Breaking through

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

WITHDRAWAL.

“So, there was life in those damned Franks yet!” Svien Skildbiter tugged thoughtfully at his blond beard.
Despite the massive damage they had sustained during the intense vicious action, the two Frankish warships had managed to come about and were now making for the entrance of Windstorm Harbour.
As they had manoeuvred slowly around, Svien had seen the name of the second vessel, the “Morning Star”. He had watched as the captain of the “Wild Boar”, his ship afire and riding low in the water, had taken up a bow and shot a message arrow across to the other ship. Both vessels had then begun their slow withdrawal from that somewhat one-sided fight.
The Frankish crews were making a valiant effort to keep the flames at bay and their vessels afloat but it seemed to be in vain. Fire licked at the tarred deck seams and flickered along the rigging, smoking debris swirled in their wakes.
Skildbiter was saddened by the loss the Frankish captains must be feeling, to see one’s ship suffer was a terrible thing.
Shaking himself, he returned to the problems at hand. Fighting continued aboard “Aesgard” and an end must be made to that. Leaving Magnus, his Second in Command, in charge of “Islendigur”, Svien gathered all the Varangians that could be spared and made for the other longship. As they clambered over the “Aesgard’s” bulwarks, he could see the dead and injured from both sides. The dead lay in attitudes of flung abandon, the injured made weak efforts to drag themselves to places of safety. All the while their blood mingled as it ran in rivulets and pooled in the scuppers or lay splashed in great gouts about the deck.
The remnants of the Frankish boarders had drawn themselves up in the dragonship’s bow and were awaiting the Varangian’s next move. Their numbers few, most bleeding from minor wounds, abandoned by their ships, they expected no quarter from the Vikings and they prepared themselves to fight to the last man. The arrival of Svien and his fresh reinforcements only served to bolster that belief. Each man seemed to take a new grip on his weapon as he waited for assault to come.
Svien saw the wave of hopeless determination sweep through the Frankian ranks, He stepped to the front of the waiting Varangians and placed the head of his great double-handed axe on the deck. He held up a hand and his men relaxed into stance of alert watchfulness. Svien called to a man he knew who could speak the Frankish tongue. “Egil, tell them that I want them to lay down their arms, that we will not harm them, the time of killing has passed, now we must see to the dead and tend the injured.”
He waited as the message was translated and for the reply. Egil turned to him. “They do not trust us, they say we will make them slaves or torture them, they refuse to surrender.”
Svien sighed sadly. “So be it, if they will not surrender, I will waste no more lives, ours or theirs, to prove their fears right.”
With that he had the freshest and strongest of his Varangians to form a shield wall around the Franks, isolating them in “Aesgard’s” bow, and then he ordered the remainder of his men to begin the grim task of gathering up the dead and ministering to the wounded of both sides.
He walked to the railing and looked out at the water. Smoking debris and bodies moved sluggishly on the tide, a few survivors clung desperately to pieces of wreckage and prayed for rescue. He ordered a boat launched to go to their aid; maybe these acts would allay the Frank’s fears.
Meanwhile the two Frankish vessels neared the harbour entrance.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

ONCE PROUD SHIPS.

