I nodded and continued to strip the corpse. I did not need to explain the danger. He knew, as we all did, what lay in store. He grabbed the seax I had placed on the turf and made as if to cut his own collar from his neck. “No,” I said. “You keep yours. At least for now. It is part of the plan.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand.
Sula's clothes were large on me, but not overly so. Dressed now, I turned to the children and explained the plan and their part in it. “I am sorry, but if we are to succeed, we need you as part of this. If we survive, you will have your freedom.” They nodded, but I could see the fear and reluctance in their eyes. There was nothing I could say to soften the blow of it, and so I turned my eyes to Pipin, who had just finished disguising himself in Kove's clothes.
“By the gods, does that feel good,” he said as he rubbed his collarless neck.
I ignored him. “Let us see to the bodies.”
We shoved our thrall clothes into one of the iron-collecting sacks, then we dragged it and the bodies to a pond we knew to be deep. There, we tied sacks of iron to their white, cold corpses and rolled them into the muddy water. They drifted for a time beneath the rain-pocked surface, then slowly slipped away.
It was too early to return to the settlement, so I used the afternoon to clean my wound, to describe the plan in detail to the others — now that they were part of it, they had the right to know — and to rest. One of the children distributed dried venison, which both Kove and Sula had carried, and this we chewed gratefully as we rested, for it had been a long time since any of us had enjoyed the taste of good meat. As I rested, Pipin found two branches and worked the iron blades into the wood, then fastened them in place with bog grass to create two rudimentary spears. They were unbalanced, crooked, and flimsy, but better than the short shards of iron we had before.
The rain stopped as night began to darken the sky. It was time to return to the settlement. I looked at the others as I rose. “Remember what I have told you,” I said. “If we stay true to the plan, we cannot fail.” It was a lie, of course. I had my misgivings. But some lies are worth it.
We returned the same way we had departed that morning — with the thralls in front and the guards in the rear. I had even made sure Pipin and I carried the switches in our hands so that from a distance, we appeared as we always appeared when returning from the bog in the evenings. Only this time, when we reached the furnaces, I left Pipin and Egil there under the pretense that Egil was hurt. It was the only way I could explain the disparity in our numbers when I reached the settlement, and it gave me a good excuse to get one of the guards on his own.
Soon, I could see the lights of the main hall ahead, and my doubts returned. Were Turid and Sigdag ready? Would they follow through with the plan? Would the guard believe my voice or would he detect a ruse? The cold hand of panic clutched my chest as I checked the cord on my belt yet again to ensure I could draw my blade quickly. In the distance, beyond the children shuffling in front of me, I saw the shadow of one of the guards near the fire, preparing the night meal. He turned at our approach.
“Sula? Is that you? Where are the others?” he called to me.
“Aye. It is me. One of the thralls is injured,” I responded in my best Estland accent from within the hood of my cloak. I motioned vaguely back down the trail. “They are just behind me. Coming slowly.”
“Damn thralls. Always getting hurt,” he grumbled as he turned back to his fire and the cauldron in which our night meal boiled. It smelled of onions.
We came closer, and the children dispersed around him. “Back, you short-wits!”
As he shooed them away from the flames, I stepped closer to my prey. He looked up at me just as I drew my blade. “You —” He started to curse, but the words died on his lips as my blade slid into his stomach and up toward his heart.
Warm blood gushed onto my hand as his fetid breath washed over me. His eyes focused on mine, then rolled upward as his body fell forward onto me. I caught him as he fell and pulled him quickly behind the flames so that he was not visible from the hall. Then I pulled my seax free and wiped it on his cloak.
Taking the man's place, I dropped the ladle into the cauldron with shaking hands and filled the first bowl of soup. I passed it to one of the children as calmly as I could. She took it quietly and, with a fearful glance at my face, retreated to the place where she normally ate her food. Two more bowls I filled, trying to act as if nothing was the matter, should someone in the main hall glance outside. It was a macabre scene, with the guard lying dead beside the fire and the children eating casually nearby, so I focused my mind on the next part of the plan.
