Wolfsangel c-1 Page 16

  He shrugged as if she had made a ludicrous suggestion.

  ‘Go and have a drink,’ she said, ‘but don’t be too long, I want to go home to bed soon.’

  ‘Make sure you don’t take him with you,’ said Tassi, smiling and getting up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I see the way you look at him,’ he said. ‘He’s out of bounds but, should you be in the mood…’

  ‘Go and have your drink,’ said Adisla.

  ‘As you like,’ said Tassi. He slouched off towards the hall.

  Adisla didn’t like to admit it but Tassi had been right to a point. She did find the wolfman fascinating, but she couldn’t find a man like that attractive. He stank for a start, a musty smell more animal than human. She sat down on the stool. She wanted to say something sympathetic, something to make him feel better, but couldn’t think of anything. Instead, she heard herself ask: ‘Are you sorry for your crimes now?’

  The wolfman said nothing. A shadow flitted across her and Adisla looked up to see what it was. There was nothing there, though the speed of its passing made her think of the starlings. She was possessed by a sudden urge to see what he looked like. She thought that if he tried to enchant her then she would just look away.

  There was no one about and the riotous sounds from the hall were as loud as ever. She leaned forward and touched his arm. It was just as it looked, hard as a tree. Some of the grey came off on her fingers. She licked at it. As she had thought, it was some sort of chalk. The wolfman had not flinched when she touched him and this made her bolder. She lifted up the hood on his head. Now he did move, his head lolling forward. At first she thought he really did have an animal’s head. Then she realised it was the pelt of a large wolf, which had slipped down to cover his face. He coughed, and stretched his neck. Gingerly she lifted the pelt and was so surprised she sat back down on the stool. Vali was looking straight at her.

  ‘You are a sorcerer!’ The implications of what she saw began to sink in. If this was a shape-shifter, if he could appear exactly as Vali, then — if he got free — he could take the prince’s place, eat with them, play and who knows what more? Perhaps they would have climbed the hills and lain kissing on the grass together. Perhaps they would have gone out in the little boat, as she and Vali often did. And then what? Murder, as wolves always murdered.

  The man blinked at her. He cleared his throat and said slowly, ‘Not a sorcerer.’ His voice was low and cracked, with a strange accent. He produced his words carefully, as if they were fragile things that might break if he let them out too quickly. It was as if he was unused to speaking.

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘I am a wolf.’

  Adisla was careful not to look at him directly for too long, in case he cast a spell on her.

  ‘You’ve stolen the face of the prince.’

  ‘This face was given me by a brother. I am proud to wear it. I look through his eyes and he sees again through me. I wear his fur and he runs again, through me.’

  Adisla realised he was talking about the wolf pelt.

  ‘You are a fetch,’ she said, ‘a subtle, scheming shape-changer. Who sent you here?’

  ‘I stole the food of a black-hued man. He enchanted me and brought me to this place.’

  Now Adisla did laugh. Vali, she well knew, was more interested in playing king’s table and mooning about the hills than he was in magic.

  ‘You’re black-hued yourself, no need for insults.’

  ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘I am a wolf.’

  ‘And now what is to happen to you, wolf?’

  He said nothing, just looked into her eyes.

  ‘They will hang you,’ she said.

  Still he didn’t speak but she couldn’t shake his gaze. Was this what it was like, she wondered, to be enchanted?

  ‘You don’t seem too concerned about it.’

  ‘I am a wolf.’

  She thought that he didn’t understand the trouble he was in. Or did death not mean the same to him as it did to her?

  ‘You are the Fenris Wolf,’ she said, ‘fettered and chained.’

  ‘Fenrisulfr will break his fetters one day, say the prophecies.’

