“Master Brunhard!” the sailor at the masthead called. “I see nothing! All is clear to the horizon in every direction!”
“Good!” Brunhard shouted. He turned to Áed and nodded and with a shout Áed set the rowers to work again. The man aloft slid down one of the ropes to the deck.
“That was the other thing,” Brunhard said. “Before we get too far from shore we make certain none of those Norse swine are lurking anywhere. But it seems they’ve lost interest. They’re like spoiled children who quickly tire of a plaything.”
“Let us hope,” Louis said.
For some time more the men at the oars rowed and the three ships, with Wind Dancer in the lead, pulled away from the Irish coast, their bows turned a bit more southerly as they distanced themselves from the dangers of the rocky shore. Finally Brunhard ordered the oars run in and the sailors stepped up to do their part, casting off the lines holding the sail to the yard, hoisting away on the halyard, swinging the end of the yard forward to duck it around the shrouds, and finally setting the big square sail to the wind.
More hands heaved in the lines made fast to the corners of the sails and the great square of cloth flogged and then filled with wind. Wind Dancer heeled to leeward and the note of the water running down her hull rose in pitch and volume. Louis had to shift his stance to keep from stumbling, and forward he saw Conandil catch herself on one of the rower’s shoulders before she went right over.
“There, you soft-hearted prick!” Brunhard said. “Now the wind drives us, and you don’t have to worry about your beloved Irish slaves getting all tired out from rowing!” Louis had to marvel at how Brunhard could use his great, embracing smile to say the most outrageous and offensive things and still seem like one’s dearest friend.
Louis sat on the deck, rested his back against the side of the ship. “Whatever gets us to Frisia the fastest,” he said. “Whatever gets me off this damned ship the fastest.”
And he was indeed eager to reach Frisia, and Frankia, but still there was something marvelous about being on the ship under sail. Even Louis, a stranger to ships, had to admit it. The motion was regular but easy, smooth, not like the jarring of a trotting horse. They were moving fast but with no effort on their part, save for some minor turning of the rudder, a few pulls on ropes here and there. All the considerations of the land seemed far away. The sea was a moat now, separating them from the troubles of the shore.
Louis let his body sway with the motion of the ship and stared off idly forward, past the edge of the sail. In that direction there was nothing but water beyond the confines of the ship, but as Louis understood it there was a great headland somewhere beyond the horizon, and once they reached that they would turn east and make the crossing to Wales, spending hopefully not more than a single night at sea.
It will not be so long before I am back in Frankia, he thought. And then he remembered Brunhard. The jovial Brunhard. The man who would kill him when the time was right, take his silver, give Conandil to his sailors. Good Master Brunhard. Louis did not doubt that the man was just waiting for the right moment to toss him overboard.
“Say, Louis,” Brunhard said, as if he could hear Louis’s thoughts. “Don’t you have some silver to give me?”
Louis sighed and stood, but before he could even take a step toward the place where his bag was stowed they heard a cry from aloft, a lookout who’d been sent to the masthead a few moments before. The same man who had been sent up earlier, but his voice did not sound so calm as it had that morning when he reported an empty sea.
“Master Brunhard!” he called.
“What?” Brunhard shouted aloft.
“The sun has climbed higher now, well clear of the horizon,” the lookout called, and even Louis understood that he was making excuses for what would come next.
“Yes, it does that, you stupid bastard!” Brunhard shouted. “What do you see?”
“Four sails, master! Off to the east and just coming over the horizon.”
There was quiet fore and aft. No one dared say anything until Brunhard had spoken, and Brunhard was busy staring off toward the east. Finally he looked aloft again.
“Is it those bastard Northmen? The ones who chased us yesterday?” Brunhard shouted.
The man aloft hesitated. Maybe to look again, to be certain. Maybe because he was afraid to report what he saw.
“Yes, Master Brunhard!” he shouted at last. “Yes, the same four ships!”
Chapter Sixteen
Old age does this to me,
but youth to you,
you’ve hope of better,
but I none at all.
