I looked at Birgir, then turned slowly to lock eyes with Ketill. I guessed my expression was just as dumbfounded as his. Ishild was here, and I think Ketill knew before I did, that we would not be going out riding tomorrow.
As it happens, I did go riding the next day, but only as Ishild commanded it. I was like a playful puppy, bounding round its mother as it clambered for attention with its brothers and sisters. Whatever Ishild wanted, she got. She had demanded a bench nearest the hearth the moment she stalked into my hall, her dark locks sodden with melted snow; comely curves on show where her wet dress clung tight to her striking figure.
She had effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone in that room, as gracious as a swan. She had ignored Saxa completely, a fact I should have been acutely aware of, and deeply unhappy about. I wasn’t, I hadn’t noticed.
We rode through a winter woodland, bare trees arced towards the dark clouds. The ground was a mixture of mush and ice, there had been no snow the previous night, the first night without in a long time. Yuletide was nearly upon us; the time of the Wild Hunt when Wotan would lead his warriors across the sky, spears held high as they looked for some fair game.
‘What ails you?’ Ishild said. She had slowed her mount to a walk, so my horse walked alongside hers. I had been so lost in thought I hadn’t noticed.
‘Nothing,’ I said absently. Hilde snorted and tossed her head, causing me to lurch in the saddle. She didn’t like the great stallion that Ishild rode, she grew skittish whenever he was near. ‘I fear these two will never be friends,’ I said, just for something to say.
Our morning’s ride had been mainly silent. She was taking in the land, the sights and the smells invigorating to her, energising her. I had spent the morning thinking of intelligent things to say, hence the prolonged silence.
‘It would appear not! That mare is very defensive of you, how long have you had her?’ Ishild asked, reaching out and stroking Hilde’s flank. Tantalisingly close to my leg.
‘Seven years or so? She was still a foal when I bought her. And she should be defensive of me! She has been treated well.’
‘Bought?’ Ishild said, arching an eyebrow. ‘I thought lord Alaric of the Ravensworn took whatever he wanted? Broke every oath he made and lived as if he was a Roman king? The more time I spend with you, Alaric, the more interesting you become to me.’ She gave her horse her heels and cantered off into the bare forest. I watched her hair sway with the rhythm of the horse and wondered what stories she must have been told about me. Was it so shocking that I actually bought a horse? Truth is I hadn’t, Hilde’s previous owner had declined the gold I’d offered him, and said I’d only take her over his dead body. So I did. But I wasn’t going to tell Ishild that though, was I.
I cantered up to Ishild’s side, heaving in a lungful of bitter air before asking the question I had not been brave enough to up to this point: ‘Why did you come here?’ It came out all wrong, my voice croaked like a frog with a sore throat.
‘Why do you think I came?’ she said. Her mouth was straight, but her eyes laughed at me.
‘I…I don’t know. Did your husband send you?’ I spat the word husband, not able to disguise my hatred for Warin.
‘No,’ she said through a laugh. ‘In fact I did not tell him I was coming here.’ She threw me a rye look, her eyes full of mischief; lips puckered into a soft pout.
‘Where does he think you are?’ I said as my heart hit my ribcage so hard I’m sure my mail shook. The swelling under my woollen trousers was back, and I regretted the extra layer of animal skin I had wrapped atop my breeches.
‘I said I was going to see a friend, so it wasn’t a total lie.’ We had reached the huge lake that lay sleeping below a thick sheet of ice. Ishild dismounted and walked cautiously towards the ice, trepidation written all over her face. ‘Will the ice hold if I walk on it?’ she asked without turning to look back.
‘Friends, are we?’ I asked as I dismounted Hilde, I gave her nose a stroke as she grumbled about being left to stand in the cold. ‘And yes, it should hold. Shall we find out together?’ I asked, holding out a hand for her to grasp.
Her hands were like silk as they brushed the calloused skin of my palm. Now we were away from the horses the scent of jasmine hung on the air, the rich aroma intoxicating after inhaling the bland taste of winter.
