To the Sun, page 11
part #12 of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Series
As interesting as the long sail down the River Ouse and the broad Humber had been, there was something fine about being in open waters again. The sea water had a distinct smell to river water; the air felt different. Fresh water ducks gave way to seabirds, both paddling near their hull, and flying purposefully overhead. The knorr skirted the shore, the green coast to starboard, and endless rippling waves of blue to port. They would do so, Yrling had been told, until they reached the broad channel, across which lay Frankland. From there Hunefleth at the mouth of the Seine would be their goal.
With the open sea to port, the knorr rode swiftly with a smart wind billowing her square sail. In late morning Thorvi gestured Yrling over to his side. The newest mate had just finished his twice-daily task of mucking out the straw-covered area occupied by his gelding, which was tethered by two halter lines to keep the beast secure. Yrling was glad to straighten up and join the star-reader, who greeted him with a question.
“What do you see that helps you steer this ship?”
Yrling looked about him, and settled on the view to starboard. He could not help but give a short laugh. “The coast. It is right here, and I can follow it.”
“And what of the coast?”
The boy had to think a while before answering. “What of it?”
“How can you tell the depth of the water, or if fresh river water runs into it? What do you see when you look down into it? What do you hear? What if fog or dark hid the shore from you? On the sea at night, you will hear waves crashing on shore, even from a distance.
“Within sight of land like this, take a deep breath through your nose. Let it out, and take a sniff. Can you smell that land? When you sail to the far north you can smell the resin of pines and firs. But here – do you smell smoke from a distant farm? You can smell many things coming from the land, especially if there is mist.”
This was much to answer, but Thorvi did not seem to expect a response. He posed these questions to test the boy’s senses. And in fact the star-reader went on.
“You see the coast. What more do you see to help you steer?”
Yrling looked about at sea and sky, then looked up.
“Ah – there is the Sun,” he supplied.
“Which every morning of your life has risen in the east,” Thorvi agreed. “Thus you know east, west, north and south, from it. Tell me how more you can use it.”
“It is low in Winter, but high in Summer, over my head at midday.” He thought a moment. “The Sun is never so high here in Summer in Angle-land as it is on Gotland.”
“Nor so low in Winter,” nodded Thorvi. “Good. And you can sight with it, given any land ahead. Where did the Sun rise today, against that land? Where will it rise tomorrow?
“What else do you see?” Thorvi posed.
Yrling looked over the gunwale. “Over there, only water.”
“Nej. Not only water. You see the horizon. If we were not coasting that is all you would see, that edge where water meets sky. Stars and wanderers too will arise from over that horizon as the Sun sets. And what is that,” he asked of a sudden, pointing at a bird on the wing.
“A bird.”
“What kind?”
“I cannot ken at this distance. One I do not know. Long legs.”
“Já. It is a crane. It cannot rest in water. It flies to land to fish in shallow water.”
“In the open sea, a land bird will lead you to shore. Whales will follow shoals of fish which near the coast as well. You must use all you can see to help you steer your course.”
Yrling thought of something the star-reader had yet to mention.
“My father has a Sun-stone. Or did have; he gave it to Runulv, who sails for him.”
Thorvi gave a nod of his head. “Such crystals will find the Sun for you, in a clouded sky,” he agreed.
So the lessons from Thorvi went on, stargazing at night, and by day learning to read waves and water currents and noting the flight of birds.
Yrling had imagined that perhaps now they would take advantage of the open water and drive a bit further away from shore, the better to catch the wind. But Aszur held a steady course, merely skirting the coast, and, the boy saw, scanning the shoreline as he did. Yrling had no idea what he looked for; they had made a stop when leaving the Humber to take on fresh water and food, and more fodder for his horse, who was even now tossing the hay into the air as he ate.
It was mid-morning when something came into view. Yrling stood, as was usual when he was not at his chores, with Aszur at the steering-oar. The dwarf was telling him about the hazards of shoaling waters, a threat Yrling well knew from the limestone shelf surrounding parts of his home island. Now the steers-man fell quiet, save for a slight puff of breath, a sound of discovery. Yrling turned his head to starboard, to what Aszur had seen. A wooden pier jutted out into the water. Yrling stared at it, then scanned the trees of the shoreline behind that pier. It was, he knew of a sudden, a pier he had seen before, straight on, when he and Hrald approached Saltfleet, Aszur at the steering-oar as he was now.
Sure enough, the dwarf was readying to tack and make that pier; his ordered command to his crew confirmed it. They would land, and here at Saltfleet.
Yrling began to sputter out a protest. Eyes wide in disbelief, he turned his head to Aszur. “But – we – we are going to Hunefleth!”
“We are going to Hunefleth,” Aszur agreed, eyes still steady on the pier. “But you are heading back to Four Stones.”
No one need lay hands on Yrling to convince him of this. The note of decision in the ship-captain’s voice was itself an iron manacle.
The boy felt as deflated as was the sail, now being dropped in preparation to land. Thorvi had moved up to the prow, and was whistling out a sharp greeting. Sure enough the single man who had been stationed as look-out at the mouth of the pier was now joined by several more, coming from the two buildings on shore.
