Loch Garman: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 7)

by James L. Nelson

  Louis was among them, lying back, arms behind his head, eyes closed. He looked like a prince napping after a dinner with his hunting party.

  The Frank had been right about Bécc, Thorgrim was nearly certain. Right in guessing that Bécc was willing to work with Airtre if it meant slaughtering heathens. And indeed they might all have been slaughtered if Louis had not mentioned what he had seen.

  Perhaps I should give him my thanks, Thorgrim thought, but he dismissed the idea. Louis’s pleased enough with himself. He doesn’t need any help from me.

  Thorgrim was the only one still standing. He thought of sitting as well, lying down on the slope like the others, but his mind was racing too fast for him to rest, and that in turn was making him agitated. So he remained standing and he listened, and on occasion he climbed up the slope of the gully and looked out, but he could see only fields, and not much of those.

  Then finally he heard movement through the brush and Starri reappeared. His face was red from exertion, his forehead wet with sweat, with long, thin locks of hair plastered to his skin. He was breathing hard. He was smiling.

  “It’s like you said, Night Wolf,” he said once his breath had settled a bit. “There are Irish men-at-arms, a hundred or so, I’d say. They came around from the north and they are making ready just beyond there.” He pointed vaguely off to the west. “About a mile away, I would think.”

  “They are making ready to attack?” Thorgrim asked.

  “Well, I didn’t stay around so long as that. You told me not to, you recall. They were just getting in some sort of order when I left.”

  “That’s good, Starri, you did well,” Thorgrim said. He stared off to the west, letting his mind wander over the various considerations: Bécc, Airtre’s men, his own, how they would all move in relationship to one another.

  “It’s perfect, Night Wolf,” Starri said. “You see, those Irishmen, they’ll run into the gully thinking they’re attacking us from behind, but then we go around and attack them from behind! It’ll be a beautiful thing!”

  Thorgrim nodded. It could be a beautiful thing. But that was not the way it would play out. “We’ll be taking our leave,” Thorgrim said. “We won’t be attacking them.”

  “What?” Starri said, and he looked as if he had never entertained that possibility, which he probably had not. “Why not? Why wouldn’t we?”

  As a rule Thorgrim did not explain his decisions to anyone, but that rule, like most, did not apply to Starri. “Fighting now does us no good,” Thorgrim said. “We’ll lose men to no purpose. We’re in the middle of some cow pasture, not even fighting for the chance to loot some monastery.

  “There are two things we want,” Thorgrim continued. “We want to get Harald back and we want sailcloth. Airtre is the one who can tell us about Harald, and he and the sailcloth are both at Ferns. So if there’s fighting to be done, we’ll do it there, not here.”

  Starri frowned, but he made no reply. Thorgrim turned to the others, raising his voice to be heard. “The Irishmen we came to fight, they think they’re sneaking up behind us,” he said. All along the line men sat up on their elbows and listened. “Once we hear them make their attack, we go. That way.” He pointed off to the northeast, which he guessed would be the best route of escape. “We’ll have to move fast, not much time before they figure out we’re not there.”

  “We won’t fight them?” Gudrid asked. There was curiosity in his voice, maybe a bit of disappointment.

  “We’ll fight them,” Thorgrim said. “But not today. Now get ready to move.”

  As the men and Failend pulled themselves muttering to their feet, Thorgrim gestured for Starri to follow him, then climbed up the north side of the gully and stepped over the edge. He was still in thick brush, his view obscured, so he pushed ahead until the trees and the undergrowth thinned and he could see the hilly countryside beyond.

  He and Starri stepped a ways into the clear and looked to the west. The hills rolled along and obscured their view of much beyond the fields in front of them.

  “Where were the men-at-arms?” Thorgrim asked.

  “About a mile that way,” Starri said, nodding in the direction they were looking. “Maybe less. The gully runs for a long ways.”

  “Good,” Thorgrim said. And it was. There was a tolerable distance between his men and Bécc’s. That meant more time to disappear before any real pursuit was organized.

