I'm an old man now, and one of the rules I've lived by is that as soon as someone starts telling you the world makes sense, you can bet anything you like that his brain's come undone. Mind you, I'd come to that conclusion already
'I see what you mean,' I said. 'But maybe you should hold off on killing Kari, just for now I think it'd be better that way'
Ohtar looked down at me. 'You're saying that because he's your friend,' he said.
'Yes.'
'Fine.' He yawned. 'That's as good a reason as any I suppose. You'd better take Thorfinn his hat, before he starts wondering where you've got to.'
I got the hat and started off back to the meadows, thinking how awkward it was going to be having a nutcase around the place, and wondering what Bits could do about it. I hadn't got very far, though, when I heard a woman screaming.
I knew it wasn't Gudrid, because she was in the house with the kid, and the screams were coming from out front, in the yard. Had to be one of the Irish women, not that it mattered particularly who was doing it. I dropped the hat and raced off round the side of the house, just in time to see a big furry bundle sail over the top of the palisade and land in the dirt, just shy of the midden.
There was another bundle lying close to it, and one of the Irish women standing by yelling her head off; hardly surprising, of course, but I wasn't fussed about it because I knew the bundle for what it was. The leather-boat people had come back for more trading, and since we'd built the palisade and they couldn't get in the yard, they were slinging their wares inside to show us what their intentions were.
'It's all right,' I called out, but of course the stupid old cow hadn't got a clue what I was saying. Then a third bundle flopped on the ground right by her feet; she screeched like a chicken with the fox on her tail, and scuttled towards the house.
Nothing to worry about, I thought, but I'd better go and fetch Bits; so I ran off through the back gate and down to the meadow, and found him and the rest of the gang coming back up. They'd seen the leather-boaters coming down out of the woods, they said, and this time there were quite a few of them, perhaps two dozen.
'But that's all right,' Bits added. 'We've got plenty of cheese.'
When we got back to the yard there were loads of bundles lying there. Bits knelt down and opened one up; beautiful furs they were, and cured better than we could've done it. Bits grinned.
'This is a stroke of luck,' he said. 'If they'll trade us stuff like this, we could fill a ship and send it back to the Old Country' (He meant Norway, of course, not Iceland.) 'With what these'd fetch over there, we could buy everything we'll ever need for the settlement; and we'd get traders coming out here to buy before long, once the word gets about.' He stood up. 'Better open the gate and let them in,' he said. 'It's bad business, keeping customers waiting at the door.'
So a couple of the men went to open the gate, while someone else ran inside to tell them to fetch out all the cheese and butter we could possibly spare. When the house door opened, I saw Ohtar peering out round the door frame; and he had his axe in his hand. I didn't like the look of that, because I wasn't absolutely sure that I'd talked him out of killing Kari; he'd given in a bit too easily for my liking.
They didn't look much different from the first lot, those leather-boaters. Shorter than us, for the most part, and thin; but well-built and wide across the shoulders, lean like dogs rather than scrawny They seemed nervous but anxious to be friends; and bearing in mind what Bits'd just said, we were keen to be friendly back. Out came the butter dishes and wooden plates full of cheese, and jugs of milk with the cream on top. To start with, the leather-boat people were happy just to stuff their faces, like the last time; but while they were eating and drinking, I noticed that they were looking round, taking an interest. Mostly I saw, they were looking at all the things we had that were made of metal; when the sun flashed on a brooch or a buckle or an axe-head, they'd look up and stare for a bit, as if they'd never seen the like before.
Then I studied them for a while, and thought maybe they hadn't.
