Raven: Blood Eye (30 page)

The other thing I did every night was fight – against Bjorn and Bjarni mostly but sometimes the others too. Even Aslak, whose nose I had broken, taught me his favourite moves so that soon I could disarm a man of his shield using the onehanded axe. Weohstan always watched these bouts, I believed searching for my weaknesses so that he might kill me when the chance came.

I was aching and bruised one morning from fighting Bjarni when I walked at the head of the Wolfpack with Weohstan and Cynethryth. Black Floki had warned Sigurd that the girl would slow us down and I had thought he was probably right, seeing as Cynethryth was clearly a nobleman's daughter and would in her everyday life have had someone to walk for her. But as it turned out, the girl was strong and defiant and kept up easily. And of course she was not burdened with shield and mail and arms as we were. I had left her hands untied despite Bram's calling me a soft fool. But I knew Cynethryth would not run without Weohstan. She still clutched the blue flowers he had pulled from the dew-laced forest litter at daybreak, their weak stems now bound by a strip of birch bark, and I felt her beginning to take a grip on me too as we pushed further into pungent-smelling, thick forest little touched by sunlight or man.

'The Englishman, Raven,' Sigurd said, gesturing towards Weohstan, 'he would give his eyes to put a blade in your throat.' He grinned wickedly. 'But I think it would not be easy. You are a natural fighter. I think Bjarni Soulripper would agree.'

'Ah, I was being easy on the lad, Sigurd,' Bjarni said, winking at me.

'It's true, lord,' I said, embarrassed. 'He feigns tiredness. Drops his shield on purpose to encourage me.'

'Only so I can turn you when you come blundering on,' Bjarni said. 'Svein has more subtlety!'

I smiled at Bjarni, then turned to Sigurd. 'I am grateful, my jarl,' I said, gripping my sword's hilt, 'for everything.' I meant that I was grateful that these Norsemen taught me their skills, that they gave me their fine arms, that they had taken me into their Fellowship. But I did not know how to say it.

'I know, Raven,' Sigurd said, 'I know. And you will be a great warrior one day. When you were born, the Norns wove it into your life's thread, into your destiny. I am sure of it.' He stopped, gripped my shoulders and stared into my eyes as the others continued past us like a stream around a boulder. 'There is something I have been meaning to give you since that night at King Coenwulf's hall,' he said.

'I couldn't eat another oatcake, lord,' I grumbled, holding my belly.

He laughed. 'What kind of jarl would reward his warriors with oatcakes? Still, such a man would have Olaf's loyalty!' He grinned at Olaf who was passing, then pulled a thick silver ring from his right forearm and handed it to me. I took it, staring in awe at the treasure that was in the form of a two-headed serpent, the heads snarling at each other where the circle was broken. I put my right hand through, but the ring was too big for my forearm, so I pushed it up above the muscle at the top of my arm. After a while my face ached from smiling.

That night, we made camp by an old charcoal pit. The earth that had been dug away to reveal the fuel had been piled up to make a great wall round the hollow, but it had long since been overrun by birch and pine and thorn so that it would provide perfect cover for us and our fires, so long as we were careful not to set fire to the ground itself. Sigurd sent four men up on to the mound to begin their watch, though none of us expected King Coenwulf to find us now. Mauger had advised Sigurd to cut south-west away from the Mercian king's lands to disguise the fact that we had come originally from Wessex, and that morning we had crossed the Severn, killing a pock-faced ferryman to take his craft from shore to shore.

'If Coenwulf learns that King Egbert was behind the raid, the treaty between our kingdoms will not be worth spit. It'll drown in a tide of English blood,' Mauger said, shaking his head. 'Our little diversion should confuse those Mercian bastards for a while, they're witless whoresons most of them, but they won't believe you're Welsh. Not when they realize it was all about the book. Christ's balls, Sigurd, the Welsh are devils. Wild-eyed sons of bitches who make your men look like monks!'

