Odin's Game Page 37

  ‘You’re very funny,’ Ulrich said. ‘For a coward. Are you too scared to fight us man to man?’

  ‘Tell the Irish woman we’re using her own arrows to kindle the fire,’ Bjorn shouted. ‘She should know that she’s helped us by shooting all that wood in our direction.’

  ‘If I had one more,’ Affreca snarled, ‘it would have your name on it.’

  She kicked her empty arrow bag and massaged the flesh on the fingers of her right hand that had been rubbed raw by the bowstring. She had managed to hold the men outside off for a time, shooting arrows at any who tried to get too close to lay kindling against the house. There were too many of them however. They had begun to run forward at three different places around the longhouse at once and she could not defend all of them at the same time. Eventually she had run out of arrows and they had been able to work unmolested. Now wood, kindling and straw lay along all the outside walls. A big mound of gorse, grass, hay and wood taken from smashed furniture and tools in the outhouses was piled up against the door.

  As Einar watched from the ‘Wind's eye’, Bjorn lifted a blazing brand from a fire the enemy had kindled far enough away from the house to be safe from Affreca’s bow. Walking with the unhurried confidence of a man who knows his enemies are all but defeated and pose no more danger, the big champion approached the large pile outside the door of the longhouse. He stopped, the flames of the torch licking and cracking as snow flurried all around.

  ‘Odin owns you all!’ Bjorn shouted. He threw the brand onto the pyre and stood back. The gorse caught almost immediately. Flames spread to the hay and other kindling and soon there was a veritable bonfire blazing against the door. Other warriors ran forward and set flames to the rest of the kindling laid along the walls.

  ‘The fires are lit,’ Einar said as he clambered down the ladder. His report was unnecessary as smoke was already pouring under the door and creeping through the shutters on the window slats. They could hear the crackle and snap of the flames as they began to lick up the walls outside.

  No one spoke. Then they heard bumps on the roof above.

  ‘They’re setting fire to the roof,’ Skar growled.

  Bodvar cursed and hit the ground with his sword. The sheer futility of the act seemed to represent the hopelessness of their situation.

  Soon smoke began leaking through the thatch above. The air grew noticeably hotter. The reek of burning got thicker. Then pinpoints of red appeared above, quickly followed by flames as the fire began eating its way through. Sparks started falling from above like angry snow.

  ‘We should fight our way out,’ Sigurd said, grasping his sword hilt in both hands.

  ‘They’ve set a bonfire outside the door,’ Einar said. ‘You’ll burn to death before you get to anyone to fight.’

  ‘What about the windows?’ Bodvar said, running to the nearest one. He pulled up the shutter then leapt back, driven away by a sheet of flame that poured in from the fires outside. The fire licked up the inside of the wall, sending hungry tongues towards the thatch at the edge of the roof above. Bodvar tried to close the shutter again but the heat was already too great. With another curse he retreated back to where the others had gathered in the middle of the longhouse.

  The roof above was now a roaring sheet of fire, criss-crossed by the shadows of the roof beams. Fiery brands dripped onto the floor, igniting the straw there and anything else they landed on. The heat was overwhelming and they all found themselves starting to crouch to get away from it. Their eyes stung and lungs itched from the thick, cloying smoke that swirled around.

  Soon it would be impossible to breathe and the heat would be intolerable. Einar tried his best to fight the rising panic that threatened to smother his heart. He did not want to let himself down before the others. Looking around, he saw no signs of fear on their faces. Some, like Skar and Ulrich, had their expressions set in one of grim determination. In the eyes of others, however, he saw bleak, empty-eyed resignation. This sent a chill through him as it meant their situation was indeed hopeless. He longed to take Affreca in his arms but she was glaring at the fire above. Her lip was curled and her teeth bared in frustrated anger. He doubted she would welcome his advances right then and realised that his desire to embrace her was probably more for his own comfort than hers.

  Bodvar shook his head. ‘I never thought it would end this way,’ he said with a cough.

  ‘So now we all have to die,’ Atli said, his voice dripping bitterness, ‘trying to save some Irish bed-slave from a fate she should have met eighteen years ago. What will Odin think of that?’

