Forged in Blood Page 8
I will give Hakon my best while I am on the Meuris though he is not an easy skipper to crew for. He stalks me as I go about the ship. If I go aft to stow a baling-ladle, or if I am summoned to take a spell at the helm, Hakon snarls loud enough to be heard by all amidships. ‘What kind of man condemns his brother to be sold for silver? I tell you, Thralson, if he was a brother of mine — and had sent me to Inis-dubh — I know what I would do!’
As for Lunan and Kotter, Hakon holds them up as shining examples for his present crew to follow. He talks of father and son as if they didn’t put a foot wrong while they were with him on the Meuris. It is touching to hear a skipper speak with endearment of former crewmen, but none of the present crew, apart from the ever-trusting Baldr, think the dead seamen were as perfect as Hakon would have us believe. As our midshipman Halpin says, ‘No skin off my nose! Skip only uses them as a stick to bash us with!’
After Lunan and Kotter were dropped to their watery grave, it wasn’t the end of Hakon’s woes. He returned to Linn-dubh to find that other lubbers of his crew had run off to join the King’s campaign against Osri. He had to replace the missing crewmen with whatever brawn he could muster. At the peak of sailing season no seafarer worth his salt is on lookout to join another ship — or put himself under a new skipper — unless enticed by a bag of loot. Hakon is not a man to pay over the odds. He took on five likely lubbers — got rid of two before they had a chance to cast off — and for three months put to sea short-handed. With a scratch crew he voyaged for short stretches, doing trade along the estuaries. Breaking in a new crew doesn’t come easily for Hakon. He begrudges giving orders twice. Not that I blame him for that. Nothing is more galling for a skipper, when he gives a command, than to see a crewman stand gaping in puzzlement or doubt, as if frozen to the deck.
This never happens with Kru — though you might think he would be hampered by lack of hearing. Once Kru has been shown what to do, he won’t hesitate, when the same order is next given. Kru keeps his eyes peeled aft, while Hakon displays orders from the helm. As soon as Skip taps his elbow to finish a command — a sign for him to ‘go-to-it!’ — Kru leaps into action with gusto, roping up, reefing down, or manning halyard, pulley or brace. Where our deaf-mute is concerned, the skipper’s patience knows no bounds. Hakon relishes the task of converting ship’s orders from speech to mime — often in signs so elaborate that they raise a laugh from the rest of us. The miming for Kru is helpful to M’lym, who still confuses one end of a ship from the other — and no less of interest to me, were I to admit it. From each ship’s order, carefully explained in signs, I am beginning to understand how Hakon tweaks and trims to get the best from an old heap like the Meuris.
*
Hakon’s trading season has finished well. The cattle-hides he bought from the tanner at Linn-dubh fetched more than he bargained for at Arnkels-cove — and yesterday the monks there paid him a handsome purse, his richest haul of the summer, to transport twelve bee-hives complete with their swarms to a monastery three sea-days south at Kildobhan.
A novice-monk by the name of Paperkali has accompanied the bees on their journey by sea. It will be his task as bee-keeper to colonise them in fresh meadows, and introduce the craft of honey-farming at Kildobhan. Hakon has a second bag of hack — as heavy as the first — waiting for him at the receiving monastery, but the holy brothers at Kildobhan will pay out only if he delivers the twelve bee-hives intact with healthy, living swarms.
After the bees are delivered at Kildobhan, our last port of call will be the haven of Vadrar-fiord. The Meuris, once emptied of grain cargo, will be taken upriver to the shipyard at Ekvith. Hakon will over-winter at Vadrar-fiord as guest of his old friend Lodin, an enterprising Ostman of humble stock, who calls himself ‘Lord and Custodian of the Three Rivers’. Lord Lodin, who is lord in name only, holds sway over lands north and south of the haven, and levies a toll on all trading-ships moving on the rivers. The toll guarantees safe passage for merchants and free movement of livestock from the Erse farms. Lodin has the cooperation of Deesha clans, who are his neighbours on all sides. Hakon calls them ‘peaceable Erse’.