Pipin appeared then with Egil before him. I handed Egil a bowl, then nodded to Pipin, who moved off to stand beside the doorway of the hall. My original plan had been to draw the men out by fire, but it was too risky for the women and, besides, the rains had dampened the thatch too much.
As nonchalantly as we could, Egil sat down near the children, and I went back to stirring the cauldron and stoking the fire. When everyone was in place, I called out to Tarmo. I waited, but there was no reply. I called again, my voice sounding small and shrill in my ears.
“Who calls my name?” I heard him say before his giant frame appeared at the threshold of the hall.
“It is me, Sula,” I responded. “I need your help with Kove. He is ill.” I pointed to the body lying on the opposite side of the fire.
Tarmo lurched outside and took a step toward me. “What is —”
It has been many winters since that night but I oft relive that moment. Oh, how I wish I could take it back. Reweave it into a thing of beauty, not the brutal mess it became.
Chapter 24
Pipin pounced as soon as Tarmo was two steps beyond the door. But Pipin was an inexperienced thrall, and unlike the others we had killed, Tarmo was a fighter. He sensed rather than saw Pipin's movement and spun just as Pipin jabbed with his seax. The blade grazed Tarmo's side. He roared and smashed his fist into Pipin's cheek before Pipin could duck. The boy staggered sideways, straining to stay upright and to keep the seax in his grip.
I was moving as soon as Tarmo spun. Egil raced beside me, our blades out. From within the hall, I heard the yell of another man — Reas — and a crash. A woman shrieked. Before us, Pipin fell to his side as Tarmo yanked his own sword free of his sheath and brought it up to strike.
“No!” I shouted as Tarmo's blade came down.
Pipin raised his own blade to block Tarmo's attack, but it was an awkward defense from an awkward position. Tarmo's power drove Pipin's arm backward so that his own seax ripped into his forehead, followed instantly by Tarmo's blade, which carved deeper into his skull.
Tarmo sensed our approach, and in one swift motion, shifted the grip on his blade, yanked it free, and stepped back with his left foot. I recognized the move and knew instantly what to expect. I had just reached him and moved my blade to the left. At the same moment, Tarmo spun, putting his full weight behind his swing. His blade hit mine with such force that I was knocked sideways, to my right. Thankfully, Egil was two steps beyond me and free of Tarmo's blade. He hacked wildly, carving a mighty gash into that bastard's neck.
Tarmo staggered to his right, giving me enough time to recover from his previous blow. Stunned by his wound, he swung wildly at me — a swing I easily parried. Blood was now flowing freely from the big man's wound, and I could see his eyes losing focus.
“Help the girls!” I yelled at Egil just as Tarmo roared, lifted his blade, and came at me again.
I stepped into and under his swing, then drove my own blade hard into his gut. The blow drove the breath from him and rendered him helpless. He sought my face with his eyes and gazed at me with puzzlement, as if he could not understand why this was happening or why I would do such a thing to him.
“I will feed your body to the sea birds and rodents, you bastard,” I hissed.
He tried to respond, but the breath had left him. I watched his lips move. Perchance a prayer? I did no
t know or care. Instead, I yanked my blade free and watched him crumple to the ground. Then I followed Egil into the hall.
What greeted my eyes within will stick in my mind until I breathe my last breath. I will say only that there was little left of Reas. I had placed two iron shards near the hall for Turid and Sigdag. I told them only that they were to strike Reas as soon as Tarmo stepped foot outside. Turid later told me that he had been drinking that day, and so when my call came, he rose on unsteady legs and staggered after Tarmo. Only he never made it. Turid stabbed him in the back before he had taken two steps. As he turned to retaliate, Sigdag drove her blade into the back of his neck and killed him. I do not know if they expected him to rise or whether they had lost themselves in the moment, but they kept striking until their fury was slaked and the walls were awash in his gore.
