North Sea Dawn Read online

  “Aye, my Lady. The men who stayed behind are experienced with their weapons, but they are aged. We have a few strong boys who may help in organizing a retreat, but they have little or no skill at arms.”

  “How many could stay to waylay enemies at their boats?”

  “Five, six counting myself.”

  “That makes seven with me,” Julia gripped the crossbow for reassurance.

  “My Lady, I would suggest that you go with the others to the monastery. Brother Simon would-”

  “This is my island to protect, Ulrich. I have a skilled hand and my aim is true. There would be no honor in running while the scant force I have is slaughtered behind me. Besides, can you not design a better defense with more able bodies?” Ulrich considered her for a moment, for the first time noting her new weapon.

  “Yes,” he answered slowly, “seven would be a better number to work with. Although with ten we could scout and cover both landing sites with relative ease.”

  “I may be able to help you with that. There are a few women in the village who are decent shots with a bow. I will see if they are willing to stay with us.”

  “If they cannot fight well, they will be more of a hindrance than a help.”

  “Very well,” Julia nodded in deference to his experience, “you will decide which of the women may join our group. We must also give Thomas an important task to keep him from being underfoot.”

  “Surely Brother Simon and the Abbot will need a strong young knight-in-training to assist their preparations?”

  Julia chuckled, “Yes, I believe I can convince them of their need.” The two walked in silence until they reached a fork in the path.

  “I will go to the village now, if you agree, and speak to the men I mentioned.”

  Julia mounted her horse without assistance. “Very good. I will gather the other horses from the keep and bring them to the village tomorrow. Those scouts that can ride should. My household must also receive instructions on preparations.” She leaned down and clasped Ulrich’s hand briefly, “We will meet them tomorrow, in the village, before mass.” Ulrich watched his mistress fly away over the grassy hills to the keep. Her dark hair waved like a banner behind her. She would cross the five miles in short order. He turned with a sigh and headed towards the village. Ulrich had been born on Aurelius, he had married an island woman, and buried her with their first child on the hill overlooking the monastery. This was his home and he would push back any resentment over leaving the battlefield to protect it. Julia would be a good leader, and a decent commander, should her brother not return. Ulrich would make certain of it.

  September 25 th The English Channel, just North of the River Dives, Normandy, France

  “A Southerly wind.”

  “Aye, finally the wait is over that we may take England.” Sir Robert, a landless knight among William’s retinue, slapped his palm soundly against the leather jerkin of his companion. “Once we have cleared the English pretender out, the Earldoms will fall one by one to the might of this army.”

  “So you do believe that Duke William is the rightful heir, despite the English council that elected Harold II to the throne?”

  “My Lord William says Harold swore that very thing over a relic of the Church,” Robert shrugged and relaxed against his bench in the boat. “And what does it matter if he is not? If Harold is not strong enough to hold onto his lands, then he is not strong enough to be King. Besides, when we take England we will all be the richer for it. My lord has promised me lands for my services.”

  Both men remained silent for a few moments, studying the small ship. The Duke’s builders had decreed that many ships be built without oar slots, to make room for the men and arms. There was no way to propel the ship other than the sail, and they had been allotted one man with sea experience to manage their course. The course that had been charted required only a strong wind and a little luck to sail on the tidal streams to Hastings in England. After a month of waiting with no good wind and short supplies, a good wind was finally blowing..

  “Sir,” the man spoke up again, “are we not a trifle to the east of the fleet? Should we not be headed in a more northerly route?” Robert looked up from the blade he was polishing to study the situation. They were indeed much further to the right of the main fleet than he had anticipated. He cast a wary eye on the man at the steer; he was young, but he appeared confidant, even unconcerned with the present course. Although, Robert noticed, he was sweating fiercely in the cool breeze.

  “We were given the position on this flank. I saw the Duke’s own ship captain giving instructions to our man; no doubt he knows what he is about.” Robert smiled again at his second in command, “Besides, I can certainly not correct him. Sailing is not the skill of a knight!” The two men agreed on this and continued to converse in low tones of the tactics they would employ against the English and their women.

