by Peter Fox
‘You’ll do what?’ Gunnar sneered, knowing precisely what Rathulf was thinking. His eyes narrowed. ‘Whatever it is, just remember what they do to slaves who turn against their masters. I’ll tie you to a tree, cut you open by your bellybutton and hitch your guts to my horse. What a great ride that would be!’
‘He’s no thrall,’ Ingrith said slowly, glaring at the detestable youth.
Gunnar shoved Alrik aside and crouched down beside Rathulf, wrinkling his snubby nose in distaste. He let out a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh that’s right, you were adopted, weren’t you? Soppy old Thorvald couldn’t bear to throw you out when your slave-mother died. But it doesn’t make you one of us, you know. You’ll always be a foreign, fatherless slave, adopted son of a charcoal-eater. Now there’s a recommendation for you, and you wonder why Sigvald won’t let you near his daughters?’
‘I’ll marry who I want,’ Rathulf growled.
Gunnar rose to his feet and laughed. ‘Why marry? There’s plenty of nice slave girls to pick from. Stick to your level thrall, and I’ll stick to mine. Sigvald doesn’t want his bloodlines soiled by foreign muck which is why he chose me to marry Ingrith.’
It was too much for Rathulf. He sprang to his feet – or tried to – but just as before, his ribs erupted into spasm as soon as he moved and Rathulf collapsed helplessly at Gunnar’s feet, gasping for breath, tears streaming from his eyes. The stocky Norseman shook his head and turned to Ingrith.
‘You can come with me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want my future wife consorting with the drudges.’ He moved to take Ingrith’s hand, but the young woman snatched it away and spat on Gunnar instead.
The dark-haired stripling took a step backwards, shocked, holding his hand up to wipe away the spittle from his cheek. The two locked gazes, but it was Gunnar who broke first.
‘I’ll never marry you,’ Ingrith hissed, ‘no matter what you or your father might think, and my father has made no such promise to yours.’
‘Oh yes you will,’ he said quietly, his pale blue eyes glinting with malice, ‘and then let’s see you try that.’ At that, he turned to leave, but as he was ducking out the door, he paused. ‘Get a look at him while you can, Ingrith, because it’s the last time you’ll be seeing him like that.’ His lips curled into a spiteful smile, and he nodded at Rathulf’s lap. ‘Not that there’s all that much to see.’
Ingrith let out a wild shriek and hurled the soiled cloth at him, but he had already gone.
Rathulf let out a groan and closed his eyes, his shame complete.
‘What are you complaining about?’ Alrik said indignantly, holding a hand to his neck. ‘You weren’t the one with the knife at your throat. Did you see that? He drew a knife on me! Alrik, son of Bardi, his host. I’ll have him before the Althing I will, and then let’s see who’s mister smug.’
‘Just leave it be, Alrik,’ Ingrith said, although she was no less furious than her cousin.
Alrik glowered at them both darkly, then he shook his head at Rathulf. ‘Of all the times and places, Ra.’
‘Sorry,’ Rathulf said, wondering if he could possibly feel any more mortified than he did at this moment. ‘I didn’t know he was here, did I? I just wish I knew what I’d done to offend him, stupid drittsekk.’
‘You were born,’ Alrik muttered, mostly to himself.
‘He’s jealous of you,’ Ingrith added. ‘He’s ugly and dim, whereas you’re strong and smart and good-looking, and I don’t care if you are a slave-born orphan.’
‘Ingrith!’ Rathulf complained.
‘Well, what’s she supposed to think when you go and do this?’ Alrik pointed out, waving his hand at the floor, but when his eyes met Rathulf’s he heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, I suppose it’s not your fault,’ he said gruffly. ‘Better you’re alive and pissing all over yourself than…’ He paused and took a long breath. ‘Better you’re alive.’ He turned away and made a play of finding another cloth, then he turned back to Rathulf, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘You scared the life out of us you know. It’s time you and Thorvald saw sense and joined us or Sigvald, at least through the winter.’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘And how are you going to get back up onto the bed?’ Alrik stood over Rathulf with his hands on his hips, looking like a frustrated father wondering what he was going to do with his wayward son. ‘Do you think you can get back up?’
‘Maybe,’ Rathulf said, unconvincingly.
