Daughter of the Wolf

by Victoria Whitworth

  The swarthy, heavily bearded bear-leader caught her eye and grinned. ‘You like him?’ He winked at her. ‘Think he’s pretty, eh?’ His voice was thick and deep, with a lilting accent.

  ‘Is he’ – she hesitated over her choice of words, not wanting to sound as though she doubted his power over the beast – ‘is he friendly?’

  ‘Acourse. Come here.’ He beckoned, and she took an unwilling, fascinated, step nearer. ‘Come on – I don’t bite, either! Promise! I’ll tell you a secret. He’s like me’ – he gaped and pointed – ‘lost all his sharp teeth. Give him a little pat, little cuddle? And how about one for me?’

  She recoiled. Already she was too close for comfort to either bear or man, with that yawning hole of a mouth. ‘But what about the claws?’

  ‘He won’t hurt you with them. Maybe knock you down, rip your dress, give you a little scratch, a bruise.’ He looked her up and down in cheerfully offensive detail and grinned again, eyes disappearing in his weathered face. ‘Nothing your man won’t do from time to time.’

  Elfrun flushed and stepped backwards, but he went on smiling at her as though they had been sharing a joke.

  She turned abruptly away from him, to find that the boy had started walking on a rope rigged up hastily between two sturdy tripods of birch-logs, some four or five feet above the earth. He was holding a willow wand for balance, but it was clear that he hardly needed it. The rope sagged a little, but he never lost his footing, moving faster and faster to the pipe-whistle and the drum-beat. When he reached the end he pivoted easily on one foot, threw the wand aside, and went back, this time reaching out to catch the weighted cloth balls that the girl was throwing to him – one, two, three – until he had five in the air at the same time. When he reached the end of the rope again and sprang down on to the earth the crowd emitted a collective sigh. There must have been sixty or seventy folk there now, all ages, and more arriving. Not all Donmouth, maybe, but all those who lived within a mile or so of the hall.

  The girl in kale-green was passing through the crowd with her bowl, hoping for any little coin or pin that could be spared, tossing her long, loose brown hair that the sun made more copper and gilt-bronze, swirling her skirts, the radiant smile on her sun-freckled face never reaching her eyes.

  The music changed. Wilder now, with high notes wavering and wailing and rapid pattering on the drum, and the bear-leader brought his charge into the centre of the circle the folk of Donmouth had made. He bowed to each side, north, south, east, west, and an extra, mocking bow for Elfrun that somehow made it clear he had known all along that she was the lady of this place. Then he clapped his hands, and the bear did the same, even down to the respectful dip of the head when it faced Elfrun. A ripple of laughter.

  The show started slowly, with the man straddling his bear and having it squirm between his legs; leading it around the ring as it went tumbling head over heels, rolling so close to the crowd that folk drew in their breath and stepped back before pressing eagerly forward again; raising a commanding hand and having the bear flatten itself until it looked like a flayed hide rather than a living animal. At long last he snapped his fingers, and the bear stood up on its hind legs.

  A gasp.

  Taller than the tallest man present, and grotesquely like a man, with massive shoulders and thighs. The fur was thinnest over its belly, but there were dark tufts thick at the groin. It stood flat on its feet and glared out from those little reddish eyes. The bear-leader clucked, a little low, almost loving sound, and he shook the rope, and the bear began to clap its heavy paws together and shuffle back and forth in time with the music, swaying its hips and nodding its head. The bear-leader gestured at the crowd. ‘Come on, everyone, dance!’

  Then the music changed again, darker, the drum thudding. The bear-leader gestured, and the bear sat heavily down on its haunches. The music stopped. The bear-leader walked up to the bear, coiling the rope in his hand as he went, and when he reached the animal he unfastened the bridle and slipped it over the animal’s ears and snout. He backed away, raising his big hands with the bridle clutched in one, and turned to the crowd, once more facing this way and that. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘who will fight my bear?’

  Silence.

  ‘Big men like you? This little soft bear I’ve had from a cub?’ He turned his back on the bear, then jumped round. ‘Boo!’ The bear put its paws to its face and fell over backwards.

  Some laughter.

