Gods of War

by C. R. May

  The concern was obvious from Sæward’s tone and Edwin gave a nod and hurried aft, grabbing Crawa to help him as he went. Soon they were pulling the pins, the rakke bracket grating as they hauled the yard about its axis, and the way bled off the little Skua as the wind spilled from the sail. Sæward was already hauling at the steer board, the prow proscribing an arc to the East as the ship turned to run parallel with the big cnar.

  Bassa’s voice came from the masthead as the Skua edged ahead. ‘There is a sandbank between us, Sæward; a big one.’

  Eofer and his shipmaster exchanged a look: ‘bastards.’ Sæward cupped his hand to his mouth and called again. ‘How deep?’

  Bassa grimaced and shook his head. ‘Not deep enough, even for a scegth to cross. I can see the sand beneath the surface as clear as day.’

  The sound of jeering carried across the waves, and Eofer glared across the gap as the Skua ran eastwards. ‘Find a way through,’ he snapped. ‘Look for a channel.’

  Hemming was there and the duguth turned his back to the others, shielding them from his words as he offered advice. ‘Let it go lord,’ he said sadly. ‘We can’t save them.’

  Eofer rounded on him. ‘The bastards are taunting us, Thrush.’

  ‘Because they feel safe enough to do so,’ Hemming replied. ‘They know these waters and we don’t. If it hadn’t been for Sæward’s instinct we would be grounded now. Even if the ship had survived undamaged, what’s to say that these lads wouldn’t have returned with lots of friends before the tide floated us off?’

  Eofer ground his teeth in frustration as Hemming indicated the storage hatch on the little deck with a nod of his head. ‘Remember who we have along for the ride, lord. I may be being harsh, but the king has entrusted us with someone far more valuable to the English nation than a single boatload of settlers. We have a duty to see him safely delivered.’

  Yells and cries came from the cnar, and the trio looked back across. One of the crewmen, his dark hair tied back by a leather thong, was balancing a young girl of four or five winters on the wale of the ship and waving to draw their attention. Eofer and his duguth exchanged a look of despair as they realised what was about to happen. The sound of a hard slap on bare skin cut short a woman’s grief-stricken wail as the crew of the Skua, impotent despite their fine war gear and weapons, lined the ship’s side, looking on in sullen silence.

  Eofer removed his helm, letting it drop from his fingers to the deck as the Frisian’s hand went up to the girl’s throat. The movement had caught the girl’s eye and she looked across at a thegn of her nation, the fear and confusion writ large on her pale features. Their eyes locked as the killer drew the blade across the girl’s throat, her eyes shooting wide in shock and horror as her lifeblood spurted red. The man gripped her blond hair and tugged her head back, mocking the warriors who had thought they were racing to save her only moments before. As the wound widened and twin jets of blood pulsed from the severed arteries, they all watched in horrified silence as the little body went limp and the life left her. The Frisian seaman let the body fall overboard before deliberately brushing his hands together, grinning as the outraged Engles shouted in anger. Eofer had been transfixed by the girl’s gaze, but Hemming’s shout of desperation brought him back.

  ‘No!’

  He looked and saw that Spearhafoc had an arrow nocked and ready to loose, but at the moment of release Octa’s hand, alerted by his friend’s warning cry, shot out to send the shaft high and wide.

  The Briton turned, her features contorted by rage as the duguth grabbed the bow by the stave and forced it down. Hemming was already striding the thwarts, and he arrived just as the first blow landed, Octa’s head flying back as the woman spat a question: ‘why not?’

  ‘Because he has just saved the lives of the rest of the captives on that ship,’ Hemming said as he arrived. ‘That is why.’ She looked at him as if he was mad, but Hemming explained. ‘If you had killed one of the crew, all they would have done is line up the captives one by one and done the same thing again and again. We can’t get near enough to save them,’ he explained as the girl bit back tears of frustration. ‘All we can do is back off and give the folk over there some sort of future, even if that is a life of thrældom.’ He turned back towards the steering platform. ‘Isn’t that right, lord?’

