Chapter Two
“Steady the mast. Swing her about. Hold on…”
Mathios yelled his instructions as his men scurried to obey. The deck heaved under their feet, the sturdy craft tossing and twisting on the turbulent waves. Built for speed and stability, the dragon ship was his pride and joy and could cope with most conditions but was wholly overwhelmed by the force of this sudden storm. Mathios knew it. They would be fortunate indeed to survive this gale.
“Look out!” He bellowed the warning, but too late. The rope securing the lower edge of the bright red sail had snapped, whipping around to hit one of his men in the middle of the back. The man toppled overboard to sink without a trace, and the now loosened sail flapped crazily in the gale.
“Grab it. Make it secure. You, and you, help me…” Mathios dived for the dangling edge of the sail only to have it snatched from his grip by a gust of wind. “Fuck! Lower the sail. We might yet save the ship.”
It was a losing battle, but Mathios and his men fought it anyway because the alternative was worse. It was only when the craft tilted to the right and capsized onto her side that he ordered his men to abandon ship. “Grab what you can, anything that might float. Make for the beach.”
Mathios was the last to hurl himself over the side, reluctant even now to leave his doomed ship to her fate. He grabbed at an oar as it swirled past, narrowly missing his head. It provided enough buoyancy to keep him afloat in the churning waves. The current carried him toward the shore, perhaps a mile or so distant. He twisted in the water and saw that several of his men were also managing to remain afloat. A reasonable swimmer himself, he knew that for many of his men this was a skill they had never mastered. Vikings preferred to rely on their ships. Mathios called out words of encouragement to them.
“We’re not dead yet. Get ashore. It’s not too far. We’ll regroup on the beach.”
The man closest to him, Ormarr, lifted a hand to acknowledge his words. There was nothing more Mathios could do until they were safe on dry land. He kicked hard, and turned his face toward the rocky Northumbrian coastline.
Despite the sudden violent squall that had wrecked his precious ship, the elements appeared to be on Mathios’ side as he struck out for the shore. The current helped, the waves finally depositing him face down on the sandy beach. Coughing saltwater from his mouth, Mathios scrambled onto all fours to check to his left and right.
There.
He recognised the blue tunic of Olav, his cousin and second-in-command, and the green leggings worn by young Vikarr. It was the lad’s first experience of seafaring and Mathios hoped he would not be too discouraged by the watery outcome this day. Sooner or later this happened to all of them; such were the vagaries of the sea.
Mathios knelt up, scanned the beach for more survivors. He called out to Olav. “Who else made it?”
“I saw Hakon. He was at my side…” Olav stood up and limped toward Mathios. “Yes, there he is. And Ormarr too.”
Mathios turned to look in the direction indicated by his cousin. Two battered figures made their way across the beach, teetering on unsteady legs. Mathios raised an arm in greeting.
“Over here. To me.”
The five men hugged and clapped each other on the back, relief at their deliverance from the waves writ across all their features.
“Anyone else?” Mathios was conscious that he had sailed with fourteen men. He knew that one of them, Njal, had likely drowned when he was knocked overboard by the loose sail, but that left nine unaccounted for.
“Arne. He made it to the shore, definitely. I saw him on the beach while I was still out there.” Hakon gestured with his thumb to indicate the roiling ocean at their rear. “He was heading up toward the trees.”
“What the fuck for? I told everyone to meet here, on the beach.” Exasperated, Mathios scanned the edge of the forest that extended right down to the shore.
“Maybe he didn’t hear. Or needed a piss.” Hakon shrugged as he offered the explanation. “I definitely saw him, Jarl.”
“Okay. We’ll need to go find him. First, we scour the beach, half a mile in each direction, check for any more survivors. Or bodies.” Mathios paused, then, “Olav, take Hakon and go that way.” He pointed to his left. “Ormarr, Vikarr, you’re with me. We meet back here before the sun reaches the tip of that pine over yonder.”
The Vikings separated into the two groups and each set off at a brisk march. Despite their ordeal, and some minor injuries, every one of them appreciated the need to locate their missing warriors quickly.
