He scratched his beard and drew out a louse, squashing it between his fingers. “Do not be surprised if this exchange goes wrong, boy. My master still owes Demetrius the coin for a hundred pounds of stolen amber. I will receive Demetrius’s share of the spoils should he be unable to collect.” He thought about it for a moment. “Come to think of it, if neither you nor Demetrius survives, none will know of my employer’s treachery.”
I realised then that my prospects were indeed bleak.
Valr turned and weaved through the rowers towards the prow of the boat, leaving me to lie in my own vomit that sloshed around in the water that inevitably seeps through the hull of any boat.
Before long we came to a halt and my captor appeared again, now wearing scale armour and a helmet. He lifted me by the scruff of the neck and half-dragged me behind him towards the stern of the boat. I noticed a mooring post sculpted in the form of the head of a warrior, close to where we stood. Valr took the loose end of the mooring rope and threaded it through the rope binding my hands. He grinned: “I have not lived this long by being a fool, boy. I know you will try to jump.”
My new vantage point allowed me to see further than the boots of the rowers. A thin mist drifted on top of the dark water, which obscured the far banks. The river was wider than I remembered and I surmised that we were upriver from Budorigum. The sun rose at our backs and the western bank of the river became visible. About a hundred paces from us, men stood in a clearing, watching us intently.
Valr spoke strange words to his men, who donned their helmets and strapped on armour. They placed their round shields within reach, then slowly rowed closer until we were sixty paces from the riverbank.
In the clearing Abdarakos stood next to Demetrius. The big man towered over the Greek. The thief’s hands were bound and my grandfather held him by the arm. On their left stood Sigizan, Leodis, and at least twenty of the erilar’s oathsworn.
Valr spoke then. “Untie the Greek, Heruli. Allow him to swim out to us. When he is close, I will release the boy.” As an afterthought he added. “I give you my oath that he will be unharmed.”
Abdarakos pushed Demetrius then. The Greek stumbled forward and in the same motion, my grandsire drew his longword, took a step forward and decapitated the thief with an almighty blow. The head rolled down the bank before his body slumped in the mud.
Time seemed to stand still. Valr pulled me close as one would a shield. The rowers awkwardly rowed us away from my friends while arrows thudded into raised shields. I heard screams as men went down, struck by the deadly Hun shafts.
When we were a hundred paces out the arrows ceased, but Valr did not give the command to halt until we had travelled another thirty paces.
He clasped my upper body against his in a vice-like grip with his left arm, while he unsheathed his newly-stolen dagger with his right hand. He shouted in his booming voice: “Farewell, Heruli pig. I will give your grandson to you.” I heard him smirk: “But I will give his blood as an offering to Ran, goddess of the river.”
I saw the blade descend and I knew it was the moment of my death.
But mortal men are powerless against the will of the gods.
Hot blood showered my head as Sigizan’s arrow cleaved the skull of Valr. The giant fell backwards into the river, his armour dragging him into the depths.
I stood there, blood dripping from my hair, still tied to the mooring post.
I turned to the rowers who stared back at me in confusion. One red-haired warrior stood, shouted commands, and the boat sped upriver with the speed of a cantering horse.
In the distance, the figures of my friends and family disappeared into the mist.
Chapter 11 – Svear
Apart from glancing in my direction every so often, the men let me be.
The red-haired warrior took Valr’s place at the steering oar at the stern, close to the mooring post to which I was bound.
I avoided his gaze, keeping my eyes to the front, and took time to study the boat and the rowers as they pulled at the oars.
The boat was made of oak, more than twenty paces long and as wide as two men lying head to toe. Ten oars could be pulled on either side. Sixteen men rowed, as there were three corpses piled up at the prow. The fourth, being the redhead, had relinquished his place at the oars to take the place of Valr, who was feeding the fish.
As soon as the boatmen put a safe distance between them and Abdarakos, the redhead slowed the pace. Four men lay down their oars and opened a wooden barrel. They took turns to rest, wolfing down the disgusting small salted fish. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach turn and dispel the hunger.
The mist melted away during the course of the morning and the day became hot and humid. The warriors removed their tunics, leaving their braccae and boots. It soon became evident why these men were heavily muscled, possessing thick backs, necks and arms. They pulled at the oars tirelessly, their sweaty torsos rippling with muscles as they leaned into the strokes.
By late afternoon they rowed closer to the eastern bank. The steersman studied the shore with an expert eye, without doubt trying to find a suitable place for an overnight stop.
It was still light when the boat pulled up close to the bank. Two warriors jumped into the shallow water and tied the prow and the stern mooring lines to sturdy trees. When the ship was secured, more men disembarked. The men remaining in the boat passed weapons, tents, an ale barrel and a large cooking pot down to the men in the shallows, then joined their comrades on dry land. They left me in the boat.
Soon they had a roaring fire going forty paces from where I was still bound and leaning against the side of the ship.
They filled the copper pot with river water and then added chunks of meat and onions. Before long, they each held a horn brimming with ale.
