Council, page 14
They all turned when the king rode forth. His horse was a magnificent, muscular beast, snorting and baring its teeth, pawing at the air, clearly raring for battle. King Eirik sat tall, his well-made, well-used mail shirt catching the light. At his side was his favourite hand-axe, in a lavishly tooled leather scabbard.
By his side was Alfgeir Bjorne, the bulk of him making his favourite mare look like a toy horse.
‘The gathered host brings pride to your regions.’ The young king’s strong voice cut through the babble and everyone fell silent.
‘However, we will not ride out just yet.’ Looks were exchanged, but no one said a thing. ‘I will have my riders back before we go – I want to meet Styrbjorn head-on, and in the right place, so best we all dismount and wait.’ Looking around, he added, ‘But don’t get too comfortable. Valhalla will call us soon enough.’
Beside him, Alfgeir landed lightly on the ground. ‘Food will be brought, and hay for the horses,’ he growled.
Around them the men from the south, west and north got off their mounts. Necks were cracked, shoulders stretched and knees bent.
Freysteinn approached Alfgeir and asked, ‘How can I help?’
‘We’ll need riders. Is your horse fast?’
‘Fast as anything,’ he said, smiling.
‘You might need it.’ There was no mirth in Alfgeir’s voice.
‘What’s the plan?’
‘We ride out against Styrbjorn and stop him in the woods where we can use the cover. Depending on what we learn, we’ll then fall back and defend Uppsala. It’ll give Thorgnyr enough time to organise our defences.’
Freysteinn looked past Alfgeir Bjorne at the Lawspeaker, who was standing halfway up the hill arguing with a handful of men. ‘We will need a bit of luck.’
‘Thorgnyr is a good man. He will do what needs to be done.’ There was a hint of a smile on his face that suggested he knew full well how much the Lawspeaker was going to hate this task.
‘I will keep an eye out and once you ride, I will follow,’ Freysteinn said. ‘My horse flies like a greased lie, so you need not worry.’
‘I’ll stop worrying when I’m dead.’ A shouted conversation caught Alfgeir’s attention. He turned his head to see what was happening and moments later, went striding off towards the edge of the field where one of the Northmen had apparently strayed too close to the Dalefolk.
Freysteinn watched for a few moments as Alfgeir weighed in, barking at both men until they backed down, and smiled. He mounted gracefully, then bent close to his horse’s ear and whispered, ‘I’ve talked you up some, boy. Now go!’ A sharp kick to the sides sent the animal lurching forward, but he quickly picked up speed and soon enough the field was out of earshot. Freysteinn didn’t let up but drove the beast on towards the edge of the forest. The trees grew closer; the line of green and brown became a looming presence and soon enough the forest swallowed him. The path he was following wound its way around big trees and across streams, but Freysteinn didn’t let the horse slacken until it slowed down in anticipation of the final bend in the road.
Only then did he rein it in, and a moment later he was jumping off, landing softly and yelling, ‘Helga!’
But no one answered.
*
Even with Grundle’s hooves beating a steady, heavy rhythm on the grass, Helga could almost hear the amulet on the leather strip whispering secrets at her from where it nestled, tucked away in the folds of her shirt. She just needed to get home, get her mind settled and plan what she was going to ask the Dalefolk, then everything would fall into place. Who would her mother have selected? Jorunn? She snorted and instantly dismissed the idea. No, she would not go to Jorunn, daughter of Unnthor, and offer any sort of information. The brawler, Lars? No. There had been a lot of malice and no compassion in his eyes. In her mind she brought up the face of the grey-haired man with the grey beard. There was something about him that suggested he could be useful: he looked like someone who might be kept talking until something slipped out. The thought of getting some answers to the questions clawing at her filled her with excitement. She thought about the things she’d brewed for the sick to take pain away and now she waited for the same blissful release of finding out – well, if not what had happened to the boy and why, then at least who he had been.
The questions filling her head offered themselves up to be asked when she met the captain of Jorunn’s guard and she was right in the middle of discarding the bad ones and polishing the good ones when she felt Grundle picking up speed. Looking around, she recognised the shapes of the trees, the curves of the path.
‘Nearly home,’ she murmured, and when Grundle tossed her head and snorted, ‘What?’ Rounding the bend, she saw Freysteinn’s horse standing in the yard. Why is he here? He’s not supposed to be. He had a knack for knowing where she was and when she’d be home. She could not remember him ever waiting for her.
Something felt . . . wrong.
Where was he?
She dismounted quickly, just as he emerged from the house.
‘There you are,’ he said, flashing a smile at her. Loki take your hide . . . She could feel her carefully assembled questions slipping through her fingers. Suddenly the curve of his neck was much more interesting, the width of his shoulders, his hands . . .
Stop it! She became aware that she hadn’t spoken yet. ‘Yes. Here I am. And so are you.’ What? She was suddenly furious. He had reduced her from a truth hunter to a half-wit. ‘What do you want?’ Somewhere in her head a thought appeared, something different. Dimly aware that she’d just snapped at him, she pushed it away and tried to regain control.
