Free They Came On Viking Ships by Jackie French Page B

just in time.
    It was a mountain. It loomed up higher than Hekja could see, its edges sharp and glistening. Even the islands in the bay at home had not been as large as this, she thought.
    On and on it came, till it seemed the ship would never pass it. The rowers strained till they dropped, exhausted. Others took their places, their eyes bulging with the strain. Freydis rowed among them, yelling out the beat.
    And then it was gone, slipping silently into the mist. Suddenly a crack ripped the air, so loud it seemed the sky had torn apart.
    No, not the sky, thought Hekja. It was the iceberg mountain. It had broken in two! One side slipped slowly down, then slap! It banged into the water, sucking the ship closer and closer to the half that still remained.
    Hikki shrieked. Freydis caught him an absent-minded blow across the face and he subsided, whimpering like a puppy.
    Hekja held Snarf tight.
    ‘Hold on!’ hissed Freydis urgently to Hekja.
    Suddenly a wave welled up below. It bore the ship up, higher and higher still, then down again, with a slap almost as loud as the sound of ice crashing back into the water.
    The ship shuddered, till Hekja was sure it was going to break apart. Then suddenly the world was still again, except for the new small waves that slapped the ship back and forth, the flap of the sail above and the creaking of the timbers of the ship.
    Hekja stared back at the giant berg, as the remaining side rolled slowly over, then bobbed in the waves made by its companion. Then it vanished behind them into the mist.
----
    13 They would have stood to row, not sat as rowers do today.

Chapter 15
OUT FROM THE FOG
    That was the worst of it. Hour upon hour Snarf watched for more icebergs, with Hekja and Freydis by his side. Day became night. Night was worse, the black and fog combined. But darkness made no difference. Snarf could smell an iceberg, even if he couldn’t see one.
    Slowly though there were fewer bergs, and fewer still. And, finally, Hekja slept, with Snarf curled around her. When she woke she found someone had covered them both with a sealskin rug, a proper sleeping sack that kept off the salt spray, unlike the cowhide blankets Freydis had given her before.
    Snarf was a hero. This was a ship of heroes, Hekja thought, who faced storms and endless oceans and beat them both. But at least now they had gained some respect.
    ‘I will call him Ice Nose,’ announced Freydis, as she handed Hekja their breakfast. The fog still wisped about the ship, but there was a drift of wind in the sails now and no more smell of ice.
    Hekja shook her head. ‘His name is Riki Snarfari,’ she said firmly, meeting Freydis’ gaze.
    ‘His name is Ice Nose,’ said Freydis. Her eyes were ascool as an iceberg, and as blue. ‘He can be my dog, or he can be fish food. You choose.’
    Hekja gasped. Was this how she rewarded them? Then she remembered the village, how Freydis had laughed even with the smell of blood sharp in the salt air.
    Hekja bowed her head. ‘He is your dog,’ she said. ‘His name is Ice Nose.’
    ‘Good,’ said Freydis. ‘I said you’d learn.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll tell Leif you were worth saving, if the storm did not swallow him and his ship.’ She strode back to talk to her husband and the rowers.
    Snarf sat his bottom on Hekja’s feet, and she shared the food with him. It was better than they’d had before—dried beef as well as fish, though the beef was as tough as a bone. Hekja’s face was wet, but she refused to wipe her eyes, lest others notice she was crying.
    They were killers, despite their bravery in the storm. And Freydis was as bad.
    But things changed after the storm. Before it had been as though Hekja and Snarf were simply cargo, like bales of cloth or barrels. Now at least the crew nodded as they passed.
    And then one morning, as Hekja crossed the ship to throw one of Snarf’s droppings overboard (a sailor had kicked him on the first day, when he had trodden in one) Freydis beckoned