The Raven Banner

by Tim Hodkinson

  Up and up he went, through the green water, not daring to look below, seeking only the light above. His head burst through the surface, showering water in all directions. Einar gasped in a deep breath then ducked his head down under again, looking down, left, right, anywhere the creature that had attacked him could be below.

  All he saw was the sheer, rocky side of the island, disappearing into the gloom below.

  Einar raised his head and took another breath, then looked down again, still expecting to see the thing rising up from the depths at him. There was nothing, however, but drifting strands of seaweed.

  It must have stayed behind in the cave. Einar raised his head again. Panting, he trod water, trying to catch his breath. He took one more look below. Still nothing was coming for him.

  Feeling the stinging at his neck, Einar clapped a hand onto where the thing had bitten him. He pulled it away and saw there was blood on his hands, but not too much. The bite must not be too bad. Then he realised his Thor’s hammer pendant had gone. The creature’s teeth must have torn through the amulet’s leather thong and this was what had saved his flesh from the full savagery of its bite.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ricbehrt shouted from above. ‘Is the chest tied on yet?’

  Einar was about to blurt out about the creature when something inside him told him to be quiet. He trod water for a couple of seconds, thinking hard.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s tangled up in seaweed. I need something to cut it. Throw me a knife.’

  ‘Not likely,’ Osric said. ‘Give him a blade and he’ll cut the rope we tied to him to stop him swimming away.’

  Ricbehrt looked at his Aenglish bodyguard. ‘You can swim, can’t you?’ he said.

  Osric sighed and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Go in and help him,’ Ricbehrt ordered. Then he leaned close, laid a hand on the Osric’s shoulder and added something in a low voice Einar could not hear from the water. Whatever it was, the wide grin that spread across Osric’s face said that it pleased him. He dropped his spear and pulled off his padded leather jerkin, then his sword belt and stripped off his shirt and boots. He drew his seax and grasped it between his teeth. Then he climbed onto the strakes and dived off the side of the ship.

  When the Aenglishman resurfaced Einar waited while he got his breath. Osric did his best to conceal the shocking effect the cold water had on him as they both took deep breaths then Einar turned over in the water and led the way downwards to the cave.

  As he swam, he felt as if his heart was in his throat. He expected at any moment the strange thing to come rushing up from the darkness below, teeth gnashing. He was gambling that the creature was territorial and its domain was the cave. It had attacked him because he had entered its home. The fact that it had not followed him after he left the cave pointed to that.

  But he could be wrong.

  They reached the cave mouth and hovered in the water just outside it, arms and legs beating to stop them rising back up. Einar pointed to the chest nestled amid the fronds of seaweed on the cave floor.

  They kicked themselves closer, entering the cave mouth and swimming down to the chest. Einar grasped the rope and continued threading it through the last handle. He then had to tie it off but his fingers fumbled at the task. This was only partly deliberate. He kept glancing up and away from his task, expecting the water worm to come rushing from the darkness of the cave at any moment. At his third failure to tie the knot Osric pushed him out of the way. Einar allowed himself to be shoved aside and drifted backwards as the Saxon finished tying the knots with deliberate, angry motions.

  Then he turned towards him. Einar saw the look of delight and malice in his eyes as Osric reached for the dagger clenched between his teeth. The meaning of just what Ricbehrt had said to him on the ship became clear.

  Einar saw the long, thin body of the creature streaking out of the blackness of the cave, mouth wide, showing the countless sharp teeth. He saw the look of shock on Osric’s face as the jaws clamped onto the back of his neck. He was knocked forwards by the impact. Eyes wide, his mouth opened, breath rushing out in a forest of bubbles. His yell was audible even through the water. The knife fell to the cave floor.

  Einar knew straight away the creature had struck Osric a more severe blow than its attack on him. It had probably been trying to scare him. Now he was back it was really angry. A cloud of bright red blood enveloped Osric’s head, swirling from where the teeth clamped into the flesh of his neck.

