Blood Eagle: A riveting historical thriller Page 12

  To his owner’s delightful surprise—and certainly to everyone else present, including my grandfather himself—Achour slew every one of the vicious predators. He wasn’t even particularly hurt in the end; just a few bites here and there, nothing life-threatening. It was a most amazing feat.

  When it was over, all of the men entered the dark meadow, cheering and hollering. As soon as they reached Achour, who stood bloody and exhausted beside the bodies of nine wolves, they lifted him up in the air. They began chanting, “Achour the Wolf-killer! Achour the Wolf-killer!” With adoration like that, it was impossible for Godfred not to stay true to his promise. In addition to being awarded their freedom, the rich landowner Rolf Jarlabanke gave Achour and his family a little farm and four cattle in his home district Karlsby, located right next to Godfred’s home district Ljunga. Rolf had come for a visit to the Godfred farm, and Achour’s heroic deed had deeply impressed him.

  But even though Achour was free now, a man whose extreme courage and skills with the sword were awed and respected throughout the entire province, few people in Karlsby viewed him as their equal. The invisible stamp of slave wasn’t removed that easily. Nobody ever said that to his face, but, like a bloodhound, Achour could smell it in the air. And it didn’t help that Achour and his wife, with their black curly hair and black eyes, looked different from the fair-haired Swedes with their blue or green eyes.

  I knew that the former slave stamp was the reason my father chose to marry my mother, a Swedish noble woman so headstrong and unruly no man of substance wanted her. With my mother came four cows, three pigs, a sheep, three goats, and a dozen chickens. Her father also gave her two acres of land situated close to our farm to complete her wedding dowry, and she owned a modest collection of jewelry. Very soon our family built additions to our longhouse and another barn for the animals. Still, our farm remained barely medium-sized, which was another reason my father had wanted me to marry Hilda instead of Thora. Hilda’s dowries would have resulted in us moving well into the medium-sized category.

  I sighed and straightened my head. I had yet to get an opportunity to speak to my father since my return home. His sickness had worsened and he had become delirious from fever. Upon discovering me sitting by his side, he was clearly unaware of me being sentenced a rapist and a murderer, not to mention having been gone for more than five months. All he wanted to know was if we had plucked the apples and pears from the trees yet, or if they had frozen.

  I stood up heavily. There must be something I could do. Some little detail that had escaped everybody that I would think of later that would serve as sufficient basis for a retrial. Or maybe Thora, in a few days, would get second thoughts and realize what a disastrous effect her decision would have on me and so many other people. Either way, I had to get going. The longer Orvar and I stayed at the farm, the greater the risk of us getting caught. I had already spotted two of the Jarlabanke’s guards out on our fields and had barely managed to hide from a third when he approached Egin for the tenant payment. If we got caught, everybody at the farm would become criminals since it was illegal to harbor forest men. And then all would be lost.

  “How are they doing?” I asked Orvar in the evening. Orvar had just returned from a secret meeting out in the woods with his wife and oldest son that had been arranged the day before. In order to get away for a long enough time, his wife had told their master they would go out into the forest and find new stones to use for cooking and to put around the hearth in the main room; most of the old ones were either broken or so black from soot they had become ugly to look at. Finding the right kind of stones was a time-consuming task.

  “They were all right, considering the circumstances,” Orvar said. “Sigfrid’s son is not as bad a master as his father. He treats them in a fair manner.”

  “Well, that is good to hear. When do you think they can come down to Denmark?”

  “Hanna, my youngest, is only nine months old. I think we will have to wait until she is at least a couple of years old. She will never survive a trip through the woods otherwise. But I hope that by that time I will have arranged for them to come by boat along the coastline instead of by foot. It would be much easier. Then I could join them and we could go farther down into Denmark so they’ll never find any of us. Like to Scania or Jutland maybe.” A joyous light shone in Orvar’s eyes as he spoke about the future for him and his small family as free people in another country. Suddenly, gloomy disillusion hardened his features. “I’m not sure how we will survive down there, of course. Or how I will get a ship up here to take them away.”

