The blacksmith’s cart bounced and jerked across the rough dunes in the icy winds that blew up the beach, it’s owner’s face ruddy with an expression that Ulfr could only label ‘worried’. The vehicle finally reached the flatter sand and stopped leaping about so, settling into a rhythmic sway as it approached the camp gate. There, Farlof waited, impatient, twitching. Ulfr knew how he felt, and looked around at the work.
It was, needless to say, slow going.
Of the many workers he had at the site, perhaps half were labouring away to finish the ship. It was nearly there, following another solid week. So close… but now this.
Work had begun as usual before dawn, the men performing their tasks by torchlight in the cold night air, but with a diminished workforce. Whereas every night for weeks, since Ulfr’s changes, the men who lived locally had come to the camp gate in time to join their fellows who stayed in the beach camp overnight, this morning they had not turned up. It was a bad sign, the second of the day. On rising from his tent that morning, he’d opened the flap to see a cat of midnight black striding purposefully across the camp, and though he’d spat after it to remove the power of the curse it had left him with a bad feeling that seemed destined to be borne out. A few workers failing to arrive could be put down to bad luck or laziness, but half the force said something entirely different. The surviving workforce had worked much of the day since then, and now, by mid-afternoon, he was noticing the difference in speed.
With luck, the smith would have news. As the cart passed through the gate, Farlof and his man closed it once more, for no one was taking chances these days.
Men hurried over and started to unload the axes, the steel plates, shield bosses and knives that the man had made over the past week. Ulfr watched with a sinking feeling as he crossed and joined Farlof next to the vehicle’s bench, looking up at the smith.
‘You could get none?’
He’d not really expected success, but he’d been hopeful. The smith had claimed to have a friend in the castle who could slip him half a dozen shirts of good chain from the stores for a small fee, and the smith was in and out of the castle on a semi-regular basis, so his visit there would not be suspicious. Moreover, rumour had it that Serlo de Hauteville himself had left the castle with a small group of riders four days earlier; his absence should make such transactions at least possible. Half a dozen chain shirts would have been very useful.
The man shook his head. ‘No chance today. Never seen the castle so busy.’
Ulfr felt the hairs rise on his neck, alertness flooding him at this news. ‘Tell me.’
‘Lord de Hauteville has returned, during the night. He’s got a guest with him, too.’
‘Go on.’
‘The lord de Cotentin is in Pirou, and he’s brought a force of cavalry. The castle is flooded with knights. It’s like an army. There’s so many of them they’re even camped outside the moat, too.’
Ulfr and Farlof exchanged a look. Both men were well aware of just how much their own danger had just increased, but Ulfr also thought on Geoffroi and his friend, trapped in the castle, recuperating. Geoffroi had already set himself against Cotentin. If the visitor learned that the knight was there, things could become very nasty very quickly.
‘There is more,’ the smith said, his expression bleak. ‘Your workers from the villages have been rounded up. They are being kept in the camp outside the castle, and they’ve been given spears and shields. I think they’ve been drafted into the lord’s army. I left the castle as fast as I could before someone took away my cart and stuck a spear in my hand.’
Ulfr felt his spirits sink further. He would not get those workers back. Hauteville had them, and he wouldn’t let them go. Worse, though, was the news that the rebels were building an army. That could only mean they were openly moving against Duke William, which would also mean against Halfdan and the others.
‘We’re out of time,’ the shipwright said.
‘What?’
‘They’re preparing to launch an attack. And Serlo de Hauteville knows that we and the Wolves support the duke. Even if we changed our allegiance now, he would never believe us. We are Cotentin’s enemies, and if Serlo has raised a rebel flag, then we are his enemies, too. They prepare to march east and deal with the duke, but they won’t leave us on the beach behind them. They’ll have to finish us first.’
Farlof nodded, and Ulfr turned back to the smith. ‘It will be dangerous to go back to your home. You are welcome to take shelter within our defences.’
The man shook his head. ‘No. They will come here first. I go to stay with my brother near Avranches until this is over. I wish you luck, Ulfr Sveinsson. I am sorry I have no better tidings for you.’
