Raven: Blood Eye (41 page)

'Seems they've spat Ealdorman Ealdred's brat back out,' Bram said in his gruff voice, rolling his shoulders with a loud crack.

'Help me, Bjarni,' I said, then called to Penda. We ran to the gate, shields above our heads, but no stones or arrows fell. It seemed the Welsh had lost their appetite for death. Perhaps they hoped we would take the Englishman and be on our way. But Weohstan could not stand, so we dragged him out of bow range and stood around him as Penda knelt and tipped water into his mouth and across his bruised face. He was barely conscious, but he was alive, and the blood across Penda's face could not hide his smile, which I had not expected to see, because so many Wessexmen had died buying Weohstan's freedom.

'He's a good lad. Worth a lot of blood, this one,' Penda said, still grinning as Weohstan coughed and spluttered and spat a gobful of water back out. 'If the ealdorman had sent more men with us, we might have got the lad back without having to fight at all.' He shook his head. 'But they've had their fun with him, Raven. Boy's in no state to walk back to Wessex.' He looked up at me. The spikes of his hair were matted with gore and the whites of his eyes shone strangely against the filth. Even the Norsemen must have found Penda a terrible sight.

Sigurd looked Penda in the eyes. 'Then let the boy rest awhile, Englishman,' he said, for his blood was up and his eyes hungered for more slaughter. 'We'll have our fun with these savages before we go back to Wessex.' Penda looked up at the fortress and suddenly I thought the timber walls did not look so sturdy. 'Tonight we sleep in Welsh beds!' Sigurd called, and the Wolfpack cheered, for there was more blood to be spilled in honour of their gods.

The afternoon brought a stirring, westerly breeze to cleanse the air of the stink of faeces and death, and the sun was warm on my skin as we made preparations to drive the Welsh from their homes. Sigurd had ordered the warriors of Wessex to gather as much dry wood as they could before dusk. They had not liked being told what to do, especially Penda, but Sigurd seemed so confident in his scheme that they obeyed him anyway. What choice did they have? Some of the Norsemen joined the Wessexmen, whilst the others stood before the fortress gate, ready with sword and shield in case the Welsh should attack.

'Come with me, Raven,' Sigurd said, heading off round the eastern side of the fortress. I gathered all my war gear and followed him, wondering what he planned to do with the wood, for we would never get close enough to the walls to set a fire beneath them. Not without suffering a rain of rocks, arrows and Welsh piss. 'Do you think there is a little Welshman still sitting in that tower up there?' he asked, gesturing to the stone structure up on the hill from where smoke had risen the previous day.

I shook my head. 'He'll be long gone. I would if I'd watched what happened down here.' Sigurd nodded.

As we climbed the tor, Sigurd explained how he had led the Wolfpack back into Wessex after evading King Coenwulf's Mercians. The Norsemen had stopped for food and rest, as he put it, at a small village. I did not ask what happened there.

'I had no thirst to return to Ealdred without the White Christ book, Raven, but there was no other way. This is not our land.' He grimaced. 'Hoped to catch up with Glum there, as I knew he would take the book to Ealdred. That dog would have filled his journey chest with my silver.'

'Glum's was a good death, lord,' I said, wincing as pain from aches and cuts flooded my body. 'Too good for the likes of him.'

Sigurd nodded, though I believe some part of him was pleased that the man had died as a Norseman should. 'The Englishman wouldn't give me my ships,' he said, grunting as he hauled himself over a rocky outcrop, 'but he coughed up half the silver he owes me.' A smile touched his lips. 'It's a fair hoard too!' He laughed. 'I've never seen its like, and that's only half of it.'

'And Floki?' I asked.

'What would you do with an Englishman's hoard, Raven?' he asked, kicking into the soft ground to gain purchase. 'Imagine you're surrounded by enemies and about to head out after a murderous, blood-eyed boy who can't keep his sword in its scabbard.' He shot me a knowing look which I ignored because I knew he was teasing me about Cynethryth. 'Well, lad, what would you do with enough silver to raise an army?'

I thought for a moment. 'Bury it,' I said.

Sigurd smiled again and nodded. 'When I knew the English were in their beds I buried Ealdred's silver. Buried it deep near the beach. I left Floki to watch over it. He's happier on his own anyway.'

I must have betrayed my misgivings then, because Sigurd stopped to catch his breath and looked me in the eyes. 'Floki is not Glum,' he said. 'I know he can be a foul-tempered doom peddler, but you don't have to worry about his loyalty, Raven. Not Floki. He'll be at my side when the dark maidens come. The Norns have woven this. It is destined.'

'I have heard him say as much, lord,' I said.

Sigurd nodded, then continued climbing. 'Ealdred told me that Weohstan was his son.' His eyebrows arched. 'Didn't see that coin in the well. He said that you had set out with fifty men to steal him back from the Welsh.'

'Fifty?' I blurted. 'Mean bastard gave me thirty and only ten were warriors. But they fought well.' I thought of Eafa and Saba and Eni and the rest. 'But he keeps your ships, lord?' I asked. 'I gave him the book. Put it in his hands. You should have been free to take
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
across the sea.'

'And leave you here in the White Christ's land?' he said. I shrugged. 'I've told you, Raven. Just as Floki's life thread is woven into mine, mine is woven into yours.' He stopped again and this time his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched beneath the golden beard. 'I will always come for you,' he said, 'so long as my blood still streams through my body.' Then his face softened. 'You've done well, lad. By Óðin, you've done well. The men were worried about you, you know.' He smiled. 'Even old Asgot, I think.'

'And Aslak?' I asked.

'You broke his nose, Raven. Norsemen can be as vain as women.' He frowned. 'But I think he has forgiven you.'

