Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One (10 page)

Fourteen

April sunshine lifted Eadwulf’s spirits and he worked contentedly enough in the fields at the foot of the hillside. Spring ploughing had been done soon after the thaws of early March, and now the corn was being sown. It had been a long day and by the time he reached his bed he could barely keep his eyes open. The hall was warm from the remains of the hearthfire and he soon fell into a deep slumber.

‘Rouse yourself, Mercian.’ The venomous whisper was so close to Eadwulf’s ear that warm breath brushed his cheek. ‘Far side of the byre. Now!’

Eadwulf’s mouth went dry. He blinked into the darkness, but could make out no more than a shadowy form. Yet every fibre of his being told him it was Halfdan. Then the door creaked and he knew the boy had gone. For a moment he lay still, listening to the snores of the thralls and retainers along the benches, and wondered how long he’d slept. No light had squeezed through the doorway as Halfdan had left, not even the gloomy half-light of pre-dawn. Sunrise must still be some time off. He threw back his blanket, shivering, and shoved his feet into his shoes. Every instinct urged him to shout, alert the household to his predicament, tell them that Halfdan was going to . . . to do what? The only certainty was that Halfdan intended him harm. And waking everyone was more likely to gain him a thrashing than offers of help. He grabbed his coat and crept from the hall.

Tiny pin-pricks of light dotted the ink-black sky and moonbeams bathed the silhouette of the large byre ahead. Smaller buildings were strangely outlined, barns and food stores mostly, and the forge beyond Thora’s vegetable plots. Frosty air chafed his face and pungent odours assaulted his nostrils as he neared the imposing byre. Cattle lowed softly in their stalls.

A rumbling growl stopped him in his tracks. So, Ivar was here with his snarling dog. His heart hammered as though it would burst through his chest, his immediate impulse to flee back to the hall. Too late . . .

‘You took your time,’ Halfdan snarled, emerging from behind the byre. ‘Get over here before we unleash the hound.’

Eadwulf stepped towards him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of sensing his fear. ‘What do you want with me this time, Halfdan?’

A vicious punch to the stomach made Eadwulf double over and Halfdan knocked him to the ground. ‘
Master
to you, thrall! I told you before, a thrall
never
looks his master in the eye and isn’t worthy of speaking his name!’ Eadwulf struggled to catch his breath as the boy lowered himself to balance on one knee in front of him. ‘Say it! Go on, or l’ll–’

‘
What
will you do – kill me? How would you explain that to your father?’

The Danish boy shrieked and booted him hard in his side. ‘Say it, I said!’

Eadwulf gasped as hot pain shot through him. Halfdan grabbed his tunic and yanked him to his feet, shaking him as a hound would shake a captured hare. Overcome with dizziness, Eadwulf retched.

‘You should see
what you look like, Mercian – like the vomiting dog you are! Not so haughty now, are you? You’ll be even less
so when we’ve done with you.’

‘What . . . what do you mean? What are you going to do?’

‘Perhaps you thought it acceptable to behave as though you were not our inferior!’ Halfdan said, not answering the question. ‘Our father’s the greatest jarl in these lands, and you think you can look upon us as your equals! But you’re no more than a piece of shit, dragged to our land on the shoes of our warriors.’

The wolf-dog’s menacing growl struck terror into Eadwulf as Halfdan hauled him behind the byre, where a halo of candlelight illumined a group of figures. Wrapped in a thick cloak, Ivar lounged on a hefty log, his hunched back against the byre, his two aides at his sides. Eadwulf stood mesmerised by those deep, dark eyes, their reflected light forming fiery arrows that seemed to bore through to his very core.

Eventually, Ivar gestured to the ground, mere inches from the wolf-dog’s slobbering muzzle. ‘Sit down, Mercian. It’s high time your brazen impudence was punished. That seems fair, don’t you think?’

‘If I knew how I’ve displayed impudence, I’d be able to answer,’ Eadwulf replied, still standing.

Halfdan dealt another brutal kick, this time to Eadwulf’s thigh, and swung his fist to down him before Ivar.

‘You must know by now, Mercian, that my brother has a temper almost as quick as our father’s – or our mother’s, come to that,’ Ivar snorted. ‘Whereas I think before I act, and come up with solutions.’ He propped his chin on steepled fingers, the wolf-dog’s yellow eyes fixed on his face. ‘And after much deliberation, I’ve made the decision to set you free.’

