by Peter Fox
Helga raised an eyebrow. ‘You told me you’d stolen it.’
Sigvald looked at her, alarmed. ‘I did?’
Helga nodded. ‘From Asturia.’
Sigvald winced. ‘Stole, bought. Minor details.’
‘He does come from Asturia, doesn’t he?’
Sigvald remained silent.
‘Husband, exactly where did you get that animal?’
‘What does it matter now?’
Helga glared at him.
‘Fine, since you won’t let it go. The boy said he wanted a Byzantine warhorse, so I got him one.’
Helga stared at her husband, speechless. Sigvald cursed his big mouth, but it was out now. He spread his hands in exasperation. ‘What was I meant to do?’
‘For the love of Odin,’ Helga said, astounded. ‘He was only dreaming. He didn’t mean for you to actually go and do it.’
‘Well I did, and there you are. As far as Rathulf is concerned, the horse was booty from a raid.’
‘Booty? As soon as he sets eyes on Tariq, he is going to know what you have done.’
Helga stopped then, a disturbing scowl forming on her face.
Sigvald realised instantly what she was thinking. ‘You’d have hated the place,’ he said quickly. ‘Teeming with nasty foreigners. Smelly. Hot.’
Helga responded in a tone that would have withered oak to dust. ‘You went to Konstantinoupolis, and you did not take me?’
‘It was only a fleeting visit, petal, on my way past; barely enough time to catch my breath. Certainly no time for shopping. My dear, this is neither the time nor place.’ He threw a pointed glance at Alrik.
‘A fleeting visit? And where were you off to then? Konstantinoupolis is at the end of the known world, Sigvald. It stands before the gates of Valhalla. You know that I’ve always wanted to go there. I so wanted to walk its gold-paved streets, and you went without me!’
‘Actually, the streets are dusty and covered in excrement; steaming great piles of it. Not a hint of gold anywhere. You’d have been terribly disappointed.’
Helga’s eyes narrowed. ‘How much did you pay for the horse?’
Sigvald flinched. ‘Oh, not a lot. He was a steal, really.’
‘How much?’
‘He has exceptional bloodlines. One of the finest horses in the Empire they assured me.’
‘How MUCH?’ Helga demanded.
‘Nineteen gold dinars,’ Sigvald muttered, but even when he said it quickly, it still sounded an awful lot.
Alrik’s eyes all but popped out of his head.
Helga’s spindle fell with a sharp clack onto the flagstone at her feet. ‘You spent all that on a horse?’ she shrieked. Not even Eirik’s new twenty-oared karve cost that much.
‘Tariq belonged to the Emperor himself,’ Sigvald explained pompously. ‘Myran will vouch for me.’
‘Are you mad? That horse will never survive here.’
Sigvald shrugged. ‘He will last long enough to carry Rathulf over Odin’s Breach. Imagine it; my boy flying through the air on his Byzantine mount. Magnificent!’
‘That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Tariq won’t be able to take him into the next field, let alone over the Leap. And how will Rathulf afford his upkeep? If next winter is as harsh as this one, he’ll be eating him to stay alive.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Alrik offered.
Sigvald turned to his nephew and pointed to the door. ‘Haven’t you a boatload of slaves to attend to? In fact all of you out. Shoo!’ The big jarl waved his arms at his offspring and, ignoring their protests about the snow and freezing to death, he herded them outside. Then he shut the door and pushed the iron bolt into place just to be sure. When he was satisfied they had gone, he turned back to his wife.
‘None of us will have to endure another winter like this,’ he said in answer to Helga’s earlier question.
‘Meaning what exactly?’ Helga asked.
‘I’m taking Rathulf back.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Helga warned. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Rathulf is no longer a child,’ Sigvald responded, ‘and we all know that Thorvald has no intention of telling the boy anything.’
‘Is it any wonder?’ Helga countered. ‘Rathulf is his son; a Norseman, with a bright future ahead of him. Thorvald is not about to tell him he has no place in this world. Surely you can understand that?’
‘Rathulf is not his son. He cannot go on living this falsehood, Helga.’
‘You made an oath, husband.’
