Council, page 21
Up ahead, the shape slowed down and became a lathered horse and large man, well balanced but clearly favouring his left side. An oak of a man . . . or . . . ?
It is him. ‘Don’t shoot!’ After the tense silence Helga’s voice sounded loud and shrill and she could feel the side-eyed glare of Jorunn burning a hole in her head. ‘It’s one of the Northmen,’ she said quickly. ‘The boy wrestler.’
The arrow’s flight sounded like an indrawn breath – and then it thwacked into the trunk of a tree, several paces away from the boy’s head. The horse reared but Breki calmed him down quickly and efficiently. He looked down at Jorunn, then raised his right hand and showed it, palm out. Wincing, he dragged up the second one as well.
‘Well met.’ Jorunn hadn’t budged an inch. Behind her, Haki ghosted out of the woods, a new arrow leisurely nocked.
‘Well met,’ Breki said. ‘May I dismount?’
‘You may. Word from King Eirik?’
‘Nothing of note,’ Breki said, grunting as he landed heavily. ‘He and Ingileif talked after you’d left and they decided that I should join the caravan.’
‘Did they, now.’ She inclined her head by way of permission.
As Breki silently walked his horse over to where the others were tethered, Haki sat back down by the half-plucked bird. Helga noticed his bow and arrows were still within easy reach, even though Jorunn had started rummaging in one of the carts, completely ignoring the newcomer.
Helga drifted back to the horses herself and resumed grooming the carthorse, finding herself conveniently near enough to be able to talk quietly to Breki without being overheard.
‘How are the hands doing?’
Without looking at her, he replied, ‘Hurts like I’m Fenrir’s chew-toy.’
‘Good,’ she said, and noted the stifled chuckle. ‘Well, maybe not quite what I meant, but it shows they’re healing. It would be a lot worse if either felt dead or numb.’
‘I’d rather have them not hurt at all, if you don’t mind. He grinned shyly, then admitted, ‘I guess they are a little less sore than yesterday. This one especially.’ He held up the sprained wrist, which was a lot less swollen than it had been.
They fell silent again. Helga was enjoying the warmth and weight and the small sounds of the horses; not for the first time she wished that more people were like animals. She forgot herself in the long, firm strokes, bringing a shine to the beast’s coat, until Jorunn’s voice rang out behind her.
‘Any luck?’
‘A little.’
Hearing Freysteinn’s voice, Helga couldn’t stop herself looking over her shoulder. Even in the fading light she could make out the darker silhouette of her lover, a bundle of something on his shoulder, emerging from the forest. At almost the same time, Big Rolf appeared from the opposite direction, lugging something heavy. As they both got to the centre of the clearing, Freysteinn dumped his firewood in a heap and knelt down to stack it properly so he could start the fire. The Northerner worked silently beside him; Helga wasn’t sure if he’d noticed Breki’s arrival, for he gave no sign of it.
Soon enough an amber glow appeared, growing steadily until tongues of flame were licking upwards.
Big Rolf walked to one of the carts and unhooked the large iron cauldron, which he suspended over the fire, announcing to no one in particular, ‘Pot’s on.’
Then at last he looked over at the horses. ‘Well met, boy. Took your time, didn’t you?’
Breki smiled, and Helga could see the affection on his face. ‘I thought I’d enjoy the time being away from your smelly old arse.’
‘I’m surprised you found us, seeing as you couldn’t find your way from under your mother’s dress a couple of summers ago,’ Big Rolf replied.
‘That is true enough,’ Breki said, still grooming his horse, ‘But unlike you, I continued growing after eight summers.’
This brought a chortle from Big Rolf and smiles from Haki and Freysteinn, who’d been enjoying the exchange.
‘Huh,’ Big Rolf said, ‘I’ll have to hack your legs off in your sleep for that one, boy. Can’t have you looking down on your elders.’
‘At least you’re smart enough to wait until he lies down,’ Freysteinn chimed in.