‘I think we can be friends,’ Ishild said, taking careful steps on the blue ice. It was as clear and pure as her eyes, and if you looked hard enough you could see the darting shadows of the fish as they scuttled through the water. ‘Sure,’ I said, wanting to say so much more. I felt a twang of guilt for Saxa, who I had left behind in our new hall. She had tried so hard, been nothing but appreciative and accommodating in the months since our wedding. But, she just could not compete with Ishild and her seductive beauty. I was about to pull her in close, to put my arms around her and take what it was I so desired when a spear arced from the low hanging clouds and thumped through the ice in the small pace between Ishild and I.
She screamed as I tore my hand from hers, spun on the balls of my feet and hauled free my sword. I had nearly left it at my new hall, only picking it up on my way out as an afterthought. I had my spear with me, but that was tied to my saddle and Hilde and my would-be attackers were now between me and my mount. I sent a swift prayer to the Allfather that I’d had the sense to put on my mail, even if it was only to add an extra layer between my torso and the cold.
Two men stood on the edge of the lake. They were clad all in black, charcoal darkened their faces and hands. Both had shields, round and black, one still held a throwing spear whilst the other had just a sword. I edged forwards on the ice, wary now of the groaning that greeted every step. I knew that if I walked carefully back across it would hold my weight no problem, but if I had to fight on it…that was a different matter.
The man that still held a throwing spear took aim and let loose. I stood confused as the spear flew far over my head, and was about to shout a ribbed comment on his aim when Ishild screamed and the leaf shaped iron point tore through the side of her cloak. There was a dash of red that gleamed in the dull light, then it was gone as Ishild bent over and covered her cut arm with her hand.
The furies were with me then, the battle rage pumping through my veins as I bounded across the ice, heedless of the risk I was taking. The first man met my flying charge head on and our swords clashed with a scream of iron, sparks flying through the air. We rebounded off each other, me landing like a cat and him stumbling on the sodden ground. I wasted no time – I leapt with my sword held high and whilst my attacker was still finding his footing I drove the blade through his skull, warm brains spattering my face.
The second man stood stock still, transfixed at the sudden savagery he had just witnessed. I snarled and charged him and he didn’t even move as my sword cut through his neck, arterial blood gushing like a waterfall from the grievous wound. He sunk to the earth like a stone in the sea.
I stood panting; my breath steaming on the bitter air. I stumbled and slipped my way back to Ishild, who held her wounded arm to her chest. ‘Are you okay?’ I managed to say through my laboured breathing.
‘Fine, I’m fine,’ she muttered, though her lips were blue and she shivered like she’d just swum in the northern ocean. ‘Come on,’ I said, putting my arms around her, ‘let’s get you home.’
SEVENTEEN
‘The two men, did you see their hair?’ Ketill asked me as we reclined by the hearth in my hall. Night had fallen, and I had spent the remainder of the day since the attack scouring the lands around my new home, searching for any further attackers. I had found none. ‘Their hair?’ I said, slurring my words as I wiped ale from my beard. ‘I was too busy killing them Ketill, I didn’t stop to look at their fucking hair.’
He smiled, then looked around to make sure we could not be overheard. ‘They wore their hair in topknots. Like the Suebi,’ he said in a hushed voice.
I was raising my cup to my lips as he spoke, I slo
wly lowered it when the implications of what he said hit me. ‘Donar’s beard, brother. You’re right.’ We both sat in silence for a time, each gathering our thoughts. ‘You think Agnarr sent men to kill his own daughter?’ I asked.
Ketill shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know the man, have no idea what his relationship is like with her-
‘Or Dagr and Warin, more importantly,’ I cut in, my mind already whirling. I had been shocked when Dagr had agreed to let me marry his daughter. Flabbergasted when I had learned he was now a puppet of the Suebi. He had spoken so easily of his relationship with the land hungry tribe when we had met in the summer, as if life could not be better. I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was afoot, that Dagr may have need of my Ravensworn sooner rather than later. ‘Ketill, find Ruric and send him to me. And have your men ready to ride at first light, we have questions that need answering.’
