Wolfskin (15 page)

“A comfortable young wife, a farm, a squalling infant or two,” mused Eirik. “It's not such a bad prospect.”

“To me it sounds like a living death,” Somerled observed. “Tedium incarnate. What sort of a man chooses to waste his life so?”

Eirik glanced at him. “Hakon is a stalwart warrior,” he said grimly,
“and a true friend. His choice has not been an easy one, but he's taking a wise course. Don't underestimate those of us you think simple, Somerled. Someday that could get you into trouble.”

Somerled narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Perhaps even he understood that it was not a good idea to pick a fight with Wolfskins.

 

The supplies came and were loaded into the knarr. The stock arrived: a ram and two ewes, a coop of chickens, another of geese, which kept up a continuous honking chorus and deprived all of sleep. There was also a fine young bull, long-horned, chestnut-coated, and a pair of dreamy-eyed heifers. These they would not load until the day of sailing. Men came back from farms with their wives and children and their selected thralls; the settlement was full to bursting. All in all, it was a fine company.

The day came when the last bright shield was hung on the
Golden Dragon
's side, and they launched her into Freyrsfjord for her first real trial. Her oars sang through the water; she moved before the wind, swift and graceful as a great seabird in flight. Ulf pronounced himself well pleased, and failed utterly to keep a grin of satisfaction from his usually sober features. Then Jarl Magnus held a feast to acknowledge the work that had been done, and to wish his kinsman well. In the afternoon there were games: horse fighting, wrestling, running races, and even a bout of Battlefield, in which Eyvind led one team and Eirik the other. It was difficult to play properly when one had to avoid causing the opposition serious injury. Several men from each side were to join the expedition, after all, and they could hardly do so with a split skull, a broken jaw, or a shattered ankle. By dint of some quick prematch negotiation, Eirik and Eyvind guided their teams through a bout which was more spectacular than bloody. They made sure there were plenty of close calls, since the crowd must be entertained. There was a great deal of leaping and dodging, a somersault or two, and lethal blows calculated to miss by a hair's breadth. Women screamed; children squealed; men yelled helpful instructions. Eyvind's team was pronounced by the crowd to have won. Wiping the sweat from his face, he glimpsed Signe there, clapping and cheering with the rest, and gave a little bow in her direction. By the time he had straightened up, she was gone from sight.

Before the sun set, Jarl Magnus's priest performed the ritual for the fleet's safety. By the water, where the knarr lay at anchor and the great longship was drawn up on the shore, a white ox was slaughtered. The blood
filled many bowls. The priest was an old man, and moved stiffly in his long woolen robe, but his hands were supple enough, dipping the blood twigs, sprinkling the libation from bow to stern, from keel to rim-rail of each proud vessel. Herbs were burned, and a wreath of oak leaves placed around the neck of the great creature that adorned the
Golden Dragon
's prow. Eyvind felt a thrill of excitement as the priest gazed up into the darkening sky. The old man's eyes were filmy with age, and yet he seemed to see a great distance.

“Mighty Thor! Storm god, battle god, sky god, we greet you! Let fair weather and calm seas welcome these voyagers, may a sweet wind breathe them safely across the ocean. Thor, strongest of fishermen, let no sea monster threaten our vessels, our folk, or our possessions. We ask your blessing, slayer of serpents!”

There was no answering roar of thunder; no spike of lightning split the sky. There was only the gentle wash of water on the pebbles, and the plaintive bellowing of the cattle, which were tethered not far away, awaiting loading into the knarr. Still, the priest appeared satisfied. He reached out a gnarled hand and ran his fingers along the strakes of the new ship's side, pausing as he touched the point where the keel swept upward toward the prow. Here, runes were carved, a band of them swirling snakewise up the fine oak, and between them were tiny images of men and gods and creatures.

“She goes with Thor's blessing, and Odin's, and Freyr's,” the old man said, “for she goes to a fair land, over sea, and the men who travel in her must perforce be sailors, and warriors, and farmers too. May Thor carry you safe through the perils of the deep. Odin smite your enemies and give your leaders wisdom. Freyr smile on your crops and cattle, and grant you times of plenty. Fair Freya, his sister, grant your women peaceful hearths and healthy children. Go forth with courage into your new world.”

