Raven: Blood Eye Read online

  'I miss the lad,' Bjarni said, a sad smile hiding in his beard. 'When we return to Harald's fjord, I'll pay a good skald to sing of how he wet his axe in that worm Ealdred's blood.' The smile cracked several drying cuts and one of them spilled new blood into his beard.

  'Eric was brave, Uncle,' I said, 'and his mother will be proud of the way he served Jarl Sigurd.'

  'No, Raven, she won't,' he said, shaking his shaggy head. 'She cursed me for taking the lad away and she'll have my balls for getting him killed.' Now Olaf smiled but there was no warmth in it. 'I'll be lucky to eat another good meal as long as I live and breathe.'

  'Quiet your bleating, Uncle,' Black Floki said. 'Your woman's no dried-up stick yet. You'll have another son, you old bastard.' I thought Olaf would burst with anger then, but he simply stared at the fire, which was pale in the dawn light, and half raised his eyebrows as though Floki was right. 'No woman stays angry for ever,' Floki added, plaiting his glossy black hair. He turned to me. 'They never forgive you, Raven, you'll learn that much, but they still like a good hump on a cold night just like the rest of us.' A murmur of agreement stirred the camp.

  'Does Sigurd have a son?' I asked, glancing at the goldenhaired jarl who sat talking with the English priest and his bodyguard Mauger.

  'He did once,' Olaf replied, 'but the boy's head was broken by a horse's kick. Seven winters ago that was. Sigurd's fury could have turned back the sea,' he said, shaking his head in remembrance. 'Poor little whelp died before he could talk.' He looked at Sigurd. 'A man like Sigurd must have a strong son. It's the way of things, but old Asgot reckoned he had somehow upset the gods and I think Sigurd believed him. He's been trying to win Óðin's favour ever since. And he will. You can bet your teeth on that. The All-Father must love a jarl like Sigurd.' His smile was warm this time. 'Look at him. He's not far off a god himself, and that's why men follow him. Any of the lads you see here would die in the shieldwall with Sigurd.' Olaf pursed his thick lips. 'Even Floki would cross Bifröst, the shimmering bridge, with Sigurd. Am I right, Floki?'

  Black Floki thrust his knife into the tree stump he was sitting on and looked up, his eyes dark as bottomless wells. 'I long to spend the afterlife in Valhöll as much as any Norseman,' he said in a low voice, 'and any Norseman who knows Sigurd Haraldson knows there's a stout bench and a gilded cup waiting for him at the high end of Óðin's hall.' He grimaced as he pulled the knife free. 'I'll be at Sigurd's shoulder when the death maidens come for him. That much I know.'

  'That may be sooner than you think, cousin,' Halldor said. Halldor was obsessive about sharpening his weapons and always expected a fight. At first I could not decide whether it was fear or bloodlust that filled the man, but now I know it was not fear. 'Who knows where that English priest is taking us?' he asked, inspecting the edge of his bone-handled knife. 'We should slit his measly throat and bury him here among the thickets. Let his white arse wear a crown of thorns in the afterlife. His god would like that, I think.'

  'I'll remind you of that when we're sharing out the English king's silver, Halldor,' Olaf said, standing and walking off to take a piss. The others were readying themselves for the day's journey. 'Then you'll be glad you left his arse alone,' he called over his shoulder.

  I had thought we were making fair progress, but later that day Father Egfrith moaned that we were too slow and would be lucky to reach King Coenwulf's stronghold before judgement day. 'We English have little to fear from Norsemen if they all amble like old women on their way to market,' he complained, shaking his tonsured head and giving a loud sniff. He was still wary of my blood-eye, but the fact that I spoke his language compelled his tongue to wag in my direction, and though I disliked the man I realized he was right about our slow pace. The truth was that the Norsemen were cautious creatures on land, as though they had stowed their confidence aboard their longships, and though Egfrith was a weak-looking man there seemed little wrong with his thin white legs as he strode at the head of the company, urging us to keep up.

