The crew rushed to do his bidding, half of them grabbing one rope, the other half grabbing the other.
“Everyone pulls!” Sigvard called to us. “You too, women! We need all hands for this!”
The five of us joined the tug of war, and together we pulled and grunted until our hands stung from the hemp ropes and sweat glistened on our brows, and still we tugged. Ell by ell the wide-hulled ship moved across the logs until we could see the barnacles and seaweed clinging to it keel.
Sigvard pointed to Tostig and ordered him to start a fire. Wiping his hair from his sweating forehead with a sweep of his hand, he turned to us. “We stay here to make final repairs to the ship,” he said to my father. “It will be our last chance to rest and prepare ourselves before the long journey across the sea. It would be wise to fill your bellies and to pray for a safe passage.” His eyes briefly shifted to the sky, and I felt my good mood slip from me like the water dripping from the knarr's hull.
We rested that night around two separate fires, the crew at one, our group at the other, sharing bread and cheese and some of the salted venison for which Sigvard had traded. The crew drank ale, and with each round finished, the jokes and songs grew lewder, the farts and burps louder. Now and again, the men would cast an eye in the direction of our women and mumble something to each other, then break into peels of laughter. It was unsettling.
Our group could not have been more opposite in demeanor. The crew knew what dangers awaited them. We did not. And that unknowing turned our words and thoughts inward. Across the fire from me, Turid cast tense glances at the men as she worried a piece of cloth with her fingers. Astrid stared into the fire and chewed silently, her thoughts elsewhere. Olaf whittled a stick with his knife. My father and I sharpened our sword blades with whetstones. None of us spoke.
Eventually, I settled on the ground with a cloak as my pillow, doing my best to ignore the crew's boisterousness. Beside me, the fire cracked and popped, throwing its smoke and ash up toward the trees that towered over us like silent sentinels. Only, from them, I sensed not protection but foreboding, as if they somehow knew what awaited us yet could not say.
I was not aware of falling asleep, only of starting awake for some inexplicable reason. To this day, I am not sure if it was a sound I heard or something more divine that pulled me from sleep. It was the dead of night, that moment when the summer sky is darkest. I started to put my head back down when I heard rustling in the woods nearby and lifted my head to look. Across the fire, among the trees some twenty paces away, something moved. Limbs. Forms. A glint of steel flashed. I did not think, but reacted. Rising with a shout, I drew my seax and readied myself for the attack I thought was coming.
Only we were not being attacked.
The forms were dragging something between them, and this they dropped when they heard my shout. Around me, people scrambled from their bedding and came to my side. As I stepped around the fire toward the dropped bundle, the assailants retreated into the shadow of the woods. The bundle moved then and my father rushed forward. I followed and then stopped, for the form sat up and I could move no farther.
Turid.
We never did discover who dragged Turid into the night. The crew searched the woods but found nothing. The two guards on the ship swore they had seen nothing. My father and I investigated the following morning and found footprints in the mud, but whether these belonged to the assailants or the crew who had carelessly trampled the area in their amateur investigation the previous night was impossible to say. Turid was no help either. She was struggling with the trauma of the event, and all she would tell Astrid was that it had been men who had tried to take her. Men with a sword at her throat and ale on their breath.
“Today we will see to the ship,” Sigvard said to all of us after we had broken our fast. His eyes scanned his crew and finally fell on us. “What happened last night is a bad omen and I do not wish for the likes of it to happen again. Tonight we will double the guard and put away the ale. Tomorrow, we leave.”
As the crew mumbled their understanding and saw to their individual tasks, Sigvard stepped over to us. “I am sorry for the…for what happened.”
Astrid had been sitting with Turid, and she now rose to face the captain. “You know it was members of your crew, do you not?”
Sigvard cocked his head as if considering her words. “Careful with your accusations, Astrid. It is a long walk to any towns from here.”
As he turned on his heel, Astrid stepped closer, her fists clenched at her sides and her cheeks red. She wanted to say something more, I could tell, but my father raised his arm and blocked her path. “Leave it, Astrid. It will do us no good.”
