Herjolf too was at the council, and Ottar to carry its decisions to Piruusi and the Finns. So too, lounging back in his seat with an air of unconcern, was the broad-shouldered figure of the German Bruno. His men’s intervention at Uppsala had won him a place at the table. There was no doubt, at least, of his opposition to the Ragnarssons, now that they controlled Hedeby and had abandoned Hrorik’s trade-for-all policy, a standing threat to the northern borders of Germany.
Brand, who three years ago had carried the news of Ragnar Lothbrok’s death into the Braethraborg itself—a story now continually retold—had been asked to describe its defenses to the commanders of Shef’s allied fleet, more than a hundred warships. He had drawn the shape of the bay it stood in, in a great tray of sand on the table, and was now sticking pieces of wood into the sand to show the position of the main buildings.
“A tough nut to crack,” he concluded. “When I went in there was a standing patrol of half-a-dozen warships of the largest size. We hear that has been doubled, since the Ragnarssons know we are close. Each ship must hold at least a long hundred of men, six score, proven champions, and they stand higher out of the water than any of our vessels—except for the coastal patrol ships brought down by King Olaf, of which we have only four. Of course, since the Ragnarssons’ ships never leave the bay, they have no problems with water storage and can remain fully-manned at all times, returning for rest and food one at a time.
“And then there are the catapults. Everyone agrees that the first success of the Ragnarssons against Hedeby was caused by their use of the new machines. Since then they have continued to build them and train men in their use, all directed, so they say, by a renegade monk or lay-brother from the Minster at York.”
Eyes turned with a certain reproach to the small black figure of Erkenbert sitting at Bruno’s side. Erkenbert took no notice. Since his attack on the Kingdom Oak he had lived in a perpetual daydream, in which he continually rewrote the legendum of Erkenbert arithmeticus, smiter of the pagans, in the form of a saint’s life. He was unsure still about the role that should be given in it to the one-eyed apostate who had smitten the pagan king: perhaps it would be best to omit all mention of him, to ascribe the victory to a Christian champion. In the Christian world only the Church recorded history.
“The catapults are here,” Brand went on, driving a handful of pegs into the promontory that guarded access to the inner bay. “They can wreck any ships that approach and get past the standing patrol, at a range of close on a mile.
“And finally, there is the Ragnarsson main force. Armed longships, beached here—” another handful of pegs, “—at least as many of them as we have, and again without problems of water storage or provisioning.”
“Tell us, Brand,” said Shef. “Is there any good news?”
Brand grinned. “Well, lord, I could say ‘it isn’t raining,’ but it probably will be soon. But yes, there is. When it comes to it, many of the Ragnarsson allies are there under coercion. They’re there because the Ragnarssons came against them one at a time and forced them to surrender and contribute forces. But if they thought they could get away with it they’d desert like a shot. If the Ragnarssons are winning, they’ll fight for them. If it once looks as if they’re losing… Support will crumble very fast. To be honest, I think we would stand a good chance—if, if we could get past the hard core. But the catapults are a problem, and so are the big ships.”
Brand hesitated, unsure whether he was explaining the obvious. But the council contained so many non-Norsemen it was best to be explicit. “You see, in a sea-fight the size of your ship is like, like being behind stone walls. These big ships would go to the bottom in an hour in an Atlantic storm, and their keels are always weak. But if one of them comes alongside you in enclosed water, all they have to do is throw a couple of rocks down from behind their scantlings, and you’ll be swimming. They’re feet higher than an ordinary ship. The men in it are protected from anything you can do, but your decks are wide open to their bows or spears. If they board you they’re coming downhill. You’d have to climb a rope on a grapnel to board them, and as long as there’s anyone alive on board them, that’s impossible. One of King Olaf’s ships could fight one of them on even terms, but they outnumber us three to one in that class. And they’ll be manned, I repeat, by the Ragnarssons’ best. Only Danes, I dare say, not Norwegians,” Brand added with a bristle of national pride. “But not beardless boys for all that.”