‘Women on a ship?’ I said, touching my hammer. ‘That’s asking for bad luck.’
‘You refuse to take them?’
‘I’ve had to,’ I said, ‘but never willingly.’
‘In Snæland,’ he said, ‘there was a fishing boat crewed by women. Best sailors on the island!’
‘What kind of man would use women as a crew?’
‘Wasn’t a man, it was a woman who owned the boat. Lovely creature if you could stand the smell of her.’ He touched his hammer. ‘Poor thing, she vanished one day. Never saw her or her boat again.’
I snorted, making Egil laugh. He had the steering-oar, plainly loving to helm a fast ship through a windswept sea. We left the Foirthe and turned north, but stayed near to the shore, steering close to the few harbours and river mouths to see if any of Constantine’s ships were waiting for Coenwulf’s fleet. We saw none. Fishing boats would see us coming and would beat for the coast, fearing us, but we ignored them and just sailed on.
As evening fell we turned eastwards, seeking the open sea rather than sail close to a strange coast in the darkness. We shortened the sail, and Gerbruht, Egil and I took turns at the steering-oar and once we were well clear of land we turned to follow the Scipsteorra, the ship star, that was bright in the north. As dawn edged the east we tightened the sheets and turned back towards the coast that was hidden beneath a great bank of cloud. Spearhafoc ran easily, bending to the steady south-west wind. We were in sunlight, but squalls obscured the coast, and it was out of those squalls that the four ships came.
Egil saw the sails first. They were dirty grey rectangles against the dark clouds, but within minutes we could see their hulls. ‘They’re not cargo ships,’ Egil said, ‘their sails are too big.’
The four ships were still far off and the one furthest west, closest to the land, vanished for a few moments as another dark squall swallowed her. We were sailing north-west and the four ships were running in front of the south-west wind, so I turned Spearhafoc northwards again and saw the four ships turn as well. ‘The bastards are coming for us,’ I grunted. They must have seen us outlined against the rising sun, and by now they would have seen the wolf’s head glowing through the weave of our sail. They would know we were a pagan vessel, coming to plunder a coastal village or capture a cargo ship.
Egil thought the same. ‘They can’t think we’re part of Coenwulf’s fleet.’
‘They don’t know about it yet. The news won’t have reached them.’
Spearhafoc quickened as she settled on her northern course. The steering-oar quivered in my hand and the water hissed along the hull. ‘They’ll not catch us,’ I said.
‘But they’ll try,’ Egil said.
And so they did. All morning they followed us, and though Spearhafoc was faster, they did not abandon the chase.
We were being pursued.
Ten
‘God-damned Scottish Christians,’ Egil grunted. The four pursuing boats all had crosses on their prows.
‘And they’re well crewed,’ I said.
‘You mean they outnumber us?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Four to one? Five?’ Egil peered back at our pursuers. ‘I almost feel sorry for them.’
I ignored his jest. I had deliberately slowed Spearhafoc by loosening her sheets and allowing the pursuers to come closer. I knew I could outrun them, but I was reluctant to keep sailing northwards so I had turned Spearhafoc eastwards towards the open sea again, but their response had been to follow, spreading into a line so that when and if I turned south at least one of their ships would be close enough to ram me. So now we were sailing north again and the four ships were steadily closing the distance. I could see they were all crammed with men and I let the two fastest ships come close enough that I could see bearded and helmeted faces watching us from the prows, then I sheeted in the sail hard and felt Spearhafoc respond. ‘Maybe they’ll give up,’ I said as we bent to the wind and the water hissed faster down our hull.
We drew ahead, but the four were implacable. Two were longer than the others and those ships were faster, but even those two could not keep pace with Spearhafoc. Yet still they followed us even as the sun sank in the west and the sky darkened.
Night would offer small respite. The morning squalls had long gone and the sky was clear, lit by a three-quarter moon that rose from the sea. I turned east again, running in front of the gentling wind, and the four ships followed, though the two smaller ships were now nothing but dark shadows on the southern horizon. I thought of turning south, but the wind had slowed and to speed past the pursuers would mean rowing. They could row too, and their ships were better manned than mine. Besides, I was feeling the freedom of the sea, the desire neither to return to land nor to Coenwulf’s testy leash, but to sail on to wherever fate would take me. Æthelstan did not need me. He had only asked me to sail as a token of loyalty, and I had provided that by giving him my son and his warriors, and so we followed the ship star northwards, on through the night, our wake glittering with the strange lights of the sea.