If he thought her sharp, he didn’t show it. ‘I just came to . . . um . . .’ Freysteinn’s gaze wavered and he looked at his feet.
He never hesitates. She could not name the feeling, but she could taste it, bitter and cold. What was going on? She watched him take a deep breath and when he looked up at her again, her heart leaped.
‘Styrbjorn has landed. I will have to go out with Alfgeir, run messages for the king.’
For a moment she couldn’t speak. In her mind she saw slashed, bleeding and battered bodies, lying broken and lifeless. She saw him discarded on the ground, cold and still and gone.
The words burst out of her. ‘I found the place where the boy got killed.’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘The boy – the boy by the river.’
‘That was yesterday.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I remember – I was there.’
Mention of the boy seems to have angered him. Quick – explain. Her heart thumping, she pushed the rest of the words out. ‘No, that wasn’t where he died, that was where he ended up – he floated down the river. He died further up. I found his campsite.’ Please, understand me – understand that I must have answers—
But his face had grown hard and cold. ‘Good. Maybe you can tell me about it if I come back.’
‘What do you mean, “if”?’ she snapped.
‘I might catch an axe in the skull tonight, Helga – I might never see you again!’
The sudden explosion, the fury of him, made her take two steps back. ‘. . . no,’ she said, and the feeling grew in her like a wave. ‘No.’
And she was her mother, and every woman who had ever sent a man to sea, and she would be obeyed. She looked him straight in the eye and said firmly, ‘You will get on your horse and you will ride hard and ride wise, and if you so much as see a blade, let alone catch one, I will find you and bring you back from the dead if I have to, just so I can flay you for your stupidity and wear your skin as a tunic. One way or another, you are keeping me warm this winter. Do you hear my words?’
She came back to herself then and felt for a moment that she saw into the heart of him.
He stared at her with something that looked like fear and happiness at the same time. ‘My mother told me never to mix my limbs with a Finn-witch.’
‘Well, then your mother was no less of a fool than you are. I am not of the Finns.’
‘But you do not deny that you are a witch?’
Somewhere, faintly, at the back of her head, Hildigunnur was smirking. ‘Why don’t you disobey me and find out.’
Her words brought the familiar sparkle back to his eye. ‘You have a way of making a man wish for long winter nights.’ With that he strode past her, close enough for her to catch his scent, mounted swiftly and turned his horse around. He rode out at a gallop, one hand uplifted in farewell.
The echoes of a sharp cry drifted through the trees and then there was silence.
Breathe. The familiar smells of pine, herbs and soil settled her. Breathe. For a moment, she imagined that she could smell wolfsbane. Breathe. Grundle had already taken herself off to where they kept the brushes.
Helga allowed her body to sink into the rhythms of the things that had to get done. If everyone was moving out, they would need poultices, drenches and bandages. It might not pay well, but it couldn’t hurt her cause to help Eirik. As long as we win.
As she swept the brush firmly but gently over the horse’s flanks, whispering soothing sounds to her, Helga turned inward and looked again at her questions. She conjured the face of Jorunn’s grey-haired captain as she nudged this and pushed that until slowly her thoughts started taking shape again and she was somewhat reassured.
Once Grundle was groomed to the horse’s satisfaction, she moved into the herb shed. She still felt a little out of sorts, she realised, and suddenly couldn’t remember where she’d left the things she needed. She had to do some rearranging, making sure that the dangerous herbs were back where they belonged. It was unlike her to not put things away in the right place; if that was where her mind was at, she’d need to be careful when matching wits with the Dalefolk.
After all, there was a killer out there.
*
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Drifa stepped into the sunlight, casting a shadow on the kneeling figure.
‘Maybe I don’t want to.’ Ludin of Skane pulled on his thick boots and set to tying up the leather straps, ignoring his advisor.
‘Is this the right thing to do?’
He looked up at her. ‘Is anything?’
Through the tent they could hear the sounds of shouted orders and the forced joy in the replies of men preparing for a battle they didn’t want.
‘The Jomsvikings are tough as they come and Styrbjorn is downright vicious. Do you remember the time we found the village he’d—’
‘Yes.’
‘And so why are we—?’
The old man looked at her. ‘Because all that we say about Styrbjorn, the world has said about me twice over.’ He sighed and halted his preparations. ‘We side with the king because we have to. He needs us – but we need him too.’ His voice was soft. ‘I am old, Drifa, old and tired. An outside threat—’
‘— like Styrbjorn?’
‘Yes, like Styrbjorn – that is useful to us. Anything that makes people wary. It will bind our alliance together. The other option – to run with Harald’s pit-hounds – is not a good choice. Those who pay for the blade fear it the most, and I know Bluetooth’s ilk: he would not wait long until he’d set them on us anyway, and then we’d have nothing, no friends, no blades and no land. No, the only way forward is to stand with Eirik – but it must appear to be an uneasy alliance.’
Drifa looked at him quizzically. ‘Why?’
