Slamming the oaken oar into the slot, I leapt onto the bench, recalling the last time I had tried my hand at rowing. It was in Ban Gwydd; we were fleeing the Sea Wolves, and I had never held an oar before. It was with a peculiar regret that I perceived I was no better oarsman now. The long timber was unwieldy in my hands, and cursedly awkward. I found myself alternately plunging the blade too deep, or merely swiping up a spray.
Gunnar, seeing my difficulty, took his place on the bench before me. "See here, Aeddan, man!" he called over his shoulder. "Just you do what I do, and all will be well."
I ceased my frenzied thrashing and watched him perform a few strokes: he pushed the oar forward and dipped it slightly before dragging it back, taking the strain in his shoulders and letting the blade glide through the water. Imitating his example, the oar became slightly less cumbersome, and the rowing easier.
Dugal and Brynach also settled nearby, and I told them to follow Gunnar's lead, which they did, very quickly acquiring the skill-especially Dugal, who with his strength could easily match the best of the Danes.
"We must be calling him Dugal Bull-Rower from now on," called Hnefi from his bench opposite Dugal's.
Those nearby laughed at his small jest, and I translated the joke for Dugal, saying, "This is praise indeed, coming from Hnefi."
"Tell him I will match him stroke for stroke and we will see who tires first," replied Dugal.
Soon every available hand on every ship was wielding an oar. Alas, now was the extent of the Sea King's losses cruelly apparent: of those who had sailed from Bjorvika with Harald, barely one in four survived; more than one hundred and seventy had begun the journey, and only forty-four remained alive. Thus, despite the aid of the Greek fishermen, the rowing benches were not crowded, and even with the help of the Arab rafiq-who were no seamen-the ships fared but little faster.
I soon realized, however, that Harald's aim was not to outrun the raiders, but simply to turn the longships into the wind and hope the raiders could not close on us. If we succeeded in holding them off long enough, there was always a chance we might achieve enough distance to allow us to catch a favourable wind and sail out of danger.
At first, the strategy appeared to work-and wonderfully well. As the longships swung onto their new course, the red ships turned to follow and we saw the sails fall slack. Moments later, the red ships slowed; having no oars, the raiders foundered in the water.
The Sea Wolves saw it and cheered. But then the raiders hauled the sails tight, and began pegging back and forth at long angles to the wind-a tactic which brought groans from the Danes.
"They know something of sailing, these raiders," Gunnar said. "They cannot catch us, but neither will we lose them. We must keep rowing and hope the wind falls."
Row we did, watching the red ships coursing relentlessly back and forth over our wake as the sun slowly arced across the empty blue vault of heaven. As the day grew long and muscles tired, dark oaths took the place of the easy laughter. The Greeks complained that they had been hired on as seamen, not slaves; and upon learning their complaint, Harald told them they could either row or swim, the choice was theirs-although rowers could hope for additional reward upon reaching our destination.
Others may have grumbled, but I relished my long toil on the hard bench, considering that each stroke of the oars drove us closer to Byzantium and Nikos's day of reckoning.
Sitting on my rough bench, I imagined how it would be:
We would sail into Theodosius Harbour, swarm through the gate, and make our way to the imperial palace, where, in a blaze of righteous fury, we would confront the astonished Nikos with his treasons and treacheries. Upon hearing the confession from the wretch's lips, the grateful emperor would deliver him into our hands for execution-which would be duly effected, but only after a particularly excruciating period of torture specially prepared by the Sea Wolves. The emperor, whose life we had so narrowly saved, would reward us fabulously, of course, and we would leave that accursed place forever.
The dream, pleasant as it was, came to an end when, early the next morning, the wind changed quarter, gusting smartly from the southeast. The red ships were keen to the change. Even as the Danes raced to raise sails, the raiders were swinging effortlessly back onto course.
"Up sail!" cried Harald, as Thorkel hauled at the steering oar, sending the ships onto a new course. Sea Wolves shipped oars and scrambled to the ropes to raise the sail. There came a groan and a crack as the mast took the weight and the great square sail snapped full. I felt the ship hesitate as the prow bit into the waves, only to spring ahead as the dragonhead came bounding up once more. In the space of three heartbeats the longships were flying before the wind like low-swooping gulls.
Oh, but the red ships were faster still. With each swell and surge of the waves, they came the closer, ever narrowing the distance between us. Soon we could see the hulls above the water, and only a little while later, we could make out figures aboard the raiding vessels. The Sea Wolves fell to counting them in an effort to reckon the number of the enemy, arguing over the estimates, and counting again.
