The Viking Saga Page 4

  Thorkell gave a little gasp, ‘Ragnar,’ he said. ‘Ragnar Raven! I thought not to see you ever again!’

  Ragnar smiled, a soft, dangerous smile, showing his white teeth. ‘Do you mean “thought not” or “wished not,” Thorkell Fairhair?’

  Thorkell’s face stiffened slightly and a cold air blew in through the open doorway from the fjord. He stepped forward.

  ‘Enter and sit at the tabletop, Ragnar,’ he said. ‘We are blood brothers and come what may you shall share my fortune.’

  Men moved away to let the proud stranger sit beside their leader.

  5

  The Blood-Launching

  The Nameless still stood on her stocks, above the runway of planks that led down to the waters of the fjord. With the arrival of Ragnar Raven the wind had changed and blew across the sea inlet towards the village, so that it would have been madness to push the longship out only to have her dashed on the rocks that lay below the launching-place.

  Men began to whisper, their heads together, saying that Ragnar had brought the venture ill-luck. Some men even said that, were it not that they loved Thorkell, they would have handed back the knucklebones and have gone on free up the fjord to find another ship.

  Harald and his father kept together, for they were from inland and knew none of the others, the seafarers. Harald said to his father, ‘I am afraid that this delay will spoil the crew.’ Sigurd laughed and said, ‘Sailors always grumble. Once they feel the planks bucking under their feet and get the sound of the sea-mews in their ears, they will forget all this. A Viking is born, my son, and never escapes his destiny. As some men love horses, and others love hunting wolves, so a Viking loves ships, every plank and rope of them, and he is never happy unless he is riding the track of the whale, treading the path of the gannet.’

  Harald said, ‘All the same, this Ragnar makes me wonder whether the venture will turn out well.’

  Sigurd said, ‘You are a young fool to bother your head with such thoughts. Ragnar is but a man, though a strong one. He can only do what Odin will let him. And we can only do what Odin will let us. So what can you change with all your worrying? You are but an ant crawling on a hunter’s boot. That boot may carry you a long distance and you will think that life is good to you. Or it may crush you, then you will know no more. If you are a sensible ant you will not worry your head to discover what makes the boot move, for it will not alter your condition.’

  The boy scratched his head and looked puzzled. Then he walked away and watched the villagers loading the Nameless with its tackle and threading the stay ropes through the pulleys that should hoist the mainsail.

  On his way back to join his father he came upon Horic Laplander, sitting under the lee of a rock and holding a short length of tarred twine. The man was smiling, his eyes half-closed, and rocking back and forth. Harald saw that there were four knots in the twine that the man fingered so lovingly.

  He tapped the Laplander on the thick shoulder. ‘What are you doing, friend?’ he said curiously.

  Horic came out of his trance and whispered hoarsely, ‘This is a bad wind for it keeps us ashore, quarrelling. I have just asked for a good wind to blow, now I must untie it so that it may come down the fjord and carry us out to sea.’

  With a deft movement of his yellow hands he slacked the knot and gave it a tug. Then he shut his eyes and rocked back and forth again. Harald stood amazed and wondering. The wind which had been blowing into his face, slapping it roughly as he stood, ceased suddenly, and for a moment there was a complete stillness. Harald looked round and saw that the smoke from the chimney holes was going up straight. Then, as though a great door had been opened somewhere up the valley, a low roaring noise came, growing louder and louder. At first the smoke still eddied, then it flicked like a whiplash and began to flurry. The pine trees high on the hilltop gave a faint sigh, then they too bent under the blast and began their own roar.

  Now the wind struck Harald at the side of the head, and the smoke swept into his eyes. From the huts a man shouted, ‘Praise Odin, the Viking’s wind has come!’ And everywhere the cry went up, ‘The Viking’s wind has come!’

  Now all was bustle in the village. The headman hobbled out and said, ‘Odin is pleased with our venture and wishes you to begin without delay. He has sent you a good wind.’

  Only Horic still smiled, inscrutably, his length of twine now twisting in his yellow fingers, his eyes half-shut and his face contemptuous.