‘Ran loves us,’ Egil looked at the twinkling lights.
‘She must love them too,’ I said, nodding at the two nearest pursuers.
I wondered why they were so persistent. Had they recognised Spearhafoc? Her sail and the sparrowhawk on her prow were distinctive, but she rarely sailed this far north. Maybe it was simply that she was a pagan ship, lacking the cross that Christians displayed so prominently. Did they think we were a raider? Yet why pursue us so hopelessly? For a time the two larger ships had used their oars and they did close the distance, but some time in the night the wind freshened again and Spearhafoc slid away from them. ‘We’re doing Coenwulf a favour,’ I told Egil when he woke from a brief sleep and took the steering-oar from me.
‘A favour?’
‘If those are the only ships Constantine has on this coast then we’re drawing them away from Coenwulf. He should be grateful.’
‘There must be more ships,’ Egil said. We knew Constantine kept a fleet of around twenty ships on his east coast to protect his land from Norse raiders, and those ships, though not enough to defeat Coenwulf, could have caused him endless trouble. His fleet was supposed to sail up the coast, keeping in touch with Æthelstan’s ground forces, ready to supply them with food, ale and weapons. I had escaped from Coenwulf’s irritable command, but my only justification for that escape was the excuse to look for Constantine’s fleet and it was more than possible we had passed their anchorage in the night. If that fleet heard about Coenwulf’s ships they would surely sail south to confront him, and we should have been ahead of them to warn him of their coming, but the four ships were herding us ever northwards. I spat overboard. ‘We should be going south,’ I said, ‘looking for his damned ships.’
‘Not while those four are there,’ Egil said, then turned and looked at the far moonlit ships. ‘But they won’t last long,’ he said confidently, ‘and nor will you unless you get some sleep. You look like you just crawled out of your grave.’
I slept, as did most of the crew. I thought I would wake after a couple of hours, but I woke to the rising sun and to hear Gerbruht bellowing from the steering platform. For a moment his words made no sense, then I realised he was shouting in his native Frisian. I stood, wincing at the stiffness in my legs. ‘What is it?’
‘A trader, lord!’
I saw that Gerbruht had slackened our sail and we were wallowing close to a wide-bellied cargo vessel. ‘They all went north!’ The helmsman, a stout, thick-bearded man, shouted. The Frisian language was similar to our own, and I had little difficulty in understanding him. ‘Fifteen of them!’
‘Dankewol!’ Gerbruht called back, and called to our crew to sheet in the sail again.
The wind was at our stern. Spearhafoc lurched as the sail bellied, and I staggered against the steps. ‘We’re still going north?’
‘Still going north, lord,’ Gerbruht confirmed cheerfully.
I climbed to the steering p
latform, looked south and saw no ships.
‘They abandoned the chase,’ Gerbruht said. ‘I reckon they thought we were Viking and just chased us off!’
‘So who went north?’
‘Constantine’s fleet, lord.’ Gerbruht jerked his head towards the cargo ship that had settled on an eastern course. ‘She was in a harbour and saw them leave three days ago. Fifteen big ships!’
‘You trust them?’
‘Yes, lord! They’re Christians.’
I touched my hammer. Three dolphins were keeping pace with Spearhafoc and I took their appearance as an omen of good fortune. No land was in sight, though to the west a heap of white cloud showed above Constantine’s realm. So his fleet had gone north? Why? I was sure the news of Æthelstan’s invasion had not yet reached this far north or else those fifteen warships would be heading south to play havoc with Coenwulf’s fleet. ‘We should go south,’ I said.
‘Lord Egil told me we should look for their ships, lord.’
‘Their damned ships went north! You just told me that.’
‘But north to where, lord? Orkneyjar?’
‘Why would they go there? Those islands are ruled by the Norse.’
