For Me Fate Wove This

by Octavia Randolph

  He grinned at Hrald, showing long teeth, one of which was wrapped in gold. “When the wind fails us I will make them put their backs into it.”

  The lading began, provisions first in casks and sacks and chests. Next came the men’s clothing and belongings stored in low wooden chests which would serve as their rowing seats, and then goods they had selected to bring to trade in Gotland, protected in bags of leather or oiled linen, to guard against rain and sea-spray. Their weaponry was carried on last so it was nearest at hand, the spears caught and held upon the decking against the mast lock, their shields slid into place by the oar slots beneath the gunwale.

  While this was going on, Aszur led Hrald to the sandy banks where sat the ships Hrald had scuttled. The drekars sat on their keels at a leeward angle, just their curled prows and sterns visible above the high water mark. They had sat thus for half a year, and had not yet begun to break apart.

  The captain lifted his hand to them. “I took their anchors, two good ones, and groping about, found their chests of tools. Rubbed with sand, the rust will come off, and auger bits and chisels be good as new.” Hrald found satisfaction in this, that the ships had yielded something of value.

  The tide was turning in their favour; it was time to cast off. Hrald returned to the now-empty waggons to bid fare-well to the men who would drive them and their horses back. He gave a pat to the glossy neck of his bay stallion, which made him remember Bork into whose care he passed the animal. Then he turned to the ships, and climbed aboard that larger one captained by Aszur.

  Hrald had not sailed since he and Ceric as boys had returned from Gotland. To feel the vessel moving beneath him, the limber stretch and swell of her as she ploughed the waves, reawakened sensations unfelt for half his lifetime. The weather was Spring-cold but bright, the wind brisk, and they hoisted sail at once after pushing off.

  Hrald did not turn his face back to Saltfleet. He must give himself wholly to this voyage, and the goal of seeing his father. As they moved steadily out he stood with Aszur in the stern, his back to Lindisse and all it held. The wind buffeted his face and his hair blew over his shoulders and around his eyes. After what felt a great passage of time he could hold himself back no longer. He turned his head. His homeland was a greenish smudge against the chilly blue sky. He felt a hollowness, seeing it, as if there was no more to what he had known and loved than this jagged and random patchwork of leafy growth.

  He had chosen a journey which would bring hazards and hardship. He might die attempting it, but the deep sense of betrayal Hrald felt was so great that standing there on the pitching ship he did not care if he did. So much had broken his heart. He had fallen in love with a beautiful woman, then found her in the arms of another man. Her cousin Haward, whom he trusted and had dealt justly with, had abetted her deceit. Ceric, his best friend, a man he loved as a brother, had slain Ashild, whom they both adored. Everything was out of his control; a cascade of events witting and unwitting that brought disaster upon two halls, and devastation to true hearts. He felt himself harrowed and riven, and only the hope of seeing his father and Gotland again could keep him going forward.

  That night when he unfurled his bedroll and lay down upon it, he placed his sword at his side. The ship was creaking and heaving beneath him as he closed his eyes. He thought of the day he chose this sword to be his own from the deep chest of blades in the treasure room. Ashild had taken it from him, and seemed to both bless and challenge him with it. Over the noise of the ship her words sounded again in his ears. “This is the sword with which you will defend our home. May you never fail it.”

  He had been fifteen when she had told him this. Her voice was low and cool in his ears, just as if she lived and spoke to him tonight. He fell asleep, awakening at a vision rising up like a spectre before his eyes. It was himself, holding this sword, its blade dripping with dark liquid from the hacking slashes he had given Onund’s corpse.

  Their first crossing was of the North Sea. With the wind at their backs as it was, they might make it to Dane-mark in four days. A cold rain fell for two of them, so that all were wet through, but the sodden sails, though heavy, sprang in deeper billows when the drying Sun again struck them. Of the twelve men from Jorvik, two were steering oars-men, Aszur as one in the head ship, and two star-readers to keep their course, one per ship lest they get separated. The other ten were solid rowers, manning the oars when needed in slackening winds, and, with no little chaffing, coaching the men of Four Stones in their own efforts. Even Hrald took a turn at the oar, remembering his father telling him of how they had propelled Yrling’s ship Dauðadagr when winds were light. Aszur let him stand at the steering-oar as well, his hands wrapped around the beam, feeling the thrust of the foaming water against its rudder end. When Hrald relinquished its oaken mass he looked with respect at Aszur. To hold the oar against the swells and turn it to greatest advantage took both skill and considerable strength. This small man with his golden tooth possessed both.

