by Chris Bishop
‘Oh I see,’ I said. ‘You can rape and pillage. You can murder and you can lie and even break a solemn oath, but if you even pretend to worship another God all the wrath of the heavens will come down upon you? Is that what you’re saying?’
I could see I’d touched a nerve as Torstein didn’t deign to reply at first. Like all Vikings, he took such matters very seriously. They lived and died in fear of their own Gods, believing their fate to rest solely in the hands of such beings. To forsake them was to take a terrible risk and was not something to be done lightly. ‘The Gods do not look kindly upon a man who worships falsely,’ he managed.
‘But Guthrum is not the first of your kind to see that there is but one true God, nor will he be the last,’ I said sternly.
‘How do you know all this?’ demanded Torstein who clearly still doubted that Guthrum had indeed converted.
‘I was there,’ I replied. ‘I was not one of those who was taken to witness Guthrum’s baptism but I was present when it was agreed. Ask young Arne if you don’t believe me. He was there as well.’
Torstein looked impressed. ‘You were actually there when Guthrum surrendered?’
I nodded to affirm the point. ‘I also commanded one part of Alfred’s army at Edington,’ I boasted.
For a moment he looked as though he could hardly believe what I was saying, then seemed to accept it. ‘You have achieved much for one so young. Perhaps I should kill you now before you grow any older and then defeat us all single handed!’
‘Well, make up your mind,’ I said as boldly as I dared. ‘If you are going to kill me I’d rather we got it over with. I’m getting very tired of being bound and dragged around like some sort of slave.’
* * * * *
It took two more days for us to reach the coast. Both Aelred and I found the journey long and tiresome as there were only a few stops at which to rest and refresh ourselves. Aelred made no complaint, but I could see that he was still in some pain from his wounds so did what I could to help him. I even suggested he take Ingar’s advice and drink his own piss.
He told some of the Vikings about this when they saw him collecting some in a horn. I gather they thought it very funny saying they would one day tell the tale of the strangest captives they’d ever taken – one with no heart and the other who drank his own piss!
Eventually we arrived at the edge of a large marsh where the reeds stood taller than any man and were so dense that it was all but impossible to find a path through them.
But path there was; a narrow track that ensured we had to walk in single file, leading the horses and the mule which were laden with the supplies and all the booty, the cart having been abandoned at that point because the ground was too soft. As we followed the track it was clear it led somewhere but with no sign of any settlement, I had no idea where. Eventually Torstein signalled for the group to stop, then sent a man on ahead to ensure the way was clear whilst the others crouched down low amid the reeds. After a while we heard a low whistle which I assumed was the signal that it was safe to proceed. We then travelled a little further until Torstein parted the reeds and we found ourselves on the banks of a wide, muddy river where, to our amazement, a boat was indeed moored and waiting.
Two men were guarding the boat though I doubted they were needed given how well the vessel had been hidden.
‘So have either of you miserable Saxons ever been to sea?’ asked Torstein.
I shook my head but Aelred admitted that when he lived by the coast he had put to sea once or twice, but always against his better judgement.
‘Then you’ve both much to learn,’ he said. ‘It’s not a sturdy craft but it should suffice to see us safely as far as London if we keep close to the shore.’
‘So is it as simple as that?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the sea is never simple,’ warned Torstein. ‘The coast here is rough and treacherous and there are now Saxon boats set to intercept anyone approaching the shore. Seeing us so close in they’ll hopefully think us to be fishermen or traders and leave us be but if they see we’re laden with men that ruse won’t last for long.’
‘You mean there’ll be a battle at sea!’
‘Perhaps. With luck we can simply slip past them but if not…’
As I dreaded even the thought of putting to sea, the prospect of actually fighting a battle there worried me greatly. ‘Why not leave us here?’ I suggested. ‘We’ll only hinder you as neither of us is fit enough to help row.’
‘Oh, you’ll help right enough. You’ll take your turn at the oars and if that kills you both then so be it. I can afford to lose you if I must whereas I’m bound to give my men every chance I can to reach London safely.’
Chapter Thirteen
My fears about putting to sea were not helped when I looked at Torstein’s boat more closely. It was a far cry from the sleek longships I’d seen at Combwich, being shaped more like a rounded tub. It was a type we used for fishing and for ferrying stock and supplies from one coastal settlement to another, or for use on rivers. Certainly it was not a craft we would have thought of ever taking much beyond the sight of land.
Having said that, it looked to be large enough to carry us all. It was powered by just six oars – three on either side – and had a mast which, once raised, would support a large square sail secured and controlled by ropes. My real concern was that the vessel looked to have suffered greatly from being hidden in the marsh for some time and, whilst there, much neglected.
The Vikings started by adding their booty to a pile of other treasure. It seemed they’d been busy in the months since they attacked my escort in the forest, raiding and then returning to their boat to stash their booty in the rough camp they’d formed beside the river. It was indeed an impressive haul, enough to make all of them very wealthy men indeed.
