Raven (17 page)

‘It’s hard to remember the girl she was,’ Penda muttered one morning as he fed the camp’s main fire which we rarely if ever let go out. ‘She’s a lost soul that one,’ he added, shaking his head. We had made the fire in a pit to protect it from the worst of the wind and behind it we had piled up a wall of branches between two sloping uprights staked into the ground. This wall bounced the heat back at us, so that men would stand for hours before that trench, holding out their hands to the heat and talking. Völund never strayed from those flames. It seemed that for all his muscle the blauman was no match for the cold and he shivered pathetically, so that I feared his white
teeth would rattle themselves out of his jaw and be lost in the mud.

The women had their own fire, which they tended themselves, though they could often be found round ours.

‘That old goat has poisoned her mind,’ I told Penda and he knew I was talking about Asgot. Above, against a grey sky, a marsh harrier circled, beating its powerful wings every now and then, and I remembered that I had used to call Cynethryth my peregrine. I stared into the flames, trying to lose myself in their ravenous dance. After a while I said, ‘I loved her, Penda.’ My eyes were dry from the heat though I could feel still the wind’s ice-cold teeth biting into my back.

‘I know you did, lad,’ Penda said, never taking his eyes from the fire.

ONE MORNING WE WOKE TO A DAY THAT THE NORTH-WEST WIND
had forgotten to flay. We knew it would be back for it was still winter, but the wind’s absence made it feel almost warm. Some of the men had suggested going hunting. Not digging pits and setting snares but proper hunting with bows and spears. We had caught two boars in our pits but there was nothing like facing one down and coming away the winner. And so Sigurd decided to make a contest of it. Some of the men chose rather to spend the day swiving and sleeping, but those of us who took up the challenge split into four parties of five men each. The first party to bring back a fully grown boar would win the weight of the beast’s head in silver, which meant that none of us would settle for a small animal. Five men is a small hunting party if you are after a full-grown boar. One can break your legs without thinking about it. It will slash its tusks up into your belly and rip out your guts. It will even bite chunks out of you. And so we would need every man and spear in our group, which was unfortunate because we were lumbered with Father Egfrith.

‘I have always wanted to hunt for boar,’ he said, huffing into his hands and rubbing them excitedly. ‘I went with Mauger and
the ealdorman once many years ago.’ He frowned from under bushy brows. ‘But I can’t claim to have helped, because as soon as we got near the beast’s nest Ealdred made me climb a tree.’ I laughed at that and Egfrith looked embarrassed. ‘Then off they went, tearing through the forest after the creature while I was still stuck up that tree like poor Zacchaeus.’

‘If you’re coming you’re going to need this,’ I said, thrusting a spear into his hand. Penda, Bjarni and Wiglaf were the other three and they seemed more amused than concerned that the monk was with us. All around us fur-clad men were grabbing spears and long knives, eager to be on their way. Even Sigurd was grinning with excitement like a boy as he braided his golden hair at the nape of his neck, revealing his scarred face. Black Floki was beside him, sharpening the blade he no doubt believed would soon be finishing a speared boar.

‘If more than one is killed,’ Sigurd called, ‘then the silver goes to the men whose animal is larger.’

‘You might as well give the silver to me now and be done with it, Sigurd,’ Bram said whilst emptying his bladder. ‘These young pups couldn’t catch a three-legged stool if they were sitting on it.’

‘Keep the fire high, Uncle,’ Beiner said to Olaf, who had said he was too old to be chasing through a bog after his food. ‘My boar is going to need a long time cooking.’

And then, clutching spears and hope, we set off into the marsh, each group going their own way.

We tramped northwards through the sucking fen, sending startled coots screeching up from the reeds. Penda and I had decided that the further we went the better our chances would be and we were prepared to put in the legwork. We had wanted to go west but Bram’s lot had headed off that way before us and so we were left with north. Now and then a great egret took to the sky, flapping its white wings indignantly. Any other time we would have hurled a spear at it, but not this day for we would need every spear we had if we came across a big boar
and to throw one after a bird risked losing it in the marsh.