  Dane-mark came into view. Hrald scanned the coastline as they skimmed by: green, but flat. Again, he thought of his father, and how he had spoken of his first glimpses of Angle-land, its cliffs and crags, the towering woodland crowding down to deep coves, and when they passed inland, its verdant dales and valleys. His father’s homeland lacked much of this, and for men craving not only silver but fruitful land on which to settle it must have filled the eye.

  Their goal was the river town of Ribe on the western coast, where they would stop for fresh water and food. It was a royal trading town, and the protection of the King of the Danes extended to all visitors. Even in times of upheaval when bloody King succeeded bloody King, the tax-collectors thereof kept order in the trading towns. Merchants depended on trade and must continue to sell their goods, allowing tax to be collected to fill the coffers of the next who deemed himself King.

  Though the sailing season was just beginning, folk lived at Ribe year round, and those who came overland from the countryside to barter their goods kept it a lively place. They tied up near several coasters, the crews of which looked up at the two war-ships as they oared into position to throw a line to the men tarrying on the pier. It was mid-day, a good time to land, and they spent the time re-provisioning, resting, and drinking good ale at the several brew-houses. They hauled out their cooking kit and built a fire on shore, so that they might at last enjoy hot food, which four days of cold rations made a welcome treat.

  Night came on. After they had eaten Hrald sat cross-legged, staring into the crumbling logs of their cookfire. It had burnt to amber gleeds, glowing hotly in the black ash. His eyes narrowed, fixed upon the charred wood as it flared and flaked, shattering to pieces. His thoughts, unbidden, flit to Dagmar. She is here somewhere, he thought, here in Dane-mark. It was so bitter a belief that he jumped up to put it out of his head.

  They cast off at dawn, heading on their northerly tack. They would stop again at Aros when they rounded the tip of Jutland, but not before. Aszur had a cousin there, one who had before sailed to Gotland, who could, if the ship-master reckoned properly, be persuaded to come along for the remainder of the voyage.

  Thorvi joined them at Aros. Aszur found his cousin where he had expected, asleep in broad day in a brew-house, but once he flung a jug of sea water in his face, a sputtering Thorvi stretched his eyes open and welcomed Aszur with a hug. Thorvi was a slight man of some forty years, his Sun-browned skin making contrast with his hair of almost silver brightness, which he wore in a single long plait down his back. He was oft hired as star-reader and pilot, well-kenned in the peculiarities of the headlands they must pass.

  The most treacherous part of the journey lay ahead, the narrow crossing between the many east-lying islands of Dane-mark and Skania, and the land of the Svear. Thorvi had sailed all through this passage, and knew the greatest points of hazard. Sandy shoals lurked under the shallow waters, and the likelihood of meeting raiders was great.

  For the first time they were hemmed in by land on both sides. It was one of
the parts of his boyhood voyage that Hrald remembered best. The nearness of the banks had made Ceric’s uncle more wary than usual, and he still recalled the alertness with which Godwin and Worr had scanned every cove and river outlet, and how he and Ceric had mimicked that watchfulness in their own watching.

  They saw small ships out for early fishing, casting nets where perch and pike were flowing in the channel, but no dragon ships pursued them. Still, Thorvi had not left his post in the prow of the lead ship, that helmed by his cousin. The winds were strong and steady, funneled through the channel as they were, and the square sail billowing out under its force was as brilliant as a rush of snow cascading down a mountain. There was ahead a narrowing between islands which opened up to freer waters. It was a particular point of ambush for ships making the southernly route, as raiders lying in wait could shelter out of sight in side coves.

  Thorvi was correct about the danger there. The larger ship carrying Hrald passed through a channel much like the narrow neck of a jug. It proved a blind curve to sail around, and when they emerged they were not alone. Two war-ships awaited them, on either side, one to starboard, one to port. In a moment their sails were fully unfurled and their steers-men drove straight at them.

  Both were mid-size drekars, of less than thirty oars, but each carried fewer than that number of men, relying on working in tandem to squeeze their prey between them.