  Eofer was still standing staring outboard at the lifeless form of the girl. Floating face down in the lee of the cnar, the little body was rising and falling as the bow wave caught it and carried at away, the long flaxen hair spread on the surface of the water like fronds of macabre rock weed. He had looked into the eyes of the dying before, most warriors had, and seen the disbelief there as the great door of Valhall began to swing open before them, but this time it had been different. He had been able to sense the girl’s trust in him, that he would save her despite the evidence of her own eyes, because that was what she had always been told warriors did. It was why her father had paid scot to his lord, why the proud farmer kept his spear sharp, his shield freshly painted in his lord’s colours; attended the muster. But he had failed her, and for the first time ever he felt overwhelmed by the sense of helplessness, of events happening beyond his control, a feeling which, he suddenly realised, must be the common lot of any ceorl.

  Hemming called again, and Eofer dragged his eyes away from the body. ‘ Yes,’ he replied distantly: ‘what?’

  Hemming repeated his conclusion, as the men of Eofer’s hearth troop exchanged puzzled looks at their lord’s reaction. ‘I was saying lord, that we need to let this one go. Back off, and give the folk on the ship a chance of life.’

  Eofer nodded, but his mind was still elsewhere. ‘Yes,’ he said distantly, ‘do it.’

  As the lads rushed to haul the yard, Eofer pushed through the crowd of silent men, back to his wife and her pale faced maid, aware that his face burned with shame. The fact that he had proven powerless to save the settlers was bad enough, but for it to happen in front of his wife was the ultimate humiliation. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Help me out of these trinkets.’ She shook her head. ‘No, you need to keep them on. We don’t know what we will find when we overtake the rest of the ships.’ He shrugged. ‘For what good I do, you may as well wear them yourself.’

  Astrid flicked an icy glare at Finn and Anna, still stood protectively to either side of her. Finn took the hint and made his excuses. ‘The danger is past,’ he said with a hesitant smile. ‘We will leave you in peace, lady.’ As the boys hurried away, Astrid swept the deck with her gaze. Satisfied that all others were well out of earshot she leaned in to her bonda and fixed him with a withering stare. ‘Eofer,’ she growled. ‘What is wrong? Is it the girl?’ He cleared his throat, stealing a look to the South where the cnar was making her way to safety as the Frisian crewmen tossed ribald comments at the chastened English. ‘She looked me in the eye,’ he explained, his voice heavy with regret. ‘She was pleading with me to save her even as the bastard drew the knife across her throat, and all I could do was stand and watch.’

  She looked him the eyes, her expression deadpan. ‘So?’

  ‘She expected me to save her, and I let her down,’ he replied. ‘I let them all down, and in front of you.’

  ‘A girl was murdered, she was just a ceorl they die all the time,’ she spat. ‘She was like a cow or a lamb, we have plenty more.’

  As Eofer looked at her in shock, Astrid noticed that the men of his hearth troop were stealing glances their way. She leaned in closer as she painted her face with a smile. ‘The men are looking to you now for leadership,’ she said in a voice which belied the harshness of her words. ‘They all saw what happened and they feel as bad as you about it. If you are a leader of men, now is the time to prove it, both to them and to me. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and act like the man that I married. If you feel that you can no longer do that,’ she added with a sweet smile for the benefit of anyone watching, ‘I will return to my family in Geatland, and my brother can find me a bonda who will.’

 
; She stood back and nodded as she looked him up and down, raising her voice so that all could hear. ‘There, you look magnificent, lord. Thank you for comforting me, it was a horrible thing to witness. Thank the gods that I have you and your men to protect me.’

  The men exchanged smiles that their lord seemed to have recovered his wits, and Eofer left his wife to settle down at the foot of the mast as he ordered his thoughts. It was the first time that she had spoken to him in such a manner, and he wondered as he paced the thwarts how serious her threat had been. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind as Hemming’s happy face greeted him, but he knew that something had changed between them in that moment, worries he knew would rise once again to the surface, however deeply he tried to bury them away.

  He pulled a reluctant smile. ‘How are we?’

  ‘All set, lord. Sæward is bringing her about and we are going after the other ships.’

  Eofer looked across as the steersman worked the rudder. ‘How long, Sæward?’

