It was a hard journey, even Ulfr had to admit. Once away from the safety of the harbour, the winter sea was extremely choppy, and it was hard to make headway. Behind them, for some time, they could see urgent activity in the harbour, but no one followed them out. The ships couldn’t do so because of the low tide, and no one else there was brave – or perhaps stupid – enough to test a small rowing boat on the open water.
He lost track of time, but would estimate they were in the water, struggling south along the coast, for more than three hours, possibly nearer four. At one point the current pulled them far enough out to sea that they briefly lost sight of land, but through sheer effort they managed to angle back in. It helped that as they began to approach the Pirou area the tide was coming in, and the currents changed.
They were all grateful when the shape of the new ship surrounded by its palisade came into view, a vague shape in the dark lit only by dots of golden light, for the campfires burned all night now that winter cold had come.
As the boat finally beached, the three sailors heaved great sighs of relief. Looking up, they saw the changes made in the camp during their absence. An entire section of palisade nearest the sea had been removed, forming a large opening between ship and water, and therefore an easy access for the three travellers. Ulfr approved. He’d been planning to do that next anyway. They would need the freedom when the water was up, and there was no longer any real value to their defence. If the rebel army came, a palisade wouldn’t change things much.
Workers came hurrying down the beach to them, grinning. For a moment Ulfr was worried. What if observers up in the dunes saw this? But then they might have seen the boat arrive anyway. Everything was a race, the time for subtlety more or less over.
‘You did it.’ Farlof laughed as he approached, men running past and grabbing oars from the rowing boat then ferrying them back up to the ship.
‘You doubted me?’ Ulfr smiled, jokingly.
‘With this? Yes. How many?’
‘Twenty.’
‘Then we have all we need. We worked all night,’ Farlof reported. ‘We found a couple of dubious patches, but everything now has been re-caulked if it needed it, all the rowing positions are in place, everything is stowed on board, the steering oar is ready to drop into position and fasten, and we’ve put the unfinished mast aboard. I figure that if we survive to leave the beach then we’ll probably find somewhere we can finish the work.’
Ulfr nodded. ‘You’ve done well then, my friend.’ He looked up, then back. ‘I reckon the sun will start to show in about three hours. By then the tide will be close enough that we should be able to launch. There is nothing of great use we can do in three hours, but it would be best to keep the men busy anyway. Better not to have time to dwell on what is coming with the dawn.’
Farlof nodded. ‘I have an idea. I’ll assign everyone a bench, so that the whole crew knows where to go the moment we launch, and while we wait for the tide I’ll get them in their places practising their oar-strokes. They’ve done some work on it, but now we’ve got actual oars, and the closer their timing, the better it will be for everyone.’
‘Good. And while you’re at it, load four spare long spars of timber.’
Ulfr left them to it. He was tired. It seemed an age since he’d had any reasonable sleep, and he’d spent the past few hours struggling against an unruly sea in a small boat. He let them carry off the last of the oars, then pulled the small rowing boat up further onto the sand and took his axe to it, holing it in three places, just so there was no chance of anyone attempting pursuit in it.
There was one job he needed to do yet, now that he had time. He’d named the ship, which was good, for to name a thing was to give it power, and Sea Dragon was a good, powerful name. But he knew the secrets as all good craftsmen, and he knew the reason that the Sea Wolf had been such a powerful, impressive ship was not just her construction, but his carefully worked designs that gave her extra speed and stealth; for just as names had power, so did runes and images. He’d not had time to work the new ship with such things yet, and taking her out untested without any precautions seemed foolish.
As such, as Farlof had the assembled men settled into the ship, he retrieved a chisel and mallet and moved to the prow of the ship. There, he painstakingly carved on each side, below where the figurehead would go, an ᛖ, the ehwaz rune of the Older World, imbuing the ship with the spirit of speed, progress and travel. This done to a quality of his satisfaction, he moved to the stern to where the steering oar was fitted, and here he carefully carved ᚴ, the kaun rune of the Younger World, imbuing the steersman’s place with inspiration and ingenuity. It was a small thing, but it was a start, and it would make a difference.
What work could be done completed, Ulfr climbed to the top of the dunes, carefully, looking this way and that for any figure left observing them. He saw no one and so emerged into the open, looking away into the distance. Twinkling lights marked the location of the castle, busy even through the night with the preparations for a campaign. He half expected to see an army surging across the grass in between, but nothing came as yet.
