The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) (7 page)

I said no more. Floki was quiet for a long time, pondering my words. Finally, begrudgingly, he nodded his head. "I can see this," he said. "It is what Harald would have done." He took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. "But you should know this," he added. "Baug, me, Gudfred, and the others, we go on this voyage for one reason: to kill Toke. We will join with Jarl Hastein, and we will follow him on this voyage, because we must, to avenge Harald and the others. You should understand that we follow the jarl, not you. You may be Harald's half-brother, and Hrorik's son. You may be a warrior to the jarl and his men. But
we
know who you are. We know
what
you are. You are not a chieftain—especially not
our
chieftain, and you never will be. We are not
your
men."

We—the men-folk of the estate, and those few of us, like Einar and me, who'd traveled here with Hastein and deigned to help—finished cutting the hay that same day. Two days later, we brought it into the byre. Gudfred and Floki and some of the other carls protested that it was too soon, that the hay was still too green. Hastein countered that if they thought so, those who remained behind could continue turning it in the byre, to ensure it did not grow mold and spoil.

Hastein and Torvald began the training during the days while the hay lay drying out in the fields. It did not go well. The disagreement that had begun over the hay continued during the training, and grew into discord. Hastein and Torvald insisted that the men of the estate and village adopt their ways, their commands, their style of working together in a shield-wall. In truth, the differences between what Hastein demanded and what Hrorik's men were used to were minor. But some of Hastein's crew rolled their eyes and sniggered into their sleeves at the newcomers' initial awkwardness with moves and commands they did not know, and the men-folk of the estate and village seethed at the disrespect they felt was being shown them. In the few practice skirmishes that were fought, blows that should have been pulled were at times struck, and more than once tempers flared.

After three days of training—the last occurring after the practice was interrupted for a full day while the hay in the fields was gathered and hauled to the byre—Hastein declared that he was satisfied. Clearly he was not, but he must have felt that sailing with a crew not yet melded was the better alternative to sailing with one whose members were in a state of open hostility. He told Torvald to supervise the loading of provisions and fresh water aboard the ships, and have them ready to sail in the morn.

I had my own preparations to make. I had won considerable wealth during the campaign in Frankia. I felt it unwise to continue carrying it with me in my sea chest everywhere I traveled. Ships—even those commanded by the best of captains—sometimes sink.

During the days we'd been at the estate, I had continued to use the small enclosed sleeping chamber that formerly had been Hrorik's and Gunhild's as my own. It pleased me that by doing so, Gunhild was forced to continue sleeping in the bed-closet that had once belonged to my mother. I wished for her rest every night to be disturbed by the memory of how Hrorik had given it to my mother. It had infuriated Gunhild at the time. I hoped it angered her still.

After the first night, I had moved my sea chest from the
Gull
to the sleeping chamber. I opened it now and surveyed its contents. Some of them—my arms and armor, for certain, the blacksmith's tools I'd purchased in Hedeby, my spare clothing, the simple but sturdy pottery cup and bowl and wooden spoon that served as my mess kit, and at least some part of my considerable hoard of Frankish silver coins—I would carry with me on the coming voyage.

But I had won ten whole pounds of silver coins for Genevieve's ransom, paid reluctantly by her father, Count Robert. And added to that already significant sum was my share of the silver paid by the Franks' King Charles to ransom the city of Paris and buy the retreat of our army from his kingdom. Of the seven thousand pounds of silver—most, like Genevieve's ransom, paid in Frankish deniers—the four commanders of the army, Ragnar, Hastein, Ivar, and Bjorn, had each claimed one hundred pounds as their due. The rest had been divided equally among the one hundred and twenty ships of the fleet, to be further divided among each crew according to their felag.

In the
Gull
's crew, Hastein, as captain, was entitled to five shares under the felag. Given the huge sum he'd won as a commander of the army, he'd graciously relinquished those shares, so a greater amount could be divided among the rest of us. The shares of our fifteen dead had been set aside, to be given to their families. My portion, including my extra half share for serving as the ship's blacksmith, added almost two more pounds of silver coins to the profit I'd won on the campaign.

