Robert Howard: Tigers Of The Sea

"So ho," mused Thorwald, chin on fist, "and that matter of my prisoner-speak more fully, Partha Mac Othna."

It seemed to the Gael that the Viking put undue accent on the name, but he answered: "Easy to say. My cousin Nial is captive among the Danes. My clan cannot pay the ransom they ask. It is no question of niggardliness-we have not the price they ask. But word came to us that in a sea-fight with the Danes off Helgoland you took a chief prisoner. I wish to buy him from you; we can use his captivity to force an exchange of prisoners with his tribe, perhaps."

"The Danes are ever at war with each other, Loki's curse on them. How know you but that my Dane is an enemy to they who hold your cousin?"

"So much the better," grinned the Gael. "A man will pay more to get a foe in his power than he will pay for the safety of a friend."

Thorwald toyed with his drinking horn. "True enough; you Gaels are crafty. What will you pay for this Dane-Hrut, he calls himself."

"Five hundred pieces of silver."

"His people would pay more."

"Possibly. Or perhaps not a piece of copper. It is a chance we are willing to take. Besides, it will mean a long sea voyage and risks taken to communicate with them. You may have the price I offer at dawn-coin you never made more easily. My clan is not rich. The sea-kings of the North and the strong Reivers of Erin have harried we lesser wolves to the edge of the seas. But a Dane we must have, and if you are too exorbitant, why we must sail eastward and take one by force of arms."

"That might be easy," mused Thorwald, "Danemark is torn by civil wars. Two kings contend against each otheryor did, for I hear that Eric had the best of it, and Thorfinn fled the land."

"Aye-so the sea-wanderers say. Thorfinn was the better man, and beloved by the people, but Eric had the support of Jarl Anlaf, the most powerful man among the Danes, not even excepting the kings themselves."

"I heard that Thorfinn fled to the Jutes in a single ship, with a few followers," said Thorwald. "Would that I might have met that ship on the high seas! But this Hrut will serve. I would glut my hate for the Danes on a king, but I am content with the next noblest. And noble this man is, though he wears no title. I thought him a jarl at least, in the sea-fight, when my carles lay about him in a heap waist-high. Thor's blood, but he had a hungry sword! I made my wolves take him alive-but not for ransom. I might have wrung a greater price from his people than you offer, but more pleasant to me than the clink of gold, are the death groans of a Dane."

"I have told you," the Gael spread his hands helplessly. "Five hundred pieces of silver, thirty olden torts, ten Damascus swords we wrested from the brown men of Serkland (Barbary), and a suit of chain-mail armor I took from the body of a Frankish prince. More I cannot offer."

"Yet I can scarce forego the pleasure of carving the blood-eagle in the back of this Dane," murmured Thorwald, stroking his long, fair beard. "How will you pay this ransom-have you the silver and the rest in your garments?"

The Gael sensed the sneer in the tone, but paid no heed.

"Tomorrow at dawn you and I and the Dane will go to the lower point of the island. You may take ten men with you. While you remain on shore with the Dane, I will row out to my ship and bring back the silver and the rest, with ten of my own men. On the beach we will make the exchange. My men will remain in the boats and not even put foot ashore if you deal fairly with me."

"Well said," nodded Thorwald, as if pleased, yet the wolfish instinct of the Gael warned him that events were brewing. There was a gathering tension in the air. From the tail of his eye he saw the chiefs casually crowding near him. Grimm Snorri's son's lined, lean face was overcast and his hands twitched nervously. But no change in the Gael's manner showed that he sensed anything out of the ordinary.

"Yet it is but a poor price to pay for a man who will be the means of restoring a great Irish prince to his clan," Thorwald's tone had changed; he was openly baiting the other now, "besides I think I had rather carve the blood-eagle on his back after all-and on yours as well-Cormac Mac Art!"

He spat the last words as he straightened, and his chiefs surged about him. They were not an instant too soon. They knew by reputation the lightning-like coordination of the famous Irish pirate which made his keen brain realize and his steel thews act while an ordinary man would still be gaping. Before the words were fully out of Thorwald's mouth, Cormac was on him with a volcanic burst of motion that would have shamed a starving wolf. Only one thing saved the Shield-hewer's life; almost as quick as Cormac he flung himself backward off the feasting bench, and the Gael's flying sword killed a carle who stood behind it.

In an instant the flickering of swords made lightning in the smoky vastness of the skalli. It had been Cormac's intention to hack a swift way to the door and freedom, but he was hemmed too closely by blood-lusting warriors.

Scarcely had Thorwald crashed cursing to the floor, than Cormac wheeled back to parry the word of Aslaf Jarl's bane who loomed over him like the shadow of Doom. The Gael's reddened blade turned Aslaf's stroke and before the Jarl slayer could regain his balance, death flooded his throat beneath Cormac's slicing point.

A backhand stroke shore through the neckcords of a carle who was heaving up a great ax, and at the same instant Hordi Raven struck a blow that was intended to sever Cormac's shoulder bone. But the chain-mail turned the Raven's sword edge, and almost simultaneously Hordi was impaled on that glimmering point that seemed everywhere at once, weaving a web of death about the tall Gael. Hakon Skel, hacking at Cormac's unhelmed head, missed by a foot and received a slash across his face, but at that instant the Gael's feet became entangled with the corpses that littered the floor with shields and broken benches.

A concerted rush bore him back across the feasting board, where Thorwald hacked through his mail and gashed the ribs beneath. Cormac struck back desperately, shattering Thorwald's sword and beating the sea-king to his knees beneath the shock of the blow, but a club in the hands of a powerful carle crashed down on the Gael's unprotected head, laying the scalp open, and as he crumpled, Grimm Snorri's son struck the sword from his hand. Then, urged by Thorwald, the carles leaped upon him, smothering and crushing the half-senseless Reiver by sheer weight of manpower. Even so, their task was not easy, but at last they had torn the steel fingers from the bull throat of one of their number, about which they had blindly locked, and bound the Gael hand and foot with cords not even his dynamic strength could break. The carle he had half-strangled gasped on the floor as they dragged Cormac upright to face the sea-king who laughed in his face.

Cormac was a grim sight. He was red-stained by the blood both of himself and his foes, and from the gash in his scalp a crimson trickle seeped down to dry on his scarred face. But his wild beast vitality already asserted itself and there was no hint of a numbed brain in the cold eyes that returned Thorwald's domineering stare.

"Thor's blood!" swore the sea-king. "I'm glad your comrade Wulfhere Hausakliufr-the Skull-splitter-was not with you. I have heard of your prowess as a killer, but to appreciate it, one must see for himself. In the last three minutes I have seen more weapon-play than I have seen in battles that lasted hours. By Thor, you ranged through my carles like a hunger-maddened wolf through a flock of sheep! Are all your race like you?"

The Reiver deigned no reply.

"You are such a man as I would have for comrade," said Thorwald frankly. "I will forget all old feuds if you will join me." He spoke like a man who does not expect his wish to be granted.