The Norseman

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by Jason Born


  The rain stopped and I saw a ray of sunlight begin to sweep across the sea behind us. It devoured all the mist in its path. Slowly, it inched closer and closer, gaining on the Boar every moment. The ray glimmered up and down over the swells before it finally fell onto my face. I closed my eyes, absorbing the sun’s energy while letting time pass. It reminded me of the morning of the Thing, the day we were exiled. Cnute had stood next to me as I felt the sun focus on my face on that unseasonably warm morning, too. That day he had stirred me from my respite in order to hasten us off to the assembly. Today he poked me in the ribs, stealing the moments of peace from my grasp. I gave a heavy sigh and opened my left eye to look toward him. With both hands grasping the rudder he indicated with his nose and said, “Look.”

  I gave another sigh and slowly turned toward the bow. What I saw was the single most impressive sight I had ever seen in my life. Ahead of the Boar the new found sun unveiled the vanguard ships of Olaf’s fleet beginning to intermingle with Sweyn’s anchored fleet outside Kales. We wound up in the rear of Olaf’s train due to the weather and could see the whole armada before us. There must have been one hundred or more ships, all of them ready for war, scattered outside the port. Countless flags decorated with dragons, ravens, lions, and more flapped gently in the dying breeze. Activity was everywhere as men scrambled over the floating city. Small boats launched from the longboats travelled between many of the ships carrying messages, passengers, or supplies. I noticed that the familiar beat of scraping oars had ceased and so I looked down to the crew. The men stood holding the oars steady and were gaping at the sight before them just as I had done. Fife, who stood on his seat to get a better view, was counting the ships with a wagging finger. “Ninety-three!” he called out when he finished. How he did that so quickly was beyond me. The sun was turning brighter and brighter with more and more clouds parting. Our field of view expanded along with the blue sky. Cnute’s right arm raised a pointed finger across my vision to the north. My gaze followed his direction to port and I saw it. In the distance, perhaps less than twenty miles, brilliant white cliffs reflected the sunlight back to us. England, our objective and a means to riches.

  Olaf’s and Sweyn’s armada and the white cliffs of Dover would prove to be the first of many amazing sights we would behold in the coming days.

  Leif and I were called to a meeting aboard Olaf’s flagship, Serpent. Serpent was an impressively large ship with iron plates covering the stem and stern. The prow even had the addition of a beard of iron spikes for ramming during a naval battle. A small craft from his ship was sent to carry a group of Olaf’s lead men back for the military summit with Sweyn and his chosen few. The row boat was crowded with captains from five other vessels. Fife sat next to me as my personal servant and I was given derisive looks for adding to the cramped conditions by bringing him. He was my servant and he would go with me wherever I roamed.

  The oarsmen brought the oars into the boat as we came upon the portside of Serpent. Passengers of the row boat, one fore and one aft, tossed ropes up to crewmen waiting aboard Olaf’s vessel, who quickly tied them off. The eight of us scampered up the strakes that formed the ship’s wall and into the boat discovering we were among the last to arrive.

  There were about thirty assembled to meet on the warlord’s ship. The fact that all were doing well for ourselves was evident in our dress. Rich armor and weapons adorned the assemblage. Olaf and Sweyn were talking quietly to each other on the raised platform of the bow. The rest of the men introduced one another if they were unfamiliar or slapped the backs of old friends. While I could not hear Olaf’s words, he was becoming agitated and clearly angry at whatever Sweyn was telling him. I had seen his justified wrath in the past. This was not the worst, no doubt, because he was talking to a king, but his face told me he was outraged. Olaf shook his head and backed away from Sweyn and leaned on the Serpent’s prow beneath its dragon head with his arms crossed looking disgusted. Vigi sniffed at his feet and then circled once and sprawled on the deck, sunning himself to dry his still rain-soaked fur.

  Sweyn turned around to face the men and called the meeting to order, “Mighty Danes and our fearsome Norse cousins! We are going to take back what is ours. The land and riches of England were earned by our fathers with the full payment of blood. Years ago, Alfred of Wessex stole what is rightfully ours! Now his descendents thumb their nose at us, taking more and more of the riches for themselves. Their intrusion and their thievery stops today!” It was a good speech so far. Not entirely accurate, but it would serve to set the men on task.

  “My Danes have spent the past three weeks harrying the English coast from Sandwich to Ipswich, softening the enemy for one final, glorious assault!” At this statement Olaf again began shaking his head in disgust. This was not part of the plan we drew up in Dyflin. The whole point of attacking at Maldon would be to surprise an unprepared enemy and march straight into London. Damn Odin! What was Sweyn thinking? “With the addition of your ships we have one hundred ships!”

  “It’s ninety-three!” shouted Fife who stood next to me and whose half-grown frame was lost in the crowd of warriors.

