Again we returned to our first landing, stayed about a week, though pressed to remain and dwell there with this friendly, well-disposed folk, and, not without sorrow and a little heartache at leaving, we sailed—this time companied with ten-score boats filled with our friends.
They led and followed and circled round about us, for a long distance, till a fine breeze sprang up and filled our sails, whereupon it was “In oars and rest,” and we watched them drop away a few at a time, as the paddlers grew weary and the land faded from sight.
Then at last the land was gone, not even its highest point showing on the horizon, like a distant dingy cloud, and the last lingering boat had fallen behind with our promises to return soon, and we scarce could see the glitter of then- highflung wet paddles in last farewell. And then even they disappeared.
“Tamo’s” they named themselves to us. “Good men.” And finer people I have never met, for true cordiality and gentleness to strangers.
We sailed the sea all alone, not even a bird to company us, westward again, sailing to return to that peaceful, happy isle of Brandon’s nevermore.
6 Castaways
Days went and came, with rain and sun, and we sailed—we sailed—a dreary round of days, threading through numbers of low islands, uninhabited and desolate, all very lonely to see.
Not long after we left, Myrdhinn found odd sea-treasure, which I may well mention here, for its results brought us as much good as Guthlac’s fishskin armor brought us woe.
One day we came across a floating log with branches upon it, and in those branches perched a large land bird, green in hue, croaking a sad lament as the log rolled now this way, now that, so that this castaway was alternately submerged and raised, streaming from drenched feathers.
Mightily encouraged by the thought that we were sailing rightly, Myrdhinn would not let us pass by, though we had little inclination to do so, feeling our hearts go out in pity to this forlorn, helpless thing, and even more inclined to a rescue by the fact, as you may know, that green is one of the colors sacred to the Druids.
So Myrdhinn, sometimes Druid, sometimes Christian, considered this finding to be an omen of singular good fortune.
We steered close to pick up the bird, and as we drew near it spread its wings and tried to fly to us, but being so soaked with water it fell into the sea and was sinking when we arrived. One of the bards hooked out the bird, handing it to Myrdhinn, but even in his hands it gasped, fluttered, rolled an eye and became still.
Myrdhinn mourned, but magic could not help here— we had come too late. Though he could fan, through the years, embers of life to a healthy glow, when the last spark was gone he was helpless. No more than any man could he raise from the dead.
Perhaps foreseeing what importance his act was to hold, or from sentiment, he ordered the skin cured and of it he made himself a magnificent headdress, during the long days of exploring little islands.
In his ceremonial robes, mystically embroidered with strange symbols, and with this hat upon his head, the bird’s head proudly raised, beak half open as though it might emit a clarion call, he looked to be what he truly was—a very Prince of Magic.
Deeper we penetrated into this maze of islets, but found no mainland till we had passed through into open water again. Unexpectedly the color of the water changed and became of a muddy hue, and not long after we sighted a low coast from which poured a wide turbid river, bringing much silt and floating rubbish down to the sea.
By this we knew that a broad land lay before us, and, cautious of exploring it, having seen one of its inhabitants, we coasted for some time, enjoying fair weather, and did not set foot on shore though we saw no signs of life, either beasts or human, only many, many birds which followed us for the scraps which our cook threw overside.
We sailed for so long that we began to perceive that we, in following the coastline, were turning back southward toward Brandon’s Isle, and here our water gave out and we put in to fill our butts.
Everywhere here were abominable swamps and barren lands. The water was brackish and not fit to drink, so we sailed further on and still saw nothing but salt morasses, without smoke of fire or sign of any friendly folk. At last we did see a section of coast that appeared better than the rest, having clumps of green trees indicating springs, and a little cove for anchorage. So we put over a boat, and Guthlac being urgent to go ashore, we let him go, taking ten of his own Saxons with butts and buckets, and some of our own folk to help.
