Raider's Wake: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 6)

by James L. Nelson

  “Yes, or course,” Godi said. Godi was a man whose loyalty was absolute. His frown, his glance at the ground, was the most strident protest Harald had ever seen from the man.

  Harald, too, was not one to argue with his father. Thorgrim Night Wolf was the boldest and the cleverest man he had ever known, and Harald’s obedience went far beyond the simple loyalty owed by a son to his father. In his mind, Thorgrim was never wrong. And those times when he had thought Thorgrim was wrong, the mistake had generally been Harald’s. But this time he was not so certain.

  “I had thought, Father, that we would be better off getting underway with Blood Hawk. We could push off the beach now and…”

  “No,” Thorgrim said. “We’ll go after them in Sea Hammer.”

  And that was an end to it. Thorgrim’s tone made that clear, and Harald’s hard-earned lessons in when to speak and when to remain silent paid off then. He said nothing more, just unbuckled his sword belt, which he was still wearing, having put it on thinking there was a fight coming, put the belt and weapon in a safe spot and went to work with the others, casting off the lashings that held Blood Hawk’s sail to her yard, moving the heavy wool cloth to Sea Hammer’s deck, bending the sail on again. And when that was done, the hard work began.

  The yards, which were resting on their respective gallows, were cast off from the ship’s masts in preparation for lowering the masts to the deck, which had to be accomplished before the rigging could be removed. The base of each mast was set in a step designed to allow the mast to pivot as it was lowered from the vertical to horizontal and back, but that did not mean the task was necessarily easy. The masts were substantial pieces of timber, forty feet in length and more than a foot thick at the base. Their descent had to be carefully controlled by men tailing on to the shrouds while others supported the mast, reaching as high up as they could. If they lost control and let the masts plunge uncontrolled to the deck, they would destroy half the ship before they came to rest.

  But for all that, this was a task the men knew well, and soon the masts were nearly horizontal, resting on the ships’ sheer strakes. On board Blood Hawk men used hammers and spikes to pry the rigging free, while aboard Sea Hammer the charred shrouds were cut away, the undamaged parts carefully coiled and stowed down. Rope was a precious material; not a bit of it that was still usable would be wasted.

  Harald kept an eye to the west as he worked. They had spent all of the morning hours and part of the afternoon chasing the Frisian. More time had been eaten up by his father’s insisting that Sea Hammer be set to rights rather than simply sailing in Blood Hawk. Harald guessed that his father had planned to sail in pursuit before the sun set, but he had not dared ask. And now it seemed unlikely that would happen whether Thorgrim wished it or not.

  At last they were ready to bring Sea Hammer’s mast back to the vertical. Harald, standing next to the massive timber, now lying horizontal, ran his eyes over the preparation. “There, you have two after shrouds crossed!” he called to two of Sea Hammer’s men, standing ready to haul in the lines. “Get those untangled!”

  The men did as Harald instructed and Harald nodded, then called, “Heave away!” The men at the lines began to pull and Harald and the half-dozen men beside him got their hands under the mast and began to lift. The muscles in Harald’s arms and his back and gut strained as he heaved, his lips pressed together with the effort. He was one of six lifting the mast; he did not have to put that much effort into it; but he did anyway, because he loved it. He loved the feel of the power in his arms and back, he loved pushing through the hurt, loved to feel the massive weight yielding to his strength of arm.

  Harald Broadarm.

  The mast lifted higher and higher and Harald and the others stood straighter and soon their arms were over their heads and they were pushing on the mast rather than lifting. And then as the mast came more vertical they were doing nothing at all and the shrouds, looped over the masthead and pulled aft by the others, did the last of the work. The mast fell into the shallow step with an audible thump and Vali secured the wedge that would hold it in place and the others brought the shrouds over to where they would be made fast to the side of the ship.

