Yet he kept a ship, a crew, his cunning, and his hatred. For a year they laired in deep fjords of Norway, rowing forth to fall on lonely hamlets or fisher boats, slipping off before avengers could track them down. During this while he lost some men, and others quit; but at the end he still had enough to seek Jutland again.
Lying offshore, he went word inland to lurking places he knew. No few outlaws heeded the call, and likewise men who were wretchedly poor or homeless. They had little to lose, and Tosti had in his way been powerful. He might win back to that and more. No one could foreknow what the Norns had laid down for him.
Not all in his gang were poor. Some who got away from Hadding had been well off at home. The Dane-king had burned those houses and made the Jutes and Saxons outlaw the owners. But they had brought along golden arm-rings, purses full of outland coins, costly weapons and clothes.
“We’ll get friends overseas,” Tosti told them in the second year. “We’ll come back ready to strip the shores of Denmark, till Hadding pays us ransom for his kingdom. After that we’ll build our strength further. You’ll end your days on broad acres, sleeping under down quilts with whatever maidens you want.”
So they set forth for England.
The ship was crowded. Cheek by jowl, men easily grew angry at each other. Hard words crackled. When a fist thudded, Tosti was there before the one struck could draw his knife “Easy,” he bade. “Easy. have no bloodshed here. We’ll settle these things on land.” But he did not try to make anything but a patchwork peace.
England seethed with newcomers. Vikings denned on the islands and in the bays. Land-hungry tribes from overseas hammered the Britons back and back. War-bands roved and ravened. Smoke smeared heaven, women wept hopelessly beside the ashes of dwellings, birds picked out the eyes of the unburied dead. Withal, where Anglians, Saxons, Jutes, or Danes were clustered there rang the noise of axes, hammers, adzes, laughter, and heroic verse, as they built a new world for themselves.
Tosti made camp along the outflow of the Humber. Nobody lived there now, though charred timbers nearby showed where a small town had been. “We’ll catch our breath here before we look around,” he said.
“That’ll soon grow dull,” grumbled a warrior.
“Why, you can play games all day,” laughed Tosti. “Let me show you some.”
They could pitch balls, they could run foot races and wrestle, they could shoot arrows, and they did. But Tosti had brought along a small bagful of dice Soon men were wildly tossing and wagering.
They were still overwrought after their voyage. They recalled words and blows. When a man lost too many throws, he was apt to say another man was a cheat. Now Tosti did not go between them. Instead, he slily egged them on. Fights broke out. Weapons flashed. Men died.
“Ill is this,” Tosti would say. “But he fell on his own deeds. He’d have robbed me of a sworn brother. The weregild is mine.” And he took everything the fallen man had owned. Since none of them had kinfolk on hand, and none of the living cared to speak against Tosti when his gaze prowled across them, he gathered to himself most of what wealth had been on the ship. Also, by this means he thinned out his crew to a more fitting size, the toughest of the lot.
At length they upped anchor. Through the rest of that summer they searched the eastern side of England. When they could plunder, they did, but mainly their chief was looking for war-fellows.
When he met leaders like himself, they would come together warily, sit down and drink while their men stood taut, sometimes grow mellow and swap gifts. Yet it was not until the end of summer that Tosti found one he thought he might want.
This was at the Wash, where the Norse viking Koll lay with three ships. Tosti’s drew slowly toward them, white shield at masthead but hands not far from hafts. Hails sounded across the water. After a while the newcomers felt safe in coming ashore and mingling.
Koll had heard of Tosti, both from his earlier doings and his raids this year. A man who had almost gotten King Hadding killed was worth knowing. With all the lawlessness in eastern England, pickings were becoming lean. Moreover, the settlers were no soft prey. As their burghs grew, so did the numbers they could’ quickly raise to meet unwelcome callers. Koll had thought of seeking to Scotland, thence south along the western shores and maybe over to Ireland. However, those parts were little known to Northmen, and likewise full of hardy warriors.
“Aside from what I wrought in Lolland, the Danes have been at peace for many years,” Tosti said. “They’ve waxed rich, and they’ve gotten slack. We can strike and be off, again and again. Hadding grows old. His fire burns low. When we’ve reaved enough, he should be willing to buy us off. With such wealth we can go on to make ourselves lords.”
“No, your wits are aflight,” Koll answered. “Four viking crews, to hold at bay the mightiest king in the North?”
Tosti calmed him. “I did not say we should strike tomorrow, or soon at all. Let’s see how well we can do together.”
The upshot was that these bands wintered at that spot. In spring they set forth and harried widely. Having then based themselves on a holm they could defend, they spent the next winter building up their strength. Their gains, along with what Tosti had gotten from the killings among his own men, bought them two more ships and crews. The year after that they sought north and west as Koll had wanted to. There they won more than they lost.
Thus it went for five years altogether, while Denmark dwelt under Hadding’s peace. By then they led a dozen craft.
