Viking Crest
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
The Viking ship was a marvel of design. It had been conceived as an iron-hulled ship for raiding along the coasts of Ireland and Britain, but it proved to be a versatile vessel well adapted to long sea voyages.
Its hull was low in the water, allowing it to cross shallow rivers; its narrow beam and sharp bow made it easy to sail on even choppy seas; the tall prow and stern posts gave it a distinctive silhouette against the sky. And most important, there were no heavy timbers or masts that would slow down the boat when it needed to get somewhere fast—the sails were the key.
A Norseman could walk around the deck of a large Viking ship with ease, though he’d have trouble fitting through a window opening on some other vessels. But this wasn’t a problem because men didn’t stand upright on board the boat unless they wanted to be knocked overboard.
They sat with their legs tucked under them like dogs curled up at their masters’ feet. The high bows of the Viking ships gave their crews a good view forward, while the wide foredeck meant it was easy to move across from one side of the boat to another.
There were benches set along the sides so that people could rest without sliding off the edge into the water. And every square inch of space between these benches could be used for storage: chests for weapons, wine casks, bales of wool and furs; crates for grain, salt, and hides; barrels for ale or spirits; sacks stuffed with clothing and provisions.
A Norseman might not be able to fit inside a wooden church, but he could sleep comfortably aboard a Viking ship, which was what you did when you sailed away from land—unless you happened upon something like a small island where you could build your own little village.
“I think we should take them all,” Thorfast said, looking out across the waters of the North Sea with his back to me. “It’s time we brought our numbers up. What better way than by plundering the Saxon king?”
Our fleet, four longboats carrying fifty warriors apiece, rested in mid-channel on the lee shore of England, just beyond the sight of any English coast. We had left Iceland three days before and sailed east along the northern coast of Scotland until reaching this bay where we spent two nights making camp.
This place seemed an unlikely landing spot for an army of Vikings who intended to conquer a kingdom that was already occupied by the Danes. But Thorfast and I knew better than anyone that no plan ever went perfectly, nor were the gods always kind.
The Irish were defeated. Our mission to bring them aid had failed. But we would return to find our revenge, and if luck was with us, we would come back as lords over the land.
As much as the thought pleased him, Thorfast did not sound happy when he added, “We’ll need to keep moving north.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Thorfast turned to face me. “Because we can’t stay here. If those English bastards see us, they’ll send a warship to try to intercept us. They have warships built to withstand our axes, not ours, so there’s no chance we’re going to take one.” He shook his head. “And even if we did, they’d still have ships coming to meet us. We’ve got to go farther north.”
“North? That’s a lot further from home.”
He nodded. “That’s why we need more men.”
“There are plenty of other places along the North Sea that aren’t occupied by enemy kings,” I said, trying to make the best of things. “Maybe we should take a few raids in Scotland first—that will give us a bit of money.”
Thorfast snorted. “You’re missing my point. There is only one thing to plunder along here—and if you think I’m sailing all the way back to Iceland for more food, then you don’t know me very well.”
I shrugged.
“What if we came ashore and stole everything that looked like wealth?”
I thought about it. “It would be a waste of time. Most of what we’d take belongs to the English king or his vassals. And they wouldn’t miss a couple of cows and sheep. As soon as we leave, they’ll reclaim their property.”
“No, we won’t do that. But we can take things that are worth far less, like clothes and jewels and such. And we’ll steal horses too,” Thorfast said. “They may be useless as fighting mounts, but we’ll sell them to traders who will bring them back to Iceland. We can pay our men out of what we bring back.”
“So, we just need to find enough stuff to fill our ships and sail them home?”
Thorfast laughed. “Not quite. We’ll need to pick a place to land so that we can find more goods and get ready to return to Iceland.” He grinned at me. “Don’t look so disappointed, Halfman. You’ll love this part.”
***
The next day the wind shifted to blow from the northeast instead of the south. This meant we needed to tack against the breeze or else risk being blown into the English coast. It took all day to turn our four boats around and head north.
When we reached open water again, we began to sail parallel to the English coastline until reaching the mouth of the estuary that led to the Thames. Here we found our target—a small fishing village that consisted of a single long house with a low stone wall that surrounded its grounds and the sea. From the top of the wall, men peered down at us as we circled the bay.
When Thorfast ordered his crew to drop their sails and make a sharp turn north, they did so without question. Their eagerness to fight surprised me. I had expected a certain amount of resentment from them since they would have to endure another long voyage before returning to Iceland.
Now some of those same men were talking of staying here for months. It was hard for me to blame them. We could raid villages in this area as easily as in Ireland. There was plenty of loot and plenty of work. And if we stayed away long enough, we might avoid being caught by an English warship. The men would earn more coins while they waited, which would also help cover our expenses.
But as much as I appreciated these ideas, I knew they would never fly with Thorfast. In truth, I didn’t think they would fly with any of them. Thorfast was determined to return home, and he would do whatever was necessary to get there.
