He looked toward the east, past Sea Hammer’s bow, and this time he was fairly certain he could make out the sails in the distance. A couple of whitish patches against the blue sky and dark shoreline beyond. Another of a reddish hue, a common enough color for a ship’s sail. He thought he could make out a few other irregular patches of color as well.
Starri might have been the first one to spot the ships, but word of his discovery spread quickly, and the men crowded along the weather side and pointed and speculated. “Five of them, and the one in the lead’s a big bastard,” Thorgrim heard one man declare, and another say, “Third in line’s got a checked sail. I’m pretty sure I saw her in Dubh-linn this year past.”
Can these whore’s sons really see that much? Thorgrim wondered. He could hardly see the sails at all. He had been assuring himself that his sight was not particularly worse than that of most men, but now he began to wonder.
“Ships, is that it?” Louis de Roumois asked. He had been on the leeward side, leaning on the sheer strake just forward of the small afterdeck. “Ships ahead?”
“Come see for yourself,” Thorgrim said, nodding with his chin toward the ships off the starboard bow. Louis pushed himself off and stepped up the deck against the ship’s slight heel. He leaned over the side and looked forward.
“Ah, yes!” he said in his odd-sounding way, speaking the Northman’s language, which was still somewhat strange to him, with the accent of a Frank. “I see them, five of them. I see the one with the checked sail as well.”
Thorgrim grunted. He doubted Louis had yet lived beyond twenty-five years. Of course his eyes were still sharp as daggers.
Louis turned back toward Thorgrim. “Who are they?” he asked.
Thorgrim smiled, despite himself. Louis knew even less than Starri did about ships and the sea, and it often led him to ask stupid questions. Had they been on shore, Louis would have understood right off that Thorgrim could not possibly know who someone so far off might be. But somehow at sea the same thought did not occur to him.
“I don’t know,” Thorgrim said. “Too far to tell. We’ll see if Starri can make anything out.”
They waited for a few moments as the two fleets continued to close the distance between them. Finally Starri called down a report.
“Five ships for certain, Night Wolf!” he shouted. “Don’t think they’re English, not fat and clumsy enough for that. Northmen, more like. I think I can see shields mounted on their sides!”
“Hmm,” Thorgrim said. Northmen. “Are they changing course at all?” he called back aloft.
“Not that I’ve seen since I got up here,” Starri called back. “They’re sailing in a line, like we are, but they haven’t changed course or the set of their sails. They’re heading more northerly than we are, they’ll pass us right by. It’ll be close, but they’ll pass us!”
Thorgrim considered that. Northmen, sailing with shields mounted. They had not reacted to the sight of Thorgrim’s fleet, which likely meant they wanted nothing to do with it. Just as Thorgrim wanted nothing to do with them. Let them go about whatever business they had, let them visit their terror on whatever unfortunate place on the coast of Engla-land to which they were bound, it was none of his affair. He had only one goal. East, always east.
But that did not mean he would be caught with breeches around ankles.
“Forward there! Ease off that tack some!” he called. He turned toward the leeward rail. “Hall, Vestar, ease the sheet!”
Men fore and aft grabbed onto the lines that held down the corners of the sail and freed them from the cleats to which they were tied, then eased the ropes out, a foot, two feet, three feet.
“Good! Make that fast!” Thorgrim shouted. The wind spilled from the sail that was now more bellied out than flat, and Sea Hammer sat more upright, her speed slacking noticeably. Thorgrim’s fleet was spread out over miles of ocean, and that was fine if they were just sailing. But if there was the possibility of trouble then he wanted them close together where they could support one another. And since the smaller ships could not sail any faster, Sea Hammer and the others would have to slow down.
He looked astern. Blood Hawk, under the command of Godi Unundarson, was surging up behind, a few hundred yards back. Godi would have seen Sea Hammer’s sail eased out, Thorgrim was certain, and he would slack his own sail to match. The same was true for Asmund on Oak Heart behind her.