  Sæward wrinkled his nose, his eyes darting up to the weathervane which graced the mast top and back to the heap of sail in the South. ‘Within the hour, lord,’ he replied. ‘They barely moved in the last hour or so, even in this wind.’ He nodded towards Astrid and grinned. ‘At this pace lord, your new son might be born at sea.’

  Eofer chuckled, grateful to be returned to the jocular world of men, and he could sense the concerns of the crew wash away as he did so. Astrid was right, the men took their mood, their very confidence from him. If he appeared weak or indecisive that would be reflected in their own thoughts and actions. Very soon he would have no hearth troop to lead as men drifted away to other lords, victory lords, men who would supply the silver, gold and reputation which they craved. He returned Sæward’s grin, the ship shuddering beneath their feet as it turned beam on to the waves. ‘A sea king then,’ he called, ‘a family first!’

  As the laughter was echoed in those around him, Eofer looked back towards the coast a final time. The raucous cry of gulls cut the air there as the great grey birds clustered over a tiny patch of white. Astrid caught his eye, and she smiled and threw him a wink. The strong man was back, all was right in her world again, everything neat and tidy and back in its place like a well ordered hall. He pulled an awkward smile in return, glancing away before she could see the frown which replaced it.

  25

  ‘They are looking a bit worried, lord.’ The men on the steering platform exchanged smiles as the snake ship edged over towards them, pale ovals flanking the prow beast as the anxious crewmen watched their approach. Eofer turned to Sæward. ‘Unfurl the white dragon, let’s put their minds at rest. I think that they have probably had enough to worry about over the course of the last week or so.’ As the steersman sent Bassa hurrying towards the mast with the battle flag, Eofer let his gaze wander across the ships which comprised the little flotilla.

  The formation was, he decided, a bit of a shambles. Half a dozen sturdy cnars had been gathered together at the centre, no doubt intended as the focus around which the motley collection of smaller boats which made up the fleet would gather. Even in the relatively calm seas and steady winds which prevailed in the German Sea that day, it was obvious that the steersman were finding the art of station keeping beyond them. Whether that was caused by poor seamanship or something altogether more sinister he would soon discover.

  Joyful shouts and waves greeted the sight of the herebeacn as it snapped forward in the following wind, and the big snaca heeled over to bæcbord as the helmsman came about and pointed her prow back to the South. The Skua bounded up abeam, the ship juddering like a warhorse after the charge as the lads brailed up the sail and took up station within easy hail of the smiling faces turned their way.

  A scipthegn came to the side, resting a hand on the sternpost as he called a welcome across the gap. ‘I am Ælfeah Hearding, it’s nice to see another friendly face.’ He indicated what, Eofer realised for the first time, was no longer the battle flag of Engeln but the battle flag of Anglia with a jerk of his head. ‘And a friendly flag.’

  ‘I am Eofer Wonreding, some men call me king’s bane.’ He shot the man a smile. ‘Could you could use a little help?’

  ‘We are just starting to corral our charges for the night,’ the thegn replied with a mischievous smile. ‘You are welcome to shelter under our protection, Eofer. We can exchange our news then.’

  Eofer snorted at the man’s humour as the ships drew apart. It was plain from the haggard appearance and drained faces of the crew that the duty which they had been tasked to perform in the name of the king had been anything but easy. The man was right, the day was beginning to draw to a close. Away to the south-west a distinct lightening marked the position of the sun, low now on the horizon behind a veil of ash grey clouds. On the far side of the little fleet Eofer could make out the distinctive silhouette of another snake ship, the slender sweep of its bow and stern posts lending it an elegance at odds with the stubby, workaday hulls of its charges.

  Within the hour the ships had been shepherded together, their hulls lashed securely to make one floating community of the sea. Sæward had lain the Skua alongside as the shadows lengthened, and the crews had swapped tales of the tumultuous weeks in the history of their nation over a cask of ale, a flitch of salt bacon and the last of the loaves baked in the pre dawn at Strand that morning.

  Eofer and Hemming had joined Ælfeah and his duguth onboard the ship he now knew to be the Hildstapa, war-stepper, warrior, a snaca out of the Anglian port at Gippeswic, as the first songs had risen to hang in the chill air.

