Dragons from the Sea

by Judson Roberts

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your kindness.” And in truth, the thought of sleeping inside again, with more than just a cloak and a low, open fire to fend off the night’s chill, sounded very welcome indeed.

  Raud bent down, picked up his bundles of arrows, and handed them to me to carry.

  “Here,” he said. “I’ll make you earn it. But before I allow you to enter my home, you will have to tell me your name.”

  I blushed, embarrassed that I had forgotten my manners.

  “My name is Halfdan,” I said.

  Raud led me across the market square and through a series of progressively narrower alleys. Finally he stopped in front of a small house and unlatched the gate in the fence around it. The yard contained a pen confining a sow and five piglets, and a garden with chickens hunting for bugs among rows of cabbages.

  The door of the little cottage was open. Raud stepped into the yard and called through the open doorway, “Asa, we have a guest for dinner.”

  Raud’s wife, Asa, was a plump woman with brown hair plaited into two braids. Her clothes, Raud’s, and their home itself suggested they were poor folk. She had a friendly face and a warm smile, though, and quickly made me feel welcome.

  Inside, Raud and Asa’s house contained just a single room with a raised hearth in the center and low benches built of wood and packed earth lining three of the walls. A loom stood against the fourth wall, as did two wooden chests, one large and one small.

  As Asa put the finishing touches on the evening meal, Raud introduced me to the rest of their family. Hake, their son, was still a toddler. Thora, their daughter, was ten years of age. I wondered about the gap in ages between the two children. As if he’d heard my thoughts, Raud volunteered, “We had another son, Gif. He’d have been seven. He died of a fever two winters ago.”

  We ate our dinner on a small tabletop that Asa and Thora had taken down from where it hung on one of the walls, and set up across the smaller of the two chests. Thora was determined to be the only person who served me, and sat beside me at table, hanging on every word I spoke. Her attentions caused me much embarrassment, and Raud and Asa much mirth.

  Dinner was a hearty stew, with barley, onions, carrots, and chunks of fish, all cooked in an iron pot suspended over the fire. For too many days I’d lived on whatever small game I could kill and roast, unseasoned, over an open flame, or on dried, salted, pork when nothing crossed my path in range of my bow. Though the stew was simple, to me it tasted wonderful.

  As we ate, Raud told Asa how he’d met me.

  “Halfdan here is a bowmaker, too,” he explained. “I met him in the market. He passed near me, and I noticed his bow. It’s a fine one. And he made it himself.”

  Asa looked at me and smiled. “It must be a fine bow, for Raud to praise it,” she said, nodding her head. “Everyone in Hedeby knows Raud makes the finest bows to be found south of Ribe.”

  “Don’t believe her,” Raud said, “I make the finest bows north of Ribe, too.” To Asa he added, “Halfdan hopes to join a longship’s crew.”

  Thora looked at me with big eyes. “Are you a warrior?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice. I felt dismayed by her reaction. If I did not appear a warrior even to a ten-year-old girl, how could I hope to convince a ship’s captain I was one?

  Asa seemed surprised, too. “What does your mother think about this?” she asked.

  Her question so startled me that I swallowed some soup down the wrong way and choked on it, coughing broth out through my nose. Raud looked embarrassed for me.

  “Asa,” he scolded, “a grown man does not need his mother’s permission to go to sea.” He turned to me with an apologetic look on his face.

  “Asa’s brother sailed with a longship’s crew when he was very young—just two years older than Thora. He was only allowed to make the voyage because I vouched for him. I was chief of the archers on the ship. We raided in England, and he was killed there. Asa still grieves for him, though it was more than five years ago.”

  “Gisli was his name. He was so young,” Asa said. “Too young for war. Too young to die. He hadn’t had a chance to live. You look young, too,” she added.

  I did not know what to say. If her loss still pained her so, I did not want to risk stirring her memories up even more. I chose instead to answer her earlier question to me.

  “My mother does not know of my plans,” I told her. “She cannot know; she is dead. All of my family are dead.”

  Actually, my half-sister, Sigrid, still lived, but she was as if dead to me. She was now in the power of my enemy, the man who had killed our brother, Harald.

  “Many a young man who started with nothing has made his fortune as a Viking,” Raud said. “I think your decision is wise.”

  “And many a young man, and older ones, too, have died trying,” Asa snorted. “I thank the Gods, Raud, that you came to your senses after Gisli was killed. We may not have a fortune, but at least I am not a widow-woman, and our children have a father.”

  It was my turn to feel embarrassed for Raud. No man likes to be scolded by his wife in front of guests. Raud’s face turned red. He set his bowl of stew down on the table, stood up, and walked across the room to where the bow stave he’d been working in the market was now leaning against the wall.

  “I’m going outside for a while,” he announced. “There is still enough light to follow the wood’s grain.”

  After he left, Asa spoke to me.

  “Go on with him, Halfdan. It’s not often we have guests, and he misses the company of men. He gave up the raiding life for me. I am grateful. I should not have spoken as I did in front of a stranger.”

  When I joined him outside, Raud shook his head.

