Raven: Sons of Thunder (29 page)

‘I wonder,’ began Alcuin, one wispy grey eyebrow arched suspiciously, ‘perhaps, if something else brings you all the way from England to our great city. Something other than a good Christian’s propriety and a worthy lord’s beneficence.’ I got the feeling that the old scholar was probably one of very few men of the emperor’s court who would speak his mind whenever he felt compelled to do so, and Karolus clearly respected the man’s intuition, for he sat back in his chair, bringing a ringed knuckle to his lips.

His eyes lingered on Cynethryth awhile, then were riveted once more to Ealdred. ‘Is there something else which brings you here?’ the emperor asked, sweeping his other hand through the fragrant air.

‘My lord,’ Ealdred began, flicking his eyes to Egfrith, who nodded, ‘I have a book unequalled in consequence. It is a rare and most precious treasure, for it is the holy gospel book of Saint Jerome, lost for many generations but now, by the grace of Almighty God, recovered.’

‘I have heard of this book,’ Karolus said, leaning forward in his fur-cushioned throne. ‘My old teacher spoke of it when I was a boy.’

‘Jerome ranked first amongst the ancient exegetes,’ Alcuin
said, frowning. ‘His knowledge of the Good Word was consummate. How, Lord Ealdred, did you come into possession of this . . . work?’

Ealdred clasped his hands together solemnly. ‘The book had fallen into the hands of an unworthy king, my enemy Coenwulf of Mercia. What worthy Christian could abide such an aberration?’ he asked, extending his arms. ‘I took it as my duty to rescue the book.’ I almost believed Ealdred myself. The worm was slithering well. ‘Since recovering the gospel I have been hoping to see it safe in the hands of a Christian lord who can keep it away from avaricious men.’ Now Ealdred shook his head. ‘But I am just an ealdorman. I am not a rich man, my king. I cannot keep such a treasure safe from the iniquitous for ever.’

‘You want to sell it to me?’ the emperor asked, flicking his fingers to a servant, who filled a silver cup with wine and handed it to his lord.

‘It would ease my conscience to know the book was in your safe keeping, my lord,’ Ealdred admitted, stroking his long moustache. ‘The kings of England fight like dogs over scraps. Nothing is safe.’

‘You have the book here?’ Karolus asked, sipping the wine, his eyes never leaving Ealdred’s. Beside him Alcuin was staring at me, one eye half closed but the other sharp as a rivet’s point, and I felt the sudden need to empty my bowels. I was sure the old man could tell me for a heathen and I feared the accusation was crawling up his throat and was almost on his age-cracked lips.

‘It is at the river wharf with my men who guard it,’ Ealdred said. ‘Forgive me, but I dared not bring it across the country. I am a stranger to this land and it is a fool who bears a sacrosanct treasure into the unknown.’

Karolus nodded. ‘I see that beneficence, prudence, and . . .’ he paused a moment, ‘ambition,’ he said, half smiling, ‘dwells
in your heart as surely as the Holy Trinity dwells at the heart of our faith.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Ealdred squirmed. ‘You honour me and the people of the kingdom of Wessex.’ His eyes flicked to Father Egfrith, then back to the emperor. ‘The treasure is yours, my lord,’ he said. ‘For a fair price. After all, I have lost much in recovering it.’

Karolus leant back in his throne, still studying the Englishman before him. ‘I have need to go to Paris,’ he said, ‘for I must inspect the work that has begun on my coastal defences. If it were not enough that I have to deal with the Saxons in the north, my shores are still plagued by the godless Danes, may the Lord scour them and their heathen kind from this world. On my way to Paris I’ll find you at the wharf and I’ll see your gospel book for myself. If it is the treasure you claim, we will do business. You will not find me an ungenerous man, Ealdred.’ Ealdred fell to one knee and Egfrith hissed for us to do the same, which we did. ‘Now leave me,’ the emperor commanded, frowning as though suddenly struck by the aches and irritations of old age. I for one was eager to be gone from that place of enormous stone buildings and enchanted water before our ruse was uncovered. Father Egfrith was disappointed not to have had the opportunity to try the hot springs he had been telling us about, but the success of our undertaking more than made up for that – a success which owed much to the monk’s own cunning. We took our horses and collected our arms, then left the city of Aix-la-Chapelle as the pale sun rolled westward across an autumn sky.

WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE RIVER WHARF THERE WAS NO SIGN OF
Serpent
or
Fjord-Elk
, but we did find Hastein and Yrsa Pig-nose waiting for us. They were sitting on the jetty playing tafl by the light of a crackling, flame-filled brazier. Nearby a man was lying on his belly with a line in the water fishing for crabs whilst his hound lay beside him, its head on its paws. Other than these two the Norsemen were alone.

‘We have moved further upriver,’ Hastein said, pointing into the darkness beyond the shore houses and the black mass of oak and ash behind them.

‘There’s a town not three bow-shots from the water,’ Yrsa added, grinning as he collected and pocketed the tafl shells whilst Hastein tightly rolled their furs. It seemed that the lure of trade and food and women and mischief had proved too strong for the Fellowship to ignore, despite our earlier caution.

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Penda asked when I explained in English. ‘They’ll all be getting their ends wet by now. I don’t want to be left with some sow who’s so ugly she makes onions cry.’

‘Penda!’ Cynethryth snapped. ‘You are a bad man.’

‘I try, my lady,’ he replied.

‘Are we going to be rich, Raven?’ Yrsa asked, happily digging snot from a nostril with his little finger and smiling.

‘You are already rich, Yrsa,’ I said, to which he nodded proudly, ‘but yes, if the emperor doesn’t kill us all we’ll be richer yet.’

My heart leapt as it always did when I saw
Serpent
. She was tethered bow and stern to a high jetty with
Fjord-Elk
lashed to her steerboard side. I could see men aboard both ships and others on shore huddled under skin shelters round fires, though there was nothing of the raucousness I had expected. Instead the men were subdued, and I soon learnt it was because they were apprehensive and eager to discover how we had fared with the emperor of the Franks.

‘This Karolus is no fool,’ I said to Sigurd, regretting the words immediately, for of course Karolus was no fool. The man ruled an empire. ‘Without the monk we wouldn’t have got anywhere near him,’ I admitted reluctantly.

Sigurd looked at Egfrith with a slight nod. ‘So he will come?’ he asked. The jarl leant against a rolled fur, flamelight and shadow playing across his gaunt face. Beside him Olaf was snoring; the sound, according to Black Floki, was like that of a reindeer at the rut. We had already told the jarl everything that had happened, but even he seemed sceptical that Karolus would actually come to us to judge what we had to sell.

‘He is going to Paris, so he told us,’ I said, ‘and will meet us on his way.’

‘Paris?’ Sigurd said, as though surprised that an emperor should want to go to that stinking hole.

‘To build defences against the Danes,’ I said, smiling, though it was the smile of a helmsman feigning indifference in the face of a storm.

‘You must keep your men on a tight leash, Sigurd,’ Egfrith said, wincing. Behind us Svein and Bram were wrestling and
some of the Norsemen were growling encouragement to one or the other. ‘One way or another, once the emperor lays eyes on the gospel book he
will
have it,’ the monk said. ‘If all goes as I pray it will, I believe he will buy it and pay handsomely too. But if he discovers you are Norse . . .’ he extended an ink-stained finger, ‘then he will feel duty-bound to take the book from you.’

‘Enough talk,’ Sigurd said, giving a great yawn which seemed to offend the monk. ‘Wake me if this emperor comes,’ he said, pushing back his rolled fur and laying his head on it. ‘But if you ruin a good dream I’ll cut off your balls.’ I went to the shelter Cynethryth had made. It was all very well for Sigurd to posture in that way – it was expected from a jarl after all – but he had not seen with his own eyes the stone world this king of the Franks was building. He had not met Karolus.

