The Ice Queen by Bruce MacBain

inform the prince what has happened, and ask him to tell Harald’s hirdmen to row up to Gorodische at first light tomorrow. He’s to say the order comes from me. I want Harald taken to his own dvor at Menevo without delay, and in his own ship.”
    â€œAnd if my servants are waylaid by the heathens?”
    â€œThen, Lady, we will stay here and defend ourselves as best we can until we’re found.”
    She issued curt orders in Slavonic to the youths, who saluted and galloped off.
    And we four sat in watchful silence as night spread over the lake.

8

A Council of War
    In due time we were fetched back to Gorodische and Harald put to bed in Ingigerd’s own chamber. And the next morning his dragon ship arrived and tied up to the landing slip. One hundred and twenty Norwegians poured over the side, demanding angrily to see their young chieftain. Almost unnoticed in this crowd were Yaroslav and Einar Tree-Foot.
    â€œWhat a business, what an outrage!” lamented the prince as he leaned anxiously over Harald’s prostrate form. “Eilif and the whole druzhina are out scouring the countryside at this very moment. He insisted on it himself and rode out before it was even light—uncommon early for him. He’ll pull their roofs down over their heads, have no fear.”
    Yaroslav, prepared for any eventuality, had brought along both a priest and a physician—the latter being, like Jarl Ragnvald’s, a Greek from Miklagard. But Einar shoved his way to the front, and swore, by the Raven, that no one knew more about blade wounds than a Jomsviking. After some dispute, he was allowed to take charge of the patient.
    â€œBoil me six onions cut up in a little water,” he ordered.
    A serving woman was sent in haste to prepare this dish. While we waited, he studied his patient. The blood had by now been washed away, revealing a black-encrusted stab wound about three fingers wide.
    â€œThe question is,” said Einar tugging his beard, “are his guts pierced? Those other giblets don’t matter a fart in the wind so long as the guts ain’tpierced. If they are, start digging his grave. Now, youngster, drink this.” The onion soup had arrived; he held the bowl to Harald’s lips.
    â€œSomeone count to a hundred slowly. By the Raven, must I do all!”
    Yaroslav being, by everyone’s admission, the best educated among us, offered himself for this service.
    As the count neared its end, Einar bent over the wound. “Easier when she’s fresh, but it can’t be helped,” he muttered, and with his fingers pulled apart the crusty flaps of skin, ignoring Harald’s groans. A trickle of bright red blood began at once, but Einar put his nose next to the wound and sniffed.
    â€œCan’t smell a thing; he’ll live,” was all he said, straightening up. He left it, as a task beneath his interest, to the Greek to patch up the wound.
    That very afternoon, by Dag’s order, Harald, swaddled in furs, was laid gently on the deck of his ship. I took the helm and put her about. We rowed past Novgorod and downriver another ten miles to Harald’s dvor—the one he had been given by Yaroslav. He had visited the place once already and purchased some slaves for it, including one lovely young girl that Stavko let him have for a song.

    That evening Dag and I sat beside Harald in his bed-closet, with the door shut, and held a council.
    â€œSunsets!” Dag swore. “Nightingales! And the whole time leading us into an ambush! The first time we passed Perun’s grove must have been to alert their lookout; she didn’t take us that way just to argue religion with Odd here—which, by the way, my young friend, had better not happen again. Personally, I don’t care if you dance naked under the moon, but keep it to yourself. This is a Christian court, as you may have noticed, and talk like yours has a way of getting to the wrong