Raven: Blood Eye (5 page)

'Nearly dropped off, lad. Where's he been?' he asked, nodding towards Ealhstan. 'Carving crosses for the pagans?' Then his eyes closed again and his head fell with a bang against the wall. Carefully, I took the cup from Griffin's hand and placed it on the ground out of harm's way as Ealhstan picked his way through the crowd over snoring, farting men.

'I'll go for the rod at dawn, old man,' I whispered, thinking Ealhstan had come to make sure I would be awake in time to catch his breakfast. But he batted the words away, frowning, and knelt with a wince. When he was happy that Griffin was asleep and that no one else was watching he stared at me, his thin face in shadow, his wispy white hair glowing in the firelight. 'What's going on?' I asked, and he put a bony finger to my lips. Then he took my hand and pressed something into it. I looked down to see a sprig of fern in my palm. I shrugged, divining no meaning from it. Ealhstan motioned that I should smell the leaves, so I rubbed the sprig between my fingers and sniffed. It smelled rank, like rotten parsnips, and I knew it was not fern, but hemlock. I have seen pigs and sheep die from eating hemlock; first they become excited, then their breathing slows and their legs and ears grow cold to the touch. They die swollen and stinking.

I dropped the leaves, spat on my fingers and rubbed my hands on my tunic. Ealhstan puffed up his cheeks and made the sign of the cross.

'Wulfweard?' I whispered.

He nodded, spotted Griffin's mead cup and picked it up, then pretended to sprinkle something into it. His eyes were slits below thick white brows. He turned and looked at Sigurd who was leaning against the west wall beside his great round shield, iron helmet and wicked, heavy spear.

I tugged Ealhstan's shoulder. 'Wulfweard means to poison Jarl Sigurd?' I hissed. 'You saw him gather hemlock?'

The carpenter spun back round, glancing at nearby heathens to make sure none had heard or understood. Then he glared at me and I nodded slowly, acknowledging the reproof. 'He's mad,' I muttered.

Ealhstan grimaced as though he agreed with me. Then he gestured to the hall's door and stood, motioning that I should follow him. Making sure not to wake the sleeping men around me, I got to my feet and followed Ealhstan silently out of the hall, casually loosening my belt as though I intended to relieve myself outside.

The night was dark and moonless. Two dogs were fighting over a fleshy bone. Someone's goose had escaped its pen and now sat on Siward the blacksmith's thatch, spreading its wings and honking proudly. Other than that, the village was asleep. I thought I could hear the surf breaking on the southern shore beyond the black hills. Then Ealhstan reached into the pouch at his waist and held something towards me without taking his eyes from mine. That's when I saw Alwunn, the girl I had lain with at the Easter feast. She stood in the eaves' shadow, wringing her plump hands and staring at Ealhstan. From the state of her knotted blond hair, I guessed the old man must have dragged her from her bed, and I felt a twinge in my stomach at seeing her.

'What's going on, Ealhstan?' I asked, looking at the small, bone-handled knife he had given me. A leather thong ran through a hole in the hilt. Ealhstan beckoned Alwunn irritably and she stepped from the shadows, giving a thin smile with her fat lips. She cleared her throat and glanced at Ealhstan once more for approval. He nodded and gave a grunt.

'Hello, Osric,' Alwunn said in a small voice. Her eyes widened and she touched her hair, suddenly embarrassed. She licked a hand and pressed it against an unruly hank, without success.

'What are you doing here, Alwunn?' I asked, aware of warmth kindling in my loins. 'Are you in your nightclothes?' She shifted awkwardly and I frowned at Ealhstan, who twirled his hand impatiently.

'The knife, Osric,' Alwunn said, nodding at the thing in my hand. 'It's important.'

'Doesn't look important,' I replied, running a thumb across the dull blade. 'You would struggle to skin a hare with this.' Ealhstan snatched the knife from me and held the hilt up close to my face. I took it back and examined the hilt. Two serpents writhed in the white bone, each beast appearing to swallow its own curling tail. 'It's skilled work,' I admitted. 'And pagan.' Ealhstan grunted. I shrugged. 'I don't understand. Why are you showing this to me?'