Two days later we woke at dawn to the barked warnings of our sentries. The emperor had come. We hurriedly put on our mail and helmets and gathered our war gear – not because we wanted to fight but rather because we wanted to make a good show of ourselves before these Franks. Warriors suffer from legendary pride and will do whatever they can to impress friends and foe alike. And we did look impressive. We were more than thirty, and all wore the finest brynjas and hefted spears, axes and swords. But if we thought we were impressive, that was before we clapped eyes on the Franks. They were awe-inspiring. We formed a shieldwall two men deep with
Serpent
and
Fjord-Elk
at our backs and men with bows at our flanks. Like that we waited and watched an army emerge out of the low dawn sun. Two shining columns of soldiers, each man wearing identical armour made of small iron plates like fish scales, poured across the landscape before us, their banners whipping in the wind.

‘Frigg’s tits! Somebody fetch my banner!’ Sigurd roared, blinking at the incredible sight.

‘It’s all right, lad, don’t twist your neck off,’ Penda beside me said with a smirk, sensing my concern. ‘She’s at the rear with Egfrith.’

‘What have we got ourselves into now?’ Olaf said, thumping his helmet firmly down so that all you could see of his face was beard. ‘There must be five hundred men there and every one of the pretty whoresons has a nice long spear to lean on.’ A war horn blared and, with the clink of armour and the stamp of boots, the two columns melted and re-formed so that we now faced a shieldwall three men deep, longer than any of us had ever seen. Then that wall split neatly and a group of mounted men emerged, trotting their horses towards us.

‘There he is,’ Penda said, ‘and doesn’t he look just about the handsomest emperor you’ve ever seen.’ Laughter came from the Wessexmen, which was good to hear from men in the front row of a shieldwall. Sigurd had done them a great honour by placing them there and they knew it. But they would also be the first to die and they knew that too.

Karolus raised a hand and his ranks held still as the stone horseman I had seen outside his palace. The hot breath of hundreds plumed in the morning air.

‘He’s not dressed for war,’ Penda said, ‘which is a good sign if you ask me.’ The emperor wore a tunic fringed with silk and a fine red cloak fastened with a golden buckle, and apart from a gold-hilted sword in a jewel-encrusted scabbard he was unarmed.

‘I suspect he has enough men to fight for him, Penda,’ I said, gripping my spear with white fingers.

‘Lord Ealdred!’ Karolus yelled. Some of us turned but I could not see the ealdorman. We waited. The frantic
brrrrrruk
of a fleeing moorhen cut the silence and a black cloud of rooks spiralled up from a stand of elm, kaaing noisily.

‘Here, lord,’ Ealdred answered eventually, passing through the wall. Egfrith and Sigurd were with him, and though Sigurd
should have perhaps stayed out of sight the restraint would have been too much for him. He stood behind Ealdred looking like Týr the god of battle, his hand resting on his father’s sword.

‘Go on, Raven,’ Olaf said. ‘Sigurd might need your tongue to dig him out when the Franks hear the Norse in him.’ So I loped over to them, my brynja rattling conspicuously, and bowed my head to Karolus, though his eyes were fixed on Sigurd. Alcuin sat hunched on a palfrey on his lord’s right, eyeing the shield-wall behind me.

‘I have never seen such a show of arms, lord,’ Ealdred said. ‘Your army is magnificent.’

Karolus smiled, patting his black stallion’s neck. Even his horse looked like a prince amongst horses. ‘This is a mere breath of breeze compared to the storm I can summon when needs must. With a word I can bring ten thousand Christian warriors to any part of my empire. These days, thanks to God and to this sword,’ he said, touching the gold pommel at his hip, ‘I have few enemies who have the stomach or the spears to stand and fight me, though they are quick to attack the helpless. They kill and then run. Like a fox.’

On his right, Alcuin nodded tiredly. ‘Deep bogs of evil spread where the springs of righteousness should give rise to streams of holiness,’ he announced, staring at me with his old, worn eyes. I suddenly realized I was not wearing the linen strip over my blood-eye. ‘There are signs that our world is in its last days.’