Forged by Iron

by Eric Schumacher

  “Luck can change,” I said.

  “I hope so,” she responded.

  Another long stretch of silence. Near us, the crew began to stir. So did my father and Olaf. Astrid slept on.

  “I was sorry about your mother. I never told you that.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  My father sat up abruptly and wiped his face. He took in the scene quickly, then gazed at Turid and me. “Thank the gods.” He rose unsteadily and looked around. “I will speak with Tostig,” he announced and walked stiffly back to the aft deck.

  “Your father is a good man,” Turid said.

  “He is a good man,” I concurred, “though hard at times.”

  “He needs to be, I think,” said Turid.

  I knew she was right but could not bring myself to say it, for she had not experienced his hand or his belt as I had. Still, I was glad for his strength and his mettle now.

  At the steer board, he spoke briefly to Tostig before weaving his way through the sleeping forms and loose ropes and sea chests back to us. “The storm has pushed us to the south,” he said when he reached us. “We need to head northeast — away from that coastline.” He pointed to the distant dark line to the south of us, which I had not noticed on my first inspection. “When the crew wakes, we will set the sail and see to the ship and food.”

  “Why do we need to get clear of the coastline?” Olaf asked. The question had been on my mind, too.

  “That is Estland, a place whose people are no friends to the Swedes. It is best we stay clear.”

  The steer board wale dipped, and I gazed at the distant shore, wondering what had started the feud between the two peoples. As I pondered that, the crew began to pull themselves from their slumber and see to their tasks. Food, trade goods, and the ballast were inspected. Furs and skins were pulled to the deck to dry. Bread, fish, and water were distributed. The bread and fish were soggy and foul-tasting, but my father urged us to eat, for we knew not when we would have another chance.

  As we forced the food down, the crew set the sail and Tostig pointed the prow northeast. The wind was light and the going was slow. To pass the time, we helped organize the ship's deck and took turns bailing water from the hold. It was not easy work but it was necessary, and it made me feel more useful.

  “Sails! Off the steer board wale.” Sigvard's call rang above our heads, bringing our eyes to the right. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was high in the cloudless sky.

  I shielded my eyes from the glare and peered out across the sun-touched sea. It took a moment, but eventually, I saw them: two sails, coming in our direction.

  Sigvard was midship, staring at the approaching vessels. Several of the crew had joined him. He glanced over his shoulder at my father and I marked the tightness in his gaze. “Warships.”

  A lump hardened in my throat.

  Chapter 17

  “Get the goods below deck!” Sigvard yelled. “And get our guests down there too!”

  “What is the plan?” my father asked.

  “We cannot outrun them — all we can do is try to deceive them, make ourselves look less desirable. If they are Estlanders and think we have goods to take, they will take them, and kill us. Now go!”

  My father did not question Sigvard. He seemed to understand that whoever approached was most likely hostile. “Come,” he called to us. “Get in the hold and hide.”

  I did not argue, for I knew it was pointless, but Olaf did. “I want to stay on deck. I can help if it comes to a fight.”

  Thunder rolled across my father's face. He pulled Olaf by his arm to Astrid, who stood near the hold. “Take your son, Astrid, and hide him.” He tossed Olaf toward Astrid. “If it comes to a fight, do not let him help. The same for you. Stay hidden. Do you understand?”

  She grabbed her son and nodded.

  He turned to me as they disappeared below deck and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. His dark eyes bored into mine. “Protect them, Torgil.”

  I nodded dumbly. I knew what he was saying and knew, too, that there was nothing I could say or do to change his mind or the situation.

  “Come out only when I call you or when the ships are gone. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  I nodded again.

  He patted my shoulder and smiled. “Go now.”

  I scrambled below deck. Astrid and Olaf and Turid had squeezed into a spot behind several barrels, below the foredeck. I joined them, finding a narrow space in the pool of seawater between the ribs and beams. The crew hastily packed in trade goods and ropes and other loose items around us.

  “Keep your weapons near,” I hissed as the deck planks slid home and darkness enveloped us. I eased my sword from its scabbard and laid it across my lap.