‘I don’t know, lord, but last night Lord Egil said we should sail to Orkneyjar.’ There was a plaintive tone to his voice. Gerbruht was a Frisian and a fine seaman, never happier than when a steering-oar was quivering in his capable hands, and he plainly wanted to keep running with the wind rather than struggle south. ‘Have you been to Orkneyjar, lord?’ he asked.
‘Once,’ I said, ‘but we can’t go there now.’
‘Lord Egil said we should visit.’
‘Of course he did! He’s a bloody Norseman and wants to drink with his cousins.’
‘He says we’ll get news there, lord.’
And that, I thought, was true. I doubted the fifteen ships had gone to the islands unless they were looking for a fight with the Norsemen who ruled there. More likely Constantine wanted his fleet on the western coast, hoping to make more trouble in Cumbria, and the fleet’s commander was taking advantage of the stretch of fine weather to sail around Scotland’s treacherous northern coast. And that meant that any news at Orkneyjar would likely be an absence of news. If the Scottish ships were not in the islands then they must have gone west. ‘Where is Egil?’
‘Sleeping, lord.’
I knew Æthelstan would want me to go south, but the lure of the wind checked me. Bebbanburg was safe with Finan in command, and I had no wish to tie myself to Coenwulf’s fleet, which, if it had extricated itself from the Foirthe, would be sailing slowly up the coast. I could join them and appear to be a loyal supporter, or I could let Spearhafoc race on north to the wild islands of Orkneyjar and learn what news the Norsemen knew. In times of war, I persuaded myself, news was as precious as gold and so I shook my head. ‘Just keep her running.’
‘Yes, lord!’ Gerbruht said happily.
I breakfasted on ale, hard bread, and cheese. The sea was empty, not a sail in sight, only the dolphins who seemed to like running alongside Spearhafoc. The clouds stayed above the unseen land, but otherwise the sky was clear. Sometime after midday I saw cliffs far off in the west, and not long after we caught sight of the low islands that lie to the north of Constantine’s land. ‘You know anyone there?’ I asked Egil, who had woken and come aft with his fair hair blowing loose in the ship-driving wind.
‘Jarl Thorfinn. I first knew him in Snæland.’
‘He’ll welcome us?’
‘He’s called Skull-Splitter,’ Egil added with a grin.
‘Him!’ I said. I had heard of Skull-Splitter, few men had not, but all I knew of him was that he was a renowned Norse leader who carried a long-hafted battleaxe named Hausakljúfr, which meant skull-splitter. ‘He lives in Orkneyjar?’
‘He and his two brothers rule the islands,’ Egil said.
‘Not much to rule,’ I snorted.
‘But rule they do. Skull-Splitter will growl at us, but he probably won’t kill us. He likes me.’
‘So he might kill me and welcome you?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Egil said, grinning again, ‘because then I get Spearhafoc. Unless Skull-Splitter wants her, of course.’ He looked up at the ragged pennant at the mast’s top that told where the wind was coming from. ‘But you’ll live. Jarl Thorfinn is the clever brother and he’s too clever to make unnecessary enemies.’
Which reassurance carried us northwards. I knew that all the islands of Orkneyjar, like the other islands further north, had been settled by the Norse. They fished, and kept scrawny cattle and hardy sheep, but their main livelihood was to go viking down the coasts of Britain, Frisia, and Frankia. Constantine must hate their presence, but he had other Norsemen on his western coast, Æthelstan’s Saxons to the south, and problems enough without enraging Thorfinn’s savage men. ‘They’re not all clever,’ Egil told me cheerfully, ‘they’re all úlfhéðnar, of course. Thorfinn especially. I saw him fight bare-bone naked once. He was awesome.’
I knew about the úlfhéðnar, I had even fought them at Heahburh. The name meant wolf-warriors and an úlfheðinn was a terrifying man to face in battle. They believed they were invulnerable, that they could fly, and that the spirit of Fenrir, the wolf of the gods, had possessed them. An úlfheðinn would attack in a frenzy, spitting and howling, driven by the henbane ointment they smeared on their skin. But frightening as they were, the úlfhéðnar could be defeated. A wolf-warrior was too savage, too unbridled, to stay in a shield wall. They believed they could win any battle on their own, and a lone man in a shield wall battle was vulnerable. The úlfhéðnar were terrifying, even wounded they would go on fighting like a cornered beast, but they could be killed.
