“So, Bergthor, you trust this fellow, the Briton who you’ve taken on as pilot?” Asmund asked between scoops of porridge.
Bergthor nodded. “What he told us so far has been right, and I think he has no love for this king in Wessex. Yes, I think he’ll pilot us as he said he would. Besides, he’ll be on my ship, and he knows I’ll kill him the moment I find he lied.”
That seemed acceptable to the men in the circle. The Briton had a love of silver and a dislike of the king and a fear of his own death, and those things could have a powerful influence on a man.
“Good,” Thorgrim said. “Bergthor and I will lead, we’ll keep our ships abreast of one another. Let the next largest, Blood Hawk and…Bergthor, what is your next largest ship?”
“Raven, which is commanded by Steindor, over there.” Bergthor pointed to one of his men sitting across the circle from him, a big man, beard halfway down his chest, the sides of his head shaved, a calmly lethal look on his face. He had not said one word this whole time. The sort of man Thorgrim liked.
“Then Raven will go with Blood Hawk. After will be Oak Heart and whatever ship is next largest for you, Bergthor.”
“Lord Thorgrim,” Hardbein said, hesitantly. “Can I ask why you’re arranging the ships this way?” As master of Fox, one of the smallest of Thorgrim’s ships, Hardbein and his men were bound to be near the end of the line, and to Hardbein’s credit he seemed unhappy about it.
“There may be English warriors waiting for us,” Thorgrim said. “We’ve been here on this beach so long word must have gone around the countryside by now. If the English form a line or a shieldwall we want the ships that carry the most men to land at the center of it. Each ship following will land as close as they can to the fighting and join in.”
At that heads nodded. Even Hardbein could not argue with that plan. Herjolf, now commanding Dragon, which was as small as Fox, offered no opinion and made no effort to protest.
The mist was turning to drizzle by the time they finished, and every one of them was eager to move, to get underway, to do anything but sit there in the rain. They headed off to their various ships, which had crews aboard, gear stowed, shields on the shield racks and oars run out. A handful of men stood by the bow of each vessel to shove it the last few feet into the sea before climbing aboard. A little further down the beach the gulls screeched and circled and tore what they could from what remained of the whale.
Thorgrim climbed up over Sea Hammer’s side and made his way aft. He rested a hand on the tiller and looked forward to where Gudrid stood near the bow. Thorgrim nodded his head and Gudrid shouted to the men on the beach and Sea Hammer began to move, foot by foot, sliding back into the sea.
And then she was free of the shore and Thorgrim felt that familiar sensation in his legs as the motion of the ship changed, as she went from mostly floating to floating free. It was a good feeling, like the final bonds falling away.
“Back water, back water!” he called, and on the sea chests larboard and starboard the men leaned back, dipped their oars and shoved them forward, the inverse of their normal stroke, and Sea Hammer began to back away from the beach. Three ships down, Thorgrim could see Bergthor’s Wave Splitter also making sternway as she left the land.
“Larboard, hold! Starboard, make way!” Thorgrim shouted and the men on the larboard side held the blades of their oars in the water while the men to starboard leaned back and pulled and Sea Hammer spun on her keel. Thorgrim looked for Harald in the place he would normally be when pulling an oar, a habit of old, but he saw Hall there instead and remembered that Harald was not aboard.
He had spoken with Harald earlier on the beach, given him the choice of sailing aboard Dragon or Sea Hammer, thinking he might not want to be aboard the ship which he no longer commanded.
Harald had not been very pleasant during their short talk, though he understood the limits of how rude he could be and still not receive a reprimand, or worse. He had come close, to be sure, but he had kept his attitude on the right side of tolerable. And he made it clear he did not wish to be aboard Sea Hammer.
Thorgrim looked from Sea Hammer’s bow toward the beach and then back again. The longship had turned nearly parallel to the shore, so he ordered all the men to pull together and the ship began to make headway. Next Thorgrim called for them to row easy, to allow Wave Splitter to come up with them.
