By keeping Far Voyager on a larboard tack they had been able to keep her damaged strakes mostly out of the water, but now they had to turn and run down wind and the pressure would again be on the weak part of the hull. We would sink before we could work our way back to windward.”Īs it was they were still in danger - serious danger - of sinking before they could get their ship to the Danish longphort.

If you’re right, the gods have at last done us a favor by not setting us down wind of that point of land. If you think that is Vík-ló, then we shall set a course for there. He had no way of knowing if Agnarr was correct. “Vík-ló is at the mouth of a river, and I believe that river runs through the low land just there.” See how it rises up and then to the north the shore flattens out, there?” Agnarr’s finger swept north along the shore. “I believe that is the cape just south of Vík-ló. “See there?” He pointed to a high, rocky promontory jutting out from the land, a dark shape against a dark shoreline, details invisible if the dull, leaden daylight. “Perhaps the gods are done toying with us, for now, anyway,” Agnarr said. Low clouds like torn veils flew past and blotted out parts of the land under their lee, but they could see enough to get some sense for where they were, or at least Agnarr thought he could. The seas were down enough and the wind moderated sufficiently that Thorgrim allowed someone beside Agnarr to relieve him at the helm while he and Agnarr stepped over to the starboard side and peered to the west. He said nothing, as he thought mentioning this would bring bad luck, but he could tell in the tone of the men’s voices and the increased talk that they sensed it as well.ĭawn revealed the coast of Ireland, still there, closer than it had been, but not dangerously so. It was in the dark hours on the second night of the storm that Thorgrim could feel a lessening in the wind, could feel the motion of the ship change as the seas began to settle down. I hate to think what it says about me, that Ornolf should appear so feeble.” He would still be shouting at the gods and pouring mead down his throat. “The Ornolf of old would not have been felled by just one day of drinking in the midst of such a storm. He was taking his turn at the tiller and Ornolf’s great body was sprawled out only a few feet forward of him. “Old age is finding your grandfather, I fear,” Thorgrim said. Harald dug out some furs that were wet but not as wet as most and he covered Ornolf where he lay. If there was one bit of good luck it was that Ornolf the Restless finally drank himself into insensibility and collapsed on the after deck in a great wet heap of wool, hair and fat.

Danish longphort tips