Blood Enemy

by Martin Lake

  She bent down to him, poured some water onto her hands and wiped it over his face. He was alarmed at being touched by so diabolical a creature but he was too weak to offer any resistance. It took a while but she finally managed to scrape the worst of the blood and spit and snot from him. Then she pressed the jug of water to his lips and helped him drink. The water was foul tasting but he was parched and he swallowed it greedily.

  ‘Enough,’ she said at last. ‘Too much will not be good for you.’

  She bent her head closer and he felt her breath on his face as she spoke. ‘I don’t think the savages mean to kill you,’ she said. ‘Not yet, at any rate. But they will punish you again and again for trying to escape. To deter you from making another attempt. Be reconciled to this.’

  Ulf nodded. He was still alarmed by her presence but surely a demon would not have been so kind.

  He forced himself to look at her. ‘You said you are a Christian?’ He felt compelled to ask although his voice was full of doubt.

  ‘I am,’ she said. ‘From the Kingdom of Axum.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it. Is it near Francia?’

  She chuckled quietly. ‘You ignorant fool. Axum is the greatest Kingdom on earth and you have not heard of it.’

  She reached out and probed his arm with her fingers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he cried.

  ‘Searching for fractures.’ She found his broken finger and tutted to herself. ‘I will set this for you in the morning when I can see more clearly.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  ‘I know. But I will do so, nonetheless.’

  She fell silent, her fingers working methodically down each arm and up to his shoulders.

  ‘So is it near Francia,’ he continued, ‘this kingdom of yours?’

  ‘You are a very ignorant savage,’ she said. ‘Axum is far, far beyond Francia, beyond the empire of the Romans and their great city, beyond the lands of the Caliphate. Axum is a jewel placed far away in the heart of Africa.’

  ‘I don’t know any of those places,’ he said. ‘Ow. That hurts.’

  She had been feeling his sides and pushed more forcefully to see his reaction. ‘It hurts,’ he repeated. ‘A lot.’

  ‘Some brave warrior,’ she said, although her tone was more amused than disdainful.

  She hummed to herself as her fingers worked down his side. ‘Several ribs are broken.’

  ‘Will you be able to set them?’

  She sighed. ‘Of course not. They will heal on their own, as long as the Northmen don’t attack you again or put you to very strenuous tasks.’

  She fell silent, realising the foolishness of her words. Of course they would make him work hard, and of course they would beat him once again.

  ‘So how did you get here?’ he asked.

  ‘Enough of your questions,’ she snapped. ‘You are like a child, whining and demanding.’

  She got to her feet in a fluid, easy motion. ‘I will try to bring you some food but I cannot promise.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Rebekah.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s my name. Rebekah.’

  He nodded. It was only after she had left that he realised he had not told her his.

  A DEMONSTRATION

  The next morning, Hæstenn ordered his men to escort Ulf towards the forest.

  He’s going to kill me, Ulf thought. He choked back a sob of despair. He would not show anything but disdain to his tormentor.

  They halted at a large beech tree on the outskirts of the forest. Hæstenn stared at Ulf with a thoughtful look.

  ‘Will this one do? Dag called. Hæstenn’s half-brother approached leading an old, exhausted looking slave.

  Dag pushed the man towards him and Hæstenn regarded him mildly. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Bernard, master.’

  ‘And are you a good slave?’

  ‘I am master,’ the man answered. ‘I’ve served you loyally for fifteen years.’

  ‘Fifteen years? Good, very good. And now, I have another task for you.’

  ‘Anything, master. Anything you command.’

  Hæstenn smiled. In an instant Dag looped a noose around the slave’s neck and tightened it. He struggled but two other warriors seized his arms. They dragged him towards the tree, threw the noose over a branch and hauled him up. Two men had climbed the tree already and were waiting to receive him.

  The old slave tried to untie the noose but one of the warriors seized his left hand and dragged it to the branch. He placed a large nail against the man’s wrist and hammered it into flesh, bone and branch. The slave screamed in agony. At the same time the second warrior seized his right hand and hammered this into a branch.

