Standing on the prow of Sigurd Syr"s great longship, the only ship the Earl of Ringerike had sent, with one foot propped up next to the ornately carved dragon stempost, Olaf closed his eyes in the face of the harsh wind. His whole body struggled to maintain his position, but he was determined not to move. With every lull in the gale he took the chance to look out across the slate grey sea, the waves chopping up in a mad maelstrom, crashing into the sides of the boat, rocking it from side to side as if it were a child"s plaything. Olaf had faced worse storms than this, but never had he rowed in such conditions towards a foe determined to see him sink to the bottom.
He cast his eye on either side, and a surge of pride in seeing the other ships, with the men grouped together, braced for conf
