Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 282: Pirates

After the fleet departed, the Marine Battalion remained in Denmark to recruit immigrants, occasionally running into bandits along the way. Most outlaws dared not provoke Wigg's army, scattering in fear at the sight of the fluttering black flag. A few starving fools who dared to challenge them unsurprisingly ended up as prisoners of war.

"These people are far too poor. We can barely scavenge any spoils of war," Ingvar complained to the company commanders after a skirmish. He suddenly understood the old captain's perspective.

"Alas, I truly envy the men sailing the southern routes."

Meanwhile, in the Canary Islands.

Amidst the cheerful send-offs from the crowd at the port, three merchant ships loaded with cane sugar and sugarcane rum sailed out of the harbor. Their tall hulls cleaved through the waves, setting a course for the north.

At noon four days later, the lookout high up on the mast suddenly sounded an alarm. Seven ships flying triangular lateen sails had quietly appeared, trailing them at a leisurely pace. The atmosphere on board grew tense as experienced sailors recognized the vessels as the standard ships used by the Moors.

"Signal with the flags! Full sails ahead, shake them off as soon as possible."

The captain did not want any unexpected trouble. He ordered the crew to maintain their course and vigilance, continuing their long and tedious voyage north.

At three in the afternoon, the wind direction changed without warning. The southeast wind, which had originally been favorable for sailing, now turned into a headwind blowing straight at them.

For a two-masted merchant ship flying two square main sails, this was undeniably the worst possible news. Square-rigged sails performed poorly against the wind, forcing the ship to rely on auxiliary sails for momentum. In contrast, the triangular lateen sails of the Moorish ships were far more agile, allowing them to effectively harness the wind to advance even against a headwind.An unsettling scene unfolded. Despite the merchant ships' frantic adjustments, the smaller Moorish vessels acted like sharks catching the scent of blood. Leveraging their sail advantage, they steadily closed the distance between them.

Watching the enemy draw ever closer, the crew's panic intensified. Forced by the circumstances, the captain reluctantly issued an order.

"Fire the heavy ballista! Warn off these unidentified Moors."

With a deep thud, the heavy ballista on the aft deck launched a stone projectile. It crashed into the water dozens of meters away from the Moorish vessels, a stark warning for them to keep their distance and disperse as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, the Moorish ships neither slowed down nor changed course. Instead, they fanned out their formation, preparing to flank the merchant fleet. They clearly did not take the recent deterrence seriously.

A naval battle inevitably broke out.

The three merchant ships fired stone projectiles in succession, tacitly aiming at the enemy vessel charging at the very front. After five rounds of volleys, a heavy stone projectile viciously smashed into the target. Wood splinters flew as the lateen-rigged ship shuddered noticeably. A gaping hole was torn into its hull, and its speed dwindled. Seeing the attack succeed, the crew aboard the merchant ships erupted into brief cheers.

However, this fleeting joy was quickly extinguished by reality. The remaining six uninjured pirate ships, along with the damaged but still operational enemy vessel, utilized the agility of their triangular lateen sails against the headwind. They rapidly adjusted their angles, desperately closing in on the massive, heavy hulls of the two-masted merchant ships.

"Switch to fire pots!"

The situation was critical. The merchant ships replaced their stone projectiles with expensive fire pots, igniting the side of one pirate ship. This forced the pirates into a frantic scramble, pouring water over the gunwales to extinguish the flames.

The remaining pirate ships finally closed in on the merchant vessels. Some pirates threw grappling hooks, while the rest fired looping shots of feathered arrows. The arrows rained down on the merchant ship's deck like a dense swarm of locusts, temporarily suppressing the Viking sailors so heavily they could not even lift their heads.

"Loose your arrows! Do not expect these Moorish pirates to spare you. Even if you surrender, you will spend the rest of your lives rotting in a sugarcane plantation!" The captain paced across the deck, urging the sailors hiding behind the bulwarks to return fire. At this moment, the advantage of the two-masted merchant ship became apparent. Its sides towered high above the pirate ships, acting as a natural barrier.

Relying on the cover of the bulwarks, the Vikings fired down from above, unleashing a fierce barrage of crossbow bolts at the enemy ships on both sides. The height difference gave the Vikings a massive advantage. Arrows plummeted like rain, inflicting severe casualties on the pirates attempting to climb up or gathering on their own decks.

"Watch the starboard side! Cut their ropes!"

Although the pirates were exceptionally ferocious and made several attempts to forcibly board, they were repeatedly repelled by the Vikings utilizing their height advantage. Grappling ropes were severed by iron axes. Pirates who managed to scale the sides were met with cleaving strikes head-on, their corpses tumbling back down and staining the surrounding patch of sea red.

As casualties mounted, their offensive began to wane. The pirates hastily turned their prows, dragging their battered and scarred hulls as they fled miserably toward the distant horizon. The two slowest pirate ships were struck by fire pots, and the flames quickly spread. Abandoning any illusions of saving their vessels, the pirates transferred to small boats and fled in blind panic.

"Damned wretches. How dare they rob Vikings? Do they not know what we used to do for a living?"

Witnessing the utter mess scattered across the deck, the captain's expression twisted savagely. Out of a total crew of forty-five, seven had died in battle and ten were wounded. They had also depleted a vast amount of arrows and twenty costly fire pots, and they had earned absolutely nothing in return.

Beyond these immediate losses, what worried the captain even more was the future. This was the first pirate attack the fleet had encountered since the colonization of the Canary Islands. There would inevitably be a second, and a third...

At that moment, the first mate walked over to consult him. "Shall we return to Sun Island to regroup, or press on to Britain?"

"Suppose we return to Sun Island. What do we do if we encounter pirate ships again the next time we set sail? The pirates have already locked onto us, and they will undoubtedly send even more ships next time."

During the engagement, the hull had only suffered minor bumps that would not hinder the rest of the voyage. The captain decided to maintain their original course and head to Gijón Port in Asturias to rest and resupply.

In truth, the captain's guess was entirely correct. Eight days after this naval clash broke out, Sun Island was similarly attacked.

By this time, the fortress on the hillside north of the port had been completed. At the top of the watchtower, a conscripted militia member was on duty. The air was scorchingly hot. His linen shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging stickily to his skin. The militiaman was so hot he felt delirious, his gaze sweeping aimlessly across the vast, monotonous azure sea while his mind drifted elsewhere.

Just then, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of something strange in the distance where the sea met the sky.

At first, the guard assumed it was a large flock of seabirds or a heat-induced hallucination. He vigorously rubbed his sweat-stung eyes, trying to force himself awake.

When he focused his eyes again, the blurry shadows had not vanished; instead, they grew clearer by the second. A dense, sprawling cluster of sails was slowly emerging from the horizon.

Lateen sails! Only Moorish ships from Iberia and North Africa used these iconic triangular sails.

His eyes widened. A sudden chill crept up his spine, instantly banishing the oppressive heat.

"Odin above, what is even worth plundering in this godforsaken place?"

The guard snapped upright, stumbling as he rushed toward the alarm bell beside the tower. With every ounce of his strength, he frantically swung the striker.