He rolled off her. The straw scratched at him. She didn’t even say anything; just made a sound in her throat, a mixture of disappointment and disgust. He felt her buck her hips next to him as she struggled to adjust her clothes.
‘Fucking wimp,’ she spat as she rose and stormed off.
Ulfar didn’t care, wouldn’t have cared even if he was considerably less drunk. Still, if he hadn’t been so busy drinking away his winnings he wouldn’t have boned her – or tried to, at any rate.
He snorted, rolled his eyes and mumbled something that might have been a joke as he tugged up his breeches and pulled himself to a position that was almost standing. When he stumbled outside the stables, the cold air hit him like a slap in the face. All the smells of the autumn night were amplified; the manure, the sour reek of horse-piss and wet hay, the rotting leaves in the forest just past the fence. His stomach lurched and he felt the bile rising. He leaned against the wall and fought it back down with great effort.
There was no denying it any longer.
‘I fucking stink,’ he slurred. ‘Fucking stink. Need to find clean clothes or something. And a bath.’ He grinned, straightened up and looked sternly at the tethering post. ‘Where’s my bath?’ he commanded. ‘You there! You’re short, but you’ll have to do. Fetch me my bath. And a wench to put in it and put it in! Hah!’
‘Hey! Limp-dick!’ Someone rounded the corner and headed towards him: short, not too skinny. Farmer’s build, farmer’s clothes, fighter’s walk. Behind him came the blonde girl he’d just been with. Ann. Ann something.
‘And I’m Ulfar!’ Ulfar shouted back. ‘Nice to meet you!’ He giggled. ‘What can I do for you, King Limp-dick? And your fetching wife, Queen Limp-dick?’ He bowed unsteadily.
‘That’s him, Torulf! He tried to rape me!’ the girl said.
Ulfar laughed. ‘More like the other way around, sweetness,’ he said. ‘Your wife … sister? Both? Tried her best to get me going, only she wasn’t very good. If you wait till morning, I might be able to teach her a couple of tricks. Won’t charge you much, either.’ With great effort, he pushed off from the wall and balanced on his feet.
‘He’s lying! Hit him, Torulf! Punch him in the face!’ The girl’s voice was shrill with fury. Torulf was now close enough for Ulfar to get a good look at him and the man turned out to be a boy, and the boy was younger than Ulfar had been expecting. Fourteen, maybe – but country strong. There was murder in his eyes, and somewhere in the back of Ulfar’s mind a little bit of common sense appeared.
‘Listen … Torulf? Torulf. This is a mistake – a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to say those things. Nothing happened. We can talk—’ The first blow landed on his shoulder. Torulf did not want to talk. ‘Stop. We oouf—’ The second punch hit a lot harder, just below his ribcage. Ulfar lost the fight against the contents of his stomach and vomited all over his attacker, who squealed very unheroically. His lady unleashed a string of expletives at Ulfar.
‘You should watch that language,’ Ulfar slurred, drool dripping from his mouth. ‘You could shrivel a man’s cock with that mouth. Oh, wait. You already did.’ The girl shrieked, pushed Torulf out of her way and picked up a stone to throw at him. The fury in her eyes awoke Ulfar’s survival instinct and he stumbled away. She did not let up until she’d chased him out into the woods and the last missile had whizzed past his head, thwacking into a tree.
Ulfar collapsed in a huffing, sweaty, drunken heap. His limbs felt soft and squishy; his head was starting to pound. ‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered. ‘Fucking bitch fuck it all.’ He hawked, spat and lay down on his back. The ground was cold, wet and solid. Above him, stars dusted the night sky. The night air was sobering him up some, and through the thumping in his head he could hear running water somewhere.
He vaguely remembered crossing a stream earlier in the day, just before he’d walked into town. If you could call it a town – longhouse, a few huts. Farmers nearby, fifty people at a push. He’d heard a few mutterings about King Olav taking some of the best farmhands but thought it prudent not to ask questions. They didn’t care much for their new king – that was good. They had ale and they had a worn old Tafl board and so he’d quickly found himself hustling for coin. Now he wished he hadn’t spent it all on drink in the hope that it would help.
It hadn’t helped. However much he drank, she never went away.