‘This
is
enjoyable,’ Egfrith chirped, thrusting his spear at shrubs he was passing. He had hitched up his habit and his bare feet and legs were covered in watery mud. It was still bitterly cold but I had come to learn that the monk was a hardy little weasel and to my annoyance he seemed to cope well with all kinds of hardship. ‘I shall be ready, Raven, you can rely on me.’

‘If you keep flapping your tongue, monk, we will never set eyes on anything other than birds.’ I could see why Ealdred had ordered the monk up a tree out of the way.

‘You’re quite right,’ he said, pursing his lips in determination. ‘I shall be as quiet as a mouse. I shall be as patient as Job. I shall …’

‘Egfrith!’ I snapped. He nodded, putting a finger to his mouth, and I caught Penda sharing a grin with Wiglaf.

‘Now what?’ Wiglaf said a while later, palming his thinning hair back across his white scalp. He rested his spear across his thickset shoulders, so that his forearms hung over the shaft. ‘I don’t mind a swim,’ he said. ‘It’s the bollock-shrivelling I’m not fond of.’

‘Aye, it’ll be cold all right,’ Penda said.

None of us had ventured this far north before and now we eyed the fen in front of us. But it was not a fen. It was a lake, shallow by the looks but still a lake.

‘We’ll go round,’ I said with a shrug. ‘It can’t be far.’ It looked far. Bjarni pointed, having seen something in the flinty sky. Two golden eagles were attacking a white-tailed sea eagle, taking turns to swoop in and rake the other bird with their talons. Asgot would see some meaning in that, I thought.

‘Or we could go through it,’ Penda suggested, nodding at the breeze-rippled grey water. A flock of black marsh hens slid across the small furrows, upending now and then.

‘I am a strong swimmer,’ Egfrith said proudly. My face told him what I thought about that idea.

‘There’s a causeway,’ Penda said, pointing to our right where, a good spear’s throw away, an old timber stuck up from the water. Then my eyes saw more of them and I realized I had not spotted them earlier because they had blended in with the reed beds far behind them on the horizon. Some of the piles were no more than knee-high, but it had definitely been a causeway once.

Folk had used it, but long ago: the walkway looked to have been submerged for years. It was rotten, as soft as mud, so that you felt your feet breaking through. But whoever had built it had run it along a natural ridge of higher ground, or else piled the earth into a spine to raise it above the flood, and we were able to reach the other side of the lake staying dry for the most part.

We then crossed a number of pools and sandbars where thousands of terns filled the world with their short, sharp calls. After that the ground became firmer, marshland giving way to meadows of marram grass and heather, and after midday we came to scrub woodland, which in turn yielded to fruit trees and pine.

‘This would have made a better camp,’ Wiglaf said, sniffing the air that was thick with the pungent tang of foxes.

‘Too far from the ships,’ I said, remembering the back-breaking portage we had done in Frankia, sliding
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
over rollers that had not rolled. ‘But I’ll wager there’s boar here.’

‘There’s more than boar here,’ Egfrith said, pointing with his spear through a copse of bare apple trees. A field of winter barley stirred in the breeze like a green sea.

‘See there,’ Bjarni said excitedly, for beyond the barley was a palisade above which we could see a clutter of thatched roofs.

‘They are Christians!’ Egfrith added, making the sign of the cross, for though the dwellings seemed scattered, the largest roof was aligned east–west which told Egfrith that it was likely to be a church.

‘So we’re not in the blaumen’s land any more?’ I said.

‘I think we’re back in Emperor Karolus’s land,’ Egfrith said.

‘Frankia?’ Penda puffed out his cheeks.

‘South Frankia, yes,’ Egfrith said. ‘But I should not worry, Penda. The emperor’s lands stretch far and wide. I’m sure we are quite safe.’ Egfrith was already walking towards the place. Bjarni was following him.

‘Wait, Bjarni,’ I said. ‘If they are Christians maybe we should turn around and go back.’