Having made themselves comfortable, they set about restoring the boat, first bailing out the large amount of water which had collected in the hull. When that was done, two of them lifted out a large leather bag in which the sail had been stored to protect it from vermin and the weather whilst others began making some repairs to the hull itself, replacing several boards and sealing any gaps with a thick coat of pitch. The oars simply rested in metal clamps rather than being pushed through ports in the side of the hull and these were greased until they moved freely. Torstein personally checked all the repairs as if to satisfy himself that the vessel was indeed being rendered seaworthy and, when their works were judged by him to be complete, he instructed others to raise the mast and secure it. That was a more difficult task which required a number of men, including Aelred and myself, to heave it up on ropes and pulleys until it was upright. The base of it was then securely wedged and braced before a spar was fitted and hauled to the top of the mast with the sail already attached, albeit that remained furled having first been checked for any rents or tears. Finally, whereas I was used to seeing Viking ships bedecked with the shields of those who laboured at the oars, Torstein ordered that all weapons should be stowed out of sight for fear they might arouse suspicion if seen by anyone on the shore.
In all, the repairs took two days to complete and, once done, the booty and supplies were passed aboard and stored in sacks or crates which were stowed around the base of the mast and then lashed securely into place. Personal items were placed in the locker beneath each of the benches used for rowing, though that space was mainly used for some of the more valuable items of plunder.
Aelred and I were required to assist in all this and actually found the work to our liking as everyone involved seemed to relish the prospect of putting to sea. Thus they worked willingly, often singing cheerily as they set about their toil.
‘So my Saxon friends,’ said Torstein once the work was fully completed, ‘now we shall make seamen of you both. You’ll man the oars nearest the prow from where you can best see the others and thereby keep time with them. But be ready for a hard journey. We travel quietly but will make all possible speed where we can regardless of the weather. Y
ou’ll sweat like pigs and your hands will blister as you labour at the oars, but I warn you, we’ve no room for any but those who work with us against the sea. If you shirk even once my men will simply pitch you overboard.’
Aelred looked at me, clearly worried. ‘I’ve rowed once or twice before but never on a journey as long as this. What about you?’ he asked quietly.
I shook my head. ‘I’ve never sailed anything except a raft whilst at Athelney and even that wasn’t like rowing,’ I admitted. ‘But I have a feeling we’re both about to learn the way of it.’ Even as I said it I feared I would not be best suited to the task because of my wound whereas Aelred, who seemed to have fully recovered from the injuries he’d received in the battle, had the build which I was certain would render him strong enough for the task.
Even with everything stowed on board Torstein was not quite ready to leave. As his men waited, anxious to set sail, he spent time just staring at the sky and, in particular, the stars. He had already planned our voyage but could not tell us how long we would be at sea as so much depended on the weather and, more importantly, the wind and the tides. He seemed to understand those elements instinctively and eventually announced that we were to leave that evening on the ebb tide and under the cover of night, hopefully slipping past any Saxons set to guard the river estuary. As they would be looking out to sea for any sign of raiders it was unlikely they’d pay much mind to a small trading vessel sailing downriver on the tide.
Once the final preparations had been made, the Vikings began to clamber aboard. In all we numbered just a dozen men who planned to sail to London, including Torstein. Aelred and I were shown to our benches near the prow and manacled to them with chains in case we tried to escape by swimming ashore once the boat was underway.
Four of the others also took up places at the oars whilst Arne and one other positioned themselves at the prow to act as lookouts – not just for Saxon ships but also for sandbanks and shallow water that might otherwise ground the small boat as the tide receded. Torstein would doubtless steer the boat using a steering board, a large oar which was positioned at the stern. The three remaining men stood with him, ready to unfurl the sail once it was needed.
Once settled, Torstein’s crew waited patiently for word to be given. The remaining men had been left ashore with orders to meet us in London with the horses and the mule. Having bid them farewell, the ropes securing the booty and supplies were given one last check as Torstein readied the boat to leave.
For my part, whilst still dreading the prospect of putting to sea, I was also strangely excited. I was seeing a very different side to the Vikings. No longer warriors and merchants of death, they’d become skilled seamen who joked and sang as they laboured and who actually treated both Aelred and me quite well, perhaps by then regarding us as one of them rather than as prisoners, though we remained in chains, manacled like slaves to our benches.
* * * * *
Launching the boat in the river was easy. We had only to push off with the oars then leave Torstein to steer us into mid-stream where we could take advantage of the flow and the outgoing tide to carry us towards the estuary under the cover of night. Once there, all torches on board were snuffed out and those not needed to work the boat were ordered to keep low lest anyone on the shore should see them. Then, once a little way from land, we took up the oars in earnest and rowed quickly out to sea.
At first both Aelred and I found it difficult to keep proper time with the others as we rowed, struggling to ensure that every stroke would bite into the water as they were supposed to. Seeing what a poor fist we were making of it and with nothing more pressing to do, one of the men came across and stood between us. Beating the time with his foot, he helped us to muster some sort of rhythm and thus we soon had the way of it, but it was indeed very hard work. So much so that I was forced to wonder how long I could endure the pace that was needed without a rest.