  Thorvi’s yell of warning sounded across the channel. The men behind him scrambled to pull on ring-shirts and put on helmets. Hrald, standing at the steering-oar next Aszur, watched the man bare his teeth in disdain, the gold-covered one glinting behind the sneering of his lip.

  Hrald thought, I could die now, and my father never know I was on my way to see him.

  It was a thought he must speedily dismiss. His kit was there in the stern recess. He pulled on his ring shirt and dropped his helmet on his head. Then he took up his spear; its long reach was best to resist boarding. He threaded his left arm behind his shield and took up position by Aszur.

  The attackers came at them first with arrows, which hit their shields and stuck there, pinged off the hull, and skittered across the deck.

  But Hrald had not included Askil and his brother archers for nought. They chose their single target, then let fly at the stern of the closer pursuer. Two of their arrows struck home in the form of the steers-man. He was a large man, and toppled forward across the steering oar. The laden oar skipped, then lifted free of the water. Powered by the wind that drove its own sail, the attacking drekar veered so that unchecked it would ram Hrald’s ship.

  Aszur gave a howl from behind Hrald. With all his bodily strength and with his sail-men shifting the lines, the captain brought his ship to heel, sending their own prow foremost. The two ships hit, almost prow to prow, absorbing the worst of the impact along the stout oak of the keelson. Each craft suffered an impact that knocked men of both off their feet. The ships recoiled, but the men of Aszur were ready with grappling hooks. In a storm of hurled oaths and war-yells the sharp claws of the hooks took hold in the enemy hull, and pulled it closer. This crippling action was backed by a steady hail of flown arrows released by Hrald’s archers, pelting the attackers and dropping many of them before the lines holding the hooks were pulled taut.

  Aszur’s second ship, captained by one Öpir, had now emerged from the passage into the fray. It headed directly for the starboard side of his first, there to pin the attacking drekar helplessly between them. The enemy ship which had been at the port side of the passage fled. Its sister vessel was caught by hooks, and men from Hrald’s ship were leaping aboard, spear first. Some men on the caught ship howled and shook their fists at their abandonment. Others leapt overboard, swimming toward the retreating vessel for rescue. The few that stayed and fought were speedily downed by Hrald’s warriors.

  It was over so quickly that later the men jested that Thorvi’s outraged call was still echoing through the passage when they took possession of the raiding ship. The second ship of the sea brigands had slowed but slightly to extend oars to the men who raised desperate arms from the cold water in entreaty to be picked up.

  “Let us run them down,” Aszur urged Hrald. Hrald had no need to move from the stern, where he had kept his shield in play, protecting the captain from any errant missiles.

  “Nej,” Hrald answered. They had watched some of the raiders struggle in the water and slip beneath its dark blue depths, and even now his own men were stripping the bodies of the men they had killed aboard the enemy ship.

  They lowered sail, and took stock. The ship captained by Öpir had suffered no losses; its mere appearance had turned the tide for the victors. Three of Hrald’s men on the lead ship had taken arrow-hits, none grievous, thanks to the buffering action of leathern tunics beneath their ring-shirts. And they had captured a drekar of twenty-six oars.

  Aszur and Hrald joined the rest of the victors aboard the captured ship, a tricky action for the short legs of the ship-master. But his upper-body strength was great enough that he pulled himself with some agility over the gunwales of both vessels, to walk the decking of that they had taken.

  These had been local Danes, not far from their homes, and had little with them save their weapons to fight with, and a day or two’s supply of food. The weaponry of the men must be forfeit to Hrald, but the ship itself, fully equipped as she was, was well worth the having.

  Aszur walked up and down, considering all, then returned to Hrald. “Give me this ship in payment, and keep your silver,” he told him. Hrald was to have paid Aszur on the return to Saltfleet a large sum of silver for the use of his ships, his men, and his piloting skills. Instead the golden-toothed man asked for the ship. Hrald was more than willing to comply.

  While in the captured ship Aszur took time to inspect the prow of his own. A gash in the new wood and rivets partially popped above and below it gave testimony to the force of the blow.

  He clicked his teeth and shook his head, then turned to address the men behind him. The collision had only happened because of the dead steers-man’s weight upon the oar. Aszur had saved his own hull from rupture by coming about as smartly as they did, allowing the quick end of the battle. Still, he did not want to repeat the manoeuver, and with a grin let them know it. “When next you kill a captain, knock him clear of the steering-oar, to save me the trouble of setting rivets.”