For instance, there was one tall man with grey hair. Instead of a belt round his middle he had a strap of twisted hide, and it was tied in a knot rather than fastened with a buckle. In it was tucked an axe, but the head wasn't steel, it was chipped stone - some kind of flint or agate. That made me look at the rest of them, and sure enough, there wasn't a single bit of metal to be seen. Our lot, on the other hand, were positively sparkling, because the sun was out; we Northerners like showing off, you see, and anything made of metal's valuable, so you like to wear it where people can see. We like shiny brass cloak-pins and finger-rings, or silver or gold if we can afford it; and of course you don't go anywhere without your knife and your axe, they're your basic everyday tools you use for most everything you do. Also, the men who'd come back from the meadow had their pitchforks, and some of them had billhooks for splitting withies into ties. All the sort of thing you'd never usually notice; unless, of course, you'd never seen bright, shiny things like that before.
I looked over at Bits, and I could see that he'd reached the same conclusion; but he was worried. 'Listen, all of you,' he said - he could say what he liked, because of course the leather-boats couldn't understand a word - 'I want it understood, nobody's to trade anything made of iron or steel with these people unless they check with me first. Butter's one thing, but weapons are a different matter entirely'
Common sense, really; still, it had to be said, in case there was anybody who hadn't figured it out for himself. And sure enough, it wasn't long before a couple of the leather-boats started pointing at things like axes and knives and making unmistakable how-much-for-that gestures with their eyebrows and their hands. But Bits just looked stern and shook his head, and they seemed to be getting the message. So they went back to wedging cheese into their faces, while we cut the bindings on the bundles and had a look at what we were getting.
I was knelt down over a thick wad of squirrel pelts when a man called Ketil Mordsson came over to me. He looked worried, and I asked him what the matter was.
'Don't suppose you counted them on their way in,' he said.
That seemed a funny thing to ask. 'No,' I replied. 'Why?'
'I did,' he replied. 'Eighteen, I made it. And there's only sixteen now
I thought: that's an odd thing to be worrying about, and an odd thing in itself. 'Maybe two of them ate so much butter they've gone outside to throw up,' I suggested. 'If I was stuffing myself like that, it'd only be a matter of time.'
Ketil shook his head. 'You seen the way they've been eyeing up our knives and axes?' he said. 'You heard what Thorfinn said just now I don't like that there's two of them missing all of a sudden.'
Now I could see what he was getting at; and I thought about Ohtar, inside the house with his axe and in a funny mood. 'Where's Gudrid,' I asked, 'and the kid? I can't see them, they must be indoors still.'
He frowned. 'That's a point,' he said. 'Come on, we'd better have a look.'
I really wish we'd thought of that earlier, but we hadn't. As it was, we were ten yards or something like that away from the door when a leather-boater came flying out, running so fast that his feet hardly seemed to be touching the ground. A moment later, out came Ohtar. He had his axe in his hand, and the blade was all smeared. Then, inside the house, Gudrid started screaming her head off.
Everybody froze and spun round; except Bits. He grabbed the man standing next to him - just so happened it was Kari. 'Get that gate shut,' he yelled in his ear, 'and someone get that bastard.' He meant the leather-boater who'd just come out of the house, and he didn't need to explain - we were way ahead of him. A couple of men made grabs for the runner but he swerved round them; and then Thorhall Eyes stuck out a foot and tripped him, and he went sprawling on the ground, all flying arms and legs.
I'd stopped to watch; but Ketil Mordsson was in the house already pushing past Ohtar, who'd stopped dead and was standing there, his axe hanging from his hand, like he'd just -been woken up whi
le sleepwalking. Gudrid stopped yelling; and Ketil came back out, just as Thorfinn shoved past him, going in.
'It's all right,' Ketil told him. 'She's all right, so's the kid. There's one of them in there dead, though.'
So then we were all looking at Olitar. 'That's right, he said, rather awkwardly 'I killed him.' He paused, then went on: 'They came in snooping around.' He hesitated again, then added: 'One of them was creeping up behind Gudrid, where she wasn't looking. He was going to snatch the kid, so I chopped him.'
