Once aboard the vessel, the trio waved thanks to the rowers who were fast disappearing shoreward. They settled themselves down comfortably, for they were to be honoured guests of the captain, travelling as they were with Gunnar's direct authority to carry out company business as they best saw fit.
As soon as the wind picked up enough that the oars could be shipped and the huge square sail was propelling the ship towards its destination without help, the captain came to see the three of them.
"Son-of-Canute, my name be Hammar. Know you of our plans?", he asked, showing increased respect for this lad when the boy's ever-present bodyguard, Phillip, uncoiled himself and stood straight, a giant amongst a race of tall men. Phillip was resplendent in his new outfit of wool and buckskin; a man truly to be reckoned with.
Ambrose responded to the captain. "I have instructions to sail with you to Novgorod, set up a trading factory, and eventually do the same thing as far south as I can. As to your instructions, however, I regret I know little. I and my companions would appreciate it greatly if you would enlighten us."
In truth, the three of them were bursting with curiosity about this mysterious mission, and even Polonius' store of knowledge had been of little help, as, for once, he had no knowledge of the area they were sailing to, except that Byzantium acquired furs, horses and slaves from somewhere in the heart of the continent. That, and the fact that the land to the south and east was famous as the land of the steppe horsemen; where lived the fierce Scythians, Huns, and a hundred other unknown (at least to Polonius) tribes. Polonius explained to a sceptical Ambrose that these savage horsemen had helped to destroy mighty Rome itself, and they were an occasional threat even to New Rome.
Hammar smiled. "Son-of Canute. Sit, and I will try to answer any questions you have. As I know not what you know, I will tell all I can think of, but I ask you to tell me if I repeat information you already possess."
So saying, the four of them settled down on the hard-wood deck, and the captain began.
"As you know, we, the Rus, have built settlements on the southern coast of the Viking Sea. We have taken our wooden steeds up many of the rivers that empty into the sea, and we have thus traded far inland.
Novgorod, along one of the interior rivers, has long been an important trading town on our river journeys. We have found it expedient, in turn, to fight at the townsmen's side when danger has threatened. Thus we have become friends. Pressure from marauders to the south and east, and bickering amongst themselves, means that the Slavs there are an easy target for the steppe barbarians. The Slavs, the people of the inland towns and farms, fear the barbarian horsemen greatly. Thus, they have asked us, the Rus, to bring our families, settle amongst them, stand at their shoulder in time of danger, and help teach them our way of fighting.
Even now, at a colony of ours at the mouth of the Neva River, a fleet is gathering to sail to Lake Ladoga. From there we will go down-river to the town of Novgorod. There we will settle our families and build proper defences.
Gunnar's instructions to me are to assist you in any way I can. When Novgorod is secure and you no longer need my men, I am to take our cargoes south. It is my hope to sail as far south as I can before selling. Slavs and other Vikings who buy our goods then transport it all the way south, as far as the Black Sea, or even Miklagard itself.
Gunnar did tell me that you three would be, after establishing a trading post at Novgorod, eventually travelling the rivers south."
Ambrose replied. "Yes, Captain. Our instructions were to first establish the Novgorod post, but Gunnar seemed anxious that we eventually push south as far as we could safely go. He is hoping to eventually have a trade route directly to Miklagard."
The captain smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. "Aye, it would be a great help if we had secure posts along the entire length of the rivers, where we could stay safely and be properly supplied."
"I thank you for the information,' Polonius said. 'And yet I know little of what we will face."
"Then you do not know the problems of the steppe-lands?" asked the captain.
"No", answered Ambrose and Polonius together.
"Greek that you are, Master Polonius, no doubt you know something of the Huns and Magyars, Scythians, and of the other mounted tribes?
"I know of the might of the ancient Huns under Attila', said Polonius. 'Today I know it is mercenary Huns, together with the regular Byzantine cavalry, that protects imperial Byzantium."
