Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One (26 page)

‘Aren’t they all?’ The trader grinned. ‘Until next week then. Best be here early – furs go quickly, especially the good ones.’

Over the next few days their goods for trading rapidly disappeared and their newly acquired items gradually filled the holds in the knarrs.

‘Three more days before this Varin’s expected,’ Bjorn said with a sigh as they lounged around their camp fire on the gentle rise behind Birka’s palisade. To their left the walls of the fortress loomed, a constant reminder to any would-be miscreant. The long northern day was fading, the bustle along the waterfront slowing; the waters of Lake Mälaren lapped the island’s shores and the breeze stirred the long grasses. Ulf swatted at a cloud of midges, smiling at memories of Hastein. It was almost a year since that day along the Seine.

The number of small circles of light dotting the town gradually increased and the two boys soon retired to their tent, drowsy after a long day. The laughter of night-time revellers carried to their ears and the men gazed longingly at the appealing scene. Ulf knew how they felt: they all needed a night of entertainment and pleasure.

‘Let’s just hope he’s worth the wait,’ Bjorn went on. ‘Another few days here will be more than enough for all of us. But we need the furs so we’ve got to try our luck.’

‘I thought you wanted to spend more time here, my lord – on
private
business.’

Bjorn momentarily glowered, then his lips twitched and he lurched to his feet. ‘I’ve decided my “private business” can wait, Leif. Why waste time looking for a woman when there’s a perfectly good brothel or two down there?

‘Who’s for a night of fun?’ he yelled to his seated men.

The respondent cheer was enough to alert the entire town to their intentions.

* * *

By their twelfth day in Birka the novelty of wandering around the market had long since worn off for the two boys. Jorund gradually retreated into himself, his dark moods pervading the tent he shared with Ulf and Ubbi. Oddly, Ubbi found Jorund’s sulks hilarious, and took delight in teasing the boy.

Bjorn had now traded the last of the loot from Francia and bought a variety of goods with silver coin: leather shoes, belts and jackets; items made from reindeer antler, like combs, spindle whorls, needles, gaming dice and even antler-handled knives, and walrus ivory for their craftsmen to carve into ornaments. Crates of iron from the northern lands would undoubtedly delight the smiths. And Bjorn had been well satisfied with Varin’s pelts. Tomorrow they’d be leaving and Ulf hoped that sailing again might lift Jorund’s spirits.

As they gathered their belongings early the next morning, Ubbi hurtled towards Ulf.

‘I can’t find Jorund anywhere,’ he bleated, his eyes flicking to the dense woods behind them. ‘Do you think he’s just gone up there for a piss? He wouldn’t have gone far on his own, would he, Ulf?’

Concern clouded Ubbi’s dark eyes and Ulf wondered whether he felt guilty at having teased Jorund so much. He glanced down at the town, considering that his brother was more likely to have headed there. If he had, he’d be very difficult to find once the market was in full swing. ‘Just give him a little longer,’ he urged, squeezing Ubbi’s shoulder. ‘He knows we’re sailing this morning. If he’s not back soon, I’ll see what can be arranged to find him.’

* * *

Too worried to wait for Ulf’s help, Ubbi decided to search for Jorund himself. He darted between the scattered birches down the hillside and headed for one of the palisade gates, considering that his friend was unlikely to be roaming round the market. He squinted up at the fortress on that bleak rock, recalling Jorund’s interest in it. Now
that
was a possibility . . .

Once through the gate, he sped along the inside of the palisade as it swung to join the rampart that encircled the fortress, creeping past the garrison outside the northern gate, where voices through an open window conveyed the presence of off-duty guards. A confrontation was the last thing he needed and he moved warily on, knowing other guards could be patrolling. Keeping close to the rampart, only a few yards from the precipice that plummeted to the beach far below, he reached the tip of the headland.

And there was Jorund, statue-still, gazing down at the ships that bobbed like tiny toy boats on Lake Malaren’s glassy water.

‘Jorund! What on Misgard are you doing up here?’ Ubbi blurted. ‘You know we’re sailing this morning!’

Jorund’s sad eyes held his friend’s. ‘I just needed to be on my own for a bit – get rid of my bad mood before we sailed.’ He retrieved a gold ring inset with a bright red stone from inside his tunic and held it out to Ubbi. ‘Mama gave it to me, just before you all came to Aalborg and I was feeling jealous of Yrsa. She said it would always remind me of how much she loved me. Sometimes I can’t get her dying out of my head, and looking at the ring makes me forget she’s gone. I don’t mean to be so miserable, Ubbi, especially when you’ve been so kind to me.’

Ubbi put his arm round Jorund’s shoulder as the tears flowed. ‘Well, I’m your friend, aren’t I? I’ll always be your friend, if you let me. And I owed your family a favour, anyway.’