  Adisla felt a chill go through her. She had always found that myth disturbing. The god Loki had had monstrous children, one of which was the gigantic Fenris Wolf. The gods had been so afraid of Fenrisulfr that they tricked it into fetters. Lashed by a cord called Thin to a rock called Scream, a sword thrust into its jaws to keep them open, its saliva ran out to become a river called Hope. The tale said the wolf would lie there until the twilight of the gods — Ragnarok — when it would break its bonds and kill the All-Father Odin. It would usher in a new age, ruled by beautiful, just, fair spirits, not the corrupt, battle-mad, vengeful and deceitful gods they called the Aesir, of which Odin was the chief.

  The rhyme from the prophecy went through her head. The fetters shall burst and the wolf run free

  Much do I know and more can see.

  Her mother had told her the story when she was a child and Adisla had been thrilled and scared.

  ‘But you are not the Fenris Wolf,’ she said, ‘or you would break your fetters.’

  ‘No,’ said the wolfman. He seemed very sad.

  ‘Would you like some food or drink?’ said Adisla.

  ‘Yes,’ said the wolfman.

  Adisla went over to the hall. Everyone was too drunk to notice her, everyone except Vali, who caught her eye and then looked away. She took some bread and butter from the mead bench, along with a cup. On her way back she drew water from the well and dipped the cup into the bucket. Then she approached the wolfman again.

  She fed him the bread, pushing it into his mouth, almost afraid he might bite her. He ate it slowly, not gulping it like an animal as she had expected him to do. Still he held her gaze. He’s showing me he’s human, she thought. He says he’s a wolf but that’s not really what he wants me to see. Then she held the cup to his lips.

  ‘More?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She refilled the cup three or four times. The man did not seem like a savage or a sorcerer. His eyes were not furious; he didn’t spit at her or curse her. Adisla studied him closely. She could see he was very like Vali indeed, although his face was more weather-beaten and leaner. She reached forward and touched his hair — it was like Vali’s too. But he wasn’t exactly the same, only very similar. Did she still think he was a sorcerer? She didn’t know.

  ‘I didn’t think wolfmen could speak,’ she said.

  ‘I only know two,’ he said. ‘One doesn’t, but I do, when I must.’

  ‘When is that?’

  ‘Not much,’ said the wolfman.

  ‘Is your mother a wolfwoman. Or a wolf?’ she said.

  ‘My family are like you. I lost them when I was young.’

  ‘They died?’

  ‘No, I lost them, on a hillside. My wolf father looked after me from then.’

  He was more like Vali than Adisla had thought. He too had been effectively orphaned at an early age. Why did she feel so sorry for this bandit, so fascinated by him?

  ‘You were given to a wizard?’

  ‘Not a wizard, a wolf.’

  ‘A wolf like you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They said nothing for a while; she just helped him eat and drink.

  Then the wolfman said, ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Your kinsmen beat me and tied me here. Are you a traitor to them?’

  ‘I am true to myself,’ said Adisla. ‘I am a free woman and no one commands me.’

  The wolfman was watching her very intently now.

  ‘What is your name?’ she said.

  ‘I am a wolf.’

  ‘Don’t wolves have names?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, wolf, I am Adisla,’ she said.

  For the first time he broke from staring at her to look at the ground.

  ‘My family called me Feileg,�
� he said, ‘but I lost my name when I lost them.’

  ‘You seem unused to kindness, Feileg.’

  ‘I am a wolf,’ he said. She found herself looking into his eyes again. They were like Vali’s, without the humour but also without the discomfort that so often radiated from the prince.

  She sensed he wanted to ask her something. Was this it? The spell that enchanters work, was it coming over her?

  ‘What?’ said Adisla.

  ‘Marry me,’ said the wolfman.

  If it was a spell, that broke it. Adisla burst out laughing. ‘I’m afraid, sir, that your prospects seem a little bleak for that right now.’

  ‘I will escape,’ said the wolfman. ‘Marry me. We have spoken, we have exchanged kindnesses. Then you go to your kin and they arrange it. My mother said this is how it is done. I have many treasures in the hills and I will spread them before you. Go to your kin.’

  Adisla stood.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that,’ she said. ‘I will not marry you, but I’ll stay here and protect you for the night, so you’ll come to no harm until the great harm that awaits you on the full moon. And I shall sing to you.’

