Dawn found the crewmen awake. They roused the prisoners with dispatch. After the captives were shoved into a relatively neat line, the captain deigned to march along in front of them, casually pointing his stick of authority at several of the more comely women. To Ambrose's surprise, the captain pointed at both Phillip and him. He desperately tried to comprehend the captain's terse comments. Unable to translate it all, he did understand something about a gift and loyalty.
The chosen captives were quickly and efficiently released and then re-shackled. They were then lowered into the waiting skiff and, one group at a time, rowed to the quay. After the last group was loaded into the boat, the captain himself climbed in and ordered the crew to shove off.
Ambrose felt a last tie within him snap when the boat pulled away. First he had been forced to leave his brother's kingdom, then all Angleland. Now he had been forced to watch helplessly as some of his brother's subjects were taken away to an unknown fate. He felt keenly the loss of his fellow Saxons. The faintest of metallic clanking heralded the last view of the captives as they disappeared from sight along the quay.
The younger captives, like Ambrose, were now herded to the oak stump that served as anvil. With so many prisoners gone, there were enough iron collars to go around. Ambrose felt the rusty iron collar close around his neck with a terrible sense of finality. For several hours the group of remaining captives, as despondent as Phillip, sat still or moved only fitfully when nature called.
Scarcely a word was exchanged. Only the crew on board who had already had shore leave were in relatively good spirits, bitching of course about not being ashore, but fairly contentedly laying about, napping and soaking up the sun's spring warmth. As ever, the talk was of war and women. Ignoring their captives except for an occasional idle glance, the crew swapped tales of the women they had been with the night before.
Ambrose, idly incredulous, listened and tried to follow the tales of women whose skin shone of burnished gold, or who were as dark as the coal some of the Saxons dug out of the ground and used as a fuel. He listened more knowingly of the four-breasted women and the ones nine foot-lengths in height; of the ferocious battles each man had fought, single-handedly against hundreds of savage foe. In short, the conversation was much as he had heard it scores of times before, from countless sailors and soldiers in his father's land.
The harbour was never quiet. There was a constant movement of people coming into sight on the quays; getting into or out of rowing boats, carrying strange goods, and speaking in a babble of foreign tongues that Ambrose had never heard. At any given time, several ships were arriving or preparing to slip out with the tide. Many others were being on or off-loaded by smaller, oared vessels. The long-ships, such as Ambrose was on, and their larger cousins, the dragon ships, appeared like swift sharks amongst great whales. On all sides, the great tubby merchantmen towered over the sleek and low Viking vessels.
As the sun prepared to dip into the great sea already cooling from molten gold to a duller orange, Ambrose saw the captain and the rest of the crew arrive at the quay without any of the captives. The crewmen split into several groups, presumably to be rowed out in relays to the anchored long-ship.
Ambrose wondered again what had ever happened to the sister ship that he had last seen when the storm struck. He thought how ironic it would be if the storm had, in one fell swoop, done what the avenging Saxon fyrd had been unable, or unwilling, to do - kill the Vikings.
In the first boat-load came the captain, resplendent in his finery. The prince watched the man's scarlet cloak spilling out behind him. Ambrose had been inordinately proud of that cloak when his father had smilingly chosen it for him from the London peddlers the year before he had died.
Second over the side came a veritable scarecrow of a man, with both his arms and legs fettered. Shoved up from below, he landed ignominiously in a bundle. Phillip, bless his gruff soul, moved over to him, and assisted him in joining the group of captives again linked to the mast-chain. The man had obviously been ill-used, as his bare back was covered with congealed blood and welts, and he was nearly incoherent. The rowers watched dispassionately as Phillip poured fresh water into the scarecrow's mouth, and then they helped their comrades aboard unload the boat, amidst much coarse jesting and leers.
CHAPTER 6.
Polonius and the Land of the Danes.
