Thunder God (21 page)

Olaf and I looked at each other and shuddered.

The clouds thinned out. A vault of palest blue enclosed us. The waves looked soupy green. Clouds gathered on the horizon, flattened on the bottom and rising to a great height in huge bubbling plumes, showing that land was near.

A nervousness spread through us. Even the Drakkar seemed to wake from its years of sleepy trading runs to the purpose for which it had been built.

In the distance to the west, we saw pale cliffs of chalk rising from the water. We rounded these cliffs, staying as far out to sea as we could while still keeping them in sight, and headed west along the southern flank of England.

For another three days, we cruised along the English coast,
then headed north into the stormy seas about which Cabal had spoken. We were close now, passing long beaches with high grey cliffs, beyond which stretched fields of heather and bracken.

Cabal prepared his weapons. The grating sound of a blade over a sharpening stone cast me back into the Varangian compound during the long afternoons of preparing for the Emperor’s inspection.

At first light of the following morning, we came in sight of Cabal’s country, which he called Cymru. It seemed to hover on a plateau of haze, as if the land had come loose of its anchor to the world and was riding towards us faster than we were moving towards it.

Close to shore we jibed and dropped the sail. There were no houses on this stretch of coast. Broad beaches ended in waves of dunes and rock. The land beyond rose gently, dotted with yellow buds of gorse.

Cabal turned to me. ‘We will wait until dark,’ he said. ‘Then you and I can go in and look around.’

It took forever for the sun to run its course.

When the first stars pocked the sky, we lowered our rowboat over the side. I climbed in and took the oars, while Cabal sat in the stern. The shield slung across his back made him look like a giant turtle.

Olaf pushed us off with his heel. ‘Come back safely,’ he said. And then he added, ‘Both of you.’

I started towards land, digging the oarblades deep and watching the whirlpools of my strokes spin away into the grey-green sea. Ahead, the rumble of the surf was deafening.

On the Drakkar, Olaf’s face blurred in the mist. The walrus skull nodded with the rising, falling waves. It seemed to be laughing at us.

‘It is a shame,’ said Cabal.

‘What is?’ I asked.

‘That I have begun to see his better side.’

As we neared the breakers, I turned the boat broadside, so that I could watch how the waves were going in. When I stowed the oars, cold water ran down the wooden handles until it reached my hands. Through the spray I could make out the grey-white collar of surf along the shore and, beyond it, dunes patched with tall grass. Having studied the waves, I set the oars again and spun the boat around. I rowed hard, coasting in on a breaker which brought us up onto the beach.

We jumped out and hauled the heavy boat into the dunes. By the time we had the boat clear of the water, our feet were caked in sand and we were sweating hard.

We agreed that Cabal would go inland alone, and I would wait here with the boat. A Celt would not arouse suspicion, but news of a Norseman would spread quickly. There were plenty of Norsemen in Ireland, both Danes and Norwegians, and even a few settlements on this coast, said Cabal. The sight of them was rarely good news for Cabal’s people, who were known as the Cymry.

I handed him his sword.

‘Better off without it,’ he said, and scrambled up over the dunes, running across the open ground towards the woods. He reached the wall of trees, then ducked into the shadows and disappeared.

I wondered if I would ever see him again.

While waiting, I gathered driftwood and dune grass, laying it across the rowboat to hide the shape. The incoming tide swept away our footsteps and the keel line of our boat. It was a cloudy day, the air warm and damp. I took my spear from the boat, walked down the beach, and found myself a hollow in the dunes which was sheltered from the wind. I could stick my head up from time to time and see if anyone was coming.

I found it hard work just sitting there all day, wandering in and out of my past like a man lost in a house with too many rooms.

There was no sunset, only a faint but steady dimming of the light. The white slicks of breaking waves glowed strangely in the dusk. Mist rolled in from the sea. The colours bled away to grey and then to black. I wrapped my cloak around me and drew my knees up to my chest.

When night fell, I saw a figure moving without sound through the woods a short distance away, hunched over as if the darkness were a weight upon its back. Every few paces it stopped and raised its head, sniffing the wind like an animal hunting for a scent.

I could not tell if it was Cabal and it was too much of a risk to call out his name. I stared back into the darkness, to see if he was being followed, but could only make out the silhouettes of wind-blown trees shifting in the woods.

The figure was at the dunes now. He vanished over the humped sand and was gone.

I moved towards him, creeping through the grass. As I reached the crest of a dune, something suddenly rose up in front of me.