When I found them, they seemed confused, as if they knew not what to do with him or their new freedom. I nodded at them. “You have done well,” I said. “Go to the children.”
They nodded and left, and I turned to Egil, who held Heres's wife Rekon by the arm, his blade at her neck. Why he had not killed her, I knew not. It was Rekon, after all, who had witnessed the treatment of the concubines in her household and done nothing to stop it or to help Eydis when she became pregnant. She was as guilty as the rest of them. “What shall we do with her?”
I was in no mood for discussing the matter. She, like the others, needed to die for her treatment of us.
“My husband will return, and he will take his vengeance on you all,” she hissed at us. “He will —”
She never finished. I drove my blade into her fat belly so hard that it lifted her from the ground. Egil stepped back in shock as the breath caught in her throat. I yanked my blade free and turned to go, not bothering to watch her die.
Egil followed me into the yard, where the others waited. They studied me silently with faces aglow in the firelight. I sensed they were looking at me for direction, but I had none to give them, at least not at that moment, and I told them so.
“If we stay here, we will face Heres and his remaining men when they return. We can surprise them, but it will be a hard fight.” I am certain even the children knew this, so there was no sense in telling them lies. “If we run, we will face others, for they will recognize us as runaway thralls. Still, there is a chance we can find a fishing boat and get to the mainland, which is not too distant from this island.”
“And then what?” Turid asked. “We will still be runaways, only in a larger land we know nothing about.”
“She is right,” added Egil as he scratched at a fleck of blood on his cheek. “We need a boat that can take us where we want to go. Something that can get us away from these cursed Estlanders.”
I nodded, hearing the truth in their words. “Then it is settled. We will stay. Let us bury Pipin and get rid of the other bodies. Then we will rest and plan our next steps.”
We laid stones around Pipin's grave in the shape of a ship that would hasten him to the underworld. We knew not which gods Pipin worshiped and so we scratched two crude images on two of the stones — one of the Christian cross and another of Thor's hammer. We placed a crude spear in the grave with him along with some bread and cheese and dried fish from the kitchen. As we laid the last dirt over his body, I prayed he would find his way safely to his afterlife.
The other bodies we carried to the reeds that grew thickly on either side of the beach and tossed them beside each other. I wanted nothing more than to be free of their stench and to let the birds and reptiles and rodents feast on their carrion. It was all they deserved.
“Tonight,” I said when we had seen to those tasks and regrouped in the main hall, “we sleep in comfort with our bellies full of Heres's food.”
“And ale!” called Egil, and the others laughed.
“And ale if you wish,” I conceded, though I had no intention of touching the drink. I had seen what it did to my father, and I believed it would alter my wits in similar fashion. “On the morrow, we plan and we prepare. Heres and his men will be home several days hence, so we have little time.”
As much as I wanted to, I could not eat very much. None of us could. We were not accustomed to stomaching large quantities, and after forcing down some bread and cheese, I could eat no more. Nor could I fully enjoy the whiff of freedom we had achieved. I was feeling the loss of Pipin and worried, too, about Heres's impending return. And so while the others laughed and enjoyed the evening, I left the hall to sit outside near the dwindling fire, my eyes focused on the empty beach that lay an arrow's flight distant.
A footfall behind me tore my gaze from the strand. I glanced over my shoulder to see Turid standing behind me. It was evening, but the summer sun was yet bright and played on the orange in her hair. Her presence stirred so many memories and emotions in me that it rendered me speechless. Mayhap Olaf would know what to say, but my words jumbled with my emotions to produce only silence.
“May I sit?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
I nodded, then tensed as she found a spot beside me. Our interactions had been so fleeting and bitter these past summers, I knew not where or how to begin with her. She must have felt the same, for she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them.
“I wanted to say thank you,” she finally blurted.
“For what?”
“For freeing us. For fighting for us.”
