Looking around, the exhausted Geats can see five abandoned Eowan ships. There is the debris of a sixth, smashed by the Black Pig, floating around them. Two more Eowan ships are adrift near where the Spearhafoc was taken – both empty and damaged.
Of Eowan oar-slaves there are three dozen or so, slumped upon their row-benches, most showing no emotion or even awareness of their surroundings. Perhaps another dozen are fished alive from the deep by the merciful Geats of the Black Pig’s crew, led in their efforts by Ruric. These last seem a little more aware of their surroundings, their heads cleared somewhat, perhaps by their dousing in the cold cleansing waters of the White Sea. Ruric identifies a cask on each Eowan ship as containing the seith-brew for their oar-slaves. He also finds a sea chest on one of the ships that has runes upon it.
A handful of Eowan warriors have been taken alive on the Black Pig. Another four can be seen hanging from the crosstrees of the Osprey like ripe fruits, tended by Saeric Ravens-Cloak, Eoppa’s Woden-Priest. There are no Eowan prisoners taken by the Blue Fish. Any badly wounded Eowan have their goods taken from them and are dispatched to Ran.
While their crews labour to clear decks, tend to their wounded and fallen and loot the bodies of their enemies, the Geatish Brimwisas and their closest advisors take counsel. All three Brimwisas came through the battle unscathed but all show signs of battle-weariness. Their Steormen also survived although One Foot has a bloody bandage around his head.
The Osprey has taken heavy casualties. A full quarter of its men are dead, several more are badly wounded, and another quarter have lesser wounds leaving less than half their crew – about a score – on their feet. Many of them are exhausted with battle. The Blue Fish has fared better with but three dead. They have perhaps a dozen men still fighting fit but for the most part exhausted. Of the crew of the Black Pig, four – Byrhtnoth, Port, Ceadwalla and Heregils – are dead. Alefrith has a spear-wound transfixing her left shoulder and Ealhere a right leg that will not take his weight. The Black Pig, being late to the battle, has a few more men left fit to fight or at least man the ship. The bowmen Herewulf and Beornfrith are unwounded having taken no direct part in the fighting, although they have precious few arrows left between them. In all it is thought that given a night’s rest they might have two score warriors between them all. Perhaps another score, though impaired by wounds, might take up arms if pressed and would be well enough again in a day or two – perhaps less if the healers all ships possessed got to work upon them.
To the west the surviving Eowan ships – about half of them – and the Spearhafoc are clustered together as if discussing whether to go at them again. As far as Wistan can see, there is no further support coming from their north-bound fleet. After an hour or so they split into two groups, with the larger number resuming their original course. However, Eowan craft and the Spearhafoc take a more westerly course towards the Eowland coast.
There had been fourteen men upon the Spearhafoc – six each from the Osprey and the Blue Fish along with Saefrith and Hwaetman. There is much speculation as to the likely fate of these men, with some noting the Eowan keenness to take prisoners so that they could enslave their minds and bodies with seith. Eventually the Brimwisas decide that it would sit ill with them to abandon their comrades simply in the hope of more loot and softer targets further down the coast. They will follow the Spearhafoc and see what might be done to rescue their comrades.
The principle agreed, there then ensues much discussion of ways and means – for there is much to attend to before all the Geatish ships can get under way. At length, at the urging of Wistan, shouting down from the mast that the Spearhafoc was making much progress away from them, it was decided that the best course was for the Black Pig to pursue the Spearhafoc while the other two ships set all in order and follow in the morn.
So the Black Pig sets sail to the west. On board are all its surviving crew along with what they judged to be the biggest, strongest and most aware of the slaves – eight in number – to help man the oars and give the sails a boost. By the time they finally get under way they are perhaps two hours behind their foes. It was by this time evident that the Spearhafoc had pulled away from the Eowan consort rowing in its wake. Thus the Spearhafoc would reach the coast long before the Black Pig caught it. However, the Black Pig, with both sails and oars deployed, was making good time against its Eowan consort. Moreover Wistan could see the Spearhafoc heave-to and furl its sails. It appeared to be awaiting the arrival of its fellow once it reached the coast.
By the time the Eowan craft comes up with the Spearhafoc, the Black Pig is but a few furlongs behind them. The sun is low on the western horizon forcing Wistan to squint into its brightness. However, at this distance all can see the scene. The Spearhafoc is hove-to half a furlong away from a curious sort of harbour. Two rocky spits of land thrust out from the shore, perhaps thirty feet apart. Upon the end of the higher starboard spit is a rough-built rampart of dry-stone that further narrows the entrance. A cloaked figure stands in the bow of the Eowan ship, arms aloft and shrieking Galdor. The ship withdraws slightly and the Spearhafoc outs oars and rows through the gap into the harbour, followed by the Eowan craft.