The Saga of the People of Laxardal
Earlier, Thorgrim’s men had not been happy about spending the night at sea a mile or so offshore, south of Dubh-linn. They had been even less happy when he informed them that they would once again spend the night at sea but this time beyond the sight of land.
Once the three merchant ships had gone around the point, disappeared from view just as the sun was going down, Thorgrim knew they were beyond his grasp. The wind died away, the sails came down and the oars came out. Thorgrim turned Sea Hammer more southerly, rounded the point, and in the fading light he could make out the terrible rocks that jutted from the sea like giant teeth looking for a ship to devour.
He did not have to study those rocks long to know he did not want to get in among them after dark. Probably not in full daylight, either.
So he had swung his ship around to the east and headed offshore, the other three vessels rowing dutifully astern. The mast and the gallows and the tall stem and sternpost glowed a warm orange color as they caught the setting sun on their after sides.
As the last vestiges of light faded in the west, Thorgrim ordered the ships together. Lines were passed from one to the other until all four ships were tied together, as if they were getting ready for a sea fight. The masters of the vessels stepped from one to the other until they were gathered around Sea Hammer’s afterdeck, where Thorgrim stood leaning against the larboard side.
He was not in a good mood. He stared out over the stern and the jagged dark line on the horizon, the shadow of Ireland, and he frowned as his dark thoughts swirled around. He felt as if the black mood was coming on him, that foul temper that sometimes came in the evening, and often led to his wolf dreams in the dark hours. What happened then, he did not know. No one did. Some thought he took the shape of a wolf and prowled the night. They called him Kveldulf. Night Wolf.
But he was never so sure that was true.
He knew only that sometimes the black mood came on him, and sometimes he dreamed that he was moving through the world, through Midgard, the realm of man, like a wolf. Sometimes he saw things that proved to be true.
The wolf dreams had never come on him when he was at sea, however. This was new. But it might not be the black mood, either. He might just be in foul temper. He had every reason to be.
Thorodd Bollason was the last to make his way to Sea Hammer’s stern, but Fostolf was the first to speak. “Do you mean to have us keep to the sea a second night?” he asked. “My men are not happy about this. Yesterday we were not so far from shore, but now we can drift to places only the gods know of.”
Thorgrim turned and fixed Fostolf with his eyes. Someone had lit a lantern so there was light enough to see that Thorgrim was not in the mood for debate. Even Fostolf could see that, and whatever further protest he was about to launch died on his lips.
No one spoke. No one dared. They shuffled nervously and looked away and waited for Thorgrim to speak.
Save for Starri Deathless, who was generally oblivious to the mood of any gathering he was in. There was, of course, no reason for Starri to be there—he did not command ships as these other men did—but just as none of the company dared cross Thorgrim Night Wolf, they did not care to cross Starri either. One could never tell how a berserker would react. So if his presence was all right with Thorgrim, it was all right with them.
“Thorgrim Night Wolf
has some plan,” Starri said, “and you can bet it’s a clever one, because the gods speak to him. Some of you men have not been with us so long. Do you know the tale of this?” He held up the arrowhead he wore around his neck, the one that had split itself on Thorgrim’s upraised sword.
The others mumbled their acknowledgement. They had seen it, and heard the tale. Anyone who had been in Starri’s company for more than half a day had heard the tale.
“Listen to me, now,” Thorgrim said, forcing himself to speak in a steady and measured way. He did not want Starri to start in on the story of the arrowhead. He did not like it when Starri insisted that he, Thorgrim, was blessed by the gods. He did not think it was a very lucky thing to say.
“Those whore’s sons slipped through our fingers, but they won’t do it again. They might expect us to wait nearby, like a cat crouching by a hole, ready to leap on a mouse. If they see us they’ll stay put until we tire of waiting. And they’ll likely expect us to be waiting to the south of them. They might even sail north for that reason. But we’ll wait out here, too far offshore for them to see, especially with the rising sun in their eyes. They won’t expect that. Once they’re too far from shore to get back among those rocks, we pounce.”
