Yngvar laughed. Of course Uncle Gunnar was not about killing women and children, but fighting enemy warriors or church guardians to get at their hoarded gold. Brandr continued to stare ahead.
"Who was the man that challenged Uncle Gunnar last night?"
Now Brandr laughed. "A fool and a braggart, that's who. Bregthor Vandradsson is his name. He's served my father these few years. He's good in a fight, but not much use in anything else. Thinks he knows more than anyone, and some fools believe it. I'd get rid of him, but my father has accepted his oath. So he has no choice but to keep him."
While they spoke the sun lifted above the trees and the sunlight strengthened. Brandr pushed away from the wall and gave Yngvar a smile. "If we're going to sea, then there's much I have to prepare yet."
"Of course, do you have a family?" Yngvar's voice was small, since Brandr was his cousin who lived only a day away and yet he knew nothing of him.
Brandr shook his head. "Dead. Pox got my sons. My wife died of a broken heart. I warned her not to get too attached to them until they were strong enough to stand on their own. Remember that when you have your own children. Don't put too much into them in the early years."
Yngvar nodded sagely, as if he had received deep wisdom. He hoped he would not have children soon. Certainly not with Jarl Flosi's daughter. Brandr walked downhill, his sword slapping at his hip as he went. It reminded Yngvar to re-equip his. He'd have to pull it out of the pile himself, since no guard was in sight. Was Uncle Gunnar's reputation so powerful as to not even require a guard at his door? Even the great jarls of Rouen posted guards. Yngvar returned to the hall and its human scents.
"Good morning, lord."
Yngvar walked into the sandy-haired escort and his companion. The two men were lined up like a wall blocking entrance. Yngvar wondered if it was purposeful, so rather than greet them he frowned.
"Am I not allowed back inside?"
Both men smiled and parted for him. The sandy-haired man spoke. "Of course. We were just headed outside to see where you had gone. Your father was clear in his instructions to remain close to you."
"Hopefully not so close that we are all sleeping under the same blanket."
"You slept comfortably last night?" asked the other man. He was darker haired and had eyes like a sad dog's. "We did not sleep under the same blanket, did we?"
"And you have my gratitude for it," Yngvar pushed between them. The pile of weapons at the front door was a haphazard mess. His sword remained at the top of the pile.
"As for last night, lord," said the sandy-haired man. "That was quite a feast. Your uncle is very generous."
The dog-eyed man clucked his tongue at his companion, then turned to Yngvar. "Look, are you honestly going with your uncle?"
Yngvar felt his face heat. Were these two going to prevent him? He straightened up before retrieving his sword. "He invited me, didn't he, and I accepted? Were you two so drunk that you did not hear?"
"No, lord," said the sandy-haired man. "In fact, to best perform our duties to your father we did not drink as much as the rest. So we were very clear on what was said. We both think Jarl Gunnar was a bit ... sudden ... in his plans. Do you think he will sail for Norway?"
"My uncle never says anything he doesn't mean."
The two hirdmen exchanged worried glances. The dog-eyed man picked his nose while the other seemed to think of what to say.
"You two are going to try to prevent me from going?" Yngvar put his hands on his hips. "That's not going to happen. I am a man and I make my own choices. You were to guard me and add numbers to boost the safety of our traveling group. That was all."
"But he did tell us not to let you out of our sight." The sandy-haired man stared at the floor in deep thought.
"But we're sworn to Jarl Hakon," said the dog-eyed man. "We can't leave him to serve another jarl, even if it is his brother."
Yngvar huffed at the two fools. This was not his problem to solve. He pointed to the sandy-haired man. "What's your name again?"
"Bresi Kettilson," he said, clearly taken aback. Yngvar figured he had to get the man's name now.
"Bresi, you come with me to keep your promise to my father. I'm sure he will be glad to know one of his finest is protecting me. You," he said pointing to the other, whose name he no longer needed to know. "Go back to my father and tell him what happened."
"What should I tell him? I think he would want you returned home."
