by C. R. May
Thorstein Egilsson was at the point of honour, prow man in the king’s ship, and he flashed a smile as Erik came up. ‘All set?’
‘Yes, lord.’
Erik ran his eyes across the men at Thorstein’s side. Bunched in the scoop of the prow, these were going to be the first men to board the blocking ship, and he was pleased to see how keen they looked to get started. A quick look and he saw that he approved of Thorstein’s disposition, drawing a smile from the man as he told him so. Thorstein was at the point of the formation, the huskarl’s axe flashing at it caught the moonlight. Spearmen bunched in his lee while bowmen lined the side strakes, ready to unleash a torrent of arrows on the enemy ship. Once their opposite numbers had been forced back the grapples would fly, and before the enemy could recover Thorstein would lead the men over the side and get among them.
The dark shapes of the Fjord Ulf and the Falke hung back as the ships entered the confines of the northern channel, and Erik saw with a glance that the prow men were ready there too. As the flotilla rounded the final bend in the Dvina the lights of the town of Perminia came into view at the head of the bay, and Erik retreated back to Kolbein’s side as he sought a better view ahead. Anlaf Crow had stayed at his side now that the first attack of the day was only moments away, Erik’s standard bearer proudly holding aloft his king’s new axeman war banner. Erik threw a sidelong look as the first cries of alarm carried to them from the enemy blocking ship. ‘It’s just as you described it, well done.’
Anlaf snorted. ‘If you have to spend half a week wading through mud, sleeping under bushes and being eaten alive by clouds of those little flying bastards you make sure that you do a thorough job.’ He flashed a smile. ‘Believe me, lord, you don’t want to be sent back to take another look!’
A last look astern and Erik exchanged a thumbs up with Helgi, Arinbjorn’s own prow man settled in the bow of the only other skei there that night. Further aft his foster-brother was working the steering board to come up abreast the Draki as the channel widened; both of the big ships should hit the Finnish ship simultaneously, spilling their cargo of death and destruction on the enemy crewmen in an overwhelming tide.
A rolling roar from either side told Erik that the smaller snekkjur had reached the riverside, and a quick look confirmed that both ships were already disgorging their cargo of warriors onto the grassy banks. Anlaf shook his head, ‘look at them run!’ the contempt he felt dripping from every word, and Erik risked a glance aside to see the small knot of men guarding the blocking chain choose life over certain death, casting their weapons aside as they bounded away into the darkness of the interior.
The moon chose that moment to creep clear of the clouds, painting the river a steely grey, and Erik widened his stance as Kolbein called out at his side. ‘Brace!’
The twang of bowstrings drew his eyes towards the bows, and Erik watched as the first arrows disappeared into the night. A heartbeat later the Draki struck, and he watched as the force of the impact rocked the enemy ship back on its beam ends. Within moments Arinbjorn’s Sea Stallion hit near the bows and the blocking ship looked for moment like it would capsize completely, but the Norwegian ships began to edge back as the way came off, and Erik looked on in admiration as the spearmen in both ships kept their discipline and awaited the best chance to wreak havoc among the men reeling before them. The blocking ship stilled, its wale little more than a hand’s length from the surface as it balanced on the very cusp of keeling over, before rolling back as it righted itself. The nearside now dipped towards the cold waters, and the Finnish warriors were left fearfully exposed as the deck came up to send them tumbling down to fetch up in a heap against the side of the hull. The spears flew then, peppering the defenders to send them scrambling away in bloody confusion as grappling hooks thudded into the sheer strake all along the hull. The moment that the bows of the Draki kissed the enemy ship Thorstein was across, his murderous axe cutting a swathe through the panicked Finns as Erik’s spearmen vaulted the gap to complete the rout.
The final few Finns were leaping from the far side of the ship as the Sea Stallion finally grappled to send Helgi and his spearmen leaping into the fray, but the fight was already won and Erik flashed a mocking grin across the waters as his foster-brother came back alongside. ‘You can enter the temple first,’ he called across the gap. ‘I promise!’
