Blood Enemy

by Martin Lake

  His heart began to hammer but he knew that he was too high for anyone on the ground to hear it. But his hunters were loud and clumsy and he realised that two or three had closed in on his hiding place. He bit his lip. They were standing next to the tree, directly below him.

  ‘Fox,’ one of them said, ‘or a badger sett. I hate the stink.’

  Another man sniffed loudly. ‘You’re right. It’s like shit. Like a midden.’

  Ulf held his breath. He had been shitting on himself for many days and the smell was coming from him. He prayed that they had not thought to bring any hunting dogs with them.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said a third voice.

  ‘How can you think about food with such a stench in your nostrils?’ said the first man.

  ‘I’ve not eaten. What do you say to trapping a hare?’

  ‘If you want to have your ears cut off by Hæstenn. He’s determined to hunt down the Saxon.’

  ‘I say let Ulf go,’ said the second man. ‘Who wants such a man in their midst? He must be as strong of Thor to have wrenched open the cage like that. He’s a danger to every one of us.’

  ‘Hæstenn means to crucify him,’ the first man said. ‘Put an end to him once and for all. Come on, let’s keep on searching. The sooner we find him the sooner we can go home.’

  They wandered off and Ulf mumbled a prayer of thanks. He sniffed at himself. He stank, most certainly. The sooner he found a river the better.

  He was exhausted by his long night of digging and his general condition and soon fell into a restless sleep, dozing for a little while, wakening in a panic and hearkening to the wind, then drifting off once more. Slowly the day passed and he was not discovered. When darkness fell he scrambled down the tree and headed further into the forest.

  He was famished and thirsty. He needed to escape but he needed food and drink just as much. As he walked he kept his ears open for the sound of water and was eventually rewarded by the whisper of a woodland stream. He threw himself to the ground and plunged his head into the cool water, gulping in great mouthfuls.

  Then he got to his knees and began to peel off his trousers. The dried shit had stuck the fabric to his skin and removing them was a difficult and painful process. He succeeded at last and began to wipe the foulness from himself. It proved a slow business and in the end he thought it best to lower himself into the stream. He took his trousers with him, pounding at the dried shit with a stone.

  At last he was clean and he hung the trousers on a bush to dry off. Fortunately, it was a warm night with a fresh wind blowing from the south so it was not long before they had dried sufficiently for him to put them on.

  His next problem was food. The moon had risen high now and, although it was not full, it illuminated the stream. He lay down on the bank, his head just staring over the waters, his right hand held ready to strike. He had been reared on an island and knew rivers and water better than most men. The stream was a slow-moving one and there were certain to be fish there, moving slowly, half asleep, along the course of the stream.

  And then he saw it. A small perch, feeding lazily on a water-plant. His hand moved, quick as a kingfisher and he seized the fish. He knew better than to try to clasp it and scooped it out onto the bank. It wriggled in the dirt, its mouth gulping helplessly. He thought to put it out of its misery by bashing it with a stone but that would be a messy business. In the end he waited for it to die and then took it up and began to tear at it with his teeth. He had imagined it would be terrible to eat but it was like the finest of feasts. He was careful to only eat the outer flesh, stopping only when the foul smell of the fish’s innards assailed his nose.

  He rested for an hour or two, drank more water and pulled on his trousers. The moon was still shining and he started to walk while he still had some light to see. He needed to move swiftly, to flee Hæstenn and to catch up with Hrólfr.

  FINDING REBEKAH

  Ulf crouched in the undergrowth. Hrólfr’s Norsemen were camped a furlong away by the side of a small river. He had spent the last ten days tracking them, stealing food from villagers, spending one night in a monastery where he had eaten his full and been blessed by the abbot.

  He had also stolen a knife from the monastery kitchen. It was a sin, but he reasoned that he was going to use it to do God’s work. He felt the blade now. He had spent many hours honing it and the edge was razor sharp.

  Finally, as the sun rose above the trees, he saw her.

