by Hume, M. K.
He paused and allowed his words to sink in.
‘We have toyed with the parlous situation of this cowardly ruler for too long. I have no doubt that this serpent-woman will whisper in his ears once again and he’ll send an even larger troop to destroy our kinfolk in his next raid, considering that his last attack was unsuccessful. Incidentally, my lord, I was pleased to see the return of Valdar’s property, Loki’s Eye, which had been left in your harbour when we were banished. It has since been placed in safe hands for the use of the Sae Dene. I’m afraid your other ship was sunk with all hands on board.’
Hrolf Kraki had stridden the length of his dais as the young Briton began to list his deficiencies, but Aednetta managed to restrain him. The action seemed to involve little force, but Arthur noted the strained tendons of her wrist and elbow when her wide sleeve fell back. Hrolf Kraki was still on his leash, but barely, so Arthur decided to stretch that bad temper even further until it snapped.
‘You bastard! I should have killed you and your hell-born sister when I had the chance.’
‘I’m not a friendless slave anymore, Hrolf Kraki, so I have no reason to bow to you or to give you the respect you believe is your due. Surely respect must be earned! You left your people in Skania and in the south to fend for themselves against savage enemies, but you also demanded taxes from them that you continue to increase, which is strange when one considers that you’ve given nothing in return. It seems that any man who calls you to account loses his tongue, if not his life. These men are in your service, but look at their faces.’ Arthur gestured at Hrolf Kraki’s jarls and guards. ‘They obey you out of fear, because you are a worse tyrant than Snaer, the other traitor who killed your father and usurped your throne.’
Every word struck into the heart of Hrolf Kraki, but the last accusation left him spluttering and almost incapable of speech. Stormbringer turned to hold Arthur back, but Arthur threw off his friend’s restraining hand.
‘How dare you compare me with that animal? How can you suggest—’
‘I dare because I’m an unbiased outsider. And my responsibilities are such that I must ask why you ordered your warriors to destroy a small village of peasants at a faraway place called World’s End? Your only reason was that the villagers might have offered us shelter. The name Crow King has been well chosen, given your taste for carrion and a desire to hide among large groups of your own kind. If I had my way, you’d be deposed and a far better man would be crowned in your place. But, unfortunately, Stormbringer is far too generous and far too loyal to put you down like the diseased dog that you have become.’
‘What do you mean, Briton,’ one of the northern jarls asked tentatively.
‘The true enemy in Heorot is Aednetta Fridasdottar, who has whispered in this craven man’s ear that he will offend the gods if he takes part in any war. You’ve heard the tales and listened to the sagas. She must be taken, tortured and forced to reveal the names of her confederates.’
Aednetta wailed as her confidence leached away with every word that Arthur uttered. ‘Don’t cast me off, my lord. These traitors lie! I alone have been loyal.’
Hrolf Kraki winced as his eyes swivelled from the suspicious and confused expressions of his own jarls to the hardened stares of the southern Dene, and then back to Aednetta’s obvious panic and terror.
‘Let me think,’ he mumbled, and Aednetta could divine that he would blame her for every ill. Her expression hardened and her hands clenched into fists.
‘Beware, King of Crows, because you are toying with the thought of casting me off. How will you survive without your only spiritual and magical support? Who will care for your health? Who will share your secrets without betraying them?’
Aednetta Fridasdottar was clearly threatening the king with exposure, and the jarls recoiled. For his part, the Crow King’s mouth snapped shut aggressively. ‘Instead of threatening me, woman, find a servant to bring me some mead. Now stop blubbering! I loathe tears!’
Aednetta flounced out of view while Hrolf Kraki used the interval to gather his thoughts.
‘Damn you, Stormbringer! It would be better to call you the Stormbird, because you bring trouble with you, just like that fucking bird that cries out its warnings of bad weather. Gods, but I’m so sick of being locked inside this fucking hall. And I’m sick of the fucking winter and the whole fucking world. Nothing has gone right since the day I stole the treasure from that Geat king and was cursed by the bastard. We flounder miserably when the gods turn their gaze away from us.’
