by C. R. May
Beowulf seized the moment and slowly and carefully raised his left hand to softly stroke the wide back of the bird. He marvelled at its beauty. From a distance they had always appeared a solid black but this close up the plumage was revealed to him as a resinous, deep blue-grey. The bird took the pork from his hand and turned its deep brown eyes to the skies.
Beowulf felt the muscles in the raven’s body tense as it prepared to return to the air. He held his arm aloft so that everyone watching could see. With a graceful flap of its wings the bird rose into the air and flew directly north.
Act as if that was an everyday occurrence.
Beowulf jumped from the steering platform and strode past the dumbstruck crew man. “Sorry about your pork, I will get you another hunk.”
“Dracca approaching from the steerboard coastline!”
Beowulf swung himself up beside Hudda and looked out at the newcomer. Its sails billowed, cloud like, the crew adjusting the yard as it hunted the wind. The sail carried the emblem of the White Hart, a motif which was repeated on the pennant which flew from the mast top.
“Danes,” he muttered.
“They are about due. We will be entering their waters very soon.” Hudda replied.
“Heave to. We will wait for them to intercept us. We don’t need any more enemies at the moment.”
They watched as the Danish ship manoeuvred into a position directly ahead of them before swinging north. The sail was lowered as oars slid proud of the hull and began to beat the sea with a steady rhythm.
“That was nicely done,” Hudda murmured appreciatively. “These boys know how to handle a ship.”
The Danish ship made its way slowly between the lines of the Geat fleet towards the Griffon which sailed at its centre, Beowulf’s pennant clearly marking it as the flagship.
As the Danes approached the Griffon Hudda ordered the oars withdrawn to enable the ships to come alongside one another. The crews of the two vessels glared at one another as their ships drew together. Both were packed with seasoned warriors, the Geats fresh from their victory over the Jutes, and the tension in the air was almost palpable.
Beowulf and Hudda watched as a well dressed figure moved to the bow of the Danish ship and hailed them.
“Welcome to Danish waters. What is your business?”
Beowulf smiled to himself as he recognised the man. It had been ten years since they had last met and he had been a mere boy so he would not expect the reeve to recognise him, but he was delighted to meet the man once again.
“We merely wish to pass through with a cargo of thralls Harald. We will happily pay whatever tribute is due to your lord, King Hrothgar, for the privilege.”
Beowulf watched, amused, as Harald stared at him. His expression remained calm and assured but his eyes betrayed his panic as he sought to place the lord before him. He had been chosen for the important position of reeve precisely for his ability to mix freely with men of all nations and ranks and he prided himself on never forgetting a face but today he was clearly struggling. Suddenly Beowulf noticed a slight change in his expression as recognition came to him.
“My lord, Beowulf. It is a pleasure to welcome you to Dane Land after so many years. You have grown somewhat.”
“And you still serve your lord well, Harald. Come aboard and let us discuss the tribute due to your king.”
The Danish dracca escorted the Griffon throughout the remainder of the day and the coming night. As night fell, Harald’s crew raised a lantern to the masthead to enable the Geat fleet to continue their journey without fear of going aground or becoming separated. The channel between Dane Land and the land of the Wuffings which lay to larboard was very narrow here, little more than two miles wide at its narrowest point, and Beowulf reflected on the naivety of their original plan to either force a passage or slip through with the fleet during the night. Many aspects of the planning for their assault on the Swedes had shown almost no attention to detail. He found that, like Hudda before him, he was becoming increasingly concerned at the lack of thought which had gone into the enterprise.
The following dawn found them clear of the straits and well on their way into the cold waters of the Baltic. As the coast line of the Danish Islands began to recede the Danish dracca bore away to the South before swinging back to the West in a wide graceful arc. Harald threw a last wave to them as they swept past to return to their duties.
The Danish reeve had indicated that half a dozen of the Jutish thralls would be ample payment for the duty due and services rendered by himself and his crew. Beowulf had delighted both Harald and his crew by supplying them with fully a score. It had shown honour to both Harald and his lord. He had no doubt that King Hrothgar would reward them handsomely from the proceeds and Harald and his crew had left them in high spirits.
Generous and brave men live best.
The advice had come from Woden himself, that night many years ago beside the camp fire. He hoped that the raven from the mast top was reporting his deeds to his master. He had always been thankful for the Allfather’s advice and had tried to live his life accordingly. He looked forward to the day when he could fight and feast alongside Herebeald, Hrethel and the rest of his ancestors.
There had been a slight but noticeable change in the attitude of the crew of the Griffon towards him since the episode with the raven. Although they were still friendly towards him he had noticed that some of the warmth had gone and been replaced by a wariness bordering on fear. Even Hudda, who had been one of the first to congratulate his parents on the day of his birth all those years ago, had seemed shaken by it.
Beowulf glanced up at the sky. A smattering of white clouds struggled to keep pace with them as the ships leapt the waves and bounded northward under a perfectly steady following wind. The wind had changed from the north west once the fleet had cleared the island of Borghund, the high rock, and commenced their tack which would take them north to the town of Nyen where they would unload their cargo.
