‘Sure,’ one of the bigger men said. ‘Sure he did.’
Helga looked him in the eyes. ‘Do you want to bet your life on it?’ The man stared back at her. ‘Do you want to bet the breaking of your jaw? The sound of the smashing of your knees? The shards of bone slicing through your arm? Do you?’
She turned and took them all in, a queen before her court. The youngest of them shifted uncomfortably. ‘Look at yourselves. Look at how … ready you are. You’ve got your little sticks, your chests are all puffed up, you’re ready to go. And you’re big lads; you could do some damage, absolutely. But how many of you have killed a man? I know you’ve cracked some heads, but how many of you have broken necks? How many of you have stomped a man’s life out, and then done it again, just moments later?’ She paused for effect, then added, ‘Now look at him.’
They all did – and she knew she had won.
Audun stood there beside her, completely relaxed. There was no emotion to him, no flush of fire. He just stood there, hammer in one hand and axe in the other, surrounded by a pile of split logs. He eyed up his opponents like a man ready to do a job – and one by one, Johan’s farmhands realised what they were up against. They started inching backwards, like men who have just noticed that the dog is foaming at the mouth.
‘Get him!’ Johan screamed, his voice breaking with fury. ‘There’s eight of you!’ But none of his men took their eyes off Audun as one by one they mounted their horses and rode away. Johan shot her a filthy glance and followed, muttering.
Helga finally allowed herself to exhale.
Behind her she could hear a hammer being carefully placed up against logs.
‘Thank you,’ Audun said quietly.
Heart thundering in her chest, Helga swallowed. ‘I … It was nothing.’ She didn’t dare turn and look at him.
The next thing she heard was the sound of an axe smashing into wood.
*
They did not speak of Johan again for the remainder of the day. As the sun set, Audun did his customary rounds, checking on shutters and testing latches. His stomach had grown used to regular mealtimes terrifyingly fast and now it was growling at him to hurry up and get back to the house.
It was his turn at the pots. He tasted the stew, added some chopped onion-grass and stirred, checked again. When it tasted right, he glanced at Helga. ‘You know him. Do you think he’ll come back?’
She winced. ‘No. He’s been shamed in front of his men; he can’t come back now. Even if he were to catch me alone and … get what he came for, he’d be condemned. And I’ve not shown him all my tricks just yet,’ she added with a cold smile.
‘Good,’ Audun said, peering into the pot. He was getting better at cooking, and finding to his surprise that he rather enjoyed it. The room was nicely warm, and Helga was good company. He had told her more about himself than he’d told anyone before, or likely would again, though he could still not bring himself to speak about what had happened on the wall. For some reason, he didn’t mind; he didn’t think about it so much when he was with her.
It was a strange state of affairs, and one he couldn’t remember experiencing before.
For the first time in his life, Audun felt … happy.
EAST OF SKAER, JUTLAND. JOHAN AAGARD’S FARM NOVEMBER, AD 996
The hooves of a tired horse scraped on freshly frozen ground. The rider’s hood was pulled up to ward against the bitter night wind.
‘Who’s there?’ The farmhand’s challenge came from the pool of torchlight by the door. Metal clinked as the rider dismounted and pulled back his hood. The farmhand’s face went pale. ‘I’m – I – I’ll go and get him.’ He ducked back inside and returned a while later, followed by Johan Aagard.
‘Ustain! Well met!’ The farmer’s face was drawn and grey. He cradled a small leather sack in the crook of his bandaged arm.
‘Johan,’ the rider replied. The flickering torchlight made the shadows dance on his face. The hint of a smile disappeared quickly. ‘You’re not that happy to see me. What happened to your arm?’
The farmer ignored him. ‘I’ve had terrible luck with my workers. His Majesty will understand that I simply have none to spare.’
‘As usual.’ Ustain grinned.
‘As usual.’ Johan grimaced and threw him the sack.
The thick-necked man caught it effortlessly, rattling the coins within. ‘I just hope you make it past spring,’ he said. ‘Without losing any of your sons.’ Johan swallowed and winced. ‘Well? Are you going to offer me shelter, like a good host?’
