by Hume, M. K.
‘Are we decided then?’ Stormbringer asked, and waited as, one by one, the jarls nodded their agreement.
‘And so, Henning Gunnarsen, your questions have been answered,’ Stormbringer said with some regret. The audience was over.
The longboat given to Hrolf Kraki’s dogs by Alfridda ploughed through the deeper waters of the channel. Her woollen sail bellied out over the deck in the stiff breeze. The helmsman, however, continued to complain that the rudder had an unusual shudder and there was a drag on the vessel’s forward movement, a sluggishness that this greyhound of a ship had never previously displayed, even in bad weather. The helmsman had sailed on her many times before and was familiar with her peccadillos.
The warrior who had acted as spokesman for the raiding party after the attack on The Holding had assumed the captaincy of this longboat after the death of its original captain. At first he ignored the helmsman’s complaints, but as they became more strident the captain ordered the boat to come about into the wind so he could carry out an inspection. He ordered two of his crew members to check below the false decking that elevated the crew’s feet above the outer skin of the hull.
The two men recoiled when they discovered that the crawl space below the decking that was normally used for food storage and drinking water was awash with sea water. Ordered to find the source of the leak and to stop the inflow that was causing the longboat to wallow in the waves, the two men searched along the planks of the hull with their feet and made a number of plunges into the freezing water until they found two planks that had been forced apart by an adze or some similar implement. Then, with ropes tightly tied around their waists, they were lowered into the heaving sea in an attempt to force rags and other stuffing into the widening gaps to reseal the hull. But such intervention was far too little – and much too late! Sea water continued to fill the hull.
The captain knew that his lack of care and his inaction had doomed his short command, and the vessel would not survive the tricks of the jokester god. The scarred man recalled that Loki’s Eye was still resting on the shingle of the beach at The Holding. Loki had decided to save his namesake, but had gifted the captain and his crew to the Sea Dragon in its lieu.
As the vessel began to sink lower in the water, despite the efforts of the crew to bale the sea water out with any receptacles to hand, the captain ordered it to be turned towards the nearest land. But he had left this too late. The land was a black smudge in the evening sky when water began to rush over the sides as the longboat became more and more waterlogged. With a sudden rush, the dragon’s head at the prow sank beneath the surface and the ship slipped into the depths.
The crewmen began to swim, but the autumn waters were freezing cold. Even ten minutes in these icy waves would bring death to humans and their bodies would sink below the surface to follow their ship into the gelid depths.
As the captain succumbed to the mind-numbing cold that made it impossible for him to swim, he wondered wearily who had killed them with such efficiency. He tried to raise his arms, but his limbs were too heavy to move and he no longer had any feeling in his body. He was so very tired that he hungered for sleep. As he slipped below the waves, he knew how pointless it was to hold his breath and struggle against the inevitable, so like the brave man he had once been, he permitted his own weight to drag him down into the lightless depths.
In dreams that night, the green she-dragon called Arthur to her throne where the bones of her ossuary were transmogrifying into pearl. Arthur heard the she-dragon giggling with splutters of steam that heated the water around his body. With long, emerald claws, she pointed to the bodies that hung on thickly branched seaweed like obscene fruit.
‘You must thank your sister’s friend for my latest gifts. It is rare that I am sent such a large number of warriors who are so tall and strong, and at the peak of their physical beauty. Their skulls will be smooth and perfect, while their bones will be without flaw after I’ve flensed away the ugliness of their flesh.’
Then the she-dragon chuckled as she told her story, but Arthur knew it was only a dream because the wilful and tiny Blaise could never act with such murderous intent. In response the dragon’s tongue caressed Arthur’s biceps in a gross parody of a kiss and lingered on the curve of his jaw, as if she could taste the purity of his bones.
‘You delude yourself, Arthur, my dear one. I haven’t met the little sow you call Blaise, but she can only tear away your peace at some time in the future. You must avoid becoming enamoured of her pillowy breasts or lusting after the delicate beauty of her mouth. I suggest that you do not ally yourself to her because she is of your people, regardless of the truth that her brother was your dearest friend. Blaise is dangerous for all that she is loyal, because too much of Ygerne’s daughters lives in her blood for her to mate safely with you.
‘If you do choose to wed her, you will regret your decision when you see the true face that she wears below her undoubted beauty. You must leave her for another man who will love her for who she really is, not what you think she should be. Have a care, Arthur!’
As the she-dragon curled on her terrible couch, small sea creatures flitted away from cleaning her scales to approach the hanging corpses. Once given permission to feed, they scattered over the shrouded bodies in a cloud of delicate, tiny claws and sucking lips.
As the underwater currents shifted, the dead warriors turned in the banks of seaweed. Arthur recoiled because their eyes and lips had already been nibbled away, and only empty holes stared back at him. The corpses were silently screaming that they wanted to live. Then, in a rush, the dragon spread her transparent green wings and blew him away on the ocean currents.
