Читать книгу The Fighting Man - Adrian Deans - Страница 9

Chapter 2

A Small Prick

Malgard stared at the corpse of Holgar, feeling the fury rise within him. He had forgotten the ring, and now Holgar’s outstretched hand seemed to point directly at Ulrik who yawned and belched at Malgard’s side.

‘Holgar’s ring has been taken … the ring of his office given by the king. Your men are welcome to any other treasure from the field of battle but I must insist on the ring’s return.’

Ulrik shrugged and farted carefully – his stomach still tender from yesterday’s bad meat and the night’s debauch.

‘I know nothing of rings, Malgard,’ he said, scratching at his dags through his woollen breeches. ‘And what does it matter? If a king gives one ring, he can give another. You will still be thegn, so start acting like one. Take command of your shithole town.’

‘His belt also is taken,’ said Angdred, standing close by, ‘ … and the dagger in his chest.’

Malgard examined his brother’s body more closely. It was clear that someone had partly stripped him and taken the ring with some effort. It was then that he noticed that Gram, lying close to his father, had also been stripped.

‘His cloak,’ said Malgard. ‘His cloak has been taken … the green cloak with the boar’s head.’

‘Aah, so this was the groom?’ laughed Ulrik. ‘It’s not just his cloak we took. His bitch of a wife required some persuasion, but now she knows her place.’

Malgard winced. As head of the family now, the rape of Fyllba was not something he wished to hear about, but Ulrik was in a loquacious mood.

‘She was unwilling at first … the fine ladies usually are. The best way to break them is to fuck them in front of the other women. Once the other women have seen them enjoying Danish cock they can no longer hide their dignity behind a wall of pretended shame. Of course, you have only a Saxon cock, Malgard … but it might work.’

‘Saxon cock!’ laughed Olaf Pighammer, spitting food and even his blind eye glinting merrily. ‘You’d send a mouse to do the work of a stallion?’

‘He could at least try,’ said Ulrik. ‘The size is less important than the public fucking. Even Saxon cock should work with nobles and nuns.’

‘I’m sure you know best, Ulrik,’ responded Malgard, refusing to be goaded and pondering the missing ring and cloak. It might just be random pillage, but taken together, they were two items of evidence to enhance Brand’s claim if in his possession.

‘Where is Brand?’ he wondered aloud, and Angdred cleared his throat nervously.

‘In the night, Lord,’ he said, ‘ … I cannot be certain, but I chased a shadow. Into the river it went.’

Malgard turned fiercely on him.

‘Why did you not report this?’ he demanded, and Angdred shrank from his angry gaze.

‘I never actually saw him, Lord. For all I know, it was nothing.’

‘Nothing … and yet you chased?’

Angdred shrugged.

‘I was patrolling as you bade me. A dog yelped, so I ran to investigate and he seemed to have suffered an injury. Then I examined the river’s edge and saw fresh marks in the mud that seemed to lead into the river. I hunted along the bank, but—’

‘But nothing,’ Malgard finished with contempt, and then considered – putting himself in Brand’s shoes. If Brand lived, then the chances were that he knew that Malgard was allied with the Danes. He would also know that his father and brother were dead and that he, therefore, had the greatest claim on his father’s title. Or at least, he would realise that before long. In which case, he would try to get to the king.

Suddenly, Malgard knew fear – a small prick of it only, but his satisfaction at the success of the raid was soured by the realisation that Brand could ruin him, if he reached the king.

‘Find him!’ he snarled at Angdred, and then appealed once more to Ulrik Dragontooth. ‘I need men, Ulrik … to find the boy who slipped our net.’

Ulrik shrugged again as he headed to the fire for warmth, and something solid to shore up his jittery guts.

‘I shall rest here two nights. If any of my men are finished with fucking your women and prepared to accept your coin, you may use them, until I’m ready to leave.’

Malgard gritted his teeth but nodded his acceptance and turned back to Angdred.

‘He has gone into the forest, I am sure of it. Scour the woods with Ulrik’s men, but I shall ride east in case he has gone that way to Lundene. Meet me there when the deed is done.’

‘The deed?’ enquired Angdred.

Malgard just stared at him, his eyes black, and Angdred cowered as though he had been struck.

‘Brand is not to reach Lundene,’ growled Malgard. ‘If he does, then your own life is forfeit … need I make myself any clearer?’

∞ ∞ ∞

My first problem was food. I’d hardly eaten at the wedding feast, and what little I had was lost when I’d vomited the ale.

My second problem was that I had no idea in which direction Lundene lay. Judging by the sun, I must have travelled north, but I hadn’t gone far because of my third problem.

The dog.

Having wrapped the rag about my waist and groin, I pulled the remains of Gram’s cloak around my shoulders and tied it in place with my father’s belt. Then, thanking God it was summer, I set off through the wood away from Stybbor. My intention was simply to abandon the dog, but when I reached the edge of the hollow, the dog started growling. And as I stepped into the forest he barked until I ran back in panic to make him quiet.

