by Millie Thom
The Jormungandr swung alongside the Sea Eagle. Hastein’s ship was an impressive vessel: eighteen pairs of oars compared to the Eagle’s twenty, her slim lines just as alluring, the finely carved reptilian head at her prow equally ornate and fear-provoking. Unable to contain his joy at seeing his cousin again, Bjorn leapt from the side of the Eagle with the agility of a cat, to land sure-footedly on the Jormungandr’s deck. The cousins embraced each other with much whooping and back-slapping. They made an interesting spectacle: the wild, red mane of Bjorn contrasting markedly with the neat gingery braid down Hastein’s back and the short fringe across his brow. And, unlike Bjorn’s hairy visage, Hastein’s chin and upper lip were clean shaven. Both men were a little shorter than Eadwulf, though Hastein was less thickly built. But his biceps stood proud, and his strength could not be doubted.
Memories of Hedeby hit Eadwulf like a slap: of being trussed like a hog for sale, sick with physical weakness and humiliation – and a young man garbed in blue, eating a flatbread from one of the stalls, and tripping over a dog. That same young man had later come back, and his party had taken Aethelnoth. Eadwulf felt certain that the youth in blue was Bjorn’s cousin. Dare he hope that Aethelnoth was still alive?
Swelled to over forty ships, the fleet struck south-west; the bright sails tacked into the bracing westerly and they made good time. By the end of the third day they were following the low-lying coastlands of Frisia. The wind dropped and they rowed through the night until daybreak, when the wind once more picked up. Under sail again they headed for Francia.
The weather was warming daily and Eadwulf’s spirits were high when they sighted the Seine estuary late in the afternoon. As afternoon merged into evening and the western sky blazed crimson, they were sailing up the meandering, unpredictable river that would lead them to the heart of West Francia. But to navigate unknown waters in darkness would be foolhardy, and before long forty ships lined the banks of the Seine.
Eadwulf dumped down the sacks of supplies and made to return to the ship for more when he noticed Hastein squatting to sort through his belongings – and saw his chance to ask about Aethelnoth. Hastein’s head jerked up at the unfamiliar voice and he cocked an eyebrow as their eyes met. Eadwulf waited for the verbal tirade to start: for a thrall to question a jarl’s son could be construed as insolence. But Hastein grinned and rose to his feet.
‘Your voice tells me you’re not a Dane, and you could be the double of . . .’ He tilted his head and grinned even wider. ‘You could almost be his twin!’
‘I am Bjorn’s thrall,’ Eadwulf said, taking in the cheerful Dane’s appearance at close quarters. Hastein’s skin was fair, pinking after the days of warm sunshine, with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. A glint of humour played in his hazel eyes, the corners of his mouth seeming to be naturally turned up. ‘Bjorn is a good master, and very considerate.’
Hastein hooted. ‘Well, I’ve heard my cousin described as many things, some complimentary, some not quite so gracious. But considerate? That’s a new idea. I wonder what his many women friends would think of it. Now, what was it you wanted? Oh yes, you wondered whether I remembered someone called Aethelnoth. Friend of yours was he?’
Eadwulf nodded, resigned to believing that Hastein wouldn’t recall a slave from long ago. But Hastein not only remembered Aethelnoth, he couldn’t sing his praises highly enough:
‘Aethelnoth’s a fair giant of a man, half a head taller than you – and you’re bigger than most. Probably twice as broad as well! Legs like tree trunks, and a neck to match: a good, strong thrall to have about the village. And he’s the best horseman I’ve ever seen; has a real way with the beasts. Once saved my father from what could have been a nasty fall from a huge, grey stallion he’d bought at Ribe – an evil-looking creature with madness in its eyes. Giermund’s no horseman, but since he’d paid for the beast, he determined to be the first person to ride it!’ Hastein chuckled at the memory. ‘Well, it reared and bucked and my father hung on for dear life. Aethelnoth just walked calmly up, cooing to the angry beast. Unbelievably, it stood still, tossing its head a bit, but quiet enough for Aethelnoth to lead it back to the stables. My father was too stunned to request to be allowed to dismount!’
