Hastein extended his own arm and the two men clasped wrists. "I thank you," he said. "Cullain, fetch another cup for our guest." To Ragnvald, he added, "We are drinking wine from Frankia. You must join us. And although we have but simple fare to dine on this evening, you and your men are welcome to share it."
Cullain reached into the plain wooden chest in which he kept his cooking gear and withdrew a pottery cup from it. After filling it from the small cask, which Torvald held for him, he handed the cup of wine to Hastein, who presented it in turn to Ragnvald.
After taking a drink, Ragnvald said, "It is good. I thank you. We do not often get wine out here. As for the meal, I thank you for your offer, but will decline. My lands and longhouse are located at the head of this bay, and our womenfolk have food cooking for us there. We had no time to prepare for unexpected guests. But tomorrow, I would honor so illustrious a visitor to these lands with a feast, if you and your men will join us. It is my understanding that you have just recently returned from western Frankia. We would enjoy hearing more about the campaign there. So far we have heard just bits and pieces, related by a messenger from the king who was at the feasts held when Ragnar visited."
I was surprised to hear that Ragnar had already visited King Horik. Although his sons, Ivar and Bjorn, had stayed at Hastein's estate up on the Limfjord for our entire three day layover upon returning from Frankia, and had accompanied us from there down to Hrorik's estate, Ragnar had left Hastein's lands after only a single night, saying he had urgent business to attend to. Torvald nudged me in the ribs with his elbow, and leaning over, whispered—in a voice loud enough that all who were near could hear— "Ragnar wastes no time spreading tales of his own successes." Hastein turned and scowled at him, then turned back to Ragnvald.
"Alas," Hastein responded, "I thank you for your generous offer of hospitality, but I fear we will not be able to feast with you. We must sail on tomorrow, at first light."
"If I may ask," Ragnvald said, "What brings you here? King Horik will want to know, when he hears that you have passed this way. The winter approaches, and the raiding season is over. And from what Ragnar has told the king of the campaign in Frankia, all who fought there should have little need to seek further success this season."
"The gods did in truth grant us a great victory in Frankia," Hastein said. It was an answer leaving much unanswered.
When Hastein did not seem inclined to say more, Ragnvald prodded, "May I convey any message from you to the king?"
Hastein shook his head. "No, thank you," he said.
Ragnvald said nothing further, but stared at Hastein expectantly. After a time, the silence grew awkward.
"We are seeking some men," Hastein finally said. "They were traveling in two ships. They may have passed this way." It surprised me that he was being so unforthcoming.
"Many ships pass this way," Ragnvald responded. "Many pause their voyage here, in this bay, either before sailing down through the great belt, or upon leaving it when coming up from the south. As to two particular ships, it would be hard to say without knowing more."
Turning to me, Hastein said, "Describe them for him."
"Both are longships. One has a dragon's head carved like the head of an eagle, painted red, with a golden beak. She has sixteen pairs of oars. The other ship is smaller, fourteen pairs, and her dragon's head is gilded, and carved like the head of a fierce fighting stallion."
Ragnvald shrugged, but said nothing.
"Both ships would have been manned by very light crews," Hastein added.
Ragnvald shrugged again. "As I have said, many ships pass this way. Were these men friends of yours?" Now it was he who was offering little with his words. I suspected he had taken offence at Hastein's reticence.
"If they passed this way, it would have been roughly ten days ago." Hastein added. He seemed determined to convey as little information as possible. I did not understand why. It would be very helpful to know if Toke had sailed this way.
"The larger ship's captain is a very big man—tall, and strongly built," I volunteered. "His hair and beard are black, and he wears them long. He often wears a sleeveless outer tunic made of bearskin. And there was—there may have been—a woman aboard his ship. She is tall and slender, with long hair the color of pale gold."
"You seem to know much about these folk," Ragnvald said to me. "More, perhaps, than the jarl himself. Your name is…?"
I was about to tell him that my name was Halfdan, when Hastein interjected. "He is one of my housecarls. He is called Strongbow."
