'For an outlaw, you're on the small side,' he remarked. 'Where are the others?'
Halli looked about him. 'What others?'
'I thought it was customary when waylaying someone to surround them, or at least outnumber them three to one. This is a poor show.'
'I'm not ambushing you.'
'Really? Are you an outlaw at all?'
'No.'
'Then what were you doing behind the tree?'
Halli hesitated. He made an embarrassed gesture. 'Oh, you know—'
The fat man's mouth puckered. 'Caught short, eh? Needed a little solitude?'
'Why else would I hide?'
The currant eyes twinkled. 'Guilty conscience, perhaps? What's your name?'
Halli cleared his throat. 'I'm . . . Leif, son of a farmer on Gest's lands high up-valley. I'm going to Hakon's House to visit an uncle of mine. If you are heading that way I shall be glad to go with you for a while—' He broke off abruptly; the fat man was watching him with an amused, ironical expression he didn't much like. 'Or perhaps I would hold you up,' he went on, 'as I have no horse. Go on without me if you wish.'
'Oh, no,' the man said. 'I wouldn't dream of being so rude. In truth, this nag can scarcely trot these days' – he slapped the horse's withers roughly – 'so you will stroll beside us easily enough. Let's go on together and find somewhere dry for lunch.'
The party proceeded down the road, the fat man whistling a merry tune that set his jowls swaying. The old horse struggled on; Halli marched silently alongside. 'So, Leif,' the fat man said after a time, 'you are from Gest's House?'
He spoke casually, but Halli scented danger. 'Well, from one of its tenant farms.'
'Ah, I thought I did not see you when I was there last week. That would explain it. And you go to see a relative? At which House was it?'
'Hakon's.'
'Ah! You must tell me the fellow's name. I travel widely, and have been there often. My name is Bjorn,' the man went on, 'and trading is my business. I go to and fro between the Houses, and roam the valley generally. What do I do? I buy, barter, exchange and sell most things that women need. It is women' – he swayed sideways out of the saddle and winked at Halli, so that one eye disappeared into a fold of flesh – 'women who are my best clients, eager to buy what they don't need. At a recent Gathering at Svein's House, I sold a dozen antique hairgrips to the Arbiter's vain daughter, and in return received an exquisite little tapestry that will bring me much gold down-valley. The joke is that each one of those hairgrips was carved a month back by a simpleton, and given to me in exchange for bread!' His laughter was a drawn-out wheeze; his shuddering sent quivers running through the bent back of the horse and made the panniers slung behind his thighs clank and jingle.
Halli, who by now thoroughly wished he had remained behind the tree, made an appreciative grunt and stepped aside, ostensibly to give the horse more space to negotiate the road. The terrain was difficult now, the way steep and covered with loose stones. The river, fleetingly visible to the north, rushed frothing over a series of little falls; the air was cold and wet with spray. Rising high on either side of them, massed ranks of pine trees perched on terraces of rock and scree, forming a dark and sombre skirt to the cliffs above. Here and there was evidence of vast rocks that had fallen from the height, splitting trees and gouging scars in the tumbled waste.
'A cheerful spot,' Bjorn called. 'Let us eat before we enter the gorge and it becomes more dismal still.'
They halted beside a great split boulder and shared a meal. Bjorn the trader contributed portions of smoked fish and cheese, and Halli supplied a little bacon. They each drank wine and water. The noise of the cataracts was very loud now and it was difficult to talk. Each sat staring out into the pines and mist, lost in his own thoughts.
During the halt a small incident occurred. While reaching over for his water flask, Halli's jerkin, which he had half unbuttoned, fell suddenly open, briefly exposing a portion of the hero's belt, still fastened across his chest. A flash of silver, a hasty fumble: Halli closed the jerkin, and buttoned it up tight. Glancing quickly across at his companion, he noticed Bjorn the trader's little black eyes fixed upon him with sudden concentration. At that moment, down among the pines, a crow cawed harshly – the sound made Halli's head jerk round. When he looked back, Bjorn's expression was placid once more; he seemed intent upon his bacon.
