“Asberg.”
“And where do you make for, Asberg,” Yrling asked next.
“Any part of Anglia,” came the answer.
“You have made this trip before?’
“Já.”
“Now we sail to Lindisse,” Yrling confirmed. “We are two ships, ready to tear Saxon treasure.”
“I am Yrling,” he called above the heads of all. “And fitter to lead you than they who lie dead on this deck.”
This was met by a silence which was broken by a practical query. “Have you really fish?’ one of his new crew asked.
“We have nothing,” Yrling was forced to report. “We lost all our food stores in the blow. What you have we will share out.” A pause, as a rippling murmur grew amongst the men. “Angle-land is very close,” he asserted.
It was Asberg spoke next. “It is just ahead; we will see it by dusk.”
Yrling’s own men, both on Death-day and upon this new drekar, gave out with a hoot of approval.
Asberg’s ship had a metal wind-vane on the tip of its mast, one from which ribbands streamed, thus showing from whence the winds blew, and with what speed. He looked to it now, so that Yrling followed his eyes. Those ribbands were snapping in the stiff breeze. “It blows West,” Asberg said. “We need only follow it, and we will be carried there before dark.”
“Then we will eat tonight, and on land.” Yrling’s voice fairly thrilled with this claim, and his men offered up a cheer in response.
First he must take full possession of his new ship, and could not do so with the bodies of the dead at his feet. Stripping a warrior’s body for battle-gain was the final act of a victor. But it was one done in the company of one’s fellows, oftentimes busy with the same task. Only rarely was a body stripped before those of the surviving vanquished.
He knelt at the bodies before him, turning the captain over so the face now looked into the blankness of the grey sky above. With a twist of his wrist he pulled the arrow from out the captain’s chest. He had already seen the silver bracelet the man wore, but in turning the body a thick line of braided silver showed above the collar of the tunic of leather. He reached for that first, pulling from over the man’s head a chain from which hung a true prize.
It was a silver amulet, a large and beautifully worked hammer of Thor. It almost spanned Yrling’s palm, such was its size. The bright shaft of it, and the two blunted hammer heads flanking, were covered over in minute balls of silver spiraling over the whole. These caught and almost threw light all along the surface, so that heavy as it was, the hammer seemed to dance and shimmer. It was solid silver; he weighed the heft of it in his hand. Gizur’s arrow had happily missed the prize, and it was undented. Yrling took another look at it, then slipped it over his own neck.
He unbuckled the weapon belts next. Each held a good blade, he could see that from the care lavished on the hilts. A small purse of leather was there, secreted inside one of the belts; all this he set aside.
He pulled off the leathern tunic. The front of the man’s linen tunic was soaked with blood, the dark green of it showing a muddy red-brown. But the leathern tunic itself had only the single puncture and a dark patch of wet on the inside. The tunic he handed to Gizur as reward for his work.
“With a sheep’s fleece under it, you will fill it out nicely,” he jested to his marksman. He then pulled off the bracelet of silver from the dead man’s right wrist and placed it as well in Gizur’s hands.
This captain had been rich, and everything on him worthy. Yrling pulled off even the man’s shoes, which were new and sported toggles of amber.
He regarded all he had taken, knew that the man’s shield and spear must be near and of equal fineness; he would claim those as well. But Une was standing there, and Yrling lifted the sword and belt to him. Neither spoke, but Yrling’s gesture made clear it was his gift to his second in command. Une had a sword, though his skeggox with its wedge shaped edge was his weapon of choice. A battle-axe suited his size, but he was glad for the new sword. In the circle of battle-gain Une could now keep or trade for it.
Yrling turned to the second body, far less rich in what it held, but yielding things of value nonetheless.
“Toki. Sidroc,” he called, in a low tone. They stepped forward. This man wore a sword, the most costly possession of any warrior, unless he sported gold. Toki had parted with much silver to buy a sword back in Ribe, but Yrling must be even-handed to both nephews. The man’s knife was a good one, and though he bore no silver at neck or wrist his purse rattled with it. He thus passed the sword belt to Sidroc, and the knife and purse to Toki. In this way they knew battle-gain before they had ever yet killed a man.
