by Martin Lake
He asked for a knife instead. Hisham gave a knowing look but asked no question.
Two nights later Leif led Kolga to a small low door he had found in the western wall. It was sealed with a rusty iron bolt but he had spent part of the previous night smearing it with grease and he was able to slide it open without a sound.
He put his finger to his lip and listened for a while. The normal sounds of the city drifted over: cries of merriment, wails of children, barking dogs, lowing cows, the endless murmur of men and beasts. But no noise close by. They had not been seen or heard.
Taking Kolga by the hand Leif stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind them. The moon was full and low in the east so they’d have five hours or so of light by which to travel.
A furlong beyond the city was an ancient track which led to the west. Leif had found out that this was the path they must take if they were to find the long, straight Roman road to Mercia. He pulled his cloak close and headed west.
They walked until they were too exhausted to take another step. It was now close to dawn. Kolga led the way into the fringes of a forest, safe from any pursuit or prying eyes.
They slept until the afternoon and then debated whether to travel onward by the light of the moon or the sun. Leif was all for putting as much distance possible between them and Winchester and persuaded Kolga of the wisdom of it. They hauled on their packs and marched until the sun set and then on through the night until clouds shielded the moon and made walking treacherous.
The next morning they had good luck. They found an isolated farm with an ancient man and his infirm wife. They owned two donkeys. They wasted no time in relieving them of food, ale and the donkeys. They were too feeble to put up a fight and would not be able to swiftly seek help. So, in fine style, Leif and Kolga went on their way, always heading to the west.
Leif lost count of how many days they travelled the road. They ate all the food they had and he readied himself to steal more food. But then Kolga surprised him by producing a purse full of pennies and small gems.
‘Where did you get that from?’ he asked, running them through his fingers.
‘I’m a Viking,’ she answered. ‘I took them.’
‘Who from?’
‘Anyone I could. Including the two smug brothers Æthelred and Alfred. And their bitches.’
Leif grinned at her words. It was what they deserved.
‘I think we should pay for our food rather than steal it,’ she continued.
‘That’s strange for a Viking.’
‘A Viking who wants to live,’ she said. ‘If we steal we might get caught or injured or captured. I don’t know about you but the sooner I get the stench of these Christ-lovers out of my nostrils the better.’
For the next few days they carefully selected their targets; isolated farms or small hamlets, and paid a fair price for food, drink and sometimes lodging.
A few people were suspicious of odd-sounding strangers but sight of a coin soon ended their qualms. Only once did Leif get alarmed when one cocksure young braggart said he would go to the nearest town and bring back a thegn to pass judgement on them. He was as good as his word, although he only got a quarter of a mile before feeling Kolga’s knife slice open his throat.
Finally, more by luck than judgement, they stumbled on the town where they had arrived in Wessex all those months before. They were forced to ask directions and one young lad volunteered to take them to the road heading north across Mercia. He was a garrulous and excitable youth and begged that they take him with them. But Kolga deemed he had little knowledge of anywhere more than ten miles around and thought he would be no use to them. Besides, his near constant talking seemed likely to weary them beyond words. They paid him a farthing for his trouble and told him to go home.
It was late that day that Leif realised they were being followed. Something, some prickling in his neck made him suddenly anxious and he looked back. The road ran straight and level until it was lost in the distance. Yet he thought he saw a dark shape slip into the woodland on one side.
‘So you’ve seen him?’ Kolga said.
Leif blinked at her in surprise. ‘You’ve seen something, as well?’
‘For the past five miles. He’s wary, keeps on the edge of sight.’
‘This cursed straight road doesn’t help,’ Leif said sharply, annoyed that she had not seen fit to tell him. ‘Whoever is following can see us for a mile or more.’
‘If we got off the road we might lose him,’ she said, glancing to right and left. ‘But we’d be more likely to lose our way. One boy can’t do us much harm.’
‘One boy?’ Leif said.
‘The one who wanted to come with us,’ she said.
