‘I had another form of punishment in mind. This is for my brother, Gorm.’
Sigmund landed a punch in the middle of Ivar’s stomach. Ivar forced his body to stay calm and to ignore the sudden audible female gasp from behind a pile of trunks and canvas sacking. Thyre had to remain where she was. Once he had achieved victory, then he would seek her out and discover the full truth of why Ragnfast had allowed her to come with him.
‘It would have been better if we had met in battle,’ Ivar said, raising his voice to drown out the gasp. ‘Then we would know who is truly the better man.’
‘We did and I won. There is little to stop me slitting your throat now, Ivar Gunnarson. You with your tales of fabulous wealth and invincibility. What will the skalds say then? Will they sing of how you fought the wolf, or will they only remember that you died unlamented on the deck of a ship?’
‘I have never claimed such a thing. Skalds are notorious for embroidering stories…I scarcely recognise the Lindisfarne saga now. But at no time have they claimed I hid during battle. What claims will the skalds make for you?’
‘You should get ready to welcome the embrace of Hel, rather than boasting about your past exploits.’
‘My men and I are worth more to you alive than dead.’ Ivar forced his shoulders to relax. His first plan had failed. He had to adapt. He would prevail in the end or die a warrior. ‘The Viken will pay the ransom. Else you risk war. Is that what you truly want, Sigmund, war? If it is, you can have it.’
‘With what will you pay?’ A cruel smile crossed Sigmund’s face. ‘Your ship and everything in it belongs to me. I should sell you as slaves, but I don’t know who would want such an untrustworthy lot.’
‘Send my nephew as proof to Kaupang if you like. Ask your ransom and the price will be paid out of Lindisfarne gold.’
He waited as the gleam grew in Sigmund’s eyes.
‘What you say has merit, Viken. The blood price of a jaarl is high, and the king prefers the gold from Viken ships to outright war. This could prove worth my while.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Very well, you had best hope he returns with enough gold to cover my head.’
‘He will.’ Ivar removed his glove and gave his nephew a gold ring. ‘Give this to your mother, Asger. She will know what to do. Tell her to give the men what they ask for.’
The boy nodded solemnly as his hands clasped the ring.
‘And be sure to tell Astrid how proud I was of you today,’ Ivar said.
‘No, let me go! I will take the boy’s place.’ Erik the Black stepped forwards. Blood ran down his face but he stood. ‘The Viken Storting will listen to me. The boy might be disbelieved. Send me in his stead, Ivar. I ask you this on our bond of friendship.’
Ivar closed his eyes. Erik’s words had merit. The jaarls in the Storting would believe Erik more. The Storting needed to decide their response. Was his hide worth ransoming? Or should they prepare for war? He knew Erik the Black would say the right words. The Viken would avenge this insult. ‘It is not my choice to make. Sigmund Sigmundson is the one offering the hospitality of his boat.’
Sigmund stroked his chin. ‘It matters not to me who goes. Let the Viken warrior run away. Keep the boy here. He might prove a useful hostage.’
He gave a signal and his men bound Erik the Black’s arms and legs.
‘I will remember the insult, Sigmund.’ Erik the Black bowed low as he was led off the ship.
‘Good. And you may have this to remember as well.’ Sigmund aimed another blow at Ivar and then the two men dropped him hard on to the blood-soaked wood. Ivar lay on the hull of the ship and willed the pain to go.
Thyre watched for a long heartbeat. The remainder of the Viken stood in a dispirited huddle, wounded and fearful. Asger rubbed his eyes, trying to fight off tears.
The ship rocked violently as the Ranrike ship with Erik the Black in chains pulled away, but Ivar remained lying, unmoving on the deck.
Would no one help him? Were the Viken too fearful? Someone had to make sure that he breathed. Silently she willed the Viken to rise up as one. He had saved their lives. He was willing to give his gold for them. And they let him be treated like a dog.
Sigmund aimed a kick at him, connecting his boot with the centre of Ivar’s back. Then he turned away and barked a few orders, laughing.
Unable to bear it any longer, Thyre darted over to Ivar and lifted his head up, and heard his ragged breath. He gave a crooked smile and shook his head, motioning for her to go away. She shook her head back. She used a corner of her apron dress to wipe the blood from his face.