They being armed, we had no fear for them, having seen for so long an uninhabited coast, and so watched some scatter among the rocks hunting for shellfish, and others pass out of sight in the greenery looking for sweet water, and after went about our duties.
From these we were startled by shouts from shore, and our party among the rocks came running back, and hotly pursuing came a band of those fierce, scaly, frog-like creatures, hurling stones and croaking; lolloping along on their short bandy legs, sometimes erect and sometimes on all fours, as fast as a horse could run.
And there before our eyes they dragged down, tore to scraps, and devoured our comrades!
At this uproar, the others came running back from the trees, and paused in horror at the sight of carnage. I saw Guthlac form them, Saxon and Roman alike, into the Saxon shield wall, and then they were buried from sight in the croaking, snapping horde. How could we shoot? All were closely intermingled.
Once the throng opened and I saw Guthlac again, streaming with blood, split with his terrible notched seaxe a creature from crown to teeth, and losing then his weapon, he snatched out his ax and laid about him, until they closed in again and we could see nothing. But we noticed how those sharp claws slid harmlessly from his fishskin armor, whereas they tore through leather jerkins like cloth.
The end came quickly. Many more came pouring out of the swampy lands and Marcus, who had hawk eyes, thought he saw a prisoner hustled away in the press, and took him to be Guthlac, but could not be sure, for by this time our trumpeter had sounded “Battle Stations!”
Seizing bows, our archers were pouring arrows among the throng, but they, though never having imagined such a novelty, pressed forward thinking nothing of it, and indeed at our distance most of these arrows rattled harmlessly among them, though the stones they threw fell upon our decks, their strong arms being quite the match for an ordinary stinger in precision and distance.
Then our port arrow engine went off with a clatter, pouring a whole quiver of arrows into their front; and each piercing more than one in the horde, they fell by dozens, and the rest set up a hullabaloo of croaks and grunts and splashed into the water after us.
We cut the anchor free, never stopping to raise it, and with our oars whitening the waves we sped out of the cove, they pursuing like a dolphin school until we dropped a boulder into the thick of them; whereupon they dived and followed under water for a long way, until they saw the futility of pursuit, and turned back.
Now to turn tail as we did may not have been a Roman deed, yet it was most wise, though you at your distance may not think it, for had we stayed, surely our expedition would have ended without more ado.
Down the coast we went, lorn in our hearts for good fighting-companions we had lost, Wulfgar raging mad at the loss of his brother, anxious to leap over and swim back that he might kill and die, until finally his own folk seized him and carried him below, frothing in his beard, and put an oar in his grip and bade him row. And row he did, and heard the stout wood creak and lost his sorrow in work.
So, thirsty beyond belief until we found upon a bare little islet some pools of rainwater not quite dried, we went south along this unfriendly coast, rounded a cape and found ourselves going north again. Shortly after, rain gave us drink and filled our remaining butts. We continued up the coast, seeing lovely beaches and green-fronded trees, and were sure that this section would be more hospitable, but durst not venture a landing.
Far we sailed, taking turn about at the oars, the Saxons rowing port on their shift,
in competition with a crew of archers to starboard, while the next shift pitted a number of sailors against the crews of the tor-menta and the arrow engines; the third shift being composed of Romano-British against Cymry of pure blood.
Thus we made sport of labor, wagering that one would tire before another, rotating the crews so that the labor would be equal among ah1.
This long routine was broken at last by the skies growing like dark bronze, and in the heavens sounded a dreadful ominous humming. We knew by these signs, as your sailors must learn and be advised, that the fierce wind god, Hurakan, was abroad and raging.
We furled the sail we had been carrying in hope of a wind and rowed out to sea into the coming darkness that we might not be driven ashore. Here our shipman caused a sea anchor to be cast over, we running with bare poles, and keeping our course with oar-play as the wind struck.