One by one the warriors stood. They spoke for long, reminding me of the stories I heard from Leodis about learned men speaking in the centre of Roman and Greek towns. I was wet, reeking of vomit and fish, hungry and miserable. I sat down in the lukewarm slosh, resting my bad foot which had started to throb from overuse. Sadness overwhelmed me, and for a while the tears flowed freely down my cheeks. When my eyes held no more water, my thoughts went back to the happenings of the day.
Why did my grandfather not trade me for the Greek thief? Was a crippled boy not worthy in his eyes? Would he come after me, or simply leave me to my fate?
Unsurprisingly I cried again.
I was brought back to the present by the raised voices of the warriors arguing around the fire. It continued for long. Then I heard laughter and jests. I afforded a peek over the side of the boat. The red-haired steersman left the fire and approached the boat. I ducked out of sight.
My mind raced, trying to devise a plan, but my feet and hands were tightly bound and I was tethered to the mooring post. All I could do was to await my fate. I prayed to Ulgin but before I could address the god properly, the warrior jumped onto the boat. He drew his long dagger, then spoke in heavily accented Greek. “Men of Svear come to decision. Ran not want you, take Valr in your place. We anger water god if we give you again. We all on journey home now. Take you with us. You work for us there as thrall.” He put his hand on his chest. “Me, Haldr.” I could not place my hand on my chest, but responded: “Me, Ragnaris.” He looked at me askance and said: “Ragnar.”
He cut away the binding around my ankles, then untied the rope from the mooring post. “Come, Ragnar”, he said, and led me like one would a dog. He tied another rope around my neck and secured it to a tree a few paces away from the other men. Feeling confident that I could not run, he untied my hands. I sat down as close to the fire as possible, rubbing my numb fingers. At the instruction of the steersman they passed me a bowl with boiled meat and onions, and a mug of ale. I sat alone under the tree, stuffing the food into my mouth with my fingers and swallowing it down with the thin, bitter ale.
They ignored me for the most part of the evening. When it was time to retire, they tied my hands and
feet again and Haldr gave me an old cloak to use as a blanket. I lay down on the ground and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The crew woke early the next morning. They rekindled the fire and added meat and onions to the meaty water of the previous day’s leftovers. Again they fed me and gave me ale, like one would a horse or a dog.
Back in the boat, they did not tie my hands and feet, but secured my collar to the mooring post at the stern, next to the steering oar.
* * *
The nightmare journey continued for ten days. The river meandered through territory controlled by the Varni, a tribe of the Germani. At a large settlement, I noticed Haldr carry a purse ashore, probably to ensure that we could pass unmolested.
I was a slave, a thrall, not part of the clan. Haldr did speak with me from time to time when the boredom of holding the steering oar overcame him. I learned that the Svear was a tribe that lived far to the north, on an island called Scandza. Haldr and his companions had travelled to the lands of Rome years before to fight in the Empire’s armies in order to gain gold and loot. Months before they had fought in a great battle in the land of Gaul, far to the south and west. There, near a city called Orleans, they defeated the army of a powerful Gothic tribe called the Visigoths.
In the aftermath, rich with loot, the survivors of their band decided to journey to their home. But they had paid much gold for the boat, and to fill their purses they have been transporting people and goods up and down the Oder River. Valr, the guard of Philemon, was never part of their group, yet he paid well for their services. He had paid them up front and now they possessed enough to go home as rich men.
I could understand a few words of their language, but as the days passed, I started to pay attention. There was little else to do. I realised that their language shared many words with the tongue of the Heruli, although they were pronounced differently. Five days after Valr’s death, I could follow the conversations of the men around the fire in the evening. This, I kept to myself.
On the tenth day, the river widened. Haldr kept us close to the western bank, and soon I could not even see the right bank due to the width of the river.
Haldr leaned over the side and wet his hand in the water. He licked a finger and called out to his men: “Salt! We have left the river behind and passed into the Austmarr, the Great Eastern Sea.” A loud cheer emanated from the ranks of the rowers.
Chapter 12 – Austmarr
I did not understand why we headed west and north. I knew from Leodis’s tutoring that Scandza lay to the east, which was confirmed when I listened in on the conversations of the warriors. They always pointed east and north when they spoke of their home. The boat stayed within sight of the coast, which simplified the navigation and provided a sanctuary in case of a sudden storm.
They rowed for two days, maintaining the course. Come evening, the boat was drawn up on a sandy beach. Rowing at night was fraught with risk and there was no need to take chances. By mid-morning on the third day, we rounded a large headland and the coast gradually fell away towards the south. Haldr steered the boat closer to shore until he came across a stream. The boat grounded and the warriors filled all the available barrels with fresh water, which kept them occupied until early afternoon. As soon as the water had been loaded, we launched from the sandy beach, travelling west. Again, Haldr hugged the coast until he found what he had been searching for.
A cluster of huts came into view. A herdboy eyed us warily from the shore, then abandoned his goats to warn his kin of the approaching boat.
Soon a group of peasant farmers assembled on the sand. Most were oldsters or boys, but they stood their ground, armed with pitchforks and wooden spears.
But Haldr and his men were no raiders, and after exchanging greetings, they procured a goat and the right to spend the night on the shore. As was the norm, they left me in the boat at first.
