The Forgotten Land (33 page)

“What
are you doing?” One of the Varangians growled at Matt. “Let him travel to the
Gods in peace!”

“We
can save him, mate!” Matt replied. “We can keep him alive!”

The
Varangian walked away.

“He’s
gonna die if we don’t control the haemorrhage,” said Matt.

“He’s
hypotensive, systolic’s 70, tachycardic at 130, no radial, but a good strong carotid.
Tachycardic’s good, means he hasn’t started decompensating.”

“Shit,
mate, that’s all gibberish to me, just tell me what you want me to do,” Steve
said.

“Put
pressure on this,” Matt pointed at a thick pad he had applied to the warrior’s
thigh. “Push down hard, mate, don’t be afraid, you ain’t gonna hurt him any
more than he already is.”

While
Steve applied pressure on the wound, Matt placed a canula into a large vein on
the inner aspect of the warrior’s elbow. He connected a litre bag of fluid to
the canula, but kept the valve shut for the time being.

“Didn’t
wanna do this,” said Matt seeing that the pad alone was not controlling the
bleeding. Applying a tourniquet to the upper portion of the warrior’s leg and
pulling it very tight, Matt ensured the circulation to the lower leg had been
cut, thereby controlling the bleeding. With the haemorrhage now under control,
Matt passed the bag of fluid to Steve.

“Hold
that up,” he said, and opened the valve to let the fluid pass into the body of
the unconscious warrior.

“Will,
get over here, mate,” called Matt, “raise his legs.”

Will
obliged, lifting the warrior’s legs and placing them on his webbing.

“Scott,
come ‘ere,” Matt shouted. “Mate you’re gonna have to cut his leg off below the
tourniquet.”

“Sorry,
you want to fuckin’ do what?” asked Scott.

“Take
your bloody sword, mate, and cut his leg off. Swing hard to make one clean cut,
make sure you hit below the tourniquet. This bloke’s dead otherwise.”

“Christ
almighty,” whispered Scott, taking a deep breath.

The
soldier paused, swore softly and swung his weapon hard. The blade severed the
warrior’s leg just below the tourniquet. Without hesitation, Matt snatched up
the amputated limb and threw it overboard.

“Happy
eating,” he muttered. “Someone go and get me a wooden plate,” ordered Matt.

Scott
was wide eyed, the blood drenched sword hung by his side.

“Scott,
you hear me!” Matt said.

“Huh?”

“Go
and get me a wooden plate, now!” said Matt.

When
Scott returned, Matt took the plate. Pushing five bullets from a spare magazine,
Matt began separating the bullet from the cartridge with a knife. Then he
emptied the gun powder from each bullet onto the plate. Matt asked Scott for
his lighter.

Matt
held the naked flame to the plate. When the gun powder flared into life, Matt quickly
picked it up and held the burning surface to the stub of the warrior’s leg. The
sickening aroma of burning flesh soon permeated the air.

Within
seconds the stub of the warrior’s leg had been cauterised, the blood vessels
and arteries burnt closed and the flesh purged of any germs and impurities. For
now anyway. Matt maintained a close eye on the vital signs of the warrior, who
was still unconscious, but improving slowly. The wound would need to be cleaned
and redressed at least three times per day.

The
wind drove the longship on for most of the afternoon. Many of the Varangian
Guardsmen had removed their chain mail, cleaned and re oiled their weapons and
stowed them away. They sat in small groups, talking quietly. It seemed the loss
of two of their number, had hit the guardsmen hard. One had been laid out in
the centre of the vessel with his huge axe on this chest. To them, the other
that Matt had tended, was as good as dead.

The
soldiers’ thoughts were drawn back to Dave, who had died at the beginning of
their compromise in Iraq. It seemed like a lifetime ago, in a different world.
If they ever made it back home, Dave would be mourned and farewelled and the
soldiers of the regiment would feel much the same as these guardsmen did now.
They had lost a brother, a fellow warrior and his name and memory would never
die, not as long as they walked.

As
the sun sank, Olaf called a halt and the anchor was thrown overboard. They had
stopped sailing earlier than usual, but as the Varangian Guardsmen gathered
around their fallen comrade, it became obvious that they intended to farewell
him before darkness took hold.