Mathios’ party made the grim discovery of three bodies that had been washed up on the shore. Daichi, Vadik, Yaegar—good men, all of them. Under his breath Mathios cursed their foul luck that had led to this, then ordered that the dead men be dragged into the shelter of the trees, there to await proper burial.
Satisfied that no more survivors were to be found in this direction, Mathios called a halt to the search. “We return to meet the others. Let us hope they had better luck.”
Olav’s group had indeed fared better. As the other team approached, Mathios could see that their ranks were swelled to four. He recognised Ivar and Ywan, brothers who were rarely encountered apart. No doubt they had clung to the same piece of wreckage and would either sink or float together. The gods had smiled on them this day.
“We found one body,” said Olav. “It was Alfgeirr.”
Mathios nodded. That left just two whose fates were unknown, but he presumed them to have perished. Along with Njal, he knew that Petrekr and Saxi had died bravely, battling the elements, and the three Viking heroes would even now be approaching Valhalla in the arms of the Valkyries. He turned his attention to those still living.
“What weapons do we have?” Mathios’ own sword still hung from his belt, and his dagger was firmly wedged in the back of his sodden trousers. He had taken a risk in keeping them when he leapt overboard; iron was heavy and not known for floating. But a warrior does not relinquish his weapon if he can help it.
“I have a sword, Jarl, and a dagger.” Olav was the first to reply.
“And I have an axe. I lost my dagger, though.” This from Ormarr.
One by one they announced what arms they possessed. Their tally was four swords, six daggers, an axe, a spear that had been washed up on the beach, and a bow but no arrows. Mathios ensured that every man had the means to defend himself before moving on to the next pressing matter.
“We must find Arne.” Mathios turned to Hakon. “Where did you last see him, exactly?”
“Up there, Jarl.” The man pointed to the closest trees. “He was weaving about as though he didn’t know where he was or where he was going.”
“Right. We’ll find him. Look for any tracks…”
The men fanned out to examine the undergrowth. It wasn’t long before the shout went up. “Here. The bracken has been trampled down.” Olav waved the others over to where he stood peering at the ground. “Look, there’s his trail. It has to be him.”
It was as good a lead as any. Mathios crouched to examine the flattened grass then nodded. “This way. Follow me.”
The tracks led them perhaps a quarter of a mile due west before petering out when the terrain became rockier. Mathios halted. “We need to split up. Olav, Hakon, Ivar, and Ywan, you take the path to the right. Ormarr and Vikarr, you’re with me again.”
Olav set off as directed, heading north. Mathios and his team continued forward.
“What was that? Did anyone else hear something?” Mathios stopped, listening, but there was only silence. Even so, he could swear by the great Thor that he heard a sound in the distance, a faint cry possibly.
His companions shook their heads. They set off again.
“There! I definitely heard something.” Mathios halted again and turned to check with his men.
“Me too,” agreed Ormarr. “An animal…?”
Mathios was not certain, but sensible precautions were called for. “Maybe. Have daggers to hand.” A wild boar emerging suddenly from the undergrowth could be deadly. “It sounded to be coming from this direction.” He led the way, scanning the forest floor in all directions before proceeding with care.
The sound reached his ears again. Mathios glanced over his shoulder. Both his companions nodded, they heard it too. The cry was almost human. He knew foxes made such a sound when mating, but that was usually at night, not in the broad light of an autumn morn, in the teeth of a gale.
Moving on instinct they picked up speed, making their way through the thickly wooded terrain at a sprint. They emerged into a clearing and Mathios could barely believe the sight that met his eyes. His missing warrior, Arne, lay on the ground. A few feet away stood a young woman, unkempt in appearance, her bedraggled, sodden clothing hanging from her thin frame. She struggled to maintain her grip on a large lump of rock that she cradled in her arms. From her stance it was clear to Mathios that she intended to drop the boulder on his fallen comrade.