As soon as they had finished unloading the smith’s wares, the man gave them a sad salute and turned his vehicle slowly, digging deep ruts in the sand, and trundled back through the gate, changing direction from his arrival path, instead angling south, crossing the dunes and heading away from Pirou entirely.
Farlof closed the gate and then crossed back to Ulfr. ‘What do we do?’
The shipwright was chewing his lip, deep in thought. ‘Come with me.’
With Farlof at his heel, he scurried across the sand to the ship. If he could only have four or five more days…
She was nearly done. The sheer strakes had been added, the whole shell constructed and caulked. The steering oar had been fitted, using the specially constructed blocks the local carpenter had made for them, though for now it was in a raised position, not dropped into place. All the ribs and the keelson were in, and the crossbeams that acted both as an extra strengthening and as the benches for rowers were in place, though some had not been fitted and finished. There was as yet no mast, no sail, no prow or sternpost, no oars, and no decoration to any of the timbers. Most importantly, nothing had yet been tested. Ulfr was pleased with the work they had all done, and with the job they’d all achieved, but he’d not had the time and opportunity to check every strake, every treenail, every inch of caulking. Without a day to give the ship a full check, there was always the possibility the vessel would be pushed out into the waves where it would immediately spring a dozen leaks and sink forever. It was rather more than a simple risk.
But…
‘She should be seaworthy.’
‘What?’ Farlof breathed, looking back and forth along the ship.
‘As long as all the work has been done exactly as I ordered, the ship should be seaworthy. She lacks finishing touches.’
‘Like a mast. Sail. Oars.’
‘A lot. But a ship can be rowed without a mast and sail. A stern and prow post can be made in due course. For now, what matters is whether she floats, and she should.’
‘You’re not seriously suggesting that we put to sea now?’
‘I’m suggesting that if we stay here, we’re all going to die. I’d rather put my life in the hands of Ægir and Ran – and in my own skill – than trust to the goodwill and mercy of the lords Hauteville and Cotentin.’
There was nothing Farlof could say in argument to that. He was still shaking his head, though. ‘What if she sinks?’
‘Then we drown.’
‘Comforting words, Ulfr.’
‘Listen, it’s too late in the day for the rebels to come and deal with us now. We should be safe until tomorrow. But I would be very surprised if Hauteville and his army do not come with the dawn. And at dawn, the tide will be at its highest, within twenty yards of the palisade. That is our time to put to sea.’
‘So it will become a race, at dawn, between the tide and Hauteville.’
‘Something like that, yes. But it gives us the rest of the afternoon and the night to play with, and that solves three problems.’
‘Oh?’
‘Firstly, it gives us time to do some last-moment checks. There is no point in starting any new part of the work. Next was to be the mast, but we have neither the time to finish it, nor a sail to raise on it, so we abandon the mast for now and trust to oars. While we still have light, get the workers split into two parties, one large, one small. The smaller one can finish fitting the crossbeams so that they are sturdy and comfortable. The larger group needs to go round and check every last treenail and every last inch of caulking, making sure there are no leaks or cracks. That way the ship is as ready as we can make her.’
‘It does not fill me with confidence.’
‘But it is better than nothing. Secondly, once the sun goes down and such examination and work is no longer possible, we should also be safe from prying eyes. I have no doubt that Hauteville has someone watching us at all times. There are fishing boats not far out to sea every day who could report back, and I am sure I have seen figures in the dunes this past week, watching the camp. Hauteville has been keeping a careful eye on us. But when it gets dark, and they are blinded to our work, we can begin. The gold needs to be unearthed then and moved into the ship, along with everything we need for the journey. Load her up under cover of darkness, but be as subtle as you can, for we may still be observed, and we don’t want to give Hauteville any reason to move on us early. We need the morning tide, else we’ll be portaging the ship across a very long beach.’
‘You keep saying we, with all this. Where are you, Ulfr?’
