The Land of the Northmen Read online

  We left at dawn. We did not take tents. It was becoming warmer and we just took blankets. We travelled light. Father Michael was certain that as the majority of the party was Christian he could manage to get us shelter for the night; even if it was just a stable. We rode mailed but with shields hung over our left legs and our helmets over our saddles. We did not take spears for we had our swords. We had begun to use longer reins which allowed us to use our shields while mounted and yet still be able to control our horses. It had taken some time to get used to them but now we found them more comfortable. We had also made modifications to our saddles so that the front and rear fitted better. Our carpenters were skilled in making saddles and we paid them well.

  We did not take the Roman roads but the greenway which ran close to the coast. I had travelled this before when visiting Folki and Fótr. Once we had passed the land to the east of Valognes we were in the land of the Franks. They used Leudes or lords to rule the areas. Each lord would have, perhaps, ten men he could command to fight for him. Individually none were a threat to us. However, the Count of the land, Henry of Carentan, had many such lords he could call upon to fight. I was not going to visit with the lord of Carentan but we would pass through his town. It guarded the river crossing. Word would get back of my journey. I had chosen my horsemen for they all wore the same blue cloak and a blue tunic with a small sword which represented a cross. They looked like the retinue of a great lord and suggested many more men. In truth, we had but thirty all told but the twenty I took with me were the best.

  Carentan had a gate over the bridge. There were sentries there; four of them. I rode at the front of the column next to Father Michael. The warrior who guarded the bridge held up his hand. “Have you the permission of the Lord of Carentan to cross his bridge?”

  Father Michael looked pointedly at the bridge. “I think that the Romans built this bridge. Is your lord that old?”

  It nonplussed the sentry. “It is his lordship’s bridge.”

  “And is that his river?”

  “Aye!”

  “Then when does it stop being his river? Is it still his river five miles upstream or does that belong to another lord?” My voice was less conciliatory than Father Michael’s. I put an edge to it.

  He seemed to see me for the first time. His eyes widened, “You are the Northman! You are a Viking!”

  “I am. But I have eaten my share of babies for the day so you and your men are safe.”

  My men laughed at my words. The Franks thought that Vikings ate babies and feasted on young women. The sentry looked at his three companions. They were too far from the walls of the town to call for help and we outnumbered them. He nodded, “You may pass but next time ask the permission of my lord!”

  I said, easily, “I will be back in six days or so. I will ask him then.”

  We made better time after Carentan for it was a Roman Road. We stopped to water our horses along the way and chatted easily with those that we met. Father Michael’s presence allayed any fears they had of a column of mailed men riding through their land. We stayed, that night at Bayeux. There was a monastery there and Father Michael knew the abbot. My wife’s priest suggested I make an offering to the monastery. It worked and we were given the stable in which to sleep and we were fed.

  I quite enjoyed the company of the monks. They did not know of my past. I had raided more monasteries than I cared to think about and the blood of dozens of priests lay on my hands. That had been when I was a young warrior and when I had obeyed the orders of my jarl. Now my men did not kill priests and monks. They were valuable. We captured them and sold them. Through their words I learned much about the politics of the land. King Louis clung on to power. He had bought off his brother, Charles, called the Bald, but it was a temporary truce. His borders were being attacked, in the north, by raiders from Frisia and there was friction with the Count of Flanders. It explained why we had been left alone for so long. I wondered how long it would last.

  As we rode through the town the next day I noticed its defences. There might come a time when I had to take the town. I was a realist. I sought peace but eventually the Franks would tire of this annoying new neighbour and seek to eradicate me from their land. When that day came, I would be ready. The wall was Roman. It was not high for the Romans used double ditches to defend their walls. The double ditches had gone and I saw the walls as not a problem. Carentan had been the same. The Franks did not attack each other’s strongholds. Vikings did!

  We reached Ouistreham at the end of the second day. This had no wall. Fótr and Folki had built a wall and the Franks had burned it and destroyed what they had built. It had yet to be replaced. It was an untidy huddle of huts with a small hall. The Leudes who lived there was little more than a farmer. He had neither men nor mail. He did, however, have a church and, once again, we found accommodation. We ate fine fresh fish. The next day we crossed the river on a raft ferry and headed for the Issicauna. We would travel along the southern bank. There were two Roman roads: one to the north and one to the south. I knew that Sven would be sailing and the next day would be when we would see him.

  Father Michael knew of one or two quarries. Churchmen always knew of such places. The first one we tried had stone but it was sandstone. Father Michael wanted something more robust. “That would be good for the infill but not for the facing stone.” He had smiled at the quarryman. “We may call on the way back if we cannot get what we want further upstream.”

  We were luckier at Bourneville. There we found some fine hard stone. It was the colour of sandstone but harder. Sadly, they did not have huge amounts. “Father Michael, is there enough here for the base of my tower?”

  “More than enough.”

  “Then we will buy it.”

