East Jutland Coast, Late Summer, AD 957
Hakon"s ships attacked in the morning. Ahead of them lay a long stretch of Danish beach and a small cluster of huts. Behind the fleet rose the morning"s sun, which illuminated the dwellings and partially blinded any on shore to the death that came toward them. The crew grunted at their oars, pulling with all their strength to maximize speed, and surprise. Hakon did not expect much resistance. This was not a well-guarded town or a rich church center. This place — whatever its name — was just a poor village that fate had placed close to Fyrkat. Nevertheless, Hakon did not wish to take a chance and so the crew pulled for speed.
“Oars up!” he roared as Dragon rode the white churn of surf into the shore.
As soon as her prow bit, Hakon and his men leape
