I have many recurring themes in these stories. Some of you have even been good enough to comment on many of them but one of the ones that I keep returning to is the subject of what it's like to wait before action is due to start.
I've even talked about this repeated theme before as well.
But that moment of stillness that exists before the fight begins, before the monster emerges from it's lair. Before the bandits attack or before the weapons are drawn. I've share this moment with others too. Most commonly Kerrass but also with Sam and Mark as we sat waiting for Jack to show himself, or for the attack against the cultists to commence. It is a moment of purest reflection and the greatest fear where you realise that, very shortly, you might be dead or worse.
I have waited for these things so often that it almost starts to become repetitive. I have been told by more than one person that if the waiting ever stops being scary then I should turn for home. Privately I think I'm already a long way past the point at which I should have hung up my spear and turned for home but we do the things that we do for a reason.
There was a difference this time though. This time I was in brotherhood with a group of men and one woman as we all sat and watched Helfdan write in his journal.
He just sat there. Sat comfortably in the falling snow, resting his back against a tree, his legs stretched out in front of him with his journal open on his knees and a piece of charcoal in his hand. I was absolutely astonished. Not for the first time and by no means was it the last time that Lord Helfdan defied my expectations but there he was. As relaxed as a man that was sitting beside his own hearth with a hot drink next to his elbow, children long to bed and wife sat next to him.
He was even smiling. A slow, slight smile to be sure but it was a smile nonetheless on what was normally a calm and expressionless face.
He wrote slowly, carefully picking the words out on the page, He looked serene. At peace. There was absolutely nothing about his attitude at all that suggested that we were all ready to visit unspeakable violence on those men who meant to do us harm.
We had left the dockside at a fairly brisk pace. The road between the harbour and the temple was well travelled and we moved relatively easily despite the first flurries of snow that were beginning to fall. I will admit that I quite like snow, although I will also admit that I much prefer liking snow from behind a glass window, the stone of a castle wall with a warm fire at hand. But I do like snow. There is a peacefulness to it as it falls gently onto the ground. In settling it seems to deaden the sound around it as thought he entire world is falling asleep and the snow turns into the blanket of soft wool that it looks like.
Kerrass disagrees of course. He is of the opinion that no sane person would be out of doors when the snow is falling and likes to grumble and complain about getting wet. About the cold seeping into joints and promoting sleep and fatigue where none should exist. Ciri seemed to share his views but as we marched along I was looking about myself with interest and wonder.
We were moving along a wooded path that had been carved out by wagons and horses rather than by any kind of conscious road building. On our left the ground sloped upwards towards the mountain that forms the centre of the island whereas on our right, there was a a slope down before you got to a much smaller fishing harbour. But as we got further and further in land the path rose until we reached a ridge and the land started to rise again on our right before the road started to slope down again.
As the road started to slope down a bit more I saw a scout return to Svein to whisper in his ear. I didn't see who it was but the man was small and carried an unstrung bow so it was almost certainly Perrin. The Scout ran ahead again, moving through the snowy undergrowth with a speed that I envied and Svein moved to walk beside Helfdan who was carefully holding his cloak around himself to protect himself from the snow and the cold.
“Here then.” Helfdan said looking around himself.
“Yes.” Svein responded as though Helfdan had asked a question. “Just ahead the road forks with one road heading down to the temple and the other moving off to the other villages. Rymer will know that we will take this road to get back to the harbour. So he will set an ambush here.”
Helfdan was nodding but I got the feeling that he had stopped listening a little while ago.
“He will hide his troops around the ridge and just beyond it so that we can't see him.” Svein continued. “He will wait until we are approaching the summit which is when we will be at our most tired before he attacks.”
Helfdan shrugged. “Have you found your site yet?”
“Not yet.”
Helfdan nodded as Svein strode off.
“Are we in danger?” I asked Helfdan.
“Hmm? Oh, not really. Rymer is an impatient man and will not do well in these circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
Helfdan didn't look at me. “Time is running short.”
I couldn't seem to get much more out of him and returned to the conversation between Ciri and Kerrass.
“So you don't think it's the Dutchman?” Ciri was asking. She didn't sound angry but I thought that there might be a tone to her voice that added it a certain edge.
“The Dutchman?” Kerrass asked, tugging his already tight cloak even tighter around himself. “Of all of the stories that you told us... Which one was the Dutchman?” He smiled slightly to take some of the sting out of his words.
“I don't follow.” I put in.
“It was a fascinating account that Ciri gave us the other night.” Kerrass told us. “But one of the things that was kind of clear to me was that there were many ships that could be described as being “Dutchmen”. As well as people that are called “Dutchmen”. For instance, the term “Flying Dutchman”, did that mean the ship or the Captain that commanded it?”
“It's not a new question,” Ciri admitted.
“If I had to guess.” Kerrass went on. “I would say that this world that Ciri spoke about has many different ghost ships. But that they all get called “The Flying Dutchman” because no-one knows which ship they are referring to. Many ships were lost at sea yes?” He asked Ciri.
“Oh yes. Storms, pirates and things.”
“Well then I would suggest that more than a few, or just that one, were lost to curses or other supernatural means. That the stories of these losses were limited in order to keep the crews sailing without giving into the fear and superstition that Ciri spoke of in the sailors. That this.... VOC told everyone that such ghost ships do not exist and because the VOC told them that they didn't exist then everyone believed them.”
Ciri sighed. “I thought I might have an answer there.”
“I think you do.” Kerrass told her. “Just not the answer. We know which world the ship comes from. We can confirm that it comes from another world and that it is what their world would refer to as a “Dutchman”. But is it the Dutchman, let alone the Flying one. I am less certain. In the story you told, the apparition glowed with a red light. We do not know, so we are forced to assume that that red light and the heat effects is that world's equivalent of the green ghost light. But in that story, the light comes from the ship as well as the sailors. It seemed to you as though the sailors were within the glow, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But in our Skeleton Ship's case. We know that the Ship itself is solid and that it behaves according to the laws of the sea that it sails on. Other than the laws of ice. Whereas the ghost ship that you saw was sailing against the wind?”
“And against prevailing currents too.”
“So I will admit that I don't think that it's the same ship. I think it was from the same world, even from the same... nation. But I don't think it was the same ship.”
“I really thought I was onto something there.”
“And you were.” Kerrass turned to me. “What's happening?”
“Svein and Helfdan think that we are going to be ambushed.”
“Probably a pretty safe bet. What do they plan on doing?”
“Damned if I know.”
“The road forks just up here.” Ciri told us.
We swung round and trotted a bit further along the path. At some point there had been some kind of subsidence in the road and the road had slipped. This must have happened years ago but it meant that there was a large embankment on one side. You could climb it, little more than six or seven feet tall but it didn't look particularly stable and you would have to jump to reach the tree who's roots were running along the edge of the grass.
