by Martin Lake
‘As well as that,’ he continued, ‘Wessex is large, stretching many miles from east to west. But there is less distance from its northern frontier to its southern one which is the sea. If we attack the Saxons at any location they’ll be able to move easily from one part of their kingdom to another.’
‘This is as Kolga told us,’ Ivar said. ‘She too believes that Wessex is too strong to attack, at least for the moment.’
‘But you could say the same about Mercia,’ Halfdan said. ‘It’s as big as Wessex and, from what I hear, every bit as rich.’
‘I didn’t think it is as wealthy,’ Leif said. ‘Or at least it didn’t appear so when we travelled across it. The villages seemed smaller and the farms looked less prosperous.’
‘Then we should attack Mercia,’ said Ivar, giving Leif a look of thanks for supporting his option.
‘But Mercia’s still formidable,’ Leif said. ‘And don’t forget that King Burgred is related by marriage to the young Saxon princes. They may well be persuaded to send help again if we attack Mercia.’
Ivar’s smile turned to a frown. ‘So, what would you advise, Skald?’ he said. His tone was colder now. ‘Where should we go?’
‘A weaker kingdom,’ he answered, ‘but one which is still prosperous. East Anglia.’
‘Are you sure that this isn’t your woman speaking?’ Halfdan said. ‘She wants to go home and has told you to persuade us to return there.’
Leif held up his hands up as if he’d been caught out. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She wants to send us to plunder her own land and kill her own people. I should have realised her plan.’
The jest made Halfdan laugh, as Leif guessed it would, and he slapped Ivar on the arm. ‘Your Skald does not mince words,’ he said. ‘I like that in him.’
‘Me too,’ Ivar said. ‘Leif makes sense to me. We shall go to East Anglia.’
Although winter was fast approaching, the autumn winds had not yet arrived so the captains decided to send half the fleet to make a dash across the sea for East Anglia. The rest of the army were sent to cross Mercia by horse.
The decision to cross the sea was the worst decision Ivar had ever taken.
The fleet made good progress for the first day and made camp on a spit of land where the river met the sea. The next day broke bright and clear with a steady wind from the north. The ships hoisted sail and coasted southward at a good speed.
Thorvald stood with Leif in the stern of the ship. After long consideration, Leif had named it Sea-Smiter in honour of his brother’s trade. It was a good name, as strong and determined as Sigurd himself.
‘She handles well,’ Thorvald said.
‘With you coaxing her, what else would I expect?’
‘A poor attempt at flattery, Leif,’ he replied. ‘She’s a good ship. Very fast, and swift to respond to my touch.’
Aebbe came struggling along the boat with Nefi in her arms. ‘He wants to be with his father,’ she said, thrusting him into Leif’s arms. Then she turned and vomited into the sea.
‘Go stand at the front,’ Thorvald told her. ‘Watching where we’re going seems to settle most stomachs.’
Aebbe looked dubious but followed his advice and made her way to the bow.
‘She’s a fine woman,’ Thorvald said. ‘Has she got over what happened to her and the child?’
Leif sighed. ‘Not yet, but she’s recovering. Although I sometimes see her staring at Nefi, or rather, at a space beside him, as if she’s looking at Godgyth.’
‘Perhaps she is. Maybe Godgyth still shows herself to Aebbe.’
‘Perhaps.’ Leif was not convinced of this but he took some comfort from Thorvald’s words. He tickled Nefi who giggled with pleasure. There was time for more children, he thought, and perhaps there would be at least another daughter.
After a few hours he noticed Thorvald glancing with increasing frequency over the side. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
Thorvald pursed his lips. ‘We’re increasing speed, rapidly.’ He pointed at the water breaking against the hull. It was moving fast, white and frothing.
Leif looked at the sail, which the strengthening wind had bloated into the shape of a gross belly.
‘And look yonder,’ Thorvald said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
Leif turned and saw a bank of thick, dark cloud gathering on the horizon. ‘A storm?’ he asked.
