The fog was painfully slow to clear that day, and even when visibility was at its best, there were tendrils of mistiness clinging to the hollows in the shelter of the bordering woodland. We arrived at the fishing settlement much too late for any sea travel on that day. The course of any boat setting out from here would normally sweep in a large arc to the west, avoiding contact with the occupants of the island fortress of Steep Holme. This diversion more than doubled the distance of the easier, direct route.
The area of sea was swept by the phenomenon of an enormous tidal rise and fall. The boat’s master would try to time his departure so that he could use the rushing water to his advantage. If he timed it badly, then the boat would have to moor-up and hope its anchor would hold against the rushing press of the eager water.
‘You’re damned well right again you know.’ exclaimed Alfred. ‘We do need ships.’ he put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Warships, with experienced people to manage and handle them.’
‘Aye Sire. If the Viking were to be denied their control of the sea, our rich shores would not seem to appeal so strongly.’
‘But look even farther.’ said Alfred, his eyes glittered with a deep hardness. ‘We could take the damned war across the sea to their shores.’
We both sank into silence, gazing towards the shrouded area of sea where the intrusive island bastion lay. The heathen horde was our enemy, but they had so much that they could teach us. Perhaps we should take some useful prisoners I thought.
Bearn and his companions left us shortly after we arrived at the tiny shoreline settlement. We were as safe as we would ever be on this side of the Sea Bearn told us and the three men had quickly started back, wanting to arrive at the monastery by nightfall to avoid the chill of the coming frosty night. With luck, he told us, they would arrive home by nightfall tomorrow. We wished them well and Alfred gave Bearn a letter of marque that gave him a Royal Commission to harass and destroy the enemy invaders, as and when the opportunity became available. I felt sorry at their leaving, they had an independence that I envied and we had all become firm friends. But that’s often a product of battle I thought, one day here and gone the next.
Our night was warm enough and not too uncomfortable, but we awoke itching and prickly, we’d both been thoroughly bitten by tiny bugs while we slept. There was no water and soap for washing and we felt very much the worse for wear when a scruffy urchin came to fetch us.
Breakfast was a hurried affair as the tides would turn towards the ebb soon after dawn and our shipmaster wanted to be well clear of the land by the time the seas bent their efforts towards the flow.
The morning was calm and happily, it was also clear, the bright air had a raw, cold edge that numbed our toes and fingers. A useful, if icy, breeze pushed quietly out of the north east and all seemed to be set fair for a good crossing. We were carefully installed on the fishing boat, well aft of the areas required to work the sail and oars and forward of the space needed by the master for steering and piloting. Bluntly speaking, we were, out of the way.
It was to be my first time at sea in a proper ship and I was looking forward to learning as much as I could. My Lord King announced that travel by sea distressed him terribly and he would prefer to lay wrapped against the cold in the makeshift shelter that had been put up for us.
As we edged out of the purse-sized harbour, the sea took the little ship in a gentle rolling motion and the wind, as it filled the heavily patched brown sail, pushed the leeward edge of the boat close to the tops of the jade filled waves. We seemed to be coursing along at a fine rate, but a look over my shoulder showed that the shoreline was only moving by at a snail’s pace.
The master, seeing that I was interested in the ship’s workings called me up to what he grandly called the Master’s Deck. From here he steered the little ship using a large oar that pivoted on a heavy wooden peg set into the roundly curved stern of the hull. Patiently, the young man explained the workings and the practice of balancing the ship against the wind.
Being a seaman, he wasn’t much concerned with the affairs of landers, as he called us, and it was quite refreshing not to have the usual comments on my exaggerated and imagined heroics when I introduced myself. His own name, he told me proudly, was David. After the local bishop of the same name.
While we made our way westwards he kept our position fairly close-in to the steep cliffs of his wild country of Gwent. He explained that the tide ran less vigorously here and it would make manoeuvring easier should we need to take flight from the ever present threat of the northern pirates. A sharp eyed lookout for Viking longships was kept at all times while we cruised towards our crossing point. The Norsemen were fine sailors and, although their ships were bigger and more powerful, they would always approach and leave the area by the same sea routes as those that we, and all our fishermen, followed.
