Viking Gold

by V. Campbell

  Chapter 9

  Redknee ignored Harold’s warning and set the black ship on course for the farm. It must not be a repeat of Ragnar’s attack on his village. So much death. It couldn’t happen twice. He wouldn’t let it. He’d save those now where he’d been unable to before. And he’d left Silver in there.

  As they reached the beach, he leapt from the ship, wrapped his cloak round his face and charged across the sand towards the burning longhouse. There was no sign of Ragnar or any of his men. Was he too late? As flames licked the pale, summer dawn, memories of charred, blackened skin flashed through his mind. He nearly retched. It was happening again. Smoke clawed at his throat, he held his breath, afraid of finding the terrible, terrible smell of roasting flesh.

  Sinead grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if anyone is inside.”

  “You’ll be killed,” she said.

  “By the Blessed Virgin, I didn’t mean it.”

  Redknee turned to see the little monk they’d met the night before. He knelt on the ground; hands clasped together, eyes shut. His lips moved quickly, silently, as if chewing something distasteful, like a bee.

  “What’s he doing?” Redknee asked.

  “Praying,” Sinead said. She went over and put her hand on his shoulder. His robes were singed with ash. “Is anyone inside?” she asked.

  Brother Alfred’s eyes flew open. “Oh praise be! You have come for me. It was an accident. I—”

  “Is anyone inside?” Redknee said, stopping the monk mid rant.

  The little monk shook his head.

  “What about a wolf cub?”

  The monk looked blank.

  Redknee stared at the burning longhouse. The turf roof had collapsed and angry, red flames escaped from between the rafters. He sank to his knees and closed his eyes.

  “I shut him in,” he said, “he wanted to come with me and I shut him in.” He felt Sinead place a hand on his shoulder, but he received no comfort from it.

  “Who did you shut in,” she asked, nudging his cheek.

  He turned to face her, to explain how he’d left his pup to die, and was greeted by a paid of amber eyes. “Silver!” he cried, bundling the pup into his arms, “I thought you were dead.”

  He glanced up at Sinead, who was standing a little way off, a smile tugging on her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shrugged.

  Then he remembered his uncle’s order. He turned back to the little monk. “What about the book?” he asked. “Did you get that out?”

  Brother Alfred shook his head. “It all happened so quickly. I didn’t think.”

  Redknee sighed. “Uncle Sven charged me with the Codex’s safekeeping,” he said to Sinead. “Is it true what you said earlier – about it having a connection to my father?”

  “That’s what Ragnar said.”

  “What, Sinead? You have to tell me exactly what he said.”

  “He said it belonged to your father – well, that your father stole it from an Irish monastery.”

  “What?” Redknee’s mind spun out of control. “Sven said he was given it by a merchant in Kaupangen just last month.”

  Sinead shrugged. “I’m only telling you what Ragnar said.”

  Redknee started towards the longhouse.

  “Where are you going?” she called after him.

  “If what you say is true, I’ve no time to waste.”

  The chest where Sven stowed the book had been against the back wall of the longhouse. Rather than fight through the inferno, Redknee skirted the flames, making his way round the outside to the rear of the building. The fire was even more intense here, its roar deafening. But he spotted a gap in the timbers, covered his mouth and slid through.

  Heat seared his skin.He saw the chest; the pale oak blackened under the caress of the flames, but otherwise undamaged. He tried the lid. It didn’t budge. Damn. He cast around for something to break the lock.

  He saw, not too far away, an iron-headed hammer wedged beneath fallen rafters. Perfect. But as he scurried across the room to reach it, the last remaining rafters crashed down. He raised his arms to protect his head as he was pummelled to the floor in a cloud of smoke and dust. Everything hurt.

  He tried to move. Found he couldn’t. Something, a rafter maybe, had fallen on his leg, trapping him amongst the blackened debris. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t die here trying to save a damn book. By Thor’s hammer, he only had Sinead’s word it had any connection to his father. No, he had to go on.

