Читать книгу The Fighting Man - Adrian Deans - Страница 11

Chapter 4

The Chain of Valla

It seemed an age, yet it had only been an hour or so since we’d sat in front of her cave with its turf and wicker extension. The coals of the fire were still smouldering deep and the dog thumped its tail at our return. The ordinary night noises of the forest told us the Danes were gone, so we felt safe enough to rebuild the fire and think once again of the food that Valla had been preparing.

The broth had boiled down a little too thick but still tasted magnificent, despite the absence of salt – fasting and fear had given me a noble hunger. We ate in silence straight from the small cauldron and shared a wooden mug of spring water.

After a while, I asked her, ‘Where did you learn such skill with the bow?’

‘From my mother.’

‘Your mother?’

Valla said nothing further, and I remembered her uncanny claim – of being two hundred and forty-two years old. Then again, I had grown up hearing about the witch of the wood, whose name was indeed Valla, but she was supposed to be an old crone. I found it impossible to believe this young woman could be the same – and yet, she had a manner and an effortless skill that was as far beyond mine as my father’s, or Brother Waldo’s. The hair rose on my neck as I recalled stories of shape shifters and other mysterious creatures and I crossed myself.

‘What did you do that for?’ demanded Valla.

‘ … Do what?’

‘Make that stupid gesture with your hand. You’re not a Christian are you?’

‘All men are Christian these days,’ I replied. ‘Long has it been so, in these parts.’

‘No Christian god walks among these trees,’ replied Valla, who had collected some bluebells and was twisting their stems into a chain. ‘The old gods are still strong here, ruling rock, brook and tree. They suffer not the eastern invader.’

Until very recently, I would have had only an academic interest in such a conversation, but my own communications with God had given me, I believed, a far deeper appreciation of His reality in my life.

‘I have spoken with God,’ I said softly, remembering, staring into the fire.

‘You?’ she sneered, as she completed her chain of bluebells and placed it around her head like a floral crown. ‘And what did he tell you? That you were born to rule … that you were entitled to rape?’

Despite my gratitude to Valla, I was beginning to find her obsession a little tedious.

‘Why are you so concerned with rape?’ I demanded. ‘It can’t be that bad … not for a woman.’

She stared at me for a thunderstruck moment and then her eyes flashed with anger – but in that second the dog started growling and we both glanced up at a man standing on the edge of the firelight, holding a sword.

‘Forgive me father,’ said the man, dressed in the woollen breeches and skins of the Danes, but wearing a thrall’s collar and speaking our tongue in a strange manner.

Valla and I leapt to our feet, but the stranger made no move to attack.

‘I have sinned,’ he continued, speaking to himself it seemed. Then he tossed the sword onto the ground and held up his hands in token of parley.

‘I am Carl Two-tongues,’ he said. ‘May I share your fire?’

∞ ∞ ∞

Carl was a monk he told us, who had been raised near Gyrwu – somewhere far to the north – and kidnapped by the Danes on one of their summer raids.

‘They slew many of my brothers, but spared me,’ he said, drinking some of the thick broth, ‘and as I quickly learned their tongue, they found me useful.’

‘You were a slave?’ I asked.

‘A thrall, yes,’ said Carl, touching his iron collar. ‘And worse.’

Valla and I glanced at each other, both understanding him but knowing not how to respond.

‘I was raped many times in the last three years,’ Carl continued. ‘ … by Olaf, and I assure you Brand that rape is a terrible thing … for man and for woman.’

I was fairly certain he was wrong, but it might have seemed ungracious to argue with his greater experience.

‘But more terrible still,’ he said, ‘was my own sin … of joy at Olaf’s death.’

I stared at him, uncomprehending.

‘Thou shalt not kill,’ quoted Carl, in genuine distress. ‘I should have turned the other cheek.’

‘Where are the Danes?’ I asked, wanting to change the subject. ‘Those that still lived … will they return?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said, crossing himself. ‘They are a superstitious people. I told them they had stumbled into the domain of a mighty witch. They had seen a dog and three of their comrades slain … it was simple enough to inspire their panic, and then slip away as they fled.’

Valla grinned, pleased with Carl’s description.

‘I am a mighty witch indeed … and I’ll thank you not to call on the Christian god in my domain.’

‘It is His domain,’ said Carl, mildly, ‘ … as are all places.’

‘The Christian god is a pillager,’ Valla spat, ‘ … like the men who brought him here, burning, thieving and raping the old gods who have dwelt in the wood since the beginning.’

‘Rape again,’ I muttered, glancing at Carl.

‘Call me obsessed,’ sneered Valla, ‘but men are beasts and think of little else than pleasing the serpent coiled between their thighs.’

‘That is why they need God,’ said Carl, ‘to teach them love and forbearance. But, as Brand implies, you do seem unusually sensitive to the idea. Have you been raped, my child?’

‘I am not your child,’ snarled Valla, once more whipping her blade from under her skins. ‘And no man has ever touched me. Nor will they … until it is time.’

Once again, I found myself strangely aroused and hunched closer to the fire to better conceal the uncoiling serpent.

‘Time?’ I enquired.

Valla’s eyes narrowed, as though she sensed my discomfort once again. I didn’t expect her to answer, but after a few moments she said, ‘Know this Christians … Valla is a witch, passing from mother to mother in a chain unbroken for two hundred and forty-two years.’

My cheek muscle was twitching in disbelief, but at the same time the hair was rising on the back of my neck.

‘That is why I fear rape. Once I am unmaidened, the power will pass from me to the daughter in my womb … I will no longer be Valla.’

With that she rose, pulled her skins close around her shoulders and disappeared into the darkness of her cave.