Review: The Outlaw (The Bloody Hand Series Book 2) by David Pilling

Blurb

“The Normans called them wild men…”

1070 AD: The English rebels in the north have sacked Jorvik and defied William the Conqueror. Now they must face the wrath of the brutal Norman king, bent on avenging the slaughter of his army. Meanwhile fresh revolts erupt all over England, from distant Northumbria to the borderlands of Wales. The war of the silvatici, outlaws and broken men of the forest, has begun.

The tale of this bloody and brutal time is written by Thorkell Skaldsson, once a bard in the service of Waltheof, the last English earl. In old age, thousands of miles from England, he still mourns the conquest of his homeland. Before he dies, Thorkell has vowed to write the truth…of Duke William, Harold Hardrada and Sweyn of Denmark, of the Emperor Alexios and the mighty city of Micklegarth…of the fall and rise of the English.

My Review

Here we have a story about Thorkell the skald—an early medieval bard—separated in battle from his master Waltheof (son of the Danish Earl Siward the Strong). Or rather, Waltheof insisted that he escape rather than face death, for skalds were not warriors. The northern English were fighting a losing battle against the Normans, and this was only the beginning of their tribulations. Unbeknownst to Thorkell until much later, Waltheof survived the battle and came to terms with William the Conqueror, but by then, Thorkell was on his own, joining whatever forces that still survived the invasion. And he was a survivor, finding that he possessed leadership skills previously untapped when obliged to take charge of untrained but willing rustics. In a pinch, he could fight, too:

God smiled on me. I spied my opponent’s spear, which he had dropped when he fell. It lay behind him on the road. I took a risk and charged, like a bull at a gate, cutting at his shield with all my strength. It was enough to drive him back a step, then another. He planted his left foot on the spear, which rolled under him. The Norman’s eyes widened as he suddenly lost balance.

His left leg gave way like a rotten tree. As his knee hit the road, I sprang at him, stabbing downward. My first stroke missed and opened a cut on his cheek – perhaps I exaggerate my sword-skill – but the second drove home, plunging through his eye, into the brain.

Unfortunately, this little fight was the precursor to King William’s Harrying of the North, when the dreaded Normans killed every living man, woman, child, and animal in all of Northumbria. The devastation was terrible, and it became clear to one and all that William had truly conquered this country. Resistance was truly futile. It is a sad story for the Anglo-Saxons, and Thorkell’s best hope is to reunite with his old master.