Wolfsangel

32

The flyting was in full session and the skald was doing well. A huge jarl had shouted that Styrman was skinny, mean and too lazy to find his own food — at least Vali thought that was what he said. He could speak good Danish, his time with Barth the thrall had seen to that, but in the tumult of the hall he had difficulty picking some of the words out. He heard the skald’s reply as something like, ‘Food scarce. Lord Fastarr, none can eat but he. Esteemed lord keep cloak on as you pass the pigs, lest you be a birthing sow.’

The crowd roared, banging cups and knives on the table. Vali, though, could not find the contest funny. He glanced at Bragi. He had told the old man not to get drunk, but clearly Bragi had interpreted that as, ‘Don’t get very drunk indeed.’ He was guffawing into his beard and shouting, ‘He’s got you there, Fastarr! You asked for that one!’

‘How can you tell what they say?’ Vali asked Bragi.

‘I can’t get much of it, but you know it’s quality stuff from the skald — you only have to look at the fellow,’ said Bragi. He was enjoying, more than enjoying, wordplay in a language he hardly understood. Vali shook his head and returned to thinking about the business of the night.

The wolfman, Vali knew, was outside, sitting, as he always did in the evenings, down by the ramparts, staring into nothing. Feileg couldn’t stand the noise of the hall and in company retreated into long silences, hovering between animosity and something like fear. It was fear, Vali knew, of the unfamiliar. Vali looked around at the Danish nobles, the huge hall, the rich attire of the jarls, at their strange manners; he heard their weird ways of speaking. He was happier with ordinary people. Was he any different to Feileg? Yes, he was, because he would live to see the dawn tomorrow and Feileg would not.

Vali thought of the ships out on the water, symbols of the freedom he wanted. Even a rowing boat or Veles’ little delivery vessel would do.

He was ready. Everything had unfolded just as he had thought. The visit of the skald was such a big occasion that the longhouses lay empty. Only a single guard sat on the perimeter wall of the harbour by the chain and another at the gate. It was going to be easier than he had imagined.

Vali slipped out of the hall. It was late and the Danes had drunk their way through four of Veles’ big barrels, or at least they had been emptied. Vali knew very well that on such occasions people filled up whatever they could, and quite a lot of the wine would be transported in bottle and pan back to the longhouses to be consumed at a later date. The barrels had been upended and the ends prised off, people filling containers by dipping them in, tied to cords if necessary, to get the last out. The push to be first to the wine had been an unedifying spectacle.

He whistled to the wolfman, who turned and came towards him. Vali could sense his hatred, which was as strong as it had ever been. He was glad — it would make his task easier.

‘We go tonight and need cloaks,’ he said. ‘Take three from a longhouse.’ He had noted that everyone was in their best clothes for the visit of the skald. Their workaday stuff would be there for the taking.

‘I need no cloak in this weather.’

‘You do, for disguise. Go and get them.’

Soundlessly the wolfman moved away, more like something liquid than solid, flowing from shadow to shadow. Vali steeled himself while Feileg was gone. His sword was leaning against the outside of the king’s hall, along with Bragi’s. It would take too long to draw though. Vali had a short knife and thought he would do for Feileg with that as the wolfman put on his cloak. Then he would drag him to an animal pen, change their clothes, walk out of the settlement and steal a boat as soon as he could. His nervousness made him restless, and he went back inside the hall.

The skald was causing general hilarity with his flyting, and people were queuing up to try to best him, though no one had managed it so far. They were standing on the benches, clapping and yelling, toasting and cursing him, and everyone was seriously drunk.

Bragi, who was — incredibly — wearing his byrnie, was proffering a drinking horn to a slave girl who was trying to fill it from a jug. He was making her task much more difficult by pulling at her dress as she did so to get a look at her breasts.

‘Outside,’ said Vali. ‘Now.’

Even though he was mildly drunk, the old warrior caught the seriousness in Vali’s voice and followed him into the cool of the night. Vali took him to the shadows.

‘When Feileg comes back,’ he said, ‘I am going to kill him. It must be done quickly and it must be done without sound. The best place is in the shadow of the stable over there. It’s dark enough and any noise will not be heard from the hall. It is necessary and I’ll explain why once it is done.’