I had given up on devising plans to escape. Even if I managed to free myself from the bonds, what hope of survival did a cripple child have in a foreign land?
In any event, I decided to attempt the only thing I had neglected. It was the last straw left to grasp.
I took an old rusty nail I found at the bottom of the boat and sat down next to where the steering oar was attached, about two paces from the stern, on the right-hand side of the boat. Haldr always steered with both his hands on the horizontal tiller which was attached to the oar. I bent down and etched markings onto the side of the oar-shaft facing away from Haldr and the rowers. I wrote from the top down.
Atakam had taught me the way of the runes, the god-whispers.
I am a stranger from another land.
Ulgin, use this boat and take me home.
I, Ragnaris, son of no man, paint these runes.
It was almost dark when I was done.
Then I bit my finger and rubbed blood into the fresh carvings to draw the attention of the god.
I heard the sound of approaching footsteps and hurriedly cast the nail into the surf.
Haldr came to collect me for the evening, so I could be watched.
We walked past the Svear warriors who sat around the fire. Close by, the purchased goat was tied to an enormous log that was washed up by a storm. Haldr kneeled to tie me to the log, while the goat eyed me warily.
Soon after, a greybeard whose name I do not recall, walked towards me and cut the binding rope of the goat from the log. He led the animal towards the warriors. Then he mumbled words and cut the throat of the unfortunate animal. The man caught some of the blood in a small bowl. He paused in front of each warrior, dipped two fingers into the blood and touched their foreheads, leaving a red mark.
He then cut away the organs from the goat carcass and cast it into the sea.
Once the ritual was complete, the warriors butchered the meat and added it, together with some onions, to the pot of boiling water.
I have seen Atakam perform similar rituals. I was sure that the greybeard had sacrificed the goat to some god, requesting protection. The innards of the goat was no doubt a gift to Ran, their goddess of the sea.
I was curious to find out what they were planning to do which would require protection, but the warriors spoke little, and when they did, it was in hushed tones.
When they had eaten their fill of the goat stew, they retired to the furs. They did not allow me, a lowly thrall, to take part in the sacrificial meal.
I spent a fitful night under my thin blanket, plagued by dreams of runes, gods and sacrifices. Not to mention the pangs of hunger.
Before the sun rose I was woken by a kick to the back. A moment later Haldr pulled me towards the boat.
I noticed that the normal jesting and laughing was glaringly absent from the morning’s proceedings. After Haldr tied me to the post he inspected the hull of the boat. When he was satisfied, the men pushed the boat into the shallows and jumped aboard. The prow of the boat pointed north towards the open sea.
Suddenly the activities of the previous day made sense. Only a fool would not realise what was about to happen. We would cross the open water on the day.
A stab of fear shot through my stomach and I clutched the side of the boat with white knuckles. The rowers had already fallen into a rhythm and I looked over my shoulder at the land that was rapidly disappearing.
Never had I ventured out on the open sea beyond the sight of land. I prayed to Ulgin that it would not be my last journey.
The morning was clear and mild, the blue sky untainted by clouds. The boat glided through the calm waters and I felt at peace. I had no need to fear the ocean.
The warriors rowed to a tune they hummed and the moving boat caused the wind to blow through my hair. The fear disappeared and was replaced by a strange excitement. It felt no different than galloping across the plains on a good horse. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was on the back of my Hunnic gelding.
That is, until I felt the wind in my face falling away. My first thought was that the rowers had slowed down, but to the contrary, when I peere
d at the water, the pace seemed to have picked up. I turned around to look at Haldr and a gush of salty spray hit me in the face, stinging my eyes. The big warrior wore a concerned expression.
The rower closest to me exchanged glances with the steersman. The warrior nodded his head. “Haldr, dit is die skipbreker, die wrakmaker. Ek het dit nog nooit so vinnig sien kom nie.” I knew the meaning of the words. The wind blowing from the south and the west was known as the shipwrecker. Never before had they seen it rise so quickly.
I thought of the blood-runes I had carved on the steering oar. Until then, I had doubted the power of the gods. But my doubts were fading fast. What god-magic had I unleashed? Would I end up a victim of my own spell?
I kept my council and sat down with my back against the side of the ship. The wind increased in strength and small waves with white crests formed on the surface of the water.
Another rower pointed at me with his chin and said: “The boy is a strange one. He is immune to the sickness of Ran. That is why the goddess did not desire his life. He is favoured by her.” I later learned that most people’s stomachs have a violent reaction when on the open sea in a boat. It was an affliction that mercifully passed me by.
Thick purple clouds followed in the wake of the shipwrecking wind and the sun disappeared.
Haldr yelled to his companions. “It is of no use! Ran has taken the oar.”
The intensity of the storm did not abate, but slowly, inexorably, it increased in strength.
I had underestimated the power of the blood-runes. I had doomed all in the boat to certain death.
The waves lashed the vessel mercilessly, and soon it was filling with water. Half of the crew bailed, while the other half kept rowing with the wind. I too was given a bucket to bail with, although I was still tethered to the mooring post.
Stranger from Another Land Page 5
