“Then I give you this assurance instead,” cried Orm, “that if you do not instantly do as I say, you will all be killed where you stand. Perhaps this knowledge will comfort you.”
So saying, he swung himself up on the ship and walked slowly toward them, without waiting for Toke and Rapp to follow him. His helmet had been knocked off by a stone that one of the men had thrown, his eyes were narrow with fury, and Blue-Tongue glittered wetly in his hand as he strode toward them, measuring them as though they were hounds that required the whip. Then they obeyed his bidding and threw down their weapons, muttering baleful curses upon Ake, for they were incensed that everything had turned out otherwise than as he had foretold.
It was by now quite dark, and a blustering wind had sprung up, but Orm thought it unwise for them to remain any longer in the bay. If they lingered, he said, they would have half an army of loyal Sjællanders descending upon them to recover King Harald’s woman and restore her to her rightful master. Therefore, despite the darkness and hard weather and the fact that they were so few, he felt there was nothing for it but to try their luck against the sea; for the consequences of Toke’s folly, he feared, would dog their heels for many a day.
Having no time to lose, they made haste to bring aboard the food-chest and ale-butt. The woman wept and grated her teeth at the prospect of such a voyage as the weather promised, but obeyed without complaint. Orm stood guard over the prisoners with drawn sword as they sat at their oars, while Toke and Rapp lifted the ale aboard. Toke was handling the barrel very clumsily and awkwardly, and Orm shouted angrily at them to be quicker about it.
“The wood is slippery, and my fingers cannot get a proper hold,” replied Toke mournfully, “for my hand is not as it should be.”
Orm had never heard him speak so heavily before. His sword-hand had been split at the joint of the third and fourth fingers, so that two of his fingers pointed one way and two the other.
“The loss of blood does not trouble me,” he said, “but this hand will be of little use for rowing tonight, and that is a bad thing, for we shall need to row hard if we are to get out of this bay before daybreak.”
He rinsed his hand in the water and turned toward the woman.
“You have helped me much already, my poor Mirah,” he said, “though it may be that I have done the greater share. Let me now see whether you can help me in this matter, also.”
The woman dried her tears and came to look at his hand. She wailed softly when she saw how grave the wound was, but none the less contrived to dress it skillfully. She said she would have been happier with wine to wash it in and cobwebs to lay upon it, but since these were not available she made do with water and grass and chewed bread. Then she bound it up tightly with bandages that she tore from her clothing.
“The most useless things can be turned to useful purposes,” said Orm. “And now we are both left-handed.”
It was evident from the way he spoke that his anger against Toke had been allayed.
Then they pulled away from the land with seven men at the oars and Toke minding the steering-oar, and the work of getting the ship out of the bay and round the point into the lee of the coast was the hardest that Orm had known since the days when he had toiled as a galley slave. He kept a spear in readiness at his side to kill the first prisoner who flagged; and when one of them caught a crab in the trough of a wave and was thrown on to his back, he was up on his bench and pulling again at his oar within the instant. The woman sat huddled at Toke’s feet, rolling her eyes in fear and wretchedness. Toke steadied her with his foot and bade her take up the baling-bucket and perform some useful service; but although she tried to obey him, her work was of no avail, and the ship was half submerged when they at last rounded the point and were able to set sail and bale.
For the rest of the night they were at the mercy of the storm. Orm himself took over the steering-oar, but all he could do was to keep the ship headed toward the northeast and hope that she would not be driven aground before day broke. None of them thought there was much hope of surviving such a tempest, which was worse than that which they had endured on their voyage to Ireland.
Then Rapp said: “We have five prisoners aboard, unarmed and in our power. It is doubtful whether they will be of any further use to us as rowers, but they may help us to calm the storm if we offer them to the sea people.”
Toke said that this seemed to him an excellent and proper suggestion, though he felt that they might begin by throwing one or two overboard, to see if that had any effect. But Orm said that they could not do this with any of the prisoners, because he had promised them their lives.
“If you want to give someone to the sea people,” he said to Toke, “I can only suggest that you offer them your woman. Indeed, I think it might turn out to the advantage of us all if we could rid ourselves of someone who has brought us so much ill luck.”
But Toke said that he would allow nothing of that sort to happen so long as he had breath in his body and one hand capable of wielding a sword.
So no more was said on that subject. As day dawned, a heavy rain began to fall and stood around them like smoke, and the storm began to lessen. When it became light, they could discern the coast of Halland ahead of them, and at last they succeeded in getting the ship into an inlet with her sail slit and her belly half full of water.
“These boards have carried me here from St. James’ tomb,” said Orm, “and now I have not far to go. But I shall come home without my necklace, and without the James bell, and little profit have I gained from giving them away.”
“You are bringing home a sword and a ship,” said Toke, “and I have a sword and a woman. And few of those who rowed forth with Krok have as much as that to show for their voyage.”
“We carry with us also a great king’s anger,” said Orm, “and worse than that can hang around no man’s neck.”
The hardships of their journey were now past. They set the five prisoners ashore and allowed them to depart in peace; then, after they had rested for a while and had put their ship and sail in order, they got good weather and sailed down the coast before a gentle breeze. Even the woman was now in good spirits and was able to help them with one thing and another, so that Orm found himself able to endure her presence better than before.
As evening fell, they drew in to the flat rocks that lay below Toste’s house, against which, when they had last seen the place, Krok’s ships had been gently rocking. They walked up the path toward the house, with Orm at their head. A short way from the water’s edge the path crossed a frothing stream, by means of a wooden bridge consisting of three planks.
Orm said: “Be careful of the one on the left. It is rotten.” Then he gazed at the plank and said: “It was rotten long before I left this place, and every time my father crossed this bridge he said that he would have it mended at once. Yet I see that it is still unmended, and still holds together, though it seems to me that I have long been parted from this place. If this bridge still stands, it may be that the old man, my father, has also survived the years that have passed.”
A little farther on they saw a stork’s nest in a high tree, with a stork standing upon it. Orm stopped and whistled, and the stork beat its wings and clattered its beak in reply.
“He remembers me,” said Orm. “It is the same stork; and it seems to me that it was but yesterday that he and I last spoke together.”
Then they passed through a barred gate. Orm said: “Shut the gate securely; for my mother gets angry if the sheep escape, and when she is out of temper our evening fare suffers.”
Dogs began to bark, and men appeared at the door and gaped at the three Vikings as they approached the house. Then a woman pushed her way through the knot of men and came toward them. It was Asa. She was pale, but apart from this looked as brisk and spry as when Orm had last seen her.