Wolfskin (70 page)

As Eyvind stood stunned, pride and horror warring within him, and the assembled folk broke into excited talk once more, the sound of Somerled's laughter rang out through the hall, at once bitter, shocked, and genuinely amused.

“By all the gods!” Somerled exclaimed. “The Wolfskin, who never did learn to put more than five runes together and struggled to comprehend the simplest point of law, making the final decision on the life of a king? It's clear the tale you refer to is no heroic saga set out in cunning skaldic verse, but a trifling thing best suited to the drinking halls frequented by such mindless servants of Thor as this fellow you call courageous.” He turned to Magnus, his face now blazing with outrage. “He bedded her, of course. That's what this is all about, a simple matter of the lusts of the flesh. An impressionable young woman, a yellow-haired warrior they used to call Little Ox—what do you expect? The girl wants him back between her legs, that's all. She just can't get enough.”

Red rage welled in Eyvind's head, blinding and terrible; the voice called in his ear, urging him to action. It would be three long paces to Somerled's side, and a matter of moments to lay hands around his neck, give a strategic squeeze, and make an end to his filthy accusations. Everything in him was screaming,
Forward!
Nessa's eyes were on him, and Rona's, and the Jarl's. He drew a long breath. He held himself very still: as still as a standing
stone. The red mist cleared; the voice faded. There was, after all, a choice. If he had once been the mindless servant of Thor whom Somerled described, he was no longer.

It was Rona's voice that rang out now, an old woman's voice, but strong and thrilling. Brother Tadhg provided a prompt translation.

“The wise woman asks Somerled if he has forgotten how much can change from spring to spring? He would be wise to recall it, for in a few seasons' space, the Wolfskin will be the father of kings, while he himself will be no more than a shadow on the edge of memory.”

“You astonish me,” Magnus said, staring at Rona, who returned his gaze with fierce eyes. “The father of kings? I do not think this can be. I must make it clear to you,” he looked at Nessa now, “that Eyvind was given leave to come here only for a short time. I was most reluctant to release him from my service; indeed, it was only through the offices of Somerled himself that I gave his friend permission to accompany him. Eyvind is foremost among my strike force, and an indispensable member of my personal guard. He's the best warrior we have, and a great favorite on the sporting field. He simply cannot stay on here. Indeed, I believed it was the lady Nessa's desire that all of us quit these shores without delay. The events of the past year have given her no cause to trust our kind. For now, I plan to respect her wishes and withdraw my forces, both those of Ulf's ill-fated expedition and my own exploratory voyage. Though I have to say, I believe it is inevitable that others will make their way here wanting to settle, whether by force of arms or peaceably. You will not keep these islands to yourselves much longer, my dear. Nor will you keep my favorite Wolfskin, I think.”

Nessa's hands were clutched tightly together; still, her voice was that of a leader, level and considered. “My lord, I thank you for your wisdom in choosing to withdraw your men from the Light Isles. That is a great gain for my people. As to the future, I am not so foolish that I cannot see a time of change is upon us. All I seek is a respite, enough time to prepare. Without that, the wisdom of the ancestors will indeed be lost. My lord, I am not entirely without practicality. Many of our able-bodied men were slain, in the rout at Ramsbeck, in the assault on the Whaleback, or alone and silently while on watch in darkness. Our women and children are strong, but not so strong that they can make up all that was lost. We need help. Your Wolfskin, Eyvind, is prepared to stay and offer us that if you will release him. We had hoped that he would stay.” The well-controlled voice cracked. It had been a very long time to remain strong.

“Your problem can be solved another way,” Magnus said, and Eyvind remembered that the Jarl himself had always had a fondness for games. “When I allowed my men to journey here with Ulf, some of them were given leave to stay on and settle. Hakon was one. Alas, Hakon is no longer with us. Thord might be persuaded to remain here; I'm told his woman has taken a liking to the place. I dare say one or two other volunteers may be found, provided you're able to guarantee their safety once the rest of us sail. An easy matter, I think. You should get your complement of able-bodied men.”