By this time the Black Pig is but a furlong behind the trailing Eowan ship as it enters its refuge. Men look to Thegn Osgar. Is it his will that the Black Pig pursue it into the harbour, hard upon their heels? Or should they turn aside at the last minute and await their allies? Osgar looks at One Foot – even more disreputable-looking now with the bandage around his head. He shrugs as if to say that either course is perilous but it is for such manoeuvres you hire a fine steorman like himself. “Decide now”, he cries!
“Onwards, onwards, into the harbour! We may never get a better chance!”, cries Lytelman. The oarsmen bend their backs and One Foot aims the bow of the Black Pig – still under sail – at the narrow gap of the harbour mouth.
Then comes another shout, this time from Leofdag. “Nicor! Ware Nicor” and he points bow-wards where there is a white churning in the sea on a heading towards the Black Pig, moving even more swiftly than the ship itself. Some grab masts and rigging, anticipating that the ship might be taken aback when it meets the sea-nicor. Others trust more to skill and chance. Lytelman and Sweyn leap to the bow with their giant-wrought axes; Svipdag and Grimcytel rush to support their oath-holder; Beornfrith strings his bow and sets one of his three rune-marked arrows to it (having given the other three to Herewulf).
Rearing out of the sea comes the giant wight, seeking beak, bulging eyes and questing tentacles that meet the Black Pig head on. The craft judders and many of those who held to weapons rather than the ship fall to the deck. It is but good luck that none plummet to their dooms. Yet as the nicor meets the Black Pig there is a flash of blue fire as the Thunor-wards set by Leofdag take effect upon the wight.
The nicor rears back from the touch of the Thunor-fire. Osgar and Sweyn strike at its tentacles but unbalanced as they are, their blows go astray. However, Leofdag holds aloft the black gemstone that was the eye of Gromscatha and at his shriek of Galdor a bolt of blue lightning issues forth from his hand striking the nicor and making it writhe in agony as the blue fire plays about its great body. Sweyn gathers himself and hacks a tentacle from the beast. At the same moment Beornfrith lets loose his arrow to pierce a bulging eye. The nicor falls back into the brine, but deadly to the last, it lashes out with one long tentacle and catches Beda about the neck, dragging him from his oar bench and into the deep.
Now One-Foot wrestles with the steering oar for with the assault of the nicor and the loss of an oarsman on the starboard side, the ship is off-course and like to crash into the port side of the harbour mouth. Hild throws herself on the oar in support. Stibba joins her and together they heave, but it looks grim for the Black Pig, the more so because standing upon the stone rampart is the unmistakable figure of a witch, broom aloft screaming her curses and pointing at One-Foot. One-Foot shrieks something back and clutches at his chest. Two arrows sprout in the breast of the witch as Beornfrith and Herewulf ply their trade. Miraculously the ship changes direction just enough to clear the harbour entrance and, coming in at an angle, its bow smashes into the Eowan skiff moored to the jetty on the northern side of the harbour.
Wistan makes an heroic leap onto the jetty and cuts down an Eowan warrior that meets him there. Hrothgar leaps upon the sinking Eowan ship and orders the drugged and exhausted slaves to disembark. Thegn Osgar leads his men along the jetty to the rampart where they find but a remnant of the Eowan forces. Those that do not surrender immediately are cut down. The witch is dead, many wounds upon her body aside from the two arrows that killed her. So the victorious Geats take the harbour steading of Forc-hafn.
There is a price, however, for their victory. Aside from Beda, Ealhere is also dead, chest crushed by a rock thrown from the rampart. At the stern of the Black Pig, still slumped over the oar is One-Foot, Hild by his side with tears streaming down her face. For One-Foot is stone dead. Hild holds in her hand a large disc of bloodstone, set in silver and cut with runes, still hanging from One-Foot’s neck. Its surface is crazed with dark threads. “It is his wyrd–stone. The witch that made it warned him that if he took its last wish it might kill him. He refused to use it to save his foot for fear of that warning, but he used it up to save the Black Pig.”
Mercifully, however, they discover that many of the crew of the Speahafoc are still alive and some relatively well – though all show the signs of hard-fighting. Among the survivors is Saefrith. Among the dead, however, is Hwaetman, swept from the deck of the Spearhafoc by a witch’s broom to join his nephew Waebheard in the watery realm of Ran.
Twilight is falling and the Geats can see on the eastern horizon a red glow and know that it is the funeral pyre set by the men of the Osprey and the Blue Fish for the dead of this morning’s battle. Their thoughts turn to Port, Heregils, Bryhtnoth and Ceadwalla who fell there, and to Wighere, Hwaetman and Waebheard sucked to their watery wyrds, and now Beda, and the pyre they must make on the morrow for Ealhere and One Foot.