Yngvar slapped Ulfrik’s back as he watched families hurry to the beach to embrace the men. “It was a good raid,” he said. “After Thor gets his share we should have enough for armor and livestock. And now that you have a name for yourself more men will come in spring.”
“The gods have been kind,” Ulfrik agreed, watching Dan, who had followed Ulfrik into Frodi’s lands and beyond, scoop up his young lad into his arms. “But there is one kindness I need more than any other.”
“Revenge,” Yngvar finished for him. “We all want it. But we want to enjoy it when we find it. Can’t do that with this small crew-not if all those spearmen are making a base in Grenner.”
Ulfrik smiled, but Yngvar had mistaken his meaning. He looked eastward again, thinking of Runa trapped in Frodi’s hall. He had to find a way to her. Without Runa at his side, any victory was diminished. “True words.” He decided not to correct his friend. “Let’s get the treasure ashore and put aside Thor’s share. Then we can drink and get fat for the rest of winter. Come springtime, we will be prepared for true raiding.”
Both men shared a smile.
“Dan,” Ulfrik said, ruffling the blond hair of the boy Dan carried, “take your boy and tell Thor we have returned.”
The boy, who shared his father’s ever-serious demeanor, was visibly excited at Ulfrik’s request. Thor’s rich hall impressed all of them. As they left, the boy leading his father by the hand, Ulfrik climbed back on Wave Spear and surveyed his hoard. Treasure bulged beneath the leather covering, but it was nothing compared to what he would need to fulfill his revenge. Yngvar jumped in to untie the ropes that held the leather tarpaulin down, and Ulfrik stepped down to begin the work with a sigh.
***
“Longboats! Longboats!” Troke pulled his fishing vessel close enough to yell the warning. The spindly old man and his son were windmilling their arms, pointing and waving frantically, nearly falling overboard to get the attention of Ulfrik and the men ashore.
Ulfrik dropped a bag of hack silver and leaped over the gunwale of his ship to wade out and hear Troke’s report. They had been ashore for only an hour, unloading and admiring the spoils. Now, Ulfrik cursed their slow pace. Half the treasure was laid on the beach and the rest remained in the hold. Troke and his son were already rowing away from him, heading for safety. “Two boats just rounded the rocks,” Troke called back as his son rowed. “Small, with no sails or shields, but they have dragonheads on the prow and look in good repair. They’re trouble.”
“How many men did you count,” Ulfrik yelled, discarding one plan after the next even as he listened.
“Five oars a side. Gods keep you!”
Ulfrik waded back to where Yngvar and his men had gathered in the surf. If the ships were fully crewed, Ulfrik would face twenty men or more to his twelve.
“They have pulled in shields and put out dragonheads. They come to fight,” Ulfrik explained to his men, attempting to keep the quaver from his voice.
Yngvar scowled and spat into the cold surf. “They’ve sniffed out our treasure. Could be the ship that followed us a few days ago.”
Ulfrik had no time to consider that. A plan cobbled together in his mind. Already regaining his confidence, Ulfrik said, “There’s no time to meet them at sea and we can’t get the treasure hidden or out of the ship. We must either retreat or make a stand here.”
The younger men without families growled at the mention of retreat, but Ulfrik sensed most would have preferred to run. “We worked too hard for this. The gods are with us, men. Believe that. You,” he said, pointing to one of the younger men, “go send the women and children to Thor’s hall. Then come back and join me on the beach. The rest of you listen to me.”
The man set off running while Ulfrik shared his plan. Yngvar and some of the men would hide beneath the leather tarpaulin that covered the treasure on the boat. The other nine, including Ulfrik, would line up at the edge of the shoreline, and surrender. Lastly, he turned to Snorri. “Prove to me you are still good with your hunting bow. Fetch it from the ship and take a position on the rocks nearby. We have to break their will to fight, and you must do it for me. When I call your name, send shaft after shaft into their leader until he is dead. If you cannot kill him, kill his second. Keep them confused, and join us when your arrows are done.”
The men nodded and Ulfrik grinned, relishing the cunning of his plan. Ulfrik would keep most of the raiders occupied in the surf, where footing was less certain. Yngvar would surprise any raiders who tried to steal the treasure. Ulfrik hoped to look just weak enough to be enticing, but not so weak he looked like bait.
The men took up their positions as black smudges of boats appeared through the fog. They resolved into the familiar, curved forms of longboats and came on quietly, slipping through the waves. Had Troke not spotted them, Ulfrik would have been taken unaware. When the ships closed on the shore, the oars banked and silhouettes appeared at the prows. One man, probably the leader, stood on the railing, gripping the neck of the dragon-headed prow. The ships seemed well cared for. These raiders are not desperate, Ulfrik thought. I hoped as much. Desperate men are harder to dishearten.
The ships glided straight for Ulfrik and his line of nine men, who had pulled together their shields but had not had time to don mail or leather. The ships veered right, putting ashore down the beach. Ulfrik adjusted his line, keeping the shields facing the boats, and anchored his left side to the Wave Spear. The ship closest to them held twelve men, most of whom carried bows with arrows already strung. The second ship was obscured by the first as the men disembarked. Ulfrik’s heart hammered out its own doubts about his plan. Ten more men emerged, each bearing a shield and clad in leathers and furs for armor. The leader wore a mail coat and a leather helmet.
Snorri remained hidden; Ulfrik hoped he could get a clear shot. With a mail coat in the way, the arrow would have to be guided by Odin himself.
Both groups assembled. Ulfrik’s thin line faced a jumble of ten men, all backed by archers on the other boat.
When the time comes, we’ll fall back behind Wave Spear, he mentally consoled himself, counting on the fact that he and his men fought for their homes while the raiders fought only for profit. His hope was to break the raiders’ will to fight.
The leader, a bronze-skinned man with a face weathered by life at sea, turned his dark eyes to Ulfrik and then to the sacks and boxes further up the beach. He drew his sword. “Who’s the leader of this sorry group?” he croaked, his voice hoarse.
Up close, Ulfrik could see the man’s mail was rusted and his sword, notched and dull. His dark beard was short and patchy, as if had been burned away and grown back wrong.
Ulfrik spat at the man in answer. Holding to the line, Ulfrik kept his expression blank-to reveal neither confidence nor fear-and held the man’s dark stare. A man fears not knowing the mind of his enemy, he thought, and in this case, the dark-eyed leader seemed irritated. He stepped forward, as Ulfrik had hoped.
“I am Koll and these are my men. Up there is Toki, with his crew.” Koll hitched his thumb at another dark-haired man who stood on the rail of the closest ship. Toki waved and his seven archers laughed. A few spearheads bobbed behind him-the rest of his crew preparing to disembark. “So do you just spit, or do you have a name?”