That afternoon they began their descent into the gorge. The cliffs closed in; pine trees pressed close about the road. The air grew cold, the light dim. They zigzagged precipitously down between walls of deep blue shadow, shrouded in hanging mist, a place of moss and water, numb with the crashing of the falls. The river was never far away, hurtling down beside them, first to the left, then the right, rushing beneath their feet under old stone bridges, roaring and foaming and dousing them with spray.
When the cliffs allowed, the road veered away from the tumbling river to follow a more gradual slope. Here speech was possible, allowing Bjorn to question Halli repeatedly about his background, his family and his visit to his uncle. Halli's lies were as bland as he could fashion them, but he grew uncomfortable with the persistence of the man's attention. He wished for some means of leaving his company, but there was nowhere for him to go.
Sunlight receded from the gorge and evening drew in. They walked in dappled shadows, greenish-grey and black. Several times the old horse lost its footing and stumbled, causing the trader to lurch forwards in his saddle. 'You bag of bones!' he cried, slapping the horse's neck. 'I shall sell you to the tanner for glue and gut-strings! The beast is hungry,' he shouted to Halli. 'It has not fed well today. I tried negotiating for beet-stalks with a mad old man in a hut this morning, but he refused. When I tried to take some anyway, he chased me off with a knife. Ah, it is a selfish world, where each man guards his possessions so jealously.' He glanced sidelong at Halli. 'My friend, it will soon be dark. Let us make camp for the night. There is a place I know not far ahead, where we can sit in comfort.'
Halli frowned. 'Can we not make it down today?'
'Impossible. We would fall over a crag and perish. Why so impetuous? I have tales to tell, and much good wine to drink. Have you a head for it, lad?'
Halli had less tolerance for wine than Katla, who after two cups would caper about the kitchens, bony heels kicking as high as her chin. He shrugged. 'Of course.'
'Good, good. And here we are . . .'
Among the pines to the left of the road was a small expanse of grass, scarred black by campfires at its centre. It was big enough for horses to be tethered, and for several travellers to lie in moderate comfort, provided they did not go too close to the far side. Here the grass ran down in a gentle slope, which suddenly steepened and opened out upon a void. While Bjorn tied up his horse, Halli went to investigate, and was rewarded by a plunging view along the gorge, over forested cliffs, and out towards the lower valley. Far away, where the light still sparkled, he caught a glimpse of golden fields. Below him, however. was a precipice. Halli inched close to the lip and peered over, only to recoil quickly with a lurching stomach, and a confused impression of raging water, tumbled rocks and splintered branches swathed in mist.
'Take care, Leif !' Bjorn the trader called. 'That is a horrid drop! Come sit snug beside me, and let us talk of nicer things.'
Wood was found, a blaze was lit; snippets of raw meat were toasted on the fire. During the meal Bjorn plied Halli with many cups of wine, most of which Halli poured into the grass when the trader's back was turned. Bjorn also made great show of bringing from his bags several curious objects. 'See, my boy, here is a bone flute carved by Eirik himself: if played, it is said to wake the hero in his cairn! Oh yes, I have tried, but it is blocked and made no sound. Now, here, this oddly patterned skin . . . What do you think it is, eh? Nothing less than the hide of a sea-beast washed up on Barren Strand! Yes, take it between your fingers.' He watched Halli examine it for a time. 'Is that not priceless? I would not swap it for anything, except something of the rarest qu
ality.' He smiled at Halli, small eyes blinking, head slightly on one side. 'And see here, perhaps this is my greatest prize of all . . .'
He took from his pack a jet-black object, curved as a crescent moon, sharp as a sickle blade, twice as long as the fingers on Halli's hand. 'Here, Leif my lad, you see before you nothing less than a Trow's claw, taken from the ashes of Thord's House, when the Ketilssons burned it down. I believe it is the very one Thord brought back in his thigh. Certainly it is the only one I know of in the valley. To get another, you will have to go beyond the cairns and ask a Trow politely for the privilege!' He wheezed gently. 'What do you think of that, eh?'
'It looks to me very much like hardwood, stained with dye,' Halli said. 'I should think a simpleton might have knocked it out a month ago, in return for bread.'
