The Midgard Serpent

by James L. Nelson

  He saw the understanding come over the man’s face. He lowered the pitchfork, nodded and spoke in what Louis assumed was English. He half turned and pointed toward the horse Louis had indicated.

  Louis nodded and fished in his purse for a half dozen of the silver coins. He held them out on his palm as if he was offering the man a treat, but the stableman looked at the coins, frowned and shook his head.

  You damned thief, Louis thought. The horse was not worth even that amount. But Louis did not wish to haggle, he wished to get a horse and get away from Winchester before he was missed, so he pulled out a few more coins and offered those as well.

  At that the stableman’s face brightened quite a bit and he nodded and snatched up the coins. He fetched the horse from the stall and led it over to Louis who ran his hand over its neck and flank and thought, It should live long enough to get me to Lunden, at least.

  There followed more pantomime negotiations as Louis bought an old bridle and a battered and patched saddle for considerably more than they were worth. When he was done he saddled his mount and rode off, still irritated that the stableman thought he had pulled the wool over his eyes.

  Bastard can’t wait to tell how he made a fool of some idiot Frank, Louis thought. Well, once they find out he helped a prisoner escape they’ll probably cut his head off.

  It was a nice thought, and it made Louis happy for a moment, until he forced himself to think of other things.

  By the time Louis arrived at the main gate, keeping his horse to a walking pace, there was already a fair amount of traffic going in and out. There were guards there as well, a half dozen or so. They were looking over everyone who came and went, but not with any great interest.

  Louis watched a cart laden with something and covered with a tarpaulin roll past uninspected.

  If the guards were told to look out for me they would certainly have searched the back of the cart, Louis figured. He took that as a good sign.

  He approached the gate with a studied calm, an expression that was close to bored, looking as much as he could like a man who rode in and out of Winchester on a regular basis. He fell in behind a man pushing a wheel barrow along, full of something Louis could not identify.

  As he reached the gate he looked down at the guard standing there, gave a bit of a smile and nodded in greeting. The guard nodded back and seemed not in the least interested in what Louis was up to, and not even very interested in returning the salutation. The man looked away and then Louis was through the gate, Winchester behind him, the Roman road and all of Engla-land spread out before.

  He did not increase his pace at all as he continued along the road. He would figure out how to get to Lunden, somehow, once he was out of sight of the gate. But first he had to put distance between him and the city. He did not think it would be long before he was discovered missing, and when he was then the hunt would begin in earnest. Felix seemed to wield a lot of influence in the English king’s court, and Felix seemed very much to want Louis in captivity.

  The travelers on the road became sparser as Louis left Winchester behind, until finally he was all but alone. He continued on along the Roman road for a mile or so, then stopped at a place where the road was intersected by another that was clearly built by a civilization not quite so advanced. He turned his horse around and looked back toward Winchester. He could see nothing now but the spires and the upper edge of the wall. There was no indication of any alarm, or anything amiss.

  He looked to his right, where the dirt road ran off toward the north-east, which was roughly the direction he thought Lunden to be. He suspected that there was another Roman road on the far side of Winchester, and that that road would lead to Lunden, or thereabouts. As he understood it, Lunden had always been an important place, even back to ancient times, and so the Romans would have built roads leading there.

  I should just ride off on this dirt road, Louis thought. Skirt around Winchester, pick up the Roman road on the other side. He nodded to himself. That made sense.

  He looked back at Winchester. He thought of Thorgrim and the others, probably still locked up in that lightless prison. They would be sitting on the floor, staring at the dark in silence, waiting for what would come next.

  Stupid heathen bastards, Louis thought. It was their fault. Thorgrim’s fault. Riding right into Winchester like that, no real thought as to what they would do. Of course it had ended with the lot of them locked in a prison until their execution. What else could they expect?

