by Peter Fox
‘Husband?’ she asked dangerously.
‘I’m carrying,’ the big Viking rumbled, scooping Rathulf up and throwing him over his shoulder.
‘Bardi,’ Helga continued, ‘take Leif inside. Alrik you go with him. Hakon, go and fetch my father, and I don’t care that it’s the middle of the night. Ingrith, go with Rathulf. All the rest of you, there will be trouble here before this night is out. Those who do not wish to be a part of it would be well advised to leave before any statements are taken or admissions made. Those of you who do wish to stay should prepare your weapons.’ With that, she turned and strode into the house. Bardi and Sigvald followed with their respective charges while Thorvald hobbled in behind them and closed the door. Sigvald lay Rathulf on the sleeping bench as instructed, then stood aside.
‘Don’t let anyone in,’ Helga ordered, and her husband dutifully bolted the door.
Thorvald, who had been waiting anxiously for the search party’s return, stared in horror at his unconscious son.
‘Father, what’s happening?’ Ingrith asked, fearful too as she looked more closely at the blood-smears and other stains on Rathulf’s tunic.
‘Take it off,’ Helga told her. ‘We may need to burn it.’
‘Wha…?’ Ingrith began, but she saw the look in Helga’s eyes, so did as she was told. For all she could tell, her beau showed no visible signs of life-threatening wounds. So it wasn’t his blood then.
The same couldn’t be said for Leif. ‘Slippy’s Balls,’ Sigvald swore when Helga removed his shirt. ‘Who, or what did that?’
They all looked in shock at Leif’s battered body. Bruises coloured every part of him, varying in colour from yellow to green to purple, but it was the deep welts that crisscrossed his back which caused the greatest dismay.
‘This is Horik’s work,’ Helga said.
‘Well he’s gone too far this time,’ Sigvald said. ‘At first light, we’re sailing to that bastard’s malodorous pigsty, and we’re smashing his ugly face to a pulp.’
‘I think you’re too late for that,’ Helga said.
‘What has he done?’ Thorvald whispered, his eyes still on his son.
‘He said he…,’ Alrik began, but Sigvald interrupted him.
‘No, Rathulf has to say it, Alrik. Wake him up.’
‘Why are you shouting at me?’ Alrik protested.
‘Because it was your job to prevent Rathulf from doing anything stupid,’ Bardi said, ‘so you can share in the responsibility for whatever has happened.’
‘I wasn’t there, remember?’ Alrik protested bitterly. ‘He snuck off in the middle of the night, so he can damn well take whatever’s coming to him on his own.’
‘Alrik!’ Helga scolded. ‘Mind your language.’
‘He went without me,’ Alrik snapped back. ‘I would have stopped him if I was there!’
‘Wake him up,’ Helga repeated.
‘Stupid idiot,’ Alrik muttered, hauling Rathulf into an upright position. Rathulf just slumped back down, so Alrik found a jug and filled it from the water barrel. ‘I owe you this,’ he said crossly, then he threw the water into Rathulf’s face. Rathulf spluttered in protest, blinking and wiping his eyes groggily. Sigvald pulled Alrik out of the way and stood in front of Rathulf.
‘Sit up,’ he ordered.
Rathulf tried to do as instructed, blinking again as his eyes refused to obey him. He just wanted to lie down and go back to sleep. Sigvald let out a curse and hauled Rathulf upright. The boy looked up to see his father sitting in a chair opposite him, his face black with anger. When Thorvald spoke, his words carried the full weight of his censure.
‘Do you have any idea what you have done, you foolish boy?’
✽ ✽ ✽
Thorvald waited on the bench opposite his son while Sigvald poured Rathulf a mug of ale. He offered one to Thorvald, but the Viking shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on his son. Rathulf found his father’s scrutiny unsettling, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bench. He was aware that Alrik was watching him from the other end of the room, arms crossed, his face like thunder.
‘Start at the beginning,’ Thorvald growled. ‘And don’t leave anything out. That’s very important.’
