Wolves of War

by Martin Lake

  ‘Not Eohric?’ asked Ubbe in surprise.

  Thorvald shook his head.

  ‘The men were wise,’ Ivar said. ‘You shall remain leader of Guthrum’s men until he recovers. And thereafter, if he doesn’t.’

  Eohric cried out and stepped close to Ivar, his fists clenched.

  Ivar turned to face him, his face calm yet threatening. ‘You seek to dispute my decision? You may be a jarl’s son but I am Ivar the Boneless.’

  Eohric glared at him a moment longer, then hung his head.

  ‘Get out of my sight, boy. Go to your brother’s side. And if the leech asks for anything make sure you fetch it.’

  Eohric slunk off after the stretcher.

  ‘So,’ Halfdan asked Thorvald. ‘Did anybody speak to the king?’

  ‘I went to his hall,’ Thorvald said. ‘But I deem I am a man of few words and they are rough-hewn. I took the skald Leif with me and he spoke for us.’

  The brothers exchanged astonished looks. Leif began to shiver with fear.

  ‘He did well,’ Sigurd said suddenly. ‘My brother did well.’

  Ivar glanced at him a moment, then folded his arms and stared at Leif. His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  ‘Tell me, Leif,’ he said, ‘exactly how did you do well?’

  Leif went red in the face. ‘I struck a bargain with the English king.’

  Halfdan went to speak but Ivar silenced him with a look.

  ‘Tell us more.’

  ‘Neither Thorvald nor I knew what Guthrum was going to say to Edmund,’ Leif said. ‘Did not know what you had commanded him. So I had to decide for myself.’

  ‘You had no right —’ Halfdan cried.

  ‘Peace, brother,’ Ivar said. ‘Let us not condemn the man before we hear all of his tale.’

  Leif gulped and forced himself to continue.

  ‘I told the king that we wanted quarters, secure quarters with good shelter and plenty of food.’

  ‘We can take all that for ourselves,’ Halfdan cried. ‘We told Guthrum to demand treasure: coins, gold, jewels, precious books, slaves.’

  ‘We did not know that,’ Leif answered.

  ‘A Viking would know it. But not a ceorl such as you.’

  Ivar held up his hand for silence. ‘Continue your tale, Leif,’ he commanded.

  ‘Edmund agreed to my request very quickly,’ he said, ‘but offered to quarter us for only two months. I demanded he provide for us for two months after Yule. And he agreed.’

  Ivar’s eyes widened with respect.

  ‘You did well,’ Ubbe said. ‘That will take us to the spring.’

  ‘And then what?’ Halfdan asked. ‘This will only give the Angles time to ready their forces and we will be slaughtered in our tents.’

  Leif swallowed hard. ‘I assume that wise leaders will guard against such a danger,’ he said.

  He felt Thorvald’s fingers dig into his shoulder, a warning to control his tongue.

  ‘There is more,’ the helmsman said. ‘Leif bargained for more.’ He gave Leif a little shove.

  ‘Horses,’ Leif continued. ‘I demanded that the Angles provide a thousand horses for our warriors.’

  Halfdan looked bemused. ‘Why? We have our ships.’

  ‘English lands are vast,’ Leif said. ‘I have heard from Asgrim the Traveller that you can sail only so far in them. Horses will enable you to cross every kingdom in the island. They are the longships of the land.’

  Ivar clapped his hands with pleasure and thumped Leif on the shoulder.

  ‘You did well, Leif.’ He pulled a thick gold ring from off his arm and handed it to Leif. ‘This may prove the first of many. You have earned it. And I name you Spokesman to the sons of Ragnar. This shall be proclaimed amongst the men.’

  Leif grinned with delight. He saw ahead of him a path as glittering as Bifrost, the rainbow bridge which led to the Gods.

  The rest of Guthrum’s crew soon spread news of the events in Norwic and Leif was celebrated by the warriors. Pillage and plunder were attractive but the thought of safe quarters throughout the harsh winter months was even more so.

  The only thing to spoil Leif’s pleasure was the unremitting animosity of Eohric. Whenever Ivar was near he spent most of his time at Guthrum’s bedside. But when Ivar was away he slipped outside of the tent and wasted no time in spreading discontent about Leif’s agreement with Edmund.

