Wolfsangel (35 page)
Authors: M. D. Lachlan
Vali eyed the man suspiciously and went inside. The house was built around a big single room, with separate pens for goats and small cattle leading off it. Vali thought this luxurious. In Disa’s house the goats had shared the same space as the humans. Veles did not seem quite as prepared as he had said at the quay. There was no food for a feast and not much in the way of ale, though the merchant had dispatched a boy and assured them that these things were on their way.
The main living space was richly appointed with furs on the floors, the smell of sweet herbs masking the stink of the town outside and animals within, and the walls were hung with strange embroideries of wool and linen. One showed a woman surrounded by winged men, another the god Vali had seen at the raid on the island, again impaled like Odin on a tree.
Veles saw Vali looking at them.
‘Bought for warmth and beauty rather than from religious fervour,’ said Veles, ‘one god being much like another, I find.’
A small dark woman, the same race as Veles, came in, along with a gaggle of three boys, their hair black and shiny. One of the children had a bear mask, like the wolf mask Veles now had in his hand. He held it to his face and chased the others, growling.
‘You see what I mean,’ Veles said. ‘These objects are sacred to the Whale People of the north. A brother people to my own, the Neuri, have similar things. With a mask, a Neuri man or a northern sorcerer can transform himself into a beast. Here, they are playthings for my children.’
Feileg stretched out his hand for the mask that Veles was holding and the merchant gave it to him.
‘Why do you wear that?’ said Vali.
‘To attract attention at the quay,’ said Veles. ‘Here a merchant needs to be seen. The Christians have a saying - a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I, as you see, am rather the reverse.’
Feileg was looking at the children and the woman through the mask. When he took it down, Vali could see that tears had come to his eyes. The wolfman was unselfconscious and made no attempt to wipe them away.
‘The fire bothers you?’ said Veles.
Feileg shook his head. ‘I am sad because I am remembering my own family,’ he said.
‘How can you tear a man’s face off in one breath and be crying for your mummy with the next?’ said Bragi.
‘I am a wolf,’ said Feileg, and continued staring at the playing boys.
Veles raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. Then he clapped his hands and spoke to the eldest boy. ‘Jarilo, you are too old to be chasing around like that. Here, go and slaughter a goat - we have esteemed guests.’
The boy picked up a knife and headed towards the pens, keenly pursued by his brothers.
‘Woman, fetch wine from Geiri as quick as you can. Tell him payment will be his within the week. Is this how you prepare when I tell you the prince of all the north is a guest in our house?’
Now it was the woman’s turn to look to the heavens, as she put down her broom and made her way outside.
‘You ought to beat her more,’ said Bragi.
‘I couldn’t beat her more if I made it my only occupation,’ said Veles in a low voice, craning his head to make sure his wife was out of earshot, ‘but still she doesn’t obey.’
‘She bears no bruises,’ said Bragi.
‘Obotrite women do not bruise easily,’ said Veles. ‘They also kick like cows and bite like sows. Come, have some ale while we wait for the wine.’
There was a large bowl of the murky beer under a cloth on the side and he passed it among them.
The men drank and, as they did, visitors came and went. There were other merchants with their wares, there were curious children and there were friends of Veles, come to meet the new arrivals.
The butchered goat was brought in, and when Veles’ wife returned she grilled the meat over the fire, which Vali thought a strange choice when there was a stew pot within hand’s reach. He wondered if this was some Obotrite custom. Still, he had to admit it was delicious and that the wine went very well with it. After the long journey eating fish and whatever plants they could find near the shore the meal was lovely, and Vali began to feel light-headed. In drink, Bragi could not be prevented from telling the tale of the defence against the Danes, at several points holding Vali’s arm in the air as he related some particularly momentous aspect of the victory.
Eventually, Vali found himself seated next to Veles on a low stool near the fire. In the smoke and the glow of the flames the easterner resembled some sort of strange spirit, sparks flying around him as he spoke, the jewels he had put on in the safety of his house - amber and jet attached to his ears, gold arm rings and brooches - sparkling in the firelight.