It was Cabal, leaping through the air, trailing sand from his heels as if his feet were burning. His fingers were spread like claws, ready to choke the life out of me. For a moment, it was as if he had forgotten who I was, but then he smiled and lowered his hands.

‘Did you find out anything?’ I slapped the damp sand off my shoulders.

‘St. David’s is just up the coast, less than a day’s sailing.’

There was nothing to do now but wait for Olaf to return. We huddled in our damp clothes, back to back in a pocket in the dunes. The wind picked up and blew a steady hiss of sand off
the lip of the dune, until it powdered every wrinkle of our bodies.

‘There is a cross in that church,’ said Cabal. His face was a mask of sand, as if he were a stone which had been conjured into life. ‘A gold cross. I want it.’

‘To melt it down?’ I asked.

Cabal shook his head, then closed his eyes. In that moment, he became a stone again.

I wanted to ask him what was so special about this cross, but it was too cold for talk. I pulled my cloak more tightly around me and clenched my jaw to stop my teeth from clattering together.

Our huddled forms reminded me of an old man we once found frozen in the mountains of Askhazi. He was kneeling beside a dead horse, one hand held against his forehead and the other still gripping the horse’s bridle. He must have lost his way in the mountains and ridden the horse too hard trying to find his way down. He wore a look of concentration on his
ice-hard
face, as if he were still trying to remember the way home. If someone had stumbled across us now, half-buried in the sand, they would have thought us just as lost as that old man, and just as dead.

At dawn, we spotted the Drakkar. It rolled in the swells beyond the breakers. Immediately, we dragged our boat down to the water and rowed out to join Olaf.

In the Drakkar, we tacked north along the coast, keeping close to shore. Through the spray and breaking waves, we saw sheep grazing in fields which had been cleared down to the water.

Blue sky appeared through the clouds, like the glimmer of old ice deep in the heart of a glacier.

It was close to midday when Cabal spotted the river mouth. Its course was well hidden, unfolding almost imperceptibly from trees and mudflats on the banks. The safest plan would have been to wait until dark, but Cabal told us it would not be possible to navigate from the ocean into the river at night, because we would never find the channel. The only way was to head in now and hide along the bank, waiting for darkness before we made our way into the town on foot. At dawn the following day, we would move out to sea again before the Cymry noticed anything was missing.

We hauled in the salt-crusted shields and laid our weapons on the deck.

Now, if we were spotted, we could pretend to be traders who
had lost our way. Then we would leave for open water as quickly as we could.

Cabal and I took up the oars and rowed with the incoming tide into the estuary. Even in daylight, we were lucky to find the channel. The route was so narrow that Olaf had to keep lashing the tiller in place, running to the bow, so he could tell which way to turn, then running back to the tiller. Several times, the steerboard dragged in the mud and threatened to strand us, but each time the force of our momentum carried us through.

The first trees slid by as the roar of the ocean faded behind us. The round leaves of poplars flickered in the breeze and willows trailed their sinewy branches in the water. A few houses stood on the high ground. Their roofs were thatched instead of turfed, like the houses of the Norse. It was still very early in the morning, and so far there was no sign of people.

Soon after that, just as we were growing confident, our luck ran out for good.

Olaf spotted a bearded man on a horse, silhouetted on a rise. The rider sat straight-backed and dignified, watching us drift by.

‘Wave to him,’ whispered Cabal.

Rowing-reddened palms were raised in greeting.

The man held up one hand, then tugged at the horse’s reins and rode down the field towards us. He did not look afraid, but held the reins loose, letting his body sway with the motion of the horse’s steps. It was a big, heavy-shouldered animal, not like the short-legged and long-maned ponies that we knew. I had seen horses like this down in Miklagard, plated with armour and hideous in their battle-masks.

When he reached the bank, the man reined in his horse, cupped his hands to his mouth and called to us.

Cabal hauled in his oar and began a shouted conversation.

While we drifted with the current, the man rode his horse lazily, keeping pace with us. With only one ship and such a small crew, not to mention one that spoke his language, it was clear he saw no danger in our presence.

The conversation finished and the bearded man rode off, his horse’s hooves digging up clumps of the soft grass as it galloped up the hill.

‘If we start now,’ I said, ‘we can be out to sea before they realise we are gone.’

