I sat next to Finn, sticking my bare feet closer to the flames as he cleaned the clotted blood from The Godi. The rain spat on the wadmal canopy and hissed in the fire just beyond it. Ref came up, carrying my sword; I had not even realised I had let it go, probably when Thorgunna hugged me.
Not too bad, he said cheerfully. Theres a great notch out of it and I cannot grind it out, for it is all of the edge metal from that part.
Then his face changed, like a sudden squall on a mirror fjord.
Cannot grind it out properly anyway, he added with a sigh. My forge is gone and all the tools with it.
He handed it to me and I looked at the v-notch he pointed to. The sliver was in the mast of the Elk, for sure and I told him so. We all went quiet then, thinking of the black fjord and the sunken Elk and our oarmates, rolling in the slow, cold dark with their hair like sea-wrack.
We should make blot for them, Finn said and Abjorn came up at that moment, with little Koll at his heels.
I have set watchers, he told me from the grim cliff of his face, then jerked a thumb at the boy behind him. Like me, young Koll wishes news of his father.
I have none, I answered, feeling guilty that, of all the fledglings who had occupied my thoughts, the one I had been charged with fostering had not been one of them. I signalled him closer and he stepped into the light and out of the rain, the firelight on his face showing up the white of him and the grit of his jaw, making a fierce light in his pale eyes.
You are safe here, I said, hoping it was true. Your father, once he has dealt with Styrbjorn, will come and help us defeat these nithings. Until then, we will get a little damp and have an adventure in the mountains.
My mother he said and I felt a stab, felt foolish. Of coursehe had heard at the beach how Styrbjorn had dealt with all his family. Ingrid swept in then, gathering the boy into her apron and making soothing noises about honey and milk and sleep, for it was late.
I looked round the fire then, at all the expectant faces Klepp Spaki, the blank, strange mask of Vuokko, the droop-mouthed Ref, bemoaning the loss of his forge and tools, Red Njal and Hlenni and Bjaelfi, staring at me across the flames, faces bloody with light and hoping for wisdom.
And there, in the shadows, no more than a pale blob of face, was Leo the monk.
Roman Fire, I called to him and he stepped forward, all the faces turning from me to him.
So I heard, he answered, arms folded into the sleeves of his clothing. Though we call it Persian Fire. Sometimes Sea Fire.
No matter what you call it, I spat back into his plump smile, it is never let far from the Great City. Nor into the hands of such as Styrbjorn. I had heard it was a great crime to do so.
Indeed, he replied sombrely. The ingredients of what you call Roman Fire were disclosed by an angel to the first great Constantine. It was he who ordained that there should be a curse, in writing and on the Holy Altar of the Church of God, on any who dare give the secret to another nation.
He paused and frowned.
Whether this is giving the secret is a matter for debate the likes of Styrbjorn could not learn how to make it from what he has been given. However, such an event is cause for concern among many departments of the Imperium, where such weapons are strictly regulated.
Concern? Burned ships and dead men were more than concern and I bellowed that at him. The rage gagged in my throat, both at his diffidence and the implication that the northers were barbarians too stupid to find out the secret of Roman Fire from weapons handed out like toys to bairns. It did not cool me any to know he was right in it, too.
He nodded, smooth as a polished mirror and seemingly unconcerned by my glaring.
Indeed. I would not be surprised if certain of those departments took steps to find out what has happened to their missing amounts.
Such as sending someone to find out?
He inclined his head, face blank as an egg.
I would not be in the least surprised.
I watched him for a moment longer, but nothing flickered on it, no firm sign that he was the one sent to find out. He was young not in the way we counted it, but certainly in the way the Great City did but I suspected he had been sent and that made him a man to be watched. In the end, I broke the locked antlers of our eyes, turning to tell everyone that Styrbjorn had sent warriors here to end the life of Sigrith and the child she carried in her belly, so that he would remain sole heir to the high seat of the Svears and Geats.
The women grunted, while the men stayed silent. I did not say anything about why Randr Sterki had I was sure begged Styrbjorn to be the one to take on the task; those who remembered what we had done on Svartey did not need reminding of it. I told them all we would move north, across the mountains, as soon as it was light enough to see, trying to keep my voice easy, as if I was telling them when we would sow rye and in what field that year.
Afterwards, when others had rolled into skins and cloaks, I sat with Finn listening to Botolf snore alone by the fire, for he had given his space beside Ingrid to Helga and Aoife and the other bairns, for better warmth. In the dark, I heard Aoife cooing softly to Cormac to soothe him beautiful boy, she said. Wheres my lovely boy, white as an egg, then?
