Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

We had haltered the animals to four stout ropes slung from side to side across the deck and fastened by heavy iron spikes hammered through their knotted braids, which meant that the horses themselves stood facing either front or rear. The sidelong impact had sent them all tumbling, and only a very few had regained their footing. I reached Germanicus and knelt in front of his head, grasping his bridle in both hands, and talking to him, seeing the rolling of his eye that bespoke utter terror. "Come on, big boy," I told him, fighting to maintain the familiar level tones he knew from me. "Come on, let's get you on your feet again. Come on, up!" I raised myself, pulling the straps of his headstall, raising his head clear of the deck, then straightening and heaving as I almost dragged him to his feet. Slowly, hesitantly, but gathering confidence from my persistence, the great animal shrugged himself around until his front hooves were flat against the deck, after which he pushed himself up, as a man will on his arms, until his legs were straight. Once there, the rest was fairly simple. He tried once, then again, and on the third attempt gathered his haunches and lurched to his feet, where he stood spread-legged and unsteady, bracing himself delicately on the tilting deck, his nostrils flaring, ears laid flat along his head and his eyes still rolling wildly.

Now, all around me, I saw my men doing as I had done, pulling the animals upright. Only one still screamed, and I looked towards the awful sound and saw a beautiful roan with a mangled right foreleg, the skin broken and pierced by a long shard of bloodied bone. As I looked, absorbing the animal's wound, one of my men smote the animal between the eyes with a hand axe, killing it instantly. The sudden cessation of its agonized screaming made the remaining tumult seem like silence. I used that instant to capture everyone's attention with a shout.

They listened attentively as I explained what was about to happen, shocked, but plainly aware of the need to waste no time in making preparations. As soon as I had finished speaking, they fell to work, saddling their own mounts and stowing their weapons before loading the packhorses. I had told them not to worry greatly about cinching the saddles perfectly. It would be difficult on the sloping deck, and all that was really required was that the saddles should stay in place. They would not be riding ashore, but swimming alongside their mounts, hanging on and kicking, trusting their animals to keep them from drowning. As I turned back from fastening my own cinch, tightening it as firmly as I could, I saw Donuil back at the broken side, talking to someone up on the prow of the galley. And then, amazingly, I saw a figure dive from the side of the galley, straight down into the sea. He surfaced almost immediately and came swimming to where Donuil crouched, ready to pull him out. The diver emerged, dripping, and then Donuil helped him climb back up to the craft above again before turning and making his way to me.

"I asked for someone to dive down and see how deep the bottom is," Donuil explained. "He touched bottom on his dive, so it can't be much more than the height of a tall man."

"So? That's deep enough to drown in."

Donuil actually grinned at me. "Aye, but it's also shallow enough to dive in. The sun will be up soon enough, and that means the fog will disperse, so we'll be able to recover anything that we lose in swimming ashore. Shields, for example, and heavy weapons. All we have to do now is hope that we are either in friendly territory, or that there's no one around to ask awkward questions before we can reorganize ourselves. We—" His voice was suddenly lost in an upsurge of the grinding, wrenching noises from the join of the two ships. As we had worked to prepare ourselves, Logan and his crew had been labouring mightily, heaving on their oars in a series of complicated manoeuvres and pushing us first outwards and then around, so that our own prow now pointed towards the land, which was clearly discernible, although still mist- shrouded, in the early morning light.

My attention was immediately all for the horses. The sides of the barge were not high, but they were certainly high enough to deter a balking animal that had no wish to leap overboard.

"Tell Logan to stop, quickly!"

Donuil turned and yelled an order to the man on the galley prow. The great oars stopped churning almost instantly.

"Now," I told him, speaking loudly for the benefit of my men, "it is imperative the horses go over facing in the right direction, otherwise they're likely to swim out into deep water. Tell Logan that, and explain it. He knows nothing of horses and how stupid they can be at times. His ship is parallel to the shore now. If he reverses the thrust of his oars, he should be able to pull free, and the same motion should pull our stern around again, towards the beach. As soon as he breaks free, this thing will start to sink, tilting shoreward, if we have any luck at all. That should make it more than simple to put the horses in facing the proper way. Tell him to do it now." As Donuil sprang back towards the galley, I raised my voice to the others. "Cut the halters and hold fast to them. Those of you who can handle two, do it. When the deck starts to really tilt, lead the horses down and try to keep them calm. They'll want to panic, so don't allow them to. Go with them, and hang on. They'll get you safe ashore. You heard what Donuil said. We can come back later for any weapons you lose, so don't weigh yourselves down any more than you have to, but don't leave yourselves defenceless, either. Now, wait for my word." I glanced around me. "Where's Metellus?"

It was Dedalus who answered me. "He's dead. Kicked in the head, I think, by one of the horses."

"What about Quintus?"

"Quintus is here. He should be fine."

I turned to see Rufio standing behind me, holding two halters. Quintus was draped face upward and tied firmly to the bare back of one horse, the only white one we had, a huge gelding that dwarfed even my own mount.

"Where is his saddle?"

Rufio nodded. "Over there, on the king's stallion."

"Good. Look after him."

I saw a wave of movement as the banked oars of the galley came down into the water again and thrust backward in unison. The barge shuddered and lurched and an evil, highpitched rending sound was ripped from the mouth of the barge's open wound. For long moments nothing happened; the oars cleared the water and dipped again, accompanied by a heaving, grunting, concerted roar of effort from the galley's rowers. And then came a sudden screech and the deck beneath our feet shuddered as the galley sprang free, tossing its prow in the air, the scars on its bow planking showing new and bright against the darkness of the timbered hull, although the damage appeared superficial. The old barge, however, was mortally wounded and heaved upward, threatening to topple all of us again and sending the pool of sea water swirling around our feet before the vessel's returning, downward roll brought the holed side down beneath the level of the surface and the sea came pouring in. There could be no recovery. Within moments, what little liveliness the ungainly craft had ever had was gone, and it began to settle quickly, as the space beneath the shallow deck was inundated.

I had misread what might happen. The barge sank downward on an even keel, steadily and appallingly swiftly, so that we had no need to coax the horses over the side. The sea, instead, came up to meet them, gurgling between the planking of the deck, and before they knew it they were swimming strongly for the shore, carrying their normal passengers, although in a most abnormal fashion.

For the second time in two months I found myself immersed in the sea, out of my depth and weighed down by heavy armour that threatened to drag me to the bottom. I hung tightly to the horn of my saddle, trusting my horse's strength and attempting to kick my legs to relieve him as much as possible of my dead weight. I might as well have tried to fly! My leather- lined chain-mail coat and leggings, almost weightless in the saddle although uncomfortably bulky when walking, were lethally dangerous in water. Each futile thrust of my overburdened legs threatened to tear them from their sockets. I gave up and clutched with my hands and arms, my eyes tight shut, wrapping my right elbow tightly about the saddle horn and praying I had cinched the saddle securely enough to prevent it slipping sideways and drowning me. And then I felt Germanicus falter, then push himself erect, his feet solidly planted on the sandy bottom. Almost without pausing to adjust his balance, he began to push forward strongly, walking now, and I felt the pressure of the water against me change. A moment longer I clung to my saddle's safety, and then I let go with my elbow, feeling for the bottom with my own feet, but retaining a firm hand grip on the horn. I touched bottom immediately, my toes dragging through sand so that I had to brace myself to get my legs beneath me properly. Then, first slowly, but with increasing ease and speed, I walked towards the beach until the sand beneath my feet was dry. Only then did I fall to my knees.