in his mouth, slid down the long shaft to be met by a sword cut that ended the scream abruptly. Another úlfheðinn, wielding an ax, beat down two of our front rank, screamed his triumph, and waded into the second rank where three men hacked him to death with swords and axes. He was not the only man to break the wall, but those crazed warriors who threw themselves at our shields had no one to support them. Sheer impetuosity split our shield wall in places, but the wall closed up relentlessly. Then it went forward. Finan was bellowing the order, “Forward! Forward!” And still the úlfhéðnar came, slamming into us, screeching and flailing, and still we went forward, step by step, slipping on blood-slicked grass. A bare-chested man hurled an ax at our wall and the big blade split a shield in two and the man followed with no weapon but his hands, clawing at Beornoth whose shield was splintered, and my son killed him with a vicious upward thrust of his seax. “Close up!” Finan shouted. “Close up! Keep going!” Men stepped over the blood-laced bodies of the dead, and still the wolf-warriors fought. It usually took two men to defeat each, one man to take the attack of ax, sword, or spear on his shield, and the other to kill. Some of our men seemed infected by the madness of the úlfhéðnar. I saw Redbad break out of the front rank and slam an ax down on a charging man, splitting his skull in a mist of blood and brains. My son hauled Redbad back, the shields touched, and the wall went forward again. Immar Hergildson, who I had taken care to keep in the rearward rank because he was not as well trained as most of my men, had somehow worked his way to the front and was screaming defiance. I saw him slice down with his sword, saw him kill a second man, and saw the battle-joy on his young face. Sigtryggr’s men who had been facing the ramparts where Svart had died were running to join us now. We were advancing down the long wall between the western and northern towers, driving back the survivors of the mad brave charge.