“A pox on those cursed snail-eaters!”
Trygg Bloodaxe’s temper ran white-hot, but beneath his shaggy brows his eyes were like twin pieces of jet, hard and cold.
The two Frankish vessels having somehow survived the barrage that came at them from all quarters were now making for the harbour entrance. Their progress seemed agonisingly slow but they were closing with the mouth of the channel.
All the catapults, ballistae and trebuchets that could be trained on the Frankish warships were keeping up a steady bombardment. Missiles rained down upon the ships in an unending deluge, the sea around them boiled and foamed, pieces of wreckage were sent flying high into the air, broken spars and tangled cordage lay about their decks, flames flared brightly despite the crews attempts to quell them. In their wakes, debris and bodies twirled in a macabre dance.
With their captain’s urging them to greater efforts, the Frankish seamen fought to keep their ships afloat as they made towards their goal.
Leaving enough men to keep a watch to seaward, Trygg brought the remainder of his Varangians to the sea-wall that hedged the channel. The two warships entered it and his archers began to send volley after volley towards them. Trygg had ordered his best bowmen to try to mark down the enemy captains and although the deck around them appeared to sprout shafts, they had proved to be elusive targets.
As Trygg was cursing their Frankish luck, the two vessels slewed to a halt within the entrance channel, missiles and arrows continued to fall around them but through their noise came the sound of axes. The ships began to settle deeper into the water as the Frank’s plan became clear. If they could do nothing else, they would attempt to block the harbour channel with the wreckage of their ships.
Each vessel was taking in water at a faster rate now, as the sea explored the new openings in their hulls, their crews were leaping overboard and most were swimming determinedly away towards the southern side of the harbour mouth. The barrage had lifted when the intent became clear. Now, the only sounds were the rush of air escaping from the hulls, the crackling hiss of the flames and the desperate screams of those unfortunates who were trapped aboard the rapidly sinking vessels.
Their hulls listing, their masts and spars in disarray, wreckage strewn across their decks, first one and then the other of those once proud ships slipped below the water’s surface. The sea around them seethed madly, debris fountained skywards; a few of the slower swimmers were dragged down by the vortex and joined with the flotsam and jetsam in the violent maelstrom that now filled the void left after the warships sank from view.
Most of the Frankish crews had gained the farther shore; Trygg did not know if either captain had chosen to die with his ship. He detailed some of his men to patrol the beaches in case any of the enemy came ashore on this, the northern side.
All that remained to mark the two ship’s passing was an oily slick that moved sluggishly with the tide.

[Chevallier Brallac]

The 68 Franks who had assembled on a more secluded corner of the southern harbour dripped from sea water, their faces grim, many with wounds, a few so exhausted that they had collapsed on the sand, not moving any longer. A few might be dead, others hovering nearby…. A sorry sight, Chevallier Brallac thought as he reviewed the men who had made it from the Morning Star and the Wild Boar. Captain Thoraux was nowhere to be seen, maybe he had perished when the Wild Boar.

Wiping the last drops of salt water out of is face, Brallac looked around him. In the distance he could see a groups of Norse patrolling the beach, but no-one seemed to be coming on the southern side. All they could do was make a run for it, make it to the village, try and secure horses and then make it to the south of Windstorm.

“Men! We will try and make it to the village nearby. Get any kind of transportation you can get, horses, donkeys, carts. We need to get south and as the captain said – if some English block your way, fight! Now… to the soth!”

However… Brallac was not fool enough to believe for one minute that any of them would make if very far off this beach.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

INTERLUDE.

