CHAPTER 11.
They Reach Land.
Taking his turn on the steering oar in the pre-dawn darkness, Ambrose tried to stay alert while his two comrades slept the deep sleep of exhaustion. As the first almost horizontal rays of light heralded the new dawn, Ambrose called out.
"Wake up, Polonius! Look dead ahead. I think I can make out what looks to be land! Phillip, lie still and rest, old friend, but I think that we have finally found the Norse coast."
In spite of Ambrose's admonition, The Weapons-master stirred and forced his battered body to sit upright. They had been caught in an almost palpable darkness for what had seemed an eternity. Invisible, the savage ocean had surged all around them, tossing their small boat about like a child's toy. Now, suddenly, the rising sun illuminated jagged peaks of a mountain range. Partly bathed in light; the appearance of the rugged land coincided with a sudden drop in the savage intensity of the waves. Coming together, the experience was almost mystical.
All three travellers drank in the beauty of the rugged coast. On either side of them were some of the many thousand rocky islands Canute had told them guarded the Norse shores.
Ambrose finally broke the awed silence. "Well, friends, do we want to land on an island to rest and dry ourselves, or do we head direct for the mainland?"
Polonius replied. "I am wet and sore, and would like nothing better than to step onto solid land, but our supply of both water and food is about finished. I vote we look for a settlement as quickly as possible."
Both looked at Phillip. He ruminated carefully, and then replied to the question.
"To the Norse we are not fugitives. I would rather we sail boldly into a harbour then be caught skulking on some island."
Ambrose smiled. Their situation was serious, but he was young and resilient, and he was sure that God was smiling on them that day. "So be it! I will follow the coast until I see some evidence of settlement, and then I will sail for it."
Ambrose steered the little vessel parallel with the coast and northward, as in this direction they could use their sail and tack. At last, towards mid-morning, Ambrose called out again.
"Look to the right! Is that a smudge of rising smoke I see?"
Polonius, who had relieved Ambrose a little earlier, threw the steering oar over. "Watch the boom! I'm changing tack." As per Polonius' warning, the boom shot across with a loud snap when the sail alternately emptied and then re-filled in response to Polonius' course change. Even Phillip, lying on the bottom of the little ship, instinctively ducked.
Polonius turned the vessel into a narrow passageway protected by two great mountains that appeared to be standing sentinel. The inviting plume of smoke lay dead ahead.
Once within the shelter of the land, the water became relatively calm. All three thrilled to see that the narrow arm of the sea expanded into a large bay. Below, the water remained a deep green, but Ambrose began to look anxiously over the side.
Polonius smiled. "Don't worry, Ambrose. As long as the water remains that colour, you will find adequate water under the keel.
Ahead lay a veritable wall of mountain peaks. They were fringed with green, and the tallest were surmounted by snowy peaks. The faint smudge of smoke that Ambrose's keen eyes had spotted was now dead ahead. It had differentiated into multiple columns that indicated that some kind of reasonably large settlement was nestled in the lap of two mountains. Around the village, and climbing the gentler slopes of the mountains, the three sailors could see the various shades of green and gold that signified agriculture.
Polonius, ever the expert sailor, adroitly used the little wind that reached this sanctuary to propel the boat towards the log wharf where were tied several fishing vessels and a single knarr. No larger vessels were visible.
Echoing across the water, from somewhere on the mountain slope of one of the sentinel mountains, came a mellow blast of some kind of horn. Clearly their arrival had been noted and their progress reported from a hidden sentry post.
As their ship neared the wharf, Ambrose dropped the sail. Phillip and Polonius broke out the oars and eased the vessel against the wharf. Women and armed men joined the children who awaited them. At the sound of a second long horn blast, the village men put down their spears, bows, and axes, and smiled broadly at the three companions. Ambrose knew without being told that the evident relief was because no menacing warship followed the little sailing vessel into the calm serenity of the sheltered fjord.
Phillip threw a line to a waiting boy, and their ship was made fast. The die was cast. A barrel-shaped man with a long grizzled beard and bald pate stepped forward. He boomed a hearty welcome.
