As best as I could, I made sure that the young woman knew she would be safe if she stayed inside. I turned a table on its side and put it in front of them as a shield. Wrapping the stinking mess that had been Brent and Ivar in their cloaks I dragged them outside of the small cottage and laid them in the street so that the Vikings could see that they were leaderless.
But there was no one there. I pulled my belt and scabbard free from Ivar’s corpse and rescued my gold, wolf’s head ring from the crumpled mess that had been Brent the-child-killer. The metal glowed in the warm sunlight as I slipped it onto my finger.
Dodging a poorly thrown javelin, I ran to the corner of the dusty road and peered carefully around the last wall. Through the drifting smoke from burning thatch, I could make out the shape of the long ship as she was being poled out into the river’s current. A large man, his blonde hair streaming in the wind, was on the raised master’s deck.
Roundly cursing Brosnan and all his progeny for leaving without me, I sprinted down the hill towards the river bank. The only hope of reaching my home shores was edging into the swift flowing flood of the river. I wondered if the increased water flow meant more storms inland. But it occurred to me that more probably, it was caused by the slackening of the tide downstream. In which case they would have to be careful not to run aground.
Ponderously the longship started to turn its sleek bows downstream. The helmsman overcorrected for the turn, and the narrow stern caught the faster current where the river’s swollen strength jetted between the arches of the stone bridge. The ship was quickly swung onto the far bank, where it stuck. The wash of water, as the river swept past the hull, pressed it further into the shallows.
I shouted to them and tore along the track towards the bridge. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a group of the local warriors, their robes streaming as they rushed for the same goal. Brosnan saw them too, and had his crewmen bring out the poles to shove themselves free, boxes of stores were pulled out and flung overboard to lighten the load.
It looked as though I would arrive at the narrow bridge entrance at the same time as the defenders. It crossed my mind that I could leap into the river and try swimming, but the swollen, swirling of brown water that tumbled past persuaded me against the idea. I tucked my head down and, sucking at the air, made my legs run faster than they had ever travelled before. I rounded the edge of the parapet wall a matter of a few strides ahead of them. An arrow shaft hissed passed my shoulder and rattled against the stonework.
Weaving and dodging, I ran on, my chest heaved painfully and I reached the far river bank at the instant they managed to clear the ship from the dragging shallows of sucking mud. The river seemed to pick the boat up in its headlong tumbling rush to the sea and it carried it along faster than any sail or oar. The mocking cheer from the Viking warriors and crewmen dwindled quickly into the distance, as the ship flew away from where I stood gasping for breath. It had rounded the first bend and was already out of sight before the leading Moor warrior caught up with me.
So my choice became limited to but one option, I whirled around with my sword arm held low. As it came towards the Moorish warrior, almost of its own volition, it swung diagonally upwards inside his guard and scored a crimson line from his belly to his throat. The man screamed, and clutching his belly, staggered back into his followers. I continued my whirling motion and threw myself into the rush of brown water.
The current tumbled me over and spun me about so that I couldn’t tell for certain which way was up. My chest ached fit to burst and my heart beat so strongly in my ears that I thought it would crash its way out. With my eyes clenched tightly shut, I briefly felt the coolness of the air on my face. My mouth gulped at it, and before the river could tumble me over again I struck out with a heavy arm to pull myself towards the reeded bank and quieter water. I was amazed to discover that my right fist was still clenched tight about the handle of my sword. Rolling onto my back, I pushed it firmly into its scabbard and secured it with the thong loop.
Planting my feet firmly on the stony bottom I heaved myself up, and peering through the thickly growing reeds, looked back to see where my pursuers were. A sharp hiss boiled the water near my back. Instinctively I knew it was an arrow and I glimpsed the archer on the opposite bank as I ducked back under the water. My feet slipped on the stones as I shoved myself back into the roiling current. My fingers scrabbled at the stony bottom as I pulled myself along at the edge of the reeded bank and all the while, the racing river currents plucked and grabbed at my body and legs, trying to drag me into its embrace. My lungs bursting and bright lights flashing behind my eyelids I grabbed at the passing reeds and pulled my head above the swirling water and sucked at the air.
