Raven: Blood Eye (21 page)

'Mauger! You're back!' Egfrith exclaimed, throwing out his arms and shooting me a triumphant look. 'By Christ, Mauger, you've the manners of Saint Cuthbert himself, compared to these beasts,' he said.

'Come, Father,' the big warrior said, gripping Egfrith's bony shoulder, 'don't tell me this lot have you pissing your skirts already?'

'Of course not!' Egfrith said, puffing up his chest like a winter robin. 'I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. It is rare that Ealdred lets you off the leash. I thought he had left me alone with the heathens, a lamb amongst wolves,' he said, glancing anxiously at the bustle around him. 'And there's always the Welsh to think of.'

'The Welsh won't come near this lot, Father,' Mauger growled.

'I pray you're right, Mauger,' Egfrith said. Then he stood a little straighter. 'Of course, there is the divine righteousness of our search to buoy my spirit, to strengthen the will, so to speak, but quite apart from that I shall regard the whole thing as a penance, for even such as myself is not without sin. The soul must be cleansed at times.' He winced under Mauger's grip. 'That said, glad to have another Christian around.' His beady eyes seemed to be searching Mauger's, as though he hoped the big man would confirm his devotion to the faith.

'I'm no lamb, Father,' Mauger said, twisting a thick silver arm ring so that the most elaborate part was visible. Both his huge arms, criss-crossed with white scars among the tattoos, bulged beneath twelve such warrior rings. His pride in them was clear.

'You are coming with us?' Egfrith asked with sudden apprehension. Mauger nodded. 'Have you ever considered a penance, Mauger? A man like you, well . . . you must be stifled by your own sin.'

Mauger shrugged. 'Lord Ealdred's gone soft,' he muttered, 'and I'm coming with you, but you can keep your penance. I'm here to stop you bringing the Lord's wrath down on their heathen heads before they've done the job.'

'Of course,' the monk said with a sharp nod. 'It's just as well, Mauger, just as well. The Lord's justice blows like a purging gale and he with the power to summon it forth must possess wisdom in equal measure.'

'Balls,' Mauger said with a smile that revealed dark teeth. He gripped Egfrith's shoulder and looked at me. 'You and I both know I'm here to wipe your arse and make sure these devils don't cut your throat in the darkest hour of the night.' Egfrith blanched at the suggestion. 'Don't worry, monk,' Mauger said, winking at me as I held a skin into which Svein the Red poured water from a barrel. 'I won't let the barbarians lay a filthy hand on your curd-white arse.' Egfrith turned and shot Svein the Red a superior smile. Mauger looked a formidable warrior and Egfrith was clearly confident in the man's prowess. But Svein was being careful not to spill any liquid and did not look up from his task.

The sun had yet to ascend its throne when we took our last look at
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
, sitting majestically on the calm sea. It was ebbtide and the mooring ropes were so taut that a white gull sat on one of them pruning his feathers. As the small waves lapped the shore it seemed to me that those ships, those sleek proud dragons, longed to be cut free; as though they craved the open water away from this foreign shore and its men who threatened their timbers with fire.

'My father would piss on his pyre to see me turn my back on them,' Kon grumbled, slinging his round shield across his back as we climbed the rocky slope away from the beach.

'Aye, he would, Kon,' Olaf put in, 'but who has ever heard of your father, hey, lad? His name never carried to my ear. A man doesn't get remembered for taking the safest path. He just gets old.' Olaf grunted as he clambered up the steep trail, clutching tufts of coarse grass. I climbed in front of Ealhstan, helping him where I could. 'You've got to push yourself, Kon,' Olaf went on. 'Sigurd will make a man of you.'

'Or a corpse,' Bjorn added with a wicked grin.

There were forty-seven of us now, including Egfrith and Mauger, and we loped off like wolves on the trail of prey. Mail jingled, shields banged against axe staves and boots tramped. And poor old Ealhstan had to keep up. The Englishmen lining the ridge backed off a hundred paces so we could pass without risk of a hurled insult turning into a fight. But I could see them gripping their weapons and shields as tightly as their faces gripped their hatred of us as we struck north towards a wooded valley to the west of the nearest settlement. Mauger had assured Sigurd that the trees would hide us from view and with any luck none from the village would know we passed. He said Lord Ealdred would not tolerate the death of some brave fool whose kin would then ask why their ealdorman had allowed pagan outlanders to roam freely about the land.

'There weren't so many of them,' Svein said, spitting back towards the distant English warriors. 'We should have wet our blades.'

'There were more last night, you brainless ox,' Black Floki replied, gripping his spear loosely. He was not a big man like many of the others, but he was hard and lean and there was an assurance in the way he moved that made him seem even more lethal. 'Ealdred and his household men hared off eastwards at dawn,' he said. 'Seems some English pissed their breeches at seeing a longship off the coast at a place called Selsey. Danes, I'd wager.' He pointed to Olaf who walked up ahead with Mauger and Father Egfrith. 'Old Uncle overheard Mauger telling the monk,' he said.

'I noticed you and Uncle were snuggling up to the Christians, Floki,' Svein countered, grinning broadly. 'Are you missing your woman, little man?'

'That bald Christ-loving bastard's prettier than you, you redhaired sack of shit,' Floki snarled. 'Besides, someone should keep an eye on them. I'd sooner trust a Dane. There's no honour in Christians.'

'The English think you
are
Danes,' I said. 'They think all heathens are Danes.' And it was true, for we had heard of Danes raiding the eastern coast, but never men from Norway.

'English bastards,' Floki spat.

The other men's faces were grim too, for they knew Floki was right to be wary, and they feared they might never see their longships again.

