Hrothgar and the Mustering
After the events narrated in Queens of the Summerland I stayed at Gefndene for the rest of the winter. The time passed quietly as I was not lucky enough to take part in any more of the adventures that cemented Thegn Osgar’s reputation. I was however lucky enough to attend the Thegn’s wedding and a fine celebration it was from what I could remember the next morning.
Just before the wedding, Groar the Shopman arrived in timely manner with many goods for sale and also brought news of Wiglaf’s war arrow and the summer muster at Wasterwic. In search of adventure I decided to head off to the muster and talked to Groar about his planned route and the proximity to my destination. He was happy to have another warrior to accompany him and told me that it would probably work well for my aims as he would be headed close to Wasterwic in plenty of time for me to make my way there.
Groar had half a dozen pack animals and four other warriors. One of the warriors was a grizzled veteran with many tall tales – when I related our adventures in the Summerlands these became even taller, so I was never sure what to believe, but he had the scars of many fights and proved himself to be a staunch companion, so maybe they were true.
One night we were attacked by half a dozen puckelmen, but I was on watch and alert to the danger, giving the alarm in plenty of time to fight them off. Another afternoon as we were heading through forest, we were attacked by a couple of Thurse in a gully and I was wounded, but not seriously and the Thurse were soon despatched.
A small band of escaped theofs tried to ambush us in the hills as the sun was setting late one afternoon, tempted no doubt by Groar’s pack train, but they were poorly armed and did not tax us too much. These three encounters were sufficient to keep me in fighting trim, but the rest of trip was uneventful. I was also able to make myself useful by keeping us supplied with wild hare and on one occasion a small deer for the pot, with my sling.
After travelling with Groar and his men for over a month, we arrived at the village he had suggested for the parting of our ways. We celebrated with a few meads and with words of thanks from Groar and detailed instructions on how to reach Wasterwic I headed off promptly the next morning with a slightly sore head. It was but a few days travel to the muster and most of these were spent in company with fellow travellers. It had been an interesting journey; I had seen a different landscape from my native crags, lots of low hills and valleys, farmland and plenty of forest.
Wasterwic did not make a great first impression: I arrived on a misty, gloomy morning which did not help, it was smaller than I expected, not that much bigger than Gefnhame, and the first villagers I saw failed to respond in kind to my cheerful greetings. However, when the mists cleared, which wasn’t often, the place didn’t seem so bad. It was a little larger than I had first thought and it did seem a very suitable site for the muster as it was next to a beach at the end of some sort of lagoon, with plenty of strands for the drawing up of ships. There were a number of farms nearby, some of which I passed on my way to the place. As I was an early arrival only a few booths were already set up as temporary accommodation for sleeping, drinking and trading, but many more were under construction and it looked like the place might be overwhelmed by the number of arrivals. There were already a goodly number of ships drawn up on the beach. It was easy to find shelter for the night, a camp fire and food to share in exchange for help with chores and I had a hare that I had managed to kill early on the morning before my arrival.
The next morning, I sought out a priest of Wade and was directed to a Weather-Geatish Wade-Priest named Athulf. He was a grey bearded fellow, but seemed cheerful enough and said he would be able to help me. I handed over my hard-earned silver and he retained a mark for himself as his priest-fee and rowed us out into the deepest part of the lagoon. He bade me sit as still as I could amidships, while he stood at the bow, arms aloft and shrieked his Galdor. He then knelt and tossed my silver into the deep with his right hand, while dangling a small amulet into the water from his left. Finally, he rowed me back to shore and gave me the whalebone amulet. He assured me that it should keep me afloat for an hour or two, as long as I did not tempt the god by wearing too much armour. He also told me to bring it back to him and he would recharge it for a similar sacrifice, but that I should not rely upon it after midsummer next year.
Athulf seemed an experienced fellow and was clearly a seasoned shipman, so I decided he would be a good source of information about the Eowan. I offered to share a horn of mead with him and we repaired to one of the booths that had been set up as impromtu taverns. He proved an entertaining, somewhat garrulous character with a store of tales relating to the Eowan. It was hardly a private place and there were other Weather Geats about, some of whom chipped in with tales of their own. I again mentioned my tale of the Summerlands, which led to some of the taller tales regarding witches on flying broomsticks, which I discounted. It became a bit of a serious session and I awoke the following morning with a thick head and empty pockets, but I managed to commit the following to memory. Hopefully it will prove useful to the thegn.
