Blood Enemy

by Martin Lake

  ‘He has never shown a love of peace before,’ said Wulfric. ‘Why should he now?’

  ‘Perhaps his warriors are no longer willing to fight,’ Edgwulf said. ‘They are all getting older.’

  ‘The Danes crave war like Ethelnoth craves women,’ Wulfric said. ‘Reluctance to fight cannot be the reason.’

  ‘But Guthrum has more to lose now,’ Alfred said. ‘He is no fool. He could not conquer us in the past and we get stronger by the day. He has much to lose by pursuing conflict with us.’

  Two servants entered, bringing food and more ale. The four lords fell silent until they had gone.

  ‘But what of this Norse leader, Hrólfr?’ Edgwulf said. ‘I wish Ulf were here so we could ask his opinion.’

  ‘How goes the young warrior?’ Wulfric asked with a smile. He caught the look on the others faces and the smile faded. ‘He is not slain?’

  Alfred shook his head. ‘No. But it seems he suffers from the same rage his father does. The Danes think him a berserker and our men are inclined to agree.’

  ‘Well that is good then,’ Wulfric said. ‘We need courageous warriors.’

  ‘You would say that,’ Edgwulf said. ‘I sometimes think you have berserker blood, old friend.’

  Wulfric grinned with pleasure. ‘But Ulf?’ he said. ‘He is not harmed? You imply he is not here.’

  Edgwulf shook his head. ‘He has gone to Rome.’

  ‘A priest?’

  ‘Of course not. Alfred has sent treasure to the Pope and Ulf goes with the warriors guarding it.’

  ‘I thought that seeing Rome might give him peace,’ Alfred said. ‘But now, like Edgwulf, I wish he were here.’

  ‘And this Hrólfr?’ Wulfric asked.

  ‘A dangerous man, I warrant,’ Alfred said. ‘I suspect he may be in league with Guthrum.’

  ‘You had not said this before,’ Ethelnoth said.

  ‘I had not thought it before. But now, I come to suspect that Guthrum woos us with treasure and words of blandishment while, behind our backs, he gets Hrólfr to do his fighting for him.’

  ‘And Hrólfr is not a Dane,’ said Edgwulf. ‘Which means that Guthrum cannot be accused of breaking the peace. I think you may be right, Alfred.’

  The king nodded. ‘But we must be sure of this. I used the presence of Hrólfr and his men as a reason to take the old city. If we can prove that Hrólfr is in Guthrum’s employ then we could make good use of it. Perhaps our Norse captain will come to play a part not to Guthrum’s liking.’

  Ethelnoth rubbed his hands with pleasure. ‘You’re a wolf and a fox, Alfred. I always thought this.’

  ‘But a clever fox must know his enemy,’ Alfred said. ‘We must find out more from Ketil. Come, Edgwulf, we must away.’

  Ethelnoth waited until Alfred and Edgwulf had left and then drew Wulfric close to him.

  ‘I think I know how we can best get this Dane to reveal his secrets.’ He pursed his lips for a moment, as if still considering his plan.

  ‘Alfred’s god-daughter, Inga,’ he said. ‘It appears to me that there is some friendship between her and Ketil. And I suspect that our fine young Dane would love it to become a more special friendship.’

  Wulfric raised an eyebrow. ‘In matters of love, I defer to you, old friend,’ he said. ‘But Alfred will not have Inga ill-used.’

  ‘And nor would I.’ Ethelnoth held up his hands as if to ward off any such accusation. ‘But Inga is thoughtful and clever. I trust her to find out more from Ketil than we ever could. He will not be so guarded with her.

  Wulfric pondered the suggestion for a time. Eventually he nodded. ‘It’s a good plan, Ethelnoth. As long as the girl is not ill-used. You are her ealdorman, I think it would be best if you gave her this task. But tread carefully.’

  ‘By which you mean, don’t tell Alfred?’

  Wulfric smiled.

  CAGED

  May 884

  The Vikings dragged Ulf to the edge of the camp. His frenzy had passed as rapidly as it came, his only thought was for Rebekah and what might happen to her. And then he saw exactly where they were heading.