Returning to the camp, he spent a while watching the oar practice. They were a lot better than he’d expected, but they had a way to go, and still, in truth, had yet to practise with water giving them resistance. There were, he noted, enough of them that there was a man on each oar, with eight standing watching, and they were just the ones who’d signed on for the ship. The other workers were clustered at the far side, looking nervous, with no part to play.
It was time to start getting things moving, he reckoned. It could be as long as two hours before the water was high enough for an easy launch, but for a slightly earlier one with a little more work, an hour away at most – hopefully before both the sun and the lord de Hauteville put in an appearance. He crossed to the ship and climbed the frame to the sternpost, where he waved to get everyone’s attention. Once there was silence, he looked about him.
‘We all know what’s coming, and it would be better for all of us if we were gone before the lord of Pirou arrives. As such, I intend an early launch. I want to be on the water when the sun shows. Here is what we will do. A small ship such as this can be moved across land with portage. It is a simple thing, but hard, gruelling work. Look to the ports in the upper strakes through which the oars will spring. The ship is narrow and sharp, at just thirteen feet wide, while the oars we have are eighteen-foot oars. This means that they can be pushed through the ports, right across the ship and out the other side, with two and a half feet of timber protruding. The other ten oars can remain shipped inside. The ship’s hull has a shallow beam at just four feet from keel to oar port. This means that men at each oar can grasp two and a half feet of wood and lift the ship from the ground and carry her.’
There was a collective groan at this revelation. Even for twenty strong men, the ship would be extremely heavy. Ulfr recognised this, but he also knew the ugly truth of the long term. If they could not manage portage, then they would never make a longship crew.
‘There are other ways, but with the time we have, this is what we can do, and we shall do it. The waterline is currently maybe eighty feet from the camp. That’s just under two ship-lengths. If we wait for the water to come to us, we run a higher risk of meeting Hauteville. We can achieve extra speed in our portage, as those without an oar position can put their shoulders to the prow and stern and help lift and move, including myself and Farlof.’
He turned to the gathered locals who would be staying behind. ‘You have my thanks for all you have done, and for your loyalty throughout.’ He fished around by his feet and drew out four bags of coins, which he threw to the group. ‘This is a small bonus by way of my gratitude. I do not expect you to stay, for you will find yourself in your lord’s bad favour, but I would ask that you swiftly dismantle the cradle as we lift the ship. A few hammer blows at the critical pegs marked with chalk should be sufficient. Then you can leave, scatter, go home, find somewhere to hide and wait out the war.’
There was a murmur of gratitude, and Ulfr was happy that they had earned it, and there was no need to put them at further risk.
‘All right,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s run through the oars, lift the ship and watch the cradle vanish beneath us.’
He and Farlof dashed around giving directions, and the twenty rowers slid ten oars through the ship, leaving the rest inside, then put their shoulders to the protruding lengths of timber. Ulfr could hear panicked groans as men tried to lift sporadically, only to find no movement at all in the massive weight. Daft. They should realise it had to be a collective effort. The other eight men were positioned four at each end, where they gripped the keel and prepared to help take the weight.
The local workers hurried forward with large mallets and positioned themselves where they could knock out the pegs that held the frame together, collapsing it beneath the ship.
All was ready remarkably fast. While last checks were made, Ulfr once more climbed the dunes and looked east. Though it should be hard to tell, he was willing to bet that there were more lights and more movement at the castle than last time. Something was happening. He’d been right to start the launch early.
Back down to the beach, he shot a look at Farlof that suggested they needed to move fast. Orders were given, and then a countdown of five began.
At three, Ulfr cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘Take the weight.’
There was a huge chorus of cursing, moaning and shouts as every shoulder and hand gripped and lifted. Ulfr was satisfied to see, despite the negativity, the whole ship rise almost a foot from the cradle.
‘Brace yourselves,’ he called as Farlof shouted ‘Two.’
At ‘one’, the workers swung their hammers and the entire cradle beneath the ship collapsed in a splintered heap. There was a fresh round of cursing then, partially from those who’d not been pulling their weight and were suddenly forced to, but also from those whose legs took glancing blows from falling timbers and flying pegs.
They had it, though. The ship was held at shoulder height.
‘Forward,’ Ulfr bellowed, and gestured to Farlof.
His friend ran forth and took a place at the prow, adding his own shoulder to the lift, and Ulfr did the same at the sternpost. Slowly, with a steady chorus of swearing, the ship inched forward, leaving the pile of timber and moving with inexorable slowness toward the advancing tide.
Their task complete, the local workers called their thanks and their wishes of good luck, and then disappeared, melting away across the beach into the night, which was now starting to change shade, gradually lightening.