Thorgrim looked forward once again. Even he could see the newcomers now, their sails standing out sharp against the horizon and the distant shore. They were no more than a mile and a half off, still holding a steady course, north-west, heading for the water between the big island and the shore.
What are you up to? Thorgrim wondered. Where are you going? There seemed to be some purpose, something deliberate, in the way they were sailing.
They must know this coast. They seem to know where they’re going. In the same way that he had once known the coast of Ireland.
The two fleets stood on for some time more, Sea Hammer drawing to within a mile of the lead ship as it passed from starboard to larboard, and the rest following astern of her.
“I can see her well now, Night Wolf!” Starri called down from aloft. “Big bastard, like I said. Big as Sea Hammer at least. Next in line is near the same! Thirty, forty oars? I can see the men aboard, and there’s plenty of them! No change in course! Bastards don’t have the balls to come and fight!” Thorgrim could hear the genuine disappointment in that last bit.
Just as well, Thorgrim thought. He was perfectly happy to fight when fighting was called for, but unlike Starri he did not crave it. Or at least, not anymore. When he was a young man it had been different. But now he wanted only to return to his home. He had riches and reputation enough.
He looked astern. Blood Hawk was in his wake, no more than a hundred feet separating her bow from Sea Hammer’s stern. He could see Godi’s massive form standing at the tiller. Behind Blood Hawk, Oak Heart had also drawn up close, and Black Wing behind her.
Thorgrim leaned farther outboard. He could just make out the edge of Fox’s sail around the other ships. He could see nothing of Dragon, but that was hardly a surprise. The line of ships’ sails made an effective screen, hiding the smaller ship from sight. Thorgrim crossed to the leeward side and looked astern from that vantage. Still no Dragon.
He frowned and turned and there she was. No longer in the line of ships, she was running downwind, almost directly away from her consorts. There was already a half a mile at least between her and Sea Hammer.
“Harald!” Thorgrim said, speaking out loud out of sheer frustration. “What by all the gods do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter Six
Hither to the shore
are come rapid keels,
towering masts,
and long yards,
shields many,
and smoothshaven oars
The Poetic Edda
It was not long after the fleet got underway that Harald Thorgrimson began to feel agitated.
They had set sail once they were clear of the beach, all six ships, and with Sea Hammer in the lead they turned their bows east, aiming to cross the open water to the far shore.
Dragon had been right among them at first, just to windward of Fox and a little astern of Black Wing, the ships so close the men barely had to shout to be heard from one to the other. Harald had no illusions about matching Sea Hammer’s speed, nor would it have been proper to get ahead of Thorgrim’s ship even if he could. As long as he was keeping pace with the other ships he was happy.
But that did not last long. As the morning wore on the fleet began to spread out, each ship settling into its natural pace, which left Dragon last in line. Harald tried to imitate his father’s natural stoicism, the aura of calm command that Thorgrim seemed to radiate. Whether he was succeeding or not, Harald could not tell. But he did not think he was, and that only added to his annoyance.
He looked forward, past the bow, and realized Fox had ga
ined a ship-length on them.
“Shift the beitass a little aft!” he called, and a dozen men turned to the work of moving the thick spar. The beitass itself was heavy enough, but now it had the corner of the sail made fast to its end, and that too had to be shifted. However, if the change in sail shape gave them even half a knot more, it would, in Harald’s view, be worth it.
But it didn’t. In fact, as Fox continued to stretch out her lead, Harald realized that the change had only made things worse. Now he had another decision to make: have the beitass moved back where it had been and admit his mistake, or keep it as it was now and continue to fall behind.
I’m not fooling anyone, Harald thought. They can all see we’re going slower now. It will only make me look more like a fool if I don’t admit it.
