Hardrada's Invasion
Part Fourteen
March, 1066
TRONDHEIM, NORWAY:
The rains intensified as dawn broke over the muddy world
of the armed encampment surrounding the central barracks of the
royal troops. Brushing past the two guards posted outside Sigurd's
tent, Tostigson carried his breakfast inside. He hoped he could
keep this one down. His fever was gone, and he was very hungry
after a week without food.
Thorfinn looked up from his stonework and approved.
"He s recovered from his deathbed."
Sigurd laughed, "Tostigson is too thin, Thorfinn. Look at
him. How can the English ever win?"
"Ha ha! You must look up to him. He is a great English
warrior. Ha ha." Thorfinn grimaced his amusement.
Tostigson became angry with their taunting. He couldn t
understand a word they said, but this laughing at him was going to
stop. His right hand gripped the bejewelled golden hilt of his iron
sword, and he urged Thorfinn to violence. The rune carver looked
at the suddenly transformed swordsman, felt the puny chisel in his
own hand and kept silent.
Sigurd hefted his battle axe and stood up. "English, you got
no fun. Maybe you laugh when we win England. Please, now eat
the meal."
Tostigson shrugged. Whatever. Stupid foreigners.
He was now too warm in his damp outfit. He set down the
bowl and unbuckled the fist sized gilt clasp on his right shoulder,
releasing the red broadcloth tunic. He removed his red cloth cap,
and loosened the leather belt from round his linen overshirt. He
wished he had not wound the puttees round his calves, binding his
trousers shut below the sweating knees. He was chilled when he
awoke earlier, and so had dressed for the winter weather of last
week, but this was no way to dress for working in the warm spring
rain.
Ignoring the others, he sat down and reached for his bowl of
barley and boiled pork.
The meal displeased him, it tasted of rotten fish.. He smelled
the barley, which was fine, but the split in the wooden bowl stank
of rancid fish oil. He lifted the jug of ale to his lips and washed
the putrid sardine taste out of his mouth. Would he ever keep this
meal down?
Sigurd watched. "We go at noon."
"When do we attack Britain?"
"You sail with me, English. Be patient. We go Easter to
Helgo and go summer here when the fleet come."
"I am here to fight Harold Godwin son and all you people
do is sit around drinking and chipping away at tombstones. Now
you tell me we are going to spend the entire summer cruising
around this Godforgotten land? What are you waiting for? Call the
fleet together and attack! Every day Godwin son is King, our
cause becomes more undone."
"Patient. Woden he give us big win."
Tostigson sat quiet then staring at Sigurd, and listened to the
drumming of the rain increase into a roaring cataract on the old
leather sailcloth above their heads. As water began to drip and then
pour through several seams, he wondered: Thought they were
supposed to be Christians now... still all ignorant devils.
Thorfinn pondered the words he should carve to
commemorate the pending expedition.
September, 1066
THE SOLUND ISLES:
"Here the fleet gathers, too many to count, for the sea holds more
ships than fish. Hardrada built this port."
-Thorfinn's rune.
The men had horrid dreams of ravens and ogresses. All the
portents were ominous. The worst of them all was the huge dragon
in the night sky. It hardly moved all night long, just got bigger
every day. Most men thought it was so big that when it finally
reached down from the sky it would consume the entire world.
Others thought it was not a dragon, but a new kind of heavenly
god signifying great danger to men. Nevertheless, to the dismay
of all, at midnight, the word went out from the shore to ships
around the fleet, which was spread out in anchorages for miles up
the fjord. Hardrada had committed his fleet to the attack.
At least the wind was right.
Tostigson wanted to see Gunnora again before the fleet
sailed. She was now all he cared for in the world, but in his
father s cause he was bound, and now he had to leave.
At break of day, with his one good friend, he made his way
on foot down the road to her master s home. The cold north wind
was picking up strength. Summer ended early in this land. The
leaves on birch groves had already turned bright yellow, and were
shimmering in their millions under the bright blue sky, even as the
storm clouds came scudding in out of the north.
