Masters of the Sea

A Viking raid is launched on a village and receive some help from an unexpected source.

Masters of the Sea

Bryan Gunn

 

     Father Oswald stepped away from his fellow monks as they prayed silently together cloistered in a small smoke-filled room. The early morning air inside the monastery was stifling from the candles and incense. Today something or someone was telling him to go down to the beach outside the church and surrounding buildings, perhaps it was God speaking to him. The scrolls which he laboriously copied day after day said that God regularly conversed with Father Cuthbert, the founder of the monastery, so why not him as well. He had never left daily prayers before in his twenty-one years as a member of the clergy, but the pull to go to the water was too strong to resist. As if the tide were going out and dragging him along with it. He could almost hear a faint roaring on the beach. Oswald decided that it had to be God’s voice and there was no way the Abbot could punish him for following directions straight from God. He gave one glance backward at the sagging building that passed for a church and slipped away from the building quietly. He gathered his robes against the strong breeze that was ever present this close to the ocean and headed across the open field, the grass was crunchy under his slippered feet. On top of the worn dirt path he could see the beach a few hundred yards away. It was a rare warm, sunny day and Oswald thought to himself that they should do their daily prayers on the beach instead but that Abbot would never stand for that. He lifted his head against the wind to take in the ocean, something on the horizon caught his eye. Distant specks, he strained his tired eyes

“Raiders!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. The roaring was louder now and it was unquestionably not the voice of God. He ran as fast as his aging legs could carry him back up the path to the monastery, tripping and falling several times. He had no earthly idea where the fierce armor-clad men had come from but he was sure that they were not there to convert to the one true God.  

Ivarr the Red felt the spray of the ocean splash his face. He laughed with the joy of a man who once felt close to death and now knows he will live, and triumph. No one thought they could cross the ocean in their new ships. They had laughed at him and scorned the idea but Ivarr saw a chance for glory and he had taken it. The All �" Father did not reward those who were timid, he rewarded those who took what they wanted by the point of a sword. Now land was in sight and Ivarr could see the smudge of smoke on the horizon that signaled a village. He was a warrior of dozens of battles and the trappings he wore made him stand out as a War Lord. His tightly knit maille shirt shone in the sun and the sword belted on his waist was of the highest craftsmanship, to show off his wealth he had the pommel made into the shape of a bear head out of silver. On his left hip hung a seax, a short thick knife that was his favored weapon in the press of a shield wall. His helmet had been passed from his father and showed a snarling wolf’s head, a visage designed to strike fear into his enemies. A long black plume of horse hair capped it and made him appear even taller and more terrifying. Both his arms were lined with silver and gold rings, signifying his past successes in combat, before the day was over Ivarr planned to add to his wealth. The ocean sprayed him again and he threw his head back and howled to his men. Only thirty men had followed him on this perilous quest but now they howled along with him, their success all but certain. These Saxons were weak men and his own followers were some of the best warriors alive, they were hungry for blood and even more so for plunder.

Ivarr howled once more and revved the engine of his RXT �" 300 Sea Doo Jet Ski, it was red and matched his beard which pleased the Norseman. It was nice when he could find matching accessories to his red hair, Odin had no rules against looking good while you were pillaging. It was a lot of pressure being stuck with the nickname the red when everything they made was in a different shade of grey. He had told the salesman that if he could not furnish a red jet ski for him then he would burn the dealership down. Within a week all his men had matching red RXT �" 300s. He considered burning down the dealership anyways, he did have a reputation to uphold after all. He was sure though that he would be successful and in the future might need more of the sea craft so he spared the sniveling salesman.

They were having so much fun journeying on the new jet skis Ivarr almost didn’t want to ride up on the beach and sack the town. But duty was a heavy burden and the fun couldn’t last forever, the gold wouldn’t steal itself. He pumped his fist three times above his head and his troops fell in behind him in a perfect wedge formation, only the best of the Vikings could pull off a complicated maneuver and make it look so easy. They had practiced this formation a dozen times at the community pool while waiting for their jet skis to arrive. With their new jet skis, they were truly the master of the oceans. It made Ivarr proud to lead these men, true warriors every one. They revved their engines as one to a loud roar and rode their new steeds’ right up on the soft sand beach. Ivarr turned the key and unclipped the life vest that was secured over his armor and clothes, safety always came first for Vikings. He hopped off the beach and gathered his men around while he pulled the clipboard he had brought out of the dry storage underneath his seat.

“Okay guys you know why we’re here but let’s go over the safety briefing one more time.” Men groaned but finally gathered around, taking off their life vests and some wiping their goggles clear of the salty water.

“Make sure we drag all our jet skis up on the beach this time so no one’s goes floating away.” Ivarr paused and gave a pointed look to Strigyyr who turned a very deep shade of red as the men around ribbed him.

“Everybody keep their keys on them, I like to tie mine next to my hammer amulet to make sure that it doesn’t get lost.” The Vikings nodded all around, they all had lost their keys at least once and it there was little more shameful for a Viking to be towed home by his comrades.

“Let’s keep our shield wall tight until we know how many Saxons were up against ok. Remember team work makes the dream work.” Ivarr checked “motivate the men” off his clipboard. Those weekend leadership seminars were finally starting to pay off he thought.  

“And finally, don’t grab too much loot, we don’t have that much room in these new jet skis. Check the manuals for the manufacturers weight limit, gold is good but safety is better.” Nods all around, every Norsemen knew the Code. “Just one slave per person and only if you brought the extra life vest for them, safety first guys.” Swords were drawn and helmets were donned.

“Alright that’s all I have, remember to just have fun out there and let’s be back to the beach by lunch time, were gonna have a nice picnic spread out their courtesy of our soon to be slaves.” With that the raiders were off towards the monastery, racing to see who could get there first.

Two hours later the settlement was on fire and the Vikings were speeding away. Oswald was secured behind Ivarr, the Viking smelled horrible but Oswald clung tightly to his waist. He had not gone this since the Bishop had come by with his Kawasaki Ninja. He had forgotten the thrill of the ride despite his head filling with images of what these men had planned for him.