Adventure Magazine Cover — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Adventure Sigurdsen two or three times, She was in- fleet of boats scoot out of the bireme’s voking her brother’s name. shadow and race for the riverbank. Suddenly she let go Tros’ sword and _ fairly drove the Northmen down in front of her, hurling imprecations at them, then watched Tros, watched what he would do, stood back in silence as he strode toward the helm, laughed when he seized it and stood at gaze, his left hand raised over his head ready to signal the rowers. The tongship had drifted away from the bireme stern-first and was now nearly beam to the tide. He signaled to the port oars first, to straighten her, then tried three strokes, both sides together, to feel what = strength and speed he could command. The tide was strong, but they could move her better than he hoped, and he headed - half a dozen easy strokes inshore where - there was more or less slack water, due to reeds and lily-pads. = He could count nine boats now nosing — toward the bireme. Two or three had dis- = appeared, inshore probably. They were » creeping cautiously as if expecting ambush. As their noses touched the bireme’s shadow Tros shouted, bringing down his left hand: “Row! Yo-ho! Yo-ho! Yo-ho!”’ The longship leaped. Before the Britons in the boats could guess what the shout por- tended, a high prow, notched against the sky, came boiling down on them, jerking to the strain of ash oars as Conops beat time with a rope’s end on the hirelings’ backs. Three boats backed away in time; but six crowded ones were caught by the longship’s prow, swept sidewise between the ships and crushed against the bireme’s hull. There were screams, and a splintering erash, grinding of broken timber, oaths, con- fusion in the longship where the rowers on the port side fell between the benches, a long, ululating cry from Helma and the longship swung alone down-river with a boiling helm as Tros threw all his weight against the steering oar. “Wow again!” he shouted, “Easier this time—with the tide!” But the rowers needed minutes to recover equilibrium and breath. ‘There were two men knocked unconscious by their own oar- handles. it took time to swing the long- ship, head up-stream. ‘Tros roared his orders, Helma screamed interpretation of them; Conops plied the rope’s end; but be- fore the longship could be headed on her course again Tros saw the remnant of the laughing. “Easy! Easy all!” he shouted; and again Helma studied him curiously, puckering her eyes to see his face more clearly in the gloom. There were thumps, oaths, commotion in the ship’s waist, where Conops fought three Britons. Unwisely they had sprung out of the darkness from behind to pay him for the rope’s end, but they missed with their first onslaught, so the outcome was inevitable and Tros paid no attention to that minor detail. He was studying the bireme, mea- suring with his eye the height of water up her side. She was still heeled just a trifle, bow- end firmly on the mud. 4 BUT there were noises along the shadowy, marshy. shoreline. Owls, half a dozen of them, rose into the night and vanished with the weird, swift flight that signified they were afraid of something. Presently sparks, then “a blaze, then a whirl of red fire as a man waved a torch to get it prop- erly alight. Torch after torch was lighted from the first one, until the darkness fifty yards back from the riverline grew aglow with smoky crimson. The commotion in the ship’s waist ceased and Conops came aft, leaning elbows on the low poop-deck. “All ready, master,” he said calmly; but he was breathing hard, and he snuffled be- — cause his nose was bleeding. “Find a warp and come up here!” Tros ordered. Conops disappeared again. ‘Tros sang a “Yo-ho” song to time the oarsmen, giv- ae just sufficient weigh to bring the ships abreast. Then, backing port oars with the aid of Helma’s voice, he swung the long- ship’s stern until it almost touched the bi- reme. Conops appeared then, dragging a wet rope, cursing its religion in outrageous longshore Levantine—which was a mixture of a dozen languages. Helma pounced on it and helped him haul, her muscles cracking like a firebrand. “Jump and make fast!” Conops nearly missed, for the longship’s stern was swinging. But he had tied a small rope to the heavy warp and tied that to his waist, so he had two hands to clutch the bireme’s stern. He clambered up it like a monkey and hauled the warp after Gomichbooks.com