His fellow in this mission was Sigurd, who walked sadly
alongside. Sigurd, too, was preparing to say his last goodbyes to
his family. As they walked through the gate to Sigurd s farm, they
both saw Gunnora walk from the barn to the house, milk pails in
hand. Sigurd looked sideways at his friend, who was visibly
overwrought with longing.
Not taking his eyes off her, Tostigson said, "I will buy her
freedom when we have won England, and return for her this very
year. She will not remain a slave in this land, unless I die before
she is freed. Sigurd, if I do die, you must free her on my account.
As if she were already my own wife. She is English for God's
sake. She will never belong here."
"Sure Tosti, for you. I will do it."
The English girl had been purchased with a company of
Mercian slaves who had been captured for the Danish slave trader,
Lady Gytha of Wessex, King Harold Godwin son s own mother.
They were sold to a Danish trader who worked with English
shipmen in London. They were all girls. Girls were the most
valuable human commodity, and Lady Gytha had a lock on the
lucrative traffic in English girls bound for sale into Viking hands.
Gunnora had been bought in Helgo by Sigurd himself. His
two little daughters had been immensely impressed with her fine
appearance, and had urged him to secure her services instead of
the stronger girl he had intended to bring back. He did not admire
her prettiness. His own taste ran contrary. But, for his daughters
her purchase was made.
Tostigson had been absolutely floored by Gunnora's beauty
on his first visit to Sigurd s farm. She reminded him immediately
of old Gospatrick s cousin, Lady Margaret. They both had the
classic loveliness of the western isles. Gunnora must have had an
Alban mother, since only the Scottish carry the look. And in her
case, well, only once in a generation does it come out so fair:
such a pretty girl with both a lusty smile and tender compassion in
her dark, intelligent eyes. Serious as she was, the young woman
was entirely soft. His heart ached just looking at her. She was the
one.
...
Two hours later, they were already embarked. The fleet
was under the general orders of Hardrada, but there were ten
independent Sea Commanders under his flag. Tostigson was under
Sigurd s command.
Tostigson bore down on the main halyard to raise the squaresail
as the longship weighed anchor. The squaresail aloft was close
hauled for the short tack out to windward. As his own vessel
turned into the wind he looked astern at Sigurd s ship, but it was
still at anchor. So, his own quickly left Sigurd s astern as it drove
upwind into the middle of the fjord, where each vessel in turn
made hard to port, for the downwind reach into the North Sea.
As they sailed northwest, protected in the lee of Sogne
Fjord, the gale from the northeast raged overhead, but the waters
around them remained a gentle chop. Approaching the headland,
the waves rolling around from the windward shore became
increasingly steep. The squaresails were reefed down into storm
rigs.
When each longship filed past the windward headland into
the full sweep of the gale, it was slammed by the breaking seas
rolling high from the northeast cresting steeply in the rip of the
outgoing tide. Of the two hundred vessels of the fleet, three
foundered under broadside waves here, and the broken hulls spilt
their freight of men and ironwork into the cold depths.
Further out, the storm force winds drove even greater waves,
the whole of the ocean a scudding whitewater current raging
westward. The longships were carried away by this race of water,
and the terrific following gale propelled them fast, almost apace
the mountainous swells running from astern.
The flexing rope bindings of the hull planks let each
longship twist along its length, responding to the forces of the
water, shifting the buoyancy from one side to the other, over again
with each cresting wave. Standing amidships, gripping the cleated
main halyard, Tostigson faced comfortably ahead, the wind on his
cloaked back. It was a wondrous sight, this charging fleet. He had
never seen such a demonstration of human industry and pageantry,
united with nature's own in martial purpose. The vitality this
homecoming excited within him was ample reward for his
patience.