Yrling rose now. He and Une took up the shoulders and feet of those dead, and cast them over the side into the grey and swirling waters of the North Sea. One and then the other splashed into those cold depths. They were nearly in view of Angle-land, and these two had not lived to make land.
He turned back to the deck, the big hammer of Thor glinting round his neck. He looked over the greater prize he had seized, this dragon ship and its men. The ship was older than his, and like its men, tried. Its cargo was roped in with the kind of knotted mesh that he lacked on his own; its crew had not suffered the losses his own had. Now he must win these men’s loyalty, prove at once he would deal fairly with them.
“Men new to me. You have lost nothing. All that you owned is yours. And you have gained a new, and better war-chief.”
He let this settle. The act of stripping the bodies and casting them overboard sealed his dominion over the ship. He had won by craft and brazen courage, traits valued by all raiders. Now they must move forward. He looked to light-haired Asberg.
“You will stay on this ship, Asberg. I name it Yellow-sail, for that was what caught my eye. Une will serve as captain, and I put my nephew Sidroc with you as well.” Yrling looked behind him and chose a few more from his own men to join the captured ship, Jari amongst them.
He then turned to the remainder of the captured crew. “Half of you, bring your kit and come aboard my ship.”
The men moved about, dividing themselves, heaving their kit over the still closely joined hulls. Sidroc had at once strapped on the sword he had been given, feeling the weight of it on his hip, yearning to draw it from its scabbard and look at it, knowing he could not do so until later. He stayed on the new ship, was handed his two packs, then stood as men passed back and forth, Toki and Yrling last of all. Toki too had put on his new belt, so he wore for the moment two knives. Other than the slightest grin their uncle had given them when he had called them forward and bestowed their rewards, Yrling had said nothing to them. He said nothing now, as he prepared to clamber back into his own ship. Toki gave his cousin a nod and a grin, and once on the other side withdrew the gaff and pulled it back into Yrling’s ship. Sidroc had likewise resolved to keep the grappling hook with him, and stood a moment at the gunwale, coiling up the line to it as the distance between the craft widened.
He had watched first Gizur and then his uncle kill a man. Yrling had killed several men, this he knew; when he was still a boy Sidroc had listened in near awe as Yrling told of the first Saxons he had speared. But the telling of it, and the witnessing of it were two different acts. And these two were not the Saxon enemy, but Danes like them, making a perilous journey to seek fortune in a distant land. He saw the great daring in it, driving his ship right up in a plea for aid, knew that daring was what fitted Yrling to be the captain and war-chief his uncle wanted to be. But Sidroc felt the treachery behind it.
You must trust no man, he told himself. He heard his own voice, hollow but clear in his breast. Trust no man.
Chapter the Nineteenth: Angle-land
THE morning brightened and wore on. The ships kept within close hailing distance to each other, and for the first time Sidroc was able to see and admire his uncle’s vessel as it ploughed the sea-furrows. The red-and-white sail of Death-day was puffed full, and o
n its deck were now more men than oar-slots. Not that rowing would be needed, in the wake of the storm there was still plenty of good wind. At times the dark water offside that sail reflected shimmering red-and-white squares on its endlessly moving surface, something he had not seen from its deck. Considering Death-day from a distance, Sidroc felt it akin to looking on a horse of value. On its back you had the pleasure of the ride, the beast’s spirit and strength. But a different satisfaction could be wrought from standing to watch that horse move and prance, filling the eye with its beauty.
He had taken up a place near Une at the steering oar. Jari had positioned himself in the prow, and with the sail full was thus sometimes out of sight, but not out of earshot. Yellow-haired Asberg was also near the steering oar; he had jumped up from there when Yrling’s ship had approached. Earlier he and Sidroc had both watched as Yrling’s ship pulled away, and watched too as the dragon head was slotted back into the bow beam, declaring its true intent upon the seas. Now the two sat almost side by side, their backs supported by their packs resting against the hull.