  September 26th Sometime before Dawn, the River Humber, England

  Looking across the waters, Eric remembered that day in Solund when he had pledged his longship and more than sixty men to fight with Hardrada, King of the Danes and Norse, for the throne of England. Sixty men all eager to return to battle and its spoils after a long summer with little but farming and ship repairs to attend to; most were in their prime and their laughter and joking had rung out across the boards as they prepared to sail.

  “Tostig promised Hardrada the support of all the English nobles.”

  “Wait till we are through with our battles, Hardrada the Ruthless will have us strip their lands and their women for ourselves!”

  “I hear the English have two women for every man!”

  “Aye, and they all have a thirst for big Norse -”

  The memory of the strong warrior-sailors that had manned the ship in August faded and the reality of September returned. Over half of his crew had been slaughtered at Stamford Bridge by the English army; of those that had survived and escaped the river, only twenty-two were able to man the oars. The seriously wounded lay along the center of the ship, their hastily made bandages soaked with blood, some already beginning to smell of infection and rot. Another twenty or so that had been left to guard the ships had managed to escape with them. Their luck had been better than those who had waited behind for their own crews, only to be trapped between the advancing Britons and a river of long ships that they had not enough men to sail.

  Eric knew his men were tired. His own muscles ached from a full day of battle and the endless motion of the oars. Those that could row had been doing so throughout the night. It still rankled some that Eric had recalled them once Hardrada had fallen on the field - most others had surged out into the bloody water of the river Derwent and died there. Many who had been left to guard the ships even abandoned their posts and joined the battle after their king had been lost. But Harold of Briton had taken the field, and the few stragglers who escaped were lucky to not be dead or taken captive and held for ransom.

  “You could not have pulled Snorri from the battle, even if you could have retaken the bridge for a moment. The blood-rage was upon him, and he fought without thought for himself or the men.” Jens lay propped against the bench opposite Eric’s. His right arm and most of his chest soaked in blood and dirt. Eric looked him over, his face unmoving but his heart breaking for the old Viking that had followed him to war and lost everything, even a hero’s death on the battlefield. Jens’ own face hardened at his unresponsiveness, “He was my own son, and I am proud of him. It was a good death. But you are the one who is responsible for these men. It was your duty to save them to fight another day, in a more glorious battle where their deeds might live on.”

  Eric was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly, without interrupting the rhythm of the oars, “I can see some wish me to have followed Snorri’s example, to lead them forward rather than turning tail. Some would have fought on, for Tostig, for the-”

  “Tostig? Bah!” coughing, Jens held up his hand to stay any response, “that English traitor came
to our King with lies to gain an army of Norsemen to fight his battles. Hardrada may have trusted in his promises of a second throne and glory in battle, but he was an old fool. He was eager to distinguish himself once again before age overcame him and to find occupation for idle men - men he could not buy off with the lands he had promised after his last campaign. After he fell we would have been little more than hired mercenaries to fight for Tostig, not men of honor. That is not the way to earn yourself a legend, boy.” He spoke loudly enough for others to hear, and heads turned, one man even forgot his rhythm, banging his oar into another.

  “Keep to your work,” Eric said sharply, “we don’t all of us have time to waste.” He rowed and Jens sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments. The sucking sound of the oars as they were pulled from the water, the gentle slap of the waves against the hull, and the occasional grunt or moan of a man accompanied their contemplations. Jens, in too much pain from his chest wounds to sleep, broke the reverie with a quiet observation,

  “Many of us won’t make it through another day, and the rowers won’t be able to keep this pace up much past dawn.”

  “They’ll keep the pace,” stated Eric with authority, then he paused, “There is an island a couple of leagues to the east of Lowestof. My grandfather traded there when I was a boy. There was a Christian monastery; they would take in our wounded at least, and give us a respite before we sail on with those of us who can.”

  Jens gave a strangled snort, “Christians, no doubt using their piety to cure broken bones. Works about as well as spit and luck.”