Jorund stared at him and Ubbi laughed. ‘I don’t suppose your brother’s told you how he dived into the river and saved me from drowning. I was only two, so I don’t remember, but Freydis is always going on about it.’

‘But I haven’t got a brother! There’s just me and Yrsa.’

‘How can you forget someone that big? And Ulf’s good at saving people; he saved Bjorn from an arrow in Francia.’

Jorund’s little heart-shaped face creased in confusion. ‘But I’d never met Ulf before he came to Aalborg, and Mother never mentioned him. Why didn’t he live in my father’s hall like all his other children?’

Ubbi frowned. Was Jorund really unaware of his relationship to Ulf, or had the loss of his mother blocked out all other memories? ‘Rorik isn’t Ulf’s father, or yours,’ he said, wishing he hadn’t spoken about Ulf at all. ‘I don’t know who your father is – you’ll have to ask Ulf about that. Only he knows, and perhaps Bjorn and Sigehelm. But no one ever talks about it. Certainly not to me.

‘Come on,’ he said, determined to cheer his little friend up. ‘Let’s get back before we both get a bollocking.’

Thirty Two

‘Can’t say I’m surprised to see you back,’ King Alfarin said, mopping the last of the mutton stew from his bowl with a chunk of bread and popping it into his mouth. He took several gulps of ale and swept his sleeve across greasy lips. ‘Svala’s ears ache from hearing your name,’ he added, grinning at Bjorn’s expression of feigned ignorance.

Bjorn’s crew had again been welcomed to Alfarin’s hall and offered a bed for the night. Svala had provided another substantial meal, for which a goat had beeen slain to accompany the pottage, and was presently organising the servants for serving the dessert. Bowls of autumn fruits preserved in honey – juicy plums and sloes, bilberries, loganberries, blackberries, rosehips and rowan berries – would be served topped with dollops of skyr. Ulf licked his lips in anticipation of the smooth, creamy mixture made from buttermilk. Its touch of sourness complemented the sweetness of the honeyed fruits so well.

‘Kata’s normally quite a reserverd girl, rarely speaks unless the subject’s of importance: not one to waste time with frivolities or gossip, you might say.’ Alfarin’s fond smile told of his love for his only daughter. ‘Sometimes I believe she thinks too deeply for a woman, worries about things of more concern to my warriors. And she’ll speak her mind if she thinks an injustice has been done or an unwise decision made. Then there’s no stopping her!’

From his seat with Leif and the two boys lower down the hall, Ulf followed the conversation with interest. At Alfarin’s right, Bjorn was nodding vigorously, his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. ‘Your daughter sounds just like my sister,’ he said. ‘Freydis doesn’t like tittle-tattle either, but give her a subject she feels strongly about and she’ll match any man’s argument. And I confess, she’s generally right in her opinions. But I feel she needs a woman of her own age to share her interests; someone with strong opinions, like Kata.’

Alfarin guffawed, banging down his ale cup and swivelling his bulk to face Bjorn. Even from some distance away, Ulf could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘It does sound as though your sister and my daughter would get along famously,’ Alfarin said, still chuckling as he glanced round the hall.

‘Just where
is
Kata?’ he threw at his wife hovering with a bowl of skyr.

Svala scuttled off to find her daughter and Alfarin slapped Bjorn’s shoulder. ‘So you think my Kata would fit well into your family, do you? But what role did you have in mind for her, exactly? Remember, she’s a king’s daughter.’

Bjorn’s face cracked into an enormous grin and he rose to his feet, all attention focusing upon him. ‘My lord,’ he started, bowing his head to Alfarin, ‘and esteemed residents of this household.’ He saluted each table in turn with his cup. ‘You do us great honour by extending your hospitality to us for a second time. Be assured, my father will be made aware of every detail and hear our praises.’

‘The honour is mine,’ Alfarin assured. ‘I couldn’t have had a better comrade than your father. But I think you’ve a point to make somewhere here, a certain request to make?’

‘I confess, I’ve counted the days to this meeting as we’ve traded,’ Bjorn admitted, feigned embarrassment on his face. ‘You see, my lord, I’ve never made such a request before, and I’ve somewhat surprised myself in wanting to do so. But “wanting” is the only word that springs to mind to describe my feelings.’

‘Would this, perhaps, be the object of your “wanting”?’ Alfarin asked, rising to embrace his daughter who’d come to stand beside him.

Kata’s dark eyes held Bjorn’s as she tilted her head, a ready smile on her lips. She was a very pretty girl, Ulf thought, used to adoration, which, as the king’s only daughter, she’d probably been freely given since birth.

Bjorn was entranced by this smiling beauty. His eyes fixed on her face with its ivory skin and pert little nose, framed by the shining black curls that cascaded like a bubbling waterfall down her back. Her shapely figure looked firm and lithe beneath her pleated, apple-green dress, the silver brooches fastening her white tunic glinting in the lamplight.