  He clawed his way back to the edge of the gully and called for the others to climb up. Soon they were all assembled at the edge of the wood line, half hidden, listening, waiting.

  “They must be near ready to…” Starri began and then stopped.

  “What?” Thorgrim asked.

  “Don’t you hear that?”

  Thorgrim cocked his ear to the west. He listened. “No,” he said.

  Starri shook his head. “Blind, deaf, there’s not so much left of you, Night Wolf. But I hear men on the move, I hear voices.”

  I know you hear voices, Thorgrim thought. And then, he, too, heard them. Far off and muted, but unmistakable now, the sound of men shouting as they surged into battle. That would be Airtre’s men, charging down into the gully, thinking they would throw the Northmen into confusion with their shouting, their surprise attack from behind.

  “Let’s go,” Thorgrim said. He headed out, moving almost directly away from the sound, but not quite. His course was dictated by the shape of the ground, trying to keep between the hills, keep low and out of sight, rather than moving by the most direct route over the crests of the hills. They moved quietly, soft shoes through knee-high grass, the occasional thump of weapons or the jingle of mail.

  Thorgrim set a fast pace, as fast as he thought they could maintain for a decent length of time. Behind them they could hear more shouting, a swell of voices, but still far-off and barely heard.

  “What are they shouting about?” Godi asked. He was walking at Thorgrim’s side, his great strides making it easy for him to keep pace.

  “My guess is that Bécc’s men just attacked from the front. That’s them, trying to create more confusion. With any luck they’re so confused they’re slaughtering one another.”

  They were skirting a hill to their left now and Thorgrim said to Godi, “I’m going to go up the hill and have a look. You keep leading the others this way.”

  He moved away from the head of the column, trotted up the grassy slope to the top of the hill and looked around. The overcast was breaking up, and there was blue sky peeking through in places. Thorgrim turned and looked in the direction from which they had come. He could see the line of trees that marked the gully running off to the west, and all around him the rolling green hills.

  He could still hear the occasional shout, but he could see nothing of Bécc’s men or Airtre’s, so he turned and looked north and east. More hills, more fields, but also the one thing he had hoped to see: a rath. One of the circular ringforts that were scattered all over Ireland.

  It might be the home of some wealthy minor king or it might be the half-decayed hut of a miserable farmer. Either one of them would have built the earthen walls around their home because that was what the Irish did, and it was hard to tell from that distance how noble a structure it might be.

  But it was a rath, and that was all he needed to know for the moment. He ran back down the hill and made his way to the head of the column again, adjusting their path more to the east.

  Bécc will figure this out soon enough, Thorgrim thought, and then he’ll send men to find us. Bécc had mounted warriors, and he would send those out to scour the countryside. If the Northmen were caught in the open it would be an ugly battle. Between Bécc’s men and Airtre’s, Thorgrim did not know how many of the Irish men-at-arms there were, or what quality of warriors they were, but he knew it would be an even match at best. And being in his native land, Bécc could afford to lose men; Thorgrim could not.

  As they drew closer to the rath they could see people working in the fields outside, and they could see
the exact moment when those people saw them—the pause in their work, then tools thrown aside, then panicked flight into the dubious safety of the ringfort.

  A quarter mile away and Thorgrim could better assess the place. It was big, by the standards of such things, but far from the biggest he had seen. He could see the roofs of three buildings beyond the walls, and the walls themselves were in good shape, tall and well maintained, with a wooden palisade running along the top. The home of a moderately wealthy man, the owner of perhaps fifty cows.

  They slowed as they crossed the last hundred yards. There was someone standing on top of the wall, watching them approach, wondering, no doubt, if these newcomers represented the end of everything he held dear in life. Thorgrim gave the order and the Northmen spread out into a line as they approached, shields on arms, weapons drawn, a not very subtle threat.

  The man on the wall called out. Failend, standing at Thorgrim’s side, said, “He asks who are you and what do you want?”

