Norseman Raider (The Norseman Chronicles Book 4)

by Jason Born

  We went to work. Aoife crawled back into the tiny hole with her torch and caught the end of the rope that had been sent down a crevice. With her thin arm she stuck the same end out another crack. The rope was tied off, laced around an alder, and cinched across the horse’s shoulders and chest. Men found a place all along the rope’s length to get a grip. Several others found solid footing nearer the stone so they could help push it up and out of the way.

  “Now!” the king rasped.

  Every man sucked in a last big breath and heaved. Killian held the charger’s reins. The small priest stepped backward. The dappled horse obeyed the silent command and the muscles of her shoulders bulged, her shod hooves pressing down into the sod that surrounded the hill. The rope creaked as it slowly stretched. Men methodically stepped and pulled. Grunting began, jaws clenched, teeth grinding. The workers themselves had moved an ell from where they started. The stone had not budged.

  I remained at the stone and wedged my large frame between the mound and the boulder at an uncomfortable angle. I pressed my feet into the earth and my shoulders and hands into the cool rock. I had entirely forgotten about my earlier fears. Draugr or not, I meant to move what the ancients had placed in our way. Like the charger, my shoulders bulged, my neck strained. A rumbling groan rolled around in my chest.

  The king and Magnus used the sturdiest of our wooden shovels to pry at the stone. Godfrey stood up the hill with his back to the rock and pressed down on his lever. Magnus stood in the dark walkway that led to the pile of stones. He hung with all his weight on the handle. Another man, who had not found enough room to tug on the rope came up behind Magnus, reached up, and also hung from the same shovel. The oak handle started to turn downward. The stone did not move.

  We toiled for many moments until King Godfrey called out in frustration. “Stop!”

  It took no further encouragement. The rope went limp. Men panted and wiped sweat from their foreheads, frustrated that despite their work, nothing had been accomplished. Godfrey sank down in the turf of the mound, catching his breath.

  “Do we have another rope?” asked Magnus.

  “Aye,” said Killian. “But we’ve no more horses.”

  “There are cows in the field around this grove,” said Aoife’s voice from the passage. A tiny stream of light flickered out through one of the holes and lit up the king’s face.

  The king raised his eyebrows. “I knew there was a reason I kept you as my own when I should have sold you or sent you to the ocean’s bottom for fun. Horse Ketil, make yourself useful. Brandr and Loki, help the man. Bring us a cow or two.”

  The king’s pledged men jumped to their feet. They gathered the extra rope from Killian and dove into the trees. Horse Ketil stood and sighed before making a show of slowly moving after his fellow cattlemen. As each moment of the raid passed, his defiance of the king’s wishes was becoming more open.

  Killian frowned while watching him go. “I don’t trust a man like that,” he said.

  After several long moments and countless curses echoing from the pasture, each of the three men returned leading a cow. Behind the three cows hopped three calves that appeared to be a month or so old. Godfrey’s face lit with excitement. Loki said, “We caught the calves first. Their overprotective mothers came nearer and we slipped the ropes from the calves to the cows. It worked better than I expected.”

  “And who thought of that?” asked the king, ready to give praise.

  “Horse Ketil,” answered Brandr, glumly.

  Surprised, Godfrey said, “And what made you think of that? I’ve never known you to have a way with animals.” What the king meant was, “Why would you help me?”

  Horse Ketil slapped his rope into the awaiting hands of another man. The Manx noble strutted toward the barrow in the clearing’s center. With his back to the king, Ketil said, “I saw the cows and their engorged tits. My Edana is not much to look upon, but she has great tits. Your cousin has great tits, Godfrey.”

  The king clenched his jaw.

  “It’s King Godfrey,” grumbled Killian.

  Ketil nodded in a way that said, for now. “I saw the tits and thought of how much a calf yearns for milk. I thought then that the mother’s instinct must be to protect her young. From there it was easy to capture the small calves. A simpleton could have come up with the plan.”

  “A simpleton did,” murmured Killian.