*
For the sake of the hives, Hakon keeps an even keel on this stage of our voyage. He is careful not to let the Meuris slip too close inshore, where the northerlies would drive us into channels of choppy water and cause distress to the bees. Nor is he tempted to sail at night — even under a moon. While on a broad reach, heading south with northerlies at our backs, there would be a risk at night of our ship running aground on sandbanks or sea-shallows to larboard. Hakon’s cautious sailing makes for a short day at sea. By afternoon each day, with a flow tide in the offing, we sit off-shore and wait for slack-water to turn to flood. Once the tide is on the run, the skipper follows it in to find a beaching or anchorage. The sooner we haul up — or secure anchors — the sooner Paperkali can settle the bees for their overnight rest.
*
‘Gently does it!’ A firm twist from Hakon on the tiller, and our steer-board beam lifts clear of the shallows on the shingle beach. With slick deft of hand Skip has the rudder quickly tied inboard. ‘Stand by for beaching! Stand by, Dantzk and Fjak, hauling-ropes ashore! Baldr; Thralson; Halpin! Keel-rollers under the hull! Dantzk and Fjak, jump to it — man the hauling-ropes! Get your feet wet, lubbers. No, no, Fjak, for Thor’s sake leave that for Kru. He will do cables aft!’
‘Aye, aye, Skip.’ Two crewmen’s voices, and two more — all in a rush, and the fifth crewman’s troubled shriek, an anxious ‘aye, aye,’ from Fjak, garbled twice and a third time — his ‘aye-aye’ repeated in the wake of another chastening roar from astern.
Deaf to the fuss around him, Kru quietly coils the cables aft.
While we land the ship and haul the keel over its rollers, Paperkali and M’lym see to the bees. M’lym is kitted out in an old serk of Baldr’s — long enough to reach past her knees. She has it tied at the midriff with a ship’s gording-rope. She and the monk lift pail after pail over the gunnels and drench the bee-hives with sea-water. Cooling water cascades over the wicker hives. The swarms are hot and irritable sealed within the hives, but they must remain closeted until journey’s end at Kildobhan.
*
All is still on the beach but for waves rippling on the sand, and a quiet buzzing from the hives in the hold of our beached ship. A spark hisses and cracks now and then off salty driftwood burning on the fire. The buzzing of Paperkali’s bees lasts until after dark, then it fades, as one hive, and then another succumbs to sleep, until at last all twelve colonies fall silent.
*
‘Those were fine days for the likes of us,’ says Dantzk. Morning rain drips from his moustaches. Our burly crewman has a thick growth of red hair on chest, head and face despite his advancing years. ‘I would give my eye-teeth to be sitting at the oars on a long-ship, a fine harrier crew all around me, and us setting out on a voyage. What do you say, Skip?’ He asks it in a joking way, almost teasingly. ‘Would you not care to join me on the thwarts?’
Hakon remains tight-lipped. Either he will ignore Dantzk’s question — a habit of his — or he will take time to ponder his reply. Halpin, who is a longstanding friend and fellow-shipmate of Dantzk, screws up his face in mock disgust at the memory of their harrier days.
After a while, the skip deigns to give a reply. ‘Raiding doesn’t pay like it used to,’ he says simply. ‘And besides, nowadays, who is going to flee in dread from a greybeard like me? An old man stumbling up the beach with axe in hand — I’d be a laughing-stock! The farm wives would hack off my scrawny neck like a hen.’
‘We were damn fools, Dantzk,’ says Halpin; ‘fools to have stayed at the raiding game for so long.’
Hakon’s new midshipman on the Meuris is tall and gaunt, with an unhurried gait — no one would take Halpin’s gangling frame for that of a harrier — but he and Dantzk voyaged as harriers in their younger years, crewing on long-ships all over the outer isles. Halpin has composed songs of their escapades, hearty sing-
alongs of blood and loot that wouldn’t shame a skald. If half of the midshipman’s tales from his youth were true, there’s nowhere that he and Dantzk haven’t sailed to — nowhere that they haven’t spilled blood.
‘Listen, old friend,’ he goes on. ‘Back then, we relished the thrill of bloodlust, of stolen women, and stolen grog — we had our fill of it — but what happened to our share of the loot? You and I were at sea for a score of years, but there’s not an ounce of silver to show for it in your purse or mine. Whether we were paid out in minted coin or loose hack — it doesn’t matter — the divvy always slipped through our fingers like herrings in a bucket.’
‘It suited me that way,’ says Dantzk. ‘I wasn’t like you, Halp, forever dreaming of a little wife and an earthen steading. Sleeping under rafters; kicking my boots off in a straw-bed — that humdrum, settled life was never for me.’