The dog lay on the ground, his tail wagging happily as I stood over him, trying to soothe him into silence with soft words, but as soon as I tried to leave he started barking, and again I had to race back to make him still. I was not that far from Stybbor and, if the Danes were patrolling, they may already have heard the dog and even now be rushing to investigate.

I considered the knife, and even pulled it part way out of the sheath …

My fourth problem was that I could not kill the dog. Accordingly, I had to take him with me, which meant carrying him. He wasn’t overly large, but he was cumbersome and heavier than he looked. I made slow progress – hauling him through the undergrowth, tripping on tree roots as he alternated between angry growls and licking my face.

It did occur to me to kill and eat the dog – it was at least a justification for carrying him when I had such pressing problems – but another part of me knew that I could never do that. I was simply carrying the dog far enough to abandon him in a place where the Danes wouldn’t hear his protest.

The sun climbed higher and my labour became intense. Sweat was pouring down my face and re-drenching the cloak, and the hunger in my gut became a torment. It was time to turn west, I decided. There were villages to the west of Stybbor where, no doubt, I could get food and directions. But despite my perils and hardships and recurrent stabs of grief, the thought that most absorbed me was the girl. Who was she, and why had I never seen her before? She must have been local because she spoke my tongue with little or no accent. At the summer fairs I had met folk who lived only valleys away who were all but foreigners in their speech, and even my mother’s people required patience to understand.

I slipped on a patch of moss and the dog yelped as I almost dropped him.

‘Be careful with him!’

Once again the girl had appeared out of nowhere, like a sorceress, and I felt a cool thrill of danger. But I took the opportunity to lower the dog to the ground and stretched my aching back.

The girl ran a few paces back in the direction I had come and peered into the forest. For the first time I noticed she had a small quiver of arrows on her back and gripped a bow small enough to be a child’s toy. And yet, such was her air of assured competence, I doubted not she could use the bow to lethal effect.

‘Who are—’ I began, but without glancing back, she raised a hand to silence me. She seemed to be listening, then abruptly she turned and paced towards me.

‘They are coming,’ she said.

‘Danes?’

‘Men,’ she shrugged. ‘What difference does it make where they come from?’

She seemed to cast around in all directions, as though looking for something, and finally decided on the east.

‘This way, quickly! Bring the dog.’

Once again I took up my burden, which seemed even heavier than before, and followed the girl into dark green, trackless bracken under tall elms, ash and larch. Perhaps a hundred paces off the path she told me to wait with the dog within a thicket.

‘Where are you—’

‘Quiet!’ she hissed, ‘ … if you wish to live.’

With that she was gone, vanishing swiftly into the trees and I settled onto a comfortable root, watching back towards the path. It was a beautiful day around the end of July – warm – the air filled with birdsong and the scent of wild herbs. My stomach was growling and bubbling with need and the dog also alternated between soft growls and whimpers of pain. All around me was growing what looked like a form of wild parsley, so I plucked it and found it pleasant enough of taste. The dog whimpered anew, watching my hand go to my mouth and wagging his tail, but when I held out the parsley he didn’t even sniff at it – just continued to whine. I ate a few hands full, but it didn’t make a dent on my hunger.

I realised the forest had gone silent. The whips and twills of birdsong had stilled and a brooding sense of anticipation seemed to descend. I peered intently back towards the path and then heard the sound that has terrified fugitives forever.

Dogs.

Or at least, a dog. The noise was still some distance away, but it was the unmistakeable excited yapping of a hound intent on a trail and struggling to be let off the leash. Why were they hunting me, I wondered, and immediately knew the answer. Vikings couldn’t have cared less about one boy who’d escaped the carnage – this was Malgard’s doing. He’d realised my corpse was not lying with the rest of the family and so he was hunting me – to finish what he had begun. And in that moment I all but despaired. How could I escape Malgard and Angdred, allied with Danes. My life surely was over and tears dripped anew as the hideous scene of slaughter returned to me once again, but now my imagination placed my own rent and twisted body beside my father and brother.

Voices.

I could hear Danes laughing and calling in their weird, oafish tongue as the yapping took on a new excited frenzy. I couldn’t see them but I could picture the men encouraging the dog as it raced back and forth across our spoor – probably in the place I had dropped the dog to the ground when the girl reappeared. It would not be long before they started pushing off the path towards me and I prepared to flee.

At that moment there was a loud howl of bestial pain, and then silence – followed by angry shouting and I saw men charging into the forest in the opposite direction to where I lay. The shouting subsided, and a minute later, the girl reappeared beside me.

‘This way, quickly … bring the dog.’

She took off to the east and I jumped up to follow, the whimpering dog once more in my arms and licking my face. The rest had done me good, and combined with my urgent need to escape, seemed to give me greater strength to bear him.