Perhaps this was Lord Loki he had prayed to, taken human form to help him, Vali thought. And perhaps not, though Veles was certainly a different sort of man, as Loki was a different sort of god. Vali knew no one else who dropped eastern poems from his lips or who talked always of markets and gold rather than battles. Veles had no means of support, as far as Vali could see - no herds or fields, or even a trade beyond buying and selling. Vali found his company exhilarating but at the same time unsettling. He thought of Adisla. Was she even alive? A crowd of emotions came in on him: anger, concern and desperation.
‘You are thinking of the girl,’ said Veles. ‘I can see she is more than a princess to you - your face betrays you. What is her name?’
The wine and the food, the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being among friends lessened Vali’s caution. ‘Adisla,’ he said.
‘Adisla?’ said Veles. Vali had not been able to imagine what would break Veles’ mask of urbanity. That did. His voice dropped as if he was about to say something he needed to conceal from the others. ‘I remember her from my visit to you when you were a child. She’s a pretty thing, I’ll grant you, but tell me you haven’t come all this way for a farmer’s daughter. Have you?’
Vali swilled the dregs of the wine in the bottom of his cup and said, ‘She is everything to me.’
Veles rolled his eyes to the rafters.‘You sound like an Arab!’ he said. ‘They’re always banging on about love. “Mine is the religion of love! Wherever God’s caravans turn, the religion of love shall be my religion and my faith!”’
‘It seems a better choice than a religion of war.’
‘Really?’ said Veles with mock shock. ‘And you descended from Odin as well.’
‘I am sick of that fellow,’ said Vali. ‘If there are gods, I would prefer one of love.’
‘You should speak to the Christians,’ said Veles. ‘King Charles of the Franks piously follows the god Christ, who is a god of love. The king has so much love in his heart that he turns the rivers red with the blood of his god’s enemies. That’s a rare love indeed.’
‘I’ll be wary of that sort of love,’ said Vali.
‘You should - and of the sort you seem possessed by. It does not do to love women too much, don’t all your people say that? An Umayyad merchant told me one story of a caliph, a king of many lands, who fell in love with a slave girl. He could demand from her anything he wanted but that wasn’t enough for the idiot. She had to give it freely. He saw the wrong sort of look in her eye one night when they were in bed together and threw himself off a tower.’
‘What is a tower?’ said Vali.
‘A high building, too high to jump off, big as a cliff. They have them in the east, like a fort but not for war.’
‘What’s a fort not for war?’ said Vali.
Veles laughed. ‘A woman’s heart, it seems, at least according to our friend the caliph. There are plenty of women who will love you. If one doesn’t, through inclination or circumstance, find one who will. Better that than chase half around the world to have what you could get for thirty silver at a slave market.’
Vali looked into the fire. ‘I won’t abandon her. Neither you with jokes nor Forkbeard with threats will shake me from my purpose.’
A look of dawning realisation came over the merchant’s face and Vali knew he had said too much.
Veles spoke in a hush. ‘One moment. Did Forkbeard approve of this little trip of yours? He didn’t, did he? No wonder he didn’t give you a drakkar.’ Then his look turned to one of mild horror. ‘Have you Forkbeard’s permission to be here at all?’ he said.
‘I am a prince of the Horda, not the Rygir.’
Veles shook his head. ‘That sounds as good as a no to me. Oh dear, oh dear. What did you think you were going to do about Hemming? Sit there and broker some peace you couldn’t deliver?’
Vali saw there was no use in pretending to the merchant.
‘I could think of no other excuse for being here.’
‘Is that in itself not an indication that you shouldn’t have come? Go back to Rogaland. Now. Have you any idea of the danger you’ve placed yourself in? Hemming sits at the centre of a web of competing interests. If you don’t have Forkbeard’s blessing, he’ll be almost bound to take you as a hostage whether he wants to or not. He’ll say you’re here as his guest, but you’ll be lucky if you see Rogaland ever again.’