  He couldn’t quite reach the hammer from where the timber pinned him to the floor. Summoning all his strength, he tried to tug his leg free. The effort moved him a couple of inches closer to the hammer, maybe less. Was it enough? He lay flat on the floor and stretched his arms out until his joints clicked. His fingertips brushed the end of the hammer. Just. He closed his eyes. Another inch was all he needed. Gathering the last of his energy, he yanked his trapped leg again. This time it didn’t budge. Not an inch. Nothing. By Odin’s eye, he was going to die here.

  He saw a white hand with neat fingernails reach down for him. It must be Freya, he thought. Come to take him to Valhalla. But she didn’t touch him, instead she picked up the hammer. It was then he realised it wasn’t Freya, but Sinead, come to help him.

  “Hurry up,” she said, handing him the hammer. “This place will collapse any moment.” She helped lift the timber from his leg, which was cut but not broken, then they hastened to the chest.

  The rusty old lock came away easily using the hammer. Redknee quickly opened the lid and reached inside for the book. But the chest was empty save for a yellowed piece of linen.

  He turned to Sinead. “Where is it?”

  “How should I know? Come on,” she said, pulling on his tunic, “we have to go.”

  He looked frantically about the remains of the longhouse.

  “But it must be here. I’ve got to find it … I promised my uncle …”

  “It’s gone, and we should go too.” Sinead grabbed his arm and began dragging him towards the opening they had come through. They ran outside as the building collapsed behind them.

  Brother Alfred had been joined on the beach by a pink-faced and breathless Harold.

  “What happened?” Sinead asked Brother Alfred.

  “You spilled your oils,” Harold said sharply to the little monk. “Didn’t you?”

  Brother Alfred nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I … I was sending prayers to the … the Blessed Virgin and knocked over my incense burner. In the name of all the Saints, I … I truly didn’t mean to do it …”

  “So it wasn’t Ragnar?” Redknee asked.

  Brother Alfred shook his head.

  Redknee glared at Harold. “You lied.”

  Harold shrugged. “I thought I saw him up on the hills. I was just trying to help.”

  Redknee scanned the hills for movement. Ragnar and his men could be lurking in the shadows. He’d seen them leave their camp some time ago. Yet, there was something odd about the way Harold was acting. He seemed unusually on edge.

  “Know anything about the Codex? It’s gone missing,” Redknee asked.

  “Nothing – I just got here.”

  “Why did you leave the whale hunt?”

  “There was a skirmish between Ivar and one of the local jarls—”

  “So you ran away?”

  “No…”

  A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Matilda ran along the beach towards the burning farm, followed by a rag-tail bunch of children. “My house!” she cried, falling to her knees, tears streaming down her broad face. “My beautiful house – who did this?”

  Harold pointed a skinny finger at Brother Alfred who was cowering a little way off. “It was him.”

  Matilda struggled to her feet and lumbered towards the monk.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear! On the life of the Blessed Virgin, it was a mistake.”

  Matilda pulled back her mighty forearm ready to bash
the little monk squarely on his soft cheek. Redknee winced inwardly. He knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of her anger. But, as if from nowhere, a hand shot out, grabbing Matilda’s arm and spinning her round.

  “What’s happening here?” Ivar asked his wife in the gentlest of tones.

  “Our house!” Matilda moaned. “That stupid monk has burned our house. I told you to get rid of him ages ago.”

  Sven, Olaf and the rest of the men splashed through the shallows to join Ivar on the beach.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Ivar said. “When we saw the flames, and then the black ship in the bay, we thought Ragnar was already here. He was spotted heading this way with a large number of men-at-arms. The fire only serves to reinforce my decision - we’re going to leave with Sven. Visit Astrid in Iceland. We’ll deal with Brother Alfred’s crime later.”

  Redknee blocked out Matilda’s cries for Brother Alfred’s blood as he turned to see his uncle running up the beach towards him. Beside the black ship stood Wavedancer, sleek and proud in the morning light. His uncle had brought her from the hidden lagoon, a sure sign they were going to leave rather than stand and fight. Redknee’s heart sank. He was going to have to explain about the book.

  “How did Ragnar’s ship get here?” Sven asked.

  Redknee shuffled forward. “I stole it from him.”

  “You?” Sven looked confused. “But you were to stay here and guard the book.”