  “We’ll need to change course, but once we are out of the river we can raise the sail and spell the oarsmen.”

  “You’ve sailed there before then, since you were a boy? If your navigation is wrong, the men will not have the strength to make for another landing.” Eric stared forward into the night. Jens sighed, “Aye then, it’s not as though we have many safe harbors to choose from. Better the Christians in front than the Britons behind.”

  Eric hesitated, “Snorri and I once sailed there. The medicine of the monks worked well enough for the Rus King. ” His voice was raised, carrying easily to every man on the ship, “Steerman, set your course south -southeast once we clear the harbor, then raise the sail and we are straight on through dawn to Aurelius.”

  September 27th Dawn, East of England, the North Sea

  “Tell us truthfully, boy, you have lost the fleet!”

  “Aye, and he seems to know nothing of the way of the boat! We should have reached England yesterday, at this rate we will starve at sea!” Paul could feel the sweat on his chest and in his armpits as he froze in fear. He had never intended to sign on with Duke William’s company; he had not wanted to sail to England. He had only been on a boat once before, and had gotten terribly sick. Desperately, he wished that he had never tried to impress the pretty blond girl in the market. Some other boys, closer to men really, had heard him bragging of how he would fight with Duke William and had marched him down to the shore to put his mark on the commander’s papers. Once he had signed, there was no going back. There were men around constantly; he could not run away. They had been on the water for almost a full day and Paul would have sworn that he was working the rudder properly, but with a full wind in the sail they had hit a current different from the rest of the fleet and slowly been pulled farther east and north than the other boats. At first he had only been concerned with steering and not throwing up, but the longer they took to reach land, the edgier the knights became. By dawn he feared that they would throw him overboard and attempt to sail on themselves.

  “The current has pulled us off course some, but we are only a league or so from the main group, you will see when we land.” Paul tried to keep his voice from shaking, but he doubted he was successful. He felt like a bird was trapped in his stomach, trying to fly up out of his mouth.

  “We seem to be farther than that, boy,” Sir Robert silenced the others and stared at him hard. “However, none of us can do anything about that now. We will count on you to get us to land. I warn you now, if you have lied about our position, I will kill you myself.” He turned back towards the front of the boat and continued a low conversation with his second-in-command. The other men gradually settled down, although they continued to throw angry glances Paul’s way.

  Paul did his best to stare straight ahead and not tremble. The fear of drowning, or death at the end of a sword, had settled his sea-sick stomach, but he could not look at the men without fearing he would wet himself. Instead he scanned the horizon, trying to look like he knew what he was about. A mist surrounded the ship, making it impossible to see more than a faint lightening of the air. And then he saw it, springing suddenly up before them: a beach backed by a grassy field. Paul almost fell over in relief.

  On the island, Sarah crept as quietly as she could through the marsh grasses that led toward the sandy beach. The little bay was just ahead, the village lay more than a mile to the east. She held her bow drawn and ready, using her feet to feel for solid ground before moving forward. The marsh was tricky and the ground was too soft to stand on for any length of time, so to patrol the area the scouts had to either stand on the beach, in plain sight of any boats, or wait in the trees behind the marsh. Throughout the night the mist had allowed Duncan to wait on the sand without fear of being spotted, but as dawn had approached and Sarah came out for her shift he had ordered her to scout through the marsh and the woods, in effect keeping her moving, bow ready, for hours. Duncan did not agree with Julia and Ulrich that she should be recruited to fill out the island’s defenses, but he had no choice in the matter.

  She continued on, until she was within sight of the beach. The marsh had a gradual decline to the sand. At the edge of the little bay was a large clump of sea grass that had clung stubbornly to a chunk of driftwood. It made a perfect screen from which to view the beach, as long as she didn’t leave her feet in one place too long. Sarah lay down flat on the ground for a moment, distributing her weight evenly over the soft earth while she rested. The air was growing whiter; dawn had come and would burn away the mist in a few hours. She was about to get moving again when a muffled French shout reached her ears. Sarah froze.

