One of the men nodded, but did not answer, and we hauled the yard up the mast again, sheeted in the sail, brought the oars inboard and I heard the welcome sound of water running fast along Spearhafoc’s sleek flanks. ‘You’re really going north?’ Egil asked.
‘You have a better idea?’
He smiled. ‘I’m a Norseman. When in doubt? Go north.’
‘Constantine keeps ships on this coast,’ I said, ‘and someone should look for them.’
‘We’ve nothing better to do,’ Egil said, smiling. I suspect he knew that searching for Constantine’s fleet was just an excuse to escape from Coenwulf and to let Spearhafoc have her head in the open sea.
The wind was south-west again, the perfect wind. The sun had risen and showed between the scattered clouds to reflect a myriad flashes of light from the sea. All across Spearhafoc men had laid cloaks and clothes to dry in the new sunlight. It was warm. ‘A couple of women aboard,’ Egil said, ‘and life would be perfect.’
‘Women on a ship?’ I said, touching my hammer. ‘That’s asking for bad luck.’
‘You refuse to take them?’
‘I’ve had to,’ I said, ‘but never willingly.’
‘In Snæland,’ he said, ‘there was a fishing boat crewed by women. Best sailors on the island!’
‘What kind of man would use women as a crew?’
‘Wasn’t a man, it was a woman who owned the boat. Lovely creature if you could stand the smell of her.’ He touched his hammer. ‘Poor thing, she vanished one day. Never saw her or her boat again.’
I snorted, making Egil laugh. He had the steering-oar, plainly loving to helm a fast ship through a windswept sea. We left the Foirthe and turned north, but stayed near to the shore, steering close to the few harbours and river mouths to see if any of Constantine’s ships were waiting for Coenwulf’s fleet. We saw none. Fishing boats would see us coming and would beat for the coast, fearing us, but we ignored them and just sailed on.
As evening fell we turned eastwards, seeking the open sea rather than sail close to a strange coast in the darkness. We shortened the sail, and Gerbruht, Egil and I took turns at the steering-oar and once we were well clear of land we turned to follow the Scipsteorra, the ship star, that was bright in the north. As dawn edged the east we tightened the sheets and turned back towards the coast that was hidden beneath a great bank of cloud. Spearhafoc ran easily, bending to the steady south-west wind. We were in sunlight, but squalls obscured the coast, and it was out of those squalls that the four ships came.
Egil saw the sails first. They were dirty grey rectangles against the dark clouds, but within minutes we could see their hulls. ‘They’re not cargo ships,’ Egil said, ‘their sails are too big.’
The four ships were still far off and the one furthest west, closest to the land, vanished for a few moments as another dark squall swallowed her. We were sailing north-west and the four ships were running in front of the south-west wind, so I turned Spearhafoc northwards again and saw the four ships turn as well. ‘The bastards are coming for us,’ I grunted. They must have seen us outlined against the rising sun, and by now they would have seen the wolf’s head glowing through the weave of our sail. They would know we were a pagan vessel, coming to plunder a coastal village or capture a cargo ship.
Egil thought the same. ‘They can’t think we’re part of Coenwulf’s fleet.’
‘They don’t know about it yet. The news won’t have reached them.’
Spearhafoc quickened as she settled on her northern course. The steering-oar quivered in my hand and the water hissed along the hull. ‘They’ll not catch us,’ I said.
‘But they’ll try,’ Egil said.
And so they did. All morning they followed us, and though Spearhafoc was faster, they did not abandon the chase.
We were being pursued.
Ten
‘God-damned Scottish Christians,’ Egil grunted. The four pursuing boats all had crosses on their prows.
‘And they’re well crewed,’ I said.
‘You mean they outnumber us?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Four to one? Five?’ Egil peered back at our pursuers. ‘I almost feel sorry for them.’
I ignored his jest. I had deliberately slowed Spearhafoc by loosening her sheets and allowing the pursuers to come closer. I knew I could outrun them, but I was reluctant to keep sailing northwards so I had turned Spearhafoc eastwards towards the open sea again, but their response had been to follow, spreading into a line so that when and if I turned south at least one of their ships would be close enough to ram me. So now we were sailing north again and the four ships were steadily closing the distance. I could see they were all crammed with men and I let the two fastest ships come close enough that I could see bearded and helmeted faces watching us from the prows, then I sheeted in the sail hard and felt Spearhafoc respond. ‘Maybe they’ll give up,’ I said as we bent to the wind and the water hissed faster down our hull.
We drew ahead, but the four were implacable. Two were longer than the others and those ships were faster, but even those two could not keep pace with Spearhafoc. Yet still they followed us even as the sun sank in the west and the sky darkened.
Night would offer small respite. The morning squalls had long gone and the sky was clear, lit by a three-quarter moon that rose from the sea. I turned east again, running in front of the gentling wind, and the four ships followed, though the two smaller ships were now nothing but dark shadows on the southern horizon. I thought of turning south, but the wind had slowed and to speed past the pursuers would mean rowing. They could row too, and their ships were better manned than mine. Besides, I was feeling the freedom of the sea, the desire neither to