Hammar smiled. "You know then, of the awesome might of the mounted bowmen of the steppe people. Their numbers, yea, even the number of their tribes, are as the sand. For in the distance of hundreds of day's marches, lives untold numbers of fierce nomads. When combined under a strong leader, they are as unstoppable as the tide. If a thousand died for every Rus, then when we all had died, there would seem to be no less nomads.
In this great flat sea of grass and sand they wander eternally, foraging for greener grass, and frowning when, driving before them their vast flocks of sheep, horses, camels, or cattle, a city blocks their passage.
It is these people who are the scourge of the steppes. It is a simple matter for us to rule the Slav townspeople, for they are not by nature warlike, and want only to farm or trade. In order to hold our new lands against the steppe raiders, we bring families, and build forts as well as trading factories. There we will live, and there we will fight off all attackers. The days of just trading on the rivers are finished. Make no mistake. Novgorod is just a start. We intend to rule the Slav river lands!"
CHAPTER 15.
They Reach the Gathering Place.
Several days' journey, making use of the square-sail when possible, and otherwise using the oars, found the Deerhound approaching the rendezvous. The captain kept the trading vessel near the coast for most of the journey, and the crew and passengers spent the nights ashore or on off-shore islands.
On several different occasions Captain Hammar put in at villages for fresh water and food, and Ambrose noted that in each village visited there were at least some Viking settlers. It was obvious that the forested shores of the Viking Sea were well colonized by the far-trading Swede tribesmen.
In many settlements, apparently, the Swedes controlled the town, its immediate environs, and the local trade. By setting themselves up with or over the local chiefs, they controlled large areas of these forest-lands. Most important, the captain explained to Ambrose and his friends, the towns acted as bases for further forays up the various rivers.
At last, after sailing up a small river and into a huge lake, they found their fleet anchored off another small town. Here, at the mouth of one of the great rivers that led into the interior, floated a large fleet of Viking vessels.
Ambrose and his companions watched their destination near from the comfort of the little tent set up in the bow of their ship. The prince spoke to the captain who stood beside him.
"Hammar, the ships of the fleet seem to be heavily laden with women and children. From the insignias on the shields and banners, it appears that the Rus make up the vast majority of the complement. If my count is right, then this expedition seems to be little short of a tribal migration. I do see other tribal banners as we pass, but the overwhelming majority seem to be Rus."
"Aye, Canuteson. What you say is true. We have traded south for many years. Constantinople is so well known to our traders that we generally just refer to it as Miklagard, or, in our language - the big city. We have never before been offered the opportunity to settle so far south , however. That several Slav leaders have invited us to settle at Novgorod is a great opportunity for us. My people intend to take full advantage of it.
Think, Canuteson, what it would mean if we can establish ourselves firmly in the river valleys. In a few years we will have a stranglehold on the trade both to Byzantium and on the northern route to Asia."
"I notice, too, Captain that there are few long-ships and no dragon ships amongst the fleet."
"You are right, Canuteson. The ships have a
ll been chosen so that they are able to traverse the sometimes shallow rivers. And look there. Those ships are towing even smaller vessels. Those little boats are for portage or navigation on the headwaters of the smaller rivers. The few long-ships you see will return north from here once they have unloaded their cargoes."
All in all, Ambrose thought it was a brave sight. The many vessels were decked with pennants. The many dragonhead bows bobbed to the waves' motion. Ashore, crowds of women and children milled about.
Ambrose turned again to the ship commander. "Captain, why are so many of your tribesmen not only willing to face the dangers of unknown lands, but willing to bring their wives and children?"
"Canuteson, ambition and overcrowding in our own lands have always persuaded large numbers of our tribesmen to migrate. There is little left for them if they stay in their homelands, but there may be that shining new future we talked about somewhere down these rivers. The leaders of Novgorod have asked not just for warriors, but for settlers who will live with them, raise many strong children, stand shoulder to shoulder with them, and be prepared to face the steppe invaders with naked steel. The city elders are not stupid. Men who bring their families are committed to stay and fight. The women and children ensure my tribesmen will not run."
