Fenrir (36 page)

She looked at the merchant. Aelis, who heard people as music and sensed them as colours, could tell he was lying, or rather that he was motivated by self-interest and was not telling her the whole truth. He seemed to hum with threat, like the buzz of a hornet across a summer’s day. But when she looked at the mumbling Frank she sensed something of a different magnitude altogether. There was tumult there, disturbance, like a mighty flood driving a screaming waterwheel.

‘We need to go,’ said Leshii.

Aelis knew he was right, and they began to make their way across the camp. As they passed him, the Frank stood. ‘Look at your hair. That is the mark of an enchantress. You are no princess but a peasant slut!’

‘Get on the horse! Go back to where we met,’ shouted Leshii, who had given up hope of not waking the other Franks. He formed his hands into an improvised stirrup and Aelis jumped up onto the horse with a gasp. Her ribs were terribly painful. She forced herself to forget that, pulling up a spear from where it was stuck butt first in the mud.

The Frank leaped towards her, and she flicked the hindquarters of the animal out of the way with the pressure of her leg. Leshii kicked at the Frank’s legs and knocked him to the ground, but the man was up in a second. Other knights were pouring from the tents.

‘He’s enchanted; he’s trying to kill the lady!’ shouted Leshii.

Aelis put her legs to the horse, and it sprang forward into the night, away down a track. Renier went plunging after her, screaming and shouting.

‘You see!’ shouted Leshii. ‘You see!’

‘What has happened? Slowly!’ It was Moselle, buckling on his sword.

‘The lady is pursued by enchanters. They have possessed your bondsman. He means to kill her.’

‘Crap,’ said Moselle. ‘Get me my horse. Never mind the saddle; just get my horse.’

A young knight unhobbled Moselle’s mount while the others set to, freeing their animals. Moselle jumped up onto his horse and was gone through the trees after Renier and Aelis, the others charging after him.

Leshii looked around the camp. The last of the knights had disappeared. He was sorely tempted to look for any coins they might have left, but he knew that if Aelis was found and the Franks returned they would soon notice any missing money and only one person would get the blame.

Leshii wasn’t about to let Aelis get away from him, so he threw a saddle over the horse that had carried Sindre, tacked it up as quickly as he could and tied his mule behind. The knights couldn’t punish him for taking a horse that was rightfully his, and at that moment the horse and the mule were all Leshii possessed in the world.

As he worked, he glanced down at Sindre. The wolfman was flat unconscious.

‘Ah, Chakhlyk,’ he said, ‘why did I bring you here? There has to be an easier way to earn a living.’

He squatted beside him and put his hand on his brow. The wolfman was cold, not long for life clearly. Leshii wanted something to remember him by and was about to take the wolfskin when he paused for a second. It was valuable but so dear to the wolfman that Leshii could not bear to steal it. The thought struck him as odd. The man was going to die; why not take his valuables? But the merchant could not.

‘You’ll need that for your magic in the afterlife,’ he said.

But then he saw the stone at Sindre’s neck, the pebble. He looked at it. So that was what the design was – the crude head of a wolf. It made sense, Leshii guessed. He studied the complicated knot that tied the stone to the thong. The pendant was worth nothing but it was something to remember the wolfman by. Leshii cut it from his neck. Then he got up onto the horse and looked down at him.

‘Good luck,’ he said, making his lightning bolt sign, then kicked his horse into a trot.

It wasn’t difficult to discover where the Franks had gone. There was a terrible hullaballoo coming from within the trees. As Leshii got closer, he could hear the Franks were arguing with each other.

‘You will not strike my brother!’

‘You need to hold him.’

‘Renier, put down your sword, man. What’s wrong with you?’

There was a scream, some more shouting and then the unmistakable sound of swords clashing.

‘Don’t hurt him. The merchant was right – he’s enchanted.’

‘He got my arm! Christ, Renier, you’ll pay for that.’

‘Stand where you are!’ It was Moselle’s voice above the uproar. ‘No one harm him. Get behind him. We’ll mob him and tie him up.’