Soon the two ships were side by side, with about two hundred feet separating them, and Thorgrim ordered a stroke to match Wave Splitter’s speed. He looked across the water. Bergthor, standing on the after deck of his own ship, raised a hand and waved and Thorgrim waved back. Then he turned his attention to the water and land ahead.
For days they had been looking up and down this long stretch of sand with no idea what lay beyond, so it was with great interest that Thorgrim watched the shoreline open up. The Briton, Geldwine, had said the land to the south was an island and Thorgrim could see that now. As they pulled away from the beach, the stretch of water that separated the island from the mainland opened up in front of them, several miles across. Beyond that the land was lost in the fog, but Thorgrim had a better sense for the geography now.
He blinked the rainwater out of his eyes and looked to the north. He could see the wide mouth of the river that Geldwine had mentioned, but that was not where they were bound. Instead they were aiming to pass the mouth of that river and round a point of land beyond, which presumably would open up into the long, wide bay leading to Hamptun. A tricky coastline, but nothing at all compared to the treacherous rocks and headlands and shoals of his native country.
It was raining harder now, and there was not a breath of wind and Thorgrim did not think there would be that day, which meant a long hard pull at the oars, and perhaps a brutal fight at the end of it. But it was nothing that the men had not done before, and the thought of the fight, and the victory, and the plunder and the warm, dry place they would find to sleep in Hamptun, once it was theirs, would make the rowing easier.
All morning they pulled through the rain, Sea Hammer and Wave Splitter side by side and two hundred feet apart, the rest of the fleet stretched out behind. Blood Hawk was right in Sea Hammer’s wake, and Thorgrim knew that if his eyes and the visibility were better he would see Godi’s massive shape at her tiller astern. Beyond Blood Hawk came Oak Heart, then Black Wing, Fox and Dragon.
Thorgrim smiled. If Harald had still commanded Dragon then she would certainly not have been last. He would have made certain he was in front of Fox at least. But Herjolf did not seem to care, which was why Thorgrim hoped that Harald would learn some humility soon, enough that he could put the boy back in command.
It was near to midday, Thorgrim guessed, with the sun entirely hidden by clouds, when he called for the men to eat. Some of those not pulling oars broke out bread and dried fish and passed it around, and cups of ale as well, trying as best they could to shelter the food and drink from the rain. Once they were done eating they relieved the rowers so those men could eat and give their tired muscles a rest.
It’s a strange thing, Thorgrim thought. This rowing through the fog. A dull, lifeless monotony, but yet it was carrying them to battle, where a man was most alive, where his body could pulse with the energy of the gods.
From overhead Thorgrim heard a voice call out, “Bergthor! Hey there, Bergthor! How much longer must we row?”
Starri Deathless was at his usual perch at the masthead. He had taken it upon himself to ask that question, and Thorgrim was instantly and profoundly irritated in that way that only Starri could irritate him. No one on Thorgrim’s ship should be shouting anything except for Thorgrim, nor would anyone but Starri dare. Worse, Bergthor would most likely think that he, Thorgrim, had told Starri to ask that question though in fact Thorgrim would never had displayed such impatience. That misunderstanding made Thorgrim more irritated still, but there was no way he could undo it.
Bergthor took a moment to answer. “Eight miles or so!” he called back across the water. Thorgr
im heard low groans from the men at the oars.
The starboard shroud began to shake and Starri came sliding down from aloft. He was still wearing his tunic: he had not stripped down to leggings for battle as was his custom, and he looked almost frail with the wet cloth sticking to him. He hopped to the deck and came aft and began to speak but Thorgrim cut him off.
“Starri. Don’t ever again call to another ship. If I want information I’ll ask for it,” Thorgrim said.
“Yes, certainly, Night Wolf,” Starri replied, and Thorgrim wondered if he had even heard the words. Reprimanding Starri was pretty much pointless, which further irritated Thorgrim.
