The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans
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knows?’ I lied. ‘They all look the same to me.’
Then I said, ‘Do you have any idea how humiliated I would have been if you’d run away?’
‘I didn’t go anywhere,’ defended Valla. ‘I went to see the Lady Swanneshals.’
‘You went naked did you? Your dress was on the floor when I came back to the room.’
Valla didn’t deign to answer. She pushed the pot under the bed and dragged her cloak of skins and rags over her shoulders.
‘You can’t wear that to Lundene,’ I said. ‘You’re the wife of a thegn, remember?’
She continued to ignore me and I started to feel anger.
‘I won’t have you keeping secrets from me!’ I said, raising my voice as I might have with one of the servants of my father’s household.
‘Is that how you would talk to your wife?’ snapped Valla.
‘My wife, if she were a proper wife, wouldn’t sneak about in the night releasing prisoners.’
‘But I’m not a proper wife, Brand … you know that. I saved you from Olaf and now you are returning the favour.’
It was all getting too confusing – like we were having three different conversations at once.
‘But you did release the serfs.’
It wasn’t a question and Valla didn’t answer.
‘Harold and Tostig will be furious,’ I said. ‘There will be an investigation and if you are identified it will ruin my relationship with Harold … who has agreed to help me defeat Mal—’
I was stunned into silence as Valla suddenly cast off her skins and rags and stood naked before me.
I felt my jaw gaping like a fool and tried to marshal my wits into some sort of order. Valla’s body was staggering – lithe and strong – lightly browned from the sun, with breasts like small hard fruits and a downy shadow between her legs that seemed so refined in contrast with the thick bushes of the servants of my father’s hall.
Suddenly embarrassed to be staring, I tore my eyes from her body and looked her in the face.
‘What was I saying?’
‘You were lecturing me, husband.’
‘… I was?’
She turned her back and picked up the green dress, pulling it over her head – every movement an enticement and it was all I could do not to throw myself upon her.
‘I did not leave this room last night, did I husband?’
‘Erm … ’
‘If the Lord Brand swears his wife did not leave her chamber, then who shall dare suggest otherwise?’
‘Well … no-one I suppose.’
‘You suppose correctly,’ said Valla, straightening the dress, and if it were possible, looked even more desirable clad than unclad.
‘It’s time you started thinking like a lord, Brand. If you will something then it shall be so.’
‘Truly?’ I asked, beginning to grin.
But her lip curled in a fine scorn, and she said, ‘Except, of course, where I am concerned.’
∞ ∞ ∞
After a late and leisurely breakfast, the household was assembled in the yard. There were about a dozen warriors led by Harold, another four led by Tostig, and myself. Most of the warriors had a page or other servant to help with their baggage and weapons. There was also a wagon pulled by a horse with victuals for the journey and other gear, including a large canvas tent and the spare weapons I had collected from the Danes. There was also Carl Two-tongues, looking very fine in his new brown robes, and Valla – the only woman in the party. And already I was jealously aware of the sly looks the other warriors turned in her direction.
There was also the red-haired snaggle-tooth, who was dragged out of the barn and thrown to the ground before Harold. He looked half dead after his ordeals, which had clearly included rough handling during the night. There was dried blood on his ear and around his nose. His lip was split and there was a new gap in his teeth. A black bruise coloured his right temple and he clutched his ribs as he breathed in shallow gasps, in obvious pain.
‘What is your name, serf?’ demanded Harold.
‘Elric,’ he lisped thickly through his broken mouth.
‘Elric,’ repeated Harold. ‘I will give you a choice Elric … death, or service of the Lord Brand.’
If it was possible in his beaten state, Elric managed to look faintly amused.
‘The Lord of the Wood?’ he asked.
He actually seemed to be considering which might be worse, but eventually bowed before me.
‘Kneel,’ commanded Harold, and Elric sank into the mud of the yard.
‘Place your hand on his head Brand,’ said Harold, then in a loud voice he proclaimed, ‘Let all here witness the bond of fealty between Brand Holgarsson, lord of Stybbor and the serf Elric. In return for the lord’s protection, let Elric serve faithfully and well. And should he break this sworn promise, let vengeance or other doom take him swift and hard. Do you swear Elric?’
‘There was a barely audible muttering from Elric, until Tostig half-pulled his sword from its scabbard, and Elric spoke up, ‘I swear!’
My hand was shrinking from contact against the lank, greasy hair, crawling with lice, and I foresaw that my own gear would soon be lousy if he came into contact with it – but there was no option other than to swear before Harold, Tostig and their men that I would honour Elric’s fealty with protection. Then I snatched my hand away and wiped it against my breeches – an action witnessed by Elric, and I was embarrassed by his challenging stare.
Harold had bid me cast off my Viking gear and had clad me in fine garments of similar look and weave to those worn by his warriors, although I kept the long boots, which fit me very well. Harold had also had my brother’s cloak repaired during the night, and I was delighted to see my family’s ill-fortune being restored, but saddened to be reminded of my brother’s untimely and treacherous death.
Suddenly I was overcome with the urgent desire to get to Lundene where my vengeance might be had. The company drew itself together for departure as the Lady Swanneshals came out to the top of the stairs to wave us off. Harold ran back up and knelt before her, took her hand and kissed it – and I noticed the hand was bandaged. In that moment I remembered biting a finger during the escape of the serfs, and a woman’s scream.
I stared at the bandage then looked up and saw her regarding me – knew that she was aware of my recognition – but then she smiled, and I suddenly felt like laughing, as though all treachery was just harmless jest.
∞ ∞ ∞
Malgard was furious.
News of the Viking attack on Stybbor had reached Lundene quickly via the fleece barges that plied from Gipeswic on the Arwan – only a day’s journey down the Temes – it would take three or four days to march.
The drunken barge captain, with whom he sat in one of the rat-infested inns that clustered about the cess-stinking wharf-side, had told him of the massacre, and also that further Danes had hunted fugitives in the wood and returned defeated – beaten by a witch according to the terrified raving of those that returned to the Danish camp at Stybbor.
Now the captain slumped forward with his head on the table as Malgard racked his brains. That Brand was alive was almost certain, he thought – so let’s say he is alive. Let’s also say that he knows of my part in the massacre. Malgard’s eyes turned black as he realised his peril should Brand bring word to Edward. And he will bring word to Edward, so let’s assume