“My lord,” Nessa's voice was shaking now, “I don't think I have made myself sufficiently clear. My grasp of your tongue is less than perfect, I know. If one or two men wish to stay on, I will consider them. But it is this warrior, in particular, whom I wish to retain.”

Somerled grinned. “As I said,” he commented.

“Mmm,” mused Magnus with the trace of a smile. “A dilemma, for I, too, wish to retain him. Let's hear what the man himself has to say. Step forward, Eyvind.”

He stood before them, his wolfskin on his shoulders, his sword by his side, the beating of his heart now strong and steady. The rage was gone and with it the last traces of uncertainty. He looked at Nessa. “You know what's in my heart,” he said. “I have sworn to be guard and protector to your people, and I would do no less for you. It is a lifelong promise. My lord Jarl, I ask to be released from my bond to you and permitted to remain on the islands. You are a fine and fair leader, a model for any man to aspire to. But I must walk on my own path now, and follow the voice within me. Will you let me go?”

“Lifelong promise, huh!” Somerled spat. “Our friend here breaks vows and changes allegiance as often as a courtier changes his shirt. What about his oath of loyalty to me? What about his lifelong vow to Thor? You can't trust him, Nessa. He'll serve you awhile then toss you aside as soon as another great cause takes his fancy. Eyvind is no hero. He's nothing but a big man with a limited capacity for thought and a newfound penchant for attempting what's just a little beyond him. You'd have been much better to stick to killing, old friend. You're so good at that.”

“Enough!” Magnus's voice was like a thunderclap; everyone jumped. “I did not give you leave to speak. Well, Eyvind,” this in a different tone, “I see a solution here. A test: a test of your ability to carry out the duties this lady seems to envisage for you. We know you are strong and determined. We
know you are steadfast and courageous. Now you must show us that you have also learned wisdom.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” Even as he spoke, Eyvind realized what was intended. A dark matter indeed: the most perilous of games.

“You must pronounce sentence on Somerled,” Magnus said quietly. “Lady Nessa herself set you the task, and I think you must pass the test not simply to satisfy myself and the folk assembled here, but also the lady. If I am content with your judgment I will release you from my service. And I will consider your offense of disobedience to your chieftain fully acquitted. If your decision fails to please me, or the court, or the lady, then you must honor your vow to me and return to Rogaland with my vessel, before next full moon. Once in Freyrsfjord, I would expect at least another five years' service from you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you need time to consider? This man's life hangs in the balance, after all, and he is your brother, sworn in blood. Such a decision is not made lightly.”

“Odin's bones, can we just get on with this?” Somerled's tone was brittle. “I've never known such a tedious, long-winded debate—”

“I need no farther time,” Eyvind said. His heart was beating hard now, hard and quick, and yet at the same time he felt a curious sort of calm settle over him. There was no need to think about what he would say. The answer was there inside him, arrived complete and unbidden. He turned to face Somerled. “You are indeed my brother,” he said quietly. “The marks we bear are witness to that bond, and I have done my best to honor it. You think I have betrayed that promise, I know. But it is not so. I have watched as you made your path through life, as your mind grew ever more cunning, your decisions and your actions harder to understand. I have wondered, often, what it was that drove you, why the craving for recognition burned in you so strongly that it rendered you blind to the consequences of your actions. It seemed you could see no man's pathway but your own. In time I recognized the way you had chosen was wrong; it came to me that you had taken an ill turning a long time ago, that you had wandered almost beyond the reach of the most loyal friend. There was a foretelling—you must remember it—”

“Get on with it, will you?” muttered Somerled.

“It is never too late for a man to go back to that fork in the road and try again,” Eyvind said. “Brother Tadhg would tell you it is just a matter of rec
ognizing you were wrong. You haven't learned how to do that, Somerled. Your eyes are still closed to the possibility, but that does not mean you cannot learn. I have not betrayed our oath. That I speak these words tonight, after all that you have done, is proof of my loyalty to that bond.”

