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Anno Domini 825, December 18
We had boarded my ships after loading everything. We began the return journey, and after a night's rest aboard, I found the Varangian at dawn, inspecting the ships with clear interest.
"So you have three of these ships," Hákon said as he looked them over.
"Yes… nothing extraordinary, but I recently bought two of those," I replied, pointing to a dromon sailing alongside us.
"Ah… Roman warships… they're not cheap. When I was younger I wanted to buy one, but aside from being a Varangian and not being able to afford it, they cost the same as a hundred horses," Hákon said.
"Well, these cost about as much as a hundred of your Varangians… but I bought them at half price because they were damaged in combat and had them repaired. They'll be ready next month. Would one of those get you to the Baltic?" I asked, watching the sway of the sea.
"No… it wouldn't work. It needs to be a shallow-draft vessel. The rivers aren't very deep, and when you reach the rapids you have to unload and carry the ship overland until you reach a calmer stretch. That ship would run aground quickly and smash itself against the rocks," Hákon replied.
"Good to know. Then I'll have to find a way to get you one of yours… a drakkar, right?" I said, recalling the type of ship the Vikings used.
"Yes, exactly. That one. If you get me one of those, quality doesn't matter—I can return home and manage from there," Hákon said.
"I'll see what I can do. As you can imagine, I spent a fortune, so I'll have to find some Varangian willing to trade his ship to do business in the Empire," I said thoughtfully. "Hey, if I may ask… all your men were seasoned warriors. What happened? It's important to know mistakes so as not to repeat them."
"Ah… nothing remarkable, really… bad luck, I hope," Hákon said.
"Why do you hope it was bad luck?" I asked, interested.
"As I told you, we were in the process of hauling the ship overland. We were moving it and decided to camp; the area was dangerous—we had raided it several times, taking crops, women, wealth, and prisoners. That night one of my sailors vanished, and we couldn't find him anywhere. I refused to leave without knowing what happened to him… but the Slavs found us, and we couldn't reach the river before they caught us. They recognized me when I appeared, and the next Varangian they found,they sold me. No matter how much I tried to convince them to release me and let me pay later, they sold me to Roman slavers… I spent weeks in that cursed cage… wondering whether the man I lost sold me out… or truly disappeared," Hákon said.
"I think the answer is obvious," I said with a grimace.
"No… it isn't. He was a man of honor… like all my men. They've raided and traded with me for over four decades… or they're sons or brothers of my sailors. I know each and every one of them, and I refuse to believe he betrayed me," Hákon replied defensively.
"Forgive me… but you know Romans aren't exactly known for loyalty… a knife in the back is quite common," I said, nodding.
"Strange how such a wealthy city survives on betrayal…" Hákon said.
"When they're in danger, they put rivalries aside… anyway, I'll keep my word. Teach me how to speak to your people, and I'll get you a drakkar and your freedom," I said calmly.
"Yes… how long until we reach your forge?" Hákon asked.
"Four days with favorable winds, six if they're against us. We'll pass through the Hellespont and reach Ainos. We'll likely stay there until spring, then return loaded with military equipment to sell—unless something forces me to move," I replied, folding my arms.
"Like what?" Hákon asked.
"Bulgarians… they usually go wild in spring raids, and if there are enough of them I might be called north, since I serve the imperial forces as a mercenary. Or pirates… that's why I bought dromons," I replied with a faint smile.
"I see… let's hope none of that happens, because being a slave isn't for me… I'm usually the one putting chains on others, not wearing them," Hákon said with a grin.
"Come on… how long have you been a slave? One or two weeks? A month?" I asked, watching him.
"Something like that. Since I was thrown into that cell, I lost track," Hákon replied.
"Bah, you got off easy… you've got a good owner… one who doesn't even demand respect or whip you," I said, watching distant ships on the horizon.
"Sounds like you've owned slaves before. You have experience, I assume?" he asked, also watching the ships.
"I was a slave for over eleven years… I've got experience from your side of the chain," I said, noticing what looked like a naval skirmish ahead.
Hákon slowly turned his head and stared at me wide-eyed, lips pressed tight.
"Yes… and I've also seen slavery from the other side, when I handed over more than five hundred Bulgarians to be sold as slaves in Adrianople… it pays well. I think they still owe me that payment… damn, looks like pirates," I added, watching four ships surround one merchant while a Byzantine dromon fought them.
"Are we going to fight?" Hákon asked.
"We have to. My contract obliges me. If word gets out that I ignored this, we're screwed… check the hold—I think I've got armor and weapons we won't need immediately," I replied, heading to the hold to don my armor.
We lowered the sails and quickly brought our ships broadside, beginning to gear up for combat.
"I won't judge anyone who doesn't want to wear heavy armor—if you fall and can't get it off in time, the sea will swallow you," I said to my mercenaries, who hesitated over their brigantines. "But don't come crying later when an arrow finds you."
I shifted some crates and found several mail shirts I'd kept in reserve.
