Stalker Goes A-Viking

By Jordan Stoen

 

Stalker sat in the longboat’s curved bow, eyes, whiskers, and ears pointed toward land, wide tail plume trailing behind. He ignored the soft mist that rose from the river as much as fell from the clouds. Droplets gathered on his long, thick outer coat, turning dark grey hair to black and his lighter markings charcoal.

            Aft, at the steering oar, Gunnar Olafson smiled through his wind-tangled blond beard. His ship’s cat enjoyed Jorvik—York, the Saxons called it. While only average size for his sturdy Norse breed, Stalker’s size and muscle nearly doubled that of cats native to this soft land. He fared well during their visits here.

            As he guided the boat past the ancient Roman walls to the beach below the thatched warehouses, Gunnar hoped to do as well. Once again he reviewed his Orkney holding’s winter needs. The harvest had been meager. He sent a prayer to Niord that his profit from the summer’s raiding would see them past the Hunger Moon at winter’s end.

            The ship scraped onto shore beside a row of similar vessels. The sail had already been furled; now ten men shipped oars, then stretched while Gunnar assigned watches. Stalker balanced on the gunwale, casting impatient glances at Gunnar. The man wished the rest of his crew were as courteous, but Vikings weren’t known for observing formalities.

            “Yah, we go ashore now,” Gunnar said. He vaulted to the sand. The cat followed with a soft thud, then the rest of the party hit the beach.

            They strolled between tents and fires belonging to other voyagers, stretching their legs, adjusting to land again. Stalker strutted foremost, upright tail fluffed wider than Gunnar’s wrist, broad head held high above his thick fur ruff. The cat’s stately progress looked more regal that that of the emperor Gunnar once served in Constantinople.

            They proceeded first to Coppergate, a narrow, timber-paved street lined by workshops and merchants’ stalls. The crew scattered, but Stalker accompanied Gunnar, surveying everything as calmly as a jarl inspecting his subjects.

            Grains to feed people and animals until spring took more of Gunnar’s silver than he liked. Then they visited the crowded warehouse of Edmund, a chunky Saxon merchant. Here Gunnar found his other needs: ax heads and hoes, a plow blade, knives, and an iron pot. He bargained shrewdly, determined to get full value for his furs, walrus-hide ropes, and what silver he could spare.

            As the men talked, a small girl with wispy reddish hair and huge blue eyes crept from between large stacks of furs. The child stared at Stalker, then stood and toddled toward the cat. Gunnar watched closely. Stalker shared his breed’s tolerant disposition toward a friendly advance, but wasn’t used to children.

            Edmund smiled at the girl. “Asti won’t hurt him. She loves animals.”

            Asti offered Stalker the crumbling oatcake clutched in one dimpled hand. Stalker sniffed, then looked at Gunnar. The cat’s wide-set, slanted eyes clearly asked, “Does she think I’d eat this?”

            Gunnar held back laughter, not wanting to hurt the child’s feelings. “It’s good of you to share, but Stalker prefers meat or fish.”

            Edmund said, “I’m afraid we’ve none of that today. My wife is in childbed, with all our household’s women running to and fro. Asti and I are on our own this afternoon.”

            He opened a wooden box on his cluttered table and took out a leather bag. “See what I have to reward my wife’s efforts.” Edmund opened the bag and spilled its glittering contents into his palm.

            Gunnar’s eyes widened as Edmund suspended a necklace between both hands. Beautifully wrought silver links joined to an oval pendant. At its center gleamed a large sapphire, with four smaller ones set around the edges. Excellent workmanship, highest quality stones—and their deep blue matched Inga’s eyes. Gunnar pictured the stones on his nearest neighbor’s middle daughter, and how those eyes would sparkle over such a treasure.

            Stalker jumped onto the table and watched the pendant sway gently between Edmund’s hands. The cat raised one broad paw toward the swinging bauble, and Edmund snatched it out of reach with a chuckle.

            “You like this, hey?” said Edmund. “Well, it’s spoken for. I got two fistfuls of these stones from an Arab trader a few years back. Some became earrings for Thora when she gave me Asti two years ago. However, I have something else you might appreciate.”

            He took another small leather bag from the box. It held a charming silver brooch of the same fine workmanship, set with three more blue stones. None so large as those in the necklace, they were gorgeous all the same.

            “Feel how heavy it is. The best silver.” Edmund handed Gunnar the brooch.

