The Wolf and the Raven

by H A CULLEY

  The four ship’s boys and their fellows from the other longship had shared a fire and lay down around it. Hakon had continued his verbal abuse of Ragnar and Olaf during the evening, despite being scolded by the senior boy from the other ship.

  Later, when the sound of snoring convinced him that everyone was asleep, Olaf slowly crawled over to where Hakon slept wrapped in his cloak. He woke with the point of Olaf’s dagger pressing into his neck hard enough to have drawn a few drops of blood.

  ‘If you don’t keep your filthy trap shut, Hakon, you won’t find my dagger at your throat; I’ll use it to cut off your balls.’

  Like many bullies, Hakon was a coward at heart and he bolstered his self-confidence by disparaging his juniors. Although Olaf couldn’t see the wet patch in the crotch of the other boy’s trousers he caught the faint tang of urine and grinned.

  ‘And I’ll tell the others you pissed yourself like a baby.’

  He left Hakon shaking with fear and wondering how he was going to get the tell-tale yellow stain out of his cream coloured trousers by morning.

  -℣-

  A few score Norsemen had settled on the main island of Orkneyjar over the past few decades and had enslaved the original inhabitants. They eked out a living by farming and fishing but they also traded with the Picts and the Irish. Now other Norsemen had started to arrive, some to settle with their families, but most wanted to use the islands as a summer base from which to raid. There were over seventy islands and skerries that made up Orkneyjar and only a few of these were inhabited. Skerries were too small to be of use but that still left over twenty uninhabited islands for Thorkel to choose from.

  Raiders weren’t popular with the permanent settlers as raiding had meant that those they normally traded with were now frightened of all Norse ships. Some could tell the difference between the knarrs used by merchants and the longships used for war, but not all, and some Orkneyjar traders had been killed as soon as they landed. Thus Thorkel avoided them and set up his base on an uninhabited island lying north east of the one with the major settlement. It had a deep inlet on the north coast that provided shelter from the prevailing westerly winds and had a large sandy shoreline on which to beach the two longships.

  Ragnar had noticed almost immediately that Hakon had suddenly become quiet and withdrawn. He thought it strange that the boy had gone swimming in his trousers first thing the next morning; everyone else had stripped off completely before running into the sea to wash the sweat and grime of the voyage from their bodies. Perhaps he’s shy because his manhood is like a shrunken worm Ragnar thought and nearly teased the other boy about it. However, he told himself that would be to sink to Hakon’s level, so he didn’t.

  Two days later they set sail again heading south. Thorkel had been told that the northernmost part of the island of Britain was inhabited by poor people with nothing worth taking so he continued down the east coast until he encountered a coastline ahead of him which ran horizontally from west to east. As the wind was coming from the west, they turned and sailed eastwards along this coast.

  The sky was blue with a scattering of white and grey clouds and the wind was just strong enough to turn the crests of the waves white. Apart from the odd fishing hamlet they saw nothing of interest on the first day. They found a sheltered cove in which to spend the night and they continued to head east until the land turned south west. After turning the corner they had to tack to and fro as they were now heading south west. The wind gradually grew in strength and veered as the day progressed and the relatively calm sea became agitated with waves five or six feet high crashing into the ship, spraying those inside her with cold, salty water.

  ‘Get the sail down and put two reefs in it,’ Thorkel yelled, telling Jorun to put her broadside on to the wind at the same time.

  The ship rocked as waves crashed into her side as the four boys held the sail side on to the howling wind and lowered the yardarm from which it was suspended. Jorun let her run before the wind whilst they were gathering in the bottom half of the sail and tying it to the yardarm using the reefing points. Then, broadside on again, they struggled to haul it into position up the mast and secure the halyard. A second later Jorun leant on the steering oar to bring her back on course whilst the four boys trimmed the ropes attached to the ends of the yardarm to achieve maximum speed from the lithe craft.

