He turned suddenly at a whistling sound. An arrow plunged into the ground at his feet. Despite himself, he leapt back. Earl Sigvaldi let out a cry. ‘We’re under attack!’
The air whistled with arrows. Men snatched up shields to fend off the lethal rain. Gest peered into the trees. Dark figures were running from bole to bole, bows in their hands. He brandished his spear and turned to Earl Sigvaldi.
‘There they are! Lead your men!’
The warriors rallied round at Earl Sigvaldi’s cry, and with their shields raised, charged into the trees. Their attackers dropped their bows, produced swords and axes, and ran to meet them. In the gloom beneath the trees, blades rang and men bellowed. The two lines of fighters clashed, withdrew, clashed, withdrew, then all discipline left the fight and it broke up into knots of struggling figures.
Gest was set upon by a tubby man who wore a helmet whose eye protectors shadowed much of his face. The king’s man thought he had seen him before. He bore an axe and seemed to be limping. Nevertheless, he fought Gest like a madman, forcing him back against a tree with his axe blows. Gest tried to spit him with his spear but the tubby attacker hacked off the spearhead with one wild blow and Gest was left holding a broken staff. He flung it away and hauled out his axe, lifting his shield as he did so to meet another blow from his assailant that shivered the linden wood to pieces.
Gest snarled.
All around, the woods rang to the sound of fighting men. How many attackers there were was uncertain under these conditions. He could see dark, struggling shapes, but there seemed to be no casualties yet.
He threw aside the boss of his splintered shield and flung himself at his attacker. The man was surprisingly well armoured if he was only a man of the woods, but Gest was sure that Earl Sigvaldi’s idea was wrong. These were not outlaws but vikings.
He met his assailant, and their axes clashed. The man thrust out with his shield, forcing Gest back so he almost fell backwards. Off balance, he caught hold of a tree bole to steady himself, then swung at the man. This time his blow struck home, catching his opponent in the side. Blood sprayed from the wound and the man sank to his knees.
A horn blast belled through the trees. Gest looked wildly about him. Men were disengaging and retreating. The attackers were drawing away.
His own opponent saw this, and took Gest’s moment of surprise as a chance to turn and run, clutching at his bleeding side. Gest gritted his teeth, lifted his axe and hefted it, then flung it.
It whirred like a wood pigeon, spinning over and over until it sank into the calf of the man’s left leg. He fell flat on his face, dragged down by the weight of his helmet and Gest sprang to his side. He didn’t want to kill the man, he wanted him alive to question, if the rest were retreating. He snatched the axe from the man’s grip as he rose, then brutally kicked him so he fell again. Gest tore off the man’s belt and used it to tie his hands behind his back.
‘You have one of them?’
Gest looked up to see Earl Sigvaldi and some of his henchmen watching them. He nodded. ‘What of the rest?’ he asked.
Earl Sigvaldi looked troubled. ‘They ran. We tried to pursue them but they know these woods well, and they escaped us. So, you took one prisoner.’ He nodded to his men and two of them grabbed the captive and dragged him to his feet.
‘Aye,’ said Gest. ‘We’ll question him. Now let me get this helmet off him and get a good look at him.’
Again he felt a sense of familiarity, looking at that helmet. This was the man who had led the others who had pursued him from the inlet. He reached forwards and seized hold of the helmet, lifting it off with a single yank.
Revealed was a blinking, reddened face, a nose that ran with snot, and a splendid set of mustachios. Earl Sigvaldi strode forwards.
—8—
‘Ivar!’ he said. ‘What have you done?’
Gest glowered when Ivar stared sullenly at the ground. ‘We must question him,’ he said. ‘Force him to speak. Let me…’
Earl Sigvaldi was staring at Gest’s arm. He followed the earl’s gaze to see that his wound had begun bleeding afresh. This exertion was doing him little good.
Earl Sigvaldi laid a kindly hand on his wrist. ‘My men will question him,’ he promised. ‘You need that arm seen to. One of the men will tend you. Leave this to me.’
He went back to where Ivar stood in the grip of two angry looking warriors. As Gest unwillingly made his way towards the main camp, Earl Sigvaldi forced Ivar’s head up and strike him across the face.
