by Alys Clare
What was it? What evil had wormed its way inside him, twisting him, turning his mind, forcing him on, ever on, to whatever fate awaited him? I did not know. I had learned of his grandfather’s failures – both in being deemed unfit to receive the shining stone and in not having managed to conquer the fearsome rapids – and I wondered fleetingly if that deep shame for an ancestor’s shortcomings was the cause.
But surely it wasn’t sufficient to do this to a man.
Not without difficulty, I turned away from the mania in Skuli’s eyes and stood facing Einar.
‘I cannot kill this man,’ I said firmly.
Einar grabbed the knife from me and raised it high in the air. Seeing, almost too late, what he was going to do, I jumped up and caught hold of his sword arm.
‘I meant I don’t want him to die!’ I panted. ‘I wasn’t saying I couldn’t do it, or that I wanted you to kill him for me!’
There was a sudden hush. I wondered if, by acting in that way, I had offended against some fundamental law of fighting men. Well, if I had then so be it.
Einar was staring at me. Then, very slowly, he put his knife back in its sheath. He gave me a curt bow, then abruptly turned on his heel and strode away.
I knelt down beside Skuli, undid my satchel again and tore aside his clothing. Then I cut the thong binding his wrists and set about dealing with the wound in his arm.
I felt quite safe. Yes, he was still the madman who had almost killed me. But he was wounded now, and, besides, he was unarmed and two of Einar’s biggest fighters stood either side of him.
Presently he said, ‘I would have killed you. Yet not only did you spare my life, but you are now mending my cut. Why do you act like this?’
‘I’m a healer,’ I said curtly. ‘I save lives rather than taking them. And sewing people up is my speciality.’
There was quite a long silence while I finished putting in the stitches, broken only by an occasional stifled curse from my patient. I had the impression he was thinking.
I was right. When I’d bound up the arm and helped him rearrange his under shirt and tunic, he looked up at me. ‘You have given life when you had the power and the right to take it,’ he proclaimed solemnly. ‘By so doing, you have laid an obligation upon me.’
‘I haven’t!’ I protested. ‘There’s no need for you to—’
But he stopped me. ‘It is the law,’ he said simply. ‘Our law. One day, at some future time, I shall have someone at my mercy as I was at yours, and I shall spare his life. Only in this way will my debt be repaid.’
‘But ...’ I began.
Skuli had closed his eyes and turned his face away.
I felt hands on my shoulders, pulling me up. I stood, turned, and found myself face to face with Thorfinn.
He took my hand and, gently but firmly, led me a little way down the track, so that we were out of earshot of the group still milling around in the aftermath of the fight.
Then, stopping, he turned to look down into my eyes. I tried to read the expression in his. I wasn’t sure I could.
‘Did I do well?’ I asked. ‘Was it the right thing, to spare Skuli’s life?’
Thorfinn sighed. ‘You did as your heart dictated,’ he replied. ‘No man would say that was wrong, child, when the heart in question is as honest and loving as yours.’
The words surprised me. Honest: yes, I suppose I was usually fairly honest. As for loving ... Well, I loved my family, I loved Rollo, and quite a few other people had crept into my affections. Sibert, for example, and Gurdyman, and maybe even the chilly and distant Hrype. Nevertheless, loving wasn’t a word I associated with myself. Long ago, Edild had cast my natal chart, and she had informed me that the stars at my birth told of someone who would always remain aloof and distant. You are essentially a private person, she had said. I would never forget her words. Your friends and your lovers will sense that they are never truly close to you.
I turned my mind away from that bitter memory and back to the question of Skuli. ‘What will happen to him now?’ I asked. ‘Will you take him back to your own land?’
Thorfinn shook his head. ‘I am not a man of the law, and I have no jurisdiction over him,’ he said.
‘Then ...’ I found I could barely accept what I thought he was telling me. ‘Then you’re just going to let him go? But he’s killed two of my kin!’ My sister’s late mother-in-law was not, strictly speaking, kin to me, but this was no time for such fine distinctions. ‘He said he would do terrible things to—’ No. I must not let myself think of that, for it would drive me mad with horror. ‘He attacked people, broke into their houses, broke their possessions! He caused real fear hereabouts, all the time he was searching for this precious stone!’
