Blood Eagle: A riveting historical thriller

by Derek, Julia

  My eyes returned to Orvar and the other man, who both, I now realized, were flecked with blood. In Orvar’s hands was a large knife with its entire blade coated in shiny red liquid that dribbled onto the brown forest ground. I lifted my head from the ground to get a view of my own body. From what I could tell, my hands were streaked with blood. My clothes were ripped open, and through the holes I could spot how my flesh was full of bite marks and deep scratches. Blood trickled out from some of the sores. I met Orvar’s eyes and felt suddenly dizzy.

  “We need to get all your injuries taken care of as soon as possible. Otherwise you might bleed to death,” Orvar said matter-of-factly.

  “Is it… that bad?” I managed to get out.

  “Yes, but I must say you did a magnificent job defending yourself. Up there with your grandfather when he killed all those wolves. You killed three of those beasts, but they were too many. They were about to get you when we came. You were fighting half a dozen.”

  I stared at Orvar. “I killed three?”

  Orvar grinned. “Yes, unless Thor came down to help you that is what you did.”

  The other man, who had disappeared briefly, returned with pieces of moss in his hands. He bent down and pressed the green moist plants on top of two of my deepest injuries.

  “The moss should stop the worst of the bleeding for a day or two,” Orvar explained. He nodded at the man at work on me. “This is Knut. He helped me kill the rest of the beasts. I’m not sure I would have managed without his help.”

  I looked at both men, not knowing what to say, because only then did I realize that they must have saved my life. I was forever in debt to them now.

  “You saved my life then,” I finally got out. “I owe you.”

  “How could I not save the life of Achour’s grandson and the son of Yakoube?” Orvar asked with a solemn expression. “Your father and grandfather have always been good to me. They were the only ones of free men who treated me with respect. Had it been anybody else, I would have let the boars have them.” Orvar signaled with his hand to Knut. Together they lifted me from the ground and started walking.

  We arrived in Flemminge later that evening, the sky having turned black a short while earlier. It was very quiet in the small village except for the sound of someone playing the flute somewhere in the distance. The hooves of our horses produced a soothing sound as they trotted the well-used dirt road. Passing several houses and huts, we stopped in front of a small house made of daub and straw. Tying his horse to a pole, Orvar knocked four times at the wooden door. An old woman with gray hair tied back in a bun opened it a few inches, peering out from behind. When she saw that it was Orvar and Knut, she stepped back to let us in. Knut looked at the woman and nodded at the large kettle above the hearth in the middle of the room. Then he nodded in my direction. The woman went to a corner of the room in which a heap of animal skins, clothes, and some material I couldn’t make out were piled. She pulled out a large cow hide and placed it on the floor next to the hearth. Knut and Orvar carefully placed me on it. I felt how sleep was about to take me away when Orvar gave me a couple of swift slaps on the cheeks.

  “Don’t fade on us yet, Leif,” he ordered. “You need to get some food into your body first.” The woman stood behind Orvar with a wooden bowl in her hands. She handed it to Orvar, who put an arm under my neck and brought the bowl to my lips. “Here, drink some of this soup. It will be good for your blood loss.”

  I opened my mouth weakly and gulped down most of the lukewarm soup in it. A warm feeling spread in my stomach. The woman removed my ripped-up clothes and began to wash the bites and scratches that covered my body. Moments later I fell asleep.

  The next day Orvar, Knut, the woman—whose name was Helga and Knut’s mother— and I sat around the hearth. We shared a roasted hare that Knut and Orvar had caught earlier in the day. Black bread and a thick vegetable stew accompanied the well-cooked meat. I still felt weak, but I was in good spirits. For the first time in more than two weeks did I get to sit down with people and eat a civilized meal. It was such a joy that I allowed myself to briefly forget about Ragnar and what he had done to me and my family. Stuffing the last piece of stew and tender meat into my mouth, I greedily emptied the cup of mead next to me. It was savory mead, richer and spicier than any kind I had previously tasted.

