by Tony Bradman
‘But... you don’t know what I’m here to ask you,’ Finn said, the small hairs prickling on the back of his neck as they often did when Ylva spoke.
‘I do, and there is no magic to it,’ she said with a smile. ‘I know you have come to take me into the village. But I will be safe here. And if not, well then, I have had a long and good life, and perhaps the Fates have chosen this as my time to die.’
‘Perhaps they have chosen it as the time for us all to die,’ Finn said gloomily.
Ylva came closer to him, put a cool hand to his cheek and looked deep into his eyes. ‘You are troubled, Finn,’ she said. ‘Tell me what is in your heart.’
Finn felt all the worries and doubts swelling inside him, and he knew that if he didn’t let them out in some way he would burst. He had thought of speaking to Astrid, but he didn’t want even her to know how terrified he was that he had made a huge mistake and was about to get everyone killed. Perhaps he could speak to Ylva...
The old woman listened, her head cocked to one side like a bird’s, a faint smile on her lips until Finn fell silent at last.
‘It is hard to carry such a burden alone, especially when you are so young,’ said Ylva. ‘You need the help of someone who understands the ways of warriors and can tell you what to do. Luckily for you, I know just the man.’
‘It’s too late, Ylva,’ said Finn. ‘I don’t have time to send for anyone.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she said, her smile broadening. ‘The man I’m talking about is Kjartan. Come along now. We will go and pay him a little visit, you and I.’
Finn was surprised, and wanted to ask how an old man like Kjartan could know anything about warriors. But Ylva was already walking away from him, up the path, and moving quickly for a woman of her great age. Finn hurried after her, and they soon came to Kjartan’s hut. It was much the same size as Ylva’s, but closer to the trees, seeming almost to be sheltering under the thick arms of a great oak.
‘Kjartan, show yourself!’ said Ylva. ‘There is a boy who needs your help.’
Nothing happened for a moment. Then the hut door creaked open and Kjartan stepped out. He stood in front of them and Finn realised that – unlike most of the old men in the village – Kjartan’s spine was straight and his shoulders broad. He had a square jaw, and his eyes were the same blue as the icy sea in winter. He wore a clean brown tunic and trousers, and his long hair was tied back with a leather thong.
‘Leave me alone, Ylva,’ he said. ‘I am too old and tired to help anybody.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Ylva. ‘There’s plenty of life in you yet. Besides, I’m sure you will want to help the boy when you know what danger he faces.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Kjartan, frowning. ‘But I have a feeling you’ll tell me anyway.’
‘You’re right,’ said Ylva. ‘A band of sea-wolves is coming to raid the village. Their leader is Red Swein, the man who killed your shield-brother Ingvar, father of Ottar the chief...’ She paused to pull Finn forward. ‘And grandfather of Finn here.’
Finn had been looking at Kjartan, but now he turned to Ylva, his mouth falling open with surprise. His mind raced as he tried to take in what she had said.
But there was more to come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Tool for Killing
The sky darkened suddenly, with a cold wind from the sea bringing sleet that stung the skin, and Kjartan invited Ylva and Finn into the warmth of his hut. Pine logs burned in the small hearth, snapping and crackling and filling the hut with the scent of the forest, but Finn barely noticed. He was too busy listening to Kjartan’s tales of his early days as a Viking with Ingvar, the grandfather he had never known.
‘Ingvar was my friend,’ said Kjartan. ‘I met him on my first Viking voyage. It was his first voyage too, and we were the two youngest in the crew. For us it was an adventure, a holiday from our boring lives at home, but all the others were hard men, interested only in plunder and slaves. Ingvar and I took care of each other, bench-mates at the oars, shield-brothers in battle. A bond like that doesn’t break.’
‘So does that mean you and my grandfather were... raiders?’ said Finn. It was strange to think of this gruff old man as someone much younger, a warrior in his prime. It was stranger still to think of his own long-dead grandfather as a boy who had been bored by farming and wanted a different life, just like Finn himself. Perhaps it wasn’t only the colour of your hair or eyes that you got from your family.
