me to deal with. I will not be as merciful as Pinleg and kill you quickly.’ Then looked at Martin and said: ‘You made this. You clean it up.’
Stunned at what he had seen, Martin stumbled forward to where the red ruin that had been Hring lay. Einar would not let anyone help him and, when Martin took up an arm to try and pull the bloody thing away, it tore free in his hands and he fell backwards on his arse into a puddle of blood.
Everyone laughed, even the Christ-sworn, then turned away in sorrow and disgust. Hring had found his death and it had not been a good one. Arguments broke out about whether he would make Valholl, given that he had been a Christ-follower when he died. Some of the others were uncomfortable with this, realising only now what following the White Christ really meant.
I watched as Martin, his robes soaked with red, gathered up and hauled off the bits and suddenly realised I knew nothing much about Hring other than that he liked to fish and he had been the only other one to help consign the Serkland woman to the sea when she died at Skirringsaal.
But something had happened here. Hring had broken his oath and I knew it was because Einar had broken his oath with Eyvind.
I think Einar knew it, too, so that when Valknut came up and announced that Ulf-Agar was gone, it was just another turn of Odin’s subtle revenge. Or Loki’s. Who knew?
‘One of the fishermen saw a limping man get on that knarr just before it left,’ Valknut added.
‘He has broken his oath as well,’ I said and, for the first time, Einar’s black eyes would not meet mine.
The next morning, I stood on the shingle in another spring mirr of rain and watched the Elk slide out and away from the village. All around, watching with me, were the Oathsworn, all but a dozen – all the Christ-men – who had gone with my father and the Trimmer to safety down the coast.
Watching, too, was Martin, his ruined hand still tucked under one armpit, the puddle at his feet tinged pink from the blood that still seeped from his brown habit. He wore a leather collar now and a leash that attached him to Pinleg like a hound.
When the Elk had all but vanished into the rain mist, we turned in ones and twos and started to collect our gear. Hild, who had a spare cloak that had belonged to my father, had more of my essentials, wrapped in a bedroll.
With scarcely a word, falling into the familiar routine, we formed up, with Bagnose and Steinthor questing out in front, and started the long march upriver, to Koksalmi and the forge.
Hild knew the way, but Einar didn’t trust her, so she was kept close to his side, with Pinleg and the leashed Martin. He would have leashed Hild, too, but Illugi Godi, knowing I would cause trouble over it, persuaded him, I think, that it would be better to have the woman on his side, not an enemy.
We climbed, for an hour at least, through birch and alder, where the sun slanted. As the trees thinned out, we halted, waiting for Bagnose and Steinthor to come back from scouting ahead. It gave everyone a chance to adjust straps and the weight of pack and shield.
I looked back, rubbing a raw place on my neck, feeling the wind, a good onshore blow hammering from a sea that sparkled. Below, somewhere to the right, the river meandered, reed-lined and narrowing.
Hild hunched on a rock, arms wrapped round her knees.
‘Can you walk?’ I asked and she looked up. Her eyes rolled, focused, rolled again. Then she nodded. I bent to take her bundle as well as my own and her hand, clawed and fierce, caught my wrist. From under the curtain of her hair I heard her say: ‘She is waiting. She will guide me. She told …’ The voice stopped, the slanted eyes grew slitted with cunning. ‘No one is to know,’ she hissed.
I liked her – I believe I loved her, in that way first love is. At least I thought I did, because she was the first woman I did not want to upend and fuck. I never thought of doing that casually with her, though I sometimes grew hard thinking of her white body in the dark.
Yet even then I couldn’t seem to see it without the weals and the bruises, couldn’t see her face gasping in passion without her eyes rolling up, white and dead, and hearing that Other voice, sometimes a hiss, sometimes a rasp.
I now knew that I was afraid of her, of her magic. If it had been me, I would have turned her loose, for all the lure of Attila the Hun’s hoard.
Bagnose and Steinthor strode back in, spoke with Einar, then loped off again. The Oathsworn rose, shouldering their burdens, and we set off across a wide, pale plateau carved with rocky gullies and studded with knuckles of green-spotted grey stones. Here and there were stands of birch like white sentinels and mountains rose on either side, faint and purpled in the distance.
Gunnar Raudi fell in step with me, glancing sideways from under the faded red of his tangled curls. ‘Faring well, young Orm?’
‘Well enough, Gunnar Raudi,’ I answered, in between breaths as we stepped out.
He was silent for a while and there was only the creak and clink of gear, the grunts and pants of labour. Eventually he said, ‘We have come a long way in a short while.’
‘Indeed,’ I answered, wondering where all this was leading.
‘It seems to me you are marked,’ he went on slowly and I looked at him warily.
‘Marked? By whom?’
He shrugged. ‘Odin perhaps. But marked. And Einar knows it.’
‘Einar?’ I was lost now.
He caught me by the arm and we halted, men filtering round us, some with muttered curses at our blocking the trail. ‘You are Einar’s doom, I am thinking,’ he said in a low, urgent voice, looking right and left, waiting until we were out of earshot. ‘Everything bad happened to him after you came.’
‘Me?’ I answered, astonished, then thought I saw what he was about. ‘You and I boarded the Elk at the same time. Why are you not Einar’s bane? Why me, Gunnar Raudi?’
‘I thought of that,’ he replied, perfectly seriously and so honestly I felt ashamed at my suspicions. ‘But the white bear was a sign … Einar came because of you, took you aboard because of the bear. I do not know which god stole his luck – Odin is my bet, though – but he used you to do it.’
It was nonsense, of course, and I could not shake the feeling he was up to something, so I shook my head and shouldered my gear.
‘Einar believes this,’ Gunnar Raudi said and now I saw why he had stopped me. Our eyes locked.
‘Truly?’
He nodded. Then he clapped me on the shoulder. ‘We’d better run, young Orm, or be left behind.’
Towards evening, we hit meadow grass, still yellowed but with new shoots coming through. Then, as the first stars appeared, Bagnose and Steinthor quartered back to Einar’s side.
‘We saw cattle,’ said Bagnose.
‘A bull and three milch cows,’ added Steinthor.
‘And a boy with yellow hair watching them,’ finished Bagnose.
‘Did he see you?’ asked Einar and got a curled lip from the pair of them. He stroked his moustaches and then announced that we would camp in a hollow, fringed with trees, that we had left behind some minutes before. Only one fire was to be lit and that for cooking, in the centre of the dip, where it wouldn’t be seen.
Later, after we had eaten, he called me to where he sat, with Gunnar Raudi and Ketil Crow and Skapti and Illugi – all the Oathsworn’s faithful hounds.
‘Orm,’ he said, his face tomb-dark on the other side of the fire, his hair a shroud for it. ‘Tell me the truth of it. Is Hild right in the head enough to go to her people and let them know we mean no harm?’
I thought about it, and found myself scrubbing my chin like my father did – found, also, that there was a down there to be scrubbed. I wasn’t considering the question