The Burning Land (18 page)

“He has a reputation,” she said, and she told us of Skirnir and what she said made sense. There were nests of pirates on the Frisian coast, where they were protected by treacherous shoal waters and shifting dunes. Finan and I, when we had been enslaved by Sverri, had rowed through those waters, sometimes feeling our oar-blades strike the sand or mud. Sverri, a clever shipmaster, had escaped the pursuing red ship because he knew the channels, and I did not doubt that Skirnir knew the waters intimately. He called himself a jarl, the equivalent of a lord, but in truth he was a savage pirate who preyed on ships. The Frisian Islands had always produced wreckers and pirates, most of them desperate men who died soon enough, but Skade insisted that Skirnir had flourished. He captured ships or else took payment for safe passage and by so doing he had made himself rich and notorious.

“How many crews does he have?” I asked Skade.

“When last I was there,” she said, “sixteen small ships and two large.”

“When were you last there?”

“Two summers ago.”

“Why did you leave?” Ethne asked.

Skade gave the Scottish woman a speculative look, but Ethne held the gaze. She was a small, red-haired, and fiery woman whom we had freed from slavery, and she was fiercely loyal to Finan, by whom she now had a son and a daughter. She could see where this conversation was going, and before her husband went into battle she wanted to know all she could discover.

“I left,” Skade said, “because Skirnir is a pig.”

“He’s a man,” Ethne said, and got a reproving dig in her ribs from Finan.

I watched a servant girl carry logs to the tavern’s hearth. The fire brightened and I wondered again why so few men were drinking in the Goose.

“Skirnir ruts like a pig,” Skade said, “and he snorts like a pig, and he hits women.”

“So how did you escape the pig?” Ethne persisted.

“Skirnir captured a ship which had a chest of gold coins,” Skade
said, “and he took some of the gold to Haithabu to buy new weapons, and he took me with him.”

“Why?” I asked.

She looked at me levelly. “Because he could not bear to be without me,” she said.

I smiled at that. “But Skirnir must have had men to guard you in Haithabu?”

“Three crews.”

“And he let you meet Harald?”

She shook her head. “I never met him,” she said, “I just took one look at him and he looked at me.”

“So?”

“That night Skirnir was drunk,” she said, “snoring, and his men were drunk, so I walked away. I walked to Harald’s ship and we sailed. I had never even spoken to him.”

“Stop that!” I shouted at two of my men who were squabbling over one of the Goose’s whores. The whores earned their living in a loft that was reached by a ladder, and one of the men was trying to pull the other off the rungs. “You first,” I pointed at the more drunken of the two, “and you after. Or both of you together, I don’t care! But don’t start a fight over her!” I watched till they subsided, then turned back to Skade. “Skirnir,” I said simply.

“He has an island, Zegge, and lives on a
terpen
.”

“
Terpen
?”

“A hill made by hand,” she explained, “it is the only way men can live on most of the islands. They make a hill with timber and clay, build the houses, and wait for the tide to wash it away. Skirnir has a stronghold on Zegge.”

“And a fleet of ships,” I said.

“Some are very small,” Skade said. Even so I reckoned Skirnir had at least three hundred fighting men, and maybe as many as five hundred. I had forty-three. “They don’t all live on Zegge,” Skade went on, “it is too small. Most have homes on nearby islands.”

“He has a stronghold?”

“A hall,” she said, “built on a
terpen
, and ringed with a palisade.”

“But to reach the hall,” I said, “we have to get past the other islands.” Any ship going through what would doubtless be a shallow and tide-torn channel would find Skirnir’s men following, and I could imagine landing on Zegge with two crews of enemies close behind me.

“But in the hall,” Skade said, lowering her voice, “is a hole in the floor, and beneath the floor is a chamber lined with elm, and inside the chamber is gold.”

“There was gold,” Finan corrected her.

She shook her head. “He cannot bear parting with it. He is generous with his men. He buys weapons, mail, ships, oars, food. He buys slaves. But he keeps what he can. He loves to open the trapdoor and stare at his hoard. He shudders when he watches it. He loves it. He once made a bed of gold coins.”

“They dug into your back?” Ethne asked, amused.

Skade ignored that, looking at me. “There’s gold and silver in that chamber, lord, enough to light your dreams.”

“Other men must have tried to take it,” I said.

“They have,” she said, “but water, sand, and tide are as good a defense as stone walls, lord, and his guard is loyal. He has three brothers, six cousins, and they all serve him.”

