Authors: M. D. Lachlan
Wolfsangel (23 page)
‘Don’t be silly,’ he told himself.
Then the truth of the situation struck him like a fist. Of course! It was an attack.
Forkbeard had gone to the regional assembly, taking sixty of his best fighting men with him. If any enemy had discovered that then they would know the Rygir village was virtually undefended. Who was left? Farmers, old warriors, women and children. What better time to attack?
It all fell into place. That was why Vali had been called away. His mother hadn’t wanted him there when the raid took place. Why hadn’t his mother sent aid? Because Authun was mad but still in command. She could buy grain, marry her daughters and send for her son, but the White Wolf’s warriors moved only for him while he was alive. Without Authun to lead the Horda, she couldn’t act to help friends or strike enemies. And hadn’t Vali’s sister Dalla married the Dane Ingwar? That had happened because the Horda were powerless - they needed marriage alliances to protect them. As long as no one knew of Authun’s illness the Danish kings would gladly offer their sons - they thought they were buying protection. In fact, they had been deceived into offering it. But why hadn’t Yrsa sent word to Forkbeard? Because she feared Vali would not marry his daughter. His message saying that he would refuse to marry Ragna had reached the Horda court. If Yrsa could not be sure that Vali would go through with the marriage then she might fear the treaty with the Rygir would fail. The queen wanted to keep her neighbours occupied with another enemy. So why had the Rygir been left unwarned? Because, in a moment of stupidity, Vali had said he would not do his duty. He had visited this calamity on the Rygir and he felt ashamed for it.
Vali ran into the hall.
‘Get up, get up! The enemy is here. Get up, get up!’ he shouted.
There were still some coals burning in the fire. He scooped several onto a bread plate, gathered some straw from the floor and ran out to the beacon, which seemed to take an age to light.
‘Hurry up, hurry up! Get your arms and shields, we’ve got a fight on!’
Bragi strolled out like a man surveying his land on a fine morning.‘What, lord?’
‘Look, the horizon - smoke. It’s warships, I know it.’
‘That or a trader cooking up some mackerel,’ said Bragi. He was calm.
‘He’s either coming here, in which case he’d eat here, or he’s going past, in which case he’d never risk alerting our ships. When have you seen smoke like that before?’
‘Not here, but—’
‘Who am I?’
‘Vali, prince of the sword-Horda,’ said Bragi.
‘Whose son am I?’
‘Authun, lord of battle.’
‘Then respect me and call to arms. Call to arms!’
Bragi shrugged but took a horn from his belt. One of the endearing things about the old warrior was that he was almost permanently dressed for a fight. He even carried his helmet with him much of the time, though he drew the line at wearing his byrnie. He had been known to take his shield if he wasn’t going far, however.
Bragi blew three blasts on his horn, then walked into the hall and started rousing the men. At first few believed him and thought it a prank but, urged on by Vali, they stumbled outside and saw the beacon burning. That was never lit as a joke. Up on the hill another one answered it. Behind that, they knew, would be others, calling the men of the farms down to defend the shore.
Vali looked at what he had. Forty men, or rather boys and grandfathers, some still half drunk. He shouted and kicked at them to arm themselves. Hungover and red-faced, they opened chests in the hall, taking out weapons, padded jackets, a couple of byrnies and helmets. Shields and spears were found in a separate storeroom. Men stumbled and tripped as they pulled on their gear, clattered into each other as they reached for the weapons.
‘Sails!’ shouted Bragi from outside. Despite being clearly very drunk, the old man had his byrnie on and had taken up two spears, one stout and long, the other shorter and thinner, for throwing.
Vali didn’t bother putting on a byrnie, though he had a right to one. He grabbed a seax, a shield and a helmet, and gave them all to Bragi.
‘Shield wall at the top of the hill, the Hogsback, on the cart track at the side of the copse,’ he said. ‘They won’t get round the back of us through the wood, not in a hurry anyway. Have these for me there behind it. Put five archers in the woods and tell them not to fire until I give the order. Nothing as the enemy advance. Nothing, do you understand?’
‘Yes, lord, but will they come to the top of the hill? Surely they’ll plunder here and be gone.’
‘They have berserks aboard. They’ll come,’ said Vali. ‘I’ll ensure it. Our only chance is to fight them there. Get to the hill and set your wall, though be ready to receive me - I’ll be coming through it at speed.’
Bragi had been amazed when Vali appeared with the wolfman. He was even more amazed at the transformation in him now.
Hogni and Orri appeared from the hall.
‘Ah, Horda - good men,’ said Vali. ‘You’ll go with the archers into the woods to cover the front of the shield wall. You’ll see that they do not fire until my command. Then, and you’ll know the time, you’ll attack the enemy from the back.’
‘Yes, lord.’ Hogni and Orri were too hungover to argue, to point out that they were veterans of five raids each. Anyway, Vali was a prince. In battle, that is what princes are for, if nothing else - they give the orders.
The longships were closer now. They could hear the baying of the berserks, the sound of them beating their shields and their bodies, the oaths to Odin and the curses on the enemy. The voices were indistinct, but if you had heard the chanting before you would know what it said.
‘Odin!’
‘That means fury!’
‘Odin!’
‘That means war!’
‘They speak our language, sir,’ said Orri.