  “We have made it, no doubt the rest of the army is already here!” Army?! Ulrich had told them all to expect a raiding force, or spill-over fighting from the mainland, not an army.

  “Well boy, you got us good and lost, but we arrived in one piece so I suppose we won’t run you through.” A strangled ‘thank you’ sounded from somewhere on the water and then a boat came into sight. It bumped against the shallow bottom and a half-dozen men jumped into the water to drag it to shore. Sarah watched in horrified silence as men poured out onto the beach. She couldn’t count very high, but there were double fifteen men, all large with the muscles of fighters and carrying armor and weapons. More astonishing than that was to see them lead the horses out of the boat. Three warhorses came easily, while the fourth fought the bit and pulled away from his handler when he hit the water. He trotted off too fast for the knight to catch and disappeared in the rapidly fading mist.

  “You, sailor!” The boy was the last to leave the boat, and seemed to stumble in relief against the sand. He shook sweaty, pale brown hair out of his eyes and stared at the man with an unreadable expression. “You come with me to catch that beast, as we’ve no more need of your sailing skills.” There were a few snickers from the men organizing their gear, but the boy followed the man down the beach.

  Sarah knew this area well; the horse could have gone perhaps 200 yards before it ran out of sand and had to enter the marsh. With its heavy weight it would no doubt soon be stuck in the muck and sucking water. She took measure of the light that was rapidly growing brighter. The grassy log made a good hiding place in the dark, but it would soon be completely exposed to the men on the shore. This was her best opportunity to sneak away and report back to Duncan and the others. She turned and crawled on her belly for what seemed like forever before risk
ing standing and running towards the woods and better concealment. Just before she reached the safety of the trees she heard it, a soft neigh.

  The man and the boy were struggling to pull the mount out of the muck, and the horse was refusing to step out onto what was clearly unsound ground. “Put your back into it boy! If we don’t get her back, Sir Robert will throw you in the drink and make you swim back to Normandy!” The boy threw a glance of resentment and near hatred at the knight, but continued the futile efforts to move the horse. Sarah weighed her options. She needed to get word to Julia and Ulrich as soon as possible of the landing and the army that might follow, but this opportunity for further intelligence might not come again. She was only one person though, and smaller and weaker than even the boy.

  An arrow whistled in the air, making the horse raise his head before it took the knight full in the face. The animal tried to sidestep away from the fallen man, but only succeeded in knocking down the boy and miring itself further. Paul crouched down as best as he could in the wet grass to search for the location of the shooter. A short, slender figure stepped out of the mist, bow cocked and ready. A low, whispering voice cut through the mist from inside a deep cowl,

  “Crawl away from the horse and lie down on your stomach. If you move against me, I will kill you.” Paul glanced at the tall man, who had been in charge of the warhorses, his face now covered in blood and muck. He crawled forward several yards and then lay down, his hands near his face, obeying the broken French of the archer.

  “Put your hands behind your back.” He couldn’t see the archer, but he heard the quiet voice moving behind him. He clasped his hands at the small of his back and almost immediately felt the point of a knife at his neck. “Do not move.” A weight settled on his back and he felt a sharp knee dig uncomfortably into him. Rough, thin rope was quickly tied around his wrists, too tight for him to wriggle free. “Stay put.” The archer got off of him and moved away. Soon he heard a sliding sound and the horse began to shift his weight around. Paul lifted his head with effort and watched the archer, bow slung over one shoulder, drag two large logs before the horse and jump on them to press them into the ground. The horse could see that the wood was sturdy, and when his reins were tugged he heaved himself from the marsh and used the logs to get a firm footing and run the last few yards to the trees. Paul relaxed his neck and waited; he soon felt the knife at his back again. “I am going to knock an arrow and keep it aimed on you. Get up slowly and walk towards the trees.” He stood up and could now see a wood some ways ahead of him through the lifting mist. “Stand on that stump and mount the horse.” Paul looked at the tall stump and then to the taller horse, there was no way he could get a leg over the animal tied as he was, and he told his captor as much as he started to turn around.