  Skar clapped a large hand on Atli’s shoulder. Atli looked startled, not having noticed the big man sidle up beside him.

  ‘Odin cares nothing for why we die,’ Skar said with a shake of his long hair. ‘There are a thousand reasons why, and none of them might make any sense. Who is to say which is right and which is wrong? I can’t. Odin doesn’t, or at any rate he’ll never let us know if he does. What the All Father does cares about, however, is how we die.’

  Grunts and appreciative nods greeted the big man’s words and Einar could see the effect they had on the others. If anything their jaws seemed more set, their eyes now determined. Even Atli looked somewhat mollified. Despite the anxiety gnawing away inside him, Einar felt his chest swell with pride that he could share in this, that he could be part of this company. If this was indeed the end of his Saga then he could not think of finer people he wanted to be among.

  There was a tremendous groan followed by a huge crash. Einar ducked as he felt a huge blast of heat. He wondered for an instant if this was death. He shut his eyes, his eyebrows and hair sizzling. When he opened his eyes again the longhouse had been transformed to something like the home of a fire giant. The great roof beam that ran from gable to gable had collapsed at the far end, pulling the burning thatch and smouldering turf of the roof down with it. From midway down the longhouse to the far end, the floor was now a lake of flame. Several of the cross beams had come down as well.

  Einar’s frayed nerves felt some relief that he was not dead, but knew that this heralded that his remaining time was short. To his surprise, Ulrich was grinning.

  ‘Odin’s eye and blood!’ he shouted, jabbing a finger towards one of the fallen cross beams that now lay with one end in the middle of the longhouse floor and its other end still on top of the side wall. ‘What does that look like to you?’

  Skar caught his smile. ‘It looks like a ramp out of here to me,’ he said. ‘Once we are at the top we can leap out over the fire on the outside of the wall. Odin has given us our own Bifrost.’

  ‘Thorfinn’s men are still out there waiting for us,’ Atli said. ‘They still outnumber us many to one.’

  Einar bit his lip, realising now that this was just a temporary reprieve. Like Bifrost, the shimmering bridge that led the way to the realm of the Gods, the beam was alight underneath and shimmered in the heat. Certain death still lay ahead. Odin was indeed offering them a stairway to heaven.

  ‘At least we won’t die like cowards, hiding in a burning longhouse,’ Skar said. ‘We’ll go down fighting, swords in our hands. We’ll kill enough of them that the Valkyries will take notice of our deeds, but leave enough alive to tell tales about the day they fought us for the rest of their days. Days that will be miserable for them, as with every one that passes they will be reminded that not a single one of them will ever be as brave as the men they fought on this day.’

  ‘And if any of you do happen to get away,’ Ulrich shouted over the ever-louder roar of the blaze that surrounded them, ‘just keep running. Don’t try to save the rest of us. Our company is now dissolved. I release you all of your oaths. This is my last order to you.’

  ‘I need a weapon,’ Affreca said, slinging her bow across her shoulders. Einar handed her his sword.

  ‘What about you?’ she said.

  Einar drew his old seax from its sheath. He gave it a rueful glance. ‘I left here with only this. I may as well end things tha
t way too.’

  They all grasped each other by the forearm, wishing the other luck, though all knew it was goodbye. Despite this, each of them grinned as if they were all saying cheerio as they headed off on some exciting adventure. This time there was no talk of tactics or battle formations. Each one would just go out and take as many of Thorfinn’s men down with him as he could.

  ‘Right. Enough standing around warming yourselves by the fire,’ Skar roared as he drew his sword. ‘Let’s go and show this lot how to die.’

  Hallgrimr shouted ‘Odin!’ and ran down the longhouse and up the cross beam. The wood bounced under his weight. Sparks flew from beneath it until he was at the top of the wall, then he leapt off and disappeared from view.

  Skar went next, closely followed by Ulrich, then the others all lined up and followed. Affreca, and Einar were last. Einar felt as though he were in a dream as he watched Affreca reach the top and jump off. Then it was his turn. The beam lurched beneath his feet and he heard it crack, then he was at the top of the wall.