Most of the men who stood and waited for Hrolf Kraki to make up his mind silently wished he would stop whining.
Making a great show of not touching the wine jug that was carried into the throne room by one of the servants, Aednetta presented a goblet and the wine to her master.
‘I won’t be accused of trying to poison you, my king, so I refrained from touching this wine jug. I know you asked for mead, but the wine was more readily available.’ Aednetta’s voice was cold and clipped.
Hrolf Kraki grabbed at the jug, splashing the dark-red liquor onto the floor and down his robe as he poured a generous quantity into his goblet. With shaking hands, he raised the vessel and drank deeply, pausing only to draw breath. As soon as it was emptied, the king refilled it once more.
‘The bastard’s trying to get drunk,’ Arthur hissed in Stormbringer’s ear.
‘That ploy won’t work,’ Stormbringer replied, casting an experienced eye over the anxious Aednetta.
The third cup was almost drained when Hrolf Kraki gave a little cough before staggering back to his throne and falling into its hard embrace.
Arthur noticed that his lips had darkened to a distinct shade of blue. But, before he could take any action, the king coughed once again and Arthur knew he was having breathing difficulties.
‘The king is ill,’ Arthur stated loudly. ‘Master Frodhi, please send for a wisewoman or whoever you use as a healer. The rest of you stay put and keep an eye on the witch-woman. She must remain inside this hall!’
Arthur and Stormbringer approached the king, who they could see was panting like a dog in hot weather, while his eyes were bulging as he attempted to drag air into his tortured lungs.
‘Lie back, Majesty,’ Arthur ordered, but Hrolf Kraki shook his head.
‘Can’t breathe . . . it burns . . . what was in . . . the wine?’
‘Try not to talk, cousin,’ Stormbringer urged. ‘Frodhi will be here soon and your healer will know what to do.’
‘Would it be helpful if he was forced to void his stomach?’ Arthur asked Lorcan who was hovering behind them. ‘You’re familiar with poisons. Is there anything we can do?’
The scratching in Arthur’s head was becoming more and more insistent; danger was very close, and death was imminent for the Crow King.
‘If the poison is acid in nature, it will burn his stomach and throat when he regurgitates it. I’d be inclined to feed him some milk if we can get it into him. And then we’ll need to give him a strong emetic.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ Stormbringer decided. ‘Snorri, we need milk from the kitchens. Immediately!’
He glanced across at the priest.
‘Can you think of anything that can be used as an emetic, Father Lorcan?’
‘Salt will suffice if there’s nothing else. But we must hurry! His fingernails are turning blue even as I look at them, so his circulation is starting to shut down.’
As Snorri arrived back with a large bowl of milk balanced precariously in his arms, Frodhi was ushering a lean old woman into the hall. This woman took one look at Aednetta Fridasdottar and immediately made the warding-off sign used to drive out evil.
Frodhi persuaded the king to lean back on his throne so his airways could be kept open. Then Lorcan held a cup of milk up to Hrolf Kraki’s mouth.
‘You must dri
nk this, my lord, for it will ease your stomach. I am a priest and you will have to trust my assurances that I’ll do no harm to you.’
Perhaps it was the robes of Lorcan’s office, but Hrolf Kraki obeyed like a child while his breath remained loud and laboured in the appalling silence. Then, once he had swallowed all the milk he could force into his stomach, the old woman took the bowl and added a vile-smelling powder to the remnants of the milk and mixed up a paste which she began to spoon into Hrolf Kraki’s protesting mouth.
Suddenly, the king seemed to weaken visibly, so the old woman massaged his throat to assist him to swallow while he continued to cough and splutter. Lorcan found a large wooden bowl beside the fire pit, and Stormbringer and Frodhi persuaded the king to lie on a makeshift bed that his guards had brought into the hall. Kept high on pillows, Hrolf Kraki continued his struggle to breathe. His eyes remained the most alive part of him, for they still snapped with vigour and passion.