  Harald looked again to the west. The sun was not high above the horizon. He looked to the east, at the treacherous rocks that lined the shore. And those rocks were the least of their worries, because those were hazards they could see. It was the things they could not see, the half-submerged rocks and reefs and shelves just off the beach, that were the real danger.

  He looked at his father, standing off by himself, arms folded and frowning and looking out at the water. Anger will cloud a man’s mind… he thought.

  As a young boy Harald had thought of his father as some sort of god, but another thing he had learned in their voyaging together was that he was not that. He was a man, just like any other man. That realization had not diminished Thorgrim in his son’s mind. If anything it had raised him higher in Harald’s esteem. Because it was no great feat for a god to do all that Thorgrim had, to survive all he had and vanquish all he had. But for a man it was extraordinary indeed.

  But men also made mistakes. And Harald feared his father was making one now. And if it got much darker, and Thorgrim decided he would put to sea nonetheless, to thread his way through the hazards near shore, then he might be making his final one, and they might all pay the wergild for that mistake.

  Even as these thoughts were running through Harald’s mind, he saw Thorgrim’s arms drop, saw his father seem to slump a bit in his stance. Thorgrim leaned his head back, looked straight up for a moment, then looked forward once more and walked over to Sea Hammer’s side.

  “Bjorn,” he called to one of the men who had just finished coiling down a charred shroud. “Get a few men together and gather up some wood and get a fire burning. We’ll be spending the night here.”

  Bjorn nodded to Thorgrim and Harald nodded to himself. His father, he knew, was not going to say anything more about his decision, because the decision itself, in Thorgrim’s mind, would be an admission of defeat. Temporary defeat. But Thorgrim Night Wolf, Harald knew, would not ultimately be defeated until he was cold and dead, and even then he would somehow manage to have his revenge.

  They were well into twilight when Bjorn’s nascent fire began to grab hold of the wood he and the others had stacked into something like a cone shape. Failend, whom Harald had not even noticed was gone, returned about that time with the six men who had gone with her. Between them they carried a dozen geese and two sheep on poles, animals which had, unfortunately for them, wandered within range of Failend’s bow. The men were relieved of their burdens by others who eagerly set in to plucking and skinning, the thought of fresh meat rather than dried fish or salt pork being a great motivator.

  Once it was full dark, once they had all eaten and had a few cups of ale, Thorgrim called Harald and Godi and Fostolf together. Starri, of course, joined them as well.

  They sat on large rocks near the head of the beach, a dozen rods from the fire. “You men, you and all the men, you did good work today,” Thorgrim began. “I hoped to get to sea again before the sun went down, but there was nothing for it. All hands worked as well and as fast as they could, but we could not get the ships ready in time.”

  Not that we had to, Harald thought. We could have sailed in Blood Hawk…

  “I made the decision not to sail in Blood Hawk,” Thorgrim said, as if he had read Harald’s thoughts, and Harald felt himself flush. He hoped his father would not be able to see that in the dim light. “I made that choice because I think we will need Sea Hammer’s speed for what I plan. Maybe I was right, maybe not. We’ll see.”

  Godi spoke up. “I don’t think the Frisians will be so far ahead of us,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll care to sail after dark, so they would have put ashore not so long after us. And Thorodd in Fox will still be on their asses.”

  The others nodded at that. “That’s what I hoped,” Thorgrim said. “I hoped they w
ould not get so far ahead. Because this is what I have in mind.” He leaned back, took a deep drink of ale. He started in again.

  “I’ve never sailed these waters, but I have spoken to many who have. They’ve all told me the same thing. To cross the sea to the land of Wales you sail south until you reach a long cape stretching far to the east, south of which the land tends off to the west. From there it’s a day’s sail east with a fair wind to Wales. Once land is reached in Wales, you sail south across the mouth of a great bay, a day’s sail or more, and then you are in the kingdom of Wessex and can run east along the coast.”