  'Norsemen prefer rowing to walking, Father,' I said with a smile, enjoying the weight of the shield on my back.

  'Then perhaps they should walk on their arms,' he retorted, pleased with his wit and glancing to the sky as if seeking his god's approval.

  'Do you know what they love even more than rowing?' I asked, but he did not know, so I told him. 'Pulling out the innards of English monks,' I said, trying not to smile. 'I am sure you will find them . . . interesting companions.' I watched him from the corner of my eye, seeing his face drain of colour. Beside him, Mauger was grinning. I admit I enjoyed tormenting the monk, even though I knew there was no honour in it. I was like a child pulling the wings off flies or cutting worms in half. It was cruel, but it was fun.

  'How did you come to be with the Norsemen, lad?' Mauger asked. The dying sun was glinting off the rings he wore on his thick, tattooed arms. Few of the men travelled in their mail now, though Halldor always did. Floki's cousin would have had mail instead of skin if he could.

  'I chose to join them,' I lied. 'Life in my village was the life of a sheep.' I thought it was something Svein might say.

  Mauger grinned. 'And I suppose the mute old man chose to join them too,' he said, and I supposed he knew the truth of it all.

  I glanced back at the old carpenter and felt a pang of guilt for not walking with him at the rear of the column. But he was still angry with me, and for my part I had little to say to him. Besides, Sigurd had asked me to walk with him at the head, and I was proud to do it. 'Ealhstan was always kind to me,' I said.

  'Raven has a Norseman's heart, Mauger,' Sigurd said, stepping up to cuff the back of my head.

  'They say you heathens have black hearts,' Mauger said, 'but I don't believe it.' Beneath the thick beard his face was hard, like carved rock, and mostly without expression.

  'And they do!' Egfrith exclaimed. 'A pagan's heart is black as pitch and empty, empty as a bishop's belly in the Lenten fast.'

  'Horseshit, Father!' Mauger said. 'I have killed Danes before and their innards are red same as yours and mine.' He gave a wry grimace. 'Though their hearts were smaller,' he said, clenching a fist.

  'Were they infants, Mauger? These Danes you killed?' Sigurd asked, winking at me. 'Sucking at their mothers' tits when you butchered them?' The Norsemen laughed and so did I, but Father Egfrith stiffened and looked at Mauger as though he expected a fight, and I shivered then, for I would not have wanted to fight Mauger. He would have killed me in the time it takes a heart, black or red, to beat. But the English warrior merely glowered and I was relieved, because hatred needs a drawn blade to kill.

  That night a man named Arnvid made a stew of mutton, turnips, mushrooms and barley, and when it was ready I took a steaming bowlful to Ealhstan who was already asleep amongst the thick ribs of a beech trunk, a fur pulled up to his chin. I touched his bony shoulder and he opened one eye with a scowl, then murmured something unpleasant.

  'You must keep your strength up, Ealhstan,' I said, putting the bowl in his lap so that he had to take it or let it spill. 'Though it might be worth getting the monk to bless it first,' I said, nodding at the stew. He brought the bowl to his face and sniffed. His nose crinkled disapprovingly. 'I don't think Arnvid is much of a cook.' I grinned and the old man grunted, then slurped at the stew, his eyes all the while boring into mine so that it was almost painful. Ealhstan had been like a father to me. He had shared his home and his livelihood with me and most of all he had accepted me when others had not. But that was before, and like dreams that fade on waking my memories of that time were dissipating, being replaced by a new and hard reality; a reality which my youth with its vigour and ambition craved more than anything. I was becoming a part of this heathen fellowship. I was drawing on the Norsemen's experiences, on their beliefs and their myths, like a tree that sinks deep roots in search of water. Yet each root I laid was like a nail of betrayal in the old carpenter's heart. I could see it in the way he looked at me and it made me feel ashamed.