‘That’s the third thing,’ the shipwright said with a fierce smile. ‘That gives me half a day to get us oars.’
‘And how will you do that?’
‘With a little bit of stealth, a little bit of violence, and a lot of luck.’
Farlof gave a dark chuckle. ‘You sound like the jarl now.’
‘Good, I’ll need his Loki cunning.’ He turned to the others and pointed at Erik and Richold. ‘You two. Come with me.’ He looked back at Farlof. ‘Good luck. Make sure she’s seaworthy and load her up. With Odin’s will, Hauteville won’t realise we’re preparing and won’t come until it’s light. We’ll be back before dawn with oars, or we won’t be back at all, in which case we’re all fucked.’
‘You’re full of encouraging words today.’
Ulfr gave his friend a wry smile, and then, with the other two Wolves, crossed to where the horses were kept tethered among the only area of scrubby dry grass within the compound. He swiftly saddled one, while the others did the same, and then, moments later, was riding out through the gate once more.
‘Where are we going?’ Erik asked as they left the camp, bursting into fresh life under Farlof’s commands, riding across the sand below the line of the dunes.
‘To find oars. We leave on the morning tide.’
This brought startled looks from both of them, and Richold’s brow lined with concern. ‘Is she seaworthy?’
‘You should know – you built her.’ At his increasing worry, Ulfr grinned. ‘The others are checking her over today and then loading her in the dark. There’s no time to get the mast ready and we have no sail, so if we want to leave the beach at all, we’re going to need oars.’
‘I thought there were no oars to be found?’
‘Not without pissing off their owner. But the ones I’m looking at, their owner is Serlo de Hauteville and his skippers, and I can’t see damaging our relationship with him making things any worse.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Erik asked.
‘I don’t have one. Not yet. The oars will be somewhere in Fulquerville. They were being stored ready for one of Hauteville’s ships. If we’re lucky, they’re still in storage and we can find them, thieve them, and get away back to the beach. If we’re unlucky, the enemy ship will already have been fitted with them.’
‘And then?’
‘And then thievery might have to involve some violence, too.’
He kept quiet on his fears. If Serlo de Hauteville was so ready for war that he’d openly brought a rebel baron to his castle and they’d mustered an army, there was a damn good chance that he’d had all his ships mustered, too, which would mean those oars were aboard an enemy vessel. That could be a lot of trouble. And if they were really unlucky, Hauteville had already sent his fleet ahead, around the coast, heading for the duke’s harbours in the east, in which case Fulquerville might well be empty of both ships and oars.
The four miles to the river mouth was ridden in silence, and Ulfr could feel the tension emanating from the others, just as he could feel it in himself. No matter what the others on the beach managed, if the three of them could not manage to find oars then they were going nowhere in the morning, and Hauteville would come and finish them all off. Ulfr had good men, and quite a growing force, but many were as yet untested in a fight, while the rebel lords had a trained, professional army at their fingertips.
He looked up, trying to spot the ravens in the steel-grey sky, but of Huginn and Muninn he could see nothing. Perhaps even Hrafnaguð, Odin the Raven God, was blind to their peril today. Was it the curse work of that damned black cat? Silently he vowed a gift to the Allfather if the great god would help them until dawn.
There were, in his opinion, maybe two hours of daylight left, this close to true winter. On the beach the others would be working hard to check the caulking before the light was too low to do so, but for Ulfr, things were working the other way. He could not make his full move until the light was gone. On the bright side, he had kept his eyes and ears open as they left the camp, and he’d not seen a sign of anyone watching him leave. Likely whatever guard or thrall Hauteville had set watching the camp had got bored by then, and his attention had wandered. Whatever the case, no one had followed them along the coast, or at least as far as Ulfr could tell.
The familiar sight of Fulquerville came into view. It was past high tide by some time, and the water was receding, with low tide expected before midnight. There was still sufficient water for the more shallow-beamed vessels in the harbour to bob around, but those with a deep keel were already resting at odd angles in the sand.
