by Peter Fox
‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ Eirik asked Rathulf. ‘You have injured my son and killed his mare; indeed, it seems only dumb luck stood between Gunnar and death today.’
There was little Rathulf could say, as his ale-addled head struggled to put a coherent thought together. Besides, the gist of what Gunnar had said was true, albeit overblown and skewed in Gunnar’s favour.
‘Tariq doesn’t like him,’ Rathulf said. ‘Nor do I.’
The crowd drew breath at the frank admission. Gunnar’s face turned black as a thundercloud. ‘You’re gonna die for that, skítr-licker,’ he hissed, ‘and so is your jævela mule. I’m going to slit its throat right before I slit yours.’
Rathulf met Gunnar’s pale blue eyes, no longer afraid of him, no longer caring what taunts the ugly boy threw at him. Rathulf had beaten him fairly, and it felt good. Really good. He remained silent, allowing himself a derisive smile instead.
Before Gunnar could demean himself any further, Eirik ordered Snorri to help the boy up onto the longship and prepare for departure.
‘Is that it?’ Gunnhild asked, incredulous. Eirik threw his wife a questioning look, which earned him a narrow-eyed glare in return, but she climbed aboard the Sea Dragon without further word.
Eirik turned to address Rathulf. ‘Was any of what my son said true?’ he asked, very quietly, so that only Rathulf and the nearest of the gathering could hear.
Rathulf was aware that Alrik and Sigvald stood behind him, Alrik so close that his shoulder was propping Rathulf up. ‘Mostly,’ he said.
‘Rathulf didn’t–’ Sigvald began, but Eirik raised his hand to silence the jarl, keeping his gaze fixed on Rathulf. Eirik considered Rathulf for some time before coming to a decision. ‘We shall speak more of this at the Althing,’ he said. Then he turned and climbed aboard the drakkar and immediately gave the order to leave.
Rathulf and his guests all watched in tense silence as the Sea Dragon drew away from the shore, and it was Alrik, predictably, who broke the impasse.
‘I wouldn’t like to be Gunnar right now,’ Alrik said. ‘Did you hear what Eirik said about luck saving Gunnar’s skin? What an insult! Stupid Gunnar was too dumb or drunk to realise.’
‘That’s enough Alrik,’ Sigvald warned. ‘Let’s just be grateful Eirik decided not to press the matter.’
‘But he said he’d take it to the Althing,’ Rathulf said, confused.
‘He didn’t name witnesses, Ra, because there was no crime committed, other than by his son, who has humiliated his father, and himself, by being comprehensively trounced by you. He then further shamed himself by whining like a piglet on its way to the slaughter hook instead of accepting his pasting like a man.’
‘Oh,’ Rathulf said, still not certain that was a good thing.
‘That said,’ Sigvald said thoughtfully, twisting his beard, ‘I’m not sure I’d have been quite so blunt about how much you detest Gunnar’s company.’
‘Rubbish!’ Bardi said, in a reversal of roles. ‘Rathulf held himself proud, unafraid to speak the truth like a man. I say well done, Rathulf!’ He lifted his mug in a toast. Rathulf joined him automatically, but when he went to take a drink, he found his horn to be empty. He looked at it, mildly surprised. He was aware that his head spun a little, and he blinked.
Ingrith appeared and took his hand. ‘We were interrupted,’ she said, her eyes twinkling.
Rathulf glanced at Sigvald, but the big Viking turned away, waving his hand at him. This was Rathulf’s coming of age celebration, which meant that certain rules were relaxed, and some activities even encouraged by the older men and women in aid of the transition towards manhood.
Ingrith led Rathulf from the house and the festivities, crossing the tree-lined beck and taking him into a grove of ash trees nestled at the foot of the mountain. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the air held the warm, heavy scent of the summer evening.
They came into a small clearing in the trees beside a chattering beck that tumbled over moss-covered rocks. Ingrith gently pushed Rathulf down onto the soft grass, then she bent down and kissed him lightly on the belly button. Rathulf closed his eyes and bit his lip.
‘I have wanted to do this for such a long time,’ she whispered. Rathulf didn’t know what to say. He closed his eyes and entered a new and bliss-filled world that Ingrith opened to him. He was only half aware of the bubbling beck to their right as the deepening twilight dipped the glade into a lavender-shaded dusk. Now he understood what the older boys were talking about.