Something hit the back of my head with such a thump I thought I had been shot. Dazed, the river caught me greedily and swung my tired body into its dashing stream. Gingerly I felt across my shoulder, expecting to feel the grotesque shape of a slender shaft protruding from the wet slickness of my heavy tunic. But there was nothing. The water blurred my eyes as I tried to scan the banks. A black shape reared enormously out of the water beside me. It looked like an arm, many arms. But forcing down my panic, I saw that the lashing tentacles of my water monster, black and dripping, was nothing but a floating tree. It must have been one of its branches that had cracked me on the head. I lunged forward to grab at its support. Slowly I managed to pull myself along the broken branches to the main trunk, and hanging on tight, I let it carry me down the sweep of river.
My breathing soon became controllable and I looked around cautiously for my arrow shooting hunter, but from my low viewpoint he was nowhere to be seen. Despite the warmth from the sun, I shivered with the chill of the river. The tree-trunk began to rotate as its branches and broken boughs snagged on the rocky bottom. I used one of the rolls to lift my body from the water to get a view of the way ahead. With what seemed the speed of a galloping horse I was being taken towards a sharp bend in the river where it flowed westwards around the foot of a steep hillside. I remembered from our very recent trip in the opposite direction that the village that straddled the river was not far beyond. If they had remade their rope bridge, the ship would be caught like a trout in a basket. Or perhaps it would be tripped, rolled over and capsized.
While I was lifted up, clear of the tumbling brown water, I could see a good way behind and, judging by the cloud of dust, we were being pursued in earnest. Probably a mounted force of Arab warriors with I thought, a company of warriors on foot bringing up the rear.
I heaved myself bodily out of the water and onto the trunk of my unlikely raft. My spirits leaped, an arrow shot away, was the ship. It was on the opposite side of a broadly sweeping curve and seemed to be going well. The flash of sun on a wet oar loom showed that they had at least some oars out to help the steering, so someone must be advising Brosnan.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled.
‘Brosnaaan! Damn you. Wait for me.’
But of course they didn’t hear. Even if they did, there would be little that they could do. I sat and watched helplessly as we were swept around the curve towards the downstream village.
The river wound its way to the sea in a serpentine fashion, so it could, I thought be a shorter route than the road. The River’s course was changed by the craggy bulk of hills and it filled many of the gaps that were open to it. The road would have to either go around all these obstacles or rise onto the high spine of ground above. The forested slopes between the river and the ridge looked thickly covered, and from what I could see, filled at ground level with a tangle of undergrowth. Whatever road there was, it would be well used and probably Roman in origin. I decided it would be on the high ground, which would bring the troops down into the village and directly onto the flanks of the river. If the ship became snagged on the rope crossing for long, the men would be cut to pieces by the archers amongst the more slowly following men on foot.
The river swung into a narrow rocky cleft, my raft rolled a little, I clung on tight, I was not going to be thrown off. In the distance, at the point of the arrow head shaped valley, I saw smoke. A sure sign that the settlement was very close. From the top of the high eastern ridge, I thought I glimpsed the orange flash of the setting sun reflecting on steel through the trees, but I couldn’t be certain.
The ship was still moving ahead of me and swinging into what could well be the last bend. The water around me seemed to be slowing, and as I reached the curve, through the gathering gloom of dusk I saw why. Since our upstream journey a rock fall had narrowed the sheer sides of the riverbed to a quarter its size. The shattered base of my tree trunk, with its submerged tangle of twisted roots, lined itself up in the main flow and it shot into the gap. It accelerated quickly until its branches snagged and jammed it firmly into the space like a brewers bung in an oversized hogshead. The angry river boiled about me plucking and clutching at my legs through my breeches. Hanging on with one arm, I reached down and managed to pull my heavy boots off. At the same instant the water surged over the heavy log, twisting it across the flow and carrying me from my craft on the edge of a foamy wave. I could hear the furious cracking and groaning as the weight of the river worked at the jammed tree. I prayed that it would not crash through on top of me.
