Raven: Blood Eye (44 page)

'Sigurd!' he yelled, and Sigurd stepped forward from the shieldwall threateningly. His helmet was blood-smeared and his golden beard was plaited, giving his face a lean, vicious, wolf-like look.

'What do you want, Mauger?' he asked. 'I am here. Come and fight me.' He threw his arms wide in invitation. 'What are you waiting for, snake? Come, you lump of rancid snot.'

Mauger laughed, ignoring the Wessexmen who lay mutilated before the Norse shieldwall. 'Why would I deny my men the pleasure of sending Norsemen to minister for Satan?' he asked, and the English growled, banging their swords and shields. 'Look around you, Sigurd the Lucky. This is where your adventure ends. Not what you had in mind, is it?' Mauger looked up at the forest canopy and casually scratched his black beard. 'But then, you should not have killed Lord Ealdred's son.' Sigurd did not dignify the lie with an answer. Every man beneath that forest canopy knew the truth. We were still heavily outnumbered. Only half of the remaining English wore any mail, though nearly all had iron helmets, leather armour, and wicked blades. I knew we could not win.

'You do a coward's bidding, Mauger,' Sigurd said, 'and that makes you a man without honour.'

'And you have led your men to their deaths, Sigurd,' Mauger answered, shrugging his broad shoulders. 'God knows none of us is perfect.' He planted the butt of his huge spear into the forest litter. 'Throw down your weapons and I swear I will kill you and your men quickly. I will do it myself.'

'You know us better than that, Englishman!' Olaf called.

'Yes, Uncle, I know you,' Mauger said, using Olaf's nickname with a smile that did not reach his eyes. Then he turned his back on us and pushed past his men.

Sigurd called out to us in Norse as we braced ourselves and mumbled prayers to Týr god of the brave, Thór the mighty, and Óðin god of war.

'What does your heathen lord have in mind?' Penda asked. He looked exhausted.

'We're going to charge them,' I said, making sure my helmet was pushed firmly down. 'If you want to join your people, Penda, now is the time.'

'They can suck the Devil's prick,' he said, shrugging some life back into his shield arm.

A hand gripped my shoulder and I turned to face Bjorn. 'Raven, Sigurd says you must take the English girl and get out,' he said sternly. Blood was spilling into his fair beard from a cut below his eye. 'Get away from this place.'

'No, brother, I stay here,' I said. I caught Sigurd's eye and he nodded firmly, confirming his wishes. The English took up their chanting again, this time repeating the word 'out, out, out', thumping swords against shields. I left the shieldwall, pushed past Bjorn and strode towards Sigurd, catching Cynethryth's eye as she knelt with Weohstan's head on her lap. 'I am staying with you, lord,' I said, glimpsing Svein the Red who was snarling like a beast, so that even the numerous English could not have relished the thought of fighting him. 'We can win this fight,' I said, though I knew we could not.

Sigurd smiled then, his eyes that held the blue ocean shining brightly below the helmet's rim. 'You have been loyal to me, Raven,' he said, 'and I do not expect you to change now. Do as I tell you.' I clenched my jaw. 'Or are you still an Englishman after all? Like them?' he asked, gesturing towards the shouting warriors who were preparing to come again.

'I am a Norseman, lord!' I said angrily. 'I am a wolf and if I must die here, I am ready.'

'Then who will tell of these brave men,' he asked, 'and how they spent their last moments in this world? You
will
be a great warrior, Raven, but these men
are
great warriors. Look at them.' I glanced at Svein the Red, immovable like a great rock. Bram, growling like a hungry bear. There was old Asgot, still and menacing, and the brothers Bjorn and Bjarni, both light-hearted men, yet efficient killers. Even the Englishman Penda. Sigurd was right. They were all great warriors and I was arrogant to believe I belonged amongst them. Sigurd's face softened. 'Get to Floki. He is with the ships. You must go so that you can tell others how they fought,' he said. 'How they cut the English down as a man cuts wheat. They must not be denied their story because of a boy's pride.' Those words stung me and the chanting was deafening now and the Norsemen took up their own chant of 'Óðin! Óðin! Óðin!'