  “Take it easy, my friend,” Orvar said to me, smiling amused. “You might throw up all the food if you don’t slow down. Of course, you do need to get some meat on those bones. I hardly recognized you at first you’re so skinny.”

  “This is all just so delicious. And I was so hungry,” I said, satisfied at last.

  As everybody finished up, Helga removed the plates from the table and brought the dessert: a plump, sweet cheese and rice cake.

  “Huuuuh husaooh.hooouuggh,” Knut said, grinning wide and pointing toward the steaming cake. Then he looked at me.

  “Have a large piece of that, Leif, he wants to say,” Helga said, patting her son’s back. “Nothing is as good for blood loss as this cheese and rice cake.”

  Staring at Knut, I must have looked funny because Helga, Orvar, and Knut himself burst out laughing. Then Helga explained that Knut’s tongue had been cut off when he was a small child, because a crazy man thought he talked too much during a visit to the market. This wasn’t the only tragedy Helga and Knut had suffered. Helga’s husband and other three sons had all been killed on Viking expeditions, and her only daughter drowned when she was only three, just like one of my own sisters.

  I was burning with desire to find out what had driven Orvar to murder his master. The more I got to know him, the surer I felt he’d had valid reasons, and I hoped that he would tell me about them. I also suspected that Orvar was born a free man, for his command of the language and his behavior in general were both far too refined for most slave-born men.

  “Now that I have told you how I ended up in the woods in the middle of nowhere, it’s your turn,” I said to him. “What is your story?”

  Orvar grew quiet and gazed into the fire that burned steadily in the hearth. When he didn’t answer, I felt certain that I must have offended him somehow.

  “I’m sorry, Orvar,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  But Orvar held up a square hand full of calluses. “You are not being disrespectful. You’re asking the right question. I have waited for an opportunity when I could tell someone about the true nature of Sigfrid the Great of Rodeby.”

  Orvar smiled unhappily before continuing. “As you know, Sigfrid the Great had been married for years and was known all around the province to be a good and respectable man, a real man. But that’s a lie. I discovered a long time ago that Sigfrid wished he were born a woman. I also found out that he liked to spend time with young boys, boys that were much too young. Six, seven, eight years old. I hated what I often witnessed, but what could I, a slave, do about it? Nothing. Then he decided that he wanted to spend time with my youngest son, Anders. Anders is seven years old. I couldn’t let him do to Anders what he did to those boys. Whenever he brought one with him, I heard the muffled screams coming out from his sleep alcove. I just couldn’t let him touch my son.”

  Once more Orvar got quiet, his eyes seeking out the fire. They lingered there for a few moments before he continued. “I told him to please spare my son. He looked at me as if I were mad. Then he told me to shut my mouth or he would cut my tongue off. Where is Anders, he demanded, but I simply shook my head, repeating what I had said. He got angry and fetched a long stick and began to beat me. He screamed that first he was going to give me a real good beating, then he was going to cut my tongue off for daring to challenge his orders, and after that he would go get Anders. Well, I couldn’t let him do that. I told him that over my dead body would I let him have my son. Then you will have to die, he told me. I attacked him because, clearly, the only way to keep him away from my son was if I killed him. So I did.”

  I stared at Orvar, disgusted. “But why didn’t you say this
at your trial? If they knew this, the people surely would have objected to you getting such a severe punishment for killing your master!”

  Orvar shook his head wearily. “It’s not that simple. First of all, I doubt that anybody would have believed me. And I have to think of my family. I have two sons and two daughters and a wife. All are slaves at Sigfrid’s farm. Sigfrid’s brothers might use my family to avenge themselves if I told the Assembly what I just told you. Can you imagine the scandal if the entire province found out what type of man Sigfrid really was? It would ruin his family’s name. I’m not even sure they themselves have understood exactly what it was that he was doing. They probably thought Sigfrid’s doings with the boys was some innocent game. No, it had to be kept a secret. I had to protect my family. It was a silent understanding between me and his brothers. It was better if everybody thought I was just a bad slave.”

