The sun dawned on a new world for the Wolves of Odin.
For Ulfr it was a return to an older time, of longships and the icy whitecaps of the seas south of his home, of the sound of oars and weary men, of creaking timbers and crying gulls, of the freedom a man can only know in the embrace of the whale road.
For Farlof, it was the world of his forefathers that he himself had never truly experienced. He was a Northman to the core, come south to serve among the Rus in the Byzantine Emperor’s guard and then sent west to fight in Italy, but he had spent most of his life on land. What time he’d had on the water had been in the slow, heavy war galleys of the Byzantines, with their fire-belchers and their multiple oar banks. He had never known the simplicity of a swift-lined raider with a complement of men small enough to be brothers.
For the others, it was truly new. Most of them were workers in the harbour of Fulquerville or local labourers from Pirou who had taken Ulfr’s offer as the chance for a new life without the drudgery of serfdom in Nordmandi. They might yet regret their decision, as the sheer effort of sailing a longship on the open ocean seeped into their bones, and maybe the uncertainty of their future, too; but for now, despite the weariness and effort, they were in high spirits at the opening of a world of adventure. Ulfr was willing to bet that after a few weeks, once their muscles had built and the rhythm and pace of the whale road had claimed them, none of them would want to go back to their land-bound world of tedium and cruelty.
A new world under a cold winter sun, as the waves slapped against the side of the ship and the oars rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell, now in a reasonable rhythm, the best part of an hour away from the beach at Pirou.
They had escaped capture or death at the hands of the rebel barons, and they had a new ship with a new crew, hungry for possibility. True, the ship was unfinished, and at the first real opportunity Ulfr intended to spend two or three days ashore as they finished the mast and found a sail to raise upon it and save the arms of the crew, but even unfinished, she was a thing of beauty.
He knew that it would be a year before he was done with her. Apart from the actual ship parts that were required for any reasonable voyage, she would need a sternpost; the crew would all need shields that could be slotted into place along the sheer strake, and, more than anything, she needed to be made to feel like their ship. The Sea Wolf had been carved with intricate and ancient designs, and the same would be true in time of the Sea Dragon. It would be an ongoing work whenever they were not actively at sea.
‘Ship oars. Rest for quarter of an hour,’ he bellowed between cupped hands, drawing a cheer from the rowers, who must be close to exhaustion, this being their first ever voyage at the oars.
Farlof and Geoffroi wandered along the ship to meet him at the stern, where he had taken over the steering oar from the new man. All along the way men cheered them and grinned. Rarely had a ship ever seen such good humour.
‘What is the long-term plan?’ Farlof asked as he settled in to lean against the rail.
Ulfr shrugged. ‘We sail the coastline until we reach the river that Geoffroi told me about, then sail inland as far as it’s navigable. Then we need to stop and move across land and make contact with Halfdan and the others at Falaise. There, Geoffroi will join his duke, but I presume the rest of us will return to the Sea Dragon and make our way to the sea.’
‘And after that?’
‘This is the jarl’s call, but I think we shall be bound for homelands. We still have unfinished business with Harðráði and our stolen ship – and with the priest Hjalmvigi,’ he added in a dark tone that those who were not in Georgia with the bloody jarl and his rabid priest would never understand.
‘But you have a new ship?’ Geoffroi said.
‘The Sea Wolf is ours, too. My last great ship. If you had a gold coin and someone took it from you, would you shrug and forget it, because you knew you had another gold coin?’
‘Point taken,’ smiled the Norman.
‘What can you tell us of the journey to come?’
Geoffroi scrubbed his short hair with a rough hand. ‘Probably not enough to help, to be honest. Normally there are plenty of good harbours to put in to, and the coast is clear of pirates these days. There are various small hazards, from sandbanks and submerged rocks to cliffs and surprise currents, but those I know well enough to see us through. The problem is that everything is changing.’
‘Because of the rebellion against the duke?’