“We
lost a good man today,” said Olaf. “Therolf was one of the finest guardsmen I
have ever had the pleasure to serve alongside. It is unfortunate that today was
the day that Odin beckoned for him. However he died as he would have wished, as
a warrior, as a brother. I knew Therolf’s wife, Helda, so it is I who will bear
her the news. It will be hard for her to hear. I believe he also taught one of
our newcomers how to drink.”

The
guardsmen looked at Will and roared with laughter. Therolf was one of the
guardsmen he had challenged to outdrink. In fact it was the same man who had
offered him the water skin the following day.

“Christ,”
Will said. Guilt washed over him for some reason.

“I
believe Therolf won,” continued Olaf. His remark was followed by more laughter.

“Therolf
could outdrink a horse!” called a voice from the back.

They
spoke of their memories of Therolf before lifting his body and carrying it to
the side of the longship. With axes drawn in salute, Therolf was placed over
the side, his massive battle axe still clasped in his hands. Then he was gone,
falling into the black depths of the sea.

“If
Odin wills it, Therolf is the only man we lose today,” said Olaf, looking at
the unconscious warrior next to Matt.

The
wounded Varangian was kept warm overnight underneath a blanket Will and Heleena
shared.

“Now
that’s dedication,” whispered Scott, nodding at the couple sleeping soundly
beside the unconscious, wounded Varangian.

“What’s
that?” Matt asked.

“He
lost his leg just to sleep with Heleena!” laughed Scott.

“Dickhead,”
chuckled Matt, “I’ll have to tell Will that one.” The grin vanished from
Scott’s face.

CHAPTER
16

After
twenty days, land was in sight. The first indication were the sea birds
wheeling and diving in the distance. Within hours they were perched in the
rigging, calling out to each other in a noisy conglomerate of sound.
Occasionally they took flight and dived into the ocean, coming away with fresh
fish clamped firmly in their beaks. As for the soldiers, there was only so much
dried fish they could eat. For the Varangian Guardsmen it was all they knew,
they had been travelling and fighting at sea their entire lives. Twenty days
with nothing but dried fish was probably a very short, pleasant voyage for
them.

The
man, whom Matt now knew as Gudrik, was recovering well. By using his sword as a
walking stick, Gudrik was mobile again. Olaf complained half heartedly about
the marks his sword point left in the floor of the longship. There was also a
single, mighty scar on one of the benches where Scott had amputated Gudrik’s
leg, but Olaf did not seem concerned about that.

The
wind had been at their backs for the better part of five days, so the guardsmen
had enjoyed the rest, many of them either sleeping, or playing the board game
the Varangians explained was called King’s Table. However, as they came closer
to the coast, they prepared to row once more. Steve noticed that Ahmad stood at
the helm, keeping a close eye on the coastline.

“Well,
we’re finally bloody here,” Scott broke Steve’s reverie.

“Yeah,
wherever here is,” replied Steve. “But it definitely isn’t Turkey.”

“We
struck out east from what I reckon was Denmark,” said Matt, “could be
Lithuania, Latvia, Poland, even Germany, I guess. One thing’s for sure though,
man, I’d rather go east from Denmark by sea and get to Turkey by land from the
north. Otherwise we’d have been bloody months at sea sailing all the way round
to Turkey.”

“Still
might take months, mate,” said Will.

“True,
but at least we’re on solid ground, man,” replied Matt.

“Yeah,
good point,” grinned Will.

“To
the steer board side! Steer board side!” shouted Ahmad.

Olaf
was standing on his toes, leaning over the side to see beyond the sail.

“I
see it!” Olaf shouted back, and began turning the ship to the right.

Steve
could see a distant flaming arrow reaching its apex before descending and
disappearing into the ocean. Obviously someone was waiting for them on the
coastline. Another fire arrow followed the first.

“Where
are we?” Steve asked Ahmad.

“Polsk,”
replied Ahmad. “Still very cold, but not quite as cold as the land from which
you have travelled. I look forward to Byzantium, much warmer there.”

“So
it’s Poland,” said Matt. “That means we’ll head south through Romania, Bulgaria
and then over into Turkey. They’re pretty nice countries.”

“Yeah,
great little tourist destinations in the twenty first century,” said Scott,
“but back in whatever fuckin’ year this is, we’ll probably end up getting
tracked down by bloody head hunting maniacs who’ve filed their teeth into
fangs.”

“Maybe,”
shrugged Steve, “but at least we’re a bit closer to home.”

