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  That was the way of the Christians. They relied on their god to aid them. We relied on the strength of our arms and steel. We had arrows and javelins in abundance. We now had three leather byrnies and three more helmets. With our other captured equipment, every man and boy who stood on my walls would look like a warrior. I sent Gilles and Bertrand out early, before dawn. They would wait by Rurik’s farm. We had thirty warriors who had stood in a shield wall. All but two had mail byrnies. Then there were another twenty who, like Bagsecg Bagsecgson, knew how to fight. With twenty old men and boys with bows and slings I hoped we would give a good account of ourselves.

  Not long before noon Agnathia and Rurik’s slaves hurried down the road towards us. “They come, jarl. There are more than fifty of them and they are mounted. My husband and your two young men are watching them.”

  “Thank you.” As they hurried inside I turned to check my shield walls. We had three ranks with twenty men in each line. It meant that there were the ten least experienced men at the rear of our wall. They stood with their backs to the ditch. Our archers and slingers on the walls could easily reach over our heads to hurt the enemy. Rurik, Bertrand and Gilles could bolster the rear line when they arrived.

  The three of them reined in. “They are half a Roman mile behind us. Our presence stopped them from spreading out.”

  Bertrand laughed, “They thought that we had hidden men who would ambush them. They kept looking to their left and right.”

  “Put your horses in the stronghold and then join the rear line.”

  They nodded and left. The Franks galloped up and then stopped three hundred paces from my walls. They respected my archers. They spread into one long line. I saw that none, save Jean of Caen, wore mail. Twelve of them wore what Jean of Caen had worn the other day, a metal studded leather byrnie. Jean of Caen had a tunic with overlapping fish scales of metal upon them. The rest were what the Saxons called the fyrd and the Franks the levy. Everyone had a helmet and a shield. Some wore leather armour but most just had a kyrtle and a leather baldric around their chest. Each one carried a javelin. The eleven who wore the metal studded leather had a long spear. They were the ones to worry about. I saw one with a bandage. He was the young warrior from the earlier encounter.

  Sticking my spear into the ground I lifted my helmet and stepped forwards with my hands open to show I was happy to talk. Jean of Caen handed his helmet to the warrior next to him. It was the one who had fled us the previous day. The old warrior nudged his horse forward. It was a big horse. I recognised its quality. This was a horseman and, if we fought, it would not do to underestimate him.

  His face was angry, “Not content with hunting on the king’s lands I see you dared to attack and kill my men!”

  I kept my voice even, “Your men attacked me. The four of them charged at me.”

  “You had an ambush prepared! That is not honourable.”

  “I had two young warriors with me. The fact that they are better than yours is what helped me to send them to the Otherworld.”

  He turned in his saddle and said, to the survivor, “There were just three of them?”

  The young warrior lowered his head, “There seemed more, father, but it may have been just three. They wore mail!”

  His father shook his head and turned back to me. “It makes no difference to me how many there were. You slew three of my men.” I said nothing. He looked up at my men. “You think these farmers and pirates can stand up to my horsemen? We will sweep you from the field and then burn your stronghold!”

  I moved closer to him so that we could speak without others hearing us. “Brave words from a man with just twelve warriors to depend on. You think your levy are a match for Vikings? I tell you what; let you and I fight here this day. I offer you single combat!”

  “You are on foot!”

  “I can get a horse. We fight here and if you win then I will submit to your court.”

  “And if you win?”

  “Then you leave us in peace.”

  He grinned, “You are a brave young fool! Agreed.” He thought a Frank could easily defeat a Viking who rode a horse.

  “Then tell your men. It would not give me any pleasure to slaughter them if they tried to avenge you!”

  He frowned and then turned. “I will fight with this Viking. When I win, he will come back to our castle as a prisoner. If he wins then we leave them in peace.”

  His men laughed and behind me I heard those who could speak their language shout, “No!”

  I turned, “I have spoken. Gilles, saddle Dream Strider.”

  I walked back to my spear and withdrew it. Arne Four Toes said, “Why, jarl? This is madness. We could beat these easily!”