The first trouble happened less than half a ship-length away. Someone swore and let go sharply, and the sudden pressure of added weight caused a cascade effect as others let go. The ship dropped, and it was only through sheer strength of muscle and of will that those who remained managed somehow to take the strain and stop the ship crashing back to the beach. It might not have damaged her, but she was still so new. All it would take was for fresh caulking to come loose, and suddenly they would be putting to sea in a colander.
Farlof delivered a series of blistering insults at the man, who, chastened and red-cheeked, blew on his sore hands and grabbed once more, lifting. Then they were moving again. Finally, after what felt like weeks of travel, they had moved more than a ship-length away from the ruins of the cradle, and Ulfr, aware that this was a new and untested crew being asked to do one of the hardest things a crew could do, relented. He gave the orders that the ship be lowered to the sand. She was standing at the gap in the stockade, and men were keeping her balanced and upright without having to lift. Everyone would get a few minutes of rest before they tried the second leg and actually reached the water with her.
Leaving Farlof to the work, Ulfr took the opportunity to run back and check on the situation once more. The sky was definitely changing shade all the time; it was a way off properly light, but details were visible out across the fields as he reached the top of the dunes.
His heart caught in his mouth as he looked east. There was a mass of humanity around the base of the castle. The rebel army of the lords de Cotentin and de Hauteville was on the move, and he doubted they would go anywhere else to begin with but to the beach. He found himself wondering how the barons had so anticipated his early launch as to leave the castle early themselves – and then he saw it.
Two horses pounding across the fields in his direction, halfway between the castle and the beach.
Shit.
He turned and looked down across the beach to where his crew were having a breather, the new ship still short of the water.
‘Farlof! Get them moving. The rebels are coming.’
It did not require his friend giving orders this time. Everyone down there had heard the news, and none of them were in any hurry to meet the lord Serlo de Hauteville again. In moments the ship was being lifted and slowly moved forward. Ulfr knew he should be down there helping, but he suspected he knew what was happening here, and that took precedence right now.
As the two horses came ever closer and the world became ever lighter, he saw that the mounts did indeed carry the very people he’d suspected, though not in the order he’d anticipated. Geoffroi rode ahead, wearing his war gear, ready for a fight. Behind him came not his injured friend with a passenger, but rather the other way around. Beatrix de Hauteville rode astride, like a man, the wounded Norman soldier behind her, arms wrapped around her waist.
Ulfr looked up beyond them. The army was most definitely moving their way, and at speed. They had left the infantry, just horsemen pounding across the turf, chasing down the three fugitives and expecting to catch the shipwright and his men on the beach into the bargain.
He waved to make sure he got the two riders’ attention, and in what felt like mere moments the pair were reining in sweating mounts at the edge of the dunes.
‘Well met, Ulfr Sveinsson,’ Geoffroi shouted, holding up a hand. ‘My companion and I wondered if there might be a spare place or two on your ship.’
Ulfr laughed. ‘Always for a brave man. Welcome, Geoffroi. The ship is moving already.’
The Norman dismounted and crossed to the other horse, helping his wounded friend down. The pair of them bowed respectful heads to Beatrix, and then began to move past Ulfr, staggering down the sandy dunes, making for the beach and the work there. Ulfr crossed to the other horse and reached up a hand to help Beatrix down.
‘Sadly, the sea will not welcome me today,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘I came to help Geoffroi with his friend. And now I will help you, Ulfr of the Northmen. Take your ship and put to sea, and kiss the waves for me.’
He shook his head. ‘You can come. We have room.’
‘No, Ulfr. I have a different war to fight, and this one in my own family. Fear not for me. I will not be harmed. I am too valuable a treasure to damage.’
Ulfr was still shaking his head, but she had clearly made up her mind, for she turned the horse and reached down, pulling a sword from a scabbard slung on the saddle. He stared and she turned once more, just briefly, with the strangest smile.
‘I will buy you what time I can. Put to sea, Ulfr.’
And then she was gone. She kicked her horse to speed, letting out a roar of belligerent fury that would give Bjorn a run for his money, and charged across the turf, sword levelled, roaring defiance as she charged the army of her brother headlong.
He looked back. The ship was almost in the water. The men were achieving the seemingly impossible, driven by the necessity of survival. He should help, but somehow he could not let Beatrix do this without someone watching – without a witness who could sing songs of her glory in the mead halls. She raced across the farmland, roaring like a warrior, and he was struck then that no one had ever actually told him what a Valkyrjur should actually look like, but right now if he had to describe the warrior handmaidens of Odin, by all the gods, he would be describing Beatrix.