  I nodded slowly, contemplating this. Then I clenched my fists so hard the knuckles whitened. What I felt must have been written in my face for Orvar sighed and said, “Yes, that is how angry I was, too. Angrier even. But I had to let that go because I knew it was useless. That it is useless. There is nothing more that I can do. At least I know that my family, my boys are safe now that Sigfrid is dead. The rest of his family is not so bad. As long as I stay away and let their lives continue like before, I think they will leave my wife and kids alone. My life here in Flemminge is good. I was lucky that I managed to escape with my life and that I met Helga and Knut, who let me stay and work for them. They are good people.” He gave the old woman and the mute man glances filled of warm gratitude.

  “There must be something we can do about the situation,” I said, still furious. “Some way to revoke your punishment. Was that other slave telling the truth? The one who witnessed against you. Did he see you kill Sigfrid?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure. And it doesn’t matter. That pig hates me, he always has. He would never admit that he was lying, even if that was what he did.”

  “What if we could find someone else, someone good to back up your claim? Then we could demand a retrial. For sure the Law Speaker would let you. He is a good man, and he would get the people and the judges with him. The people would never accept such behavior from any master against their slaves. They would understand why you had to kill him. If we could get the public all the way over on your side, I doubt that Sigfrid’s brothers would dare ever touching your family. Maybe the People’s Assembly would even award you and your family your freedom. It is not unlikely. Who else knows about what Sigfrid did? Anybody?”

  “Yes, I know that Sigfrid’s wife knew what was going on with him and all the boys,” Orvar answered hesitantly. “And I know that she didn’t approve of it.”

  Excitement filled me. “Yes. Yes! Her testimony is perfect now that she’s a widow and the head of the family. That’s the only time a woman’s word is worth as much as that of a man.”

  “But how would you convince her to do that, Leif?” Orvar asked, confused. “Remember, you are a forest man now. You have no more influence in Valstad than I do nowadays.”

  “I will find a way to prove that Ragnar set me up. I’m not sure how yet, but I will. Somehow, I will make someone I trust trick Ragnar to reveal himself. He already did to me.” I narrowed my eyes and smiled. “And he will do it again, for he has never been able to keep a secret, no matter how important. And then the Jarlabankes will have to pay. Dearly.”

  15

  Several days passed before I had recuperated the large amounts of blood I had lost, and many more before my multitude of injuries healed. I soon understood that parts of my body would be forever crisscrossed with scars from my fight against the boars, but that didn’t bother me much. I was just glad that I had escaped alive.

  The moment I felt well enough to move around—and when the rest of my new-found friends finally let me—I began to help Helga inside the house. It was the least I could do in return for her and her son’s seemingly inexhaustible hospitality. I swept the earth-trampled floor regularly, I washed clothes and cloths with her, I helped her prepare the meals and clean up afterwards; I even learned how to spin and weave, something Helga did lots of. She created intricate tapestries that featured warriors’ heroic deeds, gods feasting in Valhalla and beautiful Valkyries rewarding men killed in battle, which she sold primarily to nobles who often placed special orders with her. The rest of the little household’s living stemmed from Knut and Orvar’s daily hunting expeditions. Every morning the two of them left in search of hares, rabbits, boars, and the occasional reindeer or elk. They stole eggs from birds’ nests and trapped ducks, and now and then they fished in the nearby river. Knut in particular was a skillful hunter and fisherman, and it was rare that they returned without at least a couple of dead animals or fish. Some of the meat we ate and some were traded for vegetables, grain and milk, or sold at the market. When they caught larger animals, they had fur to sell as well, and antlers if it was a reindeer or a red deer, both especially profitable items.

  As the weeks passed and it became even colder, I pondered how I could make Ragnar pay for what he had done and clear my name. I didn’t want to return to Karlsby and my family until I had at least a tentative plan of how to put things right, but the more I considered the matter, the more I despaired. What could I possibly do? The only thing that had changed since the trial was that I now knew for sure that I was innocent; everybody else back home most likely remained convinced of my guilt. My father and I couldn’t demand a retrial based solely on Ragnar having given himself away to me, in particular since there were no witnesses available to support this claim. The only person who might have overheard Ragnar’s revelation was the Law Speaker, but he wasn’t enough. And using oath-helpers wouldn’t help much either: for every oath-helper my family could come up with, the Jarlabanke clan could match with ten. An oath-helper’s function was not to provide alibi for a defendant, only to swear that he didn’t believe the defendant was guilty.