This, plus the fact that the snow was really beginning to settle now. Svein stopped and moved to the side of the road where he stood and looked at it for a while. Then he nodded to himself and rejoined the column of men.
“I have a place,” he told Helfdan who merely nodded at the news.
We reached the temple of Freya. As it turned out, it was a cave. I don't know what I was expecting really, but whatever it was that I was expecting, that wasn't it. Some kind of massive hall I suppose but in the end it was a cave. The Priestesses were welcoming enough. They greeted Ciri like a long lost Grand-daughter, treated Kerrass with a kind of affectionate contempt and Helfdan with a strange, measured kind of respect. It was as though the way they thought of him was that he was clever. That he did well for himself despite his obvious short comings.
Those shortcomings seemed to be the fact that he was a man rather than anything else. He took it with good grace and asked for something warm for his men to eat and drink.
I was greeted accordingly and the rest of the men, including Svein who recognised one of the Priestesses who might have been an Aunt or cousin or something, were largely ignored unless they had something specific to say. Svein busied himself by setting sentries out. But this was different to how I have normally seen him set sentries. As I think I've said, normally he would say that the art of setting sentries is that a sentry should see without being seen. But this time, the men stood in the open. Still in places where they could easily be seen.
“Are we not in danger of being attacked?” I asked Svein. “If they see that we are here...?”
“Nah,” he told me. “Rymer would not dare risk the wrath of the Priestesses even though more than one Priestess would cheerfully see us all dead. Also, from a military perspective, we would just retreat into the cave. No, if he wants to kill us, which he probably does, then he will want to make sure that no-one survives which means an ambush in the open.”
“So how do we defeat him?”
“We ambush him instead.” He grinned at me, a man happy in his work.
“But, if he's waiting out there and we're over here then....”
“Are you not the one who says that you should always leave things to the Professionals?” Svein asked me. “Let me worry about that. Believe me when I say that he will come to us and walk into our trap. I'm much better at this than Rymer is.”
He whistled as he walked off.
All told, we got to the Temple at about mid afternoon. I wasn't allowed into the temple and I shouldn't really have been surprised by that. They let Ciri in though and I was grateful that I had thought that she should come along. For that reason if for no other reason than that. The rest of us set up a camp all around the cave that the temple was kept in.
We really dug in as well. Not in providing defences, we dug no trenches but I was astonished to learn that we absolutely intended to stay the night.
“But it's getting colder.” I protested to Ivar as I helped to put up one of the tents that the Priestesses had provided for us.
“It is at that,” the old man complained genially. “It's going to get colder too. I can feel it in my bones. Nothing makes my bones ache quite as much as when there's cold weather coming.” He considered this for a moment, “maybe rain. But cold really makes them ache.”
“Yes, but, we're waiting here rather than heading back to town.” I protested.
“That's right.”
“Why?”
“Dunno.” The older man scratched under his arm-pit. “Safer for a start I suspect. No-one's going to attack us here otherwise the Priestesses will 'ave em. All of this tactical nonsense is a bit above my head anyway. You'd be better off talking to Svein.”
But Svein was busy. Stomping about and shouting at people. Giving instructions to people that didn't need to be told what to do. It seemed odd to my eyes. He never did this normally. He gave people their instructions and then trusted them to get on with it. This level of micromanagement seemed.... off.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Hmm?” He looked startled, as though I had pulled him out of his thinking. “Oh. Uhhh. I dunno. Make yourself useful. Look bored. Do some training or something.”
“But why?”
He gazed at me levelly. “Would I tell you how to write a book?” He asked me before turning to stomp off.
Kerrass had heard the comment about training though and took advantage of that so that the two of us could go through our paces. The cold and forced inactivity of the sea voyage had left my limbs feeling stiff and uncomfortable and I was grateful for the warmth of the activity. Kerrass too, it looked like.
We camped there for the night in the tents. Although the Priestesses wouldn't allow us within the temple sanctuary itself, they brought us food and drink out. They sat and chatted with us, made us laugh and told us some more stories. They were reluctant to talk of anything too political and certainly disapproved of too many questions. But they told funny stories of the doings and business of local villages and their folk.
I remember sleeping fairly well that night although I hadn't thought that I would manage that. I had thought that the treat of danger and the pressure of time would keep me awake.
One of the Priestesses told me that it was the peace of the Goddess that I felt. I told her that I couldn't answer to that.
Once again I was astonished as we utterly failed to get up and start moving in the morning. The activity and urgency that I had expected was utterly lacking in the movements of the people around me and in the end I will admit to losing my temper a little bit. Hunting out Svein who I found sat with Helfdan who was examining a map of the Skelligan isles.
“Ok.” I told them. “I'll bite. I thought we were running out of time.”
“We are.” Svein told me. “So?”
“So why are we waiting here?”
He grinned at me. “Not very good at waiting are you.” He glanced up as Helfdan rose to his feet and took the map over to the entrance of the cave where Kerrass was doing some sword training. I saw the Skelligan wait calmly until Kerrass had finished before he showed Kerrass the map and the two men talked.
“Actually,” I began. “I am very good at waiting. I have done it many many times. But I do not enjoy it. Nor do I enjoy it when I do not know what I am waiting for or what the purpose of the entire situation is.”
Svein laughed and clapped me in the shoulder.
“You are right. We are running out of time. But we are not alone in that. Rymer is also running out of time. He's what we would call a Fair weather Raider. He will only attack a place if he knows it's going to be an easy fought battle. He out-numbers us and he knows it. But he also knows that the Skeleton Ship is coming right?”
“Yes, so?”
“So he's the kind of man that wants to get all his chores done and out of the way so that he can be curled up in his own bed with a nice warm woman before winter starts, do you follow?”
“ummm....”
“So he's under orders to destroy us. He knows that we're good, so he has set an ambush. If he chooses the site of the fight then he has the advantage so we must remove that advantage from him and draw him out of his site. He knows where we are. His men are watching us even now. No, don't turn around. Now gently shift your weight and look out of the corner of your right eye.”
I did as I was told.
“You see that rabbit?”
I did. It was a small brown thing on the edge of the trees just below a small ridge.
“There is no way a rabbit should be out and about in this weather. It should be below ground where it's warm. That means that Rymer has a scout watching us.”
“How many?”
“Just one. Perrin's watching him now. So Rymer knows where we are. He knows the route we have to take to get back to the Wave-Serpent. So right now, he's out there, waiting. Freezing his nuts off. His men are with him. Also wondering why he doesn't just attack us. I mean, obviously we know that Rymer wouldn't risk attacking us when we're with the Priestesses but the mercenaries and the soldiers don't know that. They're cold, bored and thinking of their own women and homes.
