"That's why we didn't see him at the docks," Thorfast said. "I thought it odd he would not come to gloat. He knew we would be named outlaws."
"Great," Bjorn said, clapping his hands together. "I'll get to hack that arrogant head off his shoulders."
"It's better to avoid them," Yngvar said. "We don't need a fight now. Hamar, can you steer us away?"
Thorfast snorted a laugh. "This is a ship, not a winged dragon. He's cut in front of us. We can't slip away."
"The wind's in our favor," Yngvar said. "Hamar, head us into the islands. Maybe we can lose them in there."
Hamar grunted and cut a hard angle to the oncoming ship. At least it seemed equally matched. Rognvald did not own a high-sided ship of the noble class, but a more modest raiding vessel like Yngvar's. However good it would feel to skewer Rognvald, he was not worth the danger. Also, while he had probably tricked Yngvar into his mistaken oath, he was not so hateful that Yngvar wished him dead.
Yet Rognvald's ship, if it truly was his, hewed close to Hamar's course. Though the wind worked against them, they rowed hard. In fact, the new course relieved the enemy of some of the resistance. Yngvar now regretted giving them a chance to recover. He was not going to avoid the fight.
"Get your mail on," Yngvar said. "Don't be afraid of drowning. Either we all die or they do. Hamar, drive right at them and don't let up. Ram them if you must. I don't want to take any arrows before we get to the battle."
"We can't ram them," Thorfast said. "We could sink ourselves. This ship's not built for it."
"Neither is theirs. Let's see who fears death more."
Yngvar drew his mail out of the chest. Some men struggled with tangled links and had to abandon their armor for now. A coat needs to be hung properly or else it could become useless. Shields came off the racks and men drew their swords. Yngvar stood in the prow where the main fighting would take place upon boarding. He wanted them on his ship, so that if a chance presented itself he could escape with all his own supplies.
"They're not changing course," Thorfast shouted. Bjorn hefted his ax and laughed.
Alasdair was at Yngvar's side, offering him a shield of peeling green paint. "Will we really ram them? I can only save you from drowning, lord."
"We'll know before you can count to five."
Yngvar's hands were white on the rails. Rognvald's proud head raised above the others as he too lifted himself high in the prow. He shouted a curse Yngvar could not hear. The two ships sped at each other.
Rognvald's shifted at last.
Yngvar's ship slammed into the starboard side of the enemy vessel. His men stumbled and the thunderous thump of wood filled the air. Sea water shot up between the hulls. Strakes snapped and splinters flew. The two ships ground hulls with agonizing, wooden groans.
Boarding hooks flew out and bit into Yngvar's ship.
"Shield wall here!" Yngvar lined his men up to meet the boarders. The men behind put shields overhead and Yngvar held his forward. Every one of his crew fell into the crowded, dark place. Someone vomited with a wet squelch and the acid stench flooded the enclosure. The first of Rognvald's spears landed on their shield wall, cracking the ash wood. More followed, thumping into the deck or else deflecting off a shield. Yngvar felt one slam against his own shield, ringing the iron boss at its center.
Rognvald's men streamed onto the deck, screaming war cries. With practiced motions, Yngvar's crew unfolded their shield wall and braced for the first rush of enemy.
He had attached the lines to the left side to the mast and his right side to the prow. He gave Rognvald's men only space for a single row, but he had arrayed men three ranks deep. He would not be lapped around, but instead shove the enemy back onto their boat.
The clash of shield on shield was always louder than he had expected. He had only fought in a handful of shield walls, and each time he was numbed by the noise. Men screamed. Iron clanged. Spit and blood flew across the gaps as men shoved and stabbed.
Yngvar wished he had his short sword, Gut-Ripper, but he had left it in Erik Blood-Axe's leg. His new sax was an admirable short blade but nothing of the workmanship of Gut-Ripper. He used the new sword now, thrusting beneath his shield at the red-faced enemies before him. Here were familiar faces. Men who had joked with him and had even seemed to enjoy the prank played upon their lord. Now they were twisted with greed and rage, like rabid beasts dripping foamy slobber.
