by MD. Lachlan
‘It will be good to wash the salt from my clothes,’ said Leshii.
‘And to be in a trading town.’
‘I have nothing to trade, but if I can be of service to you, mention it and the task is done,’ said Leshii. He didn’t like this man, with the scar at the corner of his mouth that gave the impression of a lopsided smile.
‘Do you think you can get us a good price for the slaves?’
‘I was born a long time ago, chieftain, and I have traded since I was a boy. I can buy at half the price and sell at double compared to any merchant you have ever met.’
Skakki looked out to sea. ‘I heard you say you are no longer welcome in Aldeigjuborg.’
‘I’m only welcome if I can bring a gift I do not have.’
‘What gift?’
‘A woman.’
Skakki nodded. ‘My trade is slaves,’ he said, ‘though I am a fighter not a bargainer. I lose half I have won in battle in the marketplace.’
‘You are suggesting we work together? I am no fighting man.’
‘I see that,’ said Skakki, ‘but you can win out in a deal all right, I think. You have the look about you.’
‘That I can do.’
‘So I will test you,’ he said. ‘The men you travel with are not kin to you?’
‘I never saw them before the spring.’
‘Good. I intend to take them as slaves. The healer will sell for a great price and the Horda man will sell to the prince himself, I think. He is too unruly for a farmer to keep.’
‘It is late in the season,’ said Leshii. ‘You will not get a good price.’
‘I will get a better one with you on my side.’
‘The merchants there will not have me.’
‘On my word, they will accept you. I’ve brought them riches in slaves and plunder. They will accept you all right.’
Leshii continued his objections, as much to hear them himself as to convince the Viking. ‘And if there are Horda men in this port, what then? There will be a mighty fight if you bump into one of their ships. Those men are not slow to draw their swords.’
‘The Horda are all in Britannia,’ Skakki said, ‘and the king of the west does not welcome them to his shores. I am a reckless man but not that reckless.’
‘Then you have a deal. I warn you, neither is a weakling nor a coward. The fat one is a mighty warrior and the thin one mightier. They have killed many, many men and employed powerful sorceries.’
‘Good,’ said Skakki. ‘It will win me more renown to have them as my captives. But I counsel you, if you attempt to warn them I will cut your throat.’
Leshii blanched. ‘When do you intend to act?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Leshii breathed out. At least he had time to think about what he would do. He went over to the mule and threw some of its shit over the side. The animal was a good lesson to him, he thought. It took what life threw at it and never complained. It just sat chewing on the hay they had taken from a deserted farm on the shore, looked out to sea and shat. Leshii almost laughed. It was like a motto for him:. ‘Look out to sea and shit.’ A good maxim by which to live your life – look forward but don’t forget to take care of the practicalities. What was his choice here? Be a hero or a pragmatist?
‘Friend!’ Skakki had his arm around Ofaeti, or as far around him as he could get it.
‘I am not your friend,’ said Ofaeti, trying to control his temper. ‘We are companions. Many years must pass, and you must give proof of brave deeds before I call you friend. I have only three I call friend in this world. That man by the prow, who though he is quiet at the fire is loud in battle, has proved himself to me. That merchant there, who lives in fear but acts bravely, and so is braver than many who were born bold, who is willing to crawl into an enemy nest at night to secure me a boat, who shares his food without question and, though he is old, complains but little.’
‘And your third friend?’
‘The sword at my side,’ said Ofaeti and patted the sword.
As his hand went back to the tiller, Skakki had a fit of coughing and tapped his hand three times on the rail of the boat. Then he reached forward in a quick movement, drew Ofaeti’s sword from his belt and took a swift step backwards.
The coughing had been a signal. As Skakki grabbed the sword six men fell upon the Raven, but Hugin wasn’t so easily surprised. Though he too had his sword taken, he was quick, nimble and vigilant. He was on his feet and had thrown one man down before the others had realised he had moved. However, he was surrounded, the bulk of the men concentrating on him.
