Council, page 22
Grundle greeted her with a head-toss, as if to ask her where she’d been, and Helga stepped in close, stroked the strong neck and muttered, ‘At least you won’t let me down.’
It was only when Grundle snorted that she realised she wasn’t alone. She’d not noticed Nazreen, grooming his own mount with absentminded detachment. He looked over at her and she smiled at him. I can see why Jorunn keeps him close. There was a peculiar grace to the man, an effortlessness. Freysteinn had something of the same thing, but his was much more bound up in muscle and forward motion. Nazreen flowed, somehow.
Grundle gently butted her hip, as if to say, Stop looking! and Helga obeyed, biting her lip gently to help her snap out of it. Doesn’t hurt to look, she argued with the voice in her head – the one that sounded suspiciously like her mother. She looked at the horse. ‘Just so we’re clear,’ she whispered gently, ‘you are not a shape-shifted version of Hildigunnur, are you?’
The horse shook her head and nuzzled her.
‘No, of course not. You’d already have kicked me from here to the sea for being daft if you were.’ She looked up, laughing at herself, and straight into the brown eyes of Nazreen. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d walked over to them without either of them noticing. Smiling calmly, he gestured towards Grundle.
‘Yes – yes, of course,’ Helga stammered, handing him the brush.
He took it from her and moved in front of the mare. Grundle looked at him, stiffened up and snorted, hard. Helga immediately stepped towards him, but stopped when Nazreen spoke to the horse in his tongue. The words sounded like a question and she could almost see Grundle pause.
He repeated the phrase, softer this time, and while Helga didn’t understand the words, she could feel the cadence, the poetry.
This time Grundle tossed her head and snorted again, but this was different – it was a communication, almost.
Nazreen kept his eyes trained on the mare and moved to her side, slowly and calmly, then started brushing her in a circular motion, just the way she liked it, smoothly but firmly. Helga could see the tension disappearing from the curved back like dew vanishing before the sun.
Something about the communication between man and beast was absolutely compelling to watch. She accepted him almost instantly. She had just started thinking about that when a voice interrupted her.
‘Good morning!’
Her shoulders immediately clenched, even before she’d had time to understand the words or recognise the forced cheerfulness in Freysteinn’s voice. After a moment she’d worked out why she’d had such a visceral reaction to a simple greeting: he sounded like someone trying – not very well – to contain his anger.
‘It is,’ she stammered. She dimly registered that Nazreen had slowed his strokes. Freysteinn was close to her – suddenly too close – and she wanted to push him away, but she didn’t.
‘I see you’ve hired a horse-boy.’
Suddenly her idea of winding him up and setting him on Nazreen felt stupid. She had wanted him to suffer a little because of how he had treated her, how he had ignored her and made her feel like he didn’t care – but it had gone too far. He was clearly hurt and angry. She smoothed her voice as much as possible, hoping to calm him down. ‘He asked to groom her. I didn’t see the harm.’
Freysteinn looked taken aback. ‘Are you kidding? That bloody nag will take his shit-coloured hand off!’
And just like that, her guilt vanished. He was being an arse, and to her horse to boot. ‘She looks like she doesn’t mind the attention at all.’ She looked him straight in the eye, chin up. Yes, that was exactly what I meant.
Just as he was about to snap something back, a soft voice interrupted them. ‘She is beautiful horse. Very wise.’
The shock knocked the wind right out of Freysteinn. He turned, incredulous, to Nazreen. ‘W— What did you say?’
Nazreen gave them a fleeting look, then went back to Grundle. ‘This horse. She is beautiful. Wise.’
‘Do you understand me?’ Freysteinn demanded.
‘Yes.’ Nazreen was still studying the horse.
‘How the—?’ Words seemed to collide in Freysteinn’s mouth. ‘You lying little—’
Nazreen raised his eyes and told him sternly, ‘I do not lie.’
‘You never told us you understood!’
‘Ah.’ He smiled again. Like an uncle speaking to a demanding child, he replied, ‘You never asked.’
‘Fucking—’
‘—lot to do this morning,’ Jorunn broke in, and Helga could see Freysteinn hadn’t noticed her standing by the carts, watching them. Smiling, Jorunn added, ‘And you can calm down. He understands some, but not a lot.’
This did nothing to remove the scowl from his face.
‘And if you’ve got time to get all hot and bothered about that, you’ve got time to ready the carthorses.’
Beside her, Helga could feel Freysteinn push away. She watched silently as he strode furiously towards the other horses, tethered together near the carts.
Now her head was a little clearer, Helga felt suddenly dizzy. He understands.
A moment, and then—
Of course he does. The realisation of the power of Jorunn’s weapon hit her full on. She could leave Nazreen anywhere, looking different, playing the mute foreigner and reporting everything back. Oh, Hildigunnur would have loved this.
She turned to check on Freysteinn, who was busy tacking up the horses. Jorunn inched closer to him, and there it was: a question, followed by a response. Helga waited. Yep, here came the inevitable sharp retort, then the chuckle, the shared laughter. This was what Hildigunnur had taught them: the way to lead. Get them with jokes and surprises, ask for their opinions where the answers were already given and tell them they were crucial to the success of whatever needed to be done. Her father would have done the same with a heavy look and a growl, but women had to rule differently.
