twenty - four twenty - fourThe two ships’ companies made their way back to the beach where Heron and Wolfwind were moored. The camp on the sand island was in the heart of the swamp and the mosquitoes and sand flies were a constant annoyance. On the beach, a brisk sea breeze kept most of them at bay.
They posted sentries and settled down for the night, bedding down on the soft sand and rolling themselves in their blankets. Hal lay, listening to the regular breathing of his friends as they fell asleep. His mind was in turmoil as he thought about the next few days and all that had to be done.
Svengal’s closing comment reverberated through his brain. The Skandian had meant it as a compliment, but Hal was only too aware that once the battle started, all the planning in the world couldn’t foresee the unexpected. Had he thought of everything? What if Zavac decided to leave Limmat in the next two days? What if Raven quietly slipped out of the harbor under cover of night and headed off over the horizon? The thought that Zavac might escape after all they had been through to find him burned in Hal’s mind like a hot iron.
What if Hal’s accuracy with the Mangler wasn’t up to the task he had set himself? What if something broke on the Mangler at a critical moment? He made a mental note to prepare a spare bowstring and to inspect the leather thongs that absorbed the massive recoil of the bow when he released the trigger. What if a chance shot from the towers hit Ingvar? He needed the massive boy’s strength to cock and load the Mangler. Without him, their rate of shooting would be seriously diminished.
What if, what if, what if? The questions and doubts whirled around in his brain until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He tossed his blankets aside and rose to his feet, then walked slowly down to the water’s edge. With the dark of the moon only two days away, it was a thin sliver of yellow light, low on the horizon. He glanced at the dark shapes of the two ships. Tomorrow, Svengal and his men would start lightening Wolfwind. It occurred to him that he should do the same with Heron. She’d be carrying twenty men on each trip into the bay, along with her regular crew. Plus he should set about making a further supply of bolts for the Mangler. He’d need as many as he could make when they attacked the towers.
Then there was the beach gate. How was he going to make sure they could burn that? He’d blithely told the council of war that he had a plan for that, but he was still working on the details. It wouldn’t be enough to simply shoot fire arrows at it from his crossbow or the Mangler. The wood of the gate would be dry from years of exposure to wind and salt air. But it was hardwood and a single flame wouldn’t be enough to make it catch. They’d need a solid source of fire to get it burning. Maybe a pile of kindling and firewood at the base of the gate? But they’d have no way of assembling such a pile without being seen and shot at from the palisade above them.
Oil, he thought. If they could drench the timber in oil, then hit it with a fire arrow, the whole thing would flare up. But how could he manage that? If they tried to land on the beach and run to the gate with containers of oil, they’d be cut down by the defenders before they went more than ten meters.
Unless he could place the oil there without being seen . . .
The germ of an idea began to form in his brain. But at that point, he heard a light footstep squeaking in the sand. He turned quickly and saw Lydia’s slender form a few meters away.
“Can’t sleep?” she said sympathetically.
He nodded. “I’m trying to work out all the things that can go wrong,” he said. “So far, I’ve come up with about a dozen.”
“Only a dozen?” she said, and he could sense the smile in her voice. He glanced at her, but her face was in shadow.
“Well,” he said, trying to match her light mood, “that’s just for starters. I haven’t really hit my stride yet.”
“Let’s isolate your biggest concern,” she said, her voice more serious, “and see what we can do about it.”
He paused, thinking. What was his biggest worry? What was the one link that, if it broke, would be hardest to replace? It didn’t take him too long to realize what it was.
“Ingvar,” he said quietly. “I’m worried about him.”
“Ingvar?” she said, surprised. “How could you doubt him? I’ve been watching him and he absolutely worships you. There’s no way he’d ever let you down.”
Hal was shaking his head before she had finished.
“I’m not worried he’ll let me down. I know he never would,” he said. “Quite the opposite. I’m worried that I’ll be putting him in such a position of danger. I feel as if I’m letting him down.” He could sense that she didn’t understand, and realized that, of course, she’d never seen them shooting the Mangler.
“He’s the only one strong enough to load the crossbow easily,” he explained. “That means he’ll be exposed in the bow of the ship when he’s doing it.”
“How close do you have to get to the target?” Lydia asked.
Hal took a deep breath and stared out to sea for a few seconds before answering. He wanted to increase the distance but he knew that he would be compromising the accuracy and power of the massive bow if he did.
“About a hundred meters. Maybe less,” he said finally. Even in the darkness, he saw the whites of her eyes as they widened.
“That is pretty close,” she said. “I thought you said this bow of yours had a range of three hundred meters?”
“The bow does. I don’t. If I’m going to hit what I aim at, I need to be about a hundred meters away. That means Ingvar will be exposed when he’s loading. He’ll be the most prominent target on the ship. And he’s pretty hard to miss. I’m wondering if I have the right to put him in such danger—particularly because I know he will never refuse me if I ask him.”
“Of course,” she said, “you’re forgetting that you’ll be exposed as well. The pirates may well see you as a more important target. After all, you’ll be the one shooting at them.”
“I’ll be behind the Mangler,” he pointed out. “It’d take a very good shot to hit me. But Ingvar . . .” He paused. “Well, aside from anything else, if he’s hit, we’re in big trouble. He’s the only one strong enough to load the bow.”