He had noticed that some of the crew had passed whispered comments to one another as the wind had veered around as though by divine guidance. As if reading his thoughts Hudda spoke to him from his position at the tiller.
“You should move amongst them more, lord. Let them see that you are the same man who led them to victory a few short days ago. You know how superstitious seamen are. If you let it fester you could have a larger boil to drain in a short time.”
Beowulf smiled at his old friend.
“And what are your thoughts, Hudda. You don’t think that I am sailing the fleet straight down to Hel then?”
Hel was the half decomposed guardian of the underworld. A far cry from the pleasures of valhall, Hel’s hall was a freezing, damp, joyless place. The prospect of an eternity spent there was one of the reasons which caused men to fight so boldly.
“Lord, I will admit that I was almost sick with fear when that bird appeared at the masthead. And then when you spoke to it and gave it a stroke before sending it on its way, north to Woden, well, if I had not known you all of your life I would have been as terrified of you as some of the men clearly now are. Even the wind seems to do our bidding. You can see how it looks to them.”
“I know.” Beowulf replied. “I will go and spend the rest of the day with my men and the rest of the warriors. Maybe you could take a break from the tiller and reassure your crew?”
Hudda smiled and called to Ucca to relieve him for a while. Ucca bounded up and took the tiller with a cheery grin.
“Shall I call you if Huginn returns, lord?”
Beowulf and Hudda laughed, relieved at the light hearted comment.
“It is only the newer members of the crew who need reassurance, lord,” Hudda added, “most of the boys were with me when we took you to Dane Land when you were seven winters old. They have no fear of you.”
Ucca nodded in agreement.
“We all agreed that we would rather have the gods on our side than against us. If you have the ear of the gods then so much the
better lord! Besides, I was at your head wetting with Tiny and poor old Ratty. It’s our job to look after you.”
Beowulf clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. They had known each other a long time as he had said. The three seamen had been inseparable until Ran, the goddess of storms, had reached out and snatched Ratty’s soul one day.
Beowulf and Hudda stepped down from the steering platform and called to Tiny.
“Tiny, break out some ale will you. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
The ships swept northwards as the crew and warriors helped themselves to food, ale and mead. Despite the fact that Beowulf had decided that the knarrs were an unnecessary addition to the fleet the ships were brimming with food and drink due to the fast passage which they were making.
Beowulf even took pity on the Jute captives and allowed them to share in the provisions. It would be a long time, if ever, before they would have the chance again. They had been released from their manacles at first but after one of their number had jumped over the side and disappeared beneath the waves, preferring death to a lifetime of thraldom the gods knew where, they had had to be replaced.
With very little work to do due to the perfect sailing conditions, the crew joined the warriors, at ease beneath warm, hazy, sunshine. If the Allfather was responsible for the swift passage of the Geat ships it now appeared that he was laying on some entertainment for the crews.
As they lazed at their benches or gathered in groups amidships, a cloud of gannets appeared overhead and proceeded to feed amongst the fleet. The crews watched enthralled as the birds circled above. Folding their wings, they plummeted into the sea all around them before emerging unfailingly with a large fish.
“I wonder why they don’t drown when they hit the water? They are going so fast that you can only see a yellow and white blur!”
Beowulf was sitting amongst his hearth warriors, enjoying the spectacle as much as any of them.
“Their nostrils are inside their mouths, lord.”
Everyone looked at Finn.
“Bollocks!” Cola exclaimed.
“No, only their nostrils,” Finn continued, “their bollocks are in the normal place. We found a dead one on the beach once when we were children and examined it. That is how they stop the water from forcing its way in.”
“Well, why don’t they knock themselves out then? I jumped in from the side of a river once and it felt like I was landing on dry land it was so hard. I almost split my belly open!” Cola countered.
“Well, Cola. There are two reasons for that. The first one is that they have a padded, sort of baggy area, in front of them for protection. A bit like yourself.”
Beowulf joined in the general laughter.
‘Cola baiting’ was a favourite pastime of the group. To most observers this would appear to be a death wish. Second in size only to Beowulf himself and heavily muscled, Cola was an intimidating man. Luckily the gods had seen fit to bless him with a heart of gold and an almost inexhaustible ability to laugh at his own expense. They were qualities which quickly endeared the man to all who came to know him.
“Ha,ha what a funny man. What’s the second reason then, if you think that you know everything?”
“Well, my friend. One is a seabird perfectly suited to its need to fish for food.”
“And…?”
“And the other is a fat, ugly, Engle!”
Beowulf spluttered as he choked on a mouthful of ale. Through his tear filled eyes he just made out the cup as it flew across and hit Finn between the eyes. As those around them doubled over, convulsed in laughter, he managed to gasp out.
“I think that you will find that you meant to say that the other one is a powerful warrior with lightning reflexes, Finn!”
Beowulf watched as the men carried on with their good natured teasing. He already knew that Gunnar and Cola would make formidable warriors. He had been unsure about Finn but he seemed to have blossomed on this trip. He had watched him in the fight with the Jutes. There he had killed and moved forward unhesitatingly. Now he was demonstrating that he felt confident as an equal among the other warriors. He was pleased with him. He decided that he would take him on the next part of their journey, the part that he had discussed with Heardred and Hudda back on the island after Hunwald’s death.