With interest I noted that the sailing master reported that there’d been a lessening in the movement of Viking ships over the last dozen days or so. It was, I thought, an ominous indicator that perhaps they had completed the preparations for their invasion of our Wessex. I went towards our shelter to tell Alfred, but decided the news would wait when the noise of his retching and moaning greeted me. A crewman assured me that he would be alright, it was only an attack of what he called the seasickness. Quietly, I went back to the ship’s master.
The ship ploughed a soft foamy furrow across the sea, I found the movement curiously restful, almost mesmerising. My mind drifted off with the sighing breeze, this is what I would like to do. Although a relative landsman, I felt at home standing on the worn planks of the master’s deck. The occasional plopping sound of the baling bucket, the rhythmic creaking and thrumming of the rigging and, above all, the sound of the living sea against the old hull timbers seemed a natural, comforting music.
I resolved to make a point of discussing the early prospects of our own Marine Forces at the very first opportunity. I should also make some personal plans I thought, to make sure I was in a position to lead a life at sea with these wonderful craft.
My dreams and thoughts were idyllic and, I suppose, an indulgence. I hadn’t the experience to contemplate the potential problems involved with running a large number of ships and their crews. But, I reasoned, knowing the areas of my deficiency was probably a good way along the route to defeating them. Under the tutelage of someone like the man who now stood confidently beside me I was sure that I could do it. And do it well.
For some while the master and I talked about the problems of position and the difficulties of even simple navigation. Over the years he had learned to recognise the silhouettes of the various prominent headlands and coastlines, he had seen some maps once, but didn’t possess any. I told him of the ones I had studied in the library at Athelney and, although sceptical, I think he was impressed by my knowledge, particularly in the area of the stars in our night skies.
We wouldn’t be at sea overnight on this trip, but I promised to show him the position of useful stars like Polaris, the North Star at the first opportunity.
‘The heathen must be in possession of similar knowledge of stars and the like.’ said David. ‘In the foulest of weather they always seem to make their landfall at the entrance to the Severn Sea.’ he shook his head. ‘Magic, I calls it.’
‘What happens when you meet with any of their ships.’ I asked.
‘Well, every time I’ve crossed them, they’ve given chase. Once or twice, they nearly caught us too.’ he chuckled. ‘But we’ve a method of sailing that they can’t copy. And, providing there’s enough wind, we can out run them.’ David was quietly thoughtful for a moment.
‘Dunno what would happen if there was more than one of ‘em though.’
‘What’s the secret then.’ I asked him.
He looked at me and shrugged.
‘Well, you know how the sail works. It needs wind behind it to push the ship through the water. Most craft go best when the wind’s dead behind. Well, we have a way around it. We’ve almost perfected the method for what we call, sailing off the wind.’
David bubbled with enthusiasm as he showed me the fin shaped boards that could be lowered over the ship’s side to reduce the sideways movement of the ship. He pointed out the special rigging that he’d devised. With the extra ropes, and a pole or two he said, they could manoeuvre the sail to collect the breeze from almost any direction. Even when it was blowing almost right across the beam he told me proudly.
‘I’ll show you soon.’ he promised. ‘We need to turn onto a new course soon to head towards the south and the wind direction has moved, it’s now slightly south of east. It should be a lively trip.’ he smiled.
We cruised slowly along under the towering cliffs with their wheeling, noisy flocks of seabirds. Under a very watchful eye, I was given charge of the steering for a while and was surprised by the slow, sluggish response to the oar. You had to be thinking well ahead I thought.
We reached a point along a line towards a sword-sharp headland and the Master took the helm. With a stamp on the deck planking he called the half dozen crew members together and set them about rigging the ship to sail south. The lee-boards, as he called them, were slung and carefully lashed into place then two men swung themselves into the mast shrouds and swarmed up to the cross brace near its top. From here they manoeuvred the heavy, flapping sail on its timber spar into a new position. The result looked most ungainly, with the flapping sail rigged across the sturdy mast, almost in line with the hull.