“Sons?” Ethne asked.

“No children by me. Many by his slaves.”

“Why did you marry him?” Ethne asked.

“I was sold to him. I was twelve, my mother had no money, and Skirnir wanted me.”

“He still does,” I said speculatively, remembering that his offer of a reward for Skade’s return had reached Alfred’s ears.

“The bastard has a lot of men,” Finan said dubiously.

“I can find men,” I said softly, and then turned because Sihtric had come running from the tavern’s back door.

“Men,” he told me, “there’s at least thirty out there, lord, and all with weapons.”

So my suspicions were right. Guthlac wanted me, my treasure, my ship, and my woman.

And I wanted Skirnir’s gold.

TWO

I snatched open the tavern’s front door and saw more men waiting on the quay. They looked startled when I appeared, so startled that most took an involuntary step backward. There were at least fifty of them, a few armed with spears and swords, but most with axes, sickles, or staves, which suggested they were townsfolk roused by Guthlac for a night’s treacherous work, but, far more worryingly, a handful of them carried bows. They had made no attempt to capture
Seolferwulf
, which was lit at the pier’s end by the dull glow of the herring-driers’ fires that burned above the narrow beach’s high-water line. That small light reflected from the mail which Osferth and his men were wearing, and from the blades of their spears, swords, and axes. Osferth had made a shield wall across the pier, and it looked formidable.

I closed the door and dropped its locking bar into place. It seemed clear that Guthlac had no appetite for attacking Osferth’s men, which suggested he wanted to capture us first, then use us as hostages to take the ship.

“We have a fight on our hands,” I told our men. I slid Wasp-Sting from her hiding place and watched, amused, as other weapons appeared. They were mostly short-swords like Wasp-Sting, but Rorik, a Dane I had captured in one of the punitive raids on East Anglia and who had sworn an oath to me rather than go back to his old lord, had somehow managed to bring a war ax. “There are men that way,” I told them, pointing to the front door, “and that way,” I pointed toward the brewing house.

“How many, lord?” Cerdic asked.

“Too many,” I said. I had no doubt that we could fight our way to
Seolferwulf
because townsfolk armed with sickles and staves would prove easy foes for my trained warriors, but the archers outside the door could give my crew grievous casualties, and I was already shorthanded. The bows I had seen were short hunting bows, but their arrows were still lethal against men not wearing mail.

“If they’re too many, lord,” Finan suggested, “then best to attack them now rather than wait till there are more of them?”

“Or wait till they get tired,” I said, and just then a timid knock sounded on the tavern’s back door. I nodded to Sihtric, who unbarred the door and pulled it inward to reveal a sorry-looking creature, scrawny and frightened, dressed in a threadbare black robe over which hung a wooden cross that he clutched nervously. He bobbed his head at us. I had a glimpse of the armed men in the yard before the man edged into the tavern and Sihtric closed and barred the door behind him. “Are you a priest?” I demanded, and he nodded his head. “So Guthlac sends a priest,” I went on, “because he’s too frightened to show his face in here?”

“The reeve means you no harm, lord,” the priest said. He was a Dane, and that surprised me. I knew the Danes of East Anglia had converted to Christianity, but I had thought it a cynical conversion, done to appease the threat of Alfred’s Wessex, but some Danes, it seemed, truly had become Christians.

“What’s your name, priest?”

“Cuthbert, lord.”

I sneered. “You took a Christian name?”

“We do, lord, upon conversion,” he said nervously, “and Cuthbert, lord, was a most holy man.”

“I know who he is,” I said, “I’ve even seen his corpse. So if Guthlac means us no harm then we can go back to our ship?”

“Your men may, lord,” Father Cuthbert said very timidly, “so long as you and the woman stay, lord.”

“The woman?” I asked, pretending not to understand him, “you mean Guthlac wants me to stay with one of his whores?”

“His whores?” Cuthbert asked, confused by my question, then shook his head vigorously. “No, he means the woman, lord. Skade, lord.”

So Guthlac knew who Skade was. He had probably known ever since we had landed at Dumnoc, and I cursed the fog that had made our voyage so slow. Alfred must have guessed we would put in to an East Anglian port to resupply, and he had doubtless offered a reward to King Eohric for our capture, and Guthlac had seen a swift, if not easy, way to riches. “You want me and Skade?” I asked the priest.

“Just the two of you, lord,” Father Cuthbert said, “and if you yield yourselves, lord, then your men may leave on the morning tide.”