“So put yourself in his boots. He's been out there, camping in the cold in case we come back in the dark. He gets a report that we're still at the temple. Why? He doesn't know. What could we possibly be doing there. Do we know something he doesn't? what is going on? All the time, the skeleton ship is getting closer and closer and the weather is getting worse and worse and if he stays here much longer then he runs the risk of having to sail through icy water, stormy seas or worse, begging hospitality off clan Heymaey. After having to explain to that clan as to his intention of assaulting another Skelligan on the sacred isle. So what would you do in his position?”
“I would send a scout. To check what's going on.”
“So would I. Scouts in these situations work in pairs. There's one watching us. The other has reported back last night. The watcher will be relieved at some point this morning so that the one who stayed over night can go back, report and get some rest. That's what we're waiting for.”
“What happens then?”
“Wait and see.” He grinned. He reminded me of a street corner sleight of hand artist asking me if I had any change I could spare for a magic trick. Promising me faithfully that the money would be returned to me.
So we waited.
Kerrass and I trained a little bit more which was when I learned that the Priestesses didn't know anything else of any kind of use. They told us that there was nothing in any of the local Elven ruins that pertained to the Skeleton Ship. They also told us that they supported our efforts to dismiss, destroy or otherwise exorcise the poor souls that were trapped aboard the ship and they also told us some other places where we could look. It turned out that their maps of Skellige, especially when it came to things like the locations of Elven ruins were much more comprehensive than anything else we could have found. They also told us how we could make contact with the Ice giants and the rumoured location of the last bastion of the Vodyanoi amongst the islands.
I struggled not to feel too disappointed but Kerrass took it in his stride.
“This is how it goes sometimes Freddie, you know that.” He told me as he led me over to an open area which we were using for training.
“I do, in all fairness I do, but dammit, couldn't it be a bit easier sometimes? You know, for varieties sake?”
He chuckled at me.
We trained, which was when I learned that Ciri was waiting inside the temple as part of the ruse to let Rymer and his crew know that we weren't moving.
Then it all happened.
A piercing whistle came out over the small hollow and the men of the Wave-Serpent leapt into action. Kerrass and I went with them. The tents were taken down, our goods packed and everything had been left as close to as if we had never been there. I mean, not quite but it was as close as it could be.
I packed up my things and then we were moving off through the undergrowth. Ivar gave me a pair of shoes that looked like large plates, or the kind of grilles that prospectors use to sift gold out of riverbeds and I was instructed how to strap them to my feet. Snow shoes he called them and they did indeed work in helping me move across the open snow fields as we headed into the trees. We didn't need them for long though. In amongst the trees, the going got steadily easier until we could move quickly and quietly. Our trailblazer, a man who I hadn't met called Kunnr led us to our own proposed ambush site. Svein placed us carefully so that we could not be seen and drilled us on what would happen. Kerrass, Ciri, myself and Helfdan would wait at the back.
“Not that I don't think that any of you can fight.” Svein told us. “But because we need to overwhelm them with coordination and we haven't really done that much fighting together so... Plug a gap if you need to but...”
“It won't come up.” Helfdan was settling down and making himself comfortable. “The fight won't last long.”
Ciri shrugged, rolled herself up in her blanket and, much to my astonishment, went to sleep. Kerrass grinned at my reaction and sat to meditate, leaving me to watch Helfdan work at his journal.
So we waited. Doing all the things that you do when you have to wait in the peace and quiet. Kerrass meditated, Ciri slept and I fretted.
The men seemed as though they were mostly used to this. They maintained their weapons and put their armour on. I was struck with a similarity between them and Sir Rickard's bastards in the way that they all waited. They seemed to play the same games and tell similar stories.
I went to find Svein.
“So what's happening now?”
He took a deep breath. He was sat, near his master and in a similar pose although where Helfdan was sat with his legs stretched out and comfortable, Svein was like a coiled spring. Like a Cat ready to pounce. He leant his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
“Right now, Rymer is wondering what we could possibly still be doing at the shrine. It will not have occurred to him that we might still be there or that we could still be going through any of the ceremonies and things that the Priestesses sometimes demand. Instead he will fret. What has he forgotten? What could we be doing? All the questions will be running through his head. All the questions that he has already asked himself a thousand times before and will ask himself a thousand times again before all is said and done.
“But his men are getting fractious now and the small voice in the back of his head will be wondering if something has gone wrong. What if we've found his scout, what if we've gone a different direction. What if we've skirted round him and are recovering the Wave-Serpent a different way. What if we are even being picked up by another ship and are leaving the Wave-Serpent here.”
His eyes opened slightly as he looked at me. “Not that we ever would of course but that will be occurring to him. He does not love his ship the way we love ours.”
He closed his eyes again.
“After a while he will start to doubt the initial report of the first scout. He will summon the poor man from his bed roll and start haranguing the man for answers. What were we doing? What was the Swallow doing? How did we behave and above all, he will ask why we haven't left yet?
“The scout can't answer of course. So Rymer will lose his temper and send another scout.”
He fell into silence.
“So?” I prompted.
Svein held up a finger.
I could hear hoof beats coming down the road and heading off in the direction of the temple.
Helfdan was still writing, carefully scratching out the words on to the paper. I looked over at Kerrass and realised that he was also watching Helfdan.
Ciri snored quietly.
“What can have happened?” Svein muttered quietly. “Where the fuck have they all gone? Where has the man gone that I was supposed to meet? The scout will have a quick look around, he might even ask the Priestesses who will simply tell the scout that we have left and that they don't know where we've gone. Now the scout has a problem. Will he return to face Rymer's wrath and confusion. Or does he properly look for us. Rymer is not a patient man though and likes to know what's going on so....”
The hoof beats approached again, this time going the other way.
“Now Rymer will be angry. He will demand answers from the second scout before his anger and fear will overwhelm him. Then, rather than waiting he will lose his temper and come to see for himself.”
“When?”
“Watch Helfdan.”
I did as I was told.
Here's the thing that was freaking me out about it. I write a lot. I make my living by writing. Yes, I could just sit back on my heels and let Emma pay my way with all of the proceeds from the trading company but a small and perverse part of me wants to make my own way in the world. So I spend a lot of time, sitting at desks or at tables in corners of taverns, setting my thoughts down on paper.
But here's the thing. In order to do any of that, I need a certain amount of distance from the subject. As I write these words I am several days away from the time that the events occurred, writing from brief notes that I made in shorthand during some forced inactivity.
