Heroes of the Valley

  'Thought you'd be hungry, dear,' Katla said.

  'Yes.'

  'Eat, then.'

  Halli sat up and did so. While he ate, Katla bustled quietly about the room.

  When he had finished, Halli set down his knife and said in a small voice: 'That was very good. It tasted all the better because it's the last proper meal I shall have for a while, at least until after the Gathering.' As he said this, he faltered; he put his hand over his eyes and kept them there.

  Katla did not appear to have noticed. 'There will be other Gatherings, dear,' she said. 'Next summer's is not far away. That is at Orm's House, I believe.'

  Halli said savagely, 'All my life I've known nothing of the world. Now, when the world has finally come to me – I'm banned from seeing it! I've a good mind to run away, Katla. I'll not stay here.'

  'Yes, dear. Your legs are somewhat short. You will not get far. Do you want to put on your nightshirt now?'

  'No. Katla?'

  'Yes?'

  'Are there roads beyond the cairns?'

  The old woman blinked. 'Roads? Whatever do you mean?'

  'Old ones that the settlers took. To get to this valley in the days before Svein. To other valleys, other people.'

  Slowly, bemusedly, she shook her head. 'If there were trails they will be lost. The settlement was long ago. Besides, there are no other valleys, no other people.'

  'How do you know that?'

  'How can there be roads where the Trows are? They devour all who go there.'

  Halli hunched his shoulders, thinking of the ewe. 'What if we made swords again and went up to fight them? Maybe we could cross the moors, and—'

  With a click of knees Katla sat upon the bed. 'Halli, Halli. There was a boy once, like you in a lot of ways, though taller, I expect. He disregarded the Trows.'

  'I didn't say that, only—'

  'He was not of Svein's line, but from some House where they have less sense – Eirik's or Hakon's, most like. Well, that boy made it known he would go a-wandering up on the moors. He was mad, of course – they should have chained him in a hut – but they let him go. They watched him skip beyond the cairns, go prancing up onto the ridge; once or twice he waved at them in his insolence. Know what happened then?'

  Halli sighed. 'I assume something unpleasant . . .'

  'You assume correctly. A thick hill-fog came down. The boy was lost from view; it grew so dark it seemed that night had fallen, though it was not yet afternoon. At the point when the fog was thickest, the people heard thin cries – not far off, but of course they could not go to help. A wind sprang up and blew the fog higher up the moors, letting the sun in. The people saw the boy then, wedged in the ground up to his waist, not ten yards from the nearest cairn. He was still alive; he called and pleaded faintly. A brave man ran to a thicket, cut down a sapling and thrust it out beyond the stones. The boy grasped it; the people pulled . . . Well.'

  Halli said: 'I think I can guess the rest.'

  'Your imagination could not be so dreadful. The first thing they noticed was that he was lighter than expected. Then they saw he left a red trail on the ground behind him. Then they saw that his bottom half was gone.'

  'Yes. I think—'

  'Gone! Everything up to his navel. The rest had been eaten, or carried off into the hole. Of course he was dead before he reached the cairns. So that is the story of the boy who didn't believe in the Trows. I can tell you many others in similar vein.'

  'I know. I think I will sleep now.'

  'If nothing else it proves that your lot could be worse. Yes, your legs are short, but at least you have them still. Accept your situation with good grace, and all will soon be well. 'And with that Katla blew out the light and shuffled from the room.

  4

  SVEIN WAS FRIENDLY WITH Egil, but even as a youth the other heroes tried his nerves. There was never a fair or horse-meet when they weren't coming up and challenging him to some trial or other. As well as their temerity he disliked their oddities of speech, their strange modes of dress, and in particular the way his down-valley rivals always smelled of fish. When Arne and Erlend suggested a boulder-toss one time, Svein threw his out of the field altogether and into the middle of the river, to form a little island. Then, since their stench insulted him, he caught the heroes by the hind legs and lobbed them both midstream.

  Two days later the Gathering began. Shortly after dawn the first riders were seen approaching along the road, slow grey shadows emerging from the beech wood; behind came carts, muddy and travel-stained. A horn was blown at the north gate, fires were lit in the meadow roasting pits and kegs broached in readiness. Wrapped in thick cloaks against the chill. Arnkel and Astrid walked down to make the greeting.