As they neared, it was Aszur who bellowed out their request to land. Hands still upon the oar, the strength of his deep voice lent a certain gravity to his message.
“I return something strayed from your Jarl. A horse. Also a boy.”
Indeed, between the downed sail and the nearness of the approaching knorr, those gathering on the pier could see this for themselves. A chorus of whistles and cheers rose from their throats.
The dwarf’s next words were uttered for Yrling alone. “Their cries of welcome will be as nothing to your brother’s relief at having you back. That is, once the birching you deserve is over.”
Yrling could not speak; his chagrin was too great. Heat rose to his head, and he felt sure his face flamed. At last he stammered out a question.
“Did you always plan to bring me here?”
Aszur would not dissemble.
“I did. I set my own course, and take care of myself. None but a fool would make an enemy of the Jarl of South Lindisse. It would be but a matter of time before he heard that you had taken ship with me.
“Besides,” the dwarf went on. “Why should I break trust with your brother? Harbouring you would be no less than that. From what I saw of him, he would not deal thusly with me.”
The end of the pier grew closer, but Aszur went on. “Why did you break trust with your own brother?”
Yrling had never considered his leaving like this. He had been ready to accuse Aszur of betraying him, and now saw he himself had betrayed his own brother. And Hrald had given him his own knife, and one of the better horses at Four Stones.
His shame was such he could scarce answer. Still, he must defend his action. “I wanted… more. To see more. Do more. I want to sail.”
“You want to sail,” Aszur repeated. “So did I, at your age. But you must hold faith with your Jarl. You owe him service. Instead you have stolen his horse and caused him endless worry.”
A thrill of alarm shot through Yrling’s belly at this. He had meant none of this.
Thorvi had thrown a line to the men standing on the pier; the knorr was pulled close. It hit the side of the pier with a dull thud, one echoed within the lad aboard.
Thorvi stayed with the knorr and the rest of the crew. There was a supply waggon offered to Aszur, as his stature made it difficult to ride. He was good at driving horses, though, and could stand on a waggon board and do so. Today however he was content to sit upon it, a wooden box under his feet, while a crestfallen Yrling paced his horse alongside, with an escort, the boy thought, to make sure he did not bolt. He had already been subjected to good natured chaffing from the men at Saltfleet, and was to hear more of it from the four who escorted the waggon to Four Stones. He had no heart for any of it, so downcast was he, both at the forfeit of a new life at sea, and at his growing realisation that his act had likely caused his brother real distress.
As nearly always happened with approaching parties, one of the escort was sent ahead to tell of their near arrival. Yrling wanted to beg that this not happen, but then considered that his sudden appearance might cause even more upset. As it was he feared Hrald himself might ride out to meet them.
This did not happen. In fact, when they gained the road leading through the village, he was almost surprised to see nothing out of the ordinary. None of the cottars paid them any mind as they passed, and there was no group clustered at the open gates of the palisade to greet him.
It was when they passed through those broad gates that Yrling saw his brother. Hrald stood in the stable yard, his wife Pega next him. Her great hound Frost was next her, sitting obediently at her feet, his noble head cocked at the party’s approach. The dog stood, with a thump of his tail, as he recognised Yrling. But the lightest touch of Pega’s hand at the hound’s head made the animal fold his haunches again, and sit. Jari stood off to Hrald’s left, and Kjeld was off to the other side. Jari looked like the giant he was, and had his arms crossed over his massive chest. Kjeld’s face was less stern, but Yrling did not know if he could call it a look of actual relief at his return. He had no time to do more than glance at these two as he pressed his horse closer to his brother.
Yrling could not tell from Hrald’s face how angry he was; he looked, the boy realised, a bit like their father when something untoward had happened. A glimpse at the young Lady of Four Stones told Yrling that she had lately been crying. The woman who helped her, Mealla, held Pega’s babe, and Mealla was scowling over the child’s shoulder at Yrling as he neared.
Yrling got off his horse. He had been taught by his father to do so, as a sign of respect for those of greater power who stood before him. Just now he needed every reserve of good conduct to ease his way.
Aszur pulled up the waggon. He stood upon the waggon board and addressed the Jarl of Four Stones.
“I return to you what is yours,” he said. “One horse. One boy. The horse was fed using silver belonging to the boy. The boy – the boy is a good sailor, and was of use to me.”
Yrling hung his head, unable to withstand praise at a time like this. Still, he heard it.
His brother spoke, his words low and grave. “I will give you silver for them, both.”
“Aszur will not accept silver from Jarl Hrald. You are one with whom I have shared a good passage, out to Gotland, and back. And the drekar you awarded me – that was recompense enough.”
The dwarf glanced over at Yrling, and dropped the tone of his voice even lower.
“He should be birched.”
Yrling cast a furtive glance at Hrald, and saw to his relief that a slight smile had formed upon his brother’s lips, one quickly repressed. Aszur’s next words were more welcome.
“But he is a good sailor.”