But another thing is that I need peace and quiet. Not just in my surroundings but also a certain peace and quiet of mind. I need to be calm and collected in order to do the work and even then, I find that procrastination is my biggest problem. I keep finding other things to do, sharpening my quill, stirring my ink, checking a source or something so that when I actually get down to the writing, hours can have passed between when I actually sat down to start to write and actually setting the first words to paper.
But I certainly couldn't have sat and written anything down while I was waiting for a fight to start. It was as though....
Kerrass has this trick where he can just put everything else aside and focus on the task at hand. He uses this to focus on the monster that he's hunting so that he's not distracted by other things and he can then pick them up later.
It was as though Helfdan was doing that. There was nothing else that he could do to prepare for the coming fight so he just... did something else.
I remember being told that, in certain circumstances, there is no point worrying about certain things so what's the point in wasting time in doing that worrying. And that is true, but it is also an all but impossible directive. That's the way that the brain works, it likes to pick at problems so telling myself not to worry about these things is like telling my brain that it's ok to actually start worrying about it.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
But Helfdan had the truest approach to that that I've ever seen. There was no point in worrying about things, so he didn't. The enemy would be along in due course, or they wouldn't, so why worry about it?
So he sat there and wrote in his journal.
As I watched, snow started to fall and he didn't notice until a snowflake landed on his forehead. He brushed it off irritably and pulled his cloak around in order to shield the book from the falling snow.
I shook my head in disbelief.
The rest of the men were getting ready, putting armour on and readying weapons. Svein was moving up and down the line himself, positioning the men carefully and with a precision that I found strangely off putting. It was so detailed. Then he would go down to the road and examine the lines where we were all hiding, scanning our hiding places carefully before moving back to his own position.
At some point, he went to a bag and pulled out a plain shirt of chain mail, some leather wrist guards and a plain looking pot helm which he deposited at Helfdan's feet before standing over him and glaring until, with a slightly chastened smile, Helfdan rose from his seated position and put his armour on.
It struck me again, the difference between Helfdan and most of the men and ship's crews that I had seen in Skellige. If you had lined up the crew of the Wave-Serpent in their full battle dress then you would have chosen Svein out to be the Captain. With his large expensive armour, impressively detailed shield and the crested helmet that he used so that his men could easily find him on the battlefield. Or maybe I would have chosen Ursa to be the Lord, with his similarly impressive armour and the bearskin that he had worked into the outfit.
Or even Kunnr. Who I saw in his full armour for the first time and finally understood why he was called Kunnr The Shining as his armour had been polished to a sheen where the sun's glare in the metal made my eyes hurt.
Haakon had the bigger axe. Ivar was older and of an impressive stature. I probably wouldn't even have noticed Helfdan, stood off to one side somewhere with a slight smile, a loose chain shirt and some plain, unadorned wrist guards.
When he was armoured, Helfdan sat back down again and restarted his writing. Apparently without pause.
“Don't worry.” Svein said in my ear making me jump a mile. “I don't know how he does it either.”
We sat and waited. Svein had set a watch so that most of us could withdraw from the road and stomp about a bit to keep warm but that didn't make the waiting any the less tedious. We just sat and waited. And I watched Helfdan.
Then Helfdan stopped. Not abruptly, but more in the kind of way that a person would just finish a thought. Then he carefully wrapped the journal up in the oilskin pouch that he kept it in, in order to keep it dry over longer distances and put it away, then he stood, carefully rubbed some warmth back into his limbs before doing some stretching. I swear to the Holy Fire that he turned and looked to where Svein and I were stood, just before Perrin jogged over to Svein and nodded to him.
Svein gave some signals, waving his hands and making some strange shapes as we moved into position and I stood with Svein as people climbed to their feet and went through the same collection of movements that Helfdan had just finished.
“How did he know?” I asked. “Or rather, I suppose I should start asking whether or not he did know.”
Svein shrugged. “I couldn't tell you. I don't think even he knows the answer. He has no instinct for ground, no talent for tactics or anything of that nature. But he always seems to know when a fight is about to start. We've been in this position more times than I can count. About to jump out at an enemy or about to have an enemy jump out at us and always, absolutely always, he looks up and sniffs the air, or tilts his head like a dog. He might have seen something, or heard something but I soon learned to trust his instincts on that.”
Svein grinned at me. “Don't get me wrong though, I still set scouts and look outs. Just because he's always been right before doesn't mean he'll be right again tomorrow. Keep an eye on him for me would you. For all of his power, grace and poise on the deck of a ship he's as clumsy as fuck on a battlefield. I remain certain that one day, he's going to break his fool neck as he charges a battle line.”
We moved into position and watched as Captain Rymer walked into our trap.
The thing you have to remember about ambushes, is that they work.
I'm the brother of a man that fought in a war and I have known a number of other military men during my time on the road with Kerrass and one of the things that I have learned about tactics is that a well prepared and well executed plan works. Things don't work when something goes wrong. When the person who comes up with the plan is not privy to some small but vital piece of information. Or when the target of the plan, in this case an ambush, is aware that it's about to happen. That's when plans start to go wrong.
The most famous example of this is the Battle of Brenna. Everything about that battle suggests that the Nilfgaardian side should have won. Absolutely everything says that that should be the case. Except it wasn't. Because one of the officers didn't properly scout out the flanks of the Imperial army and as such, the army was unprepared for what was found there.
In short, there is a reason that the people of the Northern Kingdoms called that battle “The miracle of Brenna”.
People are always keen to look down on people that use ambushes. They say that the tactic is dishonourable. I have noticed this several times however I also notice that when those same people have the opportunity, they think absolutely nothing of committing a similarly dishonourable act, thus making true the old saying about “Nothing more honourable than victory”.
But this was a quick ambush on the road. The Wave-Serpent's thirty or so warriors against Captain Rymer's fifty something. We had every advantage. Even though we were outnumbered, we had the high ground. We were able to trap Rymer against the embankment that Svein had spotted earlier. Every one of our troops could fight but many of his were trapped by their fellows meaning that the number advantage was neutralised. Their force was angry and afraid. They had left their own cover and were out in the open. Their force was divided, some men were loyal to Rymer both as a sworn lord and sworn clan member. But the rest of the force were mercenaries.
The tactics were simple. Haakon, tall and terrible with his axe, Sigurd the Fury and Ivar the old, stepped out into the path in front of Rymer's column. They roared a battle-cry and charged towards the enemy. The rear of Rymer's formation heard the challenge and ran up to join in the fight. Svein then led a small shield wall into the back of Rymer's group closing off the road.
So Rymer could not go forward due to the terrifying presence of Haakon, Sigurd and Ivar. But nor could he go backwards. He couldn't go to his left because of the embankment so his only option to break out and outflank either of our formations was to go into the trees on his right.
Which is where the rest of us were waiting.