In the pre-dawn cold, Ambrose heard the clatter of the chain. Opening one eye, he watched a young girl, just barely nubile, move to the waste bucket and squat over it. She lifted her makeshift skirt to her waist and let her bladder empty with a sigh. How fast, he thought, does modesty die. Even now, after several days of bitter captivity, where each movement was by necessity shared by fellow members of the coffle, several of the women would suffer until the dark to relieve themselves. The others, more adaptive, or perhaps merely more despondent, just relieved themselves when the urge arose, with little more thought to their grace, dignity or modesty than they would have about breathing. Ambrose himself, after a day or two of discomfort and moral outrage, had seen the merits of the natural approach.
With a last rattle that echoed both along the deck and along the length of the chain, the girl returned to her former position and lay down. Even as she did so, the sky, a dark opaque grey, started to shift towards daytime blue. Ambrose stared skyward to watch the candles of Heaven being extinguished one by one by the increasing light.
The prince could hear the stirring of the crew, as well as the start of active life both on board the neighbouring vessels and from the town itself. Within a short time the crew performed their rather sketchy toilet, which generally consisted of urinating or defecating over the sides, and began to prepare the ship for sailing.
The crew-member designated as cook nursed a few coals on his sand-pit, and soon the odour of savoury stew wafted to both captives and crew. With a surprising touch of largesse, the cook ladled out portions of the hot food to the prisoners. Having eaten nothing but the worst of the dried fish and meat, and stale biscuits, since their captivity, the captives ate ravenously.
Ambrose interrupted Phillip, who was intently shovelling food with his fingers from the hollowed wooden food vessel into the gaping cavity that was his mouth.
"This is better than the slop they have been throwing at us, but why this sudden change of heart, do you think?"
The Weapons-master reluctantly stopped shovelling and started to swallow to clear space for speech. Before he could answer, however, the scarecrow that had lain beside him, unmoving for most of the previous day, shifted to an elbow and made so bold as to answer in stilted, but understandable Saxon.
"I think, lord, as I can see from your bearing, whatever present circumstances be, you are; they want to fatten us for home. I heard one sailor tell another last night that we are leaving today for their homeland, and we are to be gifts.
I can understand them wanting to take the women back.' With that he leered appreciatively, 'and I, of course, a learned and valuable scribe bribed and cajoled to come and impart some wisdom to their little ones, but I am not sure why you two have had the good fortune to join the privileged group."
Ambrose smiled uncertainly. The muscles he used felt stiff. It had been a long time, a lifetime of several days, since he had last felt the inclination to smile.
"I wonder too. How did . . . How did you . . ." Ambrose saw Phillip's expression shift to silent warning. He knew Phillip would warn him against asking a slave about his past. Nevertheless, the words had started to tumble eagerly out of his mouth, only to hesitate in the completion.
The scarecrow responded, his relaxed smile indicating a lack of concern about the propriety of the question. His willingness to reply was plain. He did not seem offended. He, in fact, seemed eager to talk.
"Say no more, my lord. I know what you ask. How did a man such as myself, Polonius by name, find myself aboard this luxury craft, with chains to keep me comfort and welts to remind me of the love lavished upon me by the heathen?'
With a conspiratorial wink, he continued. 'In fact, 'tis a long story, which I will probably bore you with many a time 'ere this journey is over, but let it suffice for now for me to tell you with all brevity, as I hunger!'
Even as he spoke, he crammed his mouth full between sentences. "The son of a noble family of Thracia, I was enslaved by my own countrymen when my father's debts became burdensome . . . Several of his business enemies pressed for payment in an unreasonably short time . . . Although they drove him to bankruptcy and eventual death as a slave labourer, that was not enough for their greedy souls, and they had my mother, my sisters and me sold as slaves, in order to gain some partial compensation and, likely, much personal satisfaction.