  ‘And I’d heard the men of Donmouth were hard men.’ He looked around the crowd. ‘I’ll tell you. Someone stake a silver penny and I’ – he made a pass in the air and abstracted something shiny from nowhere – ‘I will let as many of you as you like fight my bear, and the man judged the winner will get a reward.’ Between grimy thumb and forefinger he was holding a tiny patterned disc of gold. ‘Seen one of these before?’

  The sight of gold was intoxicating. Elfrun could see eyes widening, fingers pointing, hear the hurried whispers.

  ‘No one?’ The gold glinted in the sun.

  ‘I’ll stake the penny!’ Elfrun looked round to find her uncle at her shoulder. His eyes were shining and his face flushed. She hadn’t even seen him in the crowd.

  ‘Well done, my lord!’ Ingeld lobbed the coin and the bear-leader put up his free hand to take it from the air. It and the gold disc vanished together.

  The bear-leader looked around the crowd again. ‘Here’s what you do. My bear stands up.’ He made that caressing little click again, and the bear shambled over to him, hunched and meek-looking. ‘You wrestle him. No punching, no gouging. You push; he pushes. First one down is the loser.’

  Still no one stepped forward. Elfrun was aware of jostling and whispers here and there in the crowd as the young men egged each other on, but no one was driving the matter too hard. They could see those claws and, unlike her, they didn’t know about the absence of teeth. And even without teeth the force in those jaws must be immense... Who would have the power to challenge the bear? Dunstan would have once, but he had gone to join the king’s retinue, much to Athulf’s bitterness. Cuthred the smith perhaps, with his ropy strength? But she hadn’t seen him or Wynn anywhere in the crowd.

  The bear-leader whistled cheerfully. ‘So, I keep your money and don’t have to work for it?’ He slapped his hip. ‘Easiest penny I’ve ever made.’ He looked around the crowd. ‘Tell me – who are your neighbours? Who do the Donmouth men love to hate?’

  ‘Illingham!’ A voice from the back of the crowd, echoed here and there with approval.

  ‘Illingham, eh?’ The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what’ll they say in Illingham, when I tell them not a man in Donmouth—’

  ‘I’ll fight your bear.’

  Every eye swivelled. The voice had come from the far side of the arena, and at first Elfrun couldn’t see who had spoken. Then the crowd parted, and Hirel the shepherd pushed his way to the front.

  ‘I’ll fight your bear,’ he repeated. The men around him were whooping and slapping his broad shoulders but he was silent and his dark face was strained. He walked into the open space, but he was ignoring the bear and its warder, even though they were only a yard or so from him. Elfrun, puzzled, thought for a moment he was looking at her.

  Ingeld was smiling.

  The crowd fell silent.

  The bear-leader squinted back and forth between the two men. His brows were knotted, and he evidently suspected Hirel’s action in coming forth masked more than mere bluster. When Hirel turned at last to look at him, he nodded. ‘A’ right then and good luck to you both. You’re not unlike a bear yourself, master, if you don’t mind my saying so.’ He scratched the bear behind its ears, and the creature sat up on its haunches. ‘Go on, then, my lovelies. Go to it.’

  Hirel approached warily, stepping right and left, eyeing up his opportunities. The bear swung its head to follow his movements, this way and that, for an eternity. Then Hirel sprang. He hurled himself forward, driving his right shoulder under the bear’s chin, and shoved upwards, all t
he weight of his body behind it. His bare feet scrabbled for purchase in the dust. The bear lurched violently, and for a moment Elfrun thought that Hirel had won, so quickly that no fun was to be got from it, and the bear was going over on its back, but the animal rocked and danced from foot to foot, and resettled itself, as massive and implacable as it had ever been. Elfrun felt a cold breath on her shoulder, and looking round she realized that while she had been engrossed by the bear a mist-bank had been rolling in from the sea and closing round them. Already the trees the far side of the weaving shed were blurring and losing their colour. The east wind always brought the summer sea-fret; she didn’t know why she was surprised.

