The frost was severe at Bodiam Castle; glittering icicles and deep snow, and the cold black course of the Rother, pushing its bubbling way darkling through the whole surface, presented a dreary prospect; yet the sun shone clear, and Haranga, was riding abroad with his beautiful daughter; the rich carnation of her complexion heightened by the keen air. Her snowy neck, concealed with dark furs, was in strong contrast to her fair skin, and to the thick braids of golden hair, which lay gracefully upon her shoulders. Haranga was engaged in deep conversation with a number of the neighbouring thanes, Hathagon and Hartegor who rode by his side in armour, while around Edith, their expected queen, flocked many of the high dames and maidens who accompanied their husbands and fathers to partake of the Saxon hospitality, now more than ever exercised at Bodiam Castle. Along the banks of the river were seen the ships of the great fleet, while through the woods ranged bowmen, led by Haregna, in pursuit of birds and wolves: in the lawns near the castle, a large company were engaged in trials of strength and agility, especially that of casting the battle-axe at a butt, or block of wood, and splitting timber by heavy blows with the two-handed battle-axe.* In all they were partaking of a riotous entertainment admired by adoring ready maidens.
Into this scene of icy serenity arrived a cavalcade of ships, high prowed and wide girthed, crammed with evil looking warriors bent on destruction, rapine and murderous death, and so arrived Hastinga, a Danish pirate unseen and unwelcome. Edith shivered in anticipation, the fair skin of her snowy neck erupting in goose pimples, while her breast heaved and flushed rose, yet her mind was calm seemingly ready to accept whatever fate might bring. Haranga spied Hastinga, the infamous leader of the barbarian horde, standing proud and erect in the tall prow of the ship and observed his evil countenance; one legged, with a smooth yew peg for the other, Hastinga clasped the rigging with a gimlet hook, and glared ferociously with his one good eye, the second shrouded by a black patch. The elongated long boat drew towards the snow-blanketed bank of the dark Rother and discharged its lethal, incongruous crew of battle-scarred pirates and, as they ploughed through the deep snow, creating clouds of snow that scintillated in the sunlight, Haranga, called to Hathagon and Hartegor, who dismounted their steeds and gripped their awful two-handed battle-axes with dreadful determination. Haregna, forgoing his excursion in the wood, ran up breathless, clutching his war bow already strung with an ash arrow, fletched with a grey goose feathers and tipped with a glittering iron head. Solemn in face, the four warriors eyed each other and, because of the bond of brotherhood that existed between them, none needed to speak of what should be done that day. Suddenly Edith gave a small cry, deep in her snowy throat, while her pearl-like eyes sparkled like ice crystals and she clenched her fits in anger so the blood ran from her finger tips leaving the skin blanched and suddenly cold. Without any signal the Danish pirates divided into three serpentine columns; two snaked their way along the raised bank of the River Rother in opposite directions to fall mercilessly upon the fleet of moored ships causing total destruction, while the third advanced with terrifying screams upon the thanes and frydmen hurriedly, yet purposely, struggling to form a shield wall. With a horrendous roar and horrifying shrieks, intermingled with shocking oaths, the pirates launched themselves fiercely against the Saxon shields; axes cracked against sword, thrusting spears thumped against armour, weapons chopped and hewed and smashed; Saxon and Danes died. Edith squirmed as the deluge of blood sprayed the very air crimson and splattered, in a myriad of droplets, against her dress, which she clasped tightly about her; yet despite the carnage her heart beat faster and her breaths came in rapid succession. It was in that instant that Hastinga towered over her, covered in gore and leering insanely, to reach out and grasp at her dress with his thick fingers, and, in one powerful heave, he wrenched at her flimsy garment so it split asunder and slid rapidly from her dove-white shoulders to lay in folds on the ground and so reveal her flushed, ivory nakedness.
To cut an extremely long story short after having their full of carnage and rape the Danes returned to Rye from whence they had come. The surviving Saxons, even with their ships wrecked, were hell bent on revenge at the outrageous behaviour of the pirates and succeeded in building a number of makeshift rafts which they rowed down the River Rother to fall upon the Danes, by now exhausted and in a drunken stupor, unawares. The heroism of those few Saxons is remembered today in Rye with the Annual Raft Race.
* I would like to thank Sir Charles James Napier for his historical romance, William the Conqueror, which provided the opening sequence to this tale, although I did change the names!
Incidentally Hastinga, escaped and went on to found Hastings with Edith as his bride. Women always seem to fall for the rough and ready sort!
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