  Sigurd said, ‘This is beyond my knowledge. All men know that there are land breezes and sea breezes and that they come at different times of the day. But this is no ordinary land breeze to come at midday, after three days of the other. I cannot understand it.’

  Harald said, ‘I am happier than I was, Father. If Horic sails there is one whose magic will put a check on Ragnar.’

  Sigurd looked at his son, wondering, then said, ‘Go into the feast hall, son, and eat well. You seem a little light-headed with hunger. Anyway, it is no bad thing to sail on a full stomach. Perhaps you will not want to eat for a day or two after we get started.’

  Harald ate with the others while the villagers piled the provisions for the voyage near the shore – oatcake, barley bread, salt beef, pork and herring. Three large casks of fresh spring water stood among the other things, the most important of them all.

  An hour later, Thorkell and Ragnar came out of the headman’s hut, followed by Wolf, who now seemed crestfallen at having been replaced in his leader’s affection. The headman was arguing loudly with them. He was saying, ‘But Thorkell, you have a full crew. Your friend Ragnar has no place in the ship and you know it. He is an extra man and we all know that the gods do not like an extra man.’

  Ragnar spat towards the fjord and said, ‘Old wives’ tales!’

  This angered the headman. His hands began to shake violently and his daughter had to support him or he would have fallen on to the pebbles in his rage.

  Thorkell patted him on the shoulder gently. ‘Do not frighten yourself, Thorn,’ he said. ‘Ragnar once saved my life and I owe him that. Now he goes where I go, if he chooses; and this time he does choose. We can say no more.’

  Suddenly Ragnar turned on the headman and said, ‘If that is all you are worrying about, an extra man, we can arrange that, old man. Under the old law a launching demands a blood sacrifice. Surely there is one among the crew who would lay his head upon the slipway to fulfil the ancient command?’

  The headman glared up at him, speechless for a moment. Then he said, ‘This village is a peaceful place. We do not sacrifice in the forest temples as they do in some parts. We are a free folk here and have been so since we formed our village settlement. Let who will pray to the gods of blood, we will not. Sooner than our ship went down the slipway through blood, I would burn her. She is ours, to do with as we please, and no one, not even Thorkell, shall tell us what we must do.’

  Ragnar shrugged his shoulders and began to walk away whistling. Thorkell stared after him in anger for a moment, then helped the old man to his seat on the shore, near the slipway.

  By the early afternoon all was ready for the launching. The crew stood on either side of the longship, resting their hands against the strakes, waiting to take the strain when Björn and his men had knocked away the supports with their great mallets. Then the Vikings would push their ship down the runway into the water. Only Rolf Wryneck was aboard, holding his steerboard loosely, waiting to act when the ship was afloat, his thin neck twisted round and his sea-blue eyes misty as he gazed towards the bluer waters of the fjord.

  Harald stood just beside his father, who was the first man at the bow of the ship, on the steerboard side. ‘May she float well,’ he prayed, his eyes half-closed. His father smiled and said, ‘Never fear, son, she will. The men who made her might make one worthy of Odin!’

  Hasting heard this and sucked in his breath loudly. ‘That was a foolish thing to say, Sigurd,’ he said. ‘That is tempting Odin to make her sink.’

  ‘On my own he
ad be it,’ said Sigurd, who was not a superstitious man. Then the last prop was knocked away, and Thorkell shouted, ‘Vikings, take the strain – steady her – now heave!’

  As he called out the last word, every shoulder was bunched, every arm tensed, all muscles strained. And when men thought that the longship would never move, she began to slide forward like a living thing.

  But Sigurd let her go a little too late, and as she thrust forward, he lost his balance and toppled sideways in her tracks. Harald saw it happen and opened his mouth to shout, but he could not save his father. Then the Vikings on the steerboard side saw Sigurd twist sideways and roll from the slipway, and many thought that he had come away unhurt. But those who dared to look saw that his rolling had been a little too late. All heard the bone of his leg breaking, and the man’s stifled gasp. Then the Nameless slid smoothy down the slipway to the water.