  Ragnar was exhausted but exhilarated. Now the drekar flew before the wind again, but without the risk of tearing the mast out of her. As suddenly as it had arrived, the squall passed and, although the swell continued to make hills and valleys for the ship to climb and skate down, the wind had died enough for the reef to be shaken out again.

  That done, Thorkel looked around for the other longship but there was no sign of her.

  ‘Either she’s over the horizon or she’s foundered,’ his helmsman said unhelpfully.

  Then his attention was drawn to the four boys.

  ‘What are you standing there gawping at? Get bailing!’

  It was only then that Ragnar and the others became aware of the sound of water sloshing around in the bilges where the ballast lay. Three of them formed a chain and passed leather buckets full of foul smelling water up to Olaf who threw them over the side to leeward. By the time that Jorun was satisfied they were beyond exhaustion and collapsed where they stood.

  Two hours later the wind died and the men unshipped their oars and started to row. Shortly after that they spotted a cluster of buildings on top of a cliff. Most were built of timber or were timber framed with infill panels of wattle and daub, but one was built of stone. There was what looked like a watchtower near it and they could vaguely hear the monotonous pealing of a bell. At first Thorkel thought that they had been spotted but then he saw a line of men clad in long brown robes heading into the stone building.

  ‘They’re going to pray to their god. They call that building a church.’ Olaf told the other boys. ‘My father told me about what he called monasteries. Their priests live there without women.’

  It seemed an unlikely story to Ragnar but he said nothing. Even at thirteen he’d had more than one tumble with a willing thrall. He couldn’t imagine living without sex.

  ‘Perhaps they enjoy each other,’ Gorm suggested with a grin and the others laughed, even Hakon.

  The steep cliffs continued for miles and the drekar sailed on, looking for somewhere to land. Presumably the monks thought themselves safe from the Vikings in view of their position, or perhaps their lack of alarm was because they hadn’t spotted the ship without its sail raised.

  Then Hakon, whose turn it was to climb the mast and act as lookout called down that he could see a shallow bay with a sandy beach on the larboard bow. Thorkel calculated that they were some ten miles south of the monastery they’d seen but it was only a few hours until nightfall so he told Jorun to steer for the bay, then yelled for the men to unship their oars.

  As they were now heading into the wind the boys didn’t need to be told to lower the sail and, as soon as Hakon had climbed down from his perch and rushed to the prow to resume his duties as lookout, the other three undid the halyard and carefully lowered the yardarm to which the sail was attached. It wasn’t an easy exercise especially with the wind backing the sail, but they managed to get it down, secur the flapping sail and stow it without making any mistakes. Thorkel smiled to himself. They were improving. By the end of the voyage they might even be able to call themselves sailors.

  The next morning Throkel and most of the crew set off to walk the ten miles or so north to the monastery. He left three of the older men with Jorun and the four boys to guard the ship and sent out a pair of men to the low hills that shadowed the path along the coast. They and the two scouts in front of the main body would protect them from a surprise attack.

  Ragnar watched them depart wistfully. He wondered when he would be allowed to join the men. He was shaken out of his reverie when Jorun yelled at him and Gorm to deploy as sentries on the rise to the west of the beach.


  Ragnar sat with his back against a rock watching the empty scrubland inland and occasionally looking down at the men on the beach playing knucklebones and drinking. Suddenly he thought he saw movement in the trees off to his left. He watched intently but, after a few minutes, he came to the reluctant conclusion that he must have imagined it; or perhaps it was just an animal. He looked over towards where Gorm was sitting a few hundred yards away but he didn’t look as if he had seen anything.

  Something made him look back towards the small wood and, to his horror, he saw about a score of half-naked warriors running towards the beach. They were further away from the ship than he was so he started to run and yell a warning at the same time.

  Gorm started up from his position and joined Ragnar in slithering down the sandy slope to where the others were rushing to arm themselves. Ragnar scooped up his bow and bent it to fix the string in place. By now the Picts were about three hundred yards away; too far for an arrow to do much damage from where he was. He ran back to the ship, ignoring Hakon’s cry of coward, and climbed aboard. He raced to the prow, where he was about ten feet higher than the others.