'I was there when they found you, Osric,' Alwunn said almost guiltily.

'So?' I said. I knew the story. I had been found amongst the old people's burial mounds south-east of Abbotsend. No one knew where I had come from and I had been unconscious. When I woke, my mind was empty as a mead barrel at a wedding feast.

'Your head was bleeding and they thought you must be dead,' Alwunn continued, 'but when they rolled you over, your eyes were open. When Wulfweard saw . . .' she hesitated and pointed at my blood-eye, 'he cursed and said you had been touched by Satan.' She made the sign of the cross then, scared by her own words.

'I was lucky old Ealhstan needed an extra pair of hands more than he needed Wulfweard's fart-stinking sermons,' I said, smiling at the old carpenter, who grunted again. Alwunn looked horrified at what I had said and took a moment to check that we were still alone. The two dogs, perhaps seeing a hare, suddenly ran off into the night, barking wildly.

Alwunn winced. 'Ealhstan found that knife round your neck,' she said. 'He took it before Wulfweard or the others saw it.' She looked at Ealhstan. 'He feared what they would do. It is pagan, Osric,' she said, emphasizing the word, 'and what with your eye . . .' She shrugged and looked embarrassed again, as though she was ashamed of how the folk of Abbotsend treated me, but at the same time understood their reasons.

'As I said, the old man needed an apprentice,' I said, studying the knife intently now.

'Are you sure you don't remember anything about how you got here?' Alwunn asked, fighting with her unruly hair again.

I shook my head. 'I woke up in Ealhstan's house, Alwunn. There's nothing before that.' I held up the knife. 'You've always known about this?' She nodded. 'Does anyone else know?'

'Why, Osric? Do you think they could treat you any worse?' she asked with a wry smile. I frowned at her. 'No one else knows,' she said. She looked at Ealhstan. 'I should go. If Mother knew I was out here . . .'

Ealhstan nodded and touched her shoulder in thanks. Alwunn shot me a parting look and ran off into the night, lifting the hem of her nightdress off the muddy earth.

'Why are you telling me now, old man?' I asked, tying the knife to my belt. Alwunn was right. What could they do to me now? For two years they had hated me but let me alone because I was Ealhstan's apprentice. I would not hide behind the old man any more.

Ealhstan stared at the knife on my belt but did not move to take it back. He gave a slight shake of his head and made the sign of the cross over his chest.

'I don't know what this all means, Ealhstan,' I said, putting an arm on his shoulder, 'but thank you.' The goose honked loudly and I turned to see a dark figure striding towards us.

'Is that one of Bertwald's birds?' Wulfweard asked, making the sign of the cross when he noticed me. He wore his priest's armour: the white woollen tunic reaching to his ankles and the strip of green silk which went round his neck and fell to his shins. 'I've told him he needs to put another foot on his pen. Given a bit of a fright and a little gust of wind, a goose can take to the sky for two hundred paces. I've seen it!' We looked at the goose and it flapped its wings angrily. 'Is that devil Jarl Sigurd still in there dreaming up more ways to offend our Lord and Father?' he asked Ealhstan, turning his back on me.

The carpenter nodded.

'About earlier, Ealhstan, by Cearl's place,' Wulfweard said. 'As luck would have it – though we must surely believe good luck to be nothing less than God's rewarding the righteous . . .' He pointed a fat finger, and I did not need to see his face to know the arrogant smile on it. 'Well, Ealhstan, I came across a clump of burdock hiding amongst the nettles and docks. I expect you're familiar with burdock's . . . loosening properties,' he rubbed his lower belly, 'and the relief the juice of its leaves gives to flea bites, snake bites and such like. But did you know that the oil from its roots, when rubbed into the scalp, is most soothing – not to mention restorative to hair?' Ealhstan grunted and Wulfweard squeezed his shoulder. 'Peace be upon you, friend.' Then the priest turned to me, his grimace animal-like in the darkness. 'Out of my way, boy. I go to witness the Lord God's work.' With that he pushed open the old hall's door, shot Ealhstan a wicked grin and went inside.

