Wolfsangel

by M. D. Lachlan

  ‘If, prince, you’re here again with some fancy plan about how we can win battles without fighting, then save your breath. A man goes into war thinking only of his foe to his front and his friend at his side, not weighed down with schemes. Raid and fight or stay put, that’s the deal. Take it or leave it and don’t ask me again. We’ve been here too many times before, haven’t we, lads?’

  A couple of the bodyguard nodded and said that they had. Vali had repeatedly annoyed Forkbeard with his contention that planning could win a battle more effectively than direct attack. Forkbeard had always just asked him where glory fitted into his schemes.

  ‘I have not come about that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I want you to release me from my marriage pact with your daughter. I am not the son you want, and the Rygir deserve a better, stronger prince than me.’

  Forkbeard snorted. ‘You’re right there, son.’

  Vali’s heart skipped.

  The king lifted his beard and licked the soup off it. He seemed to ponder for a moment.

  ‘But forget it. Too many questions if I release you - half the kings along the coast would think I was planning to have a go at Authun. And, worst still, so might he. That is a war-loving fellow indeed. Ain’t that right, lads?’ The bodyguard said that it was.

  ‘My father will not take offence, and he has not raised a sword these ten years.’ Even though Forkbeard was not given to niceties, Vali instinctively gave him the respect of high speech.

  ‘Too long for a man like that,’ said Forkbeard. ‘I tell you, son, if I could think of a way to stop this marriage then I would. Your children will be weaklings, but what can I do?’

  ‘Find another prince, lord.’

  Forkbeard shook his head. ‘Your old dad wouldn’t like it,’ he said, ‘but, as it happens, there might be a way out after all. Hogni, get up here.’

  The young man in the silk shirt came forward and bowed to Vali and Forkbeard.

  ‘Hogni son of Morthi,’ he said, ‘messenger to King Authun.’

  So that was where Vali had seen him, at Authun’s court.

  ‘Tell the prince what his father has said.’

  The man bowed again and looked slightly nervous.

  ‘Go on,’ said Forkbeard. ‘No one gets the chop here without my leave. It’s me who’s asked you to speak to him, so say what Authun told you. If the prince wants to pick a fight about it he can pick one with me, and that’s a bit of trouble he won’t want, I can tell you.’

  ‘That’s right!’ said a bodyguard.

  Hogni glanced at Forkbeard and then addressed Vali precisely and formally. ‘Exalted King Forkbeard, terror of the south, mighty in battle, lord of the Rygir, know that it is my wish that my idle son be shaken from his life of ease. Reports tell me that he ignores arms, counsel and raiding in favour of conversation with women. Let him prove himself. The land to the north of our kingdoms is beset by bandits. Merchants, shepherds and farmers all fear attack from the savage men who plague the Troll Mountains. Truly these men are wolves, sorcerers able to assume the form of that monstrous animal, striking down with fury and viciousness all that cross them, invulnerable to weapons and murderous in intent. Seven of my own men have died trying to wipe out this scourge. My son will bring you the head of one before midsummer. If he does not, then I leave it to you to impose a meaningful penalty.’

  Vali looked at the man and then back to Forkbeard.

  ‘Why this? Why now?’

  ‘Who are you whying?’ said Forkbeard.

  Vali ignored his belligerence. ‘It makes no difference to my request. Release me from the pact with your daughter and allow Adisla to marry me, or at least forbid her from marrying anyone else.’

  Forkbeard looked to the rafters.‘That farm girl is the cause of all the bother in my life. I have less problems with the bastard Danes than I do with her!’ He lowered his eyes and stared straight at Vali. ‘Return with a wolfman’s head - no, better for proof, the whole man - or your Adisla is Odin’s bride at the summer blöt. She’ll hang to please the god.’

  Vali went pale.

  The bride of Odin was a tradition almost never celebrated in individual kingdoms. He had heard that on great feast days, when kings from all over the land met for a festival, a blöt, there were human sacrifices, but Forkbeard had never insisted on one before.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ said Vali.

  Forkbeard sipped from a jewelled drinking cup, booty from a raid. Vali thought of the Odin-blind berserks and the needless deaths they had caused, thought of the stupid frenzy that had exposed his kinsmen to danger and the valuable slave hanged on the returning boat. One day he would drink Odin’s blood, tear that god down and make him pay for his corpse lust.

  ‘Can’t I?’ said Forkbeard. He leaned forward and said in a forceful whisper, ‘I might have to go running to the assembly to get my laws passed but religion is my turf and mine alone.’ Now he stood and shouted, ‘I’m the king, the top boy, Odin’s priest on earth, bargaining with the god, telling all you lot what he wants for his favours! Do you get that?’ He sat again, but he was pointing at Vali. ‘Well, he wants this girl for his bride unless you bring him the head of his enemy, the wolfman. Your father reckons you’ve got what it takes. I don’t. We’ll see who’s right. I expect you’ll die even before you get to the wolfman, which’ll suit me down to the ground as I’ll be able to get someone with a bit of balls about him for my daughter. And you’ll have the consolation of knowing that your farm girl will be filling your cup in the halls of the slain.’