Bragi shrugged. ‘The outlaw was lucky to live so long anyway. Strike true. You’ll be a dead man if you don’t. I’ll be ready, whatever.’

‘Yes.’

They heard the skald shouting inside the hall. Five tuns of wine sends the merchant Veles, Only five little tubs to fill our bellies Let us tell this stingy merchant, ‘Be cursed!’ Ten fat barrels we’ll need to slake our thirst!

There was a tumult of applause and cheers inside the hall.

Feileg was back with three old cloaks in the light Danish style.

‘Over here away from the hall, and I’ll tell you the plan,’ said Vali.

They stepped towards the stable. Vali was very conscious of the knife in his belt. He would make Feileg do up the clasp on his cloak himself. The wolfman was unused to such things, and while his hands were occupied, Vali would stab him to the heart. Vali willed his fingers away from the knife, careful not to give his intentions away. That rune, that writhing, sinuous, shifting rune, was in his head again, but he dismissed it. They reached the lee of the building and Vali passed into the shadow. He was eager for Feileg to follow, eager for it to be over. But Feileg had stopped dead. He let out a low growl.

‘What?’ said Vali.

‘There is danger here,’ said Feileg. His teeth came back from his lips and he sniffed at the shadows.

‘There’s no danger. Come here,’ said Vali. He felt his heart pumping and his head light with nervousness.

‘I will not go there.’

Vali swallowed. Now, he thought. Now!

‘Walk on, you girl,’ said Bragi.

‘Shhhhhh!’ said a voice from the darkness.

Now Vali did draw his knife.

A pale face loomed out of the shadow. It was a child — the slave boy the wolfman had released back in Haithabyr.

‘Please follow,’ he said.

‘Keep out of this, child,’ said Vali. Had he guessed what was on Vali’s mind and was seeking to protect the man who had freed him?

‘Scram,’ said Bragi. He had automatically picked up his sword when he left the hall and now he wafted it, still in its scabbard, at the boy to swat him away.

‘Veles will make you free.’

‘How?’

‘You will go by the wine road. Follow me.’

Vali thought for a moment and then abandoned his plan. If Veles had sent this boy then perhaps there was a better way out. The boy led them to the side of the king’s hall. There were the barrels, open at the top.

‘In,’ said the boy.

Feileg shook his head. ‘No.’

Bragi’s hand went to his sword. ‘We can just as quick kill you here,’ he said.

The wolfman’s eyes were blank.

‘Fine,’ said Vali. ‘Don’t get in, and stay here to face Hemming’s wrath.’

‘I am coming with you,’ said the wolfman, ‘but not in there.’

‘There’s no other way,’ said Vali.

There was a blast of laughter from the hall. Someone had opened the doors.

‘I won’t be captured again,’ said Feileg.

The boy spoke: ‘You freed me. I owe you a debt. This is not captivity but freedom. Please, get in,’ he said.

There were footsteps now, drunken horseplay, voices repeating things the skald had said and wild laughter.

The wolfman looked at the boy. He nodded and, in what seemed like a single movement, was inside a barrel. Vali got into another, but Bragi couldn’t lift himself in. From Veles’ boat, four men in tatty work clothes appeared. They tipped a barrel onto its side, and Bragi crawled in. Vali squeezed down as far as he could. He had just enough space to bend his knees, so his head came below the lip of the barrel.

‘Stay inside,’ said a voice, and then his barrel was tipped onto its side and rolled towards the sea. The end was open and Vali feared he would be seen, but the night was dark and everyone was drunk. The turning was nauseating though, and it was all he could do to stop himself from falling out.

At the water’s edge he felt his barrel lifted into the air and loaded onto a boat. Then a cloth was put over the top end of the barrel and it went dark. He kept still for a while, hearing the scrapings and crashes of the other barrels being loaded next to his. How were they going to get through the chain? Hemming would never allow it to be opened at night.

There was the sound of approaching shouts and many feet on the shore. The shouts became a chant: ‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’

‘Get back to your stingy master and come back here with a gift fit for a king!’ It was the skald, shouting from the shoreline.

