by Martin Lake
Leif swallowed. ‘I wonder if this is the best use of my skills,’ he said.
‘Have no doubts, Leif. You will be in the thick of every battle and that will give you plenty of experiences on which to exercise your skills.’
‘I beg you, lord, I think it best if I do not go.’
‘And I tell you, Leif. You are my man, now. You go where I go and do as I command.’
A MARVELLOUS PLAN
‘I have a plan,’ Leif whispered to Sigurd that evening. ‘A marvellous plan.’
Sigurd grunted but said nothing. The thought of leaving his home and his foundry had numbed him, body and mind. He sprawled upon the floor, his eyes unseeing, his mind as dull as a cow’s in winter.
Leif felt the same. He loved his life. He’d got some standing in the village, friends, the occasional girl to share his bed, enough money to live a simple yet comfortable life. And Sigurd did all the hard work.
It was in marked contrast to their father who had left his smithy every summer to go raiding in whatever passing longship was looking for crew. He came back little richer, sometimes poorer, weary, often injured, always cursing his fate.
And then, one day, he never returned. Sigurd and Leif took over his foundry and began to work day and night. They had made a good life for themselves. Leif was determined that they would not follow the ill-fate of their father.
‘We’ll wait until dark,’ Leif said, ‘and then slip away from the village. We can reach the forest in a few heart-beats and Ivar and his brothers will never be able to find us. We know the forest and they don’t.’
‘It doesn’t sound much of a plan to me.’
Leif bit back a curse. ‘Have you a better one?’
Sigurd shook his head.
‘Do you want to sail across the sea,’ Leif continued, ‘to go a-Viking and find your death in some hideous battle? To disappear from the world as father did?’
‘No.’
‘Nor do I.’ He glared at Sigurd. ‘And I told you not to make that sword.’
Sigurd shook his head wearily. ‘Eohric offered too much money to refuse.’
‘Well you could have made a poor sword. Then Ivar would have thought you a worthless smith and left us in peace.’
‘I cannot make a poor sword. It’s not in my nature.’
For once Leif had no reply to this. A man’s nature and his skills were given to him at birth by Frigg, wife of Odin. A man who did not use the gifts she bestowed risked the wrath of all the gods of Asgard.
‘Well, that’s all in the past,’ Leif continued. ‘But if we want to have a future we must make our escape now.’
‘But Ivar will track us down.’
‘Do not think so highly of yourself, brother. Ivar has an invasion to undertake; he won’t waste a moment on hunting you.’
Sigurd opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. He had never yet won an argument with his younger brother and he doubted he ever would. He nodded his head wearily.
‘Come on then,’ Leif said. ‘Before the moon rises.’
He peered out of the door and glanced up and down the village street. The men from the fleet were crowded onto the shore, squatting around cooking fires, eating and drinking and singing wild songs of battle. Leif shuddered at the thought of it.
He narrowed his eyes and searched out the headman’s hall. He could just make it out in the light from the fires. Ivar and his brothers were being entertained by old Klack and his lustful young wife. With any luck she would already have bedded the big brute Halfdan while Klack would be boasting of the wealth of his village, too stupid to realise that this was an open invitation to Ivar to loot everything he and his people owned.
‘Quickly,’ Leif whispered. Sigurd slipped out after him.
‘Where do you think you’re going,’ came a voice.
Leif cursed. He had not considered that Ivar would have posted a guard on the hut.
‘Who are you, friend?’ he asked lightly.
‘You know who I am,’ the man said, stepping into the light. ‘My name is Eorhic, brother to Jarl Guthrum.’ He pulled a sword from his belt and held it at Leif’s throat.
Leif was puzzled. That a man of Eohric’s rank should be sent to arrange for the making of a sword and now set to guard prisoners was very strange.
Sigurd grinned; he had the same thought. But he believed that it proved how valuable Ivar considered him.
‘I feel honoured that the brother of a jarl should volunteer to guard us,’ Leif said.
Eohric spat. ‘It was none of my choosing.’
