Another of these men was one of the master carpet weavers; he was sick in his stomach and groaning. And yet another that they brought out seemed too ill even to groan; he had a jagged wound in his side and although it looked not too bad from the outside, yet clearly there was something badly wrong within. He, they said, was a man from the Emperor’s Guards, the Varangians, and he had been wounded in the street fighting two days back. He was most probably dying and they had tried to find out whether he was a Christian, but his companions who had brought him in did not know and did not appear to care. So they put a crucifix upon his chest and the struggling breath within it, and laid his hands on the crucifix, and by and by a priest came in case the man was to speak. But he did not speak in any clear words, and his breath came in worse gasps, and now his eyes were half shut and only the whites showing. Halla was watching him. He was red-haired, and even on his hands and wrists there were red thick hairs; he had a gold ring on one finger with a ruby in it.
She felt a horse blowing on her neck and turned. “It’s you again!” said Steinvor. “What ever are you doing here?”
“I don’t want to be here,” said Halla. “Can you take us both? And then leave me on the ship?” For she guessed Steinvor had come for the Varangian: he had all too much of a hero’s looks.
“Well, seeing you’re another of All-Father’s wish children, I suppose I can,” said Steinvor, “but you can’t expect us to make good time; you aren’t exactly a lightweight. Stand by till I’ve got a grip of him and then get on behind. And mind you hold on.” She glanced at the man. “Take that cross off him, there’s a good girl: it might burn my fingers.”
Halla went over to the man, took the crucifix off him lightly and laid it to one side, as his chest heaved once more. Before the priest had done more than look astonished, the last breath came out of the man, and Steinvor leant over and grabbed him up by the shoulders. Halla ran and jumped and scrambled up behind on to the winged horse, holding her cloak round her with her teeth, both hands with their own grip on the horse as he rose. She shut her eyes and held as they mounted; then he steadied up and flattened and they were away over the roofs, and suddenly it was like flying with Uggi and Hroar and the rest, and she felt at ease, back in her childhood. But she hung on all the same.
The nuns and the priest, not expecting nor believing in a Valkyrie, did not see one. But they saw the dead man vanish and Halla whirled away to heaven, unfortunately still with the cloak, which no one had had the presence of mind to retain. She had, however, left her bundle in the cell. This, they agreed, must certainly be tried out as a relic. If anything in it had miraculous powers, then something, at least, would have been gained.
Chapter Two
Marob
The winged horse was grumbling away and obviously would have liked nothing better than to chuck her off, but Halla said the ship could not have got far and they circled down over the mouth of the Black Sea. There were two or three ships, looking very small, with the bright wave at their prows; Halla was not sure at first which was the right one. But then she saw Tarkan Der’s yellow shirt, which was an uncommon colour, and she had washed it often enough to know. And there were the other two. She slid off on to the deck beside them from a height of some fifteen feet—nearer the horse would not go—but she landed without hurting herself. When she had picked herself up and had finished assuring them that it was indeed herself and everything was all right, the horse was far off, a speck in the northern sky, galloping back to Valhalla.
She did not explain how she had come. It would have been too difficult. They had no word or thought for a Valkyrie. She was content to be with them, in a ship again, and they were very content to have her with them whom they had thought lost. There was now no action which they could take. The ship carried them on.
Often they sat, speaking very little, for hours at a time, and the sea went by past them, deep green or deep blue. Sometime Kiot walked up and down and muttered; he had been terribly shaken; he was an oldish man and he had tried to live all his life as a Christian; he would have forgiven the Governor for anything done to himself, but it was not about that he had come; it was about injustice to the whole community which had surely been of the same kind—only worse—as that injustice of the Pharisees which Jesus had struggled against in bitter anger. He was right to come. Yet if he had not come, if he had forgiven the Governor for something which was not forgivable, then he would not have been disturbed to the roots of his being. Long ago he had heard of the great Church of the Holy Word, Santa Sophia, wonder of the Christian world. Now he had seen it, and the sight had been sore on him, since it was mixed up with certain and personal knowledge of the Church’s corruption. He tried not to think of it. He tried to go back in prayer to what he had once been; but that road was shut to him. He felt an old man now, as he had not done on the voyage out.
Roddin knew what was wrong with his old friend and could not help in any way. They had done what they meant to do, but now it was not clear that it was good, and the price was yet to pay. And Tarkan Der, the heir of the Corn Kings, he was not ever coming back to Marob. Roddin watched him as he sat looking out to sea, and his face seemed thinner and harder and his hand now and then, almost on its own, reached back jerkily and grasped the hand of Halla Godsgift. Did his mind even know what his hand was doing? On the way out he had sung, often; he never sang now.
Roddin and Halla did the cooking together. Roddin had told the captain of the boat that she would be coming, and then she had come. When a sailor said she had fallen out of the sky, the captain knocked the sailor down for telling lies. Anyhow, he was not interested in where the girl had come from. She behaved decently, gave no trouble, kept a flat stone under their charcoal cooking stove and understood when she was spoken to. When they came to a port she would go ashore with one of the men and buy whatever they needed. Slowly the boat worked her way along the coast. The Imperial despatch boat had passed them on the evening of the first day. The wind had died down and they themselves were scarcely moving, but in the despatch boat the slaves were rowing hard and evenly, like some unhuman thing.
