Far After Gold

by Jen Black

  Flane’s breathing slowed but he did not move. “I told you earlier. Have you forgotten? When I found out she’d set the dogs after you, I told her to get another husband.”

  She leaned across and tweaked a strand of his silver hair. “And you’re still alive? You’ve got a dirty mark on your tunic, look.”

  He twisted his head in an effort to look over his shoulder. “It’s not dirt. It’s most likely blood.”

  He told her of striking Katla, Skuli’s interference and his punishment.

  “He whipped you? Oh, my goodness.” Emer, wide-eyed with horror, clapped a hand to her mouth. “Your back, you…Oh, Flane, I knew there was something wrong, but I was so pleased to see you, I…. Does it hurt? Of course it must hurt. I don’t know how you managed to…We should never have—you should have said something. Can I do anything to help?”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”

  She sucked her lower lip doubtfully as she thought what it all meant for them. “So it’s not only me who can’t go back to the steading. What shall we do?”

  “You can help me up.”

  She scrambled to her feet, gave him her hands and her support as he got to his feet in several stages. “This is what I’ll be like when I’m old and decrepit,” he muttered. Once upright, they faced each other in the moonlight and, like iron filings to a magnet, his hands went to her breasts.

  “You’d better do something about this,” he said, indicating her smooth curves. “It’s distracting me so much I can’t think.”

  “Don’t look is the answer.” She disengaged his hands and tugged her gown back over her shoulders, shrugged it into place and hunted around in the grass for the brooch-pin to hold the neck of her dress together.

  “What are we going to do?” It was only as she said it that she realised she was now thinking of herself and Flane as a couple. The most surprising thing of all was that Flane didn’t object.

  ***

  When Flane untied the dogs they milled happily around his legs. Emer stayed by the horse and watched warily, but they made no effort to attack her. Flane used a rock as a mounting block and Emer carefully took her place in front of him. At a sedate pace, they rode back along the trail, with the hounds loping alongside.

  In spite of the pain, Flane found huge satisfaction, even pleasure, in the slow ride home through the cool of night. Everything seemed so much clearer than before. He looked down. Emer’s cheek pressed heavily against his chest, and her eyes had closed. Flane folded his arms around her, unable to imagine the horrors she had endured on the impossibly narrow ledge in the darkness, and marvelled at her resilience.

  There was light enough to pick his way home. The dogs were silent, fleet-footed companions, and a reassuring presence in the moonlight. When they forged silently ahead, vanished into the gloom and growled at something, Flane tapped his heels against the horse’s side and soon found the cause of the disturbance.

  “What are you doing out here?” A small figure perched on a large rock with the hounds slobbering around the base.

  Oli clutched Grendel close against his side. “Flane? At last! We’ve been wondering when you’d come back.”

  “We? Who else is here?” Flane felt Emer’s weight shift.

  Oli grinned. “Only me. Emer!”

  The dogs milled about, and then broke away and loped off toward the settlement. Oli scrambled down from his rock and ran to the horse’s head. “I came to warn you. Skuli Grey Cloak is still angry. You’d better not go into the settlement.”

  Flane swore silently. If he took Emer back into the hall now, it would be like leaving a chicken in a roomful of foxes. “Emer? Are you awake? Good. Listen. I need to hide you somewhere while I go back into the hall.”

  “She can hide in my secret den!”

  Emer shuddered. “No, Oli. Not there!”

  The horse, impatient for home, shook its head. Flane allowed it to walk on. “I’d be afraid if you left me there alone all night,” he said, grinning down at the boy hanging on to his stirrup. “We need somewhere more comfortable, and a little closer to the hall. What about the stables? Or one of the hay barns? Or—I know! The bathing place!” He looked down into the pale blur of Emer’s face. “What do you think? Oli can bed down with you for company. You’ll both be safe enough there.”

  “What are you going to do?” Her voice was soft and tired. He remembered how far she had walked in the last two days. “I’ll talk to Skeggi first of all.” He glanced at Oli. “Where is he?”

  “Waiting for you in the hall. He’ll know what’s been happening in the steading,” Oli said. “We’re nearly there.”