“Let’s start with the woman,” I said, and held Wasp-Sting out to Skade. She stood as she took the sword, and I stepped aside. “You can have her,” I told the priest.

Father Cuthbert watched as Skade ran a long slow finger up the short-sword’s blade. She smiled at the priest, who shuddered. “Lord?” he asked plaintively.

“So take her!” I told him.

Skade held the sword low, its blade pointing upward, and Father Cuthbert did not need much imagination to envisage that shining steel ripping through his belly. He frowned, embarrassed by the grins on my men’s faces, then he summoned his courage and beckoned to Skade. “Put the blade down, woman,” he said, “and come with me.”

“Lord Uhtred told you to take me, priest,” she said.

Cuthbert licked his lips. “She’ll kill me, lord,” he complained to me.

I pretended to think about that statement, then nodded. “Very likely,” I said.

“I shall consult the reeve,” he said with what little dignity he could muster, and almost ran back to the door. I nodded to Sihtric to let the priest go, then took my sword back from Skade.

“We could make a dash for the ship, lord?” Finan suggested. He was peering through a knothole in the tavern’s front door and
evidently did not have a great opinion of the men waiting in ambush.

“You see they’ve got bows?” I asked.

“Ah, so they do,” he said, “and that puts a big fat turd in the ale barrel, doesn’t it?” He straightened from the peephole. “So we wait for them to get tired, lord?”

“Or for me to have a better idea,” I suggested, and just then there was another rap on the back door, louder this time, and again I nodded to Sihtric to unbar.

Guthlac now stood in the doorway. He still wore his mail, but had donned a helmet and carried a shield as added protection. “A truce while we talk?” he suggested.

“You mean we’re at war?” I asked.

“I mean you let me talk, then let me go,” he said truculently, tugging at one of his long black mustaches.

“We shall talk,” I agreed, “then you can go.”

He took a cautious step into the room, where he looked somewhat surprised to see how well armed my men were. “I’ve sent for my lord’s household troops,” he said.

“That was probably wise,” I said, “because your men can’t beat mine.”

He frowned at that. “We don’t want a fight!”

“We do,” I said enthusiastically, “we were hoping for a fight. Nothing finishes an evening in a tavern so well as a fight, don’t you agree?”

“Maybe a woman?” Finan suggested, grinning at Ethne.

“True,” I agreed. “Ale first, next a fight, then a woman. Just like Valhalla. So tell us when you’re ready, Guthlac, and we’ll have the fight.”

“Yield yourself, lord,” he said. “We were told you might be coming, and it seems Alfred of Wessex wants you. He doesn’t want your life, lord, just your body. Yours and the woman’s.”

“I don’t want Alfred to have my body,” I said.

Guthlac sighed. “We’re going to stop you leaving, lord,” he said patiently. “I’ve got fourteen hunters with bows waiting for you.
You’ll doubtless kill some men, lord, and that will be another crime to add to your offenses, but my archers will kill some of your men, and we don’t want to. Your men and your ship are free to leave, but you’re not. Nor is the woman,” he looked at Skade, “Edith.”

I smiled at him. “So take me! But remember I’m the man who killed Ubba Lothbrokson beside the sea.”

Guthlac looked at my sword, tugged on his mustache again, and took a step backward. “I won’t die on that blade, lord,” he said, “I’ll wait for my lord’s troops. They’ll take you, and kill the rest of you. So I advise that you yield, lord, before they arrive.”

“You want me to yield now so you get the reward?”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked belligerently.

“How much is it?”

“Enough,” he said. “So do you yield?”

“Wait outside,” I told him, “and you’ll find out.”

“What of them?” he asked, nodding toward the local men who had been trapped inside the Goose with us. None held any value as a hostage and so I sent them away with Guthlac. They ran into the back yard, doubtless relieved they were not to be part of the slaughter they expected to redden the tavern’s floor.

Guthlac was a fool. What he should have done was charge into the tavern and overwhelm us, or, if he merely wanted to trap us until trained troops arrived, he should have barricaded both doors with some of the giant ale barrels from the yard. As it was he had split his troops into two bands. I estimated there were fifty waiting between us and
Seolferwulf
, and as many again in the back yard. I was thinking that my score of men could fight their way through those fifty on the quay, but I knew we would take casualties reaching the ship. The bows would kill a handful of men and women before we got among the enemy, and none of us wore mail. I wanted to escape without any of my people being killed or wounded.