Odin's Game

by Tim Hodkinson

  Affreca looked at Einar with an expression on her face that showed she was as puzzled as Pol.

  ‘If we help Ulrich get those weapons,’ Einar said, ‘he has pledged to help me save many lives.’

  ‘With swords?’ Pol raised an eyebrow.

  ‘My own mother’s is one of them,’ Einar said. ‘And when she is safe I intend to end the reign of my father. On the Orkney islands the native people suffer under the yoke of my father. He oppresses them. They are treated as slaves and they are Christians like you. Like my mother. The jarl does not allow them to practise their religion and they must meet in secret. If he finds out it is the death of them, in the worst way. Many have suffered the Blood-Eagle and others had their backs broken as sacrifices to Thor.’

  Pol shook his head. ‘Our brethren suffer much all over this wicked Middle Earth. It is a time of terrible tribulation.’

  ‘What if we could help them?’ Einar continued. ‘I swear to you that if I can take my father’s throne I will free those people. They can worship the birds in the trees for all I care but they will no longer be slaves and they can build churches to meet in instead of the holes in the ground they use now.’

  Pol looked like he had been slapped across the face. His mouth was slightly open. ‘So this would be a sort of holy war?’ He said. ‘But can a truly good thing ever come from evil? Can the ends justify the means?’

  Einar was about to reply ‘yes’ but realised the priest was actually talking to himself.

  At that moment the door banged open. Skar loomed in the entrance, he was panting and clearly in a hurry. For a moment he and Pol locked gazes, then Skar switched his gaze to Affreca.

  ‘There’s a ship coming. It looks like your father’s men have caught up with us, princess,’ he said. ‘We have to go.’

  Affreca nodded and rushed out of the church past Skar. Einar hesitated, looking back at Pol.

  ‘All right,’ the priest said. ‘I’m coming with you. Someone needs to show you how Patrick walked on water.’

  Forty-One

  ‘You changed your mind quickly,’ Affreca said as they ran down the hill.

  ‘I had no time to think further,’ the priest said.

  ‘Grim was taught well,’ Skar called over his shoulder. ‘When in doubt: act. Think later. Thinking leads to an early grave. That is our creed.’

  ‘My name is Pol,’ the priest shouted back.

  ‘Besides,’ Skar continued. ‘Can you imagine how boring life must be in this backwater?’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it!’ Pol said.

  They skirted the ancient standing stone in the village centre and ran on down to the harbour. Looking out across the water, Einar saw the square sail of a warship coming through the narrows, already on a course for the village. Even at that distance Einar could see that it was much bigger than the Úlfhéðnar’s snekkja, probably a skeid or similar big warship.

  ‘It’s definitely one of my father’s,’ Affreca said. ‘That’s his standard of the horns painted on the sail.’

  ‘How did they find us?’ Einar wondered.

  ‘Luck probably,’ Skar surmised. ‘They knew we came this way. They know there is a Norse settlement here. Like any good warrior their captain has decided to check it out. Now come on. We need to get under sail.’

  ‘Why don’t we fight them here?’ Einar said. ‘We could make it really hard for them to get ashore.’

  ‘I’d prefer not to fight them at all if that’s possible,’ Skar said as he jogged. ‘For a start, lad, there’ll be a lot more of them on that boat than us.’

  ‘But with the villagers we’d have more,’ Einar said.

  ‘That rabble?’ Skar laughed. ‘They won’t be much help. For all we know they may be on Guthfrith’s side.’

  ‘You cannot bring the people of this village into your war,’ Pol shouted. ‘They’re innocent and deserve no part in it. Fighting King Guthfrith’s men will get some killed and bring more trouble for them.’

  ‘That too,’ Skar said, but his voice held no sincerity.

  The small party ran onto the jetty, their feet thumping on the wooden planks. They pushed through the crowd of villagers and began scrambling into the docked longship.

  ‘Njal,’ Pol addressed the village chieftain. ‘I have to go with these men. If you get trouble from Guthfrith make peace with him and say you had nothing to do with any of the men in this ship. I will return soon, but if I don’t, send to the bishop in Armagh and ask him to appoint a new priest.’