Arthur awoke to find himself in his own bed, completely drenched in sweat. Something heavy had lodged in his belly and he prayed for wisdom in the troubles that lay ahead. Then he vowed he would watch his friend’s sister very carefully, although he was almost certain that his suspicions were traitorous.
Yet he was inclined to trust the words of the she-dragon and her hideous, but curiously honest, code of conduct. After all, she was very rarely wrong.
CHAPTER VIII
Blood Kin
Enemies’ gifts are no gifts and do no good.
Sophocles, Ajax 1:665
As the wind filled the sail, the dragon motif came to life so it seemed to be flying in a nest of fire.
Arthur stood beside Snorri as the helmsman threw his whole weight against the great rudder. The stiff breeze caught at Arthur’s curls and gave him a delicious feeling of freedom, lifting his spirits and lightening his heart so that he was actually whistling a country tune he had learned in Arden Forest. Unflappable, Snorri looked at his master and marvelled that the lad should be so cheerful. By all reports, The Holding had been attacked and who could know what they would find when they arrived back at those green acres?
Sea Wife was sailing through a narrow strait with a fair wind at their back; below decks, Stormbringer had given instructions that three large chests filled with the confiscated wealth of the Geats should be stored in the bilges, and Arthur was looking forward to good meals and fresh food. Not only was he returning to the pleasant world of Stormbringer’s farm, but his three slaves would ensure that every detail of his life would be easy and well structured during a restful, albeit brief, stay at The Holding after a long period of trouble and strife.
The sound of his tuneful whistling caused Sigrid to raise her blond head, the hair chopped around her face inexpertly so she resembled the full and exotic chrysanthemum that Myrddion had drawn in his personal scrolls. Her blue eyes glittered for a moment as she gazed at him. Ingrid sighed inwardly. After weeks of nagging and lectures, the girl had finally accepted her mother’s advice that it was stupid to persist in waging a war against the master. Arthur would lose patience eventually, and their lives might be forfeit. Much as Sigrid had loved her father, she was equally aware of what he
would have done in Arthur’s boots, so she determined to become at least a little more amenable than usual.
Sigrid sat beside her mother and watched the waves draw her away from the world she knew. Perhaps Arthur hadn’t killed him, but he had been one of the leaders of the force that had fought in the battle where her father had met his death. As always, there was no right and no wrong. Sigrid was discovering that the world remained as it had always been, regardless of how much she protested.
Before they left Skania, Arthur had noticed that Sigrid was making an effort to be more agreeable, and he was so grateful that he gave Ingrid a small finger-ring decorated with a tiny enamelled flower which he had found among his share of the booty taken in Vaster Gotland. Ingrid had been touched by this gesture and swore to herself that she would keep her daughter so busy with the master’s household duties that Arthur would be free of Sigrid’s bad temper. Ingrid told Arthur as much, while Sigrid pretended she couldn’t hear their conversation. The girl hoped fervently that her mother would resist the temptation to shape her daughter’s opinions.
Ahead, a beach at a secluded cove shone in the moonlight like a white sickle. The sun had already set, although only a few hours had passed since noon. The days were markedly shorter, as autumn wore away towards winter and winter snow hovered and waited for autumn to die. Farm workers stripped the last fruit from the trees and finalised the preparation of their dried meat and fish supplies that would feed them through the long, cold months.
But now, Sea Wife’s short journey was almost over.
Snorri turned her prow into the breeze. Then, at a gesture from Arthur, warriors began to strip and roll the great sail. Sigrid sat sullenly upright but, against her will, she was impressed that this living ship moved and breathed at Arthur’s smallest command. The warriors seated themselves at the oars and waited for the signal to commence rowing.
‘To The Holding now,’ Arthur cried out over the wind; the warriors dug their oars deep into the strengthening waves and Sea Wife plunged towards the shore like a horse freed from its reins.
Sigrid felt her heart lift with the wonder of the night, the lonely cold wind and the men who bent their backs like beasts to force the slender vessel onwards. She was captured by the strange smell of foreign earth that she had never known under her feet. Could the experience outweigh the humiliation of being a slave?
Sigrid shook her tousled hair and moonlight danced on strands of silver among the pale-blond locks. For just one night, she wanted to experience strange and exciting places that had no link to her long period of hatred. She had carried her father’s untimely death around her neck like a yoke far heavier than any slave collar, especially as Arthur had never required any of his captives to wear one.
Ingrid had told Sigrid that Arthur’s foster-father had been a slave during his youth, but the girl had never considered how this knowledge might affect Arthur’s treatment of his own servants. In Skania, the weight of Sigrid’s hatred had rendered her blind to the many kindnesses showered on her family by those Dene strangers who had every right to detest them.
But a glimmer of understanding was beginning to break through.
‘Mother?’ she whispered, with her back pressed against the mast. ‘I’ve been thinking about the things you said concerning our master and what the future might bring. As often happens, I’m beginning to think that you’re probably right. I have had a fortunate life, so I’d probably been spoiled by Father over the years, which might have prevented me from understanding just how generous Arthur and his people have been to us.’