I glanced at Turid. Tears filled her beautiful eyes and streaked her thin cheeks. Several leaves clung to her red tresses. I wanted badly to make her feel better, but the stony countenance on her face told us all that she was in no mood for words or comfort, and I guessed that that was especially true for men. So instead, I sighed in my helplessness and went to join the crew.
We left that strange place the following morning, as soon as the wind was up and the tide slackened toward the sea. Our crew had added fresh caulking to the ship and so it was with the scent of wool and pine resin in our noses and a cloud of suspicion in our minds that we left our campsite behind and pointed Sigvard's Swan toward the east.
And the unknown.
Chapter 16
We headed northeast from the land of the Swedes. It was a beautiful day, bright and clear, with the wind blowing mostly north. Above us, seagulls circled and dove and called out belligerently. Small fishing boats hugged the coves and islands of a coastline that grew ever more formless behind us. Soon it would be but a dark line on the western horizon.
I stood in the prow beside Olaf, our eyes filled with nothing but the green and blue and gray sea, the white tips of waves, and the light blue sky above. Overwhelmed by its beauty, Olaf raised his arms and yelled at what he saw. I blushed at his foolishness and the crew chuckled. Behind us, Turid sat against the steer board wale, her arms wrapped about her knees, her eyes focused on the ship's deck. I looked away.
By early nightfall, we reached an archipelago that rose like the humps of some sea monster as we neared. We anchored on the lee side of one of those humps — a rocky island upon which stood a few windblown clumps of greenery. The sea was quiet here in the bay, the wind calm. The only locals we saw were the squawking ducks and the snorting gray seals that huddled on rocks washed white by bird shit.
“We sleep on deck,” Sigvard announced to us as soon as the anchor dropped. “It will be warmer here and easier to escape, should trouble find us.” He turned to his crew. “No tent. We sleep under the stars.”
“We should kill some of those pups before we leave,” called Tostig, his eyes on the seals.
“No time,” responded Sigvard flatly. “If we find some closer to Aldeigjuborg, we can grab them there.”
Tostig spat over the gunwale and shrugged. “A shame.”
“Are we expecting trouble?” Astrid asked as she swept a fly from her face with a dirty hand. Turid studied Sigvard with her wide blue eyes.
Sigvard's face was as bare as the rocks near which we floated. “I always expect trouble,” he said, “especially out here.” He rolled the pendants at his neck between his fingers. “Besides, we have experienced enough mishap already for one voyage.”
I looked at Astrid, then at my father. “Sleep with your blades to hand,” my father advised as one of the crewmen offered us a strip of dried cod. My father took it with a nod of thanks and handed it to Astrid. “I will take first watch. Torgil, you will take second.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything that seems out of place.”
The gods left us alone that night, though there were times when the winds blustered out of the south, bending the trees on the shore so that it sounded like a company of archers pulling their bows. I knew, of course, that could not be, but I still kept my head low. Aro
und me, most of the men snored peacefully. Nearby, the seals grunted. Turid slept in Astrid's arms. Beside them, Olaf rolled and turned in his sleep as he was wont to do. He had never been a good sleeper and on a hard, windswept deck, he was even worse.
We moved on the following morning. The sky was but a smear of gray. Within the islands, the wind was blustery and unpredictable, so Sigvard had the men pull the ship from its mooring under oar. The seals watched us go with their dark, melancholy eyes. In that moment, I envied their safety in that rocky cove and their seemingly simple life, and I prayed that we would know that feeling once again.
My father's voice tore me from my thoughts, and I rose to join him at the bow. Olaf stood by his side, wrapped in his cloak, gazing outward.
“Which direction are we headed?” my father called above the wind when I reached him. Though his hair was pulled into a ponytail, several strands had broken loose, and these now flapped about his face in the wind.
“East,” Olaf and I called in unison.
“How do you know?”