"Welcome, strangers, to our humble village! Come ashore and tell us news of the world!"
As the language expert, Polonius took the responsibility, and responded in his best Danish, which seemed similar enough to the Norse tongue that each could be easily understood.
"Thank you, sir. We have come from the land of the Danes and were on our way to the land of the Rus, but a terrible the storm blew us far off course. Aegir almost took us several times, and I think that we will continue our journey on foot. We ask in friendship for food and lodging, and would be pleased to offer some silver in exchange for your hospitality."
The portly man's voice boomed again. "Nay, speak not of payment, but rather of friendship! We are friends to our cousins the Danes, and, because of our isolation here, hunger for what news you have of the world beyond our mountains. In that way you may earn your keep, strangers."
Polonius responded as gracefully as he could. "Sir, nothing would give us greater pleasure then to discuss the world's affairs with you, but first let me introduce to you my worthy companions. The young lad is Canuteson, adopted son of Canute, who is a distant relative to the Danish High Chief himself. Phillip here,' Polonius said, indicating the giant, 'is a thrall from a barbarian land, and is a faithful servant of my lord Canuteson.
I, too, as you no doubt have astutely ascertained, am from a foreign land. My name is Polonius, and I am from the New Rome, which, I am told, some of your people call Miklagard. I serve as guide and servant to my lord Canuteson."
"Well met!' shouted the village leader in his booming voice. 'I am Eric the Round, and, I must confess, I am getting thirsty from all this talk!"
Holding his hairy belly and laughing loudly, Eric sent his own thralls and free servants scampering off in all directions to prepare a feast for the visitors.
"It's seldom we get visitors here, and I long for an excuse to breach our supplies of mead and ale. Come!"
With surprising swiftness, Ambrose, Phillip and Polonius found themselves led to Eric's house, a sturdy timber dwelling of two rooms. There blushing and laughing servant girls helped them remove their brine-soaked clothes and put on fresh attire from the waterproof sea-bag that Canute had insisted Ambrose take, along with the weapons and money.
The servant girls were taken aback at Phillip's inflamed back, and for a moment the three companions thought their fate was sealed, but Polonius' verbal ripostes and flattery soon had them fluttering about him, as Phillip valiantly attempted to fit into a shirt that had once been Canute's.
At length they were ensconced on long benches in the central chamber that constituted most of Eric's house. The room was obviously used for meetings by the village elders and warriors. Shields and spears decorated the walls, and the smoke from the open fire pit hung in the air until it could infiltrate the thatched roof and escape.
The men of the little hamlet; many dressed in finery of by-gone years and far-away raids, arrived and joined the guests on the benches.
"As you have seen,' boomed Eric, 'we are an isolated folk, and yet even here each man goes forth at least once for a Viking. Several of our younger sons are even now with our jarl's fleet. They have sailed to harry the Irishers.'
As he spoke, he waved his horn of mead. 'Will you join us in a toast to the gods, and to the safety of all travellers? We poor folk are not without some crude refinements."
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p; All three guests smiled, and Polonius responded. "Of course."
Eric clapped, and several more serving wenches ran out from behind a leather curtain. They brought with them gold and silver chalices which they gave to the guests.
Once again Eric the Round's voice boomed out. "In this village, we pray to Thor. May you return to your homes as surely as Mjollnir returns to his master's hand."
He stood and held his drinking horn high. "To Thor!"
The villagers stood as one, and the room reverberated with their reply. "To Thor!"
Ambrose looked at Polonius. He didn't want to antagonize the Villagers, yet he feared to put his immortal soul in jeopardy by praying to a false god.
Polonius whispered. "Drink, Prince, to the one true God. The father of gentle Jesus will understand."
Ambrose felt the many eyes focussed on him. He said a short prayer and raised the chalice to his lips. The hall erupted in cheers when he and his two companions all emptied their chalices in one continuous motion."
Eric beamed at them. "We now drink to your gods!"