  He did it to save Failend, Louis thought next, with an uncomfortable twinge in his mind. Stupid, yes, but they hadn’t gone to Winchester for plunder or any of their heathen savagery. Thorgrim probably knew from the outset how foolish and futile it was — the man was not actually stupid, Louis could admit that much — but he had gone in anyway because he believed Failend was in danger. And he had been right.

  Well, it was a good show, but he didn’t do her any good, Louis thought next. It was me who saved her. Me and that priest.

  He continued to stare blankly at Winchester’s spires, his mind tumbling around.

  Of course, you wouldn’t have been there to save her if Thorgrim had not led us all there in the first place…

  He could picture what would happen to them: Thorgrim, Harald, Godi. Hall, Gudrid. Starri Deathless. Burned at the stake, most likely. That seemed like the sort of thing that would appeal to these English.

  The heathens would not go easily, that was certain. They would fight, and maybe half of them would be killed in that futile effort. Those still alive would be tied to the stakes, dry branches piled around their feet.

  Just like they had almost done to him and Harald, once. He had almost died the same way, before Thorgrim stepped in.

  “Oh, merde,” Louis said out loud.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Here shall never

  men inflict harm

  on one another,

  evil do or kill.

  The Poetic Edda

  The point of land to larboard, around which Amundi was steering, had been doing far more to block the wind than he had quite realized. The boat was taking a beating from the gale and the seas it kicked up: even with the sail reduced they had been heeling hard, the canvas and rigging stretched to near breaking. Every now and again a gust would dip the leeward rail, scooping up a great mass of water and sending the men to wildly bailing once again.

  At least they were free of Skorri and his band, even if they still had the seas and the wind to contend with. Skorri’s boat was stove in, his rig collapsed into a heap. Amundi glanced astern as often as he could, hoping to see the entire thing slip under the surface, but he did not get that satisfaction.

  Still, what he saw was satisfying enough: the crippled boat, drifting out of control toward a rocky shore hidden by the driving rain. It would be some time before Skorri was any concern of his, if ever again.

  Finally Skorri’s boat was lost from view, which was just as well because Amundi had all he could contend with directly ahead of him. For hours they had been trying to weather the point of land, but as they made northing around it Amundi could feel the wind gaining in strength, could hear the note it made in the rigging rising in pitch. The boat was pressed down harder, and now it scooped water with every other dip in the waves. They could not go on that way.

  “Thord!” Amundi shouted. “Thord!” Thord looked up from where he was hunkered down below the rail.

  “Haul up that leeward clew!” Amundi called, pointing to the corner of the sail that was pulled down to the starboard side of the boat. They had to reduce sail even further, and the only way to do that now was to haul part of it up to the yard.

  Thord nodded and slapped Onund on the shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to the leeward sheet, the line holding the clew down, and Onund nodded. Then the two men made their way carefully down to the low side of the boat, careful not to get knocked off their feet in the violent rolling, careful not to get flung on top of Odd who was still lying in
the bottom.

  Finally they had the lines in hand, and with a nod from Thord Onund began easing out the sheet while Thord hauled on the clewline which pulled the corner of the sail up. It flogged and banged and twisted as Thord fought with it. Oleif slid down to the low side and grabbed the rope as well and soon they had the clew pulled up. That done, the motion of the boat became noticeably easier, and their speed noticeably slower.

  This won’t do, Amundi thought. They had sailed clean away from Skorri. There was no reason to keep risking all their lives on the open ocean. He looked off to larboard as more and more of the north shore of the point came into view.

  There must be some place there to land…

  Amundi’s eyes were not the keenest, and they were not helped by the driving rain and the fog that half-covered the shore, but he was fairly sure he could see a beach a mile or so away.

  “Oleif!” he called and the young slave made his way carefully aft. Amundi pointed. “Is that a beach over there?”

  For a moment Oleif was silent, staring through the rain. “I think so,” he said.

  “Good enough,” Amundi said. “Go tend to the sheets and tell the others to help and to tend the braces as well. We’re going to come about!”