As the Master brought the ship’s heading around towards the south, the crew heaved in on the extra lines fitted to the foot of the sail and we began to pick up speed. On our new heading, the motion of the craft became easier and we began to make good progress. The ebb tide was still running and wouldn’t turn until we were a little over half way across. The overall effect, was to carry us in a looping westward arc as we attempted to sail directly across from the wild shores of Gwent to the soft hills and coast of our home.
The smoother progress relieved the strain on the King’s system and, pale and drawn, he made a brief appearance on deck. The appearance of food proved too much for him though, and he soon retreated, back to the tiny tarpaulin shelter. The rest of us tucked into a mug of a hot soupy stew that had been heated on an open brazier, followed by fresh bread and goat cheese. The charcoal brazier seemed a dangerous affair to me, but the crewman in charge of cooking assured me it was safe enough.
The recent long days of travel began to tell on me and, with a nicely full stomach and lulled by the ship’s motion, I settled myself comfortably against a coil of rope. Within a very few moments I had fallen asleep and was vaguely aware of my riffling snores, as though I were listening to someone else.
‘A sail! A sail!’ yelled a man from aloft where he sat astride the spar, gripping the mast cross-brace.
‘Pirates Ho!’ someone else yelled as he shoved me roughly awake and out of his way.
‘Let’s pray this wind holds true.’ muttered David handing the steering oar to a crewman. ‘If you can use that bow Ranulf, take it with you down to the cross thwarts and stand by to help with an oar if we need ‘em.’ he called to me.
‘The dragonship has altered her course toward us.’ came another shout from aloft.
I collected our weapons and brought Alfred down to the ship’s rowing positions, explaining briefly to him what had happened. His sickness had improved, but the prospect of action quickly pressed it even farther into the background of his thoughts.
We were each assigned to an experienced crewman, one to each side of the rowing gallery. We sat with our backs to the plunging bow, facing the sailing master as he paced his small deck.
David surveyed his ship and his experienced eyes gauged the course and speeds of each vessel.
‘I think we may outrun them.’ He said, voicing his thoughts. ‘It will be a close thing. But we might just do it.’
He sprung nimbly to the ship’s side and, clutching a tarred rope shroud, shaded his eyes to peer into the hazy distance.
‘Lookout!’ he called to the cross-brace. ‘Is that another sail to the north.’ he pointed slightly to the north of the enemy that was now plainly in sight.
‘Aye sir. Another enemy by the looks of her. She’s still hull down. But I’m sure it’s another dragon.’
‘Stand by to bring the Ship about.’ ordered David. ‘We’ll head as close as we can towards them before turning to the south again.’
The ropes creaked and the ships movement became livelier as we swung slowly around to face towards the east. We would be heading in a direction which would considerably shorten the distance before we met the approaching warships. As far as I could see this would do two things, one would be to make the enemy uncertain of its presumed supremacy the other would give them less room for manoeuvre when we again altered course. The larger Viking ship would need to resort to her oarsmen to follow us. And, if the wind held, they would also need to take in their sail.
The song of the water against the little ship’s side sounded more urgent as it bore us along towards our fate. The crew members around us were silent, but strangely relaxed. Quite unlike the land troops as they neared a possible fight.
Carefully I eased myself up until I could look over the gunwale, from my low vantage point I could only see the sail of the nearest warship. It was easily twice the size of our poor be-patched cloth and was brightly coloured with broad red and white stripes. As I watched, both craft rose to the crest of a wave at the same time and there, across a shimmering strip of choppy sea was the mighty dragon ship. She was pointed at both ends and her planks ran in a graceful curve from the high bow, with its snarling figurehead, to its own Masters deck at the stern. Along the length of the broad beam was a row of war shields, each was brightly coloured, emblazoned with the emblems of their owners.
The ship was beautiful. I tried to describe her to Alfred but, whether it was the illness or weariness, he seemed angry and ordered me to come down.