If it comes to it, Finn said eventually, I will fight Randr Sterki.
Why you? I countered and he shrugged and looked at me, half-ashamed, half-defiant. The memory of him humping away at the dying wife of Randr Sterki slunk sourly between us.
I killed his boy, I said sourly. So it should be me. Red Njal, I am remembering, killed others of his family. Perhaps we should take it in turns.
Botolf woke himself with a particularly large snore and sat up, groaning and wiping sleep from his eyes.
Odins arsemy shoulder and back hurt. I hate sleeping on the ground in winter.
A hard raiding man like you? snorted Finn. Surely not.
Shut your hole, Finn, Botolf countered amiably, sitting up and wincing. The worse thing is the itch in my wooden leg.
There was silence for a moment; a last log collapsed and whirled sparks up.
What are we going to do? demanded Botolf suddenly.
About what? Your itching log-leg? I asked and he waved his arms wildly in all directions.
All this. The queen and weans.
We take them to Vitharsby and then east to Jarl Brand, I told him.
Just like that? Botolf snapped. He rubbed his beard with frustration. Hunted by toad-licking wearers of bear and wolf skins? And at least a ships crew of hard raiders? With a woman about to pup and half the bairns in the country?
One of them your own, Finn pointed out poisonously. Another is mine. Do we begin throwing them over our shoulder as we run, then? We will start with Helga Hiti.
I saw Botolfs face twist and frown as he fought to work all this out, only succeeding in fuelling more anger.
What do you think we should do? I asked and it was like throwing water on a sleeping drunk. He blinked. He blew out through pursed lips and surfaced with a thought, triumphant.
We ought to leave the queen and ride off with our own, he declared. We could go to Thordis place, which will be Finns when he marries her. What are the fate of kings and princes to us, eh?
It was astounding. I remembered Jarl Brand had said something of the same when we were in Serkland, only it was about the back-stabbing in high places that went on in the Great City. It never stopped amazing me, the things that stuck in Botolfs thought-cage.
She is our queen, Finn growled, flailing with one hand, as if trying to pluck the words he needed out of the air. We have to protect her. And Thordis steading is only a short ride from Hestreng if it was not behind the hills here, you could probably see it burn.
I looked at him, but if the thought of everything he might one day own going up in smoke bothered him, he did not betray it by as much as a catch in his voice. Botolf flung his arms in the air.
Protect the queen? Why? She would not give the likes of me the smell off her shit, he grunted sourly. And how do we protect her? There is barely a handful of us.
We are Oathsworn, Finn declared, thrusting out his chin. How can we do anything else but guard a queen and the heir to the throne of Eirik the Victorious?
There was silence then, for fair fame had closed its jaws and even Botolf had no answer for the grip of them. We were Oathsworn, Odins own, and would die before we took one step back, so the skalds had it. Not for the first time I marvelled at how fame had shackles stronger than iron to fasten you to a hopeless endeavour.
Might be a girl, Botolf offered sullenly and I shook my head. Thorgunna had done her hens egg test and it had come up as a boy, no mistake. I said as much.
Ah well, Finn said as Botolf continued to glower. Perhaps you have the right of it, Botolf. I never did care much for wealth and glory; after all, we have all we need, though rebuilding Thordis place if it is burned and if I wed her will be expensive and all gold is useful.
He stretched, winked at me where Botolf could not see and farted sonorously.
Anyway, he went on. Once I have a ship under me I am a happy man so perhaps we should tether the queen here like a goat and head for safety.
Aha! Botolf declared triumphantly, looking from me to Finn and back. Then he frowned.
What wealth and glory?
I shrugged, picking up from Finn as he looked wickedly at me from under his hair, pretending to wipe a scrap of fat-rich fleece carefully up and down The Godi.
The usual stuff, I said. Meaningless to the likes of us, who have silver and fame and land enough already.
I have no land, Botolf growled and I felt a pang of shame, for I had known this was a fret for him, since Ingrid constantly nagged and chafed him over it, wanting him to be first in his own hall rather than just another follower in mine. That was why I had mentioned it.
Oh, aye, I said, as if just realising it, then shrugged. Still. We would have to bring the queen and bairn safe back to King Eirik before he showered us with rings and praise and odal-rights on steadings after all, it is his first-born and the heir to his wealth and lands. What would he not give for such a safe return? But too dangerous, as you say. Better to cut and run, pick up the pieces of our old lives once these hard raiders have gone.
There was silence, broken only by the rain hissing in the dying fire and the snores of the sleepers nearby.