‘No!’ barked Cabal. ‘I told him we had come to trade, and he wanted to know what cargo we were carrying. I said we had amber and whale oil and Frankish cloth, all things they want to get their hands on. That is the reason for his haste. The merchants of the village will turn out to meet us when we arrive.’ He was sweating and his eyes were wild again, as they had been on the night Brand died. ‘We can tie up the boat here and go in on foot. They will be expecting us to come up the river, but I can get us to the church along a back road. By the time they figure out why we are here, we can be back at the boat and on our way again. We will not be able to hide ourselves, but we will not have to if we go in now.’

‘What about the silver?’ asked Olaf. ‘That is a heavy load to carry, and it would be easy to spot us in daylight.’

‘We can steal some horses if we have to,’ said Cabal. ‘It will take them time to collect their weapons and launch an attack. By then we will be out to sea again.’

I glanced at Olaf, uncertain how we should proceed.

‘If Cabal says we can do it,’ he told me, ‘then I think we should keep going.’ Despite what Olaf had said, his face was grey with worry.

‘So it is settled,’ murmured Cabal.

Olaf and I nodded, to show that we agreed.

Around the next bend, we pulled in and tied up to the willows.
Mosquitoes whined drunkenly around us. Watery green light filtered through the branches overhead. We picked up our weapons and climbed onto the bank.

‘Olaf,’ I said. ‘You stay with the boat.’

He was staring at a puddle, where a water beetle scudded jerkily across the surface, its legs making minute dimples in the muddy water. He looked as if he might collapse under the weight of his chain mail vest.

‘Olaf,’ I said again.

His head jerked up. ‘I am ready,’ he croaked.

‘Stay with the boat,’ I told him.

He was silent for a moment, as the words sank in, but then he breathed in suddenly. ‘Do you think I cannot pull my weight?’

‘Someone has to stay with the boat,’ said Cabal. ‘You are the one who knows best how to sail it.’

Now Olaf understood that there was no shame in remaining behind. He nodded and, without another word, stepped back onto the Drakkar.

Cabal and I agreed to meet back here in case we were split up. Without the dark to hide us, there could be no stopping until we were on our way out to sea again. We set off through the trees, heading uphill towards a ridge where the ground levelled out.

Cabal raced ahead, muscles jolting in his calves and his chain mail shirt swishing as he moved. He was making for a white, dusty-looking road which ran along the top of the ridge.

My heart was sloshing and my face burned as I ran up the slope. I heard a shout, then saw the horse and rider galloping from the direction of the town. It was the same black-bearded man. He called to us with friendly urgency, no doubt to let us know that we had moored our boat in the wrong place and thinking we must have misunderstood him. He left the road,
ducking low against the horse’s neck to avoid the tree branches. Leaves brushed across his back.

He was just raising himself back up in the saddle when he caught sight of our warshields and drawn swords. He cried out and tried to rein in the horse, clanking the bit against the animal’s teeth, but the horse had gathered too much speed. On the soft grass of this downhill slope, it could not stop. Fear had spread across the rider’s face, like a shadow from beneath the skin. He never even saw Cabal’s axe, which looped once and struck him square in the forehead. The man was lifted from his horse and landed hard on his back, already dead by the time he hit the ground.

The horse galloped away along the riverbank.

Without breaking stride, Cabal’s arms swung down, grabbed the handle of his axe and prised it loose.

At the top of the ridge, we spilled from the shadows into the chalky light which glared up from the road. The shallow ditches were speckled with white elderflowers and pink foxgloves. Sculpted clouds marched past above us, frosting the deep-blue sky.

We carried on towards the town, hard going with the shields and chain mail vests, which chafed across our chests and shoulderblades. A short while later, we came to a dip in the road, beyond which lay the village of St David’s, the
slate-scaled
roof of the spireless church clearly visible above the other houses.

Just then, a donkey and cart driven by an old man appeared over the rise. Pale green cabbages jostled in the back of the cart as it rolled across the uneven road. The old man was so shocked to see us that he dropped the reins. The donkey slowed and came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. The old man bent over, struggling to reach the reins where they dangled down to the ground. At last he had hold of them and sat
upright, but by then we were almost on top of him. There was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands together and held the reins against his chest.

I ran past the cart on one side. Cabal went on the other. The donkey watched us, sad and patient.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Cabal’s body disapppear in a blur. At first, I thought he had been hit by something. But when I turned my head to look, I understood that Cabal had drawn his sword and spun himself about, even as he was running, moving with such force and speed that I only glimpsed a single frozen picture. The blade of Cabal’s sword had passed through the neck of the old man, and his head, suspended in the air above his body, had flipped completely upside down. The old man’s hands still clasped the reins against his chest.