Pursued by a freshening wind, a pall of grey smoke drifted across Windstorm Harbour.
On the northern side of the entrance, a Varangian patrol brought in another Frankish seaman, one more survivor who had mistakenly swum the wrong way when his ship had been scuttled. Wet, shaken and confused, he was put with the small band of bedraggled, vacant-eyed men who were now under guard not far from the trebuchet emplacements.
Trygg Bloodaxe watched as the seaman joined his companions and was handed a water flask. He felt a twinge of pity; it had been a brief, vicious action and the shock from the sudden loss of their ships showed clearly on their faces. Abandoned to an uncertain fate, the Frankish seamen sat or lay hunched around a fire and stared despondently into the flames.
The rest of the two Frankish vessels’ survivors had managed to swim to the southern side of the harbour mouth. They had faded into the trees, but Trygg had seen them gather in a secluded place further along the shoreline. He could not think of where they were heading but was sure a Windstorm patrol would eventually find them.
He looked seaward, the “Hippocampe” still lay just offshore, no activity was visible about her decks but the trebuchet crews were maintaining their watch. He turned and stared across the harbour to where the two Varangian dragonships were moored. Everything seemed quiet with them and he wondered how his fellow captain had fared……….
At that moment, Svien Skildbiter was busy, in the time since the Frankish warships had withdrawn, he had isolated the remnant of their boarding party to the “Aesgard’s” bow, had the dead collected and laid out, rigged an awning in the longship’s stern to shelter the wounded and had boats launched to collect survivors, any prisoners were placed under guard aboard the “Islendigur”.
He spoke again to his translator, “Well Egil, any change?”
“Captain, no matter what I say, they refuse to surrender, they will not believe that no harm will befall them.” Was the reply.
Ringed by the Varangian shields and overlooked by “Aesgard’s” carven dragonhead, the Franks stood drawn up in a tight watchful group; any attempt to broker a truce was met with shouts of derision and defiance.
Svien had left them to their own devices, hoping that his actions would allay their fears but that was not to be. Now he waited for the heat, the after-effects of the battle and the need to keep vigilant to take their toll.
While his men could be relieved to rest in the shade and quench their thirst, the Franks were standing in full battle dress in the direct sun. With their injuries untreated, their thirst growing and their energy fading, Svien would wait.
Very soon, they would either have to lay down their arms or make one last futile act of defiance.

---------------

((ooc - Just to tie up a loose end, could someone please decide what these Franks are going to do )

[The Franks]

(OOC: Actually, if one of the mods could please delete all posts AFTER the one by Thorgrimm from August 12, 9:57 am called "INTERLUDE". Thorgrimm and the Franks would like to play this out in a more realistic way. Sorry to the player of Espada, hope this is alright with you!)

Mod edit: Hope this works for you now *S*. DL

[The Frankish Soldiers]

The sun beat down upon the Franks trapped on board the Aesgard, most of them still standing, but a few who had sustained wounds in the previous battle sitting or laying on the deck. In one corner lay Otker, a burly sailor, tall as a giant and a devil with the spear. During the skirmish with the Vikings a sword had sliced through his sturdy hardened leather armour, into his guts. Most of his comrades thought he was sleeping…. Had they looked closer they would have seen he was dead. Like so many of them.

After hours of a stand-still, one of the Franks stood up and spoke to his comrades.

“You know…. I think dying here on this lousy ship of thirst and exposure will not earn us one lousy song or poem written in our name. I for one would like to hear those songs of our valour…. Tell it to my children. They have won, can’t you see it? We have been abandoned by Thoraux and Brallac! We cannot win… we should let them help us. Otker needs a healer, Fulk and Vedast also!”

The man waited fro a reaction from his comrades, most nodded after a while, but not without some curses on their lips, only very reluctantly laying down their weapons. All but Thierry … eh would never give up and lay down his life like a dog, especially not in front of these bastard Northmen. But he was never one to make many words… for now he would play along as the other Franks began to lay their knives and axes onto the deck, impaling their swords into the wood of the deck or breaking the arrows of their bows to show thei enemies that they were giving up.

Oh no, Thierry could wait…. Until the time was right.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

TAKING STOCK.

It was the rattle of raised Frankish voices from “Aesgard’s” bow that first caught his attention.
Svien Skildbiter stood up from where he had been tending one of his wounded men, placed the water flask he was holding within easy reach of the man’s hand and strode across the longship’s deck.
From behind the Varangian shields, he could see that some sort of debate was being held amongst the small band of Frankish soldiers and seamen now trapped in “Aesgard’s” bow. One man seemed to be leading the discussion.
He beckoned to his translator, “What does he say Egil?”
The young Viking listened for a moment. “He says that they have been abandoned by their commanders: that they are not worth dying for and that that there are wounded who need aid.” Egil listened a moment more. “I think he has won them over Captain.”
A stirring went through the Frankish ranks, with a few muttered curses men began to lay down their weapons or snap their arrows; some drove their swords into the deck. Then they stood back and apprehensively awaited the Varangians’ reaction.
Gaps appeared in the ring of shields as other Vikings came through, they moved amongst the exhausted Franks, passing around water flasks, collecting weapons, seeing to the injured. A healer knelt beside a giant seaman looking for signs of life, finding none he gently folded the man’s hands across his chest and closed the now lifeless eyes.
The wounded were carried to the dragonship’s stern where an awning had been rigged to provide them with some respite from the sun. Svien watched as his men went about the task relieving the remainder of their armour and searching for hidden weapons.
One man caught his eye, something about that particular Frank and the look he gave the Vikings sounded a warning to Svien.
“This is one who will bear watching.” He thought.
Then he turned to the Frankish soldier who been responsible for the surrender and held out his hand.

