*
Wulftsan stood in position towards the front of the shield wall, able to gain a clear sight of the colossal storm approaching. The thunder of drums boomed, as he felt the ground rattling beneath the leather soles of his shoes. He looked to his left and right, and could see the trepidation displayed on the faces all around him.
Just ahead of him, Saxan thanes, ceorls, and other strong warriors held their shields firmly in place. Despite their stoic, hardened postures, Wulfstan knew that they struggled with their nerves at the terrible sight of immense forces pouring over the horizon and shaking the ground, surging towards them with murderous intent.
“We are the wall! If they do not break this wall, all of that means nothing! Keep your hearts strong!” Wulfstan cried out to the men around him, most of whom were from the villages and burhs of his home territory. He could have identified nearly every one of them. “Cenwald, you hold strong, too!”
Standing close to him, and clearly looking frightened, Cenwald glanced quickly towards Wulfstan and nodded.
“All of you, if the enemy has come with an intent from hell, then give them a taste of the hell that drives them!” Wulfstan called out to his comrades.
His bold words caused a large number of men around him to erupt with raucous cries, even as the ground continued to vibrate from the tread of the oncoming forces.
Wulfstan gripped the leather-wrapped hilt of his old sword tightly, and raised his round shield up a little higher. He clenched the narrow iron bar that spanned the inside of the raised shield boss.
Turning his head, and looking back, he saw that Father Dunstan was standing with the levy men towards the rear of the ranks, even though he did not bear a weapon himself. The mere sight of the loyal priest slowed Wulfstan’s anxious heart down a couple of beats. The old priest was making the spear-shaped gesture over the men around him, and would continue to give out his blessing when enemy arrows began to fall amongst them; and Wulfstan knew even that would not stop the old priest.
Such a perilous moment, of sharp iron rain, would not be long in coming. The enemy battle ranks were drawing ever nearer, such that Wulfstan could vividly see the lines of shrouded heads behind the strange, tall shields that the enemy fighters bore along with them. The resonance of the pounding war drums engulfed the Saxans, the booming, pulsating beats eliciting further nervousness from many within the Saxan ranks.
Behind the approaching line of shields, it looked like an ocean of men was flowing in their wake. Were it not for the circumstances, Wulfstan might even have found something aesthetic about the sights arrayed upon the plains before him. There were great numbers of colorful, bright battle flags and banners held aloft within the enemy ranks.
He halfway imagined that if he could get up into the sky, perhaps on one of the Saxan sky steeds, a sight echoing one from the natural world would greet him. The grand effect of the massive enemy army would probably have looked like a menacing storm, sweeping across open plains, blotting out a clear sky.
The only difference would be that he would look down upon it, rather than up at it.
The sky steeds were said to feel like horses in some ways. Wulfstan believed that he could remain strong during the sensation of flight. A tinge of regret cut through his adrenalized nerves; if only there was the time to explore his strange, repeating dream.
A bitter chuckle threatened to break his expression, as at the brink of an immense battle his thoughts of recurring dreams were still at the very forefront of his mind.
Girding himself, he fixed his stare on the foremost enemy ranks, right as they drew to a halt just a short distance before the Saxan lines.
*