Byzantium by Michael Ennis

much less serve their Emperor. And now you have men under your keeping. If you are careless with your name, you may condemn them as well. I die knowing that you are Haraldr Sigurdarson again, which is why you must be all the more vigilant in denying him.’
    The Jarl seemed to collapse inwardly with the huge effort of his admonition. ‘I promise you, as I promised Olaf,’ murmured Haraldr.
    Jarl Rognvald coughed blood. His last words were like leaves rattled by the barest summer breeze. ’Goodbye, my . . . son . . . I’ll see you next at the benches--’ Then his pale lips froze and the spirit visibly fled from his face.
    When all human warmth had vanished from the Jarl’s body, Haraldr released him from his embrace and gently folded the lids shut over the old man’s empty eyes.
     
    ‘Hakon. Pah.’ Gleb spat angrily into the black water.
    Haraldr stomped over to the pile of gear he had left on the deck. His sword was beside his old Slav breastplate. He strapped his sword belt on over Emma. ‘Get the dinghy ready,’ he snapped to a Rus oarsman.
    ‘No!’ Gleb shook his head. ‘We’ve still got three cataracts and the ford at Krarion ahead of us before we reach St Gregory’s Island. You might kill Hakon, but what about the five hundred with him? We all need to work together for now.’ Gleb spat and looked off into the night. ‘Then when we get to St Gregory’s Island we’ll think of some way to feed Hakon to the pelicans.’
    After Gleb retired, Haraldr said he would take the early watch and he stood for a long time at the stern of the ship, looking down the faintly stirring, deceptively tranquil Dnieper, trying to make sense of a day in which he had freed his own lost soul and had lost the dearest soul left to him on earth. He sobbed quietly for a long while, but eventually his agony lightened with the thought of the Jarl already seated at the benches with Odin’s chosen champions, hoisting his mead horn with Olaf and Sigurd Syr. Now Haraldr would have to earn his seat alongside them in the Valhol. He had stood before the beast of his own spirit but he had not slain it. And now he would also have to slay the demon who stood before him in the flesh. Hakon.
    Haraldr started. What was out there? Pechenegs? They would not go out on the water. He searched for the point where he had heard the faint inconsistency in the rippling of the river. Merely a fish?
    A dinghy. Haraldr tightened his hand on the pommel of his sword.
    The shape took on contrast against the black Dnieper. Two men, from the size of them Varangians. Haraldr slowly and soundlessly slipped his sword out of its greased scabbard. With his left hand he removed his dagger from his belt.
    The dinghy impacted the river ship with a light thud.
    ‘Watch. You!’ came the urgent whisper from the water. ‘We want to see Jarl Rognvald and Haraldr Nordbrikt.’
    ‘What do you want with them?’ Better to let them guess about the Jarl’s fate. Bastards. Their treachery had been the deadly blade today, not the Pecheneg spear. Haraldr’s grip tightened on the steel that would mete his vengeance. He was not afraid. He would enjoy this.
    There was a long pause. Haraldr heard whispering below. ‘With whom do we speak?’
    ‘A man trusted by Jarl Rognvald and Haraldr Nordbrikt as themselves.’
    Another pause and a brief whispering. ‘You pledge it, Norseman?’
    ‘I pledge it on the soul of the Jarl.’ What ruse were they about?
    The two Varangians engaged in a lengthy, hissing discussion. Finally Haraldr snapped, ‘Tell me your business. Except for the handful who fought with them today, Jarl Rognvald and Haraldr Nordbrikt have only cold breasts and colder steel for you Varangians.’
    ‘I’m one of the men who fought with them today. Ask them to come and see.’
    Haraldr peered warily over the railing. A man was standing in the dinghy, face up. Kristr’s Mother! It was the fine-looking, laconic Varangian who had been with them in the river.
    Haraldr