  “Emer, can you slip down from the horse? Oli will take you to the bathing hut. I’ll bring some food later and tell you what we’re going to do.”

  “Why can’t I come with you?”

  He could tell from her voice she hadn’t woken up properly and smiled grimly in the darkness. “Hel is going to break loose from the underworld when I go into the hall tonight. I want you safe and secure somewhere else.”

  “Oh, Flane, I don’t mind. I’ll stay quiet as a mouse.”

  He swung her down from the horse, and looked at Oli. “You know what to do?”

  The boy nodded, seized Emer’s hand and plunged off toward the loch with Grendel dancing at their heels. He watched them go and then nudged the horse on toward the settlement.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Yellow light flared invitingly through the smoke-holes under the hall eaves, but Flane headed his tired horse to the stables. Once there, he rubbed it down, found oats and tipped a handful into a wooden bowl. The pony snuffled, and then plunged its nose straight in. Long whiskers tickled his knuckles as it lipped up the oats.

  Flane leant one shoulder against the wall, closed his eyes and thought about what might happen when he went into the hall. He was short on sleep, and his back was sore, but it couldn’t be helped. His mind was made up. He was leaving the steading at first light, and Emer and Oli were going with him; he was quite clear on that. It was more a case of whether Skeggi was willing to leave with him, and how and where they would go.

  He might be able to slide unnoticed into the hall, but he doubted it. He hoped Katla would remember her dignity and not cause a scene. Hopefully she would have retired for the night. He smiled wryly. That meant he would only have Skuli Grey Cloak to face. He left the pony enjoying its feed, walked across the open ground toward the hall and slid in through the main door. He was not going to skulk in through the byre door like a child at this stage in his life.

  There was no one in the hall who could best him in a fight, except perhaps Skuli Grey Cloak himself; but Skuli, thirty years older, had not fought in public for the last decade. He had chosen others, Flane included, to fight on his behalf. Skuli would not challenge him over something as trivial as the withdrawal of a marriage proposal; especially not when he had always preferred the match with Snorri Longnose.

  The blast of warm, smoky air hit Flane after the cool, quiet ride through the night and made his eyes water. He closed the door softly behind him and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. The settlement’s skald perched on a stool by the hearth and rattled his way through the oft-told tale of Thor and the hideous serpent Jormungand, and never looked beyond his audience. Most folk sat round about the hearth, listening. Oft-told it might be, but the tale nevertheless held the audience spellbound, and few showed any curiosity in the latecomer. Flane was thankful his bed space was so near the door.

  In two strides he joined Skeggi, who looked as if he had been there for some time. The blanket was littered with wood shavings and he held the almost finished flute in his hands. With his back to the wall, legs crossed at the ankles and a hunk of bread and cheese on a wooden platter at his side, he looked comfortable and content. Beneath the hanging curls, his brown gaze sharpened as he saw Flane. “Did you find her?”

  Flane nodded. He looked round before he spoke, but there was no one to overhear him. “She’s at the bathin
g place with Oli. I couldn’t bring her in here.” He eased himself onto his bed, shuffled behind the partition that shielded him from the gaze of everyone in the hall and nodded toward the bread and cheese. “Are you going to eat that?”

  Skeggi looked at the platter as if he’d forgotten it was there. He pushed it toward Flane, who seized the bread and sank his teeth into it. After a quick swallow, he gestured toward the food. “Can you get something over to the bathing hut? I don’t know about Oli, but Emer will be hungry.”

  Skeggi grimaced. “Anything else?”

  Flane nodded. “More of Inga’s salve on my back, and something to drink. They can light a candle, but don’t let them light a fire. Someone would see it.”

  Skeggi attended to Flane’s back, brought food and discreetly left the hall. Flane went on eating, caught a slave’s eye and mimed a request for an ale horn. By the time it arrived, he handed over the empty platter and asked for more. He laid his sword on the bed beside him, sat cross-legged and devoured the bowl of cold stew when it came. He poured a golden stream of ale down his throat, then propped the horn in the wooden holder he’d made last winter, belched, lay on his stomach and let his eyes close.