Taking full advantage of the dark, we made good progress, anxious not to be seen by the Saxon ships set to intercept raiders whilst still at sea. This was all part of Alfred’s great plan to improve the defences of his realm and Aelred and I were the only men on board pleased to note that he’d begun to put that into place. Even so, I knew it was unlikely they’d come out to us as they would be few in number and launched only in response to a Viking ship being spotted somewhere on the horizon. Our small trading boat would not arouse suspicion given they would have received no reports of a raiding party patrolling that part of the coast.
I was too busy straining at the oars to think any more on the matter as I knew that with every stroke there was a danger of disturbing the wound to my chest. I consoled myself by thinking that was probably a better way to die than being slain by Torstein, even if he did keep his word and use my father’s sword to do it.
We quickly gained sufficient distance from the shore to be clear of rocks and the risk of being seen. Then, with a favourable wind, we turned to follow the shoreline and two men stepped forward and began to unfurl the sail. As it set with a loud crack, Aelred and I at last got a chance to rest.
From that point on the sailing was easy as we rode the waves with an almost effortless grace, gathering speed as we went. We continued through the remainder of the night and much of the next day, always following the line of the coast but keeping far enough out to sea to ensure we did not alarm those ashore who otherwise might fear a raid. I discounted any idea of being rescued as I realised that if we were attacked by the Saxon boats and our craft set on fire, my chances of survival would be no better than any of the others on board, or worse if I was still in chains at the time.
Whilst we made good progress, life on board was painfully cramped. Aelred and I were not allowed to leave the bench on which we sat but at least, being too far from shore to escape, we were released from the manacles. Even then it was very uncomfortable as every so often a wave would break over the bow so that we got soaked from the spray. Also, the salt from the sea stung our eyes and the wind seemed to chill us to the very core.
There was little to do for those not taking their turn to row, steer or trim the sail except to sleep. Some men played dice but as the boat rocked and heaved on the waves even that wasn’t easy. Sometimes one of the men might sing or start to tell a tale but as I understood nothing of what was said, all I could do was rest and rely on Aelred to translate for me as best he could.
‘I don’t think I’m well suited to life at sea,’ complained Aelred at one point. ‘My stomach wants to retch as every wave is broached.’
When I looked at him I could see that he did indeed look very pale. Several times he turned to vomit over the side then scooped up a handful of seawater with which to wash his face and mouth. I didn’t feel much better myself but seemed to settle to the movements of the boat more readily than he. Far worse than the feeling of sickness was that whenever the wind shifted or died away we were made to row once more, often for longer than we felt able to endure. Not only were we both soon exhausted, but our hands became blistered and sore. One of the men gave us strips of softened leather to wrap around them to help protect them but I realised that was only because if either Aelred or I was not up to the task, he or one of the others would have to take our place. Yet even with our hands wrapped it soon became difficult and painful to row any further, but neither that nor the prospect of my heart bursting within my breast was sufficient cause for us to complain, fearing that if we could no longer do our allotted share of the work we would be tossed overboard.
It was on the third day that I realised that all was not well. Those hardened seafarers were well attuned to any changes in the weather and all had sensed that a storm was brewing. As the sea began to swell and the waves grew higher, so they began to take in some of the sail. Soon after that they took it down completely and Aelred and I were put back to the oars once more.
As we strained hard against the wind and waves, the little boat seemed barely able to cope. It rocked and wallowed as the storm tore into us and was
tossed about so much that I was sure it would soon capsize and we would all be lost. Aelred and I were both terrified, but those men were all well used to a sea that complained and grumbled and they seemed unperturbed until, eventually, even they judged the storm to be too bad for us to remain at sea. Thus we turned and headed towards a large cluster of rocks which lay just off the mainland. The tallest of the rocks there rose so steeply from the water that it looked impossible to climb. Yet atop of it were the remnants of a brazier which had presumably been set there to act as a lighthouse in Roman times, intended to guide ships past that particularly treacherous part of the coastline. It had long since been abandoned and the metal rungs set into the rock to form a ladder by which to reach it were so rusted as to be unsafe.
It was indeed a dangerous coast, but Torstein seemed to know the position of every rock or sandbank. He also seemed to know that behind the rocks was a beach and skilfully steered us towards it. That offered a measure of shelter so, having landed, we dragged the boat clear of the water and hid it as best we could, then prepared ourselves to wait out the weather.
We stayed on the beach for two full days, sheltered but open to the risk of being attacked from the mainland which was closer than felt safe. Because of that we were not allowed to start a fire and were all ordered to remain close to the boat in case we needed to set off in haste.
This respite gave Aelred and me time to rest and our hands a chance to harden. I also noticed that the wound in my chest had not been unduly affected by so much exertion, suggesting that it had indeed healed at last.
Whilst we rested, some of the men clambered across the rocks at low tide to collect mussels whilst others dug up lugworms to use as bait for fishing, casting their lines from the beach and pulling in an abundance of striped blue and silver fish which seemed almost too easy to catch. With no fire, all this fare was eaten raw and, to vary our diet, two men ventured further afield to find and butcher a seal, spearing it and then bludgeoning the poor creature with the flat of an axe blade. Once killed, the seal was skinned and the flesh cut into strips then hung up to be dried in the wind. The Vikings apparently regarded that as a delicacy – one which was also eaten raw.
