Читать книгу The Fighting Man - Adrian Deans - Страница 15

Chapter 8

His Greatness and Subtlety

I woke to the smell of turd, and found Valla shitting into a pot.

She had her back to me, but turned and saw me watching her.

‘May I not have some privacy?’ she demanded and I closed my eyes, but in my mind I could still see her shapely back and the side-glimpse of her small breasts.

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked, ignoring the smell.

‘Do what?’

‘Release the serfs.’

I snuck my eyes open a fraction and saw her reach for a handful of rags – then I rolled over.

‘The serfs have escaped?’ she asked.

‘All but one.’

Valla affected nonchalance, but I could tell she was concerned.

‘Which of the serfs failed to escape?’ she asked.

‘Who knows?’ I lied. ‘They all look the same to me.’

Then I said, ‘Do you have any idea how humiliated I would have been if you’d run away?’

‘I didn’t go anywhere,’ defended Valla. ‘I went to see the Lady Swanneshals.’

‘You went naked did you? Your dress was on the floor when I came back to the room.’

Valla didn’t deign to answer. She pushed the pot under the bed and dragged her cloak of skins and rags over her shoulders.

‘You can’t wear that to Lundene,’ I said. ‘You’re the wife of a thegn, remember?’

She continued to ignore me and I started to feel anger.

‘I won’t have you keeping secrets from me!’ I said, raising my voice as I might have with one of the servants of my father’s household.

‘Is that how you would talk to your wife?’ snapped Valla.

‘My wife, if she were a proper wife, wouldn’t sneak about in the night releasing prisoners.’

‘But I’m not a proper wife, Brand … you know that. I saved you from Olaf and now you are returning the favour.’

It was all getting too confusing – like we were having three different conversations at once.

‘But you did release the serfs.’

It wasn’t a question and Valla didn’t answer.

‘Harold and Tostig will be furious,’ I said. ‘There will be an investigation and if you are identified it will ruin my relationship with Harold … who has agreed to help me defeat Mal—’

I was stunned into silence as Valla suddenly cast off her skins and rags and stood naked before me.

I felt my jaw gaping like a fool and tried to marshal my wits into some sort of order. Valla’s body was staggering – lithe and strong – lightly browned from the sun, with breasts like small hard fruits and a downy shadow between her legs that seemed so refined in contrast with the thick bushes of the servants of my father’s hall.

Suddenly embarrassed to be staring, I tore my eyes from her body and looked her in the face.

‘What was I saying?’

‘You were lecturing me, husband.’

‘… I was?’

She turned her back and picked up the green dress, pulling it over her head – every movement an enticement and it was all I could do not to throw myself upon her.

‘I did not leave this room last night, did I husband?’

‘Erm … ’

‘If the Lord Brand swears his wife did not leave her chamber, then who shall dare suggest otherwise?’

‘Well … no-one I suppose.’

‘You suppose correctly,’ said Valla, straightening the dress, and if it were possible, looked even more desirable clad than unclad.

‘It’s time you started thinking like a lord, Brand. If you will something then it shall be so.’

‘Truly?’ I asked, beginning to grin.

But her lip curled in a fine scorn, and she said, ‘Except, of course, where I am concerned.’

∞ ∞ ∞

After a late and leisurely breakfast, the household was assembled in the yard. There were about a dozen warriors led by Harold, another four led by Tostig, and myself. Most of the warriors had a page or other servant to help with their baggage and weapons. There was also a wagon pulled by a horse with victuals for the journey and other gear, including a large canvas tent and the spare weapons I had collected from the Danes. There was also Carl Two-tongues, looking very fine in his new brown robes, and Valla – the only woman in the party. And already I was jealously aware of the sly looks the other warriors turned in her direction.

There was also the red-haired snaggle-tooth, who was dragged out of the barn and thrown to the ground before Harold. He looked half dead after his ordeals, which had clearly included rough handling during the night. There was dried blood on his ear and around his nose. His lip was split and there was a new gap in his teeth. A black bruise coloured his right temple and he clutched his ribs as he breathed in shallow gasps, in obvious pain.

‘What is your name, serf?’ demanded Harold.

‘Elric,’ he lisped thickly through his broken mouth.

‘Elric,’ repeated Harold. ‘I will give you a choice Elric … death, or service of the Lord Brand.’

If it was possible in his beaten state, Elric managed to look faintly amused.

‘The Lord of the Wood?’ he asked.

He actually seemed to be considering which might be worse, but eventually bowed before me.

‘Kneel,’ commanded Harold, and Elric sank into the mud of the yard.

‘Place your hand on his head Brand,’ said Harold, then in a loud voice he proclaimed, ‘Let all here witness the bond of fealty between Brand Holgarsson, lord of Stybbor and the serf Elric. In return for the lord’s protection, let Elric serve faithfully and well. And should he break this sworn promise, let vengeance or other doom take him swift and hard. Do you swear Elric?’

