Once, I had been at the sacking of the Khazar city of Sarkel by Sviatoslav, Prince of Kiev, and he had been given engineers by the Great City. He needed them to help him knock that fortress down because it had been built for the Khazars by engineers of the Great City. They were a snake-knot of plots, were the Greeks who called themselves Romans in Constantinople.
Now Styrbjorn had failed, so the whole enterprise seemed doomed and the leader of it fled but not to ruin if he was still the only heir to the high-seat. His uncle would think twice about having him killed in that case and where bearcoats seemed to be stumbling, a silent, grim little Greek with poison thought he could do better. Thankfully, he had not.
Aye, well, you would know, for sure, Orm, Onund Hnufa said, lumbering out of the sour-milk dawn to hear me lay out the length of this for folk to measure. I have seen and heard you dealing with the Great City and it is a marvellous thing how you can fathom the way their minds work, right enough.
Everyone agreed with it, with nods and hooms.
So perhaps you can be after telling me this, then, Onund added. Why has this Greek taken little Koll with him?
SEVEN
It was a fine bridge, as long as two tall men, wide enough for a wagon to pass over and made of good stone. Beneath it, the river that had cut the gorge burbled and sang to itself, while the green-mossed stones of the mountain flashed with quartz and trickled with silver water. Jewels of the Mountain King, Finn said, in a skald moment.
We were like that, standing there waiting, for I was thinking that this was where the Norns weave came to an end for me. I had offered a life to Odin and I knew One-Eye would take his sacrifice. Provided he kept to his part of the bargain, I told myself, it was worth it.
Still, life was sweet and seemed sweeter still, standing there, waiting for the bearcoats to come, with the clouds piled up like snow and a sea-swallow, ragged by the wind and yet swooping for the sheer joy of it, grating a shriek that scoured a sky as blue as a newborns eye.
That, too, made my heart leap painfully into my throat; I would never live to see the son Thorgunna carried. Yet, if Odin held to his part, another babe would find a life, the bairn Botolf carried in the crook of his arm, stumping his unseen way up to the headland overlooking the fjord.
That, too, made my heart leap painfully into my throat; I would never live to see the son Thorgunna carried. Yet, if Odin held to his part, another babe would find a life, the bairn Botolf carried in the crook of his arm, stumping his unseen way up to the headland overlooking the fjord.
A scramble down the other side and he was safe. A hard scramble for a man with two good legs, as Finn pointed out when we made this plan, never mind one who was half a bench, with the thought-cage of a mouse and a wean under one arm. He said this where Botolf could not hear it, all the same.
And a boy with him, too, dragging a goat, I added, trying to make light of it. Toki, hearing the word goat, looked up, beaming, and gave his charge a pat between the thick horns.
Finn grunted his answer to that, then Botolf himself came up, his broad face braided in a smile, the babe wrapped up so warm it looked no more than a bundled old cloak held against his chest.
Here, said Thordis, shoving a bag at Finn. It was a good waterproofed walrus-hide bag and he peered in it, thinking to find food and warm clothing. Instead, he found linen squares and moss.
Am I expected to eat this, woman? he grumbled and she slapped him smartly on the arm.
No, she answered, but less tartly than she might have, since she was afraid for him. You are expected to use it on the bairns arse, to keep it clean. From the state of your own breeks, it is a lesson you should learn for yourself, too, before we are wed.
Finn grunted as if hit at this last and those closest laughed, the too-hearty laughs of those straining to find humour. Botolf slung a similar bag over one shoulder, with all that was needed to feed the sleeping prince, then turned and grinned at Toki and his goat.
Ready, wee man? he demanded and Toki, trembling with the excitement of it all, nodded furiously, then scowled as Aoife, winking on the brink of tears, dragged him into an embrace.
Look after my little hero, she demanded of Botolf and he patted her shoulder. Then he turned to the wagon and the figure in it, propped up on pillows and pale as winter wolfskin.
Take care of my son, Birthing Stool, said the queen in a voice with no more in it than wind.
He will be safely delivered, Botolf promised and Finn, hearing the firm resolve in his voice, shook his head at the memory of the man who had so recently wanted to leave queen and wean both and run for the hills.
It had seemed a fair plan in the cold light of dawn; take the bairn, leave the queen, confuse the enemy and split them. It was the queens bairn they wanted, so the rest of the women and weans might be left alone, considering there were men willing to fight and nothing to be gained taking them on. Well only for those who wanted bloody revenge and I was hoping the bearcoats would not think fit to join in with that. Meanwhile, we could take the little prince to safety, getting a headstart and travelling fast and light.