‘You have a woman, Ivar.’ Sigmund’s voice rang out, sending ice-cold chills down her back. Thyre froze. In her haste and concern, she had revealed her existence on the boat.
‘I wasn’t aware that I needed to inform you of my domestic arrangements…’ Ivar sat up and rested his head against his knees.
Sigmund’s hand snaked out and grabbed Thyre’s hair, twisting it painfully. Thyre clenched her teeth and refused to scream. Then he kneed her in the back and the cry was torn from her throat, echoing out over the water. She knew now what some of the maids had whispered earlier in the year was correct. Sigmund was a man who enjoyed hurting women.
‘Who is she? Why do you have a woman on board?’
Thyre looked up at the clouds skittering across the sky and willed the pain to go. This morning she had been convinced that her life would go back to its usual routine, and now before the sun had even begun to dip, she knew she never could.
Declaring her identity would put Ragnfast and Dagmar in danger. She could see that now. Sigmund would punish them for offering hospitality to the Viken.
An ice-cold chill went through her as the knowledge hit her—Sigmund had wanted to destroy Ragnfast for a long time. That was what the beacons were about. He wanted that anchorage and she had provided him with the means to obtain it.
‘Does it really matter to you, Sigmund? She is a woman I picked up somewhere. Her life is worth but a little.’
Thyre heard the faint hiss of a sword being drawn, felt the cold steel against her neck. ‘Then you will not mind if I cut her throat.’
‘Your quarrel is with me, not my concubine.’
‘Sigmund Sigmundson,’ Thyre croaked out, wiping her hand across her mouth. ‘How good it is to see you again. I have not seen you since you last stopped at Ragnfast’s steading. How does your wife fare?’
‘Ran’s net, it is Thyre, Ragnfast the Steadfast’s stepdaughter!’ one of the Ranrike called out.
Instantly the sword relaxed and Sigmund stepped away from her. His black eyes glittered. ‘I should have guessed. Ragnfast gave you shelter, and now he gives you his stepdaughter as a concubine. Interesting. Today the gods have shown me their great favour.’
‘There is nothing interesting about it,’ Thyre snapped, resisting the temptation to put her hand to her neck. ‘Ragnfast counselled me against welcoming this ship and you can see what has happened to me. Captured by the Viken and forced to be a concubine.’
Thyre waited. He had to believe her. She had to protect them from Sigmund.
‘Ragnfast has been a thorn in my side for far too long. And it is little use attacking without all of our men. When I make war, I want to be assured of victory.’ Sigmund stroked his beard, ignoring her comment. ‘It is intriguing, is it not, that Ragnfast’s stepdaughter is travelling with a Viken felag? Who knows what messages Ragnfast might have for King Thorkell? Finally King Mysing will have to order the Ranrike Storting to destroy Ragnfast and he will give me that bay.’
Thyre’s stomach heaved. Sigmund was going to twist this. He was going to say that she was being sent as a peace offering to the Viken. He would drip poison into her uncle King Mysing’s ears and the Ranriken king would agree to destroy Ragnfast. And it was all because of her. The entire steading would be burnt. All the thralls, all the people she had known all her life would be destroyed. The lucky ones would die and the rest would be sent into slavery. All because of he
r and her blind trust in Sigmund.
There had to be a way that she could prevent the unthinkable happening to Ragnfast and Dagmar.
‘It was not by choice, I assure you.’ She made her voice sound stronger. ‘Ragnfast had nothing to do with it. He loathes the Viken. He was responsible for…for bringing the Swan Princess home and securing the throne for King Mysing. He has never been a friend to the Viken. What proof do you have of his disloyalty?’
‘Yes, show us the proof, Sigmund,’ one of the Ranrike shouted. ‘Show us that Ragnfast is a traitor.’
The swell of Ranriken murmurings grew. A flicker of hope rose with Thyre. Someone might believe her. Perhaps not everything was lost. Perhaps she could save everyone on the steading.
‘Her story rings false,’ Sigmund said, and the murmurs fell silent. ‘Ragnfast would never have allowed his stepdaughter to become a concubine.’
‘I took her,’ Ivar said.