‘I am, of course,’ Johan said. ‘Anything for the king’s recruiter. I—’ He stopped to think. ‘I can maybe even offer you a little more than just shelter.’
Ustain raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Sounds like fun,’ he said, ducking ahead of Johan into the welcoming dark of Aagard House.
EAST OF SKAER, JUTLAND. HELGA’S FARM NOVEMBER, AD 996
Audun liked the rising sun. There was a particular taste to the air during the retreat of cold darkness; the dark blue sky was growing paler as he awaited the inevitable rising of the golden orb. This morning brought a crisp, clear sky and light that bounced off the vibrant leaves in Helga’s woods. At least that’s what she’d called it when he’d asked: My woods, she’d said. My horse, my land, my hired hand.
He’d smiled at that. Smiled and nodded.
Audun took a deep breath, filled his lungs with air and held it. As he let it out, slowly, he spotted the rider on the hill and his muscles tensed.
The man just sat there, watching their farm.
‘Helga. Rider,’ he shouted.
She ran out of the house. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was sure he’d— That’s not Johan.’
‘Anyone you know?’ Audun said.
‘No …’ Helga replied, immediately scanning the horizon.
The man had set his horse off at a walk towards them. They watched his approach. Forty yards away, he raised his hand in salute.
‘Well met, stranger!’ Helga shouted.
‘Well met!’ the man shouted in return. He dismounted, tied up his horse and walked towards them. He favoured his left leg and stooped slightly, but the soft rustle and clink of his chain mail carried loud enough. His thick traveller’s cloak just about covered a longsword and a knife with a long, thick blade. A shield was bound to his back and a hood obscured most of his face. When he was about twenty yards away, he stopped. ‘Helga Alfrithsdottir?’
Helga smiled at him, without warmth. ‘Do you need to ask, soldier?’
The man straightened at that and pulled back his hood. His skin was red, dry and flaking badly, stretched tight over a bony face. He smiled at her, revealing yellowing teeth. ‘No, my lady. I am Ustain, and I have come—’
‘I know full well why you’ve come, and the answer is no,’ Helga snapped. ‘The answer is no, and that is final.’
Ustain looked at her and cocked his head. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Are you absolutely sure? Because last time you said you were alone and getting by just fine.’
Helga just glared at him. ‘You can’t have him. He stays. I don’t care what you say.’
‘Well, I am sure the king would like to hear what you have to say. I will make a point of coming back here in spring so we can talk more about this. How’s that? Or – you can help with my noble King Sweyn Forkbeard’s efforts and send’ – he smiled – ‘your hired hand.’
Helga went white with fury. ‘That – that – bastard. He told you, didn’t he? He sent you here. I’ll gut him – I’ll fucking slice his knees open – I’ll do him so bad he won’t—’
Audun’s hand on her shoulder was warm, firm and heavy. ‘Helga,’ he said, and the words caught in her throat. ‘You know … you know I cannot stay.’ She looked up into his earnest, open face. He smiled sadly at her. ‘We both knew this was coming. One way or another.’
‘No …’ she muttered. ‘Don’t. We’ll fight it.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Or we’ll go together. How’s that? We’ll travel south to
gether. Find someplace else.’
He embraced her then, held her against him so firmly she could feel his heartbeats, buried his face in her hair.
His whisper was almost too soft to hear. ‘I am not taking you with me. Wherever I go, blood will follow.’
They stood there for a moment, together against the world. Then Audun released her and walked towards the stables to fetch his possessions.
Helga turned to Ustain, the king’s recruiter. His smile faltered for a moment when he saw her face and he took a reflexive step backwards. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘And tell me true. Johan Aagard told you about him. Didn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid he did,’ Ustain said.
Helga nodded slowly. ‘Good. Thank you.’ She dug around and produced a small spike from somewhere in the folds of her skirt. Her eyes alighted on a piece of wood lying in the yard. She picked it up and carved three runes on it in swift, sure-handed slashes. ‘Give this to Audun. I will know if you don’t,’ she said, handing it to Ustain.