[espada]

((No probs on the deleating of the posts...is all in fun..haven't played out RPin on message boards in along time so again sorry bout the force postin))


*Seeing the ships make there way toward the harbour mouth shakes my head lightly....noding to the Lord in charge of the Cats I Wheel my Frisian Destier and ride down with my men toward the trebuchets...riening in the massive horse as I get to there smiling some to the one that looks to be the leader* I am Espada de Relampago...I am at your service sir...should the french decide to come we will meet them together..tell me where I can be of best use *looks over my shoulder to the castle thinking of her and again vowing that none will harm her or any tht reside within the castle...looking out once more to the ships and noting that the french seamen are making there way to the south shore thinking I may just get to draw steel yet*

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

KEEPING WATCH.

Although the stench and clamour of battle had faded, there was an air of alert watchfulness around the Varangian trebuchets.
There was still the threat from the Frankish ship “Hippocampe” which lay just offshore. Trygg Bloodaxe was watching as she tugged at her anchor, there had been scant movement about her decks but he was not taking any chances.
Squads of Varangians were out patrolling along the northern edges of the harbour channel and the shoreline. It had been some time since any more Franks had been found. He glanced across to where, under the watchful glaze of their guards, the small group of bedraggled, empty-eyed survivors were hunched around a fire.
As Trygg was running through his checklist once again, the sound of heavy hoof beats reached his ears. Staring intently in the direction of the sound, he recognised the group of mounted knights that he had seen around the Windstorm catapults. He waved his men to stand down and waited for the horsemen to approach.
Their leader reined his steed to a halt in front of Bloodaxe and introduced himself. “I am Espada de Relampago, I am at your service, sir. Should the franks decide to come we will meet them together. Tell me where I can be of best use?”
“I am Trygg Bloodaxe, Captain of the “Aesgard,” Trygg waved towards his longship. “And Commander of these trebuchets, your aid will be welcomed.”
The knight glanced over his shoulder toward Windstorm Castle, a concerned look on his face, before returning his attention to what Trygg was saying.
“The main body of Frankish survivors managed to gain the southern side of the channel, my patrols report that they have moved south. The Windstorm forces can deal with them.”
He pointed to the “Hippocampe”, then to the other ships guarding the harbour mouth.
“I doubt if the Franks will try anything but I have patrols out scouting these northern shorelines. I have the area around the harbour entrance and this headland well guarded.”
Picking up a stick, Trygg drew a rough map in the sand. “If you wish to remain and help keep watch, you could throw your men out in a screen to our north. That way, should the Franks attempt to come ashore here; you can sweep down and drive them back into the sea.”
He pointed with the stick. “There are some trees over by that small stream; you can use them for cover and for shade to rest your men and horses.”
The knight mounted and rode back to his men; Trygg raised his hand in salute. A group of cavalry would be a good thing to have in case the Franks did decide to try something.
Thoughtfully, he returned to checking on his command.

[The Franks]

Brallac and his men tried stealth, as much as they were able, to get off the beach . They couldn’t take the wounded with them, so they did the only thing humane and decent – they offered them to kill them before they would fall into the hands of the Vikings. Three of the wounded died that way, the last one was a bit more stubborn, but a well-thrown knife by Brallac soon quieted that last man who would be able to give away their whereabouts.