He found a man with some skill with herbs, who took Gest down to a narrow stream that ran between the trees, gurgling over cold stones and sand. Here the man unwrapped Gest’s bandages and washed them in the cold water. He inspected the wound.
‘Did you earn this in the fight?’ he asked. ‘It’s inflamed.’ His accent was not of the west coast, but reminded Gest of the folk of Vestfold, where the king had been born.
Gest shook his head. ‘Not in the fight,’ he said. ‘I got this earlier, when I was first in this area.’
The man nodded, and tugged at long moustaches that made him looked like a pensive walrus. He wiped away the blood with moss torn up from the wood floor and washed clean. Gest sat with his back to a tree as the cold water dribbled down his arm, listening to the gurgle of the stream. ‘Were there many wounded in the fight?’ he asked idly.
‘Nay,’ said the man absently. ‘Nay, very few were wounded. Your axe needs cleaning, I see. So you got one of them?’
‘Aye,’ Gest said, ‘but I did not kill him. It was Ivar, Earl Sigvaldi’s man.’
The man looked up, troubled. ‘Ivar? You wounded him? Let me see him.’
Gest laid a hand on his arm. ‘He is being ministered to by Earl Sigvaldi himself,’ he said grimly, as a cry rang out from the other side of the camp. ‘He’s an enemy,’ he added. ‘Why would you want to tend to an enemy?’
The man shook his head. ‘Force of habit, I suppose,’ he said, ‘but why was Ivar with those outlaws?’
‘I should think that is what Earl Sigvaldi hopes to learn,’ Gest said, ‘among other matters.’
‘These bandages must be boiled,’ the man added after he had sponged Gest’s arm clean. ‘I will give you these healing herbs which you must put on the wound. It looks as if someone has been tending to it already, but you must give it more rest.’
He handed Gest some freshly squeezed plantain leaves. The king’s man held them close to the wound while his helper squeezed the bandages dry and went to a fire that Earl Sigvaldi had ordered lit in the middle of the clearing. He would heat stones in it, Gest knew, then drop them into a water skin, then boil the bandages in the boiling water.
‘Stop him! Stop him! Grab him, you fools!’
Gest rose, turning at the sound of Earl Sigvaldi’s voice lifted in anger. On the far side of the camp, men were running. At their head sprinted Ivar, charging away in the general direction of the inlet. The men in the camp had risen and were gaping in shock at the scene. One snatched up a throwing axe and before Gest could speak he sent it spinning after the fugitive.
Ivar flung up his hands and fell flat, the axe projecting from his back like a third limb.
Dropping the herbs on the ground, Gest ran through the camp. He reached Ivar’s twitching form just as Earl Sigvaldi crouched beside it. The earl looked up, face grim. Ivar no longer moved.
‘Dead?’ Gest asked darkly.
Earl Sigvaldi nodded. ‘He broke away from my men,’ he said. ‘We’d got him talking! They were caught off guard, not suspecting anything from him. I suppose he was running to warn his fellow outlaws.’
‘Outlaws?’ Gest said. By now the other warriors had come up and were standing around them, no one speaking.
Earl Sigvaldi nodded. ‘He told us quite a tale before he made a break for it,’ he said, rising and leading Gest to one side as men gathered up Ivar’s corpse. ‘It’s of undoubted interest to you, since it concerns you closely.’
‘Of course it c
oncerns me,’ said Gest impatiently. ‘He is working with them, these vikings. It was he who led them in pursuit of me. I recognised the helmet he wore. Now tell me what he said.’
Earl Sigvaldi spread out his shaking hands. ‘More than one man can wear a helmet,’ he said. ‘You would have no case against him at the Thing if it rested on such slender evidence.’ He lifted his hands. ‘Not that you will be answerable to his kin. It was Asgeir who slew him, but I will ensure he has gold enough to pay the wergild to Ivar’s kin.’
‘But what did he say?’ Gest snapped.
Earl Sigvaldi walked on, his head jiggling. ‘At first he refused to tell us anything. Then we threatened him with flaming brands, and he softened like cheese. He soon told us why he had run off to join these outlaws.’
‘Why? Why did he join them?’ Gest muttered. ‘He was your right hand man.’
