Wind Dancer leapt ahead and the rowers, seeming to sense as Louis did the danger of their situation, pulled again and pulled with a will. The ship began to slew sideways and Louis heard the creak of the steering board and the helmsman pushed the tiller over. The ship straightened, but not entirely, and Áed screamed, “Pull!” even without Brunhard’s having given the order.
The rocks were like great sea creatures, barely visible in the gloom, rising up from the sea, and Wind Dancer plunged into the gap between them. A wave broke against the base of the nearest one and Louis felt the cold spray whip against his face. He sucked in his breath and then the ship was through, the great beastly rocks astern, the water calmer, the motion of the vessel easy.
“Hold your oars!” Brunhard shouted and Áed translated and the rowers stopped with their blades trailing in the water.
Louis looked astern. The ship behind them was running the gap now, the seas turning her partially sideways but not enough to run her up on the rocks. And then she was through and soon after the next in line. The sound of the surf slamming against the rocks filled the night, but the three ships were safe inside.
Brunhard came ambling back to the stern and Louis could see the grin was back on his face. “Well, Louis the Frank, did you shit your trousers when we came through the rocks?”
“Of course not,” Louis said. “I have nothing but faith in Frisian skills, you know that.”
“Ha! You lie like all Frankish dogs lie! But no matter. We’re safe in here. We’ll spend the night like we are on a boat in a mill pond. Those Norse swine won’t follow us in here, and if they are gone in the morning, we are on our way!”
Forward some of the sailors were wrestling with something, and when Louis heard the splash he realized it was an anchor.
“Was it luck that you found such rocks as these here?” Louis asked. “Or did you know about this place before?”
“Any man who relies on luck will be dead within the year, sailing these waters,” Brunhard said. “Of course I knew how these rocks were set, and I know the only pass between them. Just to the south it looks like there’s more open water, if you don’t know that the reefs come up to a foot or so below the surface. Tear the bottom right out. Once when I ducked in here with some Northman on my ass, the dumb bastard tried to follow me and he broke his ship’s back on that reef. Sweetest sound I ever heard was the screaming of those drowning idiots.”
“I can imagine,” Louis said.
“I know a dozen ways to rid myself of these damned Northmen along this coast, believe me. Either you learn, or you die. And most die. Because, and I’m willing to say it, these Norse are good seamen. Luckily, no one is better than Brunhard.”
Once the anchor was down and holding and the ship made ready for the night, a barrel of ale and a barrel of dried fish and a sack of bread were opened and food handed out to the sailors and to Brunhard and Louis. Louis sat on the edge of the aft deck and ate and drank with relish. He had not quite realized how tired and hungry he was.
No food was given to the rowers, at least not the food that Louis and the sailors enjoyed. Áed gave sharp orders to the Irish woman, the slave who had come aboard with the rest, and she set about distributing food and water to the men chained to the benches. The slaves’ food came from a different barrel than the one used to feed the sailors, one that had been around much longer, Louis imagined, its contents rancid, something Brunhard had picked up at a good price.
In the light of a lantern hoisted partway up the mast he watched her moved fore and aft. She was not chained like the others, and Louis guessed she was considered no threat and was better left free and set to work. No one helped her as she handed the rations out, working as quickly as she could. She spoke to the rowers in low tones until Áed saw her and told her to keep her mouth shut.
She was young, and for all the dirt and the tangle of hair and torn and filthy clothing Louis could see that she was pretty. He had assumed at first that she was of the lowest class, of the bóaire, one of the poor farmers who owned all but nothing. But looking closer at the clothing she wore, the way she carried herself, made him think perhaps she was something more than that.
Her face had some color to it, the face of a woman who worked out of doors. She handled her duties with authority and competence, not like one accustomed to being waited on by servants. But still she had none of the cowed, fearful deference of a servant or a slave. She had more dignity than that. More bearing.
