The Burning Land

“We steal it, of course.”

He watched the brilliant heart of the fire where the driftwood burned brightest. Some folk say that the future can be read from the shifting shapes inside that glowing inferno, and perhaps he was trying to scry what fate held for us, but then he frowned. “Folk have learned to guard their silver,” he said softly. “There are too many wolves and the sheep have become canny.”

“That’s true,” I said. In my childhood, when the northmen returned to Britain, the plundering was easy. Viking men landed, killed, and stole, but now almost anything of value was behind a palisade guarded by spears, though there were still a few monasteries and churches that trusted their defense to the nailed god.

“And you can’t steal from the church,” Finan said, thinking the same thoughts.

“I can’t?”

“Most of your men are Christians,” he said, “and they’ll follow you, lord, but not into the gates of hell.”

“Then we’ll steal from the pagans,” I said.

“The pagans, lord, are the thieves.”

“Then they have the silver I want.”

“And what of her?” Finan asked softly, looking at Skade, who crouched close to me, but slightly behind the ring of folk around the fire.

“What of her?”

“The women don’t like her, lord. They fear her.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because she’s a sorceress?” I twisted to look at her. “Skade,” I asked, “do you see the future?”

She looked at me in silence for a while. A night-bird called in the marsh and perhaps its harsh voice prompted her because she gave a curt nod. “I glimpse it, lord,” she said, “sometimes.”

“Then say what you see,” I ordered her, “stand up and tell us. Tell us what you see.”

She hesitated, then stood. She was wearing a black woolen cloak and it shrouded her body so that, with her black hair that she wore unbound like an unmarried girl, she appeared a tall slim night-dark figure in which her pale face shone white. The singing faltered, then died away, and I saw some of my people make the sign of the cross. “Tell us what you see,” I commanded her again.

She raised her pale face to the clouds, but said nothing for a long while. No one else spoke. Then she shuddered and I was irresistibly reminded of Godwin, the man I had murdered. Some men and women do hear the whisper of the gods, and other folk fear them, and I was convinced Skade saw and heard things hidden from the rest of us. Then, just as it seemed as though she would never speak, she laughed aloud.

“Tell us,” I said irritably.

“You will lead armies,” she said, “armies to shadow the land, lord, and behind you the crops will grow tall, fed by the blood of your enemies.”

“And these people?” I asked, waving at the men and women who listened to her.

“You are their gold-giver, their lord. You will make them rich.”

There were murmurs round the fire. They liked what they heard. Men follow a lord because the lord is a gift- giver.

“And how do we know you do not lie?” I asked her.

She spread her arms. “If I lie, lord,” she said, “then I will die now.” She waited, as if inviting a blow from Thor’s hammer, but the only sounds were the sighing of wind in the reeds, the crackle of burning driftwood, and the slur of water creeping into the marsh on the night’s tide.

“And you?” I asked, “what of you?”

“I am to be greater than you, lord,” she said, and some of my people hissed, but the words gave me no offense.

“And what is that, Skade?” I asked.

“What the Fates decide, lord,” she said, and I waved her to sit down. I was thinking back across the years to another woman who had eavesdropped on the murmurs of the gods, and she had also said I would lead armies. Yet now I was a man who was the most contemptible of men; a man who had broken an oath, a man running from his lord.

Our peoples are bound by oaths. When a man swears his loyalty to me he becomes closer than a brother. My life is his as his is mine, and I had sworn to serve Alfred. I thought of that as the singing began again and as Skade crouched behind me. As Alfred’s oath-man I owed him service, yet I had run away, and that stripped me of honor and left me despicable.

Yet we do not control our lives. The three spinners make our threads. Wyrd bi? ful ar?d, we say, and it is true. Fate is inexorable. Yet if fate decrees, and the spinners know what that fate will be, why do we make oaths? It is a question that has haunted me all my life, and the closest I have come to an answer is that oaths are made by men, while fate is decreed by the gods, and that oaths are men’s attempts to dictate fate. Yet we cannot decree what we would wish. Making an oath is like steering a course, but if the winds and tides of fate are too strong, then the steering oar loses its power. So we make oaths, but we are helpless in the face of wyrd. I had lost honor by fleeing from Lundene, but the honor had been taken from me by fate, and that was some consolation in that dark night on the cold East Anglian shore.

There was another consolation. I woke in the dark and went to the ship. Her stern was rising gently on the incoming tide. “You can sleep,” I told the sentries. Our fires ashore were still glowing, though their flames were low now. “Join your women,” I told them, “I’ll guard the ship.”

Seolferwulf did not need guarding because there was no enemy, but it is a habit to set sentries, and so I sat in her stern and thought of fate and of Alfred, and of Gisela and of Iseult, of Brida and of Hild, and of all the women I had known and all the twists of life, and I ignored the slight lurch as someone climbed over Seolferwulf’s still-grounded bow. I said nothing as the dark figure threaded the rowers’ benches.

“I did not kill her, lord,” Skade said.

“You cursed me, woman.”

“You were my enemy then,” she said, “what was I supposed to do?”

“And the curse killed Gisela,” I said.

“That was not the curse,” she said.

“Then what was it?”

“I asked the gods to yield you captive to Harald,” she said.

I looked at her then for the first time since she had come aboard. “It didn’t work,” I said.

“No.”

“So what kind of sorceress are you?”

“A frightened one,” she said.

I would flog a man for not keeping alert when he is supposed to be standing watch, but a thousand enemies could have come that night, for I was not doing my duty. I took Skade beneath the steering platform, to the small space there, and I took off her cloak and I lay her down, and when we were done we were both in tears. We said nothing, but lay in each other’s arms. I felt Seolferwulf lift from the mud and pull gently at her mooring line, yet I did not move. I held Skade close, not wanting the night to end.

I had persuaded myself that I had left Alfred because he would impose an oath on me, an oath I did not want, the oath to serve his son. Yet that had not been the whole truth. There was another of his conditions I could not accept, and now I held her close. “Time to go,” I said at last because I could hear voices. I later learned that Finan had seen us and had held the crew ashore. I loosened my embrace, but Skade held onto me.

“I know where you can find all the gold in the world,” she said.

I looked into her eyes. “All the gold?”

She half smiled. “Enough gold, lord,” she whispered, “more than enough, a dragon-haunted hoard, lord, gold.”

Wyrd bi? ful ar?d.

I took a golden chain from my treasure chest and I hung it about Skade’s neck, which was announcement enough, if any announcement were needed, of her new status. I thought that my people would resent her more, but the opposite happened. They seemed relieved. They had seen her as a threat, but now she was one of us, and so