The Prow Beast

haul the seax out of the sheath across my front. The man grunted and tried to back off, give himself some room to shoot, but it was too late for that; I felt branches whip my face and try to snag my tunic.

He dropped the bow, flailed a wild slash at me with the arrow and I crashed on him, grabbing his hand as he grabbed mine; face to face we heaved and grunted and I tasted the onion breath and fear-stink coming off him in waves, saw the bursting beads of sweat roll darkly through the charcoal streaks.

He brought his knee up and almost caught me in the nads, but I had half-turned and he hit my thigh instead which dead-legged me. I knew I should call out, but that would bring his friends as well as mine and he had clearly worked out the same, for we fought in grunting, panting silence, straining like lovers.

I stumbled on the numbed leg, twisted myself and dragged him over on me; we crashed through the willow twigs and shrubs and my knee was up between his legs when he landed on me and I heard him cough out a grunt that turned into a thin, high whine when he lost my knife hand and knew his doom was on him.

I got the seax round then, got it right around and slid it into him, feeling the slight give and the skidding on ribs before it found the gap between and sank all the way. He freed my other hand then and I clamped it across his mouth. His eyes, inches from mine, went big and round with desperation, almost pleading, as if to beg me to take back the knife, the moment of it going in. I saw a tear pearl along the lower lashes of his right eye, then I rolled him off and scrambled back, panting.

He flopped on his back, eyes open, and kicked once or twice. The fingers of one hand moved, almost like a farewell wave from a child.

Kuritsa came up then and I whirled, panicked as a deer, so that he held up both hands and stopped where he was until I saw him. I spat a sour taste in my mouth, blinking the rivers of sweat that poured in my eyes, while the insects whined and pinged, joyous with the iron stink of fresh blood welling and soaking through the rough undyed wool tunic he wore.

‘Men ahead,’ Kuritsa whispered, his mouth so close to my ear that the hot breath scalded. ‘Hiding in the reeds in those wood and skin boats they have.’

He had eyes like a dog, the dead man, like a sad, whipped, gods-cursed dog. I should have rifled him, armpits to boots, for what he carried, though I was betting-certain he had less than an empty bag. Finn would have searched him, or Red Njal, or Hlenni, puddling in the blood and his last shit to find his riches, but I was not that good a raiding-man at this moment.

I stumbled away, dragging my bow and his war arrows, Kuritsa leading the way.

There were seven or eight boats, long fishing efforts made of hide stretched over a wood frame and each crammed with at least ten men. If we had not found them, they would have shot out of the reeds and been on Short Serpent in seconds and, though these folk did not look much and had no helmets or armour, they had bows and short spears and desperation enough. They might even have succeeded.

Instead, as they crouched and sweated and batted insects as silently as they could, they suddenly discovered themselves ambushed. My first shot took a man just below his rough-chopped hair, almost in his ear; his scream was as shattering as a stone in the quiet, slow-eddying river. Seconds later, he was in the river and it thrashed with bloody foam.

We shot all the big battle arrows, about ten, one after another, fast as we could and if we missed a mark, I did not see it. Then, as the men howled and scrambled and dived into the water from their boats to escape, we slid away, then ran and ran until, laughing and sobbing, we burst free of the bush and trees and saw Short Serpent, swan-serene, walking down the river to us on all its oarlegs.

Heads bobbed up from behind racked shields and stared in astonishment at Kuritsa and me, hanging on to each other, panting drool and spraying sweat and laughter at getting away unharmed.

Not long after, when we all came up to the place, we found one boat upturned and four or five bodies, turning and bobbing in the current. Another man lay on the bank, half-in, half-out. I did not want to splinter through the willows to find the one I had knifed.

‘Well,’ said Finn, ‘we have found the source of the smoke we saw.’

‘We have found that they are not friendly,’ Alyosha pointed out. ‘Even after taking the prow beast off.’