Thorvald nodded. ‘A demon of a storm.’ He shielded his eyes with his hand and peered at the ships surging ahead of them. ‘I wonder if Ivar’s seen it. I think we’ll have to seek shelter.’
Except there was no shelter. The coast was barely land at all, a low-lying stretch of marsh and bogs interspersed with streams and little lakes. It was difficult to tell where the land ended and the sea began. The stench of rotting vegetation came from it like a fever. They could see no villages and there was no place firm enough to beach a ship. A ghostly, ghastly mist clung to it, dreary and disheartening, baffling the eye.
‘I wouldn’t want to land here,’ Leif murmured.
‘I doubt we’ll have the chance,’ Thorvald said.
Leif stared at his helmsman, startled by the urgent, fearful tone in his voice. Then he realised why.
The storm had swept down from the north with astonishing speed. It covered half the sky and was fast eating into the rest.
Within heartbeats, the sky turned a vivid, gruesome yellow and there was a flash of lightning with countless streaks ripping across the clouds. A moment later the thunder crashed upon them. The crew looked at the sky in terror.
‘Thor is angry with us,’ one man yelled.
The others groaned in alarm at his words. They were used to Thor fighting for them, not against them. Many men reached for the hammer amulets around their necks, muttering spells and prayers to protect themselves.
Another flash of lightning blazed across the sky and another roll of thunder, closer than before, louder than any Leif had known.
‘He rages at us,’ one man wailed. ‘Thor is seeking our destruction.’
‘No he isn’t,’ Leif cried, forcing his voice to carry across the ship. ‘He is testing us, wondering whether we have the courage to ride his storm to glory.’
He didn’t believe it for an instant but he prayed that the men would. To his astonishment they did.
Some even began to laugh and shook their heads as if, like Leif, they had been privy to Thor’s purpose all along. A few cheered at this opportunity to prove their courage to the son of Odin.
Leif only hoped that Loki was not on board to hear his words.
He plucked Nefi from off the deck and clung onto him tightly. He did not want to lose a second child.
Thorvald ordered the men to furl the sail and they hurried to obey. Most of the other ships were already doing the same, although a few were more tardy.
The crew had only just lashed the sail to the mast when the storm broke.
The waters smashed on them with the speed and fury of throwing axes. The sheer force of it buffeted the ship and sent it spinning to the west. The noise was tremendous, a vicious, unending hammering on the timbers.
Leif’s head smarted with the force of the rain, little daggers of unremitting icy cold. He wiped his eyes and peered through the storm in dread. Aebbe was struggling along the deck, head bent under the force of the wind.
‘What are you doing?’ he cried as she finally reached him.
‘Nefi,’ she said, taking the child into her arms. Then she sunk onto the deck, pulling her cloak over to shelter him as much as possible.
The next few hours were terrible. The Vikings were the best seafarers in the world and these men the best of the Vikings. But the storm threw their ships about like twigs and soon the fleet was scattered. Three ships were blown against the marshland to the west and stuck fast in its cloying maw. Two ships were thrown against each other, the noise of their collision echoing across the sea. They sank in moments and the sound of drowning men filled the air.
On
e of Leif’s men climbed to his feet and waved his fist in defiance at the storm. The storm accepted his challenge and washed him over board. They saw him struggling in the waves for a moment and then he disappeared.
Finally, after endless hours, the storm began to slacken. The rain eased off, the wind dropped and little patches of sky appeared in the west.
Leif turned to Thorvald. He still had hold of the steering oar, though the skin of his hands had been torn off and were running red with blood.
‘I’ll get someone else to take over,’ Leif said.
Thorvald nodded but was too exhausted to speak. He sank to the deck with a groan.
Leif called to Snorri Redbeard who was strong and experienced and he took Thorvald’s place. The first thing he said was that they should unfurl the sail.
Leif gave the command and then bent and squeezed Aebbe’s shoulder. ‘Are you unharmed?’ he asked.
‘Sick to the stomach and terrified,’ she said giving him the ghost of a smile.
‘Nefi?’