“But see here,” Starri continued, “I was thinking, this fog that we’re in? The rain and the fog and the cold and wet? Well, this must be just like what Hel is like, don’t you think? Can you imagine being in such a place as this until time ends?”
“Some say you’ll be with your family in Hel,” Thorgrim said. He thought of Hallbera, and his father, Ulf of the Battle Song. He would take great pleasure in being with them again. He might even be willing to trade his current life for that. In fact, he realized, he might do so that very day, whether he willed it or not.
“With family?” Starri said. “That makes it worse. No, give me Odin’s Hall of the Fallen, where I can fight until Ragnarok. And when Ragnarok comes, I’ll fight some more.”
“You’ve been trying to get to the Hall of the Fallen since I’ve known you, and before that, I suspect. The gods don’t seem to want you there.”
Starri shook his head, a grave look on his face, and if he knew that Thorgrim was teasing him he did not show it. “No, Night Wolf,” he said. “The gods have their fun with me, like they do with you. They test me. But the more I stand up to their tests, the more celebrated a warrior I’ll be in Odin’s hall.”
That, Thorgrim knew, was Starri’s deepest held belief, and it sustained him as again and again he suffered the disappointment of living through every battle.
They continued pulling into the long harbor that Geldwine had described, nearly silent in a near silent world, a wolf pack stalking prey. They kept half a mile off the northern shore, the land low and featureless, sand beaches and scrubby trees and brush.
I hope there’s more to Hamptun than this… Thorgrim thought.
Off the starboard bow Thorgrim could see the mouth of a river. Not a huge river, a couple hundred feet wide, perhaps, one of several that Geldwine had told them ran into the bay. But a river generally meant sand bars pushing out beyond its mouth, and he did not care to go aground.
“Starri,” he said. “There might be sand banks ahead. Up aloft, would you, and keep a look out?”
“Of course, Night Wolf,” Starri said and turned and jumped up, grabbed the shroud and began to climb.
“And if you have anything to say, say it to me, not Bergthor,” Thorgrim called after him, but Starri was already halfway up the mast by then.
The mouth of the river was drawing abeam and Thorgrim looked up to see if Starri was in place. And as he did Starri called out, “I see a long sandbar, Night Wolf! But it ends well over there!” He was pointing to the north shore. “We’ll miss it easily on this heading!”
Thorgrim nodded. Good. He turned and looked behind him. Blood Hawk was there, the same distance astern that she had been all day, as if Sea Hammer was towing her. Beyond her wide hull he could see the rest of his fleet spread out behind. He looked forward again.
Can’t be too much farther, can it? Thorgrim thought. He could not help but feel the anxiety and frustration that came with waiting, even though he would never give it voice.
And then the rain and the quiet were split by a loud cry from aloft, Starri’s unique cry of joy and fury and blood-lust. A cry Thorgrim knew well.
“There, Night Wolf, there! Behind us!” he shouted. “Now they’re coming out! Ha, a proper greeting!”
Thorgrim turned and leaned outboard and looked astern, past the ships in his fleet toward the north shore. There, just up the river and coming around a bend that had hidden them until that moment, was another fleet of ships. English ships. There were five in full view that Thorgrim could see and more coming. Through the rain he could see few details, but he knew well enough what a ship looked like when it was loaded with men and he could tell that the decks of those ships were well crowded.
And he knew what an ambush looked like, and it looked like this. The English fleet had timed it well, let most of Thorgrim’s ships get past before launching their attack. They were moving now, pulling hard for the bay and the last ships in Thorgrim’s fleet. The smallest. The most vulnerable. There at the end of the line because he had put them there.
Chapter Twenty
[B]ut thou nowhere canst
to the chief do harm;
iron forts
are around the prince's fleet;
knee-god may not assail us.
The Poetic Edda
Harald Broadarm was pulling an oar on Dragon’s starboard side, all the way aft, though Herjolf had not ordered him to do so. Indeed, Herjolf seemed unwilling to give Harald any instructions at all, even though he was now in command of Dragon and Harald was just one of her crew, no more or less. Harald was Herjolf’s to order around as was any man aboard.
