When the meal was ready, we eagerly shipped oars and fell to with a will. I sat down next to Dugal and we ate our barley loaves and salt beef, and gazed upon the land to the east. The coast of Armorica, or Less Britain, as it was also known, was much closer now.
'Have you ever been to Armorica, Dugal?' I asked.
'I have not,' he replied. 'Although, it is said there are more Britons there now than in Britain.'
'Is that so?'
'That is what they say. Samson of Dol brought them, you know. And those he did not bring, followed him anyway. They went to escape the Saexen plague.' He shrugged. 'Or, so they say.'
'Then perhaps it is to a British abbey we are going,' I mused, and told him what I learned from the conversation I had overheard.
'You may be right, brother,' he agreed as Mael handed him the water jug; Dugal guzzled down a great draught and passed it to me.
'We will make a muir manach of you yet, Aidan,' Mael chuckled. 'If all were as earnest as you, we could rule the empire.'
The water was sweet and good. I swallowed down as much as I could hold and passed the jug along to the next man. Fintan called us back to the oars shortly after that.
We rowed through the day, pausing now and then to rest and drink. The sea monks appeared oblivious to the exertion. They maintained a steady chant, marking the strike and pull of the oars with song. Those of us unused to the labour wrapped our swollen hands in strips of cloth and did what little we could at the oars. Oh, but it was hard work; our shoulders cramped and our stomachs soon ached with the effort.
The coast loomed larger with every stroke of the oars: yellow-brown hills tinged with early green, and some grey rocks, but not so many as on the south coast of Britain. Low among the hills, I could see some darker green- evidence of woodland or forest, though it was difficult to be certain at such distance. But it did not look like Eire to me. Even the water had changed colour to a pale grey-green hue. There was much seaweed floating on the surface; the wrack, torn from its watery bed by the storm, tangled in the oars and made rowing difficult-all the more so for one whose hand was better accustomed to plying nothing more unwieldy than a pen.
Keen eyes sharp on the coastline, Fintan scanned the shore for signs of a settlement. We did not think to find any habitation visible from the sea, but thought we might at least catch sight of smoke further inland. Failing that, we would work our way along the coast until we came to a river or stream outlet where we could make landfall for water and repairs.
'What will it be, Fin?' Brynach called back to the pilot. 'North or south?'
Fintan thought for a moment. 'North!' he decided, and pulled hard on the makeshift rudder. The ship slowly turned and we began making our way up the coast. The rowing became more strenuous now, for the sea swell remained heavy and the waves rough, and we no longer enjoyed the aid of the wind helping to push us along. We stood to our oars, fighting the waves which threatened to scuttle us with every sidewise roll.
I could feel the pull of the oars deep in my aching muscles; the palms of my hands were chafed raw and throbbed. I soon had ample cause to rue the absence of our sail, and appreciated precisely how profound was the loss of our rudder.
The sun sank toward the western sea and we had no sight of either settlement or stream. 'Let us row on a little longer,' Brynach suggested. 'We may yet discover something to our advantage.'
What he thought we might discover, I cannot say. The land beyond the shore remained dull and featureless in either direction as far as the eye could see. If any holdings were nearby, they were well hidden. I worked the oar and gazed longingly at the shore-mostly pebble, it appeared, with some larger rocks on the strand and standing from the water.
As the sunlight began to fade, it appeared we would be forced to abandon our plan. 'Darkness is soon overtaking us,' observed Brynach. 'Let us make landfall and continue the search in the morning.'
'Very well,' agreed the pilot. 'Let us just see what is beyond the promontory there,' he said, indicating the high, broad headland jutting out from the shore directly before us.
Slowly, we rounded the promontory; as more of the land beyond came into view, I saw the wide sweep of a sand-rimmed bay and waves pounding themselves to froth and mist on the strand. Low sea cliffs rose behind the beach, giving way to three dark hills. A thread of white smoke drifted up from behind the furthest hill; Brynach saw it at once and sang out. We were all staring at the thin plume rising in the dusk, thinking of warm hearths and welcome…when Fintan called: 'Ship in the bay!'
Turning my eyes to the rolling water once more, I observed a low black ship, with a high, serpent-headed prow, riding the swell and gliding smoothly into the cove. We had been so preoccupied with the smoke from the settlement, none of us had seen the other boat.
But those aboard the stranger ship had seen us.
The black ship changed its course, turning towards us as the sail fell and a double rank of oars began stirring water. 'Good,' I said to Dugal standing nearby, 'they can help us-tell us where we are, at least.'
When Dugal made no reply, I glanced at him. His face was hard, his eyes narrowed, intent. 'Dugal?' I asked.
'The only aid we will get from them,' he muttered, 'is help to an early grave.'
I was about to ask him what he meant by such a remark when Fintan raised the alarm: 'Sea Wolves!'
10
To oars!' cried Fintan, throwing the improvised rudder wide to turn the ship. 'Row for your lives!'
I gaped in disbelief. Sea Wolves…I had heard those dreaded words all my life, and feared them. Now, confronted with the reality, I could scarce take it in.
'Row!' shouted Dugal, leaping to his place. Seizing his oar, he lashed the water with it like a man insane.
Fintan cried the cadence and we fell to the rhythm. Ban Gwydd turned and, little by little, gathered speed. The cadence quickened. Faster and faster, he called; faster and faster we rowed.
I kept my eyes on Dugal's broad back, not daring to raise my eyes, or turn my head right or left for fear of what I might see. Instead, I beat the water with my oar and prayed with every pull: Lord have mercy! Christ have mercy!
Cadoc, too, stood to his work. His fine strong voice, roused to the protection of his flock, became a keen- edged weapon. Back to the mast, he raised his staff and called on Michael the Valiant to encircle us and shelter us beneath his protecting wings. He hurled his invocation aloft with a mighty voice and all who heard him took heart.
From somewhere behind came the splash of hard-driven oars and shouts. I put my head down and rowed for dear life, all weariness forgotten.
Sweat ran into my eyes. Breath came in raking gasps and the oar grew slippery and difficult to grip. I looked to my hands and saw the oar smeared with blood.
'Row, for the love of God!' cried Fintan.
A moment later I heard a shriek and glanced over Dugal's shoulder to see the black ship dangerously close behind. A bare-chested man stood clinging to the high upswept prow with a rope in his hand; on the end of this line was a three-tined hook. The man's arm wheeled around his head once, twice, and again-whereupon the stranger gave another loud cry and loosed his rope: it snaked into the air above the pilot's head, and sank. The hook struck the rail with a heavy clunk and bit deep.
The line snapped taut and our ship jerked in the water. This brought wild shouts of approval from those aboard the black ship. We stood to our oars, but rowing was useless. Try as we might, we could not drive the ship forward.
There came a rumbling clatter. I glanced up to see the first three ranks of rowers either side of the enemy ship had pulled in their oars and had snatched up axes and shields. All the enemy seamen were shrieking now, raising an earsplitting wail.
Dugal jerked his oar from between its stays and dashed to the tiller. 'Get the hook!' he shouted.
