root up the carrots of the smith who had stolen his egg, to make him give it back.
‘The pig grunted once or twice. “No, not I,” he said and walked away.
‘The gull-king then met a hunter, who bowed politely and asked why the mighty lord of gannets was so distressed. The bird said: “Will you shoot an arrow at the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith and make him give me back my stolen egg?”
‘But the hunter shook his head. “Why should I? Leave me out of this.”
‘The gull-king wept tears of pure bile and flew on till he met a rat, who also asked why he was in tears. The gull-king said: “Will you gnaw and cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith and make him give back my egg?”
‘The rat squeaked once, then twice, then promised to do it — but ran away instead.’
‘Heya,’ yelled a voice from the dark. ‘I know that rat.’
‘I wed her,’ yelled another, which brought grim laughter and calls for silence equally. Crowbone waited until the silence again became painful, then continued.
‘Next, the gull-king met a cat and asked her to catch the rat who would not cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith and force him to give back the egg he had stolen.
‘The cat licked her whiskers once, then twice, then said she would rather mind her own business and ran off.
‘The poor gull-king was beside himself with anger and grief. His wails attracted the attention of a passing dog, who asked what was bothering the mighty gannet. He asked: “Will you bite the cat who would not catch the rat who would not cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not dig up the carrots of the smith who stole my egg?”
‘The dog barked once. “No, not I,” he said and ran away.
‘The gull-king’s wails grew louder and louder. An old man with a long white beard came that way and asked the screaming bird what the matter was. He said: “Grandfather, will you beat the dog who would not bite the cat who would not catch the rat who would not cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith who has stolen my egg and will not give it back?”
‘This greybeard shook his head at such foolishness and went his way. The gull-king, in desperation, next went to the fire for help and asked it to burn the white beard of the old man, but the fire would not do it. Next the gull- king went to the water and asked it to put out the fire which would not burn the beard of the old man who refused to beat the dog who would not bite the cat who would not catch the rat who would not cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith who had stolen his egg and would not give it back.
‘But the water just gurgled and refused to help Sterki the gull-king.
‘Frantic and furious, the gull-king swooped down on an ox, demanding that it stir up the water which would not put out the fire which refused to burn the beard of the old man who would not…
‘But the ox did not even wait for the explanation; it lowered its massive head and went back to chewing.’
Crowbone paused, as if to take a longer breath and those who knew the way of it stirred, for here was the closure of the tale; no-one moved or spoke.
‘Then,’ said little Crowbone, ‘the gull-king spotted a flea on the arse of the ox, who also asked what was troubling the mighty Sterki, king of gulls.
‘The gull-king, who would never have even noticed such a creature before, sprang eagerly up and bowed. “O flea! I know you can help me. Will you bite the arse of the ox for not stirring up the water which would not put out the fire which would not burn the beard of the old man who would not beat the dog who would not bite the cat who would not catch the rat who would not cut the bowstring of the hunter who would not shoot the pig who would not root up the carrots of the smith who stole my egg and will not give it back?”’
At which point there were admiring noises about Crowbone’s feat of memory, from those who did not realise he was not the boy he appeared.
‘The flea,’ said Crowbone, ignoring them, ‘thought about it for a moment, then said: “Why not? Here I go.” And he crawled right up the arse of the ox and bit, which made the beast dash into the pool of water and stir it up. The water splashed and began to put out the fire, which went mad and burned the white beard of the old man, who beat the dog, who ran after the cat and bit her. The cat caught the rat, who had to gnaw the string of the hunter’s bow before she was freed. The hunter tied on a new one and shot an arrow at the pig, who went and rooted up the carrots of the smith.
‘“Aha, aha!” shrieked the gull-king in triumph and the smith, looking ruefully at the remains of his carrot patch, shrugged and said: “You have succeeded, right enough, Sterki.”
‘The gull-king swooped and laughed. “Then hand back my egg,” he screamed. The smith blinked once and blinked twice.
‘“Is that what this is all about?” he asked and shook his head. “I ate that egg for breakfast days ago.”’
There was silence as the story echoed to a close. Men shifted, not liking the ending much.
‘Take the silver,’ Crowbone said softly. ‘Your egg is gone, Randr Sterki, and all your long revenge will not bring it back.’
There was silence, broken only by the hissing wind and the sibilance of shifting feet.
‘I should have killed you when I caught you running off,’ Randr said bitterly and Crowbone stepped closer, a spear in each hand and his voice sharper than either of them.
‘Instead,’ he said, his voice suddenly deeper than before, ‘you gave me to Klerkon’s woman, to beat and chain like a dog outside the privy. Instead, you had your woman and boy shave me with an edgeless seax. You let Kveldulf put his wean in my ma’s belly and then kick the life out of both of them when it suited him. And laughed.’
Randr blinked and shook his head, as if trying to drive that away like an irrelevant fly — but it would not quit him and he had no answer to it. Slowly, he nodded once, then twice. Behind him, men shifted and muttered and then a bearcoat threw back his head, howled and lurched at Crowbone. The gods alone know why, for there was no profit or sense in it, but those skin-wearing droolers seldom fight for either, though fighting is all they know.
It was like watching a cliff fall on a mouse — yet Crowbone did not even flinch, merely looked up, half-spun and threw with both hands. Two spears smacked the man, one in his chest, the other in his right thigh and he went pitching forward on his nose. Alyosha stepped forward smartly and axed his throat open, knowing a pelt-wearer was not dead until he was really dead.
Someone — from Randr’s own men — gave an admiring ‘heya’ even as the victim curled and writhed round the spears, like a hooked worm; the last trio of bearcoats, trembling on the brink of summoning power, looked at each other — and all their skin-magic soaked away, so that they seemed to wrinkle and sag like empty
‘Courage is not hacksilver, to be shut always in a purse,’ Red Njal growled, seeing this. ‘It needs to be taken out and shown the sun, as my granny used to say.’
‘Finish this,’ Hlenni called out, but I saw Crowbone’s warning eye and held up a stopping hand.
‘Enough has been done, one to the other,’ I said. ‘Take the silver you have dug up and let that be blood-price for any loss. Let this be an end.’
Randr’s face was smeared with twisted hate, yet he backed away then, into the maw of his men, hauling Hallgeir with him; one by one at first, then in groups, they sidled round the half-hidden men of Crowbone and slithered into the shadows, heading for my silver and safety.
Alyosha let out his breath with a sharp sound as the last one vanished and my own men rushed forward to free me.
‘Good throwing,’ Alyosha declared, but Crowbone frowned, looking at the dying man with disdain.
‘Too weak in the left hand,’ he answered. ‘Both spears were meant to go in his chest.’
In later life, Crowbone perfected throwing spears with both hands at the same time and it served him well, but this first attempt was timely enough for me, I thought, as eager hands untied me. I managed to get that out to him before Thorgunna’s embrace drove the air from me entirely.
Crowbone’s scowl vanished.
‘Aye, it was timely at that,’ he answered brightly, as if realising it for the first time.