‘What did she bring on board?’ Sigmund’s eyes narrowed as his fingers drummed against his thigh. ‘What did Ragnfast send? Search the ship.’
‘I brought my iron trunk. My mother’s sole bequest,’ Thyre called out before Ivar could say anything. There was no point in hiding or denying it. ‘It contains nothing.’
Sigmund raised his hand. ‘Find it. Search it.’
Thyre tried to swallow and concentrated on the knot of wood in the decking. She tried to think what was in her trunk. Was there anything that he might use against Ragnfast? Even now, she knew Sigmund was proceeding with caution, because of Ragnfast’s past loyalty and because of her mother’s connection to the king. But if he could find one thing, the Ranriken warriors would be baying for Ragnfast’s blood.
‘Would you mind enlightening me as to what you are searching for?’ Ivar said, struggling to stand. ‘Ragnfast has assured me that his stepdaughter is penniless. He was pleased to have her off his hands. A man with hopes does not give up any woman as concubine.’
‘I will know, Viken, I will know.’ Sigmund’s right eye twitched and he rubbed his hands together. ‘I have longed for this day—the day that I finally prove to the king that he was wrong to trust Ragnfast. One cannot simply attack a man under his protection without cause.’
The iron trunk was brought forwards, and its pitiful contents spilled out on the deck. Several brooches from Dagmar, her spare apron dress. A stone from the beach. A piece of wood that she had collected from the embers of her mother’s funeral pyre. A scrap of cloth, red shot with gold, from her mother’s court gown. Thyre’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Nothing. Sigmund would not dare act. Ragnfast and Dagmar would be safe…for now.
Sigmund ran the cloth through his fingers and then motioned to the men to toss the contents overboard. A small squeak escaped from her mouth. Her entire life would be destroyed.
‘Is there something you want to tell me? Some reason why I should not toss these things?’ His hot breath touched her.
Thyre fought against the bile rising in her stomach, but she kept her face forward. ‘No reason that I can think of.’
‘You may keep this.’ He dropped the scrap of red cloth.
Thyre allowed it to flutter to the ground and then crushed it beneath her boot. She hated the way the sole left a muddy imprint. But what did it matter now? ‘It was a childish thing.’
‘As you wish…’ Sigmund shrugged.
‘What happens to my concubine?’ Ivar demanded. ‘As you can see, all she possessed was a few worthless trinkets. The Viken are not so poor that we seek bits of wood and stone. Ragnfast has not offered Thorkell anything. There was no coded message here.’ Ivar’s voice was hoarse and rough as he stood up and faced Sigmund, towering over him. ‘Are you going to slit her throat and be done with it? Or do you have something else in mind?’
Thyre felt her throat close. She was dead. She knew that. It was everyone else on the steading she worried about. Sigmund would destroy them, and all because of her.
‘Not yet, she may have her uses.’ Sigmund’s smile was cruel and without a hint of warmth. Ice filled Thyre’s limbs, leaving her numb and devoid of any feeling. She was aware of the little things—the way her boot pinched her ankle because of the dagger, and the way her mother’s amulet hung between her breasts. At least the pain from Sigmund’s blow had vanished. He could no longer hurt her. ‘What better way to convince the king of Ragnfast’s treason than to present him with this creature and her Viken lover? He forgave his sister’s treachery, but will he forgive this? He will have to listen to me. It is the final proof I need. A way to crush Ragnfast once and for all time.’
‘You would not dare!’ The words were torn from Thyre’s throat and hung in the air.
‘I would dare,’ Sigmund said, slapping his gloved fists together. ‘He cheated me once. He will not cheat me again. I will have what is rightfully mine.’
Thyre reached down, and withdrew her dagger from the boot. Without pausing to think she rushed towards Sigmund. Her hand trembled as the knife connected with his leather tunic. A burning pain went through her shoulder, which somewhere in her mind she registered as a sword thrusting through her flesh, but blindly she tried again. This time her knife connected with his chin and the soft part of his neck.
‘This should have been done years ago!’ she yelled. ‘This is for my family!’
With a sureness from many years supervising in the kitchen, she dragged it down, but before she could deliver the final blow, she was roughly shoved away.
‘Will no one save me from such a pitiful creature?’