The seas roared and raged, hurling us about like a helpless chip, while our two islanders, very sick for perhaps the first time in then* lives, had no strength to control themselves, but were thrown about till finally we strapped them in a bunk for their own safety.
Night came and with it no relief from the furious wind. I beat my way against it into Myrdbinn’s cabin and caught my breath, which was almost impossible outside.
“Almost exactly the way we found Brandon’s Isle,” smiled Myrdhinn. “Storm, night falling, a passing of the wind, and in the morning a happy, peaceful, friendly land. Shall it be thus, tomorrow?”
“Pray the gods it may be so! However, this wind shows no sign of passing; so let us beseech them in their mercy that they not bring us too close to land in this howling dark and wind—”
And during these words of mine, we struck!
We both were hurled against the side of the cabin;
I heard the artemon snap, and the mast break short off, and the thunder of the two halves of the mast, falling into the rowers’ pit, carrying planking with it, and the screams of the dying men that Myrdhinn and I had brought so far through so many perils, famine, war and thirst—to die in the dark on an unknown coast at the end of the world.
The cabin door was jammed, but I hacked it open with my shortsword, feeling the dromon shudder at each tremendous wave which, striking us on the side, swept completely over us, rocking our Prydwen like a cradle. As it rocked, I could hear our planking crunch and splinter and the surge of ocean flowing free in our cargo and ballast, drowning out the rowers’ pit and heard a great voice crying to the dead below:
“Witta! Bleda! Cissa! Oswulf!”
No answer came.
“Tolfig! Beotric! Oisc! Balday!” I knew the voice for Wulfgar’s.
“I told you no Saxons would trouble Roman settlements!” shouted Myrdhinn in my ear.
The cabin floor became lost beneath the water.
However, by the time it lapped our knees, I had the way cleared and we rushed out.
It was dark as the bowels of Tartarus and the seas roared in at us, almost unseen until we were struck.
I heard a gurgling cry: “Health to Woden!” and hurled from my feet in the watery dark, together with Myrdhinn, knew that the last of the Saxons had gone overboard before me. At once I was separated from my companion and was gripped by a savage undertow that strove to hurry me out to sea.
I dived deep into it, swimming strongly in the same direction, to find myself free when I rose. As best I could, I turned back toward the coast, listening for the crash of billows to guide me through the screaming spume-filled night, and finally did hear the distant boom as our wreck pounded herself to pieces on this merciless shore.
Struggling toward the sound, I thanked God for His mercies, in that I could swim well and also for the fact that no hampering armor bore me down. As I approached the shore, I heard a strangled cry directly ahead and violently collided with a feebly thrashing form which at first gripped my shoulders, but we both sinking, he released me and struck out for the surface. I rose beside him, my fingers gripped in his beard and knew from its length that I had found Myrdhinn. Before we had time to exchange a word, had such been possible, my feet touched bottom, and, crying encouragement into that ancient person’s ear, I heaved mightily, and aided by a wave that rolled us like a pair of knucklebones, Neptune cast us, our legs and arms tangled, far up on a sandy shore.
All but spent, we yet clawed on a few paces from the fury of the water, and, exhausted near to dying, we lay down for a tune. Then, my heart no longer pounding as though it sought to burst my breast, I got up, bidding the seer to remain where he was while I sought along the shore for survivors; and so went along the strand for a short distance when, feeling myself followed, I turned and found this dauntless gray-beard close behind. I clasped him close, feeling his withered body shake with cold under his drenched robes, and the throb of his unconquerable heart, and without words we went on together.
Never before had I felt such a kinship with this old man as at this time, when, if ever, he might have been expected to take first thought for himself. The immortal spirit in him drove on the creaking carcass and laughed at distress, the storm and catastrophe.
Truly, whatever the unhallowed bargain with the Dark, whatever perpetuated his being beyond that of normal life, whatever his failings, Myrdhinn was very much a man!
