Black Monastery (2 page)

She nodded and placed her hand on her son’s knee. “It’ll get better.”

“I want to see,” Asgrim said.

The skald raised his head slightly, and his eyes darted nervously toward Asgrim’s parents. “My boy, perhaps we should wait until—”

He reached out and gripped the man’s wrist, causing him to wince in pain. “Skald, I danced the cloak with Hrolf the Elder and lived. I am no boy, and I want to see my face. Now!”

“I’d do as he says,” said his father.

The skald nodded quickly and turned away to rummage through a small sack he had brought. A moment later, he turned back, holding a polished square of brass the size of a man’s palm. The young man hesitated for a moment, then took the metal. When he saw his reflection, a sudden coldness struck at the core of his being, and he gasped. A tingling sensation ran through his muscles as he gingerly touched his face. He thought he was going to throw up. The skin around his nose was waxy, smooth, and discolored brown and black. It felt like melted candle wax. But when he pushed against it, pain stabbed deep behind his eyes. He turned away, handing the mirror back to the skald.

The silence was as heavy as a chain mail coat.

“It will get better,” his mother whispered.

“Yes,” he said.

He was proud that his voice didn’t break.

As the weeks turned to months, the pain began to lessen, and his strength and endurance grew. At first, the laborers stared at his face in horror. As they grew accustomed to him, they paid him no mind, treating him the same as every other young man. He was grateful for the shipbuilding; it took his mind off his face. Occasionally, on those days when his nose didn’t pain him too badly, he even rode out with the laborers to an old-growth forest to cut timbers. Normally, logging was forbidden in the ancient and dwindling forest, but his father and the earl had sailed together when they were young men, and the earl had given his father permission to take as much wood as he needed. They split the tree trunks on the edge of the forest using wedges and hammers, then trimmed the planks with short-hafted broad axes. The much smaller planks were then sent back to the manor by wagon.

They attached the stem and stern planks to the keel with wooden plugs and expensive iron nails. The planks, once attached, were slathered with a pine tar mixture that stained the workers’ hands dark brown. Along the length of the keel, they attached the first two strakes, the individual hull planks. With the first two strakes in position, they began to lay the others. Each one was clinkered so that the edge of the one above sat atop the one below. They caulked the spaces between the strakes with a mixture of sheep hairs and the pine tar. The men complained that the mixture stank, but he had become accustomed to breathing through his mouth, and the smell didn’t bother him as much as it did the others. When he mentioned this, one of the laborers joked that a man needed a nose, not a lump of wood, to smell it. As the laborers laughed, his skin burned, but he said nothing.

Within weeks, the bones of the longship emerged, like some mythical beast washed up by the waves, and men from all the outlying farms began to arrive, either seeking work or simply coming to watch. Some men helped for free, just to brag they had been involved in the making of a masterpiece of work: the best ship the famous Guthorm had ever built.

When the time came to mount the keelson—a single piece of oak fifteen ells long in the center of the hull to hold the mast steady—they could move it only with a series of pulleys and nets. It needed to be so large, especially for a longship this size because, resting directly on the keel, the keelson transferred the forces of propulsion from the mast to the hull. When the ship’s decking was in place, the only part of the keelson that would be visible on the deck was the mast fish, which was named for its distinctive fish-like shape. Getting the keelson into its proper position took the entire day. At one point, a walrus-hide rope attached to a pulley snapped and whipped about like a sword blade. Had it hit anyone, it would have cut him in half. But the gods must have been watching, because no one was hurt. After that, the men agreed that luck was with Asgrim’s father.

Once the keelson was firmly in place, the time had come to mount the mast. At twenty-five ells in length and carved from the trunk of a single massive oak tree, the mast was the longest piece of wood any man had ever moved. As the trunk was finessed into position by Guthorm and his laborers, Asgrim’s father stood with his two sons, each straining against one of the ropes. As the workers pulled in unison under Guthorm’s command, the mast slowly rose. Then, with a single mighty thud that shook the entire ship, the mast slid into position, standing tall and proud. The men cheered, as did Asgrim and his brother. Even Asgrim’s father, a normally stoic man, smiled.

