Brandewyne, Rebecca (10 page)

Large
enough to rival a whale, measuring approximately one hundred feet in length,
twenty feet wide at the beam, and over six
feet deep from the upper edge of each
side to the bottom of the keel, the longships were built from the outside in.
Each massive, true keel, which formed the longship's backbone and gave it its
vast superiority over enemy vessels, was fashioned from the trunk of a single
oak and deliberately bowed amidships, so that in battle, the longship could be
spun about practically on her own axis, providing incredible maneuverability.
The stempost and the sternpost were also made from a single piece of timber,
often intricately carved into a dragon's head and tail on war boats, a snake or
swan on ceremonial vessels, of the kind used at the midspring festival. From a
metal rod attached to the prow would hang a gilt-bronzed wind vane.

The
shell, thickest at the bottom and gradually thinning toward the water line, was
composed of overlapping planks bent by hand and affixed to the stempost and the
sternpost, working from the keel up. Once in place, the strakes were caulked
with moss or tarred rope or animal hair and fastened together with iron rivets;
then ribs of naturally bowed oak limbs were set into the shell, and the strakes
were lashed with spruce-root withies to the ribs, all of which resulted in a hull
capable of flexing in rough seas and still maintaining a watertight seal. A
leather covering, made
from the hides of tens of head of cattle, could be stretched from side to side
and secured for protection when the longship encountered stormy seas or rode at
anchor.

Crossbeams,
attached with wooden knees to the sides, bridged the hull above each rib to
provide lateral reinforcement, and upon these, the deck planks were laid in
such a way as to rise at the stern, forming a slight poop for the steersman to
stand upon and which boasted a small roof against bad weather. At the heart of
the hull, beneath the deck planks, was the "old woman" or keelson, a
huge oak-block base into which the mammoth spruce take-down mast was set, and
atop this block, upon the deck planks, was yet another block, shaped like a
fish and so called the mast fish, which supported the mast. Three Y-shaped
trestles or crutches standing upright from bow to stern held the yard, spars,
or sail when the longship was being rowed. At the starboard stern was the
rudder, also cut from a single plank of oak and attached by a spruce root to
the wart. A thick rope of osiers running through a cramp in the rudder's paddle
allowed it to be immediately hoisted in shallow or rocky waters.

Along
the elaborately painted sides of the longship were the oar holes, which could
be
plugged
when the longship was under sail, and over each of which could be hung two
shields, each shield overlapping the next to form a continuous, decorative line
from bow to stern when the longship was in harbor or was to be used for the
burial of its
jarl.
The oars themselves were of pine, twenty pairs
strong, and made in successive lengths so they would all strike the water in
unison, the freeboard's being slightly higher at bow and stern than that
amidships. To demonstrate his bravery and agility, a daring
jarl
would
sometimes hoist himself over the side of the long-ship and leap from oar to oar
while they were moving. There being no thwarts, each oarsman sat upon his own
sea chest when rowing; and along with the sounder, a drummer stood in the bow
and beat the rhythm upon a hide-covered drum. A spruce- wood gangway provided
the men access to and from the longship when the vessel was moored to a wharf.

The
square sail that caught the breath of the wind was woven of coarse wool two
layers thick, and usually dyed red. Occasionally, a pattern of alternating
red-and-blue or red-and-white stripes, squares, or diamonds was chosen by a
jarl
who wished his
longship to be instantly recognized by friends and foes alike. When wet, the
sail was heavy and, especially during capricious winds or storms,
so difficult to
manage that even a strong warrior could be knocked overboard by a swinging
yard— his own or that of another longship sailing close alongside. Still, with
her magnificent square sail, a longship could sail not only across the wind,
but also well into it, giving her an additional advantage against her enemies
and making her hard to catch. The sail's rigging was fashioned of tough whale,
walrus, or seal hide, measured in ells and so strong that it could not be
pulled apart by a tug-of-war among more than fifty men.