Bjorn's roar was clear over the clangor of opposing ranks. His ax hooked down a shield, then he drove its sharpened point straight into his attacker's face, gouging out an eye. Yngvar had not time to see more before his own helmet spun with a spear thrust that could've taken his own eye.
The lines shoved and stabbed at each other. Yngvar pressed toward Rognvald who shouted at his men from the rail of his ship. He had no room to land on the deck. The enemy line was thin and easily bent back toward the rails.
"Break them," he shouted. "Shove them overboard!"
The enemy slipped and fell in the blood pooling on the deck. Bjorn's song of death continued and gore and flesh spiraled away from his wild cousin as he carved into the mass of enemy. Rognvald's line buckled.
"Come fight me, you arrogant bastard," Yngvar shouted. "Stop hiding behind your men."
Rognvald's face was filled with late afternoon shadow, but he squinted to find Yngvar among the crowd. He leapt into the battle line and shoved toward Yngvar. The ranks parted so the two leaders could meet.
They did not even exchange insults. Rognvald, expecting to capture a ship of weak outlaws, seemed outraged at his misfortune. Had he thought Yngvar's stories empty boasts? He was nothing like Erik Blood-Axe or his warriors. Rognvald's crew were halfhearted, and now feeling the sting of defeat, were backing onto their own ship.
Rognvald's first blow landed on Yngvar's shield. It was strong but overextended. Yngvar drove his blade into Rognvald's gut, thought it would bend on his mail coat, but then the links snapped. His blade slithered into Rognvald's body just below his ribs. His eyes widened with shock.
"One strike was all it took," Yngvar sneered. His sword remained stuck in Rognvald's body, so he let him crumple to his feet. It was as if he had been carrying a bucket of blood and now toppled it on the deck. The dark, stinking fluid rushed out as he died.
The rest of the enemy saw defeat and leapt for their ship. They were trying to cut the ties that held their ships together. Instead, they were hacked down.
"No one lives!" Yngvar said. "Take their ship!"
With a roar of victory, his men hurried onto the enemy ship. Yngvar kicked over Rognvald, his face frozen forever in shock at his death. Then he drew his long sword and swept aboard the enemy ship. Men threw down their weapons and asked for mercy. Yngvar's crew kicked the weapons back at them and continued the fight.
They say cornered men fight with savagery and abandon. Yet he did not find it with Rognvald's crew. They were defeated for following a fool into a battle they were not prepared to win. Yngvar and his men were better and braver. And the gods loved them. Rognvald's men knew it, and so fought well but with resignation. They knew death was all they had earned that day, and so they gathered together and made a final stand. But surrounded, they had no choice. Bjorn led a group of warriors screaming into their midst, his red ax whirling through the enemy.
When the decks of both ships were awash with blood and clear of enemies, Yngvar's crew raised their weapons and shouted victory. Yngvar joined them, feeling the hot blood on his face. It ran down his sword and onto his arm as he held his long sword higher. A crew of thirty men were scattered about each ship, their corpses draping the rails where they had been pinned. Body parts were like white debris scattering the decks. In the water, lost shields floated like giant fish scales around the hulls.
"Lord, come quickly," Alasdair was on Yngvar's ship and crouched over someone on the deck. He was working frantically, pushing down with both hands on the body laid out beneath him.
Yngvar leapt the rails, slid in the gore,
but came to Alasdair's side.
Thorfast lay on the deck. Alasdair had folded his cloak and stuffed it onto Thorfast's stomach. The light gray cloth slowly darkened as blood infused it. Thorfast's eyes were closed as if he were asleep. Were it not for the enemy blood flecking his near-white hair, he would have seemed at peace.
"He was cut in the stomach," Alasdair said. "He fell and I think I saw his pink guts, lord. I think he's dead."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Yngvar held Thorfast down. His friend's face was paler than ever, and his eyes fluttered with his consciousness.
"You can't die," Bjorn said over Yngvar's shoulder. He didn't have to turn to his cousin to know he had tears in his eyes. They were in his voice as well.
"He won't die," Yngvar said quietly. "This is just going to hurt a bit. Are you ready?"
