Chapter I: Over A Barrel
The fight was fast and desperate; in the momentary illumination a vicious leering face shone before Huw, and his hungry axe licked out, splitting it to the chin spraying gore and brains over the doughty Celt. In the numbing blackness that followed the flash, an unseen stroke swept Huw's helmet from his head and he struck back blindly, feeling his axe sink into flesh, his victim's howl cut short along with his life.
A thunderous roar and unholy fire split the raging sky, revealing a ring of savage faces, the hedge of gleaming steel that hemmed him in. Across the deck scattered pockets of remaining resistance were overcome with savage cruelty, men gutted and slashed by the barbaric pirate scum.
Back against the mainmast Huw blocked and struck; then through the madness of the fray a great voice thundered, and in a flashing instant the Celt caught a glimpse of a giant form--a strangely familiar face. Then the world crashed into fire-shot blackness.
Awareness slowly flowed back into Huw. He was first aware of a dull throbbing in his head. For a split moment thought he was once again paying the price for a night of heavy carousing, but as he sought to raise his hands to his head he realized he was bound hand and foot. This was also not an altogether new experience.
Clearing sight showed him that he was bound with his belly over a great wooden barrel, his ankles and wrists fixed to the deck by stout hemp ropes. This was not the merchantman on which he had been travelling - a more ragged vessel, unfamiliar, with black sails. Why the raiders had spared him, he could not guess; if they knew ought of their captive, they knew him to be an outlaw, one for whom no ransom would be paid. Further, if they knew who he was, they also knew that he was a vengeful man who would balk at nothing to satisfy a grudge against any captor.
The wind had fallen, but the sea was heavy. The ship groaned and creaked in the swell, contributing to Huw's nausea. His whole body ached, but he controlled his stomach through force of will - spewing now would show weakness in front of his captors, which was intolerable.
A fat, pale moon glared down through broken clouds, lighted the tossing billows. Here and there safety lanterns lit the gloom, their flames small and pitiful against the dark night. He was cold, he realised suddenly, and shifted his weight slightly. He was near naked, his mail shirt and the padding beneath gone. He still had his boots, but nothing else save a breechclout to cover his loins. His teeth began to chatter, but again his stilled them. He wondered how long he had been bound like this.
The merchant ship on which Huw had been working his passage had been set upon with little warning. For three days and nights the captain had fled southwards, trying to outrun the pirate vessel that hounded it. Most such vessels would have given up after a day or two at most, but this one kept coming, refusing to fall behind. As time and fatigue took their toll on the crew, so the raiders ship crept closer and closer. On the evening of the fourth day, pushing on into uncharted wastes, the merchantman had scraped its bottom across an unmarked reef, and the chase was over.
The raiders were bestial savages, the merciless trash of dockside brothels and prison breaks. The cruelty that warmed their blood was not human. In the terror and roar of a gathering storm they leaped howling to the onslaught, seeming not to care that they risked their own ship in pursuing the merchantman across the reefs.
It had been a slaughter rather than a fight - Huw had been the only fighting man aboard the doomed ship, and even his limbs were heavy with fatigue - and now he remembered the strange familiarity of the face he had glimpsed just before he was struck down. Who--?
"Ho there, my bold friend, you are awake!"
Huw stared at the man who stood before him, feet braced to the lifting of the deck. He was of huge stature, a good half head taller than the dark-haired Celt who stood a little less than six feet. His legs were like columns, his arms like oak and iron. His beard was of crisp gold, matching the massive armlets he wore, and he bore a lantern which he hung carefully on a hook near the Celt, casting a wan amber light over them both. A shirt of scale-mail added to his war-like appearance as the horned helmet seemed to increase his height. But there was no wrath in the calm gray eyes which gazed tranquilly into the smouldering green eyes of the Celt.
"Aelfric, the Saxon!"
"Aye--it's been a long day since you gave me this," the giant indicated a thin white scar on his temple. "We seem fated to meet on nights of fury. Tonight it was I who struck you down, my friend."
Huw cursed.
"Nay, revile me not," said Aelfric with a pained expression. "I struck with my hand, but knowing you have a cursed hard skull, I struck with both fists. You have been senseless for hours. Lodbrog and his dogs might have slain you with the others and claimed the bounty for your corpse as easily as for your life. They know you of old, you see - but I would rather you survived. I have endured much to pay my debt to you."
"Where are we?"
"Ask me not. The storm that came up as we caught your ship has blown us far out of our course. This sip lamed. We may be riding the very rim of the world for all that I know. But where we are should not be your most pressing worry, friend."
The big Saxon looked furtively about, and then raised his voice a little, as if speaking for an audience. He withdrew a joint of greasy, dry meat from his belt, and shifted his stance a little. Behind him, Huw could make out a weasel-faced, swarthy man leaning on the stern railing overlooking the main deck. He watched carefully as Aelfric attended to Huw, and a vicious crossbow rested on the rail next to him.
"A man must eat -here -set your teeth into this joint of meat."
Huw bent his head to the great joint and tore at it ravenously. The Saxon watched him. A strange man, reflected Huw, this renegade Saxon who hunted with the wolf-pack of the North - a savage warrior in battle, but with fibres of kindliness in his makeup which set him apart from the men with whom he consorted. They had parted as friends, and battle-brothers, and the Celt felt a pang of disappointment that they had met again as enemies.
"This meat is dry," said Huw, swallowing a final mouthful. He glared at Aelfric, who stepped away for a moment and called up to the man at the stern to throw him a skin of wine. The watcher sneered, but complied. Aelfric returned. He squatted down in front of Huw's face, and dropped his voice.
"Friend Welshman, I dare not release your hands just yet. As you can see, we are watched, yet all is not as it seems, and I swear to you that I am still the friend from whom you parted three years since."
His gray eyes were full of compassion and ... perhaps ... just a little fear. He held up the wineskin, and directed a thin jet of watery red wine into Huw's open mouth. Huw swilled wine round his mouth, and spat. Then he swallowed several mouthfuls before indicating he was sated.
