Blood on the Blade

by Griff Hosker

  Blood on the Blade

  Book 1

  in the

  New World Series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2018

  Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition 2018

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover by Design for Writers

  Prologue

  My name is Erik. My father was called, by some, Lars the Luckless. It was an ironic nickname. It was not his luck which was bad, it was his temper. However, as his temper normally resulted in dire consequences for him perhaps it was an appropriate name. He never had a bad temper at home. In fact, he was always smiling and cracking jokes. It was when he was with his oar brothers that he lost his temper. We learned this through the words of those close to him. He did not suffer fools gladly. We did not see him that often. More times than enough he would be away, raiding. Sometimes he might be away for a year or more. His arrival home normally coincided with another child which would, inevitably, be born when he was away.

  In those days it was my mother, Maeve, who held the family together. We lived on a small farm on Orkneyjar. Orkneyjar was the name we gave to the islands off the Pictish coast. Our home was on the island of Hrólfsey. My uncle, Snorri, and his family had their farm within sight of ours. The Viking after whom the island was named had left long ago. We heard that he had gone to the land of the Saxons. We had a few sheep and a couple of goats. We fished the bay and collected shellfish from the rich waters. When we were old enough, we fished but my tale begins when we had no boat. I grew up with my older brother, Arne. I had no sisters. Many men thought that made Lars lucky. My mother did not think so. When I was little, I wondered if she had named him luckless. Each of those who would have been my sisters had died before they were a month old. She had two boys and both survived. My mother was a Saxon and a Christian. She managed to hide her religion from all for my father had a deep hatred of the White Christ. I know she had a wooden cross but she kept it hidden when my father was at home. She had been a slave. My father had taken her from Hwitebi in the land of Northumbria. She had been taken along with an old Saxon, Edmund. He was our thrall. Now that land was Danish but my father had taken her when he had followed Bacgsecg and Healfdene, the two Viking leaders who had ravaged through Mercia, Wessex and the Saxon kingdoms. He had not been luckless then for he had returned with mail, a wife and a chest of coins. More, he was not there when the Saxons inflicted the final defeat on the Danes and Norse. That was the year he brought my mother to his farm and my brother was born.

  He took my mother because she was pretty and also because she was hardy. She fought him. Others who were taken threw themselves from the drekar on the way back to Orkneyjar. My father also brought a slave. He had hamstrung Edmund so that he could not run. He came from the same village as my mother and they knew each other. Edmund was much older than my mother. His wife had been taken by another Viking who lived on Bjarnarøy. Edmund was a Christian. He prayed openly that he and his wife would be reunited. If my father caught him doing so then he would beat him. Luckily for Edmund my father was away more than he was at home.

  Our nearest neighbours were my uncle’s family. Snorri Long Fingers was my father’s younger brother. His wife, Gytha, was Norse. She was a volva and they had two children: Helga, and Siggi. We all lived on the north of the island. It was not a safe beach and scavenging for shellfish was a hazardous experience. The two families would join together to do so. My uncle and my father got on well and so there was never a dispute over ownership of animals. Even so they kept their homes a good thousand paces from each other. The brothers were oar brothers. They spent every day at sea sharing an oar. It was natural that when they came home, they would wish to spend the time with their families.

  When I was born my father and his brother were at their most successful. They had returned with the other warriors from Orkneyjar. All of them had so much treasure that he spent a whole year at home. I was a babe and knew nothing at the time but when I was older I was told this.

  I was barely four summers old when I had my first adventure on the sea. It was rather in the sea than on it. My brother, Arne, and I had been sent by my mother to collect shellfish. Although dangerous it was how Viking boys learned to face and overcome adversity. I soon bored of it especially when I found a broken piece of wood in the rock pool. It was from a ship. The waters to the north and west of us were empty. Ships sailed there but, in the winter, there was ice which took many ships. We were used to finding wood. This one was slightly different. It looked to be from the keel of a ship. It had been in the water a long time. I turned it over in the water and saw something carved upon it. It was a name written in runes.

  I did not know the name but I felt a shiver down my spine. This was the name of the man who had built the ship. My father longed for a ship. We had the keel of one, the snekke we were building, on the beach but it was a skeleton only. A snekke was the smallest warship our people used. My father and his brother Snorri had carved their names in the keel. None of their runes looked like these. I ran my fingers over the letters. They had been well carved. The builder had taken time over them and now his ship was sunk. The wood still floated. I had a sudden thought. I would sail as though I was on a ship. I pulled myself up and sat astride the piece of wreckage. In those days I was small. It was later that I grew. I used my hands to paddle and kicked with my feet. I felt the wind in my face. I moved easily yet I could feel the water tugging at my feet; the tide was ebbing. I played with the wreckage. I used my hands and feet to turn it. I let the tide pull me out and then the wind push me back. I was not afraid of the sea. Arne and I could swim. I had dived to the bottom to collect stones for my sling. Then I heard Arne as he shouted me. His words made me start and a wave, or perhaps the Norns, threw me into the water. I did not panic. The beach was just thirty paces from me. As I broke the surface, I saw the wood drifting out to sea. It was heading west beyond the seas sailed by men. It was going towards the unknown. Arne’s voice called me back. Reluctantly I swam. The wood had been sent for a reason. The threads of the shipbuilder and of me had touched and now they were joined. The Norns had spun. That moment drew me to the sea and what lay beyond the horizon.