The rest of the leather-boaters had realised that something wasn't right; they were edging back together into a circle, looking at each other, one or two of them talking softly I could see them feeling for their axes in their belts without looking down, and I had a really bad feeling about what was going to happen next. It was like when you've cut three parts of the way through a tree on a windy day and as it sways you look up and you can see it's almost ready to go but not quite. Do you step back clear, in case it comes down, or do you nip back in under it for the couple of good cuts it'll take to finish it off? That's what it felt like: one more misunderstanding, or a movement getting taken the wrong way, and we'd have a battle on our hands; we'd kill all of them, and they'd kill two, maybe three of us while we were at it. It was all very ugly, so it was just as well we had Bits in charge. He came out of the house, saw where we'd got to and clapped his hands together hard to get our attention.
'Open the gate,' he said, loud and firm but not shouting, 'and let them go, all of them. Just let them go,' he repeated. 'There's been no harm done, far as we're concerned.'
As the gate swung open, the leather-boaters edged towards it, not taking their stares off us for a moment. 'They were trying to steal an axe,' I heard Ohtar call out. Bits must've heard him but he didn't react.
'What about the dead man?' Ketil asked.
'Soon as they've gone, take him outside about a hundred yards and dump him. If they want the body they can come back and take it without having to come in too close.'
One of the leather-boaters wasn't budging. He was standing his ground and saying something loudly asking a question. Then the man who'd run out of the house said something back, and it struck me that quite likely the rest of them, the ones who'd already gone outside, didn't know yet about their man getting killed. My guess is that that was why Bits was in such a hurry to get them outside the palisade, before they realised what'd happened.
Anyway the last few of the leather-boaters left; two of his mates had to come back and drag off the man who'd been shouting. We got the gate shut, and then Ketil and a man called Mord Fish brought the dead man outside. Ohtar must've given him one hell of a scat, because the top and back of his head were split right open, like a knotty log where you have to drive in wedges to free up the axe. I'm no expert, but I don't see how you could've done that except from behind.
'What a bloody fuck-up,' Bits said when he saw the body I have to say I turned my head away It was only the second time I'd seen a man killed with an axe, and it's not something you get used to easily
We waited a bit; then Bits had them open the gates and drag out the body The men who did it said they hadn't seen any sign of the leather-boat people; I guessed they'd run for it, and only found out later that they were one short.
After that we all stood round for a while, and nobody said much. Ohtar sat down on a pile of logs and put his face in his hands. I think Bits went indoors to see how Gudrid and the baby were getting on. A couple of the women started collecting up the plates and jugs; I saw one of them brushing mud off a big hunk of cheese that'd been dropped. It was a strange atmosphere, like we were all kids who'd been caught doing something naughty and we were waiting to be yelled at.
Bits came out, and straight away he said, 'Right, things are going to get difficult from now on. You can bet what you like that they'll be back, and next time there's going to be a lot of them, and they won't be coming to trade. Now we should be all right behind the palisade, but what I'm worried about is the cattle.' He paused, like he was waiting for someone to argue; then he went on: 'I want a dozen of you to go up in the woods and make a clearing, where we can hide the cows. Mord, you and Helgi take the bull and let him loose in the small pen - that'll stop them coming up the track to the gate. We want to make sure we fight them where we want to, and the best place for that's going to be out back of the barns, between the lake and the woods. If they want to come at the gate without coming past the bull, that's where they'll have to go. Any questions?'
Nobody else had anything to say so Bits had us pick up all the bundles and take them inside; no point in all those valuable furs getting trampled underfoot, he said. Meanwhile, he had Olitar and Ketil and me fetch out the weapons that he'd brought in the ship: the spears and swords, and the bows. The lids had warped up tight on the crates, so we had to bash them in with the backs of our axes. We also pulled out the barrels full of mail shirts; but when we'd stove in the lids and tried to turn them out, they wouldn't budge. See, nobody'd given them any thought since we got there, and I think the sea water had got into them during the voyage; anyhow, they were all rusted up together into a huge brown lump. Soaking them for a week in salt and vinegar might've done something for them, but we didn't have time for that, so we let them bide where they were. I think Bits'd forgotten all about them, because he didn't mention them at all.