‘If you’re asking whether we were sea-wolves, then the answer is yes,’ said Kjartan, turning to him. ‘Oh, we did many things. We stole the gold from Christian churches and burned them down. We fought for lords and chiefs who paid us, and we switched sides when they ran out of money. And in between times we raided villages, running our keels on to beaches and leaping from our ships with fire and sword...’
Kjartan talked on, and for a short while it was as if the world Finn had glimpsed in old stories and legends filled the little hut. It seemed that Kjartan and Ingvar had travelled everywhere, and seen many wonders – and many terrible sights as well.
‘Ingvar grew tired of it all eventually, and decided to settle down,’ said Kjartan. ‘He left the crew, went back to his village, married a pretty girl, had a fine son...’
‘My father,’ said Finn, and almost smiled to think of Ottar as a baby.
‘But that isn’t the end of Ingvar’s story, is it, Kjartan?’ Ylva said softly. ‘Or yours, come to that. You must tell the boy everything, however painful it is for you.’
Kjartan turned to her now and held himself very still. Then he let out a great sigh, and his shoulders sagged. ‘I missed my shield-brother, so I often came to visit him, and a few times I got him to come away with me for a summer’s raiding. To be honest it was never that hard to persuade him, even though his wife hated the idea and didn’t want him to go, fearing that he wouldn’t return. And then one year... he didn’t.’
Finn thought of his grandmother, this pretty girl who had lost her husband while she was still young. He had never met her, either – she had died a couple of summers before he was born. ‘How did Ingvar die?’ he said. ‘Was it on a raid?’
‘Yes, but we weren’t doing the raiding,’ said Kjartan. ‘Our crew was being paid by a village to protect them from a new pack of sea-wolves led by a young Viking who was out to make his reputation. His name was Swein, and they called him Red Swein because he loved to kill, to make blood flow. He killed Ingvar, although it was a great fight and your grandfather left the mark of his blade-edge on Swein’s face.’
‘I... I think I found my grandfather’s sword,’ said Finn. ‘It was in a chest in the storeroom, along with a helmet and a mail-shirt. They’re very plain, though.’
‘A sword is a tool for killing,’ said Kjartan. ‘Only kings and rich jarls have fancy weapons and armour. But then they’re not the ones who do all the fighting.’
Finn fell silent for a moment, taking everything in. Then he remembered what he had heard a few days earlier about how life had been hard for his father after Ingvar had died. In one way, that had been Kjartan’s fault – if Kjartan hadn’t persuaded Ingvar to go with him, then he might have lived and things would have been easier for Ottar. ‘Did you come here because you felt guilty, Kjartan?’ Finn said.
The old man met his gaze, their eyes locking together. ‘Partly,’ he said eventually. ‘But I was also old and tired and had nowhere else to go, and I wanted to see the son of my shield-brother before I died. You should be proud to have such a man as your father, Finn. He made me welcome in his hall because I had been his father’s friend in our youth, and he has never blamed me for what happened.’
‘Why didn’t I know about all this?’ said Finn. ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t want you to think of your grandfather as a hero,’ said Ylva. ‘He knows what you boys are like, how you dream of Viking glory and fame.’
Finn felt the small hairs prickling on the back of his ne
ck again. It was as if Ylva had been looking deep into his heart and could see everything it contained.
‘There will be no glory or fame for me if Red Swein defeats us and destroys our village,’ he said. ‘But surely the Fates have brought him here for a reason.’
‘I think you are right,’ said Kjartan. He paused for the space of several heartbearts, as if he were thinking – and making a decision. ‘And that is why I will help you,’ he murmured at last. ‘It is fitting for me to do what I can for the people of Ingvar and his son, and his grandson.’
‘Forgive me for saying this,’ said Finn. ‘But what can you do for us? You said yourself that you are old and tired, and there is only one of you, and...’
Kjartan smiled, and it was like sea ice glittering in the midwinter sun.
‘I can do more than you can imagine,’ he said quietly.
And Finn found it easy to believe him.