  My father spent his time ashore making a better shield and building a snekke. He did not farm! A snekke was a mixture of a drekar and a knarr. It was as long as a knarr but narrower and could not accommodate as much cargo. It was like a drekar, fast and used oars. Unlike a drekar it did not have a high prow. If a snekke met a drekar then its only hope was flight.

  My father and his brother thought to go trading and raiding. A snekke would allow them to do that with a small crew. Most snekke could be crewed by just a handful of men. I was much bigger by the time they had finished it. They raided a few more times but each time that my father returned he was unhappier with the leadership of the clan.

  When I was old enough to help around the farm and fish with my brother the Jarl, Eystein Rognvaldson, called upon the men of the island for a raid. This was not a raid for treasure. They were heading to the mainland to make war on the Picts. Some Picts had raided one of the smaller islands and stolen sheep and cattle. Their King, Óen
gusa mac Eóganan, had refused to hand over those who had stolen the animals and the raid was to punish them. My father was less than happy to go. As he told us before he left, there was little treasure to be had from such poor people. Nor did he believe that the raid would deter the Picts. But he was a loyal member of the clan and he obeyed the jarl. That was when the name, Luckless, began to be applied to him. That was when he became more bad tempered on the raid than he had been. We learned this, not from my father, but from his brother. He was away for half a year and when he returned, that was when I grew up.

  Chapter 1

  When I had seen more than twelve summers my father took me and Arne with him on a raid. Siggi, my cousin, was just four moons older than I was and he would be going on his first raid too. We had lost another baby girl the previous year and my mother was with child again. My cousin Helga came to stay with her while we raided. Gytha was a volva and she could manage without her daughter. My mother needed help. I knew that Edmund would protect her but Helga was a girl. As my mother was with child again, it made sense.

  At the time I did not care. I was young and become used to baby sisters dying young. I hoped that this one would be a boy. Selfishly I thought of myself; I was going on a raid. To a Viking boy that was all that was important. Now that I am older I see the world differently. Then I looked at it through a boy’s eyes. I would tread the deck of a drekar. ‘Moon Dragon’ was the warship of Eystein Rognvaldson. My father had described her to me. She had fifteen oars on each side and her prow had a black dragon head. The teeth were painted alternately red and white. The carver had made them look as though they were snapping. I could not wait to see her and I was excited to be sailing on such a fine ship.

  It was as we neared the ship that my father began to change. The jokes he had cracked as we tramped to Westerness where we would join the jarl stopped and his face showed a frown rather than a smile. It was later I knew why. He did not like to serve the jarl. He did not respect the jarl. We spied the mast as we crested the rise. He and his brother laid the chest they were carrying on the ground. He turned to Arne and me, “Now, you two, you must not let me down. I have no time to watch over you pair. I do not want the jarl or any of the other warriors complaining about you. Neither your uncle nor I have any time to wipe your nose. This is your first step on your journey to becoming a warrior. You sleep on the deck and you will eat when we have been fed. The ship master will be the one who tells you what to do! There will be other boys aboard and they will have sailed before. If you wish to ask questions, then ask them.”

  The three of us looked at each other. Arne said, “Where do we raid? The land of the Picts?”

  Snorri stroked Arne’s head with his famously long fingers, “The Picts have nothing worth stealing. We sail to raid the Walhaz. They are the people who live close to Mercia. The Mercians have lost much to the Walhaz. I know not why for the Walhaz do not wear mail and their weapons are poor. It is only their arrows we fear and your father and I wear mail. We will be safe and when we raid them then we will be rich!” I saw my father nodding. “You need to watch and learn for when you are older, we shall have our own ship and then we will be as rich as the jarl!”

  “Richer, for we are better warriors.”

  Snorri shook his head, “Brother, it is saying things like that which gets you into trouble. We have had to be farmers because you insulted the jarl last time we raided.”

  “A warrior must speak what is on his mind. If he did not like it then he could have challenged me.”

  “And he would have lost. There are none who can best you. The clan all know that you are the best warrior.” He shook his head, “Come we have a ship to board and you are filling the boys’ heads. They will need all of their wits about them if they are to survive. This will not be an easy voyage.”

  “You are right we have talked enough. Pick up the chest and let us board.”

