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CHAPTER XX

The next day I rose a couple hours before the morning meal. Steinbjorg had gone, the peat fire burned low, and Caedwy lay on the bench curled up in a blanket, arms wrapped around a cur dog he'd adopted when he came to me. He slept by himself, and needed the animal for warmth. The dog twisted its neck and stared at me as I pulled on breeches and socks under my robe and tied my shoes on.

Caedwy's head turned too, and I could dimly see their four eyes reflecting. "Feeling better, master?"

"Yes. I'm going out."

"Cold morning."

"I'd noticed." I went to my chest, fished out the key I kept on a cord around my neck, and unlocked it.

"Anything you want?"

"No. You needn't get up." I took out a hefty sealskin pouch. Inside was the silver I'd gotten as my share of the Vikings' plunder that day off the point of Jutland, plus the price Erling had paid me for Lemming. I hadn't had a use for it until now.

"I've heard you talking of that boy Enda," said Caedwy.

"What of him?"

"A good boy, that. 'Twas a shame."

"Yes."

"I can see why you're cross. We of the Brotherhood, we who've seen the great mysteries, we know that such laws as hanged poor Enda, they're nothing. We've seen the true law, and men like Lord Erling are blind to it, and will always be."

"For the last time," said I, "I am not of your Brotherhood, and I know nothing of your mysteries, nor wish to."

"That's how I know you're a Master, master. In these times a true Master would never reveal it but to another, and I, the gods help me, have never attained mastery."

I went out saying, "Go back to sleep."

 

There was an old turf house on Sola, half fallen in from rot, and there Lemming lived by himself. I left tracks in virgin snow as I walked there, and I couldn't see the house at first for the fog. The air was as still as inside a chest.

I stood outside the door and knocked. I feared he might anger at being wakened, but he answered right away and bade me come in.

He had a fire going, and by its glow I saw him sitting on a pile of skins. He didn't look like a man just wakened. He might have been sitting there all night, power at rest, staring into his fire.

I drew the pouch from my bosom and tossed it down in front of him, making a clatter. "I want to hire you," I said.

He stared at the pouch as if he'd never seen one before, then raised his eyes to me without speaking. One scarred eyebrow rose, and I took it for a question.

"You'd probably do it for nothing," I said. "This is a job you'll enjoy. But I want you to do it for my need, not yours."

He said one word: "Soti."

"I helped stop you killing him once. I repent it now. I thought I was saving my soul, but I sell it today anyway. I've no wish to hang, nor to see you hang. It must look like an accident."

Lemming gazed at me as an animal would. It unnerved me. His look might have meant anything, or no more thought than a skull's.

" 'Tis a pity Jaeder has no cliffs," I said. "Cliffs are wonderful for accidents. They're often deserted, one push and he's over, and who's to say he didn't slip?"

The look did not change.

"I don't know why you hate him so," said I. "I'm sure you've good reason. My reason is that he's threatened my unborn child. I wish I could kill him myself, but I don't think I'm a match for him, even crippled. I'm sure God—my God, that is—understands that. But whatever guilt there is, I take on myself. By paying you I take the guilt. At least that's how I see it—"

I saw I was babbling and stopped my mouth. Why justify myself to this heathen beast? We stared at each other across the fire for a moment.

Then Lemming grinned at me, showing broken teeth.

 

I went back to my house and found that Caedwy had rearranged my few bits of furniture. My chest, my stool, even the pile of peat turves near the hearth, had all been aligned parallel to each other and at a shallow angle to the walls and benches. A small enough thing, but I didn't like it. I went out to find him and ran him down in the church, where he was doing the same thing to the chest and the altar furnishings, all the time droning some song about an ash grove.

"What are you doing?" I cried.

Caedwy looked at me with Christmas eyes. "The perfect conjunction!" he cried. "East and west, the path of God. We do all in humility, that we may right ourselves with the ways of the heavens. When the stars were sheep, their beards fed the fish. These northerners know not the true path of God, but I can always tell, even in the dark, even in a fog, even a hundred miles under the earth. Why don't men have breasts?"

"Put everything back the way you found it," I said. "Do it now."

"Of course!" said Caedwy. "I see! How wise you are, master!"

 

Erling greeted me when I went to the morning meal, my first in the hall since Jul, but I answered coolly. He left me to myself then, and spoke to others.

A singular thing happened before we were finished. A strange man rushed into the hall with a spear in his hand and cast it through the body of one of the men at the table across the hearthway. Everyone was up in a moment, and I vaulted our table, leaped over the fire and pushed through the bodies to the stricken man, whose friends had already laid him out on their table. At the same time several of the bullyboys seized the intruder and began knocking him about. I couldn't recall whether I'd seen the wounded man in church or not, and I was asking him if he was a Christian and wanted last rites, but the noise was too great for me to hear his answer. Erling's shout finally brought quiet.