The crowd on the beach closed around Yngvar, blocking out the low sunlight. They had made landfall on the island after stanching Thorfast's wounds. While they had completely defeated Rognvald and his men, they had also taken their own wounds. One warrior had completely lost his sword hand. Another had his left ear severed. Thorfast was badly cut across his stomach and had lost much blood. As hideous as the wound seemed, it was not as bad Alasdair had initially described. Still, Thorfast continued to bleed. Yngvar felt his friend's heart beating wildly, the sign of having lost too much blood.
Grettir had turned out to be their best surgeon. He had a thorn needle and gut string, but was nearly out of it now. Dozens of men needed stitches, yet none as badly as Thorfast.
"Give him room to work," Yngvar said, and the onlookers parted. He then pointed at Thorfast's legs. "Bjorn, hold him steady."
Grettir plunged his needle into the cut. It had been a sharp blade that made the gash. Forcing the needle through the skin took effort, and Thorfast awoke to the pain with a scream.
"Have him bite something," Grettir muttered as he struggled to push the needle into the opposite side of the gash. "The damn needle is not so sharp after all this use."
Thorfast bit a leather strap that Alasdair placed into his mouth. They had given him mead to dull the pain, but it was not enough. All along the beach, Yngvar's injured men moaned or cried. It was the inevitable aftermath of battle and something the skalds never wrote about. Men always died heroically, and never from a cut to the foot that later turned bad. They died with grim determination and glorious finality. Never from a lingering wound that eventually broke even a strong man's resolve.
It seemed like hours, but over thirty stitches later, Thorfast was lathered with sweat and exhausted from his ordeal. Grettir was also soaked from his efforts. His sweat had diluted the blood stains on his shirt. He ran his forearm across his brow.
"I've no more gut string. So he better not tear this open."
Yngvar studied the angry wound. Now sutured and washed, it was not as intimidating as when they had carried Thorfast ashore. The cut ran from his navel down to his left hip bone. The sutures crisscrossed him and held his torn flesh together.
"If that blow had been any deeper, he'd have spilled all his guts," Bjorn said. "Imagine trying to fix that mess."
Yngvar stepped away, unable to imagine Thorfast's death. In fact, he might still die. Many men lingered for months before dying. He prayed to the gods that this would not be his best friend's fate. He stood at the shore, the hard pebbles beneath his feet rushing with the cold sea water that rolled in from tiny waves. Their own ship was beached a short distance west. On the horizon, Rognvald's ship had still not sunk but was low to the water. Yngvar had ordered the ship scoured for supplies then scuttled. They threw the mast and oars overboard, stole the sail for their own, then pulled up the deck boards and began hacking at the hull. The ship was left to drift on the tide and hopefully sink before it reached shore.
"We did not need this. We haven't even left the coast for Denmark yet," Yngvar said, knowing Bjorn was just behind him.
"I won't let him die," Bjorn repeated. "I'll battle the Norns themselves if they fate him to death now."
Yngvar chuckled, but his cousin was serious. Many men respected and feared Bjorn, and almost none befriended him. It was his way to only keep a handful of people close. Thorfast was likely one third of all the people in the world that Bjorn could call a friend.
"Do we return now?" Alasdair asked, joining them at the water's edge. "Thorfast needs help."
Yngvar drew a deep breath, a crisp and salt draught of sea air. Nights were colder now and falling sooner in the day. Leaves would change their colors before long. Yet he had sworn his service to King Hakon, who was known for being a good and lawful man. He was a king Yngvar could serve with pride. He could not fail him. Both Bjorn and Alasdair looked for his answer, but he just watched Rognvald's ship list to its port side.
"We will have to find him help in Denmark."
"Impossible," Bjorn said. He locked both his hands atop his wide head. "We can't find a jarl to serve while we're beaten like this. We'll just be prey for them."
"We've only lost three men to injuries. We're basically a full crew with a good ship. Only a fool would attack us." Yngvar stopped and smiled at the unintended irony.
"A fool like Rognvald," Alasdair said for him. "I don't agree with Bjorn on many things, lord. But it seems we cannot risk heading straight to Denmark. We might be considered more of a target for the Danes than we would as recruits."
"But we are going," Yngvar said. "It was a mistake to not sacrifice to the gods before starting this. I will amend it now and ask for Odin's blessing."
"We do Loki's work," Bjorn said. "It'd be best if you ask him to make you into a bird that can spy on Gorm. Save us all some trouble."
