Wolfsangel Page 9

  The berserks never bothered to speak to him, and he was glad of that, as it allowed him to remain in his own thoughts. His people saw no beauty in the sea. He thought of the names they gave it: roarer, empty place, devourer, rager. To them it was an obstacle, a place of production and a killer. They turned the backs of their houses to the water, not wishing to look at it when they opened their doors. But Vali was enchanted by it, the sparkling greens and blues, the movement of the clouds on the horizon, the delight when a wave broke over the side of the ship and a mackerel landed in his lap.

  Then: ‘The island! This is where it happens, boys!’

  Vali glanced over his shoulder but could see nothing, no land, no enemy. Bragi put a hand on his arm. ‘Stick to the oar, lord; don’t worry about what’s waiting for us when we get off the boat.’

  Vali nodded, aware that soon he would be killing his first enemy, or being killed himself. He wished he’d unpacked his sword already. He felt the need to piss and stood to do so. He wasn’t the only one. It was almost a comical sight, ten men weeing over the side in one go, a like number on both accompanying knarrs, as if it was some sort of ritual.

  Vali scanned for land. All he could see was open sea. No, there was something, a flat dark patch in the hazy distance. ‘This is it,’ he told himself. ‘This is it.’

  The men pulled in their oars and laid them flat in the bottom of the longship. The berserks’ leader, the man with the strange staff, piled up ballast stones. Then he took out some twigs and kindling, and got a fire going on top of them. When it was established, he hung a cooking pot above it from a tripod and added water from a skin. Then he began throwing in things from a pouch.

  Vali went to the back of the ship and took his weapon from a barrel, along with his helmet. He was intensely nervous and every movement felt unnatural, scrutinised by the men around him and found wanting. Other men were breaking open barrels and strapping on their war gear. There was no conversation. None of the berserks spoke to each other but just mumbled into their beards, cursing and issuing threats to non-existent opponents.

  The contents of the fire pot were poured into a large bowl, which was passed around, drained dry and refreshed. It came to Vali and he looked inside to see a gritty soup. In it floated shrivelled, spotty mushrooms that looked to him like human ears. He passed the bowl on to the berserk next to him without drinking and watched as the man gulped at the brew.

  When each of the berserks had taken the soup, they took up their oars again.

  The war band leader made his way to the front of the ship, carrying the staff with the iron rings. He steadied himself by the prow as his men rowed and began to bang the staff on the boards of the ship, thumping out a clanging beat. The berserks responded to the rhythm by stamping their feet as they worked the oars.

  ‘Odin!’ shouted the leader.

  As one, the berserks replied, ‘That means fury!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘That means war!’

  ‘All Father!’ screamed the leader.

  ‘Mighty in battle!’ came the reply.

  ‘All Father!’

  ‘Make red our swords!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘That means frenzy!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘That means death!’

  The berserks howled and smashed their heads into their oars, spat and swore as they powered the boat towards the shore. The war band leader beat the rail of the ship with his rattle, screaming and shrieking out his words.

  ‘Odin’s men!’ he shouted.

  ‘We are men of Odin!’ the berserks screamed back at him.

  ‘Men of Odin!’

  ‘We are Odin’s men!’

  The chanting seemed to go on for ever, and the berserks seemed to have an endless supply of words spilling out in chants as fast as a fighter’s heartbeat. They went wild, punching at the oars as they rowed, slapping themselves and screaming the words into each other’s faces. The beat became faster.

  ‘Odin!’ shouted the leader, hammering his rattle into the rail.

  ‘Man maddener, all hater, war screamer!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘Wolf fighter, spear shaker, corpse maker!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘Great wrecker, down thrower, foe slayer!’

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘Berserker, berserker, berserker!’

  Now some of the men stood, punching their chests and arms. The ship lurched as one man in his frenzy forgot his oar, and the blade caught in the water.

  ‘Odin!’

  ‘Berserker, berserker, berserker!’

  ‘So they call me!’ shouted the man with the rattle.

  ‘Odin!’ howled the oarsmen.

  ‘So they call me!’

  ‘Odin!’

  In his fear and excitement the words came to Vali as impressions. They seemed more than names. It was as if the wild chanting gave them a life, as if he could see the images they conjured - Odin fighting the Fenris Wolf, a spear flying through a clear blue sky, gallows and slaughter, fire and blood. The beat of the oars never slackened, though Vali was sure the men could not sustain the pace for much longer. Instead they got faster, hardly missing a stroke, despite many of them swigging from drinking horns which were regularly refilled from a huge jug carried by a boy. Vali wondered that anyone could even lift such a pitcher, never mind pour it without spilling it on a longship as it crashed through the surf.

  As the jug passed, Bragi shouted across to him, though panting with exertion, ‘I’d have a drink if I were you. Ale waters the courage inside you and makes it grow!’