  Oleif nodded and moved off in the crab-like way they were forced to move on the wildly bucking craft. He grabbed each man in turn and shouted out Amundi’s orders and the men moved off to tend the various lines. Soon they were all in place, lines in hand, ready to swing the yard and sail around as the boat turned.

  Amundi nodded to them and then turned his attention to the seas rolling in. If he timed this wrong, if he got the boat caught between two waves, then there was a chance that the sea would roll them right over. Amundi did not fear death in general, but he feared a watery death. He hated the thought of drowning when he had just declined the chance to go down fighting.

  The bow of the boat slid into a trough between the waves, dipping down then rising on the next roller coming in. The wave moved under, lifting the stern, and at that moment Amundi put the tiller over, turning the boat on the rising sea. The yard came swinging around overhead as the stern of the boat moved through the eye of the wind.

  And then they were around, the boat running west, the long point of land on their larboard side and stretching out ahead. The motion was different now, with the wind more astern. The boat lifted and twisted and settled as the seas moved under, and Amundi worked the tiller side to side to keep them running straight.

  His arm ached from the effort, but he had the feel for the boat and he did not dare turn the steering over to anyone else. He had stopped shivering a while before and he did not think that was a good thing. Time to get ashore.

  The waves were lifting the boat and sending it hurling along. Amundi stood as best he could and sighted down the shoreline to the spot that he took for a beach. They were already noticeably closer, close enough that he could see it was indeed a beach, a stretch of gravelly sand about a hundred yards long, an easy target even in those conditions.

  He pushed the tiller a bit to one side, lining the bow up with the open place. “We’re going ashore, right up there!” he shouted as loudly as he could. The boat surfed along with its crazy motion and Amundi continued to fight the tiller until the last of his strength had nearly drained from his arm. But before it was gone completely, they were there.

  The beach was as good as he hoped, wet shingle that eased its way down into the sea, no surprise outcroppings of rock to snatch the bottom of the boat clean out. The surf picked them up and flung them forward and drove the bow into the gravel with a loud crunching sound.

  The abrupt stop sent the men on the thwarts tumbling and nearly tossed them into the bottom of the boat, but they managed to retain their seats. Four of the men jumped over the side and hauled the boat farther up the beach, but the sea had already deposited them pretty high.

  Amundi stood, every muscle protesting, his soaked clothes heavy on his shoulders. “Let’s get ashore, get Odd ashore,” he said, though the others were already passing those things they would need to bring with them to the men on the beach. Signy drew back the fur that covered Odd and Amundi could see Odd was blessedly dry. His head moved side to side and his eyes opened and he half sat up, looking around with bewilderment.

  “We have to get off the boat, my love,” Signy said, putting a hand under Odd’s arm. Thord came up on the other side and together they lifted Odd to his feet.

  “Some of you, come help with Odd!” Thord shouted. “Help us lift him off!”

  “No, no,” Odd said and his voice was surprisingly strong. “No, I can do it myself.”

  Thord looked back at Amundi, clearly wondering if Odd should be allowed to try. Amundi nodded his head.

  Odd made his way carefully to the side of the boat and slowly, deliberately, swung a leg over the side. Thord and Signy hovered near to help, and on the beach others stood ready to catch him, but Odd swung the other leg over and dropped down to the sand on his own. He staggered a bit and made a sound like the breath had been knocked out of him, but he kept to his feet with the help of a few hands holding his arms.

  Amundi climbed over the side next as the others distributed weapons and the little food they had, and drank the last of the fresh water. The rain had eased off some, which was a blessing, though they were all soaked through, save for Odd. Alfdis put a cape around Odd’s shoulders and pinned the brooch.

  “Odd! Odd, my boy, how are you?” Amundi said, though as the words left his lips it seemed like a foolish question. Odd was not well, clearly. But Odd gave a weak smile and nodded his head.