Kunnr the shining stood up and roared. I still had not met him at this point. He seemed a quiet man most of the time and although companionable and neighbourly he didn't enjoy putting himself forward.
I later learned that he came from an unhappy home and a tragic past. His parents were angry and bitter people, resentful of perceived injustices that they had obviously had nothing to do with. The truth being that their anger and bitterness had driven all friends and potential allies away. They liked to tell people that they were an ancient family of noble heritage but that they were not paid the respect that they had been owed.
Kunnr had a sister that had married into Helfdan's crew by snaring Ursa when he wasn't paying attention, and when a space had opened up on the Wave-Serpent for a fighter, she had sent a message to her brother in an effort to get him away from the poisonous home life that he had been enduring.
Upon his receipt of the message, Kunnr's father had attacked him, calling him traitor and bastard. He had questioned Kunnr's legitimacy and hurled insult and injury at his son until Kunnr had been forced to defend himself and the old man fell dead. Everyone knew what had happened and Kunnr's lord was merciful but the crime of patricide was a dire one, even in defence and Kunnr could no longer stay.
Kunnr had taken his only remaining family heirloom which was the shining armour that gave him his name and journeyed to Helfdan's lands where he had been astonished to find acceptance and kindness. He was a fierce fighter and had that gift that good men have that when he charges into enemy ranks, others tend to follow him and he was rapidly becoming Svein's second in command when it came to land based skirmishing.
Kunnr raised his two axes high in the air and screamed a battle cry before charging down the hill. Such was the power of the moment that Kerrass, Ciri and I followed. Helfdan was with us as well and I just had time to see Perrin and a couple of others appear above the embankment and start shooting arrows down into Rymer's mass of men.
Just in time, before Helfdan tripped over a tree root. It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so desperate. I stopped to help him, afraid that a thrown dart, an axe or maybe an arrow had hit him. But no, he had just managed to find one of the only pieces of root sticking out of the snow.
He waved me on but Svein had been insistent and I stayed with him as he climbed to his feet, brushing the snow off him as he went.
The Skelligan mercenaries that fought for Rymer charged us. Thus proving that Skelligan mercenaries are a different breed to their more mainland cousins. What mercenaries I have seen and met on the continent fall into two different categories, the first is the highly trained, well equipped, highly professional organisations that live and die by their word and are always, always dependable. The other kind is those groups of men who call themselves mercenaries because to call themselves bandits would be a little bit too much on the nose.
These men though, were different. They lacked any kind of coordination. It was more like a group of individuals rather than any kind of unit. This can be said about all kinds of Skelligan fighters but, as an example, most of them fought together under loose kinds of organisation in order to watch each other's backs and being able to support each other.
But these men were desperate. They had something to prove. I asked about it later and apparently it was something to do with the desire to belong to a clan. If a man is a mercenary then they must be clan-less. If they are clan-less and outcast then they must be like that for a reason so they are looking for something in order to prove themselves in order to wash their disgrace away. In this case, if they could take down some of the more famous members of Helfdan's crew, then they could make a name for themselves and be able to command a place for themselves in any ships crew that they could name.
Let alone if they managed to be the person that caught and killed Helfdan himself.
I saw a number of men run to meet Kunnr's charge, his shining armour serving to distract people. A man wearing such armour has to be important after all so killing him must be able to provide fortune and wealth.
Another thing I learned later was that a side-effect of those opportunities where Kunnr had time to put his armour on, people would often mistake him for Helfdan on the grounds that someone who dressed so ostentatiously must be the Lord of the people that they were fighting.
No-one dared to attack the murderous assault of Sigurd, Haakon and Ursa, a large group attempted to break out the back of things and attacked Svein's group at the rear.
A few saw Helfdan stumble and, presumably knowing more about how Helfdan and his people worked, they attacked us. But like me, it would seem that Kerrass and Ciri had been given instructions.
Neither Helfdan or myself had to swing a blow. We were never in any danger. Helfdan even took the time to hang his axe back into the loop on his side and put his sword away. Four men moved to attack Helfdan. They could have brought more and I have no idea why they didn't.
Ciri leapt forward with a rising diagonal cut that slashed at the first man's femoral artery. He had time to realise that he was dying before his legs collapsed under him but Ciri was already past him and engaging her next opponent.
Kerrass had moved alongside her. A man with a shield attacked him trying to drive him back, Kerrass struck at the shield twice with hard slashes. The first blow pushed the shied across his opponents body, the second caught the opposite edge pushing it the other way exposing the man's chest to Kerrass' follow up lunge.
Ciri was playing with a man who was wielding a two handed axe. He had his shield on his back and used his axe with some skill, spinning it in short, murderous patterns that would have made mincemeat of Ciri if he ever got anywhere near her. Instead she just moved aside at the last possible moment. Her movements were small, barely moving at all with her sword hanging by her side almost negligently. Her face was a sneer which turned her beautiful face rather ugly if you ask me. Eventually though the man lost his temper and the swings started to come in more wildly and Ciri simply side-stepped his huge over-handed blow with a half turn and fairly decapitated him.
Kerrass was facing another opponent with a shield but by the time Ciri had finished her opponent it was almost over. I had time to see him push his shoulder into the man's shield which sent him stumbling backwards. Kerrass kicked his sword arm aside and just held the point of his sword at the man's throat. I couldn't see as I could only see Kerrass from the back, but it is easy for me to imagine the slight frown that he would have been wearing as well as the raised eyebrow.
The fallen man let go of his sword and lay there limply. Kerrass reached down and took the long fighting knife from the man's belt before helping him to his feet.
And with that, the fighting seemed to mostly come to a halt. The remainder of Rymer's men had closed up into a circle of shields with their backs to the embankment with those men who couldn't stand in the front raising their shields to cover their fellows from the arrows coming down from above. Helfdan's men were probing it gently but it was clear that things had come crashing down. I saw a couple of injured men on our side but no dead, we had a number of prisoners with maybe a dozen corpses and half as many again injured.
Svein called an order and The Wave-Serpent's fighters pulled back.
“Are you there Helfdan?” Rymer called out after a long moment.
Helfdan took a deep breath and stepped forward. I noticed that Ursa stood next to him with his large shield half raised. Svein was nearby, growling orders to a group of men that looked as though they were getting ready to do something suitably aggressive.
“I'm here Rymer. What do you want?”
“Why did you attack us? We were just on our way to the temple, same as you were.”
“Try again Rymer. You told me that were sailing. You were lying then, or you are lying now. Which is it? Or is it possible that you were lying both times.”
“Not an unfair comment.” Rymer agreed, sounding fairly amicable. “But we all have our orders. You could always tell me how you knew we were coming?”
I saw Ursa smirk but Helfdan didn't react.
