As the fleet got closer, O’Brien counted eight ships. The first two, it seemed, would miss the snekkjas if they remained on their current course, passing a hundred meters or so in front of Bylgjasverð. Harald’s ships could change course, but that would be a delicate maneuver that could result in the fleets ships colliding with each other or missing the raiders entirely. Most likely the fleet would maintain its current course, hoping to get close enough to attack with their bows or even ram the snekkjas. The question was whether Bylgjasverð would stay its course, trying to slip past Harald’s fleet. If she did, the fleet would never catch her, but she would be leading the other snekkjas right into the thick of Harald’s ships.
O’Brien watched as Bylgjasverð turned into the wind, its sail going slack. A moment later, Skeggi shouted an order. He pulled hard on the steering board, turning Ísbátr to match the course of the other ships. Soon their sail was filled with wind from the opposite side, and Ísbátr was following Bylgjasverð and the other boats on a southeasterly heading. The king’s ships, staying their course, trailed them on their starboard side. The lead ship, its red-and-yellow sail taut in the wind, was less than a hundred meters from Ísbátr’s stern. With an infinite sea and a constant wind, Harald’s fleet would never catch them. Unfortunately, they were now heading the wrong direction: the Frisian coast was southwest of them, and Normandy was still farther west.
“What’s happening, O’Brien?” Reyes asked. She could see the other boats as well as he, but couldn’t interpret their movements. “Are those Harald’s ships?”
“That would be a good guess,” O’Brien said. “We tacked to avoid them. Problem is, we can’t maintain this heading forever. Eventually we’re going to hit land.”
Gabe nodded. “Denmark,” he said. “If this wind keeps up, I’d guess that we’ve got maybe three hours.”
“And then what?” asked Reyes.
“Then we have to tack again,” O’Brien said. “Or head farther east.”
“What’s to the east?”
“Sweden,” Gabe said. “We could skirt the Swedish coast, but we’d have to tack southwest again, and we’d end up trapped in the strait between Sweden and Denmark. We’ll never outmaneuver them there.”
“So assume we tack southwest before we reach Denmark,” Reyes said. “Then what happens?”
“If the wind holds, we’ll be on an intercept course with Harald’s fleet,” O’Brien said. “We might slip past them, in which case we’ll have a straight shot to the Frisian coast. But it will be close.”
“How close are we talking?” Gabe asked. “Bow range?
“Probably,” O’Brien said. “For a minute, maybe longer.”
“We’ve got weapons too,” Reyes said.
“We’re outnumbered,” Gabe said. “Those ships look like they hold close to eighty men each, and there are at least eight of them. If we get between two of those ships and they concentrate their fire on us…”
“They don’t know which ship we’re on,” Slater said.
O’Brien nodded. They were wearing cloaks over their flight suits; there was no way for Harald’s men to tell from this distance that Ísbátr held the people they were looking for.
“It may not matter,” Gabe replied. “We have to assume they’re prepared to kill as many men as they have to. Harald only needs one of us alive.”
As he spoke, Ísbátr’s sail fluttered above them. O’Brien had his eye on Skeggi, who was watching the clouds. “Hang on,” O’Brien said. “I think we’re about to tack again.”
He was right. The wind had backed southeast, making their current heading unsustainable. They would either have to tack south toward Denmark or try coming about to port and head west. Skeggi shouted an order as the ship turned to port. The riggers adjusted the sail, and soon it was taut again. They were heading due west, on a collision course with Harald’s fleet, which had tacked south. Over the port gunwale, O’Brien saw that the other snekkjas had done the same. The raider’s boats and Harald’s fleet were coming together like teeth on a zipper.
“Bows!” Skeggi cried as Harald’s ships drew closer. Everyone on Ísbátr except for the spacemen had bows and quivers with them. Many had them slung over their shoulders or hung on their back; the others kept them at their feet. The men stood, readying their bows, but didn’t move from their positions. Until the ships got closer, it was hard to know which side would be better to fire from, if they got the chance at all. Intercepting another ship on the open sea was far from an exact science.
It soon became clear that the enemy would be unable to catch Bylgjasverð; the lead snekkja was simply too far ahead. As it slipped out of view behind one of Harald’s ships, cheers went up from the men on Ísbátr. If the wind stayed favorable, Bylgjasverð had a straight shot to the Frisian coast.