  His tactic worked; the army began to take sides. The older, more experienced men liked the notion of waiting out the winter months in comfort. Some, the younger men who had been on few campaigns, began to complain that Leif had deprived them of plunder.

  He began to worry and sought out Thorvald for counsel.

  ‘It’s only the young hotheads,’ Thorvald told him. ‘Nothing to worry about from them.’

  ‘Hotheads are hot-tempered,’ Leif said miserably. ‘If they can’t kill Angles they might choose to kill me instead.’

  ‘You’re safe while Ivar and his brothers smile upon you.’

  ‘Except for a stab in the dark,’ said Sigurd.

  ‘No man is safe from a stab in the dark,’ Thorvald said. ‘That is why he needs good friends.’

  ‘Do friends have cat’s eyes then?’ Leif asked. ‘To keep watch over him?’

  ‘No. But they can avenge a murdered friend.’

  ‘Small comfort, Thorvald, small comfort.’

  He pulled out his knife and began to sharpen it on a whet-stone.

  ‘That’s a sensible move,’ Thorvald said. ‘I wonder how long Eohric will bow to Ivar’s command to leave you well alone. If he thinks he can slay you in secret he’ll do so. You may have need for a sharp blade.’

  Leif stopped his work. ‘Why does Eohric hate me? I’ve never done him any harm.’

  ‘Because he’s mad,’ Sigurd said. He thought it best not to tell Thorvald how Leif had duped Eohric when they tried to escape from Ivar. He took the knife and whet-stone from Leif’s hands and began to sharpen with more skill than his brother could ever hope to muster.

  ‘Sigurd has the truth of it,’ Thorvald said. ‘I’ve known Eohric since he was a young boy. He had a vicious streak from the first. He loved to taunt and bully other boys, always when Guthrum was near to protect him from retribution. And he delighted to pull the legs off spiders and beat his puppy.’

  ‘Cursed by Loki,’ Sigurd said.

  Leif shuddered at the name. He had grown warier of the god of mischief since the day he glimpsed him in the smithy. He was beginning to think that Loki had cursed him, angered at his catching sight of him.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Thorvald said. ‘But Eohric’s grudge against Leif has other causes as well.’

  Leif stared at him intently, his heart hammering. If he could understand, he might be able to defend himself better.

  ‘You look like their older brother, Arnbjorn,’ Thorvald explained. ‘He was about my age and a man destined for great things, including inheriting his father’s wealth, hall and hearth-warriors. He was a strong and determined man, a brave warrior, and he and Guthrum were as close as brothers could be.

  ‘But Arnbjorn had no great liking for Eohric, despising him for his cruel nature and air of mischief. As the years went by he made no secret of his scorn. So, while Guthrum loved Arnbjorn, Eohric came to hate him. It is unfortunate for you that you resemble him. Every time Eohric sees you he is reminded of the brother who detested him. The brother he loathed and feared.’

  ‘So where is Arnbjorn now?’ Leif asked.

  ‘Dead.’

  Thorvald glanced around as if searching for unwelcome listeners.

  ‘He went out trapping foxes one winter morning,’ he continued. ‘But he did not return. He was found four days later, dead at the bottom of a steep river bank, his leg shattered by the fall, his skull cracked open to reveal his brain. We were not sure if he died from bleeding or from the cold. It was a terrible winter.’

  ‘He must not have been a skilled hunter,’ Sigurd said, ‘falling down a ba
nk like that.’

  ‘He was the best hunter in the village,’ Thorvald said. ‘He would not have fallen. Though he may have been pushed. After having his skull smashed open.’

  He gave Leif a grim smile. ‘So, keep your blade sharp and your eyes peeled, Leif.’ He got to his feet. ‘You can count me as a friend. But take my advice, make as many more as you can, and swiftly.’

  BIDING TIME

  Emissaries came from King Edmund a week later, bearing the Vikings great gifts and with details of where they were to over-winter.

  But the sons of Ragnar would not be told where to go.

  Ivar had investigated the great fortress which Thorvald had described to him. Now he demanded that one of the encampments should be within the fort and that the others should be along the river system which led from it.

  The emissaries argued against this at first, intent on settling the Vikings on the margins of the kingdom and far from access to any rivers. But Halfdan’s threats to ravage the land persuaded them otherwise and they hurried back to Norwic to tell King Edmund.

  They returned to say that they could use the fortress and naming three other places for them to be quartered. They had chosen the most distant parts of the kingdom, desolate and bleak with little shelter or pasture.