Ealhstan made to walk away, beckoning for me to follow, but I stood where I was beneath the rotting thatch. The carpenter made a low guttural sound in his throat and waved his arm bad-temperedly.

'You're going to let him poison the jarl?' I asked, horrified. 'He was lying about the burdock.' I sniffed the lingering musty scent of hemlock on my fingers as Ealhstan gestured again for me to come away. 'I'm not going,' I said. 'We can't let it happen. Wulfweard is mad! His head is full of spiders, Ealhstan.' Though the old man frowned, I did not wait to see what he would do, but followed the priest into the hall.

Inside, someone had thrown more logs on to the hearth. They were spitting and cracking and the flames were jumping again, gilding the spicy smoke that billowed across sleeping men and around smooth roof posts. Wulfweard was standing above Jarl Sigurd, a cup in his hands, and some of the others were stirring as though expecting trouble. Wulfweard turned to the sound of the door. He saw me and curled his lip before turning back to the Norseman. I moved into a space by the hearth, feeling the heat on my face as Ealhstan entered the hall and crouched beside Siward the blacksmith.

'Your people are stumbling in the darkness, Jarl Sigurd,' Wulfweard said, his voice like the rasp of a sword from its sheath, 'but is it not the shepherd's task to save his flock from the wolf?'

'Fuck off, priest,' Sigurd mumbled, scratching his golden beard. 'I did not cross Njörd's sea to listen to you. Your words fall from your mouth like droppings from a goat's arse.' Some of the Norsemen laughed hard enough to wake others still sleeping.

'Go back to your White Christ house and sleep on your knees,' said the warrior beside Sigurd.

For a few heartbeats Wulfweard just stared at Sigurd. By the firelight I saw that the priest was trembling with rage and his free hand was a tight fist.

'I have come here in peace, heathen,' Wulfweard rumbled, 'and I was hoping you might accept Christ's blessing. You will be gone tomorrow.'

'The White Christ is here?' Sigurd asked, grinning and looking around the hall.

'Our Lord is everywhere,' Wulfweard replied, shooting a warning glance at the Englishmen in the hall. 'I would bless you in Christ's name, Sigurd, and in the morning I would baptize you and cleanse you of the evil filth that suffocates your people.'

I wondered then if Wulfweard had had a change of heart, or if Ealhstan had been mistaken about the hemlock. Perhaps the priest
had
been picking burdock for his moulting hair.

'Away with your spells, priest!' Sigurd said, flicking a hand at Wulfweard as an old Norseman with bones plaited in his lank grey hair stood and walked over to the jarl, 'or I will have my own godi turn your guts to worms.' The heathen wizard grinned maliciously, but some of the other Norsemen put their hands on their spears and sword grips. I touched the pagan knife at my waist, letting my thumb follow the forms of the writhing beasts in its bone hilt. The Norsemen had similar hilts sticking from sheaths at their own waists. I looked at these strangers, trying to see myself in them. They were mostly yellow-haired with fair beards, though one had hair as black as my own.

'I see you are not yet ready to receive Christ's forgiveness,' Wulfweard said, forcing a smile. 'Well, I have tried,' he exclaimed, holding his arms wide, 'and perhaps I have struck the first blow in the battle for your blighted souls.' He turned away from Sigurd, stopped, then turned back to face the Norseman, extending the hand clasping the mead cup. 'Will you at least drink with me, Jarl Sigurd? To show all gathered here that there is peace between us?'

Sigurd pursed his lips, then shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'I'll drink with you, priest,' he said, accepting the cup, 'if you will then leave me in peace.' Wulfweard dipped his head and took a step back. Sigurd raised the cup to his lips.