“Very well, put it back the way it was. That was a mistake,” Harald called forward, wondering as he did if it was a mistake to admit to his mistake. Again the men moved to obey. Harald looked closely at their faces, looking for some sign of disgust or amusement, but he could see nothing.
He studied Herjolf’s face as Herjolf supervised the task of shifting the spar and sail. Herjolf was his biggest concern, the fear that Herjolf would think he was not up to the job. It was possible, maybe even likely, that Herjolf felt that he himself deserved to be master of Dragon and was just looking for Harald to make a mess of it. Herjolf had never seemed unhappy with Harald’s taking command, though that was not proof of anything.
But there was nothing untoward in Herjolf’s expression that Harald could see, no suppressed look of delight at the mistaken change in sail trim, no gloating or disgust. Just the same simple, slightly amused look that Herjolf always wore.
The fleet stood on that way as the morning passed, the ships spreading farther and farther apart until Sea Hammer was at least a mile and a half ahead, with the rest strung out behind her like beads on a string.
“Give a pull on that leeward sheet,” Harald called. He felt as if he had to do something, and tightening down on that corner of the sail might give them the increase in speed that shifting the beitass did not.
Men pushed themselves to their feet and shambled over to where the leeward sheet was made fast, but there seemed to be less enthusiasm now than before. Harald opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.
“She’s not a fast ship,” Herjolf said. He had made his way aft and was standing on the weather side, just forward of where Harald stood at the tiller. “That’s just the way it is. Even Fostolf couldn’t make her go faster than Fox.”
Even Fostolf… Harald thought. Even Fostolf…
“Well, we’ll play with the set of the sail, see what we can get out of her,” Harald said, trying to sound as confident and knowledgeable as he could.
“Of course,” Herjolf said.
They plowed on east in Fox’s wake, and Harald struggled to keep from calling for further adjustments to the sail. He thought of ordering all the men to sit up on the windward side, which would make the ship sail more upright and probably give her a little more speed, but he resisted that as well. In his heart he knew she was the slowest ship in the fleet and there was nothing he could do about that, and trying and failing would just make it worse.
Once he called for the yard to be braced around a bit sharper, and then left it at that.
The men forward were taking their ease, with little to do, but Harald’s vigilance did not flag as he continually scanned the horizon. For that reason he was the first to see the boats.
“Herjolf,” he said. “Look to the north there. Looks like some boats. Half a dozen or so.”
Herjolf stood straight and looked in the direction Harald was pointing. For a moment he said nothing. “Strange,” he said at last. “What do you think they’re up to?”
“I don’t know,” Harald said. “Fishing, I guess.”
“Maybe,” Herjolf said. “But you’d expect them to be spread out if they were hauling nets, not all clustered around.”
“Whatever it is, it must be pretty interesting,” Harald said. “Most English race for shore when they see the likes of us.”
Herjolf smiled and nodded. “Yes, they do. I wonder if these fellows are doing something that might be of interest to us.”
Harald glanced ahead as if concerned his father could overhear this speculation, though of course Sea Hammer was a good two miles ahead by then.
“Like what?” Harald asked, his curiosity now trumping his attempt at stoic detachment.
“I don’t know,” Herjolf said.
Dragon continued on, the distance closing between her and the cluster of boats off the larboard side, the men aboard watching the activity, which was no more than half a mile away. There was nothing very remarkable about the boats, to be sure, but on a day of clear skies, steady wind and open water they were the most interesting thing around.
And the more they watched, the more inexplicable their business became. The boats seemed to be engaged in some sort of dance, some racing off in one direction, some in another, some stopping where they were and bobbing there as if waiting for something. The rest of the fleet of longships was well beyond them now; only Dragon was still to windward of them, and they seemed to show no interest at all in the powerful enemy so close by.