Bragi shook his head. ‘Look at the ships; they sit so shallow in the water. These bastards are Danes - their ships do no more than kiss the waves. I saw them at Kaupangen. They’ve hired a few pirates from near here, no doubt, but these are Danes.’
Vali turned to his band. ‘I am Vali, son of Authun the White Wolf, plunderer of the five towns, peerless in battle. As the prince here, I assume command, as there are no princes of your own to lead you. There are three ships there, eighty warriors at least. It is beyond us to fight so many. Yet we will make them pay so dear a price for what they take that they will curse the day they set sail for our shores. Until I arrive at the top of the hill, Bragi is in command. Offer a prayer to your gods and tell them to prepare to receive you.’
Bragi nodded and beckoned the men after him. They streamed through the village, women, children and dogs chasing after them.
Adisla woke at the commotion. She looked around her. She had slept in the open, a borrowed cloak over her, and her hair was wet with dew.
There was shouting and screaming and the smell of fire. Children were wailing, men and women crying out. She looked over to where Vali was marshalling his force and then out to sea. Three sails. Chanting. She knew what was coming. So did the wolfman. For the first time he strained against his bonds.
She had heard what Vali had said: they were all to die. It seemed wrong that someone who had lived his life so free should die tied like a pig for slaughter. She took the bag from Feileg’s head.
The first thing the wolfman saw after Adisla was Vali. He let out a low snarl of such fury that Adisla stepped back. Feileg had remembered the face of the sleeping man and guessed who had taken him prisoner.
She looked at him. ‘I intend to let you go,’ she said, ‘but first you must swear that you will not harm me or mine.’
‘I will protect you. I will serve you.’
‘Swear it, on whatever gods you have.’
‘I swear it on the sky and the land,’ said Feileg.
‘Then this is the only service I require of you: that you will not harm him, my love, who brought you here,’ said Adisla. ‘I hold you to your oath. Can you keep it?’
‘Yes.’
She took a knife from her belt and cut through his bonds. The ships were closer now, the men almost individually visible. She sawed and cut. The wolfman was bound at the hands and at the neck. No one noticed what she was doing in the panic. Eventually he was free.
Feileg stood, moving like an old man getting out of bed.
‘Now go. You are in danger from both sides. Go!’
‘I will stay with you.’
‘No,’ said Adisla. ‘I forbid it. Go. You swore me your service now do as I say and run.’
The wolfman stared at her. In some ways he reminded her of an animal, a dog, craning its head in curiosity at hearing an unfamiliar sound.
‘The wolfman is free, sir!’
‘Adisla, stay still; I’m coming!’
Vali was a bowshot away but coming towards them at a run, a seax in his hand. The wolfman saw his advance and bared his teeth.
‘Your oath!’ said Adisla.
The wolfman took her by the shoulders. ‘I will not forget you,’ he said.
And then he kissed her - a child’s kiss, no more than pushing his lips into hers - and was gone. Adisla was rigid with shock as Vali arrived at her side.
‘Adisla, are you all right? How did he get free? Are you all right? Darling, are you all right? Where is Drengi? Where is he? Where is your betrothed?’
‘I think he went with the other men to the hill.’
Vali frowned. ‘Well, he should be looking for you. You should be his first concern.’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Go to the farm and get your mother out into the fields. You must hide - you know the places. I’ll look for you when it’s done.’
Adisla hugged him and for the first time in her life understood the feelings of the women on the quayside as they wished their husbands off to war, and she knew what a man wants at such times - not reminders of the love he’s leaving, not adjurations to keep safe or wishes for luck. A man in battle needs courage, no thought that his death will inconvenience or upset anyone but himself. So Adisla kissed him and said the traditional parting words from a wife to a warrior setting out for battle.
‘Kill a hundred of them for me.’
He nodded, squeezed her to him and then let her go.
‘Run,’ he said. ‘Run for your life.’
She did, tearing up the hill towards her farm.
Vali looked back to the sea. By the quay he saw the most extraordinary thing. The wolfman was facing the three longships alone. He stood on the little beach growling and beating his chest, standing tall and upright one instant, crouching low to the sand the next. The berserks were baying to attack, but the ruddermen had brought the boats about to get a better look at him. To the sober men in charge of the ships it seemed they were confronted by a werewolf and they wanted a clear sight of him before rushing in.
Feileg was delaying the landing and that gave Vali time to act. He had no idea where Forkbeard stored his treasure - that secret was known only by a very few people indeed - but in the hall there were enough fine cups and wall hangings to suit Vali’s purpose. He tore a couple of hangings down and wrapped as many of the metal plates and cups as he could inside them. Then he tied them loosely and ran outside. He knew the berserks would follow him simply if he taunted them but he wanted to give the rest of the warriors a reason to chase him too.
Now he really could see the enemy clearly. The longships were only a short distance from the shore and parallel to it. The warriors were screaming, howling like wolves and roaring like bears, some jabbering incoherently, some even fighting each other. Berserks, definitely. Vali swallowed. Good. That was what he wanted.
The ruddermen now evidently decided that one wolfman, no matter how magical, would not stand in their way. Turned by their oars, the prows of the boats swung towards the shore. Picking up the pace, the rowers sped the longships in to attack.
The wolfman had done what he wanted, given Adisla more time to get away. Now he too ran, and Vali was the only one left in the settlement, just a couple of scouts watching him from up the hill.
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