The Forgotten Land (31 page)

Without
a word, the man grabbed his friend by an ankle and dragged him out into the
street.

“Stupid
pricks,” said Steve, slapping Will on the shoulder. “Come on, mate,” he said,
“let’s get pissed eh?”

“You
were awesome,” Will hugged Heleena around the waist and dragged her to him.
“Wow!”

She
cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

“I
would appreciate it if you did not scare my customers away with your magic,”
said Hadrad. He looked at their modern weapons with suspicion.

“Sorry
about that. No magic, mate, just gunpowder and steel,” replied Steve. “I could
have shot the prick in the head I guess,” he said.

But
the humour went unnoticed.

Frowning,
Hadrad turned back to Ahmad Ibn Fadlan. “At least it will be a non-eventful
crossing. The Norwegians have been raiding all summer and autumn, but with the
winter being so hard this year, there have been no ships a-sail. I doubt you
will have a problem crossing the ocean to your home land.”

“All
things going well, I hope you speak the truth,” replied Ahmad Ibn Fadlan. “But there
can be some troublesome storms this time of year.”

“You
are right, my friend, but you have a predominantly Norse crew, and you could
not have a better crew if you come across misfortune on the ocean,” Hadrad
grinned.

“That’s
nice,” said Will downing his drink and looking into his empty mug. “Too slow
fellas,” he said as the guardsmen smashed their empty mugs down.

“Depends,”
said one with a grin. “I think you will be under the table before us.”

“You’re
bloody on!” replied Will.

Taking
the hint, Hadrad snatched up the mugs and went to refill them.

Once
Hadrad returned, Ahmad watched with distaste as Will gulped down the new
beverage.

“He’s
a thirsty man,” said Scott noticing Ahmad’s displeasure. As a man of Islam
Scott realised that the consumption of alcohol was against his religion.

“So
it seems,” replied the Arab. “Thank you for your hospitality Hadrad, but I must
retire ready for the morrow,” and with that he left.

“You’re
soft!” shouted Will, swaying in his chair.

But
Ahmad did not hear him, or did not acknowledge him if he did.

The
guardsmen laughed at Will. “Ready for another,” one asked. “Yeah righto,”
replied Will.

Steve,
Scott and Matt looked on in amusement. It was obvious to them that Will was
outgunned. The guardsmen were hardcore drinkers and although they had kept up
with Will drink for drink they still seemed sober.

“Bloody
smash ya,” Will slurred.

“Dunno
about that, mate,” said Steve.

“Huh?”
asked Will, holding onto the table.

“Nothin’,
mate. So Hadrad, how’s business?” asked Steve.

“Hard.
It is the worst time of year for us, because the whole city comes to a stop in
winter. Suddenly no one wants to drink anymore. I save what money I make in the
spring, summer and autumn months to get through winter, and any that is surplus
I spend on either renovations or on new wares for my business.”

“A
hard life.”

“Yes
and no. It is a life that sustains my wife and me. We are no longer subject to
seasonal Viking raids, as we were out in the country where Thormdall comes
from, for instance. However we are also expected to maintain, or at least to
pretend to maintain, the belief of Christianity. All the major cities are now
Christian, whereas most of the people who live in the country still believe in
the old ways. Christianity is still very bewildering and weak to me; it is not
a belief that I would follow. But whilst I live in Skrethorg, I must show I
follow the man they call Christ.” He showed them the small metal crucifix he
wore around his neck.

Steve
remained silent as Hadrad continued to talk. As a young man who had chosen
history as one of his elective subjects, Steve had been taught that the Norse
believed in a similar fate as Armageddon, only they called it Ragnarok.
Ragnarok was a time when their gods were overwhelmed and destroyed by giants
and opposing gods. In a way they were right. Their beliefs and way of life,
that others considered to be barbaric or somehow subhuman, was attacked and
replaced by Christianity, as were so many other native cultures, religions and
sacred ways.

As
the night came to a close, the soldiers helped Will negotiate the stairs and
they made their way to their beds. Tomorrow would be a long day and they would
need the rest.

As
Steve thought of Judy and the kids, and tried to blot out Will’s loud snoring,
he slowly slipped into sleep. Within what seemed only an hour or two the door
was thrown open and in strode Thormdall.