Ulfr felt his heart pounding with the tension as they neared the wide tidal harbour, anticipating disaster. He felt failure looming at the sight of only shallow fishing vessels and was gripped with the fear that he’d been right to worry that the baron’s ships had already sailed.
Then the warships came into view, and relief thundered through his veins like the storms of Thor. The two warships that had been berthed for weeks were still present, while two more had arrived, one clearly very new, brought in from another port somewhere along the coast. In that moment, in his head, Ulfr ran a calculation. Sixty miles lay between Pirou and the duke’s fortress at Falaise, which could only be where the rebel army was bound. A fast force could cover the distance in a couple of days, and a reasonable army in three or four, but if they needed siege engines and wagon trains, which seemed likely, they would be moving no more than ten miles a day, as Ulfr was painfully aware from their slow wagon journey from Apulia in the summer.
So it would be six days before the rebel army reached Falaise. From his discussions with Beatrix, Ulfr could safely estimate the coastal route to the duke’s local harbours at a little over twice that distance, but ships moved faster. Unless the weather was set against them, and presuming their skippers and crews were all competent, Hauteville’s ships could reach their destination in two or three days. Of course they were not gone yet, for Hauteville would not want his ships in danger for days before he and the army arrived. The ships would be setting off in a matter of two or three days, probably, in order to arrive at the same time as the army.
They still had a chance. If the ships were here, then so were oars.
At his signal, they reined in by the nearest building, keeping as much out of sight as possible, peering off into the harbour. He examined the four ships. Unless his eyes deceived him, he could see that three of them had their oars shipped neatly, while the fourth, the nice new warship, seemed to have no oars at all. It had come under sail, and had not yet been fitted out. The gods were being kind to Ulfr this day. Perhaps Odin was watching after all.
There was, of course, no activity in the harbour’s shipbuilding area, for all the men who worked there were either in Ulfr’s beach compound, checking over the new ship’s caulking, or holding a spear in Hauteville’s camp, armed for a war against the duke. The only activity he could see was men loading the ships, and those men appeared to be the sailors.
Plans began to form in his head. If the oars were not on the ship, then they could only really logically be in the storehouses of the shipyard area, where he’d been prying the first time he came here. Those buildings were at the seaward edge of the harbour, while the warships were berthed further up the channel, in the heart of the village area. If the oars were stored there, the three Wolves would have to retrieve them from those buildings.
They would need twenty oars – ten for each side – which the new ship had been designed to take. Ulfr had mentally calculated that each horse could carry seven oars strapped to it the four miles back to the beach site. Of course, what he hadn’t thought of was the logistics of moving the oars to the horses, and what would happen if they were discovered. If they had the horses near the warehouses, then they would need to ride loaded down with long, heavy oars all the way past the warships, across the river, and then back along the south side of the harbour before they could even leave Fulquerville. That was just asking for trouble. But then, if they left the horses at the southern edge, they would have to lug seven oars each that same route by hand, just to reach the horses.
Clearly, the horses were out.
‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ he said, pointing to illustrate his words. ‘The oars are almost certainly stored in one of those large buildings on the far side, near the sea. That’s their shipbuilding stores, and one of the ships is still lacking oars. But I was wrong in thinking we could get them away on the horses. So here’s the plan. While Erik and I secure the oars, Richold will sneak down to the shore near the buildings. From here I can see a small rowing boat, maybe a four- or six-person one. It’s high and dry right now, so it’s in easy reach. Richold, you need to get to that boat and drag it down to the water’s edge. Erik and I will bring the oars and load up, and then we’ll push out to sea and row home with our prize.’
The others stared at him as though he were mad.
‘You want to steal oars and a boat?’ Erik hissed.
‘And look at those waves,’ Richold murmured, pointing out to sea. ‘You want to row back in that?’
‘I am more at home on the waves than on a horse.’ Ulfr grinned. ‘We get those oars in the boat and I’ll get you home with them. That I promise. And with two of us rowing, we’ll move fast. And,’ he chuckled, ‘we won’t be short of oars to row home with.’