  Njal nodded, though the surprised, perplexed expression on his face suggested he had no idea what was going on.

  The crew leapt to the oars and the ship pushed away from the jetty. Ulrich stood at the steering board, his gaze intent on the waters ahead. Pol nodded to him but if Ulrich saw him he gave no sign of recognition.

  ‘Row you lazy dogs!’ Skar shouted as the crew strained on the benches. ‘If you are coming with us then that means you, too, Grim.’

  ‘My name is Pol, now,’ the priest insisted but took a seat on the nearest bench anyway. Einar thought he saw a slight smile on his face as he did so.

  ‘You come with me,’ Skar said to Einar and Affreca and he ran to the mast. ‘Get the sail up.’

  In a blur of action, they untied ropes and let go the hitches that furled the great square sail. The canvas billowed as the wind caught it. Then it snapped taut. The mast creaked and the ship surged forward across the waves, picking up speed under the power of both oars and sail.

  All the while the Dublin longship got closer.

  ‘The wind is against us,’ Skar said, a concerned frown on his face. ‘And with them. We’ll have to tack towards the mouth of the fjord but they can keep coming straight at us.’

  ‘What do we do?’ Einar said.

  ‘It looks like my hopes of avoiding a fight might be sunk,’ Skar replied. ‘Ulrich!’

  He stalked off aft and for a few moments stood in animated conversation with Ulrich. They both nodded then Skar came back.

  ‘Arms!’ he shouted to the men on the rowing benches. ‘Get your helmets on and weapons within reach.’

  The boat slowed noticeably as the men stopped rowing to ready themselves for war. Most of them already wore their mail shirts, having put them on when they arrived at Strangrfjordr.

  ‘We’re going to fight them then?’ Einar asked Skar when he arrived back at the mast.

  ‘The mouth of the fjord is too narrow and they’re coming at us too fast,’ Skar said. ‘Because of the wind there’s no chance of slipping past them so there’s only one way out. Through them.’

  Einar looked at the approaching ship and bit his lower lip. It was much bigger and heavier than their light, sleek vessel. The deck was packed with warriors. Even in the dull grey afternoon light he could see the glitter of their helmets and weapons. Perhaps this was where his story was going to come to an end. He looked down at the water that surrounded them. It was dark, almost black and he had no doubt it was freezing. Was this to be his cold, dank grave?

  ‘Princess, if I were you I’d go and try to find somewhere out of the way to hide. You,’ – Skar prodded a big forefinger on Einar’s chest – ‘come with me.’

  Einar followed Skar forward while Affreca headed aft. When they arrived at the dragon-carved prow the big Úlfhéðinn stooped and pulled an axe from a chest that was strapped to the deck. It was long handled and its curved, evil-looking blade was engraved with images of fearsome beasts twisting round each other. Skar thrust it towards Einar.

  ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘You’re going to need something more substantial than that little knife.’

  Einar took the shaft in both hands, feeling the weight of the weapon. A thrill shot through him. He could almost sense the power that dwelt within the blade, waiting to be unleashed.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no point giving you a sword,’ Skar replied. ‘If you haven’t been trained in how to use one you’ll be as much danger to us as to the
enemy. I imagine you’ve chopped wood a few times in your life, though, so the axe makes sense. It’s the same principle except this time the wood will be chopping back. Take this too.’

  He plonked an iron helmet onto Einar’s head and his vision narrowed to that allowed by the oval holes of the visor. It was padded with leather inside and straps hung down either side of his face. Skar put on his own helm. It too was iron but covered with embossed images all over the skull cap showing horned men dancing with spears and wolf-headed warriors. The nose guard was the body of a dragon, its outspread wings forming the visor. Chainmail hung down from the visor completely covering the bottom half of Skar’s face. All that could be seen of him were two glowering eyes, deep within the shadows of the visor eye holes. He looked both magnificent and utterly terrifying.

  ‘Shouldn’t they be standing up?’ Einar said, nodding at the rest of the crew who had retaken their seats and oars on the rowing benches while he fastened the straps on his helmet with trembling fingers.

  ‘We need them to keep rowing,’ Skar said. ‘It will make us more agile in the last moments before the ships come together. That’s the most vital time. Victory can be won or lost in the way two ships meet. It will be up to you and me to get the celebrations going until they can join us.’

  The ships were now heading directly at each other. The dragon on the prow of the snekkja faced the wolf that glowered from the Dublin longship. They were perhaps only one hundred paces apart. Raw fear surged in Einar’s heart at the thought that he was about to go into battle. His knees felt suddenly weak and his jaw clenched so hard that he felt a stab of pain in the muscle at his temple.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Einar turned to see Affreca standing beside him. His terror turned to confusion.

  ‘I told you to find somewhere to hide,’ Skar said, his voice angry.

  ‘I did, but then look what I found in one of your weapon chests,’ Affreca said, her eyes sparkling with an insolent fire. She held up a Finnish bow and sheaf of arrows.

  ‘Can you shoot that?’ Skar said.

  Affreca smiled. ‘I’m a better shot that anyone in Dublin. When the royal party goes hunting I always bring the most game home. I can hit a hare running flat out at fifty paces. I once shot a wren at sixty.’

  ‘Ever shot a man?’ Skar said.

  ‘No,’ the princess replied. ‘But a man is a lot bigger than a wren. I don’t think it should be too much of a problem.’

  Skar nodded. He turned to Einar.

  ‘I am the Prow Man of this company,’ he said. ‘Do you know what that means?’

  ‘You defend the prow,’ Einar said. ‘It’s like the battle flag, right?’

  Skar shook his head. ‘If you wait for an enemy to board you may as well cut your own throat. The prows will meet and then I will show you what it means to be a Prow Man. All you have to do is stick right behind me and kill any bastard who tries to stab me in the back. Got that?’

  Einar nodded vigorously, his lips taut. The ships were now only thirty paces apart.

  Skar clambered up onto the prow. His feet on the top of the ship’s side, shield slung across his back, hanging onto the prow with his left arm, he drew his sword with his right and let out a loud, guttural yell that seemed to either have no words or be spoken in an ancient, long-forgotten tongue.

  His cry was answered by a similar shout from the other ship and Einar saw that her Prow Man, a hulking giant of a man like Skar, had also climbed up onto the prow of that vessel. His shoulders looked wider than Skar’s and his bare arms bulged with rippling muscle. Grasped in one huge paw was a massive, double-headed battle axe that looked capable of slicing clean through the snekkja’s prow and any man beside it. Einar judged even Skar would have trouble beating this man. His dread deepened.

  ‘Move,’ Affreca yelled. She had an arrow notched and the bow drawn back to her ear.

  Skar glanced round, saw what she was doing and understood immediately. In one deft movement he swung by his arm around the front of the prow, rotating in a semicircle over the water to end up in the exact same position on the opposite side. Just as he moved Affreca loosed the bow.

  The Dublin Prow Man saw the arrow coming but too late. Einar just had time to see the startled panic on his face before it hit him. The missile smacked into the right eye hole of this helmet, his head snapped backwards and he dropped from the prow back into the body of the ship.

  The longships were less than ten paces apart. Einar grabbed the side of the ship waiting for the impact. It seemed like madness. The other ship was bigger and could very well plough straight over them, smashing the snekkja to splinters and sending them all into the freezing waters where certain death lurked, waiting to drag their mail-laden bodies down to the depths. Still the crew strained at the oars, driving the ship forward with ever-greater speed.

  At the final moment, Ulrich shoved the arm of the steering board hard to the left. Einar lurched as the prow shifted direction. The ships came together with an almighty crash of grinding wood.

  Forty-Two

  Skar leapt off the prow, screaming, his arms and legs spinning like he was running as hard as he could but on air instead of land. He crossed the gap between the ships and crashed down onto the deck of the Dublin vessel, landing just where its Prow Man had fallen. He looked down, then stabbed him to make sure he was dead. He unslung his shield from his back and threaded his left forearm into the brackets behind it.

  Einar felt like his knees were locked. He could not move and his chest was so tight it was impossible to even breathe.