I stole one last look and, although the waves again hid the ship from view, I could plainly see the sail and with a start, I found that I could now see the second vessel. The course of the newcomer, would if we were not careful, intercept us after we had turned away towards the Wessex coast. He must be sailing very quickly to be catching up so fast.
The germ of an idea formed in my mind. I must, and quickly, speak to the Master.
Before the King could object, I hopped up and, tottering on the sloping deck, made my way the short distance to the Master’s deck. With a look of annoyance he came across to where I waited.
‘You really must go back down sir, if they get close enough to see you they’ll be on to us. Forgive me, but you don’t look like a sailor. Your clothes mark you as a noble.’
‘Aye sir, I’ll go right away. Just a quick word first though, if you would.’
‘Make it double-quick then if you must.’ he frowned at a briefly flapping corner of the sail.
I looked over the bow and there, fine on the left hand side of the plunging stem were the two bright squares of billowing sails. If, at the last moment, we were to turn through the wind and ride past the Vikings to windward then we would have the advantage. They were undoubtedly positioning themselves to run down on us as we passed them on this course-line, and stood every chance of successfully bracketing us, with one ship before us and one behind.
My idea was to pass across the stern of each Pirate vessel and into each, send a volley of fire arrows from my bow using some tarred rope wound about each shaft.
It had been the brazier and the chance of a fire on board that had sown the seed of the idea in my mind. A serious fire at sea must be a terrifying experience and if successful, would keep them occupied while we made good our escape.
‘No! Too dangerous. And a dirty way of fighting too. We’ll take our chances the honourable way.’ David said, his voice rumbling with his anger. ‘Get below.’
‘Aye sir.’ I answered and, dispirited, threaded my way back to my rowing bench.
‘This fellow has just been telling us what your marvellous heathen sailors do to their prisoners.’ said Alfred from beneath a heavy frown. ‘They held his last sailing master against his own mast, where the crew could watch. They used a war axe, opened his chest and reached into the bloody hole. They pulled out his lungs and, while he was still alive, put one over each shoulder.’ Alfred shuddered. ‘Flying Angel they called it. It’s what they’ll do to all of us if we don’t renounce Christ and our glorious Christian ways.’
‘That is awful Sire. But you misunderstand me, I don’t think the Viking Pirates are remarkable in any sense at all.
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ he answered. ‘While this good man died, his mouth wide for a scream that couldn’t come, they stood around drinking from cups filled from his spouting blood.’
The king looked at me, a cold expression of angry disappointment barely shrouded in the deep, normally guarded eyes.
There must have been some sort of gross misunderstanding. I wracked my memory trying to remember what I’d said. ‘Surely sir, I have given you no reason to doubt my loyalty to you and to Wessex. If there has been some kind of misconception, I am sorry.’
I was about to add that it was an odd thing to be accused of, considering what we’d recently gone through at the hands of the powerful heathen horde, but I held my tongue.
‘Ranulf.’ called the Sailing Master gruffly. ‘We’ll try it your way. Get yourself ready.’
‘Aye sir.’ I called, glad to have something to do.
Looking up, over the spray shrouded bow, I could see that the second dragon ship was hurrying to position herself to cut us off. As I thought she might. Very carefully I bound some lengths of light, tar-soaked cord around the shafts of a dozen arrows, just behind their fine iron points.
The master called the crew to ready the sail for a change of course towards the north east. All except two sprang to their allotted positions. These two men, one older with white wispy hair, were on their knees in front of Alfred while he appeared to be conducting a service.
‘You two. Man your posts.’ barked the Master. ‘Now!’
‘We are praying for strength and success against the enemy, Master.’ volunteered the older man, his straggly white hair drawn across his face.
‘If you don’t look sharp you’ll be able to ask him personally.’ David took a stride towards them. ‘Jump to it. I’ll not tell you again.’