“You really must learn to be more patient Rymer.” He said after a while
“Yes, I suppose I must at that. But the ship is coming you know?”
Helfdan didn't answer that.
There was a long pause and I realised that the snow was beginning to fall again.
“What do you want Rymer?”
“Want?” There was a pause. “How about we settle this honourably.”
“You mean a situation where you don't ambush me and I don't ambush you?”
“That's right. We'll try and kill each other like civilised people.”
Helfdan actually laughed at that. “I have you surrounded Rymer. I have archers above you and you know that you cannot hold. I have the backing of the Queen and am aiding other's with a Quest of Blood making my cause as honourable as they come. What could you possibly offer me?”
“All of what you say is true. But you and I both know that you will lose people, maybe even a lot of people. Would you be Ok with that?”
Helfdan looked over at Svein, who shrugged and nodded.
Helfdan thought about this for a moment.
“What are we talking about here?” He called out.
“Well, not being funny but I doubt that Manbreaker is going to let you fight me is he?”
Svein laughed at that.
“Thought not.” Rymer called. “Well my man here is just itching for a crack at that bear of yours. How about it then?”
“A fight of champions?” Helfdan mused.
“Correct. I name Osvald the Quick as my champion.”
Helfdan looked over to where Ursa had sat down. He was filling a pipe with tobacco until Sigurd nudged him with his foot. Ursa looked up to see Helfdan looking at him and shrugged.
“Then I name Ursa the Bear as my champion.”
“Excellent.”
And just like that, Rymer's group of men split apart, weapons were put away and people seemed to sit and relax. Men from both crews called out to friends on the other side, tobacco was shared, drinks were swapped and people seemed to settle in for the coming spectacle. Rymer emerged with the man from the docks who had looked at Ursa so hungrily.
Rymer and Helfdan shook hands and I was, again, struck with the difference between the two.
“Well fought Helfdan.”
“Not me,” Helfdan told him. “It was Svein's plan.”
“It would be,” Rymer grinned.
“What's this all about Rymer? We've tussled in the past but this seems a bit extreme.”
“Oh, you know how it is.” Rymer dodged.
“Not really no.”
Osvald was warming up. He was stretching and moving around, spinning his axe in his hands to the cheering of the men of Rymer's crew and appreciative whistles from the men of the Wave-Serpent. Ursa sat watching him, having lit his pipe.
Svein ordered Perrin to run back to the temple to get some help for the wounded and I bent to help those that I could. There were a couple that were beyond my skill and beyond the help of anyone that would come. A few more that would need more skilled help and I helped patch up one or two more before Helfdan called me back. While I had been working a square had been marked out in the road. It looked to have been measured out by spear lengths, but that could mean anything. A couple of men were going over the ground, doing their best to clear loose stones and snow in order to give the combatants stable ground to work with.
Helfdan was stood with Rymer and another man from Rymer's crew. Kerrass and Ciri were nearby.
“We are discussing the terms of the combat Lord Frederick.” Helfdan told me. “I was hoping that you would act as a neutral witness.”
“He is hardly neutral.” Rymer complained although I don't think he meant it, not really. “After all, it's his quest that's causing all the ruckus.
Helfdan sighed. “If you wish, I could ask his feudal Lord?”
“Oh?”
“Imperial Majesty?” Helfdan shuddered as he called the title. It was almost imperceptible but I was standing next to him as he called.
Ciri stood and once again proved just how quickly she can go from one guise to the other. Despite the blood, snow, sweat and grime that she was covered in, her hair in disarray and shaking a little with combat reaction. She was the Empress again, even just for a moment.
“Well fuck me.” Rymer paled. “I didn't know that she was.... Fuck me sideways.”
Helfdan's eyebrow rose. “Are you sure you don't want to just back out?”
“I really do.” Rymer admitted. “But you know, honour's the thing isn't it.”
“Isn't it always.” Helfdan agreed. “So then.... Is Lord Frederick an acceptable witness?”
Rymer swallowed before looking me in the eye. I could see him forcing himself to be cheerful and to keep his tone light.
“I suppose he'll have to do.” His grin was weak. “Rather that than.... involve....”
“I quite understand.” Helfdan said. Letting the other man off the hook.
“What do I have to do?” There was an aura of formality about the entire thing and it seemed as though things could go badly if I got any of the etiquette wrong.
“It's a lot like being the second in a duel on the continent.” Ciri told me having approached to see what the fuss was. She was back to being the young woman again, travelling companion and fighter. “Except that you're the second to both parties.”
“So I agree rules and terms and things?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged. “Gentlemen then.” I addressed the two waiting Lords. “On the continent it would be the duty of a second to ask if there is any way that violence can be avoided?”
“Duty binds me.” Rymer was unhappy but he spoke formally.
Helfdan just shook his head. I noticed that he was looking me in the eye which I found off-putting. He really does have this piercing blue gaze that seems to look straight through you. It's really quite distracting.
“So the next thing that I have to do is to check with you what the terms of the duel are?”
“To the death.” Rymer's champion Osvald hissed, he was pacing back and forward while glaring his hatred into Ursa. At the time, I meant to try and find out what it was that Ursa had done to earn Osvald's hatred to such an extent, but I never quite managed to get that information out of him. When I thought to wonder, Kerrass suggested that it was simply a matter of wanting to see who was best, that men who make their living out of being the best one on one fighter in the land, always live in the shadow of someone and there is always the need to prove themselves over that person. I was never quite happy with this though. Osvald's feelings seemed to have a certain amount of teeth that I had not felt elsewhere.
Neither Rymer nor Helfdan seemed surprised by the demand and I looked over at Ursa who was lying on his shield picking at his teeth. He saw me looking and shrugged.
“Then what are the rules.” I checked with the two lords. “If I am to make sure that things are done correctly then I should know what that looks like.”
“The two fighters must stay inside the square.” Helfdan told me. “As the duel is to the death then any surrender must be met with a swift death. Prolonging things, toying with your opponent is considered dishonourable.”
“I see,” It says something about a culture that has to put rules into place about that kind of thing. “So, what happens if you both win.”
“What?” Rymer perked up.
“Well, this was to avoid a battle and more death right? What happens if Ursa wins? What happens if Osvald wins?”
“If Osvald wins, then you must call off this quest of yours.” Rymer said promptly, hope showing in his eyes suddenly. “You must return to your halls and stay there until the Skeleton Ship has passed, taking your guests with you.” He seemed to consider the thought. “Yes, I think that that should cover it. Oh, and you owe me a debt of honour. We can work out what it would be later.”
Helfdan looked unsurprised. “Acceptable.” He agreed readily to Rymer's obvious astonishment.
