‘Great God!’
It was a wave — a broken wall of water churning down on the longship. One of the Vikings shouted a warning, but they had no time to react. The wave hit the longship in a welter of spray and advanced tumbling on Shearwater.
‘Hang on!’ Vallon yelled, grabbing the stempost.
Wave and wind struck Shearwater, knocking her astern and wrenching her round with a force that tore Vallon from his hold. He trotted backwards, the deck dropping away beneath his feet, and then he trod air before toppling over and whacking his head. He rolled helplessly, smacked into something solid and lay winded and dazed. When he tried to regain his feet, he couldn’t. He was lying almost upside down against the gunwale, the sea foaming at the same level as his head and the deck rising almost vertically above him. The squall had knocked them onto their beam ends. They were on the point of capsizing. He made another attempt to rise, struggling like a man trying to extricate himself from a tub. He managed to get his feet onto the gunwale and balanced with his hands leaning against the deck. The wind shrieked overhead. He grabbed a flailing shroud and looked around. Wayland and Syth had wrapped themselves around a thwart. Hero and Richard were clinging to the yard. Another cluster by the rudder.
The wind stopped as quickly as it had blown up. The churning sea quietened. With a slow sigh and a heavy splash, Shearwater swung back and settled at a steep list. Cargo and ballast had shifted. Vallon felt the lump on the back of his skull. He shook his head and looked for the longship.
It wallowed off to port, barely a foot of freeboard showing. Its mast leaned perilously and its sail hung loose from the yard, rent from top to bottom. Several crew members had been washed into the sea and a boat was being launched to rescue them.
Vallon hurried aft. A horse screamed in the hold.
‘Is everyone safe?’
‘We lost Father Saxo,’ Raul panted. ‘Never even saw him go.’
Father Hilbert was running from side to side, calling out to his companion.
Vallon searched the sea. The squall was heading towards Helgi’s ship.
Raul aimed his crossbow at the longship. ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel.’
Vallon slapped his arm. ‘Never mind that. Fix the ship. You and Wayland, repair the rigging. Garrick, do something about the horses. The rest of you, get us back on an even keel.’ He checked on the longship. Most of the hands were bailing with buckets and anything else that would hold water. ‘I don’t see the other knarr.’
Raul scanned the sea. ‘It must have sunk.’
Both crews laboured to make their vessels seaworthy, the men glancing up from their work to check on their enemies’ progress. Garrick reported that one of the horses had broken a leg and Vallon ordered him to kill it. The sea had taken Father Saxo. Judging by the mournful shouts coming from the search party in the longship’s circling boat, the Vikings had also lost some of their number. Shearwater had suffered only minor damage. By the time her company had trimmed the ship and replaced the broken shrouds, the Vikings were still emptying out the hull and trying to raise the mast.
Clean air from the north filled Shearwater’s sail. The Viking chieftain looked up from his work. Raul patted his crossbow and looked at Vallon. ‘I won’t get a better chance.’
‘Make your aim true.’
The bolt shot through the air so fast that Vallon couldn’t follow it, but the Viking leader must have seen it coming because when the blade thumped home, it was buried in his shield. He jabbed his axe into the air. Vallon turned away. The squall had dispersed back into its elements. He studied the coast.
‘What’s happened to Helgi’s ship?’
‘It’s lost its mast,’ said Wayland.
Raul spat. ‘Now let’s see how proud he is.’
Helgi’s knarr lay low in the water, its rudder half-torn off, its mast shattered close to the deck and everything above gone by the board. A human chain was bailing out the hold and the rest of the able-bodied were cutting away the wrecked mast and waterlogged sail. Helgi stalked about exhorting everyone to greater efforts. Vallon saw Caitlin working as hard as anyone. Drogo straddled the broken mast, slashing away at the lines that fixed the yard.
Vallon hailed him. ‘How badly are you damaged below?’
Drogo glanced at Helgi. ‘Some of the planks have sprung. We’ve tried to plug the leak but we’re still taking on water. As soon as we’ve cut away the mast, we’ll row in.’
Vallon gauged the distance to land. About two miles. He checked on the longship. ‘You don’t have time. We’ll tow you in.’
