‘They are not Danes,’ said Leshii. ‘I can tell by the ships.’
‘What are they then?’
‘They call themselves the sons of Freyr, who is their god. Ynglings, Scylfings, pirates and merchants of Birka.’
‘And what is their purpose at the monastery?’
‘Death and destruction most likely, but I doubt they dealt out any.’
‘Why not?’
‘The monks watch for them, and when they see them coming, take their treasures and run away. They’ll have been lucky to find a goat to butcher.’
‘That will put them in a good temper.’
‘We’ll see. Look at the ships. What’s unusual about them?’
‘I see nothing unusual.’
‘Well there isn’t much, but when we get closer you’ll see that the prows aren’t dragons, as they might seem from here. They are snakes.’
Aelis shook her head. ‘I’m going no closer to those people.’
Leshii smiled. ‘I know the ships,’ he said. ‘I know their king. This is our best way to Ladoga, and it’s a rare piece of luck, believe me. This man trades out of Birka and Ladoga. I have met him. I have sold him silks.’
‘But what are you going to tell him?’
‘Something like the truth,’ said Leshii, and he stood up and strode across the mud towards the ships, pulling the mule behind him.
Aelis watched him for a second. And then she offered a prayer and followed him.
Leshii was calling out as he went forward: ‘Great Scylfings, lords of the ocean, descendants of Vanheim, greetings, friends, greetings. I bring you enormous fortune.’
Nine warriors, three to each boat, stood up, spears ready, swords drawn, axes across their shoulders.
‘No need for weapons, friends. Only me, Leshii of Aldeigjuborg, and a boy servant here. We are unarmed.’
‘Your servant carries a fine sword, friend.’
‘Oh, that. That is mine. I am a trader not a warrior, and I don’t choose to carry it or strap it to a mule where pilfering Franks can steal it. Where is Giuki? Where is your king? He will bless you that found me on this beach.’
‘How do you know our lord’s name?’
‘He wears a shirt of red silk? I sold it to him.’
‘That tore the first time a Frank grabbed it. You owe him his money back, merchant.’
‘The famous Scylfing sense of humour!’ said Leshii. ‘Where is the king? Lead me to him.’
‘I want that sword,’ said a tall, rough man with a face as brown and mottled as a toad’s back. He had a great axe across his shoulders and his voice was slow and low, stupid-sounding. He pointed to the weapon at Aelis’s side.
‘Give it to him and I’ll ask Giuki to make him give it back.’
Aelis drew the sword. ‘It’s here,’ she said, ‘for anyone who will take it.’
‘What’s he say, merchant?’
‘The sword is but poor quality. It looks fine but it would let you down in battle.’
‘That is not what he said,’ said the axeman.
‘He is young, friends, and seeks to protect me.’
‘Is he a Frank?’
‘No, good lord, no! He is of my people.’
‘I’ll still take the sword.’
The axeman got down from the ship and Aelis pointed the sword towards him.
‘You shouldn’t have something you have no idea how to use, boy,’ said the axeman. ‘Give it to me now, or I’ll kill you where you stand.’
Aelis couldn’t understand his words but she sensed the animosity coming off him, sharp and cold as the winter wind. He took a pace forward, swinging his axe.
‘Don’t, Brodir,’ said one of the men on the nearest boat. ‘If this is a friend of Giuki, he’ll make you pay compensation.’
‘Thought of that,’ said the axeman. ‘How many dihrams for a slave? Seventy? That sword’s worth 150.’
‘You stupid bastard, he won’t let you keep the sword.’
‘Why not? It’s mine, taken in battle.’
Another laughed. ‘Easier to deal with learned men, eh, merchant?’
‘Get the king and I will see you are rewarded,’ said Leshii to the man as Brodir made his way across the sand towards Aelis.
‘I would, my friend, but he’s up in the monastery seeing if the monks have left us anything beyond dead mice. Your boy’ll be dead by the time I get there.’
‘Last chance,’ said Brodir. ‘Sword or death, boy.’
Aelis knew what these people respected and that, were she to give in, other indignities would come close behind. She’d acted as a servant for Leshii once, felt the kicks and prods of Saerda, the scorn of the berserkers, and she would not suffer that again, even if it meant death.