  I nodded and said, “It sure would have been better if you all could stay here and live as free farmers.”

  A lot had been dependent on whether I could reverse the verdict. Ever since the day when Orvar and Knut had saved me from the boars, I had yearned to show the man my gratitude. The plan had been to buy Orvar and his wife and three children with part of the silver I would undoubtedly get from the Jarlabankes in restoration, and then to set them free. Naturally, I would give them a couple of animals and a piece of land on which they could live and grow crops. But Orvar, more than I, was realistic enough to gather that without Thora’s cooperation it was unlikely that I would ever be able to accomplish this goal. Even if I did get enough silver together through other means, Orvar was still a convicted murderer, and as such he was as much of a forest man as I was. Indeed, it was worse in his case—anyone who could catch Orvar and bring him back to the Sigfrid clan was likely to get a huge reward. No, Orvar needed to have his name cleared. The only person who could do that was a powerful farmer or noble, somebody who had influence enough to convince the district that Orvar had had no choice but to kill his master. But until I got exonerated, if ever, the only way Orvar and his family would live together again was if he could get them far away from Karlsby.

  “Oh, well,” Orvar said and gave me an encouraging grin. “We will be all right one way or another, I believe. When are we leaving?”

  “Right before sunrise tomorrow morning.”

  20

  It was chilly and the sun had yet to show above the rolling brown hills in the east when Orvar and I took our leave of my family. Egin, Petter, Elsa, our two field hands, and my two little sisters were standing together, forming a half circle on the wide, grass-covered yard in front of our longhouse. Pressed in between the large field hands, Inga seemed even tinier than she really was. All the weight she had lost made her resemble our father more than ever, her round face no longer sporting those meaty, glowingly red cheeks. Instead, it was gaunt and the skin pasty. Her narrow eyes had become twice as large as normal.

  I could tell that all of them except for Anna and Inga, who were too young to understand fully what was going on, did their best to keep up the act of pretending that Orvar and I would be back shortly. We all knew this could very well be the last time we would see each other, even though I reassured them over and over that I would soon return with good news, and then all would change for the better at last. No matter how much I wanted those words to be true, I knew that it was unlikely.

  I had hoped that my father would have regained consciousness so that I could say goodbye to him as well. There was so much I wanted to tell him, so many issues between us that both had kept avoiding, some rather trivial when you thought about it, that needed to be resolved. But I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. It was getting late, and Orvar and I had to leave before what was left of the protecting darkness vanished, which would happen very soon. The sky, a grayish shade of blue at the moment, was quickly growing brighter. We were already risking plenty, taking our farewells outside where sentinels might catch us, as opposed to inside the longhouse where we would be safely out of sight.

  Having forced ourselves to leave, Orvar and I walked with tired steps into the woods. On our backs we carried heavy backpacks filled with clothes, an assortment of weapons that were sure to be useful during the trip, some food and water. Before we went behind the tall firs, I turned around an
d stole one last look of the farm where I had grown up. I couldn’t stand looking at it for long.

  We spent most of the morning walking along the river that ran through Karlsby. The sun shone from a sparkling blue, cloud-free sky; before long, the blinding little fireball would be halfway to zenith. For now, the river was heading south, but eventually it would take a sharp turn to the right and continue west. Then another turn would take it back north. Egin’s tour guide Magnus—a slave who used to be a hunter—had suggested we follow the river until we spotted a big hill with three large mounds at the crest called Three Bumps. From there we should head westward, which would be to the right of Three Bumps, and just continue in that direction. According to the former slave, despite the detour with the river’s many turns, this was the easiest and quickest route down to Flemminge for those who weren’t familiar with the woods. If the sun set right in front of our noses after we had encountered Three Bumps, he had explained, we would know that we were on the right track.

