Land of Blood and Water Read online

  LAND OF BLOOD AND WATER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © Martin Lake 2015.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Gracie Carver

  Green Door Design for Publishing

  http://greendoordp.com/

  For Noel

  BOOKS BY MARTIN LAKE

  NOVELS

  The Flame of Resistance: The Lost King Book 1

  Triumph and Catastrophe: The Lost King Book 2

  Blood of Ironside: The Lost King Book 3

  In Search of Glory: The Lost King Book 4

  A Love Most Dangerous

  Very Like a Queen (to be published in January 2016)

  Outcasts: Crusades Book 1

  The Artful Dodger

  SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

  For King and Country

  The Big School

  The Guy Fawkes Contest

  Mr Toad’s Wedding

  The Big School

  TWELFTH NIGHT

  January 878

  Brand stretched his fingers wide and glanced at Ulf.

  ‘Are you ready, son?’ he asked.

  Ulf licked his lips a little nervously. ‘I’m ready,’ he answered.

  On the slope above them the big ram, Goliath, stared at them menacingly. A few yards beyond a ewe staggered back and forth, hind-quarters shaking. A half-born lamb hung from her, stuck fast, in danger of death.

  ‘Steady,’ Brand said and took a step closer to the ram. It stared at him, lowered its head a little and pawed at the earth.

  As he climbed higher Brand saw Hild and Inga slip over the brow of the hill, one on either side of the ewe. For the moment the ram was unaware of them, focused entirely on the man and boy approaching.

  Brand took three quick steps forward and half-squatted to the ground. He was not a moment too soon. Goliath gave a deep-throated cry and leapt to the attack. His head was low, his horns pointing forward.

  Brand caught the left horn, fumbled with the right and the ram tried to turn to gore at him. Brand seized the horn just in time.

  He was astonished at the power of the ram. Brand was a big man but it took him all his strength to twist the horns and begin to force Goliath’s head. Then Ulf flung himself on the ram’s flank and the two of them managed to wrestle him to the ground.

  Out of the corner of his eye Brand saw Hild and Inga catching hold of the ewe.

  ‘Hurry up, woman,’ Brand cried. Goliath was battling furiously to get free and they were in danger of losing grip.

  At last Hild cried out and Brand saw the lamb slither to the earth and struggle to its feet. Hild grabbed Inga’s hand and fled towards the cottage.

  ‘Get away now,’ Brand grunted.

  Ulf needed no second instruction. Goliath’s rear hooves were hammering fiercely on his thigh, sharp and painful. He jumped to his feet and ran a few paces away. Brand slowly climbed to his feet, released the ram’s head and made a run for it. He almost didn’t make it for the ram was swift to chase after him.

  Ulf chuckled as he watched his father zig-zag back and forth, just managing to evade the deadly horns before leaping to safety behind the fire which had been built to deter pursuit.

  The ewe bleated loudly; Goliath gave a fierce cry of victory and trotted back up the slope.

  ‘We caught the lamb in time,’ Hild said. ‘It will live.’

  ‘I think I will as well,’ said Brand. ‘But it was a close run thing.’ He tousled Ulf’s hair in thanks.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ Hild said. ‘Something special.’

  She led the way into their home where the youngest child, Osgar sat watching the fire, safe from the rage of the ram.

  Hild had prepared her Twelfth Night pudding. Thick and gooey, made of good flour, crushed nuts, honey and mead, it was a fitting end to the Christmas plenty. The children grabbed at it, still hot from the pan.

  They ate every last piece, licking their fingers to get every last scrap.

  ‘Now,’ Hild said. ‘Let’s have some riddles.’

  ‘Me first,’ cried Osgar, ‘me first.’

  Hild stroked his cheek. ‘You first then. Off you go.’

  ‘Who’s very big and very strong?’ he said.

  Ulf stifled a laugh and glanced at his sister. Inga was frowning as though it was the hardest puzzle she had ever heard.