  Thorgrim did not have the time or inclination for careful negotiations. “Tell him we are Northmen. Tell him we are going to come into his ringfort. Tell him if he opens the gates for us, I swear we will do no harm to anyone inside. Tell him if he does not, we will come over the walls and butcher everyone there.”

  He watched the man as Failend translated those words. The walls of a rath offered some protection, but not much, and Thorgrim knew this fellow would have no doubt that the hundred or so Northmen in line of battle could well carry out their threat. He would have to choose between the possibility that Thorgrim spoke the truth—that they would be spared if he cooperated—against the near certainty they would all be slaughtered if they did not.

  It was just a few moments later that the heavy gate of the rath creaked open, and Thorgrim led his men inside.

  The weary Northmen flung themselves on the ground to rest and Thorgrim and Failend completed their business with the man to whom the rath belonged, a lord of superior testimony, as Failend explained to Thorgrim, or some such title in the absurd Irish hierarchy that Thorgrim never could understand.

  “Tell him that my men need food and ale. We need to see that none of the people here leave because we do not wish to be discovered. Tell him I’ll pay for our keep.” As Failend was translating, Thorgrim withdrew six silver coins from his purse and handed them over to the Irishman, whose eyes widened at the sight of them.

  The price of loyalty, Thorgrim thought. But that was fine. They had concerns enough, and it was easier to just buy this man’s cooperation. Because Thorgrim knew that Bécc’s men would be coming for them.

  And they did, not very long after. The Northmen were just digging in to the meat and bread that the lord’s servants had provided when Hall, who Thorgrim had posted on the top of the wall, called out, “Riders coming! Two, that I can see!”

  Thorgrim climbed up the rough ladder and stood beside the lookout. Hall pointed toward the riders, but Thorgrim had seen them already. He watched for a moment. They were heading toward the rath and they were moving with purpose. He could well imagine what that purpose would be.

  He climbed down, called Failend and the lord of superior testimony over to him. “Tell this fellow there are riders coming, and they’ll be looking for us. Tell him this is what I want him to say…”

  Soon after, they could hear the sounds of the horses’ hooves thumping the sod as they came up with the rath. The lord of the rath stood on the wall where he had stood when the Northmen first appeared. Failend stood halfway up the ladder, hidden from the riders’ view. Thorgrim stood below her.

  He listened as the lord hailed the riders, and the riders called back. The words flew between them and Thorgrim knew the lord was saying what he had been told to say, that he had seen a column of men in the distance, that he and his people had fled into the ringfort but the column had continued on to the east and not bothered them. He knew the man was saying that because, if he was not, Failend would have told him.

  More words flew back and forth. At some point, in accordance with Thorgrim’s instructions, the lord invited the riders to come in and see for themselves that there were no heathens hiding there.

  And the riders declined, as Thorgrim guessed they would. Most likely they were in a hurry and believed the lord’s story. And if they did not, and if the heathens really were hidden within, they knew they would be killed the moment they passed through the ringfort’s gate. And they were right—Thorgrim had six men standing ready with spears. So instead, the riders thanked the lord of the rath and moved on.

  Once Bécc’s men were out of sight, Thorgrim called a meeting of those few men whose opinions he sought. He called Godi and Gudrid over, and Louis, who Thorgrim had come to grudgingly believe understood a thing or two about this business. What’s more, Louis had lived and fought with the Irish and knew that race better than any of them, save for Failend, who was also invited.

  Thorgrim also invited the lord of the rath. Insisted, in fact, that he attend.

  “Bécc’s scouts rode off, but that doesn’t mean they think we’re not here. If they report back to Bécc, tell him we’re hiding in this ringfort, then we’ll see Bécc’s men before nightfall, I’ll warrant.”

  The others nodded as they listened. Louis spoke. Failend, who had translated Thorgrim’s words, translated this reply. “Louis says they’ll come if Bécc decides to fight us here, but he might not want to do so.”