He’s fine. She pulled back the cloak she had covered him with. He was fast asleep.
‘He is very brave,’ Leif said.
‘Or very tired.’
Leif straightened up and peered around. He could just make out the distant shapes of longships beginning to head towards each other.
‘Steer towards them,’ he ordered Snorri. He wondered how many had been lost to Thor’s wrath.
It took until late afternoon for the fleet to gather. At a guess they had lost one in five ships with a good number damaged, most with broken masts or torn sails. Leif was relieved to see that Ivar’s ship was not one of the casualties.
They rowed closer to the marshlands and dropped anchor-stones as night fell. Leif wrapped a blanket around Aebbe and the baby. It was going to be a bleak, cold, uncomfortable night. But so great was their exhaustion they fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake until dawn.
The storm proved to have been the herald of icy weather and the crew’s breath hung about the ship like a mist. There was little wind and it was almost with relief that the men took up oars. Rowing would at least keep them warm.
Thorvald’s hands were still a raw and gory mess, the rough bandages wrapped around them black and stiff with his blood. Leif told Snorri to continue as shipmaster.
The one advantage of the storm was that it had blown them further than they had expected. By noon they made out land to the south-east and headed for it, reaching a large river soon afterwards. They followed this south for half a dozen miles and reached a smaller river heading east where they made camp for the night.
It felt good to be on dry land. Ubbe knew this place, having spent the first winter only twenty miles from there. He counselled that they take the easterly river next day for it led into the heart of the East Anglian kingdom.
Despite their weariness the men were pleased at his suggestion. Anything to get some distance from the savage sea.
The river was narrow and they had to journey in line, with oars sometimes clipping the banks. Once, as Sea-Smiter took a tight bend, it slowed so much that a line of ducks overtook her. It galled the men, though Nefi shouted in glee at the sight of them.
The landscape was flat, with fields full of sheep and only the occasional higher ground where a smudge of yellow showed where wheat had been harvested.
They saw no villages but plenty of farms and even more fleeing people.
‘We could capture them for slaves,’ Thorvald said.
‘We’d never manage it,’ Leif answered. ‘This land is pitted with watercourses and pools. We’d never catch them or we’d drown in the attempt.’
Aebbe glared at them. Leif sometimes forgot that she had been taken as a slave. She never did.
That night, as they lay under a thick cloak beneath the shelter of a willow, Aebbe took Leif’s hand and placed it on her belly. ‘There’s a little one in there,’ she said.
‘A baby?’
‘A friend for Nefi,’ she said, squeezing his hand.
And a replacement for Godgyth, he thought although he did not say it.
AEBBE GONE
They headed to Thetford where King Edmund had one of his great halls. He was not there but it contained a pack of well-fed servants who, shaking with fear, watched as the Vikings set up camp on the banks of the river close to the hall.
Ivar dragged the steward outside and ordered him to send a messenger to Edmund to tell him of their arrival. In the meanwhile, he and his brothers took over the hall and, with great enthusiasm, began to consume its stores. The jarls and captains took over smaller buildings.
To Leif’s surprise he was given the hut reserved for Edmund’s priest. Perhaps to Ivar, his Skald was the man most like a priest.
It was now early October and the leaves on the trees turned bronze with a number already skittering to the earth. The land around the hall was home to Edmund’s livestock; thousands of sheep, hundreds of cows and pigs. The Vikings let them fatten on the accumulated harvests and sent out raiding parties to drive back still more. Ivar had no intention of letting his men go hungry.
Some villages resisted their depredations but this was quelled soon enough by hanging the ring-leaders and taking their kin as slaves. The country fell into sullen, resentful acquiescence.
The horsemen arrived twelve days after the fleet. They had travelled light, plundering only the villages nearest to their path and had been given no trouble by the Mercians.
‘Perhaps we should have attacked Mercia, after all,’ Ivar said, darting Leif an angry glance.
‘Why run the risk,’ said Guthrum, ‘when we can gain all we want from easier prey?’