‘Quite. Harbours that I know to be friendly will probably now be closed. Places that are the usual anchorage of traders will probably be filled with warships instead. And while there are still no pirates, now there will be ships of the rebel barons, which may well be worse for us. My homeland is on the north tip of the Cotentin. I cannot say for certain what has happened there since I left and my own lord rebelled, but it may be that it remains untouched, in which case we will find friends there. Whatever the case, there will be two or three coastal villages between here and the river where I will be welcome. All we need is to make it to one of them, and we can pause there long enough for you to finish your mast and purchase a sail. After that, things will become easier.’
Ulfr smiled. ‘Good. That all sounds as well as could be hoped.’
‘Uh… Skipper?’ called a voice from further forward.
Ulfr looked past his friends and saw one of the new men at the prow alternately waving at him and pointing off toward the coast ahead. He looked in that direction and his breath caught in his throat. That was something he’d not taken into account. A little short of an hour out from Pirou’s beach, they were about to pass Fulquerville on their way north. He cursed, chiding himself for having overlooked the most blatant of dangers. It was fully high tide, and what they had done in the harbour that night would be be known to all. It came as no surprise, then, to see three warships moving across the tidal harbour toward the open water, angling to intercept the Sea Dragon.
Some darkly humorous part of him chuckled at the fact that there were three, the fourth unable to pursue thanks to the fact that the Sea Dragon was using their oars to get away. Still, it was not enough to make him laugh openly right now.
Once again, he felt keenly the absence of his friends – Halfdan with his luck, Leif with his knowledge, Gunnhild with her certainty, and Ketil and Bjorn with their promise of violent victory in almost any circumstances. But there was nothing for it. It came down to him. He was the skipper and in absolute command, and so the onus of saving their collective hides was entirely on him.
Three to one. All three were bigger ships, and all three had sails. That meant that outrunning them would rely on the strength of the oarsmen’s arms, and they were already tired. Running would not save them, even though the Sea Dragon could be the faster ship by far when she was finished.
He thought back on what he’d seen of them in the harbour. They were really very similar to an old-fashioned longship, just a bit larger and of slightly differing construction. That meant that they would not have great weapons of war fitted on board, as the Byzantines had. They would rely instead on boarding their enemies and overwhelming them in the old manner. They might have archers, mind, and that made a great deal of difference.
He remembered, with a further sinking in the pit of his stomach, the warriors he’d seen aboard them. Like almost all these Norman soldiers, they were killers. With the love of war of an ancient Northman, combined with a hunger to prove themselves and to conquer, they had become violence incarnate. Then he looked at his crew. They were mostly manual labourers or the men of a shipwright. A little over half of them were armed, with axes mostly, and seven wore tunics of leather sewn with metal plates. Few had helmets, even fewer chain shirts. And of them, who had any experience at war? The answer to that was a bleak one: Ulfr, Farlof, Geoffroi and his wounded companion, two Apulian Wolves and two Varangian ones. Of a crew currently of thirty-two, eight had any skill in combat, and one of those was too badly wounded to fight.
So not only was running away almost certainly a death sentence, so was any attempt to fight them. That left only something sneaky – and that, really, was Halfdan’s role.
He found himself cursing again as he ran through it all.
‘We’re in trouble,’ Farlof summarised.
‘Yes. They outnumber us, and us being without a sail means they can outrun us, and as things stand they can easily outfight us. Halfdan and Gunnhild would have a solution, but I have not.’
‘This ship has a shallow beam, yes?’ Geoffroi said thoughtfully.
Ulfr nodded. ‘Very.’
‘I doubt those three ships are anywhere near as shallow?’
Ulfr thought back, picturing them at low tide in the harbour, leaning at an angle in the sand. He nodded. ‘Much deeper, I’d say.’
‘Can we get ahead of them?’
Ulfr looked along the coast. The enemy ships were only just emerging from the harbour. The skippers were utilising sail, saving their oars for the attack. He did not even need to look up or around to sense that the wind was a north-westerly, which made their decision foolish. They would be struggling to use the wind, and the further north the Sea Dragon managed, the worse that struggle would be. So it all depended on the oarsmen.