Drogo relayed the offer to Helgi. The Icelander gesticulated a furious negative. ‘We’ll manage without your help,’ Drogo shouted.
‘Let the fool sink,’ said Raul.
In the stern of the knarr stood a group of the old and the young, including the elderly couple who’d already lost one ship. A young mother was trying to soothe her crying baby. Three horses occupied the rest of the deck.
Vallon glanced back at the longship. ‘The Vikings took less punishment than you. They have more than twenty oars to your eight. They’ll catch you before you get halfway to land.’
Drogo searched for Helgi, then looked back at Vallon. ‘It’s not my decision.’
‘Are you going to let that fool dictate your fate?’
‘He’s in command.’
‘In that case, they can take what’s coming to them,’ said Raul.
‘No. Keep us hove to. They’ll come to their senses.’ He saw the expression on Raul’s face and cut him off with a gesture before he could give voice to it.
Vallon paced the deck, flicking looks between the longship and the knarr. The sun was halfway down the sky when Wayland confirmed that the Vikings were on the move again.
‘That’s it,’ Vallon said. ‘Bring us alongside.’
Shearwater closed to within twenty feet. One brave Icelander had crawled out to the end of the half-submerged yard to cut the remaining rope-bands from the sail.
‘This is your last chance,’ Vallon cried. ‘Accept a tow or we’re leaving you.’
His words were foreign to the Icelanders, but his meaning was plain and they left off their labours and looked at each other with dismay. Helgi yelled at them to get back to work.
‘You tell them,’ Vallon ordered Raul.
‘Captain, there are five men on that ship who want to see you dead.’
Vallon grabbed a fold of the German’s tunic. ‘I don’t want to save Drogo and Helgi any more than you do. But there are two dozen innocent souls who’ll be taken by the Vikings unless you can make that imbecile see sense.’
Raul went to the side and pointed at the longship. ‘See that. That’s death coming. Death for anyone too old or feeble to fetch a price in the slave market. For the rest of you, it’s the end of everything you cherish. Wives snatched away, children lost. Sold to the highest bidder. Lord high and mighty there will never see his sister wed, but he’ll see her maidenhead lost a dozen times.’ Raul paused. ‘Accept a tow or go to hell.’
A moan went up and a mob surrounded Helgi. Voices rose and a scuffle broke out. Drogo emerged from the scrum and spread his arms. ‘We accept.’
Raul threw a line to the ship’s master. He lashed it around the stem and it thrummed as Shearwater took the strain. The longship was little more than a mile off, bearing down under its torn sail.
Raul shook his head. ‘It ain’t working. We’re towing a dead weight.’
‘We’ll pick up speed,’ Vallon said.
‘Not enough. Captain, this time you got to listen. We ain’t going to outsail them. You got to act quick.’
Vallon looked at the longship. Even with only half a sail, it was catching up. The knarr was shipping water faster than the crew could bail it out.
‘You left it too late,’ Vallon shouted. ‘You’ll have to abandon ship.’
Helgi waved his fists. ‘Never!’
‘Stay and fight with us,’ Drogo cried.
‘You had your
chance. If you remain on your ship, you’ll face the Vikings alone.’
A hush descended. Vallon nodded at Raul. ‘Cut the tow.’
Raul lifted his sword. ‘I ain’t pretending, Captain.’
‘Cut it.’
Drogo waved his hands above his head. ‘Let me speak to Helgi.’
‘Make it quick.’
Drogo sprinted over to Helgi and swung him round to witness the threat sweeping up on them. Others joined him. He ran back to the bow. ‘I’ve brought him round.’
‘Send a boat-load of your strongest men and we’ll haul you alongside.’ Vallon turned to Raul. ‘Tell the Icelanders to bring only life’s essentials — food, clothing, bedding, weapons. No trade goods. Tell them not to leave the spare sail for the Vikings.’
Six Icelanders rowed up to Shearwater. With their aid the company dragged the knarr along Shearwater’s port beam. Before the ships had closed, baggage began to shower onto the deck. A young Icelander took a flying leap to safety. Raul slapped him in the chops. ‘Weakest first, you selfish little shit.’