  Hirel still had his shoulder under the beast’s jaw, and now he locked his arms around the great shaggy neck and hauled sideways. His face was buried in the fur but Elfrun could hear his grunts of effort. His feet skidded sideways and he fell, still holding the bear, and the animal came down on top of him. Hirel was back on his knees at once, shoving the colossal weight off him, but now the bear too seemed stirred and it rose on to its back legs and put its front paws around Hirel’s waist. A gasp from the crowd at the sight of the extended claws. The bear was trying to get its jaws around Hirel’s head, and Elfrun, sickened and excited, hoped the bear-leader had been telling the truth about its teeth. Hirel was flailing at the bear’s mouth with his hands, but Elfrun could see the bear’s grip getting tighter and tighter. She pressed her hand over her mouth, finding it hard to breathe herself.

  Hirel ducked suddenly and twisted, down and out of the terrible grip.

  ‘Enough?’ The bear-leader was grinning. Hirel’s tunic was torn and his face was dark red and beaded with sweat. He didn’t answer, panting hard and scowling, and then he hurled himself at the animal once again. This time it was quick. The bear was up on its hind legs already, and it showed a fast, almost nimble, dancing step that was new. It grabbed Hirel with one arm and bore down on him, throwing him sideways as though he were made of straw, swiping across the shepherd’s face with the claws of the other paw. Someone screamed. Hirel landed flat on his back, and the bear hurled itself on top of him, pounding him repeatedly with its whole body weight.

  ‘I think the bear likes him!’ The bear-leader was egging the crowd to laughter, but Elfrun didn’t think it was funny. Hirel hadn’t looked like a man who was doing this for his own entertainment or anyone else’s. Blood streamed down his face. He was still trying to lever the bear up and away when the bear-leader whistled. At once the bear stopped fighting and slunk back to the side of its master.

  Hirel twisted over and got up on to his hands and knees. He was breathing harder than ever, his face purple and contorted, and now Elfrun could see the torn back of his tunic was stained with fresh blood. He sat back on his heels and pushed the hair and blood out of his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Let me fight it again.’

  The bear-leader shrugged. ‘If you’re game—’

  ‘I’m game!’ The blood was trickling thickly down from a cut above his eyebrow and he dashed it away again with his sleeve.

  ‘No.’ It was Ingeld who had spoken. He was smiling, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. ‘You’ve done very well, shepherd. But you should know when to leave well enough alone.’

  Hirel had clenched his fists. He staggered to his feet and lurched a few paces forward. Even through that gory half-mask Elfrun could see how bloodshot his eyes were, and smell his sweat mingled with the musky, smoky aroma of bear. ‘You don’t tell me what to do.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s my wife?’

  Saethryth pushed her way forward to the front of the crowd.

  ‘How did I do?’ Hirel sounded like a child. ‘Did you see me, wife? Did I do well? Was it like when I won my keg?’

  Saethryth had her arms folded across her breasts. ‘Who’s going to have to wash and mend that tunic?’ To Elfrun’s disbelief she sounded more bored than anything else.

  ‘I told you: you did well, shepherd.’ At Ingeld’s words there was a stir of interest among the crowd, those further back pushing forward for a better view. ‘Donmouth’s honour is safe enough.’ There was a taunting note to his voice which baffled Elfrun. Hirel had fought heroically, even if he had lost; he was hurt; and now Ingeld was trying to provoke him to anger? Hirel was their good servant: why on earth make matters worse?

  But Elfrun could hear the amusement in his voice, and there was no doubt that Hirel could hear it too. ‘You stay out of it,’ the shepherd said in a low voice. He looked around suspiciously, and his eye fell on the bear-leader. ‘You set me up. What’s going on?’ He wiped his sleeve against his bloody forehead again.

  ‘Not I, master.’

  ‘You, then.’ Hirel swung round on Ingeld.

  Somewhere behind Elfrun she heard a voice say, ‘If he didn’t know before he knows now.’ But she couldn’t look to see who had spoken, she didn’t dare take her eyes off Hirel.

  ‘Are you going to best me the way you have the bear?’ Ingeld raised his eyebrows.

  Hirel lunged, and Elfrun almost choked on her own indrawn breath.

