Blood Eye(39)

Asgot looked up at the beamed roof with its blackened thatch. Then with a hand he brushed away the rushes before him, took a pouch from his belt and scattered the bones across the cracked earthen floor. His face was pinched and closed, but then his eyes widened, seeming unnaturally bright in the dark hall. 'They'll burn it, Sigurd,' he said.





There were eighteen of us now. Olaf told me to arm myself properly and so I knelt by Njal's stiffening body and was struggling with his sword belt when Asgot hissed at me.





'Careful, boy.' His ancient face was full of spite. 'The death maidens are here in this hall.' His yellowed eyes rolled up to the roof beams. 'They choose the slain for Óðin. Carry their souls to Valhöll.' He grinned. 'They can be wicked bitches.'





As I fumbled with Njal's mail shirt, trying to pull it over his white face, I hummed one of the heathens' songs so that the demons of carnage would know that I still lived and not take me by mistake. Then I squirmed into the brynja, smelling the grease on the iron rings, and was awed by the weight of the thing. It dragged my whole body down and I feared I would be unable to move. And yet I found I could move well enough and the brynja's weight was then a great comfort because I knew such a thing could turn an arrow aside.





The hearth flames licked the splintered wood of the table before bursting into life to throw an orange glow into every corner of the hall, vanquishing all but the deepest shadows. Every face was distorted by the firelight so that it had a fierce, animal-like aspect that was terrifying. I touched the wooden amulet of Óðin at my neck, feeling sure that he ruled in that place of death, no matter that the hall's owner Ealdred was a Christian. But the All-Father was a cruel lord. His wanderlust and vainglory had brought the Norsemen to a place that promised nothing now but their deaths. 'The gods love chaos,' Black Floki said, smiling bitterly and gesturing at my amulet.





'I'll wager the English followed us along the coast, gathering men as they went,' Olaf said, removing his blood-smeared helmet and wiping it on one of Ealdred's tapestries.





'If Glum and the others were here things would be more fun,' Svein the Red commented, pulling an ivory comb through his thick red beard.





Sigurd looked at me, his lips pursed in thought. 'Perhaps I should not have killed your red-faced priest,' he said, his mouth twisting into a smile. 'He did talk too much, hey? Someone would have done it sooner or later!' The others laughed and the sound was thick and full. The English outside must have thought it a strange sound to come from their ealdorman's hall. Sigurd turned to Eric. 'Can you get out, Eric? Past those turds and back to the ships?'





Eric thought for a moment. 'If you think I can, lord,' he said. Sigurd glanced at Olaf, seeking his friend's permission, though he did not need it. Olaf nodded discreetly.





'Good lad,' Sigurd said. 'You must warn Glum and the others.'





'What if the English have attacked them already?' Bjarni said, shrugging his powerful shoulders, and I suddenly feared for old Ealhstan.





'There's every chance Glum is fucking some Valkyrie on his way to Óðin's hall by now,' Bjorn added.





'I don't think so, Bjorn,' Sigurd said, his jaw tight. 'The men we fought here were fresh and Ealdred is no king. He doesn't have the warriors to fight in two places at once.' But Sigurd could not know that. He flexed a hand. 'Glum is alive,' he said, cracking the knuckles, 'and he'll spit teeth if we keep all the fun to ourselves.' I whispered a prayer to Óðin that Sigurd was right and the old carpenter was still alive as well.





'I'm a fast runner, Bjarni,' Eric said, already tying back his white hair. 'If I get past them, they'll never catch me. Not in the dark. A man can outrun a horse on rough ground. I've seen it done.'





Floki swore dismissively. 'Over a short distance it's possible,' Bjorn agreed, giving Floki a cold look. Outside, a dog barked.





'And dogs?' Bjarni said, turning towards the sound.





Eric looked down to the rushes then. 'I hadn't thought of dogs,' he said quietly.





'We should be encouraging the boy, Bjarni!' Bjorn snapped. 'You're not afraid of dogs, are you, Eric?' he said gruffly. 'Not English dogs, anyway.' Eric shook his head, grinned and drew his long knife, whose blade glinted in the flame light.





'You can do it, Eric,' Bjarni said, touching Eric's white hair. 'You're fast, I'll give you that. Didn't you win the foot race on Egg Island one summer?'





Eric smiled. 'I was ten years old, Bjarni,' he said, but it was clear he was pleased that Bjarni remembered the small victory.





'We'll create a diversion,' Sigurd said above the dog's barking, 'give those turds out there a night to remember us by.' He showed his teeth. 'Which of you has a plan Loki would be proud of?' he asked. The only answer was the loud crack of an ember from the hearth. 'Come, ladies, don't all speak at once. A strong arm kills but a cunning mind'll keep you alive.'