Leshii drove his horse forward to see the Franks circling Renier, who slashed out with his sword, his breath heavy and his eyes wild.

‘Now!’

The knights leaped forward almost as one. In a few seconds they had him on the ground, disarmed but struggling.

‘What is this, merchant?’ Moselle stood and approached Leshii.

‘I don’t know. Witchcraft.’

‘There’s no such thing; the priests are firm on that.’

‘What do you call it then?’

The knight shrugged. ‘I don’t know. How can we shake him from this?’

‘The last time I saw it, we ran a sword through the victim. That cured him.’

‘I’ll run one through you in a moment,’ said Moselle. ‘You think this will pass?’

‘It did before, but, as I said, the man was dying. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look for your count’s sister.’

‘Tie him,’ said Moselle to the Franks; ‘I’m going to get Lady Aelis.’

One of the knights ran back for some rope while the others held Renier down. Moselle jumped onto his horse. He said nothing to Leshii, but the merchant followed him. Behind them a cry went up.

‘Get him!’

‘He’s over there!’

Renier had escaped and the Franks were hunting him through the trees. Leshii didn’t look back, he just kicked the mule on, determined to be away from the enchanted knight.

Moselle was a considerably better rider than the easterner, and Leshii struggled to keep up. Eventually he gave up and just followed the path of the Frank’s horse through the trees. He was confident he was on the right track as there was only one negotiable path. It was nearly dawn when he came upon them. Aelis was standing in front of Moselle and next to a stream. She’d had to pause to rest her horse, thought Leshii, and that was how she had been caught. Moselle was attempting to reason with her.

‘Lady, the danger is over. We’ve restrained Renier. He is not himself. I cannot explain it but I can deal with it. He will proceed tied and under guard until we reach the city. It’s only a day’s good ride away. Please come with us.’

‘My mind is made up,’ said Aelis. ‘I’m not coming back to Paris. It’s too dangerous. At any moment my kinsmen could be turned against me. I need to go to the root of the problem and end it there.’

‘That is impossible. You are a woman,’ said Moselle. ‘Let me go. I am a warrior and veteran of many battles. Whatever it is that afflicts you, my men and I can put an end to it.’

‘No, you can’t,’ said Aelis, ‘though I wish you could. If you came with me, one of you would turn against me, then one more. I can’t be near people, least of all warriors. Give me the sword.’

‘Lady?’

‘The sword. By my family’s right of command, give me the sword that I gave to you – the Viking blade.’ Moselle had clearly decided Sigfrid’s sword was superior to his own and had taken to carrying it.

‘What for? I am not enchanted; I’m not going to attack you.’

Aelis shook her head. She went to where Moselle’s horse was standing. It was a fine grey, almost glowing in the predawn light. Aelis stroked its nose and nuzzled her head into its neck. Then she turned to Moselle.

‘Give me the sword.’

Moselle shrugged and untied the sword. Aelis took it and put it on.

‘Another disguise?’ said Moselle.

‘No. I need it to defend myself. Do you have any money?’

‘A few denier.’

‘Give me those too.’

Moselle took a purse out of his tunic and passed it to her. Aelis was relieved to find it was relatively heavy.

‘What do you plan to do, lady?’

‘To go to the east, where I shall solve this problem or die.’

‘This is unnatural. Only men should say such things,’ said Moselle. ‘You are enchanted too.’

‘The northerners have battle maidens,’ said Leshii. ‘I’ve seen one in Kiev. She did look unnatural – too tall for a woman and not at all demure. Someone should have beaten her and put her in her place, but they were all too scared, I think.’

‘Give me your knife and your axe,’ said Aelis to Leshii.

‘How many weapons do you need?’

‘Just all the ones that are near me. You are coming with me, merchant; you’re going to show me the way.’

For the first time in a long while Leshii smiled. ‘I’d be delighted.’

‘You’d trust a foreigner?’ said Moselle.