  Vali did as Bragi suggested, taking his horn off his belt to have it filled and swigging down a couple of mouthfuls. He could drink no more, beginning to feel sick with the anticipation of what was to come rather than the movement of the ship. The berserks were baying now, screaming obscenities and promises to their god.

  He glanced over his shoulder again and got the impression of the blue giving way to green behind him. Then white joined the blue and green. A beach. There was a judder and Vali was thrown back off his chest to sprawl onto the ballast.

  Propelled by the frenzied rowing, the boat grounded on the beach far harder than it needed to. Vali thought they’d been lucky not to tear out the hull. He had to roll aside as a stampede swept over him, the berserks howling in their mania to get off the boat. Not one bore a shield, none even armour or a helmet, just spears, axes and, in the case of the leader, a sword in one hand and the huge rattle in the other.

  Vali turned to see who they were charging at but saw nothing, just a pleasant broad beach of light sand, the sunny day, birds over the meadows and deep green grass. There was no enemy there at all.

  The berserks were off and running across the island, the more conventional warriors disembarking from the other two boats behind them.

  ‘Come on,’ said Bragi. ‘We’ve attacked from the rear of the island for surprise. You go ahead of me; I’m too old to run all the way. Remember, pretty women, fit men, they’re the slaves you’re looking for. The rest, kill ’em for the fear it’ll bring next time.’

  Vali stepped from the boat and had the strange sensation of setting foot on foreign soil for the first time in his life. He was inclined to stop and look around him, to see how the place differed from his home, but he knew he couldn’t.

  He pressed on in the throng of helmeted warriors from the knarrs, all of them carrying shields, chasing the fast-moving unarmoured berserks inland. The island was flat and not too long, but he could see no buildings on it. They moved quickly and, as they crested a small ridge, found the first bodies, four old men dead in a furrowed field. He could tell they were old by their white hair; their features gave no clue to their age. The men had been mutilated, their heads cut and cut again, stamped on and kicked.

  Vali took them for slaves, as they were dressed very plainly and the two heads that were still anything like intact were shaved completely at the front, the hair left long behind, which he thou
ght must be the sign of the lowest rank, a mark of their subjugation. There were farm implements lying discarded around them, rakes and hoes, but more than could be used by just four. Vali wondered why they hadn’t simply sat down and been taken prisoner. Why should a slave fight for his owner? Then he realised what had happened. He thought of the chanting of the men on the boat and the consumption of those mushrooms, the frenzy of the dash for the shore. There would be no surrendering to the berserks. There were three paths of action available to the people on the island, run, fight or die. The other slaves had fled, leaving only these old ones behind. Vali shook his head. If the berserks were on a killing rampage it greatly reduced the chances of them getting anything valuable from the raid. A slave was worth as much as gold in some ways.

  He ran on, up a long incline. There was some sort of sound. At first he took it for the crying of gulls, but then, as he got nearer, it became easier to identify. Human screaming. It was high-pitched and desperate, counterpointed with low roars of aggression. Smoke was already in the air.

  There, towards the beach below him, was a settlement of around fifteen houses. He was struck that they were the wrong shape. There were a couple of big halls like a king might own but the huts that surrounded them were all tiny and circular. That was wrong, he thought - huts should be square, perhaps with bowed sides but not round. He had never seen anything like them. He found them very exotic and exciting, and he very much wanted to go inside one to see what it was like.

  Then there were the people. Vali had rarely seen so many in one place, all men too, panicking under the axes of the berserks. Only a few were making an effort at resistance; most were running for their lives.

  He stood watching the attack for some time, watching the huts burn, watching the berserks hack down the men. All the enemy, thought Vali, appeared to be slaves, all with that strange shaved head at the front, the hair long at the rear. Vali couldn’t help noticing that none of the berserks had actually bothered to take any plunder. With that in mind, he looked down the hill towards the biggest building, the one with the cross on the roof, which he took for a temple. If anything was to be retrieved, he thought, he had better do it before the whole settlement was reduced to ashes.

  Bragi had made the top of the hill and put his hand to Vali’s shoulder.

  ‘Draw your weapon, prince,’ he said.

  ‘I hardly think that’s going to be necessary,’ said Vali. ‘There’s no resistance at all.’

  ‘Best to have something in your hand in case our men of Odin run out of West Men to spear,’ he said. ‘Nothing like the sight of a sword to remind them whose side they’re on.’

  Vali shook his head - he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Still, he unsheathed his sword. It was a good one, a single-edged seax sent to him by his father, more a very large knife than a true sword but strong, short and straight with a whalebone pommel. He felt embarrassed by it and wished he had a plainer weapon. Still, he left his shield at the top of the hill. He didn’t see any point carrying it because, even from this distant vantage point, he knew he was at more risk fighting with staves with Adisla’s brothers than he was here.