  He paused again, let the men consider this. Then he said, “That means this Brunhard will continue south until he reaches the cape that points east. I don’t know how many days’ sail it is, but we could not see it today, so it’s at least another day, probably more. I mean to take Sea Hammer out to sea, sail south as fast as I can, sail through the night if I must. I mean to be there before him. If he reaches that place first and crosses the sea we may lose him, and then we’ll have to chase him clear to Frisia. I want to be there first and let him sail into my arms.”

  The others nodded as they listened. “But why so sneaky, Thorgrim?” Starri asked. “Why the fox and not the wolf? Why do we not just chase him down, kill them all?”

  “Brunhard knows this coast, knows it very well,” Thorgrim said. “He’s shown us as much, twice now. I fear if we just chase after him he’ll have some means of disappearing. But if we let him get far from land, and then spring on him, he will have no place to run.”

  “Sea Hammer might reach the cape first,” Godi said, “but Dragon will not keep up with her. And Blood Hawk is under oars alone until we get a new sail.” There was no bitterness in his voice, and Harald was surprised by that. He was not sure he would be so even-tempered if his ship had been reduced to a rowing boat.

  “Sea Hammer will sail alone,” Thorgrim said. “Dragon will sail after Brunhard as if trying to catch him. Fox is already after him, if Brunhard has not tricked Thorodd into running up on a rock, or something of the kind. Those two ships will follow Brunhard, like driving deer. If he tries to go to sea before he reaches the cape, they’ll cut him off. They’ll drive him into Sea Hammer and the three ships together will tear him apart.”

  Again heads nodded. All the men there could see the sense of this. Thorgrim turned to Godi. “Godi, you’ve made no protest about me taking Blood Hawk’s sail. I appreciate that, and your loyalty. You may stay with Blood Hawk as her master, or you may sail with me in Sea Hammer to try and catch this Brunhard. I leave the choice to you.”

  The choice? Harald thought. There was no choice. Crawl pathetically under oars along the coast, or drive south under a billowing sail into a near certain battle? There was no choice.

  “I’ll sail with you, Thorgrim Night Wolf,” Godi said. “Just like before.”

  “Good,” Thorgrim said. “And when this is done you will be master of Blood Hawk again.” He turned to Harald and gave a weak smile. “Congratulations, Harald. You have your first ship to command. You are now master of Blood Hawk.”

  Harald squinted a bit and cocked his head to the side as he did when he was not sure what was happening, which was more often than he cared to consider. He heard “congratulations” and “ship to command” and “master” and those were good things. But put all together there was something not right.

  And then he understood.

  “You…want me to take command of Blood Hawk?” he said. “Which has no sail? What am I to do?”

  “We’ll give you men enough to row and you’ll follow down the coast. We’ll meet up by the cape when you reach it.”

  “But…” Harald began. He was not sure where to start. “But the fighting will be over by then. Brunhard will be killed, his ships taken.”

  “If the gods favor us,” Thorgrim agreed. “Look, son, we can’t leave the ship here on the beach. I need a man I can trust to be in command of it. I’ve taken Godi’s sail, so it’s only fair I should give him the choice of which ship he wants to sail in.”

  For a moment Harald said nothing. Finally he said, “Of course.” He could think of nothing else to say. Nothing else that would be of any use. His thoughts were tumbling like a river running over stones.

  It was not until sometime after that, standing alone down by the edge of the sea, looking out into the dark, that his thoughts began to settle and he could truly understand the terrific injustice of it. He was being given command of a ship. Which could barely move. Which would not be part of any of the upcoming fight. And which would be given back to her true master once she was made whole again.

  He heard footsteps on the beach behind him and he knew it was his father, but he was too furious to turn or even acknowledge his approach. He was aware of Thorgrim standing beside him, but he did not look at him or speak at all. His only thought was, I am nearly as tall as he is now.

  For some time Thorgrim stood beside him, a presence, no more, not speaking or moving. Looking out over the water as Harald was doing, but Harald would not turn and look at him so he did not know. Finally Thorgrim spoke.

  “Do you know about this Christ God? Who the Irish worship?”