  Harald bent over his father, holding back the tears that burned his eyes. Yet even in his anguish he heard Ragnar’s voice, ‘I said that the old laws demanded a blood-launching, old man. Well, we have one now – and no extra man in the crew!’ There was sardonic laughter in his voice. Harald shook the spurting tears from his eyes and tried to lift his father’s body.

  Sigurd opened his eyes and smiled grimly. ‘I am not ready for Valhalla yet, lad,’ he said. ‘A broken leg mends easily with care, and if it doesn’t, why, I have another leg!’

  When he had said this, Sigurd fainted with pain. Thorkell patted Harald on the back and said, ‘You have a brave father, boy. Let us hope his son is as much a Viking.’

  The headman had Sigurd carried into his own hut, to be tended by his daughter. Then all the crew clustered on the shore, as though nothing had happened worth noticing, for the Nameless was riding the rough fjord waters like a swan, graceful and strong. The Vikings sent up a great cheer and some of the villagers began their uncouth dance on the shore, relieved that their vessel had not let them down.

  At last Harald made his way to the headman’s hut. His father was sleeping, but the headman’s daughter said, ‘He will be well again, one day, never fear. We shall care for him. He commands that you go on your voyage as though he were with you.’

  ‘But I cannot leave him,’ said Harald.

  ‘Is the son less of a Viking than the father?’ asked the girl.

  Harald stood ashamed. The girl smiled at him then and said, ‘This is his home now, as it is yours when you are not voyaging. Come and say goodbye to your father before you sail, that is all. Now go and get your things together, for Thorkell will not be pleased with you if you lag behind at the sailing.’

  Harald went out of the hut. Men were loading the provisions aboard, and the Vikings were already choosing their places in the ship, and packing their few belongings into the sea chests on which they sat to row. Here and there along the side of the Nameless, men were hanging their shields, one overlapping the other, to keep the water out in a high sea.

  Harald stood irresolute for a moment, then suddenly he felt that he must ask Odin to look after his father while he was away from him. An idea struck him and without looking back at the ship, he turned and ran as hard as he could up the hillside towards the great forest.

  At last, tired and panting, he stood on the outskirts of the wooded heights. Choosing the greatest pine he could see, he slipped off his gold arm-ring and flung it up into the boughs, saying, ‘An offering, Father Odin. It is all I have to give you. May my father prosper and be made whole again.’

  Then he turned to go down to the ship again. But as he went he began to recall how he had rejoiced when his father had come striding towards Gudröd’s Hall, laughing, and bearing that same gold ring.

  ‘Wear this, my son,’ he had said. ‘And may fortune smile upon us all the days it clasps your arm.’

  Now he had thrown away his father’s precious gift. Suddenly it did not seem the right thing to do. Moreover, his father had prayed for success to fall upon them, not him alone. As he stood under the great pine tree, Harald, his dark northern superstitions stifling his reason, feared that by giving away the ring, even to Odin, he was somehow working against, and not for, his father’s chances of survival.

  With a low cry, he began to climb the pine tree. It was not easy. Nor was the ring at first visible. But at last he saw it, dangling precariously, between two small shoots. Ignoring the difficulties, and the pain of the ascent, he clambered up towards it. And, as he reached out to take it, he begged Odin to forgive him.

  ‘One day, I will make you a finer offering, Father,’ he said. He put the ring back upon his arm. And then he froze in a sudden fear. He heard voices below the tree. And one voice that he already knew. He looked down cautiously. Three men stood at the edge of the wood, only a few yards beneath him, talking earnestly and smiling wickedly. One of them was Ragnar. The others were not of the venture and Harald did not recognize them. Yet he saw by their ornaments and their black hair that they must be of Ragnar’s own folk, Danes.

  Ragnar was saying, ‘So, my friends, this is your chance. Ride fast and tell them up the fjord that we sail today. Yours is a bigger ship and should find us before we are far from shore. Have no fear, Thorkell will do as I wish.’

