Then my hand fell to the lobed pommel of the sword at my waist, the weapon that had avenged Ealhstan with Ugly Einar's blood. The leather-bound grip was worn smooth, but silver wire spiralled round it to prevent the sword's slipping from a sweaty palm. It was simple and deadly and beautiful. It was mine.
The Norns of fate were weaving still. And I was a Norseman now.
CHAPTER NINE
TWO DAYS LATER AT DAWN, FATHER EGFRITH WARNED SIGURD THAT we were close to King Coenwulf's stronghold. The monk seemed to have forgotten the horror of Ealhstan's sacrifice and clearly relished being out among the wonders of the Lord's creation, as he put it; so much so that in his excitement he forgot to loathe us. The little weasel face chattered constantly. 'Unlike some of my world-shy brothers I have travelled literally and spiritually, as I believe is one's duty . . .' he was saying, until Sigurd jabbed the butt of his spear into his shoulder, silencing him for a while.
Soon after, Olaf called a warning. 'Keep your eyes open, lads,' he said, putting on his helmet so that he was all grey steel and brown beard. 'There'll be fighting before long, less my bones are lying.' The Norsemen put on their own helmets, which they carried on spears over their shoulders, and tightened straps, boots and belts, for there was every chance that the Mercians had planned a welcome for us.
'Coenwulf's a scrapper, Sigurd,' Mauger said, 'and he'll have men riding his borders looking for Wessexmen who've strayed too far from their hearths. The truce prevents war, but it won't stop a man getting a length of spear in his belly if he's not careful. The cunnies won't be expecting Norsemen, mind. That'll piss on their holy fire. When they come across forty stinkin' heathens in coats of mail!' He smiled at the thought, a rare expression for him, and I wondered whether Mauger had ever been a child, or if he had been spawned a warrior with scars and beard and malice.
Ash and oak began to give way to fast-growing firs and birches, warning us that men managed this land. Having long since taken the best wood, the Mercians planted trees that did not take countless generations to grow. A little further and the forest would thin, becoming wild heathland and eventually yielding to rolling pasture and sheep meadows. We would not go unnoticed for long.
Some of the Norsemen still looked at me with distrust in their blue eyes, and I felt more than one curse prick my skin like an elf's arrow, muttered by men who blamed me for Glum's mutilation. They respected their jarl's right to administer it, but in their eyes Glum, Einar and Asgot had only been acting on their collective fears. They were in a strange land, governed by a strange god – who would not understand their wanting to feel the All-Father's presence? If this could be achieved through the death of an old man, and a Christian at that, then so be it. Still, I took some comfort from the fact that they did not seem to hold Einar's death against me. Vengeance is a man's right and Norsemen understand this intimately. They would miss their ugly friend, but they were ambitious men who knew they followed a strong jarl towards riches and glory.
That day, I believed they would follow Sigurd anywhere, for we were now in the heart of Coenwulf's kingdom and a great distance from our ships. Though some whispered that we had strayed too far from our gods too, I don't think I was alone in thinking that wherever Sigurd the Lucky went, Óðin and Thór could not be far away.
Later that day we made camp in a vale between two scarp slopes, the eastern one covered with short oaks, birch and bracken, and the western one worn down to rock and clay, patched with tough grass. The flood plain narrowed at this point, the river that once must have coursed through the place reduced to a trickling brook thickly lined with mosses and ferns full of grass snakes.
There was a chill in the air, but there would be no fires this night, for Mauger and Father Egfrith agreed that we were less than a day's march from the king's fortress. The Wessex warrior advised using what remained of the forest as cover before crossing open pasture. There was already a chance that we had been seen and for this reason Olaf believed we should hit the fortress quickly, before the locals had a chance to ready themselves. But Sigurd agreed with Mauger that we should rest once more so as to be fresh for whatever lay in store.
'He's scheming, lad,' Bram said, gesturing to Sigurd. 'I've seen that face before. It's his Loki face. While we're sleeping, Sigurd will be scheming.' Sure enough, later that night, as most men lay asleep in their cloaks, Sigurd's plan was born, and it was Father Egfrith who prised it from him. The monk shivered, sniffed, and tugged Sigurd's sleeve as the jarl was drinking from his water skin.
'What will you do when we come to King Coenwulf's hall, Sigurd?' Egfrith asked, one eye on Black Floki who had scooped up grit from the stream bed and was rubbing it across the rings of the brynja on the rock beside him.