Wolfsangel c-1 Page 25

  The wolfman dropped on top of his man, teeth bared. Vali instinctively knew what was about to happen and leaped forward to push Feileg off. It was one thing to get into a fight within a blink of coming into town — that might even be good for their reputation — but savaging someone with your teeth was a step too far. Vali pushed as hard as he could, but the wolfman just turned his body and Vali found himself face down in the mud. Feileg was tearing at the slaver’s face with his nails, pulling the flesh from the bone. The noise he was making was unbearable, a demented, keyless howl. The slaver lost an eye.

  The woman stood watching expressionlessly as her companion suffered.

  ‘Feileg!’ Vali got back up and shook the wolfman by his shoulders, staring into his face as if into a mirror.

  And then the nature of things seemed different: his consciousness seemed a wide and inclusive thing. It was as if the way of seeing things that he’d found in the mire had leaked into the day to day, as if the whole world was bathed in that dirty underwater light. Emotions pulled his head this way and that — the fear coming off the slaver and from Feileg a powerful sense of something trying to break out, something smothered under a blanket of pain. Vali forced himself to speak, though he didn’t know where he got the words.

  ‘Feileg, please,’ said Vali. ‘It’s all right. Just leave him. Come on, you must be tired. Veles will have a fine bed, I’m sure — better than the ground, eh?’

  The wolfman looked back into Vali’s eyes and Vali sensed that he shared something fundamental with this man, something deeper than could be conveyed by any word. He was connected to him, more than that, the same as him. The feeling made him shiver.

  The wolfman didn’t move, just looked down at the man beneath him. The slaver was silent — blue at the lips.

  ‘He’s dead of fear,’ said Bragi. ‘I’ve seen it before.’ Vali looked down at the body and it was as if its smells leaked memories. He tasted sour curds, sea and wood, sweat and blood, caught the scent of smoke and rain, saw piles of gold and wide bright skies. The sensations crowded upon him and then they were gone.

  A crowd had been drawn by the noise.

  The slaver woman now pulled at Vali’s arm. She wasn’t upset or angry. ‘I want weregild. Compensation for my husband’s death.’

  Vali had the bearing of a prince, so she had naturally gone to him rather than the wild Feileg, who seemed in some sort of trance.

  ‘I…’ Vali didn’t know what to say. He was trying to think straight. The fight had registered in his mind on a level beyond the fact of its violence, terrible though that had been. The strength of the emotions had seemed to wake a new sense in him, something between smell and memory. He felt dizzy and his head began to ache. The wide consciousness of a breath before had retracted to a thin stream; there was a high-pitched ringing in his ears like the echo of a scream.

  The woman spoke again. ‘Some compensation is right. I saw you arrive. You have a fine boat. If I can have that, then the matter is forgotten.’

  Veles put up his hand.

  ‘I am the prince’s representative in all such matters. You will get no weregild from us. Your husband attacked this man. The berserk did no more than shout at him and your husband drew a knife. It is you who owe us compensation.’ He turned to the crowd, some of whom were now coming in to look at the body of the slaver.

  ‘Is that not right?’

  There were some murmurings, a few half-hearted jokes, which Veles acknowledged with a smile.

  The woman seemed to weigh Veles’ words in her mind.

  ‘Give me two oars and we are even.’

  Veles shook his head.

  ‘My friends have a case against you. Give us all your slaves and it is forgotten.’

  The woman looked at the crowd. She was not articulate and Veles was a popular man.

  ‘Give him the slaves,’ said a voice.

  ‘The wolfman was wronged — I saw the knife,’ said another. Others just shook their heads and laughed.

  The woman looked to left and right, hoping for a friendly face. There were not many.

  ‘I offer you the two children,’ she said. There was a mild change in Veles’ posture, almost like a hound taking a scent. The stink of the slave barn seemed terrible to Vali, who felt as though he couldn’t move. He put his hand on the low roof for support.