Alrik bent down and gripped Rathulf under the arms. ‘This is going to hurt,’ he warned.
The last thing Rathulf remembered was the sight of Alrik’s straining neck muscles, and then someone screamed.
✽ ✽ ✽
‘What by the hammer of Thor are you doing?’ Sigvald demanded, throwing open the door to find Alrik dragging Rathulf onto the bed. Ingrith was standing by watching, her face half concerned, half admiring. The jarl had no idea what to make of the scene, but judging from the racket Rathulf was making, he wasn’t appreciating it. ‘Alrik?’
‘I was getting him back onto the bed,’ Alrik explained. ‘He needed to take a piss.’
‘He tried to get up,’ Ingrith added, ‘but he fell down and–’ She stopped, remembering Rathulf’s plea. ‘We didn’t have any warning. Then Gunnar came in.’
‘I don’t think I want to know,’ the chieftain said, then he turned to Helga, who was bent over her patient. ‘How is he?’
‘He’ll be alright,’ Helga replied. ‘He’s fainted, but that’s probably the best thing for him. Ask for help next time, Alrik.’
‘Help? Do you know what Gunnar did to me? He–’
‘Oh do shut up, Alrik,’ Ingrith spat, casting him one of her mother’s withering looks. ‘We really don’t care.’ She went over to the bed and looked down at her love. ‘Will he be all right, mother?’ she asked.
‘Not if you two keep stirring him up like this,’ Helga said. ‘He needs to stay still.’ She raised a disapproving eyebrow at both Alrik and her daughter.
‘It’s that drittsekk’s fault,’ Alrik began again. ‘He came in here and started insulting us.’
‘I presume you’re referring to Gunnar,’ Sigvald interrupted.
‘Who do you think, father?’ Ingrith said, jutting out her chin obstinately, another of her mother’s little traits. ‘He’s an ugly toad with the brain of a fly, and I’m not marrying him.’
Sigvald made a face. ‘So I take it the union is off.’
‘It was never on.’
Sigvald shrugged. ‘Very well.’
Ingrith blinked at him in surprise, clearly astonished that her father had given in so easily.
‘You’re my daughter and I’ll not force you to do anything you don’t want to,’ Sigvald lied, ignoring his wife’s indignant look. ‘I shall tell Eirik you’ve refused his son’s offer at the earliest opportunity.’
Ingrith peered at her father suspiciously, not quite believing him.
‘On Odin’s ring, I swear,’ Sigvald added for good measure. Then he wisely changed the subject and looked down at his foster-son. ‘How is he?’
‘He’ll suffer for some time yet,’ Helga said, shaking her head at her husband. ‘His chest was badly crushed in the avalanche, but he is very fortunate that no other damage was done. Truth be told there’s not a lot we can do. Ribs must heal by themselves, and as long as he looks after himself, he will recover fully. He may find it uncomfortable at first to wield a sword or axe, and he won’t be able to wrestle with Alrik until well into summer, but come his next birthday, Alrik will be wondering what hit him.’
‘So he’ll be able to take the Leap then?’ Alrik said eagerly.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Helga said. ‘He needs to be completely fit before he tries a feat of that kind.’
‘Twattle,’ Sigvald interrupted. ‘He’ll be back in shape long before then, and in any case, with a horse like Tariq he won’t even have to practice.’
‘He is not taking that monstrosity over the Leap,’ Helga contradicted, ‘nor will he be leaving this bed until
I say so. His injuries are not only physical, Sigvald. At some point, we are going to have to tell him about his father.’
‘Thorvald will live,’ Sigvald said. ‘The stubborn old goat will pull through, and anyway, the Gods would not reward Rathulf’s heroism by killing his father, would they? If Thorvald were meant to die, he would still be buried under his house somewhere. Mind you, if Ra hadn’t bound the wound and stopped the bleeding he’d have been dead long since.’
‘It wasn’t Rathulf,’ Helga countered. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, with his injuries he couldn’t possibly have done all that you and Alrik want to believe.’
‘He managed to get himself over to the Vixen,’ Sigvald challenged. ‘Thorvald and Leif were both unconscious.’
‘Yes, and a fine job you did on the poor boy for his efforts, husband. Now stop all this nonsense.’