For what it’s worth, Freysteinn looks well and truly ruled.
The exchange had not been missed by the Northmen, who were also up and tending to their morning tasks.
A little later, Haki drifted in from the forest and threw a bundle of pheasants into the foremost cart.
Before long, the caravan was moving again.
*
The emotions of the morning soon gave way to the monotony of the road. Helga found herself lulled by the rhythm of the horse moving under her. The surprise of Nazreen’s revelation still lingered. You never asked. She smiled at the simplicity of it.
You never asked.
And that turned her mind back to her growing list of unanswered questions. Why? The boy – argument, robbery, whatever. Fair enough. But why then the father? And after that? How was Drifa connected? Or Lars? They were all there to . . .
. . . attend the council.
And if the council was shattered, and King Eirik’s allies were scattered to the winds . . . who would benefit the most?
I’m going to need a bigger storeroom.
The thought was so ridiculous that she had to stifle a panicked laugh. Then she turned her attention to the shelves. She put Alfgeir Bjorne’s wrestling belt on one. With a fractured council, the king’s man would be more important than ever when it came to making deals, connecting people, sorting arguments: being the hand that held and wielded the king’s power.
On the next she placed Jorunn’s cape. Weakness was opportunity, and if the king was weakened there would be opportunities a-plenty for squeezing his coffers. As an afterthought, she placed Nazreen’s boots underneath, because she very much doubted that Jorunn did her own dirty work very often.
She could feel Ludin of Skane’s cold eyes on her neck. Surely he would not have nearly killed his trusted friend? ‘Nearly’ being the key word here. She thought of Gunnar the swordsman, and how coldly and clearly he had described the attack on Drifa, and in such detail. Could he have . . . ? No, that didn’t feel right. There was little guile to the man. But there would have been eyes on Ludin at all times, so maybe he would have sent a . . .
She glanced at Haki. He looked completely relaxed as he rode, rocking gently in the saddle. It was all too easy to imagine him dispassionately smashing someone’s head in with a rock. The bow and arrow went on the shelf next to Nazreen’s boots.
That left . . .
‘Helga,’ Freysteinn whispered. The anger in his voice had been replaced by urgency. ‘Listen.’
Studying him, she couldn’t help but notice that he sounded worried, even afraid. ‘What is it?’
‘Helga, I have been too busy talking and I have not listened to you as I should. You are right – the murders? It makes no sense that Styrbjorn is behind them.’
A wave of happiness swelled in her and she loved him. He was so beautiful, so proud and strong – and this was him apologising. He had realised what he’d done.
‘I think whoever did it wanted to unseat the council and create havoc,’ she whispered back. ‘And I think they had nothing to do with Styrbjorn appearing.’
There was the briefest flicker of hesitation.
He’s listening to me. He’s actually thinking about what I have just said.
‘That makes sense.’ He glanced over at the carts. ‘Did you see his face when the boy caught up?’
Big Rolf? Who else could he mean? Helga frowned. No one. ‘He didn’t look too happy,’ she admitted slowly.
‘No, he didn’t. The boy said something about being sent by Ingileif, didn’t he? I reckon the wily old bear figured out that the killer had left Uppsala and is on this caravan. Maybe she thought Big Rolf could find them – or maybe she knew all along that Big Rolf was the killer and she sent Breki to warn him before he got found out.’
Think, girl, think! She added up the murders. Big Rolf had certainly been near enough for all of them. And there was no love lost between the Northmen and the king, that was a fact. But there was something . . .
‘Are you sure?’ Something was nagging at her, but she couldn’t yet place it.
Freysteinn looked embarrassed. ‘No, I’m really not . . . but I am not as good at this as you are.’
She could feel her cheeks getting warm and warned herself sternly, Stop it, girl: keep your head. ‘We will pretend that nothing has changed and keep our ears open,’ she decided. ‘I will talk to the boy, see what he knows.’
He looks so relieved. And she realised that she felt relieved, too. She was no longer alone in worrying about the murders, and he needed her to make sense of it all. She looked at the back of Big Rolf’s head, feeling a little bit uneasy – but that was just fear. Big Rolf had no idea that they were on to him. They could watch him and set their trap.
Haki was not the only one who could hunt.
Chapter 10
Questions
They didn’t need the noisy seagulls circling overhead to tell them they were close; they could all smell the salty air and the promise of sea. About time, too. The days had felt almost endless. Nobody had offered any conversation and even Jorunn had given up on trying to get them to share stories or experiences. Haki had a frankly uncomfortable knack for immediately disappearing into the woods and killing something whenever they stopped, and the number of words he had spoken in total could probably be counted on one hand. Nazreen scouted ahead, regular as the sun and the moon, and kept himself mostly to himself.
And our prey hasn’t given anything away at all.