Though it was still early and the sky was but a sheet of gray, the light shone brighter to our right, where it had been since entering the land of the Swedes. “The sun is southeast of us,” I said.
“And why do we not set a sail?” he asked.
“Because the wind comes from all sides,” said Olaf.
“Good,” he said. “One day, you both will command a ship. It is important to know these things. Here,” he pointed to the low-lying islands through which we navigated, “we have clues for traveling. Like a trail. Sigvard and his men know these islands and use them as guides. Out there,” he pointed, meaning beyond the rocky forms, “we may not always be so lucky, and in those instances, the captain and his crew must know how to read the wind and the sea, the tides and the clouds, the birds, and the sun and the stars. Do you understand?”
We nodded.
From one island to the next, we made our way east until, at last, we reached the open sea. But even here, the wind gusted and swirled, and I did not like it. Behind me, the men sat on their sea chests, pulling slowly, rhythmically, on their oars. Between grunts, they tossed lewd jokes at each other like kids in a snowball fight. I concentrated on their ribaldry, for it brought a smile to my lips.
Later, my father took a turn at Tostig's oar to give him a break and had us boys sit beside him. He pulled as we lightly held the oar so that we could get the feel and the rhythm of the stroke. I liked rowing. It quieted my thoughts and focused them on the movement and pulse of the sea. There was something soothing about twisting the oar as the blade came up and twisting it again as the blade bit down into the sea. Something controllable about it. Olaf, of course, was a natural at it, but could not keep his mind on it for long. His concentration flagged, and time and again he glanced over his shoulder to glimpse the sea before us.
“Lose your attention on your stroke, Olaf, and the oar will rip you from your seat,” my father remonstrated.
He smirked. “I intend to command a ship, not row it.”
Behind us, a man snorted.
My father spat over the gunwale. “Men will not follow a captain who cannot row his own ship.”
“Why not?” Olaf asked.
I could feel my father tensing. “Would you follow a lord who cannot wield a sword? I think not.”
My father's words turned my thoughts to Olaf's father, King Trygvi, who had always been so brash. He had been a man of action, not plans, and because of that, we now sat here in the middle of a gray, desolate sea, running for our lives while in the hold near our feet, Astrid, who had once been a queen, bailed.
I spat the rising bile of anger from my mouth.
The wind shifted later in the day, concentrating in a southeasterly direction and bringing with it a dark mass of clouds. I heard Tostig grumble that he could smell rain. At the steer board, I watched Sigvard study the clouds for a long time before commanding the crew to hoist and trim the sail. The crew leaped to their tasks, though I could see some cast nervous glances out beyond the port wale at the dark mass gathering in the sky. I peered beyond the bow into the distance but saw no sign of land —- no sign of anything, save for the gray sea and the now churning whitecaps.
Above me, the sail ballooned. The ship tilted beneath my feet as it bit into the sea and picked up speed. We dove into a trough and smashed into the oncoming swell. Sea spray shot over us and the crew cheered. Olaf joined them with a hoot of his own. I managed a smile even as my stomach lurched. Across from me, Turid's face turned as gray as the ocean.
I gazed out at the clouds to the north of us —- or I should say, what used to be the clouds. No longer were they a distinct mass from the sea. Now, a dark veil stretched from sky to ocean, like a gray tapestry hanging in a hall.
“A squall,” my father called above the wind and pointed, though I knew not what a squall was.
“A what?” I asked.
“A storm. They happen from time to time. Come at you suddenly, like this one. That sheet of gray you see is rain and judging from the wind, it is headed this way. Sigvard is running before it, trying to get us as far as he can before it hits.”
“What happens when it hits?” I asked.
“Depends on its strength. Could be just some rain and wind. We will see when it reaches us.”
And so we did, though I wish we had not.
The rain began to fall shortly after he spoke those words. Big, fat raindrops that fell slowly, almost lazily at first, splatting on the deck and upon our heads. I prayed to Thor to be easy on us, but He did not oblige. By late afternoon, the sky had darkened further, the winds had picked up more force, and the rain had begun to fall in thick sheets that rolled across our deck, drenching us. The crew scrambled to cover and tie up loose barrels, secure their sea chests, and rack the oars.