‘The only one speaking nonsense is you, Helga. There is no way that Leif could have managed all that on his own.’
There was a grunt from the other side of the room, and Sigvald turned to see the subject of their conversation frowning at him from his bed.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Sigvald said, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
‘About time,’ Alrik said, taking a cup of mead over to Leif. ‘We were wondering when you were going to wake up. We’ve been waiting to hear what happened. My father and Helga say you’re the hero, but it was Ra, wasn’t it?’
Leif had shown few signs of life since they had brought him to Alrik’s, remaining unconscious all the way from the boathouse to his bed here, and waking only for short spells during his convalescence. He had been so weak that Sigvald had refused to accept Helga’s assertion that it must have been Leif who had got them all out of the ruined house. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Sigvald had argued that it had to be Rathulf, or at the very least some other hand had been at play. The matter of the wolf in the boathouse still weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t help thinking that Leif had little to do with any of this.
‘What are you talking about?’ Leif said, still frowning.
Helga moved to the young shepherd’s side. ‘Hush dear, don’t exert yourself.’
‘I’m fine,’ Leif responded, his gaze fixed on Alrik.
‘I’ll be the judge of that, shall I?’ Helga said, ordering him to lie still while she began a careful examination of his body. When she had completed her scrutiny, she leant back, satisfied. ‘Well, it would seem you know yourself better than I gave you credit. You continue to improve. Does it hurt anywhere in particular?’
‘Not really.’
It seemed to Sigvald that the boy felt ashamed that he had received such minor injuries after what he had been through. Yet despite his fortune, Leif still looked much the worse for wear. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes, and his pallid skin clung to his limbs like ill-fitting clothes. Bruises showed purple and yellow on his arms and his torso, presumably from his being tossed around by the collapsing house.
‘Good for you,’ Sigvald said. ‘We can thank the Gods that someone has come out of this in relative health.’
‘Relative health?’ Alrik laughed. ‘His hair isn’t even mussed, and it’s Rathulf he should be thanking, not the Gods.’
‘Rathulf!’ Leif looked from Alrik to Sigvald urgently. ‘Where is he?’
‘Over there.’ Alrik jerked his thumb in Rathulf’s direction.
Leif propped himself up on his elbows and looked over to where Rathulf lay on the other side of the room. Ingrith sat beside her beau, her hand encircling her foster-brother’s. Leif’s eyes widened in alarm when he saw his friend’s heavily bandaged chest. ‘Oh no!’ he cried, throwing off his covers.
Sigvald held out a hand to restrain him. ‘He’s asleep, that’s all. He’s got the odd broken rib or two, but he’ll come good.’
‘And Thorvald?’ Leif looked around the room, searching for Rathulf’s father.
‘He’s up in the main house,’ Sigvald explained, ‘but in his case, the news is not so bright. Helga doesn’t think he’ll make it, but an ounce of silver says he will.’
Leif looked across to Helga for confirmation, his face showing his distress.
‘I can’t say yet,’ she said, ‘but if you hadn’t bound the wound and stopped the bleeding, he’d have been dead long since.’
‘Rathulf you mean,’ Alrik corrected.
Leif scowled at Alrik. ‘It wasn’t Ra.’
‘Quite,’ Helga interrupted, gently easing Leif back onto his bed. ‘Now then, you’ve been through a good deal, and what you need is rest. We can put the pieces together all in good time.’
‘But–’
‘Hush now.’
Alrik laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Leif? Surely you don’t expect us to believe you’re the hero?’
8. Leif Avalanche-beater
Bardisby, Sognefjorden, Norvegr
Leif took a sip of his mead and looked up at the circle of expectant faces, not quite certain where to start, and definitely feeling uncomfortable about the growing argument over his role in the rescue. Nearly a week had passed since the avalanche, but it was only today that Helga had relented and declared the boys well enough to be hounded with questions. Alrik had unkindly pointed out that everyone already knew what had happened: gallant Rathulf had rescued them all, despite his terrible injuries. Now, as Leif sat opposite Sigvald, Helga, Ingrith, Alrik, Bardi and a host of others pressing him for answers, he again doubted his part in the whole affair. He’d been over it in his head a hundred times since their arrival at Bardisby, yet it still seemed improbable. Alrik is surely right, he thought. It is a fantasy dreamt up in my deluded mind as a result of the trauma of the avalanche.
