Five days later, at Tynemouth Castle.
"From Ivar's reports," Rurik said grimly, "Sweyn commands a fleet of more than fifty longships. They are fitted with light crossbows in great number, giving him a decisive edge in any exchange of missiles. As for myself—never once have I fought a naval battle. That is a problem I cannot ignore."
Warfare upon water was an unknown realm to him. To engage blindly would be little better than suicide. To offset the enemy's advantage in bow and bolt, Rurik's first thought was the trebuchet.
The carpenters of Tynemouth toiled for over a month before producing a monstrous warship: thirty meters long from stem to stern, with a light trebuchet mounted at either end.
Trials were held upon the river. Each engine could hurl a ten-kilogram clay jar more than two hundred meters. The range was adequate, but the accuracy dismal—less than one shot in twenty struck the target. Floating logs set out as marks bobbed mockingly on the current, and Rurik sighed with regret. Such craft might trouble large and ponderous vessels, but they would prove helpless against Sweyn's swift and nimble boats.
"To give the trebuchets time to work," he mused, "other ships must shield them in the van. Yet Sweyn's sailors carry crossbows aplenty. At close quarters, our bowmen cannot hope to match their rate of fire."
Helgi, listening to her husband's complaints, spoke almost idly:
"Then mount shields along the gunwales, to ward off their arrows."
"Shields?"
Her chance remark pierced his thoughts like lightning. From the recesses of memory rose an image of a strange craft he had once studied—the Korean turtle ship.
In the days of the Imjin War, Korea's admirals had devised a vessel sheathed in heavy timbers like a tortoise shell, its roof impervious to musket and arrow fire. He recalled it too from the strategy games of his youth, where the 'turtle ship' appeared as a formidable unit. At once he seized quill and parchment, and by nightfall had drawn a sketch. His craftsmen, though doubtful of its seaworthiness, dared not disobey, and set about the work.
The "turtle ship" he commanded them to build bore an iron beak at the prow to lend weight to its ramming charge. Two decks it carried: the lower for rowers, the upper broad and open, a fine platform for archers to shoot down upon the enemy's crews. To guard against fire-arrows, Rurik devised a pair of crude pumps, able to drench the wooden roof with seawater.
"Firepower and protection both provided," he declared. "Its sole weakness—she will not bear the perils of the open sea."
After long thought he ordered the wooden shell built in sections, to be disassembled for ocean sailing and reassembled in coastal waters.
When all was set in order, Rurik led a team of shipwrights westward, following the line of Hadrian's Wall until on the third afternoon they reached the mouth of the River Derwent.
Here the land seemed desolate compared with his own. Snow lay heavy upon collapsed farmsteads, and only a solitary stone keep on the southern heights gave sign of habitation.
Announcing himself at the gate, he was led round to the western field, where Ivar drilled young Halfdan with sword in hand.
"Too slow—far too slow!" Ivar barked, throwing down his blunted blade after felling his brother with ease. "You spend your days in York drinking and chasing women, and never once apply yourself to practice!"
He turned to Rurik. "Why have you left Tynemouth? What brings you here?"
"Shipbuilding," Rurik answered. "Were I to build at Tynemouth, I should be forced to sail north and round a wide arc. Better to build here at the Derwent, where the waters are close at hand."
"There's no need," Ivar scoffed. "I have already made ready ships enough for two thousand men." He led Rurik north of the keep. There, moored in the river-bend, lay fifty longships, their hulls riding low in the winter tide, while five hundred raiders lodged in rough wooden huts upon the bank.
"I speak not of common longships," Rurik replied, and from his wagon produced two models—one of the trebuchet-ship, the other of the turtle ship. Patiently he explained their design and purpose. "The trebuchets strike from afar, the turtle ship fights at closer range. Used together, they can send Sweyn's fleet to the bottom."
Ivar studied the models in silence. At last he nodded. "Very well. To pass the winter idly profits no man. I'll set my raiders to aid your carpenters. We shall build one of each, test their worth, and only then begin in earnest."
Thus the Derwent became a clamor of axe and saw. To secure seasoned timber, Ivar bargained with the lords of Lancaster and Manchuni. Satisfied that all went well, Rurik returned to Tynemouth, where he raised four hundred recruits for the oar—half Norsemen, half Anglo-Saxons.
Soon he discovered the truth: the Saxon peasants lacked both strength and spirit. He could not trust them with blade or bow. Reluctantly he assigned them all as rowers in the turtle ship's hold.
"If they fear battle," he said, "let them at least bend their backs to the oars."
Thus his own contingent numbered four hundred levies and twenty mailed shield-bearers.
By mid-March of the year 845, when all was ready, he took leave of Helgi. Her brow was furrowed with care.
"From time to time," Rurik told her, "you may see Viking ships on the river. If they come as settlers, grant them land as custom demands. If as raiders, do not answer their taunts. Even should they burn the three workshops on the riverbank, it matters little. Above all—do not give battle."
Returning to Ivar's keep, he found the meadows transformed into a sprawling camp, tents and banners fluttering in the chill wind: Ivar's wolf-standard, the crossed axes of Lancaster, and the black goat of Manchuni. The reek of refuse and unwashed men filled the air, and Rurik's nose wrinkled. "Such filth breeds sickness," he thought, "and half these men may fall without a sword drawn." Yet at least the Norse had one virtue—they did not shun the bath.
In the hall, Ivar laid bare the muster: six hundred warriors borrowed from Lancaster and Manchuni, five hundred of his own, and Rurik's four hundred besides—a host of fifteen hundred men. Proudly he showed the fruits of their labor.
"Five trebuchet-ships and ten turtle ships, built to your designs. Grain, arrows, and casks of fire-oil stored in plenty. This time, by Odin's oath, I'll hew off Sweyn's head and drink from his skull!"
On the eve of departure, Ivar ordered a great slaughter of cattle, sheep, and swine to feast the army. Even the peasants' plough-oxen were seized. Rurik remonstrated, but Ivar only laughed. "What is a little resentment to me? I do not rule these folk—I command them."
Two days of revelry followed, and when at last a rare east wind rose, the fleet put out to sea. Fifty-odd longships, five trebuchet-ships, and ten turtle ships sailed in proud array. By the afternoon they had reached the Isle of Man, the prows cleaving the foam like swords of pine.
The war against Sweyn had truly begun.