A Burning Sea Page 7

  ‘Can you manage that?’ Lilla asked Einar, nodding at the chest.

  ‘I ain’t going to trust no one else with it if that’s what you’re asking.’ The cask must have weighed near a hundred marks but Einar hefted it under one arm as if it were full of goose down.

  ‘As you wish. Gerutha, are you all right?’

  ‘I will be,’ her servant replied. ‘Once we get out of this weather.’

  They trudged on, following the path up the hill where it joined a broader wain-rutted track, then turned east on its approach to the gateway through the palisade walls.

  ‘Dunsgard,’ huffed Einar, stopping to catch his breath. ‘For what it’s worth.’

  The place looked almost abandoned with no one but them foolish enough to be out on the road in the rain. Even so, at the gate, a sentry stepped out and levelled his spear. ‘What’s your business?’

  ‘Three travellers from over the sea in need of a fire and a feed,’ answered Einar amiably.

  ‘Over the sea? What are you – Gotlanders?’

  Lilla hadn’t come all this way to bandy words with some gatekeeper. ‘We’re here to see your lord and king. At once.’

  ‘Can’t anyone just walk in here and demand to see the king. Who the Hel are you?’

  ‘I am Lilla Sviggarsdottír, Queen of the Twin Kingdoms, and I demand to see your lord.’

  The sentry snorted. ‘Sure you are!’ He covered one eye. ‘And I’m the Slain God and Lord of bloody Valhalla.’ He chortled. ‘What are you? A pimp and a couple of whores?’ He looked them over. ‘You’re a pretty one, I’ll give you that. Tell you what, darling – how about I give you your first business, hey?’ He leered at Lilla.

  ‘I suggest you take us to Osvald without delay,’ replied Lilla coldly. ‘Else I’ll see him cut your balls off and feed them to his pigs. Do you understand?’

  The place reeked. Heat, foul breath, the stink of over-boiled meat and unwashed bodies were all trapped under the clouds of smoke that hovered under the rafters. With heavy rain and no wind, the smoke-hole was next to useless. Bodies were strewn everywhere, some blanketed and asleep, others slumped against the wall or sprawled on tables, overcome with ale. In the darker nooks, she noticed several couples grinding and pawing at each other. That didn’t help the ripe smell in there, none.

  The guard led them through the main hall to a smaller chamber that lay beyond and told them to wait and to help themselves to an ale-pitcher on a side table. Einar wasted no time in pouring out one for himself and, two drained cups later, for his female companions.

  ‘Cheery place, ain’t it?’ he said, wiping his beard.

  ‘I see no power here.’ Lilla peered idly up at the dusty hangings and battle-scarred shields that adorned the walls. She felt angry with Einar, that he could so blithely quench his thirst when all hope hung by a thread. Angry with everyone, in truth. But she knew why. She felt weak, to come begging in a place like this, humiliated. It wasn’t Einar’s fault that her choices were so few.

  ‘Sure, the place needs a clean. But don’t be put off by that,’ said Einar. ‘The Livi are a fierce folk if the tales of the Estland Wars are to be believed.’

  ‘They seem more interested in ale and bed-slaves.’

  ‘Well, what man wouldn’t be in winter?’

  ‘Winter is ending.’

  ‘All the more reason then.’ Einar sank another ale.

  Meanwhile, Gerutha was rubbing her hands anxiously over a brazier in the corner. ‘We should have sought out more men for your escort. There must have been others loyal to you.’

  ‘We had no time.’

  ‘Maybe. But now we’re completely at the mercy of these people.’

  ‘Not if he is here.’ It was the first she had mentioned Erlan for two days. But he had always been there, a shadow in her mind. ‘If the Aurvandil serves Osvald, then we can at least expect some favour, even if our plea is not satisfied.’

  ‘You know the chance of this is small, Lady.’

  ‘It was your message that brought us here after all,’ she snapped, irritated by her servant’s pessimism. ‘Look, if he is not then we have no choice. We must trust in ourselves. And in the old alliance.’