“I don’t know, either,” Harald said, and just as he said that the sea in the midst of the boats seemed to erupt, rising up and roiling white and black. All along Dragon’s side the men shouted in surprise and wonder. And then up out of the thrashing patch of water came a massive fluked tail, seemingly as high as a ship’s mast. It hung there for a moment then came slamming down in a welter of salt water, slamming down on one of the boats, which seemed to simply vanish as if some conjurer had made it disappear.
“A whale!” Herjolf shouted, his tone a mix of surprise and delight.
“Big bastard,” Harald said. He had seen many, many whales in the few years he had been to sea, and he had seen them lift and slam their tails as this one had done, but this beast seemed bigger than any he had seen before. It was hard to say — they were half a mile off — but it seemed that way to him.
“Yes it is! Yes it is!” Herjolf said. “Ha! Look at them run now!” The boats, which had been swirling and dancing, now all turned and headed off toward the shore and away from the beast they had apparently been hunting. From where he stood Harald could see no sign of the boat that had received the crushing blow of the tail.
Herjolf turned toward him, his eyes wide, a wild grin on his face. “Oh, we have to go after it! We have to kill that beast!”
Harald felt the conflict in his heart, and his stomach twisted up even before Herjolf finished talking. He glanced over at where the boats had been and saw the great, black back of the whale rise above the surface and slide down again.
“Too late,” Harald said. “Thing will be gone by the time we get there.”
“No, no, it won’t!” Herjolf said, his enthusiasm not diminished at all. “Anyway, it’ll probably swim this way, come right for us. It’ll stay on the surface, that’s what they do!”
Harald glanced forward at Sea Hammer, far ahead of them now. He looked back at the whale. He looked at Herjolf. He didn’t know what to say.
“Think of it!” Herjolf said. “Whale meat! A feast for all of us, on all the ships! Won’t they thank us for that!”
Harald looked back at the whale, at the slick patch of water where it had been. He knew why his stomach was twisting up. Because he, too, wanted to go after the beast. Because he loved the idea of killing it. He and the men of his ship. What a feat that would be! How better to prove themselves as a ship’s company?
“No,” Harald said. “We’re supposed to be making this crossing, following the others.” The words sounded weak even as they left his mouth.
“Following the…look, it will take no time at all to kill this thing!” Herjolf said. “Those English, they probably tired it out, wounded it. We’ll have it before the others even see we’ve gone out of line
!”
“Ahh…” Harald said because he couldn’t think of anything else.
Herjolf took a step closer. “Here’s why I think this is a good idea,” he said, his voice low so that only Harald could hear. “The men, they’re still sorry about Fostolf’s death. They liked him. They like you too, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not a crew like they were. But something like this…” He nodded toward the north and as he did the whale arched out of the sea again. Closer this time.
Harald took a deep breath. Herjolf was right. Nothing brought a crew together more than battle, and if that battle was with a whale, that was just as good. Here the gods were giving him the chance to show he was a leader, he was decisive, that he knew no fear. Not even fear of his father.
“Yes, let’s do it!” Harald said, and, decision made, he felt a great sense of relief. “Listen up, you men!” he shouted forward. “We’re going to go and kill that bastard whale, show the rest of the fleet how it’s done. We’ll make a feast of it, and won’t those others thank us!”
He saw looks of surprise, looks that quickly turned to enthusiasm as the men understood what Harald was saying. A cheer broke out and Harald smiled because he knew just then that he had made the right decision, that the echoes of that decision would sound far into the future.
“Hands to tacks, sheets and braces!” Harald shouted next and the men ran to the various lines; there was no hesitation now. Harald pushed the bar of the tiller away from him and Dragon turned to larboard while the men heaved away on the braces and the big yard swung around overhead. More eager hands grabbed onto the sheets and pulled them tight and the ship danced ahead.
It was harder to see forward with the sail square to the ship. Harald bent down and looked under the foot of the sail and was rewarded with a sight of the whale once more rolling out of the water. It was not coming directly toward them, but they were on converging courses and it would be no time at all before they were on top of the beast.
The Midgard Serpent Page 6