As
the longship neared the coast, Steve could see a small contingent of people at
the water’s edge, obviously there to meet them. As the minutes passed and they
drew closer, he realised that the congregation was another group of Varangian
Guardsmen.

“They
were told to await our return,” said Ahmad. “They have guarded and cared for
our horses. We travel from here on horseback.”

“Did
you say horseback, man?” Matt asked.

“I
did,” replied Ahmad. “Is there a problem?”

“Never
ridden a horse before,” said Matt. “First time for everything ay?”

“You
have not ridden a horse before?” he asked in disbelief.

“Nope,”
said Matt.

“Neither
have I,” said Steve, “but it can’t be too hard, surely?”

“Famous
last words,” chuckled Scott.

“So
you have ridden before?” Ahmad turned to Heleena.

“Many
times,” she replied. “I shall show them what I know."

“That
is something,” said Ahmad. “And what of you,” he asked Scott. “Can you
ride?"

“Me?
Fuck no! Closest I’ve been to a horse is Melbourne Cup,” laughed Scott.

“I
have,” said Will.

“Very
well then,” said Ahmad, “you and Heleena can explain good horsemanship to the
others.”

“You
didn’t let me finish, mate. I rode a horse once when I was a kid and the bloody
thing tried to buck me off. Never been near one since and I tell you what
Ahmad, if the one I get tries to buck me off, I’m gonna shoot the bloody
thing!” Will said.

Ahmad
silenced them. “Horsemanship is not as difficult as it sounds,” said the
priest. “It is a skill that comes naturally to some, but most require to be
taught the basics. We have a long journey ahead of us, so Heleena and I will
endeavour to teach you what we know. First, you must not make any sudden
movement around the animals,” Ahmad said moving away.

When
the priest was no longer in ear shot, Scott chuckled. “We’re fuckin’ screwed.”

Soon
the longship was beached on the shore and the crew had disembarked. The
Australians were happy to be on land once again.

“Any
trouble?” asked Olaf as he approached the waiting warriors. “None at all, we
saw some Polsk tribesmen out hunting from a distance, that was maybe five days
ago now. I doubt they saw us,” replied Rafneer, Olaf’s second in command. “All
the horses are sound and are well rested ready for the journey.” Rafneer looked
over Olaf’s shoulder, “I see you are missing one.”

“Therolf
fell at sea, it was a minor skirmish.”

Rafneer
nodded. “Gudrik is a little lighter I see,” he chuckled watching the Varangian
slowly making his way up the beach towards them. His gaze fell upon Heleena.
“Very nice,” he said.

“She
belongs to one of the newcomers,” Olaf explained.

“Ah,
the newcomers,” Rafneer said, watching the four men walking towards him. They
all moved with a purpose, and although their faces were not cruel, they
displayed strength.

“Therolf
will be missed,” Rafneer said. ”We have fresh pig, it is being cooked as we
speak,” he called over his shoulder.

“That
is good to hear,” said Olaf. “The day is drawing to an end, and we are
famished. We will set out at first light.”

The
night was silent. Steve’s brain was expecting to hear the creaking and groaning
of the longship as it slid through the ocean, the snap of the sail as it was
caught in the wind or the noise of the sea. The silence prevented him from
falling into sleep, and his body seemed to be rocking back and forth, almost as
if he were still at sea. Sleep would not come.

A
thick morning mist blanketed the ground and soaked the men to the bone. They
woke shivering and swearing. Steve thought he had slept for perhaps two hours
at best. Even on land the Varangian Guardsmen were wary of the mist, ever
watchful and on edge. After a short breakfast the large group gathered their
horses, saddled them and made to leave. It took the Australians some
instruction, a few chuckles and some patience before they were mounted and
ready to travel.

“What
about them?” asked Scott, looking at the small group of Varangian guardsmen,
that included Gudrik.

“They
will stay and sail the longship back around to Byzantium. We will go by land as
it is much faster. They have a journey at sea of perhaps three moons ahead of
them.”

“Shit,
lucky them,” replied Scott.

The
mist lifted, although it was still bitterly cold as they moved in a large
column through a thinly wooded section of forest. Thormdall rode in front,
talking and laughing with Olaf. Ahmad, Heleena and the Australians were at the
centre. Steve realised the Varangian Guardsmen were treating them in the same
way as they would the King of Byzantium. If they were attacked, those in the
centre could be easily defended and if necessary, led to safety.