  Below was a maelstrom of violence. The Wolf Coats were like islands, surrounded by enemies who thronged around them while smoke roiled from the burning building. Skar, his hair still smouldering, cut down men to his right and left. Ulrich stabbed and hacked. Affreca’s sword slashed and cut. The others were doing the same. Already many of the enemy lay on the bloodstained snow. For a brief moment he wondered if it was actually possible that they might fight their way through the horde of enemies and get away.

  Then Hallgrimr went down, overwhelmed by the numbers fighting him. The Wolf Coat was stabbed by three men at once, then transfixed by a spear, then hacked to the ground by an axe man.

  Einar’s brief moment of hope died as he spotted something else beyond the fighting throng below. From the hill above the farm, running to join the battle, were many more men. There were masses of them, each one armed and bearing a shield. Thorfinn must have sent a small army. There was no way they could beat them all.

  There was nothing else for it. Einar jumped off the wall. Landing on the snowy ground, he went into a crouch to absorb some of the impact. The enemy near him all had their backs to him, fighting those of his company who had gone before. Einar got up and ran forwards. He stabbed his seax into the back of the first one of Thorfinn’s men he came to. The man cried out and arched his back. Einar pulled his sword off him and finished him off with a cut to the neck from it.

  Realising there was a new threat behind them, several of the warriors surrounding Affreca turned to face Einar. Einar lunged and swiped with the seax, rattling it across the men’s shields, forcing them to take a step back.

  Everyone was shouting and screaming. The clash of iron on iron was deafening. Somehow above it all a new noise arose. It was like the roaring of a waterfall in spring when the snows melt.

  It was the sound of many men, all shouting in unison.

  Something was wrong. The press of men around Einar seemed to shiver, as if something had impacted on it. More shouting arose but they seemed to be of consternation and surprise rather than anger. The men fighting the Wolf Coats began disengaging and turning away.

  A horn sounded and Einar saw Thorfinn’s champion standing beyond the blazing longhouse, a man standing beside him blowing the horn. Thorfinn’s warriors all pulled themselves away from their fights and withdrew to form up before Bjorn. To Einar’s complete confusion, they appeared to be forming up a shield wall pointing in his direction. A quick count told him there were now around thirty of them. Surely with that number and the new arrivals they were not actually worried about the meagre seven Wolf Coats, himself and Affreca?

  Then the newly arriving warriors swept around him like a tide. Instead of fighting him or any of the other Wolf Coats, they just swept on past towards the shield wall of Thorfinn’s men.

  ‘I see you need some support, as usual,’ one of the newcomers shouted. Einar turned and beneath the man’s iron helmet, recognised the grinning face of Gunnar, the captain of the Knattleikr team. Beside him was Bersi. Hegg was there too and the other lads from the team. He looked up and saw a great barrel-chested warrior on a horse, waving his sword and shouting orders.

  ‘Come on lads,’ the big man called. ‘Let’s show these Orkney bastards how to fight.’

  Einar realised it was the Goði, Hrapp. Audun was there too, as were many men, all from the district. Together they outnumbered Thorfinn’s warriors perhaps ten to one.

  ‘It’s all right!’ Einar shouted, excited and suddenly giddy. ‘It’s all right! These are my neighbours. My friends.’

  Skar looked around, also realising that the newcomers were not a threat to them. A grin of delight split his face. He gripped his sword and turned towards the shield wall of Thorfinn’s warriors. A couple of men in it were already turning to run away.

  ‘Right, then,’ he said, a fierce joy crossing his blood-splattered features. His lips curled in a wolfish snarl. ‘Let’s finish this.’

  Sixty

  The battle did not last long. The shield wall of Thorfinn’s men was already starting to fall apart when the massed charge of the Icelanders smashed into it. Some men went down straight away at the impact, the formation split apart and then it was just a slaughter. Skar killed Bjorn, decapitating him with a blow of his sword. As the snow thickened and the last parts of Unn’s house surrendered to the fire, the remnants of Thorfinn’s men were put to the sword. Some pleaded for mercy but, as Skar later explained to Einar, the Goði had decreed that there be no prisoners taken. Hrapp wanted no witnesses to this event. Ulrich saved just one man, but his fate was far from a lucky one.