  The sun rose over the Snag, striking the roof of the hall. Men and women rushed from the kitchens, bearing bread and cakes under fresh white linen down to the tables in the fields. The first arrivals worked to build their tents and hang the colours of their House upon their chosen booth. Children ran across the wet grass, shouting. Now the road was thick with traffic; it rang with hooves and squealing wheels. The air grew warm and cloaks were hurled aside; tunics and kirtles of a dozen colours mingled in the meadow. Hands were grasped, hugs exchanged; time and again the horns sounded against the babble of the throng. The excitement carried far upon the autumn winds.

  From high on the Trow wall, Halli watched for as long as he could stomach, then retreated to his room, where the happy sounds were mostly muffled.

  The deep frustration that dwelled within him now flared into life and burned hotly in his breast. The whole valley had assembled for a joyous festival outside his gate, and he was denied the opportunity to taste its pleasures! His family had much to answer for.

  Rising from his bed, he padded down the passage and passed through the drapes into the deserted hall. Outside in the yard laughter rang; here dust drifted through thin shards of sunlight extending from the windows in the western wall. The light hit the hero's treasures behind the Law Seats: his helmet, scarred and dented; his boar-spear, black with centuries of smoke; his longbow, with its fragments of trailing gut-string. Svein's shield was there too, a circle of pitted black wood, with metal rim and centrepiece; beside it hung his mouldering quiver of arrows. Beneath it all, upon its shelf of stone, sat the little box in which Svein's lucky silver belt lay folded. Halli stood below, staring at the treasures, at the symbols of Svein's life of action. All that was lacking was the sword. That was in Svein's hands, high on the hill.

  Sudden rage rose through Halli and pressed against the inside of his teeth. Even in death, Svein had more zest and purpose than Halli did! He still warded off the Trows, while Halli was helpless, kicking his heels at his parents' orders, doomed to a life of restless boredom until he dropped dead and joined his ancestors under the stones.

  He could bear it no longer. The hall stifled him. With swift steps, Halli left the building by the back door. He slipped between the stables to the Trow wall, scaled it and set off on a circuitous route amid the cabbage fields. Before long he attained the road, not far from the meadows where the Gathering was in full swing.

  Most of the booths were covered now and filled with wares for trading; a tangled knot of crowds undulated between the beer kegs and the mound where the storytellers sat. One field was already filled with tents of rainbow colours, and still more newcomers came trailing along the road to enter at a gaudily decorated gate.

  Halli approached diffidently, tempted to enter, calculating his chances. At the gate stood Grim the smith, muscular and watchful. Grim noticed Halli and made certain gestures that were at once brief and ornately threatening.

  Halli's shoulders fell. He trudged back in the direction of the House, before suddenly veering down a narrow dirt path between the turnip fields.

  Close to the eastern side of the House, where the Trow wall had crumbled into a gentle slope of grass and burdock, lay Svein's orchard. It was a field of perhaps thirty trees, mainly apple and wind-pear, clustering toget
her within a low turf wall. The crops were not extensive, and the orchard was usually unfrequented. Today it would be quite empty. In search of solitude and seclusion, Halli made his way there.

  Two steps in and the dark green boughs closed over him, shutting out the world. The sounds of the Gathering seemed suddenly distant. Halli breathed more easily; he walked a few paces, stopped, and closed his eyes in silent contemplation.

  At that moment there was a sudden complicated sound right over his head. It began with rasping bark, snapping twigs and a single squeal, and finished with a hail of apples bouncing on his skull.

  Halli leaped athletically aside, too late to avoid a single apple. As he did so, he heard a heavy thud at the base of the nearest tree. He turned and stared: a girl sprawled among the roots, hastily smoothing her skirts down over her outstretched legs. A profusion of apples lay across her lap and in the grass beside her. Her feet were bare and black with dirt. Her kirtle – originally a pleasant purple, the colour of ripe plums – was smeared with green. Her face was largely obscured by long, straw-coloured hair that had escaped its clasp and fallen forward during the descent.

  Used as Halli was to Gudny's immaculate composure, this was a sight to awaken wonder. He blinked at the girl uncertainly.

  She blew hard through her mouth and brushed the strands of hair carelessly away.