  ‘You can’t take a free-born woman and sacrifice her. The people will know she didn’t volunteer,’ said Vali.

  Forkbeard shook his head.

  ‘She’s a threat to the kingdom, lad! And it’s you who’s made her one. The people will understand why she had to die. And if the gods want to stop it, then they’ll bring you success. Seems straight enough to me. What don’t you understand?’

  Vali stood shaking. He wanted to shout that if Adisla died, it wouldn’t be the head of the wolf that he presented to the people of Rogaland but that of Forkbeard himself, but he saw now how stupid he had been, how artless. He should have hidden his true thoughts from others, participated in their chaotic attacks, bragged about the slaughter of old men and boys. As a respected warrior he would be in a much better position. Forkbeard would treat him seriously, would ban Adisla’s marriage at least. He wouldn’t even need to ban it. If word of his displeasure reached the prospective groom’s house, he would never go through with his suit. Now this. And what if he couldn’t find the wolfman? His only option would be to challenge Forkbeard to single combat. He was confident he could survive on a battlefield but a one-on-one duel with a man who had cut his way to kingship was a different thing. Never mind. If Forkbeard tried to harm Adisla then Vali would defend her.

  ‘This is a perilous course for all of us,’ said Vali.

  ‘Perilous courses are my favourite sort,’ said Forkbeard. ‘Remember, kings are made for glory, not long life.’

  Vali tried to reply with something like he would have said to Bragi - ‘If you have the wit, you can combine both’ or ‘You seem to have lived to a respectable age’ - but the words seemed lodged in his throat.

  ‘I’m up at the assembly of kings at Nidarnes until midsummer. It is a month. Return with the wolfman by then or watch your farm girl hang,’ said Forkbeard.

  ‘And then will you excuse me marrying your daughter?’

  ‘Not a chance. You’ll have proved yourself a great warrior. Your girl’ll live, that’s all. Now get out of here before I change my mind on that one too.’

  Vali saw how he had been forced into a situation where the best he could hope for was that things would remain as they had been. The worst? Well, that wasn’t going to happen. The chances of finding wolfmen, let alone capturing one, were terribly slim. A different plan was needed. Adisla would have to marry her farmer immediately. That would make it much more difficult for Fo
rkbeard to take her as a sacrifice. It would mean they would never be together but she would live. And he would still have to go on his mission. He was sure he wouldn’t return.

  For the second time that day, he ran the distance between Forkbeard’s hall and Adisla’s house, pushing himself ever faster. Halfway there he heard hooves behind him - three riders of the king’s bodyguard, their purpose clear. They were riding bareback, with only bridles on the horses. They hadn’t had time to saddle up because they were trying to beat him to the farm.

  The horses slowed as they approached. They were on a narrow track through trees and he moved to bar their path.

  ‘You stop there!’ shouted Vali. ‘As a prince I command you to stop.’

  The horses drew up. The riders were armed - one with a sword and two with spears - but he felt sure they wouldn’t attack him.

  The swordsman drew his weapon and pointed it at Vali - it was Ageirr, who had told him the news of Adisla’s marriage in the first place. ‘Where are your arms, prince? Ah, but you are Vali the Swordless, hearth hugger and thrall friend, aren’t you? How do you propose to stop us? With the words you learned from the women? Or are you going to speak our enemies’ language at us?’

  The other two laughed, though slightly nervously. Vali was after all a prince, and they knew very well that at some point he might have the power of life and death over them.

  Vali was desperate. ‘I’ll pay you to let me go first. On oath, you’ll have money if you do so.’

  Where Vali would get this money from, he didn’t know. Maybe he could sell the helmet his father had given him, if he could get it back off Bragi.

  ‘We are sworn defenders of the king,’ said a spearman. ‘There is no money that can sway us from his orders.’ He urged his horse forward at a trot.

  As he came past, Vali lunged for him, grabbing his tunic and pulling him from the animal’s back. The horse was spooked and bolted, streaming the reins behind it. The other two kicked their mounts forward and around the pair brawling on the ground. ‘See you at the slut’s house!’ shouted Ageirr as he passed.

  Vali jumped up in useless desperation.

  The bodyguard followed him and dusted himself down.

  ‘A fair smack, prince, weapon or no weapon, I grant you that,’ he said. Then he looked to the ground. ‘I’m sorry for what’s to happen to her. She is a fine girl.’

  ‘Save your words for your horse,’ said Vali, turning to run through the trees to the farm.

  She was gone, of course, when he arrived. Disa was waiting in the doorway. He had never seen her so angry.

  ‘What have you done?’ she said.

  Vali felt hot and wretched. ‘How is she? Where have they taken her?’

