the jug passed, Bragi shouted across to him, though panting with exertion, ‘I’d have a drink if I were you. Ale waters the courage inside you and makes it grow!’
Vali did as Bragi suggested, taking his horn off his belt to have it filled and swigging down a couple of mouthfuls. He could drink no more, beginning to feel sick with the anticipation of what was to come rather than the movement of the ship. The berserks were baying now, screaming obscenities and promises to their god.
He glanced over his shoulder again and got the impression of the blue giving way to green behind him. Then white joined the blue and green. A beach. There was a judder and Vali was thrown back off his chest to sprawl onto the ballast.
Propelled by the frenzied rowing, the boat grounded on the beach far harder than it needed to. Vali thought they’d been lucky not to tear out the hull. He had to roll aside as a stampede swept over him, the berserks howling in their mania to get off the boat. Not one bore a shield, none even armour or a helmet, just spears, axes and, in the case of the leader, a sword in one hand and the huge rattle in the other.
Vali turned to see who they were charging at but saw nothing, just a pleasant broad beach of light sand, the sunny day, birds over the meadows and deep green grass. There was no enemy there at all.
The berserks were off and running across the island, the more conventional warriors disembarking from the other two boats behind them.
‘Come on,’ said Bragi. ‘We’ve attacked from the rear of the island for surprise. You go ahead of me; I’m too old to run all the way. Remember, pretty women, fit men, they’re the slaves you’re looking for. The rest, kill ’em for the fear it’ll bring next time.’
Vali stepped from the boat and had the strange sensation of setting foot on foreign soil for the first time in his life. He was inclined to stop and look around him, to see how the place differed from his home, but he knew he couldn’t.
He pressed on in the throng of helmeted warriors from the knarrs, all of them carrying shields, chasing the fast-moving unarmoured berserks inland. The island was flat and not too long, but he could see no buildings on it. They moved quickly and, as they crested a small ridge, found the first bodies, four old men dead in a furrowed field. He could tell they were old by their white hair; their features gave no clue to their age. The men had been mutilated, their heads cut and cut again, stamped on and kicked.
Vali took them for slaves, as they were dressed very plainly and the two heads that were still anything like intact were shaved completely at the front, the hair left long behind, which he thought must be the sign of the lowest rank, a mark of their subjugation. There were farm implements lying discarded around them, rakes and hoes, but more than could be used by just four. Vali wondered why they hadn’t simply sat down and been taken prisoner. Why should a slave fight for his owner? Then he realised what had happened. He thought of the chanting of the men on the boat and the consumption of those mushrooms, the frenzy of the dash for the shore. There would be no surrendering to the berserks. There were three paths of action available to the people on the island, run, fight or die. The other slaves had fled, leaving only these old ones behind. Vali shook his head. If the berserks were on a killing rampage it greatly reduced the chances of them getting anything valuable from the raid. A slave was worth as much as gold in some ways.
He ran on, up a long incline. There was some sort of sound. At first he took it for the crying of gulls, but then, as he got nearer, it became easier to identify. Human screaming. It was high-pitched and desperate, counterpointed with low roars of aggression. Smoke was already in the air.
There, towards the beach below him, was a settlement of around fifteen houses. He was struck that they were the wrong shape. There
Vali did as Bragi suggested, taking his horn off his belt to have it filled and swigging down a couple of mouthfuls. He could drink no more, beginning to feel sick with the anticipation of what was to come rather than the movement of the ship. The berserks were baying now, screaming obscenities and promises to their god.
He glanced over his shoulder again and got the impression of the blue giving way to green behind him. Then white joined the blue and green. A beach. There was a judder and Vali was thrown back off his chest to sprawl onto the ballast.
Propelled by the frenzied rowing, the boat grounded on the beach far harder than it needed to. Vali thought they’d been lucky not to tear out the hull. He had to roll aside as a stampede swept over him, the berserks howling in their mania to get off the boat. Not one bore a shield, none even armour or a helmet, just spears, axes and, in the case of the leader, a sword in one hand and the huge rattle in the other.
Vali turned to see who they were charging at but saw nothing, just a pleasant broad beach of light sand, the sunny day, birds over the meadows and deep green grass. There was no enemy there at all.
The berserks were off and running across the island, the more conventional warriors disembarking from the other two boats behind them.
‘Come on,’ said Bragi. ‘We’ve attacked from the rear of the island for surprise. You go ahead of me; I’m too old to run all the way. Remember, pretty women, fit men, they’re the slaves you’re looking for. The rest, kill ’em for the fear it’ll bring next time.’
Vali stepped from the boat and had the strange sensation of setting foot on foreign soil for the first time in his life. He was inclined to stop and look around him, to see how the place differed from his home, but he knew he couldn’t.
He pressed on in the throng of helmeted warriors from the knarrs, all of them carrying shields, chasing the fast-moving unarmoured berserks inland. The island was flat and not too long, but he could see no buildings on it. They moved quickly and, as they crested a small ridge, found the first bodies, four old men dead in a furrowed field. He could tell they were old by their white hair; their features gave no clue to their age. The men had been mutilated, their heads cut and cut again, stamped on and kicked.
Vali took them for slaves, as they were dressed very plainly and the two heads that were still anything like intact were shaved completely at the front, the hair left long behind, which he thought must be the sign of the lowest rank, a mark of their subjugation. There were farm implements lying discarded around them, rakes and hoes, but more than could be used by just four. Vali wondered why they hadn’t simply sat down and been taken prisoner. Why should a slave fight for his owner? Then he realised what had happened. He thought of the chanting of the men on the boat and the consumption of those mushrooms, the frenzy of the dash for the shore. There would be no surrendering to the berserks. There were three paths of action available to the people on the island, run, fight or die. The other slaves had fled, leaving only these old ones behind. Vali shook his head. If the berserks were on a killing rampage it greatly reduced the chances of them getting anything valuable from the raid. A slave was worth as much as gold in some ways.
He ran on, up a long incline. There was some sort of sound. At first he took it for the crying of gulls, but then, as he got nearer, it became easier to identify. Human screaming. It was high-pitched and desperate, counterpointed with low roars of aggression. Smoke was already in the air.
There, towards the beach below him, was a settlement of around fifteen houses. He was struck that they were the wrong shape. There
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