And it worked. She charged the rebel army, and as the two met it was the mass cavalry of the barons who veered off, peeling away to avoid contact with her. Their charge across the fields ended for a time, as they raced off to the sides, unsure of what to do, for there could be no doubt that Hauteville was bellowing orders that his sister was not to be harmed, yet she was charging back and forth, attempting to slam a blade into any man she could reach.
He gave her a sad smile, oddly certain that, though he would never see her again, she would be all right. Life was not done with a woman of her quality yet. He turned his back, asking Odin to watch over her, despite her adherence to the White Christ.
She had bought them precious time; now they needed to make sure it had been worthwhile. He turned, scrambling back down the dunes, and pounded across the beach, kicking up sprays of sand in his wake as he bore down on the ship. She was at the water, but they hadn’t lowered her yet. Farlof was ready to walk her out until they were neck deep to be sure, good man that he was.
By the time Ulfr was closing on the vessel the whole ship was in the water, the men at the prow waist deep, those at the back just at ankle depth. He ran to the stern and put his shoulder to it, heaving onwards. Slowly they moved out into the water, and he felt every inch of tide was a saviour reaching up to help him to freedom. The water touched his knees, and he could hear the approaching army, the shouts back across the fields just beyond the dunes. He wondered for a moment how Beatrix had fared with her brother – but he had to put her from his mind. She was right. She was far too valuable as a potential political bride to be allowed to be damaged, and so she would be all right in the long run, though it was extremely possible that Serlo would take it out on her in his anger, regardless. Not all punishments were lethal or left lasting marks.
Forgetting her with some difficulty, he continued to heave, feeling the water slopping up around his thighs. As it touched his belt, he heard the first cries of alarm from behind. The vanguard of the rebel army had reached the dunes.
‘Drop her,’ he bellowed, and prayed that there was enough water to take her weight.
Every man along the hull let go, and the ship slapped down into the water just as the first glow of light began to play across the dunes behind them, highlighting the six riders up there who were gesticulating, pointing at the ship out across the beach.
It was still a race. They were thigh deep in the ice-cold water, but a horse could manage that, too, and it would take them precious time to get moving.
‘Climb in,’ he shouted, even as he watched the ship rock once or twice and then settle.
There was enough water for her shallow beam. At his urging, the half a dozen men at the back heaved and gave the floating vessel just the tiniest bit of momentum, allowing her to gain a few extra inches of water as the men climbed aboard and added weight. He almost panicked then, worrying that he’d misjudged it. The keel touched the seabed for a moment, but then it was moving once more, heading out to sea. He watched as the last few men piled aboard, and then finally there was just UIfr at the stern, stomach deep.
He looked back. Horsemen were pounding across the wide expanse of sand toward them, and there was still time for trouble. Then, hands were reaching down from the ship, grabbing his wrists, pulling him aboard.
Ulfr was the last man in the ship, and he realised then that he was the only real sailor among them. Farlof had done a few stints in Byzantine galleys, but not a single man had rowed or crewed a longship before. They were milling about, uncertain of the next move, and so he tried to put away all thoughts of what was happening outside the ship.
‘Pull the oars back across so that they are level above the water. Run out the other ten through the ports you’ve cleared and do the same with them – all oars horizontal, above the water.’
As they began to work, he ran across to the steering oar. She was still lifted and tied, but he feared that dropping it might simply land it in the sand where it would act more as an anchor than a steering board. He called over one of the unoccupied men and handed him a knife.
‘The moment you think the water is deep enough to take the length of that steering oar, cut the line and drop it in, then angle it straight out to sea. Got it?’
The man – staring, worried – nodded.
Ulfr ran forward, pointing to other unoccupied men. Perhaps it was useful to have spare men who were not required at the oars after all. He found four of them, and then gestured to the four long timbers he’d ordered brought aboard at the last moment.
‘Get astern. Grip them tight and push them down into the water, into the sand. Punt us forward. Give us any extra momentum you can.’
The men grabbed the timbers and ran. Apart from him and Farlof, and Geoffroi and his man, who were collapsed near the bow, only three men were unoccupied. He waved at them.
‘You need to move across the whole ship. Examine every board and every peg. Look for any leaks. If you find one, report back to me.
That was it. Everyone had a job. Everyone except Farlof, but he was useful just moving around helping people and giving commands. Ulfr hurried back to the stern, where the four men were heaving with their poles against the sand, helping drive them forward. They were moving deeper all the time, and the tide was still coming in, giving them added safety.
