This thought occupied me longer than wisdom would have allowed. I stood flatfooted and staring while the braided barbarian advanced, club high, ready to crush my skull and scatter my brains over the blood-soaked dirt. In the lurid light I saw the veins bulging in his neck and arms as he swung the club in a tight circle over his head, advancing with slow, murder-bent steps.
Someone shouted my name. "Aidan!" It was Dugal, running to my aid. "Run, Aidan! Flee!"
Even as Dugal raced to my defence, another foeman met him. Dugal tried to evade the attack; he lowered his shoulder and threw the but of the spear into the man's face. The barbarian dropped to the ground and lashed out with his legs, tripping Dugal as he struggled forward. I saw my friend fall. A second barbarian leapt onto his back, hacking at Dugal's head with an axe.
"Dugal!" I screamed, and started to him. The giant with the club side-stepped quickly, blocking my path. The light caught the slick wetness on the end of the club; I saw the red glint as the club circled, preparing to fall.
A savage cry sounded behind me, but I could not take my eyes from the dread movement of the lumpen weapon. The club slashed down, falling with heart-stopping speed. At the same instant, I felt hands fasten on my left arm, jerking me sideways. The club beat the air beside my ear, and I had a glimpse of a filth-smeared face before my cowl was yanked up over my head.
The giant roared and a voice loud beside me shouted back. I made to fend off my attacker, but my arms were ensnared in my own garments. My cloak was stripped from me and wound around my head and shoulders. I stumbled forward, trying to run, and struck my head against something hard.
Blue light blazed in my eyes and I heard a strange loud buzzing in my ears as I fell.
The ground swayed beneath me. The buzzing in my ears had given way to dull, leaden ringing-like that of a poorly-cast bell. My head throbbed with a fiercely hostile ache. I could not feel my legs, nor my hands. The sky was still dark, and all was quiet. I heard the low mutter of whispered voices somewhere nearby, but they sounded like the clucking of ducks and I could make no sense of it. The air was close and warm, and breathing painful.
I made to rise. The sky burst into flaming jagged fragments of searing light. Nausea rolled over me in a wave and I slumped back again, panting with the effort.
A memory fought its way into my sluggish, half-sleeping awareness: a tiny bubble rising in a great black vat-only to burst at the moment of surfacing. What was it? What…what?
I heard a scream. The sound brought me to my senses as memory broke upon me with the force of an ocean wave crashing over a rock. I remembered the attack.
Eyes pressed tight against the pain, I struggled up. My shoulders and arms were swathed in heavy cloths. Shaking my arms, twisting this way and that, I fought free of the bindings-my own cloak and mantle-and threw off my cowl.
Daylight streamed into my eyes; throwing a hand before my face, I found myself gazing into the strong red glare of the rising sun. The scream sounded again and I looked up into a clear blue sky to see a white gull gliding serenely high above me. The ship's mast swayed into view.
The ship's mast! I reached for the rail above me and hauled myself shakily to my feet.
My stomach heaved again, and I vomited over the rail. When I had finished, I dragged my sleeve across my mouth and then slowly raised my eyes-this time with unutterable dread-to my new surroundings: a barbarian ship with Sea Wolves for companions. They were occupied with rowing, and paid me no attention. One brute in brown buskins, belt, and a sleeveless sheepskin mantle stood a pace or two away, his back to me. He seemed intensely interested in the distant eastern horizon where the red-risen sun was gathering its day's strength and filling the sky with light.
One of the rowers, glancing up from his oar, saw me, and called something to the brown-belted one who turned, took one look at my gaping, vomit-flecked mouth, smiled broadly, and went back to his duty. I turned my head to see what he was looking at and saw, far away, the ragged grey coastal hills of Armorica. It took me a moment to work out that we were proceeding in a northerly direction over grey-green billowy waves.
The Sea Wolf ship was long and narrow, with a high-swept prow and stern: a strong, sharp-keeled vessel. There were twenty or so rowers, with small benches for more. Behind the slender mast a platform had been established, and this was overarched with bent poles and the whole framework covered with oxhides to form a sort of enclosed stall or tent. A wisp of smoke emanated from beneath the hides, and flattened on the brisk easterly breeze.