The crew dropped their oars to free themselves from the rowlocks on their ships’ hulls. The waves were smaller than what we faced when we sailed north of Scotland, so there was no risk of capsizing.
Even so, the wind blew in the cold rain and I wore my cloak over my mail shirt to ward off the chill. I had grown used to the constant wetness of the North Sea, and it wasn’t so bad now that we had left Scotland behind, but the wind and rain felt like a personal attack on my body, trying to rob me of heat and energy.
Still, I was glad it was not worse. At least the storm hadn’t turned violent like last year’s.
As we neared the shore, Thorfast gave the order for his men to jump overboard. They did so without hesitation, landing lightly on the sand and running toward the village gate. One of the Englishmen on guard spotted our men approaching and shouted something out toward his comrades on the wall. I could see the others leaning out above the wall.
We were halfway across the bay, moving steadily forward when a volley of arrows flew up over the wall. Some missed, but most struck their marks. My heart froze in my chest. I knew we were done. A single arrow could kill a man, even an experienced swordsman.
But these men had spent all winter learning how to shoot a bow. It was only a matter of time before our luck ran out. I could still hear the clatter of arrow shafts striking the water as I dove forward over the rail with a cry. I landed on the ground, rolling onto my side and coming up to stand behind a fallen log that formed a natural barrier.
An old woman screamed, her voice echoing through the village. She stood atop the wall beside the gates, holding one hand over her nose and mouth. Her eyes were wide, staring at our approach in shock. I hoped she would run inside to shelter and warn everyone.
I wondered if they knew what we intended or whether they simply thought we had come to pillage the village. Or maybe we’d killed some English soldier and his family, and they were now coming after us. Whatever the reason, I hoped this woman was smart enough to get herself and her children inside.
A few of Thorfast’s men jumped from the ship as well and made their way to the door. I followed behind them. The moment we crossed the threshold of the gate, I saw a large, dark-skinned man dressed in English armor. His helmeted head was tilted to the side, looking at me.
He held a crossbow in his left arm and a sword in his right. He had been standing at the base of the wall, which was taller than I realized, and he had fired an arrow directly down on me before I was able to dive aside.
Another bolt flew overhead, striking the ground near me.
I was glad the other Norsemen were already inside the village. Otherwise, it might have been a slaughterhouse for us. As it was, my own people were fighting each other, their weapons clanging and crashing against their shields.
The air was full of noise and chaos, and the stench of blood and sweat. I could see why some men might prefer a war fought in the woods over a place like this, where they could be attacked at every turn and forced to fight in tight spaces. This was no battle, not by any means. We were outnumbered ten to one at best.
“Kill them all!” one of Thorfast’s men yelled from outside the gate.
There was no need for me to tell him again that we didn’t want to start anything, that killing these villagers would get us nowhere. Instead, I grabbed a wooden club from the wall and charged into the fray, swinging the weapon in short, quick arcs to keep my foes confused, uncertain of who was friend or foe.
There were at least two dozen enemies between us and Thorfast and his men; I couldn’t imagine there were more than that. If Thorfast wanted me to stop, he needed to show himself, or send one of his men to take my head, not scream orders at me as though we were a single unit. I could have taken the entire village on my own, but I didn’t know if I could do it with such limited numbers.
One of the Englishmen stepped to the side, raising his blade high as if he would strike me from the front. But he never got the chance because my club smacked the side of his helmet hard. I heard him grunt as his neck snapped back.
Blood poured down his cheek, and the sound of his screams was cut off suddenly as he fell to the ground with a thud. He lay motionless, face first on the floor. Another man rushed forward, trying to slash me with his sword, but I knocked it away, then drove my boot into his groin.
He cried out and doubled over, clutching at his ruined organ. The Englishman turned and tried to run, but I caught his leg with my foot and tripped him up.
I looked around. No sign of Thorfinn’s men, just my brothers’ men fighting among themselves. In fact, I was surprised that they hadn’t attacked yet.
Then I saw my mistake.
The Norsemen had formed a line across the main road leading to the harbor, with myself along one side and my brother and my father on the opposite end. It was meant to funnel the enemy into a tight space in which we could cut them down, but it also gave us no room to maneuver. Our line was too long and spread out.
If we were to attack, we’d have to do it soon.
I watched as a young girl ran out from the side street and threw a ball of fire at me. It burned across my shield and shoulder, singeing my skin and knocking me back a step. My sword fell from my hand as my grip loosened on the shield.
A second shot hit the side of my helm, leaving a small dent behind the eyepiece. I dropped my club and drew my sword. I had only seen her once before, during our meeting in my father’s chambers when she came to kill me, but I knew I would recognize the girl anywhere.
She wore her hair down now, falling past her shoulders to frame the face of a beautiful woman with wide eyes and full lips. Her clothing was different. She was dressed in leather and cloth and wore no jewelry, but otherwise, she looked much the same.
She pointed at me, screaming, “You are the one.
The End