  Rebekah was collecting firewood on the edge of the camp, her arms full of kindling. He could not see her face although he suspected it still bore the scars and bruises from her beating. But at least she was on her feet and walking. He had feared that she would have suffered far worse already. He wondered at this but then recalled Hrólfr’s final words to him, promising to torture her until she was broken. That she was still on her feet could only mean one thing; that she had been spared so that his men could rape her. He felt sick at the thought.

  Slowly, hand over hand, he crept through the grass towards her. He moved silently. He had to keep the Vikings unaware and avoid startling her.

  Finally, he was within a few yards of her. She turned at that moment and her eyes opened wide. He put his finger to his lips and gestured to her to get to the ground. She turned towards the camp to see if anyone was looking, then bent as if to pick up some more wood and fell flat.

  He beckoned her to him and she crawled over.

  To his surprise, she seized his head and forced her mouth on his. The warmth and softness astonished him and he felt himself stir with excitement. But there was no time to ponder this. They had to make their escape.

  He turned and led the way back towards the forest. It seemed to take an age, an excruciating lifetime of slow creeping. Finally, they got close to the woods. And then Ulf’s heart lurched.

  Strolling out of the forest, with a young hind over his shoulder, was Hrólfr.

  He saw them at the same instant. He flung the hind to the ground and drew out his hunting knife. Ulf peered behind him, his mind racing.

  ‘So, it is my good friend, Ulf,’ Hrólfr said. ‘You escaped Hæstenn but you won’t escape me. I’m alone, so you can be sure that it is I who has the pleasure of sending you to hell.’

  Ulf climbed to his feet and pulled out his knife. It was half the size of Hrólfr’s knife but he guessed that it would be sharper. But even the dullest blade could kill and the hunting knife would not be dull. The outcome of this battle would be down to who was the best fighter.

  The two men circled each other warily.

  ‘Go,’ Ulf hissed to Rebekah. ‘Into the forest and flee.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said. She cast about for some weapon but the only thing she could see was a piece of rotten wood and a few stones. She crouched and picked up the stones, wondering if she would have an opportunity to use them.

  The two men closed on each other. Hrólfr made a slicing motion in front of him and then a few quick jabs. Ulf stepped back to avoid the blade. Hrólfr laughed for he realised that Ulf must be weak from his time in the cage. He was stick-thin and wan and seemed to lack speed of movement.

  But then Ulf lunged, his blade only just missing Hrólfr’s chest.

  The Viking grinned. ‘Close, Saxon, but not close enough.’

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t called for your men to help you fight me,’ Ulf said. It was a gamble to put the thought in his adversary’s mind but he did so with a purpose.

  ‘I don’t need help to kill you, slave,’ Hrólfr said, stung by Ulf’s taunt. ‘You need not fear I will call for any.’

  He leapt forward, but Ulf side-stepped and took the position that Hrólfr had formerly held. He did this deliberately. It meant he could see the Norse camp and watch out for any warrior coming towards them. And the sun was now behind his back and in Hrólfr’s eyes.

  The two men closed on each other once again. Hrólfr squinted against the sun and decided that he would need to turn Ulf to get out of the glare. He
waved his knife fiercely, stabbing and slicing.

  ‘That’s just what Asbrand did,’ Ulf said.

  Hrólfr started at his words. The memory of Ulf’s attack smote his mind, the uncontrollable berserker fury, the dreadful punishment he had meted out on Asbrand. His hand faltered, the knife fell still.

  Ulf darted forward, slicing open Hrólfr’s arm and then plunging the blade into his gut.

  Hrólfr glanced down in astonishment. Then he staggered back a few steps and cursed Ulf.

  ‘Your knife does not hunt well today,’ Ulf said. ‘My knife belonged to a community of monks. They have blessed it for me, charged it with spells to maim and poison a Viking.’

  Hrólfr stopped in his tracks. ‘Poison?’ he whispered.

  Ulf smiled and beckoned him to attack. Hrólfr needed no encouragement. He leapt towards Ulf, who retreated against this fierce attack. But then Ulf took a deep breath and began to groan, his mouth working savagely.

  Hrólfr stared at him in horror. He was weakening from his wounds and now he was going to have to face an enemy in a berserker frenzy.

