by C. R. May
Eofer gave a snort. ‘You are probably right. When you put it like that it sounds like we had the easier time of it in Daneland.’ He scanned the horizon ahead as he attempted to pick out any hint of a sail. Apart from the feasting gulls, the sea was clear of any signs of life, unnaturally so, and the thegn rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Sing out the moment that you see anything, hawk eye. I am beginning to fear that we may be in for a busy few days.’
Back on deck, Eofer called the men to him. ‘Any thoughts?’ He looked at his duguth as the youth exchanged glances. ‘Thrush?’
‘Maybe a ship did go down?’ He sniffed. ‘The lads at Strand said that some of the Frisian ships looked older than their owners; ask them yourself, lord.’
Eofer indicated Osric with a jerk of his chin. ‘If you have got anything to add, I would welcome it. My lads know that I am always open to advice.’ He threw the man a smile. ‘Consider yourself one of the boys, at least for the remainder of this voyage.’
‘After what I have seen today,’ the shipwright replied with a nod outboard, ‘it could be even worse than a lone sinking.’ As Eofer stitched a brow in surprise, the man explained. ‘There were more than a few nasty looking bastards among the men that I saw. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if more than a few of our Frisian friends had no intention of completing the journey.’ He shared a look with his own men who murmured their agreement. ‘What’s more valuable, lord, a handful of silver or a boatful of slaves? Add in the valuables, heirlooms, tools…’ His voice tailed away as the temptations to make off with their cargo became obvious. ‘I am not saying that it could be helped,’ he shrugged, ‘not with the need for secrecy and all, but I am glad that the people dear to me are on this ship, surrounded by English warriors.’
Astrid had been listening from her place amidships, and she added a question of her own. The bairn was almost due now and, despite her early protestations, she had finally accepted that it was good sense and not a slight on her own shipboard abilities that she remained safely stowed at the most stable part of the ship. ‘Where is King Eomær and the rest of the fleet while this is happening? They must have passed this way by now?’
Eofer shook his head. ‘Wulf told me on the beach that they were plotting a course for Anglia as soon as they cleared the tip of Juteland. At the moment the English are landless wanderers, King Eomær nothing more than a sea king ruling over a kingdom of wooden decks. With most of the warriors abroad, Anglia is wide open to an attack by her neighbours. If we took weeks to shepherd the people down the coast of Frisia, across the narrow sea and back up the coast of Britannia it is likely that we would arrive to find a hostile army waiting for us on the shore and the halls which we have already built there turned to ash.’ He attempted a reassuring smile as the scale of the gamble which the Engles were taking was reflected in her face. ‘Don’t worry, we have Woden’s blessing for our great enterprise. I spoke with him, last year at the symbel. I know that he has a reputation for trickery, but I looked into his eye and saw no treachery there.’
An audible gasp left the lips of Osric and his boatyard workers at the revelation, and Eofer threw them what he hoped was a self-depreciating smile as their hands moved to lucky charms. ‘I don’t make it a habit to converse with the gods,’ he said, ‘this was a special occasion.’
Any awkwardness was interrupted as a call came from aloft. ‘I can see sail now, lord.’
All faces turned towards Bassa as he shimmied to the masthead and shaded his eyes. The gods had seen fit to endow the lad with the keenest pair of eyes that Eofer had ever known, and they waited patiently as he scanned the horizon. ‘There are about a dozen that I can see,’ he finally called. ‘They look too small to be our people though, more like fishermen.’
Whether they were fishermen or not, Eofer was glad of the distraction. The morning had not gone as planned; the sight of dead children and talk of the gods was more than enough to unnerve any man. What it was doing to Osric and his men was etched plainly on their faces. Eofer called up as his men instinctively went to fetch their weapons. Fishermen or not, warriors who wished to live to see their beards grey treated every unplanned encounter as a potential fight. ‘Which way are they headed?’
‘South, lord.’
Eofer exchanged a look with Hemming. ‘They could be following a shoal or heading home.’
‘Or they could be tailing a lumbering fleet, waiting for the opportunity to pick off a straggler.’
