‘Down!’ the hooded stranger barked.
Deep within Einar’s mind something sparked. Before he even realised it was recognition, he was throwing himself face forwards once again. As he went down to the walkway the stranger loosed the arrow. Einar heard it buzz through the night air over him like an angry wasp.
The man running directly behind him stood no chance.
There was a dull thump as the arrow hit him dead centre of the chest. The impact forced a grunt from him. His headlong charge stopped but his momentum carried him on a couple of steps. Then his body crashed down onto the walkway beside Einar, who found himself looking straight into the already fixed and staring eyes of the Frank.
‘Blood of Jesus!’ Osric said, sliding to a halt. His companion did the same.
The stranger pulled down the green hood. Long red-gold hair tied in a braid fell free to curl on her right shoulder like a serpent. Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow in the dark. Her eyebrows were dark and arched and she had green eyes that would not have looked out of place on a cat. Her beauty by itself was enough to halt a man in his tracks. The bow she bore had even more permanent stopping power. In one quick movement she notched another arrow, drew the bow and aimed it up the street once more.
‘Affreca!’ Einar said. Despite the situation, he felt a strange pang in his stomach at the sight of her.
‘Stay where you are or you’re dead,’ Affreca shouted to the men behind Einar.
She spoke in her Irish-accented Norse. Even in the half-darkness Einar could see the confusion on the faces of the Saxons. He scrambled to his feet again.
‘If I were you, I’d stand still,’ Einar said, using the version of the Aenglish tongue that he had picked up during his stay so far in Jorvik. It was a mongrel tongue – mainly Saxon with a large swathe of Norse – but it was common enough for Angles, Saxons and Norse to understand each other in this divided realm. ‘She can hit a running rabbit at one hundred paces.’
His two pursuers exchanged glances. Then both broke in different directions. They leapt off the walkway. One went right and one left, diving into the darkness between the long, narrow thatched houses that lined the street.
Affreca loosed her bow. Osric let out a yelp but still disappeared into the darkness. Affreca notched and loosed another arrow which thudded into the corner of a house just as the other man disappeared behind it.
‘I think you maybe got one of them,’ Einar said as Affreca jogged to meet him. They both peered into the darkness that filled the alleyways between the houses on either side. There was no sign of movement.
‘I don’t know what in Hel’s name you are doing here in Jorvik,’ Einar said. He half opened his arms, then dropped them and gave Affreca an awkward clap on her left shoulder. ‘But I’m really glad to see you.’
Affreca raised her eyebrows then threw her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze. Einar felt blood throbbing in his loins. He raised his own arms to reciprocate and then let go.
A noise came from the alleyway Osric had gone down. It sounded like someone tripping over something in the dark. It came from the far end but it was enough to bring their attention back to the situation they were in. The darkness beyond the meagre torches along the walkway provided perfect cover for any attacker who wanted to creep up on them. There could be others lurking in the dark right now, with bow drawn or spear aimed.
‘It’s too dangerous out here,’ Affreca said.
‘Let’s go back to the inn,’ Einar said. ‘My lodgings are too far away.’
They heaved the dead Frank off the walkway into the ditch of filthy water that ran alongside it. Einar realised his shoe was somewhere at the bottom of the black mire but he did not have time to fish it out now. Nor had he the stomach to search through what was little more than an offal-clogged sewer.
They hurried back up the street to the door of the inn. Einar’s harp, still in its bag, lay on the timber of the walkway where he had dropped it. Their insistent banging on the door was at first met with a demand from Gorm, the innkeeper, that they go away, put in unmistakable terms. When they persisted, the door was finally unbarred with a rattle of bolts. The broad-shouldered, large bellied innkeeper, now dressed just in his undershirt, wrenched open the door. He grasped a large wooden club in one meaty fist. His mouth was open, about to repeat his demand they leave.
