wooden grip darkened by other men’s sweat, but the blade oiled and keen. I wondered how long it would be before the grip felt familiar in my hand, and the blade answered to my will.
So we took the road to Miklagard.
Some days later, we sold the ponies at Aarhus, where theGreat Sound opens south into the Baltic Sea. And that same evening, while we sat in a waterside ale-shop under an old ship’s awning, with a pot of ale and a platter of pig-meat between us, a man turned in from the alleyway outside, spoke to the old one-legged pirate who kept the place, then came threading his way through the elbows and sprawling feet to the corner where we sat. He was rangy and loose-limbed, so tall that his rough sandy hair brushed the salt-stained canvas overhead, with a fair, freckled skin, and grey-green sea-water eyes.
‘Which of you is Thormod Sitricson?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ Thormod said.
‘So. You have been asking in the town, for two men.’
‘Aye.’
‘Would there be a drink in it, for me?’
‘If you can tell me where they are, and if they are the right men, as much drink as you can hold without bursting like an old wine-skin.’
The man hitched up a stool and sat down, leaning his elbows on the ale-stained trestle boards. ‘Anders and Herulf Herulfson, are their names; and one of them – Anders, it would be? – has a small scar on his cheek-bone, and odd eyes, one blue, one grey.’
Thormod nodded. ‘Where are they?’
‘I am thirsty,’ said the man, and grinned.
Thormod looked at him a moment, then turned and shouted to the potboy, ‘Drink, here!’
A brimming ale jug was brought, and the man hitched it towards him. ‘Drink heil!’ he said, and poured about half the jugful down his throat.
‘Wass heil!’ Thormod drank also. ‘Where are they?’
The man set down the jug and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Not here.’
‘I did not think they would be.’ Thormod reached out and removed the jug. They were grinning at each other, enjoying every moment of the game. ‘And I’d no mind to waste my time hunting them through Aarhus, and them already away. When did they sail? And what ship?’
‘Three days ago.’ The man took back the jug, drank again, and set it down. ‘They came to us of the
Red Witch
first. Hakon Ketilson is gathering a crew for the Kiev voyage and on to Miklagard; but the
Serpent
was sailing a few days ahead of us; and they seemed eager to be away.’
‘They would be,’ Thormod said.
The other cocked an eyebrow. ‘Friends of yours?’
There was a small sharp silence. Then Thormod said, ‘Until my father killed theirs by mischance; and they cried Blood Feud, and killed mine.’
‘So-o!
That
is the way of it! Small wonder they took oar with the
Serpent
rather than wait for the
Red Witch
. Yet they took no pains to cover their tracks.’
‘They would not be hiding their tracks,’ said Thormod into the ale-pot, and passed it to me.
The other stared at him a moment, then shrugged and turned again to his own drink. And in a little, Thormod said, ‘Would this Hakon Ketilson of yours be still gathering his crew?’
‘If it was me,’ said the man, ‘I’d appeal to the Judgement of the Thing, and accept their settlement as to Wyr Geld. Blood will not bring the old wolf back, and gold has always its uses.’
Watching Thormod, I saw his eyes slowly widen, fixed on the other’s face, and the muscles stiffen in his neck. ‘Yet for the old wolf – blood may give him the better right to sit with his head high in Valhalla.’
I was a Christian of sorts. I had thought of the Blood Feud as a matter of vengeance. It was not until that moment that I understood that for Thormod and his kind, it was a matter of a dead man’s honour. I was learning fast.
‘Each to his own way,’ the man said. ‘Yours, then, is to Kiev?’
‘And beyond to Miklagard if need be. Shall we go now and speak with this Ship-Chief of yours, while maybe he still has need of two
So we took the road to Miklagard.
Some days later, we sold the ponies at Aarhus, where theGreat Sound opens south into the Baltic Sea. And that same evening, while we sat in a waterside ale-shop under an old ship’s awning, with a pot of ale and a platter of pig-meat between us, a man turned in from the alleyway outside, spoke to the old one-legged pirate who kept the place, then came threading his way through the elbows and sprawling feet to the corner where we sat. He was rangy and loose-limbed, so tall that his rough sandy hair brushed the salt-stained canvas overhead, with a fair, freckled skin, and grey-green sea-water eyes.
‘Which of you is Thormod Sitricson?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ Thormod said.
‘So. You have been asking in the town, for two men.’
‘Aye.’
‘Would there be a drink in it, for me?’
‘If you can tell me where they are, and if they are the right men, as much drink as you can hold without bursting like an old wine-skin.’
The man hitched up a stool and sat down, leaning his elbows on the ale-stained trestle boards. ‘Anders and Herulf Herulfson, are their names; and one of them – Anders, it would be? – has a small scar on his cheek-bone, and odd eyes, one blue, one grey.’
Thormod nodded. ‘Where are they?’
‘I am thirsty,’ said the man, and grinned.
Thormod looked at him a moment, then turned and shouted to the potboy, ‘Drink, here!’
A brimming ale jug was brought, and the man hitched it towards him. ‘Drink heil!’ he said, and poured about half the jugful down his throat.
‘Wass heil!’ Thormod drank also. ‘Where are they?’
The man set down the jug and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Not here.’
‘I did not think they would be.’ Thormod reached out and removed the jug. They were grinning at each other, enjoying every moment of the game. ‘And I’d no mind to waste my time hunting them through Aarhus, and them already away. When did they sail? And what ship?’
‘Three days ago.’ The man took back the jug, drank again, and set it down. ‘They came to us of the
Red Witch
first. Hakon Ketilson is gathering a crew for the Kiev voyage and on to Miklagard; but the
Serpent
was sailing a few days ahead of us; and they seemed eager to be away.’
‘They would be,’ Thormod said.
The other cocked an eyebrow. ‘Friends of yours?’
There was a small sharp silence. Then Thormod said, ‘Until my father killed theirs by mischance; and they cried Blood Feud, and killed mine.’
‘So-o!
That
is the way of it! Small wonder they took oar with the
Serpent
rather than wait for the
Red Witch
. Yet they took no pains to cover their tracks.’
‘They would not be hiding their tracks,’ said Thormod into the ale-pot, and passed it to me.
The other stared at him a moment, then shrugged and turned again to his own drink. And in a little, Thormod said, ‘Would this Hakon Ketilson of yours be still gathering his crew?’
‘If it was me,’ said the man, ‘I’d appeal to the Judgement of the Thing, and accept their settlement as to Wyr Geld. Blood will not bring the old wolf back, and gold has always its uses.’
Watching Thormod, I saw his eyes slowly widen, fixed on the other’s face, and the muscles stiffen in his neck. ‘Yet for the old wolf – blood may give him the better right to sit with his head high in Valhalla.’
I was a Christian of sorts. I had thought of the Blood Feud as a matter of vengeance. It was not until that moment that I understood that for Thormod and his kind, it was a matter of a dead man’s honour. I was learning fast.
‘Each to his own way,’ the man said. ‘Yours, then, is to Kiev?’
‘And beyond to Miklagard if need be. Shall we go now and speak with this Ship-Chief of yours, while maybe he still has need of two
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