To my surprise, Ragnvald said, "I may have heard of him. The recent messenger from King Horik is a skald. He is composing a lay about Ragnar and his campaign against the Franks. He recited it to us—as much as he has composed so far. There was a Strongbow in it, who with his arrows saved Ragnar from a Frankish champion in a great battle. How did those verses go?"
We fed the wolves and ravens with our enemy's dead.
On the Frankish plain our shield wall strong,
Held again and again against the charging steeds and iron-clad men.
The sea-king's axe split shields and clove helms,
The green field of battle was painted red with blood.
We fed the wolves and ravens with our enemy's dead.
Surrounded by foes great Ragnar stood.
Like wheat before the scythe a Frankish champion cut down
All around him; the raven banner nearly fell.
The sea-king lived to fight again.
"Yes, I think that is how it went," Ragnvald said. "There was much more, of course, but I remember the Frankish champion falling from the swift and sure shafts. I thought it clever phrasing. So this is the warrior, the Strongbow who shot them and saved Ragnar?"
Hastein nodded. "He is the same."
Ragnvald looked at me appraisingly, and said, with surprise in his voice, "You are very young." He pursed his lips and was silent for a few moments, as if weighing what further to say. Then, turning back to Hastein, he spoke.
"It is clear to me that there is much unsaid here, and that you do not wish to say it. But you are known throughout the lands of the Danes as a man of great honor. I must trust that you have your reasons—although King Horik will not be pleased with me that I did not learn them. The ships you seek, lightly manned and commanded by the man he has described" he said, nodding at me, "did pass this way. It was ten days ago. I remember the captain well, for he, like you, had little to say about his business."
"He spoke his name to you?" Hastein asked.
"He said his name was Harald, though I had reason to doubt it. The warriors standing with him, when I rode down to the shore where they were cooking their evening meal, looked surprised when he spoke the name, and two laughed aloud. I found him a somewhat ill-mannered man," Ragnvald added.
It was evil humor on Toke's part to use Harald's name. "Did you see the woman I described?" I asked.
"I did not. But the ships were tented for the night by the time I arrived. They were anchored offshore, as you are, and I did not go aboard."
"I thank you for this information," Hastein said.
Ragnvald nodded, then drained his cup of wine and handed it to Cullain. "I do not know why you are pursuing these men, although I suspect the woman is at least a part of it. But ten days is a long lead."
* * *
Later that evening, after Ragnvald had left, I asked Hastein why he had not just told him we were pursuing Toke, and why.
"We do not yet know for certain where Toke has gone. He told Ubbe, the slain foreman, that he was sailing for Birka. But we do not know if that was the truth or a lie. All we know as yet is that he stopped for the night here, in this bay on the coast of Sjaelland, ten days ago. And from here, he almost certainly sailed down the great belt. There would be no other reason for him to pass this way. So thus far all we can be sure of—but it is no small thing—is that he did not sail north, for Norway, or beyond, to England or Ireland.
"But beyond the grea
t belt, he could just as well have continued on south to Hedeby, instead of east into the Austmarr, toward Birka. Or he could still be nearby, in Danish waters, seeking allies. His mother's father is jarl on the island of Fyn, is he not?" I nodded, and Hastein continued. "And even if Toke did sail east, there are many places other than Birka, within the Austmarr, he could be heading for."
Hastein made it sound hopeless. My face must have reflected how discouraged I felt, hearing his words. "Then what will we do?" I asked.
"For now, we must continue on toward Birka. It is all we have to go on, and if he came this way on the first leg of his journey, Toke could in truth be bound there."
"But why did you not tell Ragnvald it was Toke we are hunting?" It was a question Hastein had still not answered.
"Because Ragnvald would be bound to tell King Horik, and it would quickly become common knowledge—and the source of much talk and speculation—within the king's longhouse. Many folk pass through there. Who knows to whom or where word of our quest might spread to? Our only advantage, at this time, is that Toke does not know for certain that he is being pursued, or if so, by how many."