  'E
at up, old man,' I said, thumbing a drip of stew from the grey whiskers on his chin. Suddenly, he grabbed my hair above my left ear and gripped it tightly and I did not know if he wanted to hit me or hug me. Then he made a sound in his throat, nodded and stroked my hair roughly. 'I'll be back to make sure you've eaten it all,' I warned him, pointing at Arnvid's stew, then I stood, feeling the glow of the fire play across my face, and walked away from the old man, trying in vain to swallow the lump in my throat.

  Later, a warrior called Aslak interrupted my sword training with Bjorn. Aslak was a lean man like Floki, his muscle taut and hard. I had seen him fight and his footwork was quick, his feints were flawless and he wasted little strength on poor thrusts. There was a cold assurance about the man. And now he wanted to fight me.

  'Bjorn and Bjarni have taught you how our womenfolk fight,' he said with a brown-toothed grin, 'but it's time you learned a man's work, Raven.'

  Bjorn bowed in mock reverence and walked off to sit with his brother as Aslak took up the wooden sword and made some practice cuts through the air between us.

  'I'd prefer to fight you when you're fully grown, Aslak,' I said, for even in that short time my shoulders had broadened, my arms had thickened and my arrogance had bloomed. My body had devoured the training and now it ached to be tested. Aslak smiled at the insult, then came at me like a streak of lightning from Thór's chariot. I threw up my left arm, catching the blow on my shield, and sprang back out of his reach. He came again with a flurry of strikes, some of which I blocked, though plenty caught my shoulders and one glanced my head.

  'My helmet, Svein!' I called. Aslak wore his already. I caught the helmet, thumped it down and gave a low roar like the ones I had heard from Sigurd at Ealdred's hall. Then I attacked, smashing the wooden sword on to Aslak's shield and this time forcing him on to the back foot. He thrust his shield into my face and I felt my nose crack. Blood filled my mouth and tears blurred my eyes as I dropped my sword and grabbed for Aslak's shield, pushing it out wide and lurching forward, crashing into him so that he stumbled backwards, tripping over Svein's outstretched foot. I leapt on to him, hands clutching at his neck, and butted my helmet into his face. I was full of fury, but Aslak somehow wriggled free and slammed a fist into my eye. I tried to rise but the fists kept coming, smashing into my cheek and jaw. Then my world turned black as blindness.

  When I woke, a fresh wave of pain broke over me and I vomited.

  'It's just the blood you swallowed, Raven,' Svein said. 'Makes you puke. We put you on your side but you must have drunk enough of the stuff.'

  Gingerly, I put a hand to my swollen jaw and broken nose. 'Do I still look pretty?' I asked, then spat. My nose felt three times its normal size and was stuffed with congealing blood.

  'Your hair is the only pretty thing about you, Raven,' Svein said, laughing. 'At least you broke Aslak's nose too, and he's not happy about it.'

  'That takes the edge off the pain,' I said, smiling. I could not breathe through my nose, but my head was full of the metallic stench of blood. 'He battered me, Svein.' The others were sitting around three crackling fires, talking in low voices and playing games.

  'He battered you,' Svein confirmed with a nod, 'but you learned a good lesson.'

  'Did I?' I said, wincing at a shooting pain in my head.

  'Of course you did, lad. You can learn a hundred cuts and pretty dances, a hundred tricks, and it'll do you as much good as a spoon with a hole in it.' He frowned. 'Or a comb with no teeth,' he added, holding up his old antler comb. 'It's blind, bloody fury that puts men down. And you put him down, lad. You could have finished him. Maybe.' He shrugged his huge shoulders. 'Next time, you will.'

  'Thank you, Svein,' I said, for without the Norseman's help I would not have put Aslak down. 'But I'll do it alone next time.'

  He shrugged again. 'I've never liked the runt,' he said, beginning to pull the old comb through his thick red beard. 'He had his way with my sister when we were children. Denies it of course, but I'm not as dumb as they think I am.'

  I grinned despite the pain and tried to imagine what Svein's sister looked like. In my mind she was not pretty. 'You're protective of her, hey, Svein?'