  One of the others said, ‘Then perhaps we can take the Nameless without having to fight?’

  Ragnar turned on him with a black scowl. ‘Not even I can make Thorkell lay down his arms. No, he will fight, whatever happens. I meant that I can cause him to furl sail if it seems that we have too great a start on you, so that you may catch up. And don’t forget, I shall have to make a pretence at fighting by his side. See that your men know that. I do not want them to come at me like boars, or they will take an arm from me by mistake!’

  Harald said grimly to himself, ‘An arm for a leg, Ragnar! You deserve it!’ Then the tears flooded his eyes again and blinded him. When he looked again they had gone, and Ragnar was striding down the hill towards the longship, waving to Thorkell.

  Harald followed after him at a distance, wondering what he could do to prevent Ragnar’s treachery. One thing he dared not do and that was tell Thorkell about it yet, for there was no proof. Whatever he did must be done when they were well afloat.

  Harald stopped at the headman’s hut. His father greeted him warmly and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Go, my young Viking,’ he said. ‘And may Odin heal my leg well enough for me to follow you on the next ship that sails from this fjord. Now go, and all fortune with you. If you stay longer I shall forget that I am a warrior.’

  But Harald was not yet a warrior. The tears ran down his cheeks unchecked as he clambered into the Nameless.

  6

  Strange Happening

  The Nameless moved slowly away from the shore, heading towards the open sea which lay not much more than ten miles away. Harald stood beneath the mast, looking up at those of the villagers who ran alongside, on the rocks above the fjord, keeping up with the ship for as long as they might, and shouting down messages of goodwill to the crew. Then his eyes filled with tears and he lowered his head.

  When he looked up again, the village on the shore was out of sight. The great adventure had started. Now Harald’s heart lifted and he began to think more calmly about his father’s misfortunes. He consoled himself by thinking that Odin had wished it to happen as it did. And Sigurd would be the first to agree with that, Harald felt sure, after what he had said earlier.

  Now Harald looked about him in the longship. The oarsmen seated on their sea chests had stopped rowing, for the wind had freshened enough to carry them well away from the rocky shore and out in the middle of the fjord. The great coloured sail was unfurled, and bellied out strongly, proudly displaying its bright coloured stripes. The white pennant stuck out almost rigid, towards the bow of the boat, in the following breeze.

  Harald sat down, over the loose planks in the middle of the ship, below which the provisions and weapons were stored, the latter oiled with pig’s fat and wrapped in sheepskin to keep them dry. Beside him sat four others,
playing dice and telling tales already. There were sixteen oar-ports on each side of the Nameless, which meant that she needed thirty-two oarsmen to keep her going well. Thorkell as the leader, and Rolf as the steersman, stood in the stern. Ragnar, self-appointed as second-in-command, stood in the bow, acting as a look-out. So were the forty shipmen disposed in the Nameless. The five who rested replaced oarsmen as they became tired, and were themselves later replaced by others who had enjoyed a spell away from the oars. Though, once out in the open sea, it was not the custom to use oar-power – and then the men rested, waiting for the first sight of land.

  Overhead the afternoon sky was clear and blue in the sun’s light. The white gulls swept here and there about the ship, sometimes just skimming the mast-top, as though they were curious about this new creature that had come to ride the waves with them. One gull even alighted on the high golden prow, just above Ragnar’s head, and seemed to regard him for a while, critically, before flying away to its fellows with a harsh squawk. At this, many of the Vikings smiled, and one or two of them even laughed aloud.

  ‘A gull can judge a man,’ whispered Björn to Hasting, for neither of them had any love for this arrogant newcomer to the crew.

  Hasting said, ‘He holds the place that you should have by rights, my friend. You built this ship and none knows her better than you.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Björn, who was a reasonable man. ‘If Thorkell says that Ragnar is to be second master of her, who am I to deny it?’ And he went on whittling at a piece of oak which he had brought with him on to the ship. The oak-chips lay about his feet, gold in the sunlight, until the wind whipped them away and over the side of the Nameless.