Suddenly there was a burst of laughter and Alrik stumbled into the clearing, crashing through the clearing like a wild boar. ‘Found you!’ he laughed.
‘Wha…?’ Rathulf blurted, mortified. He blinked up at Ingrith, who smiled back at him, untroubled by the intrusion. Only then did Rathulf see that Alrik was naked, and he had Astrid in tow. Strictly speaking, Alrik wasn’t wholly nude; he had his pants tied around his head like a bandana, the legs trailing over his shoulders. Astrid was in an equal state of undress, and she stood next to her paramour, smiling at the two exposed lovers on the grass. Then without warning, Astrid shoved Alrik down next to Rathulf and sat on him, throwing Ingrith a conspiratorial glance. Rathulf didn’t remember much after that, and as he lay exhausted on the grass afterwards, his legs entangled in both Ingrith and Astrid’s, he gave Alrik a worried look.
‘Shut up, idiot!’ his friend hissed. ‘What’s not to like?’
Alrik did have a point. Time seemed to have paused. Rathulf had no idea how long the four of them had been in that glade together; the girls introducing Rathulf to delights he had never experienced before now. All the pain he had felt as a result of his battering earlier in the day had vanished entirely.
Alrik grinned at Rathulf, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight, his bare skin glowing in the pale, silvery light. ‘This has been the best Lithasblot ever, Ra,’ he murmured, genuinely meaning it. ‘And this is what it is to be a man. Never forget that.’
4. The wrong tent
Thorvaldsby, Aurlandsfjorden, Norvegr
Rathulf woke late the following morning, his head foggy, his stomach queasy, and his body stiff and hurting all over. He lay on his uninjured side and blinked into bright daylight, then he closed his eyes again, unable to cope with the glaring whiteness in front of his face. He was aware he was not alone, and that he was still naked. Ingrith lay spooned against his back, snoring softly, her breath hot on the nape of his neck. Her arm lay heavily across Rathulf’s torso, and her hand was entwined in his. Her other arm lay flung up on the pillow above Rathulf’s head. Rathulf felt the heat of her skin against his back and buttocks, and at once he hardened, remembering the astoundingly sensual delights of last night. His chest tightened, and his heart rate quickened as a surge of desire rose within him.
Rathulf wanted her, right there, right now. He tried to twist around, but Ingrith murmured in her sleep and pulled herself more closely into him, her embrace stronger than he expected, and all the more arousing as a result. He let out a chuckle, then with a sudden movement, pulled himself from her grasp and rolled on top of her, grabbing her arms and pinning her to the bedclothes.
Only it wasn’t Ingrith.
Alrik looked up at Rathulf, startled, blinking away sleep.
‘Whoa!’ Rathulf cried, shoving himself off his friend.
‘What are you doing?’ Alrik demanded, staring at Rathulf’s lap. Then he looked down at his own, and added, ‘and what am I?’
Rathulf saw at once that they were no longer in the shelter of the grove, but somewhere else entirely. It took a few moments for his mind to register that they shared a tent, which, by the look of it, had been set up expressly for this purpose, with layers of soft bedding, furs, down pillows and scented cloths; although Rathulf was reasonably sure that Alrik was not meant to be the one sharing it with him. He snatched up one of the furs and clutched it to him to cover his embarrassment, trying to look anywhere but at Alrik.
‘How’d we
get in here?’ Rathulf said in a half-whisper, having no idea where the tent had been pitched and how near to the house it was – or to any other tents for that matter.
‘You tell me,’ his friend protested. ‘I was asleep until you jumped me.’
‘I thought you were Ingrith,’ Rathulf said, flushing at the admission. He knew just what he had intended; only it hadn’t been meant for Alrik. ‘And anyway, smartarse, you were holding on to me pretty tight when I woke up.’
‘Was I?’ Alrik said. He gave Rathulf a considered look. ‘I guess that explains this then,’ he said, looking down between his legs.
Rathulf didn’t know what to say. He was desperately trying to remember what had happened last night and how he and Alrik had come to be in here, but he had no recollection of it at all. Worse, moments ago they had been entwined in each other’s arms like lovers. He wrapped himself in a blanket, deeply worried now. His head pounded, and he felt a growing sense of nausea in his belly. How much did I drink last night? he wondered. Obviously way too much.