“What is it you're proposing, to incarcerate me among a gaggle of proselytizing Christians so that I suffer a gradual demise from sheer boredom? Come on, Eyvind. You know how to do this neatly and quickly. I've seen you dispatch numerous victims with the ruthless touch of an expert hunter. Just get it over, will you?” His eyes were shadow-dark; a terror of the unknown looked out from their depths. Eyvind saw that, perhaps for the first time in his life, Somerled had absolutely no idea what to expect from him.

“I would not choose imprisonment,” Eyvind said. “There is no place here in the islands where you could be held: no place where your life would be worth more than a scrap of straw from the midden. I would not send you back to Rogaland. There's not one among our countrymen would offer you safe passage. Nor would I weigh your penalty in ells of cloth or pieces of silver, for there's no treasure in the world would buy pardon for what you have done.”

“Then,” Somerled said with a crooked smile, “there's not much choice, is there? Death at sunrise seems the only remaining option.”

“You know,” Eyvind said, “I might once have thought that myself. Indeed, I've come very close to administering your punishment by my own hands: as close as a hair's breadth, I think. I've been contemplating courage, Somerled. I've been called courageous tonight, and it warmed my heart to hear it. But there are far braver folk here.” He looked about him: at Nessa's lovely face, now touched by a delicate pink flush in the cheeks; at Margaret's tight lips and ashen pallor; at Rona standing grim and strong, with the dogs by her side. He looked at Brother Tadhg, who bore a strapping around his ribs, and bruises on his face. “Fine people, who have endured far worse than I ever faced, and remained strong and good. I see in their faces the marks of your cruelty, the scars inflicted in your blind quest for power. And I see in them a strength that you could not combat, for all the grip of fear you placed on our own men, so that they obeyed your will, despite themselves. It seems to me you never stopped to think, to consider. It seems to me you never allowed yourself the time for that.”

“You hold up girls and old women and weakling priests as models for me?” Somerled raised his brows; his mouth twisted. “This is ridiculous. There is no logic to your reasoning. These folk are nothing. They are the
merest of pawns in the struggle for dominance here. They will not last. Our own kind must prevail. You speak of time. It will not be so long before time proves the truth of my words.”

Eyvind took a deep breath. “You dismiss the priest as weak. Do you know how he and his kind made their way to this shore?”

Somerled did not reply. His expression changed almost imperceptibly. He had always been very quick at working out puzzles.

“You do know, I see that. But perhaps the Jarl and our newly arrived comrades do not. The brothers came here by sea, in tiny curraghs of skins and wattles. They set out from their home shore with no map but that of the heart, with no certainty of landfall but that which the voice of their god whispered in their ears. They journeyed under the soft light of the stars and the fierce heat of the midday sun. Little enough they carried with them: a water cask, a fishing line, a book of prayers. They floated at the mercy of ocean surge and treacherous current, driven by storm and gale, on a path known only to whale and seal, to gull and serpent, until the tide cast them up on the shore of the Light Isles. They sent up thanks to their god, and made a new life. That is courage, Somerled. It is a shining example to every one of us.”

Somerled waited, dark eyes fixed on Eyvind's face.

“I was witness to the sickening sight of your men beating this priest,” Eyvind went on. “I heard his voice, steadfast as the blows rained down, calmly reciting the fair words of a prayer. A strong man indeed. Let us see if you can be as strong.”

A ripple of excited anticipation ran around the hall. Somerled folded his arms.

“You propose to administer a beating while I compose verses?” he queried in a show of bravado.

“No, my old friend. I would obtain just such a small boat as that which bore Tadhg and his kind safely across the sea from their homeland. I would place in it a water cask and a fishing line. And on the first tide after sunrise, I would set you adrift in this frail craft, on a westerly current into exile. Your path, then, would be determined by ocean and storm, and your destiny placed in the hands of whatever gods might have mercy on you. My hope would be that you learn wisdom and peace as Brother Tadhg did. It seems a fitting penalty.”

Somerled's eyes had widened. For a moment, stark horror transformed his face as he recognized the finality in Eyvind's words. Then the mask came down again, and he was once more calm.