Eofer nodded. ‘We will soon see.’
The Skua was leaping the waves, pears of spray necklacing the prow as it dipped and rose in the swell. Eofer cast his eyes across the men of his hearth troop as they conversed in the bows, noting how the new boy, Anna, seemed to have struck up a strong friendship with Finn. Anna had chosen wisely. Finn was on the verge of leaving the ranks of the youth, moving up to share the bench with Eofer and his duguth, and he called the pair to him as he walked back to the steering platform. They hurried up, and Eofer put their minds at rest with a smile as he held out a hand. ‘Here, let me see your axe.’
Anna slipped the weapon from his belt and handed it across. ‘The axe head is all my own work, lord,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s a Frankish axe, a francisca. It can be thrown or used as a close order weapon.’
Eofer glanced at Finn. ‘What do you think?’
The youth let out a low whistle. ‘Deadly, lord.’
Eofer tested the weight of the francisca as they spoke, moving his hand along the short haft as he explored the weapon’s balance. He spun it in the air, catching it by the head as he handed it back. ‘Show me.’
The pair exchanged a look of concern but Eofer chuckled. ‘I don’t want you to draw blood. I want to see how this francisca fares against a short seax.’
The majority of northern warriors carried the short stabbing sword known as the seax. Stout handled, the blade was typically about a foot in length, broad backed and sharpened on the lower edge, tapering to a wicked point. Unlike the longer swords which were used to hack at an enemy when a shield wall collapsed and the fighting became more open order, the seax was the weapon of choice in the press of shields where men struggled as close as wrestlers, stabbing and shoving as they sought the breakthrough which would lead to victory.
Finn and Anna moved apart as each drew his weapon, threading their way between the thwarts as their hearth companions exchanged looks of excitement and hurried down to watch. Thwarts, the strengthening ribs of the little ship, were fixed as bracing to the hull planking once the shape of the ship was complete. They doubled up as rowing benches for the crew, and Eofer was keen to see how each man, and weapon, performed in the tight spaces which remained. His nod marked the beginning of the contest, and a hush descended on the crowd as the pair took up the fighting stance appropriate to their weapon. Immediately it was apparent that the axe was a weapon of movement. Finn went into a crouch, shoulders swaying, his left arm held out to balance the weight of the sturdy blade whilst Anna writhed like a snake, the axe weaving a pattern in the air before him as his eyes sought an opening.
Finn made the first move, a lightning fast lunge, the point of the seax darting in towards the younger man’s heart. Eofer’s breath caught in his throat as it looked as if the strike would hit home but Anna twisted away, the axe casually knocking the blade aside as he hurdled a thwart. A murmur of excited appreciation at the skill shown by the axeman came from amidships, and Eofer watched the duel in fascination as the pair circled each other like wolves, hungry at a kill. The axe was moving again, snaking before the boy in wide, mesmerising circles as Finn lowered himself into a crouch, his knees flexing as they rode the rise and fall of the planks beneath them. The pattern of the fight was obvious to them all now, a fascinating contest between training and discipline and the more natural, almost dance-like gyrations of the axe warrior.
Anna struck next. The axe swept up and over, hurtling down towards Finn’s shoulder. As the swordsman moved to block the strike it moved out wide, curving in
towards Finn’s knee, but the youth was keen-eyed, snatching the leg back to safety a heartbeat before the axe blade whistled past.
Both lads had now gone close, and Eofer heard Sæward clear his throat as the shipmaster gave vent to his feelings. It was becoming obvious to them all that the fight was quickly getting out of hand, both boys desperate not to lose the battle of wits and skill before their peers. Eofer looked across to the others and saw the same concerns echoed on the faces there, and he began to worry that he had made a grave mistake in ordering the fight at all.