Everybody was a bit quiet and thoughtful while we were handing out the weapons, and nobody really wanted to be given one, like they weren't too happy about touching them. Bits called out who was to have what; I didn't get anything, not that I minded. We'd both got our hand-axes, of course, and when things get nasty it's always best to keep it simple and stick with what you know Bits had one of the swords, and he folded his cloak over his left arm like a shield, very professional; that was Bits for you - everything he did, he made it look like he knew what he was about.
Bits told me to give a spear to Olitar; and while I was over there I said to him, quiet so people wouldn't hear: 'So that was your fetch, then.'
He looked up at me. 'It's not over yet,' he said.
I shook my head. 'Was he really going to grab the kid?' I asked him, but he didn't answer, and I didn't want to make a big thing about it. For what it's worth, though, I don't believe in fetches, apart from the ones you carry round with you all the time. I still can't make up my mind whether Ohtar was under the tree when it fell or whether he was the tree himself. There comes a point, I guess, where the difference is too slight to be worth bothering with. Anyhow, Ohtar took the spear from me and pricked his thumb on the point to see if it was sharp. That surprised me; it'd been lying in the crate all that time and it'd got all fogged up with rust. It was always damp in that corner of the long barn, where we'd stored them.
Since then, of course, I've been a proper soldier, here down south where you're always fighting some war somewhere; and I've learned that battles are one part sheer muscle-snapping effort and ninety-nine parts standing or sitting around waiting for something to happen, and the one part is probably the best of it, even though that's when people get themselves killed. Maybe that's why we Northerners make such good soldiers: we can handle the useless waiting better than you people. After all, we sit around all winter waiting for the spring; we sit in our ships while the sea-spray smacks us around; we know how to bide quiet and save our energy, the way dogs and other animals do. But I for one don't like it - I can feel the time pressing on me, like toothache. I have to make an effort to find something to think about, and even that doesn't always work. When we fought the Bulgars and the Saracens, back in the old emperor's time, the officers always said I was a terror for fidgeting. Seems to me that every place I've been and everything I've done has been more waiting than doing; and I've wasted all that time by chafing against it, instead of finding a use for it. Not that it matters a lot. These days, of course, the emperor pays me for my time, whether I do anything useful or not. I tell you, if I'd come down here when I was young Harald's age, I'd be runni
ng the empire by now
Anyhow, we didn't have long to wait. Two days later - it seemed longer, because we couldn't do anything while we were waiting, couldn't go out to see to the stock, couldn't even walk round the yard collecting the eggs - two days later they came back.
It was early morning, about the time you'd be looking to drive the cows back to the sheds for milking. There was a thin grey mist hanging low, the sort that starts about four feet off the ground and collects round trees and buildings like wisps of wool snagged in the thorns. By mid-morning it'd all have burned away; but it was good cover for the leather-boat people, coming up through the woods. We had the bull in the pen directly facing the point where the woods were nearest to the palisade, on purpose to force them to come between it and the lake. It was a good strategy, based on what we knew about the way they liked to fight, which wasn't much. They'd killed Thorvald Eirikson with a volley of arrows, and that was about the limit of what we knew; so Bits's idea was to cramp them up so that only the ones on the outsides could shoot at us. We'd meet them head on at the narrowest place, hold them there if we could, while a couple of us would sneak round, open the pen and drive the bull into their rear.
Good strategy. After all, we had nothing to gain from killing them: what we wanted to do was persuade them that they didn't want to fight us, now or in the future; and up till then at least they'd been mortal afraid of the bull. If it suddenly turned up out of nowhere, right up their arses while their attention was on the fighting in front, there was a fair chance they'd panic and run for it, maybe even be scared enough to leave us alone for ever. For good measure, Bits decided, we'd drive up the young bullocks as well. You and I know that a dozen young bullocks may act tough, but the worst they'd ever do to you is try and lick you to death; the leather-boat people didn't know that, though. Anyhow, we reckoned that it might work, and we couldn't think of anything better in the time available.
Meadowland Tom Holt Page 26