  ‘She’s at Forkbeard’s hall. She’s perfectly well and likely to remain so until they hang her. What are you going to do about it, boy? What are you going to do?’

  Vali’s body felt full of energy. He was bursting to go somewhere, to do something, to make it all go away, but even as he said the words, they sounded unconvincing. ‘I’ll do as Forkbeard demands - I’ll find the wolfmen.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I . . . I’ll go north and walk around until they attack me.’

  For the first time in his life Vali saw Disa’s eyes fill with tears.

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, you useless fool. That’ll be two of you dead if you do.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to Forkbeard’s hall and fight him for her.’

  ‘You’ll fight Forkbeard, a man who killed his first enemy at twelve and who has murdered more people than you have ever seen. You fight Forkbeard, you’ll . . .’

  She wiped her eyes. Bragi was watching from where he was sitting beneath a tree. He had decided long ago that the best way to keep an eye on the prince was to spend time at Disa’s himself.

  ‘You, old man, you go with him.’

  ‘I was told the order yesterday, madam. The boy is to go alone.’

  ‘You knew, and sat there drinking at my table?’

  ‘I knew he was to go; I knew nothing of the fate of your girl, on my oath.’

  Disa composed herself.

  ‘Will you lend him your sword at least? It’s the best blade in the kingdom.’

  ‘It would be my dearest wish,’ said Bragi.

  ‘Then come on,’ said Disa. ‘We have no time to waste. Come inside.’

  ‘I need to go now. I need to find this wolfman,’ said Vali.

  ‘That,’ said Disa, ‘is exactly what we are going to do. Get Ma Jodis; we have work to do.’

  11 An Invitation

  Word of what was happening spread throughout the little farmsteads and curiosity drew a crowd. They packed into Disa’s house so tightly that she had to drive some of them outside.

  While they waited for Jodis to come, Disa took a pack from her shelf and began to stuff it with food - bread, some cheese, honey in a pot sealed with cloth - and other things. She was talking, as much to herself as to Vali.

  ‘You’ll need food, for a little way at least, and something to light your fire. I’ll put in some webs and yarrow for wounds. The honey’s not to be eaten; you can put that on any cuts you get too. Long root will give strength to your blood and mint will keep you watchful. This,’ she said, holding up a small flask, ‘is to be taken in small quantities when you are well hidden and sure to be safe from enemies. It will help you sleep through the white nights, no matter how hard the bed, though you need no more than a drop. Five drops in a man’s glass will see him sleep so soundly he cannot be woken for a day - you may need to resort to such measures if you are hard-pressed. Here is wolfsbane, to take away pain, again only a drop. Now, what else?’

  As she scoured her shelves Bragi came in with his sword. Disa took it from him without a word and put it next to the pack. All the time Vali was stewing in his shame. He had condemned Adisla to death because he had considered only himself, not her.

  ‘This,’ said Ma Disa, holding open a small bag of mushrooms and dried flowers, ‘is what the berserks use. Boil it with water and drink it as hot as you can bear.’

  Vali was going to protest, to say he didn’t want anything to do with berserker magic. He couldn’t really see a situation where he would have time for what amounted to cooking before a fight but, he thought, best take it and be grateful.

  Jodis came in, smacking him hard over the back of the head.

  ‘I heard. You’re a fool, prince, and the gods help the Horda if you ever become their king.’ Ma Jodis was a big bustling woman with arms like pork hams and the blow hurt. Vali accepted it, though. He’d known her since he was a small child and almost regarded it as her right to cuff him around the ears if she wanted to.

  The women exchanged a long look.

  ‘Begin?’ said Jodis.

  Disa nodded.

  The women went to the centre of the room and started work, stoking up the fire, moving goats, chickens, benches and stools out of the way, pushing the curious to where they would cause least interference.

  They brought in a table, which was positioned very close to the fire. On the table was placed a chest, pulled through the throng of onlookers. As this was done Disa shook down her hair. Jodis caught it up in her hands, tying it at the back in three tight knots. Vali shivered. He knew what they were - the hanging knots of the dead lord’s necklace - symbol of Odin, the god he had come to hate.

  The women’s actions were accompanied by a whispered commentary, as those who could see passed news of what was happening to those who could not.

  ‘She’s tying her hair.’

  ‘She’s becoming the bride of Odin.’

  ‘If she hangs herself then the god might save the girl.’

  ‘That terrible fellow wants someone to swing, no mistake.’

  ‘He is lord of the hanged, a mighty god indeed!’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid - Ma Disa’s death won’t save the girl.’

  Some voices praised Odin almost ecstatically. Others were quieter but disapp
roving of what they saw. The poorer people, those who had the hard pasture and mean dwellings, thought that destiny lay in the hands of the gods. The richer farmers, or those who had enjoyed successful raiding, were more inclined to say they had made their own luck and put less trust in the divine.