  In the middle of the track was the small iron cage Ulf had first thought was used as a pen for hens. It was shaped like a barrow, a few feet wide and perhaps five long.

  One of the men lifted the cage from the ground. The bars were made of iron, wider and stronger than was necessary to protect hens from predators.

  A foot shot from behind and tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud which took the wind from him.

  Immediately the cage was dropped on top of him. Ulf tried to turn but there was no room. He heard the heavy hammer blows and felt the vibration through the ground. The bars of the cage were being driven into the hard earth. His hand shot out to try to shake them loose but the hammering had already buried the points of the bars deeply in the earth.

  He glanced up, saw the mocking, jeering faces. One of the men spat in his face, a thick wad of phlegm which he was unable to wipe away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more men approach, struggling with something heavy and unwieldy. They dropped it on the top of the cage. It was a heavy rock which drove the bars still deeper into the earth. Ulf groaned. He would never be able to push off such a weight. He was trapped.

  He tried to move his arms, his legs, his hands, but the space was too constricted. Panic gripped him, a panic he struggled to hold down.

  ‘Hope you like your lordly hall, King’s-thegn,’ Hæstenn said. ‘You’ll die in there given time. But long before you do, you’ll rot.’

  They strode off back to the camp.

  Ulf was gripped by fear. He grabbed hold of the bars on either side and tried to shake the cage loose from the earth. They did not budge at all. He cursed, and attempted to move his head to see how heavy the rock was and if his efforts had moved it. But the top of the cage was only an inch or so above his head and his movements were too restricted. He could look to right and left and, with difficulty, straight ahead. But that was all.

  He groaned in despair and allowed his head to slump to the earth. The ground was cold and hard, unyielding against his mouth and nose. He moved his head a little so that he could rest his cheek upon the earth and breathe more easily. His heart was pounding, with exertion and terror.

  He was trapped, he would die here, he would never get out.

  He willed himself to calm his hammering heart, to try to quieten his racing thoughts. He remembered when he had cut his hand badly as a child and Inga had told him to take deep breaths to ease the pain and fright. He tried to do the same now but this fate was far worse than any childhood wound.

  He began to panic again, panting like a trapped animal. His eyes filled with tears and he wept. His tears dampened the soil and its smell filled his nostrils. It was a familiar smell, the scent of Athelney in spring when the rains had fallen on the cold, winter earth. A deep and old smell, rich with concealed life and countless ages, a smell which clung to the nose and mind, partly distasteful, partly comforting. He breathed it in deliberately, hearing once more Inga telling him to breathe slowly, breathe deeply. At length, it worked. His terror eased, the hopeless torment relaxed its grip a little.

  He found that he could almost see his fears. They bore shadowy shapes; nightmares on the edge of sleep, ghosts that flickered in dark places. He tried to focus on them, bring them into the centre of his mind’s eye. But they turned and twisted like tormenting spectres, witches of the wild casting spells upon lost souls. He gritted his teeth and willed the shapes to stand still so that he could look upon them face to face. He remembered his adversaries in shield-wall battles, the wild, savage, intensity on their faces.

  They too had loomed out of nowhere, then slipped away in the ebb and flow of battle or when they fell beneath his sword. He had conquered many foes before; he would conquer the nightmare fears confronting him now.

  He breathed once more and yes, the shapes began to slow their headlong frenzy. At last they were stil
l and he was able to look on them.

  They were his worst fears, his most appalling horrors, his secret weaknesses. They appeared like clouds of fog, hovering above the ground, swirling constantly to reveal for mere moments a savage eye, a gaping mouth, a hand held up as if to strike. They stank of death and they emitted a continual moan, a bleak wild wail to unman his soul.

  He swallowed hard, determined to watch, to smell, to listen. And, at last, with agonising slowness, he mastered them. They still remained, still exuded a terrible, throat-cloying stench, still whispered sounds to maim the heart and mind. But he had evaded their close embrace, escaped their power. He looked into the eyes of his tormentors and conquered them.

  His head slumped to the ground. He had never felt so exhausted. It was as if he had spent days and weeks in a shield-wall, endlessly hacking at relentless, unwearied enemies. He closed his eyes. He slept.