Rathulf stared back at his father, unsure what to say or where to begin. The whole scene felt disturbingly similar to the one that had played out at Alrik’s after the avalanche; only this was different. Back then, he hadn’t known the truth, at least not wholly. This time he had to make it up. He’d never told a lie as big or terrifying as this before, but they needed to believe him. If he got it wrong and Leif stood accused, Thorvald would throw Leif out to fend for himself, because in Viking law it was as bad to house the murderer as it was to commit the crime. As it was, Thorvald was so angry at his son that Rathulf wasn’t at all sure the old farmer wouldn’t throw him out.
‘There’s no need to hurry,’ Helga said, trying to ease the tension. ‘Just tell us what happened in your own time.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Rathulf said at last. At least that was true.
‘How about you start by telling us how long you and Myran had this planned?’ Alrik said.
Rathulf could see in his friend’s eyes the deep hurt caused by his deception. ‘I didn’t plan it,’ Rathulf said. ‘I only decided when Eirik came without Leif.’ He glanced around, suddenly realising who was missing. ‘Where’s Myran?’
‘Locked up where he can’t cause any more trouble,’ Sigvald said. ‘We’ll deal with him shortly.’
‘He had nothing to do with this,’ Rathulf implored. ‘You mustn’t punish him, Sigvald.’
‘He’s a slave, Rathulf, who has aided and abetted you in the murder of a fjordsman. You know the punishment for such an offence, and I will take off that rodent’s head once I’ve finished with you.’
‘No!’ Rathulf cried. ‘He doesn’t deserve that! He–’
‘We’re getting distracted,’ Bardi interrupted. ‘There’s nothing you can do for Myran now, Rathulf. Your actions have sealed his fate. Now tell us what happened when you got to Horik’s.’
Rathulf blinked at Alrik’s father, horrified that they wouldn’t listen to him, and loathing himself for willingly accepting Myran’s help when deep down he knew this would be the result.
‘Just take it one step at a time,’ Helga offered, taking Rathulf’s hand in hers. ‘Tell us what you saw when you first arrived.’
Rathulf pulled his hand away from Helga’s and took a deep breath, trying to put aside his thoughts for Myran and focus on the story he had concocted during his ride back home. ‘I got to the farmstead in the early afternoon,’ he began, his voice faltering almost immediately. ‘The hogs had broken into the grain store, and the goats were out too. One of them was eating the turf on the roof and was watching me. I knew something was wrong straight away. It was like the place had been deserted.’
He stopped, realising in a panic that he had to think about what he was saying. Next, I’ll be telling them that I found Horik dead on the floor. I wish I weren’t so tired! He took another breath and spoke more slowly, more carefully.
‘I called out to Leif, but he didn’t answer. No one answered. So I started looking around. I found Leif in the pigsty, curled up in a corner, covered in muck and shivering.’
‘What was he wearing?’ Sigvald asked.
The question threw Rathulf for a moment. ‘Nothing.’
‘He was naked?’ Thorvald asked, clearly surprised by the revelation.
Rathulf nodded. ‘I dressed Leif in fresh clothes after I washed him. I took him to the little brook that runs by the house. That’s how I found out what Horik had done to him.’ He felt better having told another piece of the truth. He looked over at his friend, who lay under a pile of warm skins, oblivious to the drama unfolding around him.
‘Horik made him eat…’ he paused, struggling with the memory of it. ‘He made him eat the pig muck off the sty floor. You could see it in Leif’s puke.’
Alrik made a gagg
ing noise and pressed his hand over his mouth.
‘Man up, boy,’ Bardi growled at his son. ‘Go on,’ he said to Rathulf.
Rathulf looked at the ring of faces in front of him, wondering how much detail he should tell.
‘When I saw how hurt he was, I got angry. It was the lash marks that did it. I tried to make Leif get up, but he couldn’t. He just sat there shivering in the beck. He didn’t even know it was me helping him.’ Rathulf took a long draught from his mug, then he continued. ‘I called out to Horik, but there was no answer. I went up to the house and called him again, and this time he came to the door. He was so drunk he could barely stand. I couldn’t believe he’d been there the whole time. I told him I was going to give him a hiding like he’d given Leif, but just he laughed at me and slammed the door in my face. That made me even angrier, so I kicked the door open and yelled at him to come out and fight, but he laughed at me again and threw his ale in my face.