As soon as we were past the cart, I grabbed Cabal’s arm and wheeled him around to face me. ‘What harm would he have done us?’ I shoved Cabal backwards with the boss of my shield. ‘You said no one would be hurt, but now you are killing everyone in your path!’

‘If they had not been there,’ snarled Cabal, ‘they would not have been hurt.’

‘What did they do to you, Cabal? Why do you hate them so much?’

He gave me no answer, but pushed past me and charged onwards, footsteps kicking up pale dust as he sprinted up the hill.

From now until the fighting ended, I knew there could be no reasoning with Cabal, because he was not Cabal any more. Instead he was that creature summoned from the shadows in himself.

For a moment, I stood there in the road, watching as the donkey set off to wherever it was going, hauling its load of cabbages with a headless man holding the reins.

It was the sound of a woman’s scream which brought me to my senses. Then dogs began to bark. I knew that Cabal had reached the outskirts of the village. I sprinted to catch up with him, and we moved along the narrow, dirt-paved streets. Houses loomed on either side. We passed women with baskets and a cluster of boys gathered around some game drawn in the dust. They scattered as soon as they saw us. Dogs barked from the safety of the side streets. Their dirty hackles stood on end, bodies trembling with rage, but they did not come out to attack us.

We reached a graveyard of cross-topped stones, which was enclosed by a low stone wall. Beyond that lay the church and village square. Through sweat which trickled into my eyes, I saw men and women setting up tables and laying out trade goods for the arrival of our boat. A few had paused and looked in our direction, but so far, none of them seemed to have understood what was happening.

‘There it is,’ said Cabal, nodding at the arched doors of the church, whose heavy wooden planks were strapped with iron.

While I crouched behind the churchyard wall, Cabal ran up the stone steps of the church. They were worn down like the back of an old horse from years of use. Cabal tugged at the latch ring, which rattled heavily but would not budge. The doors were locked. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered into the gap between the two doors, then turned and walked back down the steps.

‘Hurry!’ I whispered. ‘Hurry!’

It wouldn’t be long before this whole village went mad.

Cabal faced the door. He raised his arm, swinging his axe high above his head. He bared his teeth and jumped forward, sprinting up the steps, and swung the axe at the gap between the two rings of the door. The axe head disappeared in a spray of sparks and the clank of iron on iron. The shaft of the axe snapped off the head. It seemed to have done no good at all,
but then Cabal rammed his shoulder against the doors. This time, they swung wide, dumping him onto his knees in the doorway of the church. The doors banged loudly as they crashed against the stone walls inside. A moment later, the faint odour of sandalwood incense drifted past.

I heard a rumbling noise and turned to see a man rolling an ale barrel down an alleyway towards the market square. The man saw us and stopped. He stared, trying to fathom what was going on. Then, as the truth began to dawn on him, his eyes grew wide. He turned and ran, leaving the barrel to roll on by itself, across the cobble-stone square and past it, down a stretch of grass which sloped towards the river.

The merchants stood, arms filled with pots and bundles of cloth, watching the barrel as it picked up speed, then bounced and split. Ale fanned out in a bubbling hiss over the grass.

The merchants turned to stare at Cabal, who stood at the entrance to the church.

The only sound was the faint rustle of the ale as it sifted away into the ground.

Then Cabal raised his shield and sword, as if he meant to fly. He howled at the merchants in one long bellowing scream until his lungs were empty.

The whole village was suddenly filled with the crash of dropped crockery and pots. People ran in all directions, some of them right past us, as if they had forgotten we were there. Others headed down towards the river. They ran the way people sometimes run from thunder, with no idea where to go, running only to get away.

Cabal shouted for me to follow him.

As I ducked out from behind the wall towards the steps, shield held close against my chest, one man ran straight into me. He knocked his head against the boss of the shield and fell back unconscious.

When I reached the doorway to the church, I glanced out across the square and down towards the river. People were swimming across it. The long dresses of women billowed in the murky water. Bright green weeds were tangled in their hair. One woman already stood on the far bank, wet clothes moulded to her body and limp hair snaking across her shoulders. Against the dark undergrowth, her white form seemed to glow as if she was on fire.

I ducked into the church and my eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. It was damp and cold inside. Rows of benches trailed away into the gloom. The altar table stood on a raised stone platform at the end of the room. The table had been pushed aside, revealing a heavy wooden trap-door in the stone floor. The trap door was open.