‘He was… jealous of you,’ Earl Sigvaldi explained. ‘While your thralls were under my roof, it seems, he began meeting the girl Hild in secret. They were… lovers. Then you came, the king’s steward, and took over all that had been Thorstein’s, his land and chattels.’
‘The king’s lands and chattels,’ said Gest impatiently, though his stomach roiled at the thought that Hild had parted her thighs for that moustachioed oaf. He would have words to say to her when he returned. ‘Ivar had no right to that which belonged to the king.’
‘To be sure,’ said Earl Sigvaldi. ‘But he saw things otherwise. And when you carried her off to your steading, he was angry. He went after you, and it was he who you wounded in that night fight.’ He shook his head. ‘That a trusted man of mine should have sunk so low. It’s intolerable. Ah, well, he met his comeuppance.’
‘But what of the rest?’ asked Gest. ‘What was he doing out here, with those vikings?’
Earl Sigvaldi shrugged his shoulders. ‘He said nothing of vikings. He ran from my service, knowing that he had done wrong, and joined an outlaw band in the wood. That hut we found was their base. They ensured he was armed and armoured, and they took to waylaying travellers.’
Gest’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did he say anything about waylaying me?’ he asked. ‘Pursuing me from the inlet where these… outlaws’ ships rode at anchor?’
‘He said nothing of ships or vikings,’ Earl Sigvaldi repeated. ‘These outlaws are poor men, owning only what they can steal. Outlaws are penniless scum. They do not have ships. Even the hut was one they found abandoned, not one they built.’
‘I saw them with my own eyes,’ Gest told him fiercely. He spat at the ground. ‘I will take you there now, and you can see for yourself.’
Earl Sigvaldi clasped his hand. ‘I will be glad if you would do so,’ he replied warmly. ‘The men have rested now, so as soon as your wounds are tended to, let us mount and ride on.’
‘Very well,’ said Gest, ‘but we will not have far to ride. Soon we will be forced to leave the horses behind.’
The warriors rode on through the trees until the salt reek of the sea grew stronger. Gest turned in his saddle to Earl Sigvaldi.
‘Call a halt,’ he said. ‘From here onwards we will not be able to go on horseback.’
Sigvaldi gave the order. Grumbling, the men dismounted and tethered their horses, leaving them in the care of a smaller number of warriors. Earl Sigvaldi stood surveying the thickets. He smiled invitingly at Gest.
‘Lead on, king’s man,’ he said.
Gest nodded. ‘This way,’ he said, getting down on his hands and knees and scrambling through the same gap in the trees he had followed on his last visit. As he did so, he thought he heard grumbling from the men at his back.
Progress was slow. Men were caught in brambles, or found themselves too bulky to pass through the gaps between boles. Many were forced to abandon their shields or helmets. Earl Sigvaldi suggested that they cut a way through the thickets with their axes, but the men were unwilling to risk blunting their weapons if they were likely to find themselves in another fight. Gest’s temper was not sweetened by their protests. He was a housecarl of the king. He had fought in any number of harsh campaigns, in conditions far worse than these. These west coast farmers had no idea what war was.
But he knew that he could not put his feelings into words for fear of offending them, and then it would be him alone against his enemies. So he bit his tongue and kept shuffling forwards.
‘Wait there, king’s man.’
Hearing Earl Sigvaldi he looked back over his shoulder. He had also left his shield behind him, but otherwise he was fully armoured, despite the heat that made sweat run rivers down his face.
Earl Sigvaldi, bedraggled and weary, was clambering towards him. In the gloom of the thicket Gest saw no sign of the others.
‘Where are your men, earl?’ he asked in puzzlement.
Earl Sigvaldi gasped for breath as he shuffled forwards. ‘They refuse to come,’ he said with an apologetic shake of his head. ‘They say that it is beneath their dignity to crawl through bushes like small children playing foolish games. They have gone back to the horses.’
Gest’s lip curled. This earl had no sway over his men. What a weakling.
Seeing his expression, Earl Sigvaldi added hastily, ‘They said that it does not take thirty men to scout out the land. Once they know where these ships are, they say we can find a clearer route through. After all, the men you found can’t have gone there this way, can they?’
