Sworn Brother Read Free Page B

The dwarves had made the fetter from six magical ingredients — ‘the sound of a cat’s footfall, a woman’s beard, a mountain’s roots, a bear’s sinews, a fish’s breath and a bird’s spit’ — and Gleipnir did not burst even when the hell hound felt his bonds tightening and struggled with a fiend’s strength. Meanwhile brave Tyr lost his hand to the hell wolf s bite.
    Aelfgifu’s chamberlain was glaring at me. ‘Are you Thorgils?’ he asked curtly. ‘You’re late. Ever ridden a horse before?’
    I nodded cautiously. In Iceland I had occasionally ridden the sturdy little Icelandic horses. But they stood close enough to the ground for the rider not to get hurt when he fell off, and there were no roads, only tracks across the moors, so the landing was usually soft enough if you were not so unlucky as to fall on a rock. But I did not fancy trying to get on the back of anything resembling the bad-tempered stallions the two huscarls were now astride. To my relief the chamberlain nodded towards a shaggy and dispirited-looking mare tied up to the tail of one of the carts. Her aged head was drooping. ‘Take that animal. Or walk.’ Soon our motley cavalcade was creaking and clopping its way out of the city, and I was wondering whether there had not been a change of plan. Nowhere could I see my adored Aelfgifu.
    She joined us in a thunder of cantering hooves when we had already crawled along for some five miles. ‘Here she comes, riding like a Valkyrie as usual,’ I heard the one-handed huscarl remark approvingly to his colleague, as they turned in their saddles to watch the young queen approach. On my plodding creature I twisted round as well, trying not to make my interest obvious, but my heart was pounding. There she was, riding like a man, her loose hair streaming out behind her. With a pang of jealousy I noted that she was accompanied by two or three young noblemen, Saxons by the look of them. A moment later the little group were swirling past us, chattering and whooping with delight as they took up their places as the head of the little group, then reined in their horses to match our trudging progress. Clumping along on my ugly nag, I felt hot and ashamed. I had not really expected that Aelfgifu would even glance at me, but I was so lovelorn that I still hoped she would catch my eye. She had ignored me entirely.
    For four unhappy days I stayed at the back of the little column, and the most I ever saw of Aelfgifu was an occasional glimpse of her shapely back among the leading horsemen with her companions. It was torture for me whenever one of the young men leaned across towards her to exchange some confidence, or I saw her throw back her head and laugh at a witty remark. Sour with jealousy, I tried to learn who her companions were, but my fellow travellers were a taciturn lot. They could only tell me that they were high-born Saxons, ealdormen’s spawn.
    The journey was torture for another reason. My lacklustre mount proved to be the most leaden-footed, iron-mouthed creature that ever escaped the butcher’s knife. The brute plodded along, slamming down her feet so that the impact of each hoof fall rattled up my spine. My saddle, the cheapest variety and made of wood, was an agony. Each time I dismounted I hobbled like a crone, so stiff that I could not walk properly. Life on the road was no better. I had to work for every yard of progress, kicking and slapping at the flanks of the sluggish creature to make her go forward. And when the mare decided to leave the main track and head for a mouthful of spring grass, there was nothing I could do to prevent her. I hit her between the ears with a hazel rod I cut for the purpose, and heaved on the reins. But the creature merely turned her ugly head to one side and kept walking in a straight line towards her target. On one embarrassing occasion she tripped and the two of us went sprawling in the dirt. As soon as the mare had her head down and started eating, I was