He would need all the confidence in his abilities he could muster very soon.
The next morning, as they neared the southern tip of Gothland they picked up their tail. A crew man on one of the outer ships in the fleet called the alarm as the serpent head emerged from a rolling bank of early morning mist. They watched as the long, lean, ship slipped easily to the rear of their formation and took up station half a mile distant. The following wind of the previous few days had died to a whisper and the crews were back at the oars as the fleet sweated its way to the east of the island.
Hudda let out a gasp of admiration at the sleek lines of the dracca as it emerged, for what seemed like an age, from the mist bank.
“What a beauty!” he exclaimed to Beowulf as they stood admiring the sight.
“I have heard of them but that is the first one that I have seen. The Swedes call them ‘Serpents’ and they must carry, what……”
“Thirty rowing positions each side, lord.” Interrupted Gunnar who had been standing nearby, staring aft at the newcomer.
“Thirty each side!” Hudda exclaimed.
“Yes, lord.” Gunnar continued. “They are very narrow in the beam and built solely for speed. They do have a sail but they tend to rely more on oar power. They were built solely to patrol the coast of Swede Land, nothing else, so they are ideal for these waters.”
“How do you know so much about them, Gunnar?” Beowulf enquired.
“I saw one up close when I was last in Sigtun, lord.”
Beowulf and Hudda looked at Gunnar incredulously, before exclaiming together.
“You were in Sigtun!”
“Yes, lord, a couple of years ago. I have sailed all of these waters. We used to unload amber at Sigtun for the temples and workshops in Uppsala.”
“And when were you going to let us in on this little secret?” Beowulf gasped.
“I thought that you all knew where you were going, lord. The king wouldn’t send a fleet off to attack an enemy without a clue where they were going…” They looked, aghast, as an element of doubt began to spread across Gunnar’s face and his voice trailed away. “Would he lord?”
It took them the rest of the day to sweat their way along the coast of Gothland. As dusk began to fall a lantern was lit at the masthead of the Griffon to enable the ships of the fleet to keep station during the short northern night. The ships of the fleet slowly moved closer to one another until they formed one, solid mass. Beowulf watched with pride as the pale glow lit up the red and gold man and boar pennant which sagged, lazily, beneath it. He would not see it again for some time, maybe ever, he thought as he prepared to leave the ship. He glanced at the men at his side.
“Got everything?”
“Yes, lord!”
At his signal Tiny hooked the prow of the Raven and drew it close. Beowulf watched as the men of his hearth troop jumped the small gap into the waiting arms of a member of Heardred’s crew. Taking a last look around he smiled and nodded his thanks at the small band of well wishers who had come to see them off before he too leapt the gap and rejoined his warriors.
“Welcome aboard, Kinsman!”
Heardred hugged him affectionately as he stepped down onto the deck.
“Let’s go hunting.”
4
The gods were still with them. Clouds tumbled in from the West, blanketing the moon and enveloping the sea in a dense, impenetrable, blackness. While the rest of the Geat ships huddled together under the comforting glow of the Griffon's lantern the Raven slid silently away.
Tomorrow the other ships would continue their journey on to the town of Nyen where they would unload their cargo of human misery before returning, rich men, to Geatland.
W
ith soft, steady, strokes of the oars the ship drew slowly clear of the fleet and headed west, into the darkness. Somewhere out here the Swedish Serpent lurked, unseen, and to be caught alone would mean only death.
It was clear now why Beowulf had been so generous to the Danish reeve and his crew. By insisting that they accept a score of the Jute captives as tribute he had not only shown them great honour but in addition he had emptied the Raven of its cargo. Freed of the burden the Raven was ready for the next stage of Beowulf’s plan to carry the fight to the Swedes.
He had already packed the ship with the pick of the warriors which, in addition to those of Heardred and himself, would comprise a small but formidable attack force. Now, combined with Gunnar’s newly discovered local knowledge, they were in a position to put the plan into action.
The following dawn found them a little to the north of a large island.
“Sandy Island, lord!” Gunnar announced with a flourish.
He had been entrusted with the tiller by Heardred once his knowledge of the area had been made known. It seemed he had been correct to do so. Gunnar had brought them unerringly to their destination through the blackest of nights.
Beowulf laid a hand on his hearth warrior’s shoulder in thanks. It was a remarkable act of seamanship, worthy of Hudda himself.
“They are not very imaginative with their names around here are they!” Heardred laughed.
The three of them, Beowulf, Heardred and Gunnar looked south at the island which rose from the waters of the Baltic before them. Although large, the island, even from a distance seemed to consist almost entirely of fine yellow sand, topped with low scrubby trees and bushes.
“It is perfect, well done Gunnar. Let’s get ourselves down there and hidden as quickly as we can. We need to be out of sight before any other ships see us.”
Taking advantage of the light early morning breeze the Raven was grounding on the fine sandy beach before the horses had pulled the sun fully clear of the horizon to the East.