In the water, Einar began to wonder why he was not dead. He flipped over onto his back and saw that chaos had erupted on the ship behind him. Briefly he considered what to do. He had no idea who the attackers were but this was a golden chance to escape. Treading water for a moment, he saw the huge man with the axe. Even though he had his back to him he recognised him straight away. It could only be Skarphedin Harsson.
The second man clad in a Wolf Coat also on the deck looked like Bodvar Bjornsson. Somehow Ulrich’s Úlfhéðnar company were here. A third man leapt off the rock at the top of the island and landed on the deck of the ship. He wore a helmet with a visor and bore a big round war shield on his back. He grasped a spear and wore a mail coat that was rusted and had a couple of holes in it. He had no cloak of wolf skin. When he hit the deck he landed heavily, cried out and tumbled over but he quickly got to his feet to face Ricbehrt’s men.
Einar’s heart soared as he saw Sigurd, Atli, Kari, Starkad and finally Ulrich himself leap from the rock onto the deck of the ship. All the surviving crew were here. Three more warriors followed them. Two of them had fur cloaks and at first Einar wondered who the new Wolf Coats were, then he realised that the fur they wore was the brown of a bear, not the grey of the wolf. This meant they were berserkers. On the island a young boy with a shaved head was raining arrows on Ricbehrt’s men. Einar almost felt sorry for them.
Another figure jumped off the rock. This man also wore no wolf cloak. He had a shield and helmet but his leap lacked power. Even as his feet left the island Einar knew he would never make it. The man dropped, arms windmilling, hitting the sea several paces short of the ship in a huge splash.
Einar swam towards him. A few moments later the man’s head burst up through the surface, gasping for air. His helmet had gone and despite the wide eyes and sopping wet hair Einar recognised the ruddy face and wine-soaked nose.
‘Ayvind?’ he said, pulling the knife from between his jaws, scarcely able to believe the bard was in the water with him.
‘Help me, lad!’ Ayvind cried out. ‘I’m drowning.’
Einar put the knife back between his jaws and snaked an arm around Ayvind’s chest. He rolled onto his back and kicked hard with his legs, hauling Ayvind backwards with him towards the anchor rope of the ship. It was hard work. Ayvind was heavy and his clothes had drunk deep of the sea which longed to drag him under. Ayvind also seemed to be content to let Einar do most of the work. Eventually they made it.
‘Thor’s balls, lad,’ the skald gasped. ‘That’s it for me. I don’t know what I was thinking of coming along on this adventure.’
Einar had a thousand questions to ask but realised that this was not the time to talk. There was battle on the deck of the ship. Leaving Ayvind clinging to the anchor rope, Einar hauled himself up it and tumbled over the side onto the deck, landing halfway between Skarphedin and Bodvar.
‘Skarphedin!’ he shouted, feeling genuine delight at seeing the big man.
Skarphedin looked down at Einar and Einar saw the emptiness in his eyes, the furrowed, blood-splattered brows and the lips contorted into a snarl. A bolt of fear shot through him. He could see that Skar was in the battle trance, the rage Odin gave him, and for an instant he feared the big man would bring the fearful blade of his axe down on him.
Then Skar blinked and his expression changed like clouds clearing away from the sun.
‘Einar!’ he said. ‘Good to see you, lad. Now let’s kill the rest of these bastards.’
Skar appeared unperturbed by the fact that Ricbehrt’s men were still a cohesive opposition. They were clumped around the weapon merchant at the stern of the ship. The four on the landward side held their shields up facing the island, providing cover from the boy on the rock with the bow. Black paint was smeared around the lad’s eyes so even at a distance the whites stood out stark, and angry.
The man with the tattered old mail coat shouted and launched his spear. It shot down the deck and Einar saw Ricbehrt’s eyes widen in horror as the blade rushed straight at his face. At the last possible moment one of his men raised his shield, exposing his own body but deflecting the spear. With a clang it shot upwards and embedded itself in the stern post behind. The bodyguard dropped his shield just in time to stop an arrow that was hurtling straight for his stomach.
‘Freya’s tits!’ the warrior who had thrown the spear swore. Though he spoke in Norse Einar recognised the odd half-Aenglish Jorvik accent.
‘Gorm? Is that you?’ Einar shouted. He could scarcely believe this was all happening.
The innkeeper, now clad as a warrior, turned his head and winked at him as he drew his sword. Like his mail coat, the nicks along the blade and rust patches showed it had seen better days and much use.
Shouts came from the other end of the ship. Ricbehrt’s men rotated themselves to fan out across the deck, forming a wall of shields. It was impressive to watch. Each man did not move until his successor had overlapped the position of his shield with his own, so everyone remained covered from the arrows that probed for a hole in the defences. They moved like a chain until they had rotated into the position of having six men with shields locked, facing down the deck towards the prow, Skarphedin and the Wolf Coats and the last man left facing the island, providing cover from the arrow storm.
‘They know what they’re doing,’ Einar said to Skar.
‘I can see that,’ Skar said. They spoke in low voices so as not to be heard by the ship’s crew at the other end of the deck. ‘Listen lad, you’re half naked and armed with a knife. Stay behind us and out of the way.’
Einar felt a lurch in his stomach and his cheeks reddened, but he saw the sense in what Skar said. A slight concern rose in him that the blazing fire seemed to be calming in Skar’s eyes as both sides paused, panting to catch their breath, facing each other down the ship. It was hard to see what either side could do unless someone made a move.
This was not lost on Ricbehrt.
‘Let’s talk about this,’ the merchant shouted from behind the wall of shields. ‘No one else needs to die. Ulrich: We’re old friends! What is it you want?’