Ambrose had a look of puzzlement on his face. "But surely the Slav leaders know that by so doing they are sacrificing control of their own lands? You yourself said that your tribesmen meant to rule as much of the river lands as you could."
The captain nodded. "Aye. I suppose so. Yet their own rivalries have caused endless bloodshed for generations. And the steppe hordes. Ah, the steppe hordes. Canuteson, I have been at a cataract on the Dnieper hauling our ship through the rough water when a detachment of the Pecheneg horde struck. They are terrible fierce fighters, my young friend."
"But you are here, Hammar."
"Aye, naked from the water, we stood shield to shield and stopped their charge cold. Their archers, however, would have soon made short work of us."
"But you survived. You must have beaten them."
"That is the story no doubt told in many halls on a winter night, but the truth is that a Khazar patrol heard the sounds of battle and rode to our rescue. The Khazars take a ten percent toll of our trade goods, but without their help the lower Dnieper would be closed to both the Slavs and us too. The Khazars exact a stiff tribute, but they earn it with the lives of their young men."
"Are you saying, then, that the Slav leaders are willing to give up control of their own town in return for protection?"
"Canuteson, I think that is the long and the short of it. Better to have half of a loaf and hold it securely, than to hold a whole loaf, but to have it all stolen. I think they know who will rule their lands, but at least they will be partners with us, in a strong confederation where the lives of their wives and children are not threatened every year."
"Thank you for your words, Hammar. What you say makes sense. My own ancestors back in Britain faced a similar decision when Imperial Rome withdrew its protection from our shores. They invited German tribesmen in to help them hold their lands."
"And what happened, Canuteson?"
"Amongst others, they invited a tribe called the Angles to help them."
"And?"
Ambrose smiled. "The island of Britain is now generally called Angleland."
Hammar grinned in return. "I like your story, Canuteson. It is my hope that the lands south of us may soon be known as Rusland, the new lands of the Rus."
With precision strokes, the trading vessel slid smoothly past the many beached and anchored ships of the Viking fleet. The captain turned momentarily away from his guests, and spoke a single quiet instruction. Instantly the oars were raised, then smartly dipped. A strong forward push of each rower brought the stubby vessel to a sudden halt, and a second signal caused the crewmen of the port side to stroke while their companions lifted their oars from the water. The ship turned shoreward and gently slid between two other Rus karves.
With the ceremonious arrival completed, the sailors shipped their oars. The crew abandoned their seats and eagerly shouted to people in the other vessels and on shore. Several young men ran to the bow and leapt into the water. Ambrose watched them wade ashore and join the other bachelors broaching kegs of ale and mead. From the many conversations Ambrose had overheard while aboard ship, he knew they were also eager to see if they could catch the eye of any nubile and single young women travelling on one of the other ships.
Within minutes the vessel was all but abandoned. Old comrades hunted for each other ashore, and extended families were reunited.
Hammar spoke again to his three passengers. "Canuteson, Phillip, and Polonius. Please feel free to join the crew ashore. In a day or two I will be summoned, along with all the other fleet captains, to a conference with Rurik, the expedition leader. Then I will find out when we sail. Until then, you are free to do as you wish. Just check with me each morning."
Once ashore, the three companions wandered around the massive temporary encampment that had grown all around the small town. What surprised Ambrose and Phillip, in particular, was the large number of dark townspeople. Their humble clothing indicated that they were largely slaves or thralls. It was plain that the original owners of this land, the Finns, had bowed to the superior prowess of Swedish military might, and had become vassals in their own land. They, in turn, captured and ruled the dark people; the people of the primeval forest and taiga.