Leif glanced back along the empty road.
‘Well if we can’t see him now,’ he said, ‘he might not be able to see us.’
He slipped into the shadow beneath an oak tree. ‘You go on, more quickly.’
Kolga nodded, grabbed the reins of Leif’s donkey and forced both beasts into a lumbering trot. Her speed had the added advantage of throwing up a lot of dust and their pursuer would find it hard to see who was on the road.
Leif turned his gaze to the south and waited.
A figure slipped from the distant trees and then started forward. He hastened along the road, keen to keep his quarry in sight, caution forgotten. Kolga was right. It was the boy who had pleaded to come with them.
Leif watched him more closely as he hurried past. He was about fourteen years of old, still more boy than youth. He was short with a layer of puppy fat which betokened a comfortable existence. His face was red and there was sweat on his forehead.
Leif let the boy get a few yards further and then lunged. He was alert as a thief and turned immediately. But he did not brandish a weapon. He merely covered his eyes with his hands and wailed.
Leif seized him by the arm and shook him.
‘Why are you following us?’ he demanded.
‘Because I hate where I live,’ the boy said, still clasping tight to his eyes as if by doing so Leif might disappear. ‘My mother’s dead and my father hates me.’
He sounded pathetic and Leif almost laughed.
‘You’re a bloody fool to want to come with us,’ he said, trying to sound stern. ‘Why would we think any better of you than your father does?’
The boy spread his fingers and peeked through them. ‘Because you’re not him.’
His voice sounded so hopeful Leif sighed. ‘We’re Vikings,’ he said. ‘Desperate and dangerous.’
‘I guessed that. It’s the reason I wanted to come with you.’
‘Then you’re an idiot,’ Kolga cried as she clattered up. She leapt from the saddle and, before Leif could react, had her knife at the boy’s throat. ‘Either that or a liar.’
He wailed even louder now, his whole body shaking in terror.
‘Don’t kill him,’ Leif said. ‘Not yet at any rate.’
‘No,’ the boy whimpered. ‘Don’t kill me. I’ll help you, I will.’
‘How can you help us?’ Kolga said. ‘You’re nothing but a snivelling little coward.’
‘I know these parts,’ he said.
‘You’re a liar,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t tell us much about this road when we asked earlier.’
‘That’s because I wasn’t sure of you,’ he said. ‘It’s called the Fosse Way and goes all the way across Mercia. My mother was a member of the Hwicce people and we’d often travel to her family in Warwick. I know the road well.’
‘So are you Mercian or West Saxon?’ Leif asked.
‘I’m both.’ He took on a calculating, almost sly look. ‘I can be whatever you want me to.’
Leif glanced at Kolga. ‘He may be useful. If we can trust him.’
‘We don’t have to trust him,’ she replied. ‘Just keep him terrified.’
‘I’ll be loyal and true,’ the boy said.
Kolga spat on his foot. ‘I doubt it. Nevertheless, we’ll take you with us. But
the day you play us false will be your last. You’d better pray to your Christ-God at once, just in case I strike without warning.’
‘Please don’t,’ he cried. His head shook so much it looked in danger of being loosed from his neck.
‘You’ll be safe as long as you remain useful and honest,’ Leif said.
The boy beamed with relief. ‘I’m called Higbald, by the way,’ he said.
‘I care not,’ Kolga said, climbing on her donkey and trotting off.
Leif climbed onto his mount. ‘Come then, Higbald,’ he said. ‘Try and keep up. And tell me where the next village is.’
‘Ashley,’ Higbald answered. ‘It’s just a farm and few huts. We should reach it by dusk.’
‘Will it be safe for us to stay the night there?’
Higbald grinned and pointed to Kolga. ‘With that she-devil? I think we’d be safe to stay anywhere.’
They were given a wary welcome by the farmer who sold them some bread and ale and allowed them to sleep in a cow byre. But he made sure that they left their weapons with him first.
