Meanwhile, Thorfinn went and sat down nearby. He wasn’t at all worried about his father, as he knew he was by far the best swordsman. He stretched a torn piece of sail across his knee, then he got a bit of charcoal and started to write.
Thorfinn was right, as it turned out. Erik was no match for Harald. They didn’t call him the Skull-Splitter for nothing.
With an almighty CRACK! Harald split Erik’s sword in two. Everyone applauded. Even Ragnar was impressed.
Erik stared down at its shattered remains. “That was my fifth favourite sword!” he snarled, then tossed the hilt over the side and charged at Harald.
Thorfinn’s father didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle, until Erik was just feet away. He thrust his right arm out in front of him, his fist pointing straight at Erik’s face. Thwock!
Erik rebounded, his one eye rolling, his cheeks wobbling like jelly, and fell against the mast.
Harold joked, “You’ve got five swords. It’s a pity you don’t have any more heads.” This brought gales of laughter from the crew.
Erik staggered about holding his head, crying, “THE BELLS! THE BELLS! THEY WON’T STOP.” The crew were bent double now. Erik steeled himself, roared like a bear and charged at Harald once again.
Just then, Thorfinn handed the famous Viking a bit of cloth he’d been writing on.
Everyone froze, even Thorfinn’s father and Erik, who were by now sprawled across the deck wrestling cheek to cheek. They half expected to see Thorfinn being chucked over the side of the boat.
“You again? What’s this?” said Ragnar. He opened out the cloth. It said:
“It’s your name,” said Thorfinn. “That’s how you write it down. I can teach you if you like. It would probably make your fans a lot happier when you sign autographs.”
For one moment, Ragnar looked at the cloth, then at Thorfinn. Then he looked at the cloth again. Nobody was sure how he was going to react.
Then a booming laugh erupted from his chest. He ruffled Thorfinn’s hair, picked him up, danced about with him, and then put him down again.
“The boy can teach me to write!” he exclaimed. “Ha! Think on it. Next time I meet the King, he will be sooo impressed.”
The entire crew sighed with relief.
***
After he’d learned to write his own name, Ragnar the Granny-Wrestler left the boat and hauled his way across the divide between the two ships.
“Set a course for the royal capital!” he roared to his men.
When he got to his own longship he heaved himself on board and stood erect on the deck. He turned, and waved at them with his sword.
“Bye, Thorfinn. When I see the King I will sign my autograph for him, like this.”
He held up the cloth.
They sailed off before Thorfinn could get Ragnar to turn it the right way up.
“Well,” said his father as they watched Ragnar’s ship disappear towards Norway. “It looks like we’ve found another use for you, young Thorfinn.”
“What do you mean?” said Erik. “Because of him, everyone will think we’re a bunch of twits.”
“Because of him, you overgrown jellyfish,” said Oswald, leaning on his cane, “we are a friend of Ragnar. The King himself may hear of us.”
“Thorfinn the Pencil-Sharpener?” said Olaf, but this time only his own father responded. Nobody else laughed.
“Ha!” snorted Erik, and he stomped off, muttering about revenge.
