by David Penny
“I used to have a dog much like yours when I was a boy,” he said as he rose. “Did the Queen send you?”
“Fernando. He sent me with a message. He wants another challenge. You and one of their men. The victor wins the day.”
“That does not seem like much of an offer,” said Olaf. “If they promised to end the war, I might consider it, but win the day? What exactly does that mean?”
“He also said if you are the victor, he will not stand in the way of the meeting between Isabel and Abu Abdullah. That may be a way to end the war, though it will put you out of a job.”
“I am thinking I am getting too old for this job, anyway.”
Thomas knew whatever age Olaf had, twenty years or a hundred, he was a match for any man.
“I can go back and tell them you refuse.”
“And look like a coward?”
“So you agree?”
“I agree. Besides, I have to punish them for what they did to Tarfe. I am going to have to tell Abu Abdullah his brother is dead.” Olaf narrowed his eyes as he gazed across the space between the two armies. “Who is this man they send against me?”
“His name is Arnulf Hanmman, and he is big. As big as you, I’d say, and of Germania.”
“They fight well there, but they are not true Northmen. Weapons?”
“Swords, I’m afraid.”
“No matter. I can take his head just as well with a sword as an axe. It would be a fitting response. Am I correct in believing the fight is to the death?”
“To the death,” Thomas said.
“Then let us get it done.” Olaf glanced at Will. “Are you sure you want him to watch?”
“What would you do if he was your son?”
“He would watch. Will fights well enough, but he needs to know how a fight ends.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Will.
Olaf touched the boy’s head. “Then you should be. Watch and learn. Learn to be afraid, because I am. Fear keeps you alive longer than the lack of it.” He glanced at Thomas. “Is there to be some manner of protocol?”
“I assume Fernando will want to appear chivalrous. Are you content with that?”
“I approve of chivalry. There is less of it than when I first became a warrior, and we are the worse for its lack. Stay here, I will go back and tell my men they are not to avenge me if I die. I will tell them if that happens, they are to follow your orders.”
Thomas shook his head. “You know they hate me.”
“True. But they also respect you. You have saved the lives of many and they do not forget that.”
Thomas watched Olaf stride away, a rock, a mountain, and yet still a man, and all men are mortal. When he turned, Fernando and de Pulgar were bringing their champion across. Koparsh Hadryendo was with them, together with Salma, and Thomas thought what was about to happen would be no sight for a woman to witness—except Salma was no ordinary woman. The thought made him wonder yet again what manner of person she was. As she came, all men turned to watch her. When she passed close to Thomas, her exotic scent touched him, and her sensual lips offered a smile, as if sending a message. When she was gone, he searched for Isabel, but she was nowhere to be seen. He looked to the low rise where he had stood beside her, but it was empty.
As Olaf returned, both armies drew closer until only a narrow strip of ground lay between them, allowing the men to stare into the eyes of their enemies. Thomas knew they would be sizing each other up for the coming battle.
“Who is your second?” Fernando asked Olaf.
“Thomas Berrington.”
Fernando frowned at Thomas. “Is that allowed? You serve my wife, not this man.”
“Olaf and I have been friends a long time, as well you know … Your Grace.” Thomas saw Fernando catch the hesitation which turned the honorific into an insult.
“Are you content with Thomas being second for Olaf Torvaldsson?” Fernando spoke to de Pulgar, who was clearly the second of their man.
“They can do whatever they want, the result will be the same.” De Pulgar possessed a disdainful manner Thomas had witnessed in many of the Castilian nobles. They believed they ruled the world. Perhaps soon they would, and the world would be the worse for it.
Fernando turned back to Olaf. “To the death?”
The big Northman nodded. “To the death.” He had not yet so much as glanced at his opponent, who stood passive, long arms hanging loose.
“Swords, not axes,” said Fernando. “And no shields.”
“And a knife,” said Olaf.
Fernando appeared to think about it for a moment, but it was a reasonable request and eventually he nodded agreement.