"Stop thinking so much," Yngvar said. "You don't get to think for me or my father. Unless he told you to restrain me should I try to leave with my uncle, you've not broken any oath to my father. He wasn't that complete in his orders to you, was he?" Both men shook their heads. "Good. Then you can tell my father what you saw last night. And you tell him that all of us decided to go raiding without his leave, which means we have lost his protection. So we're saving him the trouble of throwing us out. That's what you tell him."
The man swallowed, his dog eyes wide. Yngvar doubted the man had the guts to deliver the message. Perhaps it was best he didn't hit those angry notes that Yngvar had infused into his words. His father was not a bad man and was not trying to harm him. But he was interfering in his life and setting up an inescapable future. Even if it meant he had to disobey his father, Yngvar had to take this chance now or be lost forever. Even if he declined Uncle Gunnar, eventually his father would learn of this temptation and would hurry the proceedings to lock Yngvar to his fate.
The two hirdmen seemed settled to this agreement.
The rest of the morning was slow to start as men were thick with drink. But by afternoon when Uncle Gunnar reappeared, he was more enthusiastic about this adventure than last night. He entertained Yngvar and the others with old stories, pausing at times to cough or wheeze. Later they were given heavy leather jerkins and better shields. The rest of his men prepared the ship for travel. Again they feasted that night, but not as extravagant as the prior night's. Then by morning of the following day Yngvar went down with thirty men in their war gear to the Seine River. Women and children were there to see them off. Yngvar thrilled at the departure. Unfortunately, he only had the dog-eyed hirdman to wave at.
As the sun burned off fog from the surface of the muddy river, Gunnar's ship pushed out into the current.
Yngvar was now on his first raid, and he could not wait to claim his treasure.
CHAPTER NINE
Yngvar shivered, his breath fogging around his nose as he wrapped his cloak tighter. The fog rose up with the dawn and never burned off. The sun failed to show itself for days, and the spring weather had turned wintry. Today was the worst it had been in all the days they had progressed north. The ship rocked on the waves and men grumbled about the bad omen. Yngvar wondered at taking to the waves in such fog. How would they spot land? Yet Uncle Gunnar was eager to reach Norway's shore.
"We are close now," he barked. "Don't show your bellies to me. Man the oars! I can steer us by the sun."
Thorfast and Bjorn moaned in pain at the order. Yngvar's shoulders and back burned from the stress of rowing, and his hands were blistered. He stuffed back his complaints, not wanting to catch that evil eye from his uncle whenever he caught them complaining.
They had sea chests, mostly empty now and awaiting treasure, which served as their rowing seats. Thorfast and he worked an oar while Bresi and Bjorn sat in front of them on theirs. Brandr walked the row to encourage men however they needed it, either with an encouraging word or a thump on the head. Bregthor and his friends got most of Brandr's attentions. Yngvar wasn't certain they needed it as much as Brandr gave to them.
"How does he make anything from a bright spot in the sky?" Thorfast asked.
"It's not as hard as it seems," Bresi answered. "As long as there is a patch then you can find your way. It's when the sun is completely lost to heavy clouds. Then only a sun stone can help."
Bjorn asked about the stone, as Yngvar expected, and the two fell into conversations he could not hear. He and Thorfast beg
an to haul on their oar, moaning as they did. Once they had a rhythm they tried to keep up with the songs the crew sang to pass the boredom. Yngvar laughed at his mistakes, as well as the men nearby, and he rowed until sweat poured down his face. It turned cold in the air and stung his eyes as it dripped from his brow.
"This is the day," Gunnar said from the stern where he held the tiller. He had altered it for use with his stump, but Yngvar had not been given a chance to study it. "We will be ashore before the sun sets. Then we travel inland to where my father's treasure is buried. We will face angry Norsemen, but do not fear them. Gunnar the Black will--"
He fell into a coughing fit and Yngvar never learned what Gunnar the Black was going to do to his enemies.
"What is that shape?" Yngvar asked. "It's too small to be an island. It's not a rock, I hope."
All the men on the port side followed Yngvar's gaze. The fog was clear enough past their oars, but soon the world shaded off into a circle of white-and-lead-colored sea. It seemed impossible that any other ship would be foolish enough to join them in this cloud. Yet the vague shape seemed to have a long-necked prow.