Alrik grinned at Rathulf, delighting in his companion’s discomfort. ‘You have no idea what happened last night, do you? None at all?’
‘You’ve no shame,’ Rathulf grumbled.
‘You’ve got a nice arse,’ Alrik replied, rolling out of the way of Rathulf’s kick.
There was a giggle from outside, and then one of Sigvald’s younger daughters popped her head between the flaps of the tent. She saw Alrik lying on his back, squealed, and disappeared.
‘Cover yourself up, in Thor’s name,’ Rathulf snapped.
‘Oh calm down, Ra,’ Alrik said, his expression sympathetic now. ‘I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, ok? Honest.’ He held his hand over his heart.
Rathulf scowled at him, not believing a word.
‘But you, on the other hand, wow! I never knew you had the fire of Freyja within you…’
Rathulf pounced on his friend and tried to punch him, but Alrik held up a pillow to protect himself. There was more laughter from outside, and Rathulf turned to see two other female faces he didn’t recognise peeping through the flaps. They too shrieked at the sight of Rathulf’s bare behind, then dashed away, twittering and giggling as they departed.
‘I feel sick,’ Rathulf said.
‘Well go outside, dear,’ Alrik said. ‘I’ll not have you throwing up on our nice new bedclothes.’
It was to much mirth and mockery that Rathulf emerged, tightly wrapped in a fur, demanding someone bring him his clothes. To his horror, he found that their tent had been placed smack in the centre of the guest encampment, and everyone was gathered around the big fire pit nearby, variously standing or sitting, talking and drinking, all smiling at the bleary-eyed birthday boy. Sigvald’s three younger daughters and a host of other girls tittered amongst themselves a few feet from the tent, pointing in Rathulf’s direction, then falling into new fits of giggling.
Alrik meanwhile, stepped out into the sunshine beside his friend, naked. He stretched his arms above his head, yawning. The girls screeched with delight.
‘Exhibitionist,’ Rathulf growled.
Alrik threw his friend a grin then loped off towards his father’s encampment to find some clothes.
Sigvald came to his foster-son’s rescue, carrying a bundle under his arm. ‘You two have kept that lot entertained all morning,’ he said, nodding at the girls. He handed the clothes to Rathulf with a wink, then guarded the entrance while Rathulf dressed inside the tent.
‘Mind you, Ingrith’s not at all happy that you’ve dumped her for her cousin,’ Sigvald said when Rathulf re-emerged. The tall jarl was struggling to keep a straight face.
‘Very funny,’ Rathulf scowled. ‘And trust me, nothing happened between him and me,’ he added when Sigvald eyed him doubtfully.
Sigvald’s face grew serious when he realised that Rathulf was profoundly worried about what might or might not have occurred, or, more importantly, what everyone thought might have had happened. ‘The girls set you up, daufi. You and Alrik were so drunk on mead and their pleasant company that Ingrith and Astrid had no difficulty leading to you this lovely nest. They got you both cuddled up together like two little puppies. If you really want to know, the girls had a hard time leaving you to it. Apparently, you two were even more alluring in that state.’
‘What?’ Rathulf said, blushing profusely. He felt betrayed, and then he noticed Ingrith standing a short distance away with her mother and some of the other women, grinning broadly at him. She was fully clothed, of course, looking perfectly prim and proper in the older women’s company. Back to normal rules then, he thought ruefully.
Alrik reappeared moments later, thankfully fully clothed too, and gave Rathulf a friendly cuff on the arm. ‘What’s for lunch?’ he asked no one in particular. Rathulf frowned at him, not trusting Alrik one jot. The boy would obviously bed anyone – probably anything – given a chance, and it just wouldn’t surprise Rathulf if those faint but unsettling memories from last night had some note of truth about them.
And while Alrik seemed little the worse for wear for their furious exploits the previous day and evening, Rathulf’s headache worsened, and his stomach grew more querulous as the morning progressed. He couldn’t face food, and it was fortunate the day was so warm and sunny that everyone lazed about in the home paddock beside the homestead; because the need to vomit came upon him suddenly and with little warning.
