17
I heard a noise in the yard and awoke. It was dark yet, but the sun rose as I stepped from the barn. Gunnar was bidding farewell to Karin, who pressed small loaves of bread into little Ulfs hands. Helmuth was already on the trail, stick in hand, waiting with the pigs as they rooted for mushrooms in the undergrowth. Farewells made, Gunnar turned and called Garm, the larger of the two black hounds, to him, and strode from the yard, his son and dog hurrying after him.
“Where has Gunnar gone?” I asked, coming to stand beside Karin.
“Gunnar and Helmuth have gone to the market,” she replied. “They would have done this yesterday if not for the watching-trial.”
“I understand,” I told her, feeling slightly cheated of the chance to make amends.
“Yes,” she affirmed, nodding her head. “They will return tomorrow. You bring wood.”
So, I began my chores, first bringing wood to the kitchen and then fetching water. Odd appeared with hoe in hand, and shuffled his way to the field, where I soon joined him. We worked together in amiable silence until Karin called us to our first meal of the day. We sat in the yard in the warm sun with our wooden bowls full of steaming porridge which we ate with the aid of hard brown bread.
After breaking fast, Odd returned to the field, and I repaired the handle of his hoe, which had worn loose; I sharpened the blade and Karin’s kitchen knife as well. Then I helped Ylva skin three hares she had caught in a snare during the night; we quartered the small carcasses and stretched the pelts on little frames to dry. Then I led the cows down to the pond for water, and spent the rest of the morning watching them.
After the midday meal, I returned to the field where I worked weeding the turnips until the sun began to sink behind the trees. Upon reaching the end of the last row, I straightened and looked back. Though I was a slave, I did my work with as much care as if I had been at the abbey. This I did to please Gunnar, and, more importantly, to please God. For Holy Scripture teaches that a slave is to serve his master well and in this way win him to the Heavenly Kingdom. This I set myself to do.
I was admiring my handiwork when Odd grunted at me from across the field. I turned and looked where he was pointing: two dark figures approached, moving boldly from the cover of the forest and towards the house.
Holding tight to the hoe, I ran to the house as fast as I could. “Karin! Karin!” I shouted. “Someone is coming! Hurry, Karin! Someone is coming!”
She heard me and came running from the house. “What is this great noise you are making?” she demanded, scanning me quickly from head to toe.
“Someone is coming,” I repeated. “There!” I pointed behind me to the meadow. “Two men.”
Karin squinted her eyes and looked towards the forest.
Her frown deepened. “I do not know them,” she said, mostly to herself, and then loosed a stream of speech I could not understand. I looked at her and, having no words for this situation, shrugged.
Karin became urgent. “Ah!” she cried. “Ylva! The pond…fetch her. Hurry!” she said, already dashing for the house. “Bring Surt! Hurry!”
Across the yard and behind the barn, I ran, my feet pounding the bare earth path leading down to the fishpond in the little dell north of the house. It was not far, and I found young Ylva, her mantle raised to her hips, wading in the water. Her back was to me, and she turned as I came sliding down the muddy bank to the water.
“Aeddan, heya!” she called, cheerfully. “Come swimming.”
The sight of her pale white thighs, so round and firm, so delicately tapered to her comely knees, brought me up short. For a moment I forgot why I had come there. I stared at her fair flesh, and fought to regain my tongue once more. “I—it is…” I forced myself to take my eyes from her legs. “Someone is coming. We must go. Hurry!”
I turned and started back up the slope. I reached the top and looked back; she still stood in the water and had made no move to follow. “Come, Ylva!” I shouted, glancing around the banks of the pond. “Surt!” I called. “Heya, Surt!”
Understanding me at last, the young woman splashed lightly from the water, lowering her mantle as she came. I had a last glimpse of those lovely legs as she climbed the bank. “Surt!” she called to the dog. “Heya, Surt! Here, Surt!”
There came a crash in the underbrush as the great black hound bounded onto the path behind us and stood looking expectantly, his mouth open, tongue lolling. Ylva ran to him and laid a slender hand on his chain collar. “Home, Surt!”
