Viking Goblet
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“You have to stop him,” I whispered as we watched the last of the horses galloping off into the distance. “He’s too powerful.” We had just come through a village that had been abandoned, leaving only its dead behind. They were rotting corpses now.
Their flesh had rotted and their bones broken in places by scavengers. It was a sight we did not need to see again. We turned away and rode on toward where we thought Thorgrim and his men would be hiding out at sea.
The day was gray but warm, the sun barely making it over the eastern horizon before dipping down into the water once more. The ocean seemed endless—like a sheet of blue-green ice stretching across the sky until the stars came out and lit it up once more.
A few gulls called above us as if to ask what could possibly happen to cause our journey to end so soon. As though they didn’t know this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. As though the gods couldn’t be trusted or believed. As though the gods didn’t love them as much as they loved themselves.
“I don’t think he’s going to stop,” I said. “Not with all those men around him.” And then I saw the smoke from fires along the shoreline. He was heading right for them, and even though there was no way he could hide them all, he would try.
“What are you thinking?” Gunnar asked me. His voice sounded calm, unafraid. Perhaps he had always known what I knew: we weren’t getting to Frankia alive; it would take more than this to break us.
I shook my head. What could I say? We’d already lost one son. We couldn’t lose another. Not now. We could never tell him who he was, we could never let him meet his parents, or find a place he could call home, or get married, or father children.
If Gunnar died fighting this battle against Thorgrim, then I would be happy, knowing that my boy had been brave enough, strong enough, smart enough, whatever, to fight like a Viking should. But if Gunnar died because I hadn’t done what needed doing, then it would haunt me until I died, and I might as well die now so I wouldn’t have to live in such agony.
So we rode south, following Thorgrim’s wake toward the shoreline. The beach below was littered with dead men—soldiers, sailors, perhaps both—and we could hear the sounds of their struggles and the shouts of their tormenters, but these did not bother me too much.
All we had to do was wait until the tide went out. That would be when the fun began. Thorgrim must have known that, or at least guessed that we would figure it out eventually. There were too many of them to be killed by us, and we would not waste arrows trying to kill them at distance.
So Thorgrim’s men must have taken up positions around the beach and waited for us to show up. They knew that if they waited long enough we would run out of food and water, grow tired, or simply tire of killing one another. Either way, they’d win. The trick would be waiting out enough time so we ran out of everything except our own strength and courage.
And then there was no choice. Thorgrim and his crew would attack at high tide, which was about an hour away. We were going to be caught between land and sea. I could see it coming, feel it approaching, and yet somehow still managed to hope.
Hope is a strange thing. You can’t expect it to save you from danger, because it does nothing of the sort. But it helps you to deal with the dangers and losses life throws your way.
The water started to part as we approached, revealing rocks and kelp and the occasional shipwreck. I could see ships bobbing in the waves, and hear their creaking masts, but Thorgrim and his men seemed to know exactly where they were and made straight for them, riding hard for the shore.
I felt a stab of fear, for we could not outrun the surf. The tide was coming in fast and rising higher than we could ride, and we’d be dashed against the rocks if we tried to cross.
But we had no other choice. It was impossible to outrun the current. The waves crashed into us and knocked us about, and we had to slow our horses down, letting the surf carry us forward. At times the spray from the seaside rolled over my face as we plowed through the waves, but I had no time to worry about that.
When a wave washed over us it left only wet horseflesh in its wake. I held on tight to the reins so that if something happened to either of the two animals carrying me it wouldn’t be my fault. I heard the others curse under their breath and shout to each other about our situation.
The sun was setting, leaving clouds of gray mist swirling overhead, and the waves grew taller. Soon we would be swept off our feet and dragged beneath the water, and all our troubles would be over.
Then I saw Gunnar and realized why he looked different from the other Norsemen who fought and died beside Thorgrim. They wore helmets of leather and iron; Gunnar’s helmet was of bronze. A man of noble blood. Even his armor had gold leaf worked into it.
