black-haired women,
We filled our ships with loot.’
I sometimes wonder if men’s laughter is offensive to the gods’ ears – just as the bawdy songs and laughter from Hrothgar’s mead hall Heorot made the monster Grendel’s ears ring with red-hot pain. For it often seems the way that the man who is cheerful and free of cares one moment is dead the next. It is as though the Spinners cruelly weave a golden thread into a man’s wyrd just before they cut it.
‘Come on, lads!’ Rolf called from Sea-Arrow ’s mast step. ‘We don’t want to be left behind in this arsehole of a place now that there’s nothing left to steal!’ The last of his Danes were boarding and being none too hasty about it, boasting of their kills as they emptied their bladders on dry land one final time.
Tufi was the last man, shouldering the big silver Christ cross he had found in the village and swaggering along the jetty like a man who has just humped a pair of whores. He came to Sea-Arrow and offered the cross to Ogn so that he could climb aboard, but seeing the thing Ogn recoiled, touching the crude carving of Thór’s hammer Mjöllnir at his neck.
‘You’re not bringing that thing on!’ Ogn sputtered, rattled by Tufi’s indifference to the cross.
‘Don’t be an old woman, Ogn,’ Tufi said. ‘Take the fucking thing. It’s solid silver!’
‘Ogn is right, Tufi,’ a red-haired man called Bork said, ‘you should leave it here.’
Tufi shook his head and spat on to the jetty. ‘Out of my way, pale-livers,’ he said, putting a foot on Sea-Arrow ’s sheer strake. He must have slipped, or perhaps a wave rocked the slender ship, for Tufi’s right leg plunged down and he followed it between Sea-Arrow ’s hull and the jetty, and a thud and splosh was the last anyone ever heard from the man. The Danes scrambled to help and they must have thought they’d just pull him back in, for the water was not deep there, and some of us even laughed at first.
‘He’s gone!’ Ogn yelled, peering over the side into the dark water. Rolf was there too, his hands gripping the sheer strake as he stared in disbelief.
‘Shall I jump after him?’ Gorm asked in a voice edged with fear.
Rolf shook his head, his brows reaching for the moon. ‘He’s drowned!’ he said. ‘The bone-headed son of a bitch is drowned and that silver with him.’ We were all staring now for it did not seem possible that a man could die in ten feet of water. But poor Tufi must have hit his head on the sheer strake. Ogn, who had been the closest when it happened, said he thought an arm of the Christ cross had caught in Tufi’s baldric and that was some very ill luck. We all knew how heavy that cross was.
‘The White Christ seidr killed him!’ Beiner said, giving words to what many of us were already thinking, and maybe that was why no one talked of trying to recover the man’s corpse – in case that ill luck fastened on to them.
Father Egfrith crossed himself and offered a prayer up to his god. Sigurd, who was watching from the platform at Serpent ’s stern, looked as stunned as I felt. He was shaking his head in astonishment as Olaf beside him muttered words I could not hear. Old Asgot’s face was a twisted grimace, as though he had eaten something foul-tasting, and he looked with hatred at Egfrith. I said to Penda that I thought it was astonishingthat the monk had not woken up dead before now, his blood crusting on the godi’s knife.
‘Let us leave this place!’ Sigurd bellowed, gesturing for his stupefied crew to take to their benches and row us out to sea. And so we did.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS RAINING AND WE WERE SAILING EAST. WE HAD COME TO the southernmost reach of the coast we had been tracking and the wind had picked up, so that we had not needed to row for several days. On our steerboard side another landmass reached out, as mountainous and barren as that to the north, and Egfrith informed us that it must be the place which the Romans called
We filled our ships with loot.’
I sometimes wonder if men’s laughter is offensive to the gods’ ears – just as the bawdy songs and laughter from Hrothgar’s mead hall Heorot made the monster Grendel’s ears ring with red-hot pain. For it often seems the way that the man who is cheerful and free of cares one moment is dead the next. It is as though the Spinners cruelly weave a golden thread into a man’s wyrd just before they cut it.
‘Come on, lads!’ Rolf called from Sea-Arrow ’s mast step. ‘We don’t want to be left behind in this arsehole of a place now that there’s nothing left to steal!’ The last of his Danes were boarding and being none too hasty about it, boasting of their kills as they emptied their bladders on dry land one final time.
Tufi was the last man, shouldering the big silver Christ cross he had found in the village and swaggering along the jetty like a man who has just humped a pair of whores. He came to Sea-Arrow and offered the cross to Ogn so that he could climb aboard, but seeing the thing Ogn recoiled, touching the crude carving of Thór’s hammer Mjöllnir at his neck.
‘You’re not bringing that thing on!’ Ogn sputtered, rattled by Tufi’s indifference to the cross.
‘Don’t be an old woman, Ogn,’ Tufi said. ‘Take the fucking thing. It’s solid silver!’
‘Ogn is right, Tufi,’ a red-haired man called Bork said, ‘you should leave it here.’
Tufi shook his head and spat on to the jetty. ‘Out of my way, pale-livers,’ he said, putting a foot on Sea-Arrow ’s sheer strake. He must have slipped, or perhaps a wave rocked the slender ship, for Tufi’s right leg plunged down and he followed it between Sea-Arrow ’s hull and the jetty, and a thud and splosh was the last anyone ever heard from the man. The Danes scrambled to help and they must have thought they’d just pull him back in, for the water was not deep there, and some of us even laughed at first.
‘He’s gone!’ Ogn yelled, peering over the side into the dark water. Rolf was there too, his hands gripping the sheer strake as he stared in disbelief.
‘Shall I jump after him?’ Gorm asked in a voice edged with fear.
Rolf shook his head, his brows reaching for the moon. ‘He’s drowned!’ he said. ‘The bone-headed son of a bitch is drowned and that silver with him.’ We were all staring now for it did not seem possible that a man could die in ten feet of water. But poor Tufi must have hit his head on the sheer strake. Ogn, who had been the closest when it happened, said he thought an arm of the Christ cross had caught in Tufi’s baldric and that was some very ill luck. We all knew how heavy that cross was.
‘The White Christ seidr killed him!’ Beiner said, giving words to what many of us were already thinking, and maybe that was why no one talked of trying to recover the man’s corpse – in case that ill luck fastened on to them.
Father Egfrith crossed himself and offered a prayer up to his god. Sigurd, who was watching from the platform at Serpent ’s stern, looked as stunned as I felt. He was shaking his head in astonishment as Olaf beside him muttered words I could not hear. Old Asgot’s face was a twisted grimace, as though he had eaten something foul-tasting, and he looked with hatred at Egfrith. I said to Penda that I thought it was astonishingthat the monk had not woken up dead before now, his blood crusting on the godi’s knife.
‘Let us leave this place!’ Sigurd bellowed, gesturing for his stupefied crew to take to their benches and row us out to sea. And so we did.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS RAINING AND WE WERE SAILING EAST. WE HAD COME TO the southernmost reach of the coast we had been tracking and the wind had picked up, so that we had not needed to row for several days. On our steerboard side another landmass reached out, as mountainous and barren as that to the north, and Egfrith informed us that it must be the place which the Romans called
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