* * *
Others found it harder. Finn quickly summoned the village to a meeting in his father’s hall – perhaps the last they would ever have, if they failed, he thought with a pang. The people seemed even more frightened than before and came in grumbling and muttering. And when Finn said they were there to hear Kjartan speak to them about what they should do, many were very puzzled. Kalf was first on his feet to complain, of course.
‘Kjartan? What nonsense is this?’ he said. ‘He’s just a miserable old man.’
‘It takes one to know one,’ said Astrid. There was laughter, and some of the crowd jeered at Kalf. He went red in the face and started yelling, but suddenly the doors flew open and Kjartan strode in, the sky dark with rain clouds behind him. He was wrapped in a long black cloak and walked the length of the hall, his boots thudding on the rush-covered floor. Finally he stood beside Finn and faced everyone.
‘Go back to your hut, Kjartan, we have no need of you!’ said Kalf, sneering. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been telling the boy, but you can’t fool me.’
‘I swear by great Odin that he’s not trying to fool you,’ said Finn. ‘Kjartan used to be a sea-wolf himself long ago, so he can tell us how to deal with them.’
Kalf gave a shout of laughter, then shook his head. ‘A sea-wolf? Him? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life. I’d love to see him prove it...’
‘Very well,’ said Kjartan. He threw off his cloak to reveal he was now wearing a fine chain-mail byrnie that covered his body and arms and reached down to his knees. A thick belt of scarlet leather went round his waist, and a sword in a wooden scabbard hung down from it. Its grip was made of plain white ivory, the pommel was a small globe of yellow amber, and the hilt a simple curved piece of steel. A dagger in a sheath sat on Kjartan’s other hip.
There were a few gasps from the crowd, as well as some murmuring. Finn thought everybody was probably thinking the same as him. Kjartan looked completely different – years younger, and a warrior from head to foot. Everybody except Kalf, that is. He crossed his arms and gave Kjartan a withering glare.
‘I’m not convinced,’ said Kalf. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
Kjartan didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly drew his sword from its scabbard and held the blade out at his side. It glinted in the torchlight, and Finn could see the flames of the hearth-fire reflected in Kjartan’s eyes, making him look like some creature of legend, a ghost-warrior perhaps, one who guards the tomb of an ancient king. Then Kjartan stepped towards Kalf and swung his blade in a tight arc, cleanly slicing the bushy tuft from the old man’s head. The people on either side of Kalf leaped out of the way. A cloud of Kalf’s white hairs drifted down to the floor.
‘Satisfied?’ growled Kjartan. ‘Or do you want me to cut something else off?’
‘No, I believe you,’ squeaked Kalf, and swiftly sat back down on the bench.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s settled,’ said Finn, trying not to look at Egil and Njal, who were both grinning. ‘Perhaps we can get on to more important things now.’
‘Tell me what has happened so far,’ said Kjartan, re-sheathing his sword.
Finn did as the old Viking asked, explaining about the attack on Andari’s village, the visit by the three sea-wolves the night before, the death of poor Ranulf. Others spoke too, particularly Solveig, who added details and answered Kjartan’s questions. The hall fell into silence at last, and Kjartan stood in deep thought, his eyes narrowed.
‘If Swein has gone north, it will take his scouts a while to find him,’ he said. ‘So it will be two days before he attacks, perhaps three. That gives us time to prepare.’
‘We thought we were ready for them last night,’ said Finn. ‘But we weren’t.’
‘You came up with the best plan you could – seal the village, defend the stockade, keep them out,’ said Kjartan. ‘The trouble is, that’s just what Swein will expect. And as you discovered, it didn’t work against one man, let alone a whole crew.’
‘It’s our only hope though, isn’t it?’ said Finn. ‘What else can we do?’
‘We can give them a surprise,’ said Kjartan with that icy smile of his. ‘Instead of trying to keep them out, we will leave the gates open – and let them walk right in.’
There was even more murmuring now, and Kalf gave a squeak of protest. Kjartan turned to stare at him, and the old man seemed to shrivel under his gaze.
Finn, however, was struggling to understand what he had just heard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stolen Dreams
At first the idea of deliberately letting the sea-wolves into the village seemed utterly crazy, and people were confused. But Kjartan explained what he meant, and soon Finn – and everyone else in the hall – began to see how such a plan could work.