  It was a gorgeous day in early spring. The mild temperature combined with the scenic surroundings would have made our trip a pleasant one under other circumstances. The riverbank was flat and even, a breeze to walk along. Young trees grew closely together, the new leaves in the crowns dappling the sunlight as it tried to shine on the grass underneath. Orvar and I walked in silence, one after the other. The sound of larks and robins singing their tribute to spring soothed my strained soul a little.

  After about an hour the terrain began to change. A series of small, undulating hills such as those that edged eastern Karlsby and upon which my family’s farm was built took over.

  Conquering the first hill was fairly easy, and the second, too, but when we got to the third and then the fourth, it became more difficult. As we mounted the fifth, both of us got so tired we had to stop to catch our breath for a few moments. When we had descended that hill completely, I suggested we take a short break before mounting the next and Orvar nodded. We removed our heavy backpacks and sat down on top of these, our feet hidden in the high grass, and gazed out over the water. The river had begun to bend in a long, smooth, inward-turning curve, enabling us to view what was to come next on our journey. We were grateful to discover that we seemed to have conquered half of the hilly terrain so far, and that soon the terrain would be flat again, just like before. The ground immediately behind us was free of trees or any other major vegetation, as if a tiny meadow had been randomly placed in the midst of the forest beside the river. The open area was the perfect spot to start up a fire and take a break for someone traveling by boat, and judging from the bald, blackened hollow in the middle of the area, it had been used in this way already.

  For a while we just sat there, taking in our surroundings and thinking about what was to become of our lives. Or, at least, that was what I thought about, but I could imagine similar thoughts must float through Orvar’s mind. A cool gust blew past our heads, carrying with it the smell of damp soil and grass. It felt refreshing to the skin on my face, which had become hot from all the hiking. I turned to Orvar.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he replied. “Just fine. What about you?” He gave me a meaningful look. “It cannot have been easy for you the last couple of days.”

  I shrugged. It was the first time either of us brought up, or even hinted at, what had happened outside the Jarlabanke estate with Thora.

  “No, it hasn’t been easy,” I said curtly. Then I smiled at the older man. “But I will get over it. I’m sorry that I cannot pay you back for what you have done for me, though.”

  “No need. To tell you the truth, in a way I owe you more than you owe me.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. “How can that be?”

  “If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have returned to Karlsby. I would never have seen my family again, and I would never have tried to figure out a way to get back with them either. I had more or less given up on life before I ran into you.”

  I nodded, understanding Orvar better than I wished that I did. “Hey, you never told me how you ended up a slave,” I said. “For you weren’t born a slave, were you? You don’t speak like someone who was.”

  “No, I wasn’t born a slave. I used to be a tenant farmer in northern Ostergotland together with the rest of my family. All of us became slaves when we couldn’t make the payments any longer. Jarl Bluetooth—the landowner up there—sold us on the local market. Most of us went to separate owners. I was lucky that I got to stay with my wife and child. Sigfrid the Great bought all three of us.”

  “When was this?”

  “Ten years ago.”

  “Did you ever see the rest of your family again?”

  “No.”

  I nodded. Once more, the two of us fell silent.

  Feeling a need to stretch my legs, I stood up and extended my arms to the sides and yawned big. I told Orvar that I had to go relieve myself and crossed the barren space behind us all the way to the edge of the forest. I entered the woods, soon finding a fir big enough for my purpose. On my way back to our rest place, the sound of a man yelling something in the far distance caught my ears. Orvar must have heard it also because he got to his feet and scanned the river, a hand shading his eyes against the bright sun; he obviously believed the source of the sound could be found there.

  I hurried up to him and said in a low voice, “What do you think it can be?” But he didn’t answer, and instead kept glancing out over the river, beyond my shoulder. His eyes widened right as I turned my head to see what kept him so enthralled. There, behind me, in the blue water far, far away, a ship moved toward us. It was medium-sized and had only one square sail. Someone yelling again— much softer this time—confirmed that the first one must have come from this ship. Few ships had reason to use this river, as it merely connected two lakes in the country and din’t lead out to the sea where most ships wanted to go. So what was this ship doing here? Was it on the lookout for us…? Had someone seen Orvar with his family out in the woods yesterday? Could it be a bounty hunter hoping to score a big reward for catching the runaway?

