The Narrow Seas: Book XI of The Norsemen Saga by Nelson James L

Author:Nelson, James L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fore Topsail Press
Published: 2023-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Sea ’tis named among men, Wide Ocean of gods, time against Wanes call it flowing Wave,

Jötuns, Eel-home, elves, Water-stave,

By dwarves ’tis called the Deep.

The Wisdom of All-Wise

The Poetic Edda

They spent another night at sea, which was not to anyone’s liking, least of all Thorgrim’s, but there was nothing for it. The bloody fight, plundering the Frisians, sending the dead off in a proper way, took all of the morning hours and then some. The fleet made southing for a while with a fair breeze, but the wind failed them soon after they sighted land, so the sails were stowed and the oars taken down from the gallows by the grumbling crew.

They pulled through the afternoon, making barely discernable progress. The sea came on in long rollers, and rowing was akin to dragging a cart over hilly country. It was not a job that could be kept up forever, or even for the rest of the day.

“Let’s hope we meet no more Frisian raiders,” Grifo said. He was leaning on the side of the ship just forward of where Thorgrim stood at the tiller. He nodded toward the men at the oars, red-faced, sweating, their pace having slackened noticeably. “These poor bastards will collapse if they have to lift a weapon.”

“You’ve got my leave to take an oar yourself,” Thorgrim said, but Grifo smiled and shook his head.

“I’m a warrior, not a sailor,” he said. “I wouldn’t even know which end of the damned thing to hold.”

Thorgrim did not reply, but he knew that Grifo was not wrong. The men were nearing exhaustion. That concerned him, though not due to any feelings of sympathy. Thorgrim Night Wolf was rarely motivated by sympathy. His concern stemmed from other considerations.

Foremost was the speed the fleet was making, which would only grow slower as the men grew wearier. At that pace they would be near enough to shore when darkness fell to be in real danger, but not near enough to reach any sort of safe harbor. Better to remain at sea, and far from land, than to go blundering around on a strange coast in the dark.

“Toss your oars!” Thorgrim called, loud enough for his men and the men aboard the other ships to hear. “This is as far as we go today.”

Once again, the five vessels rafted up to one another, and once again the men ate and drank and bedded down with their ships rising and falling under them, boards and spars creaking, rigging slapping, water bubbling along the sides.

Thorgrim slept little. They were far enough from land that they stood little danger of being swept ashore in the dark, at least under normal circumstances, but he had no idea what sort of currents ran along this coast. Some unseen river in the sea could be pushing them silently toward their destruction, and so he was up and down all through the night, his ears straining for the sound of breakers, his eyes looking into the dark for glimpses of water breaking white.

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