Many of the
Gull
's crew—and for that matter, most of the warriors of the army—had won far more wealth in Frankia from looting than from their share of the final ransom. I had not. Other than the fine sword and armor I had stripped from the body of Leonidas, Genevieve's cousin whom I'd slain, and the long spear that had belonged to a Frankish cavalryman I'd killed, I had acquired only a few items of value by theft. All of them—two silver candlesticks and an ornate silver cup, the kind the Christians called a chalice—I had taken from an altar in a small room I'd happened upon in the Abbey of Saint Genevieve, in Paris on the day I had led a party of warriors there to secure it. I had not, of course, told Genevieve, after we'd later become reacquainted, that I had taken these things. I felt certain she would have thought less of me for stealing from her convent, and her God. 

The coins paid for Genevieve's ransom had conveniently been transferred to my possession in two sturdy leather sacks. I pulled them now from the sea chest and set them on the bed, then dumped the rest of my silver—loose coins, cup, and candlesticks—out of the chest and onto the bed beside them.

How much to take, and how much to leave behind? What might this voyage bring—what needs that would require silver?

I had acquired the habit of carrying at least ten or so coins in the small pouch I always wore on my belt, in which I kept my flint and steel, a small whetstone, and the comb my mother gave me. That clearly was not enough for a voyage of unknown duration. Searching through my sea chest, I came upon the small leather bag I'd filled with iron arrowheads that I'd found in a storeroom in Count Robert's island fortress in the middle of the Seine River in Paris. I dumped the arrowheads out, rolled them up in a piece of sheepskin I cut from one of the hides that had been used to cover the sleeping chamber's floor, and tucked them back into the chest. I decided that I would take with me as many silver coins as the bag would hold, and would leave the rest behind, in a safe hiding place.

I was filling the leather sack with coins from among the loose coins I'd dumped on the bed, when a shadow darkened the entrance to the chamber. I glanced up and saw Astrid standing there, holding a wooden chest in her arms. Several pieces of folded clothing were on top of it. Her face was still discolored by the bruises from the blows Toke had struck, but over the past few days she had otherwise recovered somewhat from the attack, and no longer seemed in a daze, or cowered whenever someone approached her.

"This is for you," she said, and held out the chest and clothes.

"What is it?" I asked, not understanding how she could have anything for me.

"These were Sigrid's. She saved the feast clothes she made you, for Hrorik's funeral feast. And some of Harald's things are here, too. Sigrid kept them. She did not wish any of Toke's men to end up with them. I am certain she would want you to have them."

I took the chest and clothes from Astrid's hands and set them on the bed, beside the pile of silver. I saw her eyes widen when she saw the mound of coins.

The chest was small—less than a third the size of my sea chest—but of much finer quality. The wood was a dark, lustrous walnut, and the hinges and catch—which included a lock, from which a key protruded—were of bronze, cast in an ornate design that included a serpent coiled around each piece. I opened it and began removing its contents, one by one.

As Astrid had said, among them were the feast clothes Sigrid and my mother had made for me by altering some of Harald's clothing, while he and I had labored to build the death ship in which the bodies of Hrorik and my mother would be burned. The white linen tunic, with embroidery around the sleeves and neck, I folded and added to my sea chest. It would make a comfortable under-tunic to wear beneath a wool one. The green wool trousers I added to my sea chest, too. They were in good condition, and looked much finer now than the brown ones—also made for me by Sigrid—I was currently wearing, which over the past months had acquired a number of stains and showed considerable wear.

The short cloak I'd worn at the funeral feast I folded and placed on the bed. It was a garment designed more for appearance than usefulness, and would provide little protection from wind and rain on a sea voyage. The fancy silver brooch I'd worn to secure it at the feast I added to my pile of silver coins and treasure that I intended to leave here. I preferred to fasten my cloak with the much simpler ring brooch I had been using ever since my journey north to the Limfjord with Harald.

The next item my hands pulled from the chest caused me to suck in my breath in surprise when I realized what it was: a small sealskin pouch, containing the scroll whose writings, about the White Christ, my mother had used to teach me Latin. I'd thought it long lost.