At dusk the people of the large encampment gathered around their campfires to sing and drink. Ambrose, Phillip and Polonius continued to wander about aimlessly, absorbing random comments and boasts, and meeting many of the warriors.
As they passed a tent, they saw a drunken group of young men, unblooded and bachelors by the look of them, standing about. One great lout was tugging the pigtail of an old Finn servant and was unsheathing his sax with the apparent intent to slice it off. The servant, stoically enduring the fierce upward tug of her hair, cried out when she saw the knife appear in her tormentor's hand. The group of drunken friends clapped happily and egged the lout on.
Ambrose and his two companions stood mutely for a moment, and then turned to sidle past. Unhappy about the treatment as they were, they were well aware that it was the right of a master to do as he chose with a slave. If a master went too far, then it became a matter for the Thing to deal with, and not foreigners accepted only on sufferance. As Ambrose stepped to the side, however, the woman struggled, and the lout was pushed into Ambrose. Furious, the man turned with a snarl.
"Pig, you dare to hit Bjourn?"
Realizing that the man was drunk, Ambrose spoke humbly. "Your pardon, warrior. I was but attempting to pass you by when your struggle with this woman moved you backwards into me."
Noting the diminutive size of Ambrose, as well as the fact that the woman had scurried away the second he had let her pig-tail go, Bjourn felt that Ambrose would be as much fun to play with.
"On your knees, pig swill, if you expect to escape my presence with your skin intact!"
A second warrior, even more drunk than the first, lurched over and reached for a spear stuck into the ground.
"Bjourn, allow me to spit this beardless calf, and perhaps then we can remove his manhood from him. It's obvious that he has no need of his balls!' The man smirked. 'Maybe he ain't got any to cut off!"
So saying, he drew the spear from the soft ground and started to level it. Polonius, silent until now, spoke quietly, but in a hissing voice that carried far.
"Raise that spear another finger length, and you're a dead man!"
The entire group was startled by his voice, and even the warrior who was raising the spear hesitated. He looked at Polonius and then pointed with his other hand.
"Look! A simpering foreigner! Scarecrow, you dare threaten me? Your blond friend can wait his turn. I'll spit you first!"
At that he turned the spear to aim it at Polonius, whose own hand leapt to his belt. Almost instanta
neously, two slim throwing knives left Polonius' hand. The first thudded into the shaft of the spear, and the second nicked the man's hand. With a scream of surprise, the man dropped the spear.
Polonius allowed his gaze to wander over the rest of the group. Each of his hands held another blade poised for throwing.
His voice rang out in the sudden silence.
"Does anyone else wish to interfere with my master's business?"
At the same time, Phillip, who had until now been standing in the shadows, stepped into the firelight, his hands on the hilt of his giant sword. With one look at Polonius' poised daggers, and another at the armoured giant, the drunken group subsided. They had been, after all, only out for a little entertainment. No one wanted to start a blood-feud.
Polonius retrieved the first blade from the spear which now lay on the ground, and the second from where the man had thrown it when he wrenched it loose. When the three made to turn away, however, Bjourn swore a dreadful oath and yelled out at Ambrose.
"By the balls of Odin, you little piece of dung, you need protectors, do you? Leave your sword here, and join the women in the cooking tent, unless it be true that you have balls and are a man! If so, I challenge you to blood-combat!"
Ambrose knew with a sinking feeling that he could not well refuse. These were the men he must live and work with, and if he was not able to gain respect, then they would be unable to work with the Vikings.
"Once again, I am sorry that we bumped, and I would be pleased to teach you some manners, but I cannot involve my master in a blood feud.
The dark warrior grinned. "This will not be a blood feud. Boy. I will spread my cape and that walking oak tree behind you can plant the hazel twigs. I declare a Holmgang!
Ambrose looked at the burley warrior. He knew that to refuse a holmgang challenge was to admit cowardice, and there was no room for cowards in Viking society. A man who was unwilling to stand up for his rights was only fit to be a slave.
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 13