It seemed there were at least thirty raiders aboard each of the red ships, while we had only a hundred and twenty-four men in all-Greeks, Irish, Danes, and Sarazens together. Also, we were four ships to their two, and even if we were outmanoeuvred, each raider ship would, as Gunnar had pointed out, find boarding two longships at once a most difficult chore.
But the raiders had something very different in mind, as we quickly learned to our deep and utter dismay.
The first attack came as, standing at the rails, we saw a white puff of smoke sweep up from the side of the nearest red ship. We heard a whirring whoosh like an entire flock of swans whistling through the air overhead. There sounded a sharp report from across the water. Crack! In the self-same instant, the mast was struck as by an unseen hand, shaking the tall timber to the keel beam, whereupon the topmost tip sprouted bright red-blue flames. The Sea Wolves gaped in disbelief at this dire wonder, and asked one another what it could mean. The Greeks, however, knew all too well, and threw up their hands in horror.
I became aware of someone shouting in Arabic. "Get down!" he called, and I turned to see Faysal clambering over the empty rowing benches in an effort to reach me. "Aidan!" he cried. "Tell them-tell everyone to get down!"
As he was speaking, a cry went up from those at the rail: another white cloud of smoke puffed out, followed by the strange whirring noise, and suddenly the sea gushed up over the hull to rain over everyone. I dashed seawater from my eyes and when I looked again, behold! the sea was burning with bright red-blue flames.
"It is Greek fire," Faysal told me. "The Byzantines use it against our ships in war. It is a liquid fire that burns everything it touches, and can only be extinguished with sand."
The sea hissed and sizzled where the strange flames danced, before sinking abruptly and throwing up a thick white cloud of steam. "We have no sand-what can we do?" I wondered, seeing no way to prevent the raiders from throwing the stuff. They seemed able to hurl it from a distance with startling ease and impunity.
"Let godly men pray to God," Faysal declared. "There is no deliverance apart from Allah!"
Harald Bull-Roar was once more master of his own ships and soul, however, and threw himself into their defence with breathtaking zeal. His stentorian call rising above the cries of the men, he commanded our small fleet to split, each ship to go its separate way; this strategy forced the raiders to confine their attack to individual vessels and choose their marks more carefully.
Thus, we were driven back to the rowing benches, in an effort to move the ships. In less time than it takes to tell, the Sea Wolf pack was scattering in four different directions, and the red raiders were struggling to turn around without losing their wind advantage.
Two Viking ships succeeded in crossing safely behind the raiders, leaving only Harald's dragonship and the remaining longship in harm's way. Thorkel skillfully guided us onto a glancing course, turning the unprotected hull away from the attacker, thereby reducing our presentation many times over-the efficacy of which was amply demonstrated with the next attack. For, as we swung onto our new heading, the nearest red ship spewed forth another flaming missile.
This time, upon seeing the tell-tale puff of smoke, I was able to follow the progress of the hissing object as it hurtled through the sky to strike the water a scant few paces from the rail. The next attempt cast up spray the same distance from the opposite rail, which brought a taunting clamour from the Danes as they mocked their attacker's lack of skill. They did not, I noticed, slacken the pace of their rowing, however, but continued with renewed dedication.
Seeing the dragonship had slipped their grasp, the red ship turned its attention to the longship nearest us, and with devastating result.
White smoke belched out from the hull near the prow and I heard a whir in the air, and then a splintering crash. Flames appeared on the hull of our sister vessel, leaping and licking in long reddish-blue tongues, running wildly along the rail, spilling into the ship and into the water.
Sea Wolves stripped off their siarcs and commenced beating at the flames with their clothes, which only served to spread the fire the more. The ship itself began to burn, throwing up an oily black smoke.
Harald, standing at the sternpost, called for his pilot to turn our ship, and, heedless of our own safety, we rowed to the aid of our companions.
Two more fiery missiles sank harmlessly into the sea before a fourth struck the sail of the burning longship, spilling a brilliant torrent over the surface of the sail and raining down fiery droplets onto those below.
We lowered our heads and hunched our backs, driving the dragonship forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a figure leaping to the rail; in the same motion a line snaked out across the distance between the two ships. I looked and saw Jarl Harald tugging mightily on the hook-ended rope, which was now firmly attached to the burning longship. He roared for his men, and three Sea Wolves ran to help him drag the two ships together.
Within moments, the rowers on the near side of the ship were pulling in their oars and standing to help our comrades into our boat. One after another they fled the fire; several sailors were singed, but none were badly burned. And no sooner had all been taken aboard, than it was up oars and shove the burning vessel away before the flames could spread.
