Amundi knew who Skorri was of course. Halfdan’s administrator for the district, his sœslumadr, who had taken over that duty after Einar Sigurdsson had run off in disgrace. But he did not know much about him.
“Is Skorri clever?” Amundi asked.
“He’s clever,” Onund said. “Cunning might be a better word. He’s smart and skilled and as vicious as Halfdan, at least. Maybe more.”
“And he’s motivated,” Amundi said. “If he succeeds in bringing us back then Halfdan will reward him well. If he fails, then…well…I suspect his life will not be worth much to him after that.”
“You’re right, Amundi,” Onund said. “So we had best make sure he doesn’t succeed.”
They left a few men to keep lookout as best they could, though Amundi did not think there would be much to see. He certainly hoped that would be the case. They crossed back to the camp that had been set up around the small fire. Some of the men were eating, some sleeping. Odd was lying on his side, his lacerated back slathered with bear grease and various healing herbs. He was asleep. Signy and Alfdis were kneeling beside him.
“How does he look now, in the daylight?” Amundi asked, though he could see for himself, and what he saw was not encouraging.
“He’s not good,” Alfdis said, standing. “But he’s not as bad as we feared. He’s a strong man. He was even able to speak a few words before the sleep overtook him. He thanked us.”
Amundi nodded. “Even if we fail, he’ll die a better death than he would have as Halfdan’s prisoner. I think that’s true for all of us. We won’t carry our great shame into the next world.”
It was not the best encouragement he could offer, but it was all he had.
Much as he wished to remain awake, Amundi could no longer ignore his own exhaustion. You are not a young man anymore, he thought as he lay down on a patch of grass near the fire and rested his head on a rolled up cape. He was asleep before another thought could come to him.
And then someone was nudging him awake. He forced his eyes open, not at all certain of where he was, but the memory of the recent past came back to him quickly. He sat up. Oleif, who was one of the men left on lookout, was kneeling beside him.
“Oleif? What news?”
“There’s a boat,” Oleif said. “You had better come. You and Onund.”
Amundi pushed himself to his feet while Oleif went off to rouse Onund, and the three of them made their way back through the stand of trees to the north side of the island. The other lookouts were there, including one of the younger men who had managed to climb up to the top of a tree.
“There are fishing boats, out there,” Oleif said, pointing out toward the east. “They showed up soon after we got here.” Amundi could see them, though just barely. A smattering of small boats, probably much like the one they were in, spread out over the water. They were hardly moving. Amundi guessed they were casting and hauling nets.
“And there’s another boat, there,” Oleif continued, pointing now toward the shore, pointing in the general direction they had come after getting Odd off the beach. Amundi could see that boat as well, just barely. It was far off and harder to make out against the dark line of the land. If its sail had not been set then Amundi probably would not have been able to see it at all.
“Hmm…” Amundi said.
Onund looked up at the man in the tree. “What can you see from there?” he called.
“The boat’s been keeping near the shore, making for the beach we were on,” the man called down. “I think I can see riders on the shore, but it’s pretty far off…oh, the boat just dropped its sail.”
“Hmm…” Amundi said again. He looked back toward the shore, but with the sail gone he could see nothing of the boat. “What do you make of it, Onund?”
Onund was frowning and looking out over the water. Finally he spoke. “I think Skorri was not fooled by our false trail. I think he figured out we went by boat. Now he’s getting a boat of his own to come after us.”
“But how can he find us?” Amundi asked. “There are a thousand places we could have gone.”
“Maybe,” Onund said. “Or he might guess at the decisions we made. Might guess we wouldn’t want to be seen when the sun came up, and the best way to avoid it would be to get to an island. Nearest one. This one.”
“That would take a very clever man to think that through,” Amundi said. “You think Skorri’s that clever?”
“I do,” Onund said. “I wish I didn’t. I wish I knew Skorri for a fool, but I fear he is not.”
Amundi looked up from the shoreline to the sky above. It was dark, and not just because of the early hour. There were ominous clouds building there, layers of cloud against cloud. There was no immediate threat, he could see that, but that would not last.
They crossed back to the south side of the island and told the others that they would have to get underway again. Amundi could see the hesitancy in Signy’s face. She did not want to move Odd, not yet. But Amundi did not give her or anyone a choice, and so without complaint they loaded everything back into the boat, setting Odd gently down on the bed of furs again.
“I thought of something,” Onund said to Amundi as the last of the people headed for the boat. “Since we’re leaving, we want Skorri to look for us here. Because we won’t be here. We want him to come here while we sail away.”
“Yes, we do,” Amundi agreed.
“Let’s build the fire up. Get it so it’s making a lot of smoke. Skorri will see that, and he’ll guess it’s us and come here. I hope.”
Amundi could see the reasoning in that, so he called to the men standing nearby to gather up any driftwood or any downed limbs or small trees they could find in the forest. They built the flames higher, stick by stick, until the small fire, barely alight, had grown into a respectable blaze reaching as high as the height of a man. They continued adding larger and larger pieces of wood, limbs and logs, until the fire was too big and too hot to approach. Then they made their way back to the boat, climbed aboard and shoved off.