Again the horns and chalices were filled and emptied.
"Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends, for today we celebrate the safe arrival of strangers from the lands of the Danes!"
CHAPTER 12.
Gunnar of the Rus.
As they walked the shoreline where their little sailboat was beached, Polonius turned to Ambrose.
"Lord, I have a favour to ask."
"We are friends, Polonius. Ask!"
"Lord, I would like to beg several silver pennies from you."
"The coins were given by Canute to the three of us. You do not need to beg, my friend. They are yours for the asking."
"Thank you. The money is important to me."
"Polonius, the coins are yours, yet I admit to being puzzled."
"Prince, for the first time in many years, I am a free man."
"We are fugitives, and far from safety yet."
"Yet for the first time in memory, my body does not belong to another man. I am free to do as I please. I do not intend to live as a slave again."
Ambrose grinned. "And a few silver pennies will prevent this?"
Polonius smiled in return. "It will help, Prince. It will help."
Polonius stood in front of Big Kell, the village blacksmith. "I would like to purchase some iron and rent your forge. Do you have any iron that I could buy?"
"Oh, aye. I have a little bog iron ore that I dug up last week. I guess I could sell you a little. If you'd like, I will make you whatever you want myself. I will only charge you for the iron I use."
"I thank you. That is very kind of you, yet what I must do I must do myself. I would be honoured if you would assist me, however."
"Oh, aye. I will do that."
Polonius painstakingly laid down a level layer of charcoal. Over this he laid a layer of crushed ore. He alternated the layers until the clay furnace was full to the top. At last, satisfied, he stood back. "Well, my friends, I think I am finally ready. I will light the charcoal now, and, Phillip, when I give the word, I want you to pump the bellows as if your life depended upon it. Oh, and if you agree, Canuteson, I would like to use the iron that adorns Phillip's neck. Would you mind if I removed it and melted it down?"
"Polonius, I do not think that Phillip needs that band of iron any longer to remind him who his master is. You have my permission."
"Kell, can you remove the collar?"
"Oh, aye. It will take but a moment."
At last, with the thrall collar on top of the ore and with enough time for the charcoal to start burning, Polonius was ready. "Pump, Phillip! The metal must get white-hot."
Phillip's powerful muscles contracted and relaxed, contracted and relaxed. Great pulses of pure air raced from the leather bellows through the clay furnace, until the charcoal roared. Gradually, under the ferocious heat, the iron melted and collected at the bottom of the pit.
Ambrose spoke to his friend. "Well, Polonius, as a child I always enjoyed watching my father's smiths at work, but I fail to see how this will ensure your . . .' He looked at the smith right behind him. . . will give you your wish."
"Well, Canuteson, I will show you before the day is over. When the furnace has cooled we will return and remove the slag. Then I will have my metal."
"I have watched this done before, old friend. What you will have will be a lot of very impure iron."
"Then we heat it again! After that . . . well you will see."
Ambrose and Phillip knew that Polonius loved mysteries. They were curious, however, and followed Polonius back to the smithy, where the charcoal had finished burning and the metal had cooled. Polonius repeated the process, and this time he was left with a misshapen hunk of relatively pure iron.
"And now we start. Phillip, hand me those tongs. Canuteson, the hammer please!"
Polonius re-heated the metal until it glowed red, and then he quickly pounded the mass of iron into rods. After each hammering he again re-heated the rods and sprinkled charcoal powder on them. He now had Ambrose and Phillip puzzled. The burly thane spoke.
"Every time you purify the iron, you contaminate it again with charcoal. What is the purpose, Polonius?"
"Phillip, iron is soft and can bend when it hits armour. The charcoal adds carbon, which gives the iron strength."
"Then why are not all swords and spears treated so?"
"Many are. If you add too much carbon, then the blade becomes brittle and will snap. Too little, and it bends. A master smith knows the exact amount to add, depending on what it is he is making."
Ambrose spoke up. "And just where did you learn the art of smithing?"