Louis tracked her as she moved from man to man. She paused to speak quickly to the one in the torn red tunic, but only briefly, a few words, despite Áed’s warning to keep still. There was some connection between them, he could see it. Lover? Husband? Brother? Louis wondered.
He liked the way she moved, the way she held her head up while all the other captives were looking down at the deck, terrified of Brunhard and Áed, frightened by the brutal death of the Irish rower. His murder, apparently, had had just the effect Brunhard had predicted. The man did know his business.
Finally the Irish girl was done with her work and she retreated up to the bow, found a spot farthest from any of the sailors, and sat and had her own supper.
She reminds me of Failend… Louis realized. That was why she had caught his notice. She reminded him of his former lover, Failend. They were about the same size and had the same sort of physique, their short stature and thin frames hiding a surprising amount of strength. They had the same look of pride and dignity.
More reason to think she’s no dairy maid, Louis thought. Failend had been married to one of the wealthiest men in Glendalough before she had apparently murdered him. Before she had taken up with the Norse heathens who had captured them. She was supposed to be with him now, on their way to Frankia, but instead he had been forced to take their silver hoard for himself and leave her, after she lost her mind and joined willingly with the Northmen.
He felt himself flush with guilt when he thought on that. He was still not certain he had done the right thing. It was not like him to abandon a woman in dire circumstances. But she would not listen to reason, would not understand that the heathens were an enemy not to be trusted.
Louis wondered where she was now. Sold as a slave, I would imagine. He had an idea that he might find her in Frisia, in the slave market, and buy her freedom. That thought pleased him. Certainly the heathens had appeared to welcome her in as one of their own, but they were like mad dogs and could turn at any moment.
Finally Louis finished his scant meal, stood and stretched. He looked out over the side of the ship. It was full night now, but in the light of the stars he could make out the vague shapes of the other two ships anchored nearby. He could hear the sound of the seas breaking against the treacherous dragon’s teeth rocks, but where Wind Dancer lay it was calm, the ship just rocking gentle as a cradle.
Before they had left Dubh-linn Louis had purchased a soft leather sack large enough to fit inside, meant for sleeping in the chill night air aboard a ship at sea. He pulled it out now, found an unoccupied stretch of deck plank and crawled inside. The saddle bag with his other belongings he used as a pillow, not so much because he needed a pillow as to keep it out of Brunhard’s hands. Brunhard certainly knew by now that there was silver hidden in the sack, and he was no doubt very curious as to how much.
He took off his belt and knife and laid those next to him, where he had already set his sword. He had been uncertain at first if he should wear his sword when they were at sea. His inclination was to do so; if there was ever a doubt he would always opt for wearing the sword.
But no one else on board was armed, save for the sailors with their sheath knives, and it was damned awkward to move in that tight, crowded space with the long blade hanging from his belt, so he decided against it. But he always kept it near.
Now, with his things arranged, Louis closed his eyes. Now that he was lying still the cradle effect of the ship’s rocking was even more pronounced. It was soothing, as was the gentle sound of the water on the
hull and the lap of it running up on the distant beach. It was not very long at all before he was asleep.
He dreamt of Failend. He had dreamt of her before, and generally they were warm and good and usually lustful dreams, but not that night. In his dream he saw her backed against a tree and he had a spear in his hand and he was thrusting the spear into her, pulling it free, thrusting again. Any of those thrusts should have killed her, but they did not and so he kept at it, not wanting to kill her but doing it anyway, wanting her to die so that he did not have to keep impaling her.
Failend was screaming and he was screaming, but the sounds were muffled, like there was something over their mouths, and try as he might he could not manage to scream at full volume.
Then he woke, eyes open, mind flailing around to make sense of where he was, what he had just been dreaming. He could see the stars overhead and the upper edge of the ship’s hull. He could feel the hard deck and Wind Dancer rocking in the swell.