The water below the jumbled rock-fall was surprisingly quiet and I was quickly brought to a floundering, gasping stop at the silted edge of the western bank.
My chest heaved painfully as my lungs panted for breath, there wasn’t a moment to lose. I heaved myself onto dry land and, stumbling, set out to trot along the bank in the direction of the ship. If they had steered well, they would have managed to shoot through the gap. I hoped the planking and timbers had withstood the twisting and bending.
I heard them through the nightfall’s early gloom, well before it was possible to see anything. They were obviously pleased with their escape, I could plainly hear laughter and the chant of a drinking song. The fools thought they were clear. I made my shaky legs go faster. There was no sign of any Arab warriors yet, but I thought it could not be long. The flowing rush of water had slowed noticeably, but this time I was sure that it would be because of the tide that was moving towards the not too distant shores of this land. Several times I thought that I could smell the familiar salty tang of weed and mud.
I was catching up with them, they had no lookouts and no one had noticed me. I took a deep breath and made my legs go faster to come abreast of them. I hoped that there would be no tangled brambles or briar blocking my path, because I would neither see it nor be able to avoid it.
‘Brosnan.’ I called across the water. ‘Brosnan, it’s me.’
‘So you got away then, you young fox.’ Brosnan didn’t sound too surprised to hear from me. I slowed to an easy trot.
‘We don’t have time for all that. Listen to me. Up ahead is probably a rope bridge. It connects the two settlements.’ I puffed.
‘What would you have me do.’ he asked amid a chorus of chuckles.
‘Give me some men and an axe. I’ll take them on ahead and clear the way. Then you could pick us up downstream.’ I answered, adding. ‘And keep the noise down. There’s a party of horse warriors making their way to the eastern bank. If you give them time to set up on this side as well you’ll be caught like a salmon in a trap.
There was a muttered discussion on the deck that was broken by Brosnan ordering lookouts and the oarsmen to ‘backwater’. The long ponderous ship edged closer to my side of the river.
‘How do you know all this?’ Brosnan asked, his voice was quieter now, not so confident.
‘I saw it on our way up. Simple as that.’ I said.
The ship had almost stopped now.
‘There are two towers, one on each side with a simple rope bridge between them. Lookouts at the river’s estuary pass the word to have the barrier moved, or to call the army.’
‘What do you need.’ he asked.
‘Eight men, two of them archers. And a long handled axe.’
Brosnan detailed some men. Before they leapt ashore, I noticed him speak quietly to one of them.
‘You can have six, No-man. Five of the best swordsmen and one bow-man.’ he said, then turned away to give an order to the oarsmen.
As the ship moved back into mid stream he added. ‘By Thor, you had better be successful, No-man.’
‘We will do our bit. Just be sure to pick us up downstream.’ I said, then decided to use my biggest advantage. ‘If you want to see the Merchant’s treasure again, that is?’
‘Ha!’ he laughed. ‘We found the strong-box already. Do you think we are stupid.’
‘Yes.’ I answered simply. ‘Brent and Ivar buried the treasure on Sark Island, while you lot were fighting and arguing amongst yourselves. Have you looked in the box?’
‘Why should I believe you? It’s lies, all lies.’ he said.
Brosnan bent and pulled the box from a small hatch in the Master’s deck. Someone brought a shaded lamp.
There was a gasp from those watching and a low moan from the blonde-haired champion.
‘There’s just rocks. Damn you Brent one-hand.’ he said. ‘Tell me where it’s been hidden No-man, and I’ll let you come with us.’
‘No, No. You keep me alive and I’ll show you where the treasure is hidden.’ I shivered in my wet clothes. ‘Otherwise you’ll have to dig up the whole of Sark Island. If you can find it that is.’