It hadn’t helped to crawl on top of that village girl, either, and somewhere inside he’d known it wouldn’t. Now he just felt dirty. No matter what he did, his mind still went to Lilia every night, and the time they’d stolen in Stenvik. Little flashes of her were burned into his eyes: her crown of red hair made of fire in sunlight; the necklace of blood that dragged her down to the ground like a stone in the ocean. And she would come back to him tonight, before he slept.
‘So I might as well enjoy life until then,’ he muttered. Grabbing hold of a low-hanging willow branch, he levered himself up and went in search of more ale.
*
‘He was horrible. Really drunk. And he stank.’ Anneli sniffed, wiped her face with her sleeve and moved closer to where Jaki was sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘He held me down and … and …’ She whimpered. ‘And he would have taken me, too, if your brother hadn’t dragged him off and punched him.’ She pushed her chest against Jaki’s arm. ‘But then, instead of fighting like a man, he threw up on poor Torulf!’
Jaki’s laugh was harsh and mirthless. ‘Pussy Swede,’ he sneered.
‘Yes,’ Anneli said, ‘not a real man, like you.’ She leaned in and her hand landed on Jaki’s thigh. ‘My boys. You and your brothers have always protected me from everyone, Jaki. Everyone. And now this … stranger comes into our village—’
‘What’d he look like?’
‘Tall. Maybe taller than you. But skinny, and long black hair. Like a girl,’ Anneli spat. ‘Disgusting.’ She sniffed again. ‘I don’t know what he was wearing – maybe a blue cloak over a grey tunic, with a silvery dragon brooch and a brown leather hairband? I didn’t really look. I’m so scared, Jaki. So, so scared. He might wait for me and try to do it again and maybe you won’t be there to protect me and—’
Jaki stood up and puffed out his chest. ‘That’s enough. No more talk now. I’m getting Jarli and we’re gonna sort this out. Stay there.’ He grabbed a shift and struggled into it.
‘Of course. Just …’ Anneli started, then, ‘Jaki – be careful … please?’
The young man set his broad, powerful shoulders and scowled. ‘I’m not the one who should be careful,’ he said.
Anneli watched him leave. The moment the door closed, she stood up and followed, a glint in her eyes.
*
‘Jarli!’ Jaki banged on the door-frame of his brother’s hut. ‘Come on! Now! Hurry!’
The planks that formed a makeshift door moved and a large, stocky young man peered out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His blue eyes matched Jaki’s, as did the turn of his mouth. ‘Whadye want?’ he slurred.
‘Get your clothes on. Stranger tried to rape Anneli,’ Jaki snapped.
The sleep vanished from Jarli’s face. ‘Coming,’ he said. The door shut; moments later he stepped out, holding two inch-thick axe handles, one for him, one for his brother. ‘Where is he?’
‘Torulf tried to fight – the bastard threw up on him and staggered into the bushes,’ Jaki said. ‘Can’t have gone far.’
Jarli looked at him. ‘Threw up? Really?’
‘Yes. Anneli says he was very drunk.’
‘Right.’ Jarli’s lip curled. ‘Let’s go. Wanna get more?’
‘No. This is for us.’
Jarli nodded and the two brothers strode off into the night.
*
The longhouse was almost quiet now, save for a few greybeards. Ulfar pushed his opponent’s king over. ‘And that’s you done,’ he said.
‘Bastard,’ the old man spat. Behind him, his three friends shook their heads and muttered into their beards.
‘St
ay away from the corners next time. Might give your opponent a bit of a challenge,’ Ulfar offered. ‘And pay up.’ He raised his mug, drained it and licked the last honeyed drops off the rim. ‘Or get me more ale. Your choice.’
The old man slammed two copper coins down on the table. ‘Fucking Swedes,’ he growled.
‘Yeah. Fucking Swedes. Horrible Swedes. It’s all our fault,’ Ulfar said. ‘Always has been. And a good night to you. Who wants to go next?’ None of the men standing around the table volunteered and Ulfar cursed himself inwardly. He was too drunk; he’d forgotten a cardinal rule – work the room, make them like you, never turn them on yourself. Sven would have said something about leading a lamb to rather than away from the slaughter. With great effort, Ulfar strapped on a smile, which was much harder to do after thinking of the old rogue. ‘Come now, lads. Anyone fancy their luck? I’ll put two down to your one.’ He grabbed his empty mug. ‘Or three if someone fills this up.’