  Einar took a look round at the aftermath of the fighting: the blackened, smoking remains of his mother’s farmstead, the bloody snow and the many corpses. The dead were already being stripped of their weapons, armour and valuables by the folk who were his old friends and neighbours. He felt an unbelievable weariness descend on him as he realised just how close he had come to being one of those corpses.

  A crowd of Icelandic women had been watching the fighting in trepidation from the hillside. Now it was over they rushed down to their menfolk, grateful and relieved to find they had survived. Einar saw his former teammates but somehow felt apart from them. Most of them were pairing up with girls, some they had been courting before he left, some who were new. Bersi was hugging Hallgerd. Then he saw Asgerd. She was running down the hill, towards him. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling. Einar could not quite believe what was happening.

  Then she ran into the arms of Audun. They embraced and kissed, passionate and hungry.

  Einar heaved a heavy sigh and turned away.

  ‘Einar,’

  A voice made him look round. It was his mother. In that moment she looked very old to him, and somehow hesitant, as if afraid to approach him,

  ‘Einar, I am sorry,’ she said. ‘When I sent you to Orkney I knew Thorfinn wanted me dead, but I never thought he would want to kill his own son. Please believe me. I thought it would be the best for you, even if it meant the death of me. I trusted in the destiny that the witch had foreseen. I thought it was the path to glory for you.’

  ‘It was, in a way,’ Affreca said, joining them. She laid a hand on Einar’s shoulder. ‘He’s done well.’

  Einar looked at his mother for a moment, then he opened his arms. A look of relief on her face, she walked forward into his embrace. Over her shoulder he looked at the smouldering remains of her farm.

  ‘What now?’ he said.

  Unn stepped back from him. She looked him in the eyes.

  ‘What now? You left home, Einar,’ She said. ‘You must keep going. Follow your fate. There is no life for you here in the back of beyond.’

  ‘What about you?’ he said.

  Unn smiled. ‘Me? I will get married.’

  Einar frowned, puzzled. Then he saw Hrapp approaching. Walking behind him was Skar and Ulrich. His jaw dropped open.

  ‘Mother, no.’ He breathed.

  ‘Einar, I’m
a poor, homeless widow, living alone in the world,’ his mother said. There was a twinkle in her eye. ‘And he is a widower. The Goði has offered me the security of his hearth and home. Now I have no home of my own. What else should I to do?’

  Einar stiffened. ‘Mother,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do this. I will get money. I’ll build you a new farm. You have a choice in this.’

  ‘Einar your path lies elsewhere. Goði Hrapp has many good qualities,’ Unn said, a hint of scolding in her voice. ‘Since you left the has been very good to me. He sent men to work the farm and help around the house. He sent meat. He visited to make sure I was all right on my own. Sometimes he even stayed over…’

  Her eyes flicked away for a moment.

  ‘I know now he was not just after the farm,’ she went on. ‘Did you ever think that perhaps I make this choice unwillingly?’

  Hrapp slid an arm around Unn’s shoulder and his face fell into a grin wide enough that it might have split his face in two.

  ‘Your mother is a wonderful woman,’ he said.

  ‘Or so I’ve convinced you,’ Unn said.

  Einar shook his head, trying to come to terms with everything going on around him,

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ Ulrich said to Hrapp.

  ‘When I heard Jarl Thorfinn of Orkney had sent a raiding party to kill my betrothed, what could I do?’ Hrapp said, then his grin disappeared and he became serious. ‘We Icelanders are free people. We don’t want interference from kings or jarls. I believe you work for King Eirik of Norway. You would do well to give him that message too. No offence to you.’

  ‘None taken,’ Ulrich said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be leaving as soon as the weather allows us.’

  Hrapp shuffled his feet and looked down. ‘On that topic,’ he said, ‘Einar, as Goði I must remind you that you are still an outlaw here. Given the circumstances I don’t expect you to leave immediately…’

  Einar held up his hands. ‘Don’t worry. My mother has already given me my marching orders. I won’t be staying either.’