The cheers rapidly dissipated. The second snekkja, Hreindýr, was cutting it much closer. The crews of Ísbátr and Sjóhestr watched breathlessly as Hreindýr converged with one of Harald’s vessels, a great beast of a ship with a carving of a wolf head on its prow. When it was clear the two ships would come within bow range of each other, the men of each ship oriented themselves—the men on Hreindýr aiming to starboard, those on Harald’s ship aiming to port. The archers formed two rows, one kneeling behind the row of shields hung on the gunwale, another standing behind them.
As if responding to some secret signal, the men on both ships let loose a volley of arrows. O’Brien heard a few distant cries as men were hit, but most of the arrows struck nothing but wood or water. A few more men dropped in the next volley. There wasn’t time for a third. The two ships were going to collide.
Men on both sides dropped their bows and braced for impact. The prow of Harald’s ship struck the starboard side of the Hreindýr a few meters from the prow. Hreindýr’s hull held, but the snekkja was pushed off its heading by the heavier ship. Hreindýr’s sail went limp and its stern swung around so that it was almost touching the bigger ship’s hull. The deck of the larger ship was nearly a meter higher than that of the snekkja, and Harald’s men had no trouble leaping the gap. Men with axes and spears swarmed onto Hreindýr’s deck while archers lined up along the gunwale to fire at the men below.
The men aboard Ísbátr and Sjóhestr didn’t have time to concern themselves with the fate of those aboard Hreindýr, as they were approaching their own moments of reckoning. Sjóhestr slipped neatly between two of Harald’s ships, but paid a heavy price. Archers on both sides had enough time to direct three full volleys at them, hitting at least a dozen of the crew. Those aboard Sjóhestr got off a few shots as well, but had little success against the men on the higher ships.
Ísbátr fared slightly better, passing through a larger gap. The ship to their port side was too distant to worry about, so they focused their fire to starboard, where one of Harald’s ships passed within fifty meters. Only a few of their arrows hit their targets, but their adversaries had even worse luck, as they were firing into the wind. A few arrows clattered against the far gunwale or whizzed overhead; most of the rest bounced off Ísbátr’s hull or landed in the water, well short of their target. Only one man onboard Ísbátr was hit: a skinny young blond man who took an arrow through his bicep.
Reyes had ordered her crew to hunker down and not engage, as the risk of revealing their location was greater than that posed by the archers. Several of the Norsemen glared at them as they crouched beneath the gunwale, but Gabe assured her it was the right decision. If they fired their guns now, they’d only waste ammo and direct more attention to Ísbátr.
In any case, the Ísbátr’s engagement with the enemy didn’t last long. Moving past each other at close to eight knots, the two ships were out of range again within a minute. Glancing to port, O’Brien saw Sjóhestr about two hundred meters away, moving parallel with Ísbátr. Bylgjasverð and Hreindýr were nowhere to be seen. They could only hope that Bylgjasverð was still speeding toward the southwest; Hreindýr was undoubtedly lost.
Behind them, three of the
enemy ships were coming about, preparing to continue their pursuit of the two snekkjas. Three other ships remained visible farther to the southeast, but O’Brien couldn’t tell from this distance where they were headed. For now, they only had three ships to worry about, and Harald’s men would have to divide their attention between Sjóhestr and Ísbátr. Not using their guns had been the right call.
Skeggi shouted something to be heard over the din of the men chattering on the deck. O’Brien couldn’t make out any of his words except Sigurd and Reyes. Sigurd touched Reyes on the shoulder and pointed to the stern, where Skeggi stood watching the enemy boats in pursuit. Reyes nodded and said something to Sigurd. The two made their way along the port gunwale toward Skeggi. An animated discussion followed. O’Brien couldn’t make out the words, but he got the gist of it: Skeggi was demanding to know why the hell his ship was being attacked by Harald’s fleet. O’Brien wondered how much Dag had told him and the other coxswains. Did Skeggi have any idea of the importance of the people he was carrying? For a moment, his mind went to the story of Jonah, who had been thrown overboard to appease God. If the Norsemen had any idea of the spacemen’s history with Harald, they might well do the same. Several of the Norsemen joined in the discussion, but Skeggi silenced them with a word. For once, O’Brien was glad to be left out of the discussion.