‘I promised only to remain silent until he became a man. That is about to happen.’
Helga shook her head. ‘Do you really think he is ready for this?’
Sigvald drew his wife into his arms. ‘Come now, don’t you start. Rathulf needs to do this, Helga. He’ll never be whole otherwise. I’ll look after him, I promise. We’ll sail there together and check the lay of the land. A lot can happen in sixteen years. He might choose to stay, or he might decide to return. Either way, he knows he will always be welcome here. And there’s also the question of next winter.’
‘Next winter? Why do you keep on about that?’
‘Don’t you see Helga? This is our chance to escape too. Rathulf is our passage out of here. We can all sail south and start a new life. Imagine it; endless days of sun, shining over field after field of soft, rich earth awaiting the plough. Picture our new house: built atop a gentle rise, overlooking a golden strand, with our fields and woods rolling away behind us. Even though it is winter, Sol nevertheless shows his kind face all day long. Perhaps a chill breeze blows, but our fire hall is warm and cosy. We have separate quarters; oh yes, dear, no adjoining byre with its stinking, noisy animals; they’re well out of sight in their own stables and barn. Of course, they barely need the shelter for hardly any snow falls. We’ll all be free to live in ways we can’t even imagine here.’
‘What’s wrong with the way we live at Lærdalsfjorden? I’m very happy with my home, thank you, not that you’ve bothered to ask me. We’ve all we need here, to say nothing of our friends and family. Perhaps we aren’t as wealthy as Bardi or Eirik, but we’re comfortable enough and well respected by our peers. Why would you want to leave all this behind?’
‘Because we can have so much more,’ Sigvald said emphatically.
Helga looked at her husband for a long time, and then she shook her head sadly. ‘I thought you were doing this for Rathulf.’
‘I’m doing it for all of us,’ he said, insistent. ‘Rathulf can’t go alone. We’re his family, remember.’
‘What if Rathulf doesn’t want us there? What if his people reject us as he is so fearful of us rejecting him?’
Sigvald smiled and lifted his hand to his wife’s face. ‘We are his kin. We have a right by law to accompany him, and why would they reject us? We saved their boy. What we are doing is right.’
‘And Tariq? Is he right too? Such an excessive gift will do more harm than good.’
‘Not at all. You’re missing the whole point of Tariq, my dear. The greater the gift, the greater the obligation. This will further bind Rathulf to us. He is going to lead us all into a new and better life, and he’ll look a darned sight more impressive doing it on Tariq than one of our dumpy little mountain ponies.’
Helga shook her head in exasperation, but Sigvald saw the hint of acquiescence in her eyes. ‘What about Ingrith?’ she said, reluctant yet to concede.
Sigvald shrugged. ‘What about her? I want her to accept Gunnar’s offer of marriage. We need that alliance, Helga. Eirik’s become a powerful man in these parts, and that union is important. Gunnar and Ingrith will set up a lovely home somewhere and have many children; all of them daughters probably, poor fellow.’
‘Husband, this is a serious matter. You know that she despises Gunnar, and you also know she is besotted with Rathulf. You saw the way she behaved around him last autumn. In fact…’ she paused. ‘Let’s just say I am keeping my remedies close at hand.�
��
‘Remedies? What are you talking about?’
Helga shook her head at her husband’s hopelessness.
‘Oh!’ Sigvald said, suddenly understanding. He frowned. ‘Time I had a stern talk to that boy,’ he growled. ‘He needs to keep little Rathulf in his trousers. The last thing we need is an unwanted pregnancy between those two.’
‘I can think of worse things. They are a good match.’
‘Well I’m afraid it’s not going anywhere,’ Sigvald said, cutting her off. ‘Rathulf must marry one of his own kind. Remember that although he might be a Briton by blood, he is to all intents and purposes a foreigner, and a Viking no less. From what I hear our forays to the south are not earning us any friends down there. Come to think of it,’ he said, twisting his moustache in thought, ‘we’ll pay off Eirik and revoke the betrothal. We need Ingrith to marry one of Rathulf’s family.’
Helga stared at her husband, amazed at his audacity. ‘There never was any betrothal, and you don’t even know if Rathulf has any family!’