  ‘Is it Goliath?’ she asked.

  Osgar wriggled with delight. ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘Is it Gamal?’ Hild said. ‘He’s big.’

  Osgar shook his head.

  ‘Is it father?’ Ulf asked.

  Osgar nodded. ‘He’s the biggest and strongest man in the world.’

  ‘My turn now,’ said Ulf.

  ‘No, mama’s turn,’ Osgar said.

  Hild smiled and held up her finger for silence. ‘Who takes two weeks to waken and open her eye, and two more weeks to close it?’

  They fell silent at this, mulling over possible answers. At last Inga said, ‘Is it the moon?’

  Hild clapped her hands. ‘It is the moon. Well done.’

  Brand riddled next, asking which of his three children he loved best. Ulf wanted to say, Beonna, his elder brother who had died the previous year.

  But Osgar answered first. ‘You love us all the same.’

  Brand smiled. ‘I do. All the same, even though you are different.’

  ‘I have one,’ Ulf said, ‘let me go next.’

  He waited until the rest of the family were silent, relishing the fact that he had their undivided attention.

  ‘What is black in the night,’ he said in a low voice, ‘turns silver in the day and red as blood at sunset?’

  They were defeated for a while, every answer wrong. Finally Inga said, ‘Is it the waters lapping round the island?’

  For a moment Ulf looked disappointed and then nodded.

  ‘Now it’s your turn, Inga,’ Brand said.

  Inga looked at him and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to say a riddle,’ she said. ‘For everything seems like a riddle to me at the moment. I can’t say why.’

  Brand frowned and shook his head. ‘Are you sure?’

  Inga nodded. ‘I’m certain.’

  WAR-BAND

  14 January 878

  Brand was still groggy from sleep but he forced himself to sit up. From outside came the sound of horses snorting. He placed his hand over Hild’s mouth and shook her awake.

  ‘Be quiet,’ he whispered. ‘Wake the children and keep them silent.’

  He pulled back the blanket and tip toed across to the bench. His fingers searched it until he touched his hunting knife, drawing it as quietly as he could from its sheath. Turning towards his wife he gestured to her to take the children into the far corner of the room where the shadows were darkest. Then he inched the door open and peered out.

  A dozen horsemen were on the slope in front of the hut, most still mounted, a few holding torches. The horses were panting from exertion, blowing and neighing, kicking at the icy ground. Their breath and the heat from their bodies rose in the cold air, clouding them in a drifting fog.

  ‘Horsemen,’ Brand whispered to Hild. ‘A war-band.’

  ‘A war-band?’ Her voice was shaking with fear.

  ‘Northmen. Heathens. Stay in the hut.’

  Three men dismounted and headed towards the hut, one with a blazing torch. Brand stepped outside and held
his knife outstretched towards them.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The men slowed but continued to walk towards him, drawing their swords as they did so.

  ‘Put up your weapon,’ one of them said, stopping a yard in front of Brand.

  He was a tall, well-built man standing a head taller than Brand. ‘There’s a dozen of us,’ he continued, ‘and we’re all well-armed.’ He pushed the tip of his sword close to Brand’s throat.

  Brand felt the scratch of the sword upon his skin. His heart hammered in his chest. A hot rage began to flood through him.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, forcing himself to try to stay calm.

  ‘Food for my men and forage for our horses.’

  Brand shook his head, surprised by the man’s words. ‘We don’t have enough food for ourselves,’ he said. ‘We have none to spare for strangers.’

  ‘Whatever you have we’ll take,’ said the man.

  He put down his sword, pushed past Brand and peered into the hut. ‘Dudda,’ he cried, ‘bring the torch.’

  One of the warriors ran over and held the torch close to the door. The big man glanced inside and chuckled quietly. ‘Outside,’ he called. ‘And quick about it.’

