All eyes were now on Ragnar.
Even Rollo did not move to interfere.
Thorson, Bjorn, as well as the other scouts, had also retreated back to the main group, having been attracted by the commotion.
Ragnar locked eyes with the man for several heartbeats before shoving him back.
He took several rapid breaths and wiped his palms across his face.
It was clear from his reaction that he realized he had overreacted.
The men were only reacting to a bigger problem.
Handling violence with violence would not answer their current predicament.
He stepped closer to the group of bewildered Vikings.
“When I asked all of you,” he said, turning around and pointing at the gathered men, “to join me on this raid, I never said there would be no risk.
Every man knows that.”
“No lives his life in battle and at sea, facing raging storms and enemies willing to open his throat, expects a risk free raid.”
His eyes moved from man to man like a predator gauging its prey.
Ragnar had a way of making every man feel as though he was speaking directly to him, despite addressing the whole group.
“Yes, I will admit that I did not foresee that open waters would be this far.
None of us did.
Clearly the winter has taken its toll beyond what any of us could have imagined.”
He spread his arms toward the frozen wasteland surrounding them.
“So I will allow you now.
Those men who feel they will not risk it anymore, grab your shield, your axe, and whatever rations you have left and head back the way we came.
It might be that the journey back is shorter than the journey to find sea.”
Nobody moved, most likely out of fear of being perceived as traitors.
“Go on,” Ragnar urged.
“I will not begrudge you anything.
I just think it will be your loss.”
With that, he turned and walked toward where Floki was embracing the rear of the longship.
From Ragnar’s speech, Thorson gathered that Ragnar had not expected anyone to accept his offer.
But the man whose friend had just been slain, the same one Ragnar had almost come to blows with, immediately grabbed his shield from the hull and looked at Floki.
Floki looked toward Ragnar instead.
Ragnar nodded.
With the ease of a man accustomed to leaping onto unstable ships all day, Floki jumped into the precariously balanced longship resting on the roller logs.
He retrieved the man’s belongings and tossed them toward him in disgust.
But that did not stop others from following.
Six more stepped forward and did the same.
Then four more.
Within only a few heartbeats, twelve men had joined the first in abandoning the treacherous raid.
The remaining men glared at them as though they were the greatest stain upon a Viking’s honor.
Some spat.
Some cursed them openly.
Others briefly approached them, passing messages or instructions to be delivered to their families back in the village in case they themselves never returned.
Floki handed each man his belongings, and they all watched silently as the group disappeared into the distance behind them.
Thorson and Bjorn stood watching until the deserters vanished beyond the endless white.
He could not fault them.
At least they knew where they were going.
They knew the distance they had to cover.
They knew the price they would have to pay.
On the other hand, he and the remaining men still had no idea what fate awaited them.
Ragnar did not speak again.
The men quietly rearranged themselves.
This time Thorson did not resume his scouting role.
Too many men had already left.
The original group had numbered fifty three.
One had been murdered.
Thirteen had abandoned the expedition.
They were now only thirty nine.
Even if they found open water, rowing a longship built for eighty sailors would take a terrible toll on them.
But that was a problem that did not seem to cross anyone’s mind at the moment.
In any case, they would gladly take that problem over the one they currently faced.
Thorson grabbed one of the ropes and looped it around his left shoulder.
His right shoulder was still aching.
Pain, however, was no longer a consideration.
Only survival mattered.
Even Bjorn had taken his place beside him on the left line.
Then the pulling began.
The deserters had left near the end of the day.
Afterward, the remaining men continued dragging the longship across the frozen wasteland until half the night had passed.
Only then did Ragnar call for them to stop.
Thorson gladly released the rope and hurried to collect his ration.
The men who had remained were Ragnar’s most loyal followers.
As such, complaints were few.
Still, whispers of uncertainty drifted through the camp every now and then.
No one questioned Ragnar openly.
Not his brother, however.
At one point, Thorson heard Rollo say that this was madness.
Ragnar answered that if that was truly what he believed, he should have joined the men who had left and be counted among the cowards with them.
Bjorn sat beside Thorson, chewing sparingly on a piece of dried meat.
He watched his father and uncle uneasily.
“Do you think Father is wrong?” he asked.
Thorson did not answer.
Bjorn stared at him for a few moments before speaking again.
“I think you were right.
We should have gone south.”
Thorson still remained silent.
He bit into another piece of salted smoked meat and savored it.
At that moment, it tasted sweeter than anything he had ever eaten.
They were tired and they were hungry.
It was all he could do to force himself to ration the little food he had left.
None of them knew how long this journey would last.
If the cold or exhaustion did not claim them first, perhaps hunger would.
No Viking was raised to fear battle or death.
But starving to death was a fate none of them had ever imagined.
It was not a good way for a Viking to die.
It meant dying while lying helpless on the ground.
Those who died from sickness or starvation earned no place in Valhalla or in Folkvang, Freyja’s Hall.
Such people were counted among the feeble.
Their destination was Hel.
Not that Hel was necessarily a place of torment.
But it was not where any Viking dreamed of waiting for Ragnarok.
At that moment, Thorson was conflicted about raising the matter of sailing south again.
But he realized nothing could be more dangerous.
The only thing keeping these men together was the hope that they would soon find open water, just as Ragnar insisted.
Suggesting they abandon that hope and blindly begin another journey south would be the final nail.
Thorson did not wish to be the one holding that hammer.
That night the cold bit even harder than during the first two nights.
Men could be heard shivering in the darkness.
At first, Thorson thought he would never be able to fall asleep.
He feared that if he did, he might never wake again, frozen where he lay.
But the body paid little attention to such fears.
Eventually, sleep claimed him.
The next dawn, the last man on watch woke them just as the first light began to creep across the horizon.
Once again the men took their positions.
This time Thorson was relieved to exchange rope duty for stabilizing the ship.
It was not until that day was almost over that they finally saw something different.
Ahead of them stood what looked like a dying forest.
Floki called for a halt.
The men collapsed onto their knees, utterly exhausted.
Their worst fear seemed confirmed.
Still no open sea.
Thorson, however, moved like a man possessed.
Within moments he had climbed the tallest tree at the edge of the forest.
Bjorn watched him from below, as did Ragnar, Rollo, and Floki.
Then Thorson saw it.
He almost lost his footing as excitement surged through his entire body.
“By Odin…
I was right…
There!”
He pointed toward something the others could not yet see.
“The Wall.”
Be easy on me if there are minor spelling errors, I wrote it too fast