"Hákon, here—found something for your men. It should fit them reasonably well," I said, tossing the heavy mail shirts to him, which they quickly began putting on.
The Varangians armed themselves with whatever spare equipment we had left, and a few ended up wearing the brigantines my men refused to use, terrified by the idea of sinking. I think most of them couldn't swim, so drowning was a nightmare to them.
"Do you know how to use these?" I asked, showing the Varangians several crossbows. After Hákon translated my words, they all shook their heads.
"Do you have bows? Those they know how to use," Hákon said.
"No… no bows. Then just use this," I replied, handing them the pavises we had. "Cover the crossbowmen."
Once we were armed, I watched the Varangians talk among themselves. Hákon frowned and shook his head at whatever his men were suggesting, invoking Odin again as he spoke.
We split up among my ships and began using the wind to close in on the fight.
Raising sails and dividing my men between the three ships, about eighty men per vessel, we advanced toward the battle, which already looked brutal—the Byzantine dromon was being boarded by two other ships.
With the push of the waves and the local wind, we closed the distance. The first pirate arrows fell quickly, thudding into the hull and shields. For the moment we were well covered, so their arrows meant nothing. We kept advancing as more arrows rained down, but the pavises held, as did the armor of those on deck. I saw several arrows deflected, bouncing harmlessly off steel.
"We're in range—crossbows!" I shouted.
Several of my mercenaries rushed up from the hold, moving behind the pavises and the Varangians, and began firing bolts.
I aimed my crossbow while a group of archers kept harassing us. Timing the rise and fall of the waves, I squeezed the trigger. The bolt flew out and punched straight through someone—I saw a body drop instantly.
I stepped into the stirrup, cocked the crossbow in one clean motion, set another bolt, and fired again—this time smashing into a side shield on the enemy ship. I repeated the process as we closed in. The closer we got, the deadlier the bolts became, and the ship ahead of us was nearly emptied, most of its crew bleeding out on the deck.
"Lower the sails—we're about to ram them!" I shouted to the sailors, who hurried to pull them in and kill our speed.
The captain did what he could and brought us almost alongside the pirate ship, now littered with wounded men. The few still standing didn't last long when they were barely meters away from our crossbows.
"Damn it, why don't we have grappling hooks?" I cursed, bracing myself as I threw a rope and secured the ships together. At the same time, other Varangians did the same, tying us fast.
With the combined strength of several Varangians and myself, we hauled the ships together. That was when I jumped across with axe in hand, followed by Varangians wielding swords and hand-axes. They didn't hesitate for a second—charging straight into the few archers still alive.
A quick glance at the pirates' armor confirmed they were Muslim Saracens from Crete—though they could just as easily have been from the Abbasid lands.
Once the upper deck was secured, we checked the rowing benches. There were only chained men there—galley slaves—so no threat.
The Varangians tore the shields off the pirate ship and began using them to reinforce their own protection, while my men crossed over and started firing bolts at the remaining ships still fighting the Byzantine dromon.
A group of eight Varangians, clad in my men's armor, charged a cluster of Saracen pirates armed only with spears, bows, and scimitars. They had little chance of piercing the armor, while they themselves wore nothing more than padded gambesons.
It didn't take long to see heads split open, teeth flying across the deck. The Varangians struck with such force that they cut through flesh and crushed gambeson in a single blow.
One pirate tried to impale a Varangian, the spear striking uselessly against the padding. The Varangian seized the shaft, snapped it with his axe, then drove the broken end straight into the man's skull. Without pausing, he turned and smashed another Saracen in the head with all his strength after the man's scimitar bounced harmlessly off the brigantine—sending teeth and an eye scattering across the deck.
The Varangians butchered the Muslims, who simply couldn't penetrate the brigantines. Blood covered the deck as some tried to flee to another ship or simply threw themselves into the sea.
The Varangians' battle cries rang out as the fighting continued. We controlled two ships now. The third was being boarded by my men, followed closely by the Varangians, while the crossbowmen harassed those hiding in corners, desperate to stay as far away as possible from the raging giants.
We crossed onto the merchant ship that had been attacked, finding most of its crew dead, and used it as a platform to reach the dromon, where the Byzantine defenders were barely holding against the Saracens.
As we boarded the dromon, we saw the fourth Saracen ship break free, cutting whatever held it fast, and flee at full speed, oars hammering the water as it escaped.
The remaining Saracens were trapped between us and the Byzantines, who were at their limit. Only a small knot of them remained, surrounded by bodies strewn across the deck.
The Saracens closed ranks, raising swords and spears, staring us down—until the crossbows loosed another volley. Several screamed as bolts punched through them.
I raised my axe and, in a single swing, severed an arm from one man and a leg from another. Blood poured across the deck as spears thrust, arrows fell, and more bolts tore through Saracen bodies.
When only a handful remained, they finally began to throw down their weapons—just as the Varangians closed in, drenched in blood.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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