Grudgingly they both stood and moved to their positions. From across the waves, carried by the freshening breeze, we could hear the voices of the pirate crews, their jeering, guttural shouts and yells. David waved a hand at them in an unmistakable Saxon gesture and calmly turned to speak to the crew,
‘Right my jolly men. Now that we’re all ready, listen very carefully. We will be changing our course slightly in a moment to send us towards the stern of each of those warships ahead. Moving away from the trap they are trying to spring.’ David paused to look over the bow at the now frighteningly close dragonships.
‘When we get close to the first one, we will need to turn and alter our sail back again so that we can resume our course line and pass up wind, behind them. As we do this, Ranulf here, will let fly with a salvo of flaming arrows into each of them.’
The Sailing Master looked around at his shabby crew, a sadness in his eyes. ‘If you must pray, then ask for His help to send the arrows true and for courage. In the next few moments we can avenge the deaths and cruelties that have been brought to us and our families. Once again, we will be the masters of our sea.’
We sailed on in silence a mumbled word leaking from tight lips here and there and fingers flickered, making the sign of the cross.
Already I could feel the wild rage of the warrior building and beginning to fill my chest. In the chilling breeze I could feel the slickness of the sweat on my skin, salt tickled and stung the corners of my eyes. My shots would have to be good. They would be taken by surprise and if the wind held we must win.
‘Standby.’ called David narrowing his eyes to gauge our progress.
We seemed to be tearing along at a fine rate and surely, getting quickly to the point where it would almost be too late to turn away. The brightly striped sail seemed to tower over us and the stench from the warship’s lower deck came to us across the spangle of waves.
Above the rows of heavy warshields we could see the bronzed faces and fiery beards of the Vikings. Some waved vicious looking axes in the air and screamed promises of dreadful deeds. Fortunately, our brave fishermen couldn’t understand. I was about to stand and return their promises with some of my own ideas when David laid a steadying hand on my shoulder.
‘Not yet man. Stay hidden until the last moment. It will appear more natural if we stay silent.’ he turned to the crew men. ‘Heave on those lines my lucky lads, let’s give these vermin a lesson in seamanship.’
The commander of the nearest Viking longship must have sensed something wrong because, as we turned through the fresh easterly breeze, he loosed the ropes that tethered his sail and his ship began to rapidly slow down.
Ponderously, our sturdy bow slowly swung away from a collision and we began a plunging, swooping run which passed down the length of the sleek hull of the warship. Above us we could clearly see the faces of our enemy, one or two were inquisitive, most wildly aggressive. A spear glittered against the sky before it plunged downwards toward us to disappear with a hiss into the patch of smoothed sea that was lodged between us.
The fresh breeze began to take effect and drove us along, steadily opening the green-grey gap between us.
‘Standby men. Any moment now, and we will turn for our run past these sea cows. And give them a right royal roasting.’ David bent to check for empty sea room behind the taught-bellied sail and thrust the handle of the steering oar away from him.
‘Now lads. The smartest change you’ve ever done.’
As we turned the second ship came into view, oars sprouting from its sides like the legs of a sleepy spider crawling from a cider jar. Our turn had been as tight as our sailing master could manage and we swung across the high pointed stern of the Pirate ship. I held an arrow near to the flickering glow of the cook’s brazier, the coil of braided cord smouldered and suddenly burst brightly into a strong flame. I took a brief aim and loosed the arrow into a smooth, low arc that curved its smoky trail over the faces peering from the high stern deck above us. As the ships rolled together we could see the arrow bury its barbed nose into their mast and rigging near to the top of their pirouetting masthead. Nothing happened. Quickly I fired a further three arrows their smudged blue trails tracing the arc of their travel. One fell short, cheated of its target by the plunging roll of the two decks, the other two found marks within the hull and, judging by the scream, in a body.
Still nothing happened. The force of the arrow’s flight must have extinguished the tarred cord I thought. I plunged another two shafts deep into the hot coals and, with a chill sweat on my face waited while the flames bit into the tarred yarn. Again I pulled and fired. One after the other the shafts traced a smudge of blue to where they became embedded in the mast of the dragon ship.