They still had swords and knives, not much else, now their objective was to get horses so they could join the troops of Lord Manassier. If the Lord was with them, they would make it to the village of Sommersville during the night.

[espada]

*noding to the Captain* Well Met Lord Trygg...*looks down at the rough map made and smiles* Aye then that is where we shall be...If the french should be stupid enough to come then my men and I will charge from the north...however there is something else that we can use as well...3 of My men have bellybows...I offer them to you since they will not be able to use them on horseback and I am sure you can find a use for portable balista..(fires a 4 foot arrow 300 ta 400 yards..basically a big crossbow)...*nods to the 3 Men and watches as they hand over the Bellybows to the Viking Men nearby with several arrows each....* they worked wonders on the french Cat that was north of Windstorm ...*Chuckles and remounts then nods once more to the captain then rides out to the forest with my men ready just in case of any troubles that may be awaiting us in that forest My Men and I now setting our minds to the upcoming combat becoming deadly serious now as we wait to see what the future may bring*

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

PRISONERS AND OTHER PROBLEMS.

The Spanish knight turned his warhorse and spurred away to organise his fellow knights.
Trygg Bloodaxe watched him go; he tried in vain to get his tongue around the Spaniard’s name.
“Why are they always so strange and unpronounceable?” he thought, scratching his beard bemusedly. He chuckled and the Vikings standing nearby cast questioning looks in his direction.
Bloodaxe noticed the glances, shrugged and took up one of the bellybows that the Spaniard had left with him. He had seen this type of weapon before and was keenly aware of its effectiveness. Looking like a large crossbow, it was a powerful weapon which fired large bolts that could pierce armour at long range. Choosing three of his strongest Varangians, Trygg handed them the bellybows with instructions about how they were to be used. The men moved to do as they were bid.
“These new weapons will give the Franks a nasty surprise.”
Trygg mused as he surveyed his command, the Spanish knights had moved into the treeline to his north, the watchfires had been lit and the sentries assigned to their watches, the trebuchets and their munitions were ready, those men not on duty were preparing meals or looking to their weapons, all was in order.
A movement caught his eye. The prisoners, what was he going to do with them? He looked to where the Franks sat huddled around a fire. He had made sure that they had warmth, water, food and that any injuries had been tended, but they were still Franks and not to be trusted.
Having assigned more guards, he turned to gaze out at the harbour.
There was something that been pricking at him ever since the battle had ended, it had been like an itch he could not scratch.
Then, it came to him. “What had become of the Spanish warship?” During the battle, he had lost sight of her and now he could see no sign. He was sure she had not been sunk. Maybe she had sailed deeper into the harbour and was even now somewhere amid the confusion of masts around the docks.
Trygg shrugged and smiled. It was not his problem.
Meanwhile, over on the Varangian longships, Svien Skildbiter was also considering the fate of the remaining Franks aboard “Aesgard”. They had surrendered, had been relieved of their weapons and placed under guard in the dragonship’s bow. His healers had seen to their injuries and were, even now, tending some of the worse wounded among them. There would be some who would soon succumb to their injuries but the rest would survive. He watched them thoughtfully and again he caught the sharp glance of that one man. The Frank’s dark look sounded a warning in Svien and he drew one the guards aside.
“Skalla, I want you to pay special heed to yon Frank. He has an air about him that I trust not at all.” Skildbiter’s eyes were hard. “Should he try any mischief, bind him tightly.” The Guard, Skalla Grimsson, nodded gravely and resumed his watch.
Svien walked to the “Aesgard’s” railing and looked to where Thorgimm Halfdane’s longship, “Valkyrie”, rode beside the tangle of Frank and Norse vessels. The fighting had ceased aboard those ships and he could just make out Thorgrimm as he strode across the “Forell’s” deck to speak to what seemed to be the leader of the Franks.
A pulling boat came alongside; its crew passed another half-drowned survivor up to the hands that reached out. Svien called down to the Viking at the tiller.
“Snorri, I want you to take a message to Thorgrimm. Tell him of our fight, that I have prisoners and wounded aboard “Aesgard” and ask what is to be done with them.”
The small boat came about and pulled for the Frankish merchant ship.
Svien watched it go and then gazed up at the sky; the light was fading as the day drew to a close.
“Had it only been a day? It had seemed like a lifetime.”