Skakki hadn’t trusted Leshii either. A young Viking with a wispy beard and no front teeth drew a knife on him and smiled, an expression that made him look more fierce than if he’d scowled. Tomorrow. Of course Skakki wasn’t going to risk Leshii telling Ofaeti and Hugin what he planned. In fact he had approached the merchant before he moved against them to put doubt into his mind, to remove him from the fight and to ensure he didn’t endanger himself on impulse.
Ofaeti stepped towards Skakki, his hands out wide.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I have lived long enough and I think you have too. Let us go to visit Ran, that lady of the waves, together. Let us see where she dwells on the ocean floor.’
‘You will fight for the Danish king as part of his warrior elite.’
‘Right now I am busy fighting for myself,’ said Ofaeti, ‘and I doubt the high lord of Haithabu is so soft as to want a man who has been so easily bested in battle by one as meek and girlish as you. Come, hit at me, or do you only face Horda women and children, keeping away as you do when their men are home from the sea?’
‘I have killed plenty of your kinsmen,’ said Skakki.
‘Then make it one more. You are many. Can you be so womanly as to give way to one unarmed man?’
‘We would rather not damage the goods,’ said Skakki.
‘My grandfather was a berserker, a man who raged his way across the world with spear and sword, never taking a backward step. My father was a milder man, yet still the wolves grew fat wherever his ship landed. I am Thiörek, son of Thetmar, son of Thetleif, and I will not yield to you. I have seen women bolder with sewing needles than you with your swords and spears.’ He took his knife from his belt and threw it to the floor.
‘Come, I have no weapon!’ He was screaming at his enemies, banging at his chest.
Leshii marvelled at the big berserker’s courage. These northerners had something inside them, values and ideals that shaped and ordered their lives and made them so much more than he was. What would it be like to have a purpose beyond life, beyond pleasure, beyond having enough money for dancing girls and a fine house, to see further than an abacus, profit and loss? Happiness was all very well but it passed in a moment. Always something came to take it away – bandit attack, a blight or famine in the east or, more mundanely, the little irritations of life: a bad stomach, an argument with a friend, a bad buy in a mule or a slave. He understood the Norsemen now. Their hunger for fame was not just a matter of pride; it was a spur to great things – to have lived magnificently and to be remembered for it. They wanted to do something that would endure. To them that was more important than happiness, than comfort, than anything at all.
Few people had ever really done anything for Leshii. This Norseman had protected him. The sorcerer too had helped him, offered to reward him out of all proportion to the service he required. Leshii knew that either would only need a moment’s distraction to gain the upper hand in a fight, so he reached inside his kaftan, took off the necklace, held it up and shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Leave them be, or I will drop this over the side. It belonged to a princess of Serkland. It broke her heart when she lost it, and she died of sadness.’
Skakki turned.
‘I have rarely seen such a piece,’ he said, ‘but I think rather that you will give it than bargain for it.’
‘You will have to kill me first.’
‘Then I will. Such a neckla
ce will beat the profit of ten years of trading. I can find another little merchant in that time, should I live so long.’
The merchant held the necklace over the side of the boat. ‘If you do not release us you will never have this.’
‘You can’t sit with your hand over the side all the way to Haithabu. Are you offering that for your lives?’
Leshii suddenly saw the hopelessness of the situation. The Raven had been forced to a sitting position, eight men around him, one choking him, two on each arm and three sitting on his legs. He was doomed and Ofaeti was unarmed. Leshii could try to cut a deal, bargain for his life, accept the loss of the necklace and start again at Haithabu. But what was the point? Better to die in a beautiful moment than the slow degradation of old age. His hip felt bad, his feet were weary. His time was up.
‘I’m saying that you will kill me anyway, for I will never give it to you. Ofaeti, give me one of your gods.’
‘Loki is their god,’ said the slave with the red hair.
‘Not him,’ said Ofaeti, ‘he is a god of strife.’
‘It seems to me you people love strife. And as for you, Skakki, I wish strife on you. For Loki then,’ said Leshii and threw the necklace over the side.