The great chain which had been strung to block the waterway had been lowered by the parties on either bank, and the oarsmen on the two skei dipped and pulled as they fought against inertia to gain way. The men on the big longships were hand-picked hirdmen, the best there were, and they were soon streaking across the inner bay towards their target, the temple of Jomal on its rocky outcrop. A quick look out past the curve of the stern post told Erik that the Fjord Ulf and Falke had already gathered up the men who had lowered the chain and were busy towing the stricken blocking ship away from the deep water channel. Axe heads flashed in the milky light of the moon as the boarders prepared the ship for scuttling, and Erik noted with satisfaction that the chain itself lay suspended across the wales of both ships as they too gained way and prepared to ditch the obstruction in mid channel.
Away to the East torches were winking into life on the high walls of the town as the keening wail of a warning horn drifted across the water, and the oarsmen redoubled their strokes as the first splash of grey lit the sky to herald the fast approaching dawn.
Erik rechecked the chin strap on his battle helm as the ships neared the bank, bending to scoop up his shield as Anlaf Crow raised the war flag high. ‘Come on,’ he said, bounding down from the steering platform as the crewmen began to ship their oars. ‘I am not letting anyone else have the honour of being first to land.’ The pair paced the deck, huskarls bunching in their wake as they approached the stem. Erik called out as he walked, and the men shared grins as they stowed the oars and took up their own weapons. ‘It’s been a cold night. Let us set a blaze.’
The bows rose as the ship grounded against the bank, and a moment later Erik was over the side and splashing down into the shallows, wading ashore as men began to tumble from the bow. The Sea Stallion grounded her keel, and Erik paused for a moment as the first of her men made the bank and began to form up into an ordered column. Arinbjorn was there, and Erik, mindful of his earlier promise indicated the way ahead with an outstretched arm and a smile.
They set off at a jog as warning horns echoed along the valley of the Dvina, but there were no spearmen to bar their way and they were swapping the dew covered grass for a stony pathway as the first lights winked into life at the temple. Arinbjorn threw Erik a look as the line of grey in the eastern sky widened by the moment. ‘Someone is in for a rude awakening!’ Erik nodded. ‘Let us hope so. If this morning goes as planned we will be on our way home before the sun sets again.’
Ahead of them the lime washed temple and its outbuildings stood out in brilliant relief against the dark bulwark of the tree line beyond, and Erik and Arinbjorn increased the pace as they saw the men to either side begin to fan out to close off any escape routes.
A dark square appeared in an outbuilding wall as a shutter was slid back, and the pair shared a laugh as a slack jawed face appeared within it. Despite the warning howl from the nearby town the owner’s sleep befuddled mind was clearly struggling to accept the evidence of his eyes, but one of the Vikings was faster and the head shot back into the shadows as a spear thudded into the wall only a hand’s breadth away.
Erik and Arinbjorn, their banner men at their sides, swept into the courtyard as the men began to search the huts. They shared a look, ‘straight in?’ and moments later the little group were crowding into the temple building itself. A priest was there, the same white shirt and belt as always, and a Viking pinned him to the wall with his spear as Erik ran his eyes over the figure of the god himself. ‘Greetings Jomal,’ he said with a wolf-like smile. ‘We have come to kill your king.’
16
PERMINIA
The cart was dragged o
ut from the lean-to and manhandled to the base of the steps. ‘In you go lads,’ Erik said with a flick of his head. ‘There is a kneeling figure facing you as you enter, about three times the height of a man. On its lap there is a large bowl for offerings filled with silver coins, small bars and clippings.’ He glanced down at his chest and threw them a smile. ‘Jomal did have this rather lovely thing around his neck, but as we are about to burn his temple about his ears it seemed a shame to leave it.’ The Vikings looked at the necklace with avaricious eyes. Alternating figures of gold and amber shone in the reflected flame of their torches, the whole triple looped around their king’s neck so that he too appeared to shine like the sun. ‘Have a quick rummage around in there for anything else worth taking and then fire the building,’ Erik added as they struggled to tear their eyes away from the thing. The men nodded, skipping the steps two and three at a time in their haste to discover what other riches the Bjarmians had bestowed upon their god.