Bjorn the trader concealed a scowl with difficulty. 'Well, well, you are an upland boy, you have no eye for these things.' He was silent for a time. 'All I lack,' he said at last, staring mournfully up into the dark trees, 'are objects made of the rarest metals. Silver, say. Such treasures have not been made since the heroes' days – there are very few left now. Ah, but I would pay handsomely for such an item!'
Halli was toasting a piece of cheese on the end of a twig, turning it round and round so no drips were lost. He seemed intent upon his work; he made no answer.
Bjorn spoke softly, as if to himself. 'There is a silver goblet in the treasure room at Egil's House, so I am told, and I have heard a silver belt sits in a box at Svein's. If there are others, I do not know of them. Well, it is unlikely either of these would come into my hands. Their owners would not sell them, and a thief would find them hard to dispose of. Hard and perilous, for while he carried such a thing, the shadow of the gallows would hang over his head every moment! Only someone like me, with contacts in every House, might successfully take it off his hands . . . And certainly I would pay well for doing so, in thick gold coins . . .' His little black eyes gleamed in the firelight. 'What do you say to that, Leif ?'
Halli drew back the twig and popped the molten cheese whole into his mouth. He chewed contemplatively, with Bjorn's attention fixed upon him. Several times he seemed about to speak, only to suddenly resume chewing, leaving Bjorn in a frenzy of impatience. At last he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, belched and said, 'In an abstract sort of way, it is fascinating to hear your tales of business. Be sure that if I meet someone with such a silver item, I will direct him to you. But for now, I think I shall turn in; all that wine has gone to my head.'
He got up and went round the fire to where a natural bank offered a comfortable spot; here he lay down beneath his cloak and, with a number of grunts and sighs, composed himself for sleep.
Bjorn the trader stayed sitting where he was, staring into the flames. For a long while he remained motionless, the firelight flickering against the contours of his great impassive face. He drained his cup at last, and sat hunched and thoughtful as the fire slowly died and the shadows closed in upon the little clearing in the middle of the gorge. Close by, the bony horse cropped grass; overhead, between invisible boughs, cold stars shone.
The fire burned low. Halli lay still. Bjorn was a dark hunched form.
Far below, the river chuntered over its bed of tumbled rocks. Somewhere in the forest that clung against the cliffs, an owl called. A branch snapped and shifted in the fire. Still Bjorn sat silent. And now Halli's breathing sounded out across the clearing, slow and heavy with the rhythm of deep sleep.
Outlined dimly by the firelight, Bjorn's shoulders shifted and dropped a little, as if with a release of tension. After some minutes he leaned slowly to one side. Gentle noises followed as he foraged quietly in his bag. The noises stopped. Silence returned.
A tendon cracked as Bjorn got slowly, stiffly to his feet. Halli, watching from between his half-closed lids, saw him standing motionless for a moment, his head bowed. Then Bjorn began treading softly round beside the dying fire, using its last remaining light to guide his way. Despite his bulk, his boots were almost silent on the grass. He held something in his hand.
When Bjorn reached the bank, he slowed and stopped. He stood above Halli – a hulking shadow without face or features, outlined against the fire. Beneath his cloak, Halli lay quite still, every muscle in his body tensed with terror, struggling to maintain the nonchalant sounds of sleep. His throat was tight, constricted; his breath rasped in his open mouth. His chest rose and fell raggedly. He heard blood pulsing in his ears.
Still the dark shape did not move. Then it lifted an arm.
The pressure in Halli's throat became unbearable: he cried out loud and violently.
The shadow jerked back. Halli's shout echoed across the black gulf of the gorge.
Halli flung his cloak aside.
A sudden rush: the shadow swooped, one arm outstretched. A black, curved sickle shape flashed down. Halli rolled, sensed the impact as something drove deep into grass and soil behind his head. Now he was on all fours, springing away and up the bank – but his boot slipped on his cloak, made him stagger, fall— Something caught his ankle. It pulled savagely, dragging him back down.
With a moan of fear, Halli rolled onto his back; he lashed out with his free boot, kicking up and outwards into the darkness. He felt it sink into something soft and yielding; he heard an incoherent sound of pain.
The grip on his ankle loosened. Against the firelight Halli saw the shadow reeling, clutching at its stomach. He sprang up and away into the darkness of the clearing.
