found him alone in the courtyard, wrapped in an old sheepskin, standing close to the brazier and stamping his feet on the snow. “He walked into the hall one night two summers ago and asked Orm if he needed another warrior. Orm made him fight Ari as a test, and that’s how Ari lost his ear. He’s lucky Rurik didn’t cut him to pieces. Orm’s no fool, and he could see Rurik was the real thing.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t they all warriors?”
“Appearances can deceive, Gunnar.” Thorkel’s smile faded. “Plenty of men think they can be warriors. But there’s a world of difference between pushing women and children and slaves around and being a man your shield brothers can depend on when the sky darkens with arrows and blades rise and fall. I’ve seen all that. I haven’t always spent my days guarding Orm’s slave pens. I can tell you, Rurik is as good a warrior as you’ll find.”
“Is that why Starkad hates him? He makes no secret of it.”
“Starkad is full of envy,” said Thorkel. “He wishes he could be a warrior like Rurik. So he plots against Rurik, and tries to make the other men hate him too.”
“But what about Orm? He likes Rurik, doesn’t he?”
“Orm does what’s best for Orm. It suits him to have Rurik around, so he lets him get away with a lot. You would have lost an eye or a hand for what you did to Hogni if Rurik hadn’t bought you. But Rurik is his own worst enemy, especially when he’s bored or has one of his dark moods.”
Gunnar knew what Thorkel meant. Every so often a black cloud of gloom seemed to settle on Rurik. He would fall silent for a day, as if speaking were too painful, and he would lie on his bed, or go to a tavern and get drunk.
“Why does he have them? Did something happen to him, Thorkel?”
“Ah, that I don’t know.” A blast of wind made the flames flap in the brazier, and Thorkel shivered and pulled his sheepskin more tightly round him. “But I can guess. He was once a warrior in the Greek Emperor’s guard, and now he serves a fat slave-trader in filthy Kaupang. It’s not Miklagard, is it?”
Just then Gunnar heard a harsh chattering noise behind him and looked round. Two magpies were standing on the roof of Hogni’s smithy, flapping their wings up and down and staring at him. “Did you say … the Greek Emperor’s guard?” he murmured, slowly turning back to Thorkel. “In Miklagard?”
“I did,” Thorkel answered, his eyes narrowed. “Is it important?”
“No,” said Gunnar. But it was very important indeed.
T EN
S HADOW OF THE P AST
G UNNAR HEADED BACK to Rurik’s hut deep in thought. Father had been a warrior in the Greek Emperor’s guard too, so he and Rurik might have known each other, perhaps even fought in the same battles. If they had, then perhaps Rurik could be persuaded to think of him not as a slave, but as the son of a shield brother, someone he should help. Gunnar had begun to wonder if he would ever be able to escape from Kaupang unaided. Talking to Rurik about Miklagard was worth a try, anyway, although he would have to choose the right moment.
After a while he turned a corner – and stopped in his tracks. Two boys were standing by the entrance to another alley a little further ahead. One of them was Gauk, and he was talking intently to the other, a red-haired boy who seemed nervous and bewildered. Suddenly Gunnar realized what Gauk was doing, and he felt a hot rush of anger. Gauk had found another victim.
“What do
you
want, slave?” said Gauk, frowning as Gunnar approached.
“Let me guess what he’s said to you,” Gunnar said to the red-haired boy. “He’s offered to take you to a great tavern.”
“That’s right,” said the boy. “How did you know?”
“Don’t listen to him, my friend,” Gauk said, easing between Gunnar and the boy. “He’s nothing but a slave who talks too much. On your way, Gunnar.”
“I know because that’s how he trapped me,” said Gunnar. “I’m a slave
“What do you mean? Aren’t they all warriors?”
“Appearances can deceive, Gunnar.” Thorkel’s smile faded. “Plenty of men think they can be warriors. But there’s a world of difference between pushing women and children and slaves around and being a man your shield brothers can depend on when the sky darkens with arrows and blades rise and fall. I’ve seen all that. I haven’t always spent my days guarding Orm’s slave pens. I can tell you, Rurik is as good a warrior as you’ll find.”
“Is that why Starkad hates him? He makes no secret of it.”
“Starkad is full of envy,” said Thorkel. “He wishes he could be a warrior like Rurik. So he plots against Rurik, and tries to make the other men hate him too.”
“But what about Orm? He likes Rurik, doesn’t he?”
“Orm does what’s best for Orm. It suits him to have Rurik around, so he lets him get away with a lot. You would have lost an eye or a hand for what you did to Hogni if Rurik hadn’t bought you. But Rurik is his own worst enemy, especially when he’s bored or has one of his dark moods.”
Gunnar knew what Thorkel meant. Every so often a black cloud of gloom seemed to settle on Rurik. He would fall silent for a day, as if speaking were too painful, and he would lie on his bed, or go to a tavern and get drunk.
“Why does he have them? Did something happen to him, Thorkel?”
“Ah, that I don’t know.” A blast of wind made the flames flap in the brazier, and Thorkel shivered and pulled his sheepskin more tightly round him. “But I can guess. He was once a warrior in the Greek Emperor’s guard, and now he serves a fat slave-trader in filthy Kaupang. It’s not Miklagard, is it?”
Just then Gunnar heard a harsh chattering noise behind him and looked round. Two magpies were standing on the roof of Hogni’s smithy, flapping their wings up and down and staring at him. “Did you say … the Greek Emperor’s guard?” he murmured, slowly turning back to Thorkel. “In Miklagard?”
“I did,” Thorkel answered, his eyes narrowed. “Is it important?”
“No,” said Gunnar. But it was very important indeed.
T EN
S HADOW OF THE P AST
G UNNAR HEADED BACK to Rurik’s hut deep in thought. Father had been a warrior in the Greek Emperor’s guard too, so he and Rurik might have known each other, perhaps even fought in the same battles. If they had, then perhaps Rurik could be persuaded to think of him not as a slave, but as the son of a shield brother, someone he should help. Gunnar had begun to wonder if he would ever be able to escape from Kaupang unaided. Talking to Rurik about Miklagard was worth a try, anyway, although he would have to choose the right moment.
After a while he turned a corner – and stopped in his tracks. Two boys were standing by the entrance to another alley a little further ahead. One of them was Gauk, and he was talking intently to the other, a red-haired boy who seemed nervous and bewildered. Suddenly Gunnar realized what Gauk was doing, and he felt a hot rush of anger. Gauk had found another victim.
“What do
you
want, slave?” said Gauk, frowning as Gunnar approached.
“Let me guess what he’s said to you,” Gunnar said to the red-haired boy. “He’s offered to take you to a great tavern.”
“That’s right,” said the boy. “How did you know?”
“Don’t listen to him, my friend,” Gauk said, easing between Gunnar and the boy. “He’s nothing but a slave who talks too much. On your way, Gunnar.”
“I know because that’s how he trapped me,” said Gunnar. “I’m a slave
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