  He nodded and tugged at a thick red knot of curled hair. 'But I don't need to be,' he said, wide-eyed. 'She's even bigger than me.'

  A fresh May breeze blew through the camp, rustling the beech and oak and bringing the long hollow hoot of an owl. Someone moved away from the fire and the orange glow fell across the dried blood on my tunic.

  'Where's Ealhstan?' I asked, spitting another wad of bloody phlegm and sitting up to search the flame-lit, flickering faces. There was no sign of the old man amongst the shadows beneath the beech tree where he had been sleeping.

  Svein scratched his groin. 'Having a shit, maybe.'

  'I hope he's off somewhere making me a curved sword so I can fight Aslak from behind a tree,' I said. But something was gnawing at my guts and suddenly I feared for the old man. I stood up as a wave of nausea hit me, making me retch. But my stomach was empty and I just spat more blood. 'I'm going to look for him,' I said, dragging my forearm across my mouth.

  I walked through the camp to men's jeers and the odd compliment, and passed Aslak who nodded grimly. His nose did not look broken, but Svein said it was, and I grinned at him before kneeling by Bram. 'Bram, have you seen Ealhstan?' He was drinking as usual, but even when drunk Bram did not miss much.

  'Haven't seen him since before your dance with Aslak, Raven,' he replied, pursing his lips. 'Now you mention it, old Asgot's scuttled off somewhere, too.' He frowned and craned his neck, peering through the groups of hunkered men. 'Glum's gone, and Ugly Einar.'

  'And Black Floki,' I added.

  'No, lad, he's on watch out there,' he said, pointing northwards towards the higher ground where, before there were men, a great rock had burst through the mossy earth. It was a good natural vantage point and because of it Sigurd had been happy to set a smaller watch than usual.

  'Want me to come with you?' Bram asked. I shook my head. 'Ah, I'm not tired anyway,' he said, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt. 'I enjoy our walks. Remember last time?'

  'Last time the English cleaned their boots on your face, Bram,' I said.

  He batted the words away. 'You should be a skald, lad, the way you decorate a story.' He stumbled. 'The ale was strong tonight,' he muttered, blinking the drink from his eyes. 'Well, come on, Raven, time to fly.' He flapped his arms. 'Let's find your old man before he stumbles into a boar pit. Here,' he said, handing me a spear and snatching up his own.

  As we moved away from the camp, the men's voices became muffled and the smell of smoke gave way to the pungent aroma of tree bark and forest litter. The moon was full and huge, but black clouds skated across her to extinguish the silver shafts that pierced the canopy. We trod carefully, using our spears to push through the low branches, and made our way towards the higher ground where Black Floki stood watch.

  Bram stopped and I heard leaves being ripped from a low plant. 'I'll wait down here, lad,' he said, pulling down his breeches and squatting. 'Give Floki a kick in the bollocks if he's snoring up there.' Then he gave a great fart.

  Once amongst the rocks I could see better, for there were no trees to shut out the moonlight, and when I had climbed to the low summit I saw a figure sitting at the far edge.

  'What do you want, Raven?' Floki said without turning round. 'Uncle sent you to check up on me, did he?'

  'No,' I replied, angry with myself for letting Floki hear me approach, though I couldn't say how he had known it was me. 'I'm looking for Ealhstan,' I said casually. 'The old goat's wandered off.' I walked up to Floki and crouched beside him, following his line of sight into the dark forest. 'Have you seen him?'

  Floki turned to me, his thin lips twisting into a half-smile. He was crouched in the shadow of a smooth boulder so that his lean face looked as black as his hair, but the moonlight slashed across my own face. After my fight with Aslak and with my blood-eye I must hav
e been a terrible sight.

  'A few of the lads clattered off through there some time ago,' he said, pointing into the thicket. 'Haven't been back this way, though. Well, don't you look pretty tonight.'

  'Did you get a look at them?' I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. 'What were they doing?'