“What about Thorn?” she asked. “He’s not exactly a weakling.”
“It’s a two-handed job,” he said. “Even for Ingvar. Thorn may well be strong enough, but I doubt that his hook would take the strain. It’d probably pull off the end of his arm.”
She turned and paced away a few steps, thinking. Then she returned.
“Maybe I can help,” she said. “If I was up in the bow with you . . .” She saw him start to open his mouth to protest and she forestalled him quickly. “Don’t worry, I won’t be standing out in the open. I’ll stay under cover.” She paused and Hal nodded cautious agreement. “Anyway, if I keep watch, I could cover both of you. I could pick off any bowman who starts to take too much interest in you.”
“With those darts of yours?”
She nodded.
“Are you that good?” Hal’s question wasn’t at all skeptical. It was a case of genuine interest. He was unfamiliar with the atlatl as a weapon. He had never seen one in use and had no idea of its range or accuracy.
“I can hit a man-size target at one hundred meters,” she said confidently. Then she paused and qualified the statement. “Probably three times out of four.”
Hal whistled softly. “That’s pretty good,” he said. “I’m not sure I could do better with my crossbow.” He thought about it. “And of course, if you pick off one or two of them, the others will be less keen to be heroes.”
She smiled at him and he saw her teeth gleam in the darkness. “It’s good to think I’ll be serving a useful purpose,” she said. Then the smile faded. “That’s another reason I wanted to stay with you and the boys. Barat would never let me get close to the action.”
“Perhaps we won’t mention it to him.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry about the way he behaved. He just can’t help himself. He’s very possessive about me.”
“I can see why.” The words were out of Hal’s mouth before he could stop them and he hesitated awkwardly, realizing they sounded like the clumsiest of heavy-handed compliments. But Lydia touched his arm gratefully.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
He was glad the darkness meant she couldn’t see how his face had reddened. He cleared his throat awkwardly and changed the subject.
“Well, now that we’ve solved the problem of Ingvar, I think I might be able to sleep.”
“Me too,” she said. “Good night, Hal. And thanks again.”
“Good night,” he said, and they turned and made their separate ways back to their bedrolls.
A little way up the beach, Stig had been awakened by the low murmur of their muted voices. For a few seconds, he lay frowning, trying to identify the sound. Then he raised himself on one elbow and looked down to the water’s edge. He could recognize the two silhouetted forms in the dim moonlight. Hal and Lydia, he thought. He saw her lean forward and touch Hal’s arm in a familiar gesture and felt a sudden stab of jealousy.
Then he flushed, angry with himself. Hal was his best friend, after all, and he hardly knew Lydia. It was foolish to let jealousy come between them, he told himself. But no matter how many times he repeated the sentiment in his mind, he couldn’t get rid of that small niggle.
“I’m as bad as Barat,” he said to himself. He rolled over and pulled his blankets up to his chin. But sleep eluded him for some time.
In spite of what he’d said to Lydia, Hal remained sleepless as well, staring wide-eyed at the dark sky and the brilliant stars above him, turning over the problem of the beach gate.
Oil, he thought once more. That was the answer. If he could drench the wood in oil, and then set fire to it, the burning oil would eventually cause the dried timbers to catch as well. Once they had burned, it would be relatively simple to break down the gate.
It would also be simple to set the oil on fire. He could do that with a fire arrow from his crossbow, or from the Mangler. But first, the oil would have to be put in place on the gate. And that brought him back full circle. Anyone trying to throw oil on the gate during the battle would be shot down by the defenders before he could reach it.
He shifted his position. There was a ridge of packed sand under his shoulder blade. He’d been trying to ignore it for the past few minutes but now it had become a real frustration—probably because of his inability to think of a way around the problem of the gate.
Angrily, he threw his blankets off and sat up. He folded back the waterproof canvas he was using as a groundsheet and smoothed the offending ridge flat. Then he replaced the groundsheet and, while he was about it, plumped up the roll of sheepskin he was using for a pillow.
Sighing with satisfaction, he turned and studied the beach once more before lying down. Heron and Wolfwind were canted over at an angle now, he saw. As the tide had receded, the ships had been left standing on the wet sand and had gently toppled over to their present position.
The tide had run out quite a long way. There was a strip of glistening sand on the beach between the ships and the sea some twenty meters wide. Just as well they didn’t have to launch in a hurry, he thought. Of course, by morning, the tide would come in again and the boats would gradually rise from the sand and float upright once more.
The tide fascinated him, as it did most sailors. A great deal of his life was governed by it and the strong currents that it created. There was a fascinating inevitability about the tide, about the way it rose and fell twice each day.
He knew that some of the older Skandians believed that it was caused by a mythical Great Blue Whale as it breathed water in and out. He glanced around the dark huddled forms on the beach. He wondered how many of the Wolfwind’s crew still secretly believed that fable.
Not Svengal, he thought. Svengal was too practical. Thorn? Almost instantly, he dismissed the idea. Thorn was too skeptical to believe such a fairy story. But then, if it wasn’t the Great Blue Whale that caused the tides, what did cause them?
He sighed. The inventor in him wanted to understand how it happened. But so far, nobody seemed to have a logical explanation. Perhaps the answer was simply to accept the fact that the tide came in and the tide went out, and that was that.
And as he had that thought, he realized how he was going to get the oil onto the beach gate.