But there had been no sign of a Mercian war band and so we settled down beside our fires to sing our songs and feast on what remained of the food we had taken from Coenwulf's fortress. The night was cooled by a fresh breeze from the east and I sat with my friends, Svein, Bjarni, Bjorn, Black Floki, Bram, Olaf, Hakon, and the rest, staring into the glowing embers of a dying fire. Three empty skins lay over a birch branch, the ale that had filled them now swelling our own bellies. Two more were still being passed around the camp, but most of the men lay asleep beneath cloaks and oiled hides.

'I remember my first warrior ring, Raven,' Olaf said with a hiccup. His eyes closed and he held his chest dramatically before releasing a great belch. Only Sigurd and Bram had more silver arm rings than Olaf. 'Got it for killing a boar with this,' he slurred, drawing his long, antler-handled knife. 'Just this. I was younger than you, Raven,' he said, nodding his heavy head. 'Much younger.'

Bram batted the air. 'Pah! Your brother had put two arrows in the beast before you got a sniff of it, Olaf. I remember,' he said, wagging an accusing finger.

'Which only made it angrier! Anyway, what do you know, Bram? You were likely full of ale in some whore's bed,' Olaf slurred, forgetting that Bram would have been just a boy then too. He belched again. 'Best damn boar I ever tasted,' he said, cuffing my head.

'One day I'll have as many rings as you, Olaf,' I said, fingering the solid silver serpent that was now a part of my body.

'Maybe you will, lad,' he replied, scratching his thick beard. He nodded at Sigurd who was snoring a short distance away. 'He's as generous a lord as ever took a dragon across the sea. Stay near him, Raven. You'll earn your rings.'

'That's if you don't mind stepping in another man's guts,' Bjarni put in with a smile. 'Sigurd has made us all rich men.'

'Aye, and we'll soon be rich dead men,' Glum muttered, gesturing with his short, leather-sheathed arm.

'Watch your tongue, Glum!' Svein the Red barked, 'or you'll be using your feet to pick your teeth!' Glum's kinsman Thorgils scrambled to his feet and drew his sword and Svein stood up, inviting the man on. Another of Glum's kinsmen, a big man named Thorleik, stood and lowered his friend's sword arm. Glum sat glowering at Svein.

'Enough, cousin,' Thorleik said, gesturing for Svein to back down too.

'Put your damn blades away before I rip the ale-soaked skin from your backs, you blood-loving sons of whores,' Olaf growled, sweeping an arm through the air. Those asleep, including Sigurd, were stirring now, and my own hand found my sword's grip, part of me hungering for the chaos that would come with swords and fury, because I hated Glum for what he had done to Ealhstan. But Olaf doused the sparks before they could flame and the Norsemen settled down again, bristling but subdued by the ale in their bellies. Mauger was grinning, no doubt enjoying the prospect of heathens spilling each other's blood, whilst Weohstan also watched intently, though it was impossible to guess his thoughts. Cynethryth was asleep with her head on his shoulder, her blond hair covering half her face and falling across his chest. The sight of her quelled the bloodlust shivering through my body and, when Weohstan fell asleep, I watched the flame light play across her face.

Eventually, I slept. And my dreams were filled with death.

THEY SAY THE DARKEST HOUR OF THE NIGHT COMES BEFORE THE
dawn. That is when Glum came for me. I woke with a blade at my throat and might have struggled but for the knife Thorgils held beneath Cynethryth's chin. Thorleik stood a little way off in the shadows guarding Weohstan and Father Egfrith, and before I could knuckle the sleep and ale from my eyes my hands were tied and I was stepping over snoring men, a blade pushing me on. I looked towards the mound, thinking the men up there must surely hear us moving through the trees. Then I shivered, remembering. Glum and his kinsmen had offered to take the dawn watch. The dogs had planned their treachery well.

