Back came the oar again and again. There were twenty-six blades, all of differing lengths depending on the curve of the ship, and they sliced into the water in perfect unison. Ealhstan was grunting with each stroke now. I told him to rest but he would not.
'Stop your barking, Englishman,' Black Floki bawled across from the steerboard side. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and mean-looking, it was easy to see where he got his name. 'Fucking mute! You sound like an old woman being ploughed by a horse.'
'Ah, leave the old fart alone, Floki,' said Oleg, who sat behind him. 'You're bitter as an old maid.' Oleg was a short, tough-looking Norseman whom I had rarely heard speak before. 'Hey, Osric, the girls back home whisper that Floki was born to a spiteful old she-wolf on the foulest night of the year.'
'And that night she had a great thorn in her arse which made her even meaner than normal,' a warrior named Eyjolf put in. The other men laughed. 'Floki is just jealous because no one talks to him. Isn't that true, Floki?'
Black Floki's brow furrowed, making him look even meaner. 'I have to share a boat with Englishmen and you wonder why I'm bitter,' he spat. 'And I'm hungry,' he murmured under his breath. Norsemen cannot get enough meat. They crave it constantly and see it as their jarl's duty to provide it. But we had long ago eaten the fresh joints taken from Abbotsend, and Sigurd was keeping the salted pork and mutton in reserve. For, as I had learned, many days can pass before it is safe to make landfall. There was a plentiful supply of cheese and the Norsemen never struggled to catch fish, but that was it, cheese and fish every day. Even Ealhstan was growing tired of mackerel and I had never thought to see that day. Griffin would not have believed it had he still lived.
Bjarni jerked a thumb at Ealhstan. 'I would swim back to his smouldering pigsty for a leg of lamb,' he said, closing his eyes as though he could taste it. 'Or a side of beef. No, boar, that's what I'm craving.' He stretched out a leg, kicking his brother's backside on the bench in front. Bjorn swore. 'And walrus,' Bjarni said, 'the way Mother cooks it with pepper and chives and garlic. Even an old horse would go down well, now that I think about it.' Kalf picked up an empty mussel shell from the deck and threw it at Bjarni. It bounced off his head, but he did not seem to notice. 'Horse can be good so long as you don't overcook it.'
'You're not helping, Bjarni, you sheep's dick!' Kalf said. 'We're all hungry. Give your tongue a rest, man.'
'Back home my slaves eat more meat than us,' Bjarni grumbled, taking a whetstone and running it along his long knife.
'Osric, this is your land. Where can we get hold of a fat pig and a few chickens?' Olaf asked. He was checking Serpent's caulking, making sure the ship's flexing was not pushing the tarred rope out from between the strakes. The morning had begun brightly, but now the sky had turned grey and threatened rain, and I watched Olaf, hoping there would not be another storm.
I shrugged. 'It is not my land, Olaf,' I said in Norse, glancing at Ealhstan. I was hungry too, but even if I had known where to find good meat, I would not have told him. I had already brought death to one village. And so Olaf continued to check the caulking, and the Norsemen bailed water, played tafl, complained about being hungry, worked on carvings, maintained their war gear, talked of home, and combed their hair.
The next day, there was enough wind to unfurl the great square sail so that we could rest and stretch our aching shoulders and backs.
'He's a curse on us,' Black Floki said, sliding a black seashell across the tafl-board. Svein the Red swore as another of his pieces was captured. There were only three white shells left on the board and now Svein's king was vulnerable. 'We should let Asgot do what he wants with him,' Floki muttered, sliding a piece so that another white shell was surrounded. He looked up, holding my eye for a moment before curling his lip and looking down at the board. Beneath his great red beard, Svein's face was pink with rage.
'What's pecking at your liver now, Floki?' Olaf asked. 'And let Svein take one of your pieces, for the love of Týr! Have a heart, man.' But Floki made two further moves, surrounding Svein's king and winning the game. Svein swore and swept a hand across the board, scattering the shells across Serpent's deck, then stood and made his way cursing to the bow where he stood looking out to sea. 'You're a mean bastard, Floki,' Olaf said, shaking his head.
Floki picked up a white shell and examined it. 'The boy has stolen Sigurd's luck,' he said, raising an eyebrow but not taking his eyes off the tafl piece. Some of the other men nodded or murmured their agreement.
'If not for Osric, we would be suffering Rán's cold embrace by now,' Bjarni countered, pointing at the waves. 'She wanted us down there and don't tell me you didn't feel the bitch's hunger.' He glanced at me, an anxious look in his eyes. 'Whatever the lad said, it reached Óðin's ear.'