26
‘Melun,’ said Aelis as the horse slowed in the trees. ‘We’ll go to Melun. The town is loyal to my brother and the Northmen have not come so far down this time.’
Leshii nodded. He didn’t like the sound of that. In Melun the lady would go back to her people. Yes, they might reward him for looking after her, but then again they might not. He knew very well how capricious and unpleasant rulers could be. What if her brother decided that cutting her hair had been dishonourable or that no foreign man could have stayed on the road for so long with a young woman without taking advantage of her? He didn’t even know who was in charge in Melun — some local noble or bishop who would want the glory of finding the lady for himself? Helgi and his promised reward remained the best bet.
The trouble was that the lady had got her bearings and knew exactly where she was going. He had thought he might fool her, take her on his path and call it her path, so to speak. But he could think of no other option, so if the lady wanted to go to Melun, then he had to go there too. Her horse pressed forward through the trees, heading south down the river and Leshii followed, leading the mule.
‘Lady, following the river’s too obvious; they will think of searching for you there.’
Aelis said nothing, just kicked her horse forward. They travelled all day, passing the burned remains of three monasteries. The Vikings wouldn’t make a full push without their ships but were willing to make the occasional incursion on foot.
Eventually the trees thinned and gave way to a conglomeration of little fields and houses. It was dusk and a big red sun dipped behind them as they approached. Peasants came out to look at them, at first shouting and hissing and fetching staves, but Aelis spoke to them in Roman, calming them and telling them she was the cousin of Robert the Strong with a message from Count Eudes to the bishop on his island monastery. She had killed the Viking king and was here to encourage the men of the countryside to take heart and rally to Paris’s defence. She did not reveal herself as the count’s sister because she knew her people. It would have been too much for them to take in that she was dressed as a man, let alone travelling unchaperoned with a strange foreigner and her hair exposed for all to see. They would kill the merchant and brand her a whore. The disguise would have to remain intact for now.
The news of Sigfrid’s death soon spread through the farms and quickly there was such a throng that Aelis and Leshii could go no further. The farmers called out questions — ‘Did he die well?’ ‘Is his head on the city walls?’ ‘Do his men withdraw?’ — and offered ale and bread, praising the lad who had done such a fabulous deed. ‘Stay with us tonight and tell us your stories,’ someone called. ‘Please, lord, favour your people.’ Aelis was tired and suddenly the cold she had felt in the river came flooding back to her. It would be good to take a bed among these people. She looked to Leshii and he smiled. The merchant reflected that it was bad luck to lose the chance to take the lady east but consoled himself with the thought that at least he was used to it. The way the fates had treated him in the last few days would have been too much of a shock for a man accustomed to good fortune.
Leshii and Aelis were taken to the biggest house in the village. It was a mean place, low-roofed with walls of wood, straw, mud and dung, but the fire inside was warm and there were chairs to sit on and a bed to lie down on. Aelis did not dare remove her war gear for fear of exposing herself as a woman, but was so tired she fell asleep on the reeds of the floor and was covered with a blanket by the farmer’s wife. Leshii fared less well. Foreigners were always suspect and he was left to sleep as best he could. These were not the cosmopolitan people of Paris but peasants, some of whom had never even been to the town of Melun, whose walls they could see from their own fields.
Aelis slept dreamless and deeply with the farmer’s family around her, some on the floor, most in the bed they had been glad not to have to give up to the young lord. The fire was low and the night was dark by the time the first raven alighted near the smoke vent, its landing as soft as a raindrop’s. Then a second bird joined it, and a third.
27
A shape emerged from the shadows to stand by the seated figure of the woman with the ruined face in the firelight. The man himself had a face that was ravaged and torn and in his hand he carried a cruel curved sword in a scabbard.
‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘though it will be death by water, I know.’
The woman did not turn from the fire. The voices were few and distant in the empty spaces of the evening but the woman knew they were not alone. Men were camped around them among the trees. She could sense their breath, sense the heat of their animals and the sour note of fear on their skin, fear of what was behind them in the camp and what was in front of them in the half dark. They were scared of her, she could tell, but they were not there to kill her. Murmurs stirred in the trees like the rustle of leaves. ‘What next?’ ‘She will know.’ ‘She is a Norn and weaves the skein of our fate now.’ ‘What does she want?’ ‘What they always want.’ ‘What?’ ‘Death.’
Hugin ignored the whispers behind him and took his sister’s hand. She squeezed gently on his fingers. He uttered a single word: ‘Success.’
The woman turned to him on instinct, though her eyes did not see him. As she moved, the whispers fell silent.
‘I saw her face,’ said Hugin. ‘We will catch the monster now; it is only a matter of time. Don’t be scared, my sister. Our struggles and sufferings will bring their reward.’
Munin squeezed her brother’s fingers again. ‘You’re troubled,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘You’re troubled.’
‘The wolfman found us again.’
‘He has the stone and I cannot see him. But that is not what is troubling you.’
‘I have seen her before,’ he said.
The woman now put her other hand over his. ‘Here?’
‘Not here. Before.’
‘This has happened before. It’s a powerful magic that she carries with her. You have had a glimpse of something, that is all.’
‘Of what?’
‘She and you. In another lifetime. It has been revealed to you already. She was the god’s death before, and unless she is stopped she will be once more.’
Hugin nodded. ‘Then she will be stopped.’
A horse somewhere breathed out and a man said a word to calm it.
‘Who are these?’ said Munin.
‘Grettir’s war band. Hated by Rollo. Their ships have been seized and they have put the thread of their fate in my hands. They are here if we need them. They are two hundred and fifty men. Will we need them?’
The woman bowed her head in thought. Beside the fire was a tangle of branches bearing the long-leafed fingers of the ash tree. Hugin took one up and cast it onto the fire. Then he sat back by his sister, gave her his hand again and listened as she chanted.
‘Blood, by blood begot,
Flame, by flame begot,
Death, by death begot.’
Over and over again she intoned the words until they were no more than an numbing haze of noise. There