“Let us drink a toast, then. To a fair fight and a just result.” Fernando held his hand out and de Pulgar placed a bottle into it. Salma came with two cups and handed one to each of the combatants. Thomas wondered why she was so close to the action, but knew she was a woman of strange desires. Perhaps the wine was a gift from Koparsh. Perhaps Salma wanted Hanmman to believe she would also be a gift if he triumphed.
Let the man believe it if he wishes, Thomas thought, for it would never happen. More than likely she was there because Fernando wished to flaunt her strange beauty to the world. No doubt it was another reason Isabel had fled the fighting grounds.
Fernando poured wine into each cup, then drank from the bottle. Red wine dribbled down his beard. The two combatants drained their cups. Thomas wondered at Olaf drinking wine, but knew he had gained a taste for the illicit liquor over the years.
“May God shine his light on this field of combat.”
Fernando stepped back and all at once, Olaf and Arnulf Hanmman were enclosed within a circle of men. On the edges, Moor and Castilian mingled. Wagers were set, most placed on their own man. Olaf stripped out of his shirt, his pale skin almost dazzling in the sunlight. Arnulf grinned and followed his example. Both their bodies displayed scars—badges of honour all watchers would recognise.
The conflict began slowly. Arnulf circled Olaf, who stood rooted to the spot. He did not even move his feet when Arnulf went behind him, only turning his head, then turning it fast the other way to pick him up again. Arnulf swung a few lazy strikes to test Olaf’s response, each met with a disdainful parry.
Will took Thomas’s hand and he looked down to see his son’s eyes on his morfar. His face was paler than normal, expression set hard. Beyond him, Usaden stood, relaxed as always, but his body swayed in sympathy with the movements of the two men.
It was several minutes before Arnulf made a serious attack. He came in hard, light flashing from both sword and knife. Olaf raised his own sword and caught the blade. He let it slide along until it met his pommel, then struck out with the knife. He caught Arnulf on the arm and blood flowed. It was a shallow cut which would not slow the man, but he stepped away, shaking his head at the suddenness of the strike. Some watchers would also be surprised, but Thomas was not. He had seen Olaf fight before and the man was invincible.
Olaf shook his own head and raised a hand to wipe sweat from his brow.
He stepped forward and attacked. Thomas narrowed his eyes, watching the way Olaf worked. His attack was fast, but it was not meant to end the fight. Not yet. He was testing his opponent, searching out any weaknesses, any strengths. Thomas looked down at Will, whose mouth hung open in admiration. He had never seen Olaf fight, not this closely, but Thomas was sure he would do so again. They all would. With a sense of dread, he suspected it would not be long until he watched Will fight in the same way. It was in the boy’s nature, inherited from Olaf, but also inherited from Thomas. There had been times when he had fought with abandon, and for no reason at all.
When Olaf’s attack ended, Arnulf was breathing hard, Olaf hardly at all. Thomas glanced across the gathered men and saw some were trying to change their wagers.
“He could have finished him then,” said Will.
“He could, but Olaf wants to put on a show for these people. He wants them to see the strength of
Gharnatah.”
“He should have killed him. Morfar and Usaden always tell me: no mercy.”
Arnulf came at Olaf before he had fully recovered. He was fast and strong and forced Olaf back several paces, which surprised Thomas. Arnulf swung a heavy blow which Olaf caught on his blade, then twisted to dislodge the sword from Arnulf’s grip. It flew through the air and fell to the ground.
Olaf stepped back.
“Pick it up,” he said in Castilian.
Arnulf walked to his sword, his eyes on Olaf the entire time, no doubt expecting some manner of trick, but Olaf allowed him to recover his blade. Thomas saw him shake his head. Olaf raised a hand to his eyes and wiped across them. He glanced at the sun, as if it was too bright.
While he was distracted, Arnulf came at him.