Like
the beat of a longship's drummer upon his drum, Wulfgar's heart pounded with
exhilaration as he watched the longships take shape and counted the days to the
midspring
blót,
when
the longships would be named. During that time, he practiced with his weapons
for even longer hours to ready himself for the games that would be held at the
festival; and he made it his business, as well, to learn everything he could
about Olaf the Sea Bull— although it was hard to find much to that
jarl's
credit. Olaf's
situation was indeed as Yelkei had said; and although the Sea Bull looked
healthy enough for a grey-bearded drunkard, Wulfgar could not help but recall
Yelkei's insistence that she had that past winter heard Hela's death rattle in
Olaf's bones, and he shivered at the thought that
the spaewife could foretell a
man's doom, which was only for the gods to know.

Then,
at long last, the morning of the vernal equinox (and so also of the midspring
blót,
the wild,
promiscuous rite of spring) dawned, the sun's tongues of flame setting the sky
ablaze, burning away the last of the night's mist that had swept in from the
sea to linger over the land; and in the harbor that gleamed as blue as an
aquamarine in the sunlight, a herd of sea dragons rode the combers, breathing
crimson fire until square sails were furled and heavy iron anchors cast
overboard to chain the dragons where they lay. From far and wide, the
Víkingrs
had come to
Ragnar's vast domain to celebrate the goddess of spring, Eostre— old
grey-beards who had ravaged the Eastlands and the Southlands for nearly half a
century, and callow youths with faces as silk-smooth as Wulfgar's own and who,
like him, had yet to stand upon the deck of a longship and to feel the sea
swell and ebb beneath their sealskin-booted feet. With them came their wives
and sweethearts and daughters, gay ribands woven through their long braids and
wearing long, flowing woolen gowns, brightly dyed in a multitude of colors and
fastened with ornate round brooches above each breast. Much to Wulfgar's
surprise and pleasure, he observed
that despite his lack of mustache and
beard— or perhaps because of it— the eyes of more than one female strayed
toward him and many an inviting smile was cast in his direction. The maidens he
flirted with gladly, knowing that later that night, after the day's wassailing,
there would be even more drunken reveling, wild dancing to the savage, rhythmic
strains of flutes and drums, and frenetic coupling in the Sacred Grove, beneath
the moon; Wulfgar was as eager as the next man for the feel of a lusty wench
moaning and writhing beneath him. But the married women he assiduously avoided;
for the crime of adultery, an unfaithful wife and her paramour were punished by
being sold into slavery, severely flogged, or beheaded. Wulfgar had no wish to
suffer any of those penalties for a fleeting night's dalliance, no matter how
beautiful and desirable the woman.

To
the nine-day festival, the
bóndi
from all the surrounding farms brought
nabid,
a strong beer,
horses, and other offerings to the goddess of spring. The animals were ritually
slain, after which the walls of the
templum,
the temple, that
stood in the
lundr,
the
Sacred Grove, on Ragnar's markland, were smeared outside and inside with the
fresh, warm blood, and the meat itself cooked slowly in earth-covered pits
lined with hot stones,
in preparation for the feasting later in Ragnar's
hof,
his large
longhouse, which looked especially splendid. Inside, the timber walls, packed
with clay, showed evidence of having been freshly scrubbed, although even this
had not removed the dark stains left by the ubiquitous smoke from the hearth
and the whale-oil lamps; and all along the
langpallar,
the raised side
aisles of the
skáli,
the great mead hall, long benches spread with plump
cushions had been placed before long, narrow tables. Such furniture was rare in
the Northland, belonging solely to
konungrs
and to the richest of
jarlar,
and used only for festivals and other special occasions. The shutters of
the tiny, high-set windows covered with pigs' bladders admitted only the
dimmest of sunlight. But the numerous whale-oils lamps hanging from the
smoke-blackened, freestanding posts that supported the thatched roof burned
brightly, illuminating the walls adorned by bleached-linen tapestries
elaborately worked in colored wool. Although several feet wide, the striplike
tapestries were also very narrow, no more than a foot high, and placed at a
man's eye-level, so that they could be seen in the dim, smoky atmosphere of the
great mead hall. Near the hearth, the
skálds,
accompanied by flutes and
lyres, sang their epic poems, and jugglers and acrobats performed to entertain
the
jarlar.