  Or had Thora told Ragnar that I was still alive?

  The thought of Thora giving me away sickened me so much that I suddenly felt dizzy. Without saying a word, both of us moved behind the small thicket that grew right behind us— the only type of larger vegetation on our side of the river. The thicket didn’t provide much cover, but it was better than nothing. From their current position, it was unlikely the people onboard would spot us. As the boat drew closer they probably would, however, because there was plenty of space between the thicket’s branches, and the many tight buds had yet to spring into leaves.

  Watching the ship move toward us, I realized that it looked somehow familiar, or the sail, to be more precise. It had red and green stripes and there was a black upside down hammer on it, an image of Thor’s hammer. The sail looked just like the ones the Jarlabankes used on their warships. Of course, this ship was much smaller than those, but still. It must be Jarlabanke-owned.

  My stomach twisted at the thought of Thora having rushed to Ragnar to reveal that I was alive and in the area. I shaded my eyes against the brightly shining sun to get a better view. Yes, I soon concluded. My guess had been correct; this vessel did belong to the Jarlabankes. Not only the sail was theirs, but also the prow’s figurehead in the shape of an eagle was typical of a Jarlabanke ship, on small as well as large ships. The nausea in my stomach grew. So Thora had told Ragnar then…

  “It’s one of the Jarlabankes’ ships,” I whispered to Orvar.

  “I thought so, too. They must be after us.”

  “Most likely.”

  “But why are they coming from the south? Karlsby is north of us.”

  I turned and looked at Orvar. What was he talking about? Then I checked the position of the sun in relation to the land, the only reliable indicator of where we were, as the hilly terrain behind us as well as in front of us was nearly identical. The ship was inde
ed moving from the south toward us.

  “You’re right, Orvar. They are coming from the south.” I was confused now. So then, not only did Ragnar know I was in the area, but somehow he must have found out that I would return to Flemminge this morning. Now he and Loke were sailing up and down the river looking for me. But who could have informed him? Thora didn’t know of our plans. Certainly, my family and Orvar’s knew about it, but neither of them would reveal anything to anyone.

  Or would they?

  21

  I stiffened at the thought of a traitor within the people of my own farm. I loved them all, and I didn’t want to believe that any of them was capable of giving me away for money. Well, I thought grimly. In that case it must be either Jerker or Styrbjorn. I was certain that it couldn’t be Elsa; she loved me, my father, brothers, and sisters too much. Still, it was impossible for me to imagine that either of our field hands was capable of doing such a nasty deed—

  Suddenly, I realized who it must be. And it had nothing to do with the people in my family. No, it was the tour guide!

  Of course. He was the one who had told me and Orvar how to proceed to Denmark. He must have sold the information to Ragnar, who immediately put a ship in the river… It wouldn’t take long for them to sail down to the hill with the three mounds, and, from there, they must have begun sailing back toward Karlsby in search of me and Orvar.

  Behind us, at the edge of the little meadow where the forest resumed, something moved. I spun around, my insides tightening up. Could there be men on foot following us as well? Jarlabanke men. I had always assumed that Bjorn Jarlbanke was utterly unaware of what Ragnar had done, felt certain that the only person Ragnar had ever dared confess to was Loke. Had my foster father learned of Ragnar’s heinous deed, he would have instantly contacted my own father and given him back our farm. Bjorn was a tough man, but he was also fair. Or was I wrong about him, just like I had been wrong about Ragnar? There was another rustle in the forest, louder this time. Maybe Bjorn Jarlabanke wasn’t as fair-minded and good after all… When I heard the third rustle, I was sure someone hid behind the trees. My muscles tightened in preparation to fight. Just as I reached for the knife tucked inside my belt a frightened rabbit dashed out from behind the robust stem of a fir. I exhaled loudly, feeling how my entire body relaxed. So maybe Bjorn doesn’t know then, I thought.