Blood Eye(33)

Ealhstan pointed to the slate-grey sea's horizon, rounded his gaunt cheeks and blew into my face, and I suddenly understood. The wind came from the south and it was possible that the tide followed it. Sigurd knew that even if he could fight the English off long enough to board Serpent and Fjord-Elk, it would be tough rowing to get clear of the fire boats, which were surely still nearby. We would also endure a rain of fire arrows from the shore before we could pull the tarred, seasoned hulls out of range. The risk was too great even for Sigurd, and though it may have looked like stubborn Norse pride the truth was the jarl was buying us time. So we waited, and the sun broke free in the east, filling the world with pure light and revealing the Norsemen's tired faces. And still they did not break formation. So neither did Ealdred's men, until later in the day the wind dropped enough for Sigurd to give a firm nod and turn to his men, his eyes fiercely shining from his drawn face. At least one of his ships had a chance of getting away if Ealdred turned his spears on us.





'Stay with the ships, Glum,' Sigurd said, gesturing for Serpent's crew to ready themselves, which they did gladly, relieved to sling their shields across their backs and move their cramping limbs. Glum rearranged his men into a smaller but still deadly swine array and Sigurd nodded that I should go with him to Ealdred's hall. He told Bram to stay behind with Glum too, because he was battered and limping. But Bram refused with a rumble of profanities and hefted his shield and spear anyway.





'Stay here, Ealhstan. I have to go with Sigurd,' I said, gripping his stick-thin forearm. The carpenter nodded and clasped my arm, his watery eyes exploring my face with equal concern and frustration. 'Keep your hair on your head, old man. I'll be back to make sure they've not made a heathen of you,' I said, trying to smile, but I knew the truth was that Ealhstan was worried for me, not for himself, and I left to follow Bjorn and Bjarni before Ealhstan's fears could become my own.





We climbed the rise strewn with birch and bracken and spiky green gorse buzzing with bees, passed through stunted oaks, elm and ash, and reached the clearing of stumps where Olaf, Glum, Floki and the others had waited when I went to buy the meat. Then, followed at a distance by the English, we descended the slope along the muddy track, and I wished I had a spear like the other Norsemen who planted the butts into the slippery filth to help keep their feet.





'We'll be rich men this time tomorrow,' Bjorn said to his brother Bjarni as we descended into the valley, shaped like a shallow dish, where Ealdred's folk lived, some within the protection of a low wooden palisade. The Wolfpack eyed the place hungrily, grinning at the thought of what it might offer: food, silver and women, all fine things to a Norseman. The stream had vanished into the earth at several places where the ground rose, but always it reappeared, flowing from the heart of the village, just as Sigurd had predicted it would, where it turned an old mill wheel whose rhythmic clunking disturbed the peaceful afternoon. A fine drizzle fell as folk moved about, herding animals, carrying water and firewood, weaving wool and making linen cloth. Hammers rang in forges, potters worked clay, and craftsmen of all kinds handled stone, glass beads, bronze, silver and bone.





'Rich or dead, brother,' Bjarni replied, adjusting the round shield on his back. Timber houses pockmarked the landscape, the smoke from their hearths casting a pall over the village in the gathering twilight. The sweet woody air reminded me of Abbotsend.





'Looks like a good place to raise cubs,' Olaf said, nodding at the piles of timber and half-constructed houses at the edges of the settlement. 'Plenty to keep a man busy round here. And good land,' he added appreciatively.





'We're building another church. Of dressed stone,' Ealdred said, swaying in the saddle and pointing to a knee-high ruin beyond his mead hall. 'Our Father's house should not be made of straw and pig shit, eh?' The stones in place looked like the ones from the old watchtower on the hill overlooking Abbotsend, but the ones piled beside it were crude, unfinished blocks. 'My mason tells me it will take two years to build and that means three or four, but those ancient foundations are strong. The old people knew how to build. Makes you wonder what happened to them, doesn't it? A people like that.' Sigurd glanced at Olaf who shrugged disinterestedly. 'Used to be a heathen temple, the monks tell me,' Ealdred said, rubbing his horse between the ears. He held up a finger. 'The Lord shall have dominion.' The Norsemen scowled, and Ealdred scratched his head irritably. 'Not that you people would be interested in such matters, living outside the good Lord's shadow as you do.'





'Our gods go wherever we go, Englishman,' Sigurd replied in good English. 'Here,' he touched the amulet of Óðin at his neck, 'and here,' he said, thumping his chest.