Dumbfounded at what he’d heard, Eadwulf waited as Hastein bent to untie his bedroll. ‘The big man’s been one of my father’s bodyguards for some years now,’ Hastein went on, peering up at him. ‘Would’ve been with us now if Giermund could’ve spared him. So, my friend, I suppose the answer to your question could have been a simple yes: yes, I do remember Aethelnoth.’
The following morning they set sail upriver, Eadwulf’s head still awash with thoughts of Aethelnoth. They made their first base thirty miles downstream of the town of Rouen, where they stayed for three weeks. Homesteads were sacked for food and plunder, and horses rounded up to be herded along the banks once they sailed on. Wanton slaughter and rape became the daily norm. And, unlike in previous years, Eadwulf raided beside his comrades.
But the main targets of their raids were the fine Christian churches, filled with such treasures that Eadwulf revelled in their taking. The Christ-God had no need of such exquisite objects when his scheming priests preached the shunning of worldly goods and the virtues of a life of poverty! The burning of each grandiose edifice elated him, his enthusiasm amusing Bjorn considerably. His master had expected him to baulk at the destruction of buildings devoted to his people’s god, despite Eadwulf’s assurances that he would not. But the mirthful glances were irritating, and he wondered when Bjorn would voice his thoughts.
Tomorrow they’d be sailing on, but today they were content to enjoy the spring sunshine. Cheerful banter filled the camp, most of the men pitting their wits at the board game, hnefatafl, or the dicing game of tabula. Others were simply content with idle conversation. Bjorn and Hastein sat on their sea chests beside a splendid willow, and Eadwulf squatted next to them, cleaning Bjorn’s boots.
Hastein shoved his unbraided hair back from his stubbly face, swatting at a persistent bank of midges hovering too close. ‘Damned flies! I’ll be covered in red lumps by tomorrow. The beasts seem to be acquiring a taste for my blood.’
‘Can’t expect to escape bugs this close to the river, Hastein, not in this weather. Perhaps you should just cover your arms.’ Bjorn’s features shaped into a puckish grin. ‘At least that excuse for a beard you’re cultivating should keep the tykes from devouring your chin.’
Hastein huffed, but ceased his complaining. For a while the cousins reminisced about childhood summers spent at Aros or Ribe, but soon their thoughts returned to the present. The ships were already laden with loot and they gloated over their achievements, their high spirits leading them to needle Eadwulf over the Christian doctrine of his people.
‘This Christian god of yours seems only fit for women,’ Hastein declared. ‘What real god would ask his warriors to love his enemies? A man needs a powerful god like Odin or Thor; a god whose wrath is truly feared. How will a man defeat his enemies or cope with the hardships of winter should the gods not bless the raids?’
‘And what will you tell your tutor of your exploits this summer?’ Bjorn asked, poking him in his side with a stick. ‘Will you describe how you enjoyed bringing about the fiery demise of all those churches?’
Eadwulf flinched at the sharp jab and scowled. ‘I’ll tell Sigehelm nothing!’ he said, more tetchily than he’d intended. He opened his mouth to apologise but Bjorn waved it away, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of clarification.
‘My life doesn’t belong to Sigehelm, and I’m no Christian!’ Eadwulf blurted, hoping the two irrepressible Danes would cease the taunts. ‘Sigehelm knows how I feel. But I couldn’t lie to him. If he asks, I’ll answer truthfully.’ He looked from one gleeful face to the other. ‘Sigehelm wouldn’t press me about my role in the raids, though he’ll likely guess the truth.’
‘Well, let’s not dwell on the future rig
ht now,’ Hastein said, before the mood became downcast. ‘Tomorrow we move on. Let’s see what further treasures we can wrest from this wealthy land.’
Twenty Three
In the afternoon of the following day they took up residence on what looked to be a conveniently placed island in the middle of the Seine, ten miles upstream of Rouen and inhabited only by a dozen tonsured monks in shapeless black robes. Wailing pleas to the Christ god, the monks were hounded into the Seine where their heavy woollen habits ensured that most of them drowned, their bodies washed away downstream. Eadwulf felt no pity for such pretentiously pious men.