Then the king began to vomit, great wrenching spasms that hurt him a great deal and left him exhausted between bouts of nausea. Arthur wondered if the purging served any real purpose, for Hrolf Kraki was obviously growing weaker and weaker with each attack.
‘There’s no other choice, lad,’ Lorcan sighed. ‘The poison will surely kill him if we can’t cleanse him. And even then there’s no guarantee that he’ll live. I’ve seen this poison before, although I can’t remember its name. The Fathers of the Church of Rome were forever plotting and persisted in murdering each other for preferment and power. This was one of the favourites used by my cardinal.’
‘Germanus! Lorcan! Watch the witch-woman for me,’ Arthur ordered crisply. ‘Make sure she neither eats nor drinks. In her place, I’d want to kill myself before I faced the prospect of torture. Still, this poisoning has been a very public crime, because Aednetta Fridasdottar has had ample opportunities in the past to kill Hrolf Kraki without any real risk to herself. She even told us she had refrained from touching the wine, and surely the whole point of using poison is so the murderer can be elsewhere when the victim dies.’
Germanus grinned evilly. ‘I’d only use poison as a last resort if I chose to murder someone. Then I’d make fucking sure that I was far away when my victim became ill. I’d also have a bevy of witnesses to swear that I was nowhere near the scene when the victim died.’
‘Exactly,’ Arthur agreed.
On his makeshift bed, twisting with convulsions punctuated by periods of induced vomiting, Hrolf Kraki begged for one of the Dene priests to attend to his needs.
He had been a brave man once, but self-indulgence and overweening power had eroded the decency in his nature, so only the most terrible of circumstances could have caused such a change in his personality.
One of the Dene priests was soon found, so he and Lorcan both commenced the stately and sonorous last rites.
Arthur approached the tray on which the ceramic jug had been placed. The goblet had dropped from Hrolf Kraki’s trembling hands and rolled under the throne, so he retrieved it and carefully sniffed at the few drops that remained in the base. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary. The half-empty wine jug also yielded no clues.
‘There’s no way of telling what’s in there, short of drinking it. Personally, I’ve no desire to die in convulsions, thanks very much,’ Arthur stated, as Frodhi clapped him on the back and caught Arthur’s eye with a knowing gaze.
‘Do you believe this illness has resulted from a deliberate attempt to kill Hrolf Kraki?’
‘Aye! What other reason could there be for such a sudden debilitating illness? But the poison is obviously odourless, and is probably tasteless. Hrolf Kraki didn’t show any concern about the taste.’
‘True! I don’t believe in coincidences, so sensible men consider rational explanations for things they don’t understand. This illness is too opportune for my liking. Someone seems to be trying to cover their tracks.’
Arthur nodded slowly. ‘So keep your eyes on Aednetta for me. She’s the key, for she’s the only person who knows the identity of the traitor in the service of the Hundings.’
‘Are you quite sure that you believe in a shadowy villain standing behind the witch-woman?’ Frodhi asked in a bland voice. ‘Could it be that the accusations are a tissue of lies designed to protect the king from his own wickedness and then pass the blame on to Aednetta?’
‘Perhaps! If I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s that few men have the imagination to guess at the full scope of the evil within the human heart.’
Just then the attention of both men was drawn away from their conversation to the tableau around Hrolf Kraki. His body was suddenly afflicted by a convulsion so brutal and terrible that his feet began to drum on the planks of Heorot while his whole body, except for his head, was curved upwards like a great bow. His lips were drawn back in a rictus of terror and agony, and his eyes reflected the horror of a man who was unable to take deep breaths. But he still seemed able to recognise the details of every process that was occurring in his own death. He cried out his woman’s name through clenched teeth before moaning in a great exhalation of breath that stretched on and on, further and further, until the lungs were stilled. The chest rose, struggling feebly to draw in a little precious air, but nothing could save him. Hrolf Kraki’s face became congested and his tongue began to protrude, as if a great invisible hand was encircling his throat and choking him. Finally, the chest fell, and did not rise again.
Aednetta began to scream, shrilly and crazily. ‘The king has been murdered! He’s been poisoned! Someone has murdered my king!’