  For what seemed like ages, we waited in that leaking hold as the ship rolled beneath us and lines of light from the cracks in the deck planking shifted about us. My fist clutched the sword's grip, and my heart thumped so loudly in my chest that I was certain it would be heard above deck.

  “Ho!” I heard Sigvard call.

  There was a distant voice, but I could not hear what it said. Sigvard responded in a language I did not understand. The language of the Estlanders, I assumed.

  There was a long pause, then a rough crash of wood as hulls knocked against each other. The force of it shifted our knarr sideways and threw us against each other. Sigvard's voice came again, this time a bit more quickly. A rougher, deeper voice responded to him. Footfalls landed on the deck above us — men boarding Sigvard's vessel — and I ducked instinctively. Beside me, Turid whimpered, and I shushed her quietly.

  For a long, tense moment, Sigvard and the man with the gruff voice conferred, their voices calm but hard. Gradually, the calmness slipped and tensions rose. I could hear Sigvard's voice rising and quickening, and I tightened my grip on my sword, silently cursing my blindness and the questions it conjured in my head. What were they saying? Did they plan to search the holds? Should I use my blade if they did? How many men were there?

  Suddenly, a shout, followed by the sound of wood sliding and the flash of light as the men opened the hold. We shrank as low as we could behind the barrels that hid us. Men splashed into the wet body of the ship. A peek from my hiding spot revealed four men at least. Two started handing furs and ivory and other goods up to their comrades on deck, while two more lifted lids from barrels, peering into their depths, laughing and blabbering to each other in their strange language as they worked ever closer to our spot.

  What would my father do, were he in my position? The answer came instantly. He would fight. And so I gripped my blade tighter and gathered my feet beneath me to find more purchase. I could hear the gruff-voiced man up on deck, barking orders as goods came to view, and I knew, without seeing, that he was taking them to his ship. The injustice of that — of robbing the men who were helping us — infuriated me and steeled my nerves for what was to come.

  The Estlanders moved closer to us, working their way into the darkness under the foredeck. I knelt behind the barrel before me and readied my sword to thrust. Beside me, I sensed movement from Astrid and Olaf. To my right, the light played off Turid's seax as she edged slowly to a more advantageous position.

  Then, suddenly, the men were upon us, prying off the tops of the barrels behind which we hid. I did not hesitate. As the Estlander before me lifted the container's top, I drove my blade up and into his gut. He wore no armor, and the blade slipped beneath his ribs with surprising ease. He sucked in a breath, dropped the lid, then collapsed backward as I yanked my weapon free.

  His comrades turned to see what was the matter, and as they did, my friends struck. I could not see their attacks clearly, just dark forms moving in my periphery and metal gleaming. There were shouts, the curses of men, stumbling, and crashing. A man cried out. Then another. I was certain it alerted everyone on deck, but there was nothing for it now.

  On deck, I heard shouts and the ring of steel and thought instantly of my father. I worked
my way forward, toward the exit and the light. There was no resistance, only dead Estlanders and my friends, their blades and faces speckled with gore. They followed me through the congested space.

  I peeked up on deck, trying to make quick sense of the chaos that greeted me. Men fought in two groups: on the foredeck, where my father stood, and the aft deck, where Tostig and Sigvard fought. Half the crew were dead, as were several of our assailants. Amidships, near the hold's entrance, Gruff Voice shouted commands and urged his men into the fray. To my right, more men leaped from a ship with their weapons drawn.

  Had I been older and wiser, I would have seen that the fight was already over. By sheer numbers alone, we could not prevail. Yet my father fought and I could not let him die alone, not without trying to help him. As I contemplated my next step, Olaf sprang forth and rolled up onto the deck, flitting past the Estland leader and hacking into the legs of a man attacking my father. The man fell with a shocked cry, and I, who had quickly followed my friend into the fray, hacked my blade into the man's skull to finish him. Beside me, Astrid swung her blade into a man's unprotected shoulder, opening a wicked gash with such force that he stumbled sideways and collapsed. Another Estlander turned to the new threat but never came full about. As he turned, he met Turid's wicked slash that caught him hard across the face. He screamed and stumbled away.