‘I have an úlfheðinn’s skull on Bebbanburg’s gate,’ I told Egil. ‘I’ll happily add another.’
He smiled at that. ‘I’m told Thorfinn collects skulls too.’
We came to the islands in the late afternoon. Egil, who knew the waters, steered Spearhafoc and I noted how the small fishing boats did not flee from us. We had no cross on our prow, and they assumed we were Norse, and they knew no lone ship would dare enter the great harbour south of the biggest island unless they were friendly. We passed a point of land from where seals watched us, then shortened sail to glide across the huge anchorage. At least a score of boats were either moored or beached, their prows arrogant with serpent or dragon heads. ‘Tide’s flooding,’ Egil said, ‘shall we beach her?’
‘We’ll be safe?’
‘Jarl Thorfinn won’t attack us.’ He sounded confident, and so we ran Spearhafoc up onto a shingle beach. Her keel grated, the hull shuddered, and we were still. A dozen turf-roofed hovels edged the beach, all with smoke drifting from their roof-holes. They had to be burning driftwood or peat because there were no trees on the low hills. More fires burned sullenly beneath wooden racks where seal meat and fish were being smoked. One or two folk came from the cottages, stared at us, and then, satisfied we were no threat, ducked back inside. A dog peed on our cutwater, then wandered to where a heap of cod heads were piled at the high tide line. Small fishing boats were on the beach, dwarfed by the dragon-headed ships. ‘When I was a boy,’ Egil said, ‘my job was to cut the cheeks out of cod heads.’
‘The best eating,’ I said, then nodded at the cottages. ‘Thorfinn lives here?’ I asked, surprised by the settlement’s small size.
‘His hall is on the other side of the island,’ Egil nodded north, ‘but he’ll soon know we’re here. We just wait.’
It was almost dusk when two horsemen appeared from the north. They approached cautiously, hands on sword hilts, until they recognised Egil who they greeted enthusiastically. ‘Where’s your ship?’ one of them asked. He meant Banamaðr, Egil’s serpent-headed ship.
‘Safe at home,’ Egil said.
‘We were told only one man can come to the hall.’
‘Only one?’
‘We have other visitors and not enough benches. Not enough ale e
ither.’
‘I shall bring my friend,’ Egil said, indicating me.
The man shrugged. ‘Bring him. The jarl won’t mind two.’
I left Gerbruht in charge of Spearhafoc with strict instructions that there was to be no theft, no fights, and no trouble. ‘We’re guests here,’ I told the crew, ‘if you need food, which you don’t because we have enough, you pay for it!’ I gave Gerbruht a handful of hacksilver, then followed Egil over the side, splashed through the small waves and so up to the beach.
‘You’ll have to walk,’ one of the horsemen said cheerfully, and we followed them north along a track that led past small fields of barley. Some had already been harvested and there were women and children gleaning in the dusk.
‘How’s the harvest?’ Egil asked.
‘Not enough! We’ll need to take some from southern folk.’
‘And even if it was enough,’ Egil said, ‘you’d still take it.’
‘Aye, that’s the truth.’
The journey was not far. We crossed a low spine of land and saw a larger settlement on the shore of a rocky bay where seven dragon-ships were anchored. A long, low hall lay at the centre of the village, and it was there that the horsemen led us. ‘Do I give my sword to anyone?’ I asked the horsemen, conscious that most jarls and all kings insisted that men did not carry weapons in the hall. Swords, axes and ale make for an unhappy night.
‘Keep it!’ the rider said happily. ‘You’re outnumbered!’
We went through the wide doorway into a hall lit by rushlights and two massive fires. There were at least a hundred men on the benches who fell silent as we entered, then a big man at the high table bellowed a greeting. ‘Egil! Why didn’t they tell me it was your ship?’
‘I came in another, lord! How are you?’
‘Bored!’ He peered at me through the smoke. ‘Is that your father?’
War Lord Page 21