Ulric the Jarl: A Story of the Penitent Thief

by William O. Stoddard

Swiftly the two keels approached each other, and rash indeed were the Romans, for they were arrogant, not knowing with what they had to deal. They saw the Saxon flag on the mast. They heard the war horns. Many men they saw not at the first, for concealment of his strength was the prudence of the jarl, lest his enemy might strive to escape. All the more freely did the fighting men of the small trireme crowd her decks and gather at her bulwarks.

Even from afar did the arrows of Lysias and Tostig and other bowmen and the slingstones of Knud begin to go in among them, angering them as some of them fell, hurt or slain. They, too, had bowmen, but neither good nor many, and their arrows were short.

Cunningly did Vebba veer away The Sword at the nearing, that a flight of spears might hurtle among the Roman soldiers, thinning them. Past them shot the swift keel of the Saxons, only to turn again suddenly, crashing back upon their further banks of oars. They, too, had been ready for boarding, but their bulwarks were not so high as were those of The Sword. Her grapnels were well thrown, moreover, and the two ships were as one when the legionaries made their brave rush to climb on board their enemy. Well had it been for them if they had been more in number. Well if they had not been so rashly self-confident, and if they had not been half beaten by astonishment at the sudden appearing of the Northmen at the ship's side.

With laughter and with mocking did the Saxons hurl their spears and then follow with sword and ax. Over the bulwarks they went, through the gaps left by slain Romans, and quickly they went two for one, slaying joyously. No Roman thought to surrender, nor was any mercy in the hearts of the vikings, but among them all did none smite more eagerly than did Ben Ezra and Lysias.

"Slay! Slay!" shouted the Jew. "O Greek, thou art too slow. Hew down! Smite under the fifth rib! Let none escape!"

"Good fighters are they!" shouted Vebba from the after deck of The Sword. "I will have a fine contest when I slay that Greek. I will fight him fairly. But I must get the Jew before me to see how he will handle that crooked blade. He cleft a Roman to the chin. Hah! I am but steersman and I miss the killing."

So did others of the vikings, for there were not enough on the trireme to put blood upon every good sword or spear. They were all gone too soon, and there was disappointment. Nevertheless, the legionaries had died hard, and nine of the Northern heroes had gone to Valhalla.

"To them the gods were kind," said Sigurd, "but this trireme is a fair prize. There are ten head of small, fat cattle, besides four fresh carcasses. We must have them on board The Sword, with the other plunder, before we kindle the fire."

The men were attending to that, for here was their fresh meat without the trouble of landing to find it. All of the slain might be burned with the trireme, with all honor, so there was no more care for that. Some Saxons were wounded, but not so that they might die, and there were no prisoners. All provisions and arms were taken over speedily and the good spirits of the men were returning, for none of them waited for needless cooking of the beef that was ready. Roasting might be done afterward, but the sharp knife could shred, and a viking cared for little more at the end of a won battle.

"Fire, now," commanded Ulric, at the last. "Throw off the grapplings and let her drift away. I would see her burn."