‘I know, child.’ Thorfinn sighed. ‘But what would you have me do? You have seen the wildness in Skuli’s eyes; you have judged for yourself, I dare say, his state of mind. He is desperate, Lassair, and if I try to deprive him of his freedom and take him back home, I will be risking the lives of Einar’s crew, for Skuli would without doubt continue to make escape attempts until he succeeded, whatever the cost in men’s lives. Einar and his crew are good men, and I would not wish such peril on them.’
‘So you’re letting him go,’ I repeated.
‘I suppose I am,’ Thorfinn agreed.
‘But what about the shining stone? He hasn’t got it, so won’t he continue to be a danger all the while he’s still looking for it?’
Thorfinn looked away, his eyes staring out over the water. ‘I have persuaded him that it is lost,’ he said distantly.
‘You ... Is that the truth?’ I thought I already knew the answer.
Slowly Thorfinn shook his head.
‘Yet Skuli believed you?’
He shrugged.
Perhaps Skuli had given up, I thought hopefully. He had, after all, hunted in all the places he could think of. I had been his last hope, and I too had failed to deliver to him what he so desperately sought. His ultimate inability to find the shining stone, combined with Thorfinn’s misleading lie, could just be enough to persuade him.
I could not quite manage to convince myself.
We stood there in silence, Thorfinn and I. Then I thought of something: I remembered the weeping woman on the quay, as we had set off from Thorfinn’s land. ‘But what about that woman’s two sons, who sail with Skuli?’ I demanded. I forced myself to remember what Olaf had said. ‘Your sister-in-law, who pleaded with you to bring her sons home? You said you’d do what you could – I heard you!’
Thorfinn smiled. ‘I have kept my word,’ he said. ‘The two lads are safe in the care of a couple of Einar’s more steady crewmen. They have been made to see the error of their ways, and will henceforth be sailing with us.’
I felt a surge of relief. I’m not sure why; I hadn’t really known the sister-in-law – Gytha was her name, I now recalled – although my heart had gone out to her when I had observed her weeping so sorrowfully.
Perhaps it was just that Thorfinn had done what he had undertaken to do. He was, I reflected, a fine man.
He would be leaving soon. As we stood there, I recognized how much I was going to miss him. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of the act, I stepped right up to him and wrapped my arms round him in a tight hug. After a heartbeat, he hugged me back. Again, I had that fleeting sense of familiarity. He smelt of the sea, the salt spray, the heavy wool and the thick fur trimming of his garments. Was that what it was?
He murmured something, his lips against my hair.
‘What did you say?’ I disentangled myself and looked up at him.
He was smiling. ‘I said you had a loving heart,’ he remarked. ‘Never doubt it, child.’
Then, with a nod, he turned away from me and strode back down the track.
SEVENTEEN
I did not know whether I would see Thorfinn or Einar and his crew again. They had disappeared into the growing light of early morning with surprising speed, hard on the heels of Skuli and his remaining
followers. It was almost as if they were in pursuit, although I knew they were not. Skuli would head for his longboat, I thought, and, as soon as he could, would be setting off on his journey.
Without the stone.
Again, the question of what drove him so hard surfaced in my mind. He must be—
A low groan came from the spot beneath the hedge where I had tended Hrype. Hrype! Oh, I’d forgotten all about him!
I gathered up my skirts and raced up the track to where I had left him. He was sitting up, one hand on his forehead. His eyes, bruised-looking and full of pain, looked up at me.
I knelt beside him, gently preventing him from trying to get on to his feet. ‘You hit your head, Hrype,’ I said. ‘Someone threw a knife at you, from behind, and it caught you in your shoulder. Here,’ I put my hand to the wound, barely touching it.
Even so, he winced. ‘Sore,’ he managed.
‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ I agreed. ‘It wasn’t too deep, but it was bleeding quite a lot and I’ve stitched it. I put on some lavender oil, too, against the red heat.’ I hesitated. I wanted to feel inside Hrype’s tunic and under shirt to see if there was any warmth developing around the wound, but I held back. Tending his bare flesh was one thing when he was unconscious; quite another now that he was awake and aware, with those silvery eyes boring into me.
He is your patient. I seemed to hear my aunt’s firm, brooking-no-nonsense voice inside my head. Put aside your foolish qualms and get on with it.
‘I need to check the wound,’ I announced briskly.
With a small quirk of his lips, as if he knew exactly why I was reluctant, Hrype obligingly turned his back, presenting his shoulder. I slid my hand under his clothing, quickly establishing that the stitches were holding, the bleeding had stopped and the wound felt no warmer than the surrounding skin. I withdrew my hand. ‘Thank you, all is well,’ I said primly.
This time, it was more than a quirk; it was a definite smile.
I knew I must get him back to the village. He had lost a lot of blood; he needed a change of clothing; he would quickly become cold if we stayed out in the open, and that could be dangerous.
Besides, I needed to get back to the village. I could barely allow myself to think about my family; the agony was too much to bear. I was trying with all my might to remain hopeful, but it was a battle I was losing.
I stood up, looking down at Hrype. ‘Can you walk, if I support you?’ I asked. ‘Or shall I go to the village to fetch help?’
He grasped my hands and stood up. He tried one step, then another. ‘I can walk,’ he said. I saw him gritting his teeth, and understood that the effort was causing pain already.
‘I can be there and back quite quickly,’ I said, ‘and—’
‘I said I can walk, Lassair,’ he snapped. ‘Come along. Get me to your aunt’s, and she can inspect your handiwork.’
It was a little under a mile to Aelf Fen, but never had such a short distance seemed so long. As we stumbled along, with me taking more and more of his not inconsiderable weight, I realized why he had held out against my going for help.
Hrype wanted to go to Edild’s house, and not only because she was the village healer: his injury would give them some precious time together. If men from the village carried him home, they would automatically take him to the house he shared with his brother’s widow and the young man who everyone believed to be his nephew.
I understood. I struggled on, and bit back the complaints. I was sorely tempted to abandon him and race for home, throw myself into my parents’ house and find out the worst. I managed to resist the temptation. Just.
Eventually we reached the village. It was still very early, and few people were about. Even so, I did not want curious eyes to see us, so I took the path up behind the settlement, over the higher ground and around the ancient oak tree, approaching Edild’s little house from the rear. At long last, I could look forward to relinquishing my patient into her care and turning for home.
I’d been going to leave Hrype and Edild alone anyway, after a quick conversation with my aunt to tell her of the night’s events and how it was that Hrype came to be injured. As it turned out, however, I didn’t get further than ‘We encountered the red-haired giant and his men and someone threw a knife at Hrype’ before Edild stopped me with a look and, saying that she would see to him now, took him inside and firmly closed the door.
I ran all the way home, my heart thumping right up in my throat as I imagined what I was going to find. I could still see those marks on Skuli and his men that spoke so clearly of hard fighting. I could still see the blood that soaked Skuli’s garments.
I felt sick with dread.
I heard the buzz of excited chatter as I approached.
Excited chatter ...
No weeping? No grieving and tearing of hair?
I pushed open the door and fell into the house.
My father had a cut over one eyebrow, and the knuckles of both hands were grazed and oozing blood. Haward had a black eye, and was nursing his right arm with his left hand. Sibert – Sibert? – had a split lip, still bleeding because he didn’t seem to be able to stop grinning.
The house seemed very full. There were other boys and men there – our neighbours, our friends.
I saw my mother, sitting on a bench trying to hold on to Leir, who was struggling and yelling that he didn’t want to be there with her; he wanted to be outside with Squeak, watching out to make sure the bad men didn’t come back.
Leir, it was perfectly clear, was quite unharmed. Swiftly I surveyed the rest of the crowd ... and there was Zarina, with her infant son in her arms. Amazingly, given the noise level, Ailsi was fast asleep.
