Glendalough Fair (20 page)

Agnarr, just aft at the tiller, said, “Ottar’s ships draw more water than ours. I noticed that, back at the Meeting of the Waters. They are loaded down with more stores, more gear. I think they were looking at making a long voyage.”

Thorgrim nodded.
Sea Hammer
and the other ships in his fleet were lightly provisioned. They had been loaded with the intention of making a quick strike on Glendalough and then returning to Vík-ló. As a result they did not ride deep in the water, not as deep as Ottar’s.

They watched for a few moments more as Ottar’s men swarmed around the ships, unloading, stretching out tow ropes, hauling the vessels into the shallows. The rain fell in torrents, making it hard to see, filling the long ship inches deep.

“This is madness,” Thorgrim said at last. If Ottar wished to see his own men killed, that was fine with Thorgrim, but now the entire raid was threatened. “Agnarr, put our bows right into the shallows, right there.” He pointed ahead to a place past where Ottar’s men were offloading their ships.

The men of
Sea Hammer
pulled hard against the now-swift current and the longship moved past the anchored vessels. Thorgrim did not miss the angry looks on the faces of Ottar’s men as they rowed up the line. Then
Sea Hammer
’s bow ran up on the river bottom with a grinding sound and lurched to a stop so abruptly that Thorgrim had to take a step to keep himself from falling.

Grim faced, angry, he strode down the length of
Sea Hammer
’s deck, aware of his own men watching him now. He reached the bow and vaulted over the sheer strake and down into the water. The river was cold, the surface torn with driving rain, the current strong as Thorgrim waded upstream.

Ottar did not wait for him. Thorgrim was still approaching when he saw Ottar moving in his direction. Ottar walked with an odd gait, leaning slightly back as he struggled to keep from toppling forward in the fast moving water. One hand was held out for balance, the other rested on the hilt of his sword. The water roiled around his knees.

Maybe this will be it
, Thorgrim thought.
Maybe we settle it now.
He did not doubt that the fight begun in Kevin’s tent, interrupted by the Irish attack, would be resumed eventually. For the sake of this joint venture Thorgrim had tried to postpone it at least until they had finished sacking Glendalough. He had tried to do the sensible thing. But he was done with that now.

“What is the meaning of this, passing my ships by?” Ottar began to bellow as he approached. The rain poured down his face and he wiped it away and spit. His hair, normally as yellow as Harald’s, appeared black, soaked as it was, his long braids looked like drowned serpents. “My ships will be first, and you…”

“This is foolish, what you are doing, and you’re a fool,” Thorgrim said. Ottar stopped, the water rushing around his legs, his mouth hanging partway open. He looked stunned, as if he had been hit on the head with a club. Thorgrim took advantage of the blessed absence of Ottar’s voice.

“You lighten your ships to get over these shallows?” Thorgrim asked. “Dumb ass. What happens when you get to the next shallows, will you off-load even more? If the river falls, your ships will be trapped here. Meanwhile you waste time while they make ready for us at Glendalough.”

“You bastard, you talk to me like that?” Ottar roared, but Thorgrim was not listening. They were a hundred feet upstream from
Sea Hammer
and here the woods were even closer in on either side, great trees looming over the rushing water like monsters from another realm. And suddenly Thorgrim had a very bad feeling in his gut.

“Hold your mouth, Ottar,” Thorgrim said, raising a hand for silence. That only served to further enrage Ottar, who began to roar in anger, a low, ugly sound from his belly. Thorgrim saw the sword coming out of the scabbard.

And then, upstream, near the bow of Ottar’s ship, Thorgrim saw one of the men on the tow rope spin around, heard him shout, saw the arrow jutting from his chest. The man stumbled, fell, the water splashing up around his body. Some of the others on the tow rope shouted in surprise, some stood motionless, some dropped the rope.

And then, it seemed, all the demons of Ireland were let loose upon them.

I am an outlaw to most men;

only arrow-storms await me.

Gisli Sursson’s Saga

The dull noise of the rain and the poor light and Ottar’s raving made it hard to know what was happening, exactly. Thorgrim turned his head in the direction from which he thought the arrow had come. He could see nothing but the wall of trees, the snarl of bracken, the sheets of water coming down.

And then another arrow came, and another, and half a dozen more. Thorgrim’s eyes moved back toward Ottar’s ship. Men were staggering, shafts jutting at odd angles from chests, backs, legs. Two more were down, their bodies already caught in the river current. A man kicked and thrashed and tried to regain his footing. The shouting mounted but Ottar had not yet noticed.

Ottar’s sword was out and he was coming toward Thorgrim and bellowing something. Thorgrim was not listening.

“Your ship is under attack, you stupid ox! Look!” Thorgrim shouted, pointing. Ottar stopped, scowled, then looked back up river. For a heartbeat he just stood there, motionless. Then he shouted again, a different note this time, and began racing back upstream, lifting his legs high as he ran, a comical effect. Thorgrim could have laughed but he did not because he realized that the Irish had launched a near perfect ambush, and that realization sapped the humor from the thing. They had caught the Northmen unarmed and out of their ships, which were all but helpless in the shallows. All of them, Ottar’s men, his men, might be dead in the next hour.