  There was a jetty which led from the land to the drekar. I saw other men from the island as they carried their chests down the jetty to the drekar. Most carried them singly. My father and his brother had a larger chest than most and it contained all that they owned. They were close. There were other warriors with whom they would share the title oar brothers but Snorri and Lars were closer than any oar brother. They were brothers of the blood. All that we three had we carried on our backs. Apart from the kyrtle and breeks we wore we had a seal skin cape, a blanket, a sling, a bone knife tucked into a leather belt, a carved wooden bowl, a horn for beer and Thor’s hammer also carved in wood and tied by a thong around our neck. Arne had spoken to other boys who had sailed on drekar and he was confident that we would come back with more than we left. We hoped for a dagger or a seax at the very least. The next time we sailed we would not have so little and we would also be bigger.

  As we wound down the path to the sea I wondered at my uncle’s comments. My father was a warrior, I knew that already, but I did not know he was such a good one. He never spoke of his raids. Mother and Edmund were also tight lipped about my father. I was excited that I would see my father fight and I would judge for myself.

  The two brothers were bareheaded, their helmets were with their war gear in the chest. Their swords and short mail byrnie were also with their war gear. They carried their shields upon their backs and had their daggers in their belts. They both had sealskin boots and capes. There might be few trees on our island but there were seals aplenty. Their leather jerkins were studded with metal. My uncle had told me that they were arrows which had been used by our enemies. After a battle or a raid nothing was wasted. I thought it was clever to use something which might have wounded a warrior to protect himself in the future. I would have to wait until I was a warrior before I could have my own shield.

  As we neared the jetty, I was able to study the other warriors who were boarding the drekar. My uncle and father looked bigger than they did. It looked to me as though everyone had done as my father and uncle had done. Their war gear was in their chests. According to my father we had up to twenty days of sailing before their war gear would be needed. The sea could be cruel to swords, mail and helmets. They would be wrapped in grease and sheepskins. Men might have to endure the elements but not their weapons.

  I saw that we would be almost the last to board. I had never met the jarl but I knew who he would be. He was the warrior greeting the crew as they came aboard. He had plaited hair, beard and moustaches. He had warrior bands about his arms and neck. My father did not hold with such adornments. He believed that a warrior was a fighter. He did not need to pose. The jarl had his sword strapped to his belt. It was a richly adorned belt and the scabbard had a dragon running down it. The chape was its tail and the head looked to be forming the hilt of the sword. Unlike my father and uncle’s swords his had a detailed pommel and there were silvered threads in the grip. His jerkin had regular studs of metal which were in neat lines and I saw, hanging from his neck, a silver Thor’s hammer. He wore his helmet. It, too, had greatly detailed engraving upon it. It was a half mask helmet. My father and uncle wore a simple one with a nasal. Finally, his fingers had two rings on each hand. One was a dragon. It was studded with stones. The jarl was rich. I wondered why my father did not wear such things. I was impressed by the jarl.

  The smile with which he had greeted the other crew members was replaced by a serious face. “Welcome, Lars and Snorri. You have brought your sons?”

  “It is time they learned what it is to be a warrior. This raid will show them. They will serve as ship’s boys until they are big enough to row.”

  The jarl nodded, “You three, go to the steering board. The steersman is Ulf North Star. He will tell you your duties.” He looked down at me, I was the smallest. “Can you swim?”

  I nodded, “Aye, jarl.”

  “Good. If you fall from the ship, we do not come back for you. You will have to swim home!”

  I was unsure if he was joking and I ran after Arne to speak with the man who would get us where we needed to go. Ulf North St
ar was the colour of an oak barrel. He looked like one too. I almost giggled but feared a smack for my trouble. A better name would have been Ulf the Barrel. He wore a leather jerkin and had scuffed seal skin boots on his feet. At his waist he had a long, rounded dagger which looked like a long bodkin needle and a wicked looking seax. He put his hands on his hips. “I have three boys who have been on a voyage with me before. One is my grandson. They know how to make this drekar fly. You three know nothing. The best you can do is to keep out of the way of those who know what they are doing!” He pointed to the mast. “That is where you will be needed. If I shout for the sail to be reefed then you get to the top as soon as you can. You spread out and when my grandson, Olaf Olafsson, tells you then you pull up the sail and secure it. He will show you the knot you use. If I say lower the sail then you do the opposite.”

  Arne said, “Is that it?”

  Ulf smacked him so hard on the side of the head that I thought he would fall over. “Did I tell you to speak?” Holding back the tears Arne shook his head. I bunched my fists. If he hit me, I would hit him back. “Of course not! Olaf will tell you all of your duties but know this, on the last voyage two of the boys who set out with us did not return!” He seemed to take pleasure in that. I did not like the master mariner. “Olaf, here are the boys.”

  Olaf looked to be older than us. He looked much bigger than we were and I wondered when he would take an oar. He gestured for us to go to the prow. There was a small piece of canvas rigged over it. When we got there, he said, “This is your home. The little time you have for rest you will spend here. This is my last voyage on ‘Moon Dragon’ as a ship’s boy. I take an oar next time we raid. You will be the last boys I train.”