Read Online The Lord of Vik-Lo: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 3) by James L. Nelson - Free Book Online
Authors: James L. Nelson
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Sea stories, Genre Fiction, Norse & Icelandic
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fractured wood and short boards over those. They took the beitass, a heavy spar eight inches thick and twelve feet long, and jammed it against the boards and the shields to shore the whole thing up.
When the ship was under sail, the beitass was run out forward over the rail, and the leading corner of the sail pulled down to it. But there was no chance they would be setting a sail in the near future, and there was no need greater than strengthening the patch over the injured strakes so the beitass was put into service to serve that end.
Thorgrim stood and wiped the rain and spray from his eyes. Somewhere behind thick clouds the moon was lighting the sky a bit, but most illumination came from the occasional flashes of lightning. When they came Thorgrim took advantage of the light to examine the repairs they had made, and to see how the ship was faring. The lee cloth and the lash-up of shields and boards seemed to offer some degree of structural integrity to the compromised strakes. Agnarr had found the rhythm of the seas, and was working the ship well through the waves, twisting the helm as she mounted and back as she plunged down into the troughs. As a result, less water was breaking over the sides, and the bailers were able to all but keep up with the influx.
It was like a pause in a battle, a moment when both sides by unspoken agreement stop to catch their breath, a brief respite from mortal danger. How long it would last, Thorgrim did not know. The collision with the log had reminded him, as if he needed reminding, that circumstances could change in a blink of an eye at sea.
But for the moment, at least, they were as safe as they could make themselves. Thorgrim turned and headed aft and only then did he realize how very tired he was. He stepped up beside Agnarr, who held the horizontal bar of the tiller in both hands.
“Agnarr, would you like me to relieve you?” Thorgrim shouted. In those seas the helmsman would be him or Agnarr. He would trust no other.
“No, if you trust me to remain I can keep steering yet!” Agnarr shouted in reply. Thorgrim nodded. “How is the damage?” Agnarr shouted next.
“The repairs are ridiculous, but I believe they’ll hold for now. The water comes in much slower, and I think the planks are in no danger of being stove in!”
Agnarr nodded at this, fell silent as he worked the tiller. The bow rose up high and Thorgrim had to shift his stance to avoid falling backward. Then the bow fell with a sickening plunge and twist, struck the front of the next on-coming wave, and green water broke over the rail and cascaded aft. Agnarr brought the rudder amidships again.
“We cannot continue with the strakes damaged as they are,” Agnarr said hesitantly, his voice low. Thorgrim knew this perfectly well, but Agnarr seemed to understand, correctly as it happened, that Thorgrim would not want to hear it. Hateful as that truth was, however, Thorgrim also knew it was the only reasonable conclusion.
“I will not return to Dubh-linn,” Thorgrim said with finality. He did not think Agnarr would argue. Every man aboard knew Thorgrim’s conviction on that point.
“With the wind on this quarter and us on a larboard tack we have been set far south,” Agnarr shouted. “I do not believe we could reach Dubh-linn even if we wished to, not for many days!”
“So what then do you recommend?” Thorgrim asked. Agnarr had a better knowledge than he of the Irish coast, having spent more time there, raiding and fishing. Agnarr undoubtedly had a better knowledge of Ireland’s east coast than any man aboard.
“There is a small longphort, called Vík-ló, south of Dubh-linn. We’ll see where we end up when this storm blows out, but if we are still alive I reckon we should be able to fetch that place.”
“Vík-ló? I’ve heard of it. It’s no great port, the likes of Dubh-linn, if I remember right.”
“No,” Agnarr said, pausing in his speech to
When the ship was under sail, the beitass was run out forward over the rail, and the leading corner of the sail pulled down to it. But there was no chance they would be setting a sail in the near future, and there was no need greater than strengthening the patch over the injured strakes so the beitass was put into service to serve that end.
Thorgrim stood and wiped the rain and spray from his eyes. Somewhere behind thick clouds the moon was lighting the sky a bit, but most illumination came from the occasional flashes of lightning. When they came Thorgrim took advantage of the light to examine the repairs they had made, and to see how the ship was faring. The lee cloth and the lash-up of shields and boards seemed to offer some degree of structural integrity to the compromised strakes. Agnarr had found the rhythm of the seas, and was working the ship well through the waves, twisting the helm as she mounted and back as she plunged down into the troughs. As a result, less water was breaking over the sides, and the bailers were able to all but keep up with the influx.
It was like a pause in a battle, a moment when both sides by unspoken agreement stop to catch their breath, a brief respite from mortal danger. How long it would last, Thorgrim did not know. The collision with the log had reminded him, as if he needed reminding, that circumstances could change in a blink of an eye at sea.
But for the moment, at least, they were as safe as they could make themselves. Thorgrim turned and headed aft and only then did he realize how very tired he was. He stepped up beside Agnarr, who held the horizontal bar of the tiller in both hands.
“Agnarr, would you like me to relieve you?” Thorgrim shouted. In those seas the helmsman would be him or Agnarr. He would trust no other.
“No, if you trust me to remain I can keep steering yet!” Agnarr shouted in reply. Thorgrim nodded. “How is the damage?” Agnarr shouted next.
“The repairs are ridiculous, but I believe they’ll hold for now. The water comes in much slower, and I think the planks are in no danger of being stove in!”
Agnarr nodded at this, fell silent as he worked the tiller. The bow rose up high and Thorgrim had to shift his stance to avoid falling backward. Then the bow fell with a sickening plunge and twist, struck the front of the next on-coming wave, and green water broke over the rail and cascaded aft. Agnarr brought the rudder amidships again.
“We cannot continue with the strakes damaged as they are,” Agnarr said hesitantly, his voice low. Thorgrim knew this perfectly well, but Agnarr seemed to understand, correctly as it happened, that Thorgrim would not want to hear it. Hateful as that truth was, however, Thorgrim also knew it was the only reasonable conclusion.
“I will not return to Dubh-linn,” Thorgrim said with finality. He did not think Agnarr would argue. Every man aboard knew Thorgrim’s conviction on that point.
“With the wind on this quarter and us on a larboard tack we have been set far south,” Agnarr shouted. “I do not believe we could reach Dubh-linn even if we wished to, not for many days!”
“So what then do you recommend?” Thorgrim asked. Agnarr had a better knowledge than he of the Irish coast, having spent more time there, raiding and fishing. Agnarr undoubtedly had a better knowledge of Ireland’s east coast than any man aboard.
“There is a small longphort, called Vík-ló, south of Dubh-linn. We’ll see where we end up when this storm blows out, but if we are still alive I reckon we should be able to fetch that place.”
“Vík-ló? I’ve heard of it. It’s no great port, the likes of Dubh-linn, if I remember right.”
“No,” Agnarr said, pausing in his speech to
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