younger men.
‘Time to go, Penda,’ I said. He batted a hand at me and plunged into the sea and in a heartbeat I was behind him, half wading, half hauling myself along. Sigurd’s Wolfpack readied Serpent , fixing the beast Jörmungand at her prow and shields along her sheer strake, and slotting the spruce oars through their ports.
‘A screw and a fight all in one day!’ Bjarni called, hauling me up and over the sheer strake with the use of a short boarding rope. ‘Sounds like Valhöll, hey, Raven.’
‘I missed breakfast,’ I gnarled, making him laugh, then took to my row bench, the chest in which I kept all I owned, and gripped my oar, which Svein had readied for me. I turned to look for Cynethryth but could not see her as Olaf gave one sharp ‘Hey!’ for us to pull the first stroke.
Then we rowed. We knew we were counting on surprise and surprise meant silence. So we watched Olaf, who had set himself at Serpent ’s stern, plunging his fist over and over rather than calling out the time. Knut moved the tiller, turning the ship so that we hugged the coast and would emerge from the bay at the last possible moment, like a hawk out of the sun.
It always feels good to row. We would complain eventually of course, but for the first hour or two, when your strength is up and the rhythm is set, rowing is a joy, at least for me. Two oars may look the same to a man’s eyes, but they are not the same. You come to know your own oar as you know your own arms and legs. By touch alone your calloused hands know your oar from a hundred others, just as they would know your lover’s tits or arse. There is always comfort in familiarity.
Sigurd and Black Floki readied the grappling hooks and gathered together thirty or more spears, which we had taken from our enemies in the last weeks. I had never fought in asea battle before, but I knew what would happen. We would throw spears and hand-axes into Fjord-Elk to clear her deck, then hurl the grappling hooks and heave on the ropes so that the hooks would bite into her sheer strake and the ships would crash together, making a floating fighting platform. A cautious jarl might continue to hurl missiles, spears, even stones, until the issue was settled. Not Sigurd. I watched him as the battle-trembling began in my legs and snaked upwards. The jarl’s face was hard as stone, his eyes black as storm clouds below the helmet’s rim. His left hand rested on his sword’s pommel and his right gripped two great spears. If you’d told me that Óðin Spear-Shaker had come down from Asgard and entered the jarl’s body, intent on making a slaughter to drown the world in blood, I would have believed you.
Yes, I knew what would happen in my first sea battle, just as I knew what Sigurd was seeing in his mind’s eye. Ealdred’s men had probably never fought at sea and they would not be ready for a fight now. We would board Fjord-Elk and then the real butchering would begin. And afterwards, when we had killed them all, Sigurd would claim three prizes, all equally valuable in their own way. First, Sigurd would have Ealdred’s head on the end of his spear. Then he would take Ealdred’s own personal treasure chest for himself, including the holy gospel book of Saint Jerome. Last, Sigurd would win back Fjord-Elk , which was as fine a ship as was ever made to cross the grey sea.
‘The gods are smiling on us, Raven,’ Svein growled behind me.
I was nervous now. Edgy enough to fear that I might piss my breeks. We had almost reached the end of the out-jutting rocks and would come into Ealdred’s view at any moment. I hoped Cynethryth was sticking close to the submerged rocks so that we would not ride over her.
‘How do you know, Svein?’ I asked. ‘That the gods are with us?’ Our oars dipped and rose as one, the drops barely havingtime to fall from the blades before those blades fell again into the sun-gilded sea.
‘There’s no wind, lad. Even a fart’s worth of wind makes it impossible
‘Time to go, Penda,’ I said. He batted a hand at me and plunged into the sea and in a heartbeat I was behind him, half wading, half hauling myself along. Sigurd’s Wolfpack readied Serpent , fixing the beast Jörmungand at her prow and shields along her sheer strake, and slotting the spruce oars through their ports.
‘A screw and a fight all in one day!’ Bjarni called, hauling me up and over the sheer strake with the use of a short boarding rope. ‘Sounds like Valhöll, hey, Raven.’
‘I missed breakfast,’ I gnarled, making him laugh, then took to my row bench, the chest in which I kept all I owned, and gripped my oar, which Svein had readied for me. I turned to look for Cynethryth but could not see her as Olaf gave one sharp ‘Hey!’ for us to pull the first stroke.
Then we rowed. We knew we were counting on surprise and surprise meant silence. So we watched Olaf, who had set himself at Serpent ’s stern, plunging his fist over and over rather than calling out the time. Knut moved the tiller, turning the ship so that we hugged the coast and would emerge from the bay at the last possible moment, like a hawk out of the sun.
It always feels good to row. We would complain eventually of course, but for the first hour or two, when your strength is up and the rhythm is set, rowing is a joy, at least for me. Two oars may look the same to a man’s eyes, but they are not the same. You come to know your own oar as you know your own arms and legs. By touch alone your calloused hands know your oar from a hundred others, just as they would know your lover’s tits or arse. There is always comfort in familiarity.
Sigurd and Black Floki readied the grappling hooks and gathered together thirty or more spears, which we had taken from our enemies in the last weeks. I had never fought in asea battle before, but I knew what would happen. We would throw spears and hand-axes into Fjord-Elk to clear her deck, then hurl the grappling hooks and heave on the ropes so that the hooks would bite into her sheer strake and the ships would crash together, making a floating fighting platform. A cautious jarl might continue to hurl missiles, spears, even stones, until the issue was settled. Not Sigurd. I watched him as the battle-trembling began in my legs and snaked upwards. The jarl’s face was hard as stone, his eyes black as storm clouds below the helmet’s rim. His left hand rested on his sword’s pommel and his right gripped two great spears. If you’d told me that Óðin Spear-Shaker had come down from Asgard and entered the jarl’s body, intent on making a slaughter to drown the world in blood, I would have believed you.
Yes, I knew what would happen in my first sea battle, just as I knew what Sigurd was seeing in his mind’s eye. Ealdred’s men had probably never fought at sea and they would not be ready for a fight now. We would board Fjord-Elk and then the real butchering would begin. And afterwards, when we had killed them all, Sigurd would claim three prizes, all equally valuable in their own way. First, Sigurd would have Ealdred’s head on the end of his spear. Then he would take Ealdred’s own personal treasure chest for himself, including the holy gospel book of Saint Jerome. Last, Sigurd would win back Fjord-Elk , which was as fine a ship as was ever made to cross the grey sea.
‘The gods are smiling on us, Raven,’ Svein growled behind me.
I was nervous now. Edgy enough to fear that I might piss my breeks. We had almost reached the end of the out-jutting rocks and would come into Ealdred’s view at any moment. I hoped Cynethryth was sticking close to the submerged rocks so that we would not ride over her.
‘How do you know, Svein?’ I asked. ‘That the gods are with us?’ Our oars dipped and rose as one, the drops barely havingtime to fall from the blades before those blades fell again into the sun-gilded sea.
‘There’s no wind, lad. Even a fart’s worth of wind makes it impossible
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