  “I know but we might lose men. More importantly it might bring forth the wrath of this Leudes from Rouen. We are not yet ready to face an army. Let us have small victories. I know we will have to fight him one day but, for the present, let us try to increase our numbers.” I smiled, “Do you not think I can beat him?”

  “He looks experienced.”

  “He probably is but the one thing he has never done is fight a Viking horseman! I have fought Franks before. I have surprise on my side. Do not fear. I have no intention of losing.” I put on my helmet and loosened my sword in my scabbard.

  Gilles brought Dream Strider and I handed him my spear as I mounted. I leaned down and said, quietly, “Watch the one who escaped the other day. I do not trust him. Have your bow ready.”

  “Aye, lord.”

  I kicked my horse on and rode to face the Frank. He was smiling. “I have won many battles from the back of a horse, Viking. You are brave. If our positions were reversed, then I would have asked to fight on foot.”

  “And that is the difference between a Viking and a Frank. I am afraid of nothing. Certainly, not an old man whose son lies to him.” I had guessed that the young man was his son but I saw similarities between them. His reaction confirmed it,

  He coloured and whipped his horse’s head around. I had angered him. It had been deliberate. I needed him to try to show his men that he was still a powerful warrior. I would use my speed and Dream Strider’s innate fighting ability. I leaned forward, “Today, Dream Strider, we put into action all that we have practised.”

  I took him towards the sea. I knew the ground to be firmer there. We halted just a hundred paces apart. He pulled back on his reins and kicked hard. His horse leapt into the air and then he galloped towards me. I said, “Now, Dream Strider.”

  We cantered towards the Frank. I heard his men cheering. He intended to hit me with such force that the combat would be over before it was begun. He was showing his men that they were superior. I held my spear overhand. The Frank had his couched beneath his arm. I knew that he would punch at me to knock me from my saddle. He was going quickly; too quickly for I saw the head of his spear waving up and down in the air. He held his shield tightly to his body and was leaning forward in his saddle. He expected me to try to do the same as he did. I had no intention of doing so.

  I rode Dream Strider directly at the Frank. As I saw him pull back his arm I jerked my reins to the right. His spear hit my shield but it was a glancing blow and caused only sparks as the head hit my boss. I, on the other hand, stabbed down towards his left leg. His shield was held high and he had no mail covering his leg; just breeks. My spear came away bloody. I was able to wheel Dream Strider around far quicker than he could for I was going more slowly. I heard his men shouting a warning as I cantered up behind him. He wheeled his horse and punched his spear as he came close to me. The spear head hit the boss of my shield. Already weakened by the first blow the shaft shattered. I used my spear overhand. His shield came up and he managed to deflect the head. It tore through three of the plates of metal by his right shoulder. We both drew swords.

  I knew he had a good horse but mine was better. I had a longer rein to control him because I was able to use my knees. As he swung his sword I used my knees to take Dream Strider away from the blow. Hitting
fresh air was a waste of energy. I then backed Dream Strider away from the Frank. His men hurled insults at me thinking this was cowardice. It was not. When the Frank kicked his horse hard I jerked Dream Strider’s head to the left. I brought Heart of Ice across the Frank’s chest. His hand and sword came up but it was a slow move and his own sword sliced a long cut down his left cheek as my blade hit his.

  As I moved past him I swung back hand and my sword connected with his back. His metal plates and the leather held but the heavy metal of my sword hurt him. His back arced. I continued my turn. As he turned to try to see me I could see the blood pouring from the wound in his leg. He was growing weaker. I stood in my stiraps and brought my sword down hard on his right shoulder. I heard something crack and he tumbled from his horse. My blow had not penetrated his mail but I had broken something. I raised my sword and my men cheered.

  The son of the fallen Frank suddenly dug his heels into his mount’s flanks and hurtled towards me. My back was to him. As I wheeled Dream Strider around I knew I would not make the turn in time. I tried to pull my shield around for defence when there was a sudden blur before my eyes and Gilles’ arrow struck the horse in the side of the head. As it fell forward it threw the treacherous young warrior from its back. My men ran forward, angered by the act. Other Franks were helping Jean of Caen to his feet. His son lay prone. He shook his head. “You have won, Viking. I am sorry for my son’s actions. It is a shame for that was a fine horse.”