Following the sun over the horizon, the twenty mile convoy
grew small and disappeared from Solund altogether. Making two
hundred miles daily, they would reach Humber in three days.
Part Fourteen
March, 1066
TRONDHEIM, NORWAY:
The rains intensified as dawn broke over the muddy world
of the armed encampment surrounding the central barracks of the
royal troops. Brushing past the two guards posted outside Sigurd's
tent, Tostigson carried his breakfast inside. He hoped he could
keep this one down. His fever was gone, and he was very hungry
after a week without food.
Thorfinn looked up from his stonework and approved.
"He s recovered from his deathbed."
Sigurd laughed, "Tostigson is too thin, Thorfinn. Look at
him. How can the English ever win?"
"Ha ha! You must look up to him. He is a great English
warrior. Ha ha." Thorfinn grimaced his amusement.
Tostigson became angry with their taunting. He couldn t
understand a word they said, but this laughing at him was going to
stop. His right hand gripped the bejewelled golden hilt of his iron
sword, and he urged Thorfinn to violence. The rune carver looked
at the suddenly transformed swordsman, felt the puny chisel in his
own hand and kept silent.
Sigurd hefted his battle axe and stood up. "English, you got
no fun. Maybe you laugh when we win England. Please, now eat
the meal."
Tostigson shrugged. Whatever. Stupid foreigners.
He was now too warm in his damp outfit. He set down the
bowl and unbuckled the fist sized gilt clasp on his right shoulder,
releasing the red broadcloth tunic. He removed his red cloth cap,
and loosened the leather belt from round his linen overshirt. He
wished he had not wound the puttees round his calves, binding his
trousers shut below the sweating knees. He was chilled when he
awoke earlier, and so had dressed for the winter weather of last
week, but this was no way to dress for working in the warm spring
rain.
Ignoring the others, he sat down and reached for his bowl of
barley and boiled pork.
The meal displeased him, it tasted of rotten fish.. He smelled
the barley, which was fine, but the split in the wooden bowl stank
of rancid fish oil. He lifted the jug of ale to his lips and washed
the putrid sardine taste out of his mouth. Would he ever keep this
meal down?
Sigurd watched. "We go at noon."
"When do we attack Britain?"
"You sail with me, English. Be patient. We go Easter to
Helgo and go summer here when the fleet come."
"I am here to fight Harold Godwin son and all you people
do is sit around drinking and chipping away at tombstones. Now
you tell me we are going to spend the entire summer cruising
around this Godforgotten land? What are you waiting for? Call the
fleet together and attack! Every day Godwin son is King, our
cause becomes more undone."
"Patient. Woden he give us big win."
Tostigson sat quiet then staring at Sigurd, and listened to the
drumming of the rain increase into a roaring cataract on the old
leather sailcloth above their heads. As water began to drip and then
pour through several seams, he wondered: Thought they were
supposed to be Christians now... still all ignorant devils.
Thorfinn pondered the words he should carve to
commemorate the pending expedition.
September, 1066
THE SOLUND ISLES:
"Here the fleet gathers, too many to count, for the sea holds more
ships than fish. Hardrada built this port."
-Thorfinn's rune.
The men had horrid dreams of ravens and ogresses. All the
portents were ominous. The worst of them all was the huge dragon
in the night sky. It hardly moved all night long, just got bigger
every day. Most men thought it was so big that when it finally
reached down from the sky it would consume the entire world.
Others thought it was not a dragon, but a new kind of heavenly
god signifying great danger to men. Nevertheless, to the dismay
of all, at midnight, the word went out from the shore to ships
around the fleet, which was spread out in anchorages for miles up
the fjord. Hardrada had committed his fleet to the attack.
At least the wind was right.
Tostigson wanted to see Gunnora again before the fleet
sailed. She was now all he cared for in the world, but in his
father s cause he was bound, and now he had to leave.