  Swimming under Osric’s flailing legs, Einar plucked the dagger from the floor of the cave. He stabbed into the cloud of blood around Osric’s head. The blade struck home, again and again, slitting through flesh and skidding across bone. Whether he hit Osric or the creature Einar had no idea. He paused for a moment, gathering his aim, then drove the knife into Osric’s chest. A torrent of blood spilled into the water. Osric stiffened and twisted, his head came away from the cloud of blood and Einar saw his bulging eyes and open mouth. Incredibly, he still struggled with both hands to unlatch the thing that held the back of his head in the iron grip of its jaws. Einar saw the big eye of the creature and stabbed into that. Now it was the creature that thrashed and twisted in the water.

  Something bumped Einar’s leg and he saw the chest rising through the water. He surmised that the blood must have reached the surface and on seeing it, Ricbehrt had assumed it was Einar’s and told his men to start hauling on the rope.

  If he had any chance of getting away, this was it. He needed air. Clasping the knife between his teeth he struck for the surface, leaving Osric and the creature finishing their dance of death behind him in the cave.

  Einar burst through the surface and took a huge gasp. He looked around. He was a short distance from the ship, something he needed to change fast.

  ‘Hey!’ a shout from the deck above alerted him to the fact someone had seen him. ‘It’s the Icelander.’

  ‘Shut up and keep pulling,’ Ricbehrt shouted.

  Einar started swimming away from the ship. Behind him he heard a crash as the heavy chest swung out of the water and thumped against the side of the ship.

  ‘That’s Osric!’ another voice called and Einar realised the Aenglishman must now be on the surface as well.

  ‘We’ve got the chest. Stop the Icelander! Kill him!’ Ricbehrt shouted.

  Einar twisted in the water, risking a glance behind him to assess his situation. Two of Ricbehrt’s men were already running to the stern. He was not far off, maybe ten paces. They had throwing spears in their hands and he was well within their range.

  He did not stand a chance.

  Twenty-One

  It was Oswald who recognised Osric’s body as it rose to the surface, arms spread, surrounded by a haze of blood. He lay on his back, just below the surface, sightless eyes gazing up at the sky. The stab wounds to his chest and face leaked more red to darken the green water. Then something else bobbed up under Osric, a very long, pale, snake-like creature with the head of a monster. It was dead too, many cuts and stabs oozed blood and one of its eyes was gone.

  There was no time to gaze in wonder. The Icelander was swimming away from the ship. As Ricbehrt’s men hauled on the rope and the sword chest rose from the water, covered in green slime and trailing seaweed and water, the weapon merchant shouted his orders to stop Einar.

  Oswald grabbed his spear and ran towards the prow. The Icelander was in the water, just ahead of the ship. He was swimming as hard as he could was but still well within spear range. One of the Franks had also spotted Einar and was just behind Oswald.

  Oswald smiled. Einar must have killed Osric but there was no way the Icelander would escape now. They had lost Osric but everything had a price. Oswald raised his spear. The tip lined up perfectly with the centre of the frantic swimming Icelander’s back.

  As he was about to launch, a shadow passed over Oswald, as if a dark cloud had momentarily covered the sun. Then a huge figure seemed to appear from nowhere before him. A massive ma
n crashed down onto the deck as if he has fallen from the sky. Oswald felt the boards shake beneath his feet. The man was clad in mail. A cloak of wolf fur wrapped round his shoulders and over his visored helmet so the beast’s two pointed ears stuck upwards as if in life, and the snout projected over his forehead. Both his arms were raised above his head. He bore a long handled bearded axe.

  The man screamed an inhuman roar then brought the axe down. The only thing Oswald had time to do was start pissing into his breeches.

  The Frank coming behind Oswald skidded to a halt and blinked. Trying to make sense of what he saw. The big man seemed to have appeared from nowhere, axe raised. One moment Oswald was before him, then he brought down his axe. Then Oswald was gone and there was only a mangled bloody mess on the deck spilling blood in every direction. It was like the big man had hammered Oswald into the deck like a wooden tent peg, except the peg had smashed on impact. The Frank saw the glaring eyes of the big man, wide with fury and something else. Madness, perhaps?