Sjóhestr continued to sail alongside them while Harald’s three ships trailed the snekkjas of about three hundred meters. They were all riding the same wind, but the snekkjas seemed to be slightly faster. By the time Sigurd, Gabe and Reyes returned to the bow, the snekkjas had crept a small, but noticeable, distance ahead.
“Are they going to throw us overboard?” Slater asked, echoing O’Brien’s own thoughts.
“I wouldn’t put it past them if they thought it would help,” Reyes said. “I get the impression Dag didn’t tell him we were wanted by Harald.”
“Well, he knows now.”
“How much does he know?” O’Brien asked.
“Sigurd told him about the horses. I think that’s all. Skeggi thinks Harald wants us dead.”
“The good news,” O’Brien said, “is that we’re outrunning them. If this wind holds for a while, we’re home free.”
The skies had remained clear most of the day, making it easy to determine their heading. O’Brien knew the Vikings had ways of navigating under cloudy skies, but these were imprecise. Prior to the invention of the astrolabe and compass, it hadn’t been uncommon for sailors to be lost at sea for weeks at a time.
The wind held until late afternoon, when it slowly died to a barely noticeable breeze. The enemy ships were hidden over the horizon. Skeggi ordered the sail taken in and the men switched again to rowing. To port, they saw the crew of Sjóhestr doing the same. The two ships had closed the gap between them, so they were now only a stone’s throw away from each other.
They rowed at a moderate pace for the next hour, until Skeggi spotted one of the enemy ships on the horizon. They were gaining on the snekkjas, taking advantage of their greater rowing power relative to the mass of their ships. Skeggi switched to a song with a quicker tempo, and the men responded by rowing faster. But still the enemy ships gained.
More worrying, Sjóhestr was having trouble keeping up with Ísbátr. It looked to O’Brien that at least three of their crew had been killed by arrows and another half dozen were too badly wounded to row. Already undermanned, the boat didn’t have a chance to outrun a fully crewed ship. Unless the wind picked up again, their only chance was to evade Harald’s ships until nightfall, when they might lose them in the dark.
It soon became clear that this wasn’t going to happen. Sjóhestr would be caught for certain, and it was looking increasingly unlikely that Ísbátr would escape. All three enemy ships were now visible in the distance, the nearest one less than three hundred meters behind Sjóhestr. The men of both snekkjas rowed with all their strength into the setting sun, but still the enemy gained.
At last, Skeggi called to Sjóhestr, now at least two boat-lengths behind, and after a moment the coxswain answered him. Skeggi called again, his voice holding a pleading, desperate tone. The man guiding Sjóhestr called back with a resigned answer. Skeggi switched to a slower song, and Ísbátr’s pace slackened. O’Brien soon realized what the discussion had been about: the two snekkjas were gradually converging.
Within two minutes, the two boats were so close that their oars were in danger of colliding. Skeggi barked an order, which was echoed by the coxswain on Sjóhestr, whose name was Birgir. The men ceased rowing and began pulling their oars in.
“What is happening?” Reyes gasped, as she and Sigurd passed their oar forward.
“Reallocation of resources,” Gabe said, putting his hand on his gun. “Stay alert. This could get ugly.”
Someone held an oar out toward Sjóhestr and one of the men on that boat grabbed hold of it. Men on both boats grabbed onto the oar and pulled, bringing the two boats within an arm-span of each other. Ropes were thrown over and tied to hooks, securing the boats together. Birgir, a short, stocky man with closely cropped blond hair, climbed onto the gunwale of his boat and leaped over to the deck of Ísbátr. He made his way to Skeggi, and the two conferred quietly for a moment. Meanwhile, Harald’s ships continued to gain, closing to within two hundred meters.
After a moment, Skeggi and Birgir seemed to come to an agreement. Skeggi shouted an order, which was greeted with murmurs and shouts of anger. Birgir growled something at them, pointing to the enemy ship approaching from behind. There were a few more murmurs, and then silence. Several men began looking in the direction of the spacemen.
Sigurd turned to Reyes. “Wounded and… konur,” he said, and pointed to Sjóhestr.