Big Rolf put on a voice of mock outrage. ‘Oh, so it’s everyone pick on poor old Rolf now, is it? Who’s next? The brown-skin?’ He looked around. ‘Where’s he gone to, then?’ When there was no answer, he turned to Jorunn. ‘Where’s your warrior gone? Have I gained what you have lost?’
She’s alone. The realisation hit Helga like a hard punch to the stomach.
Hildigunnur had never stopped telling her to imagine what it was like to walk in someone else’s tracks, and now Helga was getting a full helping of being in Jorunn’s boots, she rather wished she wasn’t. Big Rolf’s words had had just the right amount of challenge to them: not enough to act on, but more than enough to chip away at her right to command. And there she stood, completely without friends – but if Jorunn was at all bothered, she didn’t show it.
‘If you count your broke-paw bear cub as a warrior, then I guess that’s true.’ An artful pause. ‘But that would also suggest that you think the two of you can best me.’
Helga had to fight hard to keep from smirking. Play and counter-play. Jorunn had shown herself to be a strong Tafl player the last time Helga had met her, five years ago, and since then she’d been surviving on her wits. Now Big Rolf had put himself in position: either he had to take the full step up, or—
‘Of course not. I am an old man and you are at least half Finn-witch.’
‘And the other half of me is hill-troll. Remember that.’
Helga couldn’t but admire the perfect weighting of joke and threat in Jorunn’s reply.
The faint sound of drumming hooves from the direction of the sunset drew everyone’s attention away from the old man, but it was only Nazreen, coming out from the cover of the trees.
Say whatever you want about him, but that man can ride, Helga thought, admiring the sight. It was hard to distinguish horse and rider, so thoroughly unified were they in their rhythm. She felt a brief tingling sensation and instantly slapped it down. No. Absolutely not. No thinking about anything like that. Instead, she turned her attention to Freysteinn, hoping for some distraction.
What she got instead was a faint, shadowy sense of satisfaction from within.
Freysteinn was so busy tending to a cook-fire that really didn’t need tending that it would have been less obvious what he was thinking if he’d climbed up a tree and screamed it. ‘Never underestimate the power of the whispered word,’ her mother always said, and here was the proof: not only was he studiously ignoring Nazreen, but he had apparently lost all his joy in the journey.
Nazreen dismounted right next to Jorunn, landing with enviable softness and immediately giving his report in his harsh, scratchy language. Two – three? – sentences in, Jorunn spoke, just a word, and he stopped immediately.
Helga’s heartbeat quickened ever so slightly as she realised he was walking towards her. A thrill coursed through her. She determined she would not look at Freysteinn and instead, she focused on the horse, patting the animal’s thick neck and murmuring the final soothing words. She got a snort in return. She didn’t need to look up to see Nazreen’s big brown eyes regarding her; she felt . . . studied. Measured.
Play this right, girl. She smiled at him – just so – and gestured to take his reins. His brow furrowed for a moment, then he understood and smiling, shook his head. She smiled back, silently offering him the brush and he inclined his head slowly, gracefully. Yes, thank you.
And now for the final twist . . . Her hand grazed his as she handed it over. His skin felt firm, warm and soft—
Helga slammed a heavy stone on the first three thoughts that followed and instead, she smiled again, this time looking him straight in the eyes. His lips lifted a touch in return, then he turned to the horse and started rubbing the beast down.
Bait, set . . .
As Helga turned away, she made sure to glance across at Freysteinn. The uncomfortable shade of red on his face suggested that he had definitely seen the exchange.
. . . trap.
You should have listened to me when you had the chance.
*
The glow of the fire softened everything. Breki leaned back, enjoying the feel of a full stomach. ‘That stew was good.’
‘I know,’ Big Rolf grunted in reply. Across the fire from them, Jorunn sat up and muttered something to the brown-skinned man. Over to the side, Freysteinn was busy telling a story to Helga and Haki that appeared to involve something about a man and a wolverine in a bag.
‘Why are you here?’ Big Rolf’s voice was quiet, but there was a hardness to the question that made Breki flinch.
‘The North Wind told me to come.’
‘When?’