It was Big Rolf who, after Jorunn, had tried the hardest to get people talking to each other, but even his jokes had been running dry after a while and so the caravan had been just marking the time in hoofbeats and silence. When they passed Gefjon’s Lake, even the seasoned travellers had gawped, taken aback by the sheer size of it. But nothing out of the way had happened there, or anywhere. They’d just plodded on.
And so, we hunt. Helga nudged Grundle up to Freysteinn’s cart. Three days in, the driver’s plank was clearly feeling a lot less friendly to his backside. She gestured at the seagulls and asked pointedly, ‘What happens now?’
‘We get on the boat.’
‘And then?’
‘We keep prodding. If we get near Hedeby and he still hasn’t given anything away . . .’
She waited, but there was no follow-up. ‘We’d have to turn and run, wouldn’t we?’
He looked uncomfortable with this. ‘Maybe . . . but we might be wrong. What if it was Styrbjorn all along? We need to get to King Harald.’ He saw her face and his tone changed. ‘I’m sorry – I just don’t know. That’s why I told you . . . I hoped you would make it all make sense, the way you do.’
But I can’t do that if I don’t have anything to go on, can I? She liked his reliance on her, but it was also frustrating.
‘He has been very careful to do nothing out of the ordinary – and it is not as if we can just ask him.’
Her own words took a while to sink in, but when they did, the question formed in her mind and would not be erased.
And why not?
Slowing Grundle a little, she allowed the cart to move ahead of her. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she pulled out a square tile about the size of her fingernail. Within moments the knife was in her hand and with a couple of deft flicks she carved a rune.
Nauth. Need.
Her fist closed around the tile and she touched her index finger to her mouth.
‘I need to know if he is telling the truth,’ she whispered.
Above her head, something large and black beat its wings and took flight from an unseen branch.
*
‘It’s big.’
Haki’s first words for three days took them all by surprise. An impromptu camp had been set up on the shore as they waited for the ferryboat. The horses were grazing contentedly in the shade of a big rock while the caravan party slumped among the stones. Haki walked up and sat on the highest point, staring out to sea.
‘Can’t argue with that,’ Big Rolf replied.
The expanse of rich blue stretching on for ever made Helga dizzy and a little bit uncomfortable. The big lake had been an impressive sight, but even that had had the suggestion of trees in the distance, a hint of an end. This just went on and on and on . . .
And under it all lies the coiled strength of the wyrm, holding the world together. For a moment she fancied she could see the dark green glitter of scales. ‘Will the ferryboat be here today?’ She cringed at the sound of her own voice – she sounded squeaky and nervous, but none of the others appeared to have noticed. Her palm felt sweaty around the carved rune.
‘Every day.’ Nazreen sounded hesitant but careful.
We’ve run out of time.
Think, girl. Think! Trying her hardest to look leisurely, she ambled over to where Rolf was lounging on a flat rock. He too was staring down at the sea but he looked calm and settled.
Now to leap. Helga sat down and gazed at the line where sea met sky. ‘You have to hand it to him,’ she said, pointing at Haki. Give him time to think, to wonder . . . and then—
‘He is a proper skald.’
Big Rolf chuckled. ‘Yes indeed. I can envision it now – “The Ballad of the Sea”, by the famous Haki Wordmaster.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Sea – I saw it, Blue and splashy—’
‘Water make go bashy-bashy,’ Helga continued.
Rolf rose to the challenge. ‘Wish for words, it plagued me so—’ He looked expectantly at Helga.
‘I used the only two I know.’
‘Hah!’ Rolf’s genuine laugh made Helga smile.
Then she glanced up at Haki, perched on his point above them, studying them both, like a bird of prey coolly sizing up his victims. When he spoke, his voice was serious and weighty.
‘Fared I the whale-path
West for winning
Gold and tears
Of foes’ women.
Once for the learning,
Twice for my scars,
Thrice for slaying
Weaker skalds.’
From a nearby rock, Freysteinn whooped. ‘That’s you told, clay-bashers! Turns out the mute has a voice.’
Big Rolf turned to peer at him. ‘Thank you, Haki. We have been shown our rightful place—’
‘— which is clearly beneath you,’ Helga continued.
Haki shrugged and looked away, back out to sea.
‘Cheerful,’ Helga said.
‘Mm. But you have to admit, unlike us, he is a proper skald.’ The timing and the twinkle in the old man’s eye made Helga smirk.
‘You’re not wrong there.’ Inside her head, the voice of her mother urged her on. This is good. He’s listening. You’ve shared a joke. Go! But there was something else holding her back, so instead, she followed her father’s way and just sat quietly. The morning sun caressing their backs cast a net of diamonds on the water. The lapping of waves at the base of the rocks was gentle, like the prattling of babes, and the occasional caw of a seagull in the distance faded quickly.
Helga contrasted the water with its many colours and hues with the dark blue rocky coast. Further out there was a strand of lighter blue where a stream cut through and above the heavy weight of dark green. There were stripes of black where the light couldn’t reach.
‘It is big, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ she said quietly. Don’t look at him.
‘Spent much time near the sea?’
‘No. I grew up in the valleys. This is my first time.’
‘Mm.’ There was a brief silence. ‘I sailed a little, once.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Here and there,’ Big Rolf said.
