Blood Eye(23)

Just being aboard Serpent stirred my blood; the way the overlapping hull strakes vibrated with every oar stroke. The thrum of the rigging in the wind. The way she flexed through the sea like some great swimming beast. The name Serpent suited her. I stood at the prow as she dipped and rose, catching the sea spray in my face and licking the salt from my lips, relieved I no longer suffered the sickness that twists the innards of those not used to the sea. I looked at these warriors, these hard men from the north, and felt awed by their self-belief. They were masters of the ocean and the elements, or at least aspired to mastery. It seemed that each man was cloaked in an invisible confidence, and yet perhaps there was no magic in it. They were the inheritors of a great legacy. They were the lords of the sea, the keepers of an ancient lore handed down by their fathers and their fathers before them.





I suspected even Ealhstan was beginning to bear up to our fate. In his long life he had never passed the standing stones of his village boundary, but now he turned his face to the wind, a smile playing at the corners of his thin lips, and I wondered where his mind took him. Was he at last unfettered? Was he the eagle Svein had talked of, soaring high above the world, far beyond the troubles of men, where age and words count as nothing against the spirit's freedom?





We were heading east again, pushed along the southern coast by fresh winds from the north-west, and sometimes I saw outcrops of sea-battered white rocks that reminded me of Abbotsend, my home of two years. And then I was struck by the fear that had hit me when these men, strangers then, had come ashore with fire in their eyes. But though I feared them, I could no longer hate them, even after the terror and the blood. Those things were harder to recall now that I was amongst them, now their laughter filled my ears.





Later, as if in reply to our grumbling bellies, Sigurd came amidships and stood hands on hips, a wide grin parting his yellow beard.





'I've noticed that some of you have begun to row like women!' he bellowed, stirring a smattering of curses from the men. 'And if Njörd thinks Serpent is weak he will try to take her again. That's the mean old bastard's way, hey, godi?' Asgot nodded solemnly. Some of the Norsemen touched amulets and sword grips for luck. 'So we must put some strength back in your arms.' Sigurd bent his shield-arm with its warrior rings so that the muscles bulged. 'Who's for a juicy side of beef?' The men whooped with excitement and I felt myself smile. But then my stomach sank as I remembered the dead of Abbotsend. 'Knut!' Sigurd called to the steersman. 'Aim for that beach with the whale carcass on it. We'll land there if Óðin wills it.' I looked landward and saw a grassy hill, which was cracked by a stream that emptied frothing into the sea. 'Bjorn, Bjarni, stow Jörmungand,' the jarl said. This is what they called the dragonhead prow with its faded red eyes, named after the serpent that Norsemen say encircles the world. Sigurd slapped Olaf's shoulder as Bjorn and Bjarni hefted the fearsome carving. 'We don't want to frighten the land spirits today, my friend,' he said before turning to bark more orders.





'We're going ashore, Ealhstan,' I said, 'for beef.' He was pale as death from all the rowing and I decided that he would have to endure the sickness for I would not let him row again. 'I suppose we'll eat that whale, too, if it's not rotten.'





Ealhstan frowned and I knew what he was thinking. If there were a village nearby, one big enough to give Sigurd a bloody nose, the grounded beast would have been stripped to its bones. 'It could have washed up this morning,' I said, but Ealhstan grunted miserably and I knew he was agitated because it seemed that Jarl Sigurd knew what he was doing after all. As we approached the beach I watched white gulls circle and dive to the carcass. Soon I would hear their screeches and smell the green slimy weed the sea spews on to the beach.





The men were prickling with excitement, checking their war gear, combing beards and replaiting salt-stiffened hair. Olaf came and stood above Ealhstan, scratching his cheek as he looked down at him. 'Sigurd says the old cunny must check the steerboard rib,' he said. 'I replaced the withy, but the rib cracked that night of the storm and we're tending landward. The thought of an Englishman touching Serpent turns my stomach, but what can I do? Arnkel our shipwright was killed at your pisspot village.'





I nodded and translated for Ealhstan and he choked, showing his palms. 'I know you're no shipwright, but you can do the job,' I said, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him. As far as I knew, Ealhstan had never set foot on anything bigger than a fishing skiff. He shook his head vehemently. 'At least pretend you know what you're doing,' I hissed, feeling Jarl Sigurd's gaze on the back of my neck. I could hear the rasp of the whetstone as the Norseman sharpened his long sword.