“Stop!” the command rang out. Mathios had instinctively used the local Anglo-Saxon dialect. He drew his weapon from the back of his breeches, intending to enforce his order with his dagger but at the last moment the wench dropped the rock. He sheathed his knife again and took a pace forward. The girl stared at him, her eyes wide, uncomprehending, then she bent forward. Fearing that she meant to pick up her rock again, Mathios was spurred into action. He leapt forward, covering the few yards that separated them to seize her around the waist and carry the pair of them to the ground. The wench crumpled beneath him. By the time he had shoved himself up on one elbow to check her fate she was already unconscious.
“See to Arne.” He rolled from the woman, a Celt by the looks of her. There was no mistaking the heat emanating from her slender body. She was shaking, her teeth chattering despite her insensible state. She was going nowhere and no longer offered any threat. Mathios saw no need to restrain her and left her where she was while he checked on the condition of his warrior.
Arne was pushing himself up onto all fours, his bloodstained hair falling over his face. He fingered his head wound and groaned.
“Did she do that?” Mathios crouched beside the man.
“No. Something hit me while I was still in the water.” He looked about him. “Where are we? I don’t remember…”
“You were washed up on the beach like the rest of us but for some reason you didn’t stay put and wait.”
“I’m not sure… I think—”
“What happened? We heard a shout…” Olav and his men arrived at a sprint. “You found him, I see.”
“Aye, and just in time by the looks of things.” Mathios stood and prowled back to where the Celtic wench still lay. “She was about to brain Arne with a rock.”
“Really?” Olav came to stand beside him to regard the inert form at their feet. “From the looks of her she’d have more chance of taking to the air and flying round yonder oak. Are you sure she could even lift a rock let alone make a weapon of it?”
“I’m sure,” growled Mathios. “I know what I saw.”
“She wasn’t going to do it.” This from Arne. “That might have been her plan, but she changed her mind.”
Mathios eyed him warily. “You think so? That’s not how it looked when we arrived.”
“I saw her. I looked into her eyes. There was fear in them, and confusion. Regret too. But not murder.”
“Are you sure? You were barely conscious yourself.”
“I saw, Jarl. She came right up to me. The wench was standing over me when I opened my eyes. If she truly meant me harm she could have done it, but she didn’t. She backed off.”
Mathios allowed himself a noncommittal snort. He would reserve judgement, for now. He crouched to lay his palm on the girl’s forehead. “She has a fever.”
“We should finish her off now. The vicious little bitch would have killed Arne if we’d been even a few moments later.” Ormarr was already drawing his dagger. “I’m happy enough to do what needs to be done.”
“Put your knife away, Ormarr. Any talk of retribution may well be irrelevant. She’s burning up and looks to be half dead already.” Mathios peered into the inert features. The wench might be pretty enough if she was not so thin, her waist-length dark hair less matted. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her skin was pallid. Air rattled in her throat and a glance at her chest showed her breathing to be shallow and rapid. Mathios feared she was not long for this world, and despite his reservations about her malicious intent he could not avoid the conclusion that her demise would actually be a pity.
Ormarr sought to press his case. “But Jarl, I—”
“Enough.” Mathios pulled the wench into his arms and straightened. “The matter will be decided by the gods. If she lives, we shall have the truth from her. Meanwhile, we have the pressing business of seeking shelter and warmth since we find ourselves stranded on these shores for a while at least. Some food would not go amiss either.”
“There must be a settlement hereabouts. She can’t have come far in that state.” Olav could usually be relied upon for sensible comment.
“What about that cottage we spotted?” Ivar pointed back the way they had come. “It looked to be partly in ruins, but maybe it would do.”
Olav agreed. “It’s the closest place where we might make camp. There’s shelter to be had. It’ll do to start with at least.”
“You lead the way.” Mathios shifted the girl in his arms. “How far is it?”
Olav hauled Arne to his feet and supported him with an arm about his waist. “A few minutes’ walk, no more. You can lean on me, Arne, and we can—”
A shrill, plaintive cry caused them to stop in their tracks.