'Think of the girl, Raven,' Sigurd said above the noise. He nodded towards Cynethryth. 'There is another way to gain immortality, lad. Take the girl! Put your seed in her belly. Raise children who will grow up around you. Live, Raven.' He held my eye for a heartbeat and then turned and gave a roar that somehow drowned out every other voice. Sigurd charged and the Wolfpack with him. And I ran towards Cynethryth.

I SLASHED MY SWORD ACROSS A BEARDED NECK AND THEN WE WERE
clear, briars tearing at our hands and faces, conspiring to trip and bind us as I savagely pulled Cynethryth on. Sigurd's charge surprised the English and the bloody chaos covered our escape, but a horseman at their rear saw us and cantered south through the trees to cut us off. Luckily, though, the stallion had not seen us. It reared in shock as we burst from a clump of elder, and I let go of Cynethryth and slammed my shielded shoulder into its belly. It shrieked and fell sideways, crushing the rider, and we ran on, hoping every other Wessexman was too busy fighting for his life to care about us. For the second time, Cynethryth and I found ourselves fugitives in the Wessex forest.

The battle's noise receded, smothered by countless ancient trees, and we stopped for breath by an old oak. I vomited, unable to hold the burning shame in my belly. 'I should be with them!' I yelled, spitting out the bitterness. 'What am I doing?'

'Shhh, Raven,' Cynethryth hissed. She was bent over, heaving for breath. 'My father's men will hear you.' She was drenched in her brother's blood and looked like a wild creature.

'I am of the Fellowship, Cynethryth! I should be with them, not running like a hunted animal. Like a coward.'

She strode forward and slammed her fists against my chest. 'And what should I do? Should I fight them, too? Am I a warrior?' She stepped away. 'How brave you must be, fighting like some starved beast!' She wiped her face, smearing Weohstan's blood across her cheek. 'What about me? Look at my fine brynja. My sword,' she clutched a fistful of her blood-soaked linen dress, 'my helmet and gambeson. Look, Raven! Should I go back there and fight the men I betrayed today? Then stop them from raping me?'

'Óðin will think me a coward, Cynethryth,' I said. I was weeping. 'I have nothing without them.' The noise of battle was faint now, but every now and again a louder scream or the ring of iron carried to us on the breeze.

'Then I should never have betrayed my father,' Cynethryth said, turning her back on me.

Why are we men such fools? Freyja knows we can make sheep look quick-witted. This beautiful woman had risked everything for me. Alone, she had ridden many miles, crossing the fast-flowing Wye to warn me of her father's treachery. Now her brother, whom she adored, was dead and she was wet with his blood, and I talked of honour. We men know how to kill and believe this makes us great. But women possess innate knowledge of the pain of
giving
life. Perhaps this is why they feel its loss more keenly. Women bury their men and go on living, and they are much braver than us.

I stepped up to Cynethryth, removing my helmet as she turned to me. 'I am sorry, Cynethryth,' I said, 'and so long as I breathe and even in the life after I will remember what you did for me. For us.' My throat tightened further. 'By the All- Father, I swear I'm bound to you, Cynethryth. I would slit my own throat and be denied Valhöll if you asked it of me.'

'Must it always be about death, Raven?' she asked, a tear rolling down her cheek. 'What about life?'

I had no answer to that. 'Come,' I said, putting on my helmet and taking her hand to lead her south. 'We must reach the ealdorman before he sets off across the sea.' Because she needed answers too, or because she had nowhere else to go, Cynethryth went with me.

That night we slept amongst a stand of straight birches. Their rough, white bark looked dry, but the trunk's cracks and crevices still held a previous rain. Old Asgot had taught me that such trees are imbued with feminine purity, a kind of seidr, he said, which can protect a man against witches.