With that, the fleet was ready. Cattle and sheep, chickens and ducks, men, women, and children would board in the morning, and by the time the sun was high in the sky, the vessels would be slipping out between the small islands that formed the skerry-guard, and into open sea.

A great crowd of folk had watched the ritual. Margaret stood by Ulf's side, the picture of a good wife, her dark eyes watchful. She spoke to her husband once or twice, and he bent his head courteously to listen. And Eyvind saw that fellow again, the one they called Firehead, standing among the crew of the knarr. They were a rough-looking group of men, but folk
said they were the best, tried and tested in all conditions. He was sure it was Sigurd; now the fellow was looking across at Somerled, who stood tight-lipped and pale at the back of the Jarl's household. There was an expression on Firehead's face that Eyvind fancied he had seen before, in the hills above his mother's longhouse, when Sigurd had chopped wood as if meting out deadly punishment. Somerled glanced across, and suddenly Firehead was talking to one of the other crewmen, and not looking their way at all. The smallest trace of a smile flickered across Somerled's face, and was gone.

That night the feasting was long and hearty, and Jarl Magnus was generous with his praises and his gifts. Reluctantly, he granted Hakon formal release from his service. He gave his warrior a fine cloak of beaver pelt, and a sword whose blade flickered in the light with a pattern like sun on a fair waterfall. There were others who intended to stay on in the Light Isles, and all received rich gifts: robes, cloaks, daggers, or axes. He gave Ulf a pair of great hunting dogs. Behind the Jarl's back, the knarr's crew exchanged glances and grimaces: more livestock to carry. Thord, who had served five years as a Wolfskin and wore a great seam across his face to prove it, was presented with a comely dark-skinned slave girl with long hair to her waist, and midnight-black eyes. Thord could not keep the grin from his scarred features, and the girl did not appear at all put out by the prospect of a long ocean voyage, or the company of a man with so many teeth missing. It is in such ventures to new lands that slaves become wives; that serfs become free men and women. Perhaps she sensed that, for her dark eyes snapped with excitement as she made her way to the Wolfskin's side. It was well known that Thord intended to size the new place up, and stay on if it took his fancy.

Margaret received a length of best linen, a double string of amber beads, and a set of game pieces cunningly carved in whalebone, with a silver inlaid board. She smiled politely, inclined her head respectfully, and thanked the Jarl in economical words. Eyvind could see the small frown on her brow; he watched as her eyes flicked across to Somerled, who sat silent in his usual place, shadowed by a pillar. Then she sat down again by her husband, her hands in her lap.

“Now,” said Magnus expansively, “I have been well entertained today, with excellent sport, and I have had cause yet again to observe how my youngest Wolfskin acquits himself as strongly and ably in the arena of games as on the field of war. I made the lad a promise some time since, and I intend to honor it today. Come forward, Eyvind, let's see you.”

Eyvind remembered now something about a reward, and he'd been supposed to think about what he wanted, but it had entirely slipped his mind what with one thing and another. He'd have to come up with something quickly or the Jarl would be offended. He got up and walked forward to stand before Magnus, wishing he did not always feel so awkward on such occasions, as if the fine folk of the court were judging him in some way. He might be able to charge into an attack and kill many men; he might be able to win games of Battlefield, and hunt stag and boar and wolf, but he had never mastered the art of finding ready words at times like this.

“My lord.”

“Well, Eyvind. You've acquitted yourself splendidly today, as indeed has your brother. I have a gift for you, a reward for this afternoon's victory.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Eyvind was much relieved; it seemed the gift was already chosen, and all he had to do was accept politely, then sit down again.

“Wear this in your next battle,” Magnus was saying, and his senior housecarl brought out a wondrously wrought helmet, its broad headband decorated with figures of horses and warriors, its triangular panels rising to a short spike on the top. Eyvind could imagine already how he might use that in close combat. The eye guards were well shaped and strong. Most remarkable of all, from the headband a fine curtain of woven links, fashioned from beaten metal, hung down to shield face, ears, and neck. This was a helm of superior make even to the Jarl's own.

