Raven: Blood Eye (14 page)

'If you want a job done properly,' Black Floki said, stepping forward, dropping his breeches and pulling up his mail brynja. The embers hissed angrily as Floki casually pissed on them, then vanished in a cloud of grey smoke. The others cheered his daring, for even now the hillside was alive with black shapes, and fire arrows were clacking into the pebbles around us.

'The whelps are trying to light us up,' Olaf said, but the stones were still wet from the earlier rain and most of the flaming arrows sputtered and died.

'We should be out there on the bloody waves!' Glum barked, tightening his helmet's leather strap beneath his bearded chin.

'When did you become an old woman, Glum?' Sigurd asked, pacing along the shieldwall like a hungry wolf. 'Easy, lads, keep those shields up.' A flaming arrow struck Bjarni's helmet. 'That's it, Eric, tuck that chin in unless you want a second mouth.'

'Sigurd! They're out there too!' Old Asgot pointed his spear out to sea where dozens of flames danced above the waves. Fishing skiffs crammed with men clutching firebrands bobbed dangerously close to the sterns of
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
.

'Whoresons are going to burn the ships!'
Serpent
's steersman Knut shouted, stepping from the line, but the man beside him grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Ealhstan made a sound in his throat that could have been laughter and I turned to see him crouched behind the shieldwall, a strange smile on his lips as the English materialized from the darkness into a seething mass of shields and helmets and blades.

'You promised me a land of monks and farmers, Uncle,' Sigurd said under his breath. 'One warrior in every ten, you said. These spawn don't look like monks.'

Olaf shrugged. 'Things have changed since I last came, Sigurd,' he rumbled. 'It's been ten years.'

Sigurd spat. 'Knut, take ten men on to the ships. If they burn, we're finished.' Knut nodded and he and his party ran into the surf, hauling themselves up the bow ropes into the longships. 'Right, lads,' Sigurd bellowed, 'let's hear some noise!' The Norsemen began thumping their swords against their shields until the clamour filled the night. 'That's it! Wake the gods! Let your grandfathers in Valhöll hear your battle song! Make old Thór jealous!' Sigurd roared. 'Show him how we make thunder!'

The English were fifty paces away now, forming their own shieldwall. Some even banged swords and shields like us. In spite of the moonlight, I could not make out individual faces, but from the size of the heaving mass I knew we were in for a terrible fight.

'Why aren't they shooting?' I heard Bjarni ask above the din and I realized he was right and no more arrows were coming at us. I glanced behind me at
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
and saw Knut and his small knot of men lining the deck with raised shields. They had even set Jörmungand the Midgard-Serpent at the ship's prow, though it was too late to scare off the land spirits now. 'They've not gone for the ships yet,' I said hopefully. Just one hurled firebrand could ignite their pitch-soaked timbers and then
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
would spit fire into the night sky.

Sigurd's eyes were narrow slits and I knew he was trying to understand why the English were holding back when they could have driven us into the sea.

'That's enough, lads!' he called, hefting his great round shield into the air, but one Norseman was still thumping with his sword. Sigurd snarled at him and he went still.

'You bonehead, Kon,' Black Floki hissed.

Sigurd walked forward and the shieldwall closed behind him. 'Have you come to fight?' he called in English into the shadows beneath the rise. 'Or are you going to stand there like fucking trees?' His voice echoed off the rocks, mixing with the sound of the surf. There was no reply. 'Well, English? I have mead to drink!'

A shadowed figure moved towards him. 'I have come to talk with you, heathen,' this man said. He was tall and well armed and his moustache was long and smooth. 'After that, we can fight. If you want.'

'Talk is for women!' Sigurd barked.

'So is mourning, heathen,' the Englishman said, 'which is what your womenfolk will be doing if you are foolish enough to piss on this opportunity.' Sigurd held his tongue. 'Come, Norseman. I will meet you halfway.'

'Don't go, Sigurd,' Olaf warned, having understood the conversation, for it was Olaf who had taught Sigurd the language of the English. 'They'll kill you.' Sigurd seemed to weigh up his chances, then rolled his broad shoulders, spat and stepped forward.

'I'll go, lord,' I heard myself say. Sigurd turned to me as I stepped from the shieldwall, the gap sealing instantly. 'Let me talk to them. I know their words better than you and will sniff out a lie, lord.'

Sigurd nodded, waving his shield forward. 'Go, Raven. Fly in search of the truth,' he said. I sheathed my sword and then, still holding my round shield, walked towards the English.

Up close I recognized the man as the rider with the straight back who had spoken to us up at the village. To his left stood the other man, the heavily muscled warrior with the silver arm rings. 'You speak for your chief?' the Englishman asked.

'I listen for him,' I replied. 'He will speak for himself, once I have told him what you have to say.'

The man nodded, running a hand through his sand-coloured hair. 'I am Ealdred. This is my land. As outlanders . . .' he paused and glanced at my sword, 'as sword-bearing outlanders you are a threat to the people who look to me for protection.' He jerked his head to the west. 'We have enough trouble with the Welsh.' He tipped his head to one side. 'Are you a threat?' he asked.

'We are more of a threat than you know,' I dared, meeting his eyes. I gripped my sword's hilt to keep my hand from shaking.

Beneath his long moustache, the corners of Ealdred's mouth hinted at a smile. 'I could give one word and you would see your ships burn,' he said. 'But you know that, don't you?'