  'That'll teach me to try carrying twenty in my skirt,' she said. 'Did any fall on you?' She looked anxious.

  'Nearly all.'

  'Damn. They'll be bruised and no good. If they'd hit the moss they'd have been all right.' She patted the ground beside her. 'It's pretty thick down here, luckily for my arse. Help me up, then.'

  Halli opened his mouth, but found he had nothing specific to say. He stretched out a hand and hoisted the girl to her feet.

  'Thanks.' She stood before him, brushing fragments of tree out of her clothes and inspecting some scratches on her bare brown arms. She was taller than he was by half a head, and perhaps a little older. She considered her kirtle sadly. 'My aunt is going to kill me,' she went on. 'I'm meant to attend the debates in this tomorrow and of course this is the only formal one I've brought. I should have got changed, but the tent hasn't been put up, and I didn't fancy stripping in the middle of that meadow. Wouldn't have done my marriage prospects any good at all, I shouldn't think. Or maybe it would. Well, pick them up for me, there's a good boy. I suppose they'll have to do.'

  Halli had been staring at the girl in something of a daze. 'Do what?'

  'Pick them up. The apples.' She waited, eyebrows raised. 'For a servant you're a bit useless. My father would have knocked you into next week by now.'

  Halli cleared his throat, drew himself up to his full height, somewhere adjacent to her nape, and spoke in an assertive voice. 'You make a mistake. I'm not a servant.'

  The girl rolled her eyes. 'What do you call it then at Svein's House? "Menial"? "Attendant"? "Drudge"? Drudge would do. We could split hairs all day, but the end's the same. Just pick up the apples.'

  'My name is Halli Sveinsson. I am—'

  'Great Arne, you don't call yourself a "retainer", do you? They call them that at Hakon's, I believe. It's just like them for pomposity. At Arne's House we keep things simple and straightforward. A servant's a servant . . .' She paused. 'What?'

  Halli was showing his teeth now; he spoke with pointed care. 'My name is Halli Sveinsson, son of Arnkel, Arbiter of this House, and of Astrid, its Lawgiver. You, whoever you may be, are a guest at my House and are stealing my apples. Might I ask why, instead of treating me with appropriate respect, you demean my status by assuming I am a lowly servant? What explanation can you possibly offer?'

  The girl pointed at his clothes. 'No colours.'

  'Oh.' Halli looked down. 'Ah.' It was true. Down at the Gathering, his family would be wearing formal cloth of silver and black – even now Leif no doubt pranced in his across the meadow; other important persons of the house, such as Grim, Unn, even Eyjolf, were allowed dark clothes with silver braids. But Halli had been forbidden any formal wear. His tunic was of plain brown cloth; it was worn and stained. On such an occasion it spoke 'servant' loud and clear.

  The girl coughed. 'So . . . what explanation can you possibly offer?'

  Halli scratched the back of his neck. 'Well, I'm – I'm not wearing the colours.'

  'Ye-es. I know. I've just said that.'

  Halli felt blood come to his face. 'I can assure you,' he began, 'that I am Halli—'

  'No need to give the whole ancestry again,' the girl said. 'We're in an orchard, not a feast hall. I know who you are now. I know all about your lot. I've done your House in my aunt's lessons, more's the pity. Most of you die silly deaths.'

  Halli stiffened. 'No, we don't.'

  'You do. Bears, wolves, wells, ant-stings . . . What's that if not silly?'

  'It was a bee actually. A bee-sting.'

  'I'm surprised none of you've died from choking on a fly, though if you keep your jaw open like that, you'll be the one to go.' The girl's face, which had hitherto worn an expression of careless disdain, suddenly split into the broadest of grins. Her eyes creased and twinkled. Halli's stomach gave a lurch, which he attributed to indigestion.

  'Anyway,' the girl went on, 'who cares about genealogies and the histories of each House? It's all nonsense. Bores me rigid. I'm Aud Ulfar's-daughter, of Arne's House.' She stuck out a grubby hand, frowned at the palm, then hastily wiped it on her kirtle. 'Don't know where that came from. Must have been living in the tree. Didn't think they came out this season. There – it's cleaner now.'

