Wolfskin Page 11

  The game was nearly finished; Somerled had five men left, Margaret her king and two guards.

  “You’re trapped.” Somerled’s voice was calmly confident. He reached out toward the board, and quick as lightning Margaret’s hand shot out to seize his outstretched fingers before they could touch her king.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Somerled withdrew his hand slowly. The expression on his face was one Eyvind had seen before, and did not much care for.

  “What can you mean?” The voice was chilly. “The rules are—”

  “I know the rules,” Margaret said evenly. “It is you who have made an error. See, my guard reaches the end of the board at this turn, and becomes a Wolfskin. Then he can move in any direction he pleases; and he is in position to take this man, and this man. Now it is your move again, I think.”

  It appeared she was right. Somerled, who never made mistakes, had missed something, and Margaret had all but won the game. Eyvind waited for an explosion of temper, a withering remark calculated to provoke tears. Somerled was a master of both.

  “Your move,” repeated Margaret courteously, lifting her artistically plucked brows.

  Somerled stared at her. “I think I’ve met my match,” he said. His eyes were bright with some emotion; there was no telling what it was.

  “A gallant loser,” said Margaret. “We must do it again some time. Tomorrow, perhaps. I sense you don’t concede often, brother-in-law.”

  “Correct. And perhaps, even this time, I have not entirely lost.”

  “If you think I’m going to ask you what that means, you think wrong,” Margaret replied smoothly. “Now, I find all this hard work has given me a hearty appetite. Eyvind, will you walk to the hall with me in search of some sustenance? I’ve several charming ladies with me, from home; my father insisted. You might like to meet them.”

  “I shouldn’t think he would, you know,” put in Somerled, bringing up the rear. “The one he has already is enough for him, even if he does share her with half the town.”

  If another man had made such a remark, he would not have remained on his feet and conscious long afterward. Eyvind’s jaw tightened; his fists clenched.

  “No offense,” said Somerled lightly. “Mmm, what’s that I smell, apple pie?”

  “Keep your comments to yourself,” Eyvind growled.

  “Indeed,” murmured Margaret. “It’s clear Somerled has no sisters. If he had, he would have learned by now that women are unimpressed by displays of pointless incivility.”

  “Oh dear,” said Somerled, apparently quite unabashed. “I’m sure the girl’s a sweet thing, everyone says so. Don’t glower like that, Eyvind, you’ll frighten Margaret. We mustn’t do that. There’s so much to look forward to, after all. So many new games to play.”

  The wedding had been planned for the next full moon, before the autumn viking. But that was not to be. Before nightfall a messenger rode in from the north. He spoke behind closed doors, first to Ulf and then to Somerled. Their father was dead; pressing matters must be attended to at home. Ulf exchanged the briefest of courtesies with his bride-to-be. There was no time for sleep. He took a crew of Magnus’s men and set off at dawn in the Sea Princess, which the Jarl had generously made available. It was a long weary way up the coast to Halogaland. Ulf did not ask his brother to accompany him. It was understood that they could not be there in time to see the old man buried. The journey, Somerled told Eyvind coolly, was just another strategic move in Ulf’s own game. It was no gesture of filial piety, no sentimental voyage of farewell.

  “You’re wrong, I’m sure,” Eyvind had protested, taken aback by Somerled’s calm acceptance of such a loss. “Ulf spoke of your father with great respect, and with affection.”

  “Typical.” Somerled’s tone was flat. “You measure others by your own yardstick. Ulf cannot wait to cut himself free. He has the light of far horizons in his eyes, and will let nothing and no one stand in his way.”

  Eyvind looked at him. “That last part sounds more like you,” he observed cautiously.

  “He is my brother, after all,” Somerled said dryly. “See if I’m right.”

