Blood Will Follow - Snorri Kristjansson Page 0,100
reply must have set his mind at ease. “Make way, fuckers,” he growled at his fellow men. “Guest rights.” To Ulfar, he said, “Welcome, traveler, to my court. I am Lord Alfrith. We’re a bit short on the furniture at the moment, but we’ve got fish.”
“I haven’t found a bench that tastes better than a well-roasted trout,” Ulfar replied. “I am honored, Lord Alfrith.” That raised a few smirks. The gaunt man nodded and gestured to a space that had appeared between two hunched and hairy fighters.
“Where are you coming from, then?” Alfrith said as he deftly speared another fish to go on the fire.
“Uppsala,” Ulfar said. On his left, someone hawked and spat into the fire, making a loud hiss.
“Oh? And what did King Cushion say?” Alfrith snarled. “Is he going to meet Forkbeard the day after he learns to wipe his own ass?”
“He’s scared to,” a man with a badly scarred face chimed in. “He might hurt himself. Wiping your own ass is plenty dangerous.”
“You’d know, Uthgar!” Alfrith said.
“Besides, Alfgeir’s teats give mead these days, so he’s fine where he is,” another with a broken arm added. There was laughter around the fire, but it wasn’t the happy kind.
Ulfar chose his words with care. “Jolawer is young,” he said, “and like with the wenches, you don’t necessarily want to let a young man at the fighting. He’d be over and done in three strokes.” There was no laughter, but he saw the twinkle of amusement here and there. “No, just like the fucking, you want to leave the fighting to real men.” Some of the wounded fighters were nodding now. “I think Alfgeir Bjorne will protect the boy, but I don’t believe he’ll hold him back when the time comes. And when it does, they’ll know that Forkbeard was held by Lord Alfrith and his men when they needed it the most. I knew King Erik, and he did not beget a fool.” He had their undivided attention now. All he needed was to time it right. “The old goat could have fucking done it ten years earlier, though.”
The laughter that ripped around the fire was genuine now, a release of anger and pressure. Not for the first time, Ulfar thought of old Sven. Make them like you, he’d said. Not bad advice, that.
“And we do not need to establish the fact that Forkbeard was born from a thorny fart and a bad idea. So what is Old Shithead up to?” Ulfar continued.
“He’s raiding the plains, mostly,” Splint-arm said. “But he’s being quite clever about it.”
“He’s split his men up into groups of fifteen to twenty and has them spread out over the largest area possible,” Uthgar added. “They strike, burn farms, kill, rape, and run away. No battlefields, no big fights.”
“All we do is run after war bands,” Alfrith said. “And all of my men are worried that their homes are being hit next.”
“We’ve nailed a couple of them, though,” Splint-arm said. There were nods and smiles of grim satisfaction around the fire. “Nailed a couple of them right proper. And we would have got the last group, too. Except for that one fucker,” he added. “I told you he was bad news.”
“Oh, don’t you fucking start,” Half-face snapped. “All week: told you, told you, told you. Well, you tell me about him again, and I’ll set fire to your arm.”
“Oh yeah? And I’ll bang it on your good side,” Splint-arm shot back. “And you’ll thank me for it.”
Half-face made to stand up.
“Shut up, both of you!” Alfrith snapped. He swung the stick with the half-cooked fishes at them, pointing at each in turn. “There’s nothing you can do when you’re up against one of those.”
Ulfar’s chest felt like it was sinking into itself. He had to sit on his hands and bite his lip.
“Fucking fucker,” Half-face muttered. He looked across the fire at Splint-arm and mumbled something. The other warrior nodded back. Argument settled.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a man with a stump-leg said. “I mean, who fights with hammers?”
Alfrith turned to Ulfar. “Forgive me, traveler.” He grabbed a piece of shield and slapped a portion of silvery fish onto it. The blackened skin cracked open, revealing the steaming pink flesh. “Here you go.” Ulfar nodded, still biting his tongue. “Will you camp with us?”
“I am afraid not,” Ulfar said, fighting hard not to show his excitement. “I think I’ll need to be on my way very soon.”