Skakki went white with rage and leaped towards Leshii to cut him down. Leshii dodged his sword and ran down the ship but he stumbled into the back of his standing mule. Leshii rolled underneath the mule and out the other side as Skakki charged. Then they were running around the creature like a childhood game, Skakki suddenly changing direction to try to catch Leshii out, screaming and shouting that he would kill the fool who could waste such a treasure.
The men around Ofaeti looked away from the big Viking for a heartbeat, who seized his chance, felling one with a tooth-powdering punch and grabbing his spear. A breath later a second warrior had been knocked over the side of the ship and another’s knee was shattered by the fat man’s stamp.
The merchant was good for twice around the mule, no more. He was old and Skakki was quick. The third time around, the slaver caught him and lifted his sword to strike, grabbing Leshii’s kaftan with his free hand. Leshii caught Skakki’s sword arm, but the Viking drove a headbutt into his face, making him release his grip. Skakki swung again, putting his hand on the mule’s rump for balance.
The animal, uncomplaining from Ladoga to Paris and halfway back again, suddenly decided it had had enough, launching a good kick, not into the Viking but into Leshii’s leg. Leshii hit the floor like a discarded coat and Skakki’s hack sliced the air.
Ofaeti didn’t even bother to weigh the spear in his hand. He threw it half the length of the ship. It caught Skakki above the temple, sending him spinning to the deck. Then Ofaeti had an axe from one of the fallen men. A mob of crewmen were still occupied pinning down the Raven, a tricky task without killing him or injuring him beyond use as a slave. Three slavers lay dead on the boards or drowning overboard, then it was four as Ofaeti smashed the axe down into the skull of the writhing man he had maimed with his kick. The rest were free to face Ofaeti. But whereas before they had found it amusing to watch their chieftain chase the merchant and four of their kinsmen bait the unarmed fat man, there were no smiles on their faces now.
‘Come on, brothers,’ said Ofaeti. ‘Four of your men lie dead who faced me unarmed. Who would like to try me now I have this skull-biter in my hand? Or will you cut your losses and join me? You know my fame! I am renowned for my fighting skill wherever warriors gather to talk.’ He tapped the axe on his palm.
A squat man with a big blond beard spoke: ‘Much would I like to join a warrior like you. Skakki was a harsh chief and I do not mourn his loss. And I think you would be a better leader, as it is clear you are a mighty man. But the Valkyries are swooping for our kinsmen now. And though I think it likely they will soon swoop for me, our dead must be avenged.’
The man was doing his best to use fine words, Leshii noted, as the Norsemen did when they thought death might be close.
‘No kinsmen of mine,’ said a voice.
‘Nor mine, neither.’
Four warriors came to Ofaeti’s side and stood to face their fellows.
‘You are six,’ said Ofaeti, ‘and we are five. So it looks as though the weaving of my fate may not yet be done.’
‘We are thirteen,’ said the warrior, ‘when my fellows have slit your man’s throat.’
‘Too late for that,’ said one of the warriors on top of the Raven.
‘Why?’
‘He’s already dead.’
Ofaeti pursed his lips and nodded. ‘One of my kinsmen is dead, four of yours. Will the gods worry about the numbers?’
‘It is some sort of recompense and enough, I think, for honour,’ said the blond Viking. ‘We will place ourselves under your command, fat warrior.’
Leshii went to the body of the Raven. It was losing heat already and there was no pulse. He spoke to him: ‘So, your destiny was not as great as you thought. Still, my friend, I am sorry you have gone. You offered me friendship, not in word but in deed, and for that I am grateful.’
Leshii looked out to sea. Now for Haithabu, he thought, with a hundred dihrams and a fine stash of swords. He made the lightning-bolt sign and looked up at the sky. ‘Good fortune at last,’ he said. Then he remembered his dedication as he’d thrown the necklace into the sea. ‘And thanks to Loki too,’ he said. ‘You are a generous god indeed.’
