with

is less than agile, and the net ripped inwards faster than a man could swim. On the quay the sweating, heaving men pulled as they’d never pulled before. And the topknotted raiders in the water tumbled like skittles as the sweeping lead line knocked their legs out from under them.
The net worked as well for men as for fish. A few clung to the top line and slashed at it vainly. It had been reinforced with light anchor chain, with extra buoys to keep it up. Most of the raiders simply tumbled over each other. Struggling bodies rolled and sprawled along the meshes. The rip of the net dragged them inexorably into the bag. The bag . . . where the head- and foot‑lines were sewn into a reinforced pouch that could take seven tons of fish. When the bag slid into the deep hole near the shore the teams slowed, almost stopped. The few men who were not in the net bag scrabbled over the top to freedom. But the rest . . . well, the pieces of old iron tied on to the bag of the net kept it down, and when the net was finally hauled to the edge of the mole, the fishermen methodically speared any bodies that still twitched.
On the South Mole now, the raider captains saw that their only hope was to crack the spear wall. And now they set to it with discipline. The pikes held . . . And then, under the barrage of thrown axes, the channel-side flank folded. Two men turned to run.
Four of the Hashvilli were up. Standing on the breastwork stones. Cutting at the unprotected heads below. Making a gap.
With a bellow that echoed above the din, Beywulf leapt into the fray. The two-handed sword swung in an unstoppable arc.
The frail flesh and bone of eight legs were no obstacles. Then he jumped up onto the breastwork. He hurled back those who would take the weakened place. Cap bounded up beside him, and turned to face the panicking pikemen, not the assault.
“Hold, damn you! You bunch of bloody gutless bastards.” Such was the power of that voice that the wavering spears steadied.
In front of them Beywulf cut a one-man sortie into the raiders’ ranks. And then, having hewed down all before him, he retreated, scrambling under the spears, back to safety. In his wake lay carnage. And there was no eagerness to try again.
The sea wolves