4) One Against All

A simple trading ship under attack by a drakkar full of raiders.

Yet again I found myself with an oar in my hands, but this time was no dream.

After two days recovering from the fever, I left the cave. The Vagrant hadn't returned, but my future did not lie in a hole in the side of a mountain. Instead I made my way east, towards the coast.

The walk took most of winter to complete. I settled into a routine where I'd rise with the dawn and walk until midday. Then I'd set up a makeshift camp and rest. Then, in the last hours before the sun set, I would look for food. There were no nuts or berries to be found that time of year, so I made a few snares of my own and set them out when I saw evidence of rabbits.

It is futile to wish for what you do not have but not a day went by that I didn't wish for a bow. I'm no great archer, but like most of my people I could at least bring down a deer. The rabbit gave me the strength to continue but what I really craved was fat. A fat beaver would have been a gift from The Gods, but no. Instead, I tried my luck at fishing. Each time I found a river that looked promising, I'd cast a few lines and hope for the best. The fish were largely still waiting out the cold in the deeper waters, so my results were meagre. But they kept me alive.

When I saw the occasional village, I made sure to give it a wide berth. The odds were one against all, and I did not have the luxury of trusting strangers. The thought of sneaking in after dark and taking some fresh bread, or even last year's turnips, caused me to salivate, but I am no thief. Yes, I'd taken the sword off the dead man, but that was somehow different. I am an outlaw, not a níðingr.

Time passed uneventfully. The dream of the blood sea didn't return. The Earl's men didn't ride out of the forest to cut me down. I just walked. Finally, I reached the sea and for once fate smiled. A knarr had beached and the crew had buried a man. One of his comrades was carving runes into a stone so The Gods would know of his deeds as I approached. Given my emaciated appearance, the trader gave pause, but given the lack of other replacements available, he gave me a spot on his bench. So here I am and once again I row. But at least the rowing keeps me warm. That, and when I'm done rowing, I eat.

The north wind fills our sail as we make our way south. The Whale Road rides heavy from the wind; dotted with broken ice. Despite the daily exertion, my strength grows. The trader is savvy and makes several successful stops at villages along the shore. He trades salt and cloth and a little jewelry in exchange for timber, ale, and fish. Anywhere there's a sawmill he can offload the timber to the local carpenters and craftsmen. Then, when he reaches an Earl's residence, he can get a high price in silver for the food and drink.

We were a content crew, possibly even happy as we rounded the Listerlandet peninsula into Hanö Bay. The trader had made profitable stops at several bayside villages in previous years. Then, out of the morning mist came a horrifying noise. A drakkar. It must have been hiding behind Hanö island waiting for prey. It charged like a bear; it's men roaring as they pulled on their oars. The sound alone put terror in our hearts.

"All men to oars!" the trader bellowed, "Row for all your worth!"

"If we don't escape," he continued, "this will likely be your last day on this wretched earth!"

We redoubled our efforts, backs straining, knuckles white, chests heaving. We rowed as if our lives depended on it. They did. Alas, the effort was futile, and we knew it. The knarr was too wide and slow. She handled like a pig compared to the sleek drakkar. Likewise, the drakkar contained dozens of men, and we were few. The outcome was never in doubt. Each time a man risked a glace astern, the enemy ship had grown closer. Inevitably they threw the hooks and pulled the ships together.

We drew our axes and shields and fought back. My new comrades clustered together. You can't really form a shield wall on a boat, but we tried. I know I hacked and cut and chopped, but there were too many of them. I saw the trader take a sword through the eye. The blade emerged from the back of his skull and the enemy just left it there as the trader fell. I didn't see what happened next as I had to meet the charge of my own attacker. A big bastard he was, with a curly beard and his sour ale on his breath. He raised his axe and you'd be excused if you mistook his forearm for a ham. He hacked at my shield, and I felt the impact all the way to my shoulder. I hacked back at him with my own axe, trying to match his strength. Then he fell, as the man next to me slipped his seax into the big bastard's belly. Another man appeared, equally fearsome and we exchanged hacks as well. His axe momentarily got caught in my shield and I was able to pull it down and hack down on his head. He wore an iron helmet, but to no avail. His face erupted in gore as the axe-head bit deep.

There were too many of them, though. We were driven back, towards the bow of the boat, into a smaller and smaller cluster as we fell. I felt the prow at my back. There was a momentary lull, and I glanced left and right. I was the only one left. Three of them came for me with bitter faces. I adjusted the grip on my axe. If they were to send me to Valhalla, I would bring company with me.

"Withdraw!" announced a noble voice. With iron discipline the three men stepped back, they held their weapons at the ready, but did not attack.

I heard footsteps first, and the attackers made way as a giant of a man emerged. Everything from his bearing to his weapons to his clothing indicated nobility.

"You fight well," he began. "Now you have a choice. Join our crew, and fight as one of us. Or be struck down like your friends. If you do, we will kick the weapon out of your dying hand and you will spend eternity in Hel instead of Valhalla!"

A raven soared overhead, circling as I received this choice. It was no choice at all. These men were the mighty Jomsvikings, and I now joined them.

Word Count ▼

1165 Words