Finn shuffled forward as the axe resumed its gyrations before him. They could all see that the move was designed to pin his opponent against the hull, denying the axeman the space which was necessary for his fighting style. As Eofer decided that he had seen enough and prepared to call a halt, the fight reached its own conclusion. Finn stabbed again, a low strike aimed at Anna’s groin. The boy’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the curve of the hull and, unbalanced, all he could do was snatch the axe across in a desperate attempt at blocking the lunge. In a flash Finn stepped in, pulling the strike as his left hand shot forward to grab hold of Anna’s arm and drag it aside. A blur of movement and the seax came up to rest against his opponent’s flank, and Anna froze as he felt the point of the blade pressing against his ribcage.
The watching men cheered the victory, as much in relief that the fight had ended bloodless as for any other reason, and Finn stepped back, a smile of triumph illuminating his face. ‘You need a shield really, lord,’ the youth said, still oblivious to the concerns of his friends. ‘As I said, it’s a weapon for open order fighting, but you can see how useful it would be.’ Eofer was pleased to see the pair clasp hands in friendship as the watching men moved in to listen. It was an unfamiliar weapon to most of them, but in the hands of an experienced warrior it could clearly be just as Finn had described it at the start of the contest, deadly.
‘Even a shield to hide behind would not help most men facing a good axeman, lord,’ Anna panted as he sucked in lungfuls of air. ‘Not only is it heavy and cumbersome, it restricts the view forward. With a weapon like this,’ he smiled as he glanced down at the blade, ‘movement is everything. If you are fighting against a man wearing a helm, even the nose guard can restrict his view enough to give you an edge.’
Eofer nodded that he understood, and he added a question of his own as Anna fought to calm his breathing. ‘But it is tiring by the looks of things. How long can you fight effectively with the weapon?’
Anna shrugged. ‘Yes, lord,’ he admitted, ‘it can quickly tire you out if you are a fool. It’s no use in a shield wall because you leave your own body open to a counterstrike when you swing, but in the open where its strengths lay you can move out of range far quicker than a spearman can follow and take a breather if needs be. Of course,’ he added, casting a look about the confines of the little Skua, ‘I couldn't do that here, so I was at a disadvantage.’ He shot his friend a grin and a wink. ‘Next time you’ll not be so lucky.’
Finn sheathed his seax, and the others began to move away as Eofer indicated to the pair that they follow him to the stern. ‘I would ask a favour of you,’ he said as the ship ploughed on. ‘I have settled my wife amidships as you know, it’s the most stable part of the ship and,’ he smiled and gave a shrug, ‘you both know that she is with bairn.’ The smile fell from his face as he came to the point. ‘I think that there is a very good chance that we will have to fight sooner or later before we reach Anglia. I am asking you to pledge that you will hold yourselves responsible for the safety of Astrid and my unborn child when I have to be elsewhere.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I already have Finn’s oath and know that I can count on his loyalty, but this is a matter of choice for you, Anna. I have seen your worth and you would earn my gratitude if you would agree to do as I ask.’
Anna’s face broke into a smile as he recognised the honour which was being shown to him by the eorle. ‘I would be glad to, lord.’
Their conversation was cut short as another cry carried from the masthead, and they all turned to look as Bassa cupped his mouth and fought to make himself heard above the following wind. ‘I can see larger ships now, lord,’ he began, ‘about two leagues ahead of us. There seems to be a small knot dead ahead, with a lone sail tacking to bæcbord about half a mile to the east of them.’
Eofer shared a look with Sæward at his side. The shipmaster was the first to offer his opinion. ‘Either the singleton is damaged and heading in to make repairs, or a ship has been cut out from the flotilla.’
Eofer nodded as he looked outboard. The wind was still blowing steadily from astern, spindrift was beginning to tease from the wave crests as its strength increased. Gripping the backstay he hauled himself up onto the hull and peered to the South. Sæward laughed. ‘You’ll not see much stood on the wale, lord; not if they are still six or seven miles distant.’
The Skua was surging ahead under a fat bellied sail, sheets singing under the strain as the rising wind pushed her on. ‘How long do you think?’
Sæward threw his lord a look of pride as he slapped the steering handle. ‘If this wind holds? In this beauty, lord? We will have overtaken them in half an hour.’
