‘Don’t worry,’ Gunnhild said. ‘I don’t like Ulrich either. Eirik holds him in high regard but I think he’s a nasty, arrogant little man with ideas well above his station. Ulrich needs to be taught a lesson. But your petty little quarrels are no concern of mine, what I need to be sure of is that they don’t get in the way of my husband’s plans.’
Thorfinn sucked in a deep breath. ‘They will not, lady. I give you my word.’
‘Good,’ the queen said.
Thorfinn scratched the back of his head, reaching under his fur cloak to do it.
‘Will you, eh, be telling the king about this?’ he said.
Gunnhild smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. Her black eyebrows arched sharply above eyes that Thorfinn found impossible to draw his gaze away from. She stepped closer still. He could feel the heat of her breath and thought about his own wife back home, her aging face twisted by grief when he had told her of Hrolf’s death, her hollow eyes and lank hair, and realised that a young woman with as much beauty as Gunnhild had no need of magic when it came to ensnaring a man twice her age like Eirik. Or himself. There were other stories about Gunnhild, only whispered by those who dared, that those Sami wizards had both wanted her as their bride and all three had shared a bed at night. The Blámaðr had beaten to death several careless folk who King Eirik had heard repeating this the tale, but Thorfinn wondered then if it were true. What strange arts of lovemaking had Gunnhild learned from those weird Finns? Despite his concerns, Thorfinn felt his pulse quicken further.
‘I don’t think my husband needs to know about this,’ the queen said. ‘It’s business between you, Ulrich and your bastard. As long as Eirik gets the Raven Banner, and Aethelstan and that brat Hakon are stopped, then Eirik need not concern himself with what happens on the way.’
‘Thank you, lady,’ Thorfinn said, heaving a huge sigh. He realised he had been holding his breath.
‘In fact you know what I will do?’ Gunnhild continued. ‘Those berserkers my husband gave to Ulrich. I will make sure they help your man Gizur along the way. How about that?’
Thorfinn frowned. ‘Would they do that?’
‘I am their queen,’ Gunnhild said. ‘They will do as I tell them. They might have a problem getting rid of Ulrich, though. The poor idiots are so desperate to become Úlfhéðnar they can see nothing else. You boys are all about the glory, aren’t you? Getting them to kill your son Einar though is a different matter. I understand he is now a potential rival to them for those coveted places in Ulrich’s Úlfhéðnar crew. I also have certain… powers that can help ensure success.’
Thorfinn glanced around at the small rocky island not far from the shore where the moonlight glinted on scattered human bones.
‘You speak of seiðr, lady?’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘We should be careful what is said when we talk of witchcraft.’
The queen gave a little laugh. ‘The witches’ skerry is where my husband sends only evil sorcerers to their deaths. If I work magic that helps him, how can it be evil?’
‘I am much in your debt, lady.’ Thorfinn smiled and frowned at the same time.
‘Yes, you are,’ Gunnhild said. ‘When the time comes, I hope you will remember that.’
‘When the time comes?’ Thorfinn echoed her words.
The queen sighed. ‘Jarl Thorfinn, I don’t think it is any secret that my husband’s position is a perilous one. His jarls in Norway are in open rebellion against him. They resent his firm rule.’
Thorfinn stifled a derisive grunt. So far in his short reign, Eirik’s ‘firm rule’ had involved a lot of killing, torture, hostage-taking, punishment raids and ever-higher taxes.
‘They think by inviting the whelp Hakon – a soft Christian – here they will have a freer rein,’ the queen continued. ‘It was not exaggeration that Eirik cannot leave Norway for fear that disloyal bastards like Jarl Sigurd of Hlader or Olaf of Viken move against him while he is out of the country.’
‘Indeed, lady,’ Thorfinn said. ‘I understand his problem.’
‘Do you, though?’ Gunnhild said. ‘I fear that day will come whether Eirik is in the country or not. The rebels grow stronger by the day. If they unite, they’ll be stronger than Eirik’s forces.’
‘I’m sure King Eirik will not flinch from meeting them with a storm of battle,’ Thorfinn said.