I was already rising uncertainly to my feet when Ketill grabbed my shoulder and dug his nails in. ‘May I remind you, friend, that I am the chief of the Harii, and not some new beard you can order around, even if we are in your hall!’ He kept his voice light, but I saw the underlying anger in his eyes. I had offended him, and he was a man whose support I could not afford to lose.
‘Sorry brother,’ I mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I spoke without thinking. But we may be in real danger here, those men were all in black, as if they were from your tribe.’ I held up a hand, halting the protest of innocence I knew was coming. ‘Someone has once again tried to pitch you against me, we need to find out why. If something is happening between Dagr and Agnarr then we need to know. Are you still with me?’ The sudden fear that Ketill might round up his troops and head home hit me like a spear to the guts. ‘Of course, brother. Your enemy is my enemy, always.’ We locked wrists, the warriors embrace, then he stalked off through the noise of the hall to ready his men.
I stood still and breathed deeply, methodically, trying to slow my heart and clear my head. I scanned the hall, searching for Ruric, but locked eyes with Ishild instead. She sat on the top table, a cup of wine in her hand. Her left arm was heavily bandaged, and even in the dull light of the flames I could see she still looked pale. She had sobbed all the way back to the hall, mumbling incoherently to herself. But her eyes still glistened in the glow of the flames, dominating the room and casting me back under her spell. I barely registered Saxa at her side, or paid any heed when my wife rose and left the hall without a backward glance.
Ten days we rode through everything the winter had to throw at us. Snow storms, blistering winds, hail and rain were our constant companion. I had with me my whole force, five hundred battle ready men that grumbled and moaned every step of the way. Ketill had one hundred and fifty of the Harii, and each day I marvelled at how quickly they were ready to march, how efficiently they set up camp each night. How little they moaned into their fur lined cloaks. My men were hard, dangerous and as I always claimed, the best fighting unit outside of Rome. For the first time I was starting to doubt if they were the toughest.
I wore all my finery, which was rare for me. A beautifully crafted iron helmet trimmed with bronze sat atop my head. It was Roman, and even still bore the white horse hair crest that had adorned it the day I slaughtered its previous owner. The neck guard was too long for my taste; it dug in my back whenever I raised my head. I had done away with the leather chin straps that were designed to hold it in place, but my long, wild hair seemed to be enough to hold it firm atop my head.
My finest mail sat snug around my torso. I had cursed the winter for forcing my lack of exercise the first day of the march; three of my men had had to help me pull it over my growing belly. I’d sworn them to secrecy on pain of death. The mail was long sleeve, which added more weight and wasn’t my normal preference. But the small iron links were intertwined with silver and it gleamed on even the dullest of days. It may not have been the sturdiest or most practical bit of armour I owned, but by the gods I looked good in it.
I had even added fresh leather to the hilt of my sword. I owned many swords, most finer than the one that sat on my hip. But that blade was mine, as much a part of me as my beating heart; I would never be without it.
‘Are you going to tell us where in the Allfather’s name we’re going in this pissing weather?’ Ruric grumbled as he cantered up to my side. He looked old, did Ruric. He seemed to have aged a decade since our fight with the Batavi in the summer, and I’d thought him ancient then. His pale green eyes shone almost grey in the cloud filled sky; strands of grey hair wisped from under the hood of his cloak. His hair had thinned with the summer, by the time the sun finally thawed the last of the winter snow he would be almost as bald as the day he was born.
‘East,’ I said. ‘Not much further now.’
Ruric moved his horse closer to mine, leant over on his saddle, ‘We’re not going the Suebi are we?’ he asked in a cautious whisper.
I flashed my teeth and leant towards him. ‘Sound scared old man, you sure you still got the stones to be my Second?’ I winked as I spoke, but was quietly apprehensive as to his reply.
‘Fenrir’s teeth lad but you’ve got some front!’ he exclaimed, sucking the remnants of his teeth. ‘You have just made peace with the Chauci, sworn an oath to their chief, not to mention impregnating his daughter! And now, just a few weeks later, you’re going behind his back to his master? You know what they call you, right?’
