Wolves of War

by Martin Lake

  The whores moved in that afternoon and were soon doing a roaring trade.

  Half a dozen local whores had not fled with the rest of the townsfolk, electing to stay behind and see what livelihood they could gain from the invaders. Things looked ugly for a while as the two group of women squared up to one another. But then Nerienda offered to house the Northumbrians in her own brothel and allow them to keep all their earnings, so the crisis was averted.

  ‘You’ll take no money from them?’ Sigurd asked in surprise.

  ‘Not for the moment. But when they get comfortable and complacent I’ll give them a new choice. Pay up or move out and starve.’

  ‘She’s a good woman,’ Leif said in admiration.

  ‘Yes,’ Sigurd said, proudly. ‘I chose well.’

  ‘Except you didn’t choose her. She chose you.’

  Sigurd looked disgruntled for a moment. ‘I suppose she did,’ he said at last. ‘But that’s because she knew I was a good catch.’

  Leif was summoned to Ivar’s hall four days later. He was surprised to see Deor sitting comfortably on a stool close to the fire. On the other side sat the Northumbrian captain, Ricsige. His ankles were chained but apart from that he seemed in a better state than when he had been captured. He had been given good food and ale and Deor had cleaned up and bandaged his wounds.

  ‘Why are we here?’ Leif asked.

  Deor pointed towards Ricsige. ‘Ivar wants to question this one and we’re to be there when he does.’

  ‘Why us?’ Leif asked in surprise.

  ‘Me because I can understand the man’s speech better than you Danes can. And you, because Ivar values your intelligence.’

  ‘Don’t mock me,’ Leif said wearily.

  ‘I’m not. I’ve seen how you’ve impressed him. And don’t say you don’t know it. He’s told you enough times.’

  Leif gave a shrug. Deor was right, of course, Ivar often said he admired his cunning. But Leif often wondered if this was not really the case and that he merely said it to flatter him for some nefarious purpose.

  ‘So you’re here at last,’ came a gruff voice from behind. Ivar and Ubbe had arrived.

  They nodded to Leif and Deor and marched over to Ricsige, standing over him.

  The Northumbrian squirmed in his seat. He had seen none of the brothers since his capture. This was a deliberate ploy on Ivar’s part, intended to give him time to agonise over his fate. A man’s own fearful imaginings can be far more effective than actual threats.

  Leif was intrigued to watch the Northumbrian straighten and set his mouth firm as if expecting a killing blow to fall any moment.

  Instead, Ivar handed him a golden armlet. ‘I gather you’ve not been paid for several months,’ he explained in a mild voice. ‘Take it, it’s yours. There are no conditions attached.’

  Ricsige’s hands shook as he took the armlet.

  ‘Put it on,’ Ivar said, encouragingly.

  Ricsige gulped and did as he was bid, although reluctantly. Wearing a lord’s armlet was tantamount to becoming his follower. Saying there were no conditions attached were mere words which could easily be lost on the wind. The visible sign of the armlet could not be gainsaid so easily.

  ‘So,’ Ivar continued, ‘my brother and I would learn from you, Ricsige. We want to know about your homeland and its kings.’

  ‘There is only one king in Northumbria,’ Ricsige said. His tongue licked his lips nervously.

  ‘And he is?’

  ‘Some say that it is Aelle.’

  ‘Not Osberht?’

  ‘That traitor? He slew King Æthelred and seized the throne.’

  ‘And a dozen years later Aelle seized the throne from him?’

  ‘Another traitor.’

  Ubbe chuckled. ‘Northumbria seems a very nest of vipers.’

  ‘So, if both Osberht and Aelle are traitors,’ Ivar continued, ‘they are false kings and should not be allowed to rule.’

  Ricsige shrugged but did not answer.

  ‘Then who should be king?’

  ‘Few men have a good blood claim,’ Ricsige said, ‘though many pretend otherwise. My belief is that Echberht has as good a claim as any.’

  ‘Do you know this Echberht and where we might find him?’

  Ricsige nodded. ‘I do. He is my cousin and lives in Bedlintun in Bernicia, beyond the great walls the old giants built

  ‘Frost giants?’ Ubbe said to Ivar. ‘I didn’t know they came to these lands.’