The door to the longhouse flew open and two burly young men stepped in, scanning the room. Ulfar was up before he knew fully what he was reacting to.
‘You,’ the shorter one said, pointing at him.
‘Yes?’ Ulfar replied. The men around him shuffled quickly towards the walls. He could feel the warmth of the liquor draining away, replaced by the sinking feeling in his stomach. The headache started about then too. This did not look good.
‘Out,’ the short man said.
‘I’m fine here,’ Ulfar replied. ‘Would you like a game? We were having such a nice time.’
‘Jarli,’ the shorter one said. The big guy stepped towards him and levelled what looked like the haft of an axe at his chest. ‘Out,’ he rumbled.
‘Why?’ Ulfar said, retreating. He felt for the sword at his hip. ‘I don’t have a quarrel with you.’
‘Shut up!’ the smaller one screamed. ‘Shut the fuck up, you fucking piece-of-shit Swede! You know what you did and you’re not fucking walking away from my town! He tried to rape Anneli!’ he exclaimed to the greybeards in the longhouse. His big companion advanced, careful brawler-style.
Still holding the mug, Ulfar jumped up on the table and kicked a soup bowl at the larger one’s head. He swatted it away and took two more steps. He’d be within striking range in moments. ‘I didn’t – do – anything!’ he shouted. ‘The girl wanted to go with me. I was drunk. I was too drunk, in fact, and then she stormed off! Just leave me alone!’
‘Liar,’ the big one growled and swung for Ulfar, hard enough to break both his legs.
Screaming with rage, Ulfar leapt over the axe handle, landed and smashed the mug on the big man’s forehead. The big man bellowed and staggered, clutching his bleeding head and tilting it backwards to get the blood out of his eyes. His smaller companion screamed and rushed towards them, but at that moment Ulfar jumped off the table, planted his foot on the big man’s chest and pushed hard, sending the two men crashing back towards the door. He landed softly and was up in an instant with his sword drawn. He took two steps towards the young men getting up off the floor, who suddenly looked a lot less confident.
‘I said – leave me – the fuck – alone!’
‘You raped—’ the smaller one started, squirming away from the point of the sword.
‘You say that one more time and I will spit you like a pig. I didn’t rape anyone. Your little slut friend was begging for it and she’s pulling you along by the cock to make things happen in this shithole so she can have a thrill,’ Ulfar said. ‘Now get the fuck out of my way so I can leave you sheep-fuckers to it.’ The larger one shot him a baleful look as he stood up, but he stepped out of the way. ‘And drop the stick,’ he added. ‘You too,’ Ulfar snapped at the shorter one, who looked reluctant to let it go. ‘Get some sense, boys.’ Exhaustion hovered at the edge of his fury. ‘Just … get some sense.’
The big man grabbed his brother by the shoulder and pulled him aside and Ulfar walked out of the longhouse with his sword drawn.
Something moved quickly in the shadows to his side, just at the edge of his vision. Still tingling from the fight, Ulfar spun around, seized the hand holding the rock and pulled the arm down hard across his knee, dragging his surprisingly light attacker off balance. He felt the snap and heard the rock tumble to the ground. The piercing scream was loud enough to save Anneli’s life – Ulfar’s sword stopped a finger’s-breadth from her neck.
‘You bastard,’ she sobbed in the darkness. ‘You fucking bastard. You broke my arm.’
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Ulfar snarled. ‘Want me to kiss it better?’ He sheathed his sword and kicked the prone figure once for good measure. ‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered as he walked away from the form sobbing in the shadows. Behind him he heard the commotion as the doors opened. Somebody shouted something after him; he didn’t care. He hawked, spat and walked on.
The faint moonlight quickly turned the nameless town into just another shade of darkness and he covered the first few miles quickly, cooling his blood. It took him a good couple of miles more to realise that he was slowing down.
He was hungry, hung-over and angry at everything.
And he still stank.
Veering off the road, he found a thick-leaved bush and crawled under it. Mangled visions floated before his eyes; he imagined spearing Anneli, ripping open her throat and throwing her off a wall somewhere in front of a thousand helpless brothers. Sleep caught him and gave him dreams of Lilia.