“I did it as much for me as for you and the others,” I said. “I want to be free of this forsaken place. And besides, I did nothing to save you before, when Reas…when they took you. I do not know why you are thanking me now.”
She ignored my acrimony. “You tried. Before. And were whipped because of it.”
I glanced at her.
“Anyway, I also wanted to apologize. For how I…for my behavior these past winters. I was ashamed. Am ashamed.”
Her comments dredged up all of those bitter memories of when I looked at her and she looked away or ignored me outright. But then, I looked away too, and so who, really, was to blame? “I should apologize, too,” I admitted grudgingly.
She glanced at me with her tear-filled eyes. “You turned away every time I looked at you, and every time you did, I felt even more shame.”
Her words stoked the flames of my own shame, but I did not want that. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her close. And so I sighed deeply and stared into the fire until my emotions settled.
“You are hurt,” she said, indicating my hand.
I looked at her, then at it, and nodded. “A stupid mistake,” I answered. “I should have been more careful.”
She laughed.
“What is so funny?”
“What you did today was brave. To hear you speak of safety in the face of that is funny.”
I grinned, and the fire snapped before me. “I suppose it is.”
“Let me see,” she ordered gently, holding her hand out for mine. I placed my injured hand in hers. She angled it toward her face and examined it more closely. “It is not deep, but it needs cleaning and dressing.”
“I know,” I said. “It can wait until morning.”
“Do not be foolish. Wait here.” She disappeared into the hall and returned with a cup, then she retook her seat. “Let me see your hand again.”
I showed it to her. She dribbled water along the cut, and I hissed at the sting of it. “Hold your hand sideways to let it drain,” she said, which I did. She poured more water down the channel of the cut, letting it wash away some of the blood and larger chunks of dirt. Then she dabbed at it gently with a rag she produced. I watched in silence and tried to be tough, though every part of me wanted to pull my hand away, for it stung mightily. Finally, she produced yet another rag and wrapped my hand tightly.
“There. That will keep more dirt from getting in. We will see how it looks on the morrow.” She smiled, and I blushed and looked down at my newly bandaged hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
We sat for a bit, side by side, in silence. The fire smoldered before us and it mesmerized my tired mind. I wanted to tell Turid that I was sorry for everything. For all of the pain and heartache she had experienced since leaving my father's hall, but I knew not where to begin or whether it would solve anything.
She spoke before my mind could settle on what to say. “I thought I would be frightened to kill Reas. That it would be hard.”
I glanced at her and saw that her eyes were focused on the fire, as mine had just been. “You were not?”
She shook her head. “No. I was not. I —” She stopped, then glanced at me before returning her eyes to the flames. “I enjoyed it, Torgil. Is that wrong?”
“No. It is not wrong. He deserved every bit of your anger and then some.” I suddenly grinned at a thought that popped into my mind.
“What?” she asked.
“You told me once that you had some of your father's warrior spirit in you. Tonight, you proved it.”
She smiled at the memory, then yawned. “It is late. I should rest, as should you. Sigdag and I will sleep in the pit-house tonight. We cannot…” She did not finish the thought.
I nodded, knowing what memories the main hall must have held for her.
She rose and made to go, then stopped. “I am glad you were not more seriously hurt, Torgil.”
“And I, you,” I responded lamely.
She turned and walked away.
We spent the following days in preparation. We sharpened blades. We dug pits on the inland portion of the beach in which we planted sharp stakes and over which we laid seaweed. I taught my fellow thralls the ways of the spears and bows that we found in the main hall. There were two of each. One of the boys was adept with a sling and so I let him craft his own and practice. I did not need them to be experts. All I wanted was for them to hit their targets. Wounding our attackers was good enough.
Each day, I posted sentries out on the headlands to watch the waterways for Heres's ship. And each day, I grew more confident that we could beat Heres and his men when they returned. He only had four men with him. If we did things according to plan, then we had a chance to survive.
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