  It was, he thought, instructive what panic could do. Some of the West Men had managed to make off down the beach, but others, their wits frightened away by the shock of the raid, had just run into the sea and were attempting to swim for it. Vali didn’t fancy their chances. He had a good sailor’s eye, and the water between the island and the mainland looked a prime spot for currents.

  He came down to the big building. It was even taller than he had thought from far away, with long thin windows cut into overlapping logs. On the ground outside lay the remains of a stone carving that the berserks had smashed. It was finely wrought cross within a wheel, about two handspans across. It was beautiful, thought Vali, and he almost felt like taking it home with him.

  The berserks were hammering at the door of the temple, unable to get in, screaming and jabbering. From a burning hut, one brought a brand, cursing and muttering as he did.

  ‘Tell him to forget that,’ said Vali to Bragi.

  Bragi gave a little start. He was unused to Vali expressing a view on anything. The boy’s manner, thought the bodyguard, was not unlike his father’s.

  ‘Put that down!’ said Bragi. The berserk took no notice and threw the torch up onto the thatch. Luckily, it was high and steep, and the brand tumbled off.

  Bragi looked at Vali and shrugged. Some of the farmers from Eikund came up. They had caught one of the shaven-headed men, and had stripped him naked, booting him towards the temple.

  ‘Tell them to open it!’ said one.

  The man was old and terrified. He just sank to his knees, put his hands together and jabbered.

  ‘Open it, you girl, or I’ll cut your throat.’

  The voice was Hrolleifr’s, a farmer from up on the hill behind Disa. Vali had thought of him as a gentle man. He often helped Disa take things to market and was skilled at carving. Here he was, though, with the same knife that produced tiny ships, little men, even Vali’s own King’s Table pieces, thrust at the side of a man’s neck.

  ‘He can’t open it; they’ll have secured it from the inside,’ said Vali.

  Hrolleifr shrugged and cut the man’s throat. A thick spray of blood pulsed into the air, soaking the farmer, and the man fell forward, kicking and squealing on the floor.

  Hrolleifr turned to the other raiders and shouted, ‘See me in my battle sweat. See how I spread the slaughter dew among the warriors of the enemy.’

  Everyone else laughed and clapped. Vali couldn’t believe that he was boasting about what he had done. The man had been old. It was harder, much harder, to stick a pig. Was this what they amounted to, all those tales of glory? Killing old men who were begging for their lives. Vali wanted this to end, and quickly, the quicker to return to the boats. He needed to get into the temple as fast as possible. The prospect of plunder might prevent further pointless murder.

  The screams were becoming more distant. Everyone on the island who could run had run, and most of the berserks were pursuing them. A brief silence descended over the houses. Vali breathed in. The odour of smoke against the chill of the summer morning was wonderful to him.

  The roof was too high to reach, the doors were impregnable. If they had long enough, it would be possible to dig under the walls. There was a chance though, that he could get in at a window. It was too narrow for any of the bigger men, but he was so much smaller.

  ‘Bragi,’ he said, gesturing with his eyes to the window, ‘make sure no idiot burns it while I’m inside.’ He took off his sword belt and stripped off all three tunics he was wearing as armour.

  Bragi helped him onto his shoulders. Vali could reach the narrow slit of the window but couldn’t gain any proper purchase on it.

  ‘Stand on my head,’ said Bragi, straightening his helmet.

  Vali did so, and managed to get a second hand into the gap and lever himself up.

  He forced one shoulder in, wriggled and pushed, and finally he was through, dropping onto a table directly beneath him.

  There were four windows in the building and their light made it easy to see. At first his impression was just colour - silvers and golds, a large embroidery on the wall to his right, the door with its bar to the left. His eyes adjusted and he saw the men. There were four of them, with shaven heads, two with large candlesticks, one with a weighty silver cross. Only one, a man of his age, thirteen or so, was unarmed. It was then that Vali realised - he had forgotten his weapon.

  The men didn’t charge him, which he thought stupid, because he would open the door if not knocked down. They just stood shouting at him. He recognised some familiar words in their odd language.

  ‘God, redeemer, help.’ The man with the cross thrust it forward, shook it at him, and said something Vali didn’t understand at all.

  ‘Helsceada, Helsceada, Helsceada. Satan!’

  Then the man said something else he could make out, although t
he accent was heavy and strange. ‘Flee me!’

  Were they casting a spell on him? Vali didn’t feel like he was being enchanted. There was a renewed clamour at the door and some more snatches of sentences came through.

  ‘Burn, Odin! Blood swan! Inciter!’

  Vali stood up from his crouch. He didn’t get off the table because he wanted to appear tall to emphasise his royal status. There were four men, all of working age, and a reasonable quantity of silver. That wasn’t a bad haul. First, though, he had to subdue them unarmed. All he had was words, and he knew only half of those would be understood.

  ‘I think it’s you who should have fled,’ said Vali. ‘There are wolves and bears outside this door. Shall I feed you to them?’