"A ship!" shouted one of the crew.
"That can't be good," Thorfast said. "Merchants wouldn't risk their cargo in this fog."
"That's a long boat," Gunnar shouted. "Shields!"
The men around him drew in their oars enough to prevent them from falling into the ocean. Yngvar stared at the swiftly approaching ship. Its long neck resolved out of the white, its naked mast like a shark fin cutting the fog behind it. Dark shapes leaned over the sides of the ship as the sea split over its hull. The crew was silent and watchful.
Gunnar's ship leaned hard to the side, and the jerk roused Yngvar to his senses. Gunnar's crew pulled their shields off the racks, then slung them over their backs before returning to their oars.
"Get your shield," Brandr yelled at Yngvar. "That ship's been hunting us."
"You knew it was there?" Thorfast asked.
Brandr frowned at him, giving a brief nod before moving off.
"He couldn't have known it was there," Yngvar said. "It's almost on us. Why wouldn't we try to outrace it?"
"To capture it, of course," Bresi said.
Gunnar's ship was long with high sides. No common long ship would challenge it without great risk, or so Gunnar had claimed. Yet here was a ship of equal size bearing down on them with a crew as silent as the dead. Yngvar wished they would make some noise or give a war cry. Anything to make them less spectral than they appeared. Now they had drawn close enough that shadowy faces emerged from the fog.
"Shields up!" Gunnar yelled.
The crew pulled up their shields, creating a canopy. Yngvar knew what to do, but could not believe he had to do it. This was it. A real attack from a real enemy. He checked his sword, ensuring it was not strapped into its sheath.
"Fool! Get your shield up and hug the gunwale!" Brandr tore at Yngvar's arm, hauling his shield up and shoving him at the gunwale.
Uncle Gunnar had steered his ship to point directly at the enemy boat, cutting down the angle for enemy bowmen. Yet just before Yngvar ducked behind the gunwale, he saw the enemy point their arrows at the sky.
He didn't recognize the first two or three wooden thuds as arrows. Right behind these dozens more rained down on the deck. Thorfast shouted as a bodkin broke through his shield, fortunately remaining stuck inches from his face. The clatter and thud of the falling arrows brought the screams of men. From beneath the shadow of the shields, Yngvar glimpsed someone tumble on the opposite side of the deck.
"Hooks!" Gunnar shouted, and the canopy of shields disappeared.
Yngvar's heart slammed against the base of his throat and his ears roared with his pulse. A man writhed on the deck with an arrow in his neck, brilliant blood pulsing onto the boards. Men danced around him as if he were nothing more than one of the sea chests they had been sitting on.
The enemy ship had maneuvered alongside them and was a spear's throw away. Warriors stood atop the rails on both ships, spinning hooks before letting them fly. Bowmen took aim and shot. Men on both sides screamed and fell into the water.
"Take their ship!" Gunnar shouted. "Leave no one alive!"
Yngvar stumbled as the ship lurched toward the enemy. They had more bowmen and so continued to shoot at the fools who made themselves targets. He watched as these men let fate decide life or death. Surely no man died before the Fates had chosen his time, but these fools seemed intent on taunting them. One man went tumbling overboard. What purpose had that served? Where was the glory? He didn't even make a sound as he died.
"Lord, draw your sword," Bresi shouted at him, rushing to his side. Both Thorfast and Bjorn were close behind him. "Stand with me and we will make a shield wall. Do not board the enemy ship. All of you, drop your cloaks or the enemy will use them to drag you down."
Yngvar steadied himself as the two ships slewed at each other. He pulled out the antler pin at his shoulder to let his cloak drop. "How can we take their ship if we don't board it?"
Before he got his answer, the hulls slammed together as the men hauling on their ropes howled in triumph. The impact sent water into the air and men flying backward from their perches. Yngvar caught Bresi for support. When the rocking steadied, he drew his sword.
Gunnar held his ax high in his left hand. A black shield made to fit the stump of his right arm guarded him. Brandr stood by his father, sword and shield ready and as ferocious as a wolf. Both stood on the rails, hanging onto rigging for support. Their men surged beneath them and gave a throaty war cry. The enemy, once so silent, now roared as a gritty, sweaty mass that swarmed over the sides to pour onto Gunnar's men.