"I would fly away and never return, were I bird." Yngvar made the joke because he expected Thorfast might have said something like it. He already missed his friend, who hung over the pit of death by thirty stitches across his gut. Yngvar wanted his counsel, but Thorfast had collapsed after his ordeal. The instant he thought of this, he turned to Bjorn and grabbed him by his thick shoulders.
"What would Thorfast do if he realized we gave up our mission for him? We would shame him if we were to turn back now." Bjorn's eyes widened, but then he looked aside. Yngvar shook him. "And we cannot go back. We're outlaws. No one knows otherwise, besides King Hakon and his man, Fridlief. They will not receive us in failure. You know it. So we do not serve Thorfast any other way than to continue on."
Bjorn bit his lip but nodded. Yngvar let go of his cousin and turned to Alasdair. "Pray to your god as well, for Thorfast's health. We are doing work your White Christ should approve of. We're trying to stop a war between Denmark and Norway. Be certain to explain it that way and maybe Thorfast will heal faster."
"I will beg God for mercy. But I will not lie. We do this for our glory and wealth."
"That's how I'll describe it to my gods." Yngvar put his hand on Alasdair's shoulder. "Now let us make camp for the night."
By dawn the following day, Thorfast was still sleeping, but he breathed easily. They carefully loaded him on the ship along with the other two seriously wounded. They had launched out to sea with the tide, and Rognvald's ship was gone. Yngvar took his share of the meager silver they had accumulated from the dead and added his own silver armband to it. Seeing his sacrifice, others threw portions of their wealth onto the pile. When they were out to sea, Yngvar begged the gods for safe passage and victory, then threw the treasures into the sea. While he did not see it himself, men claimed gulls flew across their ship at that moment. All regarded it as a sign of the gods' favor.
Yngvar relied on Hamar to pilot them close to Jelling, the seat of Gorm the Old's power. They sailed south and kept far enough from Denmark's east coast to avoid easy detection. Yngvar took down the sail and mast to hide them on the horizon, and though men tired themselves rowing, it was better than attracting Danish ships. The northern coast was active with ships either on patrol or trade, and avoiding them was not as simple as hiding behind islands.
Without a sail it was a two-day journey down the Danish coast. A landing in Jelling, situated at the end of a long fjord, would be too risky. Thorfast had only slightly roused from his slumber and was growing steadily warmer. The wound seemed infected. The crewman who had lost his hand did not wake up and was red with fever.
"We have to get them aid," Yngvar said to Hamar, standing alone with him at the tiller. "We have to make landfall today and seek the local jarl. Take us ashore."
After they reset the mast and pointed toward land, the handless crewman died. He gave no sound or sign, other than the foul odor of his bowels loosening in death. Yngvar called a halt to send the man to the sea grave, wrapping him in a fresh cloak and putting a sword in his hands. Yngvar pressed the bits of silver he could spare into the man's wrap, payment for him to take to the next life. The corpse's splash into the water was all that marked his passing from the world.
Men grumbled about the bad sign, and Thorfast moaned. Bjorn was ever at his side, changing cool cloths at his forehead. Yet no one but a healer would have the skills and magic needed to raise Thorfast from his lingering sickness. Grettir merely had skill with battlefield surgery and nothing more.
Fishing ships avoided them as they closed toward the land, but Yngvar waved a hazel branch at them. Despite the hazel branch's implied meaning of peace, the ships never approached. They instead raced back to their shore.
"They'll bring warships instead," Yngvar said. "It's just as well. Here's where we learn if the gods favored our offering."
He spoke to no one, but squinted toward the bluish stripe of land on the horizon. He had no interest in Denmark. He had grown up surrounded mostly by Norsemen and Franks, with the occasional Danish family interspersed. Apparently the Danes were everywhere in Frankia, but Yngvar had never really befriended any of them. Now he was going to live among them as a spy. The thought of it quickened his pulse.
The warships did come, two racing across the waves to intercept them before Hamar could guide them ashore. A knot loosened in Yngvar's guts. Last thing he needed was to run aground on a sandbar or hit rocks in this unfamiliar shore. At least these ships would guide him safely.
Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2) Page 7