The queen pursed her lips. ‘I don’t believe in heroic last stands, Jarl Thorfinn,’ she said. ‘Not if they can be avoided. Eirik can stay and die or run and have a chance to rebuild and perhaps one day re-take the kingdom which is rightfully his.’
‘You think Eirik Bloody Axe would run from a fight?’ Thorfinn cocked an eyebrow.
‘Eirik will do whatever is right for his family and the kingdom,’ Gunnhild said. ‘And I like to make sure that he does. Eirik may talk of killing two of his brothers but it was I who placed the poison in their ale. You know what happens to the families of deposed kings, Thorfinn? Their throats are slit or they are blinded to make sure they’re no threat to the new ruler. I’ve brought my children into the world intending that they shall rule the kingdom that is their birthright. If the worst happens, then Eirik and I’ll need somewhere to take refuge. A place of strength where we can rebuild our forces. Norway will not be safe for us. Hakon and Aethelstan will not want us in Britain.’
‘But the king has one loyal jarl whose realm lies outside Norway and north of Britain,’ Thorfinn said, his face splitting into a wide grin. ‘Me.’
The queen matched his smile. ‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ she said. ‘We can count on you, then?’
‘Of course, lady,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Orkney will welcome you with open arms.’
‘Good,’ Gunnhild said. ‘Let’s hope it never comes to that but I thank you for your loyalty. Let us speak no more of this. I will return to the feast.’
Pulling her hood back up, the queen hurried off towards the hall.
Thorfinn turned his gaze back to the sea. His heart swelled with confidence and he could not help the smile on his face. How his luck had turned around. He had sailed here not knowing if Eirik would execute him or not and now here he was, not only still alive but in the highest favour of the king and queen. They needed him. He was now more powerful than ever.
Einar and Ulrich were as good as dead already.
Thirteen
England – Kingdom of Northumbria
They journeyed south, crossing a kingdom in two days. Most of the time they travelled on horseback across a grey, washed-out landscape that was mostly mud and empty fields. While mounted, Ricbehrt’s men had untied Einar’s wrists so he could ride, but there were always four of them riding around him, each man with a long-bladed knife at his belt, ready to draw if needed.
The road they travelled on, Einar learned, had also been built by the Romans. Seeing how it cut through the countryside, straight as a spear and flat as a bog pond in summer, he again wondered at what magic these Romans had worked. Despite Ayvind’s comments, he was sure they must have been Jotunns or some other form of monster. Their magic was now fading, however. The edges of the road were crumbling into the ditches and the surface was pitted with holes and cracks, waiting to trip unlucky horses.
They drove their mounts hard. During the day they had to keep moving, both to make the most of the short winter daylight and because danger lurked on all sides. They were travelling from the newly conquered kingdom of Northumbria through what until recent times had been called the Fimm Borginn, or Five Boroughs of the Norse settlers. Like Jorvik, most of the five had been retaken by the Aenglish over the last twenty years. It remained uneasy territory, occupied by warriors to the resentment of the people who lived there. The Dane Law was fading but the Aenglish Law had yet to fully take over and in the gap, outlaws and rogues took full advantage. A Norseman like Einar would perhaps have been all right but Ricbehrt and his mostly Aenglish bodyguards would not.
By day they rode. At night they took refuge in burhs. King Aelfred of Wessex had begun
building this network of forts when the Great Heathen Army was in the field. His genius was to understand that the way to beat the marauding armies of Norsemen was to not meet them in open battle but instead withdraw behind the safety of fortified walls. Viking war chiefs led bands of men, heroes and champions who were with them for war and plunder. Sitting around waiting for a burh to surrender was not what they did. The Viking armies also lived off the land. They had to keep moving as they had no one following with supplies and food.
After a short time camped outside the burh, they would give up and move on to seek easier prey somewhere else. Soon the Aenglish realised that if they built these forts close enough together the warriors in each one could ride out to help those in another under attack. Eventually it became impossible for the Norsemen to make any headway in Wessex. Now, whenever the Aenglish conquered territory, the first thing they did was to raise the palisade of a burh.
