by Clare Smith
At the far end of the bay there were a dozen ships built for both strength and speed which had masts and furled sails as well as three banks of oars down either side. Tutacaraph had explained that they were fighting ships which the Roman army used to attack the many pirates which sailed the seas. One of the guards, who had been ordered to keep a watch on him, had said that if he tried to escape, his master would sell him as a galley slave. Then he would be chained to one of the ship’s oars where his life would be short and miserable, which would serve him right.
Despite the warning he still thought the ships were a thing of beauty. He could almost imagine one of them cutting through the water with the painted eyes on the front just above the water line, and the long, metal tipped horn, which protruded from the middle deck, smashing into an enemy vessel. It would be an amazing sight although he guessed that the terrible impact wouldn’t do the galley slaves much good.
There were other ships moored closer by which also looked to be sleek and fast, but were only half the size of a fighting ship. These had two decks with oars down either side and a single mast. Some of them were painted with faces of demons or sea serpents, but most were plain and looked as if they had seen some hard wear. Amongst them were rounder, heavier ships which he assumed were merchantmen and would move slowly up and down the coast. He hoped that the ship his master sought wasn’t one of those.
As he hurried along the harbour side after Tutacaraph and passed the place where the merchant ships were moored, he knew he was in luck. Here a short pier had been built extending out into the choppy water, and tied to it was a single ship which was ready to put out to sea. This ship was clearly built for speed, as it was sleek and narrow and would ride high through the waves. At the front of the ship was a high prow which had been carved into the shape of a dragon’s head and painted to look ferocious, whilst the back of the ship was pointed instead of round and looked like a dragon’s tail.
The ship had just one mast and a single deck with benches down either side. Long oars rested on the ship’s side along with small, round shields which were decorated with strange symbols that looked vaguely familiar, or the heads of wild animals. The men who walked about the ship looked familiar too. They were large and powerfully built with long hair and beards which were decorated with beads. Gold rings encircled their arms and most wore a small metal pendant around their necks attached to a leather thong.
In the heat they wore no shirts, but despite that they still wore long trousers and thick boots. If it wasn’t for the fact that their hair was the colour of ripe corn they could have been his own people, and for a moment he had a sudden urge to ask them where they came from. He took a step forward to call down to them, but one of the guards grabbed him and pulled him back, and then shoved him towards the rear of the ship.
Now he was standing on the edge of the pier staring down into the ship he could see that there were others in the ship who were dark like he was and were huddled to one side with their heads bowed. They wore nothing but a loincloth and a metal ring around their ankles, whilst their ribs pushed painfully against their filthy skin and their backs were lined with lash marks. As he watched, one of the big men herded them towards the rowing benches, whilst another attached the band around their ankles to bolts in the floor.
Tutacaraph, who had been talking to a fair haired man wearing three gold rings around his arm, beckoned him over and he reluctantly went, already guessing what his fate was going to be and not liking it one bit. The man looked him up and down and snarled something in a language he didn’t understand, but which made one of the others hurry over with an iron ring and a hammer. If he was going to avoid ending up as a miserable galley slave, then he needed to do something fast.
“Master,” he said, attracting Tutacaraph’s attention. “You said that if I gave you my word, my life would not be unpleasant, and I have given you my word.”
Tutacaraph looked at him in surprise, clearly not used to a slave reminding him of what he’d said, but it didn’t seem to displease him too much. “Yes, you have given your word and I did say that, but Captain Sigmonson is not going to like having a slave running free on his ship.”
“What if I promise not to run about the ship, but sit quietly at one of the benches and do as I’m told?”
The play on words must have amused him because Tutacaraph gave a small, high-pitched laugh and said something to the Captain which made him scowl and spit out an order. It did the trick though, as the man with the ankle ring grabbed hold of his arm, hauled him onto the ship and almost threw him onto one of the empty rowing benches. He wasn’t certain what he was meant to do next, so he sat there looking around him, hoping that someone would tell him what was what before Captain Sigmonson changed his mind.
He’d never been on a ship before, so the movement of the vessel took him by surprise. It was a bit like sitting on a horse, but instead of rocking backwards and forwards, he was rocking from side to side which was very odd. The ship rocked even more when the Captain, Tutacaraph and the rest of the crew climbed on board. His master and Sigmonson went to the back of the ship, whilst the rest of the men sat on the benches alongside the slaves.
The man who sat next to him was about his own age with bright blue eyes and a moustache, which was tipped with two beads the same colour as his eyes. His hair was long and tied back with a strip of leather, and he wore just one arm ring made of silver. He growled something at him, and when he didn’t respond, the man grabbed his hands and placed them on the oar.
From behind him Sigmonson shouted a command and the man next to him pulled on the oar. Unfortunately he was slow to respond and before he had chance to move, the end of the oar hit him in the chest and knocked him over backwards onto the feet of the rower behind. The rower kicked him hard in the back and he scrambled back onto his bench and grabbed the oar just before it hit him in the chest again.