We three raced back to the house to find Karin, fists on hips, as the strangers entered the yard. Odd appeared around the corner of the house, hoe in hand. Surt took one look at the two men, gave a low, warning rumble deep in his throat, broke from Ylva’s grasp and ran to Karin’s side where he stood growling. I heard Karin say, “Who are you?”
They ignored her and came ahead a few more steps. Surt snarled, hackles raised like knives. “Stand you there,” Karin called again, and added something that I did not catch.
The men stopped, and looked around the holding. One of them was fair, the other dark; both were bearded and both tall, well-muscled fighting men. The dark one had a long braid over his shoulder, and the fair one wore his hair close-cropped. They carried spears and had swords on their hips with long knives tucked into their sword-belts. Neither, I noticed, owned a cloak, but one had a leather tunic, and the other a sleeveless siarc. Their tall leather boots were well worn.
“Greetings, good woman,” replied the fair-haired stranger at last, turning his eyes lazily toward us as he spoke. “It is a warm day, heya?”
“There is water in the well,” Karin said. The chill in her voice more than matched the barbarian’s cool arrogance.
The cold-eyed stranger’s gaze flicked onto Ylva, and lingered there. “Where is your husband?” he demanded.
“My husband is about his business.”
The men exchanged glances. “Where does your husband’s business take him?” asked the dark man, speaking for the first time. His voice, unlike his appearance, was pleasant and inviting. “Far?”
“Not far,” Karin said. “He is near.”
The stranger said something which I did not understand. He smiled reassuringly, taking a slow step closer as he spoke. Odd shifted uneasily, and Surt growled.
Karin’s reply was short and defensive, as it seemed to me; I did not know what she said. I moved to stand beside Odd, wishing that Gunnar’s watching-trial had been this day rather than yesterday. Karin spoke again—a challenge, I thought.
The fair man made his reply, and I heard the words: “King Harald Bull-Roar,” and “a message,” and “free men of Skania.” Thus, it seemed to me communication of some importance, and I rued my scant knowledge of Danespeak, limited as it was to farm chores.
Karin asked them about this message, I think; her tone was sharply suspicious.
The dark stranger replied. “Gunnar’s ears…” I heard him say, then: “We will speak to him now.”
“We owe fealty to no lord but Rägnar Yellow Hair,” Karin told them flatly.
“Rägnar Yellow Hair,” sneered the fair barbarian, “owes fealty to Harald Bull-Roar.”
“No doubt,” continued his dark companion smoothly, “Yellow Hair himself would tell you the same if he were here. Unfortunately…” He spread his empty hand in a gesture of helplessness; I observed, however, that his right hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword.
“If you refuse to—” I did not know the words, “—Gunnar now,” said the other, “it will go ill with you.”
“My husband is not here now,” Karin declared. “Tell me the message, or wait for his return.”
The dark man seemed to consider this. His eyes turned once more to Ylva, standing silent beside me. “We will wait,” he decided.
Karin nodded curtly, said something about the well and barn, then turned and walked stiff-backed to the house, summoning Ylva to her as she went. The king’s men watched her go; though they said nothing, their
silence fairly bristled. Nor did I like the way they looked at Ylva, for I saw menace in their long-lingering stares.
Odd and I returned to our chores. The cows were in the meadow and, with Surt’s help, I made quick work of herding them to the cattle enclosure. I finished the milking and poured out a drink for the dog, then took the milk to the house.
I was just entering the yard when I heard voices; they seemed to be arguing. Quickening my pace, I rounded the corner of the house to see Ylva standing before the barn between the two barbarians. The fair-haired one had her by the arm, and she was trying to pull away from him, but he gripped her too tightly. The men were talking to each other, and to Ylva, in a joking way, all smiles and coaxing tones. Ylva, however, seemed to be pleading with them—to release her, I think—and her expression was one of fear.
I placed the milk jar by the door and entered the yard. “Ylva,” I called, as if I had been looking for her. “Karin is waiting.” I said this as I walked to where they stood. “Go to the house.”