The knarr grated alongside. Its crew passed ropes through the oar ports to make it fast and the passengers began scrambling aboard. The Vikings still hadn’t taken to their oars. They were saving their strength for a last spurt.
‘Hey! Are you deaf?’ Raul shouted at a man staggering onto the gunwale under two bales of woolcloth. ‘No trade goods.’
‘Let him be,’ Vallon said. ‘We’re nearly done.’
Only Helgi and his entourage remained on the knarr. Drogo sprang on board, followed by Fulk. They skirted Vallon and his company like rival dogs. Caitlin balanced on the rail, her face begrimed and her hair a mess. Her eyes, wide with appeal, engaged Vallon’s.
‘For God’s sake, what are you waiting for?’
Drogo assisted her to the deck. Her two handmaids followed, and then Helgi and two of the men who’d been with him at the lake came forward leading the three horses.
‘What do you think you’re doing with them?’ Raul bellowed.
‘We might need them,’ said Vallon. ‘For food if nothing else. God knows what’s waiting for us on that shore.’
Helgi’s men propped planks against the gunwale. Two of the horses were well-schooled and nimble. They negotiated the ramp and jumped down without putting a foot wrong. Helgi’s mount balked. He whacked its rump and tried to push it onto the ramp. As he did so, the oars on the longship flashed.
‘Leave your horse,’ Vallon shouted. ‘Get on board.’
Helgi grabbed the horse’s bit and stood on the ramp and began hauling it up behind him. The longship was three hundred yards away and flying through the water. ‘Cut us loose,’ Vallon ordered. Raul and Wayland ran down the ship, slashing through the ropes. All except for the one by Vallon. He hesitated. Helgi had managed to drag the horse to the top of the ramp and his men were holding him while he urged the beast to take the last step.
Raul darted past Vallon and wielded his knife. ‘I ain’t dying for no horse.’
Helgi hung on to the horse and his men hung on to him. The horse tripped forward too late. The ships were drifting apart and the horse bellyflopped into the gap. Helgi would have followed if his men hadn’t got such a tight hold of him. They dragged him onto the deck. He shook himself loose and reeled backwards in a half circle, reaching for his sword.
Raul ran at him and aimed his crossbow from a range of three feet. ‘Draw and you’re dead!’
Drogo flung himself at Helgi and dragged him away kicking and struggling.
Raul and Vallon ran to the stern. The doomed horse struggled in their wake, its head thrown back and its eyes rolling. Raul’s crossbow twanged. The longship was only three or four ship’s lengths behind them, coursing through the water. Raul cursed as he reloaded. The shields slung over the Vikings’ backs made them difficult targets. Their chieftain held his position at the prow. Golden hair streamed from under his helmet. At a distance he’d looked like a god. This close, only his stature was god-like. The giant had a face like a horse — massive jutting jaw filled with splayed and discoloured teeth.
Shearwater had reached her maximum speed. Not fast enough. The longship was only sixty yards behind, her stem throwing up wings of foam. Raul had reloaded and Wayland was drawing his bow. The chieftain crouched, only his helmeted head showing above his shield. ‘Aim for the helmsman,’ Vallon ordered.
Wayland shot first and missed. Raul loosed his bolt and the helmsman sagged over the tiller. The longship veered to port and some of the rowers crabbed oars. One of the Vikings pulled the helmsman away from the rudder and strained to bring the longship back on course. Even now it looked as if the longship would catch them. They were towing the boat from Helgi’s knarr and one of the Vikings in the bow swung a grappling hook to snag it. ‘Cut it loose,’ Vallon shouted.
Before Garrick could reach it, Wayland shot two more arrows, releasing the second while the first was still in flight. It flew in a hissing parabola and struck the new helmsman in the face. He reared up screaming, the shaft sticking from his eye like a ghastly wand. In almost the same moment, Raul’s next bolt pierced one of the rowers through the chest and left him vomiting blood. Vallon roared defiance, his cries echoed by Drogo and Fulk and half a dozen sword-wielding Icelanders.
