[right][h2]Kjartan Knudsen[/h2][/right]
[hr]

The mood in the longships was nothing short of fury mixed with black humour. Danes were not used to retreating, even less so to defeat. Call Thetford what you wanted, a victory one day, certainly a defeat the next and no one was happy about it. Of the seventeen longships that had been on the beach, three had burned, another had eventually sank, and only one Saxon ship had been captured to replace them. The dead seemed likely to number more than sixty and no single oarbank was full as the Danes rode the current northward.

"Well that was shite," Lise was muttering as she cleaned mud and blood from literally every article of clothing and gear she owned by scooping up river water and scrubbing with a handful of straw. "Pure shite."

"Aye, that's a fine way to put it." Her sister agreed, her own equipment immaculate save for the blood that sheeted her axe from blade to rope knotted handle. "A shame we could not stay to kill more of them, though I don't think I am destined for a heroic death on some nameless Saxon riverbank."

Kjartan, pulling strongly at one of the nearest oars, eyed the two with interest. They were identical in every-way save for a small scar on Lises right cheek. Whip thin with long black hair, green eyes, and almost fairy like looks, they were often underestimated by their enemies or mistaken for children. They had joined the crew a year before, rescued from a Frankish slaver, and been valuable members of the crew ever since. He had been present when they took their blood oath to never be taken alive by anyone again. There no doubt among those who had been present that they meant what they said as their bloodied palms joined over their offering to Freya. 

"We got careless," Jaska, across the vessel from Kjartan and pulling his own oar, chimed in. Nothing ever seemed to worry the Finn, nothing. It was disconcerting at times and Kjartan had teased him about it on occasion. Jaska would always just shrug his shoulders and smile. "Over confident."

"That does seem to be a problem with men..." Lise muttered as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of mud that had stained the grip of her short-sax. "Always got more confidence in their skills than they ought too."

Jaska laughed. "And yet even you two got caught napping, what's your excuse there, eh?"

"All these beards are rubbing off on us. We were as dozy as you lot." Sisse replied. She and her sister could volley a conversation back and forth between them in a way that left most folk confused. Jaska was the only one who was apparently impervious to their games.

"Right, bearded.."

"Snoring."

"Likely as not playing with your cocks."

"When you should have been keeping watch."

"I won't even ask you what you were playing with." He interrupted them mid-flow and tossed an amused smile at them. There had long been a rumour among the army that the sisters were lovers but Kjartan did not think there was any truth to it. Their stories of being enslaved were chilling to hear and he was certain any experience like that would forge a bond he could not understand. 

"My cock, obviously." Lise replied with a sly grin. 

The small exchange, though in truth not hilarious, brought out a few more grins among the crew. Going a Viking meant learning to survive setbacks when required; failure to do so would only lead to taking risks that would get you killed and they were short crewed enough as it was.

Kjartan looked around the boat, noting those who had made it, and those who had not. Åse was hunched at the rear, squatting next to the steering oar as she guided the longship down the river. They were picking up speed and she gave a quick command to cease rowing. The river would take them the rest of the way to the sea. It wouldn't be a fast trip, but it would give them time to lick their wounds and not limp into Lynn like whipped dogs. 

There they could resupply, re-arm, and discover which of their crew wished to continue the journey.