  Ulf was gone from one full moon to the next, and longer. Margaret’s father, Thorvald Strong-Arm, could stay at court no longer, for there had been attacks on his borders. He went home to attend to his affairs, but Margaret did not go. She preferred to remain in the south, she said, and wait for Ulf. Surely he would not be much longer. And she liked court; there was so much good entertainment. Margaret played games; she went riding; she made poems and conversed with visitors. If she was put out by the delay, she gave no sign of it.

  Often enough her companion was Somerled. This admirable display of brotherly loyalty did not go unnoticed; folk commented on Somerled’s kindness in ensuring his brother’s betrothed did not feel neglected in Ulf’s absence. As for Eyvind, he thought he saw a certain look in Somerled’s eyes, and its reflection in Margaret’s, although the two of them were skilled in keeping their thoughts to themselves, one of many qualities they appeared to share. But Eyvind held his tongue. He’d been wrong often enough before, and he was probably wrong again. Nobody else seemed concerned. And it wasn’t the sort of thing one could mention to Somerled, since his only response would be to raise his brows and make some withering remark.

  Besides, Eyvind was busy. Over the years since he had earned his place among the twelve, they had lost five men: one from a slicing wound received in an encounter with the Frisians, two drowned in a storm off Jutland, one the victim of an ague, a sorry end for a warrior. The fifth was slain in a heroic, solitary stand against a fear-crazed mob. He killed eight men before they finished him with shovel, hay fork, and scythe. Some folk see only the wolfskins and know only the tales. They thought, perhaps, it was some monster they had killed. These five had been replaced by new men, though none was as young as Eyvind. He had been part of the trial as each newcomer won his wolfskin, and each time it was as if his own bond with the god were strengthened, his vow remade. Now, he did not need ale or the herbal gum they chewed, or the singing and drumming. The singing was in his veins, the drumming in his heart; he carried the fire in his head.

  Life between voyages was not all games and revelry and sweet nights in Signe’s arms. Jarl Magnus had many enemies, powerful men with an eye on his borders and an ear out for others inclined to conspiracy. So, when he was not at sea, Magnus made a progress around the halls of his subjects, staying two nights here, three there, just to make quite sure of their loyalty. He received tribute. When he was pleased, he gave gifts. And because you could never really trust anyone, he took his Wolfskins with him. Two shadowed his every move, guarded his slumber, rode by his side. Four hovered at a distance, watching entries and exits, reading men’s eyes and gestures. When all twelve were available, the rest would be deployed more subtly, mingling with the local people, apparently off duty. That way, folk found it harder to set traps.

  Eyvind found plenty of opportunity to use the skills he had, being one of Magnus’s preferred bodyguards. The year Ulf’s father died, the Jarl canceled the autumn viking. A tale of disloyalty had come to his ears, and he decided to teach a certain landowner a lesson that would not be soon forgotten. He rode out with his Wolfskins and with many other men of his household, more than thirty in all, and found the plotters to the east of Freyrsfjord, beyond the hills, where they had gathered a considerable force with a plan to attack one of Magnus’s own allies and kinsmen. It was a satisfying encounter. Eyvind spiked one man with the thrusting spear, finding a moment when the fellow’s shield swung wide of his body, seizing his opportunity with the same unerring aim that had brought down many a wild boar or fleet stag in the woods. His axe separated heads from shoulders and parted limbs from bodies with hungry ease, though, as it usually was with his kind, at the time he was scarcely aware of what he did. There was nothing in his head but the burning voice of Thor, and nothing in his body but the strong unwavering answer to the god’s challenge. Around him, his
companions swung axe and wielded sword in the same savage obedience. When it was over, all but one of the miscreants lay dead on that blood-drenched field. Magnus had issued a clear warning: let no man think to challenge his authority again. The young fellow they had spared was sent off home. There was a purpose to that: the telling and retelling of the tale must strengthen Magnus’s reputation for swift justice.