He thought the man next to him would be angry at his clumsiness, but he obviously thought it was funny as he laughed and mimicked him falling over with a look of surprise on his face. That made him laugh too and, in response, the man spat in his hand and held it out. He had no idea what that was about, but thought it was best to do the same.
The man took his hand and shook it up and down and then pointed at himself. “Me Igson, me strong rower and good with sword.”
“I’m Banniff, I’m…..” He stopped there not wanting to say that he was a slave and then thought of something better. “I’m new to rowing.”
Igson scowled at him and then laughed as he worked out what Banniff had said. “That no good, I show,” and he did.
*
Banniff leaned over his oar and took three deep breaths. His back ached and his shoulders burned from the sustained effort, but at least he felt better than he had yesterday when Sigmonson had called a halt. Then he’d thought that his heart was going to explode inside of his chest, but even that had been better than the day before when he thought he was going to die. Next to him Igson grinned and slapped him on the back. Igson was breathing hard too, but nowhere near as hard as he was, and if his shoulders and back ached he didn’t show it.
It was what he’d come to expect from Igson and the other Northmen who took such pride in their strength and stamina. Igson, who was first cousin to Sigmonson, came from the lands far to the north of the Rhenus and across the sea to where the sun rose. He’d told him that they had set sail to find the end of the world and the gold of the great dragon that lived there, but all they had found was the land where the sun burnt your back and the men wore skirts.
Still, they had done well enough raiding costal settlements and moving on before the Emperor’s men could catch up with them. Eventually they had come to a large port at the mouth of a river, where the sand dunes were higher than the roof of a lord’s hall and that is where Sigmonson had met Tutacaraph. They had been working for Tutacaraph ever since, sailing from Ostia to a port in the desert and back again, and getting rich from the cargo they carried.
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Igson wouldn’t say what the cargo was, but by the amount of gold the Northmen wore it had to be something very lucrative. His rowing partner explained that he didn’t wear gold yet, as he hadn’t been blooded in battle, but that day would come soon, and then he would wear gold instead of silver. He’d also been true to his word and had taught him not only how to row, but how to navigate by the stars and read the different moods of the sea.
On the first day at the rowing bench, when the blisters on his hands had bled, Igson had shown him that spitting into your hands wasn’t just used as a greeting, but as a salve as well. He’d been dubious about its use, but as the blisters had now turned to hard calluses, he guessed that Igson knew what he was talking about. For his part, he’d told Igson very little about himself except that he’d been taken from his home on the banks of the Rhenus and had ended up in Rome where he’d gone to work for Tutacaraph.
It wasn’t much of a story, but Igson seemed satisfied with it, which was fortunate, as he thought the Northman would be jealous and perhaps less friendly if he told him that he had once been a warrior and had already been blooded in battle. He’d also decided it wouldn’t be wise to tell Igson that he knew how to use the knife at the Northman’s belt and the sword he kept under the rowing bench. The last thing needed was to lose the man’s trust and end up with a ring around his ankle and welts on his back like the other slaves.
As it was, his life on board the northern ship wasn’t that unpleasant. The work was hard but he was well fed and every third day, when the ship pulled into a river mouth or creek or up onto a beach, there would be fresh meat, from whatever animal the hunters managed to kill, and a pot of ale. He was grateful for the meat and ale, which the other slaves weren’t given, but wished that things weren’t so awkward when they were on land.
Igson and the other Northmen ignored him, and he wasn’t welcome at their fire. Nor was he welcome on the ship where the other slaves, who were still chained to their benches, hissed and spat at him, and the men on guard duty eyed him suspiciously. Most of the time he made his bed away from the others, and either slept or stared up at the stars feeling homesick.
He supposed he could have escaped any time he wanted, and doubted if the Northmen would waste their time coming after him. However, once they had left the hundreds of small islands of the Peloponnese, the land had become wilder, and he guessed his chances of survival on his own would be very small. Perhaps when they reached the great port Igson had told him about, he could slip away and find a ship going north towards his homeland.
It was a good thought, and he let himself imagine what it would be like to go home right up until the moment Sigmonson shouted the order to row. He’d learned better than to hesitate and dipped his oar into the water in time with the others, pulled back and thought about nothing but the rhythm of lift and pull. The pace was much slower than the sprint they had been practising, and for that he was grateful.
At this speed they could row for hours whilst the hot sun shone on his weather tanned back and the breeze cooled his sweating skin. One of the Northmen started chanting in time to the rhythm of the oars and the others joined in. Igson had translated the words for him, and through that he was starting to pick up the basics of their language, which wasn’t very different from his own and much easier to pronounce than the words the Romans or his master used.
Under his breath, so he wouldn’t offend Igson, he said the words to himself and had just reached the part where the princess had turned into a fire breathing dragon when there was a shout of alarm from the rowers on the landward side. The ship skewed as the rowers lost their rhythm and he looked across to where several of them were pointing. At first, with the sun reflecting off the sea, he couldn’t make out what had caused such alarm, but then he saw them.