Harald commanded everyone to return to their rowing, calling a cadence for speed. I thought we would try to escape now, keeping the flaming longship between us and our attackers. But the Sea King was dauntless and bold, choosing to counter the raiders' attack and gain, if possible, victory. In this, he showed his true mettle.
Instead of turning tail and fleeing, Harald ordered Thorkel to bring the dragonprow sharply around behind the burning craft-a perilous scheme since the vessel was now almost completely engulfed in flames: the square sail was a vast, shimmering curtain of fire; smoke rolled thick and black from the blazing hull.
Slowly the dragonship turned, passing alongside the doomed vessel prow to stern-so close that the flame-roar drowned out all other sound, so close I could feel the heat-blast on my face.
One gust of the fitful wind and our own ship would be caught up in the blaze. Crouching low, I rowed as best I could, keeping one eye on the sail overhead and hoping against hope the wind did not shift. Not so Harald Bull-Roar; he lashed the grapple rope to the sternpost and called Thorkel to make for the red ships.
Cursing his sorry fate, Thorkel laboured over the steering oar, working it this way and that, fighting to keep the line smooth and clean so as not to waste a single stroke of the rowers' blades-a chore made much the more difficult since we were now towing a burning wreck.
"Faster!" roared Harald, his voice booming out in exhortation to his oarsmen. "Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!" he grunted his encouragement.
Aided by the rescued seamen, we plied the oars and the doughty pilot brought the dragonprow around sharply, driving straight for the nearest red raider. As the further red ship swung away, the raider in our path prepared to loose his fiery projectiles.
Twice I heard the whirring whistle of the missiles as they passed-so near that I smelled the acrid oily pitch scent as they sped by. The third time we were not so lucky.
Closing on the red ship-we could see the enemy now, and see also the bronze tube at the prow by which, through unknown means, the Greek fire vomited forth-the distance decreasing with every juddering thump of my heart, I saw the white smoke belch from the brazen tube, heard the whiz of the weapon and saw it soar straight towards the open hull.
Brave Dugal saw it, too, and up he jumped, holding out his hands as if to catch the thing.
"Dugal!" I shouted with all my might. "No!"
Down and down it came, plummeting from heaven with the speed of a falling rock. Up Dugal reached, straining for his catch. The projectile sailed over his head. Dugal leaped, hands high. He must have got a hand to the missile, for it appeared to bounce from his fingertips and up into the lower part of the sail, which arrested its flight. The thing slid from the sail and fell into the bottom of the ship.
I saw then that the missile was nothing more than a rounded earthen jar, made to shatter and spill out its vile liquid. But this particular jar did not burst. Perhaps in diverting the jar into the sail, Dugal kept it from breaking. Certainly, he saved us, for even as it landed with a hollow thump on the hull timbers, Dugal scooped it up and dived for the prow.
As Dugal ran, a portion of the Greek fire spilled down the side of the pot and splattered onto the handle of an oar. Blue-red flames instantly started up where the stuff touched, setting the wood alight. The startled Sea Wolf stood up and flung the oar into the sea before it could do any damage.
Meanwhile, Dugal scrambled with the terrible jar to the dragonhead prow, took aim, and hurled it back at the red ship.
It was an act of valour worthy of a hero, and had we been but a few hundred paces closer, it would have been magnificent. As it was, the jar simply plunged into the water and sank with a bubbling hiss.
Still, the Sea Wolves, greatly inspired by this display of courage, cheered him as heartily as if he had driven the enemy ship under the waves with a mighty clout.
Closer now, Harald called for us to row faster, and faster still. Already, my heart was pounding with the exertion; my breath came in raking gasps and I could feel the burning deep in my lungs. My hands were raw, and there was blood on the oar grip. The muscles of my back and shoulders were a knotted mass. Heedless of the pain, I plied my oar with grim determination, sweat pouring from me.
The dragonship, streaming rapidly through the waves, bore straightaway towards the raiders. I could hear the enemy yelling, and when I hazarded a look, I saw them scurrying around the bronze throwing tube, desperate to ready the foul instrument to spew again.
The dragonship was closing swiftly now; the pirates, believing themselves about to be rammed, braced for the impact, while their helmsman headed the enemy vessel directly onto us to force a glancing blow.
Now did Harald's daring show its genius, for at the last possible moment, he ordered Thorkel to turn hard aside. Then, lofting a war axe, he leapt to the sternpost and with two quick chops, severed the rope which bound us to the burning ship.