  With some hesitation Halli grasped her hand, struggling to remember what he knew of Arne's House far down-valley. He had an idea Ulfar Arnesson was his mother's cousin . . . Certainly the man had visited on several occasions. Halli vaguely recalled his parents approving of Ulfar for his knowledge of the law.

  'I have met your father,' Halli ventured. 'He is a wise and judicious man.'

  The girl wrinkled her nose. 'Really? Stuffy and pompous, I'd say. You're not like that, I hope?'

  Halli bridled instantly. 'No.'

  'Good. So why aren't you at the Gathering, then, all decked out in the official colours? The rest of your family were lined up when we rode in. That sister of yours is a stiff piece of work. Ver-ry haughty. Looked me over like I was something grey washed up in the torrents. And I hadn't even got my kirtle dirty then.' She suddenly ran her hand through her disordered hair. 'And now the clasp's gone too, so that's the end of that braid.' She shook her head. 'My aunt really is going to kill me . . . You were saying?'

  Halli blinked. 'I was?'

  'About why you're skulking up here in your everyday rags.'

  'Um . . .' Halli ran through a range of lies and obfuscations, but none seemed credible. He shrugged. 'I'm forbidden to attend.'

  'Why?'

  'I took action against my brother on a matter of honour.'

  The girl raised her eyebrow. 'Mm-hmm? Which means what, exactly?'

  'He hit me. I pushed him into the dung heap.'

  Aud Ulfar's-daughter gave an odd little laugh, short and sharp like a dog's bark. She said: 'In truth, you're not missing much at the Gathering. Everyone's parading between tents, trying to outdo each other in displays of wealth. The Eirikssons have a bear tethered at their booth; the torc around its neck is gold, they claim.' Another abrupt little laugh. 'Whether that's so or not, it peed on their reception rug just as the Ketilssons came calling. Old Ljot Eiriksson had to sit there talking through his teeth while his leggings grew wet. Couldn't get up for loss of face.'

  Her glee made Halli laugh for the first time in days. Then he sighed. 'You speak of these great folk with such familiarity,' he said. 'I wish I knew them as you do. I have never yet been to a Gathering.' It did not occur to Halli to keep this matter secret; the girl's directness had awoken the same quality in him.

  'Oh, the Founders' families are very tiresome,' Aud said. 'Present company excepted, of course. The worst are the marshsiders
, the Ormssons and Hakonssons with their ridiculous hair and revolting swagger. The Hakonssons came smarming round our booth just now. Made my blood boil to see my father acting the lick-spittle, grovelling and cowering as if he weren't also descended from a hero! That's why I came away. Wandered up and found this place. You don't mind if I take some apples, do you, Halli Sveinsson? It's all stodge and beer down there.'

  Halli made an easy gesture. 'Please. By all means. I'll help you.'

  They stooped to the ground, gathering the windfalls from the turf. Halli scrabbled a few together in his hands and stood again, waiting. He watched Aud crouching on her haunches, turning the apples over, setting a select few in the lap of her skirt. The air was warm in the orchard; he felt a little flushed. A cheer rose from the distant meadow beyond the House, making him blink and look away through the trees.

  Aud straightened, brushing her hair from her face. 'Well, I'd better get back.'

  Halli blew out a breath. 'I'll escort you,' he said abruptly. 'If you like. I know a short way through the House. If you don't mind climbing the wall.'

  She grinned. 'All right.'

  At the edge of the enclosure the trees gave way to the slope of tumbled Trow stone. They climbed cautiously, feeling their way over the sharp snags of rock hidden among the long dry grasses. Above them rose the blank walls of the outer cottages, windowless and covered with yellow lichen. At the top was a four-foot drop to a back yard of log stacks drying under awnings. Halli jumped to the slabs; he turned to help Aud, only to find she had already leaped down beside him.

  'That's a ropy wall,' she said. 'A Trow with one leg could hop up backwards.'

  'It was high in Svein's day,' Halli said shortly. 'No need now, is there?'

  'At Arne's House the wall has been levelled. The buildings lie within gardens.'

  'What sort of a man was Arne?' Halli asked as they walked up between the stables. From the central yard came the escalating murmur of voices, busyness, the sweet-sour mingling of bread and ale. 'He doesn't figure much in the stories.'