With a goat? demanded Finn.
What milk will you find to feed a bairn? countered Thorgunna. And Toki is to goats what Botolf seems to be to that wee prince.
At which the big man grinned, for it was a strange sort of almost-seidr he had and he was not ashamed of it at all. The newborn prince wailed, no matter who cooed or shushed or rocked him even his too-weak mother until he was placed in the fat-biceped crook of Botolfs arm, where he closed his eyes and went silently to sleep.
Red Njal and Hlenni Brimill came up and we clasped, wrist to wrist. I had already made them swear to do all in their power to recover little Koll from wherever he had gone and told them I suspected the one called Ljot Tokeson would get him, for he was Styrbjorns man.
The only reason for the Greek to have taken Jarl Brands son was to use him as a hostage against Brand and so against King Eirik.
Randr Sterki would not give the snap of his fingers for Koll, or the new little prince of the Svears and Geats; it was vengeance he wanted and he would keep after Thorgunna and the others with what was left of his men but the bearcoats would not, or so I hoped. The bearcoats would come after us and the bairn, in the hope of rescuing the whole endeavour at the last.
Thats what I told them and they nodded, millstone-grim and silent. I did not tell them of the vicious gnawing in my heart and belly at what I had done to Koll. Too taken up with everything else, I had been happy to have him cared for by the women and grateful for the soft, consoling words that the priest seemed to be offering him. My words, they should have been but I was too busy with the work of protecting him to notice how he had strayed into danger.
Some foster-father me, and now I was thinking I would never find out if I might have improved on the task, for him or me, or both, would be dead soon.
Others came up and said their farewells, so that I was glad to leave in the end, away from the weight of their sadness. Their faces, pale blobs of concern in the whey-light of dawn, looked at me with that hard, miserable stare I had given others I knew I would never see again.
But it was only Thorgunnas face, stricken and skyr-pale, that stayed with me all the way to the bridge.
It was a fine bridge Finn said so. Narrow enough for two men to hold against many.
So Botolf looked at us, from one to the other, the babe crooked in his arm and one hand on the head of Toki.
Bone, blood and steel, Finn said and gave him the bag of arse-wrappings. Nothing more was said, just a nod and a clasp for each of us, wrist to wrist, then Botolf turned abruptly and hirpled over the bridge, Toki and the unwilling goat trotting behind him.
Botolf did not look back, yet I knew he was seeing us there and would see us for the rest of his life, standing on that bridge and not dead. Like Pinleg, long ago, dying under a shrieking pack of swords on a beach, allowing us to sail safely away if we did not see his death happen, then perhaps he was fighting there still.
That is that, then, Finn said, when the big man and the boy and the goat had vanished. He peered over the side of the bridge, as if checking for trolls, then hauled out The Godi and inspected the edge.
Your doom is not on you, I said to him, though my bowels were water as I spoke it. You should go with him.
Finn cocked one eyebrow, looking at me from under the tangle of his hair, which he refused to tie back it revealed that he only had one good ear, the other mangled in a fight.
Who knows what the Norns weave? he replied with a shrug. This could be my day or not but you cannot hold this bridge alone.
He grinned.
Bone, blood he began.
and steel, I finished.
He took off his sheath and shed his cloak, for he did not want them tangling his legs in the fight. He checked the straps on his helmet and put it on, hunched his shoulders a few times to settle the rust-streaked ring-coat he wore, for it was not his own, then sat, leaning back against the stone of the bridge, while the water splashed and sang.
I envied him and hated him in equal measure; Finn, the man who feared nothing. How could he not tremble and find a great spear in his throat that made it impossible to swallow? Frothing madmen in skins would come after us and he had the wit to imagine what would happen. But all he did was open a lazy eye and wonder who Assur had been.
It was the inscription, weathered and lichen-streaked, on the grey stone by the bridge Helga, Thorg?iRs dottir, systir Sygro?aR auk??iRa Gauts, hun let gi?ra bro??ssa auk r?isa st?in??nna?ftir Assur bonda sinn. SaR waR wikinga war?r m?? G?iti. Si?i sa manr is?usi kubl ub biruti.
Helga, daughter of Thorgar, sister of Sygrida and Gauts and others, she had this bridge made and this stone raised after Assur, her husband. He was an oathsworn guard with Gauts. Let him practise seidr, the man who this monument destroys.
A good curse, that last see, it is written as if in warning to anyone who desecrates the monument, but also that the monument itself will destroy. A good runesman, that.