against outsiders who might come to rob? Forkbeard’s plunder sat in the open air for days after a raid so the people could see his success and reflect on his power. His kin would never steal from him. Also, bodyguards worked for loyalty and honour not pay, and only nobles had them. Veles was a commoner, a thrall even. The whole thing struck the prince as immoral.
Vali eyed the man suspiciously and went inside. The house was built around a big single room, with separate pens for goats and small cattle leading off it. Vali thought this luxurious. In Disa’s house the goats had shared the same space as the humans. Veles did not seem quite as prepared as he had said at the quay. There was no food for a feast and not much in the way of ale, though the merchant had dispatched a boy and assured them that these things were on their way.
The main living space was richly appointed with furs on the floors, the smell of sweet herbs masking the stink of the town outside and animals within, and the walls were hung with strange embroideries of wool and linen. One showed a woman surrounded by winged men, another the god Vali had seen at the raid on the island, again impaled like Odin on a tree.
Veles saw Vali looking at them.
‘Bought for warmth and beauty rather than from religious fervour,’ said Veles, ‘one god being much like another, I find.’
A small dark woman, the same race as Veles, came in, along with a gaggle of three boys, their hair black and shiny. One of the children had a bear mask, like the wolf mask Veles now had in his hand. He held it to his face and chased the others, growling.
‘You see what I mean,’ Veles said. ‘These objects are sacred to the Whale People of the north. A brother people to my own, the Neuri, have similar things. With a mask, a Neuri man or a northern sorcerer can transform himself into a beast. Here, they are playthings for my children.’
Feileg stretched out his hand for the mask that Veles was holding and the merchant gave it to him.
‘Why do you wear that?’ said Vali.
‘To attract attention at the quay,’ said Veles. ‘Here a merchant needs to be seen. The Christians have a saying — a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I, as you see, am rather the reverse.’
Feileg was looking at the children and the woman through the mask. When he took it down, Vali could see that tears had come to his eyes. The wolfman was unselfconscious and made no attempt to wipe them away.
‘The fire bothers you?’ said Veles.
Feileg shook his head. ‘I am sad because I am remembering my own family,’ he said.
‘How can you tear a man’s face off in one breath and be crying for your mummy with the next?’ said Bragi.
‘I am a wolf,’ said Feileg, and continued staring at the playing boys.
Veles raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. Then he clapped his hands and spoke to the eldest boy. ‘Jarilo, you are too old to be chasing around like that. Here, go and slaughter a goat — we have esteemed guests.’
The boy picked up a knife and headed towards the pens, keenly pursued by his brothers.
‘Woman, fetch wine from Geiri as quick as you can. Tell him payment will be his within the week. Is this how you prepare when I tell you the prince of all the north is a guest in our house?’
Now it was the woman’s turn to look to the heavens, as she put down her broom and made her way outside.
‘You ought to beat her more,’ said Bragi.
‘I couldn’t beat her more if I made it my only occupation,’ said Veles in a low voice, craning his head to make sure his wife was out of earshot, ‘but still she doesn’t obey.’
‘She bears no bruises,’ said Bragi.
‘Obotrite women do not bruise easily,’ said Veles. ‘They also kick like cows and bite like sows. Come, have some ale while we wait for the wine.’
There was a large bowl of the murky beer under a cloth on the side and he passed it among them.
The men drank and, as they did, visitors came and went. There were other merchants with their wares, there were curious children and there were friends of Veles, come to meet the new arrivals.
The butchered goat was brought in, and when Veles’ wife returned she grilled the meat over the fire, which Vali thought a strange choice when there was a stew pot within hand’s reach. He wondered if this was some Obotrite custom. Still, he had to admit it was delicious and that the wine went very well with it. After the long journey eating fish and whatever plants they could find near the shore the meal was lovely, and Vali began to feel light-headed. In drink, Bragi could not be prevented from telling the tale of the defence against the Danes, at several points holding Vali’s arm in the air as he related some particularly momentous aspect of the victory.
Eventually, Vali found himself seated next to Veles on a low stool near the fire. In the smoke and the glow of the flames the easterner resembled some sort of strange spirit, sparks flying around him as he spoke, the jewels he had put on in the safety of his house — amber and jet attached to his ears, gold arm rings and brooches — sparkling in the firelight.
Perhaps this was Lord Loki he had prayed to, taken human form to help him, Vali thought. And perhaps not, though Veles was certainly a different sort of man, as Loki was a different sort of god. Vali knew no one else who dropped eastern poems from his lips or who talked always of markets and gold rather than battles. Veles had no means of support, as far as Vali could see — no herds or fields, or even a trade beyond buying and selling. Vali found his company exhilarating but at the same time unsettling. He thought of Adisla. Was she even alive? A crowd of emotions came in on him: anger, concern and desperation.
‘You are thinking of the girl,’ said Veles. ‘I can see she is more than a princess to you — your face betrays you. What is her name?’
The wine and the food, the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being among friends lessened Vali’s caution. ‘Adisla,’ he said.
‘Adisla?’ said Veles. Vali had not been able to imagine what would break Veles’ mask of urbanity. That did. His voice dropped as if he was about to say something he needed to conceal from the others. ‘I remember her from my visit to you when you were a child. She’s a pretty thing, I’ll grant you, but tell me you haven’t come all this way for a farmer’s daughter. Have you?’
Vali swilled the dregs of the wine in the bottom of his cup and said, ‘She is everything to me.’
Veles rolled his eyes to the rafters.‘You sound like an Arab!’ he said. ‘They’re always banging on about love. “Mine is the religion of love! Wherever God’s caravans turn, the religion of love shall be my religion and my faith!”’
‘It seems a better choice than a religion of war.’
‘Really?’ said Veles with mock shock. ‘And you descended from Odin as well.’
‘I am sick of that fellow,’ said Vali. ‘If there are gods, I would prefer one of love.’
‘You should speak to the Christians,’ said Veles. ‘King Charles of the Franks piously follows the god Christ, who is a god of love. The king has so much love in his heart that he turns the rivers red with the blood of his god’s enemies. That’s a rare love indeed.’
‘I’ll be wary of that sort of love,’ said Vali.
‘You should — and of the sort you seem possessed by. It does not do to love women too much, don’t all your people say that? An Umayyad merchant told me one story of a caliph, a king of many lands, who fell in love with a slave girl. He could demand from her anything he wanted but that wasn’t enough for the idiot. She had to give it freely. He saw the wrong sort of look in her eye one night when they were in bed together and threw himself off a tower.’
‘What is a tower?’ said Vali.
‘A high building, too high to jump off, big as a cliff. They have them in the east, like a fort but not for war.’
‘What’s a fort not for war?’ said Vali.
Veles laughed. ‘A woman’s heart, it seems, at least according to our friend the caliph. There are plenty of women who will love you. If one doesn’t, through inclination or circumstance, find one who will. Better that than chase half around the world to have what you could get for thirty silver at a slave market.’
Vali looked into the fire. ‘I won’t abandon her. Neither you with jokes nor Forkbeard with threats will shake me from my purpose.’