            Gunnar turned it over, enjoying its smooth feel, admiring the craftwork. He handed it back reluctantly. “It’s a rare treasure, nearly as beautiful as the woman I’d give it to. But I need to keep what little silver you’ve left me for emergencies.”

            Hearing truth in his voice, Edmund slipped the brooch and necklace back into their bags. “Perhaps next year, hey?” They then arranged to exchange goods the following day.

            Outside Edmund’s door, Stalker gave a questioning meow.

            “Yah, today’s business is finished,” Gunnar told him. “I want a bath and a taste of wine. Enjoy yourself as you like.”

            Stalker looked slowly from side to side, then strolled with lordly dignity toward the pier where fishing boats landed. Gunnar laughed aloud. Many city cats congregated there toward day’s end. If past experience was any guide, Stalker would have some fine fights, a good dinner, and make a grand impression on Jorvik’s female cats.

*  *  *

Gunnar sat long in a wineshop, enjoying the rare luxury he’d formed a taste for during his time in Constantinople. An excellent skald recited sagas, including one Gunnar had not heard before, something about voyagers from Greenland visiting a strange land far to the west. He returned to his ship late, and found Stalker there before him. He also found several town cats, all intent on boarding the vessel. From the looks of them, Stalker had already demonstrated they stood no chance, but they continued to slink around the boat’s prow, voicing occasional rowls. Stalker paced the gunwales, rumbling threats back at them.

            Gunnar rolled up on deck in his sealskin sleep bag, proof against the light drizzle, well padded with eider ducks’ down. But the prowling cats prevented sleep. Twice he rose and chased cats away, tossing water on them from a hide bucket. They returned before he could slip back into his sealskin. Just as he started drifting off in spite of the feline disturbances, Stalker gave a loud scream. He launched himself at a foolhardy black-and-white who had leaped onto the ship from one side while Stalker patrolled the other. Muttering curses, Gunnar took to the beach, and moved far down it. He knew enough of cats to realize when it was pointless to interfere in their business.

*  *  *

The following morning’s sun shone through wispy clouds. Cats still prowled near the ship. Gunner couldn’t guess what it meant, but warned Kark, his second in command, to keep them off. Stalker watched Kark while most of the crew collected trade goods to complete Gunnar’s transactions. Then, satisfied that the ship’s guardian could handle the job, the cat escorted Gunnar into town.

            After the grain merchant’s donkey cart started for the ship, Gunnar and Stalker returned to Edmund’s warehouse. Three of Gunnar’s men had delivered the trade items. Edmund inspected them. It only remained for Gunnar to hand over his silver.

            “A good bargain.” Edmund set aside his scales and held out his right hand.

            “A good bargain,” Gunnar repeated, slapping Edmund’s palm. His crewmen carried away his purchases.

            Stalker had disappeared. Now a soft giggle came from behind a barrel. Gunnar and Edmund exchanged glances, then peered over the barrel.

            Young Asti sat in a nest of blankets. Stalker covered her legs like a plump fur robe. The girl held something to Stalker’s mouth, and laughed as he nibbled.

            “So, she has her way, as usual.” Edmund smiled fondly. “My brother brought a fine fat goose to celebrate last night, and Asti insisted on saving some for your cat. You don’t mind?”

            “Certainly not.” Gunnar wondered what Edmund’s family celebrated, then remembered yesterday’s conversation. “All went well with your wife?”

            Edmund’s smile broadened into a proud grin. “A fine healthy son, my first heir.”

            “How did Thora like the necklace?”

            Edmund shook his head. “I was so excited when the thrall came with the news, I ran home without it. I even forgot Asti! Thank the Holy Madonna, the slave had enough wit to lock the door and bring the child.”

            He moved to the box as he spoke and brought out the necklace. It sparkled in sunlight from the open door.

            Gunnar watched without envy. Someday he would obtain a lovely trinket that he could offer to Inga. Surely she would favor a man who gave gifts almost as lovely as herself.

            “Pretty!” Little Asti stood gazing up, delight on her round face.

            Her father nodded. “Perhaps when you’re older Mother will let you wear it.”

            Shouts sounded in the street just then. Something thumped the wall. Gunnar and Edmund hurried to the door. Two men fought three of the city guards, yelling and throwing wild punches. The guards quickly subdued the men and marched them off to settle the matter away from the watching crowd.