‘Him,’ Ulrich said. He crouched behind his round shield but nodded in the direction of Einar. Einar was surprised. He had expected Ulrich would choose the swords.
‘Well, now you have him,’ Ricbehrt said. His face was split by a grin so oily Einar reckoned it could light lamps. ‘And I have my swords back. Why don’t we just call it even and we can just all sail away?’
‘Or,’ Ulrich returned Ricbehrt’s grin with one that spoke only of menace. ‘Why don’t we kill you all and take the swords as well?’
‘What would that profit any of us?’ Ricbehrt looked as if he had been betrayed by his best friend in the world. ‘You are formidable warriors, that’s clear. But my own men are seasoned warriors too. You may well kill us all, yes, but they will for certain kill some of you.’
‘Death is not something we fear,’ Ulrich said. ‘Glory awaits beyond it in the All Father’s Valour Hall.’
Einar could see Ricbehrt’s confidence growing as he watched. Making deals was, after all, what he did best.
‘These swords have been promised to King Aethelstan,’ Ricbehrt shouted. ‘Would you make an enemy of the most powerful king in Britain? Aethelstan in gathering an army at Jorvik. He’s going to strike north against the Scots. I was meeting him there because he needs weapons to equip his army and that is what I can supply. These Ulfbehrt swords are part of the bargain.’
‘Help!’ Ayvind’s voice came from over the side. The poet was desperately clinging on to the anchor rope. He lacked the strength to haul himself aboard.
Ulrich rolled his eyes. This did not enhance their threat.
‘Except you previously sold the same swords to King Eirik of Norway,’ Ulrich said.
Ricbehrt became serious. ‘Then we must fight.’
Ulrich looked at Skar.
‘The lame can ride a horse, the handless drive cattle, the deaf one can fight. Even the blind are more use than a corpse,’ Skar said. ‘So said Odin. We have no personal quarrel with these men. Sometimes it is better to walk away from a fight.’
‘All right, Ricbehrt,’ Ulrich said. ‘We’ll let you go.’
The relief in the warriors at the far end of the ship was palpable. Their shields dipped slightly as their shoulders sagged. Einar could hear their sighs.
‘Drop your weapons and go,’ Ulrich said.
‘Go?’ Ricbehrt said.
Ulrich levelled his sword in the direction of Ricbehrt. ‘I give you until I can count to twenty. If you’re not gone by then you’re all dead.’
Confusion clouded the weapon dealer’s face. ‘What do you mean? What about my swords?’
‘King Eirik’s swords, you mean?’ Ulrich said.
‘In that case, no,’ Ricbehrt said, sliding back down behind the shields of his men. ‘We have no deal.’
Ricbehrt’s men, however, were already lowering their shields and dropping their weapons. Two of them threw their helmets to the deck and dived over the side of the ship. Einar saw fear creep onto Ricbehrt’s face.
‘There go your most clever men,’ Ulrich said, pointing his sword at the men now in the water. He directed his speech to the remaining warriors gathered around the weapon dealer. ‘Ricbehrt pays you to fight for him but he’s not your Oath Lord. Does he pay you enough to die for him?’
The expressions on the faces of Ricbehrt’s men showed clearly that by their reckoning he did not. They dropped what remaining weapons and armour they had and piled over the side into the sea.
‘Forget about the skerries, lads,’ Skar shouted after them. ‘Don’t stop swimming until you reach the beach on the mainland.’
Only Ricbehrt and the skipper, who still clung to his steering tiller, remained at the stern of the ship.
‘Paid men seldom fight to the death unless they have no choice,’ Ulrich said.
‘You bastard, Ulrich,’ Ricbehrt said. ‘I’ll get you for this. I’ll get you all.’
Ulrich grunted. ‘Will you?’
There was a loud thump. An arrow thudded into the deck exactly between Ricbehrt’s feet. The merchant jumped in fright, raising his considerable bulk an impressive distance off the deck. When he landed, he whipped his head round and saw the archer on the rocks with another arrow notched and aimed directly at him.
‘Shouldn’t you join your men?’ Ulrich said.
Casting one more scowl at everyone on the deck, the weapon merchant went to the side of the ship. After a short struggle to get over the strakes he dropped into the sea on the other side, sending up a tremendous splash that splattered water right back up onto the deck. After he resurfaced, he began splashing after his men who were already well on their way to the yellow sand beach.
‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ Einar said. The beach looked quite a distance away.
Skar shrugged. ‘Whales swim long distances. He’s about the same size.’
‘You’re not going?’ Ulrich turned his attention to the wizened old skipper who still clung to the tiller.
‘This is my ship,’ the skipper said, raising his chin. ‘Besides: I can’t swim. You may as well kill me.’
For a long moment there was silence. Einar felt there was something both admirable and pathetic about the sight of the defenceless, unarmed old man and his proud defiance. He did not stand a chance but still he did not even flinch as he glared back at each of them.
‘You’re a brave man,’ Ulrich said at length.
‘He shares our faith,’ Einar said.
‘Does he?’ Ulrich said. ‘What’s your name, old man?’
‘Roan,’ the skipper said. ‘In the Frisian tongue it means “raven”.’
‘Does it now?’ Ulrich raised an eyebrow. ‘The raven is the bird of Odin. Perhaps this is a sign. Tell me, Roan; how would you like to work for me? I probably can’t pay you what Ricbehrt did but that depends how much value you put on your life.’
Roan frowned for a moment, then said, ‘I accept.’
‘Good choice,’ Ulrich said with a wolfish grin. ‘If you’d said no we’d have thrown you over the side.’