‘The chain opens for no one!’ It was the voice of one of the men on the boat. ‘Wait till tomorrow. You can make do with ale until then.’

‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’

The skald spoke again: ‘Don’t try to get out of it, you serpents. They’ll open the chain soon enough if you tell them you’re off on an important mission from the king himself!’

‘More wine! More wine! More wine!’

‘Hey, Feggi, lower the chain!’ shouted a voice.

‘Chain down! Chain down! Chain down!’

‘Gladly, if the king says so!’ The voice of the chain guard was very close.

‘Hemming, Hemming, grant us wine! Hemming, Hemming, grant us wine!’

Vali felt himself shaking and cursed himself for his fear.

‘Lower the chain. Never let it be said that I don’t listen to the will of my people!’ It was Hemming’s voice. The king had been drinking by the sound of him. Vali almost laughed. From what he had seen of Hemming, he was a serious man who wouldn’t care to get too drunk. Sometimes, though, he would have to show his people he was one of them.

Vali heard the oars lift and the boat moved forward. There was the stiff clank of the lowering chain and the boat slid out into the main channel, the crowd cheering it on.

Vali regretted not killing the wolfman — it would have increased his chances of escape many times if Hemming had thought him dead. All he could hope was that Veles had come up with a better plan than he had managed himself.

The journey was a long and uncomfortable one. He tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the oars, to take his mind off the cramp in his legs. Then the boat stopped and the boy whispered to Vali to keep quiet. Other men got on and the boat began to move again. Vali guessed there had been a change of oarsmen.

He was in agony now but didn’t dare move to ease his legs. He tried to sleep but it was impossible. Eventually, when numbness had dulled the pain, he smelled the sea and saw light through the cloth draped over his barrel. The boat was still. He had to get out, he thought, or he wouldn’t ever be able to move again. As he shifted, he felt a hand push him back down.

‘Not long now,’ whispered a voice.

‘Veles?’

‘Your servant always, my lord.’

Despite his agony Vali gave thanks to Loki that Veles was on his side. The Obotrite was the cleverest man he had ever met.

His barrel was lifted again and Vali felt he was going to be sick. Then he was put down — on another ship, as far as he could tell. He heard the barrels being lashed down and realised he must now be on an ocean-going vessel preparing for the rigours of a sea voyage. Again, Veles’ voice was close by.

‘As soon as we are far from the shore you can come out. I apologise for your cramped accommodation, but be assured I had the barrels made specially for this purpose. They are commodious compared to normal vats. You will be free to stand soon.’

‘Thank you, Veles. You’ve taken great risks for me.’

‘Thanks are welcome, especially when princes speak with gold,’ said Veles.

‘What will you do if Hemming finds out it was you?’

‘I am the king’s most valuable servant, so I doubt he’ll suspect me,’ said Veles. ‘Rest assured the blame will all be yours. Now be quiet. We are still inshore and there are men close by.’

Vali heard the creak of a rope and the sound of the sail taking the wind, but no one spoke. For an age he waited. He could no longer feel his legs at all, apart from his knees, which had been rubbed to rawness against the sides of the barrel. He heard a tap.

‘Out,’ said a voice, and the cloth was pulled away.

Vali couldn’t move at all at first but eventually managed to push himself to his feet, bending to massage the blood back into his legs. Then he climbed out of his barrel, blinded by the sun.

‘Veles,’ said Vali, ‘even if I never walk properly again, I am forever in your debt. I-’

He felt a thump in his guts, so hard he puked. He fell to his side, his hands grasping for support, his head banging against one of the stays of the ship’s hull. His sight began to adjust to the sunlight and he heard a familiar voice.

‘The merchant sold you.’

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, coughed and looked up. The warrior’s identity seemed to assemble in Vali’s mind from a collection of parts — the long deep scar running from the forehead to the lip, the massive body, bigger than any man he had ever seen, the tattoos covering every inch of his flesh in scenes of battle and destruction, the pelt of the white bear draped over him.

‘Remember me, prince?’ said Bodvar Bjarki. ‘You said you wouldn’t forget.’