"Sigrid kept it, to remember Derdriu by," Astrid said.

It was all I had left now of my mother's, besides the small comb she had given me. I was glad the scroll had not been lost. I was glad Sigrid had kept it.

The rest of the chest's contents had belonged to Harald. There was much less than I would have expected: a small knife, a comb made from walrus ivory, and a pair of short but sturdy leather boots. I tried them on. They were a little large, but if I wrapped my feet with rags or stuffed dried grass in the toes to fill the space, they would do, and would provide far greater protection from winter weather than my own well-worn shoes. I added them to my sea chest.

When I picked up the knife to examine it, Astrid volunteered, "Sigrid gave that to Harald, as a gift." Its blade was short—no longer than my forefinger—and its handle was formed from a piece of deer antler. A dark brown leather scabbard encased the blade and half of the handle. I remembered that Harald had sometimes used this knife to cut his meat with, at meals. It was a handy size. The dagger I wore at my belt—a gift from Harald, given to me on the night he had died—had a long blade that could be unwieldy for delicate work. I added the knife, too, to the contents of my sea chest.

"Is this all?" I asked. I remembered a silver cup Harald had often used. Where was it? For that matter, what of Harald's inheritance, his share of Hrorik's treasure? And what had happened to Sigrid's share? Was their treasure what Toke had dug up the floor of this chamber looking for? Had he found it?

"Sigrid gave most of Harald's things to his closest comrades, after we learned of his death. She kept just a few to remember him by." Astrid answered.

I looked at her. "Do you have anything that belonged to him—to Harald?" She had shared his bed, and although as a thrall she'd had no hope he would marry her, she'd still visibly cared for him.

Astrid shook her head.

"Take this," I said, and gave her the comb. "To remember Harald by. I am sure he would have wanted you to have it."

She held the comb in the palm of her hand, saying nothing, just staring at it. I could not see her expression—her head was hanging down, and her braids hid her face—but after a few moments she sniffed, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and tucked the comb into the small pouch on her belt.

The folded clothes Astrid had stacked on top of the chest had all belonged to Harald. Sigrid had, I supposed, not yet found appropriate recipients for them. One of the pieces she'd kept was the fine linen tunic, dyed a deep crimson color, that Harald had worn for the somber feast when he'd addressed the folk of the estate and the village, that first night after he and Hrorik and the others had returned from their ill-fated voyage to England. It was his feast tunic, and was a fine one. Its color was remarkable. No doubt the dye for it had been costly. Harald had worn the tunic on the night of Hrorik's funeral feast, also. Saying nothing, I folded it and placed it in my sea chest. It would be my feast tunic, now. I would think of Harald whenever I wore it.

There was also a gray tunic of especially thick, heavy woolen cloth. I recognized it as Harald's winter tunic that he wore when venturing out in harsh weather in the coldest months. As a slave, I'd often admired it. It, too, I folded and added to my sea chest. It would be useful in the coming winter.

There was still another tunic, and a pair of trousers. They were more clothes than I could use. Even if I'd wanted them, my sea chest was almost full already.

"Give these to Fasti," I told her. "Tell him they were Harald's. Tell him they are a gift from me."

As she turned to go, she said, "You must find her. Sigrid—you must save her. You must save her from Toke," and then she hurried away.

After Astrid left, I returned to my preparations for the coming voyage. I finished filling the leather sack with coins, knotted the cord around its neck, and tucked it in the bottom of my sea chest. The other, smaller chest—the one than had belonged to Sigrid—I filled with the remainder of my treasure: the two bags containing Genevieve's ransom, the loose coins, and the silver chalice, candlesticks, and brooch. The latter pieces I wrapped in the short cloak. I weighed adding my gold torque and the fine, silver-trimmed drinking horn which Hastein had given me to the little chest, and leaving them behind, too. But they both could be useful in making an impression. They were the kind of items a high-born noble or a renowned warrior might have. They made me feel more than a former slave. I decided I would keep them with me.