  ‘Are you a good Christian?’ Dag called to the old man. ‘If so you will be pleased at the manner of your execution.’ He laughed at his own wit.

  Ulf rounded on Hæstenn. ‘Why are you doing this? He told you he was a good slave.’

  ‘As a demonstration,’ Hæstenn said. ‘To show what will happen to you if you try to flee again.’

  There came the sound of more hammering and even louder shrieks. Two more nails had been hammered into Bernard’s ankles.

  ‘He is old and unfit so it will take him a few hours to die,’ Hæstenn said. ‘You, on the other hand could well last two or three days.’

  He smiled. ‘It is the most terrible death imaginable, Saxon. The pain is said to be unrelenting and excruciating. Most men lose their mind before they finally die. They gibber like brutes of the field.’

  ‘And today, you shall watch this,’ Dag said.

  Two warriors gestured Ulf to sit on the ground in front of the tree. They took out bundles of food and ale for themselves and sat a little to one side.

  ‘Enjoy yourself,’ Hæstenn said. Then he and the rest of his men strolled off to the camp.

  Ulf felt like the day would never end. Sitting close to the dying man was too much for him to bear. Whenever he thought this he felt a burning shame, for he was not suffering at all, except in his imagination. At such times he would force himself to glance up at the man writhing in torment on the tree.

  Bernard moaned and wept for long hours, sometimes fell into near silent sobs and groans, occasionally shrieked aloud as the pain became unbearable. Ulf suddenly recalled the wails of a fox cub caught in a trap and felt sick.

  Every so often Bernard would lapse into unconsciousness. When he did this one of the warriors would rise and beat him with a stick until he revived. When they got bored of doing this they ordered Ulf to do it. He felt disgusted at himself but had no choice.

  Bernard survived longer than the hours that Hæstenn had said he would. He hung in agony until sunset, willing his shattered body to hold up against the terrible pressure. Darkness fell. Ulf could no longer see the man but his near constant cries and groans haunted every moment of the endless night.

  The dawn came at last and still Bernard clung to life. His flesh was distended with the downward pressure, the skin a ghastly grey and green hue. He cried out piteously for water, for death, for mercy. Every request merely amused the Vikings more.

  How much more pain can he withstand? Ulf wondered. How much longer can he survive?

  Much longer.

  The sun had gone past noon and still he lived on.

  But then, as Hæstenn had predicted, the man finally lost his reason. He raised his voice in a continual, meaningless stream of nonsense. Ulf caught words there: pleas for mercy, admissions of guilt, the occasional hint of love and friendship. But most of his words made no sense, an outpouring of a brain wracked beyond endurance. And in the end, even that trace of humanity deserted him. He began to gibber in words which Ulf could no longer recognise. The torture had overthrown his mind even before it had conquered his body.

  Ulf held his hands over his ears but could not block out the noise. He cursed himself for his cowardice and removed his hands from his ears. He forced himself to look a
t the crucified slave, felt the cold, bitter gall within his own heart. Then he leapt up, seized a spear from the ground and drove it into the man’s gut.

  Bernard ceased his babbling then and gave Ulf a strange and dreadful look. It was part surprise, part bafflement and part anger. He clung to life as he had done in all his long years of servitude. He clung to life even at the gate of death.

  Ulf could not drag his gaze away.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said one of the guards.

  Ulf did not answer but flung himself on the ground and wept.

  Bernard gave one last endless gasp and died.

  REBEKAH

  Ulf was marched back to the Viking settlement. He had mastered his weeping now but he could not banish the memory of the crucified slave. That he should be sacrificed in this foul manner merely to make a point to Ulf seemed beyond all comprehension. Hæstenn was surely the most evil of all Northmen.

  They found him and his half-brother Dag warming themselves by the fire.

  ‘The slave is dead?’ Hæstenn asked.

  ‘He is, lord,’ said one of the warriors.

  Hæstenn gave a look of mild surprise. ‘Who would have thought the old man had such strength?’