He was the youngest of Thorgrim’s sons, the one who had come back from Iceland with me, and he was also the only one to survive. I knew it was him because I could see his hair gleaming bright white among the dark heads surrounding us. I could not understand it. How could one young man have survived so many of Thorgrim’s sons?
We got closer to the ships. The water was up to my chest now and still coming at us. The waves smashed into the hulls of the ships, splintering boards and sending shards flying. Men fell overboard and were washed away by the next wave.
I could see that some of Thorgrim’s men had found a place on the decks of those ships. One had taken up a position at the stern and fired arrow after arrow at the ships in front of him. We were getting close enough so that I could hear Thorgrim’s voice. “Kill them! Kill them!”
“What?” shouted one of the soldiers near me.
I glanced at him and recognized him. We had been fighting together, but we’d never spoken before. His name was Jorgen, I think. He grinned at me and then said, “He means to kill the Christians.”
Jorgen’s words set off a chorus of cheers among the men behind us, and they spurred their horses faster. They wanted to be rid of them as well. We were within bowshot, and I could tell that Gunnar was grinning at me again.
Thorgrim’s archers fired their arrows. Some struck home, knocking down shields or men, but none hit the center boat we aimed for. It was too far offshore and it stayed clear of the enemy lines, its sails unfurled, moving fast along the waves.
It was then that I saw what Gunnar had done to survive. He mustered a dozen men from his own crew, including himself, and took a line from the ship he was guarding. They all jumped over the side, and then Gunnar turned his ship into the waves and rode toward us, cutting a swath through the swimmers until he came alongside ours and pulled his men across onto our deck.
Then he cut another length of rope and led us to the ship ahead, taking his place in the line of archers defending it.
As we approached we could see the Christian warriors waiting to defend their ship. Their leader stood at the prow with his hands on his hips, shouting at us as if he was telling us we could pass only if we answered some riddle correctly. I couldn’t tell how many of the men in the water he faced, but I thought it was more than a score.
But we were armed now. The bowstrings were loose. And when you are armed even an ocean cannot stop you.
One of Gunnar’s men shouted a challenge, and suddenly there was a great cheer from the Christian side, and our enemy was firing arrows into the air, their swords ready for battle. As the bows were released I could see the arrows falling short, hitting nothing but seawater.
The enemy leader cursed loudly and raised his sword high above his head, shouting something I did not recognize. Then he and his men charged, and the fight was on.
The Christian army was made up mostly of slaves, but that was no impediment to them. Their leader wielded a shield, and he carried his sword with skill, swinging it like a hammer in both offense and defense. Gunnar’s men were better trained and better equipped, but our foes had experience.
They knew what to do in hand-to-hand combat; their leader had already demonstrated that. So I was surprised when he turned aside his opponent’s blow and drove his blade deep into the man’s gut. Blood poured out from under the edge of the metal blade, staining the sand around them a deeper crimson.
I drew my dagger and stepped forward and struck. My knife went home, and he cried out in pain. I withdrew the knife and stabbed again, and this time my blade sank into his thigh. He screamed louder, and then I heard his screams change, turning into moans and whimpers.
Gunnar and Thorgrim moved among us, cutting down our enemies, and the Christian army fell apart beneath us, fleeing back to the safety of the larger fleet. But I kept up my attack on our fallen foe. When I pulled my weapon free I found another one nearby.
His eyes rolled upward, his mouth hanging open, and blood bubbled on his lips. He struggled against his bonds as I cut his throat and felt the warm blood pour out of him.
A second later and I might have missed, but I had been watching for it and my blade went in easily. He stopped struggling and the life drained out of him and then he dropped into death.
We killed dozens of Christian warriors. We lost fewer.
And finally, our work was done. Our enemy lay dead in the sea off the starboard bow, their ship abandoned. A few more died as they ran, but those who remained fought only with their swords.
“Pull the oars,” I shouted. “Push away from them and let them sink.”
There was no need for a vote, no debate. I had won my way as always. It was strange to look at them after the battle and see men whom I would not be killing just a short while ago. One or two had even taken up arms against me, and they looked at me with the same hatred that I had once directed at their god. And now we were on opposite sides of the war.