'So long as they hide us from the English, old man,' I muttered, as we made a bower with bracken and hornbeam whilst the night forest came alive with foraging creatures. We slept lightly and set off before dawn with empty stomachs and aching feet. The forest was damp and quiet and I winced at the noise my war gear made, though it could not be helped. Cynethryth was clear-eyed but wild-looking, her fine features reminding me of a peregrine, and though Weohstan was dead and his blood still on her, she pushed on, and with my war gear weighing me down it was all I could do to keep up.

'What will you do, Raven, when we catch up with the ealdorman?' Cynethryth asked. She had not said her father. A cold rain began to fall amongst the canopy above, fat drops bending the leaves before tapping on to branches, exposed roots and my helmet. It freshened the air and I was relieved to no longer smell blood and death.

'Well?' She grabbed my hand and stopped me. 'What will you do? I want the truth.'

A lie came to my tongue, but died there, because something in Cynethryth's green eyes, in the strong line of her lips, said she knew what was in my mind. 'I will kill him,' I said.

A cumbersome silence swelled between us. Then, after a while, she looked at me. 'He will have his household men with him. You wouldn't get within a spear's throw of him.'

'You have not seen me throw,' I said petulantly. 'I'll think of something.'

'Raven,' she said, pushing her golden hair behind her ears. Beneath the gore she looked fragile though I knew she was not. 'I hate the ealdorman now. Because of his greed, my brother is dead. He cares nothing for me, because I am a woman. Because I am not my mother,' she added, a deep sadness touching her face. 'I cannot inherit his power. Even Weohstan was a sacrifice he was willing to make.'

'Sacrifice?'

'Weohstan's death gives the ealdorman a tenable reason for war with Mercia. My brother was under Coenwulf's protection, wasn't he?'

'You don't believe he meant to let his son die,' I said, thinking of the millers and farmers Ealdred had sent with me to bring Weohstan back.

She hesitated. 'I don't know.' Then she shook her head. 'I cannot watch you kill him. Even if you got the chance.' It was hard to imagine this was the same girl who had come giggling into King Coenwulf's church when I had climbed out of a coffin. She was beautiful still, yet somehow immeasurable, like a deep gorge, and I did not know what to say to her.

'Ealdred must pay for his treachery, Cynethryth. There is no other way. He must die, or there is no honour.'

Cynethryth blinked rain from her eyes, the drops resting on her lashes and running down her cheeks. 'There is another way,' she said, her mouth tight. 'We could take his silver and go. Ealdred is blinded by the gospel book. He won't find us. We'll take his money and that will be your revenge and we will be safe. Safe, Raven,' she repeated and I admit the word sounded sweet as honey. I remembered Sigurd's last words to me before he had raised his sword and charged at the English. I
could
run away with Cynethryth. Perhaps she would grow to love me and perhaps I could put my seed in her belly and raise children whose eyes were green like hers and not red. Maybe we would grow old and those we brought into the world would remember us long after.

But I was a Norseman. And my eye
was
red.

'I will kill Ealdred,' I said, pushing on, 'and I will throw the White Christ book into the sea as an offering to Njörd.' My war shield thumped against my shoulder and the iron rings of my brynja chinked. My enemy's daughter walked on in silence, her wet face towards the new dawn.

As we neared Ealdorman Ealdred's lands, we tried to make ourselves inconspicuous. We stopped at a mill on the banks of a fast-flowing stream and I paid the miller two small silver coins for an empty flour sack into which I put my war gear, except for the shield which I kept slung across my back. Cynethryth washed off her brother's blood and then raised her hood so that it partly hid her face, and in her simple dress of undyed linen – though it was now stained brown in places – no one would know her for the ealdorman's daughter. Even so, the sight of my battered war shield was enough to make folk wary of us as we moved along the well-worn paths leading to Ealdred's hall. The locals had seen plenty of warriors come and go over the last weeks and they must have caught a whiff of blood in the warming summer air, for they gave us a wide berth and eyed me suspiciously.