“Secure the sail!” called Tostig. “You too, lads,” he commanded us. “No one sits on their arse!”
“Come!” my father yelled to Olaf and me, and guided us to a group of men who were working the rigging to lower the yard. The deck rolled under our feet, and a man careened out over the sea, only to be saved by the mindful grasp of the crewman next to him. When the heavy beam reached us, we worked with the crew to secure the sail, though I felt more a burden than a help, for the yard and rain-pregnant sail were far heavier and clumsier than I ever would have imagined and I could barely see for the water streaming in my eyes. More than once, I caught my fingers in the ropes and had to stop my labor to pull them free.
Nearby, an oar dislodged from its rack and slid across the deck, smashing into the shin of one of the crewmen to my left. He cursed and stumbled, and the sail pitched precariously.
“Astrid! Turid! Collect the oars and tie them up!” Tostig called.
On hands and knees, the ladies scrambled into our midst and worked below our feet to gather the loose oars and secure them to their racks.
“Now the oar holes! Plug them! When that's done, get in the hold and bail!”
The ship pitched mightily just then and Olaf fell to the deck and rolled into the gunwale beside me. I did not have hands to help him. Another man tripped on a rope that had shifted out of position. He righted himself and continued his toil.
Still the storm grew. The sea rose and crashed over the gunwales to splash across the deck. The rain thundered down and the wind howled so that we could barely see or hear each other. With the men unable to row and the sail unusable, it was left to Sigvard at the steer board to keep our prow true to the wind and the swells. The rest of us could do nothing save cling to the ropes and wales and pray.
At one point, I ventured a glance over the gunwale. There were only the angry sea and the bottomless swells and the gray chaos of sky and cloud. If we lived, it would be because the Norns had decided to save us and that was all. Despite all we had been through, I had never felt more helpless or more terrified.
A mighty wave crashed over the prow. I heard a scream and peered into the stinging spray to see Turid
sliding toward midship. I dove for her outstretched arm. There was no thought behind it except to save my friend. I could see her mouth open in a scream, her eyes locking on mine. I slid, reaching, my ears full of a hollow roar that was the storm and everything in it. Before me, Turid hit the mast fish with her feet and spun. As she did, I clutched her ankle, which in turn spun me sideways so that my ribs slammed into the mast. The blow knocked the wind from my lungs, but still I clung to her. I would not let go.
Then, mercifully, I felt hands pull us to the safety of the gunwale and wrap ropes around us to keep us safe. I lay there, my face upon the sea-slimed deck, Turid bundled against me, until the rain stopped and the winds calmed and life returned to order.
Slowly, gingerly, I rose and looked about me. My father, Astrid, and Olaf slept in heaps near me alongside most of the crew. Tostig manned the steer board on the aft deck, with Sigvard asleep at this feet. Several of the crewmen pulled slowly at their oars, while another two bailed water from the hold. Turid sat with her back to the port gunwale. She eyed me curiously when I rose.
“Where are we?” I whispered to her.
She shrugged.
I peeked above the gunwales and saw nothing but calm sea, blue skies, and the sun's orb low on the southern horizon. No birds. No other ships. No islands or distant shores. Just us, alone in a strangely quiet sea. I rested my back against the gunwale beside Turid and scratched at my head.
“Thank you for saving me, Torgil,” she whispered. “Again.”
Even in my exhausted state, I could feel my cheeks heat. “You are welcome.”
A long moment stretched between us in which I heard only the lap of the sea against our hull, the creak of the deck, and the men bailing water from the hold.
“Do you ever get the sense that we are cursed?”
I frowned. “You should not speak of those things. It will bring ill luck.”
She snorted. “Ill luck? Have we not already had enough ill luck to last a lifetime?”
Forged by Iron Page 14
