"What's the matter, Lars?" asked Ned.
"Father is angry with the king," said Lars. "The troops are to land all along shore. That will scatter them, he saith, and some of them will be cut to pieces by these Danes and Angles of Northumberland. Father doth not believe that thy Earl Tostig can do anything with them. All the news is bad."
That was the longest speech Ned had heard him make since leaving Norway, and Father Brian at once replied to it:
"Thy father's a man of sense, my boy. I am thinking I will keep myself a good piece in the rear of this army rather than at the front. That's where men get killed, anyhow."
The Serpent had advanced steadily, and she was now passing the mouth of the river Derwent, on the right. Large numbers of vessels of all sizes, which had been ahead of her, were already making fast at convenient places along the banks. From each of these gang-planks were put out, and lines of warriors were marching forth upon the land. From other ships, at anchor out in the stream, boats were plying, but Father Brian was not looking at them. He was gazing very critically down the river.
"There they go," he muttered. "All those men that are landing away down yonder, below the mouth of the Derwent, will have that bit of water and swamp between them and us. They are cut off from doing any good if the rest of us get into a battle. Maybe it's good generalship and maybe it isn't. I wish Hardrada were an Irishman, and he'd never have split his army in two."
A very strong force of Northmen was getting ashore with Hardrada, above the mouth of the Derwent, nevertheless, and among them, before long, were all the passengers of the Serpent.
There was nobody there to oppose them. The Earls of Northumberland and Mercia, Edwin and Morcar, had expected Hardrada to come, but not so soon, and they had not dreamed that he would push right on up the river, to land so near them. They were not ready, therefore, and the King of Norway had now posted his army in strong positions, while the frightened people who had fled at his coming were telling the news in the city of York. The horses, what there were of them, were also coming ashore, but it was evident that the invading army would have no cavalry to speak of.
"That isn't the worst of it, by any means," remarked Ned, the son of Webb, as he marched along with Vebba's men. "England can never be conquered without artillery. If King Harold or the Saxon earls could bring out a few batteries of Maxim guns, or of field-pieces like those of the Fourth Artillery, they could tear up this invasion before Saturday night."
The landing of so great an army was a matter of time and toil, and it was well indeed for the Vikings that there were neither forts nor forces for them to encounter at the outset. Even when sunset came, and after that the darkness, ship after ship, as it arrived, was hastily unladen, every man stepping ashore with an idea that he might be marching into an immediate collision with the Saxons.