  The brothers demanded better.

  ‘You’ll come with me to the ancient fortress, Cnobheresburg,’ Ivar told Leif a few days later. ‘Ubbe goes to Thetford, Halfdan to Exning in the far west and Jarl Sidrac to Eye in the centre of the territory of the south folk.’

  Halfdan gave a savage laugh. ‘Edmund must take us for fools, trying to settle us in the forsaken parts of his kingdom. He’ll soon realise that he’s the fool.’

  ‘We’re placing our armies where we want them,’ Ivar explained. ‘We’re cutting Edmund’s kingdom in two and each camp will be in reach of the others by river.’

  The Viking armies would be strung across the centre of the kingdom, a threat to the north, the south and the heart.

  ‘And when we get their horses, what then?’ Leif asked.

  ‘We’ll be able to go where we please.’

  That afternoon, Guthrum’s fever broke and he sat up and demanded meat and ale. Thorvald sent for Deor.

  ‘He’s a strong man,’ the Leech said in admiration.

  ‘He’s a Viking,’ Eohric said, ‘and my brother. What did you expect?’

  ‘I expected nothing,’ Deor answered, ‘although I thought he might die.’

  He bent closer to Guthrum’s wounded arm. ‘Now I shall find out if I must saw his arm off.’

  He slowly undid the bandage, sniffing all the while. ‘No stench of wound-rot,’ he said.

  Guthrum nodded, almost casually, unwilling to admit the sense of hope which was etched upon his face.

  At last, Deor unwound the final piece of the bandage. The leaves he had placed there a week before were still in place, although brown with blood and torn and shredded.

  ‘Does it itch?’ Deor asked.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Good. That is probably our little friends still doing their work.’ He pulled off the leaves and smiled. Swarming on the wound were a mass of maggots, bloated, slow-moving, full feasted on the foulness of the wound. Carefully, Deor brushed them away. The arm was dark but flesh-coloured, not the charcoal black he had feared.

  ‘You’ll live,’ he said, straightening up. ‘And you’ll keep your arm.’

  Guthrum grinned in relief. ‘Thorvald,’ he said. ‘Fetch me an arm-ring. I would reward this excellent leech.’

  ‘You can reward me better by letting me go back to my people,’ Deor said.

  Guthrum laughed. ‘Do you think I will let a healer as good as you desert me? No. You will remain in my service. I will reward you well for it. You’ll have no cause for complaint.’

  Deor scowled but thought it wisest not to argue.

  ‘And now,’ Guthrum continued, ‘we must make our way to King Edmund’s hall to strike our bargain.’

  Thorvald and Deor exchanged glances.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Thorvald told Guthrum. ‘You’ve been lost in a fever. The bargain was struck a week ago.’

  Guthrum looked astonished. ‘I have lost a week?’

  Deor nodded.

  Guthrum tensed. ‘Who bargained for me?’ He stared at Eohric. ‘Not you?’

  ‘No brother. The rats you feed deserted me in favour of our helmsman.’

  ‘Good,’ Guthrum said. ‘I also would have chosen him to speak in my place.’

  ‘Except he didn’t,’ Eohric said. ‘He was too fearful to open his mouth. The blacksmith’s lackey spoke for you instead. And for Ivar.’

  Guthrum glanced at Thorvald. ‘I was not afraid to speak,’ he said. ‘But I deemed that Leif would have a smoother tongue.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Guthrum said. ‘Where is Leif now?’

  ‘I can send a man in search for him,’ Thorvald asked.

  ‘He won’t be hard to find,’ Eohric said. ‘His smooth tongue will be up Ivar’s arse.’

  ‘And yours will be wrenched from your mouth if Ivar hears this,’ Thorvald said.

  Eohric stepped closer to Thorvald, his face in a fury.

  Thorvald merely laughed and turned to Guthrum. ‘I’ll send for Leif. He will tell you more about our meeting with Edmund.’

  ‘Come eat with me, Thorvald,’ said Guthrum, ‘and tell me about how you brought my ship back here.’ He gave Eohric a suspicious look.

  Leif arrived shortly after, and not alone. Ivar was with him.

  Eohric went deadly pale, he licked his dust-dry lips and he looked about to bolt from the tent.