  It seemed only moments later when a rough hand shook him. Oli’s white, panicked face was all the warning Flane needed. A shiver ran through him. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, couldn’t remember closing his eyes. Skeggi hadn’t come back with more salve, so he couldn’t have slept for more than a few minutes. “Oli, what—”

  “Gamel—he’s hitting Emer! Come quick!”

  Flane was already on his feet, swearing at the pain caused by the sudden movement. “Not again!” he hissed. “Does that man never learn?” He glanced at his sword, left it where it was and ran for the door. Oli tore after him but was soon several yards behind Flane.

  Skeggi, coming in from the side door, flung the bowl and cloths onto the bed and ran after them both. Heads turned. Murmurs and whispers spread from person to person. Skuli Grey Cloak rose to his feet and turned to the door.

  Flane ran across the uneven ground, ignoring the raw pain of his back. Inga’s salve would take care of it in a little while. He wrenched open the door to the bathing hut and stormed inside.

  The single candle tucked away in the corner gave little light, but a masculine voice filled the air with curses. Flane stalked forward, gripped the man by the shoulder and hurled him to one side. Gamel thudded into the wooden wall, rebounded and dropped to his knees, snarling.

  Emer was curled up tight on the floor, knees to her chest, arms over her head. Her harsh gasping breaths filled the room and the sound added to the red haze of anger that swirled around inside Flane’s head.

  He took a deep breath, knelt stiffly at Emer’s side and said softly, “I won’t let him hurt you.” She lifted her head just as the door smacked open and Skeggi rushed in with Oli close on his heels. “Look out!” The man’s baritone and the boy’s treble blended together in warning.

  Flane sprang up, already turning as Gamel rushed upon him. His wrist blocked the blow that would have taken the shining knife blade to his throat. With a yell of rage he rattled Gamel back against the wall. Gamel thrust the knife toward Flane’s chest. Flane chopped down on Gamel’s wrist and slammed it against his uplifted knee. He didn’t care if he broke the man’s other wrist. The knife dropped to the floor.

  “Skeggi, see to Emer,” Flane snapped without looking round, his back a red sheet of pain that pulsed through him. He kicked Gamel’s knife out of the way and watched it rebound off the hearthstone and come to rest against the thick fleece laid by the fire. His lips drew back from his teeth as he glared at Gamel.

  Something wet, sticky and with a familiar yet pungent aroma trickled down the front of Gamel’s grubby shirt and over the wrapping on his broken arm. It occurred to Flane that the useless limb probably accounted for the fact that Emer had been able to hold him off for so long. It also made him wonder about the mental state of a man who attempted to force himself on an unwilling woman when hampered by a broken arm.

  “As for you, you stinking apology for a Viking—”

  Gamel leered. “Why do you make such a fuss about—?”

  Flane’s fist lifted.

  “Leave him!” Skuli Grey Cloak’s roar cut through whatever else Gamel might have said. The chieftain strode across the wooden floor, his steps reverberating in the sudden silence.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Flane watched with contempt as Gamel slid away from him and went to stand behind Skuli’s shoulder. Skuli Grey Cloak stood to one side of the hearth. Skeggi had laid a protective arm about Emer, and Oli crouched beside her in the far corner. Curious faces crowded the open door, and the candle in the corner guttered and threatened to go out in the sudden draught.

  Gamel hooked his shirt back into place with his good hand, stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak. Skuli’s upraised hand made him close it again. Skuli Grey Cloak was glaring at Emer. “Every time there is trouble in the settlement, this slave is in the middle of it. She causes trouble everywhere, even within my own family.”

  Gamel snickered, but Flane kept quiet. Skuli frowned. “Well?”

  Flane hesitated. “I will take the trouble-making slave with me. It is time, lord, for me to go a-voyaging, and seek land of my own.”

  A murmur of voices came from the doorway, but inside the hut there was silence. Then Skuli said, “You have no ship.”

  Flane bowed his head. “True, lord. I thought to visit Olaf Barnisson, and see where his ship takes me.”

