Adventure Magazine Cover — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

~ » ae — Re eee xs See ee hae! —— ies on 7% Prisoners of War dozen miles apart and one on either side of the river, was already diminishing from brown to gray and the nearest—not two miles up-river—appeared of the two to be the more burnt out. Tros began to whistle to himself. fy BETWEEN the bireme and the wena” nearest smoke there was a belt of <2 C m trees that crept down to the riv- y er’s edge on the starboard hand. The trees were lower near the water, but even so, now that the mast was gone, ‘they formed an effective screen behind which he could approach without giving warning be- cause the deep-water channel followed the bank closely. “Orwic,” he said quietly, “your Lud of Lunden is a good god, and the Northmen are on both sides of the river!- Listen!’ ‘A horn-blast and then another rang through the woods on the starboard hand. They were answered by two more, from not far away. “Are those British signals?” “No,” said Orwic. “The tide will serve us for an hour. How many arrows have wer” “Save them!” Away in the distance, from across the river, came the faint sound of several horns blown simultaneously. “Britons?” asked ‘Tros. “Northmen.”’ Tros laughed. “Caswallon has them checked, I take it! They are summoning their friends!” He sent Conops to stand below the poop and signal to the oarsmen to dip slowly, quietly. He only needed steerage - way; the tide was carrying the bireme fast enough, perhaps too fast. There was noth- ing but guesswork until they should pass that belt of trees. The shoal-mud formed an island nearly in midriver, half submerged, and between that and the land the tide poured in a surg- ing brown stream. There was no room to maneuver, hardly room to have swung a longship with the aid of anchors. A little higher up, beyond the belt of trees, the mud- bank vanished under water and there was room enough there for a dozen ships to swing; deep enough water almost from bank to bank the full width of the river. Tros tried to form a mental picture of the river- yw “E, +E en ttn Eee ee ‘~ es » 0? oe >. ere oe bk ste £6 ee ee 2 Show estes = ore oe oS lg, oe a eg ah ie rh Fad Se Pee he can hes ee Oe % eto all $ ewer: 5. oe Mar - , fs - *s = = Se bo tie . es . = - oe bank at that point, but he had seen it only once before as he passed it on the outward journey. “Ts there a creek just beyond those trees?” he asked Orwic. Orwic asked the man who had been at the masthead. “Yes, a narrow creek. Fairly deep wa- ter.”’ Another horn-blast echoed through the trees. It seemed to come from close to the riverbank and was answered instantly. Like the echo to that from away up-river © came a chorus of six horns blown in unison. There began loud shouting from somewhere just beyond the trees and, presently, the unmistakable thump and rattle of oars being laid in rowlocks. Tros’ ear caught the steady, short stroke of deep-sea rowing, such as men use where the waves are steep and close together. “Now!” he shouted. “Give way!” There was nothing for it now but speed. If he had the Northmen trapped they were at his mercy; if he had guessed wrong, then the bireme was at theirs. He beat the bull- hide drum and bellowed to his fifty rowers: “One! Two! One! Two! One! Two!” Shouts responded from around the tree- clad corner of the bank, shouts and a mighty splashing as a helmsman tried to swing a longship in a hurry out of the creek-mouth bow-first to the tide, backing the port oars. “Row, you Britons! Row!” Tros thun- dered, taking the helm from Conops. He could hear the water boiling off the bireme’s ram, and in his mind’s eye he could see the Northmen’s whole predicament, with no room to maneuver and a strong tide hitting them beam-on as they left the creek- mouth. He could hear their captain bel- lowing, heard the oar-beat change and knew the longship was attempting, too late, to turn upstream and run from the unseen enemy. And it was better than he hoped! As the bireme’s bow raced past the belt of trees the longship lay with her nose toward the midstream mud-bank, starboard oars ahead and port oars backing frantically, blue mud boiling all around her and panic on deck as A moment later a dozen men struggled to hoist the sail to - help her swing. She was less than a hun- dred yards away! Tros could have sunk her, with that tide under him, without. troubling the oars at all! He beaked her stark amidships. As the Gomicbooks.co rs)