Then she walked to the house and closed the door.
She did not watch Audun leave.
*
They’d gone about a mile when Ustain stopped Audun. ‘Here. She wanted you to have this,’ he said, handing him a piece of wood.
Audun took it but made no attempt to communicate.
‘Fine. Don’t mind. You don’t look like a storyteller, anyway. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll be joining Forkbeard’s army. He’s heading east to beat up the Svear and he needs more spear-meat. We’ll be about ten days getting there, during which time we’ll pick up whatever we find. I’ve taken most of what there is to have around here, so there’ll mostly be kids, creeps and criminals.’
Audun shrugged.
‘Good.’ Ustain looked at him. ‘Now … I don’t think you’ll be running anywhere, will you?’ Audun still didn’t answer. A smile took hold in the recruiter’s face and warped his features in slow-blooming delight. ‘No … I don’t think you will. In fact, I think the king will like you. Come on, let’s get moving,’ he said, walking along.
They’d walked another four miles when the silence was broken by loud barking. Something was coming towards them at high speed.
‘Fucking country dogs,’ Ustain said. ‘Ought to snap their necks.’ The horse snorted beside him.
The big black and white dog stopped a good thirty yards from them and growled low, but did not come any closer. Instead it sniffed the air.
When it caught Audun’s scent it let out a whining, keening sound and took off away from them at a dead run.
‘What—? I’ve never seen them do …’ Ustain’s voice trailed off. He looked at Audun, who kept walking south.
The king’s recruiter pulled his cloak a little tighter and directed his horse a couple of steps away from the broad-shouldered blacksmith.
*
Three days later there were five of them: a gap-toothed old horse thief, a sniffling youth who spoke with a slur and a nervous young man who kept asking Ustain questions.
Audun marched on in silence and tried not to think, letting the endless questions of the man he’d named Mouthpiece wash over him.
‘—and is it true that the king is nearly eight feet tall?’
‘Yes,’ said Ustain. ‘And he has three arms.’
‘Really?’
‘Indeed. And he speaks the language of the One God. But those who still worship the false gods see him only as a regular man, apparently. Can you imagine?’
‘No,’ Mouthpiece huffed. ‘I cannot. One cannot doubt the king.’
‘No,’ Ustain said. ‘One most certainly cannot.’
The old horse thief hawked and spat. ‘I don’t know what they want more gods for,’ he muttered. ‘We were fine with the ones we had. Never seen this new one.’
‘Oh, you will,’ said Ustain. ‘You certainly will.’
They marched south with winter at their backs.
*
The wind snapped at their heels, buffeted their faces and slipped in between the worn-out layers of old clothes, carrying a smell of salt and cold. The plains stretched out before them. Due south, the horizon thickened a little.
Ustain pointed. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Hot stew, a blanket and the word of the Lord. What more could you want?’ He turned away and leaned into the wind.
Audun’s gut twisted with longing for Helga and he bit down to stifle the growl. He could feel the warmth of the fury but there was something different this time. He saw his forge in Stenvik, but the fire wasn’t consuming everything it touched. Instead it was banked and ready to be used. Audun snarled at Ustain’s back, but he remained in control. He tried to imagine adding a little bit of wood to the fire.
His nostrils flared and he felt dizzy; blood coursed through him, pounded in his ears, made his heart beat faster. He could feel his muscles tightening, but the sensation of helplessness, of being swept away on the tide … was gone.
His lips pursed in a sharp smile.
SWEYN FORKBEARD’S CAMP, SOUTHEAST JUTLAND LATE NOVEMBER, AD 996
Ustain’s voice trailed off as they closed in on the camp. ‘What the—? Where the fuck is everybody?’
King Forkbeard’s mighty host consisted of a couple of tents and a handful of scarred fighters sitting around a campfire. Audun counted about twenty of them. A broad-faced man with ruddy cheeks rose to greet them when they came close enough. ‘Ustain! Shitface!’ he shouted by way of greeting. ‘Back so soon? Did they not have any sheep to your liking?’
‘What’s this?’ Ustain shouted back.