  He lunged with his spear. The man in the wolf cloak swiped his axe upwards, hauling it out of Oswald’s smashed corpse. It caught the shaft of the spear in the middle and even though it was the back of the blade, the Frank grasped it so tightly that the weight of the axe head was enough to smash the wood. The Frank was left with a broken end of spear in either hand, then the axe came down again and he joined Oswald in death on the deck.

  All this had happened in the space of several heartbeats. Ricbehrt stared, open mouthed, trying to make sense of what he had seen. Was this a place of magic?

  Then he saw other shadows and looked up. There were figures standing on the top of the island. He realised that the big man who was now on his ship had jumped from the top of the cliff, which was a little less than the height of the mast above the deck. The distance from the island would have been too far to jump normally, but the height from which he was jumping made it possible. As he watched, another hulking warrior, also clad in the skin of a wolf but this one bearing a great sword, leapt, howling from the top of the island to crash down onto the deck.

  They were under attack.

  ‘Weapons! Weapons!’ Ricbehrt shouted to his men. It was unnecessary as they had already abandoned the chest on the deck and were running for their swords, spears and helmets.

  Ricbehrt heard a loud, wet thump close by. He felt a warm liquid splash across his right cheek and turned to see one of his men who had been standing beside him was now crumpling to the deck. The warrior’s neck was transfixed by an arrow. Twin spurts of blood slopped out, one from the wound on the right side where the fetched end protruded and another from the opposite side where the arrow head emerged from his flesh. He made a choked gargle then fell dead.

  Ricbehrt whipped his head around and saw what looked like a young boy on top of the island, a bow in his hands, already notching another arrow.

  ‘They have an archer!’ Ricbehrt cried. ‘Shields! Shields! To me!’

  Twenty-Two

  In the water, Einar began to wonder why he was not dead. He flipped over onto his back and saw that chaos had erupted on the ship behind him. Briefly he considered what to do. He had no idea who the attackers were but this was a golden chance to escape. Treading water for a moment, he saw the huge man with the axe. Even though he had his back to him he recognised him straight away. It could only be Skarphedin Harsson.

  The second man clad in a Wolf Coat also on the deck looked like Bodvar Bjornsson. Somehow Ulrich’s Úlfhéðnar company were here. A third man leapt off the rock at the top of the island and landed on the deck of the ship. He wore a helmet with a visor and bore a big round war shield on his back. He grasped a spear and wore a mail coat that was rusted and had a couple of holes in it. He had no cloak of wolf skin. When he hit the deck he landed heavily, cried out and tumbled over but he quickly got to his feet to face Ricbehrt’s men.

  Einar’s heart soared as he saw Sigurd, Atli, Kari, Starkad and finally Ulrich himself leap from the rock onto the deck of the ship. All the surviving crew were here. Three more warriors followed them. Two of them had fur cloaks and at first Einar wondered who the new Wolf Coats were, then he realised that the fur they wore was the brown of a bear, not the grey of the wolf. This meant they were berserkers. On the island a young boy with a shaved head was raining arrows on Ricbehrt’s men. Einar almost felt sorry for them.

  Another figure jumped off the rock. This man also wore no wolf cloak. He had a shield and helmet but his leap lacked power. Even as his feet left the island Einar knew he would never make it. The man dropped, arms windmilling, hitting the sea several paces short of the ship in a huge splash.

  Einar swam towards him. A few moments later the man’s head burst up through the surface, gasping for air. His helmet had gone and despite the wide eyes and sopping wet hair Einar recognised the ruddy face and wine-soaked nose.

  ‘Ayvind?’ he said, pulling the knife from between his jaws, scarcely able to believe the bard was in the water with him.

  ‘Help me, lad!’ Ayvind cried out. ‘I’m drowning.’

  Einar put the knife back between his jaws and snaked an arm around Ayvind’s chest. He rolled onto his back and kicked hard with his legs, hauling Ayvind backwards with him towards the anchor rope of the ship. It was hard work. Ayvind was heavy and his clothes had drunk deep of the sea which longed to drag him under. Ayvind also seemed to be content to let Einar do most of the work. Eventually they made it.

  ‘Thor’s balls, lad,’ the skald gasped. ‘That’s it for me. I don’t know what I was thinking of coming along on this adventure.’