"I wonder why Toke would be sailing to Birka," I murmured, more to myself than to Hastein.
Hastein stared at me silently for a few moments, then asked, "Why do you think he stole your sister Sigrid, and took her away with him?"
It was a question that, in truth, I had tried not to think of. Toke had twice raped Astrid, Sigrid's maid, and had tried to rape my mother—the act that had led to his banishment by Hrorik. And he had murdered Harald, his own foster brother. If he would do all of that, I could not imagine he would feel constrained by the fact that Sigrid was his foster sister. And I could well believe that, in Toke's twisted mind, hurting her, dishonoring her, would be a way to further express his hatred of Harald and Hrorik, and to strike out at me. But what then?
"I fear…" I hated putting my fears into words, as if speaking them aloud might make them more real. "I fear he took her to dishonor her. And because Ragnvald did not see her, I fear he may have killed her afterwards. I fear she may already be dead."
Hastein considered my words for a time, as if weighing the possibility that they could be true. He took a deep breath and blew it out, then said, "Perhaps, but perhaps not. Such actions would not explain why Toke would be sailing for Birka—if, in truth, he is. I believe he could have taken her for another reason. There is a great slave market there."
At first I did not understand. And then I did. "But Sigrid is not a slave," I protested. "She is a Dane, and of noble blood. Surely the Sveas would not allow such as her to be sold into slavery in their markets!" Even as I said the words, in my heart I did not believe them.
"Some buyers who purchase slaves in Birka travel from there down the eastern road and trade with the Araby kingdoms. Slavers who buy for the Arab markets pay high prices for comely slave girls. Those who are especially fair, and have red or golden hair, are particularly prized by the Arabs. Women of beauty such as that are rarely born into slavery."
When I did not answer, Hastein added. "We do not know that this was Toke's plan. But if the Norns have woven this fate for her…" he shrugged. "No one can escape their fate. It is the way of things."
* * *
After I'd finished my evening meal, rinsed my bowl, cup and spoon, and had stowed them once more in my sea chest aboard the Gull, I returned to the shore and climbed the slope that rose above it to relieve my comrade Einar, who was one of the four sentries standing watch.
"I am not due to be relieved yet," he told me, "and someone has already been ordered to relieve me later."
"It does not matter. Go and get some food, while it is still warm. And tell the man who was to relieve you that I will stand his watch, too. I have much on my mind, and do not feel I can sleep. I would rather be sleepless up here than in my bed."
I passed the long hours of the night pacing back and forth along the crest of the slope over the beach, wrapped tightly in my cloak. It was a good thing that we were camped for the night in a land where there was no threat of attack, for my mind was not on my duty. I could not drive from my thoughts the image of Sigrid being sold into slavery. She had told me once that she could not wed a man she did not love. Did she now face a far worse fate—becoming the property of a foreigner in some distant land who would use her however and whenever he wished? Such a life would be far worse than the slavery I had endured. I wondered whether, for a woman such as Sigrid, death might become preferable.
Eventually weariness overcame even such troubling thoughts, and when four warriors climbed up from the beach in the last hours before dawn to stand the final watch, I stumbled down the slope past them, eager to snatch a few hours of sleep aboard the Gull. Because I had been farthest out along the hillside, the other three sentries who'd been relieved were well ahead of me by the time I reached the beach, and were already climbing their ships' gangplanks.
As I approached the water's edge I heard a sound, a rattling of stones, off to my right along the shore. There should not have been anyone there.
Swinging my shield around in front of me—I had been carrying it slung by its long leather strap across my back—I grasped the wooden rod that spanned its back side and formed its grip, and held my spear more tightly in my right hand, extending its blade out ahead of me.
"Is someone there?" I called, in a low voice. There was no response. Then, after a moment, I heard the sound again: as if two rocks were scraping against each other, followed by the sound of a stone falling and hitting others, not far ahead.