Eofer jumped back to the deck and nodded. ‘Steer a course to intercept our friends running for shore.’ He shot his steersman a ravening smile. ‘Maybe we can help.’
24
He stood stock-still as Astrid threaded the silver pin through the clasp and secured it. Moving around to the front, she gave her bonda the once over. ‘That is the best that I can manage,’ she said with a smile. ‘Unless an eorle turns up unexpectedly, you will have to do.’ Eofer returned the smile and indicated Thrush Hemming with a roll of his eyes. His weorthman was attempting to disguise the irritation which he felt that their pre battle ritual had been interrupted by her presence but he was making a bad fist of it. ‘Remember what I said,’ he voiced as they shared a smile at Hemming’s discomfort. ‘Stay amidships with Editha and let the boys protect you both.’ He ran his fingertip along her swollen belly, making her start. ‘It’s not just your own life you have to worry about, after all.’
As Astrid moved back to her place at the base of the mast, Eofer watched as Finn and Anna moved in to cover her with their shields. He caught their eye, and both lads raised their chins proudly in response to his nod of appreciation.
Eofer flexed his arms and rolled his shoulders as he settled into his battle shirt. Made from bullhide, the leather had been boiled in the beast’s blood before being cut to shape. Imbued now with spirit of the animal, the shirt was edged by strips of gold and blue. Rectangular clasps joined the twin parts of the shirt at Eofer’s shoulder, each gold backed cell flashing as it caught the sun. Gleaming hung at his side and his seax, fang tooth, hung suspended from his wide belt. A vambrace protected the wrist of his sword arm, the only armour to grace his body that day. Many warriors chose to trust their lives to wyrd in a sea fight wearing their mail come what may, but Eofer had seen too many men disappear beneath the waves, dragged down into Gymir’s wet-cold hall by the heavy steel, to leave his own life to the whims of the sisters who weaved the fates. He placed his battle helm upon his head, allowing himself a gentle chuckle as he noticed Hemming slyly checking that Astrid’s handiwork had been up to scratch. Eofer and Hemming always helped each other arm before an action, and he could sense the discomfort that the change had brought upon his friend. Anything which could play on a man’s mind needed to be chased away when a warrior took up his spear, and Eofer called his weorthman across as the war troop began to gather at the bows. ‘Thrush! Give me the once over will you?’
Hemming’s features broke into a smile as he came across and tugged at the fittings. ‘She did a good job, lord,’ he said grudgingly, ‘not bad at all.’
Everywhere men were checking and rechecking war gear as the Skua breasted the waves, the narrow hull seeming to shiver in anticipation of its first action.
Eofer walked the thwarts, back
to the steering platform as the hulls of the unknown fleet clustered a mile off the steerbord beam. Sæward was chewing his lip as he thought, his eyes darting from right to left as he guided the scegth on. Eofer noticed his concern and called above the wind as he hopped onto the sloping deck. ‘What is troubling you?’
Sæward shook his head. ‘There is something wrong, lord,’ he answered with a frown. ‘This ship up ahead,’ he said, indicating the lone ship with a raise of his chin. ‘It’s not acting the way I would expect.’
Eofer crouched and peered beneath the scegth’s sail, still full and taut as the northerly drove her on. The ship, a wide bellied cargo ship which the English called a cnar, was edging towards them, wearing sail as it zigzagged closer to a string of low sandy islands off to the East. ‘Maybe they are waiting for us?’ he offered. Sæward gave a slight nod of his head without taking his eyes from the nearby ship. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think that they are, but not out of friendliness. Bassa,’ he barked. ‘Back up the mast, quick as you can.’ As the youth hauled himself aloft Sæward called the length of the deck: ‘Edwin!’
The boy had the for’ard watch, braced within the great upsweep of the scegth’s prow, searching the waters ahead for anything which might endanger the ship. A log or floating wreckage would be invisible to the steersman despite his raised position, and they had all seen the damage which even the smallest flotsam could do to the hull of a speeding ship. With Bassa now doing the same he could be put to better use working the vessel. Edwin cocked an ear as he listened to his steersman. ‘Leave that, come and work the sheets.’