For some time we passed through forest, sparse with trees but thick with bracken and bramble and I took the opportunity to eat some barely ripe blackberries, still hard and a little tart. The girl walked in front of me, ten paces or so, and turned angrily on me whenever I spoke. Her skin, where it showed through her cloak of pelts, was brown as though used to the sun and she seemed very certain in her movements – almost like a warrior. Once again I found myself speculating about her and where she might have sprung from – and why she was so different from every other maid or lady I had encountered in my life.

Before I knew it I was uncomfortably aware that my manhood was straining against the rag which wrapped it, but before I could rearrange myself, the girl halted and said, ‘We shall rest a moment. Put the dog down.’

The cloak had been drawn back over my shoulders and the rag was slipping. Suddenly, the dog was the only thing between me and the girl and there was no way I could lower him to the ground without being profoundly shamed.

‘Put the dog down,’ she repeated, but I stood there dumbly as the dog started whimpering again. The girl stared piercingly for a moment, then her eyes hardened and she turned away.

Quickly, I placed the dog on the ground then turned away myself to retie my rag and pull the cloak tight. I wasn’t sure whether she was aware of my condition which, if anything, was getting worse.

‘Why are men such animals?’ she asked.

‘We’re not animals,’ I responded. ‘Do animals know grammar and geometry?’

‘Men know rape,’ she replied. ‘Grammar, geometry and rape.’

With that she padded back the way we had come and listened once again, but the birdsong was undisturbed. After a few seconds she appeared satisfied, then leaned against a tree and pulled a waterskin from a satchel. She poured water into her hand and held it for the dog to lick. Then she drank herself, and at last she tossed the almost empty skin to me.

Finally, my condition had subsided enough for polite conversation and I asked the question that had plagued me since we escaped the Vikings on the path.

‘Did you kill the hunting dog?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, as though I were a simpleton. ‘I shot him from the far side of the path, let them see me, then ran into the forest. Then I doubled back … the oldest of fox tricks.’

‘But why kill that dog when you’re so intent on keeping this one alive?’ I asked, genuinely puzzled by her.

‘Are you really such a fool?’ she asked. ‘Or are you simply one of those men who cannot bear silence and must endlessly fill it with empty braying?’

I have to say, I was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner – not by women at least – and a flush of anger washed over me. I had a mind to threaten her – to remind her that I could overpower her, if I wished, but I held my temper and mustered all my dignity.

‘I am Brand, son of Holgar … reeve and thegn of Stybbor. Have a care how you address me, else you earn my wrath.’

And to my annoyed surprise, she laughed.

‘Reeve and thegn,’ she sneered. ‘Why don’t you explain that to the Danes? Maybe they’ll apologise for killing your family and chasing you.’

With that she took off to the east again and, not sure as to whether I was still welcome to follow – or whether I wanted to follow – I picked up the dog and waited uncertainly until she turned and beckoned. And as no alternatives presented themselves …

We went east for another hour or so and eventually I realised we were following a narrow path, like a game trail, which picked its way around rocks, in and out of glades until the ground began to rise and a small spring splashed out of a wall of stone.

There was a feeling of peace and remoteness about the place and, without discussing it, we fell onto the grass and drank deeply from the natural stone basin, from which cold water trickled away into a fen.

‘The Arwan broads are not far from here,’ said the girl. Then, doubtless responding to the look on my face, continued, ‘Fear not. The Vikings cannot come … there is nothing but fen and marshes between here and the sea for many miles. They will not carry their dragon boats across the mud, so I am safe here.’

‘You live here?’

‘Here … and other places.’

On the southern side of the hill was a small cave which had been extended with a frame of branches covered with turves to make a small chamber, out of the weather. At the entrance was a screen woven of dried reeds and a pit of ashes surrounded by a ring of blackened stones. All around us was a field of bluebells that filled the air with a sweet and pleasant smell.

I laid the dog near the fire pit and stretched my aching back.

‘I shall catch something for us to eat,’ said the girl, reaching into the chamber and pulling out a small iron cauldron. ‘Fill this with water and gather firewood. Also herbs … they grow wild.’

‘Wait!’ I said, and she turned impatiently.

‘I don’t know your name.’

She considered me a moment, as though weighing the consequences of a hard decision.

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said. ‘Neither do I wish to know.’

With that she was gone, leaving me humiliated and angry. Who was this girl to treat me like the meanest villein when I was, by right of my lineage, the chief official and lord of the entire district. And in fact she did know my name. I’d told her only an hour before. To claim otherwise was a grave insult and I felt my anger rising once again.

‘Fetch your own water,’ I said aloud, but the sound of my voice in that remote place was small and shrill and I knew that, for all her breathtaking arrogance, I was completely dependent on the girl.

I fetched the water.

I also found herbs proliferating and even some rampion that looked as though it may once have been planted and was now gone wild. I ate a few hands full of parsley and sage while still feeling painfully hungry. But every time I started to feel pain or fear or insult I was reminded of the fate of my family and my uncle’s treachery and the ongoing peril.

Suddenly I laughed aloud as it occurred to me that things could have been much worse.

I could have gone into the church.