‘By Thor’s bollocks,’ Hastein declared to anyone within earshot, ‘this place will serve our purpose well.’ He patted the sun-warmed wall of the tiny stone church against which he leant, watching his comrades piling provisions into the scattering of wooden buildings. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a place with better shelter and storage.’
Eadwulf followed his grinning master to join his cousin. ‘And those vegetable plots could prove useful,’ Bjorn added, pointing beyond the huts. ‘Or perhaps not,’ he grunted, as they strolled over to inspect the produce. He kicked at a row of holey cabbages crawling with oversized caterpillars. ‘It seems the greedy little lodgers have already taken the lion’s share.’
‘But these could give us a few boilings to go with the livestock over there,’ Eadwulf said, pulling up a couple of half-grown carrots and gesturing at the forming pods on spindly pea plants along the fence.
Bjorn scowled at the scraggy-looking cattle grazing on a small patch of enclosed grassland. Equally scraggy chickens strutted near the pens holding half a dozen lean pigs. But it was Hastein who remarked, ‘If we can do no better than those scrawny beasts we may as well lie down and die right now! Of course, we can always throw out our fishing nets.’
‘By Odin, cousin, you know how I hate fish!’
Bjorn’s indignant face was so funny, both Eadwulf and Hastein creased with laughter.
Much of the following day was spent raising an earthen bank around long stretches of the island. The work was hard and sweaty, but fortifications were vital to their safety. The ships were carried inland, protected by the barricade from fire arrows that could deprive the men of their only means of transport home.
For over two weeks, Oissel Island provided an ideal base from which to move out and continue the raids. Using the few, small boats once owned by the monks, they rowed across in relays to their well-guarded mounts on the banks, and struck out, bringing chaos and destruction to the land. More churches and cathedrals were targeted and Eadwulf rode with Bjorn and three hundred men to sack Paris, returning with plunder that surpassed all expectations. The men found it hilarious that Charles the Bald despaired of ever ridding his kingdom of them. Nights were filled with merriment, aided by barrels of looted Frankish wine. Food was plentiful: bread was easily acquired from besieged villages and sheep and pigs were ferried across to supplement the island’s meagre offerings. Eadwulf enjoyed these early weeks on the island, although his status as thrall was never completely overlooked, and he spent much of his time doing necessary chores. Bjorn eagerly anticipated their return to Aros, when he’d proudly report their successes to his illustrious father. He was also hoping the Frankish king would soon be prepared to pay a huge tribute to see the back of them.
But their good fortune was soon curtailed. The indomitable Charles saw the opportunity to lay his own siege: a possibility they had overlooked when taking over the island. By the start of the second week of June, Oissel Island was completely cut off from the outside world. Charles’s soldiers lined the banks on either side of the Seine and arrows rained down on the Danes if they moved beyond their earthen barricade. Suddenly the island base did not seem such a good idea and Eadwulf commiserated with the two leaders, who shouldered all responsibility for the choice of site.
For three weeks they remained hopeful that the siege would not last, that Charles would soon withdraw his men for duty elsewhere in his beleaguered kingdom. Food supplies would last for some weeks yet. But as the siege dragged on throughout July and August, and Frankish soldiers remained an obdurate presence, stores were so low that starvation seemed an inevitable ending to the venture.
On a bright morning in early September, now twelve weeks into the siege, some of the men squatted against the wall of the church, despondent and lethargic from inadequate food. Eadwulf had never seen the two leaders look so low.
‘Ragnar will never know how much plunder we took, how much we rattled that cunning bastard, Charles; never know why we didn’t come back!’ Bjorn raged. ‘And it’s my fault! The island was my choice! And look where it’s got us: facing an ignoble death from starvation. Not a hope of reaching Valhalla.’
No one refuted his arguments, or offered consolation.
In the fading twilight at the end of the twelfth week one of their lookouts hurtled into camp from his post along the barricade, halting before the two leaders.
‘The Franks, my lords – they’ve gone!’
Bjorn blinked a few times as though struggling to comprehend what he’d heard. But Hastein composed himself first. ‘What, all of them? Are you sure?’
The lookout nodded emphatically. ‘They just seemed to slink back and disappear, taking our horses with them. Our guards are probably dead . . . The banks have been deserted since late afternoon, but we thought it best to wait a while before getting anyone’s hopes up.’