Brodir screamed and raised his axe. Aelis stumbled back, falling over and dropping the sword. Brodir laughed and stepped forward to pick it up. As she hit the sand, Aelis felt a lump in her back. She reached behind her, grasped the francisca and threw it hard at the Viking. The axe came at him quick and from below. Brodir turned his head, but it was too late. The axe took him in the throat under the jaw, splitting his windpipe and severing his neck arteries. He put his hand up to the axe, blood bubbling and spurting from the wound, his breath a sharp whistle, and tried to raise his own axe, but fell forward into the sand, turning it scarlet where he lay. There was a sound in Aelis’s ears — the chiming and chuckling and clucking of one of those symbols that seemed to live and grow inside her mind.
‘Ooh, that’s a shot and no mistake!’ said one Viking.
‘O Freyr, help us now!’ said another.
Aelis scrabbled for the sword, expecting the others to attack. But they just stood there looking at her and shaking their heads.
‘You’ve got yourself a scrap now, merchant,’ said a dark-haired Viking.
‘Surely not,’ said Leshii. ‘He was defending himself. There’s no recompense due for that!’
‘I hated that bastard, but there’s a monastery full of his brothers up there,’ said another.
‘He attacked the boy; the lad’s entitled to defend himself,’ said the first.
Leshii rolled his eyes and said to Aelis, ‘I think you’ve started a blood feud.’
‘I am of the line of Robert the Strong,’ said Aelis, ‘and I will no longer bow to these heathens.’
‘I really wish you would,’ said Leshii. ‘It would make life immeasurably easier. I do. Look, it’s easy.’ He gave the Vikings an extravagant, deep bow.
Aelis stood, shaking the sand from herself. ‘You do what you like, but I keep this sword. They may rape me, they may kill me, but one, maybe more, will die before they do.’
‘Lady,’ said Leshii, ‘when you are Helgi’s bride and sit in splendour in the prince’s hall in Ladoga, surrounded by the fruits of many lands, the silks, the gold, the wine and the pearls, you remember how I worked for you here, how I rescued you and cared for you.’
‘So you mean to sell me as his wife?’
The merchant smiled. ‘That is your destiny, your safety. Is that not what your wolfman said?’
Aelis resheathed the sword. ‘I’ll come with you to the Viking king. We will tell him the truth. I am valuable for ransom, and if he has sense he will offer me his protection. You will translate for me. I’ve had enough of being in your care.’
‘I think that’s a very bad idea,’ said Leshii.
Aelis stared at him. ‘You are a merchant. You buy and sell. Leave the thinking to your betters.’
Leshii could see there was no arguing with her so just waved his hand and cursed his luck. He wondered if he’d get a dihram for her when they finally got to Ladoga. Still, he was going to have to make the best of what he had.
He turned towards the dark-haired Viking. ‘Will you take us to Giuki?’
‘If you like. Gets me off this freezing beach, anyhow.’
They walked up off the beach to a sandy path and followed it to the monastery. The smell of cooking was on the air. Aelis almo
st felt like crying. It reminded her of her childhood, coming home from days on the river or in the fields, catching the aroma of baking drifting from the walls of the fortress. More and more she seemed drawn to the past, her mind slipping back into memories, strange sensations coursing through her, strange knowledge coming to her. How did she know that the brown seaweed at her feet could be boiled and its juice used to treat stiff joints? How was it that the face of that monster the Raven haunted her, but not as she had seen it, torn and pocked, but whole and handsome? Aelis’ own mother was still alive. But she thought of another woman, saw her outside a strange low house with a turf roof, drying herbs in the sun, and when she tried to speak her name, she said, ‘Mother.’
The sand path turned to stone and soon they were at the monastery. There was a large pile of books at the door. The Danes — she thought of them as Danes — had stripped the leather and thrown them to the elements.
There were no great signs of attack or slaughter, no bodies or burned roofs. It was a pleasant day.
‘Friend,’ said Leshii, ‘you will allow me to tell Giuki that one of his warriors is dead?’
‘Can’t do that,’ said the Viking. ‘If I do, his brothers might think I’ve been concealing the information.’ He looked at Aelis. ‘If I was you, I’d run for it now.’
‘He thinks we should run,’ said Leshii.