We pushed on into the watery wind and had not gone far before finding a body. After some labor the man gasped and spoke, and we knew him for Marcus, my sister’s son. He was grievously pounded and sore and complained of head pains; so searching there we found a gash and bound it up, as well as might be in a darkness so profound that, working, I could scarce see my fingers.
I left him in Myrdhinn’s care and beseeched them both, if the lad were able soon, to return along the beach, searching, while I kept on in the original direction. I had not far to seek. Indeed, it seemed that everyone must have been washed ashore, so often did my questing feet stumble over bodies lying in or just above the surf, as I followed the shoreline just within the lap of the waves.
Whenever I came upon one, I dragged him high and worked upon him till recovery or until I was certain that further effort was useless, and eventually, among a little company of seven rescued, I heard my last-found survivor gasp, choke and breathe again, and looked around me to find that the darkness had appreciably lightened.
Now I could make out faces through the murk, recognize them, and beyond, through a spurt of the driving rain that still rushed over us in fitful bursts as though a tank above were overturning to drench us anew every few moments, I made out a dun mass approaching from the direction in which we had been searching.
This mass soon resolved itself into a little crowd of twenty, and learning from them that all progress beyond was blocked by a deep inlet, and that all living stood before us, we returned along the shore in the direction of the wreck. We scattered widely inland on the chance that some of our people might have been able to struggle farther away from the waves than I had searched.
No more living were found here, though we rescued two poor drowned bodies that the sea was sporting with in the shallows, tumbling them about like cat at play with mouse. We bore them along and added them to the growing company of the dead—two new members whose loss and whose lost experience we as yet scarcely appreciated. We were to grieve over them more bitterly in the days to come.
One was the shipman, and at his death we were akeady struck with an increasing dread. How, without his guiding knowledge of the sea, the courses of wind and wave, might we ever return to Britain or Rome?
It seemed ironical, as we sought among the dead, that Neptune had taken only his godchildren and spurned us landsmen. Those gathered about me were, without exception, fighting-men, and the dead on the beach were mostly the crew of the ship.
The other, whom we had just laid down, was the one man from all our company (save Myrdbinn) we could least have spared, though we did not realize that just then and mourned the shipman much and Morgo, the smith, but little.
Yet with the passing of Morgo
likewise passed our knowledge of metals and their working, and though in later years Myrdhinn was able to help from his books, we had lost the practical knowledge needed to apply what he could tell us and suffered from this loss in many ways. Indeed, one of our most hazardous exploits sprang from this very lack of ability and brave men were done to death, as you will see at the proper time.
The gray skies brightened, though still overcast with scudding clouds. We left the dead for the time and hastened on toward the wrecked Prydwen. It was a sad sight which greeted us.
The dromon had broken in half under the incessant pounding, and only the forepart remained whole, lying in a nest of rocks, some hundred yards out from shore. The after portion was greatly crumbled away and lost, while with it had gone most of our gear, as we akeady knew, for the strand was strewn with refuse. Clothing was tangled with weed, as also provision chests, arrows, bows and planking; in fact, anything that would float.
So, with despair, we came to where Myrdhinn, Marcus and other rescued stood beside very many drowned and dead, among them Wulfgar Ironbelly, and all but one of the bards, looking disconsolate; and here we saw this bard trying valiantly to strike out an accompaniment to his keening, from a harp as drenched and tuneless as he.
His doleful clamor, fitting all too well the depressing state we were in, put us all in a mood to sit down, clasp hands, weep together and die there in the cold rain without an effort to help ourselves. I could not stand it, and dashed the harp from his hands, turning such a furious face upon him that he raised his arm against the expected blow and ceased complaining about “white-maned sea horses who trample the brave and daring beneath their hooves of silver!”
All stood aghast, for to those of British blood the person of a bard is sacred and to interrupt a keening is sacrilege. Whatever I did now must be done quickly or the moment of decisive action would pass and be wasted.
I spoke—to Myrdhinn—but loudly so that all might hear.
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