‘All right, all right!’ he snapped. ‘You can come with us No-man. As the guide.’
‘I come as a free man...and the Pilot.’ I gambled.
‘Right.’ he growled. ‘Now if we don’t get a move on, we’ll be struck down on this stinking river. I can see lamps ahead from your cursed village.’
I glanced downstream and was surprised to see the lights so close.
‘You must do just as I say. Or the voyage will end here, and you’ll end up on one of their iron horses.’ I whispered.
An urgent voice came from behind the sulky shadow of Brosnan. ‘I am Gort, the chief steersman, tell us what we must do.’
‘Keep silence on board. Have the archers armed and if you are spotted give them all you can. Have men at the oars and backwater to hold your position.’ I glanced at the river. ‘The current is much less now so it shouldn’t be difficult. You’ll know when the bridge is clear, because we’ll fire some of the houses. When you see the flames, get everyone to the oars.’
‘That’s easy enough.’ he answered. ‘If you stay on that side of the river, I’ll look out for you below the village. The gods be with you.’ he called softly.
As we moved away, through the shadows along the river bank, I quickly explained to my small group what I needed them to do. It wasn’t long before I could point out the shadowy outline of what I thought was the bridge tower on our side. Everything seemed eerily still. Like the box that you must open, but know that it contains a coiled and watchful snake.
On the far bank, just a long bow-shot away, we could see a large fire with a great many people grouped around it. The leaping flames lit the whole area, the light stretching to our side of the river and turning the water’s surface into a blood red sheet. Some of the folk were singing and dancing to the muffled beat of a small drum and an awful tune that was being wrung from a cheap pipe. It looked as though the villagers were holding a festival of some sort, perhaps their celebration of summer. But whatever it was, it was keeping them occupied and we were being held in the palm of some amazing fortune.
We stopped at the edge of the village, listened and watched carefully for any sign of guard or sentry, the bridge ran to our left across the river. I was strangely relieved, almost pleased to see it, because up until now its existence had only been a figment of my observation and reasoning. It was a simple structure made with three lengths of sturdy rope fixed in a vee shape so you could walk on the bottom one and hold the other two like hand rails. My eye followed the curving line of the walkway across the bright, fire-sparkling river and to my surprise discovered another reason for the span. As well as a footbridge, they were the guide lines for a simple ferry. The raft, which was hooked to the lower line, was moored on the opposite bank. It looked like a sturdy affair and could be used for livestock and cargo while the folk used the foot-way.
Near the root of the bridge we discovered our guards, two of them. They were too absorbed in grumbling and drinking a pot of beer to keep a proper watch. The first didn’t know anything of his death as the dagger’s short blade released his life force. The other managed a gasping cry before my sword silenced him. It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye, a dog barked but no sound betrayed the presence of any other mortal. I gave orders for the archer to range about in the shadows, taking advantage of the enemy warriors as best as he could and to act as our sentry while the rest of us attacked the ropes. Two to each line. For someone so lately a slave, it surprised me to see how quickly and willingly the men followed my orders.
Then Lady Luck laughed at us. Heralded by shouting and a clatter of hooves the Moorish warriors arrived on the far bank. I told one of my men to use his shield to protect me and began to swing the axe to bite into the lower span of rope. The fool Brosnan hadn’t provided us with a sharp bladed axe and it was going to be hard work. The other men in my small company were having almost as much success in hacking at the other two ropes with their sword blades. Over my shoulder I could clearly see arms pointing in our direction. Someone called across the swirling water to the dead guards. When he didn’t get the answering shout, a party of at least a dozen started out on the crossing and many more of them piled onto the raft and began poling it toward us. I hacked harder at the rope that lay taught at my feet. It was as thick as a man’s leg and well made. But, stroke by stroke, strands parted and we could hear the notes of panic begin to pierce the aggression of the crossing warriors as they hurried to charge at us. Our archer succeeded in hitting a few of them but the men following, merely threw them aside and pressed on. Each bite of the axe made the rope judder and we could clearly see the hate-filled eyes in the dark faces of the warriors, they were so close.