The burhs were manned by the fyrd, the local militia raised from the freemen of the surrounding shire. Each fort had a rampart topped by a palisade. Inside were stables, well stocked stores, sleeping quarters, an eating hall and a headquarters building. In the buildings were the inevitable clerics writing away at their books, recording everything from the number of warriors manning the walls to the number of barrels of ale in the store room. Why anyone needed all this written down, Einar still could not fathom.
Ricbehrt wrote too. Every evening he would borrow one of the cleric’s desks and scratch out letters. He paid coins to the clerics and other denizens of the burh to deliver these to his business associates. Einar did not know the details of the deal Ricbehrt had struck with Aethelstan, but whatever it was it was keeping him busy. The weapon merchant, Osric and several others would gather and converse in low voices, interrupted by frequent glances around the room to check there were no prying ears within hearing range. At these times Einar, his wrists bound again, would sit alone on the floor, an object of contempt to everyone in the room from Ricbehrt’s men to the men of the fyrd, who saw him as no more than another filthy Dane captive, something they tended to see a lot of.
In the mornings Ricbehrt would pay a cleric coins for the horse fodder and the lodgings from his seemingly bottomless purse, then they were on their way again.
There were a lot of warriors around. Each burh they stopped at looked full to bursting, clearly accommodating many more men than would be usual, given the number who had to stretch out on the floor of the eating hall to sleep. During the day on the road, they passed troop after troop of fighters, spears over their shoulders, helmets slung from the shafts, tramping along in sullen columns. Ricbehrt’s little company travelled south, while all these warriors trudged in the opposite direction. Einar had not heard of any current war or invasion, but there was something going on, that was for sure. Perhaps in this uneasy, newly captured borderland, war was just commonplace.
On the third day they arrived at a mighty river. The company left the Roman road and tracked the river’s course along its southern bank as it grew ever wider. The grey water mirrored the grey sky as it looped and twisted through the faded muddy green of the flat, rain-soaked landscape, each bank thick with pale yellow rushes. After some time, the air started to take on a tang of salt and the cry of gulls told Einar that the widening of the river beside them was it opening itself to the sea. As they came to the sea, they also came to a settlement.
There were a lot of ships either beached, moored on wooden jetties or riding at anchor a little way offshore. Judging by the size of the settlement there were far more vessels than there would be usually. They were all types, too. Warships, trading ships and small, flat bottomed fishing vessels all competed for space in and around the harbour. Like on the road, as Ricbehrt’s company rode towards the town, they passed columns of men marching the other way.
Einar soon saw why the town needed no walls for defence. It was surrounded by marsh and water. Wooden trackways provided ways to get to the settlement but in time of danger they could be taken away or burned, leaving the only way in or out by boat. As they rode into the town Einar learned that its name was Grims Boe – the village of Grim. Grim was not just a Norse name but also one of the names Odin used when he wandered the world in disguise. Ricbehrt had ten bodyguards. Including the weapon merchant himself and Einar it made a company of twelve. Three times three plus three, Einar mused. Odin’s sacred number. The old one-eyed god must be having a good laugh at his current situation. Was it all part of one of his strange games?
Grims Boe appeared to be like any other Norse settlement on the coast: A cross between fishing port and merchant market. The horses were left at a stabling yard, Einar’s wrists were bound and then Ricbehrt led the way through the two or three crowded, bustling streets down to the harbour. For such a fat man, Einar was surprised at just how mobile Ricbehrt was. His considerable bulk seemed not to hinder him at all. On the other hand, the lack of wine available in the burhs they had stayed in over the last few nights appeared to distress the merchant a great deal. He led them down a jetty to where a knarr rested on its mooring.
‘Good,’ Ricbehrt said, ‘they haven’t left yet.’
Leaving Einar and his men on the jetty, he thumped up the gangr plank onto the ship. Einar watched as Ricbehrt had a short conversation with a bald, wild-bearded old man with skin tanned the colour of hazelnut shells who was clad in breeches and a hooded tunic made of seal skin. He was short and thin, and the colour of his skin made him look like a wizened old tree. The man frowned and shook his head, saying something Einar could not hear but prompted Ricbehrt to come back down the gangr plank. He gestured towards Einar and Osric shoved him in the back, propelling him towards the ship.
