Ragnar the Just (Ragnar the Dane #3) (2 page)

*
 
*
  *

The fathers they’d spoken to were talking amongst themselves, however.

“I’d kill both of them if
harm came to my son,” said one
as he sharpened his axe.

The other nodded. “I’m surprised no one’s killed Silverhair already after his past behaviour.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

*
 
*
  *

Kjartan spent hours with Lini planning how to organize the school. They
usually talked in Lini’s forge
which was halfway between Hallby and Byrnham.

Originally, the forge had belonged to the English but when the Danish invaded, they had taken control of it by force, wanting the glass and amber products so prized by Norse society. They had intended to remove it to Hallby, but other matters had taken priority and now Lini supplied both the Danes and the English with glass and amber. He quite liked the idea
of belonging to both societies:
the Danes were too violent for his gentle nature but the English were a bit too foreign.

He worked at his forge every day
,
and as Kjartan was waiting for the hay harvest to start, it was the best place to meet. The hay ha
rvest was the first of the year. It was
very important to store enough hay to feed the animals over winter. Later would
come
the vegetables,
the
fruit and
,
most importantly
,
the cereal grasses: wheat, barley, oats and rye.

“If the
number of boys turn
up who said they would, we’ll need twenty of each weapon. That means axes, swords, spears, shields, hay bales,” he mused.

“Uh-huh.”

Lini was only half listening as he used a rake to stir the sand and potash mixture in the oven, which was always alight. He had to constantly rake and stir it to allow waste
gases to escape. He would then break it up and put it into a crucible, often adding cullet, depending on what colour glass he wanted, then melt it in the kiln. If all went well
,
glass would form; however it was a difficult process and took great skill as well as luck.

Despite both back and front doors being open, the forge was extremely hot with both the oven and kiln alight, so he’d taken off his tunic. Without it he didn’t look as slim; he had a slight ba
rrel chest from glass blowing.
Kjartan had seen musicians with ches
ts like this during his travels;
extended playing of pan flutes and horn pipes produced s
uch a shape. Lini also had well-
developed arm muscles from chopping the wood needed to keep the oven and kiln going, which he then made into charcoal in a clearing in the woods outside.

“We could train
outside the village in daytime. T
here’s more room,” continued Kjartan. “I’ll just have to think of some way of teaching them stuff in the right order.”

Lini
went to the kiln and put the glass blowing rod into it, collecting a blob of molten green glass. He was wearing gloves but there were old burns on his arms above the glove cuff. He blew into the cloth mouthpiece of the iron rod carefully, and Kjartan watched in amazement as the bubble
expanded. He spun it round and held a tool to it, shaping it into a symmetrical bowl shape. When it was finished, he put it into the low heated oven so it would cool down extremel
y slowly and not
crack
. He
repeated the process a few more times.

Kjartan completely forgot
what he was talking about and was just gazing, mesmerised.

“It’s totally different to fighting in a battle, yes?” said Lini, smiling and wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm.
“Quite calming.”

Kjartan
nodded, staring at the sweat running down Lini’s tanned back.

“So, the fighting school? You got as far as saying what you were going to teach them.”

“Oh. Yes. I’ll think of something.” It was far too hot in the forge. It was stopping his mind from working properly.

*
 
*
  *

At first Viglund the carpenter had looked at the hopeful pair scornfully when they asked for help to make practice
weapons, but after listening to their plans, relented somewhat.

“I never thought I’d be helping a murderer look after children,” he declared as
he
cut wood into
lengths for swords and shields
in his village workshop.

“I’m not -
” Kjartan began, but Lini nudged him.

“We’re at least doing something useful,” said Lini. “It’ll help the village greatly.”

“Hm.”
Viglund threw some more sections of wood into the basket, glaring at Kjartan. “I wouldn’t trust this murderer, even if you are his friend.”

“Oh com
e on!” Lini glared at him, half-
smiling. “You can’t tell me you’ve never killed anyone in anger, s
urely?
”

The carpenter turned his face away. “Yes, but that was when that cowardly rat raped my woman. No man gets away with that.”

“Well
,
there you are. We all get to the end of our tether sometimes.”

“Yes, we do,” agreed Kjartan, unable to resist joining in.

“Hm.
I suppose you’ve done well saving Mildrith and marrying her.” Vigl
und gazed scornfully at the ex-Huskarl.
“Maybe it’ll be the making of you.”

“Yes, I -
” Lini began.

“But I don’t think so,” continued Viglund smugly. “Watch your back, Lini.”

“He doesn’t need to watch his back. My murdering days are over,” Kjartan snapped, picking up the basket and shaking it so the wood was evenly weighted.

“Yes. Thanks, Viglund, we’ve got enough now.” Lini hustled his blond friend out of the door as quickly as he could.

Viglund watched them go, half amused and half concerned.

So in the week before the harvest began, Kjartan made twenty swords and spears out of wood. Although his hands ached and he had to constantly pick splinters out of his skin, he was proud when he’d finished. The boys could use any old bits of wood as shields, but making axes was beyond his skill and time, so he hoped he could get away with not using them.