Oathbreaker. At least he had the decency not to say it. I revel in my enemies whispering obscenities about me when they think I cannot hear. The looks I get from chiefs and kings when I stalk into their halls. But my own men talking dirt behind my back? Well I can’t be having that.
‘The men are worried I’m breaking an oath to Dagr? That my actions may lead to war?’ I tried to think rationally, put the emotion to one side. It was only reasonable the men would be whispering; the weather and forced ride I had made them endure would not have won me any popularity.
‘There have been mutterings…’ Ruric said, he would not meet my eye as he spoke.
‘Tell the men,’ I said in the calmest voice I could muster, ‘that I have reason to believe Dagr might be about to betray us. The two men that attacked me dressed as Harii warriors. Their hair though, was in the style of the Suebi-
‘So why are we going to the fucking Suebi?!’ Ruric spat. Clearly we had reached the crux of the issue.
‘To find the truth my friend. Why else?’
Alaric! Alaric wait, come back!’ My father bounds along the path behind me. I hear the crunch of a twig then the sharp intake of breath as the old man snags his foot on the undergrowth and falls to the floor with a crunch.
I turn, autumn’s rich aroma filling my nostrils. It had rained in the morning, the freshly cut harvest from the fields that surrounds the small patch of woodland I stand in radiates a smell which reminds me so much of my childhood. The moist earth; grain a golden yellow; a hint of woodsmoke that resonates in my nostrils. ‘Go home, father,’ I say turning back around, fighting the urge to help the old warrior to his feet.
My mother is dead. And with her died my childhood. I have no need of this place, this poor farm that sits on the northern edge of nowhere. My father had such fine dreams for what we were going to achieve, the day he hung up his spear for good and swapped it for a plough. The sad truth is, ten years later he has not even bothered to give the place a name. Just a rundown house with a sodden barn, surrounded by a crop of trees and marshland. It is worth less than him, and that is saying something.
‘Alaric, son,’ he says, rising slowly to his feet. Despite myself I stop and turn; a smidgeon of sympathy remains in my wintry heart.
‘Whatever you have to say, make it quick,’ I say, as I stand stock still and try to make myself look bigger than I am.
‘Where will you go?’ he asks as he approaches, holding out a hand to grasp my shoulder, to pull me back toward home.
‘What’s it to you?’ I say. �
��You’ve always thought me weak, never showed me a shred of respect for the man I have become. What do you care what I choose to do with my life?’
He has the nerve to look hurt then. I fight the urge to give in, to fold myself in his arms and cry more tears for the ashes of my mother.
‘I always cared son,’ he says, taking another step toward me. ‘Why do you think I was always so harsh? This ain’t Rome lad, you’ll get no grain ration where you’re going. Our country is a hard one, wild and you’ll soon learn people don’t often play fair. All I have done is to get you ready, equip you for the challenges you will soon face.’ His head is a handbreadth from mine now, he speaks in a whisper, both arms locked around my neck. ‘I love you Alaric, maybe more than you’ll ever know. I just want you to be ready.’
I stand and control my breathing; trying to ease the furious shakes building in my bunched fists. Is that what he was doing when he threw a five-year-old boy into a freezing lake? Or when he threw a ten-year-old a spear moments before a charging wolf ripped through his throat; after he had trapped them together in a pen. ‘Thank you, father,’ I say in a voice that portrays nothing but hurt and anger, ‘for the lessons you have given me. Thank you for making me strong, for giving me the skills to survive in this harsh world. I will remember your lessons, always.’
I turn and walk away, orange and brown leaves flutter to the ground, the wind picks up and the strong smell of pine wafts through me. I pull my cloak closer and take my first steps to a new beginning.
‘Alaric, at least take this,’ my father says, holding out a sword wrapped in an old cloak. A black pommel protrudes from the top.
EIGHTEEN
The rain tore through my skin like flying spear tips. The wind was ferocious, howling and wailing as I crashed through the thick undergrowth of the forest. I panted as I paused, scanning the trees that swamped me. Nothing but the murk, and shadows; my vision made blurry by the viciousness of the winter storm. My hair was drenched with rain and sweat, my throat dry and chest heaving as I fought to control my breathing.
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