The shadow beside her stirred, and Ingrid bared her face from inside the enveloping cloak that was providing her and her babe with warmth.
‘I’m so glad that you’re coming to your senses, Sigrid. It’s a hard thing to be owned by someone else, after we’ve enjoyed the advantages that wealth and status have given us. I was a careless mistress in our home and I never cared how our house slaves felt or lived. I remember how we sold off one strong young man who was a gifted horse-master. He begged your father not to send him away because he had gone through a form of marriage with one of the kitchen maids who was with child.’
Ingrid’s eyes filled with tears. ‘We didn’t listen, because we thought slaves had no business marrying or trying to raise a family without the permission of their masters.’
Sigrid hugged her scratched and dirty knees up to her chest. She was unwilling to hear any criticism of her father but, even so, she was prepared to listen. Every detail of his life that her mother revealed was cherished and considered carefully.
‘What happened to the girl and the babe?’
‘She hanged herself, so the child died with her! Your father was very angry at the time, because the loss of the slaves cost him a ring of silver.’
‘I can’t believe that Father could have been so callous.’ Sigrid frowned. ‘I’d never have thought that Father would value silver over the life of one of his servants.’ The girl was confused now, so Ingrid cursed her frankness at a time when she was finally beginning to knock some sense into the stubborn skull.
She tried to make amends to her daughter.
‘I was just as bad as your father. I was in total agreement with him at the time, for I was incensed that the dead girl had been such an excellent slave. But I was really angry that I had lost her because of my own selfishness. Sadly, I never considered how I would feel if my husband had been ordered to leave us and never return. How would I have managed if I was forced to raise a child alone? Worse still, I knew that many owners sold child slaves when they were old enough to carry out light duties rather than bother with the difficulties and expense of raising them, but Master Arthur has sworn he’ll never break my heart by taking my son away from me.’
Sigrid was silenced.
She desperately wanted to defend her father, but she knew that any such assertions would probably be lies. With a pang, she remembered a time when she had hit a small boy who was a slave in the household of one of her friends. The lad had taken too long to fetch a pitcher of milk for the girls to drink, so her friend had knocked him down and kicked him. When the boy scrambled to his feet, weeping and rubbing at his bleeding nose with one grubby fist, Sigrid had added to the boy’s humiliation by slapping him.
Across the years, she had come to realise that the boy would probably have been six years old at the time and the pitcher must have been very heavy. She had been three years older than the slave boy and she, too, had experienced difficulty in pouring the milk from the heavy container.
Now Sigrid flushed with remembered shame.
‘I don’t want to argue with you, Mother. I just thought you’d like to know that I understand we may have been fortunate when we became the vassals of a master such as Lord Arthur. At the very least, he let us live when we were captured. He didn’t have to be so generous. I’m also pleased that our master isn’t a Dene!’
Ingrid sighed. This admission from Sigrid was the best the girl was able to manage, so her mother was grateful for the small concession. Besides, Ingrid herself took conscious pride in the fact that her master was more civilised than those Dene who were his allies.
Sigrid stared over the side and gasped as she realised that the water was so clear that she could make out the vague outline of stones and weeds in the shallows, even by moonlight. In front of her, the banks of rowers raised their oars in response to an unseen order and Sea Wife ploughed its way onto the shingle beach. Then she heard the crunch of timber on stones and shells as the bow of the hull sliced its way into the sand.
The crew leaped from the deck and pulled her further up the beach to a point where the tide couldn’t snatch her back into deep water.
Then, as he looked about his mooring, Arthur discovered that his longboat had been beached alongside a large familiar-looking raptor-shape. When he saw the dragon on the vessel’s leaning prow, Arthur
immediately recalled the journey on Loki’s Eye, which had carried the four captives to a land far removed from everything they knew and loved.
Eamonn, one of the four, had already met his death.
Arthur put aside his sad memories and jumped down from his ship as his men scurried to square her away and store her sail. Then the crew moved the three treasure chests onto the shingle, gathered their possessions and collected their shares of the spoils. Finally, the captives bound for service at The Holding were led up the sand dunes. As his men carried out their duties, Arthur watched their disciplined behaviour with pride. As part of his training regime, Arthur utilised the tried and true methods used by the Roman commanders over the centuries. He knew that men of action will risk everything for commanders who lead from the front.
So far, none of his warriors had let him down.
Most of these men had been young and inexperienced when he had first selected them a year earlier. Since then they had seen much in the way of warfare and learned the value of iron discipline. His men took pride in the knowledge that every man was equally important in Arthur’s crew; they gave their commander their unquestioning loyalty and they expected, and got, his in return.
Scarcely had they negotiated the low sand dunes with their heavy loads in tow than a dozen men in sturdy leather cloaks emerged out of the darkness from the direction of The Holding. Bowing their heads respectfully in Arthur’s direction, the farm workers soon had the heavy loads redistributed so that the crew members were relatively unencumbered. Then, the whole group headed up the path.