‘This has always been a disputed land,’ Higbald said. ‘For a long time it was the border between Wessex and Mercia. There’s a lot of bad blood between the people here.’
‘It sounds fit for you, then,’ Leif said.
‘Because of my bad blood?’ The boy looked hurt.
‘Because of your mixed blood. Are there many mongrels like you, half-Saxon, half-Mercian?’
‘In the borderlands, yes. And sometimes further afield. I hear that the king’s brother has taken a Mercian wife.’
‘He has,’ Kolga said. ‘And the Saxons think she’s a sorceress.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘Such brave heroes. They quake in their boots when she passes by, fearing her spells.’
‘They think she’s bewitched the prince,’ Leif said.
Higbald shrugged. ‘Well if she’s pretty…’
‘Get some sleep,’ Leif said. ‘We start first thing tomorrow.’
They made good progress the next day, passing through a goodly sized town called Cirencester and then onward to a village called Moreton. Higbald said that the people there suffered depredations from a village called Broadway where the people were notoriously crazed and dangerous. Hearing this they travelled a mile north and made camp in a wood to the east of the road. Leif felt bone weary from the long journey and Higbald was sleeping on his feet. Kolga, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the long miles.
Leif realised the truth of this in the small hours when he felt someone undoing his breeches and then straddling him. Kolga groaned with pleasure. ‘I’ve not had a fuck for a long time.’
Leif wondered what Aebbe would think of this but only for a little while. Kolga was a dexterous and demanding lover and mounted him twice more that night.
Leif came to grow quite fond of her as they rode across Mercia. She, on the other hand, treated him as little more than another donkey, something to make the journey less tiresome.
Leif had lost count of the days they’d spent on the Fosse. Thankfully, it didn’t stray close to many villages so they were little watched. Higbald told them the road had been built by priests from Rome who were also great warriors and conquered the whole world.
Kolga laughed with derision. ‘We Vikings are the greatest warriors the world has ever seen,’ she said. ‘And you will come to learn this. If you live.’
Finally, after two more days, they stumbled across the river Trent. They were a few miles east of Nottingham and, with great relief followed its banks towards their friends.
Except that their friends were no longer there. The moment they walked through the gates of the town they realised their mistake. The Mercians had retaken the town.
They slipped into a narrow alley so they would not be overheard.
‘What’s happened?’ Leif asked even though he knew that none of his companions had any more idea than he did.
‘Can Ivar have been defeated?’ Kolga murmured. ‘Has even his great luck turned?’
‘The Mercians are a great people,’ Higbald said. ‘Not as great as the Saxons but still very powerful. A very dangerous foe for you Vikings.’
Kolga gave him a threatening look and he stepped beyond her reach.
‘Instead of giving us your thoughts,’ Leif said, ‘go and do something useful. Walk around the town and find out what’s happened.’
‘You won’t find us here,’ Kolga said. ‘We’re leaving. Meet us where we crossed the river.’
Higbald nodded and hurried off. Kolga waited a few moments and then led the way back to the gate.
They waited for several hours at the river. Kolga grew ever more impatient.
‘He’ll have sold us to the Mercians,’ she said at last. ‘I never trusted him. We should leave.’
She tightened the saddle of her donkey and climbed onto it. ‘Are you coming?’ she asked. ‘Or will you wait for our betrayer?’
Leif shrugged. ‘I’ve no desire to stay here any longer,’ he said. ‘But we don’t know which way to go. Ivar could have gone in any direction. My woman and children, my brother and friends, they could be anywhere. Where’s the sense in blundering around this cursed country unless we know where we’re going?’
She gave him a filthy look but, seeing the wisdom of his words, got off the donkey which whinnied in pleasure. She whacked it over the head.
‘But with luck we may now have an answer,’ Leif said, pointing back towards the town.
Higbald bustled up to them, his face shining with pleasure. He thrust some bread and hot meat into their hands.