  Skuli grunted, as if accepting the inevitable. “You must do what you will. But first, I will have compensation from you.”

  “You shall have the money by morning, lord.”

  Skuli hooked his thumbs inside his broad leather belt. “What of this grudge between you and Gamel?” Skuli glanced from one man to the other. “It is not the first time you two have come to blows.”

  “He attacked my woman,” Flane said calmly. “I call his life forfeit.”

  Skuli considered Gamel. “So be it. We will lay out the hólmgang in the morning.”

  Gamel blustered, pointing to his injured arm. “How can I fight a fit man?”

  “It is not your sword arm,” Flane retorted, “and I am hardly fit after yesterday’s whipping.”

  Skuli Grey Cloak nodded. “Tomorrow. So be it.”

  Flane bowed his head, satisfied with his lord’s decision. Gamel shuffled from foot to foot and cast a shifty glance around the room as if wishing himself elsewhere. Flane wondered if Gamel would vanish during the night. Honour, courage and honesty were the three things that ruled a man’s life and if Gamel ran like a coward, then he would seal his own fate; he would be outcast and treated as if dead already.

  Flane would step into the hólmgang at the appointed hour and fight Gamel till the first drop of blood should be spilled. He permitted himself a wry smile. Given half a chance he might even kill Gamel and walk away a free man, although a poor one. Skuli nodded, satisfied, turned and strode through the door. Gamel jumped and followed him. Flane walked over and shut the door behind them both.

  “Your back! Flane, your back!” Oli and Emer’s voices blended into one screech.

  Flane leaned his arm against the door and let his brow touch his wrist. In truth, his back pained him more now the danger was over. He guessed it would hurt a good deal worse than this very soon. He glanced behind him, found Emer’s white face in the gloom and smiled. He received a small, wavering smile in return.

  Oli wanted to know what had happened to Flane’s back, so Skeggi explained, briefly. Oli fell backwards onto a heap of sheepskins and drummed his heels against the wooden floor. “I missed it! Thor’s balls! I missed it!”

  The adults barely gave him a brief glance. Skeggi stood up. “What happens now?”

  Flane walked slowly across the hut and offered both hands to Emer. She scrambled up, hardly daring to use him as a support, burrowed straight into his arms and buried her face in
his shoulder. Flane met Skeggi’s eyes over her head. “Emer and I will stay here tonight. You and Oli should go back to the hall. You,” he said, glancing at Oli, “may sleep in my bed.”

  Oli grinned. “What about tomorrow? The hólmgang? I’ve never seen one.”

  “Skeggi will tell you all you want to know.”

  In response to Flane’s small, impatient flick of the head, Skeggi grasped Oli’s shirt collar and dragged him, protesting, to the door. “What do you want to know?” Their voices died away, and Flane was free to look down at the girl clinging to him like a limpet to a rock. Her whole body trembled and shuddered.

  “Shall I light a fire? Everyone knows we’re here now, so there’s no need to hide away in the dark.” He drew her toward the candle. “Let me look at you, Emer.” She seemed unable to meet his eye, so Flane nudged her chin with his finger until she did. What he saw made him clench his jaw.

  Her hair was a tangled mess. Strands hung over her eyes, and vibrated with her trembling. A thread of blood ran from the corner of her lip, and a dark smudge covered one cheek. It would be a spectacular bruise come morning. Gently, he used his thumb to wipe the blood from her chin.

  “I fought him for such a long time,” she whispered. “He’ll have at least one bruise tomorrow to remember me by.” Her voice strengthened and her head lifted. “But he was so much stronger…if he had used both arms…I’m glad Oli found you quickly. It makes me ill to think what would have happened if…if he hadn’t.”

  “Gamel seemed to be covered in soap.”

  “That’s because I broke the biggest soap jar over his head.” She pointed to a scatter of pottery shards and a dark, spreading pool advancing slowly from the corner behind her. “He staggered, fell over and sat on his backside, so I think it hurt him.”

  He grinned down at her, and received a brief, shaky smile in response. “Come, sit down and I’ll get a fire going. Have you eaten?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I feel sick. Skeggi brought food almost as soon as we got here.”