The leading Moor, his white robes streaming from his nimble legs was almost on us. He drew a wicked looking scimitar that gleamed a dull, blood red in the firelight. His mouth opened wide in a gap-toothed leer.
‘Infidel!’ he screamed as he bounded on us.
I hacked fiercely at the rope, which had become as a living thing with the tramping of feet on its span. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the gleam of the curved blade as it began its downward cut.
‘Get him.’ I yelled needlessly at my guard.
He was already positioning himself to give a belly thrust from beneath the rim of his shield. Several arrows bit the ground around my feet as their archers sought to take advantage of the tilted shield. Blood and stink spattered around me as the Viking steel wrought its work. The Moor, already dead, crashed heavily into the up-flung shield and fell across the foot-rope. The warrior behind him slipped on the spreading pool of gore and the Viking blade struck again, with a cut so deep, it all-but severed the screaming head.
‘Quickly Pilot.’ growled my guard. ‘They press heavily, I may not be able to hold them for too long.’
The last few strands of the rope parted with a crack and the tail of the rope snaked across the ferry landing like a whip. Some men clutched at the upper lines and tried to pull themselves along but the sucking water pulled at their clothing and dragged them down to join the others in the brown swirl of cold water.
The raft, crammed with angry men and almost half way across, tipped dangerously as the force of the trailing rope began to drag it sideways. But the boatman was skilled and, ramming his pole into the river bottom, held the craft steady long enough to have the heavy rope lifted from its guides and thrown overboard. More poles appeared and, looking a bit like a long-legged water beetle, it made serious progress towards us. Just six of us could never hope to hold such an overwhelming attack, I had no option but to light the fires and call the ship.
Another rope parted under the efforts of a warrior’s sword, its tail whipped past us gashing my guard’s face as it went. It left just one span as a barrier to our departure.
Arrows thumped into the ground around us and a bubbling scream from behind me meant that one had found its mark. I glanced upriver and could just make out the longship. Its oars dipped gently in a disciplined way. I moved across to the last rope and began hacking into it where the fallen Viking had been working. My guard, mopping at his torn cheek, came with me. Our archer, from the deep shadows behind us, had changed his target and was extracting a useful toll from the cram of passengers on the approaching ferry. The two top ropes were appreciably smaller than the heavy foot-rope but the blunted war axe was still making heavy work of it. What I would have given for a good old fashioned, heavy Saxon scramasaxe.
I could wait no longer.
‘Fire the houses.’ I shouted above the rising din and pointed to the nearest ones.
The last coarse strands of rope parted and we all drew back from the ferry landing. Above us, flames leapt into the air from the thatched roofs. I led our remaining five men a short distance downstream, into the deep shadows that were cast by the fires. The archer had run out of arrows but we managed to collect a handful from the ground and as we weaved through the shadows, he stopped now and then to take a shot at the easy targets on the raft.
I peered into the gloom upstream and could see a commotion going on in the ship. The vessel appeared to be sideways on.
‘What in god’s name was that blonde clown up to.’ I muttered aloud.
Water seemed to boil around the ship and, as we watched, it looked as though a section of the longship detached itself and was riding a foaming crest towards us.
The dark shape, like a huge arrow, shot towards the crowded raft. The ferryman sensed the change in the water, but it was too late. He looked up and saw a wave of water coming towards them. Riding on the very crest of the rolling wall was the scarred and shattered remains of my tree. It must have broken loose with the weight of water behind it, and it was coming to my rescue for a second time.
A number of men jumped from the ferry and were instantly swallowed by the race of water. Those that remained were thrown screaming from the raft as, with a shattering crash, it was split into a dozen pieces by the surging log as it rammed it. A cheer went up from my men and the five of us slipped quickly along the tree lined bank to await the ship, which was now coming down river like a galloping war-horse.