  ‘If there’s a wall built by giants I can’t see who else it was,’ Ivar said.

  He turned to Leif. ‘Hey, Skald, how would you like to go and see a wall built by giants?’

  Leif appeared to ponder it for a while. ‘I think I would prefer to remain close to you and your brothers so that I can compose tales about your mighty deeds.’

  Ubbe appeared flattered by his answer but Ivar snorted with contempt. ‘Don’t be such a weasel,’ he said. ‘I’m sending you north to bring the heir to the Northumbrian throne here.’

  ‘On my own?’ Leif said in horror.

  ‘A fool as well as a weasel. No, of course, not on your own. I’ll send a chieftain who can impress this Echberht.’ He pondered for a moment longer. ‘Guthrum has brains and a thirsting spirit. You shall go with him and his men.’

  ‘But not his brother,’ Leif said hastily.

  Ivar pursed his lips thoughtfully but did not reply.

  THE NORTHERN LANDS

  ‘I beg you, Ivar,’ Leif said, ‘don’t send Eohric with us. He hates me.’

  ‘I realise that,’ Ivar said, grinning as he stroked the neck of Leif’s horse. ‘That’s why I did it. You’ll have to keep on your toes to avoid any unpleasantness. It will sharpen your wits still more.’

  ‘It’s not my sharp wits I’m thinking about. It’s Eohric’s sharp knife in the dead of night.’

  ‘Then it will improve your fighting skills as well.’ He clapped Leif on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. Guthrum knows you are my man and will keep his brother on a tight leash.’

  ‘In that case, why bother sending Eohric at all?’

  ‘Would you rather that he remain here when you are far away? I’ve seen how he looks at your woman.’

  Leif’s heart turned to stone. He had begun to harbour suspicions that Eohric lusted after Aebbe but Sigurd had tried to persuade him that he was being foolish. Yet if Ivar had noticed, there must be some truth in it. He took a deep breath. Better to have Eohric close to hand than in Aebbe’s bed.

  Not that he had any choice in the matter anyway. Ivar had made his mind up and would not be argued with.

  Guthrum was already mounted with a score of his men beside him. Eohric was a little to one side, eyeing Leif like a cat eyes a mouse.

  Leif climbed into his saddle, his face a picture of woe.

  Thorvald smiled at him. ‘Cheer up, Leif,’ he said. ‘A Skald needs adventures to write about.’

  Leif felt like saying that he was no Skald but he knew better than that. Being Ivar’s Skald was the only thing keeping him safe.

  They headed through the gates and onto Dere Street, a road which stretched as straight as a spear to the north west. They travelled along it a fast clip for the rest of the day. There was open country close to the road but it grew more heavily wooded beyond. There were a few settlements but none large or prosperous looking. Unlike on their journey through Mercia they saw no sign of any enemy warriors.

  ‘Are you Northumbrians content to have us ride across your kingdom?’ Guthrum asked Ricsige.

  ‘Some, perhaps. What difference does it make to people whose lands have been ruined by civil war and slaughter?’

  ‘So, there’s not much to plunder,’ Eohric said. ‘Ivar was a fool to make us journey hither when there are rich pickings in Mercia.’

  ‘Mercia is powerful,’ Guthrum said. ‘Only a fool attacks an enemy he cannot hope to beat. Northumbria will be less of a foe.’

  ‘And where’s the glory in that?’

  �
�Glory doesn’t fill bellies or treasure hoards,’ Guthrum answered.

  Leif leaned towards Thorvald. ‘I see Eohric still has no grasp of what is feasible,’ he muttered.

  ‘He’s a mad dog,’ Thorvald answered. ‘Loki’s beast.’

  Leif shuddered visibly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Thorvald asked. ‘You have no need to fear Eohric while Guthrum and I are with you.’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s the mention of Loki.’ Leif glanced around as if the god were riding amongst them. ‘I am cursed by him, Thorvald. He has signalled me out for his malice.’

  ‘It does not seem that way to me. You have the favour of the greatest Viking who ever lived, a pretty wench, a house and good friends.’

  ‘But Loki smooths a man’s path so he slides more swiftly into the trap he has set for him.’