His father met Asgrim’s eye, and then he squeezed his shoulder. “Someday, she’ll be yours, my son, and no man will remember your first raid. She’ll carry more warriors than any other ship in Denmark, travel faster and farther with more oars. When men see her sail coming over the horizon, they’ll shit themselves in terror and run for their miserable, gods-forsaken lives.” His father barked out a single harsh laugh. “And they’ll be right to do so, by Odin’s fiery asshole.”

“What will you name her, father?” Bjorn asked.

“
Sea Eel
,” whispered the older man. “And she’ll earn her name. Deadly and fast, a predator.”

Once the mast was in place, artisans arrived to carve decorative patterns on the planks. Every exposed surface was worked and trimmed with intricate marks to please the gods. A particularly gifted young man was hired to carve the dragonhead prow. It was fierce and howling, its jaws wide, its teeth long. He built it to be removable, so it could be stored below deck when the longship was at home so that it would not frighten the land spirits and foul their luck.

Asgrim and his brother stood back and watched the young artisan finish the dragonhead and present it to Guthorm and their father. The elderly shipwright, with just a trace of approval on his weathered face, turned to his father, who nodded solemnly.

Once all the carvings were finished, the workers painted the hull with a mixture of pine resin and seal blubber that stunk almost as badly as the waterproofing had, but left the wood stained a deep, dark green when it dried. At the same time, other workers built the oar ports and rigging. She was long enough to accommodate thirty rowers on each side. Fully loaded, she could carry more than a hundred warriors, which was an unprecedented number.

She could only be finished in the water, and it was time to launch her. To accomplish this, the men laid a trail of parallel logs, over which they could slowly roll her down to the shoreline. Her sail, homespun wool in a green-and-yellow striped pattern, was already soaking in animal fats and oil. The cost of the wool had been enormous, even for his father, and it had taken their servant women more than a year under his mother’s direction to weave it together into a single piece. The tiller and side rudder would be attached last, once she was afloat.

The worst of the winter cold had passed, and within another month, spring would be upon the land. Once the spring planting was completed, the time would come for raiding. Excitement grew among the men. Soon, the right day to launch the ship came. On a day with favorable weather and few crosswinds, they attached long lines of walrus-hide ropes to her, and
Sea Eel
’s wooden planks squeaked as the men hauled her down to the shoreline. Women and children from town left their tasks undone to come watch. Even the earl came. Removing his coat, he stood next to Asgrim’s father to help haul on the ropes. Every man knew the honor the earl was paying to his father by his presence, especially since he had left his newborn son, Frodi, to come and help. Under Guthorm’s steady command, they rolled her to the water. Her dark-green hull scraped along the wet sand as she hit the shoreline and stuck fast. Men pushed and pulled, but the massive longship stubbornly held her place. Asgrim and Bjorn stood beside one another, up to their thighs in the frigid water, pushing and straining against the hull.

“Get in there! Get in there!” Asgrim screamed as he shoved.

Then, with a rush of foam and splash so fast it took most of them by surprise, the mighty longship slid into the waters of the
Schlei
. Bjorn pitched forward headfirst into the water. Asgrim reached into the waters, caught his brother by the shoulders, and yanked him free. Bjorn was wild-eyed and spitting water, but grinning like a berserker. And
Sea Eel
, perfectly ballasted in advance by Guthorm, rocked gently in the calm waters of the inlet. As one, they all cheered—men in the water, the women and children along the shoreline, his father, and the earl. And this time, finally forgetting his wounds, Asgrim cheered as well, hugging his younger brother.

That night, along the shoreline, Asgrim accompanied his father and the other men to a ritual. There, by the light of a massive bonfire, his father sacrificed a bull to Odin, killing the beast with one blow of an ax. He helped his father and his father’s warriors anoint the hull of
Sea Eel
with the ox’s blood. The earl was there, as well, having remained for this most sacred of tasks. All the men agreed the gods were pleased. Luck would be with his father and this magnificent longship.