  The one remaining Estlander rejoined his leader near the mast, where a knot of pirates now stood. Across the knarr, Sigvard and Tostig stood shoulder to shoulder, alone now and wounded, crewmen and Estlanders dead around them. Facing several men with shields and blades, they stood little chance. I itched to get to them — to help them — but the knot of men at the mast stood in our way and more men were streaming aboard. Just then, a grappling hook tossed from a second ship smacked the deck and dug into the steer board wale.

  “Grab shields,” my father commanded us. “Quick.”

  We each rifled through the corpses and yanked several shields free, then stood back and formed a crude shield wall on the foredeck. There were two crewmen with us, so together we numbered seven. A paltry force we were, but at that moment, I believed we could win. That, of course, was the battle frenzy telling me so.

  “Torgil and Olaf, stand behind us,” my father uttered from the side of his mouth. “Astrid, you and Turid behind them, closest to the prow.” We arranged ourselves accordingly.

  “Fight and you will all die,” called Gruff Voice in a heavily accented version of our tongue. “Lay your weapons down and you will be spared.” He was a tall, gaunt man with grimy, weathered skin and a wild beard the color of polar bear fur that wrapped around his chin and neck like a scarf. Were it not for his byrnie, dented helm, and sword, he looked more a farmer than a leader of men. Except for his eyes. So starkly did those blue orbs contrast with his weathered skin; so coldly intense did they stare at us, as if perceiving everything but revealing nothing. Wicked eyes. Calculating eyes. They came to rest on Astrid and Turid, two women dressed as thralls yet with blades in their hands. The eyes narrowed, and I knew that he understood that all was not as it seemed.

  “I will say it again,” he said, more calmly now. “Lay your weapons down and you will be spared.”

  “How many men is this ship worth?” responded my father.

  A grin stretched slowly across the Estlander's face. “My men understand the price they must pay. Do yours?”

  As they spoke, I could feel the fight slipping from my body and the fear seeping in. I watched as more warriors joined the throng of Estlanders at the mast and felt my confidence wane. Moments ago, I would have rushed into that fray. Now I felt indecision and weariness gnawing at my limbs and at my thoughts.

  Before my father could answer, the Estland leader raised and dropped his hand. Four arrows zipped into Sigvard and Tostig, penetrating their chests with a sickening thud. Turid screamed as the two men grabbed at the shafts protruding from their bodies, then crumpled to the aft deck. I stared in disbelief. They had done nothing but try to deliver us to our destination and now they lay dead beside their crew.

  The Estlander lifted his arm again, and my father raised his hand in surrender. He knew we were doomed, as did we all, and so he gave in. The physical part of me raged at his surrender, yet the practical side of me understood. He was saving us and saving our fate for another day. “Stop!” he called. “We will lay our weapons on the deck. But we expect you to keep your word and spare us.”

  The Estlander nodded slightly.

  My father nodded too, as if silently sealing the deal. He dropped his sword to the deck and ordered us to do the same, which we did. Then he turned to me. “I leave you to keep my oath. Remember, a noble name will never perish.”

  The words took me by surprise, but I could not ask what he meant, for my father had already turned back to the Estlander and stepped forward. My eyes turned instinctively to Olaf. He was smiling that mischievous smile. In his hand was his knife, which he held by the blade point, as if he meant to throw it.

  I opened my mouth to stop what I knew was about to happen, but the next moments happened faster than my words would come. As my father took another step, he pulled his seax from where it rested, behind his back on his belt, and drove it into the neck of the Estlander nearest him. At the same moment, Olaf tossed his blade. My shout reached Olaf as his blade spun over my father's left shoulder, across the deck, and into the shoulder of the Estland leader, where it lodged. The man staggered but did not fall. The rest of his men tried to come to grips with what was happening, but by then my father was among them. He dropped three more Estlanders to the deck before the men had time to recover their wits. Beside him, the crewmen were plunging into the fray with my father, doing their best to stay alive.