‘Because if we are the sharp end of Eirik’s army, others will fear us, and if he remembers that fear, he will give us respect. Respect buys time, enough for me to die an old man and for the future of Skane to be someone else’s problem.’ Ludin grabbed his axe, a thing of black iron menace with a well-worn handle. ‘You are sharp as the frozen edge, Drifa, but you still need to learn.’ Standing up, Ludin twisted, cracked and flexed his joints before turning back to his right-hand woman. ‘Know what you want – and do anything to make it happen.’
With that he ducked under the hide tent flap and disappeared.
*
The trees were showing faint tinges of gold and shadow by the time Helga saddled Grundle again, this time for the ride into Uppsala. She could feel the weight of the bags on her hip, stuffed with as much shaved juniper root, goatweed and ribwort as she could muster. Thin-spun wool soaked in mayweed juice was rolled up and tied, ready to wrap around nasty cuts. ‘Do you think they’ll want me to go with them?’ she asked, absentmindedly.
When Grundle snorted in reply, she laughed. ‘How could you know?’ She leaned over and stroked the warm muzzle. ‘You don’t worry too much about us, all told, do you?’
The horse snorted again, impatiently: the saddle was on and that meant run.
‘Yes, yes,’ she muttered, ‘I should listen to you in all things. Then maybe my stores wouldn’t have run so low.’ She grimaced. When she’d gone in to fill her bags, she’d found she was almost out of ground ivy and wormwood, and low in burdock and vervein too. She was still bothered about leaving the wolfsbane bag in the wrong place as well. What would Hildigunnur have said? She could remember all too clearly the cold look on her mother’s face when orders weren’t followed precisely. And as if that wasn’t enough, the soft flesh above her hip had suddenly started aching in memory of the Eastman witch’s bony fingers. They would lash out like cat’s claws, raking, prodding or pinching, depending on what Groa thought she had done wrong.
I was busy!
She mounted smoothly, cursing herself for having make-believe arguments with women long gone from her life. But it was true, she had been busy, ever since she’d first seen Freysteinn, when it had suddenly become harder to keep her mind on the work, the slow grind of finding the good herb patches, the cutting, drying and sorting, the planting and harvesting in her own herb garden. She thought of him now, the way he made her feel, and as the familiar trees fell back behind her and the plains below Uppsala opened up before her, she suddenly felt like she could see him – see him with her – from a distance.
He’s turned my head good and proper, she admitted to herself, then, ‘You are Loki’s child and no mistake,’ she said to the wind whipping around her ears. Like a fool, she had allowed a man to become the most important thing in her life.
But no more.
She would fight to keep a clear head and push Freysteinn away until she had found the boy’s killer.
Out of habit she looked up, searching for the sparkling chains on the temple, but they were not the only things catching the sun today.
A meadow of spears, helmets and shields had sprouted in the field where she’d pitched her wagon only yesterday. They’re ready to go – I almost missed them. Now, be calm. She pushed aside the desire to urge Grundle into a gallop and draw attention to her arrival, instead slowing down a bit and looking around.
The men of Uppsala were unfamiliar in battered helmets and old mail shirts, except for the large frame of Alfgeir Bjorne, stalking between groups, stopping here and there to pull, push or bash someone into shape. She caught a glimpse of Ludin and his men, in the middle of the crowd, looking bored. That is probably the best thing they can bring to this gathering: calm. The Dalefolk were clustered tightly to one side, and all eyes were trained on Jorunn.
There would be no way to get to her greybeard captain, not now.
‘Everything is going the way of Odin’s eye,’ she muttered, slowing Grundle further and cursing herself for not having gone straight to town. Why did I go home? It was almost as if I knew that he was there . . .
The Northmen were sprawled over a large area. She could see some of them were fussing over a covered wagon while others were busying themselves sharpening blades, sending the scrape of stone on metal whistling through the air. On a hunch, Helga guided Grundle towards their horses, where she had spotted the young wrestler preparing the animals as best he could with one arm broken and the other sprained. He saw her coming and she raised a hand and smiled, happy to note that his cheeks coloured ever so slightly in response.
‘Well met, Breki,’ she called, dismounting beside him.
‘Well met, Healer.’ After a brief pause, he added, ‘Thank you.’ Casting a glance at her lathered horse, he handed her his brush.
‘I’m Helga. And I’m glad to help. How are the hands?’
‘They hurt like—’
‘Being bitten by a badger on the arse?’
He smiled awkwardly. ‘Maybe not what I was going to say, but it sounds about right.’
‘They are going to heal, I promise, and quickly.’
He gestured at the assembled men. ‘Not quickly enough, though.’
Helga’s scalp tingled. She’d seen Hildigunnur pouncing, getting people to talk: here was the opening she needed.
‘This?’ she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘This will be over before you know it. Styrbjorn will show up, Eirik will negotiate and the whole thing will disappear. I’m willing to bet that they’d even hold off on the fighting until you can participate, if you asked them nicely.’ She smiled, to show him she was on his side.
The boy frowned for a moment, but then whatever he was thinking about went the right way. ‘It’s just stupid,’ he said gloomily.
‘I know,’ Helga said.
‘If he’d known about Styrbjorn, do you think Ludin would still have—?’
‘I don’t know him, but I don’t think that one thinks like we do. He might have tried to do even worse in order to get himself ready for the fight.’