  After that, the Jarl made further visits in the neighborhood, and all greeted his company with lavish hospitality. Ale flowed like a spring torrent, boards groaned with roast meats, and Eyvind received a number of offers from women, both young and not so young, all of which he refused as courteously as he could. Signe was everything he wanted in a woman. To bed these others seemed somehow wrong to him, though he knew his fellow Wolfskins did not hesitate to avail themselves of the liveliest and prettiest of the local girls. Eyvind slept alone. He would wait for Signe. It made no difference that he was not her only lover. With Signe, there was no pretense, no ridicule, no game playing. There was only honesty, warmth, and kindness. It seemed to Eyvind that what she offered was worth waiting for.

  Magnus was well pleased with his Wolfskins, and especially with Eyvind. He made it known that he intended a rich reward for his youngest warrior, and that he would not take no for an answer. He would give Eyvind time to think about what would please him most. Later, back at court, they would speak of it further.

  The Jarl conferred with his landowners. There would, no doubt, be charges brought at the next Thing. He would need their support, for the kinsmen of the slain would be eager for compensation. Still, as long as there were men who would speak up about the conspiracy and bear witness to the plotting, the one matter might be set against the other, and the price for these deaths not be beyond what he was prepared to pay.

  Such negotiations must be handled carefully, and not rushed. By the time the Jarl returned to court, the Sea Princess was beached in Freyrsfjord once more, and Ulf was back.

  The wedding had been delayed long enough. Within days, the ceremony took place, the vows were spoken, and the bridal ale was poured and quaffed. In view of Ulf’s recent loss, the mood was convivial rather than riotous. Margaret was very quiet, as was often the case with young brides on their wedding day. Probably nervous, Eirik commented. After all, she hardly knew the fellow. Eyvind thought Margaret did not look nervous, sitting neat and self-contained in her green silk overdress and snowy linen, with yellow flowers woven through her sleek auburn hair. No, he thought she looked as Somerled sometimes looked: as if she could see much farther ahead than anyone else, and was already planning some far-distant strategy. He thought Ulf was the one who looked nervous. As for Somerled, he sat by a pillar with his face in shadow. Through the long day he had appeared quite composed and not in the least upset. Eyvind took a mouthful of ale. Soon the bride would be put to bed, and her new husband led to her, and this would all be over. Then he would go to Signe’s small house, and tap on her door, and for a while he would forget everything but the warmth of her smile and the magic of her touch.

  “Won’t be long now before Ulf’s up and away,” said Eirik with a grin. “He’s left it long enough; must be well and truly ready for her.”

  But Ulf seemed in no hurry for the marriage bed. He had risen to his feet now, and was addressing Jarl Magnus, his dark features more than usually intense.

  “My lord, you have done us proud today with feasting and gifts, with music and good hospitality. Indeed, you have at all times been the most noble and generous of patrons, the most loyal of kinsmen, and I hope I have not stinted in expressing my gratitude.”

  Magnus inclined his head, waiting for more.

  “My lord,” Ulf said, “I wish to ask a favor. I wish to present to you a proposal: a bold plan that has been much in my thoughts.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ve spoken before of a far-off land: the land of my father’s dreams. Those isles in the western sea are a place of sheltered waterways, of gentle hills and verdant pastures. There, countless birds wheel and dive across the open sky; there, the ocean teems with fish and the great rocks guard shores alive with seals. So travelers tell. It is a land of myriad shades of blue, a realm whose shifting light dazzles the eyes with its loveliness. That place is far beyond the farthest reach of our ships. It is days’ sailing across open waters, going as the whale does, by stars and skerries, by currents and tides. I have long wished to journey to that place, which some call Orkneyjar, isles of the seal. I would go there with men and women of like mind, and build a new home in those islands, a place where peace and amity would rule, and folk might live in harmony. I have been sickened by the disputes that poisoned my father’s last years, and left him unable to trust those who had been friend, neighbor, or ally. I would make a new community, away from warfare and hatred.”

  “A noble goal, if somewhat unrealistic,” Magnus observed. “If these isles are as fair as you paint them, might not others have settled there before you? You might find these shores, and be slaughtered by naked savages the instant your foot touched land.”