  ‘What alliance is that?’ drawled a voice behind her. She spun around in surprise, spilling ale from her cup. ‘Forgive me, Lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Before her stood a thin man with lank yellow hair spilling loose about narrow shoulders. His robe was the colour of dark wine, cinched at his hips with a loose cord so that his pale chest and a thin white leg were visible. He held a drinking horn rimmed with silver plate. He took a swig, his gaze never leaving Lilla.

  ‘My Lord Osvald?’

  ‘I am Osvald. But am I your lord. . .? Or are you mine?’ He gave a mirthless snort. He was drunk. ‘They tell me you are Sviggar’s daughter, Queen of the Twin Kingdoms.’

  ‘I am.’ Which put her above him. Estland was part of the Twin Kingdoms. When her grandfather Ívar had ruled, it had been one of the most loyal provinces in his realm. ‘Nevertheless I come here asserting no sovereignty over you. Our two realms are bound by their shared past.’

  ‘I wonder, would your husband say the same? The King-Over-Them-All.’ Osvald smiled, not a pleasant sight. ‘Though I hear he has not been saying much of late.’

  ‘He was sick,’ admitted Lilla. ‘Alas, the sickness took him.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Though he hardly looked it. ‘And you. Left all alone.’ He went to the table and refilled his horn. ‘Sit, Lady, sit – and you others. Your servants?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Quite the retinue.’

  Einar and Gerutha found a seat on the benches against the wall.

  ‘And you?’ enquired Osvald, sliding himself into his high-back seat.

  ‘I prefer to stand.’ Her body cried out for rest, but she needed to retain every scrap of her dignity just then.

  Osvald was eyeing her with curiosity, pulling at his wispish beard with long, pale fingers. ‘Assuming you are who you say you are, your presence here already tells me many things. If your husband is so lately dead, then your place is in Uppsala – at least until the Sveär choose themselves a new king. And even then, you would be treated with honour. Yet here you are, soaked through on a black night, with only a pair of misfit servants—’

  ‘Doubtless much is plain enough,’ she broke in. ‘We come seeking help.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then I’m flattered. Of all the lordlings in your wide realm, you come to me.’

  ‘Our fathers fought together long before you or I were born. The bond between our peoples is strong as iron.’

  ‘Is it? My father – whom you remember so fondly – was slaughtered at Bravik. He stood on the left flank of your brother’s army.’

  Lilla’s fingers tightened round her cup.

  ‘And where did you stand that day. . . my lady?’

  Lilla didn’t answer.

  ‘You were there though. No? The Eagle Queen, some call you.’ He fluttered his hand in an airy gesture. ‘As you said – an alliance strong as iron.’

  ‘It is because I am my father’s daughter that I stood against my brother. Sigurd murdered him. He stole a throne that was not his.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard those rumours. But often there is so little truth in rumour, I find. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I know the truth. I am my father’s true heir, and therefore a true friend of this kingdom. I am sorry my brother deceived your folk. But that deception is over. And now. . . a new threat has arisen.’

  ‘Ha! So you come to your point at last. It did not take you long to lose your kingdom that was won at such bloody cost. Who has taken it from you?’

  It was bitter indeed to find herself in this position, to stand before the seat of this languid wretch like some beggar pleading for justice. ‘Prince Thrand Haraldarson,’ she said.

  ‘The last son of the Wartooth.’ Osvald nodded. ‘Of course. The Danes are stron
ger than the Sveär.’

  ‘For now. But they will not be ruled by a man they did not choose.’

  ‘Oh? As they chose King Ringast.’

  ‘Ringast was a good king.’

  ‘Aye, for all of a week. Or was it a month?’ He chuckled. ‘I believe I’ve had hangovers that lasted longer.’

  Lilla was tiring of Osvald’s impertinence. But after enduring Thrand’s assault, the indignity of her flight and the miserable sea crossing, she was determined to drive on to her purpose. ‘As rightful Queen of the Twin Kingdoms and the last true heir of Sviggar’s line, I call on our old alliance. Osvald, King of the Livi, Lord of Estland, will you stand with me and help me retake my father’s kingdom?’ Her eyes were bright with passion. ‘Retake my kingdom.’

