long.’
I hoped I was right. I knew Father Byrnjolf would much rather have travelled to Bebbanburg on horseback, but the need to take his news quickly should force him into seasickness. My guess was that the fishermen would carry him close to the coast and, should some savage ship of hungry spear-Danes appear, they could run for a harbour or, if there was none, ground their boat on a beach. Travelling on a small boat close to shore was safer than riding the long northern roads.
I looked westwards. The first stars pricked between dark clouds. It was almost night, but a moon was rising. ‘They know we left Grimesbi,’ my son said, ‘and they must worry we’re waiting for them.’
‘Why should they worry?’ I asked.
‘Because you asked about Bebbanburg,’ Finan said drily.
‘And they counted us,’ I said, ‘thirty-six of us. What hope do thirty-six men have against Bebbanburg?’
‘They’ll think none,’ Finan said. ‘And perhaps they believed your tale. Perhaps Father Byrnjolf isn’t sending a warning?’
It was night now. The sea was moon-washed but the land was dark. Somewhere far to the north a fire glimmered on the shore, but all the rest was black; even the chalk cliffs were black. The sea was black, rilled with silver, grey and white. We pulled
Middelniht
a few boat lengths north to hold her off the night cliffs. Any ship out at sea would not see her against the land. The wolf was hidden.
Then, quite suddenly, the prey was there.
She appeared from the south, a small ship with a square sail, and it was the dark sail I saw first. She was perhaps half a mile from Flaneburg’s eastern tip, and I instinctively pushed the steering oar away from me, and Finan gave the order for the oars to bite, and
Middelniht
slid out of her shadowed hiding place.
‘Row hard,’ I growled at Finan.
‘Hard as we can,’ he said. A wave broke at the bow and slung water down the deck. The men were hauling on the looms, the oars were bending, the ship was moving fast. ‘Faster!’ Finan called and stamped his foot to call the rhythm.
‘How do you know it’s them?’ Uhtred asked me.
‘I don’t.’
They had seen us. Perhaps it was the white water at our bows or the sound of our heavy oars splashing, but I saw the short hull turn partly away from us and saw a man scrambling to haul on a line to tighten the sail, and then they must have realised there was no escape by fleeing from us and so they turned their boat towards us. Their sail flapped for a heartbeat, was tightened again, and the small ship was bows on to us. ‘What he wants to do,’ I told Uhtred, ‘is veer off course at the last moment and shatter one of our oar banks. The man’s no fool.’
‘Which oar bank though?’
‘If I knew that …’ I said, and left the rest unsaid.
There was more than one man in the approaching craft. Two maybe? Three? It was a fishing boat, wide-hulled, stable and slow, but heavy enough to splinter our oars.
‘He’ll go that side,’ I said, pointing southwards. Uhtred looked at me, his face pale in the moonlight. ‘Look at him,’ I said, ‘the steersman is standing beside the steering oar. He hasn’t got room to pull the oar towards him, not enough room anyway, so he’ll push it away.’
‘Row, you bastards!’ Finan shouted.
A hundred paces, fifty, and the fishing boat held its course, bows to bows, and now I could see there were three men aboard, and the ship came closer, closer, until I lost the hull under our bows and could only see the dark sail getting still closer, and then I hauled the steering oar towards me, hauled it hard and saw their boat turn at the same moment, but I had anticipated them and they turned the way I had expected and our beast-headed prow rode up over their low hull. I felt
Middelniht
shiver, heard a shout, heard the sound of wood shattering, saw the mast and sail vanish and then our oars bit again and something scraped down our hull and the water was full of broken timbers.
I hoped I was right. I knew Father Byrnjolf would much rather have travelled to Bebbanburg on horseback, but the need to take his news quickly should force him into seasickness. My guess was that the fishermen would carry him close to the coast and, should some savage ship of hungry spear-Danes appear, they could run for a harbour or, if there was none, ground their boat on a beach. Travelling on a small boat close to shore was safer than riding the long northern roads.
I looked westwards. The first stars pricked between dark clouds. It was almost night, but a moon was rising. ‘They know we left Grimesbi,’ my son said, ‘and they must worry we’re waiting for them.’
‘Why should they worry?’ I asked.
‘Because you asked about Bebbanburg,’ Finan said drily.
‘And they counted us,’ I said, ‘thirty-six of us. What hope do thirty-six men have against Bebbanburg?’
‘They’ll think none,’ Finan said. ‘And perhaps they believed your tale. Perhaps Father Byrnjolf isn’t sending a warning?’
It was night now. The sea was moon-washed but the land was dark. Somewhere far to the north a fire glimmered on the shore, but all the rest was black; even the chalk cliffs were black. The sea was black, rilled with silver, grey and white. We pulled
Middelniht
a few boat lengths north to hold her off the night cliffs. Any ship out at sea would not see her against the land. The wolf was hidden.
Then, quite suddenly, the prey was there.
She appeared from the south, a small ship with a square sail, and it was the dark sail I saw first. She was perhaps half a mile from Flaneburg’s eastern tip, and I instinctively pushed the steering oar away from me, and Finan gave the order for the oars to bite, and
Middelniht
slid out of her shadowed hiding place.
‘Row hard,’ I growled at Finan.
‘Hard as we can,’ he said. A wave broke at the bow and slung water down the deck. The men were hauling on the looms, the oars were bending, the ship was moving fast. ‘Faster!’ Finan called and stamped his foot to call the rhythm.
‘How do you know it’s them?’ Uhtred asked me.
‘I don’t.’
They had seen us. Perhaps it was the white water at our bows or the sound of our heavy oars splashing, but I saw the short hull turn partly away from us and saw a man scrambling to haul on a line to tighten the sail, and then they must have realised there was no escape by fleeing from us and so they turned their boat towards us. Their sail flapped for a heartbeat, was tightened again, and the small ship was bows on to us. ‘What he wants to do,’ I told Uhtred, ‘is veer off course at the last moment and shatter one of our oar banks. The man’s no fool.’
‘Which oar bank though?’
‘If I knew that …’ I said, and left the rest unsaid.
There was more than one man in the approaching craft. Two maybe? Three? It was a fishing boat, wide-hulled, stable and slow, but heavy enough to splinter our oars.
‘He’ll go that side,’ I said, pointing southwards. Uhtred looked at me, his face pale in the moonlight. ‘Look at him,’ I said, ‘the steersman is standing beside the steering oar. He hasn’t got room to pull the oar towards him, not enough room anyway, so he’ll push it away.’
‘Row, you bastards!’ Finan shouted.
A hundred paces, fifty, and the fishing boat held its course, bows to bows, and now I could see there were three men aboard, and the ship came closer, closer, until I lost the hull under our bows and could only see the dark sail getting still closer, and then I hauled the steering oar towards me, hauled it hard and saw their boat turn at the same moment, but I had anticipated them and they turned the way I had expected and our beast-headed prow rode up over their low hull. I felt
Middelniht
shiver, heard a shout, heard the sound of wood shattering, saw the mast and sail vanish and then our oars bit again and something scraped down our hull and the water was full of broken timbers.
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