  “Pay no mind to Asa,” he said. “The Viking life is a good life for a man. I miss it. When her brother died in my care, though, I felt I owed her. She has been a good wife to me.

  “I heard in the market that several longships came into Hedeby harbor today,” he continued. “It’s likely at least one will need more crew. We’ll sell that horse of yours in the morning, then you can seek out the ships’ captains down by the shore.

  “It’s a good life,” he said again. “Men can die at home, too. I’d rather die quick and clean in battle than sick and weak in bed.”

  I wondered if Asa’s brother would have agreed.

  2 : The Jarl

  The next morning, after we broke the night’s fast with a simple meal of barley porridge, Raud took me to the man whom he’d spoken of who kept a stable of horses. The stable owner’s black hair and beard looked greasy, and he smelled like he slept with the animals he kept. After some haggling, though, he paid me in silver for the mare and her saddle. From the grin on the stable owner’s face, and Raud’s surprised expression when we agreed on a price, I suspected that he’d cheated me. I had no idea how much a horse was worth, or, for that matter, the value of the silver coins he traded for it. Still, I considered I had come out ahead, for the horse had cost me nothing.

  It was time to part. Raud held out his hand, and we clasped wrists.

  “Thank you for your help and the hospitality of your home,” I told him. “And thank Asa again for me.”

  “It was our pleasure,” he replied. “I wish I could go with you. I miss the sea. I miss seeing other lands. It’s a good life for a man, especially when you’ve no family waiting for you at home.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You may be young in years, but I’m sure you will do fine. Good luck to you on finding a ship. Good fortune on your voyage, and in your life.”

  Raud turned and headed back toward his home and family. He did not know me, but even so had been generous with his friendship. I watched him go, part of me wishing I could trade places with him. He longed for the Viking life because he could no longer have it. I longed for a family and a home, because mine were gone. It was my fate, though, to become a warrior. To do so, I had to join a longship’s crew. The path I had to follow led to the sea.

  I picked my wa
y through Hedeby’s alleys until I reached the harbor. This was the first time since I had acquired my shield, jerkin, and helm that I had to carry them and my other gear on my own back. I quickly came to miss the little mare.

  After reaching the shore, I stood awhile, watching the busy harbor scene before me. Four longships were moored out against a breakwater, built from trunks of trees driven into the floor of the inlet to provide a protected anchorage. A small-boat was tied against the side of one of the low-slung warships. Closer in, a long wooden dock had been built along part of the shoreline. A number of narrow piers jutted out from it into the water. Several of these had knarrs, shorter and broader than the longships, tied up to them. One of the knarrs must have just recently arrived, for its crew was still unloading it, carrying bales of animal pelts over to an open shed and stacking them under the shelter of its roof. A man stood nearby, cutting a mark on a stick he held each time another bundle was delivered. Two other men stood with him, occasionally reaching out to feel the fur of the pelts when a new load was set down. I approached them and tried to put a confident smile on my face.

  “I am looking for the captains of those longships,” I said. “Do you know where I can find them?”

  The three men turned and looked at me. After a moment, the man keeping tally on the stick looked away, his bored expression reflecting his utter lack of interest in my question. His rudeness angered me, and I could feel my face turning hot and red.

  The other two men studied my appearance, assessing me from shoes to crown. Their expressions, and the fine clothes they were wearing, made me aware of the condition of my own. They’d been good quality once, but now looked stained and much the worse for wear.

  One of the men smiled. It was not an unfriendly smile. I felt encouraged.

  “What is your business with the captains?” he asked.

  “I hope to join a crew. A longship’s crew,” I replied.

  Now the second man spoke. “Are you a warrior?” He sounded surprised.

  “I am,” I stated, putting as much conviction in my voice as I could muster.

  At my answer, both men looked amused. I was not. Why was it so unlikely? What did it take to make a man a warrior, other than the skill and the will to take the lives of other men? I had killed before.

  The man who’d spoken first addressed me again.

  “The captains of two of those longships serve Jarl Hastein.” He raised his arm and gestured at something behind me. “That’s his ship there, on the beach.”

  I turned and looked where he was pointing. Past the docks, on an open stretch of beach, a longship had been pulled, stern first, halfway up onto the land. I nodded my thanks to my informant and strode down the beach toward it.

  As I drew near, I saw that cut lengths of logs had been lined up as rollers from the water’s edge to where the sternpost of the ship now rested, and the ship’s keel had been dragged across them. Timbers were propped against the hull on either side to hold it steady. The three top strakes of the hull on the side I was facing had been staved in, just back of mid-ship. A piece of sailcloth had been nailed across the broken timbers to keep the sea from splashing in. Two carpenters, one standing on the deck and the other on a short ladder leaning against the ship’s side, were working together at the break, cutting away the fabric patch and removing the rivets holding the long, broken planks in place.

  I had never seen such a ship. Her lines were so graceful she looked alive. Her hull, broad in the middle and tapering to a point at bow and stern, swept up dramatically at either end to the stem-posts of the keel. The stem-posts themselves, as well as the top strakes where they joined the stems, were covered with intricate carving, painted crimson and gold. The carved dragon head mounted atop the stem-post at the bow also flashed with gold.