The other two were shaking their heads, but Ulfr had it all set in his head. As long as nothing went wrong, this would work. Retreating from the water’s edge, they moved inland, around the back of the village area, toward the crossing of the river a little further up, and there they waited for an hour until the light began to fade.
Once gloom had settled across the land, the three men rode across the shallow river and, instead of moving along the river front, they circled around behind the buildings. The village was slightly busy, figures moving about their evening business, finishing up for the day, heading to or from the tavern, and so they would stay away from open ground. Once behind the village, unseen, Ulfr gestured for the others to tie up the animals by a small copse close to a barn and wait there. The village would need to be considerably quieter for their business to go ahead.
They waited there in the ever increasing dark, and every now and then Ulfr would scurry across the open grass, dip between the houses and glance around the harbour, each time admitting, grudgingly, that the place was still too busy for such a theft. Gradually, as midnight came, the figures around the village disappeared into their houses or aboard the ships, and the visible population thinned until it petered out to nothing. Finally, Ulfr decided they were good.
The three men abandoned their horses, leaving them to roam, while they crept between the buildings in the increasing darkness. Lights glowed here and there in the village, and, as they reached the harbour side and peered left and right, carefully, before emerging, they could still see lights aboard the warships. The skippers and their crews remained aboard, so close to the time of departure for war; there was no one clearly visible on the harbour side, though.
Taking a breath, ready for trouble, hand on the haft of his axe, Ulfr led the other two out from between the buildings, where they walked through the village in the black of night, as though they were taking a stroll, trying not to attract undue attention.
There were two warehouses above the empty slipway. Ulfr sucked his teeth as they approached, trying to decide how best to approach this.
He gestured to Erik. ‘You take the nearest. I’ll take the furthest. If you find the oars, come and get me straight away.’ Then, to Richold, ‘You know what to do.’
As they neared the buildings, the Varangian veered off to the left, approaching the nearest warehouse, drawing a sax as he went. There were no lights on in the buildings, but that was no guarantee of a lack of danger, especially when the day had started with such an omen of ill luck. Ulfr moved toward the second building, while Richold scurried onwards, making for the boat that was their only realistic escape option.
The shipwright drew his axe as he neared the building. Something was telling him that danger lay ahead; he could feel it in the air like a draugr hovering over him, menacing. The warehouse had three entrances, just like its twin: a huge double door above the slipway from which goods could be moved in and out to the work area; a second, similarly huge entrance on the landward side, where wagons could offload their goods for storage; and a small door in the side, facing out to sea. Ulfr thought about it, and reasoned that the larger doors were probably always barred from the inside, just as the sheds had been back in Sigtun, for they were only opened while goods were being loaded or unloaded. That meant that the only reasonable approach would be the small door, and so it was for this one that Ulfr made.
He reached the door, creeping the last few paces, and listened carefully. He could hear nothing but the lap of distant waves, the hooting of an owl in the trees behind the houses and the gentle murmur of the people back along the harbour inland. Still, he could feel the danger, even if he could neither see nor hear it. His mind raced. If there was a guard in the place, he should be either asleep on duty and therefore audibly snoring, or sitting, bored. Bored men make noises, too – shuffling, tapping, humming. Very few men were ever so silent they could not be heard over the distant tide retreating.
If there was absolutely no noise, and yet he was sure there was someone here, then that person was deliberately making no noise. And if that was the case, then perhaps the watchman sensed danger, too.
He looked at the door. It opened inwards. There was a lock and a latch. If there was a lock, the door was probably simply kept locked, and never barred from the inside. There would be no point. But locks could only hold under so much strain. The man inside, if he was anticipating trouble, was probably just on the other side of the timber. Ulfr imagined he could hear the man breathing.
He smiled and stepped close, then dragged a booted toe across the stonework, making a small sound. He then stopped and listened.
There.
He could just hear the faint sounds of careful movement inside. Right behind the door. Someone was listening. With a grin, Ulfr took three steps back, then ran and hit the door with his shoulder. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, and consequently brought a great deal of weight and momentum to the barge. He hit the door like a bull, the lock splintering with a sound that cut through the night sharply, the door itself slamming inwards, hard.