“Awaken,
we move now,” he said loudly, waking the soldiers. Will groaned loudly and
rolled over. Scott stood up and kicked Will out of his bed and onto the floor.

“Wakey,
wakey, sleepy head,” he said.

Within
an hour, all of them except Will had eaten breakfast and made their way down to
the docks. Ahmad and his guardsmen were already waiting beside the longship
that would carry them to their destination.

“How
do you fare?” a triumphant guardsmen asked Will. “Not good,” Will winced.

“Wait
until we enter the open ocean,” said another guardsmen. “It gets worse,” he
added, grinning.

“Great,”
said Will.

The
ship was around fifteen-feet wide in the middle and about one-hundred feet
long. It had around twenty oar ports each side and a massive canvas sail that
was currently stowed away. The ship looked more like a Norse longship than the
Arab ships Ahmad would be familiar with.

It
seemed for good reason too as he watched the rest of the crew walk out onto the
dock in a ragged mob. There were close to eighty of them and they were all
guardsmen. They all carried huge war axes, or bearded axes as Berag had called
them. They also carried long swords and round shields. These men protected
Ahmad and crewed the ship. The dock was loud with chatter now as the warriors
talked and laughed amongst themselves. The large group of guardsmen laughed as
they watched Will on his knees vomiting over the jetty to the ocean below.

“We
are not even ship bound and you have started feeding the fish, my friend,”
laughed one of the guardsmen Will had challenged the night before. He helped
Will to his feet and offered him a skin of fresh water. Will rinsed his mouth
out and then took a long swig. With a groan that meant thanks, he handed the
skin back to the warrior.

“You’ll
be right, mate,” said Scott.

“Dunno
about that,” replied Will, sitting down heavily on the wooden jetty.

A
word of command was shouted and the large group of warriors began walking to
the ship. The Australians and Ahmad remained on the jetty and watched the
warriors prepare the longship. They checked and adjusted the rigging for sail
or formed a chain and began passing provisions of food and water along the line
where it was eventually stowed neatly away. Then the ship was made ready and
everyone climbed aboard.

Steve
watched as the Varangian Guardsmen took their positions, ready to row out into
the harbour and towards the open ocean in the distance. For each oar there were
two warriors sitting side by side on a large wooden chest, into which they had
stowed their oiled weapons and armour. Now they were dressed in much lighter
clothing, which would make it easier for them to row. Some of them wore leather
gloves to prevent blisters.

A
Varangian Guardsmen, probably the commander, stood in full battle gear at the
rear right side of the ship. In his hand was a large, horizontal wooden bar at
about waist height that was shaped at right angles at the gunwale and
disappeared over the side into the ocean below. It was obviously the rudder.
After several commands from the warrior who steered, the vessel was untied and
pushed from the jetty. Within a few short minutes they had turned and were
making their way out towards the open ocean. The oars pulled the ship through
the water as the rowers worked in unison. They were often calling out to each
other in a friendly challenge or laughing. One man told another his grandmother
was stronger, to which the victim boomed into laughter.

More
laughter echoed around the vessel as Will leaned over the side and emptied his
stomach into the ocean below.

“We
are still in the mouth of the harbour, my friend,” called one of the rowers.
“Give us a little while longer and Thor will make you wish you had not been
born.” This was met by more laughter.

“They’re
a good humoured lot,” said Steve.

“Yes
they are,” replied Ahmad, “but do not be fooled. The Norse are probably the
greatest sailors in the world. I have not yet seen any who could better them.
Rest assured we are in good hands.”

“Yeah,
 I  believe  you,”  said  Steve,  watching
 the  Varangian guardsmen pull the longship through the water at
close to fifteen knots.

Within
ten minutes they had hit the open ocean and the wind was blowing directly into
them. This made deploying the sail impossible.

Instead
the warriors continued to row. They remained in high spirits and sometimes
burst into song.

Will
was not in such high spirits. He had emptied what little he had left in his
stomach long ago and was now vomiting bile into the rough waters. Heleena had
her hand on his back and was talking softly to him. The longship was being
thrown and buffeted by the waves and the wind, and still the warriors rowed,
shouted, sang or joked.