  His first arrow struck a Pict in the thigh and the next killed one with a hit in the centre of his torso. He downed three more before they were too close to Olaf and the others to risk another shot.

  The Norsemen might be outnumbered two to one but they were disciplined and well-trained, whereas the Picts were a disorganised mass. Jorun and the other three men formed a shield wall with the three boys behind them armed with spears which protruded over the men’s shoulders. Instead of flanking them, the Picts charged directly at them and five of them were killed or wounded before the first Viking fell.

  His shield had been pulled down by one Pict whilst another stabbed him in the throat. Both Picts were quickly killed but this wasn’t a rate of attrition that the Vikings could stand for very long.

  One more of the Norse warriors was killed and Jorun was fatally wounded before the Pict’s frenzied attack ceased and they withdrew. Ragnar had leapt down from the prow, having exchanged his bow for a sword and shield, as soon as the close quarter fighting started. As the Picts withdrew he ran after them and managed to slice through a hamstring before the red mist cleared from his eyes; he realised with a start that he was isolated and about to face nearly a dozen Picts on his own. He turned and walked unhurriedly back towards the one remaining warrior, a man called Fiske, and the other three boys. The Picts were arguing amongst themselves as Ragnar re-joined them.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Hakon asked. ‘They still outnumber us by over two to one.’

  Fiske shrugged. ‘Fight them until either we’re all dead or they are.’

  Ragnar grabbed Hakon’s shoulder and pulled him around to face him. Although he was three inches shorter than the older boy he pushed his face up close to Hakon’s. The latter jerked back, thinking that Ragnar was going to butt him in the nose.

  ‘The next time you call me a coward I’ll kill you myself,’ Ragnar told him through clenched teeth.

  ‘For Odin’s sake, haven’t you got enough people to battle against without fighting amongst yourselves?’ Fiske asked.

  Ragnar let go of Hakon and both took their place in the shield wall, still glaring at each other.

  ‘Right, we’ve got three spears’ Fiske continued. ‘They’re useless now we’re all in the front rank so throw them at the bastards and make sure you each hit one of them.’

  Olaf, Gorm and Hakon took aim and two warriors tumbled to the ground, one with two spears in him. The five stood with shields overlapping and swords poking above or below the shields as the Picts crashed into them. They tried to hack at them with axes, swords and long thin daggers with a sharp point but their opponents pushed forward to limit the Picts’ room for manoeuvre. The Vikings’ swords stabbed into exposed flesh and Fiske, the only one wearing a helmet, banged it into the face of an opponent, breaking his nose and cheekbone. A moment later and another Pict thrust his spear into Fiske’s neck and the old Viking collapsed.

  Ragnar was at the end of the short shield wall and he sensed rather than saw a Pict to his right. The man was about to thrust a spear into the boy’s side when Ragnar sliced sideways with his blade, cutting the point off the spear. He rolled his wrist and the tip of the sword entered the Pict’s eye and he collapsed screaming.

  Hakon was to Ragnar’s left and, as he turned his attention back to his front he realised that the other boy had moved away from him to fill the gap left by the death of Fiske. A Pict took advantage of his exposed position and brought an axe down towards his unprotected head. Ragnar just managed to lift his shield to meet it but the blow felt as if it had broken his left hand. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to let go of his shield.

  The axe was embedded in the limewood shield and the Pict tried to pull it out. Ragnar was jerked forward and lost his balance. As he went down on one knee he stabbed upwards into the axeman’s groin. He leapt to his feet, only to discover that it was all over. The three remaining Picts had fled.

  Ragnar darted to where he’d dropped his bow and quiver and scooped them up. He took careful aim and let fly. As soon as the arrow left the bowstring he replaced it with another. The first Pict fell forwards onto his face with an arrow in his back just as the second one reached the top of its trajectory and started to descend. The twang of the bowstring indicated that a third one was on its way.