  Sweyn looked up to where the interruption came from and saw me in the crowd. Giving me a scowl, he continued, “Our Norse friend Halldorr can count to ninety-three! I hope he can count that high as we mow down the English.” He added, “Maybe we should have him keep track of the enemy’s dead!” to a round of laughter. I looked down to Fife who was looking down at his filthy bare feet, unwilling to look at me. “With Halldorr’s permission the king of the Danes would like to introduce the finest warrior in all of Norway, Ireland, Scotland, England, and Wales, Olaf Tryggvason!” We Norse all gave him a rowdy cheer and the Danes gave a respectful round of applause. “I have selected Olaf to lead our attack on the core of England because of his reputation and the reputation of his warriors. Olaf . . .”

  Olaf didn’t address Sweyn with the expected complementary clichés. Rather he stepped forward and went directly to addressing the warriors, “Men, blood will run in the coming days. There will be blood and sweat, vomit, and shit. Because of the “harrying,” the English are aware of our pending attack and must be assembling an army right now. Even the feeble Earl of Essex, Byrhtnoth, and his wretched thegns, and their dismal army of farmers will put up stiff resistance when they know we are coming.” Sweyn fidgeted on his feet, not liking where this speech was going. His men mumbled among themselves. The dog remained disinterested. Olaf continued on, “So where you may have planned on slaughtering the men of Essex with ease, where you thought the young women of those dead English will offer themselves to you as the property of their conquerors, wherever you held those thoughts I command you to banish them! You are not men who long for easy battles; you are not men who long for a weak enemy! You are warriors from the North. You demand a strong enemy. You demand their best, so that when we cut them down like the wheat of summer our people, their people, all peoples will know we are the most fearsome bastards ever to wander the earth. We will spread devastation to all in our path. You will defeat and defile the English. We will land at Maldon as planned and welcome their finest soldiers for our glory, your glory will be all the better for it!”

  As Olaf finished in a flurry, all of us, Danes and Norse, erupted in our war cheers. Slowly a chant began to build from our cousins at first then to the Norse, “Olaf. Olaf. Olaf . . .”

  The next morning our mighty armada hauled anchor and left with the sunrise to sail north around the southeast corner of England, past those remarkable white cliffs. Before the midday meal we began rounding a headland jutting into the North Sea. Olaf’s map showed me that a small town called Ramsgate sat on the headland. I recalled hearing stories that Ramsgate was the place where the first Angles and Saxons came ashore when they invaded the island. The town may have served the Anglo-Saxons well hundreds of years ago when they were pushing out the Celts, but we would sail beyond it. We were a new set of invaders with a new set of demands for the island’s r
esidents. Maldon would bring us closer to London.

  Fife and I stood next to Olaf on Serpent which was the lead ship in the vast convoy. Yesterday at Olaf’s request I had stayed behind after his speech to eat dinner with him and his crew. I sent word back with Leif that in the morning Cnute was to pilot Charging Boar to the River Panta. During the night’s meal Olaf did not ask anything particularly unusual of me so I was puzzled by the invitation, but Fife and I shared ale and song with the men and slept on the deck under the stars. As we led the way past the Thames estuary, Olaf looked to me with concern in his eyes, “Halldorr, do you remember why we came here?”

  Of course I did. “Profits, lord,” I answered.

  “Exactly,” Olaf said in a far away voice. He looked off the port bow at England clearly turning something over in his mind. The nearly perpetual sea breeze stirred his long hair and kept me cool on this hot day. “Profits are why we came, the easier those profits come, the better. But Forkbeard kicked the hornet’s nest these last few weeks. I’m afraid we’ll have ourselves a regular campaign on our hands against an army that knows we are coming and that is prepared to defend its homeland.”

  Despite his rousing speech to the contrary yesterday, his concerns today were warranted. An army motivated to protect their homes and women was a formidable opponent. Better to surprise and kill them in their beds. “Maybe there is still a chance for us to make easy wealth from the English,” I added, not quite convinced myself.

  Olaf retorted with a gruff laugh, “Halldorr, you usually don’t try to tell me what I want to hear. Don’t start now. If you did you wouldn’t be standing here.”

  He was right again. Olaf didn’t suffer flatterers. I tried to think of a way out of the mess created by Sweyn. “May I take a closer look at the Panta River and its estuary on the map?” I said in an effort to stall for time. We turned to a small four-legged table that held the map. Vigi used it for a makeshift house and was curled underneath it, asleep. It only contained the southeast coast of England and demonstrated exceptional and, as far as I could tell, accurate detail. Once we would turn west into the Panta, the river turned southwest for one or two miles before heading almost due west to Maldon. About five miles after entering the river we would pass a large oblong island perched in its center. After another mile or two the river narrowed and split to curve around a triangular-shaped island. If the map was to be believed, one of the triangle’s points nearly touched the mainland just to the south of the village. I found myself grabbing my beard as a plan started to form. “That triangular island could be the key,” I said after a while.

  Olaf asked, “How do you mean?”

  I tapped the island with my index finger and said, “The base of the triangle faces away from the mainland into the river. That base looks to be about one mile wide which should be enough to land our ninety-three boats.” I said the last bit and gave Fife a grin. “We would have an easier time protecting our boats from marauders if they were beached on the island as opposed to the mainland. Our men should also have relatively dry access to the mainland from the apex of the triangle if this map is to be believed.”

  “Good. Good idea. It protects our navy, but won’t do our army a bit of good against the troops of Essex if they come out in force,” said Olaf.