Vali couldn’t tell if it was the wine or just the need to unburden himself to someone he respected, to gain the benefit of Veles’ advice. He decided to tell the truth.
‘I will never see Rogaland again.’
‘Why not?’
‘We are outlaws,’ said Vali.
Veles almost ducked as if anticipating a blow.
‘What in the name of nine kinds of devil have you done?’
Vali shrugged. ‘It was more to do with politics than actions.’
Veles had to restrain himself from plucking the wine cup out of Vali’s fingers and shoving him through the door.
‘Are you an outlaw in Hordaland?’
‘No,’ said Vali.
‘So you’ve still some connections.’ Veles thought for a moment. ‘Look, you must leave here tonight and go with one of my men to a place of safety. You can take your boat down the coast and wait in the forest. It is too dangerous for you here. Hemming will soon discover you’ve been outlawed - he has men in all the kingdoms. He may even want to ransom you to your father or Forkbeard. If Haarik comes back here he will sue to have you killed.’
‘I’m going after the girl,’ said Vali.
‘I will send out for word of her, but you must come away. Immediately.’ He actually took the wine cup from Vali’s lips.
Vali could see his old friend was serious. ‘Now?’ he said. He eyed the luxurious piles of furs used for beds.
‘Now.’
Vali went to the others and they gathered their few possessions. Bragi was drunk and complained loudly about going back to a freezing boat but Feileg said nothing, just followed on.
‘Six bends of the river, the opposite way to where you came in. I’ll meet you there,’ said Veles. ‘I can’t go with you. It’s bad enough that I’ve entertained you here. Why didn’t you tell me your situation from the beginning? We could have done all this very differently. Just follow the hill down to the water. Your boat will be where you left it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Vali. ‘I won’t forget this.’
‘Forget it - just not before you’ve sent me a large gift,’ said Veles. He kissed Vali on the cheeks in the Obotrite way and pushed him out into the night.
The men made their way down to the quay. Haithabyr at night was beautiful: a deep field of stars shining down on the town, a thousand tiny flames of hearth and candle flickering out as if in response. It seemed friendly, the country around something hostile. The dark beyond the town seemed to bristle with unseen malevolent forces: mountainsides with their murderous drops, sucking mires, trackless moors and above all a vast emptiness that meant that, should you need help, there was no one to reach out to. That, though, was where they were going. In the distance he heard a wolf howl. It set the town’s dogs grumbling from unseen shelters. Their noise, almost human in its complaint, made him wish he could stay in Haithabyr, safe by the fire, rather than venturing out onto unknown waters.
But then a figure stepped across his path. At first he thought nothing of it, but the man didn’t move. Someone else joined him, then a third and a fourth. Vali looked behind him. In silhouette he could see the shape of shields and spears. There must have been twenty men. He looked at Bragi and the wolfman. He glanced left. Another dark shape crossed the alleyway and stopped. So right then. There was no need for words. The three set off as one. They ran parallel to the water, up a slight slope along a narrow lane through the houses. At points Vali had to duck as the roofs came low, nearly touching each other. He could hardly see and blundered forward in the dark, slipping on the slick planks of the path in an uncomfortable compromise between caution and haste. Never mind. If he couldn’t see well, neither could their pursuers.
The lights of candles and fires from open doorways trailed past him, golden smears in the dark, and then, to his left, a light of a different colour and size - a gleam of silver there and then gone, like a blade flashing from the scabbard of the dark. The water.
‘Here,’ he said, hoping Bragi and Feileg were still behind him. They ran up the hill, quick as they could on the slippery logs, but there were shadows about them again, moving across the path. Vali turned across the slope once more, but their way was blocked, not by warriors but by a wall of earth. The town had ramparts. They were surrounded on all sides. The figures didn’t close on them but remained at a distance.
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