Olaf stepped back, but something was wrong. His balance, usually so sure, had deserted him. Thomas saw him sway and almost fall. He struck out, but this time it was Arnulf who almost sent Olaf’s sword spinning.
Olaf stepped back again, then came forwards. As he did so, his feet caught in the dust. He raised his sword high and brought it down, but it was short of its target. As his arm descended, Arnulf dropped his knife and set two hands on the hilt of his sword. He used the grip to swing the blade hard in a wild side-stroke.
For Thomas, the world slowed. He watched the coming contact and knew what was about to happen, but could do nothing to prevent it. At the last moment, Olaf saw the danger and raised his sword arm. He blocked the blow to his neck that would have removed his head, only for the rising blade to slice clean through his arm.
Olaf’s sword dropped to the ground, his detached hand still clutching the hilt.
A great noise rose from the watchers, half gasp, half cheer.
Thomas took a step closer, then stopped. He wanted to call a halt to the combat. Something was wrong with Olaf. Something more than the loss of his hand. The man was sick. Or poisoned. Thomas glanced around, searching for Koparsh and Salma, but if they were here, they were lost among the throng.
Arnulf looked down at Olaf’s sword and grinned. He raised both arms above his head in triumph, then came in to finish what he had started. He gripped his sword with both hands again and ran at Olaf.
It was only later that Thomas worked out what happened next.
Olaf stumbled and fell backwards as Arnulf’s sword swept through the air where his head had been a moment before. He went to one knee, then thrust himself up with all the strength left to him. His left hand rose, clutching the knife, and before Arnulf could recover from what he had intended as a killing blow, Olaf thrust the blade into his chest.
Arnulf grunted.
Olaf stepped away, leaving the knife embedded in his opponent.
Arnulf gripped the hilt.
“No,” Thomas said under his breath, but only Will heard him.
Arnulf pulled the knife free. As he did so, a jet of dark blood erupted from the wound and he stared at it before crashing onto his back. His eyes stared at the sky, sightless.
This time, Thomas moved. He went to Olaf and grasped the bloodied stump of his arm.
“I declare Gharnatah the victor!” he cried at the top of his voice. He knew this was the most dangerous moment. He turned to search out Fernando, wondering what his reaction would be. The King’s face was dark with anger, but it was clear he could not change the rules, not now, not in front of his own men and the army of Gharnatah.
Fernando met Thomas’s eyes and he knew the impossible had happened. The man hated him even more than he already had.
Beside him, Olaf went to his knees and threw up on the dry ground.
Fernando turned away and pushed through his men.
“I want my hand,” said Olaf. “Can you stitch it back on, Thomas?”
“I cannot. But we will take it with us. I would not want someone to steal it away and boast over it.”
“I’ll take it, Pa.” Will had joined them. He knelt and freed Olaf’s sword from the grip his hand still had on it, then took both sword and hand in his and stood tall.
Someone came and dragged the body of Arnulf Hanmman away. Thomas hoped Fernando would at least honour him with a Christian burial. He put an arm beneath Olaf and urged him to his feet. He came slowly, his head drooping.
“They did something to me, Thomas,” he said. “They drugged me. The wine they gave us.”
“I saw you both drink it, Fernando too. Perhaps you are sick.”
“I am never sick. I felt as if I had drunk ten bottles of wine, not one mouthful. They meant me dead. Fernando wanted me dead.”
“But you are not. Can you walk?”
“I don’t know. You fixed me before, fix me again.”
“I cannot grow you a new hand, but I can stop you bleeding to death.” Thomas held a vice-like grip on Olaf’s wrist, but knew the moment he relaxed it, the blood would flow again. He looked around and waved to no one, to anyone. “Is there a cart somewhere? Find me a cart and bring it.”