Although he knew how useless it was to fret about an unknown situation, although he prayed often, Roddin found himself sleeping less and continually turning over in his mind how, with what words, with what armour, he could meet bad news if it came. His face would whiten and twist and go still. He was afraid of the same thing hitting him as had hit Tarkan Der. He was afraid of becoming remote from his old friends as Tarkan Der was now, in a small world of pain. He asked himself if Halla Godsgift were not now perhaps nearer to Tarkan Der than he or Kiot were.
The days went on. Once there was a storm and they were all seasick. Afterwards there were calm days and Halla talked to the porpoises that played round the ship and half thought of joining them, such delight as was in the slither, the dive upwards into warm air, the feel of dryness momentarily on the skin, light momentarily on the dazzled eyes, and then the dive downward into wet coolness and translucency. But perhaps, she thought, it would not work out that way for me. Fire I know, but water makes me think of mermaids, and so do the tails of the porpoises. And there is no dragon here to get me out of it if I make a mistake.
And then the uneasiness of the men began to increase. It all began with a low headland that came into sight, greenish, with a long sand-bar that the boat stood well out from. After that they stayed all the time by the rail, watching. Or Tarkan Der turned his back on it, staring out, instead, over the enormous unbounded sea on the other side. This went on for two days, and then Roddin and Kiot began to get their bundles together. Each in turn, they tried once more to persuade Tarkan Der to come back with them. He would not come. And now they were turning inland into Marob harbour. He hid himself in under the foredeck among ropes and sails. Halla went to look for him; he had turned bearish, in a den, head buried between paws. When she spoke, kneeling beside him, he pulled her down suddenly on to the cold sail, arm heavy on her neck, his wet cheek by hers. For a time th
ey stayed so. If he could sleep, she thought, sleep through the unhappy months, the heart’s hunger, the months of death and cold and not having what you most want, and wake with time gone past and blurred and a new year coming. But perhaps it is too early in the year, she thought after that, and besides, he is not a bear.
She moved away from him gently and covered him in with a spare sail. The ship was making fast. The other two were ready to go. Halla went with them, but she said she would be back before sunset, when the ship sailed again. She had heard so much about this place of theirs. And now it was real. And now someone had seen them and known them, bent quickly to kiss their hands, hurried them up from the harbour and into a house. They had become part of it again. She followed.
They were speaking quickly and low, while Halla looked round, seeing the things in the house a little different from things in other houses: the water-pot and the meal chest, the way the hearth for the fire was built, the fish-nets weighted with Marob stones, the harness for Marob oxen, the hinge on the shutter, the sneck on the door, the pattern in the weaving, all making up to another way of doing and other words for what is done. She saw Roddin’s face smooth over with gladness and he turned to her, saying that his wife and children had taken refuge in time with her father, who had kept them safe. His own house had been seized by the Governor, most likely everything was gone, the horses, the furnishings—but that did not matter—nothing mattered. And the Governor had been recalled, had gone back with the Imperial despatch boat, in anger and violence; yes, people had been killed in the last days, things destroyed. But it was known that the three who had set out for Byzantium had done what Marob wanted them to do.
More people came into the room; it was hot and darkened with them. One asked about Tarkan Der. “He is never coming back,” said Roddin. Then one of them nodded and said that it was not only Sweetfeather. But also Yillit had come back too soon and had been caught and killed in the last days, and also in a shocking way. Roddin turned to Halla: “That was his young brother, whom he had thought safe. He need never know what happened.” And Halla nodded.
There were still friends of the old Governor about, who swore that he would come back. It would be best for Roddin and Kiot to keep hidden until the new Governor came and all was well and there could be thanksgiving. But meanwhile God could be thanked for His mercies in many hearts. Kiot looked sad and grave at this, but then another man came in. He was wearing the dress of a priest, but simple, and there was kindness in his whole look. He and Roddin and Kiot kissed one another and made the cross sign, and it seemed to Halla suddenly that those two had come back into something they needed for their life, like the porpoise diving back into its own water world.
Now some of the people had gone out of the house and now the light was beginning to glow and come shallowly into the room through the low window opening, and Halla knew she must go. She said good-bye quickly and the two men touched her face and hands and the folds of All-Father’s cloak, and she went back to the harbour and aboard. The captain of the ship was getting ready to cast off, for he had a fair land wind to take him out to sea.
As they drew out of Marob harbour she went down and pulled the sail quietly away from over Tarkan Der. He looked at her and there was dust on her sandals, and he was staring at that. And she said: “I will wash it off.” He gave a little nod and covered his ears against with his hands, waiting until they were well out of hearing and at last out of sight of land.