Leif smiled. Here was something to work on.
‘Someone has a grudge against you?’ he asked, feigning surprise.
‘Ivar,’ Eohric answered. ‘He never liked me from the first.’
Leif nodded sympathetically and then glanced swiftly at Sigurd, nodding once towards Eohric. Sigurd merely looked blank.
‘Perhaps he is fearful of you,’ Leif continued. He signalled to Sigurd once more.
‘Why would Ivar fear me?’ Eohric asked. He gave a dismissive snort but, despite this, Leif sensed that he was curious to know more.
‘It seems obvious to me,’ Leif continued.
Eohric sheathed his sword and moved closer. ‘Why obvious?’
‘Because you’re young,’ Leif answered, ‘clever, healthy and strong. And he is…what is wrong with him? Why does he look that way?’
Eohric gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He is not called Boneless for nothing. He is made of gristle and spleen, nothing more. He blows in the wind, both in body and in heart.’
Leif gestured to Sigurd once again and, finally, he understood. He bent and searched for a stone.
‘I have heard so,’ Leif said. ‘Perhaps Ivar is aware of his own weakness and fears that you are the man who will supplant him.’
‘Who has told you this?’ Eohric asked eagerly.
Sigurd struck and Eohric crumpled to the ground.
‘Nobody you fool,’ Leif said. ‘It’s only a story.’
He grabbed Sigurd by the arm and, silent as cats, they began to creep through the darkness.
They reached the end of the village and plunged into the greater gloom beyond the reach of the camp-fires. They took a few steps further and Leif began to realise that his plan was not quite so marvellous as he had imagined. They had brought no torch to light their way and they could see very little.
Leif went first, one step at a time, his hand groping in front of him as if he were a blind man. Sigurd had grabbed hold of his tunic and seemed to alternate between pushing Leif forward and holding him back.
‘Let go,’ Leif hissed.
‘I won’t. I might lose you.’
‘If only the gods were so kind to me. Now, be quiet in case we’re being tracked.’
They stumbled through the forest for most of the night until weariness overcame them. They flung themselves between the branches of an old beech tree, too tired to take heed of pursuit or danger from wild animals. Odin protect us, Leif thought and fell asleep.
He woke when a shaft of sunlight hit him in the face. For a moment he was befuddled and did not know where he was. Then the memory of the day before crashed into his mind. He felt sick at what had happened but, in a little while, he felt a huge sense of relief at their escape and an even bigger sense of self-congratulation at the success of his plan. They had escaped from an armed camp and would soon be free to return to their old life.
He shook Sigurd. ‘Wake up. We need to put more miles between us and Ivar.’
They hurried through the forest for the rest of the day until the sky grew dark. They debated whether or not to continue but, in the end, decided it would be better to sleep through the night and start off again in the morning.
They woke shortly after dawn. They found a little stream to slake their thirst but nothing, not even the smallest fish, to satisfy their hunger.
‘We need to find somewhere to get some food,’ Sigurd said. ‘Unless your plan was to make our esca
pe and then to starve to death.’
‘Feast on your own tongue, brother, if you plan to speak such nonsense. No forest goes on without end. We’ll soon leave it and find a village with enough food and drink to satisfy even you.’
Sigurd gave him a doubtful look but followed him. Leif might be full of conceit but he was seldom proved wrong.
And nor was he this time. They walked a few miles longer and found themselves at the edge of the forest. A mile to the west they could just make out the haze in the sky which marked the sea. Leif narrowed his eyes. He thought he recognised the shape of the land before them. If he was right they were a good twenty miles south of their village and Ivar’s fleet.
‘There are houses,’ Sigurd said, pointing to a settlement about half a mile to the west. ‘We could get food there.’
Leif sighed. His brother was always hungry, though it was little wonder for he was big and expended a great deal of energy in his work. If he had been alone he might have searched for somewhere further east, more distant from the sea. But he knew Sigurd would not wait longer and so, advising him to be cautious, they headed towards the village.