Ylva turned at her name, and implored me with her eyes. “I must go,” she told the men.
“No,” said the fair-haired stranger. “Stay and talk with us.”
“Twenty silver pieces,” said the dark man, ignoring me. “I will give twenty.”
“Twenty!” mocked his companion. “That is more than you—”
I could not understand any of what he said next, but his friend replied, “You know nothing, Eanmund.” To Ylva he said, “For a good wife, I will give twenty-five silver pieces. Are you a good wife?”
“Please,” said Ylva, her voice a small frightened thing, “I must go.” She said more, which I took to be pleading for release.
“Heya!” I called, stepping forward with much more boldness than I felt. Pointing at Ylva, I said, “She is wanted in the house.”
The fair-haired man released Ylva, and turned on me. Placing both hands flat against my chest, he shoved me backward. “Get away, slave,” he shouted.
Ylva, momentarily free, made to dash away. She had taken but three steps, however, when the dark man caught hold of her once more. He pulled her roughly towards the barn, talking to her in a rough manner. I struggled to my feet and was about to run for Karin, when I heard a strange, strangled cry.
I turned to see Odd, holding tight to his hoe, advancing with short, swift steps to where we stood. His face was flushed with rage. “No, Odd!” I shouted at him. “Stay back.”
To the barbarians, I said, “Let her go. Please! Odd does not…” my poor language deserted me, “he does not think—” that was not the word I wanted. Understand! “Please, he does not understand.”
“Odd!” shouted Ylva. “Stay back.” She said more, but to no avail, for he came on, gripping his hoe like a weapon. He made his curious, mewing roar again, and I realized that he was trying to say her name.
Fearing the clash to come, I turned and raced to the house, calling for Karin. Whether she heard my call, or had been roused by the shouts in the yard, Karin appeared in the doorway just as I reached the house. “Hurry!” I said, pointing to the barn where the strangers, still holding tight to Ylva, were confronting Odd.
“Nay! Nay!” she cried, already running for the barn.
A thought sprang into my head: Surt!
I hastened to the cattle enclosure, calling the hound as I ran. Surt heard me and met me on the path. Laying hold to his collar, I said, “Follow, Surt!”
And then it was swiftly back to the yard to find Ylva and Karin shouting at Odd, who appeared to be hugging the fair-haired stranger, while the other king’s man hammered on his back with the pommel of his sword. Closer, I saw Odd lift the man off his feet in a crushing embrace.
The fair one’s eyes were squeezed shut against the pain as he kicked his legs to free himself. At last, his friend landed a blow at the base of Odd’s neck. The big slave gave a grunt and dropped his catch. The fair man fell to the ground where he lay gasping, and Odd staggered backward and went down. The dark man stooped to his friend, and Karin took Ylva by the arm and pulled her away.
Surt, seeing his people mistreated, growled and surged forward. As the fight appeared to be over, I kept a tight grip on his collar; it was all I could do to hold him back. We had almost reached the place where Karin and Ylva were standing, when the fair-haired barbarian struggled to his feet. He stood, clutching his ribs, and cursing. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Then, snatching the sword from his companion’s hand, he turned to Odd, who was sitting on the ground, holding his head and moaning. Without so much as a word, the fair man thrust the swordpoint into Odd’s chest.
Poor Odd looked up in surprise. His hand grasped the naked swordblade and tried to pull it out. But the fair stranger forced the blade deeper, his face a leer of brutal glee.
Ylva screamed. Karin shouted and thrust the girl behind her.
I saw the wicked blade withdraw, red and streaming, and I saw the barbarian’s arm rise to strike again. Odd fell back and tried to squirm away. Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers had loosed their grip on the dog’s collar.
“Go, Surt!” I cried.
There came a sound like a rippling whir. The fair-haired man glanced up to see death hurtling towards him in the shape of a black hound. The dark man made a clumsy grab as the blurred shape flew past him.
The king’s man turned, sword glinting in his upraised arm.