            As the street cleared, Gunnar took his leave. A fair wind was rising; he hoped his grain was loaded. Stalker trotted ahead and reached the ship long before his master.

            Cats still prowled the beach, twice as many as earlier. Kark reported difficulties tripping over them while loading the grain, but thought none had succeeded in boarding. Gunnar frowned in puzzlement, but soon forgot the riddle of the cats as he made ready to sail.

            He was about to give the order to shove off when a spear rapped the ship’s prow. Looking over the side, he saw a dozen city guards in chain mail and round helmets.

            “Where is Gunnar Olafson?” one demanded.

            “That’s me.”

            “You must come with us, in the king’s name. A freeman has accused you of thievery.”

            Gunnar stared at them, dumbfounded. After a moment he found his voice, but not his wits. “Thievery? What freeman?”

            “Edmund the Ironmonger.”

            Why would Edmund say such a thing? Gunnar had been accused of many crimes in his days a-viking, but never something he hadn’t done. And never by a friend.

            Stalker leaped to the prow and hissed at the guard. The man stepped back, startled, as well he might. With ears back and fur on end, the husky cat looked ferocious.

            “Stalker, down!” Gunnar shouted. No good would come of launching an angry cat among so many armed men, he was fairly certain.

            The cat relaxed somewhat, but his tail switched dangerously.

            Gunnar’s men grumbled behind him. They would be foolish to fight the guard. Even if they escaped, the king’s warships would make short work of Gunnar’s ship, perhaps even sink it. This must be a mistake he could set right.

            When Gunnar jumped to the sand, Stalker landed beside him. The guard captain ordered Gunnar’s men off the ship also, while most of the guards boarded to search it. “And you,” he finished, pointing at Gunnar’s crew, “get rid of these cursed cats!”

            Two guards escorted Gunnar back to Edmund’s warehouse. There the stocky trader glared at Gunnar.

            “Thora’s necklace!” he growled. The venom in his voice startled Gunnar. “You stole it while I was distracted by that street brawl.”

            “I swear by Odin’s eye, I never touched it! I went with you to the door, then left. I wasn’t near it.”

            “Don’t bother lying.” The merchant’s tone rang colder than the iron he sold. “I heard the yearning in your voice yesterday. You spoke of a beautiful woman, a suitable gift. After you left, the necklace was gone, and no one here but me. The necklace left with you.”

            Despite Gunnar’s protests, the guards searched him thoroughly. When they found no stolen treasure, they threw him against a wall to await news from those searching the ship.

            Gunnar stood proudly, refusing to hang his head. Was the merchant plotting against him? Did he want Gunnar bound to him, to work off this debt? Perhaps he planned to demand wergild payment for Gunnar’s freedom.

            But Gunnar had nothing to pay with except his ship or his land. The land was his security, a place to start a family. The ship meant income to build his holding into a profitable farm.

            He ground his teeth. Edmund would regret this treachery. Gunnar still had friends and kinsmen in the north, and Kark would see they heard of this.

            Stalker leaped atop a barrel and butted his head against his master’s arm. “Mrowr?” The tone meant, “Can we leave?”

            “Not yet.” Gunnar rubbed behind the cat’s ears. “They think I stole that shiny ornament you liked. We can’t leave until it’s found.”

            Stalker gave him such a thoughtful look, Gunnar almost believed he understood.

            After a few minutes the cat jumped down from the barrel and wandered slowly through the warehouse. He vaulted onto the table, landing precisely among the articles scattered across its surface. He sniffed the wooden box where the merchant stored his jewels, then examined the table’s surface. Next, Stalker returned to the floor and padded off between the barrels and sacks.

            Gunnar turned to the guards who stood in the doorway, between himself and freedom. Edmund stood with them and glared at Gunnar. The Viking glared back.

            “No!” a shrill voice cried. “Mine!”

            Stalker’s battle growl sounded. He backed from between two barrels, something shiny stretching from his mouth. As he emerged, more shining links appeared, then the sapphire-studded pendant, followed by the rest of the chain. Which was clutched at its other end in a chubby fist.

            “Bad cat!” Asti yelled. “My pretty!”

            Edmund gaped. Then, as his eyes met Gunnar’s again, the trader flushed a deep, dull red.

            Gunnar let loose a bellow of laughter. The guards, looking from cat to child, from Edmund to Gunnar, laughed too.

            Edmund closed his eyes. “Holy Mother of God.” He swooped on his child while Gunnar bent to pry the necklace from Stalker’s jaws.