The lead riders had reined in at the water’s edge, but he could see others coming up behind them, and this wasn’t over, for orders were being given out. He heard Farlof giving the order to dip oars, and a moment later there was a horribly arrhythmic clatter and splash as twenty inexpert rowers failed spectacularly to achieve unison. There were two cries of pain as oars collided, knocking back against their owners. Ulfr winced. Such things could break ribs. At least they had spare oarsmen.
Farlof was on it, and his cursing and snarled orders had their effect. There were two more half-hearted failed attempts, but on the fourth stroke, the oars disappeared into the water with an almost perfect unified splash. Still, there were failures as they rose and turned and then clattered and splashed here and there back into the water, but by the time they’d had eight or nine strokes, the oars were moving in pretty good time.
The ship was cutting out to sea.
Next to Ulfr there was another splash as the steering oar was dropped into the water. His joy at the thought that they were at sea at last was curtailed by a blood-curdling scream from his right. He turned, sharply, to see one of the men who’d been punting them away had dropped his timber and was slumped over the stern, a long spear already falling away, covered in blood, thrown by a rider who’d ridden out into the waves. Others were coming, too, and it looked as though archers were arriving. Ulfr felt a grim satisfaction as a second thrown spear fell short, splashing into the water behind them. That was it. They were out of reach, and by the time archers got anywhere near the water the ship would be too far out to reach. They were at sea, and every oar stroke took them further from danger.
He gestured to the man with the steering oar. ‘Keep us straight until you can barely see the horses on the shore, then give me a shout and we’ll start our turn north.’
Leaving the nervous-looking man to his work, Ulfr moved forward, noting with some satisfaction that the oarsmen seemed to have achieved a basic rhythm. He didn’t know how long they’d manage to keep it up, but for now it would carry them out of danger and even out of sight of Pirou, thank Odin.
Back in the bow, he approached Geoffroi.
‘I am glad you escaped. Where can we take you? I assume you are not here for a life on the waves?’
The knight chuckled in a tired voice. ‘I cannot say that is not tempting, but no. I have duties. I shall not stay in the Cotentin, for the rebels now control the peninsula, possibly including my own lands. I will make for Falaise and the duke, and lend my sword to his cause. I am leaping to the assumption that Falaise is where you, too, are bound, for that is where your jarl will be found.’
Ulfr nodded. ‘We will get as close as we can to Falaise. This Clécy place of which you spoke. From there we can rescue Halfdan and the others, and you can rejoin your duke. During our journey, I am hoping that you will be able to help navigate, for you will know these shores better than anyone here.’
Geoffroi nodded.
The sun chose that moment to burst free of the horizon. Though it was still bitterly cold, the day looked set to be a dry one, and the winter sun blazed with golden glory across Nordmandi.
‘I have a gift for you,’ came a voice, and Ulfr turned to see Farlof behind him.
‘Oh?’
‘Some weeks ago, I heard you talking to yourself.’
He reached into the bags and goods stowed near the prow and found a large sack, which clearly weighed a great deal from the strain that showed on his face as he lifted it. Whatever was in it was a good three feet long and a foot both wide and thick. Farlof held it sideways across his hands, as though he were offering a sword. Frowning, Ulfr reached down. As he took it, his friend removed the sack.
‘Gods,’ Ulfr said in a breathless tone as he looked down at what slid free of the cover. The dragon’s head was carved with immense skill, and touched up with black, yellow and red paint, giving it a fearsome appearance. It was an old-fashioned design, like the ship’s prows of his forefathers, like the great dragon boats that had sailed from fjord and isle to raid on the rich coastlines of the east for fifty generations.
‘I heard you call her the Sea Dragon,’ Farlof explained.
Ulfr could only nod. He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust his voice. It was rare that emotion claimed and floored him, but this was one such moment.
‘When…?’ he managed.
‘I hired the carpenter at Pirou to do it, privately.’
Ulfr smiled, thinking back over his visit there, when the man had come out of some back room, claiming to be working on a private project. The sneaky bastards. The wonderful sneaky bastards. A name gave power. Runes gave power. But this would give the Sea Dragon more power than anything. This completed her.
The danger on the beach entirely forgotten as they cut ever further out into the water, Ulfr and Farlof lifted the dragon’s head and fitted it to the prow post. It would need to be pegged in, but just looking at it, standing there, proud, sent Ulfr’s heart soaring.
They were free. They were heading north with the Sea Dragon.
He’d done it.