Surt, fangs bared, was still three paces away when he leapt. The weight of the hound upon his chest threw the stranger to the ground. A truncated scream echoed in the yard as the hound’s jaws closed on the man’s throat.
The dark man lunged forward, but Surt was already shaking the life from his fair-haired victim. Karin shouted for Surt to stop, but the beast had the taste of blood in his mouth and would not release his kill.
Snatching up the fallen sword, the dark man gave a quick chop at the base of the dog’s head. The great hound collapsed and rolled to the side, fangs still sunk in his victim’s wound.
The barbarian writhed on the ground, a peculiar gurgling sound coming from his torn throat. All at once, he gave a great spluttering cough, spewing blood in a crimson mist. His limbs snapped rigid. He arched his back off the ground and then subsided with a wheezing sigh as the air rushed from his lungs.
Karin and I ran to where Odd lay; he appeared serene and thoughtful as if contemplating the cloudless sky. But the eyes that gazed up were looking into another realm. Blood no longer flowed from his wounds, and breath no longer stirred his lungs.
Dull silence claimed the yard. My head throbbed with the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I turned from the vision of death to see Ylva, hands pressed to her mouth, trembling in every limb, sobbing. My first impulse was to rush to her and offer comfort. But I had no sooner turned and taken a single step towards her, when I was halted by a snarl of rage: “Slave!”
The dark stranger rose from where he knelt beside the body of his friend. Sword in hand, he advanced slowly, spitting words which I could not understand. His meaning was clear enough, however; he meant to kill me. No doubt he would have slain me, too, and as easily as he had killed the hound, if not for Karin’s swift intervention.
“Stop!” she shouted, putting out her hand to the stranger. “This is Gunnar Warhammer’s land, and you have killed his slave and dog—” she said something else I did not catch, but she pointed to Ylva, and I guessed she meant that the threat to Ylva would be reported, along with the slaying of Odd and Surt.
Foaming with rage, the dark barbarian advanced. The blade in his hand rose to my throat. I saw the hatred in his eyes, but felt strangely calm, as if it all had happened a long time ago and to some other Aidan.
The swordpoint swung nearer.
The blow caught me on the side of the head—not the sword, but the fist gripping the handle. I fell at once, blinded by the pain, and lay waiting for the final stroke that would part soul from body. I was dimly aware of Ylva’s wailing; she was shouting and cry
ing for the bloodshed to stop.
I heard Karin shout again, and I looked up to see that she had seized the stranger’s sword arm and held him from completing his thrust. “Enough!” she cried. “Would you kill two of Gunnar’s slaves?”
The king’s man hesitated; the swordpoint wavered as he weighed his choices. Karin, her brow dark and threatening, spoke a warning in a low voice, and the sword arm slowly relaxed. Glowering murderously, the king’s man sheathed the blade and, with a dark-muttered oath, turned away. Head throbbing, I climbed to my feet and brushed myself off.
Karin stepped to Ylva and spoke sharply to her. The young woman’s wail subsided to a ragged whimper. “Come,” said Karin, gathering Ylva under her arm. To the king’s man and myself she said, “Bury them.”
The two women walked slowly and with great dignity back to the house, leaving me and my enemy to deal with the corpses. Together we dragged the bodies down to the duck pond and, using Gunnar’s wooden shovel and part of an iron ploughshare, dug two graves in the soft earth of the bank. As it happened, I did all the digging, for as soon as we reached the pond, the king’s man sat down and would do no more, so I performed the task alone.
When I finished, the stranger stripped his friend’s body of all valuables—including swordbelt, boots and jerkin. He then sat down again and watched as I rolled them into the graves. The dark man gave me to know in muttered threats and gestures that if he had his way, I would soon be joining them there.
I did not like to see Odd go to his rest without the least regard paid to his passing. True, he was no Christian man, but it seemed to me that he was still a child of the Eternal Father, and deserved to be treated as such. Indeed, if I had been a better monk, I might have told him about the Everliving Son, and he might have believed. So, I made a prayer for him. As I pushed the dirt over his body, I said these words:
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