68 Prayers Unanswered
Jehan lay still. His limbs had an ice in them that was nothing to do with the winter. His bones had twisted, turned and set, and were no more use to him than the icicles hanging from the rigging. He had gone beyond shivering, felt drowsy and could hardly keep his eyes open. He knew that he could change things, knew that all he had to do was take off the stone at his neck and the wolf would come out inside him – the wolf would find a way. But he would not remove it. Death, and Jehan was sure he was dying, was preferable to the alternative.
He said psalms in his head, but they were nothing more than a jumble of words. He felt the world fading. Any sort of movement was beyond him now, even the rocking that had blighted him since he was a child.
Her face came to him. The Virgin in the fields, Aelis in the fields. ‘Do not seek me,’ she had told him. And yet he had. He had tracked her down, lain with her and been happy, the worst sin of all – luxuriating in his offence to God.
Jehan chose death, not as a way out but to welcome in the punishment the Almighty had in store for him. He had eaten of unclean meat, he had fornicated and laughed in the face of God. He deserved to suffer eternally.
Men were on the ship. People were moving things, the sea chests, weapons. Two stood over him.
‘This is the monk?’
‘A cripple, khagan.’
Jehan felt a hand touch his face.
‘Let me see him. Is he alive?’
‘Who knows?’
Jehan hoped the men would not help him. He needed to die. He was an abomination. If he could have moved, he would have attacked the men and made them kill him. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t give any sign of life. Jehan felt a hand at his chest checking for breathing. It rested on the Wolfstone, felt its shape through his tunic and pulled the cloth aside.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s just a pebble, khagan, the man is as poor as a Pecheneg. No jewels here.’
‘Let me see.’
Jehan felt someone else take the stone.
‘Not a fit ornament for a king, khagan.’
‘This is the necessary stone.’
‘Khagan?’
‘There is a prophecy. Great fortune was promised to me if I found this stone. This will fetter a god.’ The voice was urgent, talking to no one in particular.
‘I’m glad to hear it, sir.’
‘This is safety,’ said Helgi. ‘This is the end of our enemies.’
Jehan felt a quick tension in the thong at his neck. There was a snick and it disappeared.
‘You’re going to wea
r that thing, lord?’
‘It is a gift of the god. This is a blight to witches, a fetter to trolls and wolves. We are blessed, greatly blessed. I will wear it until we are back at the hall. There is one who needs it more than me.’
Jehan felt that a terrible burden had been lifted from him, a heaviness removed from his head. Was this the certainty of death coming to him? The lightness of the soul freeing itself from the shackles of the mortal body?
‘We need to get back to the lady.’
‘What of the monk, lord?’
‘The fates have shown the death they require for him,’ said Helgi. ‘Take off his furs and leave him to the cold.’
Jehan felt rough hands stripping him, the cold biting at his body, the deck burning his naked skin. Then he heard the men climb off the ship, the sound of a horse breathing, its tack chinking and clinking and finally moving away.
So what now? The cold gripped him so hard. Jehan saw himself as if through a sheet of ice, heard himself speaking to Aelis and she replying.
I will be myself again.
But I will never be me. You are an enemy of the gods.
I will be myself again.
You are a killer, a slayer of your own kin.
His head turned. It felt full of ice shards. He was a killer, had killed, would always kill, he knew. He had to try to die.
This time, he said, I will die for you.
You will be my death. Last time you made it impossible for me to live. This time you will kill me.
No!
He closed his eyes and prayed for the cold to take him. But it didn’t. The hunger did.
69 Helgi’s Salvation
Aelis lay alone by the fire in Helgi’s great hall. She had been put on a feather mattress and was beginning to feel properly warm for the first time since she had left the forest. At first the heat had been painful on her toes and fingers, but eventually they regained a delicious suppleness. As the cold melted from her blood the pliability felt new, as though her limbs had never been so free before. She stretched out her hands, relieved she had finally arrived somewhere she might find her former self again. Her intuition about Helgi was that he sought to protect her. The runes did not tell her he was her friend, or even that he was well disposed towards her, but she had the strong feeling that her safety was his first concern and was too happy that she had found refuge to wonder why.