After a few steps he turned again, looked. There in the dying firelight: Bjorn, stumbling after him, one half in darkness, one half lit red. His hand clawed at his belly. His voice called softly, 'Little Leif, you have hurt me, you have ruptured something in my guts. Oh, I shall pay you out for that.'
Halli backed away, slowly, slowly. Behind him sounded the distant roaring of the river; he felt the stirring of air, of immense regions of emptiness. The precipice was close – he could go no further safely. With crawling skin and eyes wide and staring, he stopped dead. watching the trader's lumbering approach.
Bjorn's mouth hung open; moisture gleamed on his lips and chin. 'Little Leif, little Leif, give me the belt, or – to be frank, as one thief to another – I shall slice your throat open on a stone.'
Halli bared his teeth. 'Here is another option. Sling your buttocks onto your cringing nag and ride away in shame, for you shall never have the belt.'
Bjorn tittered; even as he did so he leaped forward, faster than Halli had been expecting. Halli darted aside, too late. A great weight fell crushingly upon him; a stench of sweat, wine and bodily odour burst against his face. A blow fell on his upper arm, making him cry out. Hot fingers clutched at his throat; his legs buckled, he toppled backwards in the darkness, twisting as he did so, feeling the man's weight roll up and over him.
Halli fell heavily onto his back. He heard the impact as Bjorn struck the ground beyond him, felt the clasping fingers torn away. With desperate speed he struggled to his feet, knowing that in the darkness Bjorn was doing the same.
Something clutched at his back. Halli struck out blindly with a fist. The shock of the contact jarred his arm. There was a cry of rage, a retreating scuffle in the grass – then nothing.
Halli stumbled a few steps away, expecting Bjorn to launch himself upon him.
Nothing happened.
Weeping, gasping, Halli waited, half crouched in the grass.
From far below, scarcely audible above the rushing of the distant river, came the faintest of impacts, a brief clattering of stones. It ceased. The river's roar continued undiminished. Wind moved the pine branches overhead. Otherwise the night was quiet, newly empty.
Across the clearing, the campfire dwindled to a narrow band of glowing embers.
Halli huddled where he was, staring wide-eyed at the dark.
10
WHEREVER HE WENT, PEOPLE sang of Svein's deeds. House elders thrust gold and gifts into his hands, while pretty maidens waited for him every few ya
rds along the road in states of disarray. Consumed by jealousy, the other young heroes of the valley sought to emulate him. Ketil marched into the forest to fight the outlaws, but was put to flight by a midget wielding a penknife. Eirik climbed Dove Crag to slay a man-eating bear, only to be chased by its cub for miles across the ridge-tops.
Svein made no comment on any of this; he was not much one for words. By now he was fully grown: a tall, stern, barrel-chested mountain of a man, swift-moving, sure and confident – quick to judge and act upon his judgements. Few people cared to challenge his opinions in the hall.
At some point in the blackest hours before dawn, Halli had regained his cloak and taken shelter, but the morning found him cold and feverish. With shaking hands he built a new fire and ate the remnants of the meat beside it, taking long gulps from the wine flask as he did so. The old horse watched him from under a pine. Beyond the cliff edge, thin streaks of mist hung upon the distant trees.
Perhaps, Halli told himself, Svein too had found it hard, the first time he killed a man. The tales did not record his feelings, the softer emotions he must have felt, but it stood to reason he too would have been unnerved, even terrified by the experience.
It was a good sign, surely, to know such fear. Not to feel it would make you a lesser man. By overcoming it, and still triumphing, you showed your mettle.
So Halli told himself. But he remained by the fire for a long time, and when at last he went to investigate Bjorn's bags, his legs still trembled under him.
The panniers contained a good deal that Halli rejected instantly: wooden hairgrips and carvings of assorted heroes, all crudely done; beads, necklaces of amber, bone brooch pins; a number of soiled linens. The treasures that Bjorn had shown him the evening before were no more tempting, since Halli did not believe any of them were genuine. But at the bottom of the second bag he found a better prize: a soft cloth wallet, heavy with coins.
Heroes of the Valley Page 11