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

TRANSFER.

The Varangian pulling boat bumped alongside “Aesgard”, Snorri Brighthelm hauled his tired body over the dragonship’s side rail.
He stared around the busy deck for Svien Skildbiter.
Spying the tall Viking Captain, he made his way through organised confusion to where Svien stood deep in conversation with the longship’s Woodsmith. He waited quietly for his Captain to finish with the carpenter and notice him.
Skildbiter slapped the Woodsmith on the shoulder and turned to face Snorri. “And what actions does Thorgrimm want us to take, friend Snorri?”
Snorri saluted. “Thorgrimm instructs that those Franks who are well enough, be transferred the Frankish flagship, “Goelette”, there to help with repairs. He also asks that we send a boat or two over to Captain Bloodaxe to pick up what prisoners he has collected, they are to be taken to “Goelette” as well.”
“And the wounded?” asked Svien. “What of them?”
“There will be arrangements made for them soon.” Said Snorri. “But for the moment he asks that we tend them as best we can here.”
Svien considered Thorgrimm’s orders then he called for the crews of the pulling boats and gave them their instructions.
He walked over to the Frank who had led the surrender and looked the man straight in the eyes. “You and your fellows are to be transferred over the “Goelette”, behave yourselves and no harm will come to you.” Svien smiled grimly. “Know this; we came here in peace not looking for a fight. It was your leaders who began this and now it is you who are paying dearly for their lunacy!” he waved to the line of covered corpses. “These were good men, both Norse and Frank, who will now be received in the Halls of their Gods and not in the loving arms of their families.” Svien looked back to the Frank. “I bear you no ill feeling, you did as you were ordered, now go join your kinsmen and perhaps remember that we Norse are not the barbarians you have been told about.”
Leaving the guards to attend to the business of getting the Franks sorted into the rowing boats, Svien drew Skalla Grimsson aside. “Make sure that yon Frank, this … Thierry, gets up to no mischief and inform the Norsemen aboard the “Goelette” of my suspicions that they may watch him closely.”
The Viking nodded quietly. “It will be as you command, Captain. Be assured that should he try any trickery I will have him in shackles.”
Skalla slid down the ladder and sat behind the Frank in question. The pulling boat cast off and made for the Frankish flagship.
Skildbiter went to his healers where they tended to the wounded and told them of Thorgrimm’s instructions. Help would come soon but for some it would not be soon enough. “Such is the fate of all warriors.” He thought.

Trygg Bloodaxe was thinking similar thoughts as the last rowboat full of Frankish prisoners pushed away from the beach near his trebuchets and pulled towards the tangle of ships in the inner harbour. It would be a long hard haul but it was one less thing that he and his Varangians had to worry about.
Now the guards could get some rest and look to their own needs while a watch was kept for any further Frankish unpleasantness.
The message from Svien was that his longship “Aesgard” was relatively undamaged and that, Krag, his Woodsmith foresaw no difficulty in making whatever repairs were needed. Trygg grinned to himself, “The man is an artist with wood.” The losses to his crew was another thing, he would speak to Thorgrimm about a ‘wergild’, a compensation for his men’s families back in Ravensgard. The Varangians had not come looking for battle but, by Odin, they could not stand idly by while there was Frankish treachery about.
Now the Franks must be made to pay for their insanity.
The day was fading; the sentry fires were beginning to glow as a watchful calm began to settle over the trebuchets. With silent purpose the Varangians went about their duties.