  ‘He would have lingered longer had it not been for this Saxon.’

  Ulf feared that Hæstenn would inflict immediate retribution for killing the slave but he seemed to find it amusing.

  ‘Oh, what an act of mercy,’ he said. ‘ You put the slave out of his misery, Saxon. You are so compassionate, so lordly.’

  ‘He was in agony,’ Ulf said. ‘Any true man would have done as I did.’

  Hæstenn smiled and placed his hand upon his shoulder. ‘Yet you slew him like a man might destroy a rabid dog. Was that so merciful, I wonder. Did the old man thank you for it?’

  He caught the look of dismay on Ulf’s face and laughed. ‘Ah, I see that he did not. Let me guess. He was surprised by your blow, bewildered perhaps. And in the end he showed anger. For you see, Ulf, in his final moments he would have blamed you for his death, not me.

  ‘And when he meets face to face with your god he will condemn you as his murderer. For that is what you are, dear Ulf. A murderer.’

  ‘You twist the truth,’ Ulf cried.

  ‘I think not,’ Hæstenn said. He opened his hands wide as if to seek comment from the world.

  He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘You delivered the fatal blow, Ulf. The truth is that I was going to cut him down this very hour. Such a strong and courageous old man deserved to live. It was you who killed him.’

  Ulf’s face worked in rage. He would have sprung on Hæstenn and strangled him but the two warriors gripped him hard and he was powerless to move.

  ‘You lie,’ he screamed.

  Hæstenn shrugged. ‘Comfort yourself if that makes you feel better. It is what you Christians do.’

  He sat down at the bench and drunk deeply from a mug of ale.

  ‘Shall we crucify him?’ Dag asked. ‘It will teach him not to disobey.’

  Hæstenn returned his gaze to Ulf. He seemed to consider the suggestion very carefully. Ulf felt his bowels loosening and struggled to keep them under control.

  ‘I think not,’ Hæstenn said at last. ‘I shall find equally fine ways to teach him that he is now my property. And I shall get years of work out of him.’

  ‘Then I shall put him to work,’ Dag said.

  ‘The roughest work,’ Hæstenn said. ‘Clearing forest, gutting beasts, carting shit. No food for three days and one cup of water at sunset. Tell our folk he is a murderer and deserves any punishment they choose to give to him.’ He paused and then grinned. ‘Oh and make sure that the slaves know he murdered the old man. Tell them that I will not punish them if they seek just retribution.’

  Dag gestured to the two warriors and led the way down to the edge of the village.

  Hæstenn may have intended Bernard’s crucifixion to dissuade Ulf from trying to escape again but Dag decided to make doubly certain. He ordered the smith to fasten a heavy piece of timber to a rope and tie it securely to Ulf’s ankle. The rope was too short to allow him to reach down and lift the wood from the ground, he would have to drag it around with him. It was very heavy and even a few steps chaffed his ankle. He was set to work shovelling the pile of human shit onto a field where winter barley had been planted.

  The other slaves had already been told that Ulf had murdered their friend. As soon as he walked into the field he was spat on and punched. None of the slaves dare do worse than this but the punishment was painful and degrading. He tried to explain why he had slain Bernard but none of them could understand him. Or perhaps they chose not to. On the third day when Ulf swooned in the field from lack of food and drink, they finally relented. The beatings and curses stopped. But none of the slaves befriended him or even gave a kindly word. Except for one.

  Rebekah appeared to be even more loathed than Ulf was. Loathed and feared in equal measure. She was shunned and cursed, pushed away from the fire and given the worst scraps of food.

  She accepted this without complaint. One evening, as Ulf sat alone some distance from the fire, she got up from her place and came to sit next to him. It was now autumn and she pulled her thin cloak around her, shivering slightly. Ulf was touched that she had left the warmth of the fire to sit with him.

  They sat in silence until the light faded. They were comforted by each other’s presence.

  This show of kindness seemed to enrage the slave even more. From that day onward they spat whenever Rebekah approached them, most on the ground, a few of the men in her face. Her already poor amount of food was reduced even more. Now she was given only gristle and thin pottage to eat.