  Osvald considered her for some time, the tips of two fingers tracing the length of his long nose. ‘I’m hungry,’ he declared suddenly. ‘Are you hungry, my lady?’ He clapped his hands. ‘Come – your bellies must be crying for food.’ He shouted for a house-thrall and before Lilla could protest a young girl appeared out of the shadows. She was a fragile little thing with sloping shoulders and nervous eyes, which flicked between her lord and the strangers. Osvald drawled his instructions then dismissed her, and away she scurried.

  ‘I can’t do business on an empty stomach.’ He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. ‘From this hall, I can summon a fleet of fifty-three ships from around the shores of the Estland gulf, each one filled with at least forty men, armed with spear and shield and axe. Besides them, the land levies of the Livi number three thousand, give or take. Three other Estlander tribes owe me allegiance which, all in, amount to another two and a half thousand fighting men. That’s a total of—let’s call it seven and a half thousand head. A fleet and an army. That’s what I bring to an alliance.’ His nostrils flared spitefully. ‘Tell me, Queen Lilla Sviggarsdottír. What do you bring?’

  Her mouth was a weld of anger. She felt ridiculous. She said nothing.

  ‘Don’t say all you have is this barrel of lard,’ he cried, pointing at Einar. True, Einar was hardly impressive on the eye, even if there had been five thousand more like him.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need men. What I have is gold.’

  Osvald’s yellow tongue ran slowly along his lip. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Show him.’ The hint of a frown passed across Einar’s brow. ‘Show him,’ she insisted.

  Till then Osvald hadn’t noticed the small chest under Einar’s feet. The karl pulled it out and hefted it onto the table. Then flicking the catch, he flung open the lid.

  For a few seconds, Osvald said nothing. He merely leaned forward, the better to see the contents of the box. Lilla watched as his pale features warmed in the reflected colour of the gold. ‘You’re brave indeed carrying this with so light an escort. Brave –’ his eyes snapped up – ‘or stupid.’

  ‘We trusted that our host was not a common thief.’

  ‘Hmm! Well, it’s a pretty pile of trinkets there, no error. But not enough to buy an army.’

  ‘This is merely a taste. To whet the appetite. It is but a fraction of the Nefelung hoard, which I possess.’

  ‘Possess? I don’t see it about you.’

  ‘The rest is in a safe place. A secret place. Thrand knows nothing of it.’

  ‘How can I believe that?’

  ‘Because you have my word. Is it not enough?’

  She was bluffing. Even so, she wondered whether he would dare insult her honour. ‘You say there’s more. Be specific. How much more?’

  ‘It is a rough figure but. . . it was last weighed at five hundred ship-pounds.’ Osvald’s eyes widened with astonishment. That was probably fifty times more gold than even a king could hope to see in a lifetime. She didn’t say that since it had been weighed her brother had squandered more than half of it.

  Just then the thrall-girl returned carrying a serving board almost as big as she was. On it was an array of steaming dishes whose aroma filled the chamber in a most delicious way. There was some sort of pork dish, warm bread and hard cheeses, a soup that smelled worthy of the gods, and an assortment of curds glazed in honey. Einar clapped his hands in delight. ‘Your men must love you well, my lord, to provide them with fare like this.’

  Osvald gave an ambiguous grunt in reply. ‘We know how to treat our guests, at any rate. . . Well, get on with it, you silly whelp,’ he snarled at the thrall-girl. She dipped her head nervously and set about serving the food.

  Lilla was famished too, and tempting as it was to allow the interruption, she was determined to pin Osvald down. ‘Do we have an understanding? Will you honour the old alliance?’

  ‘Do we have an understanding?’ he repeated, his lips twitching in a smile. ‘I fear, not quite.’ His expression changed, his gaze drifting from her face over the rest of her figure. ‘I believe I shall need a stronger guarantee. Something that will cost you a little more than a few gold cups and pretty brooches. . . If you want an alliance, then prove it. I have no wife. You have no husband. Perhaps it is fate.’ He gave a soft chuckle that made Lilla shudder. ‘You want the war-host that’s sworn to me. Marry me and it’s yours.’