  The other boys watched as the second one caught a Pict in the calf and he was reduced to hobbling. However, the third one only grazed the shoulder of the last man.

  ‘Quick, after them. They mustn’t be allowed to summon reinforcements.’

  ‘Who are you to give orders?’ Hakon asked, not moving. ‘I’m the eldest.’

  ‘There’s no time for your stupidity Hakon. Come on.’

  Ragnar started to chase after the two Picts and Olaf joined him. Gorm hesitated for a split second and then ran after them. Hakon was left fuming but, after swearing and calling Ragnar every name he could think of he too started to run.

  It took no more than a few minutes to catch the limping Pict and Olaf dispatched him with a chop into his other leg followed by a thrust into his bare back. The other Pict disappeared into the tress but he left a trail of blood from the arrow wound in his shoulder.

  Ten minutes later Ragnar caught him up and the man turned to face him. He thrust his spear at the Viking boy, which Ragnar easily evaded. He had long ago thrown aside his shield so he was vulnerable as the Pict brought it back in a slashing movement. Had the spear slashed across his belly as intended, his innards would be tumbling out at his feet by now. Ragnar realised that the man was too far away for him to reach with his sword so, instead, he made a grab at the spear and was lucky enough to grasp it. He pulled with all his might and the Pict, caught by surprise, was pulled forward onto Ragnar’s sword. As it slid into his belly, the Pict spewed out the contents of his last meal all over Ragnar. The boy let go of his sword in disgust and pushed the dying man away from him.

  Just at that moment the other three arrived. Olaf and Gorm stopped, bending over to try and recover their breath now that it was all over, but Hakon leapt at Ragnar calling him a filthy turd as he aimed his sword at Ragnar’s head.

  Ragnar turned as he heard Hakon’s voice and his foot slipped in the Pict’s entrails. He lost his balance and fell on his back, Hakon’s sword cutting though empty air where he’d been standing a split second earlier.

  The momentum of his attack nearly unbalanced Hakon but he recovered swiftly and went to stab Ragnar as he lay on the ground unarmed. Suddenly Hakon arched his body and fell on top of the Pict, Olaf’s dagger protruding from his back.

  -℣-

  When Thorkel and his men returned laden with plunder and bringing seven monks and a dozen novices to be sold as thralls, he found his ship guarded by just three boys. The Picts had been left for the buzzards and carrion crows to feed on but Jorun and the other Norse dead had been piled on top of a funeral pyr
e made up of deadwood and wood chopped from the nearby trees using the Picts’ axes. Hakon had been laid there with the four men; there was no need for anyone else to know about the ignominious manner of his death.

  Chapter Two – Northumbria

  821

  Thorkel appointed an experienced sailor called Sitric as the new helmsman and, to sail the ship efficiently, as well as to even up the number of rowers, he had told the youngest warrior to join the three ship’s boys. The young man, whose name was Ketil, had protested, but Thorkel had given him a choice: become a ship’s boy or swim to shore and take his chances amongst the Picts.

  When Ketil tried to throw his weight around, the other boys told him to back off. Olaf pointed out forcefully that Ragnar had killed more Picts than anyone else, so he was their leader. Ketil was sixteen and a warrior; quite naturally he refused to accept a thirteen year old ship’s boy as his senior, but when Olaf pricked his neck with the tip of his dagger, he accepted the situation – for the moment. He was furious with Olaf and Ragnar, but most of all with Thorkel.

  The drekar turned into the entrance to the wide fjord that had opened up to their right and, with the easterly wind behind them, they made good progress. There were several settlements, both on the north coast and to the south, but they were close together and the mighty fortress on the rock a little way down the fjord, which Thorkel later found out was called the Firth of Forth, convinced him to look elsewhere for easier pickings. When several small ships put out from both shores he decided he needed to retrace his steps, and quickly.