  And Adisla did sing, not in the discordant way she had used to torment her captors, but as she could, clear and high, a song about a farmer’s boy who risked his life for the love of a princess, and was killed by her brothers as he slept next to his beloved.

  ‘Do your people allow women to sing such things?’ said the wolfman when she was finished.

  ‘No,’ said Adisla, ‘but there are none here to hear it. And I am not an enchantress, as you are not a sorcerer.’ She looked down at the cup in her hands. ‘There’s no one here to bewitch anyway, even if we were.’ And then she sat with him and watched the moon climb in the sky.

  18

  The Raid

  Vali woke with a jolt as if on a beaching ship. At first he wondered where he was and then he remembered — Forkbeard’s hall. He had a thick tongue and a thicker head. He needed desperately to puke. He looked around him. Everywhere people were slumped at the benches, some with drinks still in their hands. He wanted to piss, to be sick, to do everything to get rid of the tight humming feeling in his head.

  ‘Ale, boss?’ said Bragi, proffering him a horn. The man was still awake, still drinking, despite the fact that everyone around him had collapsed.

  ‘I’ll take my next one in Valhalla,’ said Vali. Just looking at the drink made him want to be ill. He staggered outside the hall and down to the moorings, where he did what he had to do.

  It was hot. The sun was high and felt like it was boiling his head. He had to get cooler so he waded deep into the water and then just lay back. The cold seemed to restore him and by the time he came out of the sea he felt better. He looked around. No one. He went to the well, drew up the bucket and poured it over himself, drinking as he did so. He glanced over to the wolfman. Someone had spread a cloth over him to protect him from the sun. Who would have done that? There was someone sleeping on the ground behind him, almost completely wrapped up in a cloak. Vali’s eyes were full of sleep and moisture, and he could neither make them focus nor force his befouled brain think about anything beyond his thirst.

  He took another drink and looked out to sea. On the horizon he saw a smudge of grey in the sky. At first he didn’t recognise it for what it was. He rubbed his eyes. He was hungry and thought he’d return to the hall to see if there were any leftovers from the night before.

  And then it dawned on him. That smudge was smoke. It was the fire on a ship. Longships carried rock ballast for stability, and it was possible to cook on top of it. Someone, just over the horizon, was cooking something. Why cook so close to land? Merchants could be in the village in no time, where they could ingratiate themselves with their hosts by buying food, along with the ale to wash it down. Then he remembered the raid on the abbey. Berserks cooked before they went into battle, stewing up their herbs and their frenzying mushrooms.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he told himself.

  Then the truth of the situation struck him like a fist. Of course! It was an attack.

  Forkbeard had gone to the regional assembly, taking sixty of his best fighting men with him. If any enemy had discovered that then they would know the Rygir village was virtually undefended. Who was left? Farmers, old warriors, women and children. What better time to attack?

  It all fell into place. That was why Vali had been called away. His mother hadn’t wanted him there when the raid took place. Why hadn’t his mother sent aid? Because Authun was mad but still in command. She could buy grain, marry her daughters and send for her son, but the White Wolf’s warriors moved only for him while he was alive. Without Authun to lead the Horda, she couldn’t act to help friends or strike enemies. And hadn’t Vali’s sister Dalla married the Dane Ingwar? That had happened because the Horda were powerless — they needed marriage alliances to protect them. As long as no one knew of Authun’s illness the Danish kings would gladly offer their sons — they thought they were buying protection. In fact, they had been deceived into offering it. But why hadn’t Yrsa sent word to Forkbeard? Because she feared Vali would not marry his daughter. His message saying that he would refuse to marry Ragna had reached the Horda court. If Yrsa could not be sure that Vali would go through with the marriage then she might fear the treaty with the Rygir would fail. The queen wanted to keep her neighbours occupied with another enemy. So why had the Rygir been left unwarned? Because, in a moment of stupidity, Vali had said he would not do his duty. He had visited this calamity on the Rygir and he felt ashamed for it.

  Vali ran into the hall.