“You
all right?” shouted Steve, with the wind in his ears.

Will
just shook his head.

“Oh
well, you know never to take on a Norseman in a drinking contest again,” Steve
said.

“How
is he?” asked Matt, as Steve sat down with the others.

“Not
good,” Steve said. “He’s lost a lot of fluid. I’ll break open some water soon
and get a bit down his neck. He’ll need it.”

“Getting’
pissed before a boat trip is bad news,” Scott added. “Bullshit, mate,” said
Steve. “My old man was a fisherman. I don’t remember many times when he was out
on the water sober. He was a bloody pisshead. He also had an iron gut!”

“There
ya go,” laughed Scott. “Old Will’s guts are about as hard as puppy shit.”

As
the hours passed, Steve forced water into Will. Half of it was vomited into the
ocean, but it helped. The wind died in the late afternoon and the anchor was
thrown overboard. The sail was unpacked and stretched over the middle of the
longship to shield them from the elements during the night.

CHAPTER
15

Steve
woke at daybreak, relieved to find the ocean calm and the wind had disappeared.

“A
fair morning to you,” said one of the guardsman as Steve stretched. The
Norseman was on the gunwale of the ship and clutching the wood. He had his
trousers around his ankles and was defecating into the ocean below. Thankfully
he was downwind.

Steve
nodded then went to the edge and urinated over the side. Two or three of the
Varangian guardsmen were climbing back on board after washing in the ocean. They
dried themselves quickly and got dressed. Others were munching on preserved
meat, idly staring out to sea, whilst others gently rubbed animal fat along the
blades of their axes, swords or chain mail.

The
sail had been rolled back up and was stowed away now. Ahmad was at the bow of
the ship, kneeling on a small rug and praying. Steve noticed the guardsmen did
not go near him or talk to him during this ritual. Likewise, none approached
Thormdall either. The Berserker was facing the rising sun, with his legs
crossed and sword across his lap. It seemed he was in a meditative trance.
After five minutes, Thormdall rose, sheathed his sword and went in search of
food.

The
ocean boiled near the left side of the ship. Small fish jumped and darted
across the surface of the water probably trying to escape some larger predator.

“Here,”
said Thormdall handing Steve a lump of meat. “Eat.”

Moving
around the sleeping soldiers, Thormdall shook them one by one and handed them
breakfast.

“Smells
like shit,” said Scott.

Steve
chuckled. The meat was a bit like beef jerky, only it was fish, and he could
taste a faint hint of wood smoke.

“It’s
not bad actually,” he said, taking another bite.

“Breakfast
in bed,” said Matt, with a grin. “Now that’s service.”

As
the sun rose over the ocean, guardsmen took their seats and the anchor was
drawn up. Oars were pushed through the ports and out into the water. Once more
they were underway and almost immediately the banter started up amongst the
guardsmen as they rowed.

The
longship itself was a thing of beauty; it was sleek and elegantly crafted. The
bow arched like the neck of a swan. The wooden structure groaned as the planks
flexed and bent to accommodate the ever- changing ocean beneath them. Steve had
been told that the planks were lashed onto the frame rather than nailed or
screwed into place so the wood could shift half a foot out of true without
snapping. The craftsmanship was so meticulous that the longship remained water
tight.

“What
day do ya reckon it is?” Will asked. He seemed to be feeling much better today.

“Dunno,
mate,” replied Steve, gazing into the distance. “What colour’s your piss?” he
asked turning back to Will.

“Clear,”
he said, starting to clean his weapon. “You’re as bad as my bloody mother,” he
said, opening the oil bottle.

The
soldiers had been cleaning and oiling their weapons at least four or five times
per day to combat the sea salt that was constantly blown in.

“How
much ammo has everyone got left?” asked Steve.

“About
150 rounds left on the belt in the gun then I’m dry,” said Scott.

“One
mag and two 40 mil rounds left,” said Will, holding the rifle barrel up to the
sky to make sure there was no dirt in it.

“About
one mag,” said Matt, “and one grenade,” he added.