When the ships parted and we began to turn to port and make a run for the shelter of our own fleet we could see that there were still Christians on board the bigger ship we had left behind. They seemed to be preparing for a long fight, drawing weapons from their sheaths and tying down whatever gear they needed.
I did not think that they intended to surrender, though perhaps they did and that was why they had waited so long before attacking.
That ship was gone when we rounded the next point, sailing past it on the other side like it was nothing more than a piece of driftwood in the wake of our passage. Now it was just us, and we were making for home.
***
Gunnar and I stood by the bow, watching the shoreline recede far behind us. There was something strange about our victory, however small it might seem compared to others we’d won during our years together.
We had defeated the Christians, but there were too many of them. Their ships outnumbered ours and had sailed with us for days. Even if every man aboard my ship had died defending us it still wouldn’t have made a difference.
But the fighting was over. We rowed steadily, our feet moving rhythmically along the deck. The waves grew shallower. Soon we were in deep water again.
I looked around at the faces of my crew, all but three having survived the battle. Their fear had turned to joy, and their shouts of celebration sounded across the ocean waters. We were home. We were home.
Now we would go back and find Thorgrim, and we hoped to take him with us to Iceland, where he could be reunited with his family. I knew that he wanted to get away from here; I knew he was ready to sail north to his homeland. I had no intention of stopping him.
The sun rose higher in the sky and then was hidden behind thick clouds. A storm threatened, I thought. Perhaps the gods were angry because of the battle. Or maybe they didn’t like the slaughtering we had been doing.
As I watched the sea through the low-hanging clouds I saw a ship on the horizon, a little more than half a day’s sail from us. I pointed her out to Gunnar and he raised his arm to signal to the crew to keep a close watch. Then he called to me, and I hurried aft to his side.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“It looks like a Christian ship,” I said.
He shook his head. “She has a different color sail. She must have changed course since we last saw her, but I’m sure that’s not her. Who can tell for certain what a Christian ship looks like, eh?”
I shrugged and tried to ignore the sense of unease that the sight of that ship had sent racing down my spine. It was impossible to miss the fact that it was a Christian ship, yet I was sure there were no more than ten miles between us when we had first spotted her.
That meant she had changed course quickly after losing sight of us for a moment. And I wondered if that change in the course had led her straight toward us.
I looked ahead to see how soon we would catch up. Her mast came into view and I could see that the sail hung lower. I glanced over my shoulder. We were gaining fast now.
“They know we’re coming,” I said. “If we try to ram her they’ll be waiting for us. But even if they weren’t … well, we would still be able to kill most of them if we were lucky.”
A few moments later I looked forward again. The ship had come alongside us, and we could clearly see that there were at least thirty Christian warriors on board. They did not raise an alarm, and we did not hear a cry for help.
“They don’t want to give us a warning,” I said.
Gunnar smiled. “No one wants to give warning. Not these men.” His smile widened, and he slapped me on the back. “Well! We’ve done good work today.” He clapped me on the shoulder so hard that I nearly fell backward over the gunwale.
“We have, haven’t we?” I replied.
Gunnar laughed, and he took my hand as if it was the first time we had ever clasped hands. Then he pointed forward. “Come, let’s get back to our ship and get this thing put away before the rain comes.”
As we walked we exchanged looks of excitement and anticipation. We were alive, and we had won another fight against the heathens. I felt a surge of power, and I realized that my heart was beating faster and harder than it had since the very first time I had seen a Christian ship and thought we were going to die.
This was what it meant to be a warrior. To live and fight, to feel blood and death under your skin. If I had any regrets about anything, they were small ones, things like the fact that the Christians would likely make slaves of those who lived, and the knowledge that I would never see Frankia again or the lands beyond. There had been so much promise there, and now it was gone forever.
But I wasn’t sad about it. What we had gained – our lives and honor and a new land where we could build a kingdom -was worth whatever price we might pay.
There was only one problem now, and I could tell by the look on Gunnar’s face that he already knew what it was. When we reached our ships we found that we had not made it all the way home without incident.
The End