It was a little smaller than their own village and the houses looked meaner and more unkempt. The women working in front of their houses eyed them suspiciously and one went running to the hall, a building little bigger than the rest of the huts, presumably to fetch the headman.
He appeared a few minutes later, wiping a mouth still greasy from the noonday meal. Sigurd’s stomach rumbled at the smell of roast mutton.
‘Good day, strangers,’ the man said. His voice was thick with suspicion, his eyes nervous and alert. ‘What brings such fine men to my home?’
‘We are just common labourers,’ Leif said, ‘looking for the chance to work for food and a night’s shelter.’
‘Do you carry weapons?’
Leif and Sigurd shook their heads and the man appeared to relax a little.
‘We have precious little food to spare,’ he continued, ‘It’s been a hard winter. But a few of my men died in the coldest days so I could make use of you for a week or two.’
‘We would be happy to do anything,’ Leif said.
‘The far meadow is overgrown with weeds and brambles and needs clearing.’
‘Just give us the tools and we’ll do the job,’ Leif said.
‘Good.’
Leif turned and gave Sigurd a satisfied wink.
‘Follow me,’ the headman said. Then he paused. ‘There is one other job but I doubt you can do it.’
‘Maybe we can,’ Leif said.
‘Our smith died a month ago and our horses are in desperate need of shoeing. And our tools could do with an overhaul.’
‘I can do that,’ Sigurd said, eagerly. ‘I’m a smith, and a renowned one at that.’
The headman gave a cold smile and Leif felt a shiver of unease.
‘It is good we have met up then, friends,’ the headman said. ‘You can stay here for as long as there’s work to be done.’
He called to a woman to bring some food and ale. She hurried over with platters of mutton stew and thick chunks of bread. A younger woman brought a jug of good ale and some beakers. Leif’s nerves calmed. The brothers squatted on the ground and began to devour the food eagerly. The headman left them to talk with a young man.
‘We’ve struck lucky,’ Leif said. ‘The headman seems a sensible and honest fellow.’
Sigurd nodded, too intent upon his food to spare time for words.
In fact, they were both so engrossed that neither saw the headman step behind them, raise a heavy club and smash them on the head.
Leif lifted his head and instantly regretted it. There was a terrible pain in his skull and he thought he would vomit. He went to feel the back of his head but was unable to. His wrists were tightly bound.
‘You won’t get free,’ Sigurd said. ‘I’ve tried.’
Leif closed his eyes. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. One minute I was eating, the next I woke up trussed like a fowl and with my head aching like fury. And all the while you’ve been snoring peacefully.’
‘Hardly peacefully. I think I might die.’
‘I think you might both die,’ said a voice from behind them. The headman stepped into view, his face a picture of delight.
‘What have we done to you?’ Leif asked. ‘We offered to work for food and shelter.’
‘Oh, it’s not what you’ve done to me,’ the headman said. He dragged them both to their feet and pushed them towards the door. ‘See for yourselves.’
The day was drawing to a close but the dim light seared their throbbing heads. Leif forced his eyes to focus on a large shape in front of him. When they did he cried out in terror. A longship was drawn up on the riverbank and two figures were striding towards them.
The first was a huge man, in his middle twenties, with a large head, bull neck and wide shoulders. His long blond hair was plaited and his beard cut short beneath his chin. His face looked fierce.
His companion was younger and smaller. And familiar. Leif’s heart sank. It was Eohric and he had a wild, dangerous look in his eye. Leif thought him more alarming than the giant beside him.
‘Yes,’ the big man said, his voice as solid as his shape. ‘These are the runaways.’ He threw a small bag of coins to the headman. ‘You have earned the thanks of Ivar the Boneless.’
‘I am honoured to have helped him,’ the headman said, giving a ghastly grin which was made up more of fear than enthusiasm.
Eohric seized his hand and stroked it gently. ‘As he grovels so abjectly, brother, perhaps we should keep the money.’
Leif gasped. So the giant was Jarl Guthrum, Eohric’s brother?