  How could she have been so naive? How could she have come here thinking the goodwill of the past was enough to raise an army? The thought of marrying this pale streak of a man sickened her. Yet if this were a game of tafl, she would have precious few pieces to lay on the board. Powerful men were drawn to a woman’s beauty; it weighed in the balance against armies even. So it seemed. Was it worth giving up her body to this louche lordling if it meant winning many thousands to her banner? One body for thousands? Did she even have a choice now that Ringast was dead? Or was this the fate of even a woman as powerful as she had been – to sell herself like so much horseflesh? Certainly she had no desire to yoke herself again so soon, neither to this man nor to any other. And yet. . .

  Her whirling thoughts stilled. ‘Where is the Aurvandil?’

  ‘The Aurvandil?’ A cloud of irritation darkened Osvald’s pallid features. ‘Erlan Aurvandil? What is he to the point?’

  This obvious note of recognition sparked hope in Lilla’s heart. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘He was. For a time. But he left.’ Osvald scowled. ‘The Aurvandil is an ingrate. An arrogant son of a pox-ridden whore. An oath-breaker, a troublemaker. And a damned cripple! I’m well rid of him.’

  ‘He was one of my father’s most loyal men.’

  ‘Loyal? The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘How should I know? Why should I care? Why do you care?’

  Lilla exchanged a glance with Gerutha. ‘We had reason to hope he might be here. He served us well in the past.’ A towering understatement; she owed him her life. ‘Can he be found?’

  ‘I have no idea!’

  ‘Does anyone know where he went?’

  ‘Listen,’ snapped Osvald, losing patience. ‘Did you come here seeking a cripple, Lady, or an alliance?’

  ‘Erlan Aurvandil may be useful to us. I will reward any information about his whereabouts generously. Will you make this known?’

  ‘No, I will not make it known,’ Osvald replied in an acid voice. ‘Not until you give me your answer.’

  Lilla hesitated, reluctant to return to the unwelcome condition of his agreement. ‘You ask a great deal—’

  ‘As do you, my lady. As do you. So what is it to be?’

  Lilla gazed about for deliverance from some quarter but the starkness of the choice was inescapable and hers alone to make. The young servant girl was standing in attendance, clutching a silver pitcher. She held out her cup and the girl hurried forward and filled it, her big soulful eyes fixed on her task. When the cup was full she glanced up and Lilla gave her the glimmer of a smile in thanks.

  ‘It’s been a long and weary journey. I need rest. We all do.’ She turned back to Osvald. ‘As to your proposal, my lord – you shall have your answer. In the morning.’

&
nbsp; They needed rest, true enough. But circumstance would not allow it. They were led to a smaller hall just inside the palisade wall and made comfortable enough with thick blankets and woollen mattresses stuffed with fresh straw. A fire was lit and they were left to their sleep. . . But they didn’t sleep; they talked. And the talk went round and round like a millstone.

  Einar was all for acceptance. This was a good beginning, he argued, far more than they could have hoped for. ‘All right, so Osvald is hardly a leader to inspire, but it’s you who men will follow, not him. Once you have seven or eight thousand at your back, more will come.’

  ‘But how many? Will it be enough?’

  ‘If the gods are smiling.’

  Lilla grimaced. Had they been smiling when Thrand took his pleasure with her? Would they be smiling still if Osvald had his way?

  ‘It’s all very well you telling our lady to sell herself so cheap,’ countered Gerutha. ‘It’s not you has to sleep with that greasy weasel.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call seven and a half thousand spears cheap. And if I could swive away on behalf of Queen Lilla, I would. Alas, I ain’t so pretty,’ Einar replied with a wink. ‘Listen, Lady Lilla, I mean no impertinence – and believe me, I don’t wish you in this position – but you have to face facts. You’ve no friends and precious little to bargain with. I hate to say it, but this is the best deal you’re like to get.’

  Lilla nodded in silence. Precious little to bargain with. A chest full of gold. And herself. She remembered how her father had used her to broker peace – and what it had cost her then. All for nothing. The peace had shattered faster than an egg in a child’s hand. If she had nothing else to play with then this time she meant to use that piece wisely. But was there really nothing better?

  ‘Sometimes the gods send dreams of guidance when a choice must be made,’ offered Gerutha. ‘Wisdom comes from them, and with it, peace. Sleep is the thing, sweet lady.’