“You are a Wolfskin,” Magnus said with a smile, “and a Wolfskin needs no armor. He goes into battle clothed in the breath of the gods, and shielded by their hands. Still, I want you to wear this. Your kind are not entirely immune to injury, and you in particular are over-fond of risk. Let this gift grant us a few more seasons of your company, young Eyvind.”

“Thank you, my lord. It is indeed a generous gift.” Good, it was over; he need say no more, but could return to his seat by Eirik.

“Not so fast, my friend.”

Eyvind halted.

“The helm is your reward for today's sport. But we have a little unfinished business, I think. Have you forgotten the battle we fought, and the courage you showed against the plotters whom we overthrew east of Freyrsfjord? I promised you a reward then, and you shall have one.”

“My lord—there's no need—”

“Ah—don't tell me the helmet is sufficient, lad, I won't have it. Let not
the tale be spread abroad that Magnus fails to give due recompense for loyalty, or does not keep his promises. I said then you could name your own reward; you must do so now.”

To his annoyance, Eyvind felt himself blushing. He could see Eirik grinning at his discomfort, and Margaret looking at him very intently indeed, as if trying to convey some message. Somewhere behind him, in the shadows, sat Somerled; Somerled who, it seemed, had been cast out by his family not once, but twice, who had no home to return to, no brother to drink with, no woman to welcome him with her arms and listen to his secrets. And now, the words he needed came to Eyvind with no difficulty at all.

“My lord Jarl, I have considered this as you bade me. You are the most generous of leaders, and I hope you will not think my request odd or inappropriate. I know you may expect me to ask for a horse, or a weapon, or a fine cloak of fur, perhaps even for a handsome slave woman such as the one who has put such a twinkle in my friend Thord's eye.”

This was greeted with general laughter.

“But?” Magnus asked, his eyes thoughtful.

“My lord, I wish to request something not for myself, but for my friend Somerled, your young kinsman.”

Magnus's expression did not change, but Eyvind saw Ulf stiffen, as if he knew what was coming, and Margaret's eyes narrowed.

“My lord,” Eyvind continued, “Somerled is a proud man and will not ask this for himself. He has always vowed to make his own way without patronage or favor, and indeed, he is a clever fellow who will do so whatever your answer. But Somerled wishes for nothing more than a place on board the longship his brother has built, and a chance to accompany this expedition to new shores. In these isles of the west, such a promising scholar will find much work to exercise his talents, and is sure to make his mark. He will bring nothing but honor to his patron in Rogaland. I would ask that you influence your kinsman, Ulf, to include his brother among the folk who depart on this voyage. I am certain Ulf will not have cause to regret such a decision, for Somerled has much to offer.”

There was a little silence. The Jarl did not seem taken aback. He studied Eyvind's face as if to read his intentions, and was apparently satisfied.

“Well spoken, young Wolfskin,” he said at last. “You have a generous spirit. A man should be grateful indeed for such a loyal friend. And I must grant this request, for I have already given my word. What do you say, kins
man Ulf?”

Ulf had gone extremely pale. One did not refuse to do the Jarl's bidding, especially when one's expedition was largely dependent on his patronage.

“I will do as your lordship pleases, of course,” he said, his expression belying the polite words, for he had the look of a man facing the point of his enemy's sword. “This comes as a surprise to me. I had no inkling of my brother's wishes, or that he believed he might have anything of value to contribute to such a venture.”

“Any new settlement needs men of learning.” There was a note of mild reproof in Magnus's tone. “Go on, take the boy with you. It could be the making of him.”

Ulf gave a tight nod. Margaret's lips curved in a tiny smile. Eyvind bowed to the Jarl, and returned to his place by his brother.

“What did you do that for, you fool?” Eirik hissed, the moment he sat down.

“What do you mean?” Eyvind whispered.

“You know Ulf doesn't want him there. The boy's a millstone around his neck.” Eirik wasn't joking; his expression was grim.

“All he needs is a chance,” Eyvind hissed back. “To know someone cares about him. If—” He fell silent as the Jarl began to speak again.