He urged Olaf forwards. Jorge and Usaden supported him on the other side, and then someone brought a cart and they laid Olaf on its bed. Usaden, Jorge and Will drew the cart while Thomas knelt in the back beside the father of his dead bride and fought to keep him alive.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was a week before Thomas knew Olaf would live. The wound had been cleaned and he had picked out the tiny slivers of shattered bone embedded in the flesh. He cauterised the wound before washing the stump and wrapping it in a clean bandage, an action he had repeated three times a day since. Now he sat with Olaf, who had endured all the pain without showing anything.
“I need to ask you something,” said Olaf.
“I think I know what it is. Will you ever be able to fight again?”
“Not exactly, I know I can still fight. Northmen are trained to use either hand equally. I can use a sword, a knife, especially the axe with my left hand or right. What I want to know is can you do anything with this stump that will let me hold something?”
“It may be possible, but I would have to remove some bone. It’s too sharp as it is now, too close to the end.”
“Explain.”
“Hold your arm out.”
When Olaf did as requested, Thomas unwound the bandage and discarded it. He would burn it later and apply fresh. He touched the healing end of Olaf’s wound with the tip of his finger.
“It would have been better had you asked me a week ago, but no matter, I can still do it at the expense of more pain.”
“I see why my men love you so much,” said Olaf.
Thomas shook his head. “See here? This is bone. Your flesh is starting to knit, but it will be many more weeks until it heals completely. When it does, this bone is going to be too close to the surface. Every time you try to use a weapon—and yes, I think I can do something that will let you hold a knife, possibly a sword, but—”
“And an axe?” asked Olaf.
“Perhaps. I have seen you use one, Will as well, and neither of you grip the handle. You let it swing on a leather thong tied to your wrist.”
“Of course we do not grip it, that would be stupid. An axe has a mind of its own, and that mind connects to its master’s. I only have to think where my blade should fly and it obeys. It is the same with Will. He is better than me with a sword, and will be better than me with an axe before he is fully grown. It is as the world should be. Our children should always exceed us.”
Thomas smiled. “I had hoped Will might want to learn something of my work, but I think he prefers to fight.”
“When he is older, perhaps. He will soon be a man, and a man needs to fight when he must. You can fight, Thomas, I have stood beside you, so do not pretend to me you cannot.”
“I don’t mind, not really. Amal is interested in what I do. She wants to know everything. She reminds me so much of her mother.”
“As she does me. I look at her and see Lubna at the same age. It is as if she has returned to us.” Olaf raised his eyes to meet
Thomas’s. “Tell me what you have to do.”
“There will be pain. A great deal of pain. I can help with that, but only a little.”
“I am used to pain.”
“I will have to open your arm and saw a section of bone away, then close the wound and wrap your flesh around the end. If I do it right, you will have a good pad of muscle we can strap some kind of mechanism to. I have already given the idea some thought. We will need someone skilled in wood, but Britto has that, and someone skilled in metal, and that is Jorge’s brother, Daniel.”
“Will I be able to fight again?”
“Yes.” Thomas considered it wise not to add ‘if you live’ to his answer. Carrying out the procedure was not without risk. He knew he could control the bleeding, knew he could make a clean cut of the bone, but as always when a man was opened up, there was a risk of infection. If that happened, Olaf could lose the entire arm, even his life.
“Then do it. Do it today. Now. The sooner it is done, the sooner I will heal and the sooner I can fight. Gharnatah will need me before the year is out.”
“That is too soon.”
“I cannot stop the passage of the days, and you know I am right. Call Belia and do what you have to do today.”
It was another five days before Thomas knew the operation had been a success, ten before Olaf tested the healing flesh and pronounced it good. Jorge and Belia had moved down the hill to Da’ud’s house, so there was space for Olaf and Fatima to stay with Thomas and his children. When he had asked Belia about Yves, she told him he had wanted to stay at the house in Santa Fe.
“Alone?” Thomas had asked.
Belia offered a rare smile. “I believe he may have found a distraction.”
“A woman? Good.”
Now, Thomas sat in front of Olaf.
“Is there any pain?” He examined the stump, four inches shorter than it had been, and knew he had done excellent work.