There were three boats each with a single triangular sail bearing down on them. They were smaller than the Northman’s ship, but even from where he sat he could see they were crowded with men, and the sun glistened from the weapons they carried. Igson swore and snapped out a word he’d never heard before, but he didn’t need to understand what was said to know they were pirates. They were closing fast now, almost skipping across the waves, and there was no way their heavy ship was going to outrun them.
Sigmonson must have thought so too as he snapped out a command and every Northman acted instantly. Igson dived off his bench to the space beneath and dragged out a sword and a mail coat. The sword was shorter than most, but ideal for fighting in the confined space of a ship, whilst the mail coat was similar to the ones Roman officers wore, only brown with rust from the sea and the salt. By the way Igson struggled to get it on, it must have been heavy too, and would take him to the bottom of the sea if he fell overboard.
All along the side of the ship the Northmen were hefting their small round shields from the ship’s rail and preparing for battle whilst the slaves sat helplessly at their benches holding the ship steady in the water. From the look of fear on their faces he guessed that they would share the Northman’s fate if the pirates took the ship. For his part, he stayed where he was, holding the heavy oar in the water and wishing he had something better than a long, unwieldy piece of wood and his bare fists with which to defend himself.
In the time it had taken for the Northmen to dress for battle, the three pirate boats had approached to within a hundred paces of where their ship wallowed in the swell. From his position on the rowing bench it was difficult to see what was happening as the Northmen lined the rail, but when one of the warriors moved aside, he could see that the pirates had formed a straight line and were coming directly at them. Then his view was blocked and he’d no idea what was going on until there was a crash of splintering timbers and the ship rocked violently from side to side.
Across the aisle on the opposite rowing benches those slaves who hadn’t been smashed from their seats by the splintering oars were struggling to fend off the pirates’ boats. Above them, balanced against the ship’s rail, the Northmen screamed insults and waited for the pirates to come at them so they could feel the bite of their steel. He could see the top of two masts now as the sleek boats manoeuvred into place and, for a moment, wondered if the other boat had sunk when it hit the ship’s oars.
Then there was a scream and one of the warriors toppled over backwards with a slender spear protruding from his chest. Through the gap he could see that at least one of the pirate boats was alongside and caught a glimpse of dark-skinned men with curved swords trying to clamber over the side. In an instant his view was obscured again as Sigmonson screamed an order and the space where the dead Northman had fallen was filled by another.
Now the fighting began in earnest and whilst all he could see were the backs of the straining warriors he could tell by the shouting, the clash of steel and the way the ship rocked, that the Northmen were holding their own, but only just. Then there was a high pitched scream and a loud splash as one of the fighters at the rear of the ship fell overboard taking two of the pirates with him. For a moment a gap opened up and through it three pirates in dirty, striped robes scrambled on board and stabbed out with their curved swords at the next man in line.
He went down in a welter of blood and more pirates climbed over the side. Sigmonson saw the danger and ran down the length of the ship, leaping from bench to bench without hesitating once. Now there were almost a dozen pirates on board battling with the two Northmen who were trying to plug the gap. Sigmonson crashed into the raiders at full speed knocking two overboard and taking the arm from a third. The Captain swung his battle axe in a wide arc making space for himself and relieving the pressure on his two hard pressed men, and together they pushed the pirates back.
From where he sat on the other side of the ship it looked as if the Northmen would fend the pirates off, but then there was the sound of scraping wood beside him and when he turned he discovered what had happened to the third pirate boat. Whilst the warriors were concentrating on the two pirate vessels which had come alongside, the thi
rd had manoeuvred its way around the other side and had slipped between the spaces where some of the oars had been withdrawn.
It was a delicate manoeuvre which left the front of the pirate boat nudging up against the ship’s side, but with enough contact for one pirate at a time to leap on board. Seeing the danger he shouted out the alarm, but it was lost in the noise of battle. One of the pirates had already made it onto the ship’s rail, so he did the only thing he could and leaped up from his bench and head butted the pirate in the stomach.
The man’s stinking breath whooshed from him into Banniff’s face making him gag, and then the pirate collapsed and disappeared overboard. That gave him a few seconds to scramble across the rowing bench and grab a sword from a dead man’s hand before the next pirate leaped on board. He was lucky that the dead warrior’s weapon was a broadsword which gave him a longer reach, as by the time he returned to the ship’s side the next pirate had his leg over the rail and one foot on the rowing bench.
Ignoring everything his brothers had ever taught him about defending a position, he swung the sword low down in front of him so that it smashed into the man’s ankle and removed his foot. The pirate screamed and collapsed across the ship’s rail, blocking the way for others to board. For a moment he thought he’d done enough to keep the others at bay, but eager hands dragged at the pirate pulling him over the side and he knew he’d been wrong.
In the short time it had taken him to repel two boarders, the pirates had managed to remove several of the ship’s oars and pull their boat alongside. Now half a dozen pirates could board at once and there was very little he could do about it except to take as many of them down with him before they overwhelmed him. Behind him he heard a shout and when he glanced back he could see Igson and another warrior running forward to help, but they were going to be too late.