‘I’ve found out everything,’ he said. ‘The Mercians bought your people off a few months ago with great treasure. It seems that was enough to satisfy them and they left Nottingham and promised to leave the kingdom.’
‘And which way did they go?’ Leif asked, impatiently. ‘North, south, east or west?’
‘They went north. Most of the folk I spoke to said they were returning where they came from.’
‘Denmark,’ Leif said. His heart soared at the thought of home and safety.
‘It’s not my home,’ Kolga said, ‘but it will have to do.’ She glared at the donkey. ‘I’m sick of this stumbling little creature. We’re on the river now, let’s find a boat.’
They left Higbald with the donkeys and wandered along the river for a while. After half a mile they found exactly what they wanted, a small fishing boat, big enough for three and with two sets of oars. An old man was snoozing in it and they tipped him out into the stream.
They made their way back to Higbald, loaded the supplies into the boat and climbed aboard.
Higbald stood on the bank, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
‘Are you coming with us?’ Leif asked. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You’ve guided us through Mercia as you promised. You’re free to go wherever you choose.’ He reached into his purse and pulled out a handful of coins.
‘I want to stay with you,’ Higbald said. ‘You’re my friends.’
Leif heard Kolga give a snort of derision but he kept his gaze on Higbald.
‘It’s just that I’ve never been in a boat before,’ the boy said. ‘And I can’t swim.’
‘I can’t swim either,’ Kolga said. ‘Which is why I’m careful never to sink a boat. Get in or stay there, it doesn’t matter to me. But make up your mind.’
Higbald climbed nervously into the boat, making it sway dangerously. At last he settled, sitting upright and unmoving, his face a picture of terror.
‘Come on,’ Kolga said. ‘The sooner we leave Mercia the better.’
They moved swiftly north upon the river, aided by a strong current. Nevertheless, it took two long days of constant rowing. Leif’s hands were raw and bloody by the time they came to where the Trent flowed into the Humber.
‘Now which way?’ Leif asked.
He was still not convinced that the Mercian treasure would have satisfied Ivar enough to make him return tamely to Denma
rk.
They found out within the hour. A Danish trading ship appeared from downriver, heading west. They hailed it as it approached and asked the captain where he was going.
‘York,’ he answered. ‘There’s much good trade there. Ivar and his brothers have filled the town with gold and I want a piece of it.’
‘Ivar the Boneless?’ Leif said. ‘Are you sure he’s in Jorvic?’
‘I spoke with him forty days ago. There’s said to be an English king in the city but even if that’s the case, the brothers are the real lords. Some of the English are already acting like Danes, calling the city Jorvic and wearing Thor’s amulet. It’s almost like home.’
Leif pressed some silver into the man’s hand and he welcomed them on board.
RETRIBUTION
Jorvic was every bit as prosperous looking as the trader had said. The quayside was crammed with ships of all sizes and with men of all types. Most were Danish or Norse but there were also many folk from England as well as the northern isles.
But Leif paid no heed to them. He wanted to see his family and he hurried towards the city walls.
The men of the army stood open-mouthed in astonishment. It was now May and they had been captured by the Saxons more than six months before.
‘We thought you were dead or sold as slaves,’ one man said. Then he looked a little furtive which Leif put down to shame at his words.
The rumour ran through the streets as they made their way to the centre of the city. A crowd followed them, chattering loudly, showering them with questions, slapping Leif on the back, although keeping a wary distance from Kolga. It was a wonderful home-coming.
And then Leif saw her. Standing in front of a little house, one hand on her breast, the other to her mouth. Aebbe. It was as if she had seen a ghost. Slowly, she came towards him and then, as she got closer, she sobbed and threw herself into Leif’s arms.
His heart beat as fast as a galloping horse. He had never imagined he could feel so much for another person. And then he heard a roar of joy and Sigurd came racing towards him, yelling at the top of his voice. He grabbed Leif in a fierce bear-hug, lifting him off his feet and laughing so loud that Leif thought he would deafen all the people nearby.