  It was such an unexpected question that Harald nearly forgot he was supposed to be angry. “Some,” he said. They had been more than two years in Ireland, had spent considerable time with men and women who followed that religion. Harald, unlike most Northmen, had even learned the language. He knew a bit about the Christ God.

  “Failend is forever telling me about him,” Thorgrim said. “Mostly I don’t understand. But she said something once about how the Christ God sacrificed his son. I’m not sure why. But he did it to show men that he loved them. That’s what Failend said.”

  They were quiet again, listening to the sound of the waves lapping over the sand. “What is it you’re trying to say, Father?” Harald said at last. “You show love for your men by sacrificing me?”

  “No,” Thorgrim said. “I don’t know why I said that about the Christ God. Except this. You’re my son, but I command all these men. I must worry about all of them, see they’re all ready to fight. If I do an injustice to a loyal man like Godi, then the others wonder if I’ll do the same to them. But if I force the one man they know I love the best, my own blood, to do the thing he does not want to do, the thing that will make him most angry with me, then they know they can look to me for justice.”

  “And what about me?” Harald said, and there was more anger and despair in his voice than he had intended. He turned and met Thorgrim’s eyes. “Is it justice to me that I have to crawl along after you like some sorry creature while you and the others do the fighting?”

  Thorgrim held his son’s gaze. “Who would you have me put in your stead?” he asked.

  “Anyone!” Harald said. “Any of the others.”

  “No,” Thorgrim said calmly. “That’s no answer. Pick one. Who should I put in your place? Pick the man and I’ll do it.”

  Harald stood his ground and let the images of the others float through his thoughts. And as he did that, he understood why his father had done the thing he had done.

  He, Thorgrim, as lord of all those men, could not come behind with Blood Hawk. He had to lead the men into battle. And of all the men there on the beach, Thorgrim would most want his son by his side. Which was why he risked Harald’s anger and chose him to stay behind.

  Harald saw that he was thinking only of himself and the sacrifice his father was forcing on him. But Thorgrim was making a sacrifice too, and he was doing it for the good of all the men.

  “Fine,” Harald said. “I’ll take Blood Hawk.” Because now he understood, and the understanding eased his mind. A bit.

  But do not for a moment believe I will stay out of the fighting, he thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I pray thee be wary, yet not too wary,

  be wariest of all with ale,

  with another's wife, and a third thing eke,

&
nbsp; that knaves outwit thee never.

  The Counseling of the Stray-Singer

  At first, Louis de Roumois did not know what had brought him back to the waking world. It was through no choice of his own, and as he became aware of the agony in his head he wished he could go back to where he was, but he could not.

  Something was prodding him to wakefulness, something gentle but insistent. And then he realized it was a tapping on the back of his head. Something was tapping him—slowly, rhythmically, repeatedly.

  He remained motionless and let the tapping continue. He was lying on something solid, but that thing was moving, rocking gently. He kept his eyes closed and tried to make sense of that but the pain in his head was making all thought nearly impossible, like trying to talk over a howling storm. If he had had an iron bar driven through his temples, he guessed this was what it would feel like.

  He wondered if perhaps an iron bar had been driven through his temples.

  Ship…

  The thought came floating up from someplace beyond the pain. He was on a ship. Lying in the deck. The ship was rolling in the waves and his head was rolling with it and with each roll it thumped against something behind him.

  Ship…

  The images ghosted through his head, but he was having a hard time sorting them into any kind of storyline. There were heathens with weapons. Irishmen with spears. Conandil.

  Conandil…

  The two of them had had a plan. Get weapons in the hands of the Irish warriors. Kill the heathens. Kill the Frisians. Row the ships to shore. But what had happened?

  Louis considered opening his eyes, but the thought alone brought a fresh wave of pain. He thought maybe if he moved, just a bit, he could stop his head from knocking against whatever it was knocking against. He pressed down with his arm, shifted his body to the side, and the pain was so great he moaned despite himself.