“Is
this area dangerous?” Scott asked Ahmad.

“Polsk
is a strange land, the tribesmen are friendly more often than not, however, I
cannot differentiate between the tribes. Some of the tribes are fanatical horse
people but if all the tribes were united under one ruler, they would pose a
great threat to their neighbouring countries. Some of the tribes however guard
their hunting grounds and will track down any who encroach on them. I have
never experienced this myself, but I have heard of such things happening.”

“Well,
let’s hope we don’t meet any of those types,” said Scott, wincing in the
saddle.

“Okay,
what ammo have we got left?” Steve asked.

“I’ve
got about twenty rounds left on the gun,” said Scott with a chuckle. The Minimi
would go through that in several short bursts they knew, so it was decided to
break the machinegun link into individual bullets and distribute them to those
with rifles. The machinegun would be of no more use, yet. If they made it back to
Iraq it would be a different story, but for now, the weapon was slung.

“Back
to the old trusty sword,” grinned Scott, drawing the weapon in one swift
movement.

Scott’s
horse half reared at the sudden noise and movement. The animal galloped off,
barging through the Varangian line. Scott disappeared into the forest like some
possessed warrior of old on his last charge. He was holding on for dear life,
with the sword held above his head as if he were about to take on the evil of
the world single handed. The distant horse powered up a rise and was then
swallowed from view by the forest.

As
the laughter died down, one of the guardsmen cantered off after Scott. “I shall
find him,” he called over his shoulder.

“Shit,
that happened pretty quick,” said Will.

Almost
ten minutes later, Scott was led back to the group. They laughed and cheered.

“Behold,
the mighty warrior returned!” One guardsman yelled.

Scott
was white faced as he came alongside Steve. His hands were shaking.

“Christ,
I’m never touching that fuckin’ sword again, I swear my life flashed before my
eyes. I tried to get him to stop, but it was like he thought I wanted him to go
faster.”

“What
was the advice I first gave you this morn?” asked Ahmad.

“No
sudden movement,” responded Scott, his face still white with shock.

“No
sudden movements,” agreed Ahmad.

“Right,
now the entertainment is over, we’ll start again. How much ammo has everyone
else got?” asked Steve.

“About
half a mag,” said Matt, “enough for one more fight.”

“About
the same,” said Will.

“As
for me, I’ve got about ten bullets left,” said Steve, “so pretty soon it’ll all
be up close and personal,” he said, touching the hilt of the sword.

The
troop stopped once during the day and ate lunch. The soldiers groaned as they
dismounted.

“This
is fuckin’ killin’ my legs. It feels like I’ve pulled a muscle in my groin and
I think my arse is starting to chaff,” said Scott.

“Yup,
and we’re only half way through the first day,” laughed Matt. “Don’t fuckin’ do
that again,” said Scott, stroking his horse’s face. The animal nuzzled his
chest.

Soon
they were under way once more, the horses moving at a fast walk. They remained
at this pace almost until night fell. They set up camp near a small creek. The soldiers
were shown how to remove the saddles, rub their horses down and let their
animals to graze.

It
was not as bitterly freezing here as it had been in Denmark, but the cold still
closed in around them. Steve pulled his thick woollen cloak tight around his
body.

Morning
came and after breakfast, they moved through the forest in single file. Once
again Ahmad, Heleena and the soldiers were at the centre of the column. The
forest was thicker here, forcing them to duck low in their saddles to avoid
branches from time to time. They stopped at one point to drag a large trunk
clear of the path. The path did not widen, so rather than being forced to stop
in single file and so open themselves up to a possible flank attack, the group
ate lunch as they rode.

“My
arse is fuckin’ dead!” said Scott, shifting in the saddle.

“I’m
sorta getting used to this,” said Matt, leaning down and patting the neck of
his horse. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Matt asked, as the animal
sidestepped towards the forest. Matt brought the beast back onto the track.

There
was the thunder of hooves and Thormdall galloped around a bend in the path.

“Be
ready to fight!” he called to the soldiers. “Polsk tribesmen are paralleling
us. They are watching us for now, but may attack, and if they do we will take
heavy casualties.”

Turning
in his saddle, Steve could see nothing off to their left, but to their right he
caught a glimpse of movement in the forest. But he could see nothing. He
continued to watch and noticed the silhouette of a tall man moving between the
trees then another, followed by a third. The men were on foot and moving fast.