  ‘They are more a burden than a help,’ said Veles. ‘Include the parents and my friend’s claim is done. Your man was no great loss. Look at your face — you didn’t get that bruise from his kisses.’

  The woman thought again for a moment. She walked to the corpse of her husband and spat at it.

  ‘Take them,’ she said. ‘I thank Jesus for my release. Few people are freed twice in their lives.’

  ‘Have them delivered,’ said Veles. ‘I have better things to do for the moment, and see that they’re fed before they arrive. I don’t want to start paying out until I’ve had at least a day’s work.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Bread, no stew.’

  ‘Stew,’ said Veles, ‘or we put it before the assembly, and I tell you, you’ll lose more than slaves for this.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Stew.’

  ‘Come,’ said Veles. ‘We must away.’

  Feileg still hadn’t moved. Veles put his mask up to his face and looked at Feileg through it.

  ‘Woof, woof. Come on,’ he said. Some of the crowd laughed, though others were still craning over the corpse. Remarkably, the merchant’s mockery seemed to break Feileg from his trance, and he looked up and followed his companions, Bragi patting him on the shoulder and congratulating him.

  ‘That’s how a man deals with people who pull knives on him, son,’ he said. ‘Ah, by Lord Tyr’s holy stump, I could have done with you on a few raids. If I was ten years younger, we’d get some plunder between us, eh? If you could learn to use a sword there’d not be a man between here and Serkland who’d face you down.’

  The wolfman said nothing.

  Vali followed Veles through the streets. He wondered if his time in the mire had taken too great a toll on him, whether it had affected his mind. Looking into Feileg’s eyes had been a disconcerting experience, the violence worse still. There had been something intoxicating about it.

  Bragi was now in conversation with Veles.

  ‘I thought that was going to cost us a helmet at least. You really are a magician, Veles,’ he said.

  ‘I have my talents,’ Veles replied. ‘She had already been paid by your wolfman. She’s a rich widow now. I think she probably wanted to give howling boy a gift; I just showed her how it could be done.’

  ‘What is Feileg going to do with slaves,’ said Bragi, ‘other than eat them?’

  ‘Give them to me,’ said Veles.

  Veles’s house was a big longhouse with bulging walls in the Haithabyr style. It had a fenced area outside it, within which, on a stool, sat a Dane in a padded coat, carrying a large seax. Vali instinctively checked his sword was still at his belt.

  ‘No need, no need,’ said Veles, putting his hand on Vali’s. ‘This is my bodyguard, not a robber. He is paid to be here.’

  This shocked Vali. Why would anyone need a personal bodyguard? Couldn’t the community guard itself against outsiders who might come to rob? Forkbeard’s plunder sat in the open air for days after a raid so the people could see his success and reflect on his power. His kin would never steal from him. Also, bodyguards worked for loyalty and honour not pay, and only nobles had them. Veles was a commoner, a thrall even. The whole thing struck the prince as immoral.

  Vali eyed the man suspiciously and went inside. The house was built around a big single room, with separate pens for goats and small cattle leading off it. Vali thought this luxurious. In Disa’s house the goats had shared the same space as the humans. Veles did not seem quite as prepared as he had said at the quay. There was no food for a feast and not much in the way of ale, though the merchant had dispatched a boy and assured them that these things were on their way.
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br />   The main living space was richly appointed with furs on the floors, the smell of sweet herbs masking the stink of the town outside and animals within, and the walls were hung with strange embroideries of wool and linen. One showed a woman surrounded by winged men, another the god Vali had seen at the raid on the island, again impaled like Odin on a tree.

  Veles saw Vali looking at them.

  ‘Bought for warmth and beauty rather than from religious fervour,’ said Veles, ‘one god being much like another, I find.’

  A small dark woman, the same race as Veles, came in, along with a gaggle of three boys, their hair black and shiny. One of the children had a bear mask, like the wolf mask Veles now had in his hand. He held it to his face and chased the others, growling.

