Authors: James L. Nelson
Glendalough Fair (37 page)
It was silent again and then Thorgrim heard a man speaking. He spoke Irish and Thorgrim did not understand the words. Then another spoke, and Thorgrim was certain that one was a woman.
Thorgrim moved slowly out into the river, down
Sea Hammer
’s length and stopped just short of her stern. He heard the strangers take a few steps closer and then he moved around the end of his ship and pulled Iron-tooth from its scabbard as he did.
Two people. A man and a woman, both dressed in mail, which caught Thorgrim by surprise. The man’s left hand held the end of a sack which was draped over his shoulder. The woman gasped at Thorgrim’s sudden appearance, but the man drew his sword with a speed and ease that spoke of training and experience. He did not let go of the sack.
“Who are you?” Thorgrim asked, but the man just shook his head to indicate that he did not understand. Thorgrim had not expected he would.
“Harald!” Thorgrim called. “Come here. Bring the others.” He heard Harald come out of hiding and the sound of other men coming out of the grass and the splash of their feet hitting the water. The woman also wore a sword and she pulled it now, a bit late, Thorgrim thought. The man took a step back, half shielding the woman as Thorgrim’s men approached from three sides. His eyes moved from man to man and he looked ready for a fight, but he did not look afraid, and Thorgrim gave him credit for that.
Harald came splashing out to where they stood, and Thorgrim was about to tell him to ask these two who they were when he saw Harald smile wide.
“Look!” Harald said. “It’s the healer woman!” He turned to the two in the river and spoke to them in Irish. Thorgrim saw a moment of uncertainty on their faces, and then the dawn of recognition.
“Who are they?” Thorgrim asked. “How do you know them?”
“They were my prisoners. In the wagons, the wagons I took from Crimthann,” Harald said. “I don’t recall the man’s name. The woman is Failend, and she said the man is her bodyguard. She said she’s a very skilled healer. We could have use of her. Starri could. And many of the men are wounded.”
“Very well,” Thorgrim said. “Tell them to give up their swords and they will not be harmed.”
Harald spoke to them. They spoke back and Harald replied, a negotiation of some sort, but Thorgrim trusted Harald to do the right thing. He saw the Irishman’s eyes moving from weapon to weapon, man to man. He could guess the man’s thoughts as if he were speaking them out loud.
Can I kill them before they kill me? Will they kill the woman, or take her? Are our chances better if I give up my sword, or would we be better off if we died fighting?
Then the man made a choice. It was the choice Thorgrim hoped he would make. The only reasonable choice. He reversed his sword and handed it hilt first to Harald. Then the woman did the same.
“Tell them to come to the shore,” Thorgrim said. “Tell them they will not be harmed if the woman looks to our wounded.” He considered ordering the man to hand over the sack, but he decided against it. Plenty of time for that later.
Harald opened his mouth to speak, but Starri spoke first. “Thorgrim,” he said. “More coming. Riders. They’re getting closer.”
Riders
… That certainly could mean but one thing. Mounted warriors scouring the countryside, and if they were alert enough to find the trampled grass leading from the road to the river bank then they would find the ship and they would find the Northmen whom they sought.
“Let’s go,” Thorgrim said. “Down the river. Stay close to the bank. Take those two.” He gestured toward their new prisoners. “Don’t let them get away.”
The men turned and began splashing downstream. Godi stepped behind the man and the woman and gave them a little push, and Harald said something, his tone soft yet urgent, and they began moving too, with less reluctance than Thorgrim might have expected.
They must know that riders mean Irish men-at-arms
, Thorgrim thought,
and that could well mean rescue for them. And yet they hurry as fast as we do.
They stayed close to the bank where the water was shallow, and soon even Thorgrim could hear the sound of the horses. It grew louder with each second and then it stopped, which meant the riders had reached the river bank. Soon they would be swarming over
Sea Hammer
.
“Into the trees, everyone into the trees!” Thorgrim hissed. They had almost reached the bend in the river which would have hidden them from the Irish men-at-arms, but not quite. They splashed ashore and pushed their way through the bracken and in among the trees, the forest cool and damp and dark, and they were hidden from view. It was no great difficulty to hide them all. They were only ten men and two prisoners. Ten men, all that was left of the crews of four longships.
Thorgrim was bringing up the end of the column and he came last into the woods, but rather then push on he stopped and turned, crouching to make himself invisible, and looked back upstream, back toward his ship and his dead.
The Irish were coming over the bank and spreading out along the shore. They wore mail and had weapons drawn. There were only twenty or so, but they would have been enough to kill all of Thorgrim’s men, exhausted and wounded as they were.
For a few minutes the Irish moved cautiously along the river bank, ready for a surprise attack if it came, but soon they realized there would be no attack, that this was a camp of the dead, and there was no Northman there who could hold a sword any longer. Thorgrim saw weapons go back into scabbards. He saw the Irishmen cutting purses off Norse belts.
Then he saw a few men climb aboard
Sea Hammer
and that, to him, was the most intolerable of all, as if they had profaned a temple, as if they had put one of their crosses on an alter to Thor. They were on his ship, his sacred ship. They were violating his beloved vessel.
It’s gone,
he thought.
It’s all gone now
. Not so long ago he had been Lord of Vík-ló. He had wealth and commanded four long ships and three hundred men. And now he had nothing. Nothing.
He had been betrayed. He had been led to this place and, because he was a fool and blind and wretchedly stupid, he had allowed it to happen. He had let nearly three hundred fine men die. He had been stripped of everything. He was no better than a slave.