  I again tugged at my beard, “Maybe, but what if we didn’t even have to fight to get our riches?” I bit my lip while Olaf thought about that comment. “Before our arrival Sweyn operated off our agreed upon plan. But, he has had success in raiding for a few weeks. Some of the Danes we drank with last night told of the many English deaths and burned towns in their wake. We could use the military success of the Danes for business success for the Norse.”

  Olaf’s eyes lit up on the suggestion of trading on the success of others so I continued, “By now both Essex and Wessex must have a good approximation of Sweyn’s numbers of men and boats. Tonight we will spend at least a full hour travelling upstream in the Panta and English scouts will be able to see our numbers. We both know that most scouts are not as quick with counting as Fife here is so they won’t be able to get an accurate number; they never do. But, what they will be able to report to Essex’s Earl Byrhtnoth is that Sweyn’s strength is at least double what it was last.” Olaf just nodded as I paused. He waited for me to get to the point. “We temporarily leave Sweyn in charge of the beached flotilla. You and a small number of men of your choosing make your way to the apex of the triangular island and onto the mainland where you confer with Earl Byrhtnoth. We explain that the destruction likely to come to Essex from our army of three thousand can be avoided by a gift of money. Say five hundred pounds.”

  Olaf liked the concept, “With any luck, we get the ransom and our Norsemen are paid handsomely without even getting our swords or breeches wet.” He balled his fist in pre-emptive triumph then finished, “The damned map better be accurate.”

  So far the damned map was proving to be accurate. Serpent was three-quarters of a mile past the oblong island in River Panta cutting a straight path to what must be the triangular island ahead. From our vantage point the river looked to indeed make a sharp right at the island and then an immediate left to move toward the apex. The tide was still rising and helped us make good time on our way upriver. On the north side of the river we had seen several men on horseback about an hour ago. They shadowed us for a short time and then rode off together through the lush green fields toward Maldon. The riders would warn the village and the earl’s army would be moving toward the town if they were not already there.

  When we neared the base of the triangular island we saw that it was not a continuous beach or shingle. It was actually punctuated by many inlets with countless chains of miniature islands. In short order we selected the largest of those inlets and made our way into the heart of the small island. Serpent continued on for approximately one thousand feet before we found a suitable beach on which to land. As the deep keel slid into the silted beach I looked over our stern and I saw the other ships slip into place along both banks of this inlet.

  With a spring over the gunwale, Olaf was the first of our army to plant his feet in England. His boots sank over the ankles in thick mud and made deep sucking sounds as he stepped up from the water’s edge. Men all along the inlet disembarked in a similar manner and found the same heavy, wet earth welcoming their arrival in Maldon. I hoped the whole island was not the same consistency or our army might be exhausted before they even had the chance to reach battle. Our warlord walked to Sweyn whose longboat was beached next to Serpent. Olaf’s dog was running in and out of the small inlet splashing water and mud on his owner. Olaf ignored him. “King Sweyn, would you do me the honor of taking command of the landing party for a time? I intend to take twenty of my best men inland a piece and scout the terrain for a suitable battlefield on which to slaughter the English.”

  Sweyn, whose armor glistened in the late afternoon sun, looked overjoyed at the prospect of leading the men, even if only for a time. “Certainly, Olaf, but how long will you be gone? I don’t want to lose my best battlefield commander to a band of greedy English bastards out for ransom,” said Sweyn with sincerity.

  Olaf had already turned and trudged west by the time Sweyn finished speaking. He called over his shoulder to Sweyn, “we won’t be back until after night has long since fallen. If it pleases you, you may want to deploy picquets one or two hundred feet into those trees to the west.” The last was less of a request and more a demand. “Halldorr! Send your shadow to retrieve Leif and Magnus. I want them here now so they can join us on our business.”

  “Fife!” I called. Then again, when he didn’t immediately respond, “Fife!”

  He came bounding out of the woods as if he had been gone to see old friends. “Yes?” he asked in a tone which suggested I was a bother.

  “Where were you? Don’t answer that. Go find the Skull and The Whale and bring Leif and Magnus back here. Olaf wants them immediately.” He started walking, almost sauntering down the small creek toward w
here more and more of our navy was landing and unloading. “Run!” I shouted. With that command he looked back to me with a little surprise and seeing I was serious, bolted down the muddy inlet. Along the way he splattered mud on himself and all those he passed.

  That boy would be the death of me, I thought. Then I turned in the mud to trudge up to Olaf. He now stood twenty paces from the shingle. His uniform, especially when compared to Sweyn’s or even mine, looked like he just came from battle. It wasn’t just the island’s mud which now covered his boots and trousers. Even his chain mail and tunic looked soiled as he stood giving orders to one of his men called Ox-foot who nodded and ran off as I approached. Olaf faced me and for the first time I noticed a single white hair in his beard. He took his weathered battle helmet off his head and tucked it under his right arm. Even though I stood a full head taller than Olaf, I always felt shorter. His presence commanded respect. “Well where are they?”

  “Fife is retrieving them as we speak. They’ll be here shortly,” I answered quickly.

 

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