The words froze in his mouth at the sight of Einar, his right cheek bruised and swelling and blood from the cut on his head running down his face. A moment later they were inside and the door barred behind them.
Gorm ushered them to a table near the last remnants of the fire. The room still held some of the fug of the bodies that had crowded it earlier. The aroma of ale, stew, sweat and damp clothes hung in the air but compared to the cold dark of the city streets outside with their lurking dangers, to Einar the inn seemed like Fólkvangr, the heavenly realm of Freya where it was always summer.
Whatever astonishment Gorm had shown at the door paled in comparison to the expression on Affreca’s face a little later when Einar told her why he was in Jorvik.
‘Poetry lessons?’ Affreca said, her lip curled as if Einar had let out a nasty fart. ‘You left Ulrich’s Úlfhéðnar crew to be a poet?’
Einar shrugged.
‘There’s a great skald here in Jorvik,’ he said. ‘I have much to learn if I’m going to be famous.’
Affreca narrowed her eyes.
‘This lad’s good,’ Gorm said, nodding at Einar. ‘One of the best poets we’ve had here. The customers love him.’
‘And Gorm pays me well for entertaining them,’ Einar said. ‘I use the money to pay for lessons so I can get even better.’
‘You look like you’ve been in a war, lad,’ Gorm, whose own pock-marked, scarred and cratered bald head spoke of a lifetime of violence, said. ‘The streets of this town are dangerous after dark. It’s a shame that honest men can’t walk them without being attacked by rogues and thieves.’
Einar shook his head.
‘Those men were looking for me. I’m sure two of them were Saxons and one maybe a Frank. They must work for Ricbehrt the weapon merchant.’ He glanced at Affreca. ‘He wants his swords back.’
‘The ones we stole from him in Ireland?’ Affreca said.
‘You know of any others?’ Einar said.
‘I’m sure you gave a good account of yourself to them,’ Gorm said.
‘My friend here might have killed one of them,’ Einar replied. ‘We left him in the ditch.’
Gorm made a face. ‘Then you deserve a drink. It’s not murder to kill Saxons in my eyes. The way they lord it over us these days I’m surprised more don’t end up in ditches. There’ll be trouble over this though. When the body’s found the Reeve’s men will be around the town like hounds after a fox. I’ll get us a fresh jug of ale.’
Affreca shook her head.
‘So the Skull Cleaver’s son now sings for coins in an inn?’ she said with a sneer. ‘We thought you had come here to learn more about being a warrior. Or perhaps to win allies to get revenge on Jarl Thorfinn. King Aethelstan of Wessex is gathering an army to march north. We thought maybe you saw that as a chance to take what’s rightfully yours; the Jarldom of Orkney.’
Einar scowled. ‘I know nothing of Aethelstan. Besides, how could I take Orkney? I would need my own army. Jarl Thorfinn is too strong. I can’t waste my life hoping that someday I’ll be able to match him.’
He saw the expression on her face and blushed a deep red.
‘There are other ways to win fame and glory than fighting,’ he said, the words tumbling from his mouth without his mind getting in the way for a change. ‘Odin gave me the gift of poetry. I can make a name for myself through that. And it will be a fame that lives as long as any warrior’s.’
Affreca sniffed. ‘And what about honour, Einar? What about revenge?’
‘Revenge for what?’ Einar said. The shame that had reddened his cheeks was turning to anger. ‘Thorfinn didn’t actually kill my mother, remember?’
‘He tried,’ Affreca said. ‘He tried to kill us all.’
‘And we killed the men he sent to do that,’ Einar said. ‘Including his son – my own half-brother Hrolf – in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘You think Thorfinn will just give up?’ Affreca said. ‘He’s out there right now, looking for you. Are you just going to wait for him to come and get you?’
Einar sighed. The excitement of the night’s events was starting to drain away leaving him feeling weary. It was time to get to the point. He fixed her with a steady gaze and said, ‘What are you really here for, Affreca?’