“I’ve
got just under a mag,” said Steve finally. “So we’re pretty close to empty.
Might have to get our bayonets out before long.”

“Hopefully
it doesn’t come to that,” said Scott. “I prefer nailing the bastards from a
distance. Don’t think I’d knock off a bloke at close range with a one-foot
bayonet, when he’s running at me with a three- foot sword.”

“Me
neither,” agreed Steve.

“It
is not quite as difficult as you make it sound,” cut in Thormdall who had been
listening to the conversation. “Obviously there is some skill in fighting with
a sword, but the absolute basic core of sword fighting comes down to three
simple things. The ability to stand, see and breathe. If you lose any of those,
then you are finished.”

“You’re
making it sound a bit easier than it really is, mate,” said Matt.

Thormdall
shrugged. “Sometimes when battle begins, the younger warriors who are
experiencing their first real fight tend to freeze, so they become an easy
target. The first skill of sword fighting is the ability to conquer your own
fear. You must be able to breathe. Breathing deeply can help relax your body
and your mind. You must be able to see, and I do not mean being able to look.
There is a difference. You must be able to see that the screaming warrior
sprinting at you cloaked in animal skins with a snarling face and bloody sword,
is simply a man. Nothing more. This conquers fear and makes one a more fluid
fighter. Finally to be able to stand, not just stand up, but being aware of
your footing. If you fall or lose your balance you will be dead quickly. The
young Norsemen are very good swordsmen do not mistake me, they know all the
fancy sword tricks that impress the women, but when the reality of death is in
the air, they tend not to be so cocky or as skilled. A good swordsman takes the
time to master his mind before he attempts to master the blade.”

“Sounds
like it’s gonna take a long time. Maybe we shouldn’t bother,” said Scott.

Thormdall
shook his head. “I have seen you all fight before, and although I might be
incorrect in my thinking, I do believe you have all mastered your fear. The
next step is simply to take up the sword.”

Scott
looked at the others. “Fuck I’ll give it a go,” he said grinning.

So
as the longship cut through the waves, Thormdall took the soldiers through the basics
of sword fighting. The swords were donated by a few Varangians who much
preferred their great bearded axes to swords. The first level of swordsmanship
was learning how to block, parry, stab and slash. The three most important
targets at this basic level were the throat, belly or groin. Thormdall drilled
the men for several hours and it was much harder than it looked. With shoulders
burning, tired arms and sweat drenching their clothes, the soldiers finished
for the day, although Thormdall had promised more of the same the following
morning.

“The
next step is to read your opponent,” said Thormdall, taking a seat near the
soldiers. “You will learn his habits, his strengths and his weaknesses. For
instance, one man might raise his eyebrows before he attacks, or he might flick
his eyes down, but eventually you will be able to read your opponent and in
this way be able to counter any attack. For now however, the basic attack and
defence will be enough to see you through many of your fights.”

Dusk
approached and the wind picked up behind them, so the sail was deployed. The
oarsmen cheered and withdrew their huge oars, stowing them neatly in a pile at
each side of the longship. Steve watched the massive sail fill with wind and
for the first time noticed the thick red and white stripes that decorated the
canvas.

Night
settled in and silence enveloped the ship as each man was drawn into his own
thoughts, the rhythmic sound of the ocean sliding by. Some hours after they had
eaten their dinner, the wind changed and the sail was recovered. The anchor was
thrown overboard and the crew made ready for another evening.

As
always, Steve’s mind was drawn back to his family. He tried to remember the
sound of their voices or the smell of their hair, but it was difficult. He chuckled
inwardly as Brent’s cheeky face filled his mind. He told his son how much he
missed him and to look after his mother and sister. Kathy’s beaming smile was
next, but before he could contemplate his daughter’s face it was replaced by an
image of Hilda’s pale, dead body. But the corpse wore Kathy’s smile. The dead
child’s eyes opened and she turned her head towards him, “I miss you, Daddy,”
the smiling corpse whispered. Steve sat up and took a deep breath.

“Christ,”
Steve whispered.

As
the longship rocked gently back and forth Steve slipped thankfully into the
arms of sleep. He woke to several alarmed shouts. It was still dark although
there was a hint of dim light coming from the east. The ship was surrounded by
a thick, invasive mist. The sail had been packed away and the guardsmen were
bustling around the ship.