After some adventures I came into the hands of a new master who decided to travel to the west, to the lands of the Lombards. On that long and difficult journey I was captured by brigands and sold to some Frankish traders . . . A short scenic stroll over the mountain range the natives call the Alps, where over a third of the captives died in the snows; a brief sojourn on the coast of Frankland as the unhappy tutor of uncouth barbarians' children, a blow to a spoiled brat, many blows to my back, and a Frisian ship in harbour concludes my story, except that the commander of this August vessel decided that I might once again be convinced to share my knowledge with barbarian brats, and bought me as a teacher."
Having ended his story, as well as his repast, Polonius turned the tables on Ambrose. "And would it be, my lord, uncouth for me to ask why one of your station travels thus on this floating pig sty?"
The story gushed forth from the young prince. The taciturn companionship of Phillip notwithstanding, Ambrose felt the need for one who could share in his inner world of useless facts and tremendous intellectual curiosity.
Polonius absorbed the story of the raid and the subsequent events silently, but nodded sympathetically when Ambrose touched upon the utter indignity and frustration of it all.
"My lord', Polonius said, 'I think I know how you feel, as I remember like it was yesterday the day I was seized and branded a slave!"
With that, Polonius pushed up the unruly patch of dark hair that adorned his head, and exposed an ugly burn-scar that would forever brand him a slave, a toy, a plaything to be coddled or whipped, depending upon the whim of a master, any master, who had the gold to buy the toy.
The captain suddenly shouted to the men manning the long steering-oar, and the lean vessel began to veer towards an isolated island. Ambrose turned to Phillip.
"Old friend, why do you think we are heading for the sandy shore?"
"Look ahead, Prince. The island has an easy approach, and is isolated. It will be dark soon, and the crew is exhausted. I think they intend to sleep on solid ground tonight. See to the right? There are shelters there, and you can see fire pits along the shore. I think this must be one of the regular landing sites for sailors coasting these shores."
Phillip's prediction was accurate, for the ship ran as close to the shore as possible, and then selected crewmen splashed ashore with thick ropes. The ropes were tied to trees, and, once the vessel was secured, the rest of the crew leapt overboard and ran ashore, splashing each other and laughing all the way.
Several guards, heavily armed, remained to keep an eye on the captives and the open water. Most of the other men returned and then loaded up with their weapons and food. In a remarkably short time, all the supplies needed to erect shelters, defend themselves and cook a meal were deposited on the beach.
The crewmen stretched out on the beach and broached several kegs of good Anglish mead. The savoury aroma of cooking mutton tortured the captives, but to their surprise, enough meat was brought back aboard ship to feed the guards and captives both.
Day slid into night into day as effortlessly as the sun slipped into the western sea. Ambrose still chaffed at his captivity, but found in Polonius a distraction from his dreary predicament. The Byzantine scholar drove both Phillip and Ambrose hard, and all three of them rapidly became proficient in the Viking tongue. Polonius, although only exposed to the Danish dialect since shortly before coming aboard the ship, learned it with the ease of a man who was already able to speak more than a dozen languages.
Polonius explained to the young prince. "When you live in a house full of slaves garnered from the four corners of the world, you soon pick up a smattering of many tongues. Your life may depend upon it. Truth be told, I learned your tongue by speaking pillow-talk with a beautiful slave, though in truth my tutor was from Saxony, and not Angleland."
The ship crew, apparently no longer in fear of ambush or chase, spent each succeeding evening anchored near small and uninhabited islands. The crews, after posting a guard, trooped ashore to feast and then sleep in comfort.
The great sail of the ship, stretched across the dismounted mast and tied to the gunnels, at least provided some protection for the captives against the evening dew. By day, the craft slid ever northward along the low coast.
As the fourth sun chased the third moon since leaving Wyk te Duurstede, the captives detected a new level of excitement amongst the crew. Judging from snatches of overheard conversation, Ambrose and his two companions deduced that the sailors' home village was no more than a few hours of travel away. Already the men waved at any fishermen or travellers along the shore.