  Gilles had arrived with his bow in hand, “Think yourself lucky, Jean of Caen. Gilles is a fine archer. He could have slain your son. You will keep your word?”

  He nodded, “I know not what the Leudes will say but I will keep my end of the bargain.”

  His men wrapped a bandage around his leg and placed him on his horse. One of the others draped the unconscious body of his son over the other and they headed south. My gamble had paid off but now they knew that there was at least one Viking who could ride and fight.

  Chapter 3

  That evening we feasted. The whole clan had been inside my walls and it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. They stayed the night and we ate well. The food we had laid in for a siege would no longer be needed. Everyone wished to talk of the battle that never was. Even though mine had been the only sword drawn in anger no one had failed to show that they were willing to fight and die for the clan. Had Haaken One Eye of the clan of the wolf been in the Haugr, he might have composed a saga. We did not do much of that and so my men just talked of what might have happened.

  Rurik One Ear said quietly to me as men spoke of the blows they would have struck and the glory they would have earned, “Those are the best kind of battles for warriors always win and slay far more than in a real battle.”

  “Do not be harsh with them, Rurik. They stood outside our wall and were willing to fight to the death.”

  Beorn Beornsson nodded, “I believe we would have won. I know you favour a horse, jarl, but I cannot see any advantage. Spears keep them at bay and our axes can cut through a horse’s leg just as easily as a man’s.”

  “Perhaps but being mounted gives us a much greater range.”

  Sven brought over a newly filled horn of ale for me, “A ship travels faster. Are we going to sail before winter, jarl or shall I have the drekar drawn up into her cradle?”

  I was suddenly aware that everyone was listening to my words. “This would be a good time. We have most of the crops and animals we need and after today the Franks will not bother us until after winter. If we are to go then it must be soon. Aye, we will sail.”

  Asbjorn Sorenson asked, “Trade or raid?”

  The way he said it left me in no doubt what he wanted. I looked around at the faces of my men. My warriors had been ready to fight and they had not even unsheathed their weapons. These were Vikings I commanded. They wanted to fight.

  “I can tell what you wish to do Asbjorn. You wish to raid. What are the wishes of the other men who would crew ‘Dragon’s Breath’?”

  Beorn Beornsson said, quite simply, “Raid! Trade brings a profit but not as much as a raid.” He waved his hand around the fire where my crew sat, “You have a young crew jarl but they are warriors all. Let us hone those skills. More warriors will join our clan if we can raid successfully. Then we can trade.”

  No one argued against it although Rurik was silent. I stood, “Very well then we raid. However, I would not raid the river Issicauna. I do not wish to make enemies of every Frank!” My men laughed. “I have a mind to raid Wessex. King Egbert has successfully conquered Mercia and Corn Walum. His treasuries will be full. Let us relieve him of some of the burden of counting!” Again, my men laughed, “And then we can sail to Dorestad and trade. Dyflin is too far and I would not risk the isles of Syllingar this close to winter.”

  The cheers told me I had made the right decision. I turned to Rurik, “You said nothing. What is amiss?”

  “Nothing save…” he lowered his voice, “Agnathia is not young and she is with child. I would not leave her until the child is born but I am a warrior and I am your oathsworn…”

  “Then you can help yourself and me. You will not be of much use when your child is born. You have the power to end life but others bring it into this world. Fetch your wife here into the stronghold and then the other women can help her. You can command in my absence. I am happy that we have many untried warriors who would have faced the Franks but I need someone to command them while I am gone.”

  He brightened, “I could do that and it would be something I could do with honour. Thank you, jarl.”

  It took five days to prepare the drekar for sea. Strakes had to be caulked; sheets and stays renewed. Stores had to be prepared and, with a full crew, the ballast had to be carefully balanced. The weather had deteriorated in those five days but the wind was still with us and blew from the south east. It sped us on our way.