Ulfr was rewarded with success immediately. The man had been right behind the door, and the blow had sent him sprawling backwards, falling to the ground. He’d had a sword out, which clattered across the floor nearby, fallen from his grip.
The burly shipwright was on him before he could recover. Leaving the door clattering back against a shelf of stock, he dived for the stunned watchman, axe out. As he dropped onto the floored fellow he changed his grip, one hand on the butt of the axe, one near the bottom of the haft. Before the man could fight back, Ulfr had the axe haft pushed against his throat, while he pressed hard. He felt the crunch as pipes, bones and tendons broke under the assault, the man’s face changing colour, eyes bulging and pinking where the blood vessels burst. He was making gagging sounds, unable to speak or breathe. Even when the sounds stopped and the body fell still, the shipwright held the axe in place for a count of thirty to be sure.
He looked at the Norman. He’d been a warrior, doing his job. He deserved a chance. Ulfr reached out and collected the fallen sword, bringing it back to the man’s hand and wrapping the fingers around it, for the possibility that Odin’s maidens would come.
Then he rose swiftly and ducked back out through the door, up to the street and down to the slipway. There was no sign of increased activity, and so his assault on the warehouse door had apparently gone unnoticed, thankfully. He dipped back inside and hurried this way and that. It was exceedingly hard to identify anything in the dark, and he was starting to think he needed a lamp, which might attract undue attention, when he found what he was looking for by the simple expedient of falling over them.
The oars were in a pile close to the slipway doors. Quickly dropping to a crouch, he used his fingers to examine them, counting as he went. There were plenty – more than twenty, anyway – and they were a good length. Grinning at his success, he rose and hurried over to the door, then ducked around to the far side, to the other warehouse.
The small door stood open, yet undamaged, and a body lay in the open doorway, throat cut, in a huge pool of glistening dark liquid. Ulfr stepped over the mess and into the gloom, putting away his axe as he went.
‘Erik?’ he hissed.
‘Ulfr? I’ve found them.’
Ulfr blinked. ‘Me too.’
‘Two lots? They were holding out on us. What now?’
‘We take five from here, the rest from the other warehouse. It’s nearer to the boat, and we’ll have to do four trips. They’ll be heavy, but with one of us at each end we should be able to carry five easy enough.’
They counted out five oars and lifted them with a grunt. Ulfr tucked them under his armpit, using both hands in a circle around them, fingers knitted, and with Erik doing the same they carried the first load out through the door. As yet there seemed to be no alarm raised, and they took the most concealed route around the building, then scurried with their prize across the sand to where Richold was holding a small rowing boat at the water’s edge.
‘Well done.’ The man grinned as the pair dropped their first load in the boat and then turned and ran back to the stores.
For speed, this time they went to the nearest shed and picked up five of the oars Ulfr had found, repeating the process. With ten in the boat, they turned and ran back for their third load. It was as they emerged with the final five that they heard a warning hiss from Richold, who was pointing wildly inland. They ran, abandoning subtlety, and dropped the last load into the boat with a clatter. As they began to push the vessel further out into the water, the sea lapping around their calves, Ulfr looked back across the harbour. Men on board the warships were shouting and waving, and other figures were pounding along the riverside.
‘Quick,’ he grunted, and they jumped into the boat as carefully as they could.
By unspoken agreement, Ulfr and Erik, as the two most muscular, took a pair of oars and thrust them through rowlocks and out into the water. It took a matter of heartbeats for them to find their rhythm, and by the time figures were running down the beach after them they were sufficiently far out into the water to be out of reach. An archer arrived and loosed a couple of desultory arrows across the sea at them, but they both fell well short, and by this time the two Northmen were pulling on the oars with the strength and skill of professional sailors.
They had done it. They were fleeing Fulquerville, without pursuit, with a boat full of oars.
They just had to get back and then launch the ship before Hauteville arrived with his army.