‘Left last week for Svealand. We’ve been waiting for you lot to come back with fresh meat.’ The man calmly removed mailed gloves from their resting place near the fire and put them on. He was tall, but walked with a bit of a stoop. Strands of thinning blond hair hung limply on his head.
‘Well, here I fucking am, aren’t I?’ Ustain snapped back. ‘Where are the others?’
‘“Not here” would appear to be the answer,’ said the man, grinning. ‘But then, they don’t have your charm and good looks.’ This earned the man a giggle around the campfire. He proceeded to look critically at Ustain’s recruits, who stood in an awkward, squinting line behind him. ‘Is this it? And all dicks, too. Should have brought us something nice for our troubles,’ he said. ‘Something that fights back this time.’
‘This is all there is,’ Ustain said, sighing as he dismounted. ‘There’s nothing much to be had any more.’
‘That’s true,’ the broad-faced man conceded. ‘It’s a shame, too.’
‘And he wouldn’t like it if I’d brought one in. Near had my head off with the last one,’ Ustain said, mechanically grooming his horse.
‘Where’s the king?’ Mouthpiece squealed. ‘I was told there would be ceremonies!’ The broad-faced man walked towards him, smiling, and punched him in the jaw. Mouthpiece dropped like a stone.
Beside him, the old horse thief made a point of studying his toes. The kid stared at Mouthpiece, lying still on the ground. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.
The broad-faced man turned towards Audun. ‘So what’s your story, stranger? You look solid enough. Why are you here?’
Audun didn’t answer.
The soldier’s eyes sparkled. ‘You’re not very well brought-up,’ he said. ‘You answer when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Audun said. The mailed gloves clinked as the soldier flexed his fingers. Behind the man he could glimpse the dull gleam of anticipation in his friends’ eyes.
‘Good! Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. You a tough guy?’ the soldier sneered, limbering up.
‘Jomar, I don’t—’
‘Shut your sick-meat mouth, Ustain,’ Jomar snarled without taking his eyes off Audun. ‘I was talking to our friend here. Are you tough enough to be a member of King Sweyn Forkbeard’s army?’
Audun didn’t answer.
‘Are you?’ Jomar screamed, a hair’s breadth away fro
m his face. ‘Are you ready to kill?’
At the edge of his vision, Audun registered more faces: men emerging from nearby tents. So he was to be tonight’s entertainment, then. He had to stifle a smile. They did not know where he was coming from.
Jomar pushed him, and Audun allowed himself to go with it. Flat hand, middle of the chest. Maybe half of the man’s strength. His stance had changed ever so subtly, waiting for the flailing retaliation, no doubt. Instead, Audun simply regained his balance and looked straight ahead.
Jomar was on him again, pushing hard. ‘What the fuck are you – some kind of pussy?’ he screamed in Audun’s face. Audun retreated and regained his balance.
‘I’m going to—’ Jomar stepped in and pushed harder. Audun shifted to the side, grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled and brought his knee up as hard as he could. The satisfying crunch of a snapped rib sent his pulse racing, but he remained in control.
Jomar sucked air back into his lungs with a pained wheeze, yanked his arm free and clambered to his feet. ‘You’re fucking dead, you—’
Audun slapped him and felt skin split under his hand. Jomar staggered away from the force of the blow. ‘Shut up,’ Audun said.
The broad-faced man howled in rage and launched himself forward, arms flailing – but he went in too quick; Audun’s heel took him in the hip-bone and spun him around and he hit the ground hard.
Audun walked to Jomar where he lay on the ground and knelt by his head. A terrified man well past his prime looked back up at him, eyes watering, mouth quivering.
A heavy straight right broke Jomar’s nose and drove the bone up into his brain.
A spasm – and he lay still.
Audun rose and found himself surrounded by a circle of stunned, wary faces. He scanned them all in turn, but found no one likely to mount a challenge.
‘Don’t just fucking stand there,’ Ustain barked. ‘Do what needs doing.’ No one moved. ‘Come on. You all knew this was coming. Just thank God the big bastard’ – he gestured to Audun – ‘is on our side.’
The Valhalla Saga Page 50