  After several weeks, Ulf took matters into his own hands. As the old woman who prepared food for the slaves started to divide up the evening meal he pushed his way to the front and seized the best scrap of meat.

  ‘Anybody want to argue with me?’ he cried.

  The other slaves muttered angrily but none dared do anything against this strong young man.

  He took the meat to the edge of the circle and gave it to Rebekah. She seized upon it hungrily.

  ‘You might be punished for this,’ she said.

  ‘By these wretches? I do not fear their blows.’

  ‘But their silence, Ulf. And their hatred. Perhaps you will come to fear that.’

  He did not answer for a while. When he did it was in a voice heavy with foreboding. ‘I have more to fear than the actions of slaves.’

  ‘Hæstenn?’

  Ulf closed his eyes. His burden was great and growing heavier by the day. He knew he should keep silent but he could not keep the words from spilling out.

  ‘Not Hæstenn. I fear God and Christ.’

  He heard Rebekah sigh. And then, after a moment, she took his hand. ‘Why is this?’

  ‘Because I killed Bernard.’

  He waited for her to pull away, to utter sharp words of hatred and contempt. But instead she turned and looked into his face.

  ‘Was there a reason for your act, Ulf?’

  He shook his head in confusion. ‘I don’t know. I thought there was. Bernard was being crucified, for my instruction and Hæstenn’s amusement. I thought that by killing him I would end his agony. But Hæstenn says I did it to seem lordly and merciful and that Bernard would hate me for it.’

  ‘Bernard would not have done.’

  ‘But he did. I could see it in his eyes. The final dying look he gave to me was one of hatred.’

  Rebekah did not say anything for a little while. When she spoke her voice was low and thoughtful.

  ‘Perhaps that is understandable. We all cling to life, no matter how terrible. But God has seen that you acted out of mercy. He will not blame you.’

  ‘Hæstenn says he will.’

  Rebekah squeezed his hand tightly. ‘Do you believe Hæstenn? He is not a Christian. He does not know the workings of God or Christ. He is a man of blood, famous even amongst the
Northmen for his cruelty. It is said that even the all-conquering Arabs of the Caliphate fear him.’

  Ulf sighed. ‘And how does a slave girl know so much about Hæstenn?’

  ‘Because I have been his slave for many years. I know his cruelty, I have witnessed his violence. Yet I do not give up on life. I do not surrender.’

  Ulf stared into her eyes. ‘It is said that he treats you well, on occasion. Is there a reason for it?’

  ‘Not the one you might think,’ she said. ‘I am sure he lusts after me as many of his men do. But none touch me anymore.’

  ‘Anymore?’

  ‘One man did.’

  Ulf glanced at her. A part of him still thought she might be a demon, as did the other men. Could any think she was desirable?

  ‘Only the one man?’

  ‘I fought him off,’ she said, ‘with teeth and nails. And I cursed him when he backed away. He died later that night and the savages believe it was my curse that killed him. But it was something else. I can make potions that heal. And poisons that slay. The fool should not have drunk the cup of ale I gave him.’

  Ulf did not answer. Was even she, his only friend, to be feared?

  ON YMMA’S ISLE

  Autumn and winter 883

  Aethelflaed left Somerset a few days later. She was going to return to her father and to the fate she now reluctantly accepted. If Ymma was right then her fate was written only until the day of her wedding. After that she could make her own destiny, weave her life as she saw fit. Although she had no wish to wed Ealdorman Aethelflaed the thought of being able to choose her own path in this manner was intriguing and beguiling.

  Inga spent the autumn and winter with Ymma learning the skills of a wise-woman. She had picked up much already in her youth but now she grew amazed at the sheer weight of wisdom concerning plants and their properties, the many afflictions of man and beast and the healing properties of the earth, the skies and the waters.

  Ymma taught her how to listen to the call of older forces, to heed them and be guided by them. She learned how to separate her inner self from her outer one and walk on the margins of each.