‘Where to?’ said Aelis. ‘I’ll face my destiny here, good or bad.’
‘You sound like a Varangian,’ said Leshii.
‘I am to become one if you have your way,’ she said.
‘Yes, but a lady of the court, not a warrior. You kill like a Varangian; let’s hope you don’t grow a beard like one.’
They passed through the open door of the monastery, along a short passage and into the cloister, a tight square of buildings with a covered walkway around a courtyard. The kitchen roof vent was trailing a finger of smoke into the cold blue sky. Four mail hauberks lay on the ground along with padded jackets, shields and helmets. Spears and bows were leaning against walls, and a couple of Vikings sat in the sun sharpening their axes. At the centre of the square, deep in discussion with ten or so warriors, was an lean figure in a golden-yellow tunic and blue silk shirt. From the way the men all gave him their attention, Aelis guessed this was Giuki.
The men with the axes put down their whetstones and the conversation around the king died as Aelis and Leshii stepped out of the shade.
‘Slaves, warrior?’ said the man Aelis took to be Giuki.
‘I don’t know, lord. This one says he knows you.’
Giuki peered at Leshii. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘How do you know me, easterner?’
‘At Aldeigjuborg, sir. Leshii, merchant of that place, servant of Helgi. Thank the gods that it is my blessing to be charged with fulfilling his wishes.’
Giuki glanced from Leshii to Aelis. ‘And who’s that?’
‘Don’t know, lord, but he just left Brodir dead on the beach.’
There was a great cry from one of the men near Giuki and he leaped at Aelis, drawing a long knife. Aelis pulled her sword from its scabbard and faced him.
‘Hold,’ said Giuki. ‘Kylfa, as you are my kinsman and my retainer, I’m telling you to stop.’
The man with the knife rocked back and forth as if straining against some invisible leash.
‘It’s my right to take his life,’ he said.
‘No. It’s your right to take his life if the law allows. Otherwise you can ask for weregild, which avoids a feud. You are servants of Helgi, merchant?’
‘Yes, lord. It’s me, Leshii the silk man. I sold you your shirts.’
Giuki nodded. ‘You Slavs all look the same to me. How much did I pay?’
‘Only three dihrams a shirt, my best price.’
The warlord laughed. ‘Have you come to ask for more or to give me my money back?’
‘Neither, lord. May we speak confidentially?’
‘No. These are my kinsmen, and whatever you have to say to me you can say to them.’
‘Lord.’
‘Am I to kill this murderer or not?’ said Kylfa.
‘We’re trying to work that out.’
‘I am Lady Aelis, daughter of Robert the Strong, sister of Eudes of Paris, beloved of Helgi of Ladoga,’ said Aelis. ‘Tell him this, merchant.’
‘Lady, I will not. You can’t let all his men hear that — you’ll be raped on the spot. Let me do the talking.’
‘Is that your bodyguard, merchant?’ said Giuki. ‘He looks about ten years old. No wonder he’s so full of fight, he’s hardly ever been in one.’
‘He killed my brother and so must die,’ said Kylfa.
‘Lord, I am on a mission to Helgi. This boy is a eunuch monk of the west and very dear to Helgi. He will pay well for his return. I am here to ask safe passage to Aldeigjuborg.’
Giuki nodded. ‘I give my fealty to Prince Helgi. He is a great man and has secured us a great deal of work and plunder in the east. It would please me to please him and make a bit of coin into the bargain. We’re returning to Birka now and it’s only three weeks further journey. We’ll take you.’
Leshii prostrated himself on the floor. ‘Lord, you will have many rewards for this.’
‘What about my vengeance?’ said Kylfa. ‘Will you not give me my right? Do not unman me, lord.’
‘I can’t sanction the killing of one of Helgi’s men.’
‘The warrior attacked the boy, lord. He was going to rob him,’ said Leshii from the floor.
‘My brother was an honourable man, merchant,’ said Kylfa, ‘and I’ll cut your throat to prove it if you want me to.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t, on balance,’ said Leshii.
‘Our law provides us with an easy way to resolve this and one with which Helgi can hardly quarrel if he discovers it. You’ll have your right before the law, Kylfa — holmgang — though tomorrow just before we leave. I won’t have you injured while we’re still at risk of attack.’