            “Your property, I believe.” Gunnar handed the necklace to Edmund.

            The merchant flushed even redder, but to his credit he met Gunnar’s gaze squarely.

            “I am in your debt. Can I ever compensate you for this unfortunate incident?”

            “Let me sail before I lose the wind. And next year, give me a good price on a gift for a landholder’s lady.”

            “I can do better than that.” Edmund put down his daughter. Opening the box, he removed the brooch in its leather pouch. “Take this. I give it freely.”

            Gunnar backed away. “That’s too much for a simple misunderstanding.”

            “But not too much for unfairly staining a man’s honor. And as a reward for recovering something of much greater value.”

            Gunnar shrugged. “I did nothing. Stalker found it.”

            Everyone looked at the cat, who paced back and forth before the door, obviously impatient to leave.

            “Come to think of it, how did the cat find it?” Edmund asked.

            Gunnar studied Asti, his mind working rapidly. He knelt, taking her tiny hands in his own rough palms. As he examined them, she imitated him, frowning at her own little fingers. He smiled at her, then straightened. “May I?” He reached for the necklace.

            Edmund, staring at Stalker, passed Gunnar the pendant.

Gunnar inspected the chain. “Goose grease.” He grinned.

“What do you mean?” a guard asked.

“Asti has goose grease on her hands, and some caught here in the links.” Gunnar pointed. “She must have touched the table when she picked up the necklace, and Stalker smelled goose. He remembered the lunch she fed him, and went looking for more. With the necklace smelling of goose grease as well, he thought to get another bite. He tried to take it to chew on.”

Edmund nodded, but kept a speculative eye on Stalker. The guards clapped Gunnar on the back, then went to end their comrades’ search of the ship. Gunnar made to follow them, but Edmund stopped him.

“Your cat solved the crime; the reward is his. But since a cat has no use for jewelry, you take care of it for him.” Edmund spoke firmly, but his eyes held a pleading look.

Now Gunnar understood. The trader’s shame at accusing a friend of his daughter’s deed could be relieved only by this generous payment.

Gunnar nodded. The pouch changed hands, then Gunnar held out his right palm. Edmund slapped it smartly, smiling for the first time since the guards delivered Gunnar to him.

*  *  *

Approaching his ship, Gunnar saw most of his men busily restowing goods displaced during the search. Two, however, worked to repel cats that jumped onto the ship faster then the men could throw them overboard. Stalker dashed down the beach with a wild battle cry and went to work dispersing the feline horde.

            Once finally underway, Gunnar handed the steering oar to Kark and looked for Stalker. On the way back from Edmund’s warehouse he had bought a fine fresh cod. Now Stalker would have his reward. After all, the cat had saved his master’s freedom, ship, and land, and earned the brooch that might win Inga—although Gunnar must first learn how Inga felt about Stalker. If she didn’t care for the cat, she would never see the lovely breastpin. He would find a woman with more discerning taste.

            Stalker didn’t appear when called, and wasn’t in any of his usual spots. Gunnar began to worry that his cat had been left behind in the rush to embark. Had Stalker chased an enemy up the beach and not returned in time?

            Gunnar searched through cargo under the aft half deck. He was on the point of ordering the ship to turn back when an unfamiliar noise came to him over the ship’s creaking and the slap of waves. It sounded like a cat’s cry, but too high and soft for Stalker. Did they have a stowaway after all?

            He wormed his way between water barrels, crawled over boxes of dried herring. Finally he reached the long wrapped bundle of extra sail. Behind it lounged a large mound of long grey fur, unmistakably Stalker. Enough light came from the open center cargo well to show the delicate red-gold figure nestled against his side. The smaller cat stared at Gunnar with round blue eyes, then closed them and stretched her neck as Stalker licked her cheek.

            Gunnar chortled. “So. You vanquished your foes, won a treasure, and carried off this beautiful lady. Perhaps you should be chief instead of me.” He reached into his tunic and drew out the cod. “And as you brought me a gift for my lady, here’s a gift for yours.”

            The man watched the two cats share the fish. Stalker showed uncharacteristic restraint while his dainty companion sniffed and nibbled. Then Gunnar crept away to leave them in privacy. He grinned. Wait until his crew heard why they had been besieged by cats.

 

 

© Copyright 2009

For permission to reprint or further information: jcstoen@earthlink.net