‘They can’t all have been killed. I’ll wager there are a great many people biding their time for the right moment to strike back. Rathulf’s return will be that catalyst.’
‘Thorvald will never forgive you,’ Helga said.
Sigvald shrugged. ‘Thorvald knows he can’t keep Rathulf penned in forever. That trunk of Rathulf’s will be burning a hole in his conscience, and if he doesn’t bring it to light of his own volition, someone, or something, will intervene to ensure that he does.’
Helga smiled at her husband. ‘And you have the nerve to accuse me of superstition. Have you ever considered the possibility that the Gods don’t want him to learn the truth? They have been notably silent on this matter.’
‘Of course they want him to know.’
Helga gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. ‘Well we shall see,’ she said. ‘I quite like things the way they are. And don’t think you’re forgiven by the way.’
Sigvald raised his eyebrows. ‘For what?’
‘For going to Konstantinoupolis without me.’
Sigvald laughed. ‘Konstantinoupolis? Where’s that? I’ve no idea what a Byzantine warhorse looks like, let alone how much one would cost. I really did steal Tariq while I was in Asturia, but did you see Alrik’s face? The whole of Norvegr will be speaking of my extravagance.’
‘You inveterate liar!’ Helga said, shocked.
‘I prefer to think of it as elaboration,’ Sigvald responded with a grin. ‘We do have a reputation to maintain, after all.’
✽ ✽ ✽
Rathulf woke suddenly, torn from his sleep by a disturbance on the fringes of his consciousness. He yawned and turned his head to look into the room. The walls were bathed in the dull red glow of the hearth fire. Leif lay asleep under a pile of blankets on the house-bench near Rathulf’s feet, while on the other side of the room Thorvald snored quietly.
Rathulf sat up in his bedplace, wondering what had woken him. His throat felt parched, so he decided it must have been thirst. He padded over to the fire and carefully placed a couple of peat blocks on the coals, then he poured himself a mug of water from the jug on the table. He paused for a moment, looking at the empty place where the trunk had stood earlier that evening. All thoughts of it had been abandoned in the commotion of Leif’s discovery. As the evening had drawn to a close Rathulf had grown more impatient to ask about it, but Thorvald had given him no opportunity.
Rathulf glanced over at his father, again feeling the unsettling sensation in his stomach that something was wrong, critically wrong, and it was then that he sensed movement behind him. He swung around with a start, his hand instinctively half raised in guard. Shadows flickered and wavered in the corners of the room. Did something lurk there, or had it been his imagination? Perhaps it had been a mouse or rat scampering across the floor? He peered into the semi-darkness but could see or hear nothing untoward. The door remained securely bolted, yet his heart raced, and he felt a strange quivering sensation in his stomach. He carefully stepped away from the table and glanced up at the wall to his left where Thorvald’s old battle axe hung. He eased himself towards it, keeping his eyes fixed on the other end of the room. He lifted the axe down from its mountings and let out a long, slow breath in an effort to calm himself.
‘Rathulf?’ It was Thorvald, still half asleep. ‘What are you doing?’
‘There’s something here, father,’ Rathulf whispered.
‘Not another troll? You must have dreamt it. Go back to bed.’
‘I can feel it!’ Rathulf responded emphatically. ‘Over there.’ He pointed to the other side of the room. ‘Although I think it’s outside now. I can’t explain it. I just know something’s not right.’
Thorvald let out a low curse and threw off the covers. Rathulf heard a rattle as his father picked up his sword. They moved towards the door. Rathulf glanced at the bolts, but they were locked firmly in place. He was about to check the handle when suddenly it emitted a metallic clink, as though someone or something had grabbed it from outside. Rathulf leapt out of the way, gripping the axe firmly in his hand. Thorvald too took a step backwards, his sword raised in readiness. What manner of spectre was at work here? Had Leif brought something in with him? Rathulf had heard of such things. Whole households had been torn to pieces in their sleep by unseen monsters that had entered by attaching themselves to their unsuspecting hosts.