  He stepped aside and Hild and the three children stole out of the hut, their eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Here’s a pretty little thing,’ the man with the torch said. He held the flame close to the face of Brand’s daughter and stroked her hair. She shrunk back against the wall of the hut and the man pushed his body against her. ‘I saw her first, Cenred,’ he said. ‘Finders keepers.’

  The big man, Cenred, gave a grim smile. ‘Whatever’s here will be shared, fair and square, Dudda. Including the girl.’

  ‘No,’ cried Brand.

  ‘Both women,’ Cenred said, returning the point of his sword to Brand’s throat. ‘Including the girl.’

  ‘Inga’s fourteen years old,’ Hild cried, pushing forward. ‘She’s only a child.’

  Cenred stared intently at the girl. ‘She is,’ he said in a more thoughtful tone.

  Then he turned as swift as a cat and lifted Hild’s chin to the light, examining her face closely. ‘But you are not a child. You’re a comely woman. Very comely.’

  He looked in the direction of the war-band.

  ‘I’ll make a bargain with you, woman,’ he said. ‘Your daughter will only have to take four of my men. So long as you entertain the other eight.’

  Brand cried out and leapt forward but Cenred side-stepped and threw him to the ground. Dudda pushed his spear-point against Brand’s neck.

  The older boy pressed forward but his mother stopped him. ‘No, Ulf,’ she said. ‘Stay still.’

  ‘Is it a bargain?’ Cenred asked Hild. ‘I won’t even ask your man and boys to watch. Now isn’t that generous of me?’

  Hild held the man’s gaze in hers for a moment. ‘What if I take them all?’ she said. ‘Will you leave my daughter alone?’

  Cenred considered this. ‘I would agree but I don’t think you’d survive all twelve. Eight and four is what I offer. Is it a bargain?’

  There was a silence and then Hild nodded. ‘But let me talk to my daughter first. This is not how she expected to experience life.’

  ‘None of us expected what’s coming to us all too soon,’ said Cenred. ‘You might as well get used to it. Our enemies will not treat you so kindly.’

  ‘You call this kindness?’ Hild said.

  ‘I call it kindness to my men. Don’t resist and it will be easier for you. Tell your daughter to do the same. There is no hatred in my men. Only sore need.’

  The rest of the men dismounted. As soon as they got closer towards Hild and Inga they began to laugh and cry, yammering like dog foxes in the night. Brand and his sons were manhandled to one side of the hut and their wrists bound behind their backs. They were flung to the ground like sacks of corn.

  ‘What will the men do to them?’ asked the younger of the boys.

  Brand could not answer, so thick was his rage.

  ‘Don’t worry, Osgar,’ Ulf said. ‘The men won’t harm them.’ He knew this was a lie. But it was a necessary one.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Brand ordered his sons. ‘And look away.’

  He bowed his head, thankful at least that Cenred had not forced them to watch.

  Cenred’s men formed a semi-circle around the two women. Dudda went into the hut and dragged out some bedding, throwing it on the hard ground. Despite the cold of the night they wanted a show.

  ‘Strip,’ one of the men called and then the rest of the men took up the word, chanting as if they were watching a drinking contest. After a moment there came a cry of admiration. Brand groaned, wondering whether Hild or Inga had caused such a reaction.

  ‘Cenred first,’ cried one of the men. ‘He should have first taste.’

  ‘I can wait,’ Cenred answered.

  ‘I can’t,’ cried Dudda. ‘I’m having the fresh meat.’ The other men laughed.

  ‘Then I’ll go for the experienced one,’ yelled another. ‘I like my mares well trained.’

  Brand cursed and tried to work his bonds free.

  There was a mighty cheer and then a horrible silence fell upon the hill. The warriors leaned closer, fascinated, anticipating. After a few moments there came the sound of Hild crying out. Brand shook his head at the sound. Hild sounded like she did when they made love; though now he could not tell whether her cries were born of passion or of despair.