‘Doubtless they sailed there from the sea,’ Gest said testily. ‘The inlet leads out into a fjord.’
‘Ah, aye,’ panted Earl Sigvaldi. ‘And if we find where that fjord enters the sea, we can sail round there and blockade the inlet. All we need do now is find where the ships are, and where the inlet leads. It will only take the two of us. Show me where to go. You must lead me.’
He looked conciliatory. Gest felt pity for him, but he hardened his face.
‘Follow me,’ he snapped, and began crawling again.
It seemed like an age before he found the far side, and it had taken barely any time before. When he came out into the sunlight and the chill breeze, he saw that they had run astray somewhere along the way. They were further up the bank of the inlet, closer to where he had gone when he was circling round to inspect the longships. That would explain what he saw.
He crouched in cover, looking out over the still waters. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck.
He heard the crashing sound of Earl Sigvaldi blundering up behind him, the wheezing of the man’s breath. As soon as he could send one, he would despatch a message to the king’s court suggesting that the man be replaced. He had no command over the folk of this region, he was a weakling. He held this post only because his blood was that of kings, if petty kings, and because he had bent the knee to King Harald Finehair. That was no recommendation to Gest’s mind. No doubt the king had thought the men of this land would follow him because of his noble kinship, but Gest knew that many of them were recent settlers, having replaced the men who had left with Earl Sigvaldi’s brother, so they lacked even that reason to owe him allegiance. He had to be replaced.
Puffing and blowing, slathered in mud, the earl floundered and crawled up to Gest’s side. ‘Why have you halted?’ he gasped after regaining his breath. ‘Surely it is still a long way yet.’
Gest coughed. ‘We are here,’ he said shortly. ‘This is where I met Ivar and his fellow vikings.’
‘He did not say he was a viking,’ Earl Sigvaldi corrected him. ‘With his dying breath he swore that he had joined outlaws.’
‘Regardless,’ Gest said, ‘we are there. This is where I found them, where I was attacked. I had to flee back through the thickets to regain my horse. And that with an arrow through my arm.’
Earl Sigvaldi shuddered, though whether it was with palsy or sympathy, Gest could not say. He shifted his forearms uncomfortably and looked back. Earl Sigvaldi followed his gaze.
‘I don’t see them,’ said the earl after a doubtful silence. ‘You said these ships were anchored in this inlet.
’ He peered thoughtfully about. ‘I know this stretch of water,’ he added. ‘Surely it is an inlet of Hafrsfjord! Out there,’ he gestured towards the open waters of the fjord, ‘the kings of Rogaland, Hordaland, Telemark and Agder met their defeat at the hands of King Harald of Vestfold.’ He laughed. ‘You must have seen their phantoms.’
Without looking at him, Gest said, ‘Clearly, they have set sail. Word must have reached them of our coming.’
Despite their crawl through the thickets, there had hardly been enough time for all the longships to have sailed from the inlet. And yet that was what had happened.
The inlet was empty.
There was not a sign that these dark waters had ever been cut by so much as a single keel. They lay still and unruffled, not a ripple troubling their tranquil expanse. The trees on the far side were mirrored clearly, and not a ship or a man was visible.
Earl Sigvaldi rose to his feet. He looked wildly about him, spread his shaking arms. ‘Where are they, king’s man?’ he demanded. ‘Where are they?’ He looked down at Gest, who glanced shamefacedly up at him. The earl’s face twisted with anger. ‘Were they ever here?’ he asked. ‘Did you lead my men on this degrading journey—for nothing?’
—9—
The market town of Kaupang was a bustling place, lying beside the shore in the lea of low hills, facing the sea but defended by islands and shoals from storms and attack. Streets made up of a corduroy of logs stretched between low roofed houses and booths where merchants and traders were at work, buying and selling.
The streets themselves were thronged with traders and seafarers from as far afield as England and Ireland, and even the Frankish kingdoms, and trade goods were on display that had their origin in that unknown East that Gest’s folk called ‘Serkland’—the land of silk. In one street, dozens of smiths toiled at forges, in another, weavers were busily at work, and in yet another, bowls and utensils were carved from soapstone. The air was rank with dung and rotting fish, mingled with perfumes and outland spices and the smell of cooking food.
Viking Revolt Page 6