Wulfgar
had not stepped foot inside the
hof
since leaving the hut he had
previously inhabited within the palisade, and he had no wish to linger now as
he made his obeisance before Ragnar, regally ensconced upon the high seat on
the central dais flanked by two mammoth, intricately carved pillars at the far
end of the great mead hall. Upon Ragnar's head was his ornate, gilt-bronzed,
horned helmet, never worn into battle, but only upon ceremonial occasions and
for the initiation of young men as warriors; and his blue eyes, behind the
helmet's masklike eyeholes, were hard and cold as he stared down at Wulfgar.
After paying his respects to Ragnar, Wulfgar quickly made good his escape,
eager to be gone and to take part in the games outside.

The
Northmen were fond of all sort of games, particularly board games such as
chess, draughts, and fox-and-geese; and several of the women, as well as the
grey-bearded men too old for physical sport, had laid their boards on the tops
of stout, iron-ringed barrels and, seated on low stools, were deeply engrossed
in their next moves. But the games Wulfgar joined were strenuous contests such
as running, swimming, and rowing, designed to challenge a man's physical
strength and agility so the
jarlar
might judge his worth
before accepting
his oath as a
thegn.
His age and prowess were such that he easily stood
out from the crowd of mostly untried youths against whom he competed. But it
was as Yelkei had warned him: Even bold Björn Ironside and Hasting, for all
that they had brought about his chance to become a
Víkingr,
gave no sign
of being disposed toward accepting him as their man; nor, to Wulfgar's
discouragement, had Olaf the Sea Bull shown a flicker of interest— and Ivar's
arrogant, mocking half-smile was a barb that stung and made Wulfgar burn with
anger and shame.

"Be
patient," Yelkei counseled, her black eyes narrowed to cunning slits, her
voice low, "like the lone wolf who lurks in the reeds at the edge of the
misted mere, waiting for the ducks to grow greedy and careless as they fatten
on the fish."

Eight
times the sun rose and set, and the maiden chosen to play the roll of Eostre,
the goddess of spring, was driven about in her elaborately carved, ox-drawn
cart to be feted by all present; and afterward, a solitary slave was beheaded
each day and seven animals slain, all of which were hanged from the trees in
the Sacred Grove as Eostre's sacrifice, so that at the end of the festival,
seventy-two corpses, a magic number, would have been offered to the goddess.

And
still, Wulfgar had not pledged himself as a
thegn.

"The
ducks waddle from the fullness of their bellies, and bask in the sun while
preening their feathers. Now does the wise wolf draw near— but slowly,
stealthily, Wulfgar," Yelkei cautioned, "so the whisper of his coming
is but the wind among the reeds."

On
the ninth day, the longships were named and consecrated with blood, pushed over
the log rollers on the sand and then, just before being shoved into the sea,
the bodies of slaves were crushed to death beneath the massive hulls to assure
the blessing of Aegir, the sea god, and his wife, Ran. The waves of the sea
were the nine daughters of Aegir and called by such sinister names as Grasper
and Howler. No man wished to lie in their watery arms; and a prudent warrior
always carried a single piece of gold with him on board a longship, to pay
their mother, Ran, should he drown, so he could be certain of gaining entrance
into Valhöll. Even if it meant distributing coins or jewelry from his own
hoard, it was the duty of every good
jarl
who captained a longship to
ensure that each of his
Víkingr
could afford this offering. But despite
Yelkei's words of wisdom, Wulfgar despaired of the chance to know that in his
purse, he bore a
Vikingr's
piece
of gold
for Ran. But then Yelkei said: