I didn’t. To pick it up meant I had a purpose in my life. Revenge? Yes, that was a purpose, perhaps, but perhaps I shouldn’t have one. I didn’t deserve one. Who else would die if I got up with a sword, striding to kill another man? Father? The rest of us? I shook my head.
‘Gods, really?’ he breathed. He went to his haunches and joined me in the scrutiny of the sea. ‘Like my girl, you are. She is three. Four, sorry. Perhaps five? Matters not. She sulks and mopes like you, especially when I have to leave. Fisila, my wife, says she stays that way for days, until she has to eat, eventually. Then she forgets me. When did you eat?’
I had no answer.
He went on. ‘Not eaten. Perhaps all that mead we forced down your throat keeps you going. It was pretty fulfilling, I bet.’ He smiled guiltily. ‘I drank down the rest of if. There was a lot. And told your father it spilled.’
‘What is Father doing?’ I asked him dully.
I could almost sense his pleasure for having made me speak, and I felt I had betrayed my sorrow. ‘Hulderic? Well, he is putting together a defense. He is calling all oathsmen from the gau, leaving south almost undefended, and there will be a thousand men here very late in the summer. He is gathering boats, sending out spies, taking stock of the supplies. He is doing what great men do when faced by war. You still outnumber the Black Goths. Yea, your champions are half dead, but war makes new ones, eh?’
‘Hughnot will have the Boat-Lord,’ I reminded him. ‘His men will eventually overwhelm us, even without the Svea.’
He grunted. ‘Yes. But when will they work together? Your old bastard of a relative probably heard of this loss of the Svea. Perhaps he fears treachery? He doesn’t trust Hughnot. And he has probably heard how Hrolf took that golden loop and the sword. If they want an alliance, for the Boat-Lord to send his men over the sea, I bet they’ll have to give him the ring and the sword back first, no? No alliance or forgiveness before that, is there? That’s what I think and I’m a bastard and know how bastards think. Even Ceadda thinks I’m right and he usually doesn’t.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘They will have to give them over first. Probably so.’
We sat there and there was a sudden stiff wind blowing from the sea. The trees on the islands before the village were bending, their light-green leaves waving softly, living on, unheeding the misery of the humans, and I envied them. ‘Take the sword,’ Njord said.
‘Why?’ I whispered.
‘I made a bet with Ceadda. I told him I could pull you from your misery, and I don’t like losing to the morose bastard,’ he chuckled. ‘We bet a cow, the very best we have, and I want his cow come winter. I’ll make a feast of it, and serve him the head. He’ll eat and weep, won’t he?’
I chuckled and shook my head tiredly. ‘I cannot take the sword, even if I wanted to.’
‘Why? You turned coward? Will you weep for your mistakes forever? Don’t you deserve to live again? Oh! Wait!’ he was batting his eyes, holding a hand on his chest like a surprised girl. ‘You are afraid I’ll die if you go back to war? Yes, you are afraid you are cursed and you might lose your precious Njord as well. I’m truly touched.’
I looked at him with anguish and anger, and opened my mouth to tell him he was a damned fool. For some reason, a hint of a smile made its way to my lips and I looked away swiftly as he grinned victoriously. I raised my hand to douse his joy. ‘Father told me he’d have me skewered if I make any more trouble. They all hate me, you see. All of them. Even Dubbe. They say Bero tried to have me hung when he woke up yesterday. And the families of the dead will all heap accusations on my neck. They’ll line up against me in the Thing, and Harmod mentioned they will spend days just to sort out who shall go first. Ludovicus’s family, I hear, don’t even want wergild. They want my skin. I mean exactly that. My skin. They say they will make a rug out of it for the dogs to sleep on.’
‘Well,’ Njord said languidly. ‘I know how that is. We have several feuds with some of our neighbors.’ Then he brightened. ‘Though two died in the battle by the beach with Cuthbert. I didn’t realize.’ He shook his head and concentrated. He nudged me and I frowned at him and he was whispering like a girl to another during the feast. ‘Hulderic is sending us home.’
‘He is?’ I asked. ‘Why?’
‘Well, considering we found him marching after Bero and Hughnot, and had seen how Bero was trapped on that shitty hill, he does owe us something.’
‘I’m surprised he doesn’t let you die to appease Bero,’ I spat. ‘I bet he’s still keen on licking his brother’s hairy, weak balls.’
‘He isn’t as happy with Bero as he used to be,’ Njord said neutrally. ‘Too many things happened. Perhaps too many for Hulderic to forgive. Perhaps too many for him to handle,’ he added, and I knew he thought we’d lose the war.
We?
Not I, I realized. I had nothing left in Marka. Or in Timberscar.
‘Changes nothing,’ I said forlornly. ‘It is far too late to save my skin from the malice of my own people. But I wish you happy hunting, friend.’
‘We’ll row out this night,’ he told me and hesitated. ‘I’m … we are sorry for Saxa.’
‘I’m …’ I said and shuddered, fighting the tears.
He was nodding. ‘We miss the girl. And so, here it is. Listen. I was with Cuthbert in Hogholm.’
I was confused by the change in subject. ‘You were? In Boat-Lord’s land?’
‘Your grandfather Friednot had spies there. So did we. So does everyone in these shores. The place is a virtual fortress, a cove on the western side of the islands.’ He pointed in the general direction of Gothonia, and I didn’t doubt his skill in navigation. He went on. ‘The Silver Anvil, his hall is high on the cliff, the villages sprawl under it, but the whole place is ringed by rocks, and there’s a harbor with a fine pier. Stone, thick timber. Rich trade. We all know the Boat-Lord hates you lot for taking off from under his thumb, but he also detested that your grandfather partially cut off their trade in furs from the west. You have grown rich on furs, you know? But now, that is changing. Hrolf will be going there to crown their re-established relations, to plot for your demise. He will go there soon. The loss of the Svea alliance will be a hard blow, but they will win without the Svea. But if Hulderic attacks them before they have the alliance? No, Hrolf will row his boats there very soon. For now, they are starving for furs there, though, and so, perhaps we’ll take them some?’
I shook my head, and tested his forehead for fever. ‘You’ll take them furs?’
He slapped my hand away. ‘Indeed. Hear me out. To sail to Hogholm’s cove, you need to know people. And the man who sold Cuthbert this information about the Svea girl, about Saxa,’ he said with a tight voice, ‘he is the master of the fort, the man who taxes ships who come in and out, and I know he’d love some fox furs for his wife. He’d ask few questions, he would,’ Njord said steadily.
‘You wish to go to Hogholm?’ I asked him dully. ‘But where would you get the furs?’
‘It’s not on the way home,’ he snickered. ‘It’s fall and the sea can be dangerous. But we didn’t make much of a killing on this trip, and perhaps we wish to do some trading?’
‘Where will you get fox furs to trade?’ I insisted. ‘And what would you be trying to do there?’
He leaned closer to me. ‘Bero has a warehouse full of them,’ he said with a wink. ‘His personal wealth. We’ll take them. Why not? He’s very few guards left. You remember you wanted to join the crew if Saxa betrayed … well, she didn’t. But the offer stands.’
‘You could just take the furs, and not go to Hogholm,’ I said, understanding what they were offering. They’d join me in my revenge.
He slapped me gently. ‘I told you. We liked her well. I say we go and kill Hrolf, we’ll gut him like a salmon, feed his eyes to the gulls, bet on how long he lives without his guts, and row south. There you shall find something worth doing, I’m sure. And perhaps someone worth knowing, as well? We have pretty girls aplenty, and some m
ight be as brave and clever as Saxa was. She’d hate to see you suffer like this forever.’
I didn’t say anything to that. It was too early, no matter how wise the words. Instead, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t drunk. ‘How would you take the furs? It’s guarded,’ I said slowly, so he’d understand the issue. ‘Surely it is. You say he has few men left, but he has dozens. You think they—’
He smiled and pushed me. ‘Let the thieves do the thieving bit. Be here at the evening. We’ll deal with everything, don’t you worry. There’s still some of us left and we know how, eh?’
I looked at the sword and the fog had cleared. There was the sea, gray, cold, vast, and the horizon was dotted with islands, their ghostly silhouettes whispering of new tales.
There would be lands. New places to see. Father would have sent me there and I hadn’t been willing. Now I was. I grabbed the sword, felt its weight, the risk it brought of more trouble, but would I stay there, and die after a Thing? When Hughnot arrived?
No.