The Viking chief glanced back at the carnage. His men were committed to their oars, unable to defend themselves. He hadn’t expected such lethal opposition. He shouted and his crew let their oars trail. The wave curling at the longship’s bow died. Like a carnivorous water beetle that hunts in short dashes and never wastes energy, the longship slowed to an idle.
Jubilant cries rang out from the Icelanders. They thumped Wayland and Raul on the back. Vallon watched the longship fall astern, turn and row back towards the abandoned knarr. They’d left it too late. It was sinking. Before they reached it the gunwales sank beneath the waves and gouts of air erupted from its hull. It was gone.
Vallon turned to find every square foot of Shearwater’s deck crammed with refugees. Their grins thinned when they saw his expression.
‘We haven’t seen the last of the Vikings,’ he told Raul. ‘Separate the fighting men from the passengers. Everyone who can lift a sword to port, the rest to starboard.’
Helgi tried to interfere with the muster. Vallon ignored him. When the two groups had been separated, he took stock. Twelve men, most armed with swords, represented the Icelandic fighting force. The non-combatants numbered five — the old woman and her husband, and two younger women, one of them carrying a baby in arms. Helgi’s party with Drogo and Fulk stood separate from both groups.
Vallon approached them in a tense silence. ‘Don’t you know which side you’re on?’
‘I won’t take orders from you,’ Helgi said. ‘Nor will the Icelanders. They’re my people. They’ll do as I command.’
‘In that case, choose a patch of shore where you and your followers would like to settle and I’ll drop you on it.’ Vallon eyed Drogo with scorn. ‘I expected better from a professional soldier.’
‘I have to take Helgi’s side.’
‘Then you can take your chances with him.’
Drogo’s throat chugged. His hand drifted away from his sword and he glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming shore. ‘This isn’t the time to argue. We’re nearly there.’
XXX
Shadows were lengthening along the coast when Shearwater entered the estuary. Their lead over the longship had stretched to more than a mile. A flood tide carried them up the river and the alien shores began to close in on them. A country much like parts of Iceland for the first few miles, rolling tundra flushed with autumn, studded with bald granite outcrops. What amazed the Icelanders was the bounty of dead trees tangled in the backwaters and unharvested by any living soul. Soon they came on stands of birch and solitary spruces standing on the banks like spiral obelisks. The river had narrowed to less than a mile when they rounded a bend and put the longship out of sight. Along this reach the trees merged into a sp
arse forest that straggled away to the furthest ridges. No trace of habitation. Not a sign that any human had set foot in those wastes.
Darkness was beginning to settle when they broached the forest. They navigated another bend. A tributary led away to their right. They passed a scrubby island and a huge hump-shouldered animal patched out of the gloom went splashing away through the shallows. Some of the Icelanders crossed themselves.
Raul stood at Vallon’s side. ‘We’d better find a place to land while there’s enough light.’
‘Keep an eye out for a quiet inlet. If the Vikings go past us, we can slip back to sea on the ebb tide.’
Shearwater held to the centre of the river. Soon it would be too dark to pick a landing site.
‘What about in there?’ Wayland said, pointing at a backwater between wooded bluffs on the left bank.
‘We’ll take a look.’
Shearwater nosed round, still under sail, running with the tide. Vallon glanced downriver. No sign of the longship. He heard the riffling of broken water.
‘Shoal!’
Before Raul could steer away, the keel struck with a tearing squeal and heavy crash. The shock threw almost everyone down. Vallon picked himself up to find that Shearwater had run aground fifty yards from the bank.
He glared up at the heavens as if he knew where the agent of this fiasco were seated. Forget that. It was his own fault. He should have taken in sail and posted a leadsman. ‘Raul, check the damage.’
He paced and fidgeted while Raul investigated. It didn’t take long.
‘We’re holed and jammed. What makes it worse is that the tide’s nearly full. We won’t float her off tonight.’
Any moment the Vikings would come in sight. Think, Vallon told himself. Think.
‘Launch our boat. Bring the other one alongside. Row the women and other non-combatants to shore, then take off the cargo. Wayland, I’m putting you in charge. Round up as many Icelanders as you need. Raul and Garrick, get the horses out of the hold.’
People were gathering up their possessions and staring fearfully downriver. Vallon wiped his lips.
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