  ‘You see what I mean,’ Veles said. ‘These objects are sacred to the Whale People of the north. A brother people to my own, the Neuri, have similar things. With a mask, a Neuri man or a northern sorcerer can transform himself into a beast. Here, they are playthings for my children.’

  Feileg stretched out his hand for the mask that Veles was holding and the merchant gave it to him.

  ‘Why do you wear that?’ said Vali.

  ‘To attract attention at the quay,’ said Veles. ‘Here a merchant needs to be seen. The Christians have a saying — a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I, as you see, am rather the reverse.’

  Feileg was looking at the children and the woman through the mask. When he took it down, Vali could see that tears had come to his eyes. The wolfman was unselfconscious and made no attempt to wipe them away.

  ‘The fire bothers you?’ said Veles.

  Feileg shook his head. ‘I am sad because I am remembering my own family,’ he said.

  ‘How can you tear a man’s face off in one breath and be crying for your mummy with the next?’ said Bragi.

  ‘I am a wolf,’ said Feileg, and continued staring at the playing boys.

  Veles raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. Then he clapped his hands and spoke to the eldest boy. ‘Jarilo, you are too old to be chasing around like that. Here, go and slaughter a goat — we have esteemed guests.’

  The boy picked up a knife and headed towards the pens, keenly pursued by his brothers.

  ‘Woman, fetch wine from Geiri as quick as you can. Tell him payment will be his within the week. Is this how you prepare when I tell you the prince of all the north is a guest in our house?’

  Now it was the woman’s turn to look to the heavens, as she put down her broom and made her way outside.

  ‘You ought to beat her more,’ said Bragi.

  ‘I couldn’t beat her more if I made it my only occupation,’ said Veles in a low voice, craning his head to make sure his wife was out of earshot, ‘but still she doesn’t obey.’

  ‘She bears no bruises,’ said Bragi.

  ‘Obotrite women do not bruise easily,’ said Veles. ‘They also kick like cows and bite like sows. Come, have some ale while we wait for the wine.’

  There was a large bowl of the murky beer under a cloth on the side and he passed it among them.

  The men drank and, as they did, visitors came and went. There were other merchants with their wares, there were curious children and there were friends of Veles, come to meet the new arrivals.

  The butchered goat was brought in, and when Veles’ wife returned she grilled the meat over the fire, which Vali thought a strange choice when there was a stew pot within hand’s reach. He wondered if this was some Obotrite custom. Still, he had to admit it was delicious and that the wine went very well with it. After the long journey eating fish and whatever plants they could find near the shore the meal was lovely, and Vali began to feel light-headed. In drink, Bragi could not be prevented from telling the tale of the defence against the Danes, at several points holding Vali’s arm in the air as he related some particularly momentous aspect of the victory.

  Eventually, Vali found himself seated next to Veles on a low stool near the fire. In the smoke and the glow of the flames the easterner resembled some sort of strange spirit, sparks flying around him as he spoke, the jewels he had put on in the safety of his house — amber and jet attached to his ears, gold arm rings and brooches — sparkling in the firelight.

  Perhaps this was Lord Loki he had prayed to, taken human form to help him, Vali thought. And perhaps not, though Veles was certainly a different sort of man, as Loki was a different sort of god. Vali knew no one else who dropped eastern poems from his lips or who talked always of markets and gold rather than battles. Veles had no means of support, as far as Vali could see — no herds or fields, or even a trade beyond buying and selling. Vali found his company exhilarating but at the same time unsettling. He thought of Adisla. Was she even alive? A crowd of emotions came in on him: anger, concern and desperation.

  ‘You are thinking of the girl,’ said Veles. ‘I can see she is more than a princess to you — your face betrays you. What is her name?’

  The wine and the food, the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being among friends lessened Vali’s caution. ‘Adisla,’ he said.

  ‘Adisla?’ said Veles. Vali had not been able to imagine what would break Veles’ mask of urbanity. That did. His voice dropped as if he was about to say something he needed to conceal from the others. ‘I remember her from my visit to you when you were a child. She’s a pretty thing, I’ll grant you, but tell me you haven’t come all this way for a farmer’s daughter. Have you?’

