Scurfa hollered to Alf, relaying the order. The Midship crew rushed to their work, all aware by now of the threat of the approaching storm. They performed their tasks well, lowering the yard and then setting about tying up the reefs of the huge sail. But no matter how quickly they worked, it still took time and as soon as the yard was across Brymsteda’s midship, jutting out either side over the water, the ship began to turn. There was nothing to do but wait for the operation to be completed, but the rocking motion was terrifying by the time they had finished.

Tall waves were rushing in from the north now. A huge wave broke over the wale, washing the deck and dousing us all in freezing water. Runolf cursed. Mancas leaned over the side to be rid of his morning meal as quickly and quietly as he could. Further down the ship, I saw Ida doing the same. My own stomach churned, as much with the fear of what would come, as the sickening rolling of the deck now that we were making no headway.

I looked over at Runolf. He was pale and muttering under his breath. I wondered if he was praying to his Norse god of the sea.

“Bail out that water,” he roared, his words being torn from his lips by the rising wind.

As we had now swung around, the side of the ship was presented to the waves. As each wave struck, more water washed over the strakes, or was forced around the wooden plugs wedged in the oar holes.

Dunn and Mantat’s crews began to furiously bail out water with buckets and their helmets. I watched as wave after wave surged towards us. If we could not make headway soon, one of those waves could sink us. At the realisation, I shuddered and felt bile rise in my throat. I spat. A driving rain, bitter and cold, began to lash us and I wondered what we had done to displease the Lord. Could it be because I had allowed Runolf to speak his pagan prayer? Was this a punishment for my lack of faith in the one true God?

It certainly seemed that Runolf’s offering to Njörðr had had little effect on the Whale Road, for the sea churned about us, the sky darkened as if night had fallen, and the wind blew off the cliffs, pushing us further out to sea.

“Ready!” bellowed Alf.

“All hands,” shouted Runolf. “Raise the yard.”

Without hesitation, we dropped down to sit on the thwarts and sea chests, bracing our feet and gripping the halliard. Alf called out the pace, and together we heaved the heavy yard and reefed sail up the mast. As the sail rose, so the wind caught it, causing Brymsteda to yaw to port dangerously.