  He woke at dawn. He wanted to piss but could not move so held on. At last, when the sun had climbed high in the sky, the pressure in his bladder grew too much and he let himself go. The warm liquid seeped around his legs, making the earth sodden. Two small boys passed by and shrieked with laughter at the sight of this. He closed his eyes. He would have to get used to this. He knew that the Vikings would never release him.

  A little later he saw that the Norsemen were assembling on the edge of the village, Grimar at their head. Two slaves carried a stretcher with the broken body of Asbrand lying on it. His voice was raving in agony, an endless dirge.

  Hæstenn and Hrólfr appeared in front of Ulf and bent down to stare at him.

  ‘You have abused me,’ Hæstenn said. His eyes were small and vicious as pins. ‘You assaulted my guest and by doing so, tarnished my name. You will rot here for ever, kept alive until you forget you were once a man and become less than a beast.’

  ‘Bring her here,’ Hrólfr cried. Rebekah was dragged towards the cage and dragged low so that Ulf could see her. She had been beaten savagely, her face a mass of cuts and bruises.

  ‘Hæstenn has given me this girl to replace you and to pay the wergild of my chieftain, Asbrand. Some might say I have gained a poor exchange. But believe me, when my men have had their pleasure with her, when she becomes the whore of every warrior here, when she begs to be slain, only then will her real torment begin. As you maimed Asbrand so I will maim her, but a hundredfold. And then, one day, I shall bring her back so you can see your handiwork: a shattered, limbless, witless gurgling thing. Well done, brave King’s-thegn.’

  Ulf shook the bars in rage but it was no good. He could not move them even a fraction.

  Hrolfr’s men marched out. At the last moment, Rebekah looked back and glanced at him. He could not understand the meaning of it.

  The day grew hotter and he began to sweat. His mouth was dry, his thirst was terrible. He cried out to all who passed to give him water. They shook their heads and moved on. At last, as the day grew old, a warrior came and pushed a cup of water between the bars. He gulped at it greedily, like a piglet sucking at the teat.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ the man said. ‘It’s meant to keep you alive for as long as possible. Keep you alive in this living hell. And you won’t thank me for that.’

  Ulf smiled but the man could not see it. A dead man could not escape from hell. But perhaps a living man could.

  He lost track of time. On the third day, he knew, he succumbed and shit himself where he lay. The stench was terrible but after four or five days he got used to it. Every day the warrior returned at twilight and gave him some water to drink. But there was no food and he began to grow dizzy with hunger.

  And then one evening, on what day of his torment he did not know, a little boy crept towards him and peered into the bars.

  ‘Have you been bad?’ he asked.

  Ulf sighed. ‘I must have been.’

  ‘I’m bad too. My father beats me when I’m bad.’ He fell silent for a while. ‘I wouldn’t like to be put in there though. I’d rather be beaten.’

  Then he got to his feet and left.

  The next day, soon after the warrior had given him water, the small boy approached once more. He gave a furtive look around and hunkered down beside the cage.

  ‘Don’t tell anybody,’ he said. And he pushed through the bars a lump of bread and a half-chewed shank of mutton.

  ‘I won’t tell,’ Ulf said. ‘Thank you.’

  The boy disappeared into the dusk.

  Ulf waited until dark before he ate. He imagined that any food would be snatched from him if it was seen. He almost choked on the bread which was stale and hard but managed to eat it nonetheless.

  The meat was cold and stringy, more gristle than flesh. But it tasted better than any choice cuts at King Alfred’s feast-hall. He gnawed at it feverishly, aware that he was like a starving hound but not caring. At last, when he had torn every scrap from the bone he sucked it, desperate to capture every last drop of nourishment. Finally, he bit on it, trying to crack the bone. He succeeded at last, and licked out the dry slivers of marrow.

  He sighed in contentment. What more does a man need, he thought. I have a home, a man to bring me water and a young friend to bring me the finest food. He chuckled to himself, the first time he had laughed for longer than he could recall.