'Make a sound and I'll leave your corpse for the wolves,' Glum hissed, ramming his sword's hilt between my shoulders. Then he spun me round and ripped the bone-handled knife from my belt, the knife that was my only link to my dark past, and threw it into the brambles on the forest floor. Weohstan, Cynethryth, and Father Egfrith were stumbling on ahead as Glum's men hurried to distance us from the Wolfpack. Branches and thorns attacked from the darkness, ripping our faces and hands, but Glum knew he had crossed a line from which there was no return. He had split the Fellowship and betrayed his jarl, and Sigurd would kill him if they met again. Sigurd had already taken Glum's arm. Now he would send the man's soul screaming to the afterlife.

'Shhh!' Thorgils hissed, pulling Weohstan down to the forest litter. The rest of us crouched. A horse whinnied and nickered softly. A gentle breeze rattled the leaves above us, carrying the chink of arms and the creak of leather. A heartbeat later, the sound of breaking twigs filled the dark, dank stillness as the forest was disturbed. But the riders were not coming towards us. They were heading west towards the Wolfpack. They were heading for the Norsemen who slept, trusting their sword-brothers to warn them of an enemy's approach. Only those Norse were no longer on the earth mound, looking out into the night. They were instead pushing southwards with their English prisoners and the book of Saint Jerome.

My brynja, helmet, sword and shield lay back where I had left them by the fire and I felt helpless in just a tunic, leather jerkin, cloak and trousers, but thankful at least that I had fallen asleep with my boots on. I felt for the All-Father amulet at my throat, seeking its comfort, then shivered again as the first sun rays idled through the forest canopy, gilding the leaves, then touching the damp earth and warming my cheek. I was waiting for the forest to burst, to ignite with the roar of battle as Sigurd's men woke with King Coenwulf's riders amongst them. But then I realized that we had come a long way already and if we heard anything, it would be no more than a distant moan. I offered a prayer to Óðin god of war and Týr who loves battle that my friends still lived, that Svein and Floki and Olaf and Sigurd even now stood over the English dead, drinking the last of Coenwulf's ale in victory.

'You are a worm, Glum,' I said, spitting at his feet. He turned and slammed his fist into my face. I grinned at him, blood spilling from my split lip. 'He doesn't know I'm going to take his other arm and stick it up his arse,' I said in English.

'Not if I get to him first,' Weohstan barked as Thorgils shoved him on, threatening in Norse to feed his tongue to the crows.

'Where are they taking us, Raven?' the monk whimpered in a small voice, but I did not know where, so said nothing, and the only answer the little man got was a dig in the back from Thorleik's spear butt.

It was a warm day now and the forest had thinned so that I could see the sun above the budding boughs, a pale gold disc in a white sky. Sweat ran from my forehead, stinging my cut lip, but Glum gave us no water and we could only watch enviously as the Norsemen gulped from a full skin. Cynethryth was as white as the sky. Her golden hair was lank and the hem of her skirt was tatty and full of thorns.

'Let the girl drink, Glum,' I said, 'or do you fear her as you fear me?' They were foolish words and I knew it. Even onearmed, Glum was a fierce warrior and of course he did not fear me.

'You are only alive because you speak their tongue,' he said, nodding at Weohstan, 'and you may be useful to me.' But perhaps a part of him was wary of my blood-eye and perhaps he still wondered at his jarl's interest in me, for he hesitated, then took the skin from Thorleik and held it to Cynethryth's lips, allowing her to drink. Weohstan must have guessed what I said because he nodded his thanks as the girl quenched her thirst.

'Now, ask the monk if we're nearing his land, Raven,' Glum said, taking the water from Cynethryth and shoving the stopper back in. 'Give me a reason to keep you alive.' The forest broke here, giving way to patches of rough grazing land watched over by copses of elm and ash, and I wondered if we had crossed back into Wessex.

'You'll give the book to Lord Ealdred in return for the silver he promised Sigurd,' I said to Glum. I knew that only the promise of great riches could have bought these men's betrayal, but I still wanted to hear it from Glum's own mouth.

'Sigurd owes me, boy,' he said, holding up his leather-bound stump. 'Bastard owes me.'