  I watched the snow pile up on the ground in Flemminge, as I searched the deepest crevices of my mind for a solution. Sometimes, it had snowed so much the previous night we could hardly open the front door, taking us nearly a quarter day until we managed to get outside at last. Of course, those snowy days we only left the house if it was absolutely necessary, such as to get water or more firewood to stay warm, all the while sustaining ourselves on dried fish or meat, beans, apples, and cheese and bread. To pass the time, Hilda weaved and the rest of us repaired broken hunting and fishing tools or created new ones, while exchanging stories, playing board games or throwing dice. My skills whittling flutes from branches of oak tripled.

  But no matter how many times I turned and twisted the situation in my head, subtracted or added pieces, could I come up with what to do about it. I finally decided that I would return home anyway. Maybe, when I was back with my family in Karlsby, I would come up with something, a solution that I had previously overlooked triggered by more familiar surroundings. Maybe my father or brothers had heard something around the neighborhood, something that, together with me showing up so unexpectedly, could help us build a good enough case to present at the People’s Assembly. Maybe Ragnar had let on to somebody what he had done. Knowing what a blabbermouth he could be, it sure was likely.

  Yes, as soon as my injuries healed completely and warmer weather came, I would take Orvar with me and return home, with or without a plan.

  16

  Three months later

  Little snow remained on the ground and on the houses in Flemminge. Instead of icicles hanging from the edges of the roofs, water dripped in steady streams, creating dark-colored pusses as it mixed with the thawing dirt below. Receding layers of snow revealed ground covered with yesteryear’s rotten grass. Many of the birds that traveled south for the winter returned, twittering light melodies. The air was full of the smell that accompanies early spring in Denmark and southern Sweden, a fresh, earthy odor replete with greenery anxiously awaiting rebirth.

>   It was early in the morning and the already brilliant sunshine promised an unusually warm day for this time of year. Which was good because it meant Orvar and I could return sooner than planned. He, Knut and I, having just finished breakfast, were on our way to hunt for some hare when someone knocked on the front door.

  “Who could that be so early?” Orvar asked, looking at me and Knut. Knut shrugged and walked up to the door and opened it.

  At first I was sure the bright sun played tricks with my eyes. The tall, black-haired youngster standing outside the house beside an older man simply must be a stranger. Both of them were dressed in goatskin coats and hats. But when the youngster said, “Leif!” and grinned wide, I understood that my younger brother Egin, blue-eyed and gangly just like me, was standing there, only steps away. He extended his arms toward me.

  Just to make sure I wasn’t seeing a spirit, I said, “Egin? Is that really you?”

  “Yes, Leif, it is me! I cannot believe I—”

  I had already thrown myself over Egin by then, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheeks and head with nearly the same passion I used with Thora.

  Finally, I let go and, holding him an arm’s length away, I asked, so happy I could barely speak, “How did you find me?”

  Returning the wide grin that had split my own face in two, Egin said, “I remembered that you said you thought any escaped slave or forest man ought to head for Flemminge where no one knew of their background. So Magnus here”—Egin nodded at the man beside him—“and I crossed the woods together to see if you were here. We arrived yesterday and an alehouse owner told us he thought you were in this house together with Orvar. And here you are, alive and well!”

  So overjoyed at seeing my little brother standing there, I let out a belly laughter and ruffled his long, black curls.

  “I cannot believe you came all the way from Karlsby for me,” I said. “If you had come a few days later, Orvar and I would have been on our way back to home. You would have missed us! Clearly, the gods are on our side, as Father would have said.” I took a step back, motioning for Egin and his companion to enter the cottage, which they did after greeting Knut and Orvar. Then they greeted Helga, who immediately prepared more breakfast. Moments later, we were all seated around the glowing hearth.