Before taking the tiller Une had called for a pail of sea water, which he had dashed against the blood pooled on the decking where he would stand. Even tarred as the wood was, some blood had seeped in the worn planking there. Both Sidroc and Asberg found their eyes drawn to the stains.
Asberg looked up at where Une stood at the oar, hand on that tiller which his own captain had lately held. Then his eyes dropped again to the bloodied decking.
“He did it well,” Asberg conceded. He spoke of Yrling’s deception; Sidroc knew this.
Sidroc only nodded, but Asberg went on
“You are his kin?”
The question gave Sidroc pause. It was much the same Yrling had asked of all aboard when he took this ship. Yrling had already named him nephew. To remind Asberg of this might set himself up as a target for revenge. He found himself looking at he who sat at his shoulder, and Asberg looked back. Asberg’s unclouded blue eyes suggested other than vengeance.
“Yrling is my uncle,” Sidroc told him.
Asberg nodded. “He has doubled his holdings, and more than doubled his men, with one arrow, and one thrown spear.” He rolled his shoulders a moment, then went on. “Thor made it so,” he decided. Then in justness, he added, “But your uncle – he did it well.”
Sidroc found his eyes lifting to the greyness of the sky for a moment, then looking back. “Já,” he allowed. “He did it well.”
They sat in silence a while. Sidroc shifted and saw Asberg studying his scar. He did not think he would ask about it, as indeed he did not.
Instead Asberg asked a different question. “Where is your home?”
Sidroc gave the shortest of laughs. “I have no home. I hail from Jutland, the western coast. My new home will be in Angle-land, where I do not yet know.”
“All of Angle-land is good,” Asberg offered. “I have seen some of Wessex, and of Lindisse. Green fields that love the plough, and forests of oak as we never have in Dane-mark.”
“Also treasure,” Sidroc laughed.
“Já. Their temples are filled with it sometimes. Men in gowns live there, make devotion to a table set with candle holders of silver, and silver cups too.”
“Yrling knows of those men,” Sidroc concurred. “And they will not fight to keep it.”
“Nej. They will not fight. They will beg and make signs with their hands, but carry no knives nor spears.” He thought a while, as if in remembrance. “They have serving men, sometimes, who will kill for them, and for the silver on the tables. One must be wary.”
“Já,” Sidroc nodded. One must be wary.
Asberg was as good as his word. Before dusk had deepened into night a long and dark line of land could be discerned by the sharpest-eyed amongst the men. Calls and hoots of relief went up from all.
They neared land, seeing no other ships upon the water, and coasted along looking for a likely beach to run their ships up upon, one deserted where they could camp the night. They must rest, Yrling knew; get their land-legs back, eat what they could, and in the morning set out to find a river to sail up, a farm to raid. Their greatest need was simply food. He was now in charge of nearly fifty men, and he must feed them all.
They beached, side by side, on a narrow swathe of white sand, a thick stand of fresh-leaved saplings springing from the soil not far off. They jumped off the ships into a skim of water; the tide was receding. Before they even began handing down the cooking gear Yrling called out, gathering all to hear him.
“Men of Jutland, and of Laaland,” he began, for that low and flat place was the Danish island where the second ship had set off from, “we are now on Saxon shores. If any amongst you would try their hands as lone-wolves do, go now. But recall yourselves that a pack of wolves can run down the biggest game. I will make my mark here, and those who fight with me and for me will know great treasure in silver, weapons, and women.”
A few approving whoops were sounded, a few exhausted cheers. None made move to leave, though one muttered loudly that roast pig and ale was what they needed now. What was spooned up into their lifted bowls was boiled salt cod, poured over the few stale and broken loaves the captured ship yielded. Still, it was hot, and both ships had water enough to wash it down with.
They sheltered their fire with a tilted screen of hide ground cloths, not wanting to attract any from sea with an unwitting beacon. By its light Sidroc at last withdrew the sword Yrling had awarded him. Jari and Toki sat with him, with the new Asberg not far off.