“Set the sail?” Thord asked. He was already kneeling over the lowered yard but Amundi shook his head.
“No,” he said. “The sail’s too visible. We row.”
The men took up the oars, dropped them between the thole pins and pulled. They pulled with a will now, because they could see where they were going and they were eager to make all the distance they could. Amundi steered them around the east end of the island and then straight out to sea, keeping the island between them and Skorri back on shore. That was not their final course, but he wanted to get out to sea a bit, get to a place where they could mix in with the other fishing boats, attract no undue attention.
They continued on in silence, leaving the island astern, the motion of the boat becoming more pronounced as it met with the swells coming in from the sea. Once they were far enough out Amundi turned the boat north and steered a course parallel to the mainland.
Oleif was the first to speak. “That boat there, lord,” he said, pointing over the larboard side. “That’s the boat that went to the beach, I’m all but certain.”
Amundi shifted around until he was looking back toward the shore. A boat had put off and it was just setting its sail. At that distance it was little more than a light-colored smudge against the dark of the land, but Amundi had seen enough boats from enough vantage points that he knew what he was looking at. And he was quite certain of who it was — Skorri Thorbrandsson with a crew of well-armed and determined warriors. The question now could only be, where would they go?
“Pull easy, pull easy,” Amundi called forward. The men had been leaning into the oars, trying to make distance, but that might look suspicious. None of the other fishing boats were working that hard. Amundi could see questioning looks on the faces of the men, but none of them spoke; they just slowed the pace of their rowing.
Amundi turned back toward the shore. The boat was still putting off from the land, and the sail seemed to be driving it along, driving it out to sea
. Driving it straight at Amundi and his men.
No one spoke. All eyes, save for those of Odd, Signy and Alfdis, were trained over the larboard side, locked on the distant sail. It was nearly two miles off and hard to see, but it certainly appeared to be on a course right for them. Time passed, measured in strokes of the oars, and every man waited for the boat to turn and set a course for the island on which they had built the fire. The plume of smoke was obvious enough, even with the growing breeze.
“Maybe they don’t see the smoke,” Amundi said after some time.
“Or maybe they do,” Onund said, “and it’s not fooling them.”
Amundi looked toward the north. There were half a dozen boats scattered over the water, some rowing, some hauling nets. Skorri would not be able to tell their boat from any of the others. So he might just search them all. Under sail he would be much faster than they were under oars. At some point Amundi would have to admit he had not fooled Skorri. He would have to set the sail and try to outrun his hunter.
“There, lord!” Oleif said, so loud it made Amundi jump. Once again Oleif was pointing toward the shore. “They’ve changed course now, lord!”
Amundi followed Oleif’s arm. The boat was there but the shape was different, the angle of the sail different. Skorri’s boat had turned now, and it was running south. Sailing for the island, lured by the column of smoke.
“Good, good!” Amundi said. “Now, we’ll wait until they go around the island, and once they’re out of sight we’ll set our sail. With luck they’ll waste time searching around the island for us.”
The tension in the boat lifted like morning fog. Men talked back and forth in low tones. Skorri’s boat was still in sight, but it was sailing away from them now. Soon it would be lost around the island.
It did not take long. With the wind rising, Skorri’s boat was making impressive speed. Amundi could see nothing beyond the small dot of a sail, but he could imagine the boat heeling over, banging into the choppy seas, spray coming back over the bow.
And then it was gone, lost around the west end of the island, lost to Amundi’s sight, which meant that Amundi’s boat was lost to theirs.
“That’s it! That’s it! Get the sail up, quickly now!” At some point Skorri would realize that Odd and his rescuers were not on the island. He might even realize they had tricked him. When he did he would take up the hunt once more, more determined than ever. Before that happened, Amundi hoped to put a significant distance between them.
As fast as they were able the men pulled the oars in and laid them across the thwarts. Amidships, Thord cast the lashing off the sail while eager hands laid onto the halyard and the sheets. Once the sail was free Thord nodded and the men with the halyard hauled away. The yard climbed quickly up the short mast, the sail flogging below it, until it was hoisted all the way and the sheets hauled tight.
The boat responded instantly, heeling over to starboard. The wind billowed the sail out and the mast and shrouds creaked under the strain. Heavy and unwieldy as the boat was, it seemed to spring ahead like an eager colt. The bow rose and fell and slammed into the sea and threw spray aft. Amundi waited for Signy to protest, to say that Odd could not endure that sort of jarring, but she did not speak.
She knows, Amundi thought. She knows if we don’t sail as hard as we can it won’t just be Odd who dies.
“Oleif,” Amundi called. The young thrall was proving to have very good eyesight. “Keep an eye on the island back there, let me know when you can see Skorri’s boat again.”
Oleif shifted position to get the best view aft while Amundi turned his attention to the set of the sail and the course of the boat. “Ease off that weather sheet a bit,” he called and the men on the larboard side eased the rope a foot or so until Amundi declared it correct. It had been a long time since Amundi had driven a small boat under sail. He had forgotten how much he loved it.