'He should,' I said. 'Asgot set the bone straight for him. Mine's crooked now. Like a warped strake.' I turned, showing Sigurd my profile.

He laughed. 'So it is, Raven. So it is.' He stepped towards me, concentration suddenly etched on his face. 'Want me to have a go at straightening it?' he asked, studying my nose. 'I'm sure I can do it.'

I leapt back, my hand clutching my sword's hilt. 'With respect, lord, I'd rather fight you here and now,' I said. Sigurd laughed even more.

We found the watchtower abandoned. Inside, chicken and fish bones littered the ground and a heap of white ash sat smouldering in a ring of stones. Birch and green bracken had been piled against the wall so that it could be burned to dirty the sky with yellow smoke, and a plump ale skin leant against a log, though we did not drink from it in case it had been poisoned and left for us.

'The skinny brat was there,' Sigurd said, standing at the edge of the bluff, looking down on the fortress and the figures beyond its southern gate. 'The ealdorman's girl.'

'Cynethryth?' I said, my stomach churning.

'Aye, Ealdred's flat-chested daughter. Don't think she cares much for me.' He chuckled and for a moment he did not look like a killer at all.

'You can hardly blame her, after everything.'

Sigurd pursed his lips and shrugged. 'I don't see why she's so sour. You returned her to her father, didn't you?' He gestured to Caer Dyffryn. 'And we persuaded those filth-smeared whoresons to spit out her brother. The girl ought to show her appreciation, lad.' He winked mischievously. 'I've seen more meat on a flea-comb, but I'm sure she can't be as frail as she looks.' I scowled and Sigurd held up his hands. 'I'm teasing, Raven,' he said. 'You're a serious one, aren't you? The girl spoke to me. Must have burned her tongue, me being a savage heathen, but she seemed keen that I should come and find you before you got yourself into too much trouble.'

I leant my shield against the stone wall, unplugged the ale skin and sniffed the contents. 'I'm honoured that you came for me, lord,' I said.

'I want my ships back,' Sigurd said, 'and I want the rest of the silver that's owed me. The Englishman gave his word,' he spat, 'for what it's worth. I'd get what's due if I crossed this King Offa's wall and helped you get his precious son back.' He looked down into Caer Dyffryn. 'I've half a mind to ransom the lad. I'd sooner trust a dog not to chase a hare than trust the ealdorman. What kind of man sends thirty farmers and a crew of outlanders to fight for his son's life?'

'Some of them are good fighters, lord,' I said again, gesturing to the Wessexmen below.

Sigurd huffed. 'Ealdred is a snake.'

Regretfully, I tipped out the ale, watching as the foam sank into the hard ground. Sigurd bent and snatched up a handful of grass, which he dropped over the edge and watched as the breeze carried it away. I grinned, forgetting the cuts and bruises that nagged my body. 'You have more schemes than Loki himself,' I said, shaking my head. For I suddenly understood what Sigurd had in mind for the Welsh.

It was dusk when I blew into the bundle of dry grass and twigs, nurturing the embers that glowed delicately within. I was thinking I would have to strike the flint again when a burst of flame licked out, followed by a puff of yellow smoke that made me cough.

'Put it in here, Raven, before you burn off your first beard,' Svein the Red said, bending by the huge pile of wood at the edge of the bluff near the watchtower. It had taken us a long time to carry the timber up the hill and I was bone tired when I thrust the kindling into the grass-filled cavity. Svein and I stood back as the fire slowly took hold, whilst the other men waited in battle order in the valley below, their helmets and spear tips reflecting the last weak light of the day.

'Only Sigurd could have come up with this plan,' Svein said, picking up the ale skin I had discarded earlier. He looked miserable when he discovered it was empty, and threw it aside, reaching down the neck of his brynja to produce a stale crust from inside his tunic. He began to chew absently.

'Do you think it will work?' I asked, watching the big man's jaw bulging and contracting beneath his thick red beard.

'It'll work, lad,' Svein mumbled. 'Might also bring every whoreson ever weaned on a Welsh tit.' He screwed up his face. 'We'll see.'

Luckily, the wind still came from the east and it was not long before the fire spat the first bright red cinders up into the air to be carried over the bluff's edge. They looked like fireflies taking wing for the first time, and when the sun began its descent in the western sky the fire was roaring and crackling noisily and throwing off so much heat that we had to toss new branches on from a distance, even then shielding our faces with our forearms. Svein had removed his mail and tunic, and his heavily muscled chest and arms, criss-crossed with scars and old wounds, glistened in the firelight. His great red beard and hair resembled the flames that challenged the gathering dusk. To me he was the very embodiment of the god he favoured, mighty Thór, slayer of giants.

'It's working!' I yelled, pointing to a house down in the fortress below. Its thatch sprouted a small, hungry flame.

Svein looked up. The sky was full of flying cinders and ash. 'Looks like black snow,' he said, hands on hips, his eyes following thousands of cinders as they drifted over the bluff. Most would be spent and harmless by the time they reached the dry thatch of the houses below, but some would be still glowing, full of the promise of the fire that had spawned them. It was these embers that now began to do their work, smouldering awhile before bursting into flame. The Welsh were running around frantically, flinging water on to roofs and wattle frames, but their livestock hampered their efforts. Fearful of the falling cinders, sheep and cows ran in all directions making a din that carried up to us as we stood above looking upon Sigurd's mischief.

'Of course it's working,' Svein the Red said eventually, throwing the last of the branches into the angry flames. Embers were landing on his bare shoulders but he did not seem to notice. 'Well, lad, let's get down there and join the fun.' He bent to gather his gambeson and brynja. 'There's nothing more we can do up here and I don't intend to miss out on the bitches that come running out with their braids burning.'