Fenrir

6

Leshii had almost hated to cut the girl’s hair. She was very beautiful and her hair was an almost white blonde. However, there were two advantages to slicing it off. The first was that it would help disguise her from the Danes who were looking for her, enabling him to claim a good ransom from the wolfman — or rather via the wolfman from the rather richer Prince Helgi. The second was that he could sell the hair to a wig maker. A crop like that was a rare capture; it was even clean. How much? he wondered. Ten dinars? Two good swords’ worth at least.

She had understood what he wanted to do but instinctively objected. ‘The Bible says it is a disgrace for a woman to cut her hair.’

‘And for a woman to be raped and murdered by Norsemen? Surely your god would prefer a lesser evil.’

Aelis saw his reason and held still while he worked. The cutting was notable for speed rather than finesse, and her remaining hair was reduced to clumps. The merchant had the severed tresses inside his pack in an instant — along with the lady’s rings — and, just as quickly, produced some wide trousers, gathered at the knee, and a long kaftan.

From down the slope they heard a dog barking and the calls of the men following it.

Aelis kicked off her soaking dress and stuffed it into a bush. Down to her hose and undershirt, she went to put the kaftan on but the merchant stopped her and passed her a rough shirt, no more than a tube with holes in.

‘Better not to wear the wet one,’ he said, ‘it might provoke questions.’

Aelis was deeply reluctant to undress in front of this man, so she went a few paces into the woods. She stripped off her hose and tunic and put on the new clothes. They stank of horse and, worse, of man. Suddenly his hands were on her.

‘I will die before you take me.’

‘You have a taste for drama,’ said the merchant. ‘You are to be a boy; best cover the things that announce you, very much, as a woman.’ His eyes bulged as he said this in a self-mocking acknowledgement of his sauciness. ‘I know you Franks and Neustrians have no conception of real buttons.’

One by one, he pushed the twelve buttons at the front of the kaftan through their loops. Aelis was glad he did, as she would have had no idea how to put on such a strange garment herself. Then he put a rough cap on her head and smeared dirt all over her face. She looked like she was meant to, a young male slave, his hair cut short as a sign of his subjugation.

‘You are a mute,’ he said, ‘and my servant. Your breasts are flat enough in that but it might be well to keep your arms crossed when in company. It’s a good job you’re a skinny thing — if you had big tits we’d have no chance.’

Aelis was unused to having commoners talk to her like that. Had he spoken that way at court he would have found himself doing very hard penance indeed. However, she realised she was in no position to argue.

‘And one more thing. Stay here; pretend to be sleeping. Let me handle this.’

‘Can you persuade them?’

He looked at her. He knew Helgi coveted this woman above all others, that prophecy had told him their destinies were linked. However, Helgi’s was a new realm and the Franks held him in contempt. He would not be allowed to marry their lady. Hence, he had decided to take her. The reward for bringing her to the prince, thought Leshii, would allow him to retire into idleness and safety for the rest of his life.

‘I’ve spent my life persuading people,’ he said. ‘Now lie down and wait.’

Aelis did as she was bid while Leshii went back to his fire. He heard the men approaching up the hill, calling to each other and to her.

‘Come on, darling. Best we get you than the Ravens, believe me.’

‘You’re worth too much for us to harm you. Come on, you can be in front of a fire in short order if you show yourself.’

The dog was barking with the hollow bay of the hunt. It came first, bounding into the camp and quartering the ground with its eager nose.

Leshii breathed out. He was used to making audacious deals, used to taking his life in his hands as he crossed the vast plains of the east, out to Serkland, where the desert people sold him silks and swords, west to the great markets of Denmark and Sweden and even south to Byzantium, the empress of cities. This, though, was going to be difficult. Six men at least, all fevered with the hunt and the day’s battle; him with only his knife to protect all his wares and the most precious commodity of all — the lady who was going to make him a rich man. He got hold of his nerves and spoke in the Norse tongue, high and clear, allowing his accent to colour it more than was strictly necessary in order to sound exotic.

‘Greetings to the sons of my good friend Ongendus, who is also called Angantyr. How fares the noble king of the Danes?’

‘You’re a bit late, foreigner — he’s been dead these twenty years.’ The men were all soaking wet, gleaming in the moonlight — as were the points of their spears. The dog, a large, smooth-haired beast, was briefly taken with the remains of Leshii’s meal and was gnawing on a mutton bone. Leshii thought of his mother. She’d have taken it from the dog and boiled it for soup, small as it was. He preferred to discard such things, not because he was rich but because he had aspirations to be rich. Act wealthy and you will be wealthy, an Arab had once told him. It seemed good advice, but up to that point it had met with only limited success. Perhaps the saying had less truth than he had supposed. It wasn’t the acting that had let him down, for sure — Leshii was good at that

‘Then tell me his noble son Sigfrid has grown to rule you Danes. He was always the strongest and most noble lad. I played with him when he was a child. Does he still speak of me? Say that he does.’