Chapter Three
Fire
So now they were going north again and it was getting less warm and they came to the flat delta and sandy coast, the stain of the great river flowing into the sea, and so to Olbia. It was queer, but Tarkan Der was getting better now. He could even sing a little. It was the same as the forest birds in the first days of spring, thought Halla, when the sun warmth began to soak through their cold feathers. Soon enough they were singing all days. So now he sang to himself, walking through the main street of Olbia, one arm round Halla, looking for other travelers who were going by the east way, up the river and so on to Holmgard or Novgorod or however they called it. He was doing the asking himself, would not let her help him. Their speech in Olbia was not too different from his own in Marob, and there were always some that spoke Greek. Now that he would have no more need, ever, of that, it seemed that he wanted to speak it. They came down to the quays along the side of the river. Out of the corner of her eye, Halla saw the shadowy flitting of rats over and among the heaped grain sacks. She stepped back and questioned them. Who knew better the movements of ships?
Yes, there was a river ship loading now, thirty good rat-runs away up the quay. She told Tarkan Der. “Halla Pathfinder!” he said, and suddenly took her in both arms and kissed her. She disengaged herself, uneasy about this and yet for all that so much liking Tarkan Der and wanting his good. He did not repeat it, only held her hand and sometimes swung it. When they got to the big, broad-bottomed river boat he bargained cleverly, and there was space set aside for Halla. In a short while the boat was loaded and they began to pole her out from the quayside and the dodging bright rat-eyes watching them go.
Upstream they went, using what wind there was in the square, heavy sails, but with slaves at the oars all day, tugging them along against the current. Now Halla was sorry for the slaves and spoke to them in what each knew, in a dim surprise, to have been once his own tongue. But Tarkan Der looked at them being tired out and hurt, and did not care. For a time mercy was dead in him.
They came to Kiev, which she remembered. There was fighting there between two kings. A man came down to the ship and spoke to the captain and then to Tarkan Der, asking him to join in the war, promising good pay. There was wine poured and drunk. Tarkan Der was speaking in a voice that Halla, standing a little way off in the prow of the ship, had not heard on him before. At last he shouted her name and she came, and he asked her, should he go or not go and fight for the Prince of Kiev against his enemies? “What is this war?” asked Halla. The man said eagerly that it was a war against rebels who must be crushed before they became strong. “This prince,” said Halla, “is he a just governor?”
The man began to speak, but Tarkan Der’s face and voice had changed. “I had forgotten,” he said, “but I am a Christian.”
“But the Prince is a Christian,” said the man. “He has built a great Church, a wonder of the world, He has founded nunneries—”
“I had forgotten,” said Tarkan Der, “I have to go further, I am not landing here.” And the man went away angry, swearing there would be punishment, but Tarkan Der did not care at all.
Yet the next day when they set off again, he was frowning and troubled and not speaking much. At night he asked Halla to let him sleep under the cloak, for he was not sure whether he had acted right and he needed guidance, and maybe God would send him a dream. Halla, though she did not like to very much, let him have her cloak for one night; she herself slept well enough under his. In the morning he gave her back the dark-blue fold. “Did you get a dream?” she asked. “It smells of you,” he said and looked at her deep. But her thoughts were a bear’s thoughts. “It is my fur!” she said and took it away from him. After that, as always, morning and evening, they knelt and prayed. Sometimes those in the boat that called themselves Christian knelt and prayed with them. But without Kiot and Roddin it was not the same. And every day they went further north.
There came a time and place when the river boat had discharged and sold all the cargo from the south, Byzantium and beyond, the wine and olives and dried fruit, the woven stuffs, glassware, cups and bowls, and some smaller things of gilt and bronze. They had taken on hides, corn, wool and some goods which had come from far north or east, amber especially. The captain showed them how a piece of amber, rubbed, would catch a fly and in time would eat it up—for see, here was amber with the fleck of a fly deep within it. “It is like God’s will,” said Tarkan Der, and Halla was not sure what he had in his mind.
But the river boat must turn and go
south again, to Olbia, and the things she had loaded would be unloaded and noted by the rats on the quay and then they would be loaded again and go far overseas to Marob and Byzantium. And those who would go further by the east way must either go with a small slow boat on the shallowing river or overland, and they must lose no time, for autumn was coming and the time of snow and the bears’ sleep and no travelling. Tarkan Der had still some money left, for the others had left him with almost all they had. It was Greek money, gold, with the little, ugly image of the Purple-born, and they weighed it in careful scales, both sides watching, against weights which they had agreed were just.
So he hired horses and they went the next part of their journey in a caravan, from one stopping place to the next. Tarkan Der talked as well as he could with the other men about weapons, war and hunting, and the customs of the cities and the laws of Holmgard, which were strict and full of justice and a keeping of peace and respect for a bargain made. It would have been easier to talk if Halla had interpreted, but most of the time he did not ask her to, and she rode behind the men and talked to herself or to any other being they might happen to come across. These horses, overworked, hired to one master after another and treated as things, had little to say. But there were cranes and herons circling who had news of a kind, and sometimes beavers, though they were much too busy for light conversation, since logs of wood were their treasure and their plans all to do with the getting of it.
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