“What’s
happening?” he asked Thormdall who was sitting close by.

“Mist,”
answered Thormdall. “The mist hides water demons and monsters from the deep
that will attempt to thwart our journey, throw us off course, or sink us.”

“So
what’re they doing?” Steve asked.

“They
will attach protection to the prow and aft of the longship,” said Thormdall,
pointing to a guardsman on the highest part of the prow of the vessel. In his
hand he held a huge dragon face that had been intricately carved from hardwood.
The carving was hammered into place, then at the rear of the ship he did the
same with a curved dragon’s tail.

“We
attach the power of the dragon to frighten the demons and monsters that hide in
the mist. Whilst these wardens are attached to the longship we are safe, but
they must be removed before we make harbour in a friendly port.”

Once
the dragon was in place, the guardsmen quietened again, and some even managed
to slip back into sleep.

About
an hour later they were up again. The soldiers followed Thormdall into the
centre of the ship where they once again practiced their sword skills. Steve’s
right shoulder still ached from the day before, but he tried his best. That the
Berserker was a master was beyond doubt; his swordsmanship was impeccable.

A
stop was called when Scott became too enthusiastic and caught Will on the face
with the flat of his sword.

“Sorry,
bro,” Scott said, inspecting his cheek.

“What
the hell are you doing?” roared Will. He charged Scott, stopping himself inches
from the tall soldier. Will’s eyes smouldered with violence, but he had gained
control of himself at the last minute. A red welt was already forming on his
cheek.

“Shit,
I said sorry!” said Scott. “Shoulda knocked ya out!”

Thormdall
gestured for them to take their places again.

“The
best way to learn,” said Thormdall, “is to feel pain, because after that the
chances of repeating your mistake are halved. Another thought to keep in mind
is that the shortest, most powerful attack in a sword fight is a straight
line.”

“Fuck’s
sake, mate, in English ay?” said Scott, resting the tip of his sword on the
floor. Thormdall gestured for Scott to take up his sword.

“Do
not allow Olaf to see you do that. He will skin you alive,” said the Berserker.

“I
will explain,” Thormdall continued. “If your opponent has his sword above his
head and is readying for a beheading stroke, or to hack into your shoulder, you
have two options. You can block the attack or you can step into him and stab
him in the midriff, the groin or the throat. Stabbing takes less time and is
more effective than a chopping stroke. But countering an attack with an attack
is not always a bad option.”

After
they had been practising for several hours, Thormdall

suggested
they rest for lunch. Their shoulders were sore, but they had learned that sword
fighting was more than the simple hack and slash as depicted in Hollywood
movies. After they had rested for a while Thormdall began to teach them how
deception was sometimes more valuable and efficient than hours of skilled sword
fighting.

“If
you feign total exhaustion or extreme fear, then your opponent will believe he
has the upper hand. More often than not he will let his guard down slightly and
he will believe you are an easy kill. This is the best way to deceive an enemy,
and if it is done correctly you can kill an opponent very quickly.”

Thormdall
pointed at Will. “This is a tactic you know well!”

The
lessons continued, but the soldiers stopped when they heard a voice calling. It
was the ship’s captain, Olaf, who was in control of the steer board, which
steered the ship.

The
wind had been at their backs now for the best part of the afternoon so the oarsmen
had enjoyed a well deserved rest. They were playing some kind of board game on
a piece of silk cloth that had squares painted on it. It looked like chess,
only the squares were arranged in a large cross, instead of a square.

“What
do you see?” called a guardsman, glancing up from his game. “A longship, she is
closing on us. It seems she means to catch us,” replied Olaf.

The
games stopped as the guardsmen looked out. They could see a tiny black sail on
the horizon through a brown haze.

“I
do not know a black sail,” said Olaf.

But
soon the longship was close enough for them to see a large white eagle painted
against the black.

“It
seems we are in the presence of a Kadark,” said Olaf.

“That
bloody bastard doesn’t give up,” said Scott. “Didn’t you kill him, mate?” Scott
asked Matt. “Yeah, twice!”