I got up. I’d go and see the Saxon lowlands in the south.
But before that, I’d visit Hogholm with the thieving Saxons.
CHAPTER 22
I had always rowed a boat in near the land. There you knew where you were going, and while the whole coast was dotted with islands far to the sea, it felt strange to row out from the Marka. The past seemed suddenly distant, insignificant, as if my life had been locked in a box before, and suddenly that box was left ajar and behind me. The Saxons were in good spirits, singing lustily, laughing. Ceadda was happy with the calm sea, and I ventured a smile when they clapped my back, and understood the strangely comforting freedom that the open sea gifted men. I had nothing left, nothing but opportunity to build something new, and while the sorrow followed you everywhere you went, being far from where the sorrow was born made breathing easier and the pain lighter to bear. Rowing away was healing, it was hopeful, and I loved every splash of the oars, even if I was terrified we’d get lost, or a storm took us. Our exit had been easy, people occupied, and not one of the men that had been sent to watch me made so much as a squeak as I waded to the waiting boat the Saxons had pushed out. Likely, they wanted to be rid of me. I had not even said farewell to Father. Perhaps I didn’t want him to fare well at all? Or perhaps I had feared he’d not let me leave and I’d change my mind.
For some reason, there was a huge pile of furs in the boat. How they did that, I could not guess.
I was shaken from my contemplations by a wave that slapped my face and I sputtered, lost my rhythm and my oar clanked to the man’s oar before me who cursed profusely.
‘He looks like a Saxon,’ Njord said. ‘Shivering and salty, hungry and bitter! Like he was bred down south. Only if he knew how to row.’
‘And can’t see worth a shit,’ Ceadda added. ‘We’ll row out, and try to find this island, that’s not too far. We’ll spend the night there, and then we cross the open water in daylight. With luck, a day of sturdy oarsmanship, and uncomfortable night, and then, by midday, we will reach Hogholm, unless we get lost.’
‘Very well,’ I told him. ‘We will see what’s what. Just don’t get us drowned,’ I said and went white with the stabbing pain of loss, as I thought of Saxa, sunk under the water of Long-Lake, her body never recovered.
Ceadda saw it and nodded at me, sharing the pain. He thumbed over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps Hrolf is there. Perhaps not,’ he said and shrugged. ‘But he will be, won’t he? He has to be. If not? We have time.’
‘He’ll be there,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’ll see his eyes as he dies.’
‘I know a great silversmith, boy,’ Ceadda said. ‘He can make a brilliant cup out of the skull.’
We rowed, spent a cold, windy night on an abandoned beach, and rowed the day, then slowly that night, while half slept. By the next morning, my blistered hands were bleeding.
As predicted, Ceadda smirked at midday the next day. There were islands and a larger mass of hazy land. Slowly it grew, the smell of land drifted across the waters, the birds grew many, and I saw the land we hailed from, Gothonia, our own land, the land where all men were born. We slowly rowed past beaches filled with great rocky pillars, unearthly, unnatural and likely made by jotuns when the world was young. We gazed at the rich pastures filled with cows, towns and villages, and then entered a calm waterway between two lush islands and finally spied a rocky hill far, and on top of that there was a long, brown hall. Below it, a town sprawled, and a tall, thick wall of timber guarded the hall and the town. There was a harbor, ringed by jutting rocks and small islands and the only navigable way to the harbor was guarded by a huge, jutting rock from which ran a thick chain to a small island, where there was a small, earth-walled fort.
We slowly rowed next to the chain, a rusty, thick thing with dried seaweed hanging from the barnacles that covered its length, and all of that was heaped with bird shit. We approached a bit of sturdy pier on the fortified island, and the winch from where the chain was lowered and raised. Men walked out of the fort, bored, yawning, isolated guards far from the comforts of the town across the water, and I looked up at the huge hall where Friednot and Hughnot had grown, the Silver Anvil. That’s where Bero and Hulderic had probably visited often as boys, hearing tales of the past, and perhaps they had even lived there.
In the harbor, there were fine ships pulled on the shore or tied to the pier.
One was familiar, the one Hughnot had used to row to Marka. Ceadda’s eyes flashed my way, and he gave me a baleful grin and I nodded at him. Woden had brought us all there, in Hogholm, and there many debts would be paid in full. ‘I bet it’s Hrolf,’ Njord whispered. ‘If it’s Hughnot, we’ll kill him first. We have time.’