‘I don’t remember how it all happened from then on. I think I pushed him and he got angry then. He took an axe and came at me. The woodpile was next to me, so I grabbed a bit of wood to defend myself. I knocked the axe from his hand and hit him with the wood. He tried to pick up the axe, but he tripped over his own feet and I hit him again, this time in the head. He fell, and I went out...’
‘Whoa,’ Sigvald said. ‘What do you mean he fell and you went out? Was Horik alive or dead? How did you get those marks on your face?’
Rathulf’s heart skipped a beat. Leif’s scratches. I’ve forgotten about them!
‘Easy, Sigvald,’ Helga warned. ‘Don’t push so hard.’
‘I got them when Horik grabbed me,’ Rathulf said, instantly realising it didn’t make any sense.
Thorvald frowned. ‘But you said you hit him in the head and that was that.’
‘We fought in between,’ Rathulf said, inwardly cursing his stupidity. Think! he scolded himself. ‘After I knocked the axe from his hand, he grabbed the wood from me, and we fought face to face until I managed to get the wood off him again and hit him. I told you I don’t remember how it all happened. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard, but I was so angry.’
Sigvald let out a groan and closed his eyes. Thorvald glanced over to his friend, and then he turned back to his son. ‘Did you kill him?’ he asked pointedly.
‘Thorvald!’ Helga said, placing a protective hand on Rathulf’s arm.
All the while, Ingrith gawped at her lover, both horrified and impressed. Alrik looked shocked.
Thorvald was unrepentant. ‘We need to know whether Rathulf faces an assault or murder charge. I also want to hear Rathulf say it.’
Rathulf looked at his father, his resolve wavering. It’s not too late to back out. He glanced down at Leif, a part of him hoping that his friend would wake up and protest Rathulf’s innocence, but no help would come from that quarter. He swallowed and returned his gaze to Thorvald. There will be no turning back from this moment. I will become a murderer, an outlaw, a marked man with scores of men keen to take my life.
‘I killed him,’ he said.
Thorvald studied his son for a long time, then he shifted his gaze and looked over to Helga. Helga rose and poured Rathulf a mug of warm mead from the pot sitting at the side of the hearth.
‘Drink this,’ Helga said, ‘it will help calm your nerves.’
✽ ✽ ✽
He was out in an instant.
‘Alrik and Ingrith, go outside,’ Helga instructed. They protested, but she shooed them out.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Sigvald said. ‘He’s not telling the truth. At least not all of it at any rate.’
‘Really?’ Helga said. ‘I wish it didn’t, but it sounds very plausible to me. What don’t you think he’s telling us?’
‘It didn’t happen the way he tells it. I’d never admit this to the assembly, but I don’t think Horik approached Rathulf at all. I think Rathulf flew into a rage when he saw Leif’s injuries, and laid into Horik. Horik fought back, but I’d say he never had a chance, especially if he was drunk, which he likely was. Rathulf went in there with one thing in mind, and I don’t believe he offered Horik the choice of stepping outside and choosing his weapon if you know what I mean.’
Thorvald’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t much like what you’re saying, Sigvald. My son would never be so cowardly to strike a man from behind.’
Sigvald winced. ‘This has nothing to do with cowardice or honour. Leif is Rathulf’s friend. Rathulf had already failed to protect him, and how do you think Ra felt when he realised that while he was romping about with his pals here, Leif was having the living daylights beaten out of him? I think Rathulf went into a rage and lost control of his senses. He beat Horik to death without even realising what he was doing. That’s why he’s so shocked. No man likes to know he has that base capacity in him. Especially when he is still a boy.’
‘I refuse to believe it,’ Thorvald said. ‘As terrible though it is, I am nevertheless prepared to accept Rathulf’s story at face value, and it would be a great help if you could too.’
Sigvald sighed. ‘It may come out in the trial. It’s best to be prepared, Thorvald, or else our boy is going to wind up an outlaw or worse.’ He turned to Bardi. ‘If this is true, we can kiss goodbye to any support from the fjordlanders for Rathulf’s claim to his crown.’
‘What about the Persian?’ Bardi asked, fingering the hilt of his dagger.
‘Leave him tied to the Vixen’s mast,’ Sigvald said, tugging his beard in thought. ‘I’m not sure we can do without him, to be honest, so I’ll let the Gods watch over his fate for the time being.’ He looked to his wife. ‘In the meantime, we’d best make preparations. I don’t fancy it will be long before we have visitors.’