Hastein eyebrows rose. ‘Well, let’s go and look, shall we?’
Hundreds of Danes lined the earthen wall around the island, all as flummoxed as their leaders. ‘Who’d have believed it?’ Leif muttered to Eadwulf. ‘They seem to have well and truly vanished.’
Next to them, Bjorn shook his head. ‘Don’t be too sure of that, Leif. It could be one of that old buzzard’s tricks: get us to lift out the ships, then attack. Fire arrows could finish us. And in our weakened state–’
‘The very reason we can’t afford to be so negative!’ Hastein declared, dismissing his cousin’s pessimism. ‘We must make our move at dawn.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Bjorn admitted, ‘but it wouldn’t surprise me to see the Franks reappear as soon as we do.’
In the grey light of approaching dawn Eadwulf accompanied Bjorn to the shore. After ordering the lookouts back to camp to prepare for sailing, his master headed for the water’s edge to scan up and down the river. Eadwulf hung back, affording him solitude in his contemplations. Eventually, though clearly still perplexed, Bjorn turned away – and didn’t see the archers rise from behind the makeshift barricade across the river. But Eadwulf did.
He yelled and charged full pelt, diving at Bjorn and knocking him down as arrows thudded into the earthen wall. But a single arrow hit home. Eadwulf’s legs turned to water as searing pain shot through him and he crashed heavily against a huge boulder. He was vaguely aware of being dragged, followed by the sensation of floating.
Then darkness claimed him.
* * *
‘Eadwulf! You must drink.’
Eadwulf heard the voice, somehow recognised it, but could put no name to it. Then water washed over his lips. That felt so good; his mouth was parched, his tongue thick and woolly. God of gods, what was happening to him? He hadn’t even the strength to open his eyes.
‘Open your mouth and swallow some water, Eadwulf. You can’t go on like this!’
The pain! Someone was stabbing him in the shoulder. He cried out, tried to make his right arm beat his attacker away, but found it wouldn’t respond. Why was someone making him drink if he was stabbing him? He couldn’t even think straight, couldn’t make sense of the pain, and sank back into that comfortable, dark place . . .
Something cool and damp was pressed onto his burning forehead and water trickled over his lips again. Suddenly he wanted to swallow it. He forced his lips apart and felt hands lifting his head up a
s water washed over his tongue. He swallowed and drew in more.
‘Well done, lad. We’ll soon have you on the mend. We should be ready to sail in two days, but don’t worry, you won’t be expected to row. After what you’ve done, you deserve to be ferried home in comfort.’
Eadwulf suddenly knew the voice belonged to Bjorn, but he was too drowsy to even try to understand what he was talking about. Perhaps if he returned to the darkness for a while he’d understand next time the voice spoke to him . . .
‘He’s rousing again, Leif. Lift his head up and I’ll try to get him to drink.’
He gulped greedily, too fast, and spluttered the last mouthful down his chin. The coughing hurt his shoulder and he felt again that agonising pain.
‘Steady on, Eadwulf. Smaller sips just might go down your throat and not your chin.’
He forced his eyes to open and looked straight at Bjorn’s grinning face.
‘Welcome back, lad. I’m not sure where you’ve been for the last three days, but it wasn’t here. No, don’t try to move. You’re not strong enough yet.’
‘What . . . what happened to me?’
‘You don’t remember anything?’
Eadwulf waded through the incomprehensible jumble inside his head. ‘I remember a dark place, where the pain couldn’t find me.’
‘But you don’t remember what caused the pain?’
He tried to move his left shoulder and flinched. ‘I’ve been wounded?’
‘You were wounded saving my life, for which I’ll be forever in your debt. It was down on the shore . . . at dawn . . . three days since,’ Bjorn prompted. ‘To my shame, archers found me a sitting duck! My back must have seemed Odin-sent to them. Does that frown mean you’re beginning to recall something?’
‘Just fragments, like distant dreams, and archers aiming at us,’ he murmured. ‘And you, walking towards me. You haven’t seen them!’ He held his breath as the fleeting images flashed. ‘The Franks haven’t gone, have they?’