Guthrum shook his head. ‘No, Eohric. Ivar promised a rich reward for their capture.’
Eohric’s face twisted in rage. A rage that could only be eased by violence and revenge.
He smashed his fist into Leif’s stomach, making him double over. Then he chopped him on the back of the neck. Leif fell to the ground and tried in vain to protect himself from the rain of kicks which Eohric aimed at his head and chest.
‘Enough,’ cried Guthrum, dragging Eohric away by the scruff of his neck. ‘Ivar wants them alive, you fool.’
‘Oh, I would have left him alive, Guthrum. Broken-limbed but still alive.’
‘You are not the one to decide upon his punishment.’
‘A pity. I would so enjoy it.’
IVAR’S WELCOME
Leif expected Guthrum to head north to return to the village and Ivar’s fleet. Instead he turned his longship to the south.
‘We’re in luck, Sigurd,’ Leif said. ‘This Guthrum is either a fool or he means to keep us for himself.’
‘Why is that lucky?’ Sigurd asked.
Leif shuddered. ‘Do you want to meet up with Ivar the Boneless again?’
Ivar’s reputation had long spread across the whole world. He had caused calamity in Ireland for both the native Irish and the Vikings who had settled there. He had returned to the north and wreaked havoc amongst the Danes, the Swedes and in Norway. Some claimed he had even travelled three thousand miles to Miklagard and crucified the Emperor of the Romans. Others said that he’d broiled him on a spit and served him up at a feast for his friends.
‘I’m sure Guthrum isn’t returning to Ivar,’ Leif continued. ‘Our luck still holds.’
‘Good or ill-luck is in the hands of the Norns,’ Sigurd said. ‘They weaved our fate when we were born. There’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘They cursed my fate when they made me your brother,’ Leif said. ‘Of course, there’s something we can do about it. We just have to use our wits.’
‘Like you did when you decided to escape? That’s hardly worked out well. The Norns will laugh to see us being dragged back to Ivar.’
‘We are not returning to him, I tell you. Guthrum wants us for himself, to be his Smith and his Skald.’
Sigurd shook his head, wearil
y.
They sailed south for the rest of the day and set off early again the next morning. Leif noticed that Guthrum was making his men work hard at the oars and it was then that a sense of disquiet began to hit him.
All too soon he found out why. They turned into an inlet and Leif’s heart went into his mouth. Ivar’s fleet was waiting for them.
‘Seen a ghost?’ Eohric sneered. ‘It’s your own, I warrant.’
‘If it is I won’t have to listen to you any more.’
Eohric smiled and punched him in the face.
‘Another example of your wit?’ Sigurd said to Leif, as he lay sprawling on the deck.
‘Enough, Eohric’ cried Guthrum. ‘Ivar will be angry if you harm the goods.’
He strode over and pulled Leif to his feet. ‘Have you no sense? Why do you antagonise my fool of a brother when you’re up to your eyebrows in shit already?’
Leif smiled wanly. ‘It is my nature.’
‘Well it won’t be your nature for much longer. Ivar is wroth because you fled and sent me in search of you. You won’t be welcomed back with open arms.’
Sigurd cursed. The bile rose in Leif’s throat. Guthrum gestured to them to leave the ship.
Ivar and his brothers were sitting by a camp fire on the beach, deep in conversation. Ubbe saw them first and the other brothers turned to where he pointed.
Leif was horrified to see Ivar stare at them with grim joy.
‘The runaways return,’ he cried. ‘Well done, Guthrum.’
Guthrum pushed Leif and Sigurd in front of the brothers.
Ubbe stared at Leif. ‘I thought we told you not to harm them,’ he said to Guthrum.
‘They fought hard when we caught them,’ Eohric said.
‘We said you were not to harm them,’ Ubbe repeated.
‘We knocked them about the head a little but no more,’ Guthrum said. ‘The bruises were caused by the headman of the village. He didn’t know you wanted them unharmed so he cannot be blamed for his zeal.’