He looked from man to man. They were all nodding their heads, some with more enthusiasm than others. Harald looked the most pleased. This was the sort of thing he loved, and while he, too, was wary of a night at sea, he seemed less bothered by it than most. Godi, too, seemed pleased. The others, if they were not so happy as that, at least hid it well.
They went back to their ships, but they kept them lashed to one another, riding up and down on the swells like bits of jetsam entangled together. Most slept, and soon the sounds of their snoring was the loudest thing to be heard on that still night.
Sleep did not come to Thorgrim so easily. He stood against the starboard side of the ship, then sat on the deck, his back against strakes. Failend came aft and their eyes met and neither spoke. Failend knew Thorgrim well, and she knew better than to speak to him then, so she lay down on the fur on deck and closed her eyes and soon she, too, was sleeping.
Thorgrim tilted his head back, looked up at the stars, marveled at them, wondered about their nature, as he so often did. He had always considered the stars to be one of the few things the gods had ever done that was just for the benefit of man. They were beautiful, and they gave off a subtle, almost magical light. When the earth was dark and all references to land lost, they were like markers in a narrow fjord, guiding the way. And now, drifting on the ocean, Thorgrim could see that his little cluster of ships was not being swept away by the currents or driving toward the rocks. The stars told him that.
Sleep came at last, but not for long. It was still dark when Thorgrim awoke. He had slept deep, had not dreamed of wolves or anything he could recall. His dark mood was a bit lighter now, but even before he sat up he knew there were other concerns.
The wind had come up during the night and it was starting to blow from the east and Thorgrim was pretty sure it would continue to build. He looked up at the stars, up at the fixed star to the north, and felt sure they had been blown closer in to shore. Not too close, he hoped. It was time to move.
He climbed out from under his fur blanket and found Harald, sleeping with his mouth gaping, and he shook him gently. Harald’s eyes snapped open, but Thorgrim could see that his son was not sure what was happening, or even where he was. He gave the boy a moment to collect himself, then said, “I am going over to Fox. We’ll get to a place where we can see the shore. The rest of you stay below the horizon, but make sure you can see us still. You’ll have to row east a bit, against the wind. When you see us set the sail on Fox, then the three of you set sail and follow. Bring Sea Hammer alongside Fox so I can get back aboard. Do you understand?”
Harald nodded and Thorgrim guessed by the look on the boy’s face that he was fully awake now and had understood the instructions. He left Harald there and moved forward, looking close at the sleeping men until he found Starri Deathless. He nudged Starri with his toe, then stepped back quick as Starri sat bolt upright, eyes open, though still not entirely awake. It was prudent to keep clear of Starri when he was roused in so unexpected a manner. One never knew.
“Starri, come with me,” Thorgrim whispered, and Starri nodded and climbed out of his makeshift bed. He followed Thorgrim over Sea Hammer’s sheer strake onto Blood Hawk, tied alongside, and then across Blood Hawk to Fox at the far end of the raft of ships.
Thorodd Bollason, the man Thorgrim had set as master of Fox, was awake and, having seen them coming, was waiting at the place where his ship touched Blood Hawk. Thorodd was a young man of about twenty-five winters. Loyal, sometimes too eager to please.
The master of a ship sailing in company with others had to strike a fine balance, in Thorgrim’s opinion. He had to be willing to do the bidding of the commander of the fleet, but he needed initiative as well. The one commanding was not always there to give instruction. In truth, he more often was not. A shipmaster needed the balls to make decisions on his own and the brains to make the right decisions.
Thorodd Bollason was not yet that man. He was close, but he seemed a bit lacking yet in both balls and brains. Fostolf, master of Dragon, on the other hand, seemed to Thorgrim to be fully outfitted with balls, but maybe a bit shy with regard to brains.
But they were good men. If they lived long enough, they would learn.
“Thorgrim Night Wolf,” Thorodd said by way of greeting as Thorgrim stepped down on a sea chest and then down on the deck. “Starri. What’s acting, at this time of night?”