I was so angry that my plan had failed, at the terribly obvious weak-link, that I failed to hear the cheering from David’s crew. When I again took aim I saw the smoke and a flickering of steady flames that had begun to thrust their roots into the rigging and mast timbers of the Viking warrior.
Having gained a hold, the flames spread with amazing speed, and in the space of a breath or two, reduced the proudly striped sail to a flaming, tattered pennant.
Our vessel moved persistently and steadily away from the first British marine engagement with an enemy ship. While we watched, the mast became a beacon and, despite the efforts of the crew to cut it free and send it over the ship’s side, it slowly toppled and fell forwards amongst the struggling crew with a cloud of sparks and smoke. Through gaps in the side along the rowing deck we could see the glow of flames as the fire swept hungrily through the ship.
‘Well done.’ called David. ‘Let’s see you do that again.’
He had altered our boat’s course slightly to put some distance between us and the second ship, which had begun to spin toward us under its oars. Their sail had been neatly furled and was lashed to its spar. The long oars swept the sea with a disciplined unison. The next engagement would not be so swift as the last.
In the bow of the long craft, either side of the sweeping dragon’s neck we could see what looked like bristling hairs. At the same time as David, I realised what they were. They were Viking spearmen and archers who had been drawn up to attack us as we passed beneath their swinging prow.
‘We can do no more.’ said David. ‘I haven’t the room or time to change course again. Do your best, perhaps train some arrows towards the Master’s deck. If you can hit the ship’s Commander, we may yet win.
I nodded, plunging three prepared arrows into the brazier. The distance between us was shrinking quickly, a curling lip of white foam rose from the bow as the strutting oars brought the dragonship straight towards us.
I lifted an arrow to the bow string, the flaring smoke stung my eyes and I knew as I loosed the shaft that it would be a wasted shot. Before it plunged into the cold sea I had another shaft knocked and, taking a careful aim, I sent it to plunge into the masthead rigging above the rolled sail. Again, nothing appeared to happen. I reached for another arrow and found it being passed to my fingers, Alfred’s pale but wanly smiling face appeared at my elbow. He had picked another three shafts from my small and shrinking pile, and was coaxing them into a flame.
‘Thought you could use some help my boy. Now, show this scum some good British shooting.’
‘Bring us close to the windward side David.’ I called, then added respectfully. ‘If you can sir.’
‘To your oars men. We’ll show them how to sail.’
The men leapt to their positions and flung themselves into action. As ponderous as she was, I could feel the old hull surge as their broad bladed oars bit into the water. It seemed as though we would surely be rammed, but the wind, acting against the high sides of the Norseman pushed their ship very slightly aside. Far enough for our small craft to slip by, just out of range of the Viking spearmen. A few of the archers tried their luck, but most of the arrows fell short, some half dozen thudded into the deck, I’d pull them out and reuse them later.
Our own ammunition was well alight by the time I loosed the next shafts. I sent each of them with care through the apertures that we’d noticed on the first ship, straight into the rowing positions of the lower deck. Shouts rose and an oar or two stopped, each one fouling its neighbour. A smudging of pale smoke drifted above the ships side which boosted my spirits. I sent another brace of arrows in the same way and was rewarded by a similar response and a sluing of the ship in the water as some oarsmen moved to avoid the fiery death from my arrows.
The masthead and furled sail began to leave a blue-grey smudge on the wind. Viking warriors filled leather buckets with water and tried to halt the progress of the fire. The smoke grew thicker and, as we passed under the stern of the dragonship, a panic was sweeping through the decks, men were jumping up onto the gunwales and dropping into the sea, some with their clothing alight. The flames rose into the air until we could see their hungry tongues flicking at the tinder dryness of the wooden ship.
At the steering position, silhouetted in the orangey-yellow glow of the growing inferno was a tall, unmoving figure that stood glaring down at us. The man had only one hand and with a shudder that touched my soul, I recognised him.
Brent had recovered with amazing speed.
Our men stopped their rowing and cheered. We had, I was sure, set a Royal Seal on the development of a British Marine force.