Jehan tended the fire, shaking with fear at the thought of the hunger he knew was inside him.
45
The estuary was enormous, mile after mile of slick flat mud, the morning turning the sky to mother-of-pearl, the water to a deep green. The fisherman had taken back their boat and told Aelis and Leshii that there was an abbey and village they could walk to at the mouth of the river — Saint-Valery. They were true to their word. The abbey was an impressive group of buildings of pale stone. It stood on a long promontory to the west, looking out over the wide sweep of ocean.
It was well positioned to see any attack coming, but the vantage point had clearly done it very little good. Three dragon ships had been pulled up onto the mud. Low, sleek and slim, they really did look like dragons, lain out asleep on the shining flats.
‘We’ll find no traders here,’ said Aelis. They were crouched behind some bushes on the bank.
‘No,’ said Leshii, ‘but we are luckier than you think. Come on.’
‘I am afraid.’
Leshii shrugged. ‘We have seen no birds for two weeks now.’
‘There are three longboats full of Danes,’ said Aelis, ‘our sworn enemies. Even if you can persuade them to take us, I can’t conceal my womanhood for weeks on the sea. Will I be the only man on the boat who doesn’t piss over the side? What will happen to me — to us — when they realise?’
‘They are not Danes,’ said Leshii. ‘I can tell by the ships.’
‘What are they then?’
‘They call themselves the sons of Freyr, who is their god. Ynglings, Scylfings, pirates and merchants of Birka.’
‘And what is their purpose at the monastery?’
‘Death and destruction most likely, but I doubt they dealt out any.’
‘Why not?’
‘The monks watch for them, and when they see them coming, take their treasures and run away. They’ll have been lucky to find a goat to butcher.’
‘That will put them in a good temper.’
‘We’ll see. Look at the ships. What’s unusual about them?’
‘I see nothing unusual.’
‘Well there isn’t much, but when we get closer you’ll see that the prows aren’t dragons, as they might seem from here. They are snakes.’
Aelis shook her head. ‘I’m going no closer to those people.’
Leshii smiled. ‘I know the ships,’ he said. ‘I know their king. This is our best way to Ladoga, and it’s a rare piece of luck, believe me. This man trades out of Birka and Ladoga. I have met him. I have sold him silks.’
‘But what are you going to tell him?’
‘Something like the truth,’ said Leshii, and he stood up and strode across the mud towards the ships, pulling the mule behind him.
Aelis watched him for a second. And then she offered a prayer and followed him.
Leshii was calling out as he went forward: ‘Great Scylfings, lords of the ocean, descendants of Vanheim, greetings, friends, greetings. I bring you enormous fortune.’
Nine warriors, three to each boat, stood up, spears ready, swords drawn, axes across their shoulders.
‘No need for weapons, friends. Only me, Leshii of Aldeigjuborg, and a boy servant here. We are unarmed.’
‘Your servant carries a fine sword, friend.’
‘Oh, that. That is mine. I am a trader not a warrior, and I don’t choose to carry it or strap it to a mule where pilfering Franks can steal it. Where is Giuki? Where is your king? He will bless you that found me on this beach.’
‘How do you know our lord’s name?’
‘He wears a shirt of red silk? I sold it to him.’
‘That tore the first time a Frank grabbed it. You owe him his money back, merchant.’
‘The famous Scylfing sense of humour!’ said Leshii. ‘Where is the king? Lead me to him.’
‘I want that sword,’ said a tall, rough man with a face as brown and mottled as a toad’s back. He had a great axe across his shoulders and his voice was slow and low, stupid-sounding. He pointed to the weapon at Aelis’s side.
‘Give it to him and I’ll ask Giuki to make him give it back.’
Aelis drew the sword. ‘It’s here,’ she said, ‘for anyone who will take it.’
‘What’s he say, merchant?’
‘The sword is but poor quality. It looks fine but it would let you down in battle.’
‘That is not what he said,’ said the axeman.
‘He is young, friends, and seeks to protect me.’
‘Is he a Frank?’
‘No, good lord, no! He is of my people.’
‘I’ll still take the sword.’
The axeman got down from the ship and Aelis pointed the sword towards him.
‘You shouldn’t have something you have no idea how to use, boy,’ said the axeman. ‘Give it to me now, or I’ll kill you where you stand.’
Aelis couldn’t understand his words but she sensed the animosity coming off him, sharp and cold as the winter wind. He took a pace forward, swinging his axe.
‘Don’t, Brodir,’ said one of the men on the nearest boat. ‘If this is a friend of Giuki, he’ll make you pay compensation.’
‘Thought of that,’ said the axeman. ‘How many dihrams for a slave? Seventy? That sword’s worth 150.’
‘You stupid bastard, he won’t let you keep the sword.’
‘Why not? It’s mine, taken in battle.’
Another laughed. ‘Easier to deal with learned men, eh, merchant?’
‘Get the king and I will see you are rewarded,’ said Leshii to the man as Brodir made his way across the sand towards Aelis.
‘I would, my friend, but he’s up in the monastery seeing if the monks have left us anything beyond dead mice. Your boy’ll be dead by the time I get there.’
‘Last chance,’ said Brodir. ‘Sword or death, boy.’
Aelis knew what these people respected and that, were she to give in, other indignities would come close behind. She’d acted as a servant for Leshii once, felt the kicks and prods of Saerda, the scorn of the berserkers, and she would not suffer that again, even if it meant death.
Brodir screamed and raised his axe. Aelis stumbled back, falling over and dropping the sword. Brodir laughed and stepped forward to pick it up. As she hit the sand, Aelis felt a lump in her back. She reached behind her, grasped the francisca and threw it hard at the Viking. The axe came at him quick and from below. Brodir turned his head, but it was too late. The axe took him in the throat under the jaw, splitting his windpipe and severing his neck arteries. He put his hand up to the axe, blood bubbling and spurting from the wound, his breath a sharp whistle, and tried to raise his own axe, but fell forward into the sand, turning it scarlet where he lay. There was a sound in Aelis’s ears — the chiming and chuckling and clucking of one of those symbols that seemed to live and grow inside her mind.
‘Ooh, that’s a shot and no mistake!’ said one Viking.
‘O Freyr, help us now!’ said another.
Aelis scrabbled for the sword, expecting the others to attack. But they just stood there looking at her and