But Herjolf did not seem inclined to do so. He hardly seemed inclined to give any orders at all. So Harald took it upon himself to take up the oar. He could never stand by while others labored. If anyone was working hard, Harald felt compelled to work twice as hard. He had always been that way. He would die before he would let anyone think he was shirking his duty.
But there were other reasons Harald chose to row, reason of which he was only vaguely aware. He had achieved a certain status among the men, the younger warriors in particular, and he did not want to jeopardize that. His outrageous attack on the whale was already becoming legend. One day, Harald was sure, the skalds would sing songs of it.
The fact that he had been stripped of his command as a result was not looked on as a shameful thing, but rather as an injustice and a mark of honor. Harald had stood up to Thorgrim Night Wolf, commander of the fleet, former Lord of Vík-ló, warrior of renown, and on top of all that, his own father. Little wonder he was admired by the others.
But Harald also knew that the quickest way to lose the admiration of those men was to act as if he deserved it. Deciding to not pull an oar while the others did would not be looked on kindly.
Beside, Harald liked to row. He liked the rhythm of the work, the steady back and forth, the pull on the muscles of his arms and his back. It calmed his mind, and his mind certainly needed some calming now.
He had been in a quiet fury when he sat down at the oars, a fury directed at his father. The old man did not understand that, in going after the whale, Harald was making a display of leadership and courage. Thorgrim failed to appreciate how much good it would do as far as cementing the men’s loyalty. And because he could not understand, he had taken away the command that Harald so coveted. And had so earned.
Harald had been rowing for half a day and he was calmer now. Even when Herjolf had switched out the rowers Harald had declined to give up his oar. And the work and the quiet and the chance to think had all worked their magic on his spirit. He had not forgiven his father, not even close, but at least his fury had ebbed away like the tide.
So entranced had he become with the steady pull of the oar that when he heard Starri’s cry, far off but distinct and completely recognizable, he could not immediately place it. He frowned and looked off toward the shore and thought, Now, what was that?
It was then that he saw the fleet coming around the bend in the river and he felt the rush of comprehension — Starri’s war cry and a gathering of enemy ships bearing down on them. And with that came the familiar sensations he always felt at such a moment: the tightening in his stomach, the energy like tiny bolts of lightning shooting though his arms and legs.
The image of an ax coming down and slicing him right
where his neck and shoulders met.
It was a vision that was ghastly and frightening and for reasons he did not understand it always came to him in the moments before a fight. It filled him with fear, and the fear made him ashamed, but he pushed all those feelings down the way he always did.
The sudden appearance of the fleet was like a cold wave washing over him, one he had not seen coming. He was stunned for a moment by the surprise and the shock of it. And then the shock was gone and he began to think once more.
You bastards, you bastards, that was a clever thing, Harald thought. The English had let the big ships go by first, and that meant that Dragon and Fox and the rest of the smaller ships at the end of the line were in a bad place.
“What by the gods was that?” Herjolf all but shouted. He was looking forward, toward the source of the sound, Starri’s unearthly cry.
“There, Herjolf, there!” Harald shouted, pointing as best as he could with his chin, unable to take his hands off the oar.
“What?” Herjolf asked. He was looking at Harald, not where Harald was gesturing.
“There! Behind us! Coming from the river!” Harald shouted and Herjolf turned and looked.
“Oh! Son of a whore!” Herjolf shouted, his back to Harald, his eyes fixed on the ships in the river. More and more of them were coming into view around the bend.
Harald pressed his lips together. We need to arm, we need to get under arms! he thought.
Thorgrim had planned to get the fleet closer to the town before the men donned mail and took up weapons and shields, and that made sense, since the arms were a hindrance when rowing. He would not have anticipated an attack over the water. None of them would have imagined the English would have so many ships at their disposal, and Harald wondered where they had all come from.
The Midgard Serpent Page 21