‘Our lord is Sigfrid, true. Are you a friend of his?’

‘I was like a second father to the boy when he was young. I am Leshii, merchant of Ladoga known to you as Aldeigjuborg, ambassador of Prince Helgi the Dane, called Rus, ruler of the Eastern Lake, the lands of Novgorod and Kiev. Come and share my fire. We are kinsmen. I have wine here if you would like it.’

‘My name is Fastarr, son of Hringr. No time for wine, brother,’ said one of the men. ‘We are hunting a girl who has been on this shore. Have you seen her?’

The merchant swallowed. He liked the sound of ‘brother’.

‘No one but me,’ said Leshii. He watched as the two men at the front whispered to each other, one shooting him a sidelong glance.

‘Can’t we stop for a bit of wine, boss?’ The one who asked was small and thin but had a cold impassive killer’s face.

‘We could be all night and not find her. Let’s give it a bit longer with the dog and if he doesn’t turn anything up, call it quits and drink this merchant’s stash,’ said another.

Leshii glanced nervously towards the packs with his bottles in them. It was good stuff, meant for trading, not quaffing by a bunch of hairy-arsed warriors.

‘Plenty of time tomorrow, then,’ said Leshii. ‘My brother is coming with enough to drown us all. I will ensure you are the first to sample it. How Sigfrid will rejoice to have us both by his side again.’

‘You have no bodyguard, merchant.’ Fastarr spoke.

‘I travel with a magician, a shapeshifter. He looks over me whenever I am in need. Incredible. A man only needs to raise his sword against me and it is as if the shadows themselves strike at him. Splat! He is dead.’

The men murmured to each other again. Leshii caught a word. Hrafn — raven.

‘You arrived today?’

‘Indeed.’

‘We saw your welcome at the camp.’

Leshii realised his whole story was about to fall to bits. He had said he had known Sigfrid but not realised he had been made king of the Danes. Now the men thought he had been into the camp, so why hadn’t he made himself known to the king? But he knew very well that the present has a way of shaping the past and thought that he might get away with it, once enough wine had gone into the Norsemen’s mouths. So he did what he always did when he thought he was winning in a transaction. He said nothing, smiled and shrugged.

‘Where is the Raven now?’ asked the one with the hammer on his shield, who had been called Fastarr.

Again, Leshii smiled and shrugged.

‘He can’t have made it over that quickly, can he? Didn’t he go back over the bridge?’ said one of the younger men, looking about him. ‘That Odin lot give me the creeps. Especially the woman. She’s not here, is she?’

‘That witch isn’t bothered about the likes of you,’ said Fastarr. He addressed Leshii: ‘We’re looking for a Frankish woman — a noblewoman — we saw her jumping from a house above the walls. She’ll fetch a good ransom.’

Leshii didn’t blink.

‘I have no one,’ said Leshii. ‘I brought the Raven here and he was grateful and promised always to guard me. I have no idea what else he wanted.’ He wondered who this Raven was. He had come with a man he was convinced was a shapeshifter but he had been a wolf. Still, if the Varangians were scared of ravens, he was quite willing to make Chakhlyk a raven.

‘Why didn’t you take the Ravens to the king?’

So there were more than one.

‘I was waiting to gauge the reception they got,’ he said.

‘Good move. I’d have cut them into slices as soon as they got there if I’d been Sigfrid, starting with the woman.’ The one who spoke was thin and wiry and had most of the fingers on his left hand missing.

The dog finished its bone, sat up and coughed.

‘A fine animal, brothers. How much would you want for it?’

Leshii knelt down and gestured for the dog to come to him, but it just looked at him and moved away. He stopped himself from sighing. He’d wanted to hold it so that it couldn’t go into the woods and discover the lady.

‘A good hunting dog like that would cost twenty deniers,’ said the Dane.

‘Bring him here and let me examine him,’ said Leshii.

‘Saurr, get here,’ said the little one with the spiteful face. Leshii winced at the name. It meant ‘Shit’. ‘Saurr, do I have to beat your arse? Get here right now.’ But the dog was gone, snuffling around in the trees. Leshii remained calm and concentrated on how he would explain if Aelis was discovered. The dog gave a bark and then there was the sound of it tugging at something, and of something else tearing. It barked again and again in a regular, high note. The noise meant one thing to the Norsemen. It had found something.

They went diving into the trees, spears held high as if to stab a boar.

‘Honoured Danes,’ said Leshii, ‘your dog has simply discovered my servant.’

The Danes came out of the wood, pulling Aelis with them. In the dark, with her cap and short hair, she really did look like a boy.