Without breaking stride Bjarni flung a hand through the air, swatting my warning away. ‘Penda and Wiglaf are Christians,’ he said, ‘and we have our own White Christ slave. What could go wrong? Come on, Raven. Or are you a little girl?’

I set off behind him.

‘We’re going in there?’ Wiglaf called after us. I glanced round and saw Penda shrug and set off behind me.

‘Of course we’re going in there, Wiglaf,’ Penda said. ‘With any luck they’ll sell us a bloody great boar.’

When we came to the place we realized it was much smaller than we had thought. You could have walked round it in the time it takes to boil a pot of water. Other than the palisade, which was low and poorly made, there were no defences. The main gate stood open and Father Egfrith called out to announce us. No one replied and so we walked in, spears ready in case it should be a trap. But other than three tired old hounds, two white ponies that stood eating the old thatch from some low eaves, and several hens pecking at the mud, the place looked deserted. Thyme and other herbs grew in neat rows and I peered into a barrel in which eels rolled over one another tying endless knots. Sweet smoke leaked from a small hut in which Bjarni found meat hanging. In another small dark place we found butter and cheese and a bucket full of salt. But there was not a man or woman to be seen.

‘You have scared them all off, Penda,’ I teased, for Penda had
a face that could frighten a war dog, not least because of the terrible long scar that ran from his temple to his chin.

‘What kind of men would just let us walk in like that?’ he asked, biting into a fist-sized lump of cheese.

‘There are no men here,’ Egfrith told him. ‘This place is a convent.’

Penda glanced around, nodding because suddenly like the rest of us he understood. The place had felt strange: sparse yet orderly. Industrious yet lacking in the buildings you would expect to find, such as the forge and the butcher’s stall. We did not know where the Christ women were but we thought they must have been watching us from somewhere. I remembered Abbess Berta and shuddered.

‘I would like to pray while we are here, Father,’ Wiglaf half asked Egfrith.

The monk seemed unsure for a moment, rubbing his newly shaved baldpate. ‘I suppose the good sisters won’t mind that, Wiglaf,’ he said. ‘But we should not linger. We are interrupting their spiritual dedication and it does not do to keep the faithful from the Lord.’ He turned. ‘What about you, Penda, will you join us in prayer?’

The Wessexman glanced at me then turned back to Egfrith and shrugged. ‘Seems a good place to seek the Lord’s blessings,’ he said. ‘A man can’t be too careful what with living amongst the heathens.’

‘Quite right, Penda,’ Egfrith said, pointing a finger at the sky, then he led the way to the church. I grimaced and followed.

It was a simple timber-framed place with chambers running either side of the nave and an apsidal chancel at the east end. On a rough-hewn table in that chancel sat an embroidered cloth and on that cloth stood a large wooden Christ cross. Next to it several tallow candles flickered sootily, burning into the heavy darkness. The faint scent of unfamiliar sweat still hung in the fug and being in that place I felt far removed from the world outside. It made you not want to speak. So I spoke.

‘Perhaps this is how it feels between dying and waking in the afterlife,’ I suggested to Bjarni in Norse. He shrugged gloomily because it was obvious that the people who lived there were poor and owned nothing worth taking. Which was just as well, I thought, for I did not know how Penda and Wiglaf would react if Bjarni were to loot the place.

‘That Christ cross would not have dragged Tufi down to the crabs,’ Bjarni said, gesturing towards the table in the chancel and touching his sword’s hilt to ward off the ill luck that had drowned the Dane.

‘He should have left that thing where it was,’ I said, watching two mice scurrying through the dry floor rushes. One of the creatures vanished but the other scampered over the bare planks where there were no rushes.

‘It is time we left,’ Father Egfrith said, his eyes flicking from me to the floor then back to the Wessexmen.

Wiglaf scratched his round chin. ‘I still have some more prayers to get out, Father,’ he said.

‘We have intruded long enough, Wiglaf,’ Egfrith snapped. ‘We will leave now so that the sisters may return to their prayer. The poor souls must be terrified out there in the woods waiting for us to be gone.’