‘You wish to take my little girl away from my hall and into your own? Would she please you as a wife?’ Alfarin asked, his voice holding a teasing edge.

Kata showed no surprise at her father’s directness, though her smile was replaced by a small frown as she waited for Bjorn’s response.

Bjorn tore his attention from Kata to Alfarin. ‘My lord, although we barely know each other, I feel that Kata and I were somehow meant to be. And I would be more than gratified to receive your permission to marry your enchanting daughter.’

A roar of approval filled the hall and Afarin clapped Bjorn on the back whilst Svala hugged her daughter. Ulf knew the intended bride would not be consulted in the matter, though Kata’s reaction left little doubt regarding her delight at Bjorn’s reply.

‘But . . .’ Bjorn uttered the word quietly once he could make himself heard.

‘You have a
but
?’ Alfarin’s beaming face transformed itself into a frown. ‘Then pray tell us what this “but” would be.

‘A simple request, my lord. I would ask permission for myself and my men to remain on Bornholm for perhaps another week or so in order for Kata and I to become better acquainted. After that time we would return to Aros to prepare my own family for our happy event. I would suggest a September wedding.’

Alfarin nodded. ‘That seems a fair request. You’re in no rush to be home?’

‘It’s early in the year; our trading’s done and the goods will keep,’ Bjorn replied, gazing adoringly into Kata’s dark eyes. ‘And I’d much prefer to spend the time with my bride-to-be. Properly chaperoned, naturally.’

Alfarin threw back his head and roared, his mirth rubbing off on everyone in the hall. ‘“Properly chaperoned” it shall be!’ He slapped his meaty thigh, still chortling at the expression. ‘My island’s your home until such time as you return to Ragnar with your happy news.’ He squeezed Bjorn’s arm and turned to his daughter. ‘Now that we’ve sorted out your future you can return to whatever kept you earlier, Kata. Tomorrow you may spend some time with Bjorn, but only in this hall, in the presence of your mother.’

Leif caught Ulf’s attention and rolled his eyes. ‘And just what does Bjorn think we’re all going to do whilst he’s off a-wooing his fair maid? Spend a week or so here, he says. A week my arse! Bjorn’s no intention of reaching home before summer’s done. He’d be bored to tears during the harvest. We’ll likely be here at least three weeks – then probably take our time visiting Sjaelland or Fyn!’

‘The ceremony will be here, I take it?’

Leif nodded. ‘The bride’s father holds the marriage feast in his own hall, and pays for it.’ He suddenly smirked roguishly. ‘Aslanga’s face should be a picture when she’s told she’ll have to sail to Bornholm for Bjorn’s wedding. Our master’s not exactly the apple of the mistress’s eye, is he?’

* * *

During the first week on Bjornholm, Ubbi and Jorund played happily with the king’s numerous grandchildren, released from many of their own duties whilst the visitors were here. But on occasion Ulf had caught Jorund staring at him, a puzzled look on his face. It was time to have a talk with the boy.

‘You’ve found a good friend in Ubbi,’ he said as they ate their morning meal together in the noisy hall. ‘He told me you’re his best friend now.’

Jorund glanced at Ubbi, chatting with Bjorn at Alfarin’s table. ‘I like Ubbi, too. And he looks after me, because he’s older.’

‘That’s good to hear. Were you lonely in Aalborg, Jorund?’

‘I wasn’t lonely. Mother told me stories and taught me my letters, and we played with my bricks and built towers and bridges. But when Yrsa was born Mother had no time for me. I was very unhappy, until she told me that all babies take up lots of time – and gave me this to remind me that she still loved me.’

Ulf stared at the ring inset with a large red garnet that sat in Jorund’s small hand. A stabbing pain shot through his chest as he recalled the day Beorhtwulf had given it to Morwenna. She must somehow have managed to hold on to it for all these years.

‘But I had no one else to play with,’ Jorund said, tucking the ring back inside his tunic. ‘None of Father’s other children played with me. And Ubbi told me that Rorik isn’t my father, so now I don’t know who is!’ Tears coursed down his face and Ulf held him close until he calmed. ‘And I don’t know why Rorik let Mother die. He just stood there and watched the man with the axe.’

Ulf knew that he would never forgive Rorik for what he’d done, but Jorund must be helped to live his childhood without hatred eating at his very being. He took a breath. ‘I need to tell you something that will come as a great surprise–’

‘If it’s to tell me that you’re my brother, I already know.’

‘Ah,’ Ulf replied, strangely unsurprised.

‘I didn’t believe Ubbi at first because Mother never told me about you. I just didn’t understand.’

‘You couldn’t be expected to. I imagine it was a shock to hear it.’

Jorund stared dolefully into his buttermilk. ‘It’s definitely true, then? You’re my brother, and Yrsa’s? And our mother was your mother too?’