At break of day, with his one good friend, he made his way
on foot down the road to her master s home. The cold north wind
was picking up strength. Summer ended early in this land. The
leaves on birch groves had already turned bright yellow, and were
shimmering in their millions under the bright blue sky, even as the
storm clouds came scudding in out of the north.
His fellow in this mission was Sigurd, who walked sadly
alongside. Sigurd, too, was preparing to say his last goodbyes to
his family. As they walked through the gate to Sigurd s farm, they
both saw Gunnora walk from the barn to the house, milk pails in
hand. Sigurd looked sideways at his friend, who was visibly
overwrought with longing.
Not taking his eyes off her, Tostigson said, "I will buy her
freedom when we have won England, and return for her this very
year. She will not remain a slave in this land, unless I die before
she is freed. Sigurd, if I do die, you must free her on my account.
As if she were already my own wife. She is English for God's
sake. She will never belong here."
"Sure Tosti, for you. I will do it."
The English girl had been purchased with a company of
Mercian slaves who had been captured for the Danish slave trader,
Lady Gytha of Wessex, King Harold Godwin son s own mother.
They were sold to a Danish trader who worked with English
shipmen in London. They were all girls. Girls were the most
valuable human commodity, and Lady Gytha had a lock on the
lucrative traffic in English girls bound for sale into Viking hands.
Gunnora had been bought in Helgo by Sigurd himself. His
two little daughters had been immensely impressed with her fine
appearance, and had urged him to secure her services instead of
the stronger girl he had intended to bring back. He did not admire
her prettiness. His own taste ran contrary. But, for his daughters
her purchase was made.
Tostigson had been absolutely floored by Gunnora's beauty
on his first visit to Sigurd s farm. She reminded him immediately
of old Gospatrick s cousin, Lady Margaret. They both had the
classic loveliness of the western isles. Gunnora must have had an
Alban mother, since only the Scottish carry the look. And in her
case, well, only once in a generation does it come out so fair:
such a pretty girl with both a lusty smile and tender compassion in
her dark, intelligent eyes. Serious as she was, the young woman
was entirely soft. His heart ached just looking at her. She was the
one.
...
Two hours later, they were already embarked. The fleet
was under the general orders of Hardrada, but there were ten
independent Sea Commanders under his flag. Tostigson was under
Sigurd s command.
Tostigson bore down on the main halyard to raise the squaresail
as the longship weighed anchor. The squaresail aloft was close
hauled for the short tack out to windward. As his own vessel
turned into the wind he looked astern at Sigurd s ship, but it was
still at anchor. So, his own quickly left Sigurd s astern as it drove
upwind into the middle of the fjord, where each vessel in turn
made hard to port, for the downwind reach into the North Sea.
As they sailed northwest, protected in the lee of Sogne
Fjord, the gale from the northeast raged overhead, but the waters
around them remained a gentle chop. Approaching the headland,
the waves rolling around from the windward shore became
increasingly steep. The squaresails were reefed down into storm
rigs.
When each longship filed past the windward headland into
the full sweep of the gale, it was slammed by the breaking seas
rolling high from the northeast cresting steeply in the rip of the
outgoing tide. Of the two hundred vessels of the fleet, three
foundered under broadside waves here, and the broken hulls spilt
their freight of men and ironwork into the cold depths.
Further out, the storm force winds drove even greater waves,
the whole of the ocean a scudding whitewater current raging
westward. The longships were carried away by this race of water,
and the terrific following gale propelled them fast, almost apace
the mountainous swells running from astern.
The flexing rope bindings of the hull planks let each
longship twist along its length, responding to the forces of the
water, shifting the buoyancy from one side to the other, over again
with each cresting wave. Standing amidships, gripping the cleated
main halyard, Tostigson faced comfortably ahead, the wind on his
cloaked back. It was a wondrous sight, this charging fleet. He had
never seen such a demonstration of human industry and pageantry,
united with nature's own in martial purpose. The vitality this
homecoming excited within him was ample reward for his
patience.