‘That’s impossible! Father would never allow it! Why should we–?’

‘Hold your tongue, Halfdan! How typical of you to bluster before hearing a plan out. In a couple of hours it will be dawn,’ Ivar mused, glancing up at the cloudless black sky. ‘It will be a fine day I think, magnificently suited to the plan I’ve in mind.’ He wagged a finger at Eadwulf. ‘You will run; any direction you like. If you stay free, then so be it: you’ll no longer be a thrall. If you succeed in remaining free until noon, which entails outwitting Viggi, you have my word that we’ll never bother you again. Your word will also be required,’ he shot at his scowling brother. ‘
Now
, if you will!’

‘I give it,’ Halfdan grudgingly returned.

‘But if you’re caught, thrall, there’ll be little of you left after Viggi’s finished with you. He already senses you’re no friend of mine, for which he’ll happily make you pay dear.’

Halfdan grinned, nodding approval of the plan. ‘We’ll tell Father we saw the thrall sneaking from the hall and disappearing behind the huts,’ he enthused. ‘We spent a long time searching, of course, before taking Viggi out to follow his scent. But alas, by the time we found him, he’d paid dearly for his insubordination.’

‘A runaway thrall cannot expect mercy,’ Ivar stated, continuing Halfdan’s conjectures. ‘Our father would probably have sent the dogs out himself, had we not already dispatched the best hunter of the lot. . .

‘You will learn to show respect for your betters,
thrall
,’ he suddenly snapped, tired of this dalliance. ‘If you refuse to run, Reinn and Skorri here will drag you from the village and hold you until I release Viggi to follow your trail. Believe me, he’ll reach you well before Ragnar is alerted to your disappearance.’

Eadwulf looked from Ivar’s cold eyes to the feral, yellow ones of Viggi, finding no shred of mercy in either. The wolf-dog already strained at its leash to rip him apart.

‘What shall we say to Mother when she asks where–?’

‘Leave that to me Halfdan: I’ll think of something apt. Now,’ Ivar continued, ‘you have our word, Mercian, that
we’ll wait until sunrise before following after you, so you need to put some ground between us or our hunt will be so much easier. Of course, I’ll not be joining in the event; my brother and two companions will do the honours. But be very aware that Viggi’s hunting skills are second to none!’

Eadwulf’s stomach clamped tight. How could he agree to such a vindictive scheme? Yet how could he not?

Having no alternative, he ran.

* * *

Without a backward glance, Eadwulf sped between the food stores and huts towards the river, Ivar’s words ringing in his ears:

Hunting skills second to none, second to none. Hunting skills second to none . . .

He gave no thought to his direction, other than it being the nearest route out of the village, and he ran at almost breakneck speed, following the river upstream. He knew this stretch of land well and the moon was bright enough to cast some light. Panting wildly, his one panicked aim was to put distance between himself and the wolf-dog.

Hunting skills second to none, second to none . . .

As the moon and stars faded against the lightening sky, the realisation that dawn was approaching struck him like a stab in the chest, and he was forced to slow his pace. He must think, take stock of his location and decide what to do next.

Now, several miles upstream, the river had narrowed, though it surged full and turbulent, carrying extra volumes of spring snowmelt. Distant hills were silhouetted in the moonlight, and Eadwulf suddenly realised that the forested slopes would afford him cover.

But first, he must cross the river. If he waded some distance along the water, the dog would lose his scent and there was a possibility that Halfdan wouldn’t be able to fathom his route from then on. Once on the opposite bank he’d veer away from the river and take a direct route to the higher ground. Several miles of low-lying heath lay between himself and his goal, and he’d not be able to move quickly over such rough terrain. But the sky was paling fast and he had to reach the forest.

Again he broke into a run, heading further upstream until the gushing water appeared shallow enough to reach little higher than his knees. He wrapped his coat round his shoes to make them easier to carry, rolled up his trouser legs, and scrambled down the sloping bank into the river. Icy water pummelled his legs but he gritted his teeth and turned upstream. The riverbed was strewn with pebbles and rocks, most worn smooth by the flowing water but others sharp and jagged, making it difficult for him to find footholds; stringy weed entwined his toes. Each step was laboriously slow but he struggled on.