‘I’m your
full
brother, Jorund,’ Ulf explained, ‘which means that we have the same mother and father. And we are Yrsa’s
half-
brothers.’ Jorund was silent, struggling with this new idea. ‘Morwenna was mother to all three of us, you see, but Yrsa had a different father to you and me. Jarl Rorik is Yrsa’s father. No, I’ll not tell you our father’s name because it’s best not to talk about him in Aros. When you’re older I’ll tell you all about him.

‘When our father died seven years ago, you and Mother went to live in Aalborg, where the jarl raised you as his son,’ Ulf continued, choking on the necessary lie. ‘And I’ve lived in Aros since then, which is why we’d never met. But after our mother died, you and Yrsa had to leave Aalborg because there was no one there to look after you. In Aros there are people happy to do so – and you can be near to me, so we can get to know each other. Can you accept what I’ve told you for the time being, Jorund? This has been a hard time for us both but now we must let our new friends help us.’

As though on cue, Ubbi charged towards them, thrusting his last piece of crust into his mouth and chewing rapidly. ‘Coming to play, Jorund?’ he asked, gesturing toward the children waiting in the doorway. ‘Is that all right, Ulf?’

Ulf flicked his hand, dismissively. ‘Go and enjoy your day!’

* * *

It turned out that Leif was only partially right about their stay on Bornholm. After two weeks, Bjorn informed his crew it was time to leave. It was mid-July.

‘At the beginning of September I’ll return here with my family for a mid-month wedding,’ he said, his happiness evident. ‘I can’t wait to see my father’s face when he learns whose daughter I’m to wed. We leave at daybreak,’ he threw over his shoulder as he strode away, ‘so go steady on the mead tonight.’

The men just glanced at each other and smirked.

Two days later, they arrived back in Aros where Bjorn’s news caused the anticipated rumpus. Ragnar was overjoyed at his son’s decision to marry – Alfarin’s daughter at that! – and a beaming smile fixed on his face for days. For a week, evening meals became celebratory feasts, and a quiet place in the village became hard to find. And Aslanga flapped over the necessity of leaving Aros in Thora and Toke’s hands.

‘So you’re all leaving again,’ Freydis said, coming up behind Ulf as he plunged his head in and out of the horse trough by the hay barn in an attempt to cool himself. Westward the sun was sliding slowly down, spilling rays of liquid gold across the skies; the heat of the day reluctant to loosen its grip on the still evening air.

Ulf jerked upright, shaking his head like a shaggy-haired hound emerging from a dip in the river. Water droplets flew from his long hair and beard, showering Freydis, and she giggled at his embarrassed apologies.

‘Don’t apologise, Ulf. That cool water feels extremely good.’ She pushed back dampened strands of hair and fanned her cheeks with her hand. ‘I’ve been in the fireroom for so long I feel well griddled myself! I’d just stepped out to get some air and noticed you in the middle of your, er, ablutions. It’s so good to have you all back.’

Freydis’s blue gaze fixed on Ulf’s face, a small frown replacing the smile. ‘But you’re sailing again in two days and you’ve only been back for a week. Life’s so dull here when Bjorn goes away, and takes you with him.’

Not trusting his own voice Ulf watched the swallows circling and swooping overhead as they foraged for insect prey.

‘Bjorn tells me you’re going to Ribe.’

‘He lowered his eyes to meet hers. ‘He wants to take the wedding invitation to Hastein himself. I don’t know how long we’ll be there. We could be straight back, but I’m more inclined to think we’ll stay for longer.’

‘Those two have always been close,’ Freydis said, smiling again. ‘I remember Hastein’s many summers here when I was a child. He’s good for Bjorn: they’re of a similar age and like the same things. And Hastein makes me laugh. It will be good to see him again.’

‘It will,’ Ulf agreed. ‘And I hope to see an old friend of my own in Ribe.’

‘Oh . . .?’

‘Aethelnoth and I were childhood friends,’ he said, unable to stop a grim laugh emerging from his throat, ‘until we were both captured by Rorik’s men.’

Freydis gently laid a hand on his arm, causing that involuntary frisson he’d felt before to surge through his body. He covered her hand with his and their eyes locked.

‘Then I’m happy for you, she whispered, pulling her hand away, the moment broken. ‘I hope you find him in good health and that your friendship can be easily renewed. People can change much over the years.’

‘Hastein’s told me all about Aethelnoth,’ Ulf said, watching Ubbi and Jorund haring towards them. ‘He’s apparently a giant of a man, well regarded by Hastein’s father.’ A shadow of doubt crossed his mind as he contemplated Freydis’s words. Aethelnoth may not want to renew a boyish friendship from seven years ago.

‘Are you two
ever
coming in to eat?’ Ubbi blurted as he and Jorund screeched to a halt beside the water trough and commenced to soak each other.