Blood Eye(43)

Sigurd pointed to the ealdorman. 'You Christians are fools,' he said. 'We have known this for countless years. You build your churches by the sea and fill them with gold and silver. Who guards them? Christ slaves! Men in skirts, feeble as old women. Your god makes you weak, Ealdred.' Sigurd gestured to his own warriors. 'We have no fear of him. We take what we want.'





Ealdred's mouth twisted beneath the moustache and his bodyguard dropped a hand to his sword's hilt. 'Easy, Mauger,' Ealdred muttered. 'I don't want you ruining Sigurd the Lucky's reputation.'





'I would like him to try,' Sigurd challenged, staring at Mauger. That would be some fight, I thought.





'Egfrith!' Ealdred called, keeping his eyes on Sigurd. There was no reply from the mass of English warriors, whose helmets were illuminated now by torch-bearers to their rear, though their faces remained shadow-shrouded. 'Now, now, Father, don't be shy. Come and blind Sigurd with your piety.'





A murmur rose from the English and out from the gloom shuffled a monk in a dark habit. He was a small man, especially amongst the ealdorman's household warriors, and his bald head reflected the moonlight as he broke free of the shielded throng. His hands clutched each other within the habit's long sleeves and his feet were bare. Tufts of hair sprouted above each ear and his nose was long and sharp between close-set eyes. The man looked like a weasel. He looked up at Sigurd, his eyes narrowed as though it pained him to open them, and he sniffed loudly.





'At least this creature does not hide behind rotten words, Ealdred,' Sigurd said, nodding at the monk. He sheathed his sword to show he was unafraid of the White Christ's magic. 'This Christ slave wears his fear like a cloak. Look at the hate in his little eyes.' Sigurd spat. 'They are like piss holes in the snow.'





'Father Egfrith is a man of God,' Ealdred said, 'and to him you are an abomination, a heathen like the Welsh who claw at us in the west. Those piss holes see you as no more than a wild animal.' He smiled. 'Though the thing about Egfrith is that he's sure to have a mind on showing you the error of your ways, eh, Father? Are you tempted to take your crucifix and prise the Devil from Sigurd's black heart?'





'Evil is a tarnish of the soul, Lord Ealdred, and the soul once stained cannot be buffed to a shine like a shield boss,' Father Egfrith replied in a nasal voice. Then he frowned, as though his mind plucked at a distant memory. 'Well, sometimes there may be salvation,' he muttered, before staring once more at Sigurd. 'But this beast is beyond redemption.'





'Come now, Father, where is your resolve?' Ealdred asked. 'Even a bear can be taught to dance. We've all heard you say as much in your mind-numbing sermons.'





'Not all bears,' Sigurd interrupted with a grimace. 'You should listen to the little man, Ealdred. Some bears know only how to kill.'





Father Egfrith scuttled up to Sigurd, his narrow face pinched in anger. 'I may not have the limbs of an oak, heathen,' he began, his head level with Sigurd's chest, 'but I warn you that the Lord God lends me strength you couldn't possibly comprehend.' He held Sigurd's eye and I thought the Norseman would snap him in two. But Sigurd gave a deep laugh and gripped my shoulder, pulling me forward from the skjaldborg.





'Raven, now I am sure you are from the All-Father. You could not be from this land. I will not believe it!' Behind us, some of the Norsemen laughed at the monk squaring up to their jarl, but others stood grim-faced, expecting the slaughter to resume.





The monk leant forward, peering at me through the gloom. 'Is your eye black?' he asked. His face was pale and his teeth were yellow as a rat's.





'Red, Father,' I said, touching my eye. 'It is a clot of blood.' I smiled at his obvious disgust.





'Heaven help us!' Egfrith said, signing a cross in the air. 'I hope you know what you're doing, Lord Ealdred,' he said, turning and hoisting a warning finger at the ealdorman. 'The Almighty sees all. You cannot tame this man. Satan will not abide shackles.'





The big warrior on Ealdred's left fidgeted as though bored by the whole thing. 'Get on with it, monk,' he snarled, 'or I'll martyr you and give your bones to the heathens for their broth.'





'Patience, Mauger,' Ealdred soothed, while Father Egfrith shivered and closed his eyes as though gathering his resolve. Some of the English began taunting the Norsemen, whilst others began to chant, 'Out! Out! Out!' But Ealdred raised a hand and the men held their tongues.





'Do it, monk,' Mauger growled. 'We don't have all night. The men want to know if there's killing to be done.'





Father Egfrith opened his eyes, cleared his throat with a cough, and leant forward so that I could smell the mead on his breath. 'There is a book,' he began in a voice that was half whisper, 'a very precious book.'