  Chapter the Nineteenth: The Welcoming

  THEY manned the captive ship with fifteen men, three of whom were those of Aszur, the rest from Four Stones. Hrald’s men had learnt to be capable enough seamen, and for greater safety they sailed with the new ship tagging along that of the lead vessel. Another day was spent on their southerly course, after which they cleared the end of Skania. Rounding the tip they were met with crosswise winds which vexed all three captains and slowed their progress. The weather remained fair, and the water their prows ploughed through took on a new quality. This was the Baltic, shallow and the more treacherous for it, but blue and wondrously clear.

  Finally out into it they ran up the coast past the long island of Öland, close enough to keep it in sight, yet far enough away to give pause to any on land who might spot them with thought of giving chase. They beached that night near the tip of that slender isle, knowing that the morrow would bring them to their goal. Due east lay Gotland. They had only to follow the path of the rising Sun and it would emerge from the blue waters.

  None aboard had knowledge of Gotland save Hrald and Thorvi, and Hrald’s was a boy’s remembrance. Thorvi set the course, for the mid-point of the western coast. “Paviken is the great trading post. We will land there first, as you have goods to trade.”

  They need stop there, as Paviken was where his men could make the best trades for their silver and weapons. Yet Hrald wished they might go straight on, so eager he felt to be at Tyrsborg. He recalled they would have to round the southern tip of the island and then sail up, half a day or so, to reach that cove above which his father’s hall lay.

  When
Gotland came in sight at mid-day they all strained towards it. The island proclaimed itself with boldness, and to their starboard side stood tall and steep cliffs falling in sheer lines to the water. Vast forests dark with pines topped them. Thorvi’s eyes ranged along the expanse of coast open to their view, and chose his target. Like most trading towns Paviken lay up a river, providing both shelter from sea storms, and greater defence in case of attack. His pointing arm served as guide to Aszur, back at the steering-oar.

  They drew closer under a steady wind pressing them on. Narrow beaches of almost blinding whiteness spoke of the limestone the island was built from. The water too shifted from deep blue to a pale blue-green, as they neared the underwater rock shelf that skirted so much of the shore.

  Seabirds followed them in, gulls and fulmars and teals soaring overhead, and ducks bobbing in the freshwater outlet they sought. A small boat emerged from an almost hidden inlet, and Thorvi whistled back to his cousin. They dropped sail and oared in.

  The inlet opened into the lagoon upon which Paviken was set. At once they were amongst the work of men. They passed the domains of shipwrights upon the banks, where men laboured in the bright Sun. They saw frameworks upon which keels were set and ribs attached. Sailmakers were there as well, their vast lengths of woven cloth carried out of doors to be draped upon broad wooden supports so that the men and women who stitched in grommets and reinforced the heavy selvedges could work in the best light. Lines of hemp and leather were pulled, cut, and braided from the shops of those offering this vital furnishing, for a single faulty line could cause a downed sail, and crippled ship.

  Paviken was still quiet, for it would be weeks before the trading season was at its peak. A few fishing boats bobbed slightly in the basin of the lagoon, their hauls feeding the long ranks of drying racks lying along one bank, for the flayed white bodies of many herring hung there. Of shops or stalls there were surprisingly few. Much of the trading was done right from the decks of arriving ships, or from the back of carts and waggons driven from the countryside, but a few stalls were in evidence, though with awnings rolled down. Set back on one bank of the lagoon was a small cluster of houses, at which folk were now living, for children played, and laundry hung from prop-held lines from tree to tree. There was at least one brew-house already open to care for the wants of those living and stopping here, and a few men were seated at the benches before it, and looked up from their cups to the new arrivals. Three ships arriving at once was to be remarked upon, the more so as they were drekars. They occasioned no alarm, landing as they did, their weapons stowed, the men at the oars diligently stroking as the steers-man of each ship brought them safely in to nestle aside the long planked pier. They were not quite alone, for a large ship of more than fifty oars was tied up at the second pier. Upon its deck a number of men in gathered, baggy leggings, brightly coloured, or even stitched in stripes, lounged. Some of them stood up in greeting to the three newcomers.