‘It is time, Sigmund—’ Ivar’s voice rang out ‘—that you met a real Viken!’
Above her a sword flashed and she heard Ivar’s roar, calling the Viken to him. The world appeared to slow. Every movement was a single and distinct image. Sigmund’s sword hung in the air, poised. Ivar lunged and missed.
Thyre ignored the throbbing pain in her shoulder. She launched her body forwards and connected with Sigmund’s sword arm. Another burning pain went through her as his sword hit her forearm. A huge heavy weight fell on her body, pinning her to the deck. All around her rose the chant of ‘Viken, Viken, Viken’.
Chapter Nine
Thyre was never sure how long she lay there, looking up at the sky. Ever after, in her dreams, it seemed like several lifetimes.
She only noticed eventually that the roars of the Viken had stopped. The boat rocked violently once and then became much calmer. Her hand clutched the dagger to her chest and she wondered idly whether she would have the strength to use it to end her life since Sigmund’s sword thrust had only wounded her in the shoulder? Surely a dead woman would not prove anything. A wave of exhaustion hit her and her eyes fluttered closed.
Strong arms lifted her up, freeing her from the heavy weight on her legs. ‘You are lying in a pool of blood, but your chest is moving, Thyre. Open your eyes! Speak to me!’
Her heart leapt at the sound of Ivar’s voice. It seemed so strange that before the attack she would have been happy to consign him to Ran’s net, but now she wanted to see his face and hear his voice one last time. He leant down and she could see that, other than the thin trickle of blood on his cheek where Sigmund had marked him, Ivar bore no true injuries. ‘Yes, yes, I am alive.’ She winced at the sudden pain shooting through her shoulder as she tried to sit up. ‘But this is far worse than when I fell off the ladder two summers ago. Sigmund’s sword went into my shoulder.’
‘But it is far from fatal.’ His fingers closed around hers and then gently prised them open. The dagger fell into his palm and he calmly tucked it into his belt without really looking at it.
‘Has Sigmund…?’
‘Sigmund is dead. And after he fell, his men fled in the one remaining boat. They lost all stomach for a fight when confronted with a dagger-wielding woman.’
Her heart rose in her throat. Sigmund dead? How could it be possible? Sigmund had loomed over her life for as long as she could remember. She had learnt today how truly black his heart was. She knew
she should not feel pity, but she could not help whispering the traditional Ranriken lament for him and the brave warrior she had once thought he was.
‘By whose hand?’
‘Yours. Your final blow caught him in the throat. A man does not recover from a wound given in that manner. And no warrior will follow a man who cannot withstand an attack from a woman.’
Thyre put a hand to her head and tried to think clearly despite the pain in her shoulder. ‘Ragnfast? Dagmar? We will return there now, won’t we? Sigmund’s ship…they must be heading there. They will burn the steading and kill everyone.’
Ivar shook his head. ‘No, we go to Viken. Sigmund’s other ship is heading to Kaupang even as we speak. I will not have tribute sent. The captain will not dare attack Ragnfast, not without your king’s consent.’
Thyre stared at him in dismay. She had to have heard wrong. Go to Kaupang? How could they?
‘But…but there are not enough alive to man the oars.’
‘Nevertheless, we sail to Kaupang. We will make it, Thyre. You will see Kaupang before you ever see Ragnfast.’
‘Women can’t go to Valhalla, can they?’ she said with a weak smile. ‘So I shall have to live.’
‘Some women become Valkyries, but this is not your fate, Thyre.’
Thyre looked at the assorted men who were left. Battered and bruised to a man, they did not look fit to do anything, let alone row for the distance that must surely be required. She doubted that they could even row as far as Ragnfast’s. ‘How will we get to Kaupang?’
‘We raise the sail.’
‘But the mast is cracked.’
‘Do you have another suggestion?’ He put an arm around her. ‘I do not intend to die on water, Thyre. And we will get there before the Ranriken ship.’
‘How? They have a full complement of oarsmen.’
‘We have one thing they don’t.’ Ivar put his hand in his pouch and withdrew a blue crystal stone. He lifted it up to the sun and it sent out beams of light stretching over the ship. ‘It is a sunstone. It means I can navigate without a coastline to guide me.’
The Viking’s Captive Princess Page 12