It was a good blade, as befit he who had been the second man aboard. There was no flash about the dark leather-wrapped grip, or curved pommel, but the blade itself was pattern-worked, and possessed of the spring and strength of the many thin layers of steel it had been forged from.
Sidroc could hardly believe his good fortune. He had his spear and knife, and had known he must fight with these, hoping to kill a man who wielded a sword, and thus be able to claim it for his own. If he could not he would need to win enough silver and treasure to trade another Dane for one. Both of his weapons were serviceable, but this sword better than either spear-point or knife, having been, like all blades of its kind, hammered, twisted, and re-hammered. Now with this sword he felt himself already well kitted out, for he had as well his good shield, which he had made himself around an iron boss brought last year from Ribe.
The sword was a little shorter than he might have wanted; that was its only flaw. Still, his long arms gave him great reach as it was.
“Manne was not as tall as you,” Asberg said, as if he had read Sidroc’s thought.
It was strange to hear the dead man named, and Toki and Jari also looked to Asberg. Sidroc was not alone in wondering if Manne had been a friend to he who spoke this.
They slept on the sand in the lee of the ships. There was nothing to break their fast with, no food to warm, and no drink save water. Yrling determined he would take one ship, his own, in search of food, leaving a strong guard on the second, to await their return.
“I take thirty with me. Une, Toki, Sidroc, Gap, Bjarne, on my ship. Twenty of you will stay here, to guard Yellow-sail. Asberg is in charge.” This distinction was a signal one, a sign of trust he placed in this new man. “Jari, you remain as well.”
Jari looked surprised, but not disappointed to be marked this way. His very size would be a deterrent, if any of the new men amongst them attempted to make off with the ship.
“The rest to go, to be drawn by lot,” Yrling went on. “Pair up, choose straws, sort yourselves. We will be back to feast together.”
This was done, and Yrling’s ship underway as swiftly as could be managed, given that all wanted to join the raiding party. Yrling saw several men bargain for and buy the long straw which would give them passage on it.
They pushed the ship out into water enough to float her; the tide was at an ebb and it took work. Those sailing clambered onboard. They used their oars to reach deeper w
aters, then Yrling ordered the sail lifted to catch a breeze just beginning to freshen. They struck out, sailing a northerly track up the coast, looking for farm or village. The dawn was rapidly proving by its spreading golden fingers that the day would at last be fair, and the Sun began beaming at them over a scrim of clouds still lodged on the horizon.
A river mouth presented itself, one wide enough to promise good water for some distance. Grassy banks alternated with stands of osier and other water-loving growth, and they passed as well thick groves of mixed hardwoods, spreading oaks and elms, with ashes keeping their distance as they are wont to.
They sailed a long way up before they spotted any sign of human habitation. What met their eyes at last was a small hut, like unto those shepherds use during lambing-time, when they stay always with their flocks. No sheep were near it now, but they could not be far from the farm from which those sheep must range. Around a slight bend they saw a settlement, no less than that, for the cluster of low timber and thatched buildings must make up three related farms. Pasture land fronted it, on which several milk cows grazed or lay, working their jaws. A worn path led from river bank to settlement.
It was more than Yrling could have hoped for, almost a reprise of his very first raid in Angle-land nearly ten years ago, and one for which he hoped a cleaner end. They must strike fast and with fury; with three households there could be a number of able-bodied men.
The farmstead was more than two hundred paces off, he judged; the river must flood, and often, for it to have been sited so. They would need to leap from the ship, run as rapidly as they could along the path, before the men within were roused and armed.
“No war-cries,” Yrling told them, as they readied their kit. He wanted no losses from his own men, and surprise was the best way to ensure this. They threw the stone anchor onto the soft mud of the bank, and dropped overboard.
In fact it was women they saw first. Three gowned figures were working in the rows of a vegetable garden fronting one of the animal sheds, hoeing out weeds. One of them lifted her head to see a war ship, men clambering from its hull.
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