because the blood in my veins was beginning to tremble like water over coals, as it has always done before a fight. And yet strangely, my legs felt heavy, so heavy that I feared that if my nerve failed and I turned and ran, I would make it barely halfway back to the Danes before the blaumen cut me down. But that was a good thing because it meant that even though I was tempted to turn and run I would not.
‘Thór’s hairy whore,’ I muttered in relief. One of the riders had stopped and the other was coming on alone, his shield held wide to show he came in peace. I glanced up at the birds, dark specks still, jostling against the blue at the edge of the eyes’ range. I had noticed that the sky seemed to grow bigger the further south we sailed, and not just bigger but higher too, so that I wondered how Yggdrasil the World-Tree could be so huge that I could watch birds amongst the beams of the world yet still not see its branches.
The breeze shifted, bringing the stink of horse sweat and leather to my nose as the distance between the rider and myself closed. I could see his face clearly now, which was as dark as pitch, and his eyes which were proud verging on haughty. He rode with his chin high, studying me down the length of a strong, flaring nose. His moustaches and beard were short, neatly trimmed and glistening, and the white robes beneath a short mail brynja were dusty and mud-spattered, though the linen wrapped round his head was as clean as fresh snow. When he was three spear-lengths away his eyes narrowed and his thick lips gathered, the expression of arrogance melting to a deep, cold revulsion because he could now see my blood-filled eye.
‘Al-majus,’ he said, tossing his head and tugging the reinsto halt his bay mare. The beast whinnied and pulled its lips back from its yellow teeth, not liking the look of me either, as the blauman burbled on at me in a tongue that I doubted even he could unravel. So I smiled and nodded and the blauman frowned, half turning back to his companion fifty paces behind. Then I took my spear in both hands and ran forward and plunged the blade straight through the mail and into his chest. The man yelled in shock and fury and his mare swung its head into me, teeth gnashing, almost knocking me off my feet, so that I let go of the shaft and staggered backwards, leaving seven foot of ash jutting from the rider’s chest. Blood frothed at the blauman’s mouth and hung in gobbets from his short beard and he died in the saddle, feebly clutching the spear, his mouth forming a scream that never came.
I heard the thunder of hooves and men yelling and I turned and ran. I would rather have walked in my own time, heedless of the armed riders bearing down on me, my jaw firm, eyes cold as a nun’s tit. That is the way a skald would weave it, but the truth was that I ran as fast as I could and no doubt my eyes were stretched wide as a whore’s legs. It’s likely I was yelling too, in fear and with the sheer thrill of it, because I was unarmed and the hooves were striking the earth and my heart was banging as fiercely as Thór’s hammer. The Danes held their line, constrained by Rolf’s bawling, but they were howling and punching the air with spears and axes, spurring me on, willing me to make it back to the line before the blaumen rode me down. Then Penda was running towards me, which told me that the riders must be close, and I pumped my legs and hoped Óðin Spear-Shaker was shaking Valhöll’s oak beams with a belly laugh like thunder.
‘Down!’ Penda screamed, hurling my scabbarded sword to me then launching his spear, and I threw myself into the dirt and rolled to my right just in time to see the Wessexman leap and wrap his left arm round a horseman’s neck, so that the man toppled backwards off his mount and Penda was flung throughthe air like a hare from a hound’s jaws. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my sword and saw that the rest of the blaumen were almost upon us, their curved
‘Thór’s hairy whore,’ I muttered in relief. One of the riders had stopped and the other was coming on alone, his shield held wide to show he came in peace. I glanced up at the birds, dark specks still, jostling against the blue at the edge of the eyes’ range. I had noticed that the sky seemed to grow bigger the further south we sailed, and not just bigger but higher too, so that I wondered how Yggdrasil the World-Tree could be so huge that I could watch birds amongst the beams of the world yet still not see its branches.
The breeze shifted, bringing the stink of horse sweat and leather to my nose as the distance between the rider and myself closed. I could see his face clearly now, which was as dark as pitch, and his eyes which were proud verging on haughty. He rode with his chin high, studying me down the length of a strong, flaring nose. His moustaches and beard were short, neatly trimmed and glistening, and the white robes beneath a short mail brynja were dusty and mud-spattered, though the linen wrapped round his head was as clean as fresh snow. When he was three spear-lengths away his eyes narrowed and his thick lips gathered, the expression of arrogance melting to a deep, cold revulsion because he could now see my blood-filled eye.
‘Al-majus,’ he said, tossing his head and tugging the reinsto halt his bay mare. The beast whinnied and pulled its lips back from its yellow teeth, not liking the look of me either, as the blauman burbled on at me in a tongue that I doubted even he could unravel. So I smiled and nodded and the blauman frowned, half turning back to his companion fifty paces behind. Then I took my spear in both hands and ran forward and plunged the blade straight through the mail and into his chest. The man yelled in shock and fury and his mare swung its head into me, teeth gnashing, almost knocking me off my feet, so that I let go of the shaft and staggered backwards, leaving seven foot of ash jutting from the rider’s chest. Blood frothed at the blauman’s mouth and hung in gobbets from his short beard and he died in the saddle, feebly clutching the spear, his mouth forming a scream that never came.
I heard the thunder of hooves and men yelling and I turned and ran. I would rather have walked in my own time, heedless of the armed riders bearing down on me, my jaw firm, eyes cold as a nun’s tit. That is the way a skald would weave it, but the truth was that I ran as fast as I could and no doubt my eyes were stretched wide as a whore’s legs. It’s likely I was yelling too, in fear and with the sheer thrill of it, because I was unarmed and the hooves were striking the earth and my heart was banging as fiercely as Thór’s hammer. The Danes held their line, constrained by Rolf’s bawling, but they were howling and punching the air with spears and axes, spurring me on, willing me to make it back to the line before the blaumen rode me down. Then Penda was running towards me, which told me that the riders must be close, and I pumped my legs and hoped Óðin Spear-Shaker was shaking Valhöll’s oak beams with a belly laugh like thunder.
‘Down!’ Penda screamed, hurling my scabbarded sword to me then launching his spear, and I threw myself into the dirt and rolled to my right just in time to see the Wessexman leap and wrap his left arm round a horseman’s neck, so that the man toppled backwards off his mount and Penda was flung throughthe air like a hare from a hound’s jaws. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my sword and saw that the rest of the blaumen were almost upon us, their curved
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