But other eyes were boring deeply into hers, impaling her with their suspicions of guilt.
‘Not me! I’d never harm my king! For heaven’s mercy, if I was a traitor in the pay of the Hundings, the last thing I’d want would be the death of Hrolf Kraki.’
In her desperation, the witch-woman ran to Arthur and gripped his cloak with both hands. ‘You do believe me, don’t you, Briton? Your sister knew me, and she’d believe me now. I’ve done many things that were wrong, but I’d—’
But before she could finish, Frodhi pried Aednetta’s hands away and wrenched her off her feet.
‘Take her away and lock her in some secure place with trusted guards to watch her,’ Frodhi ordered firmly, as he singled out a young warrior. ‘You will remain with her yourself, young man, and you’ll keep her under constant watch. Your men will take turns to guard her door and no one is to enter the room unless they have my specific permission. You will keep all means of causing self-harm away from her, because I don’t want her to commit suicide and cheat justice for the foul deed she has committed. We have a number of scores to settle with this woman!’
Aednetta Fridasdottar was dragged away, weeping and crying out for her dead lord, but Arthur felt an unease that he could barely put into words. Something was wrong here. He knew it, and the silent watcher in his brain knew it too.
A shocked silence followed before Lorcan folded Hrolf Kraki’s hands over his chest.
‘Well that’s the end of that,’ the priest said. ‘Whatever he knew of these matters has gone into the shades with him.’
‘But we still have Aednetta,’ Arthur said in a firm voice that belied his inner doubts. ‘Everyone talks under torture, so it might only be a matter of time!’
CHAPTER XII
ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS
Vanitas vanitatum, dixit Ecclesiastes; vanitas vanitatum, et omnia vanitas.
(Vanity of vanities, said the preacher; vanity of vanities, and everything is vanity.)
The Bible, Ecclesiastes 1:2
‘Shite! Shite! Shite!’
Arthur cursed freely as he paced back and forth. Hrolf Kraki was dead, which was a blessing for the Dene people. But, although Aednetta Fridasdottar could be forced to reveal the name of the traitor, Arthur was appalled at the prospect of extracting inform
ation from a woman under physical duress. He took comfort in the possibility that he might be able to convince the witch-woman to reveal the name of her confederate willingly, now that the king was no longer alive and able to offer his protection.
‘What else can go wrong?’
In the frigid morning that was beginning to feel endless after the dramas of the previous night, Stormbringer and Arthur stood in the forecourt outside the king’s hall, stamping their frozen feet and watching their breath as the vapour escaped like smoke in the semi-darkness. The two friends surveyed a silent crowd of townspeople who waited patiently in the light snow. The wind had died during the early morning, so thick cloud was obscuring the stars now, and the falling flakes created a strange and supernatural silence.
‘Sir,’ one old woman asked as she hobbled forward. ‘Be it true? Be the Crow King truly dead?’
‘Aye, Mother, Hrolf Kraki has perished this morning.’ Stormbringer ignored the manner of Hrolf Kraki’s death; the villagers were edgy enough already. ‘Although the jarls must make the final decision, his heir is Frodhi, whom you should all know well.’
‘Be he murdered?’ one of the usually boisterous boys asked in a voice cracking with the onset of puberty. ‘We heard that the king choked to death from poison, but I don’t believe it. We thought the Crow King were too strong and clever to be killed so easily.’
‘Yes, lad, the rumours are true. Your king has been sent to Valhalla before his time.’
Then Stormbringer raised his voice so that the entire crowd, easily a hundred souls in all, could hear him clearly.
‘Go home now, people of Heorot. The jarls and the king’s guard will be investigating the crimes that have been committed, but you’ll be safest if you are snug in your homes or about your business. Of course, if any of you know anything that is important to the investigation of your king’s death, I expect you to do your duty and speak to one of us in private.’
Gradually and solemnly, the crowd began to disperse. Only two people remained when the forecourt was finally emptied, an old woman and a young fisherman who was recognisable by his long knitted cap and a fishing knife attached to his belt.