With the sail trimmed just right there was nothing more for Amundi to do but make minor adjustments of the tiller, keeping the boat plunging ahead, making northing as fast as they could, leaving Skorri astern. Soon they were among the fishing boats which were scattered around over a few miles of ocean. Under oars Amundi’s boat would have looked like all the rest, but now they were under sail, the only vessel there driving hard on the wind.
“There, lord!” Oleif called. “Skorri’s boat’s back, coming around the west end of the island!”
That didn’t take long, Amundi thought. He knew that time would seem compressed with the intensity of their escape. But even taking that into consideration he was sure that it had only been a short time since Skorri disappeared behind the island.
“He must not have gone ashore at all,” Onund said, speaking aloud what Amundi was thinking. “He must have turned around once he saw there was no boat on the beach. He’s a clever one, like I said.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Amundi said. He half turned and looked astern. He could see the smudge of the sail behind them, around a mile and a half away. It was a race now, and they would soon find out which was the faster boat.
Amundi felt a burst of wind strike them, colder and stronger, the precursor of a storm. The boat heeled over farther and the men eased the sheets a bit to make it stand more upright. He looked off to the west. The skies which had been threatening all morning seemed ominous now, like something conjured up by the gods. Astern of them, Skorri’s boat drove on, its bow pointed right at theirs.
Amundi looked forward again, past the taut sail, out toward the open sea to the north, and quite involuntarily he did the one thing he least expected to do in that circumstance. He smiled.
Chapter Thirty-One
What men cause a ship
along the coasts to float?
Where do ye warriors
a home possess?
The Poetic Edda
Winchester was still about two miles off when they came to a farm of respectable size, with a hall and stables and storehouse. Failend followed Thorgrim in as they rode through a wooden gate in a wattle fence that surrounded the farmyard, a fence to keep wandering livestock out, no more.
Two women came out to greet them, one young, just of marrying age, the other older. Mother and daughter, perhaps. They seemed curious as they stepped out from the hall, but that look changed to one of genuine concern as they looked up at the well-armed and blood-covered riders.
“Harald,” Thorgrim said. “Ask them where the men are.”
Harald slid down from his horse and took a step toward them and they took a step back, clutching one another. Harald held his arms out in something like a welcoming gesture, and he looked considerably less threatening on foot, so the women stopped their retreat and waited. Harald spoke to them, his words halting. The women shook their heads and Harald spoke again, and that elicited a response.
“They say the men are all off to the king’s hall. They were called up as men-at-arms. I think,” Harald said.
Thorgrim nodded. “Tell them we’ll leave the horses here for the night. And some of our men. If they feed us and see to the horses and don’t tell anyone we’re here they’ll get silver. If they betray us, it won’t go easy for them.”
Failend doubted that Harald, even with his facility for language, would be able to translate that, but he seemed to get the meaning across, in any event.
“They understand,” Harald said.
“Good,” Thorgrim said. There was an odd sort of formality between the two. It was not so bad now as it had been — the fighting seemed to have knocked some of the stubbornness out of both of them — but still their relationship was not what it had been.
Failend knew full well what was going on. Some of it Thorgrim had told her, and some of it she had heard from others and some she had seen herself. And some of what Thorgrim told her she had to see for herself in order to know the truth. When it came to people and emotions and such, Thorgrim’s understanding was not always entirely correct.
They climbed down off their horses and the women
took the animals away and soon there was food brought out from the hall and passed around, and servants rolled out a barrel of ale. The women, apparently, did not want the heathens to go into the hall, but Thorgrim did not seem to care. Failend knew he had no interest in plundering such a place, and he did not intend to stay long.
The prisoner they had taken from the battlefield seemed to have recovered pretty well. They had tied him to his saddle to keep him from falling off, and now they untied him and tried to help him down but he refused their help, sliding down to the ground on his own. He hit the ground and staggered a bit, then recovered and was able to stand upright without help. He was even able to manage a look of defiance as he stared around him.
“Failend, Harald, come with me,” Thorgrim said. “Godi, you too.” He led the four of them over to where the prisoner stood. They formed a semicircle around him, while he attempted to maintain the defiant look, not so easy with Godi looming over him.
Starri Deathless joined them, uninvited, though with his blood-streaked face, remnants of the day’s battle, and his wild hair and the mad look that was always in his eyes, Failend could see he did as much as Godi to intimidate the prisoner.
Thorgrim had been right about the man’s status. His mail shirt was gone, Brand’s property now, and under it he had been wearing a tunic of fine-woven wool with elaborate embroidering around the cuffs and neck. His leggings were bleached white linen, their quality obvious even soiled with dirt and blood. This was no foot soldier, or even a member of a house guard. He was the sort who had a house guard of his own.
“Harald, ask him if that’s Winchester,” Thorgrim said, nodding toward the distant town. “Is the king’s hall there?”
Harald turned to the prisoner and spoke in the strange-sounding English. Failend could hear that the words were halting, but the prisoner seemed to understand. He replied, just a few words.
“Yes,” Harald said. “That’s Winchester. The great hall is there. The king’s name is…” Harald frowned. “I don’t recall what he said. I can’t pronounce it anyway.”
The Midgard Serpent Page 34
