‘Bastards are coming,’ Finan said. But the bastards were having a more difficult time than the Brimwisa, their oars were fouling more often and their pace was slowed by the river’s depth. They had a man in the prow who was watching for the shallows and shouting directions. ‘They’ll give up soon,’ Finan added.
‘They won’t,’ I said, because ahead of us the river twisted like a serpent. It flowed south on its way to the Temes, then turned sharply northwards before another tight bend brought it south again to where we struggled against the current. We would be well ahead of Waormund when we reached that first bend, but as we rowed south his ship would be just forty or fifty paces away on the northward reach. ‘Irenmund!’ I shouted.
‘Lord?’
‘I want you here! Vidarr? Take his oar!’ I waited for Irenmund to reach me. ‘You can steer a ship?’ I asked.
‘Been doing it since I was eight years old,’ he said.
I gave him the steering-oar. ‘Stay on the outside of that bend,’ I said, ‘then keep her in the middle of the river.’
He grinned, happy to be given the responsibility, and I pulled on my old, battered helmet with its boiled-leather cheek-pieces. Finan pulled on his own helmet and gave me a quizzical glance. ‘Why that fellow?’ he asked softly, nodding at Irenmund. ‘And not Gerbruht?’
‘Because we’ll be fighting soon,’ I said. Gerbruht was a fine seamen, but he was also an immensely strong man who was pulling an oar and we needed all the strength we could find. ‘Or we will be fighting,’ I went on, ‘if Waormund has half a brain.’
‘He’s got tripe for brains,’ Finan said.
‘But sooner or later he’ll see his chance.’
That chance was caused by how closely the southern reach lay to the northern. Just a narrow strip of marsh separated the two, which meant that Waormund could send men across the intervening marsh to assail us with spears. Irenmund was already taking us into the bend, keeping to the outside where the water would be deepest, but the current was also fastest there and our progress was painfully slow. Most of our rowers were at the end of their endurance, their faces grimacing as they hauled on the heavy oars. ‘Not much longer now!’ I shouted as I made my way forward to where the children, the women, and Father Oda were sitting on the deck beneath the small prow platform. Benedetta looked up at me anxiously and I tried to reassure her with a smile.
‘I want the smallest children under the platform,’ I told Benedetta, pointing to the small space at the prow, ‘and the rest on this side of the deck.’ I was on the bæcbord side because once we rounded the sharp bend, that side would be facing the enemy ship as it rowed northwards. ‘Immar!’ I shouted. ‘Come here!’
He scrambled back to me and I handed him one of the big shields we had discovered in Gunnald’s yard. ‘The bastards might be throwing spears,’ I explained, ‘and your job is to stop them. Catch them on the shield.’
Finan, Immar, Oswi and I had shields. Finan would protect the steering platform, Immar would try to defend the women and children huddled beneath the ship’s rail, while Oswi and I must somehow keep spears from striking the rowers. ‘It would be a long throw,’ Oswi said dubiously. He was gazing at the enemy ship that was nearing the first bend just as we struggled out of it.
‘They won’t throw from the ship,’ I said, ‘and maybe they won’t throw at all.’ I touched the hammer, hoping I was right.
The helmsman on the enemy ship stayed too close to the inner bank of the curve and I saw the big ship lurch as she ran aground again. For a few heartbeats it just stayed there, then a dozen men leaped overboard. I thought they were about to attempt to push the big ship off the mud, but instead they carried spears and began running towards us.
‘Pull!’ I shouted. ‘Irenmund! Keep to the right!’ The steerboard oars began fouling the river bed again, but they also found purchase and the Brimwisa kept moving. The rowers on the bæcbord benches looked anxiously at the enemy who were stumbling through the marsh’s reeds and tussocks. ‘Just keep rowing!’ I called.
‘Why?’ A bare-chested man with a spade beard challenged me. He stopped hauling his oar, stood, and looked at me truculently. ‘They’re your enemy, they’re not ours!’
He was right, of course, but there was no time to argue with him, especially as some of the oarsmen muttered sullen agreement. I just drew Serpent-Breath, stepped over the next bench and thrust hard. He had time to look astonished, then his calloused hands closed on the long blade that had glanced off a rib and driven deep into his chest. He made a gasping noise, blood bubbled at his open mouth and spilled down his beard as his eyes stared at me beseechingly. I snarled, wrenched the blade sideways and so toppled him over the side. Blood spread on the water.
‘Does anyone else want to argue?’ I asked. No one did. ‘Those men,’ I pointed the blood-streaked blade at our pursuers, ‘will sell you! I will free you. Now row!’ The death of one man spurred the others to renewed effort and Brimwisa surged forward against the river’s swirling current. ‘Folcbald,’ I shouted, ‘take this oar! Aldwyn!’ The boy ran to me and I gave him Serpent-Breath. ‘Clean it.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Dip the blade in the river,’ I told him, ‘then wipe off every drop of blood and water. Bring it back when it’s dry. Really dry!’
I had not wanted to kill the man, but I had sensed resentment among the bone-weary oarsmen who had been trapped in a struggle that was none of their