  My eyes spun to the bowmen who had just killed Sigvard and Tostig and were turning their weapons on us. “Shields!” I yelled just as the arrows began their brutal assault. “Stay low!”

  I looked left again, toward my father. A giant man stood before him, swinging an axe at my father's head. My father ducked and jabbed his blade into the man's groin. The man dropped his weapon and crumpled, and as he did, my father tore the axe from the man's hand, spun, and slammed the blade into another man's shield. The man fell backward and my father ripped the axe free, rose, and slammed his shoulder into the next man before him. That man, too, fell away, and suddenly my father was facing the Estland leader. The man had found his footing and stood with Olaf's blade in his shoulder and a hand axe in his grip.

  My father did not hesitate. He swung the axe over his head, meaning to cleave the Estlander's skull in two, but the Norns and their tapestry of fate intervened. Two arrows slammed into my father's back, staggering him. Yelling his fury, he righted the blade and brought it down, but the Estlander sidestepped the awkward blow, bringing his own hand axe up and into my father's temple.

  “No!” I screamed as he collapsed, lifeless, to the bloodstained deck. I ran to his side, heedless of my own safety. The other crewmen were dead now too, and I could have joined them, had the Estlanders not let me live. I looked at my father briefly, at the deep gash in his head, at his lifeless eyes, then turned away. I could not stomach seeing him so. My eyes shifted to the Estlanders, then back to Olaf and Astrid and Turid, who crouched behind their shields near the prow, their faces a mixture of shock and pain.

  The Estland leader yelled at his bowmen to lower their weapons, then yanked the knife from his shoulder and tossed it aside. I rose with my seax to meet him, but he merely swatted me aside with his shield, then kicked the seax from my grip as I fell to the deck. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he forced me to stand before him and to stare into his hard face. He did not speak — he just stared, moving my face first left, then right. Finally, coming to some sort of conclusion, he barked another order at his men. They came forward now to bind my wrists and hustle me to the Estland ship. I was joined shortly by Olaf, Astrid, and Turid.

  I watched, then, with tears in my eyes and rage in my heart as the Estlanders un
ceremoniously tossed my father and the crew of Sigvard's Swan over the gunwale and into their cold sea graves. “I will kill him,” I hissed, meaning the Estland leader, though my grief had constricted my throat and I had a hard time getting the words out. “As Thor as my witness, I will kill him.”

  “I shall join you in that,” Olaf responded.

  “Your father died well,” Astrid said as the pirates tied our knarr to their ship and made ready to sail. “Mark my words, Torgil. His bravery will not go unnoticed. He died with his sword in his hand and will be feasting with his ancestors soon enough.”

  The Estlanders left the trade goods on Sigvard's Swan and turned their prows south, toward their home. And as they did, our dream of reaching Holmgard and Astrid's brother slipped forever from our grasp.

  Part III

  Then strange memories crowded back

  Of Queen Gunnhild's wrath and wrack,

  And a hurried flight by sea;

  Of grim Vikings, and the rapture

  Of the sea-fight, and the capture,

  And the life of slavery.

  The Saga of King Olaf

  Chapter 18

  Life is not so unlike the multiple worlds of the Norse cosmos. Worlds for gods. Worlds for giants. Worlds for men. Underworlds. Each with their own joys and sorrows and horrors. While there was only one world for men — Midgard — there were varying degrees of how one existed in that world. A royal. A karl. A thrall. In short order, fate had moved me from the top to the bottom rung on that ladder. One rung lower and I would be dead, though arguably, that might have been better than the market at Eysysla, which in the local tongue was called Saaremaa.

  The market was not a town, but rather a smattering of stalls grouped near the shoreline on a deep bay. I sensed it was a makeshift market — a place that existed to process the thriving movement of pirated goods in that area during the warmer months. Still, a group of warriors met us at the beach to collect their harbor fees, suggesting there must have been some organization to the market.