“We’re going to get underway,” Thorgrim said. “We’re going to go west, far enough to see the coast well. We’ll watch for these merchant ships. I brought Starri, keenest eyes in the fleet. Since Fox is the smallest, she’ll be the hardest for our quarry to see. The others will stay back until we set sail.”
Thorodd thought about that and nodded. “We could unstep the mast, make us even harder to see,” he suggested.
Thorgrim considered that, weighed the advantage of Starri’s being able to watch from higher up against the disadvantage of being more visible.
“Good idea,” he said. “Let’s cast off from the others and get the mast on the deck.”
Thorodd moved among his men, waking them, not too gently but not too harshly, either. Moments later, hands were casting off the lines that bound Fox to Blood Hawk. As the two ships drifted apart, others cast off shrouds and stays and eased the mast down from its vertical position to the horizontal. The oars, lashed to the gallows, were untied and handed out to the men at the sea chests that served as rowing benches.
Soon they were pulling through the dark, a slow, steady stroke, Fox cutting through the swell. Thorgrim stood aft by Thorodd. After the expanse of Sea Hammer, Fox felt more like a boat than a ship.
As they rowed slowly west Thorgrim watched the stars on the western horizon. Finally he said, “That’s far enough. Let the men rest on their oars.” Thorgrim thought they were the proper distance from the coast, but there was no way to know for certain. Better to wait there for the first hints of sun to tell them where they were.
They did not wait long. Soon after the oars had come in Thorgrim looked astern, looked toward the east, and he could see the black yielding to gray as the sun began its slow climb to the rim of the earth. The wind was building a bit, easterly, unusual for the predawn hours that tended to be calm.
“We’ll have a lee shore this morning,” Thorodd observed. “Let’s hope we’re not too close to land now.”
“We’re not,” Starri said with certainty, but if this was because he could see something the others could not, or because he had an excess of faith in Thorgrim’s navigation, Thorgrim could not tell.
But Starri was right. Soon the gray spread across the skies to the east and stars began to fade and the long, black coast of Ireland separated itself from the black expanse of ocean and sky and they could see they were still mil
es away from land.
“Close enough for you to see, Starri?” Thorgrim asked.
Starri frowned at the distant shore. “I am like the hawk, you know,” he said, “but even the hawk cannot see forever. And since you seem to lust after Brunhard and his ships the way a drunkard lusts for drink, I dare not miss them. So let’s get a bit closer.”
The oars were run out again, the rowers pulling with more enthusiasm now that they knew they would not hit anything. The men who were idle took down the carved oak figurehead of a fox with teeth bared that arched up above the bow, and the carved tail on the stern, all to make the ship more invisible from shore.
You seem to lust after Brunhard and his ships… Thorgrim toyed with the words in his head. Once again Starri, in all his madness, seemed to understand something about Thorgrim’s motives that even he, Thorgrim, did not realize. He did indeed want Brunhard and his ships. They should have been his the day before. He should have snatched them up as easily as picking something up off the ground. But they had escaped—not through luck but through skill—and that was a goad to Thorgrim Night Wolf.
He had no idea who this Brunhard was, but already he wanted to capture him and strip him of everything he owned and kill him if he resisted in the smallest way.
“He won’t get away again,” Thorgrim said, just loud enough for him and the gods to hear.
The men rowed and the sky grew lighter and finally Starri said, “This is close enough.”
The land was still a few miles away, a long, low, irregular black shape stretching from south to north. Thorgrim knew that he himself would never be able to pick out a ship at that distance, but Starri seemed confident that he could. And soon he would have the assistance of the sun, that would break the horizon and illuminate the sea and the land with its brilliant light, and blind anyone looking toward the east where Fox lay in wait.
Thorodd ordered the oars run in, save for the two amidships which, with the occasional pull, were used to keep the ship pointed toward the west. Next he ordered dagmál, the morning meal, handed out. It consisted of dried fish and bread and ale and it was received gratefully by the men who had already spent considerable time at the oars.
Raider's Wake: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 6) Page 15