  And then, unbidden, the image of Rebekah floated into his mind, clear as if she were here. He gazed into her eyes and recalled the mysterious look she had last given to him, a look he had long pondered but never understood.

  He bit down on the bone and the splintered edge rasped on his tongue.

  And hope flared in his heart.

  He retrieved the bone from his mouth and began to pound at the earth by one of the bars. It was hard but after a little time he had made an indentation. He looked up, wondering if anybody could witness what he was doing. But the only warriors were in the centre of the village, carousing. The women and slaves were either serving them or asleep. He set to work once again and began to hack at the soil around the bars.

  He had no idea how long he dug. But by the end of the night he had loosened almost all the bars on the right side of his cage.

  He worked more feverishly now, aware that dawn was close and the village about to stir.

  He managed to free the lowest bar that he could reach and calculated that two thirds or more were now free of the earth. The biggest problem was the heavy rock on top of the cage. It had taken two strong warriors to place it there. He did not have the strength to move it.

  He began to panic. He would never be able to free himself. He was doomed. And he would never be able to rescue Rebekah.

  His head sunk to the ground and he gave way to despair.

  But then an answer came to him. He dismissed the thought at first but it kept returning to him, insistent and demanding. It was foolish, impossible. It would avail him nothing, only give him greater anguish.

  But then, taking a deep breath, he decided to act.

  He summoned his worst fears to mind. Swifter than the most obedient servants they hastened to him, gleefully tormenting and taunting. But he ignored them, waiting for the other. A horror which, so far, had eluded him.

  And then, at last, it appeared.

  A shape arose in the furthest reaches of his mind. It saw him and began to pace towards him with slow and deliberate step.

  A foul and ravening beast, part wolf, part gigantic worm, with vast leather wings and black-fanged beak. It howled with fury, flung out fierce, clinging tentacles to ensnare him. But he howled back.

  He stared with loathing at the berserker demon and hauled it close, finally grappling its potency to himself. The blank void at its core chilled his heart, its pitiless rage seared his soul. Yet he grappled its sinews to his flesh, heedless of the pain and peril.

  And then with a roar, he thrust upward and flung the cage, boulder and all, out of the ground.

  He struggled to his feet, slowed by weakness and by the shapeless fears which raced to block h
is escape. But he kicked forward and fled.

  The sky beyond grew red with dawn but he managed to reach the forest unseen. And then he ran. Despite his exhaustion, despite his lack of food and drink, he ran.

  He was free.

  IN THE FOREST

  May 884

  Ulf ran into the forest. He had done this before, when he had been first captured, but then he had been well fed and strong. Now, after the dreadful winter and his long incarceration in the cage, he was as weak and giddy as a new born foal. He lurched from tree to tree, his head light and empty, his feet stumbling.

  All that kept him going was dread at being dragged back to the cage. And a burning determination to find Rebekah.

  Finally, he could go no further. He calculated that he was only part way into the forest, not even at the centre. The morning was now wearing on and it would only be a matter of time before Hæstenn’s men found him. He cast about for somewhere to hide but could see nothing. But then one last desperate idea came to him.

  A large, old oak tree stood a little in front of him, its branches fairly low to the ground. He managed to scramble up the trunk and swing onto one of the lower branches. He paused for a moment, fearful that his giddiness would cause him to fall. But then he forced himself onward until he had climbed ten or twelve feet above the ground. He found where one large branch split into two and seated himself there. The leaves were young and not full grown but the many clambering branches and twigs provided reasonable cover. Besides, he knew from childhood games of hide and seek that people rarely thought to look for someone hidden above their heads.

  This hopeful thought was almost immediately put to the test. His ears caught the sound of footfalls tramping through the forest and then the occasional call from man to man. His pursuers had arrived in the forest and were closing in.

  He stilled his breathing and risked a glance through the sparse spring foliage. For a moment he could see nothing but then he glimpsed the head of one of the Vikings as he passed through a glade in the distance. A sudden terror gripped him. Were any of his pursuers good enough trackers to find his path? If they were then they would be led directly to his hiding place. Carefully he eased himself back into the crook of the tree, squatting as low as possible to keep from being seen.