  Thorvald raised an eyebrow but did not reply. If anyone knew about the machinations of the gods it would be a Skald. He just hoped that Leif was wrong about it. He had no wish for disaster to strike his friend but knew that all men are powerless against the gods.

  They camped that night in the lee of a wood and headed north the next morning. The weather turned colder with the occasional downpour of rain. Most of the warriors seemed to hardly notice it. Leif drew his cloak and furs higher and shivered miserably.

  Soon after noon they arrived at a sizable village.

  ‘This is Catric,’ Ricsige said. ‘There are no more settlements until Alcleat, a score or more miles north. We should stay here.’

  Guthrum needed no persuading. He was a tall and heavy man and his pony was trudging ever more slowly, making him ever more frustrated.

  They commandeered the thegn’s hall, booting him and his family out into the cold. He, in his turn, did the same to the miller.

  The Vikings fed well that night, consuming much of the food the villagers had accumulated for winter.

  They did the same when they descended upon Alcleat. The thegn there showed more spirit and ordered them to ride on. They slaughtered him and his family to cow his people and set fire to his hall when they departed next morning.

  The land got wilder as they rode northward. High, bleak hills rose in forbidding ranks to their left and although the road mostly kept to the lower ground there were occasions when it climbed so steeply they had to get off their ponies and trudge beside them. It was a trial for them and Leif marvelled at the hardihood of the men who had built it.

  But if he marvelled at the road that was as nothing to his astonishment when they reached the great wall two days later. It was built on a bluff and stretched to east and west further than the eye could see.

  ‘So this is the wall that the frost giants built,’ Thorvald said, his voice awe-struck.

  Leif could not answer. He was less convinced than the others that it had been built by giants for he had seen great edifices in his youth in the Frankish lands. But never anything like this.

  Ricsige, on the other hand, seemed completely unmoved by it. ‘We still have a day’s journey ahead of us,’ he said. ‘We should move on.’

  They cantered along another ancient road which ran parallel to the wall. It was in better repair than the one they had been travelling on and they made good progress. As daylight faded Ricsige called a halt at a huge square fortress which stood at the end of the great wall. The fortress walls were high but crumbling and the sound of bleating could be heard from within.

  Guthrum listened for a moment and then turned to Ricsige with suspicion. ‘Are there only sheep in there or are we likely to face armed men?’

  Ricsige shrugged. ‘It’s sometimes used by warriors crossing the wall. We won’t know if we lack the courage to find out.’

  Guthrum glared at him for his insult and led the way through a shattered gate. The others followed. The place was deserted save for a flock of sheep and a shepherd boy who took one look at them and ran for his life.

  ‘There’s plenty of meat, at any rate,’ Guthrum said. The men searched the fortress for wood to make a fire, while two of them killed, sheared and butchered the two plumpest animals they could find.

  The fire was soon blazing and the meat threaded onto a huge spit. As darkness fell the scent of roasting meat filled the men’s noses and they realised just how hungry they were. They feasted well that night. It felt like their long journey was well and truly over.

  The next morning they crossed the wall and headed north to Ricsige’s cousin’s home. It was a small village on a ridge of land half a mile from the coast. They were spotted by villagers in the fields who ran back to their homes to raise the alarm.

  When the Vikings reached the village they were faced by a score of men bearing bill-hooks and seaxes. Another dozen were better-armed with swords and shields. A man with long, black beard glared at them, the blade of his sword resting on his shoulder.

  ‘Begone,’ the man cried, ‘unless you seek to manure my fields with your shit, blood and bones.’

  ‘Thank you for your warm welcome, cousin,’ Ricsige called, dismounting from his horse and making towards him.

  The man peered at him in astonishment. ‘Is it you?’ he cried.

  ‘As ever, Echberht, as ever.’ Ricsige threw his arms wide.

  Echberht sheathed his sword, pushed past his men and embraced Ricsige. Then he looked up, askance, at the Vikings on their mounts.

  ‘Are these men from Deria?’ he asked.

  ‘From Denmark and Norway,’ Ricsige said.

  Echberht fell silent and regarded them more intently. ‘What makes my little cousin ride with Vikings?’ he asked. His voice was soft with menace.

