23: WEST ACROSS THE WATER
Bright sunlight fell on Sogn-fjord. Dozens of noisy, grey-winged gulls circled in the warm west wind, high up over the choppy blue-green water. The air smelled of salt-water, spring-thawed soil and fish. It was the first good weather of the sailing season. The tide was flowing west.
Halfdan and seventy-four Fjordane-fighters gathered on the Sogndal docks. Nearby were three expensive-looking and modern war-ships. The ship-builders in Sogndal were more advanced than those in Eid; knowing new, better ways to carve and fasten the oak-pieces. The lines of the long-ships flowed smoothly from bow to water-line to stern. These were the best-looking ships Halfdan had seen -- the finest of King Njal's fleet. Each was longer than twelve men lying end-to-end. When seen from the front, each war-ship was shaped like the edge of an giant ax. When seen from above, the war-ships had the shapes of fast fish. Viewed from the side, each war-ship was the shape of a quarter-moon or a smiling mouth.
Piles of cloth-wrapped sail-masts and bundles of oars and boxes full of supplies covered the oak-plank decks. The tips of the bow-posts were covered with leather bags. Each of the bow-posts was carved into the shape of a crow's head, to frighten evil sea-spirits, and it was very bad luck for these decorations to be shown at home. On the deck of one ship -- it was the biggest one, with the name "Wave-Jumper" -- were two wooden cages, each holding a raven. These big, black-feathered birds sat on perches, intelligently looking around. One of the ravens watched the grey-feathered gulls screeching above. The other one caught a hornet that was buzzing in its cage, crunching the unlucky bug in its beak.
Each ship carried fire-blackened iron pots for cooking dinners on shore. While on the sea, it was usually too wet, windy and dangerous to use fire.
The men standing on the docks wore layers of heavy wool under butter-smeared linen coats. Each of them had lugged along a big wooden sea-box -- the only thing, other than weapons, that they were allowed to bring on board -- holding clothes, blankets, pillows, snacks, jars of booze, combs, jewellery, face-paint, musical instruments, chess-boards and idols.
Twenty-five men stepped from the dock onto each war-ship. When the sail of a war-ship was down, twenty of the men would row, five pairs of rowers a side. A steersman (who ruled the ship) stood at the stern. A look-out stood by the bow. The three other non-rowers would bail water from the ship-bottom and replace any rower who needed a break.
The spear-shaped oars were each longer than three men lying end-to-end. The oars for the men at the raised front and rear of the ship were the longest, because the water-line was a farther reach. For the same reason, the rowers at the front and the rear of the war-ship were usually the tallest men.
Men sat on their sea-boxes to row. When Halfdan yelled, "Open the holes!" each rower removed a wood disk from an oar-hole. During rowing, these disks dangled under the oar-holes on short leather strings. There were slits on both sides of the oar-holes, so that the blades of the oars could fit through. The rowers now all shoved their oars out and let oar-blades splash down, then float on the rippled, sun-reflecting surface.
Wincing from a hangover, Halfdan roared, "Get ready! Three! Two! One! Pull!"
Sixty men heaved back.
"Pull!"
Sixty oars carved into the swirling water.
"Pull!"
Three war-ships jerked away from the docks. The small crowd of watching Sogn-folk cheered. (It was not clear whether they were cheering at the skill of the rowers or the fact that they were leaving town.)
The almost-flat bottomed ships floated high on the sunny fjord. Even with sails down, the gusty west-blowing wind helped them move.
When out of sight of Sogndal, the leather bags were taken off the bow-posts. The carved, painted crow-heads glared at the water ahead. No evil sea-spirits would now dare to attack these ships.
In the middle of each deck was a big block of oak, solidly fastened to the keel and side-ribs below. These blocks were called "old ladies," and each had a hole for a mast-post. Half of the men on each ship kept rowing, while the others worked together to erect a mast-post and slide it in an old lady. This was dangerous, as the ships were imbalanced while the masts were being raised, and a big wave hitting a ship's side then could topple it. The base of the mast was held tightly in the old lady by another heavy, carved block of oak called a "father-in-law".