He cupped his hands again. ‘The ships of Hauteville are coming for us,’ he bellowed, which cut through the good-natured murmur across the vessel and silenced the men with a solid air of nervousness. He took another breath. ‘We cannot fight them, but if you are strong, and you can bend to oars once more, we can still beat them. How are your backs?’
There was a roar then, which surprised him. He’d half expected nerves to claim them, but somehow their new-found freedom on the waves had given them a confidence he’d not anticipated. He grinned.
‘Are you men?’
A roar of affirmation.
‘Or are you Wolves?’ he bellowed, and this time the roar was deafening.
He had planned then to give the order, but he discovered, again to his surprise, that he had no need to. Someone among the crew, even as the roar died down, was already calling out a time beat, and the oars dropped into the water in time with that rhythm, the Sea Dragon surging forward with astonishing speed.
‘Damn, she’s fast,’ Geoffroi breathed.
‘I only build fast ships,’ Ulfr replied. ‘Some men prefer bulk, strength or capacity. I like speed.’
‘And I like your thinking,’ the Norman said. ‘All right, here’s what we do. There are three routes along the coast north of here, each defined by a series of sandbanks. The furthest west, out to sea, is the clearest, and any ship can ply it, but the waves will be high and cruel that far out, and it will take time to sail far enough out and back. The central route is the one used by most traffic, for it is clear for all but the deepest of keels, but it still takes time to sail far enough out and back. The inner channel is only used by small and very shallow fishing boats, for it is too dangerous, though it is also by far the fastest route north.’
‘Hazards?’ Ulfr grinned.
‘The Lucky Banks – which are not – the low-port reef, and the rocks known as the Feet of God. Only a lunatic takes the inner channel, but it will easily gain a ship an hour or two on pursuit by either of the other routes.’
Ulfr laughed. ‘And we have a beam so shallow that even small fishing boats would be envious.’ He peered off ahead. ‘How close to the shore?’
Geoffroi smiled. ‘Angle for land now, aiming for the far side of the harbour, and I’ll take the prow and call your route.’
The Norman rushed to the fore then and grasped the great carved dragon, peering into the spray. Ulfr angled as he was told, toward the shore to the north of Fulquerville, and watched with a frisson of nervous energy as the three vessels began to pick up speed out of the harbour. It was going to be close.
With every few yards they cut north, the three warships closed at a tangent, intending to cut them off. Then, just when Ulfr was thinking they would do it, the three ships furled their sails and the oars were run out. Moments later the warships of Serlo de Hauteville were surging forward, racing to beat the Sea Dragon to her planned route.
‘Farlof!’
‘Ulfr?’
‘Double the oar strokes.’
His friend looked back with wide eyes. They were already going fast, a punishing pace for untrained rowers who were already tired. Any faster and they might just risk breaking their own oarsmen. But Ulfr held the man’s gaze. If they didn’t make it past the three ships, then nothing else would matter. Farlof seemed to realise this, nodded, and immediately bellowed out the new order, then began to stamp his foot loudly to create the new rhythm.
The noise from the oarsmen died away as every man saved his breath, bending all his effort to the work. Ulfr felt pride in his crew as the Sea Dragon lurched forward once more, a new pace sending her bouncing across the waves like a dream, despite the weariness of its inexperienced oarsmen.
He watched the coast angling toward the Sea Dragon, watched the three enemy ships desperately trying to stop them. He knew they were going to make it, as long as the rowers could keep up the pace. He paid attention to Geoffroi, who was waving and gesturing for a little more easterly. He changed the angle of the steering oar, and in moments they were cutting ever closer to the enemy.
It went on like that for mere minutes, though it felt like years to Ulfr. Changing the angle, watching the shore, marking their enemies. Then they were almost at the point of collision…
And then they were passing the danger. The Sea Dragon shot across the bow of the lead warship, just three ship-lengths ahead of it, raising an audible howl of anguish from the Norman crew. Then, in quick succession, they raced across the front of the second and third ships, closer to each one as they passed.
Behind them, as they raced for that dangerous inner channel, the three warships panicked. The lead ship, which they had passed first, decided there was no hope of following and raced out to sea, making for the middle channel – the clear one used by most sensible shipping. The last of the three seemed to decide that pursuit was fruitless and slowed, turning, preparing to make for the harbour once more. The middle ship, though, fell into pursuit. It turned as tightly as it could, veering so sharply that men tumbled and slid around the deck, trying to come about behind the Sea Dragon.
Ulfr’s concentration shifted in an instant with that instinct of a born sailor. The threat of enemy vessels had been left behind, and their pursuit became a worry secondary to what lay in front of them. He had one eye on the coastal waters ahead, and the other on Geoffroi in the prow. It took only a dozen heartbeats into their new course for him to realise just how dangerous this route could be.
The Lucky Banks turned out to be sandbanks that formed a visible ridge during lower tides, but at high tide were submerged just below the water’s surface, waiting to snag the keel, steering board and oars of any vessel foolish enough to come near. Ulfr saw five different places where the sand came close enough to the surface that even the Sea Dragon risked grounding, but with every twitch of a hand from Geoffroi, and every slight nudge in angle at the steering oar, they moved deftly between the obstacles, continuing to cut north all the time.
Looking back momentarily when the Norman signalled a stretch of clear water, Ulfr was impressed to see that the enemy warship was still on their trail, using their own movements as a guide to avoid running aground. It was doing impressively well. A quick glance in the other directions confirmed that the third vessel had returned to the harbour, and the one they had first encountered was out of sight, out to sea. They would soon be far behind. It was just this persistent pursuer who continued to threaten the Sea Dragon.
After perhaps two or three miles of the submerged menace, Ulfr was getting the hang of this coast, until suddenly Geoffroi threw out a series of urgent signals. The shipwright tried to follow them as swiftly as he could, bellowing for the right oars to back water, turning his steering oar madly, calling for Farlof, who hurried back and forth among the rowers, trying to keep them working as a team even as they were given differing instructions depending on which side of the ship they rowed.
The Sea Dragon lurched sharply to the right, dangerously so, and the crew bellowed out in fright and consternation as they struggled to stay in their benches, holding tight to their oars as the ship swayed wildly. Ulfr’s eyes widened as he saw for what they’d been bound: a submerged reef or rocky shelf, only visible as white foam where the water slammed into it. Had they not turned sharply, they’d plainly have torn out the bottom of the Sea Dragon on it.
He was both irked at and grateful to Geoffroi. He felt that perhaps the Norman could have prepared them for it earlier, but on the other hand, he had saved them from hitting the thing.
Then, the reason for the last-moment move became clear. Even as the Sea Dragon began to pick up speed making east toward the shore, the ship following them had had too little time to react and lacked the skill and knowledge of the combination of Ulfr and Geoffroi. He watched with a great deal of satisfaction as the Hauteville warship ploughed into the reef, even as it tried to turn at the last moment. With a sound like a tree screaming, the timbers of the enemy ship tore and gave, breaking on the rocks.
They sailed on, turning a leisurely north once more at a signal from Geoffroi, and leaving behind the slowly disappearing wreckage of the warship on the rocks. By the time they left the low-port reef and passed among the Feet of God, Ulfr was starting to rather like the challenge of this place. These rocks were easier to deal with. They presented more of a challenge in terms of navigation, but at least they protruded from the surface and were readily visible.
An hour later they were clear of all the hazards and moving at a reasonably leisurely pace along the coast in a northerly direction. With Ulfr’s blessing, Farlof eased the pace – without such immediate danger any more – allowing the men to rest a little. The most exhausted rowers were swapped out for those who’d not had a stint at the oars, and they moved on with increasing confidence. Some time in the early afternoon, they reached the tip of the Cotentin Peninsula, and followed the curve of the coastline as it turned east. The going became easier, the wind with them, the waves lighter with no submerged obstacles.
They sailed on for another hour, keeping the pace steady, watching the coast ahead and occasionally the open sea behind, warily. Twice, Ulfr thought he saw the shape of a Norman warship on the horizon behind them, but the winter clouds made the view hazy and uncertain at best, and he could not say for sure what it was.
It was around mid-afternoon when there was no longer any doubt. The shape of the enemy ship appeared unmistakably on the horizon, and had come closer – close enough to see it constantly. Ulfr had spent enough of his life in similar positions to be confident that while he could see the Norman ship, the reverse would not be true, for the enemy stood out black in a world of blue and grey, while the Sea Dragon would be lost to view against the ever-changing coastline. That would only hold true for so long, of course, until the enemy was too close to miss them.
Finally, as Ulfr was starting to worry about the predicament for which they were heading, Geoffroi called across to him.
‘This headland marks the edge of my own territory. Watch now, and we will see whether they remain my lands or whether Neel de Cotentin has taken control of them.’
As they passed around the shallow headland, Ulfr looked ahead at a stretch of rocky shoreline that boded poorly for ships that came too close, rocks that led up to cliffs that towered some sixty feet above the water.
‘Look,’ Geoffroi said, voice tight but with a hint of victory. He pointed to the top of the cliffs, and Ulfr spotted a tower atop the great rocky outcrop, a squat stone construction, and above it, snapping in the wind, was a flag – two simple horizontal stripes, white over black.
‘Yes?’
‘My colours. I had hoped that my lands would be too minor for the lord de Cotentin to bother with for now. He has bigger problems and greater enemies than I. And if these lands are still mine, then we have friends here. Slow your rowers and watch the cliffs.’
Farlof gave the order, and the Sea Dragon moved to little more than a drift along the coast. Ulfr watched, not sure what he was looking for, yet he saw it half a heartbeat before the Norman pointed and said ‘here’.
The cliffs folded inwards into a narrow defile. It was not deep, and any attempt to climb the sixty feet would be at best gruelling, but it struck Ulfr immediately as just about the right size to hold a longship. He looked at the rocky shoreline, where shelves of grey points sat just beneath the water’s surface, yet at that defile they dropped away, almost mirroring the recess under the waves. The Sea Dragon could approach, with careful steering, and reach the cliffs without grounding on rocks, and with a little work could be pulled up and beached in the narrow, V-shaped cove.
He grinned. ‘Farlof, have the oarsmen back water until we are still. Then we need to turn sharp and make for that defile. Once we’re lined up, we move very slowly, so that I can adjust and prevent hitting any submerged rock.’
Farlof nodded and went about the work. The Sea Dragon slowed, and then gradually turned to point into that narrow cove. Over the next quarter of an hour, they moved slowly in between the narrow rocky shelves, with Ulfr making tiny, fractional adjustments with every two or three heartbeats, all the time with that distant Norman warship coming closer, growing larger on the horizon. Finally, the Wolves shipped oars and coasted the last twenty yards, coming to a halt just short of a narrow, gravel beach. There, they waited, swaying barely imperceptibly with the waves lapping against the rocks.
They could even hear the sound of the approaching Norman vessel now, and every Wolf held his breath as the ship approached, and then passed, willing them not to see the berthed ship in the narrow defile, but it seemed that the gods were with them. The Normans ploughed past without a glance in their direction.
Ulfr let out an explosive breath once they were far enough gone that not even the sound of their oars and shouts echoed back to the cove. They had made it. From here, it should not be too difficult to move from friendly haven to friendly haven all the way to Falaise, especially with the local coastal knowledge of Geoffroi to guide them.
‘I think we’re safe,’ he said with a sigh of relief.
‘You know what’s better than a hideaway?’ Geoffroi said with a smile.
‘What?’
‘A hideaway in my lands, with a sailmaker just a mile along the coast.’
Ulfr grinned. Today was getting better and better.