  ‘What’s troubling you?’ Ivar sneered. ‘Disappointed that your brother didn’t die?’

  ‘I love my brother,’ Eohric mumbled.

  Ivar ignored him and went to Guthrum. ‘You’re as tough as a mule. I’m glad of it.’

  ‘I think the healer may have helped,’ Guthrum said.

  Ivar stared at Deor. ‘Has Guthrum rewarded you?’ he asked.

  ‘He has promised me a gold arm-ring.’

  ‘Which gives you reward but also makes you his man.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  Ivar held his gaze for a few minutes. ‘And I shall reward you. Guthrum is a not the sort of man I wish to lose.’

  ‘And what reward will you give to me?’ Deor asked.

  ‘Your life and a purse of golden byzants.’

  ‘Both are acceptable to me.’

  Ivar laughed and clapped Deor on the shoulder. ‘You have guts and a dry wit, Englishman. I might even come to like you.’

  ‘Come sit with me,’ Guthrum told Leif. ‘I would hear your tale of how you spoke for me to Edmund.’

  The following day, Leif was summoned by Ivar. He found him with his brothers staring at the river.

  ‘We are having a feast tonight,’ Ivar said, ‘to celebrate Guthrum’s recovery. I want you to tall a tale about the fight where he got injured. Make it honest but put in a few laughs at Guthrum’s expense.’

  Leif looked horrified. ‘Put in a few laughs. But isn’t that risky? For me?’

  ‘Guthrum in not the sort to bear a grudge,’ Halfdan said.

  ‘Unlike his brother,’ added Ivar. ‘You would be wise not to mock Eohric in any way.’

  ‘I don’t need telling that, my lord,’ Leif said.

  He was about to leave but then hesitated, trying to formulate a question which had been nagging at him.

  ‘We’re still at the camp,’ he began. ‘We’ve not moved to our quarters. Why is this?’

  Ivar stared at Leif, shrewdly. ‘Because Edmund hasn’t agreed to our demands yet. We need his promise to be certain that he provides food and shelter for us. Otherwise all is pointless.’

  Leif stared into the distance, towards where he guessed that Edmund and his advisers would be arguing whether or not to agree with Ivar’s demands.

  ‘But what if Edmund doesn’t agree with you? What if he insists
that we go where he chooses.’

  ‘Then we persuade him,’ Ivar said. ‘By tearing at his guts.’ He pointed to the north. A dozen warriors were heading to the camp, driving before them a couple of score of people, sheep being herded not by shepherds but by wolves.

  ‘Slaves for the camp,’ Ivar said. ‘If we mount more raids like this, Edmund will agree to our terms.’

  The people were in their prime, mostly in their twenties, chosen for their strength and likelihood to toil for a good many years. They were sullen and frightened, their eyes widening in horror as they trudged ever closer to the huge army. They were burdened with sacks containing grain, pulses, smoked meats; food looted from their villages to feed the Viking horde. There were also a dozen donkeys, laden down with ale and mead.

  ‘Strong men,’ Ivar said approvingly as they passed by.

  ‘And lovely women,’ said Halfdan. Then he bellowed, ‘Bring the women over here.’

  With much wailing and resistance, the women were separated from the men. A few of the younger men tried to prevent this but were beaten savagely by the guards. Finally, the women were pushed forward and stood, terrified, in front of the brothers and Leif.

  ‘I’ll have that one,’ Ubbe said, indicating a woman with flaming red hair.

  ‘Those two for me,’ Halfdan said. ‘The buxom ones.’

  ‘What about you, Leif?’ Ivar asked. ‘You did us a great service. Take a woman for your bed-slave as your reward.’

  Leif was shocked. He was not considered a great success with women back home. He would often fall smitten by a beautiful or kindly girl and then spend too much time wondering how best to approach her, if she would accept him, and then if she’d be satisfied with him, throw him over or ask to be his wife. In the meanwhile, a less imaginative man would move more swiftly and snatch the prize from under his nose.

  And here, he was given a chance to choose a woman who had no say whether or not to accept him.

  ‘I’m not sure…’ he began. What if the women he chose hated or despised him?

  ‘Not sure which one?’ Ivar asked, not realising Leif’s dilemma. ‘Take the one that stirs your balls.’

  Leif gulped and stared at the women. They were all comely, all desirable. In the end he narrowed his choice to three, his eyes travelling over the face and figure of each of them.