  But Luda was there, out of nowhere, and Heahred, and a couple of other men with them. Athulf, too, was at his father’s side, grim-faced and fists clenched. They moved between Hirel and Ingeld, and Luda put his hand on Hirel’s shoulder. Hirel flung it off, but Luda, his long face stern, said something inaudible. Hirel stared down at his father-in-law; then, casting one more furious glance at Ingeld, he turned and limped his way through the far side of the crowd, the blood still spreading dark and wet across the back of his tunic.

  50

  ‘Anyone else?’ The bear had curled up into a furry ball, its face concealed behind its paws. The bear-leader prodded it with a toe, but it just pulled itself tighter. ‘Any more of you want to take on my little honey-fed baby?’

  ‘What about dogs?’

  Elfrun stared at her uncle. He was snapping an imperious hand. ‘Widia!’ And back to the bear-leader. ‘Your bear – will it fight my dogs?’

  The bear-leader looked down at his animal, then over at Ingeld, his eyes narrowed. ‘My bear’s my livelihood, master.’ His voice had taken on an ingratiating note. ‘What if it’s hurt? It’s worth my meat and drink to me. What’s it worth to you that can match with that price?’ The crowd had fallen silent. There was no sign of Hirel.

  Ingeld was smiling. He tapped his red leather purse where it hung by his hip. ‘I don’t know how much I’ve got in here.’ He gave it a shake, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. ‘Want to take a chance?’

  The bear-leader’s face was flushed above his beard, his eyes bright. Ingeld gave the purse a shake, and Elfrun could hear the thin silver discs chinking faintly. The dainty leather bag was evidently well stocked. It occurred to Elfrun as she gazed around her that those pennies had been creamed from the hard labour of these people. Her people, slave and free. The strips and patches of land belonging to the abbot and those which appertained to the lord were so entangled that nearly everyone owed goods and work and coin to both minster and hall. Their back-breaking hours in the fields and the ditches, at the looms and the fish-traps and the hives, had made the profit which now sang that faint, seductive song from inside its fine kidskin.

  And much they cared.

  If their silver would buy their pride again, then it was well spent.

  They had cheered Hirel on, they had laughed and been abashed by their own laughter when it looked as though the bear was trying to mount him. They had been silenced and shamed by his defeat. Now here was their abbot giving them another chance. Donmouth, down to the last man, woman, and child jigging eagerly from foot to foot, wanted this fight.

  ‘Let me see the dogs first,’ the bear-leader said.

  Ingeld was nodding but, ‘Coward,’ Athulf shouted, and the insult was echoed a few times from faces hidden in the crowd. Ingeld raised his hand for silence. The sun had been coming and going through the patches of drifting mist, and it was a good omen that it shone now, flashing on the fine s
ilver wire on the cuff of his tunic and the massive gold of his abbatial ring. The folk quietened a little. Elfrun watched her uncle thoughtfully. He had folded his arms easily across his chest, and he was standing with his weight on one foot, looking around the crowd. That stray patch of sunlight was also picking out the silver in his brown hair where a lock fell over his forehead, and glinting on the fine stubble on his chin and upper lip. He had a little smile on his face that creased the skin around his eyes and deepened the lines that ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. The fingers of one hand were tapping on his other arm, and she suddenly had the thought that he was looking for someone. He lifted his head suddenly, his eyes narrowed and the smile grew warmer. Elfrun looked across at Luda and Saethryth and Heahred, but she couldn’t see whom he had been smiling at. She wondered suddenly why Saethryth hadn’t gone to look after her wounded husband.

  ‘Uncle?’

  ‘Mm?’ He turned and looked down at her, brown eyes under arched, insouciant brows, still smiling.

  She had nothing to say; she wasn’t even sure why she had spoken. ‘I – Look, here’s Widia and the dogs.’

  Widia and the dog-boy, still nameless as when he had arrived. The hounds were leashed together, and as ever Elfrun was amazed that such a scrawny green-stick of a boy could hold those three powerful animals in check. He and the bear-leader would have had a lot to say to each other about their mastery of beasts, if only the boy could use his tongue.

  Ingeld put an arm round Widia’s neck and a hand on the boy’s shoulder, bringing them and their charges forward into the makeshift arena. ‘Here they are. What do you say?’