Blood Eye(31)

Sigurd's eyes were narrow slits and I knew he was trying to understand why the English were holding back when they could have driven us into the sea.





'That's enough, lads!' he called, hefting his great round shield into the air, but one Norseman was still thumping with his sword. Sigurd snarled at him and he went still.





'You bonehead, Kon,' Black Floki hissed.





Sigurd walked forward and the shieldwall closed behind him. 'Have you come to fight?' he called in English into the shadows beneath the rise. 'Or are you going to stand there like fucking trees?' His voice echoed off the rocks, mixing with the sound of the surf. There was no reply. 'Well, English? I have mead to drink!'





A shadowed figure moved towards him. 'I have come to talk with you, heathen,' this man said. He was tall and well armed and his moustache was long and smooth. 'After that, we can fight. If you want.'





'Talk is for women!' Sigurd barked.





'So is mourning, heathen,' the Englishman said, 'which is what your womenfolk will be doing if you are foolish enough to piss on this opportunity.' Sigurd held his tongue. 'Come, Norseman. I will meet you halfway.'





'Don't go, Sigurd,' Olaf warned, having understood the conversation, for it was Olaf who had taught Sigurd the language of the English. 'They'll kill you.' Sigurd seemed to weigh up his chances, then rolled his broad shoulders, spat and stepped forward.





'I'll go, lord,' I heard myself say. Sigurd turned to me as I stepped from the shieldwall, the gap sealing instantly. 'Let me talk to them. I know their words better than you and will sniff out a lie, lord.'





Sigurd nodded, waving his shield forward. 'Go, Raven. Fly in search of the truth,' he said. I sheathed my sword and then, still holding my round shield, walked towards the English.





Up close I recognized the man as the rider with the straight back who had spoken to us up at the village. To his left stood the other man, the heavily muscled warrior with the silver arm rings. 'You speak for your chief?' the Englishman asked.





'I listen for him,' I replied. 'He will speak for himself, once I have told him what you have to say.'





The man nodded, running a hand through his sand-coloured hair. 'I am Ealdred. This is my land. As outlanders . . .' he paused and glanced at my sword, 'as sword-bearing outlanders you are a threat to the people who look to me for protection.' He jerked his head to the west. 'We have enough trouble with the Welsh.' He tipped his head to one side. 'Are you a threat?' he asked.





'We are more of a threat than you know,' I dared, meeting his eyes. I gripped my sword's hilt to keep my hand from shaking.





Beneath his long moustache, the corners of Ealdred's mouth hinted at a smile. 'I could give one word and you would see your ships burn,' he said. 'But you know that, don't you?'





'And without them we would have no choice but to fight until we fell or walked on your corpse,' I said. 'Have you ever seen the kind of death fifty mailed Sword-Norse can sow?' I gestured to our shieldwall. 'They are the finest warriors alive.'





Ealdred frowned then. 'You talk much for a man who claims only to listen. And your English is good, for a heathen.' He stroked his moustache. 'Perhaps I can convince you that I have come with half a mind on peace.' He turned. 'Mauger, release the bear.' With that the burly warrior stalked back into the shadows, returning a moment later pushing forward a man whose hands were bound behind his back.





'Bram!' By the flickering light of English torches, I saw that his face and beard were dark with blood and his eyes were swollen shut. And he was limping.





'Never was much good at running, lad. Legs like bloody tree trunks,' he growled, looking ashamed to be tied up. Mauger shoved him forward and I drew my sword and cut his bonds before sending him back to Sigurd.





'That animal killed two of my men,' Ealdred said, his eyebrows raised. 'But I spared his life as an act of good faith.' It must have been the truth, I thought. By rights, Ealdred should have avenged his men with Bram's blood. 'So, heathen,' Ealdred said in a low voice, 'are you ready to listen now?'





I sheathed my sword and glanced at the English shieldwall. It was longer than our own. Much longer and four men deep in places. I gave Ealdred a curt nod. 'I'm listening.'





'Well, Raven? Has the Englishman come to fight or not?' Sigurd's eyes glinted in the dark. His men stood shoulder to shoulder, their painted round shields raised and their axes and swords hungry for flesh.





'His name is Ealdred,' I said. 'He is an ealdorman and the king's cousin.'





Sigurd pursed his lips. 'Which king?' he asked.





'Egbert king of Wessex,' I said.





'A real king!' Sigurd chuckled. 'Should I kiss his hand now or after I cut it off?' This was loud and in English.