‘Just before I got here.’
‘No,’ the old man hissed, ‘when did she tell you that you had to leave?’
‘We were about to go home, and then she was called away. I think she went to talk to Vala. It was after that. She said that you could probably use some company.’
Big Rolf cursed under his breath.
‘Why?’
A gust of wind caught the embers of the fire, sending up a whirl of sparks. The old man took a deep breath. ‘It could mean any number of things,’ he said slowly, ‘and none of them are good.’
There was a peal of laughter from Freysteinn’s corner, then Jorunn interrupted. Surveying the small group, she announced, ‘While we still have time on our side, it might be wise to share a couple of stories.’
Big Rolf’s interest immediately perked up. ‘I like the sound of that. What have you got, Finn-witch?’
‘If this wasn’t what it was, Son of Dwarves’ – Big Rolf chuckled – ‘I’d give you the honour of going first – seeing as you have less time left in this world than we do.’ Seasoned with a smile, this got an appreciative head-nod from Jorunn’s captive audience. ‘But maybe there are things we should be aware of. So if no one complains, I’d like to start.’
The old man smiled. ‘I don’t see anyone lifting so much as a finger. The word is yours.’
Helga watched as Jorunn grew, somehow, almost as if she had walked through a door and come out a different woman.
‘Trading takes you to strange places,’ she began, ‘and you see and hear some strange things. How many of you had heard of King Harald before this?’
All but one hand rose. Nazreen remained motionless, but he was clearly listening closely.
‘And how many of you have seen him, in the flesh?’
The hands sank down again.
We know nothing – and she’s holding it up in front of us so we understand that.
‘I have. One summer ago I was forced to go to Hedeby. I don’t like it – it’s too big, too many traders, not enough space – and then there is Harald himself. When I arrived he was away, so I did what I needed to do and was about to head south when word came that the king was returning from bashing the Angles, so I decided to hang about for a bit. I had a couple of expensive things in the cart I’d not been able to shift and we all know big men tend to get a little loose with their purse if they’ve been lucky on the raids.
‘Of course, I wasn’t the only one awaiting King Harald’s arrival. It hadn’t been a good summer – too much rain, too much wind, too little sun – and what hadn’t rotted in the ground was late to harvest and of poor quality, so Harald’s Godsman was intent on getting some significant sacrifices. Even before the sails had been spotted he was talking about how they’d need to give three or four thralls, at the very least, and preferably Greymane, Harald’s favourite horse, to show the gods how serious they were. The Godsman, Troels was his name, was a powerful man: he was tall, with broad shoulders and long blond hair. He knew his horses and he knew his gods. Nobody said anything, but there was a tension about the place . . . which is not necessarily bad for trade.’ Jorunn smirked.
‘The king sailed with eight ships – a small band, but they were all hard men. Less than half a day after, the first sail was spotted and by mid-afternoon, the men were stepping onto Dane-soil. The women were jubilant: the men were loaded with gold and they’d brought home half a ship’s worth of thralls to boot. It sounded as if their time a-Viking was as good as any raider’s drunken boasts, which is saying something.
And then I saw Harald Bluetooth, and it became clear why he only needed a few men to carry much home.’
‘Why is that?’ Breki asked, almost breathless with excitement. He’d been hanging on Jorunn’s words from the start of the tale. ‘Is he fearsome?’
Jorunn smiled, and there was a bit of mystery in her features. ‘Oh yes, he is,’ she almost purred. ‘Like I said, trading takes a person to strange places, where they see strange things. And I have never seen a man who made my blood run colder than King Harald Bluetooth did.’
Helga felt the intensity of Jorunn’s stare for a moment – and then it was gone and the skald in her returned to the audience held captive by her words. It was no longer than an eye-blink, but the message was clear. You knew my father. You knew my brothers. You know what dangerous men look like.
‘The king was in the midst of the throng. He didn’t shout. He didn’t gesture. He certainly didn’t roar or thump his chest. And without him having to say a word or use his fists or boots, the crowds parted for him.’
