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Authors: Alan Gordon
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fighting.
“Your friend?” he asked.
“Dead,” replied Gerald.
“He died well,” said Valdemar.
“Not if they catch you,” said Gerald. “Make haste, milord.”
“Come with us,” urged Valdemar.
“I have no other choice,” said Gerald.
They ran to the wharves, then pulled up short. Valdemars boat had been seized, his crew taken.
“That’s not good,” said Fengi.
“Well, there’s six of us,” said Valdemar. “Seven, counting the fool. Let’s grab that small boat over there.”
“Rowing,” sighed Esbern as they climbed into it. “I do detest rowing.”
“It’s better than dying,” said the King as he cut loose the ropes. “Pull for the open sea.”
They stayed to the far side of the harbor, hoping to sneak out under the cover of darkness. The alarum was sounded as they were some two hundred yards from shore, and a cluster of torches moved onto a larger boat. But it remained at its wharf.
“Wonder why they aren’t following us,” said Fengi.
“Well, no matter,” said Valdemar. “Considerate of Sveyn to wait until we were done eating before he attacked. At least we’ll have enough strength to get out of here. I wish we had some stars to steer by.”
“Milord, I think I know why they aren’t following us,” Gerald began with a sinking feeling.
Then, the storm hit.
Five
“You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice."
—Hamlet, Act I, Scene II
Slesvig—Fyn, 1157 A.D.
T hey had captured him when he was young. He didn’t remember much about the trip north, just a vague memory of being blindfolded and taken onto a boat. They landed after two days at sea, and he was bound and put on a wagon. Throughout the journey, he had but a single thought in his mind: home.
He spent most of his time behind bars. On the rare occasions when they allowed him in the courtyard to exercise, they would blindfold him again and tie a rope to one of his legs so that he couldn’t escape.
Then one day, without explanation, they took him out without a blindfold and without a rope. He immediately thought of flight, and waited for a moment when their attention was lax. Then he took off without a second thought.
They did not pursue him. They stood there watching, almost as if they had expected him to do what he was doing.
He didn’t know where he was, but his instincts shouted south. He took his bearings from the morning sun and headed in that direction. He was weak. His muscles were unused to this much exertion. He stopped when he safely could, stole moments of sleep, foraged for what food and water he could find undetected.
Finally, the landscape began to look familiar. Then the long, narrow fjord opened up in front of him. There was an island at its western end that he knew was his destination. He was exhausted, and there was something wrong with his leg, but with one final surge of energy he made it onto the island. His family was there, overjoyed to see him after having given him up for good. A man came in, patted his head, and fiddled with his leg for a moment. It felt normal again. They gave him food, and although he was once again behind walls, his heart surged within his breast because he was home again, and that was the most important thing in the world.
----
G orm unrolled the tiny scroll that the carrier pigeon had brought him from his spies in Roskilde. He read it, grunted with surprise, and rushed to find Ørvendil.
From a discreet distance, Terence watched him. He had been trying for several days to devise a way of reading the scrolls before the drost started his daily rounds. The pigeon coop was on top of Gorm’s quarters, accessible by a ladder. Unfortunately, this meant that it was visible from just about every watchpost on the island.
Terence sighed, then looked down as something tugged on his hand. Amleth was by his side, looking up at him solemnly.
“Have you been there long?” exclaimed Terence. The boy nodded. “Well, my friend, that was most
“Your friend?” he asked.
“Dead,” replied Gerald.
“He died well,” said Valdemar.
“Not if they catch you,” said Gerald. “Make haste, milord.”
“Come with us,” urged Valdemar.
“I have no other choice,” said Gerald.
They ran to the wharves, then pulled up short. Valdemars boat had been seized, his crew taken.
“That’s not good,” said Fengi.
“Well, there’s six of us,” said Valdemar. “Seven, counting the fool. Let’s grab that small boat over there.”
“Rowing,” sighed Esbern as they climbed into it. “I do detest rowing.”
“It’s better than dying,” said the King as he cut loose the ropes. “Pull for the open sea.”
They stayed to the far side of the harbor, hoping to sneak out under the cover of darkness. The alarum was sounded as they were some two hundred yards from shore, and a cluster of torches moved onto a larger boat. But it remained at its wharf.
“Wonder why they aren’t following us,” said Fengi.
“Well, no matter,” said Valdemar. “Considerate of Sveyn to wait until we were done eating before he attacked. At least we’ll have enough strength to get out of here. I wish we had some stars to steer by.”
“Milord, I think I know why they aren’t following us,” Gerald began with a sinking feeling.
Then, the storm hit.
Five
“You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice."
—Hamlet, Act I, Scene II
Slesvig—Fyn, 1157 A.D.
T hey had captured him when he was young. He didn’t remember much about the trip north, just a vague memory of being blindfolded and taken onto a boat. They landed after two days at sea, and he was bound and put on a wagon. Throughout the journey, he had but a single thought in his mind: home.
He spent most of his time behind bars. On the rare occasions when they allowed him in the courtyard to exercise, they would blindfold him again and tie a rope to one of his legs so that he couldn’t escape.
Then one day, without explanation, they took him out without a blindfold and without a rope. He immediately thought of flight, and waited for a moment when their attention was lax. Then he took off without a second thought.
They did not pursue him. They stood there watching, almost as if they had expected him to do what he was doing.
He didn’t know where he was, but his instincts shouted south. He took his bearings from the morning sun and headed in that direction. He was weak. His muscles were unused to this much exertion. He stopped when he safely could, stole moments of sleep, foraged for what food and water he could find undetected.
Finally, the landscape began to look familiar. Then the long, narrow fjord opened up in front of him. There was an island at its western end that he knew was his destination. He was exhausted, and there was something wrong with his leg, but with one final surge of energy he made it onto the island. His family was there, overjoyed to see him after having given him up for good. A man came in, patted his head, and fiddled with his leg for a moment. It felt normal again. They gave him food, and although he was once again behind walls, his heart surged within his breast because he was home again, and that was the most important thing in the world.
----
G orm unrolled the tiny scroll that the carrier pigeon had brought him from his spies in Roskilde. He read it, grunted with surprise, and rushed to find Ørvendil.
From a discreet distance, Terence watched him. He had been trying for several days to devise a way of reading the scrolls before the drost started his daily rounds. The pigeon coop was on top of Gorm’s quarters, accessible by a ladder. Unfortunately, this meant that it was visible from just about every watchpost on the island.
Terence sighed, then looked down as something tugged on his hand. Amleth was by his side, looking up at him solemnly.
“Have you been there long?” exclaimed Terence. The boy nodded. “Well, my friend, that was most
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