“What the fuck is that?” Mathios scanned the clearing. “That’s what we heard before. It sounds to be close by.”
“Behind those trees,” whispered Vikarr, his dagger already drawn.
“Go with the lad,” Mathios instructed Hakon. “Find out what’s making that noise.”
The two Vikings crept forward. Ivar and Ywan joined them. They disappeared into the dense shrubbery while the rest waited in silence.
“Thor’s fucking teeth.” The oath came from Ivar.
“What is it? What have you found?” Mathios called out, already moving to follow his men.
“Just these, Jarl.” Ivar reappeared carrying a large jar and a wet blanket. “Oh, and that…” he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb as his brother emerged from the trees.
“By Odin’s balls,” breathed Mathios.
Ywan walked toward them, a child of perhaps a year old cradled in his arms. The little one was squalling in earnest now, his reddened face showing his discontent and his small feet kicking within the blanket that enveloped him.
“How did that get there?” Ormarr peered suspiciously at the child. “What are we going to do with it?”
Mathios glanced at the girl in his arms. “I think it’s pretty clear how he got here. It is a he, I assume?”
Ywan shrugged.
The gender of the child was neither here nor there. Mathios made up his mind. “Bring the baby with us. We’ll decide what’s to be done once we’ve made camp and got a fire going, and put some food in our bellies.”
“There’s these.” Ivar offered the jar to Mathios. “It’s full of blackberries.”
“Share them around. Oh, and make sure he gets some.” Mathios nodded at the crying child. “He sounds hungry.”
* * *
The trek to the cottage was mercifully short, though the accommodations offered at the semi-derelict farmstead were crude to say the least. From the outside the place appeared deserted, but they needed to be certain. Mathios sent three of his men off to scout the area for any signs of the inhabitants. Meanwhile he and the rest set to making themselves comfortable.
The house consisted of just one room, with an adjoining barn. The roof of the cottage was in poor repair, but it was clear that someone had attempted to render the thatch weatherproof though with limited success. The barn was in ruins, though a rough chicken coop occupied one end of it. It was clear that someone lived here. Or tried to.
The cottage was sparsely furnished, just a table, a chair, and a narrow pallet on the floor. A smaller cot stood beside the pallet, further evidence that this was the home of the wench he still carried and her baby.
Arne sank onto the solitary chair.
“Are you all right there?” Mathios asked. “You could take the bed.”
“Aye, Jarl. I’ll do.”
Satisfied, Mathios lowered his burden onto the pallet and unlaced the rough, oversized boots on her feet. He removed the footwear, then dragged the one dry blanket up over her. She would need to be got out of the rest of her wet clothes fairly soon, but first they all needed warmth. A cursory check on the fire pit in the middle of the room showed it to be cold. It was obvious no flame had burned there for several days at least.
Mathios started issuing commands. “Find some firewood and start a blaze. Is there anything here to eat?”
Within half an hour a fire crackled in the hearth, the logs provided by Ormarr’s trusty axe. A search of the cottage yielded little, though, in the way of food.
“Two eggs and a few sorry-looking carrots.” Olav reported the tally. “We need to take a couple of rabbits, Jarl, and quick, while there’s still daylight. Otherwise we’ll all go hungry this night.”
“See to it,” commanded Mathios. “Food and firewood are our immediate priorities, and tending any wounds.”
“I believe we have not fared too badly, considering. Even Arne’s thick skull seems not to be as battered as we thought and Vikarr is binding the wound on his arm. He’ll be okay after a day or two’s rest.” Olav gathered his damp cloak about him. “I’ll take Ivar and Ywan and see what we can rustle up for our nattmal.”
“Give the little man to me,” offered Arne. “If I can’t do much else I can at least see to him.”
Ywan handed over the baby, clearly relieved to pass him on to someone else.
“He stinks.” The Viking wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And I think he pissed on me.”
“He did right,” observed Olav from the door of the cottage. “You’ll need to find some dry rags.”
“Rags? What for?” Arne peered at the small boy as though the child himself might explain.
Olav grinned. “You need to wrap them around, to soak up whatever comes out.”
“Are you sure?” Arne was far from convinced.
Olav nodded emphatically. “I am father to six. I’ve shared my longhouse with enough squalling infants to know how they’re cared for. Admitted, my wife actually does most of that, but there are times a man just has to get his hands dirty. Your time has come, my friend. Rags, definitely.”
The child’s face was stained with blackberry juice, as were his small fingers. He was quiet now though, and peering at the Vikings with undisguised fascination. They returned his steady gaze with dawning horror.
“Maybe someone else should—” Arne’s enthusiasm for the task had evaporated.
“Ywan, stop your whining and find some rags for Arne,” instructed Mathios. “And you, make sure you don’t drop him. It would be a pity to rescue the lad, just to have him perish through your ham-fistedness.”
Arne appeared to be reconciled to the necessity of caring for the little boy and had already started to peel the damp clothing away from the small body. “We’ll be fine,” he assured his leader, already returning the child’s intense gaze. “You should see to the lass.”
Indeed he should, starting with making sure she, too, was dry and warm. As all his men barring Arne and the youth, Vikarr, filed out in search of their supper and the means to cook it, Mathios turned his attention to the wan figure on the pallet. He knelt beside her and peeled back the blanket. She was no longer shivering, but her skin was chilled and clammy. He needed to get her warm and dry if she was to have a realistic chance of surviving the ague that racked her frail body. There was also the matter of possible contagion.
“Until we know if this illness is infectious no one but me is to tend her.”
“But Jarl, what if—”
Mathios silenced the lad with one raised hand. “If it can be spread, I’ve already been in close contact with her. No one else has thus far and I intend to keep it that way. The baby too. His cot must be moved away from the bed.”
Vikarr nodded and scuttled over to grasp the cot and drag it across the cottage, depositing it as far from the pallet as he could. “What should I do now, Jarl?”
“See if you can coddle those eggs over the fire, then share them out. Make sure the little one has his portion too.”
“What about the others?”
“Don’t worry about them. Olav will bring back meat for all.” Mathios had no doubt at all on that matter. Olav was the best hunter among them.
A quick survey of the room turned up little in the way of spare clothing, He had to conclude that the wench only possessed that which she stood up in. Or rather, lay down. No matter, she could sleep naked for now provided the room was warm and there was sufficient bedding.
“Vikarr, can you dry the blanket we found with the baby? Hang it close to the fire.”
“Yes, Jarl.” The youth leapt to do his bidding.
Mathios did not exactly lack experience in getting a female naked, but up to now the women he had undressed had all been conscious and cooperative. He would have to do his best. He started with the Celtic wench’s feet. He had pulled off her boots before he covered her with the blanket, but now he peeled off her wool stockings also. Next, he shoved his arm under her and lifted her to a sitting position. From there it was relatively easy to tug her rough kirtle up and over her head. Her coarse undershirt followed, rendering the wench naked from the waist up.
Mathios could not help but cast an appreciative eye over her small but pert breasts, the slight mound of her stomach, though he sought to keep his perusal to a minimum. He was deft as he removed the one remaining garment, her soaked skirt, and flung that onto the pile of clothing beside the pallet. He settled her back on the mattress and pulled the blanket back over her. On impulse he smoothed the tangled hair back from her forehead. It was lank under his fingers, badly in need of a wash. Like all Vikings, Mathios set great store by personal cleanliness but in the case of this little Celtic wench such niceties must wait.
“There’s a stream outside. Go fetch some clean water, Vikarr.”
“You mean to wash her?”
“For drinking. Be quick.”
The youth returned with a cup of cool water. Mathios dribbled a few drops onto the girl’s parched lips. He was pleased when her mouth worked to accept the refreshment.
“You would like more?” he murmured and tilted her head forward to aid her in drinking. She took several mouthfuls, then he laid her flat again and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The awful rattling in her throat seemed to Mathios to have eased somewhat and she appeared more comfortable. The room was warm now, and she was at least dry. It was all he could do for her.