Sworn Brother by Tim Severin Read Free Book Online Page A

down.
‘Here, rest for a while. Is that the first attack you have had?’
    ‘Like that one, yes.’ I replied. ‘I’ve had visions before, but never in a calm, quiet place like this. Only at times of stress or when I was in the company of a volva or seidrman.’
‘What are those?’ he asked.
    ‘It’s the Norse way of describing the women and men who communicate with the spirit world.’
    Edgar understood immediately. ‘There’s a person like that over to the west, a good two days’ walk. An old woman. She too lives by a well. Takes a sip or two of the water, and when the mood is on her, goes into a trance. Some people call her a witch and the priests have cursed her. But often her prophecies come true, though no one else would drink the water from this well. It gives you a bad gut if you do, and there’s something mysterious about the well itself. The waters suddenly gush up and overflow as a warning that a dreadful catastrophe will occur. The last time that happened was before Ashington Battle, when the Danes defeated our men.’
‘Were you there?’ I asked, still feeling faint.
    ‘Yes,’ Edgar replied, ‘with the Saxon levies and armed with my hunting bow. It was useless. We were betrayed by one of our own leaders and I was lucky to get away with my life. If the waters of the well had been able to warn us about traitors, I would have slit his throat for him, for all that he was an ealdor-man.’
    I hardly heard what Edgar was saying because, as my head cleared, I was trying to puzzle out what could have caused my vision.
    Then, in a sudden flash of comprehension, I understood: I was sensitive to the spirit world not only when in the company of someone who also possessed the second sight, but by place. If I found myself where the veil between the real world and the spirit world is thin, then I would respond to the presence of mysterious forces. Like a wisp of grass which bends to the unseen wind, long before a human feels it on his skin, I would pick up the emanations of the otherworld. The realisation made me uneasy because I feared that I had no way of knowing whether I was in such a sacred place before another vision overcame me.

    It was a week after my vision in the forest and Edgar was in high good humour. ‘South wind and a cloudy sky proclaim a hunting morning,’ he announced, prodding me with the toe of his shoe as I lay half-asleep among my blanket in the corner of his cottage. He was very fond of his proverbs.
    ‘Time for your first hunt, Thorgils. I’ve got a feeling that you’ll bring us luck.’
    It was barely light enough to see by, yet he was already dressed in clothes I had never seen before. He was wearing green from head to toe. I struggled out from under my blanket.
    ‘Here, put these on,’ he said, throwing at me in succession a tunic, leggings and a cloak with a soft hood. They were all of green. Mystified, I dressed and followed him out into the cold morning air. Edgar was testing a hunting bow, drawing it back and then releasing it. The bow was painted green too.
‘Should I get the dogs?’ I asked.
‘No, not today. We take only one.’
    I said nothing, though I wondered what use it was to have a pack, feed them, clean them, exercise them, and then not use them when you went hunting.
    Edgar guessed my thoughts. ‘Hunting with a pack is playtime for kings, an entertainment. Today we hunt for meat, not fun. Besides, what we are doing is much more delicate and skilled. So mark my words and follow my instructions carefully. Ah! Here they are,’ and he looked towards the burh.
    Three green-clad horsemen were riding towards us. One man I did not recognise, though he seemed to be a servant. To my surprise, the other two riders were the huscarls who had accompanied us from London. I still thought of them as One-Hand Tyr and Treeleg. Edgar told me that their true names were Gisli and Kjartan. Both looked in a thoroughly good humour.
    ‘Perfect day for the hunt!’ called out Kjartan