'And without them we would have no choice but to fight until we fell or walked on your corpse,' I said. 'Have you ever seen the kind of death fifty mailed Sword-Norse can sow?' I gestured to our shieldwall. 'They are the finest warriors alive.'

Ealdred frowned then. 'You talk much for a man who claims only to listen. And your English is good, for a heathen.' He stroked his moustache. 'Perhaps I can convince you that I have come with half a mind on peace.' He turned. 'Mauger, release the bear.' With that the burly warrior stalked back into the shadows, returning a moment later pushing forward a man whose hands were bound behind his back.

'Bram!' By the flickering light of English torches, I saw that his face and beard were dark with blood and his eyes were swollen shut. And he was limping.

'Never was much good at running, lad. Legs like bloody tree trunks,' he growled, looking ashamed to be tied up. Mauger shoved him forward and I drew my sword and cut his bonds before sending him back to Sigurd.

'That animal killed two of my men,' Ealdred said, his eyebrows raised. 'But I spared his life as an act of good faith.' It must have been the truth, I thought. By rights, Ealdred should have avenged his men with Bram's blood. 'So, heathen,' Ealdred said in a low voice, 'are you ready to listen now?'

I sheathed my sword and glanced at the English shieldwall. It was longer than our own. Much longer and four men deep in places. I gave Ealdred a curt nod. 'I'm listening.'

'Well, Raven? Has the Englishman come to fight or not?' Sigurd's eyes glinted in the dark. His men stood shoulder to shoulder, their painted round shields raised and their axes and swords hungry for flesh.

'His name is Ealdred,' I said. 'He is an ealdorman and the king's cousin.'

Sigurd pursed his lips. 'Which king?' he asked.

'Egbert king of Wessex,' I said.

'A real king!' Sigurd chuckled. 'Should I kiss his hand now or after I cut it off?' This was loud and in English.

'Tell him we want to fight the king, not his dog!' Olaf shouted.

'Ealdred says that your fame grows like a storm, my jarl, and that you have stirred fear in men's hearts and forced prayers to the trembling lips of God's children.'

Sigurd smiled at this. 'Does the man want to fight me or fuck me?' he called.

'He wants to drink with you, lord,' I said. 'Ealdred wants you to go to his hall and share his mead and discuss terms of trade.'

Sigurd leant back and laughed from deep in his belly. 'The king's cousin wants to drink with me, hey? Freyja's tits, these English are a strange people! Drink?' He turned to his men and then back to me, fixing me with an icy stare. 'Tell Ealdred to go and play with his king's cock and leave me alone. He comes here and threatens my ships with fire, then expects me to go to his hall and drink his mead? I am no whore!' he yelled. 'Ha! I'd sooner sail into the sun!'

'Lord, he has many warriors,' I said quietly. 'And they'll burn the ships. How can we stop them? This Ealdred will send his men to die against you. I can see it in his face.' Sigurd glanced at his men once more, lingering awhile on Bram who gripped his axe tightly, his bloodied face swollen and snarling. With one word from Sigurd they would all fight to the death. But would that be enough to earn them their fame? How would they be remembered if none lived to speak of their courage by the hearths in the halls of the north? For their enemies would weave a different story once they lay dead and their souls feasted in Óðin's Corpse Hall.

Sigurd frowned. 'What does he want from me, Raven? My amber? My whetstones?' He shook his head suspiciously.

I shrugged. 'He would not tell me, though he gave me his word that if you agree to go to his hall, he will have his men throw their firebrands into the sea.'

'He gave his word to you, not to me.' Sigurd shook his head and pulled at his beard. 'These are strange days, Raven, when you ask me to believe the word of a Christ-follower. And stranger still that I listen.'

'What choice do we have?' I asked. 'Ealdred has maybe two hundred spears.'

Sigurd scoffed. 'Only some will be warriors. Most would rather be sharpening their ploughshares or sitting by their hearths.' But even so, two hundred was too many and Sigurd knew we could not fight and hope to win. 'Very well,' he said with a nod towards the English, 'tell this Ealdred I will drink his mead. But I swear this by Óðin – if I smell English treachery, I will cut off his head.'

When I approached Ealdred with Sigurd beside me, the ealdorman did as he had promised and the flames in the fishing boats were extinguished. Darkness enveloped the longships once more and I touched my bone-handled knife, relieved that they were safe again.

'I am Sigurd son of Harald. The Lucky, some call me.' Sigurd stood tall before the English lord and his grizzled bodyguards.

'It is a fitting name,' Ealdred acknowledged with a wry smile, 'and your men must be grateful that their lord is not the kind of man to throw their lives away. Not when there is nothing to be gained from it.' He raised a hand into the air and I turned to see the fishing skiffs full of men and fire being rowed away from Sigurd's longships.

Sigurd glanced at the warriors around Ealdred and seemed unimpressed. 'We will come to your hall, Ealdred, but if I see a slave of the White Christ, I will fill his belly with steel.'

'A priest tried to poison Jarl Sigurd,' I said to Ealdred.

The ealdorman seemed surprised, then frowned and tugged on his long moustache. 'A whisper of the Holy Spirit on the breeze can tempt a man to desperate acts, Jarl Sigurd,' he said, making the sign of the cross, 'but I can assure you I keep my priests on a very short leash.' He smiled. 'So, shall we go?'

Sigurd laughed loudly, causing Ealdred and his men to look to each other in bewilderment. 'I will come when I am ready, Englishman,' he said and with that turned his back on Ealdred and walked to his men. And I followed him.