  Ulf’s voice was calm. “I will go in a spirit of friendship, though I plan to take warriors with me. This is no foolish, ill-considered mission, my lord. We must have the capacity to protect our women and children, at least. Still, I would try to avoid conflict. If folk dwell there, they may be persuaded to a common goal. They might be glad of new skills and new blood.”

  Magnus raised his brows. “You astonish me, kinsman. What is it you believe I can contribute to such a venture?”

  “I need your blessing and your support,” Ulf said. “This winter I will build a ship, a finer, stronger ship than any seen before in all of Norway. This ship will carry me, with my wife and all those bold enough to join me, across the ocean to the new land. My lord, I would carry out this task of shipbuilding in the safety of your anchorage here at Freyrsfjord, if you permit. And I would ask that you release those of your household who wish to accompany me, the Wolfskins Eirik Hallvardsson and Hakon Hawk-Beak, who may return in the autumn, and others who will stay and help me build my new settlement.”

  Magnus regarded him gravely. “Well, well,” he said, and there was no telling what he thought. “An interesting tale, and not altogether unexpected, kinsman. Still, men and women cannot live on lights and colors. You’ll need stock, tools, seed, and thralls. How would you make such a difficult journey with these things?”

  “I hope to acquire a sturdy knarr, my lord, for it’s true, a longship is not well suited to bear such a cargo. I will purchase a vessel and strengthen her for the journey.”

  “It seems a wild venture to me, and ill-advised.” Thorvald Strong-Arm, returned for his daughter’s wedding, had a ferocious frown on his brow. Ulf’s mouth tightened.

  “My husband is not the sort of man much given to wildness.” Margaret’s clear voice cut across the hall. Brows were lifted in surprise that she should venture to contribute to such a debate. “I am certain he has planned this with care, and allowed for all eventualities. Let us hear him out.”

  The Jarl gave a nod in her direction. “You speak well, my dear. Your support of your husband bodes favorably for his success. But tell me, do you not view such a venture with some misgivings? It is a long way from home and from your family, after all: an island far out in open sea, and the need to start all over again from nothing. Most young women but newly wed would fear such a great change.”

  Margaret looked him straight in the eye.

  “In such a place great things may be achieved, my lord,” she said. “I would be a poor wife indeed if I could not share my husband’s vision.”

  A flush rose to Ulf’s cheeks. “Thank you,” he said, glancing at Margaret. For a moment, the intensity of his expression softened a little. It was plain he had not expected her to speak out so boldly on his behalf. He turned back to the Jarl. “I will answer my lord’s concerns and yours, father-in-law. My intention is to journey there in spring. I will take with me men and women, stock and t
ools, all that is needed to establish ourselves. Craftsmen, law speakers, farmers, and fishermen. It will be a new community in a new land. There is a bright future for us on that shore.”

  “I see.” Magnus’s eyes were very shrewd. “This is where your account was leading, that is clear. You wish to pick the eyes out of my household, and use my facilities, and sail away never to be seen again. Tell me, what rewards could such a venture possibly hold for me as your patron?”

  “Ah. I was coming to that.” Ulf leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “It is true, I would take men from your lordship’s household, and some will choose to settle in the islands. But I can offer you something of great value in return. I will leave my shipwrights, my fitters, my sail makers behind when I go. They are expert, my lord: the finest in all Norway. Each vessel they build is better than the last, sleeker, swifter, stronger. That knowledge will be yours to do with what you will. And our settlement will be yours to visit and to use as safe anchorage for any longships you may choose to build. From such a vantage point, a force of warriors might journey with speed and ease to shores they say are rich with plunder: southward to the lands of the Saxon, southwest to isles dotted with Christian temples, whose altars groan with fine silver and jeweled reliquaries. To put it simply, my lord, I’m presenting you with a great opportunity, if you are bold enough to see it. This would give you a unique strategic advantage.”