‘I agree,’ Kolga said. ‘East Anglia is fat and rich. We will make a good winter of it here.’
Two days later Ivar received an emissary from King Edmund. It was the old man, Oswald, Edmund’s chief adviser. Sending a man of his importance showed how great was Edmund alarm.
Oswald came with great gifts: the choicest wine and food, thick furs against the winter cold, and panniers crammed with gold and silver. He made no complaint over the consumption of the supplies in the hall.
‘You are welcome to stay in Thetford,’ he told Ivar and his brothers. ‘The land is well protected, there is plentiful fish in lakes and rivers and the king has graciously ordered that his supplies be given to you.’
‘That’s very kind of him,’ Ivar said. ‘We’d be grateful if we hadn’t already helped ourselves.’ He roared with laughter but Oswald was not ruffled.
‘I’m glad of it. We are friends to Lord Ivar and his captains. We intend to do our utmost to make your winter stay here as pleasant as possible.’
Ivar gave a cold smile. ‘Winter stay?’
Oswald nodded. ‘I presume you will not leave before the spring.’
‘Of course not. But what makes you think we’ll leave then? What makes you think we’ll ever leave?’
If Oswald was surprised by these words he did not show it. ‘You Northmen are the greatest travellers in the world,’ he said smoothly. ‘We know you are not the sort to settle in one place.’
‘Things change,’ Ivar said. ‘Plans, people, dreams, they all change.’ He smiled. ‘Everything except nightmares.’
Oswald’s urbanity slipped for an instant but he covered it with a smile.
He left hurriedly within the hour, with a long list of Ivar’s demands for even more supplies.
The army spent the next week settling into their quarters and making all ready for the winter. Guthrum had a small hall close to Leif’s hut and, because of this he saw more of Eohric than he liked.
In truth, Eohric’s dream had changed his behaviour towards Leif. But Leif could not so easily change his. He received Eohric’s cheery hellos with the slightest of nods, grunted in response to his conversation and always hurried to leave his presence.
On the other hand, Leif grew to like Guthrum more and more. He was open and honest, spoke his mind as he saw it and seemed no
t to be easily angered or hold a grudge. Leif wondered that two brothers could be so different.
But then he thought about Sigurd and himself. Most people considered them as different as brothers could be. Sigurd was the steady, dependable man, Leif the light-hearted, hare-brained one. But Leif knew that, deep down, they shared the same values.
And with that thought he grew suddenly warier of Guthrum. Despite appearances maybe he and Eohric were alike, after all. Perhaps the same sickness ran in Guthrum’s veins. Unless, of course, Eohric shared at least some of Guthrum’s better qualities. It was a puzzle and one which he could not easily resolve.
‘You need to show better attitude to Eohric,’ Asgrim told him one day.
He was surprised for Asgrim disliked Eohric intensely.
‘Do I?’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘For two reasons,’ Asgrim said. ‘One is that Ivar told me he’s grown weary of your attitude. He fears it will lead to bad blood amongst the men, a rancour which might spread.’
He eyed Leif shrewdly, as if to make certain that he fully understood the importance of his words.
‘And the other reason?’
‘You are a wealthy man now, Leif, lord of a ship and men. It behoves you to act like one, rising above grievance and petty quarrels.’
‘You think that raping Aebbe and killing Godgyth are petty?’ Leif felt his face grow hot with anger.
‘Of course I don’t. But people have poor memories. They will come to forget the cause of the trouble and see only that you rebuff Eohric’s attempts at friendship.’
‘So I will become the villain?’
Asgrim did not answer and that was answer enough.
Five days later, Aebbe and Nefi disappeared.
Leif searched the camp in frenzy, too panicked to even tell his friends what had happened. Now he cursed having only one eye for he wanted six or seven of them to look the better.
Word must have spread for Sigurd, Thorvald and Higbald appeared and joined him in the hunt. Soon, scores more were hurrying everywhere, calling out Aebbe and Nefi’s names.
‘They might have gone further,’ Leif said and led his friends out of the camp and along the river.