Following the sun over the horizon, the twenty mile convoy
grew small and disappeared from Solund altogether. Making two
hundred miles daily, they would reach Humber in three days.
TRONDHEIM, NORWAY:
The rains intensified as dawn broke over the muddy world of the armed encampment surrounding the central barracks of the royal troops. Brushing past the two guards posted outside Sigurd's tent, Tostigson carried his breakfast inside. He hoped he could keep this one down. His fever was gone, and he was very hungry after a week without food.
Thorfinn looked up from his stonework and approved. "He s recovered from his deathbed."
Sigurd laughed, "Tostigson is too thin, Thorfinn. Look at him. How can the English ever win?"
"Ha ha! You must look up to him. He is a great English warrior. Ha ha." Thorfinn grimaced his amusement.
Tostigson became angry with their taunting. He couldn t understand a word they said, but this laughing at him was going to stop. His right hand gripped the bejewelled golden hilt of his iron sword, and he urged Thorfinn to violence. The rune carver looked at the suddenly transformed swordsman, felt the puny chisel in his own hand and kept silent.
Sigurd hefted his battle axe and stood up. "English, you got no fun. Maybe you laugh when we win England. Please, now eat the meal."
Tostigson shrugged. Whatever. Stupid foreigners.
He was now too warm in his damp outfit. He set down the bowl and unbuckled the fist sized gilt clasp on his right shoulder, releasing the red broadcloth tunic. He removed his red cloth cap, and loosened the leather belt from round his linen overshirt. He wished he had not wound the puttees round his calves, binding his trousers shut below the sweating knees. He was chilled when he awoke earlier, and so had dressed for the winter weather of last week, but this was no way to dress for working in the warm spring rain.
Ignoring the others, he sat down and reached for his bowl of barley and boiled pork.
The meal displeased him, it tasted of rotten fish.. He smelled the barley, which was fine, but the split in the wooden bowl stank of rancid fish oil. He lifted the jug of ale to his lips and washed the putrid sardine taste out of his mouth. Would he ever keep this meal down?
Sigurd watched. "We go at noon."
"When do we attack Britain?"
"You sail with me, English. Be patient. We go Easter to Helgo and go summer here when the fleet come."
"I am here to fight Harold Godwin son and all you people do is sit around drinking and chipping away at tombstones. Now you tell me we are going to spend the entire summer cruising around this Godforgotten land? What are you waiting for? Call the fleet together and attack! Every day Godwin son is King, our cause becomes more undone."
"Patient. Woden he give us big win."
Tostigson sat quiet then staring at Sigurd, and listened to the drumming of the rain increase into a roaring cataract on the old leather sailcloth above their heads. As water began to drip and then pour through several seams, he wondered: Thought they were supposed to be Christians now... still all ignorant devils.
Thorfinn pondered the words he should carve to commemorate the pending expedition.
September, 1066
THE SOLUND ISLES:
"Here the fleet gathers, too many to count, for the sea holds more
ships than fish. Hardrada built this port."
-Thorfinn's rune.
The men had horrid dreams of ravens and ogresses. All the portents were ominous. The worst of them all was the huge dragon in the night sky. It hardly moved all night long, just got bigger every day. Most men thought it was so big that when it finally reached down from the sky it would consume the entire world.
Others thought it was not a dragon, but a new kind of heavenly god signifying great danger to men. Nevertheless, to the dismay of all, at midnight, the word went out from the shore to ships around the fleet, which was spread out in anchorages for miles up the fjord. Hardrada had committed his fleet to the attack. At least the wind was right.
Tostigson wanted to see Gunnora again before the fleet sailed. She was now all he cared for in the world, but in his father s cause he was bound, and now he had to leave.