  Einar had a thousand questions to ask but realised that this was not the time to talk. There was battle on the deck of the ship. Leaving Ayvind clinging to the anchor rope, Einar hauled himself up it and tumbled over the side onto the deck, landing halfway between Skarphedin and Bodvar.

  ‘Skarphedin!’ he shouted, feeling genuine delight at seeing the big man.

  Skarphedin looked down at Einar and Einar saw the emptiness in his eyes, the furrowed, blood-splattered brows and the lips contorted into a snarl. A bolt of fear shot through him. He could see that Skar was in the battle trance, the rage Odin gave him, and for an instant he feared the big man would bring the fearful blade of his axe down on him.

  Then Skar blinked and his expression changed like clouds clearing away from the sun.

  ‘Einar!’ he said. ‘Good to see you, lad. Now let’s kill the rest of these bastards.’

  Skar appeared unperturbed by the fact that Ricbehrt’s men were still a cohesive opposition. They were clumped around the weapon merchant at the stern of the ship. The four on the landward side held their shields up facing the island, providing cover from the boy on the rock with the bow. Black paint was smeared around the lad’s eyes so even at a distance the whites stood out stark, and angry.

  The man with the tattered old mail coat shouted and launched his spear. It shot down the deck and Einar saw Ricbehrt’s eyes widen in horror as the blade rushed straight at his face. At the last possible moment one of his men raised his shield, exposing his own body but deflecting the spear. With a clang it shot upwards and embedded itself in the stern post behind. The bodyguard dropped his shield just in time to stop an arrow that was hurtling straight for his stomach.

  ‘Freya’s tits!’ the warrior who had thrown the spear swore. Though he spoke in Norse Einar recognised the odd half-Aenglish Jorvik accent.

  ‘Gorm? Is that you?’ Einar shouted. He could scarcely believe this was all happening.

  The innkeeper, now clad as a warrior, turned his head and winked at him as he drew his sword. Like his mail coat, the nicks along the blade and rust patches showed it had seen better days and much use.

  Shouts came from the other end of the ship. Ricbehrt’s men rotated themselves to fan out across the deck, forming a wall of shields. It was impressive to watch. Each man did not move until his successor had overlapped the position of his shield with his own, so everyone remained covered from the arrows t
hat probed for a hole in the defences. They moved like a chain until they had rotated into the position of having six men with shields locked, facing down the deck towards the prow, Skarphedin and the Wolf Coats and the last man left facing the island, providing cover from the arrow storm.

  ‘They know what they’re doing,’ Einar said to Skar.

  ‘I can see that,’ Skar said. They spoke in low voices so as not to be heard by the ship’s crew at the other end of the deck. ‘Listen lad, you’re half naked and armed with a knife. Stay behind us and out of the way.’

  Einar felt a lurch in his stomach and his cheeks reddened, but he saw the sense in what Skar said. A slight concern rose in him that the blazing fire seemed to be calming in Skar’s eyes as both sides paused, panting to catch their breath, facing each other down the ship. It was hard to see what either side could do unless someone made a move.

  This was not lost on Ricbehrt.

  ‘Let’s talk about this,’ the merchant shouted from behind the wall of shields. ‘No one else needs to die. Ulrich: We’re old friends! What is it you want?’

  ‘Him,’ Ulrich said. He crouched behind his round shield but nodded in the direction of Einar. Einar was surprised. He had expected Ulrich would choose the swords.

  ‘Well, now you have him,’ Ricbehrt said. His face was split by a grin so oily Einar reckoned it could light lamps. ‘And I have my swords back. Why don’t we just call it even and we can just all sail away?’

  ‘Or,’ Ulrich returned Ricbehrt’s grin with one that spoke only of menace. ‘Why don’t we kill you all and take the swords as well?’

  ‘What would that profit any of us?’ Ricbehrt looked as if he had been betrayed by his best friend in the world. ‘You are formidable warriors, that’s clear. But my own men are seasoned warriors too. You may well kill us all, yes, but they will for certain kill some of you.’

  ‘Death is not something we fear,’ Ulrich said. ‘Glory awaits beyond it in the All Father’s Valour Hall.’