  He felt a shove on his right shoulder.

  ‘After him!’ Affreca shouted.

  He inhaled through his nose, the tightness in his chest dissolved and the churning in his guts settled. Then he was up onto the side of the prow and away. For a few heart-stopping moments he saw the cold, black sea sloshing beneath him; then he too was on the deck of the other ship.

  Gripping his axe in both hands he rushed to get behind Skar, who was already surrounded by a semicircle of angry Dublin warriors. There were perhaps fifty men on the ship but Einar realised that because the ship narrowed at the prow only about four of them could attack at once.

  Back on the snekkja the Úlfhéðnar had already pulled in their oars and were picking up their weapons. Two Dubliners attacked together. Skar swept the first man’s blow aside with his shield and rammed his sword into the second man’s guts. A third was just about to come forward when something shot past Skar in a blur of speed. The man cried out and fell backwards, the end of an arrow shaft protruding from his chest.

  Einar looked round and saw that Affreca was on the prow of the snekkja, her eyes scanning for another target, a new arrow already notched to her bow.

  ‘We have a Valkyrie watching over us today,’ Skar roared. ‘How can we lose?’

  To Einar’s astonishment, and a little panic, Skar let out an inarticulate scream and charged forward into the packed mass of enemy warriors. There was nothing he could do but follow him. It was the two of them against perhaps twenty times their number.

  Affreca’s next shot went over their heads, aimed at the man commanding the steering oar of the Dublin warship. The greater distance meant he saw it coming and ducked. It just missed, embedding its iron point deep in the wood of the stern. She sent a second and third in quick succession. He dodged the second arrow but the movement put him right on the flight of the third. He dropped to his knees, clutching at the arrow that was skewered through his stomach.

  Einar felt a cold chill of appreciation at her ruthlessness. She stepped down from the prow for a moment to let the others past and it was with some relief that Einar saw the rest of the Úlfhéðnar come swarming past her, over the prow and onto the Dublin ship behind him. The odds were levelling.

  Skar ploughed into the men before him, leading with his shield, hacking and slashing left and right. Sometimes kicking, sometimes delivering vicious head butts with his helmet. He seemed demented with rage and
careless of his own protection. The sheer intensity and weight of his assault gouged a path into the ranks of the enemy warriors and Einar pushed in after him.

  There was a great roar from behind as the rest of the Úlfhéðnar charged. They collided with the pressed ranks of the Dubliners and havoc ensued. All semblance of order disappeared as the ranks dissolved and men fought hand to hand across the deck of the ship.

  A Dubliner stumbled past Einar then turned to face him. The man snarled and Einar caught a glimpse of yellowed teeth beneath his helmet. He lunged with his sword but Einar countered with his axe. The curved hook on the bottom of its blade locked around the sword and pulled it down towards the deck. Einar raised his left leg and kicked, shoving the Dubliner away from him with all the force in his thighs. The man staggered backwards, letting go of the sword so that it clattered onto the deck. Einar surged forward, swinging his axe in both hands. His blow landed on the man’s left shoulder. Einar felt the jarring of the impact on the axe shaft in his hands. The blade did not break the rings of the man’s mail coat, but Einar felt something give beneath. Over the crack of breaking bone the man let out an agonised shout, his right hand going to his left shoulder that seemed to have crumpled in on itself. Einar raised the axe and struck again, this time aiming for the gap between the man’s helmet and the neck of his mail coat. He hit his mark and crimson blood gushed down the man’s chest. The Dubliner dropped to the deck making a strange gurgling noise.

  Einar glanced over his shoulder and realised Skar had advanced further down the deck so he scurried after him.

  A tall, strongly built man stood before the mast of the ship. His weapons and armour were expensive. His helmet shone with gold inlays and about his shoulders was a red cloak made of rich wool. His shield was painted with the horns of Guthfrith of Dublin. He was clearly the leader.

  ‘To me! To me!’ the captain shouted to his men. ‘Regroup at the mast.’

  Some of the Dubliners disengaged from their individual fights and ran to the mast to join him. The rest of the crew who were already towards the stern began falling in as well.