Sigurd was the only Norseman I did not see turn one last time towards the sound of the breaking sea now muffled by the grassy bluff. Straight-backed and head high he set the pace as though the future beckoned him on with its promise of glory, and we followed, braced by our jarl's resolve and our fine arms which rattled rhythmically. Njal had been the same height as me, but I had to wear a fur jerkin beneath his knee-length brynja to fill it as Njal's thick muscle had done before. I was hot. The first summer insects buzzed madly, streaking by too fast for the eye to catch, and the sun was beginning to hint at the heat it would soon throw down on a land that had broken winter's shackles. I sweated like an ox in the yoke.

Egfrith seemed somehow taller now that he walked beside Mauger whose bare arms were covered in those dark tattoos of snarling faces and the silver warrior rings that winked in the sunlight. The monk even began to sing a psalm in a surprisingly strong voice, but Black Floki drew his long knife and threatened with gestures to cut out his tongue and eat it. When Egfrith grabbed at Mauger for protection, the English warrior shrugged him off, warning him that he would cut out the offending tongue himself if the monk did not shut up.

'You sing like a kicked bitch, Father,' he said, and Egfrith, who seemed deeply hurt by the insult, walked in sullen silence from then on, for which we were all grateful.

It was no easy thing to leave behind the vast, bracing freedom of the sea and all its promise. To these Norsemen, the sea was a rolling road to wherever they pleased. It was unbound and unfettered; endless. But now it was behind us, remaining in our memories only, as we moved inland. Nevertheless, I felt a strange sense of peace come over me when we got amongst the outer trees of the forest. The feeling grew stronger the deeper we went. Oak and elm, beech, hornbeam, thorn and ash denied light to the mossy, damp-smelling earth, and the twisting branches of ancient trees met above us as though exchanging news of the world beyond. The sights and smells and the harsh chattering of chaffinches took me back to the days I had spent alone in just such a forest, cutting timber for old Ealhstan until my back was filled with a warm ache and my hands were chafed raw. As I walked, my mind delved into the only memories I had, like roots thirsty for water, and though there was a strange comfort to be found in them, the memories were of being alone and the comfort was also an ache. For the past was dead to me now that I knew the thrill of the sea, the noise of battle and the fellowship of warriors.

'There are spirits here, Raven,' Bjarni said, his eyes rolling up to the leafy canopy. 'Can you feel them?' We entered a glade where the sun broke through, dappling the men with blades of golden light.

'Yes, I feel them, Bjarni,' I said. 'We all do.'

'They're watching us, brother, these spirits,' Bjorn said, running a hand over the dark moss creeping up an ancient tree stump. 'But they stay hidden. They are safe in the forest. Safe from the Christians who would banish them to some dark, foul, stinking place.' He gestured to Father Egfrith up ahead. 'Don't be fooled by his puny body.' He grimaced. 'His kind can kill spirits.'

'For once, the young speak wisely,' old Asgot put in, the words dry and brittle, the first he had spoken for hours. 'This land is sick with disease. The Christ followers have turned their backs on the old ways and the spirits hate them for it.' He swept an arm through the air. 'We must be careful,' he warned. 'The shades of this place must not mistake us for Christians.'

'How do we tell them what we are, old man?' Bjorn asked. 'Should we sing one of the old songs?'

'Not enough, Bjorn,' Asgot muttered. 'Not enough.'

'A sacrifice,' Black Floki said flatly, his top lip curled with ire. 'We should sacrifice the monk.' I looked back at old Asgot who now grinned like a child.

'No need to dull your blade, Floki,' I said, hoping my eyes did not betray the fear that twisted in my guts at the memory of Griffin's slaughter. 'The spirits are not blind, they are ancient and wise.'

'What do you know of shades, boy?' Asgot asked. The man hated me.

'I know there is more chance of Floki being mistaken for a March lamb than a Christian,' I said. Floki smiled at this and the others grunted their agreement. I hoped their thoughts of a blood offering had been borne away on the moss-scented breeze.

Deep in the forest we came across animal tracks, the muddy ground worn smooth by badgers, foxes, weasels and hares, though we never encountered the animals themselves. I hoped one of the Norsemen might take down a deer with his bow, but it was a foolish hope, for we were forty-seven men and must have sounded like thunder as we crashed through the ancient stillness. The only creatures we saw were birds and insects, though there was always the chance that a boar might charge from the undergrowth to smash someone's leg bones to splinters. I have known the beasts to be so intent on foraging that, when startled, they have fled from one hunter and impaled themselves on another man's spear.

We were still in the heart of the forest when the air turned cool and the gathering darkness made it dangerous to go on. Old Ealhstan was ashen-faced, tired and breathing hard. I saw him rubbing his hip, which often pained him, so I gave him a straight ash limb to lean on. But Sigurd would not risk one of his own men twisting an ankle on an exposed tree root or smashing his head on a low branch, and announced that we would spend the night on the mossy banks of a trickling stream. It was too early in the year for the biting flies that make brown clouds in such places, and so it was a good place to rest. And we were not alone in thinking it. Clearly, animals came here to drink from the stream, and deer gnawed the bark from nearby trunks so that they gleamed smoothly in the twilight. A huge fallen ash lay like a sleeping giant, slender saplings growing up around it, reaching for the light created by the old tree's demise. Ripped from the earth, the ash's enormous root balls were suspended some twenty feet up, resembling the giant's shaggy hair. The trunk would shelter us, whilst a large rock some ten paces away would provide cover for a fire and bounce its heat on to us as we slept.

The fire was crackling and popping angrily when Asgot began to cut a strip of bark as wide as his arm from the fallen ash. I watched the godi from a distance. Ealhstan saw me watching and slapped my face to break the spell.