‘I don’t trust him at all,’ said Aelis, ‘so at least we know where we stand. Besides, if he becomes enchanted he is old and unarmed so I can kill him.’

‘A thousand advantages!’ said Leshii.

‘I will not allow it,’ said Moselle. ‘Your brother would not allow it, and I feel I am acting on his behalf. You will come with me willingly or, I regret to say, you will come unwillingly, but one way or another you are coming to Paris, lady.’

Aelis shook her head and whistled to her horse. The animal came to her, and she stepped onto a fallen tree trunk and mounted. Moselle wasn’t slow to do the same.

‘Lady, you cannot outride me. Do not make me carry you back to Paris.’

‘I can outride you,’ said Aelis. She turned her horse and trotted it down the path towards the rising sun. Leshii kicked his horse after her, the mule trailing behind.

‘This is stupid,’ said Moselle and squeezed his legs on his horse’s flanks as a signal to advance. The animal didn’t move. Moselle kicked again. The horse didn’t budge. He kicked again and again, but still the animal stayed where it was. Then he got off and tried to lead it by the reins. It had never disobeyed him before, been alert to his every command as they’d cut their way through the press of Danes outside Paris, but now it simply would not go on. When he smacked its rump all it did was turn on the spot. When he led it in a circle it was happy to go back the way they had come but would take no more than a few paces to the east. Moselle knew it was insanity to follow her on foot without his men – there were legions of bandits, Slavs, Magyars, Norsemen and, who knew, even Saracens on the road to the east. A Frankish knight would be as vulnerable as – he tried to think – an old man and woman travelling alone.

Moselle had no choice, though: he would have to follow her, and for that he’d need another horse. He mounted and urged his horse forward one last time. The animal would not budge. He wheeled the horse around and kicked into its sides. It immediately trotted back down the path towards the camp where Sindre lay with the raven on his chest.

‘Monk? Monk?’

It was daylight, a weak dawn. Jehan was in the main courtyard of the monastery. The snow had stopped falling but the day was grey and the light flat. Ofaeti was in front of him. The fat berserker was wearing three cloaks and a pair of fine boots, and the bag at his side clunked and clanked with sacred vessels. There was bread on his lips and he was munching on a communion wafer.

‘Hrafn?’ said Jehan. It felt more natural to him now to use Norse than Latin.

‘Gone,’ said Ofaeti, ‘thank Tyr. Came past us like the wolf after the moon. Left the door open too, which was nice of him. What have you been doing? You’re soaked. Get some dry clothes off the bodies or you’ll be dead before we’ve left this place.’

Jehan didn’t feel cold. Next to him was the girl, the one who waited and hated at his side.

Ofaeti spoke. ‘Come on, get some clothes, I don’t want you dying on us. And sniff the wine before you drink it. Some of it’s poisoned, by the look of what happened to Grettir’s men.’

Jehan looked around him, trying to work out what had happened to him.

Ofaeti shook him. ‘Monk, come on, hurry up. We need you more than ever now. The cover is that we’re transferring this stuff on behalf of your Church. Getting it out of the way of those naughty Norsemen.’

The pale girl put her hand into Jehan’s. It felt tiny to him, her fingers so delicate and fragile. His own hand seemed swollen and puffy, painful almost. His whole body felt the same, like a shirt he had outgrown. His skin was tight on him and he flexed and strained his muscles against it. He felt as if his actions were not his own, or rather that he was remote from his body – it a puppet, he a distracted and drunken puppet master.

‘Do you not see her?’ said Jehan.

‘The whore you promised me?’

‘The girl. Here. The girl.’

Ofaeti looked about him. ‘Is this one of your stories? Fine, but wait until we’re gone from here. This place seeps death and I don’t want to give it mine.’

‘The girl.’

‘If we get back to Hordaland, I’ll buy you a girl, shortly before I sell you. Come on! There are cloaks and boots by the cartload on Grettir’s men. Get some, and take a spear too if you’re wise. Come on, monk, We’ll make a Viking of you yet.’