‘What is holmgang? ’ said Aelis. The emphasis Giuki placed upon it had caught her attention
Leshii beat his fists on the floor and then got up waving his arms in protest. ‘If this boy is killed, where will be your reward from Helgi? Where will be your honour?’
‘Relax,’ said Giuki. ‘Monks are ten a dihram around here. If he’s killed, we’ll just pick up a few others on the way back. It’ll take a little trip inland maybe, but we need the plunder.’
‘He needs this monk. This is the monk he needs. No other will do.’
‘They’re all alike,’ said Giuki. ‘I couldn’t tell one from the other and you won’t tell me that Helgi’s a better man than me. A monk’s a monk. He’ll write for him, nag him and eventually Helgi will tire of him and kill him. The king couldn’t care less what monk he gets; he just wants someone to write laws and record his dealings. That’s the way it is with monks — old, young and everything in between. We’ll give him a monk, and you can say it’s the one he sent for, as I know you will. You are not a stupid man.’
‘What is holmgang? ’ said Aelis.
‘A ritual duel to determine the rights of a situation,’ said Leshii. ‘You are a lucky woman, lady, but you are going to need to be to get through this one.’
‘Now,’ said Giuki, ‘let us all sit around a fire, eat some seagulls and fish, and the merchant can tell us tales of the east. It’ll be a good night for all.’ He turned to Aelis. ‘I’d enjoy it while you can, boy. Kylfa has killed five men this way, and I tell you, all of them would have done for you without breaking a sweat.’
Kylfa pointed at Aelis.
‘You’ll have me for a companion tonight. I shall be sitting beside you, and when I sleep my brother will watch you. The monks here ran away. You won’t.’
‘I am to die somewhere,’ said Aelis to Leshii. ‘It may as well be here.’
Leshii bowed his head. For a moment the mad thought that he could take Aelis’s body to Helgi occurred to him. But brides were not like
the Christians’ saints: no one would pay for them dead. He looked to the sky, wondering which god he had offended to make this girl the only chance of a comfortable life he had in the world. Somehow he would have to contrive to save her — again.
46
A Wolf’s Treat
The horses allowed them to make the river quickly. The Vikings did not know this route north but Jehan guided them, guided himself by the pale girl at his side. He took up the cross again, hoping its contemplation would help quiet his teeming thoughts. It did not, though the simple act of walking gave some respite. In a high bowl valley in the mountains they saw a large town below them.
‘We have horses,’ said Astarth. ‘We could trade them for a boat and take the river.’
Ofaeti shook his head. ‘This is the enemy’s country. Monk — lord — do you know who owns that town?’
Jehan had no idea what town it was but knew that the area, nominally at least, was under the rule of Charles the Fat and therefore allied to Paris and its ruler Count Eudes. But none of that seemed to matter now. His efforts were concentrated on fighting down the strange thoughts inside him and on prayer. The girl simplified things. She would take him to Aelis, to defend her from the hellish forces that were stalking her.
‘The river’s like a stream of goat’s piss up here anyway,’ said Ofaeti. ‘We won’t get a boat down it. Let’s make our way downstream for a couple of days and see if there’s anything we can make into a raft or steal if the flow gets bigger.’
Ofaeti had now taken up an ostentatious form of Christianity, cutting himself a cross and carrying it before him. The men were Danes — this was clear by their dress, their hair, the axes they carried — but not every Viking in that country had come to pillage. The Frankish lords had recruited plenty of mercenaries willing to fight their fellow Norsemen for silver, so the sight of Danes travelling through the country under the Christian cross aroused plenty of suspicion but no outright aggression.
The river valley fell through mountains which rose in great sweeps of rock and disappeared into cloud, tiny settlements visible on their slopes. At a roaring waterfall they encountered some bandits — ragged men appearing from the mists. They clearly wanted to attack but were nervous of the mail and the weapons of the Vikings. Ofaeti dismounted, drew his sword and made a stuttering charge towards them. It sent them running. The forts proved harder to negotiate. Men came to challenge them. But the gold was now hidden beneath Burgundian cloaks, and Jehan managed to control his voice and mind enough to explain that the Varangians were his guards and they were on a journey from Saint-Maurice to the pagan Vikings of the east, to convert them and turn them against the raiders who pillaged the north.
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