Hakon laughs. ‘If it’s freedom you want, Dantzk,’ says he, ‘and nights beached under the stars, look no farther than the Meuris.’
‘I’d rather have silver in my purse,’ says Halpin thoughtfully.
‘Then you are with the right skipper,’ returns Hakon. ‘Look at those swarms of bees cooped up in the hold. There’s pure gold in them bee-hives. And once we beach at Kildobhan, I will see to it that a share goes to every man of the crew.’
*
Before we embark for a day at sea, the swarms need to be calmed in their hives by a dousing of smoke. This morning Paperkali is worried for his bees — he has not stinted on the smoke — a cloud of it envelops the Meuris. Around the outsides of the beached hull, and in wet cess-buckets on deck, M’lym and Kru have set smouldering fires, using clumps of reeds and scutch-grass gathered this morning damp from the dunes. The young monk has stripped off his brown robe. M’lym and Kru are in the hold where the hives are stowed. They dart in and out of the smoky haze. Spreading the monk’s robe like a blanket over each colony in turn, they trap smoke within the hives, stunning the bees confined in the nest.
‘Paperkali,’ Hakon shouts, getting to his feet. ‘How much longer with that damned smoke? I don’t want to lose the tide.’
‘Saint Jacobus needs another smoking,’ returns a voice from the ship. First a harassed face, and then a podgy white torso caked in ash and sweat, emerge from the billowing clouds of smoke on deck. Saint Jacobus is the name that Paperkali has given to one of his swarms — each family of bees is known by a holy saint, one for each of the twelve hives. ‘Bear with me, Skipper,’ says the monk, returning into the smoke with a gasp. ‘I will be done as quickly as I can.’
Annoyed by the delay, and hoping to bring the monk’s task to a close, Hakon sends Halpin and Dantzk on-board on the pretext of checking our standing rigging. The crewmen cough and curse amidst the smoke, and make a nuisance near the hold, fidgeting with scrouds and stays. Paperkali won’t be harassed or hurried. He carries on smoking the bees. Skip, on his way back from the ship, whispers something to Baldr. Moments later, Baldr and Fjak go off with our makeshift sled to fill two small water casks from the stream.
The skipper looks again at the smoke, shakes his head impatiently, and glances at receding ripples of ebb-water on the shore. He settles down beside me. No one is within hearing on the beach, but he begins in a low voice. ‘It might have turned out different, if I had come ashore a day or two earlier at Linn-dubh. I might not be sitting here — nor, for that matter, would you, Thralson.’
‘I owe you, Skip. That goes for Kru and young M’lym too. Be assured that whatever you ask of me, I will “go to it”.’
Hakon shakes his head. ‘Nay, lad, I told you before. Where that is concerned, I ask nothing in return. What I wanted you to know is this: Had I met your brother Raffson face to face in Linn-dubh, it would have come to blows.’
‘It means nothing to me, Skip. You made it clear when I joined the crew. You swore you would get even for what was done to Lunan and Kotter. I take you at your word.’
‘I am no match these days for a man of Raffson’s strength. Let’s face it! He would have made short work of me. I would have ended up as dead meat. And if I had been done for, you and Kru, and the lass too, would have been on that slave-ship bound for Brythuniog.’
A shiver runs down my spine.
‘Don’t you see what I’m getting at?’ continues Hakon. ‘If I’d had a full ship’s crew, the Meuris would have run south like a hound and reached Linn-dubh. For both our sakes, Thralson, we owe it to wind and fate that I missed that brother of yours by a matter of days.’
‘You are certain that he sailed with Amlav’s fleet?’
‘There can be no doubt of it. Drafdrit had dealings with Raffson on the very morning the fleet put out from the creek. Your brother had Glun Iron-knee on his ship — the Hrafentyr — they were in the convoy of ships carrying the King’s treasure to Jorvik.’
‘I was a fool to think that Einar would be at the slave-market. If he hadn’t done it before, why come at the last moment? He must have seen slave-ships in the creek. He must have known that I was among the last to be shipped out to Brythuniog — and he did nothing.’
‘It is not for me to interfere,’ replies Hakon. ‘But if that devil Raffson were a brother of mine, I would keep a wide berth. You are better off without him.’
‘The old priest-man — the one who died from marsh distemper — he had it right.’