Rymer wasn't the only one who was astonished. I certainly was. So was Svein. Kerrass and Ciri too. Ursa didn't seem to blink, simply lumbering to his feet.
“And if Ursa wins?” I prompted after a moment where everyone just looked at each other and blinked rather stupidly.
“Oh,” Helfdan seemed startled. “Ummm. Well, I would have asked a few questions about who was trying to have me killed before...” His forehead creased in thought. “I think that you and all of your men would need to consider yourselves my prisoners. It would have gone that way if we had won anyway so...”
Rymer paled a little. “But...” His voice petered out as Helfdan just gazed at him evenly.
I don't know... I am trained in continental matters of etiquette and politics and political manoeuvring. But there is more than a small possibility that what had just happened was that because Helfdan had not complained or tried to bargain against the terms of the duel, then it would make Rymer appear cowardly if he complained about anything. It also showed Helfdan's utter confidence in his champion as well as some other subtleties that I suspect I am too continental to entirely understand.
Just in case there was any doubt in anyone's mind. Anyone that tries to claim that Skelligans are uneducated, uncultured barbarians is just plain wrong. Stop trying to hold different people and different cultures to your standard and perhaps we will all get along that little bit better.
But anyway....
“Very well.” Rymer finally agreed.
Rymer's man Osvald was doing some sword movements. The kind of thing that Kerrass and Ciri do, in an effort to loosen up his muscles in the morning. The difference being that Osvald was clearly doing them too quickly for that purpose and his gaze never left Ursa's face. Ursa was watching him with an expression somewhere between amusement and the kind of expression you see when an acrobat is watching another acrobat doing a routine. There is an appreciation for a shared art there but also a sense of waiting for the other man to get out of the way so that he could get on with things.
“Is there anything else?” I asked. Perrin had returned with a couple of Priestesses from the temple who had bent to work over the wounded. I noticed that one of the men was given something to drink to ease his journey into the next world and a couple of men were putting together a stretcher in order to get some of the worse wounded back to the temple.
“No,” Helfdan grunted, moving out of the square.
“No, time to get this over with.” Rymer agreed and moved to the other side of the square.
Osvald moved into the middle. Ursa rolled his shoulders and stepped in opposite him.
“Are you ready?” I asked the two men.
Osvald swung his sword through the air from left to right. He did it hard, making the air whistle. The effort to intimidate his opponent was so blatant that it was almost amusing. Then he nodded at me.
Ursa seemed more concerned about the placement of his feet, properly making sure that he was settled and firm on them. Then he rested his large war hammer over his shoulder and lifted his shield into place before also turning to nod at me.
Event to me, a scholar and occasional fighter. The result was a foregone conclusion. I knew who was going to win and I suspect that I was not the only one given the way that Rymer turned away and shook his head a little.
I never found out why Osvald was so determined to fight Ursa though.
“Then begin.” I said formally and got out of the way.
Osvald leapt forward, sword flashing in a murderous arc. Just before it was due to strike out at Ursa, it change direction in an effort to come under Ursa's shield, aiming for a blow at Ursa's leg, similar to the blow that Ciri had used earlier.
Ursa barely moved, just shifting his shield a little to accommodate the change of direction of the attack.
Osvald launched into a flurry of blows, striking this way, that way, from every direction possible as well as a few directions that weren't possible. And still Ursa just didn't move. He was like a rock, standing before the onslaught of the ocean.
Osvald was fast, I will give him that. Certainly faster than me. He was a fine warrior but over time, I could visibly see him beginning to run out of ideas. Ursa had barely moved during the entire fight, just small adjustments of his shield to deflect the other man's attacks in one direction or another. Sometimes using the rim of his shield to keep things off centre. Other than that, he didn't move.
Then I saw the moment that it began to register in Osvald's face. He paled slightly, I don't think he did much more than that. Maybe his eyes got a little wilder and a little wider. His blows started to become a little wilder, a little less precise and for the first time during the entire fight. Ursa moved.
It was like watching a big man stretch. After he's finished his drink of an evening and stands up to stretch before going on his way. His hammer came off his shoulder and swung a huge over arm blow at Osvald. It was not a fast blow. Nor was it particularly strong, but the huge metal head of his hammer made Ursa's blow strong. Terrifyingly so.
Osvald took the blow on his shield. I don't know but I suspect that this was a mistake. The shield wobbled and Osvald staggered backwards. He was off his own rhythm now and his shield was not where it was supposed to be. Not where he wanted it to be. He had time to look up and realise that another hammer blow was heading for him.
And I saw Osvald's despair.
He lifted his shield into the way. This time there was the sound of splintering wood as the hammer broke through the face of the shield leaving a visible dent. Osvald took another step backwards, swinging his sword in an effort to drive Ursa back.
But Ursa took the blow's on his shield while his hammer rose and fell again.
Another blow into the shield. This time the crack was more audible.
Osvald realised that he was about to fall out of the square. He shifted to one side and tried to attack Ursa again, hurling himself, the remnants of his shield and his sword into Ursa.
And quite literally bounced off him. Ursa swung his weapon across his body, forcing Osvald back again. The exchange had left him room to move back into the circle. But Ursa was coming after him. Ursa was slow, plodding along. The blows were inexorable, unstoppable. Like the boulders on the mountain side as the avalanche begins to fall.
Or the icebergs drifting on the sea.
The hammer rose and fell.
The next strike shattered the remaining wood, leaving Osvald holding a set of leather straps and little else, he was whimpering in fear now as he fell back.
I would have asked for mercy. But I am from the continent. The duel was to the death and so it would end in someone's death. If there had been any doubt in my mind as to what was going to happen, it fled then.
Osvald tried though, he drew a fighting knife from his belt and struck furiously at Ursa but there was no way he could get past that shield.
Ursa's face was unreadable. A mask would have had more expression.
The hammer fell.
Osvald parried with his sword but the blow numbed his arm. He was less lucky with the next strike. He was so far out of balance after staggering around under the impacts of the hammer that he could only lift his blade in a block.
The blade, which was already a little bent, broke. It had done very little to impede the progress of the hammer which crashed down onto Osvald's head.
The crash of the hammer striking the metal of the helm was, in no way, musical. Blood exploded from Osvald's mouth as the impact made him bite through his tongue, but if he wasn't dead already then he might as well have been. I saw the dint in that helmet and there was no way that a skull could be entirely solid after that.
The hammer rose.
I wanted to look away but I was a witness to this, a formal witness and I watched as the metal hammerhead fell, burying itself into the bone and brains of Rymer's champion.
It was only afterwards that I realised that every single hammer strike of Ursa's had been been precisely aimed at Osvald's head. That the entire thing had been a foregone conclusion from the moment that Rymer had asked for the duel of Champions.
I wonder if Rymer had known that at the time. Helfdan had. As had Ursa I think.