‘There was a barely audible muttering from Elric, until Tostig half-pulled his sword from its scabbard, and Elric spoke up, ‘I swear!’

My hand was shrinking from contact against the lank, greasy hair, crawling with lice, and I foresaw that my own gear would soon be lousy if he came into contact with it – but there was no option other than to swear before Harold, Tostig and their men that I would honour Elric’s fealty with protection. Then I snatched my hand away and wiped it against my breeches – an action witnessed by Elric, and I was embarrassed by his challenging stare.

Harold had bid me cast off my Viking gear and had clad me in fine garments of similar look and weave to those worn by his warriors, although I kept the long boots, which fit me very well. Harold had also had my brother’s cloak repaired during the night, and I was delighted to see my family’s ill-fortune being restored, but saddened to be reminded of my brother’s untimely and treacherous death.

Suddenly I was overcome with the urgent desire to get to Lundene where my vengeance might be had. The company drew itself together for departure as the Lady Swanneshals came out to the top of the stairs to wave us off. Harold ran back up and knelt before her, took her hand and kissed it – and I noticed the hand was bandaged. In that moment I remembered biting a finger during the escape of the serfs, and a woman’s scream.

I stared at the bandage then looked up and saw her regarding me – knew that she was aware of my recognition – but then she smiled, and I suddenly felt like laughing, as though all treachery was just harmless jest.

∞ ∞ ∞

Malgard was furious.

News of the Viking attack on Stybbor had reached Lundene quickly via the fleece barges that plied from Gipeswic on the Arwan – only a day’s journey down the Temes – it would take three or four days to march.

The drunken barge captain, with whom he sat in one of the rat-infested inns that clustered about the cess-stinking wharf-side, had told him of the massacre, and also that further Danes had hunted fugitives in the wood and returned defeated – beaten by a witch according to the terrified raving of those that returned to the Danish camp at Stybbor.

Now the captain slumped forward with his head on the table as Malgard racked his brains. That Brand was alive was almost certain, he thought – so let’s say he is alive. Let’s also say that he knows of my part in the massacre. Malgard’s eyes turned black as he realised his peril should Brand bring word to Edward. And he will bring word to Edward, so let’s assume he is already coming.

Retracing in his mind his own journey by horse to Lundene along the ancient way, he recalled the large inn at the crossroads at the town of Breahinga. Anyone coming from Stybbor on their way to Lundene was all but certain to stop there – or at least be seen passing by.

Malgard drained his cup and rose from the table. It was time to visit an old friend.

Sleppa would know how to solve the problem.

∞ ∞ ∞

The going was easy for some time.

We marched through the town again, Harold and Tostig at the head of a column of warriors looking grim and purposeful, and there was none of the importuning of the day before, as if the townsfolk knew not to approach their lord in such a mood.

I marched behind Harold and Tostig with Valla and Carl, and behind us came the warriors in two lines, armed with axe, spear and sword. Several of them wore shirts of rings despite the expense, and I understood that these were elite troops – members of the household guard of the two greatest lords of the realm, after the king. Behind them straggled the servants and last of all creaked the wagon, loaded to the brim with food and war gear. Elric, due to his battered condition, was allowed to ride on the wagon, but I suspected it was also a measure to prevent his escape, should such occur to him.

Little did I realise, at the time, how much of the next few years would be spent in that way – marching with warriors, going to or from a battle. It had its horrors and its hardships, but also its joys, and if I am honest I am rarely so happy as when marching.

Certainly, on that blue morn, as we left behind the smoke and stench of Theodford Harold’s mood lifted and, as though sensing his lightness of heart, the men started singing as we marched through the winding lanes of East Anglia.

‘We should be riding!’ said Tostig.

‘Not this again,’ laughed Harold, and I understood they were continuing a long debate.

It is not just a means of transport,’ insisted Tostig. ‘The Frank lords go heavily armoured on horseback and fight above the heads of the fyrd.’

‘I will not command men to fight unless I stand with them,’ replied Harold. ‘And I will not imperil a beast in war because men choose to fight.’

‘A commander should know how the whole battle fares,’ said Tostig. ‘In the shield wall, we see only the foes before us but, from horseback, you can see where the shield wall is holding and where reserves are needed.’

‘I have trusted men … wise in battle along the line. Would you have me usurp their trust by calling all orders myself?’

‘All I’m saying,’ replied Tostig, ‘is that there are new ways of doing warfare. The Franks … and especially the Normans … use horses and ’tis said the shield wall cannot stand against them.’

‘Maybe not a Frankish shield wall,’ sneered Harold. ‘But in any case, we have no quarrel with the Normans, and if we did, they could hardly bring their war horses to Inglalond, could they?’