This final pronouncement hung in the air a moment, a kind of tribute to the runaway he never expected. Then Hrald, with the slightest gesture of his hand, beckoned him forward, and Yrling found himself in his brother’s strong embrace. The Lady Pega hugged him as well, tears flowing down her cheeks as she did so. Being cried over like this was worse than Yrling expected. It made him feel a small boy again.
It did not last long, for after Hrald released his brother he spoke to the ship-master who had delivered him.
“I did not expect to see you again, Aszur Gold-Tooth. Having returned something of value to me, you must sit at my table.”
The dwarf flashed a broad smile at the name Hrald had bestowed on him, one which made the precious metal in his mouth glint brightly as he did. He was more commonly known as Aszur the Dwarf, but this new moniker more than suited him.
He gave a nod, and began to scramble down from the waggon. It was impossible not to watch him as he did; the waggon board was a high one, the kind most women would need ample help in ascending or descending. Yet bowed as his legs were, they were sure-footed, and in two simple moves he stood, boots on the hard-packed ground of the yard.
The Lady of Four Stones, eyes still reddened from her tears, moved to the open door of her hall, and with a slight gesture of her small hands welcomed their guest. Hrald inclined his head to his young brother, that he might go before them. It made Yrling feel glaringly exposed, and again that he was almost under watch. But he went, following Pega in, as Hrald and Aszur fell in behind him.
Two serving women were already stationed near the high table, one holding a basin of water for the rinsing of hands, the second with a towel of linen. Yrling hung back, allowing the use of both to Aszur first. It was clear from the dwarf’s pleased expression that such an offer of ablution before taking ale was a novel act. He made full use of both, and when he finished with the towel returned it to she who had offered it with a wink of his eye. She was both young and comely, and found herself dropping a curtsy as she dropped her own eyes.
Yrling dipped his finger-tips into the basin and shook them in the air. His brother’s wife, standing at the side of the woman holding the basin, widened her eyes at him, and he took a breath and plunged both hands in. He truly needed the towel now, and as the maid offered it he paused and looked at her. She was one always about the hall and the high table, but now having seen Aszur admiring her, Yrling took note of her himself. She only blushed in response to his gaze.
Jari was standing just next to Hrald, and as they moved to the table Yrling felt it was almost more difficult to be in his presence than that of his brother. He now understood he had worried Hrald. But something about Jari told Yrling he had disappointed the body-guard. Hrald was kin; he had to forgive him. But Jari was so important that Yrling did not know how he could overcome his fall of esteem in the Tyr-hand’s eyes. And he was so big. If he was to be birched, he hoped it would be Kjeld and not Jari with the branch in his hand.
They took their places at the high table. The chair reserved for esteemed guests had been brought out for Aszur, and a footstool placed before it. Hrald and Pega sat in their carved chairs, with Aszur at Hrald’s right. Jari took his usual place on the bench to the right of the Jarl, just past their guest, and Kjeld sat at the left of the Lady of Four Stones. Mealla, that Lady’s companion, carried the babe out, with a piercing look at Yrling as she did. With a gesture of his hand Hrald placed Yrling not on the other side of Jari, but motioned him to the end of the table. Yrling felt himself to be as cut off from the family and head warriors of Four Stones as he had been on the road.
“There is a story to tell,” Hrald began, after the first swallow of ale had been taken. He looked first to his young brother, then to Aszur. Hrald’s tone, while low and calm, carried more of command than invitation about it.
Yrling knew he must speak. He opened his mouth and a squeak came forth. Cheeks flaming, he took another sip of ale. The cup he clenched in his hand was of bronze, and felt as heavy as lead.
“I wanted to go to Jorvik,” he began. “The town you are always talking about,” he went on, with a beseeching look at first Jari and then Kjeld. The faces of both men were so near to wearing a scowl that Yrling hurried on. The boy had rarely seen Kjeld without a smile, and Jari looked one false word away from pulling his knife.
“I wanted to find Aszur,” Yrling went on, with a significant look to the ship-captain, as if he had some share in his own actions.
Hrald sat listening, saying nothing. To Yrling it was almost as if their father sat there, one long to listen and slow to act. But when act he did, it was decisive.
“I wanted to sail, to see more of Angle-land. And Frankland too,” Yrling ended.
At last his brother spoke. To Yrling’s ears he did so not as his older brother, but as the Jarl of Four Stones.
“You wanted,” Hrald repeated. He let that hang in the air before he went on.
“Did you not think of what your disappearance would cost us? Did you think of the distress to my wife, in whose care you have been entrusted?” Hrald glanced now at the Lady Pega, whose tears of relief were scarcely dried. “Did you think of the worry to me, knowing you had set out in an unknown land, one whose ways are so different from that of your Gotland home? Did you guess that we searched for you, sending men in every direction after you? I need those men, here, and at the ready should my hall and lands need defending. You took them from that, and from their needful work about the hall and valley of horses. You disrupted all. Is that what you wanted?”
Yrling’s face felt so hot that he thought it truly aflame. Dropping his head availed not; he must face his brother under these just words.
“Then there is the horse, as good a gelding as my stock can yield. I did not bestow him on you so you would steal away like a thief.”