He turned and hurried back to
Sea Hammer
, struggling to keep his footing in the rushing water. Agnarr had ordered an anchor set out and the men were resting on their oars. Now they heard the shouting from upstream, knew something was happening, but they could not tell what.

“To arms! To arms!” Thorgrim called as he came charging up, hefting himself over the ship’s side and hurrying aft. He could see the confused looks on the men’s faces, but his orders were clear enough, and the men obeyed. Those who owned mail grabbed it up and dropped it over their heads, others grabbed swords, axes, shields from the shield rack.

Thorgrim reached the stern, mounted the afterdeck and only then did he turn and look up river where Ottar’s ships were under attack. He could see the arrows ripping through the downpour, finding their marks, easy shots from two or three rods distance. The bowmen were focusing on the lead ship, Ottar’s ship, and from what Thorgrim could see they had managed to drop near half the crew.

He turned and looked in the other direction.
Blood Hawk
and
Dragon
had drawn up beside one another and they held their places in the stream with a steady, easy pull of the oars. Thorgrim doubted Bersi or Kjartan could see what was going on upstream, and certainly Skidi Battleax in
Fox
, further down river, could not. But they had seen the men of
Sea Hammer
getting into their fighting gear and they had followed suit.

Thorgrim waved, pointed to the water on
Sea Hammer
’s larboard side. Bersi waved back, a signal that he understood. A moment later
Blood Hawk
gathered way as Bersi’s men drove her forward to run her up onto the shallows beside
Sea Hammer
.

Ottar’s ships were four hundred feet up river, midway through transiting the shallows, and all was chaos. Ottar himself was plunging through the shallow water, waving his sword, rallying his men. His men, in turn, had retrieved their weapons from their ships and were leaping into the river, shields on arms, swords and axes in hand. Dead men and lost gear were already swirling down river, past where
Sea Hammer
lay anchored to the shallow bottom. A barrel that one of Ottar’s men had been hauling upstream bumped against
Sea Hammer
’s bow and twirled away like a leaf in a mill race. The man floated face-down and motionless, an arrow jutting from his back.

“Come with me!” Thorgrim shouted to his men. He raced amidships, jumped over the side and plunged ahead through the stream. He looked up river to where the fighting was taking place, Ottar making ready to launch his assault on the attackers still hidden in the woods, as around him his men fell wounded or dead under the hail of arrows. Thorgrim thought he could see several arrows embedded in Ottar’s shield. The luck that had kept that madman alive so far was working still.

You idiot…
Thorgrim thought. Did Ottar really mean to charge right at the woods, up that steep bank, at an enemy he could not see?

The side of Ottar’s ship bristled with arrows, the men holding the sheer strake and the tow ropes were being shot down where they stood or were abandoning the ship to join in the attack. And then suddenly there were not enough men left to hold the ship against the current. The rushing water grabbed the vessel’s long keel and pulled it from the grip of the few men still holding on, twisted it sideways and sent it sweeping downstream, plunging out of control toward the ships below.

Ottar’s men were charging toward their enemy and they did not react at all, as far as Thorgrim could see, as their ship drove itself into the next vessel in the fleet, anchored just downstream. Ottar’s ship had turned sideways in the river and its midships hit the bow of the second vessel at nearly a right angle, fouling it, wrenching the second ship’s anchor clear of the bottom and sending the two ships, now locked together, down on the third.

“Oh, by the gods!” Thorgrim shouted. He would have been happy enough to let Ottar’s ships be driven clear back to the sea, but if they were not stopped then they would strike his own ships and do untold damage.

“Come, follow me!” he called to the men behind him, thoughts of joining the battle pushed aside by this more immediate threat. Thorgrim slipped Iron-tooth back into its scabbard and rushed forward, fighting the fast river current, spitting rain water. He was hampered by his shield and he thought of casting it aside but he still had hope he would need it.

The two ships were turning slowly in the river as they swept down on Thorgrim and his men; with their leering beast figure heads they looked like monsters from a fever dream, and though they were made of wood and iron and tar they were at that moment every bit as dangerous as living sea serpents.

Thorgrim stopped, held up his hand for the others to stop as well, as they watched the two longships drifting down on them. Two of Ottar’s other ships were well clear, anchored close to the shore, but the third, anchored farther out, seemed to be right in the path of the drifting vessels.

The ships turned slowly in the current and their momentum built with every yard they gained. Then their motion was checked as the two slammed into the third ship in line and tore it free from its anchor. The impact made the vessels shudder. The sound of crushing wood was audible over the driving rain and the shouting men. Now the three ships were locked together and their momentum was building again as they were swept along.

“Agnarr, Harald!” Thorgrim shouted and the two men came splashing up beside him. “I will take Godi and some men and we’ll grab onto the tow rope of whatever ship is upstream, try to stop it. I don’t think you will be able to stop the others, just try to shove them to the side so they don’t hit
Sea Hammer
. Bersi!”

“Yes, Thorgrim?” Bersi shouted.