For a moment nothing happened, then, to Rathulf’s horror, the handle suddenly began to move. Not the whole mechanism; just the iron ring. Chiming delicately at first, it began to rotate in its seat all by itself, but within moments, it was jangling violently.
‘Sweet mother of Thor!’ Rathulf yelped. ‘What is it?’
From somewhere in the darkness came an ominous rumbling, then Rathulf felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.
‘That’s no troll,’ Thorvald exclaimed.
Rathulf’s heart stopped. His father was right. This was no spectre. It was much, much worse.
‘Take cover!’ Thorvald shouted, springing over to where Leif lay to wake him.
‘Where’s it coming from?’ Rathulf asked.
‘Move!’ Thorvald shouted. He snatched the axe from Rathulf’s hand and shoved his son towards the middle of the room. They were too slow. Rathulf had barely turned away from the door when the Beast of Utgard roared over the valley rim.
Thousands of tonnes of ice and snow thundered down the steep wall of the fjord, obliterating everything in its path. In its furious hunger, the avalanche uprooted trees and tore boulders from the ground, hurling them down the hillside or gobbling them up to swell its massive bulk. The granary was the first building in the landslide’s path; the wooden structure disintegrated and promptly disappeared beneath the advancing wall of ice and snow. The adjoining stables were swallowed moments later, leaving only the old slaves’ quarters to stand between the destructive might of the avalanche and the tiny building in which Rathulf, Leif and Thorvald sheltered. The landslide plucked the slaves’ quarters from its foundations and drove it into the side of the house.
Rathulf’s world crashed in around him in one breathless instant. A blast of frigid air rushed ahead of the avalanche and burst through the doorway, lifting Rathulf off his feet and hurling him back across the room. The wall opposite Rathulf exploded. He threw his hands over his head as the roof timbers gave way above him. He heard Leif scream. There was a blinding flash, and all went dark.
The avalanche swept on over the farm, destroying the sheep yards and devouring the few remaining buildings before finally coming to a stop against the opposite valley wall. The rumble of its coming echoed up and down the fjord, booming from one wall to another to eventually fade with each echo until at last, all was silent again.
The empty boathouse was all that was left standing in the wake of the brief but furious destruction; it had by a miraculous stroke of fortune escaped demolition. The rest of the farmstead lay buried somewhere beneath the icy debris.
&n
bsp; All the while the snow continued to fall, silently building up a soft white blanket to cover the devastation that marred the little valley.
5. Nothing but snow
Sigvaldsby, Lærdalsfjorden, Norvegr
‘Sigvald? Sigvald! Whatever is the matter?’ The chieftain blinked at his wife. She held a small oil lamp to his face, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light. It took him a few moments to realise that he lay in his bed. I must have woken from a nightmare, he thought. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled and he shuddered. What was it all about? A cry – a wolf? – had woken him, he felt certain of that. Then an image had burst into his dream and planted itself right in the middle of a pleasant reminiscence of an Asturian peasant girl.
‘What is it?’ Helga asked. ‘What did you see?’
Sigvald frowned, trying to push the maiden from his mind and remember the scene that had so rudely interposed. ‘Snow. A valley under snow.’
‘And?’
Sigvald shrugged. ‘That’s it.’
‘But there must have been more. For all your shouting I thought the world was about to end.’
Sigvald frowned at her, surprised. ‘Did I shout? I swear I saw nothing more alarming than a valley under snow. Hardly remarkable, given the weather of late. Is all this light really necessary?’
Helga blew out the lamp and settled back down beside her husband. Sigvald adjusted his feather pillow and shut his eyes, rather hoping he could rekindle his interrupted dream.
‘Then how did you feel?’
‘Helga, I’ve told you,’ Sigvald said testily. ‘It’s nothing.’ He turned on his side, but he felt his wife’s piercing frown boring through the back of his head. He sighed, his words muffled by his pillow. ‘I can’t put words to it, Helga. It was a sort of sudden shock, like when you realise something terrible is about to happen to you.’
There was a long pause as Helga pondered his answer. ‘And all you saw was snow?’ she asked eventually.
‘Yes!’ Sigvald exclaimed. ‘It was a nightmare. It’s the middle of the night. Can’t we discuss this later?’