With the ritual completed, the earl approached his father. In his hands, he held a long fur-wrapped bundle, which he handed to the other man. His father took the bundle reverently, inclining his head in thanks. Then the earl bade farewell, and he and his bodyguards mounted their horses and rode off for his own estates. Asgrim’s father’s bondsmen also bade farewell then, wishing to return to the warmth of their own farms, promising to return early in the morning to help prepare
Sea Eel
for raiding.

Asgrim stood in front of the bonfire with his father. Both men were soaked to their waists, but bundled in thick fur cloaks. His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him against him.

“The rigging will be done in days,” his father said. “In another week, she’ll be ready to sail. Then, I’ll teach you all you need to know about being a man.”

“I am a man.”

His father snorted and hugged him just a bit tighter. “Aye, maybe you are at that.”

They stood in silence for a time, staring at the flames as the wood crackled and spit. The frigid wind howled, fanning the flames higher.

His father released him and stepped back. “I’m getting old, son, too old for raiding. This will be my last voyage across the sea. We will sail for Wessex, raid along the coast. And when we return home, I will go forth no more. I will sit in my lodge, drink ale, get fat, and be a farmer.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“I didn’t build
Sea Eel
for me… well, not
only
for me. I built her for you, for you and your brother.”

His father became silent, staring at the fire. He felt his father’s discomfort.

“I won’t pretend I understand why you did it,” his father started again. “But it’s done. You fought with honor and courage, and you’ve borne your loss like a man should. I’ll have no bad blood between you and Hrolf. You’ll promise me this.”

Just for a moment, he saw again the sight of Hrolf’s shield rushing toward his face, the iron boss growing in size. He shuddered once and inclined his head in agreement. “Aye.”

“Good,” said his father. “You and his youngest boy, Gorm, were friends before this happened. I want you to be friends again.”

He nodded again. He and Gorm had not spoken since that day, although he had been certain Gorm had tended his wounds during the voyage home on the longship.

“We’re Danes, boy. We take what we need. There’s not enough good land left in Denmark for all of us, but this is not a mistake. It’s part of our destiny. The gods made us strong so we could take what we need from lesser men, and then they put us here, in this harsh, cold land where there was no choice but raiding. If Denmark were a land of plenty, where each man owned his own farm, how many men do you think would choose to leave their hearths, travel across the sea, and face the horror of a shield wall? Damned few, I can tell you. No. This is how it’s supposed to be. Why else do you think the gods taught us how to build longships, how to travel for days at a time beyond sight of land? The gods made us what we are, and they’re always watching us. They are pleased with battle, even slaughter. Always remember this. Those who are not Danes are not your people. They are not worthy of your pity, your sacrifice. Their lives are miserable and shitty because they have abandoned the old ways. Now they are nothing but prey, barely human. But you, you are a sword Dane, a pillager, a man who honors the gods. You have a warrior’s destiny. I know it. Those cattle in other lands who think themselves men will shiver in terror at the very mention of your name. And the gods will watch you and smile.”

“I’ll make you proud, father. I won’t fail… not again.”

“I know you won’t, boy. But…” His father paused, staring at his face. “If you’re going to make a habit of fighting duels with killers like Hrolf, you’ll need a better weapon.” His father turned away and retrieved the fur-wrapped bundle from where he had placed it on the ground. He began unwrapping it as he approached, and the young man saw a sword hilt extend from the end.

His father pulled the weapon free of the fur covering and held it in front of the fire for him to see. His breath caught in his throat. Never had he seen such a masterpiece. The metal was polished so brightly that the metal gleamed red in the firelight. And it was longer by at least a hand’s length than any other sword he had ever seen. The hilt and pommel glistened with intricate silver etchings; it was a treasure.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

“It’s a gift from the earl,” his father answered. “Payment for a debt the old rascal owed me. He carried such a blade himself into battle when he wasn’t too fat to fit into his armor. It never failed him. Now, my own son will carry one just as fine. It’s yours.”