Blood Eye(54)

That night a man named Arnvid made a stew of mutton, turnips, mushrooms and barley, and when it was ready I took a steaming bowlful to Ealhstan who was already asleep amongst the thick ribs of a beech trunk, a fur pulled up to his chin. I touched his bony shoulder and he opened one eye with a scowl, then murmured something unpleasant.





'You must keep your strength up, Ealhstan,' I said, putting the bowl in his lap so that he had to take it or let it spill. 'Though it might be worth getting the monk to bless it first,' I said, nodding at the stew. He brought the bowl to his face and sniffed. His nose crinkled disapprovingly. 'I don't think Arnvid is much of a cook.' I grinned and the old man grunted, then slurped at the stew, his eyes all the while boring into mine so that it was almost painful. Ealhstan had been like a father to me. He had shared his home and his livelihood with me and most of all he had accepted me when others had not. But that was before, and like dreams that fade on waking my memories of that time were dissipating, being replaced by a new and hard reality; a reality which my youth with its vigour and ambition craved more than anything. I was becoming a part of this heathen fellowship. I was drawing on the Norsemen's experiences, on their beliefs and their myths, like a tree that sinks deep roots in search of water. Yet each root I laid was like a nail of betrayal in the old carpenter's heart. I could see it in the way he looked at me and it made me feel ashamed.





'Eat up, old man,' I said, thumbing a drip of stew from the grey whiskers on his chin. Suddenly, he grabbed my hair above my left ear and gripped it tightly and I did not know if he wanted to hit me or hug me. Then he made a sound in his throat, nodded and stroked my hair roughly. 'I'll be back to make sure you've eaten it all,' I warned him, pointing at Arnvid's stew, then I stood, feeling the glow of the fire play across my face, and walked away from the old man, trying in vain to swallow the lump in my throat.





Later, a warrior called Aslak interrupted my sword training with Bjorn. Aslak was a lean man like Floki, his muscle taut and hard. I had seen him fight and his footwork was quick, his feints were flawless and he wasted little strength on poor thrusts. There was a cold assurance about the man. And now he wanted to fight me.





'Bjorn and Bjarni have taught you how our womenfolk fight,' he said with a brown-toothed grin, 'but it's time you learned a man's work, Raven.'





Bjorn bowed in mock reverence and walked off to sit with his brother as Aslak took up the wooden sword and made some practice cuts through the air between us.





'I'd prefer to fight you when you're fully grown, Aslak,' I said, for even in that short time my shoulders had broadened, my arms had thickened and my arrogance had bloomed. My body had devoured the training and now it ached to be tested. Aslak smiled at the insult, then came at me like a streak of lightning from Thór's chariot. I threw up my left arm, catching the blow on my shield, and sprang back out of his reach. He came again with a flurry of strikes, some of which I blocked, though plenty caught my shoulders and one glanced my head.





'My helmet, Svein!' I called. Aslak wore his already. I caught the helmet, thumped it down and gave a low roar like the ones I had heard from Sigurd at Ealdred's hall. Then I attacked, smashing the wooden sword on to Aslak's shield and this time forcing him on to the back foot. He thrust his shield into my face and I felt my nose crack. Blood filled my mouth and tears blurred my eyes as I dropped my sword and grabbed for Aslak's shield, pushing it out wide and lurching forward, crashing into him so that he stumbled backwards, tripping over Svein's outstretched foot. I leapt on to him, hands clutching at his neck, and butted my helmet into his face. I was full of fury, but Aslak somehow wriggled free and slammed a fist into my eye. I tried to rise but the fists kept coming, smashing into my cheek and jaw. Then my world turned black as blindness.





When I woke, a fresh wave of pain broke over me and I vomited.





'It's just the blood you swallowed, Raven,' Svein said. 'Makes you puke. We put you on your side but you must have drunk enough of the stuff.'





Gingerly, I put a hand to my swollen jaw and broken nose. 'Do I still look pretty?' I asked, then spat. My nose felt three times its normal size and was stuffed with congealing blood.





'Your hair is the only pretty thing about you, Raven,' Svein said, laughing. 'At least you broke Aslak's nose too, and he's not happy about it.'





'That takes the edge off the pain,' I said, smiling. I could not breathe through my nose, but my head was full of the metallic stench of blood. 'He battered me, Svein.' The others were sitting around three crackling fires, talking in low voices and playing games.