Now the raising of the sails. Each woollen sail had been woven and stitched by women, and was by far the most expensive piece of equipment on each ship. Each sail had taken a group of Sogn-women months to make. As was then fashionable, the sails on these three war-ships had vertical stripes of red and white.
Oiled ropes made of walrus-skin were attached to the sails and snaked through holes in blocks of wood attached to the deck. Men grabbed the knotted ends of the rope to yank the sails up the mast posts. The wind stretched the sails, to cheers.
"No more rowing!"
The ships sliced forward with a faster speed. Oars were pulled back in and placed onto racks to dry.
Men sat on their painted sea-boxes, resting, some drinking water or beer.
Venn, scheming, watched Halfdan.
How to get revenge and escape?
The war-ships sped west along the blue-green tongue of sea-water, as Sogn-fjord led them between the snow-topped mountains to north and south. Square farms patterned the strips of shore-land. Sometimes they passed flocks of sheep or cows or goats, grazing on green patches of new-sprouted plants. (The beasts looked thin; last fall's harvest had been bad, and the underfed farm-beasts had barely survived the winter.) Sometimes the war-ships passed a small fishing-boat. The fishermen would put down their nets and hook-lines to watch the fleet sail by. A boat full of fishermen was watching when the famous war-chief of Fjordane and Sogn, sea-sick, leaned his curly head over the side of Wave-Jumper and threw his breakfast into the fjord.
When the three war-ships reached the mouth of Sogn-fjord, they steered south-west into the open sea. The look-out on Wave-Jumper pointed to the north and yelled, "A ship to the right!" After a quick glance, Halfdan did not pay attention to the approaching civilian ship; he could not have known that it was carrying Yngvild to him.
As they sailed south-west, the familiar mountains of Norway sank into the horizon behind them. Halfdan looked at the grey and brown masses, with snow shining white on high slopes, and felt an urge to tell the steersman to turn the ship around; that it was wrong to leave home for this adventure.
Soon the highest mountain sank away, and there was nothing but water on all sides. This was the first time that most of these men had sailed out of sight of land. Halfdan had never done it before. Some of the fighters mumbled nervous prayers to the gods and/or the sea-spirits; others fingered idols hanging from neck-strings.
On their third night on the open ocean, a strong storm hit from the north. Rain pelted down; wind wailed, changing directions at random. Rain-water and spray-water and leak-water started filling the ship-bottoms. Men had to constantly scoop up water and dump it overboard. Everybody was soaked and cold and miserable. The look-out on Wave-Jumper claimed to see a group of beautiful, shining women riding on winged horses through the thunder-clouds and bolts of lightning -- "a flock of Valkyries must be following us!" Some believed him, some didn't.
Just before morning, the storm passed.
The steersmen guided the ships by the wind and sun and stars, as well as by sea-birds and sea-weed and clouds and fog and water-colour and fish-patterns.
They were still sailing south-west, as the old pirate had said. But the storm had blown them an unknown distance south.
"You're sure that this is the way to Pictland?" Halfdan asked.
The steersman of Wave-Jumper said frankly, "No, not at all. We could check for land with a raven?"
"Fine," Halfdan said.
Ravens were useful to navigation. They could fly very high and had excellent sight. They could see land from very far away, and (being land-birds) would always immediately fly towards it.
The steersman moved a raven-cage to the middle of the deck.
"AWK!" said the raven. Its smart, honey-yellow eyes glittered as it moved its black head side to side, studying at the men on the deck.
"Odin guide us," the steersman said, opening the door of the cage. The bird hopped out onto the deck. It stretched its wide dark wings. "AWK! AWK!" Then it hopped up and flapped its wings, rising high and higher into the cloudless sky, until it was a tiny dark dot. It flew straight west.
"So the closest land is that way," the steersman said. "But there's no way to know if it's Pictland or not. The storm could have blown us far past Pictland. We can follow the raven west, find out where he's going, or we can keep sailing south-west, as that Sogn-pirate told us to do. What do you say?"
Halfdan said, "Follow the raven."