A few at a time, the captives were unchained and put to work. The vessel soon shone. Weapons and clothes were burnished or arranged for best possible display. The sleek long-ship, battered by the savage storm, again looked fit for inspection. The wind, however, refused to co-operate. The mast was stepped and locked in place, but the winds were contrary, so the great sail could not be hoisted.
With the power provided by hard-working rowers, the sleek vessel continued to labour northward. At last the ship passed a sandy spit of land upon which a signal fire burned with a greasy plume of smoke. The captain ordered the oars in and secured, and tested the wind. The crew seemed impatient, but awaited instructions.
As soon as the wind veered a few more points to the east, the captain ordered the crew to hoist the square sail into place. Amid cheers and much excitement, the ship turned into a small natural harbour. Ambrose was fascinated to see several crew-members unbolt the fierce dragon-head that towered over the ship and remove it from its pre-eminent position. Polonius explained the significance to Ambrose and Phillip.
"I understand that it is because of some pagan superstition about devils, my lord. The dragon head may lead the ship into other ports and shores, but never their own."
With the wind now at the right angle, the sail filled and drove the sleek vessel hard towards the shore. The captain ordered the men on the steering-oar to head directly towards the beach upon which were drawn up a variety of small fishing vessels.
Shouts could be heard and suddenly the beach was covered with yelling and gesticulating men, women, and children. Ambrose realized that the dreaded Viking emblem on the sail told these people that their men had finally returned!
In the distance, slaves ran after startled animals. The first preparations for a feast seemed to be already under way. With impeccable timing, the sail was dropped at the last possible moment. The crew stood by their oars, but Ambrose realized that it would have caused much shame if they had to be used. The bow of the ship sliced hard onto the beach.
Once the oars were neatly shipped, the crew broke ranks and swept overboard like a tidal wave; splashing ashore into a multitude of smiling and screaming people. Temporarily abandoned, the captives alone showed no great happiness at having arrived at their destination.
Ambrose, Phillip, and Polonius took a few minutes to inspect the town which would presumably be their new home. Phillip turned to his two companions.
"Well, the houses look somewhat rudely built, but at least they seem sturdy and snug."
Ambrose scanned the village again. "Phillip, they look a far cry from my brother's favourite royal seat at Winchester. Polonius, you said that you had lived in Constantinople for some time.
How do these compare with the homes of your people?"
Polonius smiled. "Not like some cities I've visited, my lord, but, for a rude hamlet, it at least looks prosperous."
The clothes worn by the villagers were of a bewildering variety, and Ambrose wondered how many of them had actually been made on the looms of the local people. Silk and other exotic clothes were as commonplace as woollen ones, but Ambrose was sure that much of the finery had been donned for the benefit of the returning men.
Polonius spoke. "If you look through that barrier of trees, you can see glimpses of a network of fields further inland."
Ambrose replied. I can see no forest. Apparently little land is wasted. Most appears to be crop land."
The captives were not totally forgotten, for towards dark the captain returned to the vessel and had a burly man strike off the rivet that kept the chain attached to the mast mounting. The massive chain was pulled through the large link welded to the iron collars, and the captives were finally loose. Now mobile, the captives were herded ashore and into a storage shed near the water's edge. A rude fence surrounded the hut, affording the captives a place to walk outdoors, but making it easy for two young guards to keep an eye on them. Just before the captain left, he turned to the captives and spoke not unkindly to them, in Danish.
"You are now thralls of the Danes. Tomorrow you will be assigned your masters and tasks. You will obey your new masters in all things or you will suffer great pain. If you try to escape, we will organize a hunt with our dogs, and any survivors will have their tendons cut. Go now, and obey your new masters!"
Long after the captain left, Ambrose and his two comrades sat silently by themselves. Each was deep into his own thoughts. The other captives all copied their passivity. Two women, however, drew from each other that phenomenon of society - mutual and cumulative reinforcement of their anxiety. They worked themselves into a panic. Seeing that Phillip and Polonius were lost in their own private worlds, Ambrose spoke up in a voice of command; one that he had almost forgotten he owned.
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 4