  The man gave me an exorbitant price. I negotiated him down but I could see, from Father Michael’s face, that it was too much. I would use that to my advantage. I waved over Michael of Liger, “Ride to the river and wait for the knarr.” I turned to the quarryman, “Is there anywhere we can land a boat close to here?”

  “There is a quay just five miles from here. I think it dates back to the days of the old people here, the Romans.”

  “I want your men to carry the stone there for us.” He looked as though he was going to refuse. “We will pay you in gold coin. If you will not carry it then you can sell it to someone else.”

  He nodded, “Very well, lord, I will do so.”

  We counted out the money and then waited while the six huge stones were loaded on to three carts. We rode along with them. The bullocks which pulled them strained and struggled. I wondered how we would get them aboard my knarr. The quarry had a treadmill crane which they used to lift the large stones on to the carts. We would have nothing at the river. We then trundled down the greenway towards the river.

  “How will they lift them from the backs of the three carts?”

  “There may be a crane at the river. The Romans used such things. If not, then I suspect they will chock the rear of the cart and then remove the two rear wheels. When they knock away the chocks then the stones will fall from the carts. They will fit the wheels again and leave us to it.”

  “But how do we load them on the knarr?”

  “We make a crane.”

  “Make a crane?”

  Your knarr has spare block and tackle. There will be trees which overhang the river. We make sure that they drop the stones close to the river and an overhanging branch which will support the weight. Your riders look strong. It should not be a problem.”

  Father Michael was a most refreshing priest.

  “And the rest of the stone?”

  “There are two more quarries further east. Sadly they are further from the river than this one but we shall see.”

  When we reached the wood and stone quay the knarr had not yet reached it. Michael of Liger was worried, “Suppose I reached her too late, Jarl Hrolf?”

  He was a horseman and not a sailor, “We will not have missed them. The river
has many twists and turns.”

  Father Michael had seen a suitable tree and he made sure that the stones were dropped in the right place. The mason did as the priest had said. Before they left I spoke with the quarrymen. “I will need more stones before the end of the year. If you could cut it for me I would make it worth your while. I will pay you half as much again to bring it to my home, the Haugr.”

  “We are no sailors. How would we get it to you?”

  “Once you reach the sea you could hug the coast. I am certain that there would be other Leudes who would wish to buy stone. I see war coming to the Cotentin and stone makes a good defence.” I shrugged. “It is your business.”

  I saw him going through the potential profits. “You have a ship. Suppose I hired your ships to carry it for me.”

  “We could do that but you would have to build a crane here. You would need to store your stone here, by the river.”

  It was as though he had never thought of that. His face lit up. “We will do that. I will send a messenger to you when I have the stone ready. My name is Jean of Bourneville.”

  “And I am Jarl Hrolf the Horseman.”

  Even though I had told him where I lived he had not taken it in. He took a step back. “You are the Viking!”

  I smiled, “And you are still alive. What strange events eh?”

  “I will still do as you say although I hear that you are a fierce people.”

  “You have met me today. Judge for yourself.”

  They left and I had my men build a camp. There were still the ruins of the wooden buildings the Romans had used and my men made shelters from branches. Spreading the blankets on the ground we soon had a camp. They lit a fire and hung lines in the river. We would probably not need it. When the knarr came, they would have food.

  I had sent Michael downstream and he galloped in, “Jarl Hrolf, the knarr is approaching. She moves like a crab, from side to side.”

  “They have no oars and have to tack but they will fly back down the river.”

  Alain and I went to the quay. Father Michael was examining the stones we had bought. I saw the knarr. The light was fading and Sven had a light hung from the prow. I waved them over. I saw that Siggi Far Sighted was at the helm. It explained why it had taken them some time to navigate the river. I did not mind. We could load the knarr in the morning. Sven had enough confidence to allow Siggi to see to the securing of the knarr and he stepped ashore first.

  “He did well, Jarl Hrolf, and I see you have the stones. How do we get them aboard?”

  “Father Michael wants you to use a block from the ship and rope. We can haul them up using the tree and then lower them. We will do that on the morrow. Give him the equipment tonight and have your ship’s boys obey him. He will see to it. Have you food?”

  “Of course.”

  Ragnvald had been quiet all day and he remained so as we camped by the river. I enjoyed the night as much as any night I could remember but I was aware that Ragnvald was quiet. I made the excuse of asking about the horses. As we went to see to them I said, “Is there anything bothering you, Ragnvald?”

  “No, father, it is just that when we rode here today I realised that I prefer horses to ships. I do not think I wish to be a Viking who raids using a drekar. Is that wrong?”

  “You prefer horses.”

  “I do. I enjoyed the work on the ship although I found it hard but today I felt as one with my horse. I am more comfortable on the back of a horse than hanging from a shroud or a sheet.”

  “You do not need to go to sea again but, when you are jarl, how will you lead the people?”

  He said, in a matter of fact way, “From the back of a horse, of course. Do I disappoint you?”