"I was once a scholar who indulged in learning for the sheer pleasure of it. But I learned this much later. A man who wishes to survive as a slave is wise to learn many things."
As he spoke, he withdrew the first of his eight rods from the roaring fire, and started to shape it on the anvil.
It was soon obvious to the three observers what the object would be. The rods were twice the length of an adult hand. Polonius started to flatten and shape one end, until the rough shape of a blade appeared.
Ambrose was excited. "Why didn't you say you needed some knives, you rascal!? We have enough silver to buy you the finest ones in all Norseland!"
Polonius didn't respond until the blade was almost complete. He dipped it into a clay pot of vegetable oil, and then replied.
"This is not an ordinary knife, Canuteson. Does it look right to you?"
"I recognize a blade, but it is not the shape of any knife I know."
"Precisely. Phillip, would you please move that chopping block over under the tree?"
Phillip's muscles bulged, but he managed to lift the massive stump for the requisite distance. Polonius passed a smooth stone over his new knife several times, and then looked satisfied.
"Canuteson, the knife is still in need of much smoothing, but let me show you its purpose." With one smooth motion, Polonius swivelled and threw the knife. The spectators turned just in time to see the blade thunk solidly into the stump.
"You see, Canuteson? It is not yet perfectly balanced, and I have not yet wrapped the handle, but it is shaped for throwing."
"It is no-doubt going to be a fine knife, Polonius, but just how does this guarantee your previously-expressed desire?"
"With eight of these in my belt, I can incapacitate or kill any warrior in the world."
"That is a powerful boast. You can kill armoured warriors who carry shields, and wear chain-mail, armour and helms?"
"Unarmoured is easier, but yes, with or without armour. Probably more than one. It depends on how fast they close."
"Polonius, you are a man of many unusual skills. Where did you learn this one?"
"In the east. My master at the time was amused by tricks of skill, and his lash encouraged me to learn both quickly and well. I did. I am no warrior, yet I have managed to kill several enemies in a matter of seconds."
"Polonius, old friend, would you be willing to give Phillip and me a little demonstration?"
"It would be a pleasure, Canuteson, but only after I have finished the throwing daggers. Would that be satisfactory?"
Ambrose slapped his emaciated friend on the back. "Whenever you are ready, friend, whenever you are ready . . . I do have one task for you, however, that I would like you to attempt as soon as possible."
Polonius stared at Ambrose. "Name it, lord, and it will be done."
"Since you are so good with the forge, could you make me a claymore?"
"A big claymore?' Polonius suddenly grinned. 'Would you by any chance like one so big only some overgrown oaf could handle it?"
"If that great oaf is to protect us properly, I think it only fitting that we provide him with the proper tool. He seems to have lost the last one he owned."
"If that is to be its purpose, Master, I would be proud to forge the biggest bloody sword you ever saw."
"Kell, would that be satisfactory?"
"Oh, aye, I would be happy to sell you a little more iron." He shrugged. 'tis quiet this time of year. Master Polonius is welcome to use the forge as long as you replace the charcoal you use."
"Agreed, my friend . . . and while we are at it, Kell, I need the services of a master bowyer. Do you have such a man in your village?"
"Oh, aye, sir. Me cousin Latham is a bowyer. If you would like, I will take you to him."
Ambrose picked up and put down several bows from the man's collection. "Latham, I am looking for a bow both thicker and longer. I do not see any strong enough. Could you cut us a thicker one?"
Latham looked hurt. "Canuteson, it takes years for the wood to mature before I can use it. What you ask is not possible."
"Then could you strengthen one of these with sinews?"
"Sir, the one you hold can only be used by a very strong man. If I strengthen it further, no man would be able to draw it."
"I am not thinking of just any man"
Polonius suddenly grinned." Could it be that you are thinking of some giant oaf?"
Ambrose turned and smiled in return. "The very one."
Polonius spoke. "If the bow is for Canuteson's servant, than, Latham, you can strengthen it. Fear not. Phillip will be quite able to draw it."
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 10