  Godfrey was standing again. “Shut up, priest,” he said quietly. The king walked over to the Manx noble. “We have to give praise where it is due, especially if we still have hope for the truce to last on Man. We want a unified homeland, Norse and Manx. You did well, Horse Ketil. Do you see what you can accomplish with a few hours between your cups of ale? Think of what we can accomplish if we work together. You make your family on Man proud. I’ll gladly convey as much to them.” Then the king, in a moment of misplaced philanthropy, said, “If you still want your divorce from your woman, I’ll see that Killian pushes it at the Tynwald.”

  Killian and several others uttered short gasps. The priest was shaking his head.

  “I don’t want a divorce from my fat woman, king,” said Ketil, bowing sarcastically. “How else am I to have any Norse support if I get rid of her? Besides, her giant tits will be complementary to Gudruna’s meek chest when I take her for a second wife after you’re gone for good.”

  King Godfrey’s face turned red with anger. His hand was tugging on the axe in his belt. Ketil stuck his chin out almost daring Godfrey to strike. The king did not kill Ketil, however. I would have, but the king was king for a reason. Occasionally, he could demonstrate restraint.

  “Not yet, Godfrey,” Killian was saying. “It’s not worth it. Not yet.”

  My king swallowed his anger. “In that case, dear Ketil, since you so love your bride, I’ll encourage Killian to continue to exasperate Edana’s pleas.” Godfrey’s hand left the axe.

  Ketil gave a wicked smile. “That suits me just fine.”

  A brief awkward silence followed. Mumbling began among the crews. Loki leaned in and whispered. “I know that I’d want to kill the Manx bastard. I know that Godfrey wants to grant a divorce and be done with both his cousin and Ketil, but we can’t let it happen. For now, it’s better for the king to keep them together. We don’t want to create any more enemies, especially any on our own island. We’ve already got enough.”

  All I could do was shake my head. I understood nothing about alliances. I was a political idiot. I knew men and their hearts. I wore mine on my sleeve for all to see. Ketil did the same. If it were me I would take him at his word. I would believe he meant to harm the king. He just waited and waited for the right time. There was nothing to gain by keeping him alive. I would have chopped him in half on the grave under the watchful eyes of the moon. But those were my simple thoughts. Godfrey, Loki, and the others had families on Man they had to protect. They earned money from the trading that went on in the main port. They remembered how hard they had to work to take control of the island in the first place. They were willing to endure a verbal slight here and there from a man who commanded a few farmers. They were willing to listen to Ketil’s blustering until the day Godfrey’s army was again strong enough to deter the native Manx population from rising up against him.

  The king understood the realities of his situation. It is why he was eager for treasure, for the riches in that mound would buy him his army. Godfrey turned his attention back to his grand project and began issuing orders for the cows and the ropes. Horse Ketil had more to say, however. He plopped down while untying Killian’s rucksack. “I’ll take my second helping of ale. And I’m not going to work on any of this treasure hunting tonight. I feel like I should be ready for whatever tomorrow might bring and I want to be fresh.”

  Godfrey frowned. He motioned to the priest. “Give the man ale, Killian. I really don’t want to hear any more from him. Maybe he’ll drink himself into a stupor. Then we can work in peace.”

  Displeased, but smart enough to choos
e his battles, the priest complied. He pushed Ketil out of the way and rummaged through the pack and gave our resident traitor a small pot of ale. The reliably unreliable drunkard leaned back on the hill and began nursing. It was clear to me, as it likely is to you, that Ketil was waiting for his moment to strike. But when? Tomorrow? If he did, would Godfrey be ready?

  Magnus slapped me. He tugged on my arm and we returned to our work.

  After the second rope was tied around the stone with Aoife’s assistance and strung around another tree and secured to all three cows, each of our crew members found his position and heaved. This time the second rope afforded room so every man, with the exception of Leif, who stared at the sky, and Horse Ketil, who had quickly tipped over to pretend to fall asleep, had room enough to help. Even the captured farmer offered his back to the project. He was now completely curious about what would be found in the barrow that had been a part of his island’s legends for generations.