I dropped into a crouch, so that my shield covered more of my body, and crept forward, peering into the dark above its top edge. A low shape appeared out of the darkness to my left. As I drew closer, I realized it was the cairn of stones that Torvald had stacked at the water's edge. With a start I realized that the ram's head he had placed atop it was gone. An involuntary shiver ran down my spine.
From somewhere close ahead, I heard a soft crunching in the sand, as if someone—or something—was moving quietly, carefully, across the beach, trying to not be heard.
"Who is there?" I hissed. The sound stopped. I edged forward one step, then another. Suddenly I realized that there was a shape in the darkness ahead of me. It looked very large—larger than a man.
"Unnnnhh. Unh! Unh!"
The sound, coming from the dark shape ahead, was not human. Was there a god, or some kind of servant of the gods, on the beach ahead of me, come to claim the sacrifice? Or could it be a draugr, one of the walking dead who rose from their graves in the night? Either way, I did not want to find out. Fear overcame me, and I turned and ran for the Gull's gangplank.
* * *
The morning dawned as dark as my mood. Rain had begun to fall just before daybreak—a steady, mist-like curtain of rain so light that it made no noise striking the tented shelter above the Gull's deck. It was enough, though, to saturate the awnings and sail until they dripped through on those sleeping below, enough to make the pile of firewood stacked on shore too wet to burn, when Cullain tried to boil barley for a simple porridge to break the night's fast before we took ship. It was enough to soak into our cloaks and tunics and trousers and leave them sodden and cold.
And the rain killed the wind, too. "Oarsmen, draw your oars," Hastein ordered. "It appears we will do some rowing this day."
I was standing at the high center rack with the others who rowed in the stern when Tore nudged me in the ribs with his elbow and said excitedly, "Look, Halfdan! The cairn of stones on the shore. The ram's head is gone from it. The gods must have taken it."
What he said was true. I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Torvald, who was walking past headed for the stern, paused and said, "You see, Tore. It is as the jarl and I told you. The sacrifice was not rejected by the gods."
Tore nodded. "No, no, it was not," he agreed, sounding relieved. Drawing his oar, he turned and hurried back toward his rowing position.
Tor
vald watched him go, then shook his head and grinned. "Tore is a good man to have at your side in battle, but somewhat simpleminded."
"Something took the ram's head," I murmured, as I reached up and pulled my oar from the rack. I was not about to volunteer what I had seen.
"Indeed," Torvald answered.
I was turning to head back to my rowing position in the stern when I heard, from where Torvald was standing behind me, "Unnnnhh!"
For a brief moment, the fear I had felt last night returned, and I froze. Then, as my face turned bright red from anger and embarrassment, I scowled back over my shoulder at him.
Torvald held a finger to his lips and said, "Shhh." In a low voice, he added, "I am glad you did not throw your spear in the darkness and skewer me."
* * *
Under power of our oars, we headed out of the mouth of the bay and turned south, into the broad channel between the islands of Sjaelland and Fyn known as the great belt. All day we rowed, trading turns at the oars with our extra crew members, for the wind did not return. The coastline of Sjaelland curved away from us until it was only a low smudge barely visible off to the east. Out on the open sea there was no way to measure our progress, or even to feel that we were truly moving forward at all. It was just endlessly dip, pull, raise the blade from the water and rock forward, and then do it all again, over and over and over, while the constant mist of rain fell. At least the labor at the oars kept us warm.
We rowed and rowed until finally, as dusk was falling, we reached a short, broad peninsula jutting out from the western coast of Sjaelland. We beached the prows of our ships on the sandy, gently sloping shore, near its tip, and made camp for the night. The land inland was low and flat, with large stretches of marsh. It did not look inviting.
"We made slow progress this day," Hastein said, shaking his head as we gathered on shore, stretching our legs and swatting at the tiny flying bugs that had swarmed out from the marshes, as we waited for Cullain to bring a simple meal of boiled barley porridge to completion. "Very slow. We have not even cleared the great belt. I have never seen an entire day with no wind at all in these waters."
The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) Page 9