*
 
*
  *

Men worked along the strips of the field, some cutting the hay with scythes, some raking and turning it, then others stacking it against the wall for drying. The weather was balmy, the sun beat down, bees buzzed, grasshoppers chirped. As the hours idled by, the workers took off their tunics,
Huskarl and farmer working side-by-
side.

Lini approached. He had locked up his forge as he had a task
to do. Eyeing the ranks of bare-
chested men
, he at last picked out Kjartan
whose
white-blond hair marked him
from a good distance away. Approaching, he smiled.
“You left this in the forge.”

He held out Kjartan’s seax, a weapon he used every day of his life.

“Oh, thanks. I wondered where that had gone. I can’t live without it.” He grinned. “How’s the glass blowing?”

“It’s fine.
Thought I’d take a break.”
He hovered, not sure what to say now. The hairs on Kjartan’s chest were palest blond too, but he didn’t want to stare and give him the wrong idea. Then he noticed a movement on his arm.

Seeing his glance, Kjartan peered down to see a ladybird toiling through the hair on his bicep.

“Damn insects!” The warrior lifted his other hand to squash it.

“Don’t!”

Lini carefully picked the little creature off and let it run along his hand. It flew off and he smiled.

“You are soft,” said Kjartan.

“Better to be soft than kill people.”

“S’pose I asked for that.”

They stood staring at each other for a minute,
then
Kjartan nodded and turned back to the hay. Lini sauntered back through the harvesters, not looking forward to returning to work. The weather was too hot and bright for being indoors; sometimes he wished he hadn’t learnt the glass making trade from his father but had outside work instead.

*
 
*
  *

The first training lesson brought forth eleven boys, aged between ten and fourteen.

“You know who I am,” said Kjartan, standing in front of the group. “This is Lini Fleet Foot, my assistant.”

There was no reaction apart from the stares of curious children.

“We haven’t got enough real weapons so we’ll have to use these.” He held up the wooden spears and swords, and the bits of wood he’d found to use as shields.

“We thought we’d get real weapons, not kids’ toys,” grumbled the tallest boy. “We came here to fight properly.”
The others murmured agreement.

“Alright.
But you have to start with a warm-up. Shield bind.” He directed the boys to pick up shields a
nd push them against each other
to get their muscles working and hearts beating.

When they were out of breath, he threw the wooden swords to them all, which made Lini flinch.

“They’ve got to learn to catch weapons,”
Kjartan explained.
“Right.
This is d
uckwalk cutting practice.”

He
demonstrated the crouching walk
while slashing his own sword, Verrdrepa, through the air.

“I know it looks funny
but it’s bloody hard work.” He was definitely out of practice, breathing harder already.

The boys started the exercise laughing, but soon began complaining about the effort.

“It’s using muscles you don’t usually use,” he told them firmly.

“When are we going to fight?” protested a couple of them.

“Now.
Pair up. The odd man out will have to take turns.”

He walked round the fighting pairs, stopping them at intervals to adjust their posture, stance and weapon angle.

Lini felt at a loose end just watching, but when the boys were all out of breath, red faced and sweating, Kjartan called a halt.

“Now it’s time for a demonstration.” He threw his spare sword with a real blade to Lini, who despite only being a craftsman had learned basic weapon skills.

“Attack me,” h
e beckoned Lini, who did so, only to find his blows blocked easily.

“Come on, give it to me,” taunted Kjartan, capering about in front of him.

Lini attacked even more strongly, determined to get at least one successful blow in. They moved across the
training area, swords clanging, Lini
forced to change his tactics to defence. He staggered and fell to the ground, raising his sword to protect himself.

“Mercy, master,” Lini quavered in an old man’s voice.  “I never meant to knock over your jars of ale. ‘
Twas but a mistake.”

The boys giggled and Kjartan fell forward, stabbing his sword into the ground next to Lini’s thigh.

“Pretend I killed you,” he muttered.

“Argh!
You merciless fiend!”
Lini hissed, clutching his throat and rolling around in mock agony,
making blood curdling strangling
noises. “I curse the day you were born, you and your sons and your son’s sons and your son’s son’s sons!”
There were m
ore tortured groans and gurgles, until finally he went limp, his tongue hanging to the side.

By then
Kjartan was laughing so much he couldn’t speak for a minute, and the boys were much the same.

“So wha
t I was demonstrating there was -
” he began at last, but then Lini went into final death throes, thrashing about a few more times until subsiding again, with more macabre groans of pain.

The boys burst into more laughter.

“Er -
I was demonstrating not letting an opponent’s taunts wind you up,” Kjartan said, making it up as he went along. “Are you dead now?” he asked Lini, who opened one eye.

“Yes, I’m now ready to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Kjartan helped him up, chuckling.

After tha
t, the students went home happ
y, pushing and shoving each other, talking nonstop about the new class.

“That went well,” said Lini.