  “That’s right,” Thorgrim said. “Bécc might not want to fight here.”

  He had played this out in his mind. Bécc could trap them in the ringfort, but unless he tried to starve them out, at some point he would have to send his men over the earthen walls in a frontal assault. The rath might not be any sort of impressive defensive structure, but the Irish men-at-arms would be slaughtered as they tried to get over the walls and through the palisade. Even if they won it would be at great cost. Thorgrim doubted that Bécc would have much appetite for such a thing.

  “In fact,” Thorgrim continued, “I’m guessing Bécc will not attack us here, even if he thinks we’re in the ringfort. He’ll hang back, keep an eye on us, wait until we’re in the open. So we have to move. Tonight. In the dark. Put some distance between us and them.”

  Heads nodded again. “But where to?” Godi asked.

  “Ferns,” Thorgrim said. “We go to Ferns. It’s where we can find out about Harald’s fate, and where we can get our sail cloth, one way or another.” Thorgrim turned to Failend. “Ask our host how far it is to Ferns.”

  Failend and the Irish lord went back and forth. “He says about ten miles. There’s a road just to the north of here.”

  Thorgrim considered that. A road made sense. It was easier to find one’s way when there was a road. But a road was exactly where Bécc would be watching and waiting.

  But wandering around the countryside was no option, either. They were complete strangers to that land. Bécc would catch them in the open as they tried to find their way. And then Thorgrim had another idea.

  “The River Bann, it must run not so far from here,” he said. “And we know that it flows right past Ferns. No chance of getting lost if we follow that. Failend, ask this fellow if the Bann is close by.”

  Failend nodded. A moment later she said, “He says the Bann is about six miles to the north of us. He says it’s deep enough there for boats, small boats, but he does not think we’ll find many boats around.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Thorgrim said. “We can follow the river on land, grab up any boats we come across.”

  He turned to the others. “That’s what we’ll do. While Bécc is blundering around the country trying to find us, we reach the Bann and follow it back to Ferns. If the gods are with us we’ll find the monastery undefended and we’ll get what we need and find out about Harald.”

  “They’ll have our sailcloth, you reckon, Night Wolf?” Gudrid asked.

  “They might,” Thorgrim said. “And I’d guess they’ll have a lot more than that. Silver, gold, like all the
se big Christ temples. We had a deal with that abbot and he broke it and so that means we owe them nothing. But they owe us quite a lot.”

  Heads nodded again. “Failend,” Thorgrim said. “Tell our host that once the moon is nearly set we’ll be leaving this ringfort. We’ll be going north to the River Bann. And he will be showing us the way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Strong our support, may Christ protect us,

  they are coming into the pass of danger.

  Annals of the Four Masters

  As the day wore on, Bécc’s rage dissipated somewhat. Somewhat, but not entirely. Still, he kept it in, like a wild animal in a cage, hidden away. This was one of the many things that had changed in him since he had devoted his life to God. Bécc the soldier had let his rage run free, many times. Nothing good had ever come of it.

  Wrath, vengeance, those belong to God, not to me, he told himself. And he found comfort in those words. He did not believe that his God would let the wicked heathens go unpunished for their sins.

  “Riders coming, Brother Bécc,” Tipraite said. Bécc grunted. He did not bother looking up.

  It had taken some time before he and Tipraite had determined for certain that the heathens were gone, an unconscionable amount of time thrashing around in the godforsaken brush at the bottom of that gulley, slashing at bracken, Bécc’s fury mounting with every patch of empty vegetation he hacked his way through.

  Where did they go? Did that Thorgrim guess what we were about? Did someone tell him of this trap? The thoughts tumbled around in Bécc’s mind as he stormed along the length of the cut. Finally he stopped, realizing that he would learn nothing with all his men and Tipraite’s flailing around.

  “Everyone, back up on the high ground with you! Go on!” he shouted, his voice commanding and loud enough to be heard by all the men surrounding him. They grabbed on to saplings and brush and pulled themselves up the slope to the field above.