‘I… I’m not really sure what to say,’ he began self-consciously.
‘Start at the beginning then,’ Helga suggested. ‘How did you come to be at Rathulf’s?’
Leif glanced down at his friend, who lay on the sleeping bench beside him, his eyes closed and mouth twisted into a grimace as he struggled with the constant pain.
‘I went to Rathulf’s to escape my father,’ Leif said, then paused, amazed at himself for admitting it.
Sigvald frowned at him. ‘What? That’s ridiculous. How did you get there? It’s many days’ ride from Horiksby.’
‘I know,’ Leif said quietly, dropping his eyes.
‘Leif, are you trying to tell me you walked there?’ Sigvald asked, incredulous. ‘In this weather? It’s not possible!’
Leif looked up at the jarl’s face and nodded.
‘Sweet Baldur,’ Bardi whispered in awe. ‘What possessed you to do that?’
‘He was thrown out by his drittsekk of a father,’ Rathulf said, surprising them all with his interjection. He opened his eyes and looked first at Leif, then he turned his head slightly so that he could see the gathering in front of him. ‘We found Leif lying near-dead in the snow beside our house.’
Leif felt Rathulf’s suppressed anger, and he instinctively put a hand on his friend’s arm to calm him.
Sigvald blinked at the two boys, visibly shaken by their revelations. The others, too, looked upon Leif, astounded.
‘Well that explains the state of your body,’ Helga said. ‘Your exhaustion and the injuries you bear and are not just a result of the avalanche, are they?’
Leif looked at her and shook his head in silent acknowledgement.
Sigvald took a deep breath, then said, ‘clearly we need to take this up with the Althing, but for now I think it best we set it aside until Thorvald awakens. As you two are not yet adults, we need Thorvald as a witness.’
‘I don’t care what the assembly says,’ Rathulf said coldly, ‘and I don’t need witnesses. I know exactly what will happen to Horik.’ He winced as his chest protested against his speaking.
‘Ah, Ra,’ Sigvald warned, ‘as I said, we’ll have a proper talk about this later. You need to stay still, and that includes not talking. It’ll do you no good to get worked up. What we want to know right now is what happened
after the avalanche.’ He turned to Leif. ‘Helga seems to think you saved everyone.’ He raised his eyebrows at Leif, inviting him to continue.
Leif felt both elated and terrified. One of his fears this past week had been that in the aftermath of the avalanche, Rathulf might forget the circumstances surrounding Leif’s arrival at Thorvaldsby. Clearly, his friend had not, and nor had his anger dulled. Nevertheless, he thought, Sigvald is right; this is not the time or place to discuss my predicament.
‘There’s really not much to tell,’ Leif said. ‘The avalanche came in the middle of the night. I was asleep, so the first I knew about it was being thrown out of my bed. There was lots of noise then everything went quiet. I think I was knocked out for a while, and I think it was Rathulf who woke me up because he was calling me. I could tell from his voice that something was wrong.’
Alrik laughed. ‘What, like the whole house had been destroyed?’ He earned a glare from Bardi for that remark, but Alrik shrugged as if to say ‘what’?
‘Rathulf was trapped somewhere in the ruins,’ Leif continued, ‘but it was so dark; I couldn’t see a thing.’
And so Leif went on to relate the tale as best he could remember it. Everyone listened in silence as he described his tentative exploration of the ruins, every moment fearing that he would bring it all crashing down on them by inadvertently bumping the wrong thing. He told them how he managed to get a fire going, only to have it fill the space with smoke and nearly suffocate them. He paused when he came to Thorvald, and he found himself unable to describe the horror he had felt when he’d come across the farmer’s mangled body. He paused to take a swig of mead and found to his surprise that his mug was empty. Helga refilled it, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. He glanced up at the others and saw the disbelief in one or two faces, including Alrik’s. He paused, uncertain again. Am I making all this up? he wondered.
‘You were telling us about Thorvald,’ Helga prompted.
Leif nodded and began to explain how he had tended Thorvald’s wounds, but was interrupted by Alrik.