The Oathsworn Series Books 1 to 5. Robert Low

we don’t see newcomers fight?’

      Thorkel shrugged. ‘No matter what he is like, he will fight better than me, for I do not want to fight at all. Not against the Christ-followers, for my woman in Gotland is one and I promised her – swore an Odin-oath – that I would not raid their holy places. So best if I leave, for if that is the way Birka’s thoughts are going, I cannot go with them.’

      Einar scowled at that. ‘You swore an oath to us all, Thorkel. Is that to be overturned by a promise to a woman? Is your oath to us less than that to a woman?’

      ‘You have never met my wife, Einar,’ said Pinleg gloomily, his wiry body swathed in a huge cloak. ‘Breaking an oath to her is not done lightly.’

      Everyone who knew Pinleg’s woman laughed knowingly. Before Einar could answer, Illugi Godi rapped his staff on a stone and there was silence.

      ‘It is not a promise to his wife,’ he said sternly. ‘It was an oath to Odin. However stupid that may have been, it is still an oath to Odin.’

      ‘Our oath is made to Odin,’ Einar argued and Illugi frowned.

      ‘Our oath is made to each other, in the sight of Odin. Thorkel’s own Odin-oath may be truer, but I am thinking he must live with the consequence of swearing too many oaths. Anyway, he does not break his oath to the rest of us if one stands in his place.’

      There was nodding agreement to that and Einar shrugged and turned to me. ‘Well, you take the place of a good man, Orm Ruriksson. Make sure it was worth the trade.’

      I stepped forward as bid and clasped Thorkel’s forearm. He nodded at me, then moved off.

      And that was it. I was now part of the Oathsworn of Einar the Black.

      Later, I saw Thorkel and my father head to head in conversation and something niggled at me and worried and gnawed until I had to voice it.

      ‘You arranged it,’ I accused and, to my astonishment, my father grinned and nodded, putting a finger to his lips.

      ‘Aye. Thorkel wanted to go, has done for a time. He has an Irish woman in Dyfflin, which is just across the water from here, but made no Odin-oaths over her. By Loki’s arse, what sane man would do that, eh?’

      ‘Why does he want to leave?’

      My father frowned at that and self-consciously scrubbed his chin. ‘Tales of Atil’s treasure,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Thorkel believes it foolishness, thinks Einar’s thought-cage is warped.’

      ‘Why didn’t he say that, then?’ I answered, with all the stupidity of youth.

      My father batted my shoulder – none too gently, I thought – and answered, ‘You don’t say such things to the likes of Einar, unless you have a head start and fast feet, or are prepared to fight. No, Thorkel wanted out when he got here and didn’t want to fight for it and didn’t want to lose all his stuff.

      ‘This way, he gets to leave safely with a bag of hacksilver – and you get a good sea-chest, a spare set of clothes and a decent shield.’

      ‘I have nothing—’ I began and he clasped my forearm, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

      ‘I did little enough for long enough,’ he said. ‘I need take big strides to catch up and I will not make old bones on a farm now, I am thinking. So I will spend my shares how I choose.’ He paused then and added, ‘Keep your lips fastened round Einar. He is a dangerous man when his brows come together.’

      So, in the star-glimmered dark before dawn, I found myself assembled with the others, sword in hand, clutching Thorkel’s shield with its swirling design of rune snakes, shivering and sick to the pit of my stomach.

      We helped shove the Fjord Elk back off the shingle before the tide went out and stranded it there for hours. My father, of course, was staying behind since he was shipmaster and Pinleg would need him if they came under attack. So was Valgard, in case the ship was damaged. The eight others who stayed were hard enough men, but were all those who, for one reason or another, were not the fastest on their feet.

      I was surprised that Skapti was going with the main body – not that I was going to say aloud that he was too fat to move fast – and more surprised than that to see him wearing a mail hauberk. A few others had mail, too, but had left off the padding of spare tunics usually worn beneath it.

      Later, of course, I learned that no clever man expecting a fight and having good mail will willingly give it up and, since the easiest way of carrying it is to wear it, that’s what they did.

      The two who were leaving said their farewells, hefted their bundles and packs and struck off in the opposite direction from the one we would take. By the time we reached the Christ temple, they would be far enough away not to be considered part of the act. If they moved fast, of course.

      Ulf-Agar had unrolled his mail from the fleece it was kept in, the sheep-grease fending off the rust. I thought to try to mend the rift between us and stepped forward to offer a helping hand as he hefted the ring-heavy mail by the shoulders.

      Instead, he slapped my hand away and scowled. This was too much and I felt my hackles rise. Then Illugi Godi stepped between us and ushered me away, talking the while as if nothing had happened.

      ‘Good sword you have there, Orm Ruriksson. Here’s a tip, though: run it through the fleece of one of those fresh-killed sheep a few times. It’s been splashed on by the sea and that rots metal faster than anything I know. Really, you need a sheath for it, but not a soft leather one, since that rots the metal fast, too. Better one made from wood, with a sheepskin lining. That way you can use the sheath as a good club if you have to …’

      Out of earshot, he clasped my shoulder in friendly fashion and glanced back to where Ulf-Agar’s tousled head was emerging from his mail, his arms flailing. ‘You meant well, but I fear you’ve made things worse. It’s a thing among mail-wearers that if you can’t put it on or take it off unaided you shouldn’t have the stuff. So you just insulted him.’

      ‘I didn’t know,’ I said, my heart sinking.

      ‘I think he knows that,’ answered Illugi Godi, ‘but it won’t help. Some evil gnaws him, and until he beats it to a pulp you and he will always be glaring. Unless you can fight him, I’d steer away wherever possible.’

      My father came up as Illugi strode away and, at his questioning look, I told him what had happened. He stroked his chin and shook his head. ‘Illugi is a good man, so you can take his advice. Mostly. Like us all, he has his reasons for being in the Oathsworn.’

      ‘What are his?’ I demanded and he shut one eye and squinted at me quizzically.

      ‘You want to know a lot. He thinks Asgard is under siege from this White Christ and our gods are asleep.’

      ‘And you? What are your reasons?’

      He scowled. ‘You want to know too much.’ Then he forced a smile and produced a round leather helmet. ‘One of Steinthor’s spares. He picked it up last year, but can’t wear it himself.’

      It looked fine to me – a little too big, no fastening strap and a nice metal nasal. ‘Why can’t he wear it?’

      My father tapped the metal nose protector. ‘He’s a bowman. Blocks your sighting, does a nasal. Bowmen all wear helmets without them. And no mail – even half-sleeves snag the string. That’s why they stay well out on the edges of a fight and pick people off.’ He spat. ‘No one likes bowmen – unless they are your bowmen.’

      We clasped hands, forearm to forearm.

      ‘Stay safe, boy,’ he said and turned back to the ship.

      Einar, helmeted and mailed and wearing two swords in his belt, shield slung over one shoulder, looked at the assembled men. He handed a spear with a furled cloth on it to skinny Valknut. ‘Move steady and quiet. Stay together – anyone who stops for a piss or a pull on the way risks being left on his own and we won’t be going