  Vali swilled the dregs of the wine in the bottom of his cup and said, ‘She is everything to me.’

  Veles rolled his eyes to the rafters.‘You sound like an Arab!’ he said. ‘They’re always banging on about love. “Mine is the religion of love! Wherever God’s caravans turn, the religion of love shall be my religion and my faith!”’

  ‘It seems a better choice than a religion of war.’

  ‘Really?’ said Veles with mock shock. ‘And you descended from Odin as well.’

  ‘I am sick of that fellow,’ said Vali. ‘If there are gods, I would prefer one of love.’

  ‘You should speak to the Christians,’ said Veles. ‘King Charles of the Franks piously follows the god Christ, who is a god of love. The king has so much love in his heart that he turns the rivers red with the blood of his god’s enemies. That’s a rare love indeed.’

  ‘I’ll be wary of that sort of love,’ said Vali.

  ‘You should — and of the sort you seem possessed by. It does not do to love women too much, don’t all your people say that? An Umayyad merchant told me one story of a caliph, a king of many lands, who fell in love with a slave girl. He could demand from her anything he wanted but that wasn’t enough for the idiot. She had to give it freely. He saw the wrong sort of look in her eye one night when they were in bed together and threw himself off a tower.’

  ‘What is a tower?’ said Vali.

  ‘A high building, too high to jump off, big as a cliff. They have them in the east, like a fort but not for war.’

  ‘What’s a fort not for war?’ said Vali.

  Veles laughed. ‘A woman’s heart, it seems, at least according to our friend the caliph. There are plenty of women who will love you. If one doesn’t, through inclination or circumstance, find one who will. Better that than chase half around the world to have what you could get for thirty silver at a slave market.’

  Vali looked into the fire. ‘I won’t abandon her. Neither you with jokes nor Forkbeard with threats will shake me from my purpose.’

  A look of dawning realisation came over the merchant’s face and Vali knew he had said too much.

  Veles spoke in a hush. ‘One moment. Did Forkbeard approve of this little trip of yours? He didn’t, did he? No wonder he didn’t give you a drakkar.’ Then his look turned to one of mild horror. ‘Have you Forkbeard’s permission to be here at all?’ he said.

  ‘I am a prince of the Horda, not the Rygir.’

  Veles shook his head. ‘That sounds as good as a no to me. Oh dear, oh dear. What did you think
you were going to do about Hemming? Sit there and broker some peace you couldn’t deliver?’

  Vali saw there was no use in pretending to the merchant.

  ‘I could think of no other excuse for being here.’

  ‘Is that in itself not an indication that you shouldn’t have come? Go back to Rogaland. Now. Have you any idea of the danger you’ve placed yourself in? Hemming sits at the centre of a web of competing interests. If you don’t have Forkbeard’s blessing, he’ll be almost bound to take you as a hostage whether he wants to or not. He’ll say you’re here as his guest, but you’ll be lucky if you see Rogaland ever again.’

  Vali couldn’t tell if it was the wine or just the need to unburden himself to someone he respected, to gain the benefit of Veles’ advice. He decided to tell the truth.

  ‘I will never see Rogaland again.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We are outlaws,’ said Vali.

  Veles almost ducked as if anticipating a blow.

  ‘What in the name of nine kinds of devil have you done?’

  Vali shrugged. ‘It was more to do with politics than actions.’

  Veles had to restrain himself from plucking the wine cup out of Vali’s fingers and shoving him through the door.

  ‘Are you an outlaw in Hordaland?’

  ‘No,’ said Vali.

  ‘So you’ve still some connections.’ Veles thought for a moment. ‘Look, you must leave here tonight and go with one of my men to a place of safety. You can take your boat down the coast and wait in the forest. It is too dangerous for you here. Hemming will soon discover you’ve been outlawed — he has men in all the kingdoms. He may even want to ransom you to your father or Forkbeard. If Haarik comes back here he will sue to have you killed.’