‘Give me the goatskin,’ whispered Oddo.
Dúngal had been wearing it as a cloak, but now he handed it to Oddo.
‘Good luck.’
Oddo stood up, and wrapped the goatskin carefully round his head and shoulders.
‘It’s working,’ said Thora excitedly. ‘Now make sure you keep it over your head all the time.’
When Oddo turned to go, Hairydog sprang to his side.
‘No, girl, you stay here.’ He watched the dog flop to the ground, and frowned anxiously. ‘I think she can still see me,’ he said. ‘And that means the hound down there will be able to see me too!’
‘So what?’ said Thora. ‘Just tell it to be quiet. You can talk to animals!’
Oddo tiptoed down the hill. Just near the yard, a twig snapped under his foot. The hound began to bark and the farmer peered up the hill. Oddo’s hand flew to his head to check his hood was still in place. He waited, holding his breath and feeling horribly exposed, praying that Dúngal and Thora were well hidden.
‘It’s all very well Thora telling me to order the dog around,’ he thought. ‘But how can I, when the man’s standing right next to it? The cloak won’t make my voice disappear!’
He caught the dog’s eye and stared at it, willing it to be quiet. The animal stopped barking, tilted its head on one side, and lay down. The farmer shrugged, and headed for the house.
Oddo crept forward again. The house was built of turf dug from the earth around it. Oddo could see the raw cuts in the ground. On the river, he could see the longship rocking gently. And tied up behind it . . . Oddo gulped. There was a small rowing boat, with oars resting ready on the benches. There was nobody in sight. Now was the perfect time to slip the moorings, and quietly row it away.
From inside the house came a clamour of Viking voices, and the tantalising odour of roasted lamb. Oddo hesitated. It was a long time since breakfast, and it would be longer yet before his feet were back in a Viking home.
‘Just a quick peek,’ he vowed, ‘and a tiny bite. And then I’ll steal the boat.’
He tiptoed along the paved path, following the farmer into a tunnel cut in the thickness of the walls. The man was just pushing his way through the skin draperies at the other end. Oddo could hear men and women laughing and talking. He took a deep breath, patted his hood again, and stepped through the door.
The scene inside was just like any farmhouse back home. Sprawled on benches around the table, a noisy crowd were eating, drinking and shouting with laughter. They were half in shadow, half lit by the lights of the flickering oil lamps. A thrall circled them, bearing a large jug, and hands rose and fell as the diners tossed back their ale and held out their horns for more. Three women bent over the firepit in the middle of the floor, faces red and perspiring as they turned a spit and heaved a heavy saucepan off the flames. Oddo’s tongue watered. When one of the women started to hack slices off the haunch of meat to pile on a wooden platter, Oddo sidled closer. The instant she twisted back to the spit, his hand flashed out, snatched a piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth.
Chewing happily, he crouched on the floor and began to listen to the rowdy conversation at the table. The hot fire made sweat trickle down the back of his neck, and he slid a finger under his hood to let in some air.
‘Dyflinn’s the place!’ shouted a man with grey locks and a face marked by a long scar. He thumped his fist, and a bowl of whey bounced and splattered.
‘That’s right,’ answered his neighbour. He was a pasty-faced fellow with a low, gravelly voice. ‘Irish make the best thralls. I say we check out the slave market in Dyflinn.’
‘What about a raid?’ an eager voice piped up. ‘Easy pickings anywhere in Ireland. Pick up our own thralls.’
‘Hear, hear!’
Oddo sprang to his feet, quivering with rage. It was louts like these who’d kidnapped Dúngal, and dragged him to the market in chains. He glared round the table at their gloating faces.
One man glanced his way, looked puzzled, and pointed.
‘Who’s that boy?’ he asked.
Oddo grasped his head, and to his horror felt hair instead of goatskin. The hood had fallen away and now everyone could see him.
They were silent, staring.
‘I . . . I’m a Viking,’ he said. ‘I . . . I was on a boat and it was wrecked and . . . here I am.’
‘A boat?’
‘What boat?’
‘Is there anyone else?’
‘Where did you land?’
‘What’s your name?’
The questions flew at him like arrows and he stared back, feeling like a hunted animal. In his head he could still hear Dúngal’s frightened cry:‘If they see me, they’ll make me into a thrall again!’
‘How am I going to stop them finding the others?’ he thought in despair.
One of the red-faced women slapped a platter on the table and glared at the men.
‘You ill-mannered boors,’ she scolded. ‘This poor lad must be famished and exhausted. Stop pestering him and let him sit down and eat.’
There were rumbles as the men shifted along, making a space for Oddo. He slid onto the end of a bench, head bowed, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
‘There, dearie.’ The woman leaned across, smelling of sweat and smoke, and handed him a wooden plate heaped with bread and meat. Oddo could feel everyone watching him. The bread filled his mouth, doughy and sticky, and he had to gulp noisily to swallow it. At last, the men turned away and began to plan their raids again.
‘We should leave soon,’ said one of them,‘we want to journey there and back before the summer ends.’
‘And who’ll stay here?’ the woman demanded, as she plonked another platter on the table, straightened up, and crossed her arms. ‘There’s plenty to see to on the farms, and us three womenfolk can’t do it all.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, then, some of us will stay,’ said Pasty-face.
‘Hold on, not so fast!’ The grey-haired man wagged his finger. ‘If half the crew is stranded here, who’ll man the ship?’ He scowled around the table, and all the others grunted and frowned and tugged at their beards.
The grey-haired man suddenly pointed at Oddo.
‘You, boy, you said you came here on a boat. Can you row? Can you sail?’
‘We’ll soon teach him, if he can’t!’
There were hoots of laughter, and knife handles banged on the table.
Oddo stared at the leering faces, his belly churning with fear and excitement. These men were offering him passage on a boat to Ireland. Only . . . he couldn’t leave Dúngal and Thora and Hairydog in this land of ice and fire. He had to find a way to take them too. He couldn’t go alone!