  And then Inga’s voice rose above her mother’s, a cry of pain and terror. Brand groaned aloud and staggered to his feet. He managed two steps before he was tripped by an out-flung leg. He fell head first to the ground.

  ‘No father,’ cried Ulf, flinging himself on top of him. ‘You can’t stop them and if you try they’ll kill you.’

  Brand did not answer but began to weep, his body heaving as if he were dying for want of air.

  Still the rapes continued, each one marked out by an exultant cheer from the watching men. But then, after what seemed an age, Cenred cried out, ‘Enough.’

  ‘There’s more than half of us waiting,’ cried an angry voice.

  ‘Then you’ll have to wait. The women will be fresher tomorrow. Keep on now and they’ll be ruined.’

  The men grumbled but did not dare disobey. The circle broke up and the men returned to their horses to collect their scant possessions.

  A few minutes later Brand sat up. Hild walked in silence towards him, her arm around Inga’s shoulder. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Cenred followed a few steps behind with three men.

  ‘Get back in your hut,’ he said to the women. ‘You’ll perish of cold out here.’ He nodded and the men hauled Brand and his sons to their feet. ‘You go with them,’ he continued. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, don’t stir again until dawn. My men are raging and I can’t be sure to hold them if they’re provoked.’

  The family sat in the hut for the few remaining hours of the night and listened to the men carousing outside. They had not made good the threat to take the food from the hut, not yet at any rate. But Brand no longer cared about that. He feared the coming of day when the men would return for his wife and daughter.

  Inga was sobbing, her breath coming in quick gasps. Hild was silent, holding in her own tears, stroking her daughter’s hair to try to calm her. Her gentle voice crooned in the darkness; the same songs she used to sing when the children were babies. Osgar had fallen into a disturbed sleep, occasionally muttering aloud in his dreams.

  Brand stared at his family bleakly. How has this happened, he wondered? Why has God sent these men to harm my family? He turned his head away for a moment, ashamed that he had been unable to protect them.

  A groan of despair built in Brand’s chest but he suppressed it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ulf watching him, carefully.

  Brand turned away. It’s a fine father who has to be protected by his own son, he though
t.

  He closed his eyes but he could find no rest.

  The chill dawn broke. The surrounding waters glimmered in the watery winter sun, the frost on the grass sparkled. Brand could hear the sheep crunching on the icy turf and in the byre the cow called.

  ‘Fryth needs milking,’ Ulf said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Brand. ‘But you’re not to stir outside this hut. These northmen scum would as soon cut your throat as let you wander to the byre. Let them milk her.’

  ‘I was just saying.’

  Brand nodded. ‘I know, son.’

  A little while later a shadow appeared in the doorway and Cenred entered the hut.

  ‘You’ve come for more sport,’ snarled Brand.

  ‘Later, perhaps. How are your women?’

  Brand gave a hollow laugh. ‘How do you think they are?’

  Cenred shrugged. ‘My men will bring some food for you.’

  ‘And how am I to eat with my hands tied behind my back?’

  ‘Your wife can feed you. And the younger boy. He’s no threat to us.’

  ‘But I am?’ said Ulf. His words sounded as much a threat as a question.

  Cenred turned to him. ‘You might be. You look strong for your age.’

  Ulf stared at Cenred for a moment and then turned his eyes to the ground.

  ‘What will you do with us?’ Brand asked.

  Cenred laughed. ‘I don’t know and I don’t much care. You are of little concern to me at the moment.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Ulf asked.

  ‘We’re on the run. And we’re looking for somewhere safe.’

  The family ate a sparse breakfast of dried bread and ice-cold water. The cow had stopped calling so presumably she had been milked. And all of it drunk by the men, no doubt.

  It was getting close to noon when one of the men entered the hut.

  ‘You’re to come with me,’ he said. He sounded curt but his face was full of sympathy.

  Hild sighed and got to her feet, pulling Inga up and stroking her face. ‘It will be all right, darling. Just three more men. Don’t struggle and it will soon be over.’