My father had taken hold of me and was hugging me, very tightly. ‘You’re all safe?’ I asked him quietly. ‘Nobody’s been killed?’
‘We’re all safe, dearest child,’ my father whispered back. ‘And what of you? Are you unharmed?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said impatiently. I didn’t want to talk about myself; I wanted to know what had happened. ‘You fought them off? Skuli and his men?’
‘Skuli! Is that his name? The redhead?’ I nodded. ‘Yes, we fought them off.’ There was a definite touch of pride in his voice.
‘But ...’ But they are hardened fighters and you’re a bunch of villagers, I wanted to say.
He chuckled. ‘We were ready for them, Lassair. They were overheard, assembling on the edge of the village.’ He nodded towards Sibert. ‘Your friend there came to warn us, and Haward and I rounded up as many villagers as we could. When they came creeping up to the house, they got the sort of welcome they weren’t expecting.’ He smiled grimly. ‘We might not have fine swords at our disposal, but it’s amazing what can be done with a heavy iron cooking pan.’
‘You hit someone with a pan?’ I, too, found that I was smiling.
‘Not me. I used the log-splitter.’ He looked up, over the heads of the crowd, and I saw a tender expression cross his face. Turning to see who was the recipient, I met the eyes of my mother.
‘Mother?’ I whispered.
‘Your mother,’ he confirmed. ‘She swung that pan as if it was a battle axe. You should have seen her, Lassair!’
I wished I had done. I stared up at my father, then turned to look at the others who had fought shoulder to shoulder with him, lastly gazing at my mother. I realized suddenly how naive Skuli had been, to think he could threaten the youngest members of my family with such terrible violence without anyone raising a finger to defend them. My father, my mother, my brothers, my friends and my neighbours had clearly fought like cornered bears.
No wonder Skuli and his band had looked so battered.
My heart filled with joy, and I laughed aloud.
I gave Edild and Hrype till evening to be alone, then I really had to go and see them. I wanted to check on Hrype, for one thing. Although he was now in my aunt’s more than capable hands, it was I who had treated him initially, and a good healer always follows up on her patients.
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In addition, there were still so many questions to which I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t hold out any great hopes that Edild or Hrype would be able to satisfy my curiosity, but at least I could talk the whole business through with them. Hrype was the nearest thing to a wise man we had in the village; he knew far more about the big world beyond the fens than most people. As I slipped out of my family home and hurried along the track to Edild’s little house, I prayed that Hrype would be awake and sufficiently alert to talk to me.
Edild looked up from stoking the fire as I let myself quietly inside. She acknowledged my presence with a lift of an eyebrow, as if it was no surprise that I could no longer stay away. Hrype was lying beside the fire on a pile of sheepskins and soft blankets, propped up against pillows. He was still pale, but greeted me with a smile.
‘Edild probably won’t tell you herself, in case you get complacent,’ he said, ‘but she was quite impressed with your handiwork on my shoulder.’
I sat down beside him. ‘How are you feeling? Any pain?’
‘Not much,’ he said. ‘Manageable.’
I looked up and met Edild’s eyes. Could she not give him something to make him more comfortable? I opened my mouth to suggest it, but she spoke before I could.
‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried?’ she said crushingly. ‘He’s so stubborn.’ She sent him a look in which frustration and love were present in equal parts. ‘And he maintains that my pain-easing remedies make him dozy and stupid.’
Neither of those were words that I would ever have used to describe Hrype. I met my aunt’s eyes, and she gave me a reluctant smile.
‘Why don’t you make us all a good, hot, restoring drink,’ Hrype suggested, looking up at her, ‘and then Lassair can tell us what it is she’s come here to talk about.’
Edild gave a sniff, then turned to put out mugs and select suitable herbs from her shelves of pots and packages. Her hand hovered over the mandragora, but Hrype was watching.
Presently we were all settled together round the fire, hot drinks in hand – chamomile and verbena, sweetened with honey – and Hrype and Edild turned expectantly to me.