  The additional six or seven skippund worth of weight tugging on the ropes did the trick. The stone began scraping against the others as one end slipped upward while the other end stayed put. It quickly moved high enough that the shovels Magnus and the king used as pry bars no longer helped. Both men scrambled underneath the colossal stone, putting themselves in precarious positions should either of the ropes snap. They wedged their backs against the rock and shoved.

  The stone felt lighter the higher it traveled so that once we got it moving into a nearly upright position, its weight and momentum took over. It toppled out of the pathway, crashing into the mound with a monstrous thud before slowly tumbling down into the great ring of stone, wrapping the rope around itself and jerking the cattle and horse back toward the trees we had used as pulleys.

  We gave a modest cheer, but our exuberance was short-lived as Godfrey snatched his shovel and began digging out a path under the fallen stone so that the ropes could be unwound. Soon Magnus then Randulfr joined the king at tossing aside turf and dirt. Others began untying the knots and tried to tug them out from under the rock. They quickly discovered that the king was correct and a path would have to be dug.

  Aoife climbed out with her torch to shed additional light where the men worked. “King Godfrey, there is nothing of worth in there.” The king ignored her.

  “Shut your mouth,” I told the girl. We were on the hunt and would not be put off by good sense. To my astonishment, the girl did shut up. Aoife only shook her head in disgust. She stood there until the ropes were free and then crawled into her cave to repeat the process for the next stone. And the next and the next.

  . . .

  Dawn was upon us. The calves nursed on their mothers’ teats. Horse Ketil napped. Leif had sat up, but said nothing since climbing atop the mound. The men, exhausted, dropped onto their rumps unable to mount a measurable defense against a single draugr let alone a legion of the ghosts, should they come. Randulfr tried to organize the men into something resembling a formation in case it was not the specters, but Maredubb who came. No one moved.

  Godfrey crouched at the entranceway to the grave. I held Aoife by the back of her tunic, preventing her from tearing back into the passage that had become a familiar place to her throughout the night. It was the king’s turn. I wanted him to lead.

  Godfrey peered over his shoulder at us. “Was there another dry torch in there, girl?” asked the king.

  “Aye. Up the way.”

  He nodded. “Let the girl go in and fetch it for me.”

  Aoife craned her face toward mine and gave me a mocking smile. I dropped her and like a rat in the bilge, she scurried around the king and into the tunnel. In moments she returned with the torch. I used my jasper stones to strike it and the dry-rotted fuel ignited with a poof.

  “Lead the way, little miss,” said Godfrey. Again the girl made a move to mock me. Before she turned, though, I smacked her miniscule rear, propelling her into the tunnel. She fell to her knees, scattering the torch. I laughed. The king scolded me. “We don’t have time for games.”

  Aoife returned to her feet. She stood upright in the tunnel. Godfrey and I would have to crouch. We followed her down a narrow passageway made rectangular by rocks that lined its walls and great slabs of stone that acted as a ceiling as they sat on the walls and held up the earthen mound above. The walls were painted with reds and blues and yellows that had faded over the years since the original workers had interred their king or chieftain inside the chamber. I couldn’t see what lay ahead since I followed Godfrey.

  After just a few more paces, we entered the main chamber. It was just short of a fadmr in height. I still had to duck. To the immediate right near the wall, stood the rounded stone pillar Aoife had mentioned. The walls had spiraling serpent-like designs, not much different from the favored carvings on many stones and homes from my native lands. I wondered if they were really as old as Eyvind had said.

  The king, who still stood in front of me, sighed. “You see there, Halldorr? Your little thrall lied.”

  My heart jumped. We had found a treasure at the cost of nothing. I was yoked to the right king. He was going to be rich. Godfrey was going to be a ring-giver. I stuck my head around Godfrey and looked down at the floor where he and Aoife stared. I saw the charred remains of a small skeleton. Next to those burned remains rested another skeleton whose clothes had turned to rags in the years since his burial. I saw the rotten shields Aoife had talked about. A bow rested on the dead man’s chest. Stone-tipped arrows and spears ran along the outside edge of his body serving as a kind of fence. I saw no treasure.