‘Who? How do you mean?’
‘The old man at the slave-market — the one whose chains were stapled to the stump next to Kru and me. When he breathed his last, he told Baldr that he was glad to see that my brother had come. Don’t you see, Skip? He saw Baldr and mistook him for my brother.’
‘Don’t go soft on me,’ replies Hakon dismissively. ‘It wasn’t brothering — from Baldr or anyone else — that wasn’t the way of it. What I needed was men on deck. I was in a hurry. I was after crew for the Meuris. Without men for the sea voyage I couldn’t have headed south. Baldr told me that you and the child were still in Drafdrit’s hands. Luckily for me, poll prices had hit rock-bottom in the slave-market. True, I paid to get you out of the slave-master’s clutches — but it was for my benefit, not for yours — it was a quick way of making up the crew.’
‘I will find a way to re-pay you.’
‘No, no, Thralson, don’t burden me with gratitude or debt. When we took our chances in the flood, and out in the estuary, when you were with us on the Meuris, I could see that you were slick on the ropes — a safe pair of hands on board. Don’t get me wrong. Halp and Dantzk are fine, but they are a bit long in the tooth, sluggish on deck. As for Fjak, the man doesn’t take a telling — worse than useless. Can’t trust him to walk as far as the prow. Between you and me, once we reach Vadrar-fiord, I’m going to pay him off.’
‘Will he survive till then? The poor man’s worried you are going to throw him overboard!’
Hakon doesn’t respond to my jest. His thoughts are elsewhere.
‘I don’t mind telling you, Thralson — Baldr will vouch for it — I was sorely tempted to chase your brother as far as Jorvik.’
The skipper sees my doubtful look. He backtracks. ‘Well, maybe, had I been ten years younger, I might have gone after him. But to be honest — this is for your ears, not for the others — for all my talk of Lunan and Kotter; of having it out with Einar Raffson — of giving him a fight to the death and such-like — it was never in earnest.’ He adds morosely, ‘It is nothing but the ravings of an old man. The truth is: your brother is safe. He has nothing to fear from me. Not enough fire in my guts. My anger is like Paperkali’s grass-singeing and simmering around the hives — all smoke and no fire.’
Chapter 13
‘I am worried for Thomas Didymus,’ says Paperkali with dread in his voice. ‘And I have not heard a buzz from the hive of Bartholomeus — not a whisper since yesterday — it is not a good sign. I don’t like it when my swarms fall silent.’ Thomas Didymus and Bartholomeus are names of the holy saints given by the monk to his colonies of bees.
Ha
kon and I are with the monk on stern deck. Skip has given me charge of the tiller. As soon as we are past the southerly point on the mainland, we will change course and head west. According to Hakon, to the south of the point are outlier rocks — three sets of hazards. They will come up on larboard side, but I have not spotted them yet. Skip says, ‘Look out for three pairs of eyes, Thralson, give them a wide berth. He scans in the opposite direction — north — off our steer-board beam, looking for a sandy ashore to serve as our overnight beaching.
The monk persists. ‘Did you hear me, Skipper Hakon? I am worried for the bees!’
‘What do you want me to do?’ asks Hakon.
‘You can’t go ashore,’ replies Paperkali firmly. ‘Not this evening. We must sail to Kildobhan with all haste. Another day and I might lose the bees.’
Hakon snaps back. ‘If we don’t beach tonight, I can have you at Kildobhan by daybreak tomorrow. But it means cutting through heavy water. Will that not upset the little blighters in their hives?’
‘The bees haven’t gathered pollen for days,’ replies the monk. ‘And they are missing their freedom. If my honey-bees are not allowed to forage soon, they will start killing their brother-bees in the nest.’
‘Can’t have that,’ returns Hakon drily. ‘Wouldn’t do to have killings on my ship.’
Skip taps the stern beam of the Meuris with the lightest of touches. ‘Well, my old sea-hound,’ says he — as if the ship’s timbers were listening. ‘Get ready for a night voyage. You will have to sniff out a passage. By the looks of the sky, we can’t rely on a moon — and I will wager too that there will be no stars.’
*
Hakon blinks into the rain. The sky has darkened overhead, throwing an evening blackness over the waves. The sea has started to swell. ‘Thralson, you will stay at the helm until we reach Kildobhan. I will tell you which quarter to sail into.’