Suddenly loosed, and with no one to steer her, the flaming longship slewed sideways in the water. The enemy pilot tried to turn aside, but it was already too late: the raiders struck the burning vessel amidships and the mast gave out a deep sighing groan, teetered, and then plunged like an axe-felled tree to strike the red ship's cross-member where it hung, catching the sail alight and showering flames into the hull below.
The sight brought the Sea Wolves to their feet; they leapt onto the benches and onto the rail where they cried their joyful acclamation at the enemy's demise. I cheered, too. Before I knew it, my feet were on the rail and my voice was loud in jubilation as I shook my fists in the air.
I felt hands on me and looked down into Dugal's face; he was grinning with relief, but holding tight to me lest I should tumble overboard. He said something, but his voice was overwhelmed in the glad commotion, and I could not hear a word he said. "Yes!" I shouted in reply. "It is a splendid sight!"
Harald allowed the Sea Wolves only a moment's celebration, and then ordered everyone back to the oars. We rowed clear of the burning wrecks, which were now inextricably entangled and drifting dangerously in the waves. Casting a last look over my shoulder as the dragonship swung away, I saw the red ship's sail fully ablaze and falling in great fiery patches onto the heads of the Arab pirates as they screamed in terror, their pitiable cries swallowed in the smoke billowing from the flaming hull to flatten on the breeze and spread over the water.
Leaving the wailing enemy to the doom he had prepared for us, Harald turned his attention to the second red ship.
Standing at the sternpost, his bull voice belling, the Sea King called cadence as we rowed to engage the raiders in combat. "Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!" he bellowed. It soon became apparent that the two remaining longships had not only been able to stay clear of the raiders' fire-throwing prow, but had somehow navigated themselves into position behind the red ship and beyond reach of hand-thrown missiles. They were now angling for the attack, one on either side of the enemy vessel, keeping the raider ship between them.
The red vessel appeared to be trying to swing about in order to confront her attackers, but to no avail. The oar-driven longships could easily remain out of reach. Preoccupied with this difficulty, the red ship did not immediately see the dragonship ploughing a wave-furrow straight towards her.
Thorkel steered a course that would bring us up from the rear to come alongside the red ship-a much-loved Sea Wolf tactic, allowing them to grapple onto the other boat and, once the defenders were subdued, to board and loot the vessel. I knew the strategy well: it had been used to ruinous effect on little Ban Gwydd.
Whether it would have been successful against the red ship is a matter for eternal speculation. Before we could close on them, the raiders discovered our swift-charging onslaught. The Arab enemy took one look at the dragonship leaping through the waves in its eagerness to devour them, changed course and fled before the wind.
We might have made good the chase, and caught them, but Harald knew better than to exhaust his men with hard rowing and then expect them to win a battle. Instead, he broke off pursuit, and signalled the two remaining longships to follow him.
Thus, we turned aside, leaving the burning ships behind. There were men in the water by now; forced to choose between a fiery death or a watery grave, many had chosen the latter. Three half-drowned pirates bobbed into view just a spear's throw from the rail on my side of the ship. They hailed us in the name of Jesu as we drew near, but the rest of their speech was incomprehensible to me.
The Danes were for killing them-indeed, several Sea Wolves already had their spears out of the holders and were taking aim, when Faysal put a stop to it. Seizing the nearest spearman by the arm, he prevented the warrior from throwing while shouting to me to tell them not to kill the pirates.
"Save them!" Faysal urged. "They are not Arabs, they are Armenians. Such captives may prove useful to us in Byzantium."
I relayed his words to Harald, who grudgingly agreed and ordered the men to rescue the survivors instead.
The captives were in all respects similar to the raiders who had attacked us on the road to Sebastea, and like those others their appearance was such that, until they spoke, I could not tell them from Arabs. "How did you know they were Armenians?" I asked Faysal. "Was it from their speech?"
"As Allah lives I knew even before they spoke," he replied with a shrewd smile. "The Sarazens do not yet possess the secret of the Greek fire. The method of its making is a carefully guarded secret which we have yet to penetrate. That these men use it can only mean that someone from within the imperial service has given the secret to them."
So it was that three soggy Armenians joined our company, snatched from the sea, to be bound hand and foot and carried to Constantinople as further proof of Nikos's treachery.
Standing at the sternpost, Harald Bull-Roar called, "Up sail!" and commanded Thorkel to resume our previous course. Then, as the proud dragonprow swung around, Jarl Harald lofted the war axe and bellowed his victory call.
"To Miklagard!" he bawled. "Death to our enemies!"