  ‘Get up, get up! The enemy is here. Get up, get up!’ he shouted.

  There were still some coals burning in the fire. He scooped several onto a bread plate, gathered some straw from the floor and ran out to the beacon, which seemed to take an age to light.

  ‘Hurry up, hurry up! Get your arms and shields, we’ve got a fight on!’

  Bragi strolled out like a man surveying his land on a fine morning.‘What, lord?’

  ‘Look, the horizon — smoke. It’s warships, I know it.’

  ‘That or a trader cooking up some mackerel,’ said Bragi. He was calm.

  ‘He’s either coming here, in which case he’d eat here, or he’s going past, in which case he’d never risk alerting our ships. When have you seen smoke like that before?’

  ‘Not here, but-’

  ‘Who am I?’

  ‘Vali, prince of the sword-Horda,’ said Bragi.

  ‘Whose son am I?’

  ‘Authun, lord of battle.’

  ‘Then respect me and call to arms. Call to arms!’

  Bragi shrugged but took a horn from his belt. One of the endearing things about the old warrior was that he was almost permanently dressed for a fight. He even carried his helmet with him much of the time, though he drew the line at wearing his byrnie. He had been known to take his shield if he wasn’t going far, however.

  Bragi blew three blasts on his horn, then walked into the hall and started rousing the men. At first few believed him and thought it a prank but, urged on by Vali, they stumbled outside and saw the beacon burning. That was never lit as a joke. Up on the hill another one answered it. Behind that, they knew, would be others, calling the men of the farms down to defend the shore.

  Vali looked at what he had. Forty men, or rather boys and grandfathers, some still half drunk. He shouted and kicked at them to arm themselves. Hungover and red-faced, they opened chests in the hall, taking out weapons, padded jackets, a couple of byrnies and helmets. Shields and spears were found in a separate storeroom. Men stumbled and tripped as they pulled on their gear, clattered into each other as they reached for the weapons.

  ‘Sails!’ shouted Bragi from outside. Despite being clearly very drunk, the old man had his byrnie on and had taken up two spears, one stout and long, the other shorter and thinner, for throwing.

  Vali didn’t bother putting on a byrnie
, though he had a right to one. He grabbed a seax, a shield and a helmet, and gave them all to Bragi.

  ‘Shield wall at the top of the hill, the Hogsback, on the cart track at the side of the copse,’ he said. ‘They won’t get round the back of us through the wood, not in a hurry anyway. Have these for me there behind it. Put five archers in the woods and tell them not to fire until I give the order. Nothing as the enemy advance. Nothing, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, lord, but will they come to the top of the hill? Surely they’ll plunder here and be gone.’

  ‘They have berserks aboard. They’ll come,’ said Vali. ‘I’ll ensure it. Our only chance is to fight them there. Get to the hill and set your wall, though be ready to receive me — I’ll be coming through it at speed.’

  Bragi had been amazed when Vali appeared with the wolfman. He was even more amazed at the transformation in him now.

  Hogni and Orri appeared from the hall.

  ‘Ah, Horda — good men,’ said Vali. ‘You’ll go with the archers into the woods to cover the front of the shield wall. You’ll see that they do not fire until my command. Then, and you’ll know the time, you’ll attack the enemy from the back.’

  ‘Yes, lord.’ Hogni and Orri were too hungover to argue, to point out that they were veterans of five raids each. Anyway, Vali was a prince. In battle, that is what princes are for, if nothing else — they give the orders.

  The longships were closer now. They could hear the baying of the berserks, the sound of them beating their shields and their bodies, the oaths to Odin and the curses on the enemy. The voices were indistinct, but if you had heard the chanting before you would know what it said.

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘That means fury!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘That means war!’

  ‘They speak our language, sir,’ said Orri.

  Bragi shook his head. ‘Look at the ships; they sit so shallow in the water. These bastards are Danes — their ships do no more than kiss the waves. I saw them at Kaupangen. They’ve hired a few pirates from near here, no doubt, but these are Danes.’