The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans
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‘His cloak,’ said Malgard. ‘His cloak has been taken … the green cloak with the boar’s head.’
‘Aah, so this was the groom?’ laughed Ulrik. ‘It’s not just his cloak we took. His bitch of a wife required some persuasion, but now she knows her place.’
Malgard winced. As head of the family now, the rape of Fyllba was not something he wished to hear about, but Ulrik was in a loquacious mood.
‘She was unwilling at first … the fine ladies usually are. The best way to break them is to fuck them in front of the other women. Once the other women have seen them enjoying Danish cock they can no longer hide their dignity behind a wall of pretended shame. Of course, you have only a Saxon cock, Malgard … but it might work.’
‘Saxon cock!’ laughed Olaf Pighammer, spitting food and even his blind eye glinting merrily. ‘You’d send a mouse to do the work of a stallion?’
‘He could at least try,’ said Ulrik. ‘The size is less important than the public fucking. Even Saxon cock should work with nobles and nuns.’
‘I’m sure you know best, Ulrik,’ responded Malgard, refusing to be goaded and pondering the missing ring and cloak. It might just be random pillage, but taken together, they were two items of evidence to enhance Brand’s claim if in his possession.
‘Where is Brand?’ he wondered aloud, and Angdred cleared his throat nervously.
‘In the night, Lord,’ he said, ‘ … I cannot be certain, but I chased a shadow. Into the river it went.’
Malgard turned fiercely on him.
‘Why did you not report this?’ he demanded, and Angdred shrank from his angry gaze.
‘I never actually saw him, Lord. For all I know, it was nothing.’
‘Nothing … and yet you chased?’
Angdred shrugged.
‘I was patrolling as you bade me. A dog yelped, so I ran to investigate and he seemed to have suffered an injury. Then I examined the river’s edge and saw fresh marks in the mud that seemed to lead into the river. I hunted along the bank, but—’
‘But nothing,’ Malgard finished with contempt, and then considered – putting himself in Brand’s shoes. If Brand lived, then the chances were that he knew that Malgard was allied with the Danes. He would also know that his father and brother were dead and that he, therefore, had the greatest claim on his father’s title. Or at least, he would realise that before long. In which case, he would try to get to the king.
Suddenly, Malgard knew fear – a small prick of it only, but his satisfaction at the success of the raid was soured by the realisation that Brand could ruin him, if he reached the king.
‘Find him!’ he snarled at Angdred, and then appealed once more to Ulrik Dragontooth. ‘I need men, Ulrik … to find the boy who slipped our net.’
Ulrik shrugged again as he headed to the fire for warmth, and something solid to shore up his jittery guts.
‘I shall rest here two nights. If any of my men are finished with fucking your women and prepared to accept your coin, you may use them, until I’m ready to leave.’
Malgard gritted his teeth but nodded his acceptance and turned back to Angdred.
‘He has gone into the forest, I am sure of it. Scour the woods with Ulrik’s men, but I shall ride east in case he has gone that way to Lundene. Meet me there when the deed is done.’
‘The deed?’ enquired Angdred.
Malgard just stared at him, his eyes black, and Angdred cowered as though he had been struck.
‘Brand is not to reach Lundene,’ growled Malgard. ‘If he does, then your own life is forfeit … need I make myself any clearer?’
∞ ∞ ∞
My first problem was food. I’d hardly eaten at the wedding feast, and what little I had was lost when I’d vomited the ale.
My second problem was that I had no idea in which direction Lundene lay. Judging by the sun, I must have travelled north, but I hadn’t gone far because of my third problem.
The dog.
Having wrapped the rag about my waist and groin, I pulled the remains of Gram’s cloak around my shoulders and tied it in place with my father’s belt. Then, thanking God it was summer, I set off through the wood away from Stybbor. My intention was simply to abandon the dog, but when I reached the edge of the hollow, the dog started growling. And as I stepped into the forest he barked until I ran back in panic to make him quiet.
The dog lay on the ground, his tail wagging happily as I stood over him, trying to soothe him into silence with soft words, but as soon as I tried to leave he started barking, and again I had to race back to make him still. I was not that far from Stybbor and, if the Danes were patrolling, they may already have heard the dog and even now be rushing to investigate.
I considered the knife, and even pulled it part way out of the sheath …
My fourth problem was that I could not kill the dog. Accordingly, I had to take him with me, which meant carrying him. He wasn’t overly large, but he was cumbersome and heavier than he looked. I made slow progress – hauling him through the undergrowth, tripping on tree roots as he alternated between angry growls and licking my face.
It did occur to me to kill and eat the dog – it was at least a justification for carrying him when I had such pressing problems – but another part of me knew that I could never do that. I was simply carrying the dog far enough to abandon him in a place where the Danes wouldn’t hear his protest.
The sun climbed higher and my labour became intense. Sweat was pouring down my face and re-drenching the cloak, and the hunger in my gut became a torment. It was time to turn west, I decided. There were villages to the west of Stybbor where, no doubt, I could get food and directions. But despite my perils and hardships and recurrent stabs of grief, the thought that most absorbed me was the girl. Who was she, and why had I never seen her before? She must have been local because she spoke my tongue with little or no accent. At the summer fairs I had met folk who lived only valleys away who were all but foreigners in their speech, and even my mother’s people required patience to understand.
I slipped on a patch of moss and the dog yelped as I almost dropped him.
‘Be careful with him!’
Once again the girl had appeared out of nowhere, like a sorceress, and I felt a cool thrill of danger. But I took the opportunity to lower the dog to the ground and stretched my aching back.
The girl ran a few paces back in the direction I had come and peered into the forest. For the first time I noticed she had a small quiver of arrows on her back and gripped a bow small enough to be a child’s toy. And yet, such was her air of assured competence, I doubted not she could use the bow to lethal effect.
‘Who are—’ I began, but without glancing back, she raised a hand to silence me. She seemed to be listening, then abruptly she turned and paced towards me.
‘They are coming,’ she said.
‘Danes?’
‘Men,’ she shrugged. ‘What difference does it make where they come from?’
She seemed to cast around in all directions, as though looking for something, and finally decided on the east.
‘This way, quickly! Bring the dog.’
Once again I took up my burden, which seemed even heavier than before, and followed the girl into dark green, trackless bracken under tall elms, ash and larch. Perhaps a hundred paces off the path she told me to wait with the dog within a thicket.
‘Where are you—’
‘Quiet!’ she hissed, ‘ … if you wish to live.’
With