Eowland is a long, thin island off the coast of the Small-lands, but three or four days’ sail southwards from Wasterwic, given calm seas and fair winds, to the nearest point. Most of my sources have not actually set foot on the island but all have seen it from the sea – mainly from its Eastern and Northern approaches. Some claim to have been with Eadgil’s and his Sweon and Geatish host last summer.
The island is far greater north to south than east to west. It might take a man a week to walk from the north end to the southern tip, yet it is less than half a day’s walk from east to west throughout is length. It is in general quite bare and rocky with few trees of great size. There are no great hills or mountains but because of its narrowness there are many vantage points from which one can see both coasts. On many of these are strongholds, built from stone, because of the lack of timber, and bounded round with ditches and great hedges.
The east coast is rocky and has few suitable beaches for a landing, although the Eowan themselves seem able to launch pirate attacks from there without difficulty in small boats emerging from hidden bays and secret strands. The west is a narrow, rocky channel but is said to have more hospitable strands. Fortunately, the northern tip has a number of accessible strands and my Weather Geatish friends anticipate that the fleet will land there and then try to fight its way southwards along the length of the island. This is where Eadgils landed last summer.
The Eowan have an evil reputation amongst the Weather Geats. Hate would not be too strong a word for their feelings toward them. They prey upon the commerce in the White Sea that is the Weather Geats’ livelihood. They have even on occasion raided the harbours of the Isle of the Weather Geats. Although they will not trade with the Eowan directly, inevitably the goods stolen by the Eowan do find themselves traded back into the Weather-Geatish economy. Their “fences” most commonly are from the Small-lands but Danes, Sweons and – it is muttered darkly – some East Geats, clearly have trade-links with the Eowan.
A theme that is constantly returned to is witchcraft. It seems that Eowan society is a matriarchy. They are ruled by a witch-queen and her “gesiths” are all likewise witches. There are many wild tales of their powers. However, there are some persistent themes. Their seithcraft (basically potions brewed up in great cauldrons) is well-attested. Many of my sources have faced Eowan pirates ships whose crews are crazed on the dark brews of their seith-witches: men who feel no pain and fight as if in the grip of Battle-Wod. Many of their warriors are slaves whose wits and memories have been stolen from them by their seith-brews. Some say they can even raise a man from the dead to fight at their bidding. The Eowan are Wen-worshippers and revere both the earth god/goddess Niorth, and their daughter, the fiend of the deep, Ran. They can summon mists from the sea and Nicor from the deep and the flora and fauna of the island are theirs to command. It is known that their witches can summon phantasms that can affect a man’s mind and make him see that which is not there.
My new found friends did offer me passage on a Weather Geatish ship on a shares basis, but I politely declined, intending to join up with Thegn Osgar and his men.
Thegn Osgar and his followers eventually arrived for the muster. When I saw his ship, I regretted my hasty decision to turn down the offer of passage on a Weather Geat ship – even to my untrained eye the Black Pig seemed overcrowded and less seaworthy than most of the other gathered vessels. Even so it was good to see the Thegn and his men again – it would be good to stand in a shield wall with warriors I knew and trusted.
Fortunately, the Thegn paid good coin to have the Black Pig thoroughly re-fitted and made good for seafaring. The ship was freshly caulked and full of stores and spare oars and cordage and Leofdag the Thunor-priest carved sigils into the mast and sacrificed several swine and an ox to attract the favour of the Thunderer. Wistan followed this with his notable sacrifice to Tiw and we all felt confident in our endeavours as we feasted on the tasty flesh of the beast.
The crew was still lacking in seacraft but fortunately Osgar was able to find two men and a woman who had sailed the White Sea before. They were all able to pass the tests they were given. Hild claimed to be very widely travelled, although whether all these places she mentioned really exist I couldn’t say. She certainly looked weather beaten although not in the best of health. The biggest prize was finding a competent master. He was aptly named One-Foot as his left foot was a carved whalebone peg. He was an ugly looking, quarrelsome scoundrel, but he seemed to know what he was about and my Weather Geatish friends confirmed this, although they did seem to have reservations concerning his character.
One-Foot soon had us hard at work rowing the ship up and down the lagoon, raising and lowering the sail. My hands were red raw by the end of the day, but I followed his advice to bathe my hands in my own piss, despite the scoffing of some of my comrades. This did seem to relive the pain – whether this will also serve to harden them only time will tell.