  ‘I am their captive. They are settled in York. A thousand warriors and more.’

  Echberht whistled. ‘And what of our brave King Aelle?’

  ‘No sign of him. Nor of Osberht,’

  Echberht shook his head derisively. ‘Osberht is in the north, gathering an army to fight Aelle.’

  ‘And you, cousin? Do you support Osberht or Aelle?’

  ‘A snake or a rat. Why should I support either?’

  Ricsige bent and whispered something in Echberht’s ear. He straightened, glanced swiftly at Guthrum, then bent to listen more closely still.

  Guthrum eyes narrowed with suspicion and he signalled to Thorvald. Both men silently drew their weapons, and when they saw this, the rest of the Vikings did likewise. Leif was the last to do so, concentrating on the two cousins, wondering what they might be saying.

  ‘I don’t think they mean to fight us,’ he whispered to Guthrum.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For all his bluster, I doubt that Echberht is a hero. And he certainly isn’t a fool. He may have a shield-wall but it’s made up of farm-workers. He has no more warriors than we do. Any fight would leave most of his folk dead.’

  ‘He looks at us with great doubt.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you? We Vikings are not loved here. And distrust seems to run in the veins of the Northumbrians. And is that not the reason we have journeyed hither?’

  Guthrum chuckled. ‘Ivar’s right; you are a cunning man. Well, as you’ve guessed something of it, you may as well know the rest. Ivar wants me to bring Echberht to him. He means to offer him the kingdom or part of it.’

  ‘Has he any claim to it?’

  Guthrum shook his head. ‘Have any of the men who have worn the crown? From what I gather Northumbria is a rotting carcase and the dog who gobbles fastest is named king. So why not Echberht?’

  He climbed from his horse and strode towards the Northumbrian line.

  ‘Greetings from Ivar the Boneless and his brothers Halfdan and Ubbe,’ he said. ‘They would have you journey with us to York where you will learn something to your advantage.’

  Echberht stared at him in silence for a good while. ‘I will come,’ he said at last. ‘Tell Ivar I will go to him after the Christmas feast.’

  ‘You’ll come now or not at all. Ivar is not a man to keep waiting.’

  Echberht’s warriors turned to him n
ervously, wondering what his response would be. Eventually he sighed and nodded.

  ‘If I am to hear something of advantage,’ he said, ‘then I might as well hear it quickly.’ He turned towards his steward. ‘Saddle my horse. And find a dozen ponies for my household warriors.’

  Guthrum shook his head. ‘I said nothing of your warriors. You are to come alone.’

  Echberht’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘A great lord does not journey anywhere without his men. Even a pirate such as you should realise this.’

  Guthrum bristled and his fingers stirred as if itching to seize his sword.

  ‘It is a fair comment, Guthrum,’ Leif called. ‘A lord who lacks followers lacks standing.’

  Echberht looked Leif up and down. ‘A savage with brains,’ he said. He managed to sound impressed and contemptuous at the same time.

  ‘But I’m sure that Echberht would not want to leave his village completely undefended in these dangerous times’ Leif continued. ‘Perhaps half of his warriors should come with him, and half remain.’

  Guthrum grinned at Leif’s words. ‘Six men, Echberht,’ he said. ‘That is what I allow you.’

  ‘You will allow me?’ Echberht said. ‘It seems to me it is your follower who decided.’

  ‘My brother makes the decisions,’ Eohric cried bitterly.

  Echberht glanced at him, then at Leif. He chuckled. ‘Bickering in front of your foes,’ he said. ‘I shall feel at home amongst you.’

  He turned once more to his steward. ‘Seven mounts, then. And we leave straight away.’

  The journey south was a miserable affair. The weather turned cold and a fierce wind brought icy rain from the north. Echberht was a past master at stirring up dissent and he played Eohric and Leif like harps.

  Leif did his best to ignore him, knowing that the Northumbrian’s jibes were designed purely for his own amusement. Eohric was less subtle, rising to Echberht’s bait almost every time, cursing and threatening Leif. Then Echberht would laugh and insult him still more. Eventually Ricsige took his cousin on one side and persuaded him to guard his tongue.

  And so, after seven gruelling days, they returned once more to York.