“Konur?” O’Brien asked.
Sigurd pointed to Slater and then Reyes.
“Women,” Reyes said. “They’re going to try to unload the weaker crew members to Sjóhestr. Sacrifice her so Ísbátr can get away.”
O’Brien swallowed hard. He knew where he was going to end up.
“Fuck that,” Gabe said. But already the young man who had been hit with an arrow was being helped onto the other boat, and Birgir was directing several of the stronger men from Sjóhestr to Ísbátr. Many of the Norsemen toward Ísbátr’s bow were now facing the newcomers. Sigurd spoke an order to his men, who stood between the spacemen and the rest of the crew. They brandished their weapons.
“Maybe we should just go,” O’Brien said. He’d felt like a drag on the crew ever since the lander crashed, and he was tired of people putting themselves in danger for his sake. He hated to admit it, but Skeggi and Birgir were doing the right thing: this was the only way any of them were getting out of here.
Chapter Thirty-one
“Shut up, O’Brien,” Gabe said. “We’re not leaving you.”
“I’m dead weight, Gabe,” O’Brien said. “If I go willingly, maybe they’ll let Reyes and Slater stay. They’re not going to kill me. Harald needs at least one of us alive.”
“No,” Reyes said. “We stay together. No matter what.”
O’Brien sighed. The matter was out of his hands. The crewmen stood regarding Sigurd’s men, trying to decide if they had the numbers to overwhelm them and seize O’Brien and the women. Skeggi was making his way toward the spacemen, his face contorted with rage. And behind them, the enemy ships continued to get closer.
Skeggi shouted an outburst at Sigurd, who shot back with his own. Skeggi pushed aside two of the crewmen and approached Sigurd, a spear in his hand. Sigurd didn’t move except to pull his pistol from its holster and point it at Skeggi’s forehead. A look of confusion came over Skeggi’s face. A split second later, the back of his head exploded. He fell limp to the deck.
Sigurd pointed the pistol at another man, who dropped his spear and took a step backward. Sigurd issued a challenge, but no one seemed willing to take him up on it. He barked orders and men began to move. Two men grabbed Skeggi’s body and hefted it over to the crew of Sjóhestr. Three of the me
n who had just come over from Sjóhestr reluctantly returned to their ship. Two more men grabbed oars and pushed Ísbátr away from the other boat. The oars were distributed once again. Sigurd shouted something to Reyes and Slater, who stood perplexed until two of the men who had come over from Sjóhestr took their seats.
“What the hell?” Slater said.
Sigurd repeated his order, pointing to the bow of the boat.
“Move,” Reyes said. “We’re being replaced.”
O’Brien picked up his bedding and moved aside as Reyes and Slater joined him in the bow. There was just enough room for the three of them to sit in front of the first row of benches.
“This is humiliating,” Slater said.
“Welcome to my world,” O’Brien replied.
As he spoke, an arrow shot past his head, bouncing off the bow. Several more whizzed past on the port side. Somewhere toward the stern, a man cried out. Glancing toward the stern before hunkering down in the bow, O’Brien saw that the enemy ship had closed within a stone’s throw.
Birgir, who had been selected by Sigurd to replace Skeggi, shouted the order to row, and the oars hit the water. He shouted again, and the men pulled. Birgir began to sing. His voice broke at first, but he kept going, gaining in volume and confidence. The men joined in, and Ísbátr began to creep away from the enemy ship. A few more arrows cracked against the hull, but no more hit their targets. Soon their pursuers had to put their bows away and take up their oars again. Two enemy ships broke off to board Sjóhestr. The last one stayed on Ísbátr’s tail. The chase had resumed.
They rowed at full speed until well after sunset, the enemy ship tailing them at less than eighty meters. Ísbátr lost her pursuer for some time in the dark, but the near-full-Moon rising in the east revealed that the ship remained on the snekkja’s tail. Eventually Birgir had to let the men take breaks in turns to eat, but even that decrease in manpower allowed the pursuers to gain some distance, the ship closing nearly within bow range. Reyes offered to relieve the men near her, but was rebuffed. None of the Norsemen was going to be the one to give his seat to a woman.
The Dream of the Iron Dragon Page 30