  “Not my best, Amundi, old friend,” he said. “But my strength returns.”

  “We’ll rig up a stretcher to carry you in,” Amundi said. “We have to get going, get north, quick as we can.”

  “No, no,” Odd said. “I can walk. I won’t be more of a burden.” Amundi was about to protest but he could see in Odd’s face that he was not just being polite, not just being considerate. He needed to do this. He needed to walk on his own legs. The old Odd was coming back.

  They headed off the beach and walked west along the point of land. The country was mostly low hills, like gentle ocean rollers, with granite outcroppings and patches of brush and trees here and there, and the going was not hard. And that was good, because Amundi could tell that Odd was not nearly as strong as he was pretending to be. But he kept up, his pace did not falter.

  As they walked Amundi told Odd of what had happened over the past week or so, almost none of which Odd could recall. He described Halfdan’s arrival at his hall, the scene there, the rescue, Onund’s decision to help Amundi. He told him about the boat and Skorri, and it was clear that Odd had been oblivious to all of it, from the moment he had attacked the guards until just then. It was astounding to Amundi, but had obviously done Odd considerable good.

  “Where now?” Odd asked. They were getting closer to where the point of land they were on met the mainland. They could see the broken coastline stretching away to the north.

  “I don’t know,” Amundi said. “We have to get north, because Halfdan is to the south. And Skorri, too, if he and his men lived to get ashore. But I don’t know for certain where we are. Do you?”

  Odd shook his head. “Nothing here is familiar to me,” he said.

  Amundi looked back at the others. “Any of you know where we are?” That was met by shaking heads, mostly. But one man named Kormak spoke up.

  “I think we’re some miles south of Fevik. I’ve sailed this way before. I think Vifil Helgason’s farm is not too far from here. But I don’t know for certain.”

  Amundi nodded. It was not much information, but it was more than he had before.

  They continued on, the sky growing darker as the daylight neared its end. The rain had turned to a heavy mist, which was not as miserable, but close. It was not a terribly cold day but would get much colder as the dark came on. Amundi figured they would have to keep walking, even in the dark
, if they did not find shelter. They were too cold and wet to do otherwise.

  How much longer can Odd keep going? Amundi wondered. He was still keeping pace with the others, Signy on one side, Thord on the other, but Amundi could see he was growing weaker, stumbling more often, his insistence that he was fine growing less emphatic.

  We’ll make a stretcher soon, Amundi thought. Hold a knife to his throat if he won’t let us carry him.

  They moved inland, the shoreline behind them now, the rolling country stretching away ahead, growing less visible in the fading light.

  “If we’re where I think we are,” Kormak said, “there should be a road ahead somewhere. Take it north and we’ll come to Vifil Helgason’s farm. I think.”

  The word farm, with its suggestion of a warm hall and a fire and food and drink seemed to buoy them all. Their pace increased, their steps less shuffling, even Odd’s. They crossed a half mile of field through knee-high grass, the land tending gently uphill, and came at last to the road that Kormak had thought might be there. It was a muddy, beaten, rutted track, but it was one of the most beautiful things any of them had seen in some time.

  Signy came up beside Amundi as they trudged along north. “Odd cannot go much longer,” she said. “He’ll drop in his tracks before he admits it, but I can tell.”

  Amundi nodded. “I’m glad to see the old, stubborn Odd is back. But you’re right. We can’t let him keep on.”

  There was a jumble of low granite ledges ahead, convenient places to sit, so Amundi said to the company, “Let’s give our legs a rest, have a seat up here.” That was met with a general groan of relief, and the weary band shuffled the last fifty feet and found places to sit on the wet rock.

  Once they had settled and rested a few moments Amundi called Oleif and Kormak to him. “There was a stand of small trees back down the road, not far. Go cut a couple of saplings so we can make a stretcher to carry Odd. I don’t think he can keep on like this much longer.”