✽ ✽ ✽
They did come, but not until the third day after Rathulf’s return, and such was the mounting strain at Thorvaldsby that it was something of a relief to see the ships making their way up Aurlandsfjorden. The greatest tension was reserved for the three boys, none of whom would speak to the other. Worst of all, perhaps, was the mutual antagonism shared by Rathulf and Alrik. While Sigvald, Thorvald and all the other adults despaired that Rathulf had done something so catastrophically reckless, Alrik was furious that Rathulf had gone to Horiksby without him. Meantime, poor Myran had remained strapped to the Vixen’s mast, despite Rathulf’s continued demands that the slave be let free. In the end, Rathulf defied his foster-father and cut the Persian loose himself, warning Sigvald that if he dared harm the stable-master, then Rathulf would inflict the same punishment on the jarl.
‘Get out of the way, Rathulf,’ Sigvald said, standing on the deck and brandishing his battle-axe at his foster-son.
‘Myran belongs to me now; he came with Tariq, remember? You have no right to punish him.’
‘He overstepped himself, Rathulf, and thanks to him, we are facing annihilation. So I don’t give a damn about any misguided loyalties you might have for the slave. Stand aside.’
‘No.’ Rathulf stood between his fostri and Myran, holding his dagger out to defend himself and the Persian. Its short blade was utterly inadequate in the face of the heavy weapon that Sigvald carried, but Rathulf wasn’t prepared to back down.
‘Master Rathulf,’ Myran said, ‘I am most grateful for your defence of me, but you must obey master Sigvald. He is right. I was wrong to help you. My actions have brought great suffering to you and your kin. I accept my fate, as must you.’
‘Well I don’t,’ Rathulf retorted. ‘This has nothing to do with you. I was the one who went to Horik’s, and what Sigvald really wants to do is hack off my head, but he can’t, so he’s chopping yours off instead. And anyway, I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it.’
‘And I, in turn, relieve you of that promise,’ Myran said.
‘And I promise to take off both of your–’ Sigvald didn’t finish his sentence because at that moment Alrik sprang aboard the longship behind his uncle, and without a word, lunged at the burly Viking and
ripped the axe from his hands. Before he knew it, Sigvald was watching the weapon arcing through the air. It landed with an impressive splash in the shallows, and suddenly Sigvald found himself unarmed, with the point of a sword in his back.
‘Hel’s thighs, Alrik! What are you doing?’ he demanded, while keeping his eyes on Rathulf.
‘Showing him what friends are meant to do for one another,’ his nephew answered, his voice wavering with fury, ‘which he might want to think about, since Eirik is coming.’
Everyone turned to look out over the water to see several longships in the distance, making their way up the fjord towards them.
‘Get up to the house, now,’ Sigvald ordered.
When Rathulf didn’t move, Sigvald added, ‘you can take your bloody slave with you.’ As Myran stepped past his former master, however, Sigvald grabbed his arm and growled, ‘we’ll finish this later, Persian.’
Sigvald, Thorvald, Bardi, Hakon and the majority of those men who had attended the birthday celebrations stood shoreward of the home field, watching the longships approach. Most of the women and children had left earlier upon Helga’s insistence, although gratifyingly they only did so under duress. Rathulf, Leif and Alrik waited in the house out of sight. Sigvald was surprised that no one had come by land, although upon reflection, he realised that ships were a far more efficient way to deliver a sizable war host than horseback.
There were six longships in all, and every one of them bristled with men toting swords, axes, spears and bows. Leading the fleet, in fact quite a long way in front, was Eirik’s drakkar. The Sea Dragon powered her way towards them, Eirik unsurprisingly keen to make the first landfall.
‘It’s probably not too late to run,’ Sigvald suggested, wondering how many ponies they had penned up in the stable and yards.
Thorvald looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and lifted one of his crutches. ‘Easy for you to say,’ he said.
Sigvald shrugged. ‘Just wanting to air the options,’ he said. ‘It would be terrible if everyone were thinking the same as everyone else, but no one acted because they thought the others thought... Ah never mind,’ he said, deciding it best to shut up.