EAST OF VALLE, WEST NORWAY OCTOBER, AD 996
Sunrise brought another headache and a woolly mouth, an aching bladder and a back all knotted from the hard ground. I’ll never speak ill of any bed ever again, Ulfar thought as he crawled out from underneath the bush. It was the kind of thing Geiri would love to tease him about. Retracing his steps, he found the road again. It led to the east, which suited him just fine. He started walking.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Ulfar opened his mouth to speak.
Then he blinked.
Geiri wasn’t there.
He would never be there again.
Ulfar looked around and took a deep breath. Then another. He touched the rune that hung from a string around his neck and his lips trembled for a moment. ‘How …’ he started, but there was no one there to talk to. He hadn’t asked Audun to follow him. Nobody could tell him what to do. His chest tightened and the pain behind his eyes settled into a dull, steady throb.
There was nothing for it but to start walking.
There was a world around him, but he didn’t notice, didn’t care. Right foot, then left. Simple. Right foot, then left. The rhythm of it lulled him, sang him into a daze. He didn’t need to think – he just needed to walk. Right foot, then left. Right, then left. He tried not to think about what would happen when he reached his destination, or what he was walking away from.
‘Hail, traveller!’
The shout made Ulfar stumble and blink. Then he swore and turned around. He’d been walking half-asleep, oblivious to his surroundings.
Luckily the man behind the voice was a good hundred yards away. He was tall, dressed in rough wool, but he carried himself like a soldier; he looked like the kind of man you’d put by something to guard it. He was leaning on a big walking staff. A huge mastiff sat next to him, long pink tongue lolling out in stark contrast to its white coat.
‘Hail,’ Ulfar shouted back.
‘I thought I’d let you know of us,’ the old man said. His voice carried surprisingly well. ‘You’ve not looked back for quite a while.’
Ulfar shrugged.
‘Where are you going?’ the old man ventured.
‘East,’ Ulfar answered.
‘Would you care for company?’ the old man said.
What could it hurt? Numbers weren’t a bad thing on the road. ‘Sure,’ Ulfar said, working hard to muster up some enthusiasm. The man caught up with him quickly, long legs covering the distance with ease. The big dog trotted at his side, glanced at Ulfar once and deemed him uninteresting. ‘Well met. My name is Ges
tumblindi,’ the man said.
‘Well met. I am Ulfar,’ Ulfar replied. ‘I’ve recently come from—’
‘I know,’ the man said. Ulfar tensed up, but Gestumblindi didn’t appear to notice. ‘You just came through Valle. I gather you made quite an impression.’
Tension flooded out of him as quickly as it had come and Ulfar couldn’t help rolling his eyes. The man shot him a conspiratorial wink. ‘The … salt of the earth are sometimes, what can we say, overly protective of their womenfolk,’ Gestumblindi added. ‘And quite ready to believe young, hot-blooded ladies who complain about exciting strangers in small towns. Often a little after the alleged crime.’
Ulfar couldn’t help but smirk.
Gestumblindi gestured towards the road, and they started walking.
‘I take it you didn’t believe them, then?’ Ulfar said.
Gestumblindi smiled. There was an easy air about the tall man; something that suggested command. ‘I had the measure of the two boys who were talking about you, and I’ve seen my share of small towns. So, no. Still – I thought you’d be bigger.’
‘Fuckers,’ Ulfar said. ‘Mind you, I’ve just about been there myself. Gets your blood right up if you think the womenfolk have been wronged.’
‘Sure does,’ said Gestumblindi. ‘If you’re a decent sort.’
‘Yeah,’ Ulfar said. ‘And I suppose they were decent boys … in their own way.’
‘The boys, yes.’
‘The girl was a piece of work, though. Bet you all the coin I spent on ale last night that she’ll be making some poor man’s life miserable in a couple of years.’
‘The way those boys looked, I’d say she’s already ahead of you on that one,’ Gestumblindi said, and they both grinned. Above them, thick grey clouds had melted into nothing. The sun caressed the curves of the landscape and fields of wheat stretched away in front of them. Dark blue mountains with white caps rose from the horizon in the north. The world was but a faint line of autumn in a sea of blue.
The Valhalla Saga Page 35