  Ælfeah tore another chunk from the bread, rolling it around his mouth as he savoured the taste. ‘You don’t realise just how good fresh bread can taste until you have gone without,’ he said with relish. ‘The bacon too,’ he mumbled through the mush: ‘smashing!’

  Eofer chuckled as the man slurped a mouthful of ale. From his salt stained boots to his leather hair tie, Ælfeah was an English scipthegn through and through. Tough and dependable, his eyes shone with intelligence from a face almost as dark and hardy as the leather of his jerkin, testament to a life spent facing wind, sun and wave; everything that Gymir and Ran could throw at him, and still he came back for more.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘you were the last away?’

  Eofer nodded. ‘As far as I know, yes. We were certainly the last ship out of Strand. We fired the last buildings there before we left and moved the channel markers. We may yet see a ship from Porta’s Mutha but I suspect that they have already struck out for the Anglian coast. Lucky for you,’ he said with a look, ‘I decided to come further south before making the crossing. I have my wyf aboard and she is heavy with child, so the less time spent out on the rollers of the whale road the better.’

  Hemming was looking out across the decks of the wallowing cnar tied up alongside, and he lifted his chin and spoke. ‘This would be the shipmaster of the other snaca, I am guessing.’

  Ælfeah twisted and looked back over his shoulder. ‘Aye, that’s Leofwine,’ he said as he blew salt from the bottom of a cup and filled it with ale. ‘He’s taking his life into his hands crossing those decks in the dusk. Some of those ‘traders’,’ he said with a raise of his brow, ‘would cut your throat as soon as look at you. I am sure that some of the women are having to pay more than the king’s silver for their passage, but there is nothing that I can do about it at the moment. I need them to work the ships and the bastards know it.’ He spat over the side as he glowered at the dark outlines of the Frisian ships. ‘If they think that they are slipping quietly away with their pockets full of English silver at the end of the voyage they are in for a shock.’

  Leofwine finally arrived and hauled himself aboard. Ælfeah made the introductions as the man sank his first ale of the night. ‘Leofwine, we are honoured,’ he said with a nod in Eofer’s direction, ‘this is Eofer king’s bane, come to save us.’ They shared a laugh as the ale began to work its magic and the cares of the day receded. ‘Killer of
kings, burner of Heorot, first man in Juteland, first man in Daneland,’ he paused and took an exaggerated breath before continuing as Eofer gave what he hoped was a self depreciating smile. ‘Last man out of Daneland, last man out of Engeln, saviour of beleaguered ship thegns.’ Ælfeah cocked a brow and flashed Eofer a look of mischief. ‘Did I miss anything out?’

  Hemming grinned, seizing his own chance for devilry. ‘Kinsman to the king of Geatland, son of a folctoga, a friend of the British king, Cerdic, occasional advisor to the Allfather himself…’ Eofer forced a cup to his weorthman’s lips, cutting off the waggery as the thegns began to relax for the first time in days. The laughter trailed away as the tired men settled in to discuss the matter at hand; how to deliver the last batch of settlers to Anglia without losing any more to the many dangers which faced them.

  Eofer was the first to ask a question. ‘How many ships have you lost so far?’

  Leofwine grimaced as the conversation turned back to weightier matters. ‘The one today, the one which you tried to save, was the third. Yesterday the bottom just fell out of one old tub under the weight of the people and their belongings. We managed to save some,’ he said sadly, ‘but very few of them have ever been on a ship, let alone learned to swim. By the time we got there it was too late for most of them.’

  Eofer nodded sadly. ‘They would be the bodies we passed this afternoon.’

  ‘The other ship,’ Ælfeah added, ‘just disappeared one night. We would have heard if it was in trouble and it can’t have drifted so far that it couldn’t see the light.’ He indicated Leofwine’s ship Grægwulf, Grey wolf, at the far end of the anchorage. A lantern flickered dully in the night, the tall mast of the snake ship a buttery rod against the black sky above. ‘After that we started to herd the ships together at night and rope them together.’ The inference was obvious, the missing ship must have been the first shipload of folk to find themselves on their way to a slave market in place of the new country. ‘Now, with the one today making a break for it…’ He sighed and shook his head as he swilled the dregs of ale. ‘It will only get worse as we approach the Ælmere. You couldn’t have turned up at a better time Eofer.’