Thorgrim clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together. He knew he might scream, or he might sob, or he might fling himself at the bastards who were defiling his ship, and he did not want to do any of it. He wanted Thor to strike him dead as he crouched like a thief in the woods.
The Irishmen who had been aboard the ship climbed back down to the riverbank. The one who was in command gave an order. Thorgrim could hear it clearly, even with the distance that separated them. Harald and Starri were crouching next to him now, and Thorgrim was about to ask Harald what the man had said when he saw one of the Irishmen crouch down and lay something on the gravel, then fish some small, dark thing from a pocket. He began moving his arm in short, quick jerks, the unmistakable motion of striking steel on flint.
Bastards
, Thorgrim thought.
They’re burning my ship! They are burning my ship and I can do nothing but watch. And when they’re done they’ll hunt us down and kill us all
.
The man with the fire-steel made a few more strokes, then leaned over and blew softly on the tinder. Thorgrim could see a little trail of smoke rising from the beach.
No
, he thought.
I am not ready to die.
I cannot die like this
. He had lived through many years and many things, good and bad, joy and sorrow, but he could not let it end there. He could not die until he had brought vengeance down on the heads of those who had done this to him. He could not leave Midgard until he had taken back what was his and made those who would steal it pay for their crimes. He would not leave that world until he had shown the gods he was worthy of the next.
He heard shuffling on his other side and turned his head to see the two they had captured, the man and the woman, inching up to where they could see. He heard the man whisper something, a single word, and to Thorgrim it sounded like a name, one of those odd Irish names. He turned to Harald.
“Ask this one if he knows the man who commands those soldiers,” Thorgrim said. Harald leaned over and asked in a harsh whisper. The man hesitated before replying, and Thorgrim knew the truth even before he spoke.
“Yes,” Harald said. “He knows him. He did not say how, or how well.”
Thorgrim nodded. It didn’t matter. He reached out and grabbed the sack the man still carried over his shoulder, Thorgrim moving so fast that he had the sack in his hand before the man could react. It was heavy, heavier even than Thorgrim had thought it would be. He could see the sharp edges of something square, like a box, and he had no doubt as to what it contained.
“Tell him,” Thorgrim said to Harald, nodding his head toward the prisoner, “to go tell those soldiers there are sixty warriors coming up the river bank. He’s to tell them to run before they’re taken. If he does that and returns, he gets his hoard back and the woman is unharmed. If he fails, or betrays us, the woman will die before we do.”
Harald nodded and rendered the words into the Irish tongue. Thorgrim could see the anger on the man’s face, and the uncertainty. It might not be so easy to convince the soldiers to flee from an unseen enemy.
He looks clever enough
, Thorgrim though.
He’ll manage.
And then the young man stood, grim-faced, and pushed his way through the trees to the river, because he had no choice. Thorgrim watched him splashing upstream. He saw the reaction of the soldiers as they saw him coming. They turned and stared as he approached. They drew their weapons.
The young man stopped fifteen feet short of the leader, his hands held up and spread apart in a gesture of supplication. Words flew between them. Thorgrim looked at Harald for translation but Harald only shook his head.
Thorgrim looked back up river. The soldiers seemed to be spreading out, trying to encircle the young man, and the young man in turn was gesturing toward the bend downstream.
“Harald, Godi, anyone who can walk, with me,” Thorgrim said. “Draw your weapons.”
He stood and pulled Iron-tooth free and stepped from the woods into the river. He heard the others following behind him. They might not be sixty, but they were Northmen and they were warriors and they were armed, and they would show the Irish soldiers the truth of the man’s words.
And that they did. As Thorgrim led the way up river, stepping with determination as if he was looking for a battle, he saw Irishmen pointing in their direction, saw them backing away from
Sea Hammer
, stepping back from the river’s edge. He heard a sharp order and the Irish soldiers turned and made their way toward the river bank and their mounts, picketed out of sight. They were not retreating in panic. But they were retreating.
Thorgrim continued his advance, but slowly, giving the Irish time to ride away. When at last he heard the sounds of hooves pounding off, he called to the others and they came limping out of the woods, the girl in their company. They made their way back to
Sea Hammer
. The tinder that the man had laid on the gravel was still smoldering.
Thorgrim stopped a few feet from the young Irishman. “Harald, tell this one he did well.”
Harald translated. The man nodded. He did not smile. There was a troubled look on his face, something different from the one he had worn earlier. Thorgrim wondered if there had been more to his encounter with the soldiers than was immediately apparent.
Thorgrim swung the heavy sack off his shoulder and handed it to the man, who took it with a look of surprise. He spoke and Harald translated.
“He says the Irish are gone, but they will be back, and they will come with many more men.”
Thorgrim nodded. He wondered why this fellow was telling him this. Did he not want to see the Northmen defeated? Did he not want to be rescued?
“He’s right,” Thorgrim said, addressing his crew, his army, his ten exhausted and wounded men. “We have an hour, perhaps. No more. Probably less. We need to stop up that hole that Kjartan cut in
Sea Hammer
. We can stuff some of these dead men’s tunics in it, that will do for now. Bail her out and get her down river, far enough to be safe while we make her seaworthy.”
The others nodded.
“Then what will we do?” Harald asked.
“Then we’re going hunt down the bastards who put us in this place and we will make them pay,” Thorgrim said. “We will make them pay.”
He turned and led the way across the beach and over the sheer strake of his ship, his beloved ship, staggered and wounded like the rest of them. He stepped aft, into the shallow water that lapped over the deck boards, and his men followed behind. There was much they needed to do.
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