Blood Eye(12)

The godi stood and raised his arms to the sky.





'Óðin All-Father!' he called, shaking his head so that the bones in his hair rattled. 'Receive this warrior slain by your wolves! Let him sit at your mead bench so the White Christ cannot take him for a slave! Óðin Far-Wanderer! This eagle is a gift from Jarl Sigurd who rides the waves and seeks glory in your name.'





Sigurd stared at me then, at my blood-eye, and gripped the small wooden amulet on the thong round his neck. It was a man's face, but one eye was missing.





'Kill the old man,' he commanded with a flick of his hand, 'but not the boy. Bring him to Serpent.'





'He is a carpenter, lord!' I shouted in the heathen language. 'Do not kill him!' The bearded Norseman I had first seen at the prow of the dragon ship shoved me aside and raised his sword to strike Ealhstan. 'He is skilled! Look, lord!' I said, drawing my eating knife from my belt and offering it up to Sigurd. The warrior above me snatched the knife away and glanced at it carelessly before flinging it at Sigurd's feet. Then he turned back to Ealhstan and grimaced.





'Wait, Olaf!' Sigurd said, examining the knife. Like the pagan blade Ealhstan had returned to me the previous night this one was short and simple, but its hilt was carved into the shape of a porpoise. I had never seen such a creature, but as a boy Ealhstan had found one washed up on the shingle and he had made the hilt from memory.





'It is bone from the red deer, lord,' I said, hoping that Sigurd's thumb stroking the white hilt was a sign he appreciated the workmanship. In truth, I had seen Ealhstan make much finer hilts for those who paid for them. Still, the knife was a gift and I cherished it. Only now did I realize that Ealhstan had given it to me to replace the heathen one he had found round my neck. Perhaps it had been his way of helping me begin a new life with him.





'It is skilled work,' Sigurd admitted, scratching his beard. The man named Olaf, whom the Norsemen called Uncle, opened his mouth to protest, but Sigurd stopped him with a raised hand. 'There is an empty bench at the oars now, Olaf,' he said, glancing at the warrior whose pale corpse was blistering wickedly as the searching flames licked it. The fire was eating through the seasoned timber and the man's hair crackled and burned brightly, giving off a foul-smelling smoke. 'Bring them both,' Sigurd said, turning his back on me.





And so we were dragged towards the sea and the waiting dragon ships which sat low in the water, heavy with the booty taken from the people of Abbotsend. The Norsemen took their places and began in unison to pull on the oars, dragging the sea past the slender hulls until a steady rhythm was set. And I looked towards the shore and breathed the yellow smoke of a burning village.





CHAPTER THREE




I WAS MISERABLE. NUMB. EALHSTAN AND I SAT HUDDLED AT THE stern by the Norseman at the tiller who grinned wolfishly whenever I caught his eye, as though he was amused that I had betrayed my people. And even though the folk of Abbotsend had hated me, and though it had never felt like my home, I believed I might have damned my own soul to drift for ever with the black smoke from burned homes. Ealhstan would not look at me and this made my chest ache. He had stood by me against Wulfweard, but now he blamed me, I was sure of it, and so I let the dark mood spread like a stain between us as I looked up at the sky, noting how much more infinite it appeared from the sea. Having burned away the morning's mist, the sun sat above us like the lord and judge of men and it seemed impossible that in the time it had taken to ascend its throne, a village had been wiped from the earth.





As I breathed in the heady mix of dried fish, pine and tar, the heathens laughed and joked and rowed as though nothing unusual had happened. Each man sat facing us on a chest containing his belongings, and whilst some stared at me as though wondering what I was, others would not meet my eye. You are alive because they fear you, Osric, I said to myself. Men fear your Devil's eye, and these are men, aren't they? So I closed my good eye, leaving the blood-filled one staring out at the Norsemen until some of them looked away. I tried to make them believe I could see into their thoughts and I think some of them feared that I could.





The dragon skimmed through the waves, her ropes and planks creaking rhythmically, and something grew in my stomach, writhing, encouraged by the sea's pitch and roll. Before long, I vomited bitter, green liquid and feared my stomach was tearing apart. My misery deepened still further with the cramps and dizziness.





At least we never sailed out of sight of land and this alone was the slender rein on my despair. We would aim out to sea to avoid sandbanks and rocks, but always headed inland again.





'We are sailing west, Ealhstan,' I said at the end of the day with the warmth of the falling sun on my face, 'which means they're not going home yet. These men come from the sea road far to the north.'