And he heard the screaming, the muffled screaming. It was still going on. Louis blinked, unsure if he was awake, and if he was, unsure why this part of the dream world had followed him into the world of men and night.
There’s someone screaming, Louis thought, and it was like a great insight. Not a dream, someone was actually screaming.
He pushed out of his sleeping sack and grabbed up his sword, instinctively pulling it free from the scabbard as he did. A woman was screaming, but not aboard Wind Dancer. Nearby, on one of the other ships. And then he heard someone sobbing, off in the other direction. And then he heard the muffled screams from forward, the sound of voices, low, some with menace, some with amusement. He heard thrashing like there was some sort of fight going on.
He had taken two steps along the deck when he heard Brunhard’s hoarse voice behind him, calling, “Here, you Frankish dog, what are you about?” But he ignored the man, stepped quickly down the deck, past the rows of chained captives larboard and starboard. They had been sleeping as best they could in their awkward positions, but now they too were starting to stir.
The muffled screaming, the struggling, had not stopped, nor had the screams from the other ships, and in the moments since coming awake Louis had realized what was going on. The sailors, apparently, had been given free rein to do with the slave girls as they wished, and now they were.
He could see a knot of men forward, and in the light of the stars could make out individuals. He was not thinking now, just moving, reacting in the way that dozens of conflicts great and small had taught him to react. There was a fight going on forward, and so forward he would go.
He grabbed the shoulder of the nearest man, spun him around and shoved him hard. Surprised, off balance, the sailor fell back and took the next man with him. Louis kicked the man to his right in the small of the back and he arched back and Louis grabbed his face and pulled him the rest of the way until he collapsed to the deck.
Áed was there. He loomed over Louis. His leggings were around his ankles and his left hand held a mass of the Irish girl’s hair, his fist half the size of her entire head. He was forcing her down and back. Her brat was torn and Louis could see the white skin underneath. He could see a thin line of blood coming from the corner of her mouth.
Louis’s sword came up, the tip just under Áed’s chin, and he said, “Stop.” He spoke in Frisian and he knew Áed understood the language. He certainly understood the point of the sword under his chin.
But he was not afraid of it. In one move, faster than Louis would have thought the man able, Áed let go of the girl’s hair and knocked the blade aside with his left arm as he lunged forward with his right and grabbed Louis by the throat. He tried to step in close, press himself against Louis so that Louis had no room to raise his sword again, but with his leggings around his feet he could not move fast enough.
Louis brought the sword up once more and held it under Áed’s chin, giving it just enough pressure to press into the skin, not enough to break it. Áed, however, did not let go of Louis’s throat. The fingers of his massive hand nearly encompassed Louis’s neck and he was exerting enough pressure to let Louis know he could crush his neck if he wished.
And there they stood. Louis could hear the sound of the sailors picking themselves up off the deck, those who had remained on their feet pressing in closer. He could hear the soft sound of knives being drawn from snug-fitting sheathes.
Across the water, aboard the other two ships, Louis could still hear the screams and sobs of the slave girls whom no one had foolishly rushed in to rescue. And he himself stood motionless, sword pressed to Áed’s chin, Áed’s hand around his neck. With one easy thrust he could push the tip of his sword up through the Irishman’s chin, through the roof of his mouth and up into his brain. A quicker death than Áed deserved, certainly, but a death nonetheless.
And then what? Half a dozen Frisian sailors were huddled around him, ready to plunge their knives into his back the second he moved. Why they had not done so already, he could not guess. Likely they were waiting to hear Brunhard’s pleasure.
And Louis could imagine what Brunhard’s pleasure would be, if he killed Áed.
Very well, Louis thought. Now what in all hell should I do?
Chapter Fourteen
I counsel thee, Stray-Singer, accept my counsels,
they will be thy boon if thou obey'st them,
they will work thy weal if thou win'st them:
seek not ever to draw to thyself
in love-whispering another's wife.