“You and Kjartan, get
Blood Hawk
astern of
Dragon
, keep her clear of these ships!”

They had a minute, no more, before the ships would be on top of them. Thorgrim waved his arm and pushed forward, fighting his way through the water, eyes on the ships turning and twisting and bobbing down on them, great malevolent creatures that they seemed to be. They blocked his view of the upper part of the river, but as he charged ahead they turned to reveal Ottar and his men, further upstream.

The ambushed men were locked in battle with the Irish and seemed unaware that their ships were being swept away, and even if they were, there was nothing they could do about it. Thorgrim could see Ottar, a head taller than any of the others, sword raised, pushing through the water toward the river bank. His men moved forward with him, a line of men, some with shields, most without, some with mail. They had been struggling to pull their ships through the shallows and so had been caught unawares, unarmed and unprepared.

Stupid son of a bitch
, Thorgrim thought. He saw Ottar and his men reach the steep, muddy bank, saw they trying to claw their way up, arms hampered by weapons and shields. And then from the dense bracken above them came the Irish with spear-points leading, swords behind, hacking Ottar’s men down, ramming iron tips into their chests. Thorgrim could hear the shrieks of agony, the bellows of rage.

Then the ships they had come to stop were on them and Thorgrim had no time for Ottar’s stupidity. A tow rope made fast to the upstream-most ship was trailing in the river and Thorgrim guessed that would do as well as any. He plunged ahead, kicking at the water like he could move it out of his way. He could see the rope twisting just under the ruffled surface. Two steps and he was on it, reaching down and snatching it up. The line came up out of the water and he held the one end as the ship at the other end was swept downstream.

“Bear a hand here, bear a hand!” Thorgrim shouted. The line was in his right hand, and he grabbed it with his left as well, but with the shield on his arm he could get only a tentative grip. The strain started coming on and Thorgrim pressed his lips together, tightened his hold and leaned back against the pull.

A man named Armod pushed up beside him and grabbed up the rope as well and Thorgrim felt the pressure ease as Armod took up the strain. Then others were there; Sutare Thorvaldsson and the massive Godi standing like a rune stone, the water breaking around him. The line came straight as a spear shaft and the ship at the far end twisted and turned bow toward them.

We can hold the one
, Thorgrim thought.
We cannot hold all three
. If the three ships remained locked together they would pull Thorgrim and the others along with them, or force the men to drop the rope and watch Ottar’s ships smash into
Sea Hammer
and take her along in the destruction.

The wayward vessels seemed to pause in their flight. The rope creaked and Armod and the others grunted and cursed with the effort of checking their motion. For a heartbeat they hung there, men and ships, and Thorgrim did not know which force would prevail. Then the two vessels wrenched free from the one they held at the rope’s end and continued their mad escape downstream, while the strain on the rope dropped to a fraction of what it had been.

“Thorgrim!” Godi shouted. “There’s a tree! We can make fast!” Thorgrim looked over his shoulder, looked in the direction in which Godi pointed. Fifty feet away a big oak rose up out of the river.

“Good!” Thorgrim shouted and together the dozen or so men who were tailing onto the tow rope began walking away with it, making their labored way upstream, hauling Ottar’s ship behind like it was some great, reluctant beast they were bringing to the slaughter. The rain washed down on them but they could not wipe it away, so they blinked and spit and dug their soft shoes into the gravel bed of the river.

Thorgrim wanted desperately to see what was happening downstream with
Sea Hammer
, but hauling on the rope, he could not turn and look. He also wanted desperately to see what was happening upstream with Ottar’s attack on the Irish, but now the river bank blocked his view.

And then they were at the oak. The man at the far end of the tow rope reached the tree and took two round turns around the solid trunk and Ottar’s ship was fast. Thorgrim let go of the line, spun on his heel to see what was happening with
Sea Hammer
and was nearly knocked over by the force of the stream.

Like a bull baiting
, he thought. He had seen that in Hedeby once, a pack of dogs set on an enraged bull that whirled and kicked and thrashed with its horns. The forty or so of his men confronting Ottar’s out of control ships reminded him of that. They stood clear as the vessels drifted down on them, then leapt forward, grabbing hold where they could, pushing, leaping clear again as the vessels came plunging down on their own ships.

Harald stood near the bow of the ship furthest downstream. “Push off, push off here!” he shouted and flung his broad shoulder against the vessel’s side, it’s stem and figurehead looming above him. Thorgrim saw the ship move under the pressure from Harald’s powerful back and legs, saw it straighten, it’s stern swinging away from
Sea Hammer
seconds before it would have slammed into her.

Others leapt up and joined Harald and they pushed until the ship was no longer sideways in the river, then they stepped clear and let her drift past
Sea Hammer
and continue on downstream. The second of Ottar’s ships followed in her wake as if it was being led on a rope.
Dragon
and
Blood Raven
had been shifted clear and the drifting vessels passed them by no more than a few feet.

Thorgrim watched only long enough to be certain his own ships were safe and then he once again called to his men and they rallied to him. Most had shields now and swords and axes, as ready for battle as they were going to get.