  The men used the saga of Siggi White Hair and my son, Ragnvald, to pull us away from the shore. It was a good song and it filled our hearts with both pride and the fond memories of Siggi White Hair. He had been as the father to our clan.

  Siggi was the son of a warrior brave

  Mothered by a Hibernian slave

  In the Northern sun where life is short

  His back was strong and his arm was taut

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  When the Danes they came to take his home

  He bit the shield and spat white foam

  With berserk fury, he killed them dead

  When their captain fell, the others fled

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  After they had gone and he stood alone

  He was a rock, a mighty stone

  Alone and bloodied after the fight

  His hair had changed from black to white

  His name was made and his courage sung

  Hair of white and a body young

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  Siggi White Hair warrior true

  With dying breath, he saved the clan

  He died as he lived like a man

  And now reborn to the clan's hersir

  Ragnvald Hrolfsson the clan does cheer

  Ragnvald Hrolfsson warrior true

  Ragnvald Hrolfsson warrior true

  By the time we had cleared the coast and headed out into the open sea we were warmed up and we were optimistic about our raid. I stood at the steering board with Sven the Helmsman and Harold Fast Sailing. With Siggi Far Sighted at the mast we would have ample warning of any danger. We spoke of Wessex. “We avoid Hamwic. We have been to that well too many times. Their defences will have been improved.”

  “Aye and the King is likely to be at Wintan-ceastre. That is close by. There will be rich pickings but all of his thegns and warriors will be there.”

  “Then let us head around to the Temese. The Dragonheart found many treasures when he raided there. The riv
er has many inlets where we can hide.”

  I shook my head. “I wish somewhere we have never raided. The place the Welsh call Dwfr on the Dour is a rich port.” It was the closest part of the land of the Saxons to Frankia. If we raided there we would have a shorter voyage to Dorestad.

  “Aye, there is a little bay to the north which only has a few fishing ships. We could use that and attack over land.” Harold Fast Sailing was well named. He had sailed the seas for even more years than Sven the Helmsman.

  “Good and it is a short voyage to Dorestad.”

  Bertrand and Gilles were the two who were the most ill at ease on the drekar. Bertrand was a Frank and a landsman. Gilles was a Viking but he had grown up, like me, as a horseman. I had contemplated leaving them in Haugr but they would have taken that as an insult. They would have to learn to be sailors too. Harold Fast Sailing sat them at the bow. They shared an oar with two of the more experienced oarsmen. I saw them looking, ruefully, at their red raw hands after they finished their first session of rowing.

  “They will soon harden. Use the sea water to wash them. It will cleanse them. It will sting but it will be worth it.”

  I knew that they would have to row again. We would have to edge into the empty bay at night. We dared not use the sails. Even Harold Fast Sailing was not that familiar with the bottom of the sea there.

  We laid up that first day close by the southern coast of Wessex. We knew that there were many bays in the ancient land of Haestingas. We avoided Haestingaceaster for Harold thought that is had a wall and might be defended. It had been the main stronghold of the ancient land of the Haestingas. There might be a time when we would raid it but this time we had chosen Dwfr. We used a sea anchor in the tiny bay. In summer, there was a possibility that we may have been seen but the nights were long at this time of year and few people were there to see us. A few years later and they would keep a watch for Dragonships such as ours.

  We left after dawn and my crew took to the oars for we had to head east into the wind which was south by east. The furled sails meant we were harder to see. The waves were high, too, which made for an uncomfortable voyage as we crested white topped waves and crashed into deep troughs. Poor Gilles and Bertrand were petrified. Bertrand was a Christian and he kept his cross in his mouth the whole time. We headed out into the middle of the channel between Frisia and Cent. However, once we were far enough north we were able to lay down the oars and let our sails take us the last few miles closer towards the little bay. Harold thought that the few huts there were called Addelam but he was not certain. When we saw the thin line in the distance we lowered the sails and men took to the oars. Until dark it would be just a gentle row. We did not wish to be seen.