Erik planted his feet on the lower step of the temple as they went, and looked out across the valley. The ship guard had already rowed the four longships out into midstream, and he watched the oar blades flashing as they held their position in the river current with easy strokes. He let out a sigh at the sight, the sleek hulls standing out in dark silhouette against a field of beaten bronze as the sky horse dragged the sun into the eastern sky. It had not been the easy or popular choice to send the ships away with the town little more than a mile upstream, but he knew that it had been the correct one. He had sold his decision to them by explaining that the town was just too close by, the distance to the temple just too great; a sally could easily overwhelm the guardsmen before the men at the temple could come to their aid and then they would be left stranded in the enemy heartland, shipless and in dire straits. Only a select few knew the real reason why he had chosen to take such a risk, and Erik’s hand went to the hammer of Thor pendant at his neck as he sent a plea to the god that his bold action would lead to success.
The priests of Jomal and their helpers were lined up in the field below the complex now, and Erik let his eyes wander across the vale to the walls of the town as dawn flared and the trees filled with birdsong. Perminia wore a corona now and the brands on the high walk were beginning to be extinguished, but the field before him still lay in shadow; the next part of his plan would have to wait awhile yet.
‘Here you go, lord,’ a voice said. ‘This will bring the colour back to your chops.’
Erik came back from his thoughts, and his eyes widened in anticipation as he saw the reason for Kolbein’s joviality. ‘Porridge,’ he beamed. ‘Any good?’
Kolbein feigned indignation at his lord’s words. ‘I tested some, yes,’ he said. ‘What kind of huskarl would I be if I handed my king poisoned porridge?’
Erik indicated the priests of Jomal as he spooned his first dollop. ‘They made it?’
Both men looked down at the meadow. The men from the temple had been forced to their knees, their arms tied securely behind their backs. The sun was just peeping above the town walls, and the golden light of dawn was advancing across the grass towards them like an incoming tide.
Kolbein shook his head. ‘A woman, the boys are passing her around now; she will be ready to send back to them soon.’
Erik nodded. ‘That’s good; a wailing, ravaged woman always upsets the other womenfolk, then they get on the backs of their men and demand that they do something about it. It’s true what you said about the poison though,’ he added as he shifted the hot bowl in his hand and spooned another mouthful. ‘I wouldn’t be the first king done in by his breakfast.’
To his rear the temple was now a balefire, and Erik moved away as the heat began to scorch his back. The men were all out now, and he stepped aside as they loaded the cart with the last of the silver before trundling it to safety.
A murmur came from the men in the army as horsemen appeared from the town gates, and Erik ran the wooden spoon around the rim of the bowl before licking the last of the food from it. ‘It would seem that we have gained their attention,’ he said as he tossed the empty vessel aside. ‘Let’s hurry things along. I don’t want to give them time to stop and think.’
The town stood little more than a mile to the East, and Erik ran his eyes across the members of what was obviously a delegation as they rode forward. Half a dozen riders, each man magnificently dressed and well armed, were intended to show him honour, despite the fact that he had spent the best part of the summer singling out the kingdom’s holy men and shrines for destruction. The leading men in any community they encountered had been put to death, their taxes and skat carried away in Norwegian hulls. It was a calculated strike at the very heart of King Svasi’s kingdom, and Erik felt the first pang of unease that he could have underestimated the innate cowardice of the man. Anlaf was trailing along in his wake, and Erik threw a remark across his shoulder as he realised that his goading of the Bjarmian king was not yet over. ‘Stay close. I want to ensure that they know I am the same man who has been terrorising them these past months.’
The sun finally cleared the walls of the town as they walked, and the line of captives was revealed to those lining the ramparts. Erik could see hundreds of small shapes crowding the spaces, and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction that the timing of the raid had worked out so well. The Romsdaler Sturla was there, and Erik called him across as he went. ‘Stay with me. I want you to tell the prisoners what I say.’