That earned a roar of approval from his guests, and after that, he was congratulated every time he threw up. For his part, Rathulf felt increasingly wretched, his throat sore, his stomach wrung out, and every muscle was aching. One consolation was Ingrith, who sat with him, her mere presence awakening desire in him, despite his queasy state. It left him like a stone dropping into an icy pond, however, when Bardi raised the matter of Eirik’s visit. A dim memory arose of the tall jarl standing before Rathulf sometime last evening. He’d said something about Leif…
Leif! Rathulf looked around for his friend, a stab of shame catching in his throat. Eirik was meant to bring him here. All this time and I have utterly forgotten about him! What must he think of me? Rathulf stood up, too quickly as it turned out, and he doubled over and dry-retched as a dizzy spell struck him.
‘Where is he?’ Rathulf asked when he couldn’t find his friend amongst the gathering.
‘Where’s who?’ Alrik asked, carefully avoiding the pile of vomit at Rathulf’s feet as he came over from the fire pit, clutching a chunk of roast pig in his hand.
‘How can you eat that?’ Rathulf asked, gagging at the smell of it.
Alrik shrugged and took a bite, tearing the meat from the bone with his teeth.
‘Can you not remember?’ Bardi asked.
Rathulf shook his head, wished he hadn’t, and closed his eyes.
‘You were off your face,’ Alrik said, grinning at him, ‘and luckily for you, Eirik realised it. You should have seen all the swords coming out when you insulted him though.’
Rathulf looked to Sigvald for help, but the golden-haired chieftain grinned back at him. ‘I can’t remember your exact words, but calling him a liar and a coward was undoubtedly your finest moment.’
Rathulf blanched. Surely I wasn’t that stupid?
‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Sigvald reassured his foster-son. ‘Eirik didn’t. To be honest, he felt it was halfway deserved, as he was unable to bring Leif here as he’d promised; a fact which you so eloquently pointed out to him.’
‘Great,’ Rathulf muttered, struggling to hold back the urge to vomit again. ‘I’ll never be able to look him in the face again. I suppose he wasn’t alone?’
‘No, a full crew was on hand to hear it too. And all your guests.’
‘Oh Gods,’ Rathulf muttered, wondering how much further his shame could go. ‘Did I say anything else?’ he asked, not sure it was wise to find out.
Bardi nodded, smiling. ‘Many things, but I’d not want to repeat them in front of the ladies.’
Rathulf c
losed his eyes, the realisation finally dawning that Eirik had failed in his quest to deliver Leif.
‘Stop worrying about it Ra,’ Bardi continued. ‘He honestly didn’t seem that bothered. He was far more concerned that you’d tried to kill his son, but I take it you don’t remember that bit either?’
Rathulf blinked at Bardi, and then he clamped his hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to prevent himself from vomiting again. Everyone backed away to a safe distance, but Rathulf managed to contain himself.
‘He’s alive, just,’ Sigvald said helpfully. ‘You owe Eirik a horse, mind.’
Rathulf groaned. How could the best day of my life be so quickly ruined? And through no fault but my own?
Sigvald clapped him on the leg. ‘Come on, up you get. There’s more celebrating yet to do. You’ll not forget this birthday in a hurry!’
✽ ✽ ✽
Anger continued to boil deep within Leif’s belly as he made his way on foot across the upland fells, knowing that Horik would have a day’s lead on him by the time he got back home. It wouldn’t even surprise Leif if he arrived to find the place abandoned; if Horik had any sense at all, he would make good his escape before Leif could raise the alarm. Leif did briefly consider going to Eiriksby, but it was so much further away, and Leif needed to follow the trunk. That it was now obvious his father had set him up enraged Leif even further.
I am so useless! he thought, berating himself for believing the Gods had been looking kindly upon him and that his father had made a mistake. Since when was my father that stupid? He might be a drunk, but he’s not so dumb that he’d let me wander off to the uplands unaccompanied to ‘round up the sheep.’ He’d clearly intended to follow Leif all along, having somehow picked up the scent of Leif’s duplicity.
As he made his way down the steep-walled valley that led towards his home fjord, Leif wondered what sign he’d given, what clues he’d inadvertently left to alert his malicious father that his son was up to something. Of course, the Gods might simply be punishing him for his audacity. Perhaps they’d not intended him to take the contents for himself after all.