The Counseling of the Stray-Singer
Áed did not flinch, he did not even seem aware of the steel sword tip at his throat. He spoke in an ugly, guttural growl, and he spoke Frisian which made it uglier still. “Put the sword down, you miserable shit, and go aft. This is not your affair.”
“I’ll shove this blade through your thick skull. I can do it faster than you can crush my throat,” Louis said, truthfully.
“Go ahead. And my mates here will take you apart piece by piece and they won’t be quick about it,” Áed said, also speaking the truth.
And so they stood, the water lapping along the sides, the men gathered around breathing hard, the women on the other ships still sobbing, still screaming. And then Louis heard the unmistakable sound of Brunhard’s feet stamping forward.
“All right, you whore’s sons, all right!” he shouted as he walked. “Louis, you miserable dog, put that sword down. Áed, let go of the dog’s throat!”
Louis and Áed looked into one another’s eye for a few seconds more, then each did as Brunhard had instructed because they could not think of any other way to end this thing. They each took a step back and Áed took the moment to crouch and grab his leggings and pull them back up around his waist.
“Good, Áed,” Brunhard said, stepping into the gap between the two men. “Pray keep that disgusting thing well hidden. Save it for the Irish bitch.”
Louis lowered his sword, enough so it did not look to be a threat, not so much that he couldn’t kill any man around him with a quick twist of his wrist.
“What the hell is going on here?” Brunhard demanded, his eyes moving between Louis and Áed.
You can damn well see what’s going on, Louis thought, but before he could speak Áed did.
“This bastard Frank, he’s sticking his nose in business that ain’t his,” Áed said. Brunhard nodded, looked at Louis.
“That true?” he asked. “You getting into my men’s business?”
Louis took a deep breath. He had acted without thinking and now he had put himself into an untenable situation. This was, indeed, none of his business. What was about to happen to this Irish slave happened to women the world over. It was happening to the women on the other ships, just a few rods away. Was it his place to try to stop it? Because all he could do now was die trying, and then these animals would do it anyway.
Louis fixed his eyes on Áed. Anything he said about coming to a woman’s rescue would be lavishly mocked, so he said, “I couldn’t l
et this pile of shit have his way. I would puke for a week just thinking of it.”
“Ah, you are a fine gentleman!” Brunhard said, loud, smirking as he spoke. “So very noble. Such a sensitive stomach. But this bitch is my property to do with as I will.”
“You’ll ruin her,” Louis said. “She’ll be worthless in the slave market when these beasts are done.”
“My choice,” Brunhard said. “My decision. And sometimes I decide that pleasing my men is worth more than one scrawny slave.”
Louis frowned. Every second his situation grew worse. Because now he had stepped in and that meant he could not back out. Honor would not allow it. He had stopped them from raping this girl and now he could not simply abandon her, throw up his hands and let them do as they wished. If he was killed in defending her, which he most certainly would be, then there was nothing for it. He could not back down.
He thought of his brother in Roumois, sitting on their father’s throne. He thought of running a sword through the man’s guts, the dream that had been driving him all this time. He was finally on his way toward making that happen, and now he never would, and he felt regret mix with all the other things boiling in him.
And then he had an idea.
“I want to buy her,” he said.
Brunhard was quiet. Áed was quiet and so were the sailors. Then Brunhard said, “You want to buy her?”
“Yes. She’s a slave, is she not? For sale? Be worthless by the time we reach Frisia. Let me buy her now.”
“Right,” Áed said. “You buy her so we can watch you hump her all the way to Frisia?”
“What I do with her is my business,” Louis said. “She’ll be my property, and I’ll do as I please.” He took his eyes from Áed for the first time since the fight began, looked directly at Brunhard. “I have Frankish silver, sceattas, and hack silver. Not much,” he lied, “but enough.”
“Silver, eh?” Brunhard said. “I’ll take twenty ounces for her.”
Raider's Wake: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 6) Page 13