Tostig fell silent and Harold laughed.

‘And how would you use your sword atop a horse, brother? One swing of your blade and you’d have its head off! Horses are expensive!’

The sun grew warmer and we all began to sweat. Valla, struggling along in her green dress suddenly vanished into the forest.

‘Halt,’ called Tostig, raising his arm.

‘I’ll catch up,’ called Valla. ‘Don’t wait.’

‘I’ll wait for her,’ I said, and the brothers marched on with the column. As the wagon creaked past, I nodded at Elric who nodded in turn but his eyes passed over me to stare at Valla vanishing through the trees. Then he glanced back at me with a look of such insolent triumph I immediately knew something was wrong.

I turned and ran into the woods.

‘Valla!’ I shouted once, then knew further shouting would be pointless if she chose not to answer.

I ran some fifty yards into the forest but then stopped – stared about at the encircling trees and knew she was the better woodsman. If she wanted to leave, she could leave at any time. With heavy heart, I headed back to the road before I lost myself.

‘Why did you shout?’

I looked up and Valla stood on the deeply rutted path, dressed in her cloak of skins – the green dress stuffed into the top of the leather satchel she always carried.

What’s more, the dog Malgard was with her – I’d all but forgotten him.

‘I smelled the poison of the town,’ said Valla. ‘It would have been bad for his wound, so I bade him wait for me here. He is a good dog and obeyed, but now he is hungry.’

The meaning behind her words was obvious.

‘If he obeys you, then he’s your responsibility,’ I said. ‘And why are you wearing that hideous cloak when Harold gave you such a fine dress? He’ll be insulted.’

‘The green dress is fit for halls and feasts but ’tis heavy work for marching. And Harold has more to occupy his mind than the garb of women.’

She started walking in the wake of the wagon – a couple of hundred paces ahead – and Malgard romped after her, no longer troubled by the knife wound I had dealt him only four nights ago. I remarked on his recovery and Valla laughed.

‘I have some skill with healing,’ she said. ‘The poultice I made for him contained much of my power. It has drawn out the hurt and repaired the rent … but it was only ever a small wound … oh slayer of yesterday’s hares.’

She smiled and I knew she was mocking me, but it was too nice a day to be angry with her. I suddenly felt free and full of purpose. My ambition had cost me my family, due to the manner of God’s testing me, but now my mission of revenge had the support of the lords Harold and Tostig, and I was marching to Lundene to see the king in company with Valla, my wife – who seemed to be thawing towards me. She was striding ahead and watching her brown shapely legs was a torment. The cloak of skins seemed to offer glimpses of what it concealed, like a gauzy veil blurring my vision and my wits.

There were things she wasn’t telling me – that much was clear. I was all but certain that Valla, in league with the Lady Swanneshals, had freed the serfs the night before. But why? Why would the wife of Harold defy him in such a manner?

I could never think about Valla for long without growing uncomfortably aroused, which did not make for easy marching and I tried to think about something else. Revenge upon Malgard – that soon had me distracted and I began to imagine my audience with Edward, with Harold and Carl at my side to vouch for me – then Malgard in chains, pleading for mercy before his treacherous head was struck from his shoulders and stuck on a spike on Lundene Bridge where the crows and ravens would flense the flesh from his skull while his body was cut to shreds and left in the gutter to be devoured by rats and curs as low as he.

It occurred to me that God would be aware of my vengeance fantasy and would therefore do aught to aid or hinder me as suited His purpose. It then occurred to me that God must be aware of my desire for Valla and that in all likelihood He would devise another test for me.

‘I have made a decision,’ said Valla, wrenching me out of my reverie.

‘What sort of decision?’

‘I have decided, husband, that there is some good in you. Therefore, when the time comes … you may be the one to take my maidenhead.’

I couldn’t have been more shocked if the skies had suddenly opened and God Himself appeared before an army of angels to make the same announcement. I fell to my knees between the ruts of the lane and raised my eyes to heaven – awed and humbled by His greatness and subtlety. I felt tears trickle down my cheeks as Valla approached smiling.

As she did, I felt myself overwhelmed with a love for her so powerful it hurt. I could hardly speak, so overcome with emotion as I was, and it seemed that all of His creation was glowing with blessed perfection like a glimpse of Eden as she stood before me.

‘There is a condition,’ said Valla, and immediately, I was alert – the love hurt slightly less. ‘You must prove yourself worthy … you must swear an oath that you will touch no other woman in this life but me.’

‘Willingly,’ I cried. ‘Only … this time you speak of. When will the time come?’

‘That is not yet clear to me,’ she smiled. ‘It could be days … or it could be years.’

‘Years? You ask much of me Valla.’

She stood over me smiling and placed her hands on my shoulders, looking young and beautiful and full of secret promise.

‘Am I not worth it?’