But I did not have enough time. Tomorrow I would be gone.
16
‘It was one of them, was it not?’
‘What?
‘One of our guests, at the feast. Who took the horse.’
I did not reply. There was no need to.
Gunnar and I were sat on the high ground above the farm, looking down upon it. On the sheep wandering in the fields, the high wheat almost ready for the harvest. The place that I would not see again for many years. For that was the day I would leave.
The guests had gone home at first light. Gunnar had smiled well enough and played the happy host. No one asked why his children sat dead-eyed in the corner of the house, refusing to speak. Or why our flesh was grey from our sleepless night. They had gone and we remained. To speak together and say our goodbyes.
We had gone out once more in the night, to take down the scorn-pole and burn it. The body we could not find. Perhaps they had butchered it for meat and split it amongst themselves, bloody reward for the hard night’s work. Or left it for scavengers to take.
At last, Gunnar spoke again. ‘At least now I know that I cannot trust them. Better to know that now.’
‘You will find out who it was, soon enough. There are no secrets in this place.’
‘As we have both learned.’ He looked back over the dale, towards where the scorn-pole had stood. ‘Do you think it is true what they say? That it is the worst of curses?’
‘I do not know.’
He nodded absently. ‘And who is it you sail with?’
‘Ragnar Ragnarsson. The one they call the Keel-farer.’
‘His kin call him that. I have heard him nicknamed the Coward.’
‘That is what most men call him, yes.’
‘I would not trust such a man to captain a boat.’
‘Oh, he may tremble on the shore at the first sign of bloodshed, but there is no calmer man on a restless sea. Or so I have been told.’
‘And where will you go?’
‘I do not know. Dublin, perhaps. I have always wanted to see Ireland. Perhaps I will find kin there. Or Jórvík.’
‘You will like Dublin, I think.’ And then he drew his sword and held it flat in both hands, the blade against his palms, a man in prayer to his god. Then he turned and held it out to me. Wordless, perhaps not trusting himself to speak, he gestured for me to take it.
I said: ‘That is too great a gift. I have no need of it.’
‘You have every need of it.’
‘They may mistake me for some great warrior. I do not have the skill to fight the men who would be willing to stand against this sword.’
‘You will take it or I will cast it into the sea. You may choose.’
I lifted the sword and held it flat, placed one palm underneath the top of it. I looked down on the blade and saw there the name of some craftsman whose story was long since forgotten. I ran one finger down the centre of the groove that was carved there to make the weapon lighter, to let the blood run freely from the blade, and I thought of how much must have poured down that mark. No mighty river’s worth, but perhaps, somewhere in Iceland, there was some brook or rivulet that had washed the ground with as much water as this blade had seen blood.
It was beautiful, in the way that killing can be beautiful.
‘How did I earn this?’ I said.
Gunnar thought upon this for a long time. ‘You are kind,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps it is as simple as that. Most who are kind are cowards. They think to buy with words what they cannot earn with courage. But you are not like that. I think you are the only man I know who has that quality.’
‘Another name for me. Kjaran the Kind. If I were to make a song of that, none would listen.’
‘I cannot learn it from you. I wish that I could. But I am nothing but a killer. Men love me for it. But it is worthless. I am tired of it.’
‘That is not why men love you, Gunnar.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Because you are not afraid to die.’
He looked at me, his eyes disbelieving. ‘You think that such a precious thing?’ he said.
How much we discover of someone, when we are so close to leaving them. What a cruel trick that is.
I would have pressed him further, but I saw them then, coming from Hjardarholt. Olaf and his men, a convoy of warriors and horses. My escort to another world. He had business in Borg, family to visit, and had offered to take me to the coast. One last favour. Doubtless it would dishonour him if I were murdered on the road. He would see me safe to a ship and his part in the feud would be ended.
‘You go to the ship here?’
‘No. South, to Borg. Ragnar has a shipwright there that he trusts.’
‘Will you say goodbye? To Dalla and my children?’
‘It is better that I do not.’ I looked away. ‘You could come with me,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Sell your land. Olaf would give you a fair price to be rid of you, rid of the feud. Take your family, find a new home. You have silver enough and no kin to keep you here. I do not know why it is that you stay.’
I watched him think on this. It is not as they say, that we poets can see into the hearts of men. The world would be a simpler place if we could. There would never be another feud, or a true love that remained unspoken. I cannot see into the hearts of men. But I think that I could see him tempted, in that moment.
He spoke. ‘Do you know how many places I travelled to, before I settled here?’
‘I do not. You never tell me of that time.’
‘I have been to lands to the east where there are deserts greater than this whole island. I have been to the courts of kings where even the whores wear gold. Seen wonders that you could not imagine, poet that you are.’ He turned a palm towards the sky, gestured to the valley as if he were toasting it with a cup of wine. ‘But this is the finest land of them all. I would never leave this place. I love my children, my wife. I…’ He fell silent for a moment. Then: ‘But I love this country more than anything else.’
‘Then you would have me stay?’
‘No. I want you to go. To stay is to die. But I wish that you could.’ He stood and offered his hand to me. ‘I will see you in three years. Promise me that.’
‘You have my word.’ I laid my fingers against the sword. ‘I will return this to you.’
‘If I am still here.’
‘I am the one that they want. They will leave your family in peace,’ I said. And he smiled in such a way that showed he knew that I was lying. But we wanted to believe the lie.
I made to put the sword in its sheath, but some omen stopped me. I put my free hand against the blade, felt the sharp line against the back of my hand. I pressed it there, until I felt the blood run free. I held forth the sword, and my bloodied hand.
‘Would you become my brother?’ I said. ‘Swear an oath in blood with me.’
It has always been done amongst my people. Where a man finds a brother in battle rather than kinship, and seals the bond in blood. I could not think why we had not done so already.
There had been no fear in him on the night he hunted the ghost, when we stood accused upon the plain, when he fought in the holmgang. But I think that, for a moment, I did see him afraid. Of what, I could not understand.
‘No,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘I will not do that.’