  Ulf lunged towards him and Hrólfr leapt back. He felt something soft beneath his feet, the dead hind, and as Ulf raced closer he lost his footing and careered backwards.

  The next thing he felt was Ulf’s blade pressed into his neck.

  ‘Throw away your knife,’ Ulf said. There was no longer any sign of berserker fury. It had been a pretence, a ruse to fool and unman him.

  Hrólfr snarled in fury but did as he was commanded. Ulf knelt on his chest and pushed the blade into his neck, drawing blood.

  ‘I only have to lean on the knife to pierce your neck,’ he said. ‘And you have no sword in your hand. That means you will not go to the feast hall of your gods. You will not join your forebears in glory.’

  Hrólfr cursed. He had never imagined he would die such a craven death.

  ‘You can take the girl,’ he said. ‘I will not pursue you.’

  Ulf stared into his eyes. ‘What assurance do I have of that, pirate? You will be on our trail in minutes.’

  ‘Then kill me and have done with it,’ Hrólfr said. ‘I do not wish to haggle with scum like you.’

  ‘Kill him,’ Rebekah said. ‘Otherwise it will be us who will die.’

  ‘Such a gentle maiden,’ Hrólfr said. ‘She has managed to fight off every one of my warriors with her sharp nails and demon curses. I thought she yearned to enter a convent. And yet she desires my death. Cruel woman, cruel heart.’

  Ulf moved swift as a hare and cut Hrólfr deeply on the arm. Blood surged from him.

  ‘No, Hrólfr Giantson,’ he said. ‘I will not kill you. For you have given me my life twice already and I would not be in your debt. Keep your miserable life, do your terrible deeds.’ He worked open the gushing wound still further. ‘But you at least won’t be able to follow me. If you don’t get this wound bound up you’ll be dead within the hour.’

  He climbed to his feet, grabbed Rebekah by the hand and raced into the forest.

  DELICATE TASKS

  May 884

  ‘I ask only that you become Ketil’s friend,’ Ethelnoth said.

  Inga stared at him mutely. She was raging inside but could not say anything against her Ealdorman.

  Ethelnoth gave a little cough, as if the words were catching in his throat. ‘A friend, Inga. Nothing more.’

  ‘You would use me, my lord,’ she said at last. ‘And use me ill.’

  Ethelnoth swallowed. It was as if she had heard Wulfric’s words and was using them as a defence.

  ‘I do not wish to use you in any way, Inga. Far from it. The Dane likes you and your presence will make him feel happier here.’

  ‘Why would you wish him to feel happy, my lord?’ She spoke slowly, as if bewildered. ‘I’m confused. I thought he was our enemy. Please explain to me.’

  Ethelnoth cursed to himself. He had not anticipated that she would react in this way. Her brother Ulf would do what he was told, but Inga, it seemed, was not so compliant. He suspected she was not in the slightest bit confused for she was parrying his every move.

  ‘Ketil is our guest,’ he said. His words were far louder than he had intended and he blushed a little at how flustered she was making him.

  ‘But surely there are other girls who could serve him, as well or better than me. I am Aethelflaed’s servant and have many duties to her.’

  Ethelnoth gnawed his lip. He feared that Alfred might find out his plan for Inga and worse yet, that he had failed in it. He could imagine the smirks of Edgwulf and Wulfric.

  ‘I am not here to debate it,’ he said, his voice more decisive than he felt. ‘You will do as I say.’

  ‘What will she do?’ said a voice from the door.

  Ethelnoth groaned. Now he had no hope whatsoever.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, bowing to Aethelflaed. ‘I was merely asking Inga if she would act as the Danish chieftain’s companion for a while.’

  Aethelflaed stared at him for a moment. He found himself staring at the ground.

  ‘Companion?’ she asked, softly.

  ‘It is not what you think.’

  Aethelflaed gave a look of surprise. ‘What on earth do you imagine I think?’ she asked.

  Ethelnoth rubbed his fingers through his hair. He had lost completely now and could only try to extricate himself unbloodied.