She stopped and added wryly, ‘They didn’t part for Troels, at least not willingly. I was near enough to see the Godsman elbowing his way towards the king, although I couldn’t hear what was said, at least, not at first. It was clear he was asking for his sacrifices, but it looked like the king was just ignoring him, because even while Troels was still talking, he’d turned away and was talking to a couple of men. But the Godsman must’ve been an even braver man than he looked, because he stepped right in front of Harald.’
She took a breath, almost as if shocked herself at what she was about to reveal, and Helga admired her artistry. It took real talent to get people hooked on your story like that.
After a heart-beat, Jorunn continued, ‘At that moment it seemed like everybody around them suddenly forgot what they’d been talking about, all except for Troels, who raised his voice to make sure the king was paying attention to him. He spoke about the abysmal harvest – and he was right, it had been dreadful, and it was going to mean real hardship for a great many people come the winter – and said that it was crucial that they take six thralls—’
‘Six?’ Big Rolf exclaimed, looking aghast. ‘But that is just stupid—’
‘Of course it is,’ Jorunn agreed. ‘Even if you believe that you should waste perfectly good thralls like that and you have the thralls to spare, six would be outrageous. It was a push for power.
‘And the king said no.
‘He didn’t raise his voice, but everyone heard.
‘Troels didn’t like it and he was almost shouting – I doubt there was a man or woman or child in Hedeby who couldn’t hear him – when he told the king that the gods would be furious with him. For some reason King Harald started smiling, although I couldn’t see what was funny about being shouted at by an angry Godsman, but it sure riled him and he was in the middle of that old verse about listening to the thunder, waving his hands about, when there was a brief flash of light, as if the sun had caught on something – and then there was a lot of screaming and Troels sank to the ground.
‘It happened so quickly: the gods might have been alive in his head, but Troels was very dead. The king had shoved one of the White Christ’s spiky-ended crosses into his eye, so hard that I was surprised it hadn’t come out the other side.’
She paused and looked round the circle. ‘King Harald just turned and walked away, his chosen men hard on his heels. He didn’t say a word. But you know, bad as that was, it almost wasn’t the worst thing. That was a boy of maybe seven summers who ran up and dropped to his knees by the body. For a moment I thought maybe he was kin to the Godsman, maybe he was grieving – until he put his foot on Troels’ face, grabbed the cross and yanked hard until at last it came loose with this horrible wet, sucking sound.
‘The little bastard saw me watching and stuck out his tongue. “Loot is loot,” he said. “And loot belongs to Father.” Then he ran along after the king. They call him the Brat Prince, apparently. Sweyn is his name.’
Jorunn dropped her eyes and let the silence grow before saying quietly, ‘I left Hedeby very quickly after that.’
Helga looked around at Jorunn’s audience. Some were staring at her and Breki’s mouth hung open.
A good story, well told.
‘I’d not heard that one,’ Big Rolf said. ‘I didn’t know he’d abandoned the gods.’
‘King Harald will deal swiftly with anything that doesn’t benefit him,’ Jorunn said. ‘He does not like the unexpected, and he does not like it when his men make their own decisions. That’s worth remembering.’
The serious faces of the men around the fire suggested that they were unlikely to forget.
*
Night softly turned to day, heralded by the piercing bird calls amongst the trees. The warmth of Freysteinn’s body countered the cold of the ground seeping into Helga’s bones. She was missing her bed like a dear departed friend, thinking bitterly, Of course it was Loki who invented sleeping outside.
‘Awake?’ Freysteinn whispered.
‘Mm.’
‘Get up?’
‘Mff.’ Words would come later. Just now, the heat of his skin was the only good thing in the world and she wished to hold onto it for just a little longer. She just needed him to not speak, not remind her of—
Too late. The events of the past days came flooding back to her – the way he’d stormed into the longhouse, how happy he’d been when the king had ordered the journey, how little he had thought of her or talked to her, about anything – and suddenly she wasn’t reliant on him for heat any more. Sighing, she rolled out from underneath the blanket and went to see to the horses. She did not look back.