‘Don’t think of it as a battle, more as hunting a wild beast,’ said Kjartan. ‘What is the best way to kill a wild boar in the woods? He will rip you to pieces in a one-on-one fight. So, instead you lead him to a place where you can trap and surround him...’
‘But it won’t be just one wild beast, it will be a whole crew of them,’ said Egil, and others murmured their agreement. ‘How many sea-wolves can we expect, anyway?’
‘Usually around thirty,’ said Kjartan. ‘Swein will probably leave a few men to guard his ship, then divide the rest into two groups, one entering by the forest gate, the other from the quayside. We will need to split them up even more, and make every dark spot somewhere to ambush them and cut down their number. That means we will need everybody in the village to be involved in the defence.’
‘I hope we can count on all the men and boys this time...’ said Finn, looking around. Several men avoided his gaze, as did some wives and mothers.
‘That will not be enough,’ said Kjartan. ‘We need the women and girls too.’
There were even more gasps now, and several people called out angrily.
‘Women can’t fight warriors like the sea-wolves,’ shouted an older man at the back.
‘You told me there are fifty men and boys to defend the village,’ said Kjartan. ‘With that we will outnumber the sea-wolves by less than two to one. How many women and girls can we add to our band of hunters? Fifty or more? Then it would be at least three to one. Even a sea-wolf might baulk at those odds.’
‘And don’t forget, we women are fiercest when someone threatens our young,’ said Astrid, her voice ringing out loud and clear. ‘A she-wolf fighting to protect her cubs is a terrible thing to behold, and we have many cubs to protect in our village.’
‘Some of those cubs can take care of themselves,’ said Gunnhild. She was sitting beside her mother, but her eyes were defiantly fixed on Finn’s. He returned her gaze and shrugged uncomfortably, unsure what to say. His father had told him to trust Astrid’s judgement, and what she had said made sense. But Finn still had his doubts.
‘Well, I suppose that’s agreed then,’ he said at last. ‘What now, Kjartan?’
‘I’ll have a look round the village first,’ said the old Viking. ‘Then, once I’ve worked out
how to set the traps, you farmers can do what you do best.’
‘And what would that be?’ said Finn, feeling puzzled.
‘Digging,’ said Kjartan with his wintry smile.
He strode out of the hall, and Finn followed.
* * *
It didn’t take Kjartan long to work out his plan. He walked all over the village, Finn trailing in his wake with Egil and Njal, and finally climbed up to the stockade platform at the forest gate. Kjartan stood thinking for a moment, then nodded to himself.
‘Yes, that will be the way to do it,’ he murmured. ‘Draw them into the heart...’
Kjartan was sure Swein would come at night, and said they should empty all the houses, with everyone who would not be fighting – the very old and the very young – taking shelter in Ottar’s hall. The rest of the villagers would be organised into small war-bands, each made up of ten or so fighters, armed as well as possible. Their task would be to hide throughout the settlement, ready to strike when the moment came. No torches or lamps would be left burning, so the place would be in total darkness.
‘There is a quarter-moon tomorrow night, and it will not be that much bigger the night after...’ Kjartan murmured. ‘The sea-wolves will bring torches, but it should be easy for everyone to stay concealed from them, at least to begin with.’
‘Then what do we do?’ said Finn. ‘We can’t beat them just by hiding.’
‘Trust me, Finn Ottarsson, we will not be hiding long,’ said Kjartan. ‘When they see the houses are empty, they will think that you have fled into the forest. Most of them will make for the hall, hoping to find any plunder that has been left.’
‘And that’s when we attack,’ said Finn. ‘Just when they think we’ve gone.’
‘Exactly,’ said Kjartan. ‘You trip them and stab them with knives and spears. You tangle them in fishing nets dropped from roofs and beat them with clubs. You shoot them with arrows from the shadows. You make sure they fall into the hidden pits you will be digging, the ones you are going to fill with sharpened stakes. You set fire to their cloaks and their hair, and you make sure always to stay ahead of them...’