Ursa had to put his foot on the body of his opponent to pry his hammer free from the clutching remains of Osvald's body.
His face changed expression. For a moment he looked sad. Sad and old.
“I'm sorry boy.” He told him. “You did well.”
I never found out what had happened between them. It seemed wrong to ask and therefore intrude in some way.
And that was that.
Rymer approached Helfdan with a rueful grin.
“He had been so sure that he could beat your man.” He told his captor calmly and with just a trace of sheepish apology.”
“It happens.” Helfdan told him without emotion.
“So what happens now?” Rymer wanted to know, not unreasonably. “A year and a day of service? That I escort you on your mission? What?”
Helfdan looked at his new collection of prisoners before gradually, his gaze grew distant.
Rymer watched him for a while before his gaze flicked to me and then to Svein in confusion at Helfdan's utter lack of movement.
Then Helfdan moved.
“No.” He said. “No I don't think so. A couple of questions first though. Did you hire the mercenaries or were they given to you as part of your mission.”
“They were given to me.” Rymer told him promptly. “Believe me when I say that I would nev...”
Helfdan waved him off.
“And you were told to kill me.”
“Yes, and all those who travelled with you.”
Helfdan winced at that but held his hand up before Rymer could say any more. Some of the remaining mercenaries were protesting at this. They wanted to fight, to kill and fulfill their “holy mission” whatever that was. I saw Svein begin to lose patience but Rymer spun on the remains of his men.
“SILENCE,” he roared. The change was sudden and unexpected. “We lost. We will act with the honour that we are offered. You will be silent.”
Helfdan hadn't moved or reacted as though the recent events were beneath his notice. Or as though those same events were against his idea of how the world worked and therefore they couldn't possibly have happened. Either way, he ignored the outburst from Rymer's men. He just waited for the shifting and the discontent to die down.
To be fair to them. Some of Rymer's men looked equally appalled at the outbursts from their fellows.
“Very well.” Helfdan said abruptly. “Lord Frederick. You will witness my orders?”
I stepped forward as Helfdan turned back to Rymer and spoke with a formal voice.
“It is my judgement, Lord Rymer, that you and your men have acted with honour in the pursuit of your duty. That you acted with further honour in an effort to save lives. I find that I cannot condemn you for that. Therefore I will give you two directives.”
Rymer nodded. I thought that Svein was unhappy with something but he worked hard to keep his face impassive. I also saw that Ciri was watching closely.
“The first is that those men with you that are not sworn to you personally will be stripped of their arms and armour. They and their goods will be delivered by you, directly, to Queen Cerys at Kaer Trolde for her justice and decision.”
A group of the remaining mercenaries heard this and went for their weapons. But I think that Svein, as well as Svein's opposite number in Rymer's crew had been expecting this a little bit and the entire thing was over and done with ruthless efficiency.
Rymer and Helfdan simply waited until the commotion died down.
“Agreed.” Rymer affirmed when the silence had fallen. “And your second directive?”
“That you should tell the Queen your orders and who it was that ordered you to do so. You will then answer to the Queen's justice and whim.”
Rymer winced a little but he was already resigned. “Very well.”
Helfdan nodded. “That's it.”
Rymer's mouth twitched towards a smile. “Do you not wish to know who ordered your death?”
Helfdan's face mirrored Rymer's. “Would it matter?”
Rymer shrugged. “Right lads. Let's get this lot moving.”
He nodded to Helfdan and then to Ciri before he marched off with his remaining men and his prisoners.
I caught Ciri looking at Helfdan appraisingly.
Helfdan walked a little way away, up the rise to where he had tripped over in the snow while Rymer got his men out and moving. He stood there for a while looking out over where the snow was falling, clutching the hilt of his sword, gripping it hard until his knuckles turned white.
The final cost was that our side had killed nine men and wounded another five. We had lost four men to wounds. Only one of those was particularly serious and although I agreed with the Priestess that he would live, it would be touch and go as to whether or not he would fight again despite his oaths to the contrary. The other three men were hurt and Svein had to order them to remain with the Priestesses for healing. The Priestesses, correctly, said that the cold of the sea as well as extra exertion in this climate could make injuries much worse than was initially suggested and therefore the four men would be spending the remaining time of the Skeleton Ship being healed in the temple or in one of the nearby villages. The Priestess stood surety for the men's safety and Helfdan promised a sizeable donation to the upkeep of the temple.
It would seem that some things are the same, no matter which religion you followed.
Helfdan spent some time with each of the four men. He said nothing, just gripped their uninjured hands hard and stared down at them with an intensity that I would have found off putting in their place. But they bore up well and we carried them back to the temple where we spent the night.
Although the night wasn't unpleasant I couldn't help but resent the time that we had lost by this little ambush, this little play of clan rivalries. I had the feeling that I sometimes get in politics where there were things going on that I had no control over that was going to cost me everything.
I slept badly that night.
(Author's note: Hey guys. Thanks for your patience. Trip back to the home country followed by jet lag and the flu have kept me away from my laptop more than I would like. But I am back now and will hopefully be able to get back into a proper writing routine again. Thanks again for sticking with it and thank you for taking the time to read it.)
(Historical note: Ooh, I feel all learned.
The incident that Ciri recounts about the two princes seeing the Flying Dutchman occurred on July 11th 1881 at 4am. That we are close to the anniversary of that event is both spooky and entirely coincidental. It happened off the cost of Australia in the Bass strait between Melbourne and Sidney. We know this according to the fact that one of the two princes wrote in their log:
“July 11th. At 4 a.m. The Flying Dutchman crossed our bows. A strange red light as of a phantom ship all aglow, in the midst of which light the masts, spars and sails of a brig 200 yards distant stood out in strong relief as she came up on the port bow, where also the officer of the watch from the bridge clearly saw her, as did the quarterdeck midshipman, who was sent forward at once to the forecastle; but on arriving there was no vestige nor any sign whatever of any material ship was to be seen either near or right away to the horizon, the night being clear and the sea calm. Thirteen persons altogether saw her ... At 10.45 a.m. the ordinary seaman who had this morning reported the Flying Dutchman fell from the foretopmast crosstrees on to the topgallant forecastle and was smashed to atoms”
Apparently, we do not know which of the two princes wrote this entry as the log was heavily edited to make it fit for public consumption before the log was published. The Elder Prince was Prince Albert Victor of Wales and the younger was Prince George of Wales who would go on to become King George the Fifth. The tutor was called John Neill Dalton and I hope that all three men will forgive any assumptions that I have made about their character. These mistakes are entirely my own as I have not had time to do proper research.
Some might say that the log entry is fabricated and for all I know, they might be correct. But I choose to believe it.)