  ‘I did not imagine you thought anything, my lady.’

  ‘That I have no thoughts?’

  ‘Not that, Aethelflaed. You know that I could never entertain such a notion about you.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She smiled at him and, seizing the chance, he bowed and headed for the door.

  But as he reached it, Aethelflaed said, ‘Does my father know what you’ve asked Inga?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, hastily.

  ‘Of course not.’ She sighed. ‘It is so good to see that the valiant Ethelnoth has grown gentle towards our enemies.’

  Ethelnoth’s mouth dropped. He forced a smile on his face and swept from the room. The two girls smirked as they heard the door being slammed.

  ‘Did he bully you?’ Aethelflaed asked.

  ‘He tried to.’

  Aethelflaed laughed. ‘I don’t think he’s used to women saying no to him. And I imagine he’s hopeless as a bully.’

  She flung herself into a chair and studied Inga carefully. ‘Of course,’ she said at last, ‘I will let you be Ketil’s companion if you desire it.’

  Inga blushed crimson and shook her head.

  ‘I see,’ Aethelflaed said. ‘But if you change your mind.’

  She never had the chance to change her mind.

  The next day a servant came to find her. ‘The King demands your presence,’ he said. ‘And you’re to bring your healing salves.’

  She grabbed her box of salves, potions and dressings.

  ‘Is it my father?’ Aethelflaed cried.

  The servant shook his head. ‘No. But he bids you hurry.’

  They found Ketil the Dane lying on a bed, grey-faced with pain.

  ‘A hunting accident,’ Alfred explained. ‘His horse got startled by a boar and threw him.’

  Inga knelt beside the bed. Ketil’s leg was broken and part of the bone thrust through the flesh. His leg was covered with blood.

  ‘How did you get him here?’ she asked.

  ‘Over the back of a horse.’

  She grimaced. The bone may well have splintered because of this rough treatment.

  ‘We bound up the leg as best we could,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Then we may save it,’ she said.

  She carefully cut away the leggings surrounding the wound and washed off the worst of the blood. Ketil winced as she touched him.

  ‘Is it very painful?’ she asked.

  ‘Worse than a spear thrust,’ he said. He forced a smile upon his face but he could only maintain it for a moment.

  Inga told the servant to bring a bowl of boiling water and then looked a
t the King. ‘My lords, I will need strong men to hold him down while I force the bones together.’ She felt sick to the stomach at the thought of it but managed to conceal it.

  Alfred nodded and positioned himself to one side of Ketil. Edgwulf went to the other.

  ‘Eat this,’ she said, forcing some mossy substance into Ketil’s mouth. Then she rummaged in her box and pulled out a needle and thread. She put the thread to the eye but her hands were shaking too much.

  ‘Give it to me,’ Aethelflaed said.

  The servant returned with the boiling water and Inga threw some dried herbs into the bowl: sage, rosemary and lavender. A fragrant smell filled the room.

  ‘I need something leather,’ she said.

  Edgwulf slipped off his belt and gave it to her.

  ‘Open your mouth, Ketil,’ she said. She thrust part of the belt between his jaws. ‘Bite on this when the pain grows worse.’

  She glanced at the king. ‘Hold him tight.’

  Alfred and Edgwulf leaned on Ketil’s chest. Inga took a deep breath and forced the broken bone back inside the leg. Ketil screamed in agony.

  She waited until the noise had stopped and eased the bone in a little more. Again he screamed and she bent closer to the wound. He thrashed wildly in agony.

  ‘Try to not to move,’ she cried. She wiped her eyes, for tears had suddenly sprung into them.

  ‘You’ll have to hold him tighter,’ she said. ‘I need to get the ends of the bone to meet.’

  There was nothing else for it. She thrust her fingers deep into the wound, fighting down her nausea. She felt the two edges of bone and pushed them together. Ketil screamed still more loudly and fell unconscious. Then, as gently as she could, Inga withdrew her fingers.

  ‘I need to sew up the wound,’ she said. ‘And then we must put a splint on the leg.’

  She picked up the needle and thread but her hands had begun to shake violently.