  “She lied?” I asked. “It looks just like she said it would.”

  King Godfrey kneeled down to the former chieftain of those lands and reached his hand into the ribcage. The bones crumbled apart. Godfrey brought his hand back up. It was balled into a fist. When he opened his palm I saw a single gold amulet with a broken cord attached to it. The ancient king must have worn it around his neck.

  “I’ve got a gift of treasure for my queen. You see? The girl lied,” he said with sarcasm. “The risk of this expedition was worth it.” It wasn’t, of course.

  I scooted around him and rummaged through the rest of the burial, scattering the remains, not caring if I called down the ire of the gods. There was nothing of real value. There was no iron. I found some small sculptures of wolves and ancient auroch made of copper and bronze. The king stuffed them into a pouch along with the amulet. He sighed again and swore as he turned and felt his way out of the passage, leaving the girl and me behind.

  “Is this what most strandhoggs are like?” asked Aoife. “If this is the life of a raider, I’d rather just be a bandit hiding in the woods along a highway. At least I would have a better chance of wealth and killing a man or two.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “I don’t know what a strandhogg is usually like. This is my first.”

  The girl swore. “I’ve yoked myself to the wrong bunch.”

  I must say that I agreed with the slave that day. What little wealth I had was long gone and, out of drunken desperation or glory-seeking, I had vowed to follow a king who seemed to have little riches and nearly no army. Any of a hundred sad packs of brigands could wield more power than Godfrey.

  We had no treasure, had fought no band of draugr, earned no glory, and yet we still had to run through the countryside, and return to our ships and Man. Once there, I was certain that if the king wasn’t deposed by the weak force of the village simpleton, then his subjects’ laughter would drive Godfrey to jump from the cliffs into the sea.

  In a day’s time I might be fleeing to yet another destination, trying to glom onto another king.

  But we had to survive the coming day.

  CH

  APTER 4

  The docile cows and their bleating calves were released to the surrounding pasture so that their owner could find them when he came out of his hovel, wherever that was. Supplies were stowed in knapsacks and the ropes rewound amidst murmurs. My fellow Greenlanders, save Leif, grumbled abou
t the wasted expedition. Even Godfrey’s core group of men wore sullen scowls. If they had been bent on throwing their lives away, why not just attack the Dal Riatans again with their limited numbers? At least then they’d die with the splendor of revenge on their souls. Godfrey did nothing to chastise either set of his small number of followers since, I think, he believed that his days as King of the Isles were numbered.

  “Let’s move quickly,” he said somberly, his usual enthusiasm vanished. The men and the captive moved out through the alders after Godfrey. The farmer, who should have been pleased that we took him toward his home, walked with eyes staring at his boots, as dejected as the rest.

  “Stay with them,” I whispered to Aoife as I turned back to retrieve Leif, who now stood on the barrow lost in thought. To my astonishment the girl nodded her agreement without argument and trotted off, carrying my heavy pack for me.

  Leif stroked his wispy red beard. “I mean to be a wise, moderate leader of men.”

  “That’s fine, but you’ll lead only cows and a pile of worthless rubble if you stay here.”

  Leif reached up and smacked my broad shoulder. He guided us down the mound. “The old stories are true. If a man finds the fortitude to remain awake on a barrow mound overnight, the gods afford him insight.”

  I shook my head at him. Insight! What, did Leif think he could see around all the problems the norns tossed in our way? Preposterous! Nothing in my experience demonstrated that any amount of knowledge or foresight could help a man navigate the world. Just when you had conquered the last demon and stood fixed and armed for the next beast, a simple plump woman could come to you from the side and annihilate all your plans. Her lips would call you like a siren. Her lashes would wave you into the rocks and shoals. My life had been thus. It seemed that I had strapped myself to a king who would have the same experience. His bane was to be a fairy tale told by a troublesome skald. When would I find a great, triumphant king whom I could follow?