After less than a quarter of a mile he could no longer bear the river’s icy embrace and scrambled up the slippery bank on legs so numb he could barely feel them. Cold air drove at his skin and he donned his coat and shoes between bouts of violent shivering. Somehow he’d managed to keep them relatively dry, though, as he’d expected, his trousers unrolled stiff and wet. But he’d no time to worry over trivialities and was too cold to stand still any longer.

A ribbon of pink lined the eastern horizon as Eadwulf careered on, the wooded banks and lush water meadows gradually changing into the desolate and uninhabited scenery of the heath. But he paid scant attention to the short, undeveloped vegetation sprouting its new season’s green: the stubby shrubs and brackens; the purple flowering heather and yellow-blossomed gorse. He absently registered the occasional pine and spindly silver-barked birch standing conspicuous in its solitude. He ignored the scratches inflicted on his hands by the shrubs’ sharp prickles as he tore past. His mind focused only on the low hills in the distance.

The arc of the rising sun signalled the start of the new day, engulfing Eadwulf in another wave of panic. The wolf-dog would now be after him! Where was there to flee to out here? Scanning the horizon he could see nothing but endless heath. The forest seemed further away the faster he ran. Why had he run into this open place where he was so exposed and vulnerable? ‘Curses on you, Ivar! Curses on you, Halfdan!’ he screamed. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone!’

He could not have run any faster. His throat was raw from continuous panting and every inch of his skin was hot and clammy. On the verge of collapse he staggered on until the agonising stitch in his side allowed him to run no further. He threw himself forward, toppling onto a cushion of heather, where he stayed long enough to ease the stitch. He scrambled to his feet and ran again for the forest. As the land gradually rose the gorse and heather petered out, trees became more abundant and soon Eadwulf was into dense woodland. Then he heard that dreaded sound. Distant as yet, the barking struck utter terror in him. Which way should he run – deeper into the forest, or round the edges? Or should he find a tree to climb?

Panic gave little room for deliberation and he pushed deeper into the forest, dodging between the heavy oaks, the less grand birches, hazels, hollies and spindly saplings. Last year’s rotting leaves still littered the floor and their odour filled his nostrils. But no birdsong rang in the treetops, no squirrels scampered along the boughs; only the sounds of the distant barking of the wolf-dog reached his ears. Perhaps his fear would allow them to register nothing else.

He stumbled on until brought up short. Ahead, huge oaks loomed and between them fallen branches blocked all pathways but the one along which he’d come. He searched frantically for a way through as the barking grew louder. But it was useless, and he knew he had no option but to face his tormentors. That vindictive boy, Halfdan, must have set off well before sunrise. How else could he have been so close behind . . .?

He picked up a stout branch and waited. The barking became a menacing growl and the great beast pushed from the undergrowth, dragging Halfdan after him on the short leash, with the two grinning Danish boys close on his heels.

‘So, Mercian, time for Viggi’s reward, I think,’ Halfdan said slowly, straining to hold the the snarling dog in check. ‘Nice try at the river, by the way, but I knew you must have crossed
somewhere
once the water became shallower. Didn’t take much to work that out! The broken branches and flattened grasses up the bank were a bit of a giveaway. And naturally, Viggi had no problem picking up your scent across the heath.’ Halfdan picked gorse flowers and bits of foliage from his breeks with his free hand and smoothed down his tunic. ‘Nothing to say, thrall? Then let’s get this done with.’

Heart pounding, Eadwulf gripped the branch as Halfdan bent to unfasten the leather leash, the two boys peering from behind him, slavering in anticipation of gruesome entertainment.

‘Release the dog, Halfdan, and it’s dead.’

Halfdan spun round in alarm, treading on the hound’s tail and falling against Skorri and Reinn, bringing them down with him. The dog let out a yelp and snapped at Halfdan’s ankles, causing him to cry out in pain. The sight of his red-headed brother ready to loose the arrow from his bowstring caused Halfdan to emit such a startled cry that Eadwulf almost laughed.

‘What are you doing here, Bjorn? How long have you been standing there?’ Guilt coloured Halfdan’s face and he seemed to shrink beneath Bjorn’s scathing gaze.

‘More importantly, what exactly are
you
are doing here? But before you attempt your feeble explanations, Halfdan, I’ll answer your second question: I’ve been here long enough to see what you were about to do and apparently I’m only just in time to put a stop to it!’