At break of day, with his one good friend, he made his way on foot down the road to her master s home. The cold north wind was picking up strength. Summer ended early in this land. The leaves on birch groves had already turned bright yellow, and were shimmering in their millions under the bright blue sky, even as the storm clouds came scudding in out of the north.
His fellow in this mission was Sigurd, who walked sadly alongside. Sigurd, too, was preparing to say his last goodbyes to his family. As they walked through the gate to Sigurd s farm, they both saw Gunnora walk from the barn to the house, milk pails in hand. Sigurd looked sideways at his friend, who was visibly overwrought with longing.
Not taking his eyes off her, Tostigson said, "I will buy her freedom when we have won England, and return for her this very year. She will not remain a slave in this land, unless I die before she is freed. Sigurd, if I do die, you must free her on my account. As if she were already my own wife. She is English for God's sake. She will never belong here."
"Sure Tosti, for you. I will do it."
The English girl had been purchased with a company of Mercian slaves who had been captured for the Danish slave trader, Lady Gytha of Wessex, King Harold Godwin son s own mother. They were sold to a Danish trader who worked with English shipmen in London. They were all girls. Girls were the most valuable human commodity, and Lady Gytha had a lock on the lucrative traffic in English girls bound for sale into Viking hands.
Gunnora had been bought in Helgo by Sigurd himself. His two little daughters had been immensely impressed with her fine appearance, and had urged him to secure her services instead of the stronger girl he had intended to bring back. He did not admire her prettiness. His own taste ran contrary. But, for his daughters her purchase was made.
Tostigson had been absolutely floored by Gunnora's beauty on his first visit to Sigurd s farm. She reminded him immediately of old Gospatrick s cousin, Lady Margaret. They both had the classic loveliness of the western isles. Gunnora must have had an Alban mother, since only the Scottish carry the look. And in her case, well, only once in a generation does it come out so fair: such a pretty girl with both a lusty smile and tender compassion in her dark, intelligent eyes. Serious as she was, the young woman was entirely soft. His heart ached just looking at her. She was the one.
...
Two hours later, they were already embarked. The fleet was under the general orders of Hardrada, but there were ten independent Sea Commanders under his flag. Tostigson was under Sigurd s command.
Tostigson bore down on the main halyard to raise the squaresail as the longship weighed anchor. The squaresail aloft was close hauled for the short tack out to windward. As his own vessel turned into the wind he looked astern at Sigurd s ship, but it was still at anchor. So, his own quickly left Sigurd s astern as it drove upwind into the middle of the fjord, where each vessel in turn made hard to port, for the downwind reach into the North Sea.
As they sailed northwest, protected in the lee of Sogne Fjord, the gale from the northeast raged overhead, but the waters around them remained a gentle chop. Approaching the headland, the waves rolling around from the windward shore became increasingly steep. The squaresails were reefed down into storm rigs.
When each longship filed past the windward headland into the full sweep of the gale, it was slammed by the breaking seas rolling high from the northeast cresting steeply in the rip of the outgoing tide. Of the two hundred vessels of the fleet, three foundered under broadside waves here, and the broken hulls spilt their freight of men and ironwork into the cold depths.
Further out, the storm force winds drove even greater waves, the whole of the ocean a scudding whitewater current raging westward. The longships were carried away by this race of water, and the terrific following gale propelled them fast, almost apace the mountainous swells running from astern.
The flexing rope bindings of the hull planks let each longship twist along its length, responding to the forces of the water, shifting the buoyancy from one side to the other, over again with each cresting wave. Standing amidships, gripping the cleated main halyard, Tostigson faced comfortably ahead, the wind on his cloaked back. It was a wondrous sight, this charging fleet. He had never seen such a demonstration of human industry and pageantry, united with nature's own in martial purpose. The vitality this homecoming excited within him was ample reward for his patience.
Following the sun over the horizon, the twenty mile convoy grew small and disappeared from Solund altogether. Making two hundred miles daily, they would reach Humber in three days.