‘I thought you said you had no one else with you.’

‘No man. This is not a man, it is a slave.’

‘You lied to us.’

‘Not so. To us a slave is less than a dog. Would you count your dog as a man?’

The big Viking grunted and looked Aelis up and down.

‘What’s your name, kid?’

‘He is a mute and a eunuch,’ said Leshii, ‘taken from Byzantium, or Miklagard as you call it, when Helgi the Prophet attacked that town.’

‘Why’s he skulking in the woods?’

‘He stinks,’ said Leshii, ‘so he sleeps where his smell can’t bother me or the mules.’

Fastarr laughed. ‘Smells all right to me, but I’ve been fighting a siege for six months and probably couldn’t smell a bear if it got into bed with me.’

‘Bears have better taste than that, Fastarr,’ said one of the warriors.

‘You’d know, you married one.’

More laughter. Then Fastarr spoke again: ‘Wait here,’ he said to Leshii. ‘In fact, Svan, can you stay with him and make sure he goes nowhere?’

Svan was a huge man with forearms as big as Leshii’s thighs, two heads higher than the merchant with a great axe slung across his shoulder. He smiled pleasantly, thought Leshii.

‘I’m glad to stay,’ he said. ‘I’ll get dry by the fire and this merchant can tell me tales of the east.’

‘You’ll do well under Svan’s protection,’ said Fastarr, ‘but you’ll find his nice manners disappear quick enough in a scrap.’

Leshii gave a thin smile at the threat. He was a captive and knew it.

The men fanned out into the forest, calling to the lady, calling to the dog. Leshii heard their voices fading down the hillside.

He sat staring into the fire, making conversation with the hulk at his side and wondering how best to survive the night with his body, his goods and his grip over the lady intact. He needed to make this man his ally. Svan wasn’t keen to talk about himself, so Leshii told him stories of the east, of the towns of Ladoga and Novgorod, where the Norsemen ruled over the native population, partly by strength of arms, partly by consent. The tribes had been unable to agree on how to govern themselves, so they had called in the Norsemen, the Varangians as they were known, and asked them to rule in their place. Prince Helgi, the Varangian ruler, was said to be descended from Odin himself and to have powers of prophecy and who knew what other magic.

‘So how did you come by the protection of the Ravens?’ asked Svan. ‘You seem like a sociable fellow. Why are you consorting with cannibals and lunatics?’

Leshii, who missed very little when it came to human weakness, noted the little glance Svan took behind him as he spoke. He was scared of these Ravens, whoever they were.

‘Sometimes one doesn’t choose: one is chosen,’ said Leshii.

‘Well spoken,’ said Svan. ‘So they forced their company upon you?’

‘They frightened me half to death.’ If Svan was afraid, he thought, he would be afraid too. Similarity and agreement, he knew, were the keys to getting this man to like him and perhaps ultimately to survival.

‘As they should,’ said Svan. ‘He’s a hard bastard that Hugin and you have to respect him for that, whatever else he is, but his sister’s as mad as the moon. What’s her name, friend? Remind me.’

Svan, thought the merchant, wasn’t as stupid as he looked. He’d detected some uncertainty in Leshii regarding the Ravens and wanted to probe further. Luckily the merchant had a healthy appetite for stories and was well travelled. Odin’s ravens, he recalled were Hugin and…

‘Munin,’ he said.

‘Ah, that’s it, though you couldn’t have got much chat out of them.’

‘Less than from the boy here.’ Leshii glanced towards the lady.

‘Does he always sit with his arms folded?’

‘It is the habit of his people.’

‘They’d be better keeping their hands on their swords, that way they wouldn’t end up as slaves,’ said Svan.

Leshii grinned and pointed at the berserker as if to say ‘you’re a wise one there!’ and Svan looked well pleased with his response.

There was a stirring in the trees. Leshii thought of the wolfman. He didn’t know whether his return would be his salvation or damnation. Could Chakhlyk take on so many warriors? But it was just the dog, which had lost interest in the chase and returned to the spot where it had obtained its last meal.

‘You are Danes?’ said Leshii.

‘So you call us, but we are Horda men, from the land to the north and west of the Danish kingdoms,’ said Svan. ‘We’re mates from a raiding longship. There are twelve of us in all.’

‘Isn’t twelve a magic number for a berserker clan?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Are you berserkers?’ Leshii was wary of berserkers and had found them a very unsettling presence whenever they had turned up in Ladoga. They went into battle crazy with mushrooms and herbs, impervious to wounds that would kill normal men. It was said that they didn’t leave the fight in the fight. That is, they treated their whole lives as a fight. It was one thing, thought Leshii, to have a bad temper, quite another to cultivate one.