I had agreed to that, though I did not think it would matter much — Short Serpent was no little hafskip, or river strug. It was a drakkar, a raiding ship and looked as friendly as a fox in a hen coop, but the men wanted to try and appease the spirit of this land and so the prow beast came off and was stowed gently away.

‘Why would they want to attack us?’ Yan Alf asked Pall and that one’s mole-face split in a twisted grin.

‘Perhaps they think you are the sort who would string a man up and cut off his fingers,’ he answered bitterly and Trollaskegg smacked him hard on the back of his head, so that he pounded forward three steps.

‘Perhaps,’ I added, while Pall sullenly rubbed the back of his scalp and scowled, ‘someone has been telling them how bad we are. Your friends, I am thinking.’

Finn blinked as the idea took root in him, then he growled, so that Pall scurried a few steps away from him.

‘No, no — they are in as much danger here as we are,’ he whined.

‘They think you are slave-takers,’ said a soft voice and we all turned to where Dark Eye stood, wrapped like a little Greek ikon in my cloak. ‘In a ship like this, coming upriver, they will think you come to raid early.’

She had the right of it, sure enough, though raiding men with a drakkar would not usually come up this far — it was easier to buy such slaves cheap in Joms, having left it to the Wends to raid Polanians and the Polanians to raid Wends. Sometimes, I had heard, their respective chiefs even raided their own villages and took folk to sell if they were silver-short that year.

I was anxious for news, of Randr Sterki and of a monk with a band of Sorbs and a boy. Even so, there was more sense in rowing on and leaving the whole matter, as I pointed out. Other voices, hungry for cheese and meat and ale, wanted to see if this misunderstanding could not be put right. And one of my names was Trader…

Since there were scowls that made it clear this was all my fault, I did not think it clever to refuse. I dropped thirty of us, about half the crew, on the east bank, then had Trollaskegg move the ship to the opposite side, out of immediate harm.

‘If you see us running like the dragon Fafnir was breathing flame on our arses,’ Hlenni said, scowling at Trollaskegg, ‘you had better be within leaping distance of this bank before I get to it, or matters will be bad for you.’

‘If I am not, you will be dead, I am thinking,’ chuckled Trollaskegg good-naturedly, ‘and so no danger to me.’

‘Even dead,’ Hlenni yelled back as we moved off, ‘I am a danger to you. Black-faced and with my head under my arm, I am a danger to you.’

Which was not, considering matters, a good thing to let the gods hear you say, as Red Njal pointed out.

It was not hard to find them, these lurkers in reeds — there were tracks everywhere and signs, like sheepfolds and marked tillage, that a settlement was close. Not that we needed them, as Finn said.

‘Just follow the screamers,’ he growled, trying to cuff Pall, who was dragging on the end of a rope leash like an awkward dog.

It was not surprising, I was thinking, that folk fled from us, yelling and waving their arms and leaving kine and sheep behind. One man, with scarcely a backward glance, even left a toddler, all fat limbs and wailing; Hlenni scooped him into the crook of one arm and jogged him, though the red-cheeked, yellow-haired boy only started to gurgle and grin when Hlenni took his helmet off.

‘Lucky it was Hlenni and not Finn,’ Red Njal chuckled, sticking out a dirt-stained finger for the boy to grab. ‘To win over bairns and maids takes a gentle lure, as my granny used to say. That wean would have shat himself if Finn had taken his helmet off.’

‘I think he has anyway,’ mourned Hlenni, sniffing suspiciously at the boy’s breeks.

‘Na,’ said Finn, seeing his chance. ‘I am thinking that is just how Hlenni always smells.’

There was laughter and no-one thought Orm Trader could not gold-tongue and silver-gift his way out of this matter and into the smiles of the settlement. I was not so sure; we were all byrnied, helmeted, shielded and armed, moving with a shink-shink of metal, cutting a scar across their pasture and ploughland to where they perched on a mound behind a log stockade. Besides — we had just killed a lot of them; even before we had come within hailing distance, I heard the gates boom shut.