  I walked around her, admiring her lines.

  My father, Hrorik, had owned a longship, the Red Eagle. I had never had the chance to sail on it, although when my father was still alive and I was still a slave, I’d scrubbed its decks and hull when it was pulled out of the boathouse at winter’s end, and had helped paint her with a fresh coat of pitch. The Red Eagle had been a fine ship, but it had not possessed the grace of the one I studied now. This ship looked sleek and sinuous, as though it could swim through the sea, rather than sail upon it.

  “She’s beautiful, is she not?” The voice came from behind me.

  “Aye,” I answered. “He who built her has brought the wood to life.”

  I turned to see who had spoken. Two men stood behind me. The closer one was standing with his hands on his hips, gazing admiringly at the ship. He was richly dressed, in a dark red tunic edged around the neck, sleeves, and hem with bands of dark green interwoven with threads of gold. The cloth had a very fine weave and soft drape that rippled with its wearer’s slightest movement. I realized it must be silk. My brother, Harald, and my father, Hrorik, had decorated some of their finest tunics with bands of silk at the sleeves and hems. My mother, who’d sewed their garments for them, had let me feel how soft and light the precious fabric was. I’d never before seen a tunic made entirely of the rich cloth, though. It was beautiful. I could not imagine how much it must have cost.

  The rest of the man’s garb was equally fine. A short, dark blue cape, edged with thick, white fur from the winter coat of a fox, hung from his shoulders, fastened by a large, ornate silver brooch. His legs were clad in dark green woolen trousers dyed to match the trim on his tunic, and his feet were shod with boots of a rich, dark brown leather. A sword hung at his belt, its gray steel hilt and pommel inlaid with silver patterns and runes.

  The second man, who stood behind him, also possessed a remarkable appearance, though not due to his dress. He was the tallest person I had ever seen. He towered a head and a half higher than his companion, who was himself a tall man. The giant’s clothes were also well made, but much simpler than those of his companion. His dark brown hair hung below his shoulders, but was pulled back and secured at his neck with a fat silver ring. Like his richly dressed comrade, the giant also had a sword at his belt, though his was unusually long.

  “My name is Hastein,” the richly dressed man said. Indicating the giant standing behind him, he added, “And this is Torvald, called Starki, the Strong. He is my helmsman. The ship you’re admiring is mine. I call her the Gull, for the way she skims across the waves.”

  The man who’d pointed this ship out to me had said it was owned by Jarl Hastein. Despite the wealth reflected by this man’s rich dress, I was surprised he was a jarl. He looked to be no more than in his mid to late twenties, just a few years older than my brother, Harald, had been. With his lean build and carefully groomed golden hair, his appearance even reminded me of Harald. How could one so young have come to rule over an entire district for the king?

  “You are right,” he said.

  I didn’t know what he meant. Right about what?

  “The man who built this ship did create a living creature,” he continued. “He brought the wood she’s built of to life. When she needed repair, I brought her back here to Hedeby, to the master shipwright who built her. I would not entrust her to any other.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “We were chasing a Frankish ship off the coast of Frisia. As we pulled alongside and threw our grappling lines, her captain tried to ram us. I killed him myself for harming the Gull.

  “It was perceptive of you to see the life in the Gull, even when she’s beached on the shore,” Hastein continued. “The beauty of her lines is not hard to see, but it’s when she’s in the water that the life that’s in her becomes apparent. Do you know ships?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But I know wood.”

  At my remark, Hastein shifted his gaze to the bow I was holding in my hand.

  “I noticed your bow as I came up behind you,” he said. “It is a beautiful weapon. Did you make it yourself?”

  “I did,” I said, nodding my head.

  “You must be quite skilled
to be able to craft such a bow.” He smiled and nodded, then he and the giant walked past me toward where the workers were removing the broken planks from the side of the ship.

  If only I could serve a man such as this, I thought. To be a jarl so young, he must be a great leader. On impulse, I blurted out,

  “I can not only craft a bow well, I can shoot one, too.”

  The jarl stopped and turned back to face me. He had an amused expression on his face.

  “And how well can you shoot a bow?” he asked.

  For a moment I was at a loss for words. I wanted to impress this man, yet not appear boastful.

  “It is difficult to answer your question,” I replied. “I could tell you I shoot very well indeed, but how can you know if my standards are the same as yours? What I might view as very skillful shooting, you might think is merely passable. Or on the other hand, I might think a shot I made was disappointing, but, by the standards of another, it might appear a fine shot indeed. There is no way for you to truly know how well I shoot a bow unless you put me to a test.”

  A spark of interest flickered in Hastein’s eyes now, and a smile spread across his lips. “You turn my simple question into a fine distinction. If you’re as precise with your arrows as with your words, I will be impressed."

  “I wish more than just to impress you, sir,” I said, amazed at my own boldness. “I’ve come to Hedeby hoping to find a berth on a warship, and seek my fortune. I would like to join your crew and serve on your ship. Let me show you my skill with this bow. Pick a target and test me.”