He was up on the first of the shaman now, and he flicked a sidelong glance to check on the position of the horsemen as the haft of his battle axe slipped from his shoulder. They had covered half of the distance from the town gates to the place where Erik’s ship army had gathered, close enough to recognise who the men on their knees were but not so near that they could even think to protest or intervene in any way. He turned his face to the riders as he stood over the bound man, the chain of Jomal glittering like shards of broken ice on his chest as he did so. ‘Hoist that banner high, Anlaf,’ he said as the axe came back. The comment had caused the captive to glance his way, and Erik saw fear flash in the man’s eyes as he watched the blade rise and knew that his end was a heartbeat away. The axe came down to send the priest’s head whirling across the grass, and Erik placed a boot in the middle of the torso and gave it a shove. As the body fell forward and blood steamed in the cool morning air, Erik ambled behind the line of bound men. They were shifting uneasily now as he approached, but he held the nearest man’s gaze in his own and offered him a small smile of encouragement. ‘You are about to leave Midgard friend,’ he said. ‘Jomal will be watching, show him your worth.’ The priest opened his mouth to reply as Sturla translated his king’s words, but the axe was already in motion and his head had left his shoulders before a word escaped it. Erik paused and looked towards the horsemen. They had drawn rein, holding their position on the roadway, and despite the distance Erik thought that he saw the moment when the look of disbelief on their faces transformed into snarls of fury.
As the last of the priests met their end, a flash of pale skin beneath a shock of raven black hair so typical of the northern Finns drew their eyes back towards the compound. The men there had finished ravishing the cook, and the woman was in the throes of suffering her final indignity of the morning as what little remained of her clothing was stripped away and she was packed off towards the town with a parting slap on the arse. The watching army beat their spears against the boards of their shields as she ran, the catcalls and laughter adding another level to her humiliation. One of the horsemen put back his heels and cantered across, bending low to scoop her up before retreating to safety, and Anlaf stepped up to speak as a movement from the town caught his eye. ‘The doors are opening, lord,’ he said. ‘It looks like we have been successful.’
‘Order them back.’
As banner man Anlaf had been trained in the use of the battle horn, and the huskarl blew the falling note which would send the men of the army to the rear. Satisfied that all the wa
rriors were back within the confines of the temple compound, Erik watched as the main gate of Perminia continued to spew forth armed men. Horsemen had been the first through, only a score or so, but he had felt the concern sweeping the ranks of his own men as they watched the riders head straight to the riverbank to nip any ideas of a retreat back to the ships in the bud.
A voice sounded vaguely at his side, but he was too caught up in his own worries to pay any attention until the familiar voice snapped out again.
‘Erik!’
The change in tone had done the trick, and he tore his gaze away from the enemy warriors to glance aside.
‘I said stop picking at your nose, it unnerves the men.’
It took a moment for his jumbled thoughts to recognise the man at his side, but his eyes widened as the words ordered themselves in his mind. He stopped what he was doing and looked at his hand in confusion. ‘I don’t pick my nose.’
‘Yes, brother,’ Arinbjorn replied, ‘you do. Every time you are worrying over something or other your hand goes to your nose. What’s more,’ he added with a frown, ‘the men know it too; so do me a kindness and rest your hand on the handle of your sword or the haft of your axe if it needs to be occupied while you think.’
Erik did so, and he was about to share his fears with his foster-brother when he saw the thing which he had been waiting for and he gave an involuntary gasp. The head of the Bjarmian force was half way to the temple and he had feared that the man he had come all this way to slay would stay safe behind his walls, but he laughed for the release of it as the banner left the gateway and came out into the full light of the morning sun.
‘There!’ he cried as the relief he felt washed through him. ‘There is the bear banner of King Svasi!’ His eyes ran down to the standard bearer and he grinned like a fool. ‘And that old bastard must be him!’ He flashed them both a smile. ‘Come on then, let’s get back to the others. Arinbjorn?’