  “You are my son. You are of my blood and you can never disappoint me. You have just set me another problem with which I must wrestle. I am pleased that you spoke with me. Never hide anything from me. Honesty is what I require of all my men and that includes my son.”

  Chapter 5

  We had finished loading the knarr by noon the next day. We set off for the next quarry and Father Michael gave rough directions for Sven. We headed inland towards another stone quarry. The first one had no stone at all. It seemed that the local Leudes had taken it all to build a stronghold and so we headed north, back towards the river. As we left I heard the sound of a horse galloping off. I thought nothing of it at the time. When I had been a scout with Ulf Big Nose such a noise would have made my own nose twitch but I was dulled by six years of peace.

  The next quarry was, mercifully, closer to the river and, not only did they have stone which met Father Michael’s high standards, it was also cut already. I did not mind paying more and they agreed to cart it to the river.

  We were just a mile from the river when I heard the sound of hoofbeats. This time the hairs on the back of my neck warned me of danger. “Father Michael, stay with the carts. We will see what this problem is.”

  I turned my horse on the greenway and my men did the same. Alain and Stephen flanked me. I did not take my shield from my leg but I did slide my sword in and out of the scabbard. I also slipped on my helmet. My men and Ragnvald did the same. Twenty mailed Franks appeared from the direction of the quarry which had had no stone. The leader was a young warrior. He had a red shield with a yellow star upon it. He reined in.

  “You are a Viking!”

  I nodded, “And you are a Frank. Well met!”

  The fact that I had spoken in Frank seemed to disturb him. “You speak our language!” I wondered then at his intelligence. He had spoken to me in Frank.

  “Of course. I am Hrolf of the Haugr!”

  “I am Raymond of Bouquetot! I am the lord here and I want to know what brings you to my land!”

  “I came to buy stone.”

  “You cannot. I forbid you to cross my land.”

  “As I have already done so then this seems a pointless argument.” I spoke calmly but I saw that his men all had their shields up and their spears ready. I casually reached down to grab the leather strap on my shield.

  “At them!” Raymond of Bouquetot’s voice sounded high pitched.

  The Franks kicked their horses and came at us almost as one. Raymond of Bouquetot must have told his men what he intended. I had practised charges with my men. Alain and Stephen were amongst the best riders I had ever met. I brought up my shield and took out my sword whilst using my heels and knees to urge Dream Strider on. He had done this sort of thing since he had been a colt. He responded magnificently. I saw now that Raymond of Bouquetot had hoped to catch us unawares. Behind me the rest of my men were forming lines and following. I might worry about my son on the yard of a drekar but not on the back of a horse.

  Raymond of Bouquetot aimed his spear at me. He pulled back his arm intending to hit me across Dream Strider’s neck. Alain and his men knew a little Norse. I shouted, in Norse, “Left!” Pulling Dream strider to the left the spear that had been aimed at my chest struck the fresh air between Stephen and me. I brought my sword across Raymond of Bouquetot’s chest. He was galloping and slightly off balance. My blade tore through his mail and he tumbled from his horse. The warrior behind had no mail but his spear came towards my sword. I flicked up the blade. There was little power in the blow but there was even less in the outstretched spear. As the spear head rose harmlessly into the air I swung Dream Strider’s head. His mighty teeth snapped at the warrior’s horse. Unused to such treatment it reared and threw its rider. The third warrior in the line was not expecting to face me. He had his sword drawn. We would be sword to sword. I swung my sword towards his horse’s head. The animal swung its head out of the way. At the same time, I brought my shield across my saddle. His sword struck my shield, my sword tore into his middle almost to his backbone. I reined Dream Strider around for there were no more enemies before me.

  I saw that none of my men were unhorsed but eight Franks lay on the ground. Some were not moving. I shouted, “Yield or I swear you will all die!” They hesitated and I pointe
d my sword at Raymond of Bouquetot. I saw blood coming from his mail. “Your lord is hurt and may die. Look at my men. They are mailed and they could have slain you all. Sheathe your swords.”

  They looked at each other and, one by one, they sheathed their weapons and lowered their shields. Father Michael had disobeyed me and he returned on his horse. He dismounted next to Raymond of Bouquetot. He looked up at the Franks, “Take off your lord’s mail and I will try to staunch the bleeding.” He gave me an accusing look.

  I shrugged, “They attacked us and we defended ourselves. We tried not to kill them.”

  He pointed to the man I had almost cut in two. “You did not do a very good job, did you?”

  In all we had slain three of their men. Their lord was the most seriously hurt for my blow had broken ribs and cut his chest. The wound was not deep but it would be months before the fiery young Frank would fight again if ever. He was conscious as his men helped him to his horse. I took my helmet off to speak to him. I wished him to see my face and my eyes.

  “You attacked us and we did not break the peace. I could have slain you for that but I did not. Father Michael saved your life. I will be returning through this land soon. If you try to attack me again I will slaughter every man we see.” I swept a hand around me, “You and seven of your men fell. None of mine. Think on that. Now go!”