‘We are known as the Hammer God’s Berserks, which is another way of saying that we’re not. Nowadays “berserker” is used for any fierce warrior, and in that way we are berserkers. In my grandfather’s time it meant only the cult of Odin lot, real madmen. We’re not those, though it doesn’t hurt to let people think we are.’

‘Who do you follow?’

‘God or king?’

‘Both.’

‘We follow Sigfrid because he pays us for our service — he has offered a bounty on the lady. For a god, we follow many, but my favourite is Thor, god of thunder. A more straightforward god than your raven lord, Odin. No madness, no magic, no stringing people up to sacrifice, just “Do as I say or get a hammer in the head.”’

‘That’s your philosophy?’

‘Not at all. I use an axe, not a hammer. Ah, here comes Fastarr now.’

The warriors were back, sweating and dirty from their exertions.

‘Have you found her?’ said Leshii.

‘She’s gone,’ said Fastarr. ‘Here, crack open the wine. Tell your boy, merchant, to bring me wine.’

Leshii knew the lady would not know which pack contained the wine so he stood instead.

‘Don’t let the boy see which pack the wine’s in, honoured Dane. Brother, your slaves must be trustworthy indeed that you allow them such knowledge. I’ll serve you myself.’

Fastarr laughed. ‘In Hordaland there are two types of slaves. The first are the trustworthy ones. They can be allowed to know the whereabouts of valuable things.’

‘And the second?’

‘The dead ones,’ said Fastarr.

The men burst out laughing and Leshii gave a deep smile. In the east it was said that laughter was a family house — you needed an invitation to get in. Laughing too enthusiastically would have been an intimacy too far, he thought. Better share the joke quietly and not cause resentment.

‘If we killed all the bad slaves in the east we’d have none left,’ he said.

He made a big show of making Aelis turn her back to him as he opened the pack with the worst wine in it. He took out two bottles and came back to the fire with them. He sat and took out the wood stoppers and removed the oily hemp padding that had kept them in place.

‘Here, friends,’ he said, ‘drink your fill.’

‘Two bottles is not our fill, merchant,’ said the rat-faced berserker, taking one from him and swigging it back.

‘You must leave me something for the king,’ said Leshii. A silence fell and he felt the mood darken. Fastarr looked at the merchant.

‘You’re a friend of our lord?’ he said.

‘A second father,’ said Leshii.

‘Very good. I think it’s the least we could do to take you to him.’

‘I have to wait here for my protector,’ said Leshii.

‘That Raven’ll be back in camp soon enough, I should think, provided he hasn’t found anyone dead to eat,’ said Fastarr. ‘Come on, Hastein. Svan, grab hold of those mules and packs and let’s get back down to the camp. I want to be the man who brings such a dear friend to the king’s sight.’

‘I must wait here,’ said Leshii.

But it was no good. Fastarr took his arm, pulled him to his feet and led him down the hill while the other men loaded up his mules. He’d be lucky, he knew, to ever see those packs again.

‘I have gifts for the king in there. Don’t open them,’ said Leshii.

‘We won’t,’ said Fastarr, ‘until you’ve met him.’

Leshii looked back towards Aelis.

‘Well don’t just stand there, you idiot boy,’ he said. ‘Roll up my carpet and make sure it’s stowed fast. If it hits the mud again you’ll follow it.’ Aelis stood looking at him in incomprehension and Leshii realised he had spoken in Norse. Still, it would benefit the girl’s disguise if he treated her badly.

‘I said get the carpet!’ he screamed at her. He grabbed the edge of the carpet, mimed rolling it up and pointed at the mule. Aelis still hadn’t understood a word he said.

‘That is a bad slave who makes twice the work for his master!’ said the rat-faced one.

‘Are you sure it’s the boy who’s the slave here, merchant?’ laughed Svan.

‘Put the carpet on the mule,’ said Leshii in a low voice to Aelis. Then, more loudly and in Norse, ‘I ought to beat you, but bruises would make you even more useless. Do it, put the carpet on the mule.’

Aelis hurried to roll the carpet and Leshii mocked her, miming her inexpert actions, pulling faces at her. The Norsemen thought this high entertainment but Leshii had achieved what he wanted. By placing the lady beneath their contempt he had made her true nature invisible to them. They were looking at a simple boy, they thought, and had enjoyed Leshii’s ridicule. He had placed the idea of a stupid slave in their minds and made it difficult for them to see anything that didn’t fit that conception. It was a kind of everyday magic, but one he normally used in reverse, to make someone see the rarity and value of commodities that were neither rare nor valuable.

Leshii turned to Fastarr. ‘I look forward to your hospitality.’

The Dane smiled at him. ‘And we to yours,’ he said, gesturing down to the twinkling lights of the Norse camp that lay in the deep dark of the valley like a mirror to the stars.