Hughnot. I had not thought of that. Perhaps Hrolf was home, and Hughnot there? Gods, let them both be in Hogholm, I prayed as I stared at the ship. It was a well-made thing, suitable for thirty men, had decorated sides, rich-red hue, and tall prow. The Saxons had pushed it to the sea the day we had escaped Marka, but it had been recovered and looked fine. I cursed my eyesight, fidgeted, sweated, and then I saw Hrolf.
It was he.
His long, blond hair was like that of many men in the north, but his pose, erect, and arrogant, his wide shoulders and rich tunic betrayed him, and I felt the tears of relief roll down my cheeks. They were busy, all of them. Hrolf was obviously giving orders, and then he marched off, taking a winding route that led up to the hall. Men were left working the length of the boat, carrying their gear to a nearby hall with an odd roof, where grass grew. Ceadda crouched next to me as Njord hailed the men standing on the pier. ‘Yea. It was he. That’s called Hraban’s Kiln. A tavern, a smithy. They have rooms, and sailors get to eat and sleep on the floors.’
‘Hrolf will likely sleep up there?’ I asked and nodded for the huge hall on top of the rocky path. There flapped a standard, near the hall’s doors, of a rampant bear painted in red over a black field. It was the standard of the Boat-Lord, our distant relative. It beckoned for me, for some reason, and I thought it a much finer herald of glory than what Hulderic sported, the bear jaws.
‘Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t,’ Ceadda said. ‘It’s not too long ago they were enemies. See, there are a lot of men in the town. The Boat-Lord doesn’t trust Hrolf’s men.’ Indeed, Hrolf’s men were surrounded by dozens of idle warriors, all lounging easily, but with spears nearby.
‘Just like Marka, when Hughnot arrived,’ I said.
‘You there!’ a tall, gangly man was yelling. We turned to look at him, and it was clear he had been napping. He was a mid-aged Goth with a red, useless eye, long blond beard, and he was thin as a wand as he raised a hand to stop us. The guards flanked him. ‘A sorry-looking bunch of traders, aren’t you?’
‘Rich enough,’ Ceadda said, struggling to stand near Njord. ‘We bought something really nice from some Svea.’
The man’s eyes took us all in. I avoided his gaze, but he saw my sword, the chain mail, and that of Ceadda, who had received one in t
hanks from Hulderic. I pulled up a deep hood to cover my face and his eyes passed me and went to the covered pile in the middle of the boat, the thick pile of precious furs, and probably enough to make a man rich. ‘Furs?’
‘Black fox,’ Ceadda said proudly, smacking his lips.
‘You are Saxons?’ he asked. ‘I’ve seen Saxons before.’
‘We are both Saxon and Chauci. One is a Langobardi,’ Ceadda lied. ‘All dumb as oxen. We would trade in Hogholm. Or do they have too many furs this year?’
The man hesitated and eyed the pier. It was nearly full and the many boats pulled on the beaches were larger than ours. ‘There aren’t many fox furs from the west this year, or any year. I give you that. A man can make a rich profit with them. But the town is pretty damned full.’
Ceadda went to the pile, pulled away the cover and the man twitched visibly. Heaped there were some of the best-looking furs I had ever seen. They glimmered in the light, the tails and skins thick and dark. There were at least sixty of them and I again wondered how the Saxons had managed to steal them from under the noses of Father and Bero.
‘How many?’ Njord asked with a bored voice as the guards next to the lord of the harbor began to whisper to each other, making wagers on how many we were to be robbed of.
The man snapped his fingers and Ceadda threw him one. He looked at it, stroked it like he would his favorite hound, and looked down at us, greed chiseled on his features. ‘I’m wondering if these were taken from a Goth?’
Ceadda cursed. ‘They were taken from the Svea. We’ll give you ten.’
‘Thirty,’ he said, having masterfully estimated the sixty furs. ‘Or you can be on your way home.’
Njord snorted. ‘Did you know Cuthbert is dead?’
‘The Saxon lord?’ the man asked, squinting.
‘Yes,’ Njord said, whispering confidentially. ‘There is a new chief. He would like to know who led Cuthbert deep into the Svea lands. Who gave him such advice?’
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 34