A fierce pride grew in Yngvar's heart. "Bjorn, do you see that? The son of Ulfrik goes to battle, and we his grandchildren hide in the rear."
"I'll not stand at the back," Bjorn shouted, his face red with shame. "I want to kill the enemy."
"For glory!" Yngvar shouted, raising his sword high. Bjorn also raised his sword and Thorfast followed.
"No, wait for an opening," Bresi said. Yngvar felt him snatch at his shoulder as he charged toward the whirling fight at the seam of the joined ships.
Yngvar crashed into the rear of the fighting men, hoping to push his way to the center where his uncle and cousin fought. The enemy had easily half again as many men as Gunnar's crew and had shoved them back from the rails onto their own deck. A rudimentary shield wall formed, though no one locked shields. Through those gaps the enemy thrust their long swords and spears.
Cold and bloody sea water sluiced at his feet as he slid back against the crush of men. Thorfast joined his right and Bjorn was on his left. They also vainly sought a way toward the front, cursing and shoving with their shields.
Men screamed and swore. Spear points flashed in the diffuse light, darting into the press and coming away bloodied. Axes rose and fell, bringing the crash of wood or the howls of agony. Salty, hot blood drizzled down Yngvar's exposed head and ran to his mouth. He spit it out in disgust, looking up at the man he pushed against. He was dead but still standing as both he and Thorfast shoved. The man's head hung back with his throat and face gashed open. Yngvar had not even seen him die.
"Push into their backs," Bresi shouted, joining next to Thorfast. "Our shield wall has to advance, or the enemy will get around us."
Yngvar tried to see his uncle, but could not from so close behind. The noise was deafening and the ship hulls beat out a shuddering rhythm as they bumped against each other. He shook the blood out of his eyes. What had his father told him about the rear of the shield wall? He had not paid much mind to that training, always assuming he'd be in the front and center of any battle.
"We can lap around their flank," Yngvar said. "We can pull them off the front lines."
"They outnumber us," shouted Bresi as he pushed his shield in the small of the man's back before him. "We can't let our line thin."
"We're doing nothing here," Bjorn shouted.
&nbs
p; Yngvar's feet continued to slide back. The water sloshing over his boots was now as red as Frankish wine. If one lapped the enemy's flank only when outnumbering them, he thought, then the enemy crew would do it now.
"We can't let them get behind us," Yngvar shouted. "Thorfast, Bjorn, follow me!"
When he relented, the dead man he propped up thumped to the deck. The next man slid back and stumbled over the body.
"You've started a chain," Bresi shouted. "We're all going to fall."
Bresi was correct, but not because of what Yngvar did. He swung out from the rear toward the prow. The enemy crew had crumpled the line of Gunnar's men and they were stumbling and falling all along the railing. The enemy piled up, thrusting spear and blade into the collapsing men.
Gunnar now emerged atop the fray. His white hair and beard were stained with blood. His ax head was slick with gore as he raised it high. He shouted, "For glory!"
The war cry cut short.
An enemy spear shot from below, sliding under Gunnar's shield and into his side. His back arched and eyes widened, then he sank into the mass of hacking and stabbing weapons.
"Uncle!" The cry escaped Yngvar without a thought. He searched for the enemy he had expected to lap them. There was not enough room, their foes taking the brute force approach of crushing their opposition.
"We're going to be defeated," he said, his voice thin beneath the crash and thud of battle. He could see it even if none else could. The enemy were almost entirely aboard their ship. Gunnar had fallen. Brandr was lost amid the fighting. Men were stumbling.
"We'll become slaves," Thorfast said. "This can't happen."
"I'll die before that happens." Bjorn flung toward the melee, but Yngvar caught him. Bresi joined not far behind.
"No one's on the other ship," Yngvar said. "We've got to get away."
"You can't sail off with their ship," Bresi said.
"Of course not, we sail with ours," Yngvar was already stepping up to the prow. He held out his shield for balance, not daring to but glance at the gray water slapping the hull beneath him. He leapt to the enemy deck. Thorfast was right behind.
Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 6