"Silence!" he roared. "Stop hitting that bastard—hold him until we know more. Father Aillil—how is he?"

"Nearly gone," said I. I spoke to the man. "Are you a Christian, lad?"

"No," he said. "I go with Thor. But I need to know—why?"

Erling needed to know the same thing. His face was bright red. He had the attacker brought before the high seat.

"My name is Arnor Baardsson," said the man. "I come from Thornheim farm near Randaberg."

"Randaberg is Kar's home," said Erling, referring to the man bleeding under my hands. "What's your quarrel with him?"

"I was trying to say, my lord, before these men stopped my mouth, that I have slain Kar Thorsteinsson lawfully in daylight, and before witnesses, in vengeance for the death of my brother Bjorgulf."

Kar whispered, "I know nothing of Bjorgulf's death."

"He says he knows nothing of it, my lord," I said to Erling.

"What say you, Arnor?" Erling asked.

"Within the last week feud has broken out between Thornheim and Randaberg," Arnor answered. "It began with the killing of my cousin Asmund. Since then two more men are dead of my family, and now three of theirs that I know of. I've been a day traveling."

"Kar had no part in any crimes against you."

"He's the greatest warrior of his family. It was more honorable to kill him than some weakling."

"Did you think that it might make you a powerful enemy, to kill one of my bodyguard before my eyes in my own hall?"

"I know you for an honorable lord, Erling Skjalgsson. You will not have a man slain out of hand for a lawful killing."

"Don't chop law with me," Erling almost whispered. "You've killed a man of mine in my own hall, without giving him any chance to defend himself. I can take you out and have you hanged, and never pay a ounce of mansbot."

"My lord, may I speak?" asked Halvard Thorfinsson, who sat on our bench down near the women's end. When I heard his voice I couldn't help glancing at Sigrid, who watched her love with great eyes.

"What has this to do with you, Halvard?" asked Erling.

"Arnor is kin to me. I too knew nothing of this feud, but I beg you to accept self-judgment, and ask you to name what price you'll take for the offense."

"It's unwise for young warriors to make pleas for the enemies of their lords."

"Arnor's no enemy of yours, Lord Erling, unless you'll have it so. His fight is with the Randabergers. He has acted rashly, but it was a bold deed nonetheless. There will be blood enough shed before this business is over with. You can leave the killing to us."

Erling's face had gone back to its wonted color. "The mansbot for killing a lord is thirty-six aurar," he said. "I'll have no less for this offense to me."

"Our kin will pay it."

"I do not like these feuds in my lands, Halvard. They waste men and wealth."

"A man must have vengeance for his kin," said Arnor.

Kar died then. There was blood everywhere.

I looked at Sigrid again. Her eyes shone like blue stars.

 

They let Arnor go his way, and carried Kar out. I hadn't finished my breakfast, but had no stomach left.

I was just walking out into the steading under a leaden sky when I heard the cry of "Fire!"

Everyone looked for the smoke, and we saw it coming from the direction of the smithy.

I was one of the first there, and only had time to glance at the man who knelt over a charred body outside the door before we were all scooping snow up in our hands and throwing it inside. The smithy had stone walls, and the beams inside were already aflame, so there was little we could do. Men started bringing up buckets of water from the well, but the fire only died when the turf roof fell in and smothered everything.

Then we turned to see Lemming kneeling by Soti's black body, heaping snow on him to cool his burns. The smith's big chest rose and fell, but he did not move otherwise.

"He must have caught a spark from the forge in his clothes," said someone. "Did you pull him out, Lemming?"

Lemming nodded.

"Will he live?"

Lemming shook his head.

"Soti always kept water nearby to douse himself," somebody said.

"Perhaps he couldn't move fast enough on his bad feet," said the first. "Anyway, he caught fire."

"Strange Lemming would try to save him," said someone else. "He hates Soti."

Lemming widened his eyes.

"When you see a man burning," I put in, "you just act. You don't think whether he's your enemy or not." Lemming turned his eyes on me, and I walked away.

Caedwy awaited me at my house. " 'Tis good, 'tis good!" he cried. "A wicker cage would be better, but we do what we can. You're all black with soot and blood, master, like the men who lived on the moon when the stones fell up. I'll bring water to wash you with."

 

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Framed


Title: The Year of the Warrior
Author: Lars Walker
ISBN: 0-671-57861-8
Copyright: © 2000 by Lars Walker
Publisher: Baen Books