Once on board, Einar was pushed and manhandled until he stood before the tanned man.
‘This is the skipper of my ship,’ Ricbehrt said. Yet again Einar felt astonishment at the amount of wealth and possessions the merchant had. He was rich as a king. There was clearly a lot of profit in weapons trading. ‘Tell him where we’re going,’ Ricbehrt continued.
‘No,’ Einar said. ‘You’ll kill me if I tell you.’
Osric drove a balled fist into Einar’s gut. The air was punched from him and he doubled over as the Aenglishman screamed ‘Answer you Dane swine!’ in his ear.
Einar sucked in breath as he straightened up. ‘I’m an Icelander,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘You’re all the same to me,’ Osric said. He drew his long-bladed seax and held it up so Einar could see it. ‘Heathens. Foreigners. Incomers who want to steal our country and do away with our religion. God hates you all and so do I. Now answer his question before I cut something off you.’
The skipper was looking at the horizon with studied concentration as if there was something out there that fascinated him. Now Osric’s violence was finished he turned his attention back to Einar.
‘I need some idea where we are headed,’ he said.
‘Ireland,’ Einar said.
The skipper shrugged. ‘Ireland is a big island. Are we going north, south, east?’
‘North. As north as you can go, near to the place with the strange rocks built by the giant,’ Einar said. ‘That’s all I’m telling you now. You can kill me if you want but then you’ll never find those swords. I swear by the Gods. They’re too well hidden.’
The skipper looked at the deck, his mouth moving as if he was chewing something. Then he turned to Ricbehrt. ‘The shortest route is north round Scotland but that’s too dangerous. The weather could be bad. The seas are infested with Vikings.’
Ricbehrt nodded. ‘So we go south. Around the kingdoms of the Aenglish, then north.’
‘You’re sure about this?’ the skipper said. ‘Aethelstan is paying good money to ferry his army north. We could be profiting from that.’
‘This trip will more than compensate for that,’ Ricbehrt said. ‘Get ready to sail.’
Fourteen
Kingdom of Northumbria
As Einar went south, Af
freca was taken north. It took two days to ride from Jorvik to the monastic settlement that was to be her prison. She travelled in the back of a waggon with the other nuns while eight armed warriors rode alongside, their purpose both to deter any would-be attackers and also to stop anyone in the waggon with plans to run away.
There were ten nuns in all. One of them, a Saxon woman called Osgyth, sported a black eye and a bruise to the side of her cheek. That was Affreca’s work. When Einar had turned her down, she knew she would have to get the Raven Banner herself. She had observed the troop of nuns crossing the city to visit the Kings Gard in Jorvik the morning before. Seeing the long hoods they wore, even when inside, the plan had come to her for how she might get into Kings Gard. The next morning, as the procession of nuns weaved its usual way through the narrow streets of the city, their heads bowed to avoid the worldly sights that surrounded them, Affreca pulled the last nun into an alley, knocked her on the head and took her clothes. That nun had been Osgyth.
She could not have picked a worse person to hit.
Osgyth, it turned out, was some sort of leader of the nuns. She was a few winters older than the others and the young women all deferred to her. From the speed they jumped to obey her barked orders it was clear she was someone they both respected and feared. As the waggon rocked and bumped its way along the old Roman road, the occasional looks she shot in Affreca’s direction left her in no doubt that Osgyth was the sort who nurtured a grudge the way some folk nurture pet kittens. Still, Affreca felt no real fear of the woman. Princess or not, her step-mother had beaten her many times. Her own father had tried to kill her. She had already knocked this woman out once. If she wanted to give her another go, well that was her choice.
Affreca also found out she was not the only prisoner.
There was a very small, dark haired nun who was not from the same order as the others. Her name was Eithne and she explained she was from the land of the Scots. From the nuns’ discussions, Affreca learned that there was some sort of dispute between the Christians as to how best to worship their God. Eithne had been sent south by her nunnery to learn how the Saxon Christians did their rituals. Now war loomed between the Aenglish and the Scots and she was as much a hostage as Affreca.
The Raven Banner Page 8