  Redknee gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “I … yes, I was. But I thought Ragnar might have left his camp unguarded.”

  Sven looked thoughtful. “Well done,” he said eventually. “You’re turning out to be quite resourceful. I assume you got the book out of the longhouse before the stupid monk set it on fire.”

  “I … yes, I’ll—”

  “Well then – go and get it. We’re leaving now, not next week.”

  “Yes,” Redknee nodded, without moving.

  “Here it is.” Sinead stepped forward, the goatskin package under her arm.

  Redknee was speechless.

  Even Sven looked taken aback. “Didn’t you run away with Ragnar?” was all he found to say.

  But Sinead didn’t get the chance to respond, because at that moment, Ragnar and his men mounted the ridge separating the beach from the mossy peak beyond.

  Chapter 10

  Wavedancer was easier to sail with the extra strength of Ivar’s family and the slaves on board. They also had the rations they took from the black ship before they set it alight, and some of the whale meat. And they didn’t have to worry about being followed; the last they saw of Ragnar was him trying to douse the flames devouring his precious ship.

  Olaf was angry they weren’t returning home. But even he had to agree it was their duty to take Ivar to the safety of his daughter’s household. Five days’ easy sail, that was how long Ivar said it would take to reach Iceland. And eventually Olaf agreed they would have enough food and water to last them, provided they weren’t held up in bad weather.

  Matilda wanted to hang Brother Alfred right away. But Sven stopped her.

  “I’m in charge on this ship,” he said. “And while it is Ivar’s right to seek justice for the burning of his farm, I say there’ll be no hanging, or retribution of any sort, until we reach Iceland.” He turned to Ivar who stood beside his wife. “You know I need Brother Alfred to read the Codex. But I also know I cannot ask you to put off punishing him indefinitely. All I will ask, dear cousin, is that you give some thought to coming with us on our quest beyond Iceland.”

  Ivar nodded solemnly. “I will think about your offer.”

  Matilda folded her arms huffily across her ample chest. “Call yourself a man?” she said derisorily. “And yet you do nothing.”

  “Calm down, dear,” Ivar said, stroking his wife’s broad shoulders. “I’ll deal with Brother Alfred when we reach Iceland.”

  Brother Alfred had been cowering at the far side of the longship during this exchange. As Matilda was led away by Ivar, she turned and spat in his face. “You’d better be a light sleeper!” she hissed.

  “How did you find the book?” Redknee asked Sinead as the sun went down on their first full day at sea.

  “Oh that. I thought there might be another chest. I ran back inside and saw there was.”

  “So it was in there all along?”

  Sinead nodded.

  “I’m going to ask my uncle how he got the book again. He said he was given it by a merchant in Kaupangen last month. But if what Ragnar says is true, about my father taking it from a monastery, then the book might have something to do with my father’s … disappearance.”

  “I thought your father was dead.”

  “My mother told me he is still alive.”

  Sinead’s eyes widened in surprise, “Oh – so you think the book might have something to do with … him?”

  Redknee shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t put the two together until you told me what Ragnar said about my father taking it from a monastery. And if what you say is right, then my uncle is lying. I need to ask him about that.”

  Sinead looked afraid. Very afraid. “Oh, please don’t ask him.”

  “Why?”

  “If he’s trying to hide something, and he thinks … Oh, I don’t know. Please don’t.”

  “I have to, Sinead. This is important.”

  “But he’ll punish me.”

  “You never seemed afraid of my uncle before.”

  “But this is different – I think we might have stumbled on something we’re not supposed to know.”

  “What do you mean? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

  Sinead shook her head.

  “Well, I’m going to ask him. It’s the only way I can find out.”

  “Don’t – I’ll … I’ll tell him how you led Skoggcat to our village!”

  Redknee stood in silence. She wouldn’t dare. Would she? Well, it cut both ways. He didn’t think his uncle knew she’d given Mord the book. If he told Sven that, it would surely be the death of her.

  “How are my two favourite young people?”

  Redknee turned to see his uncle coming over to join them. He mumbled something about being just fine.

  “Well,” Sven continued. “It’s really you, Sinead, who I need to speak to.”

  Sinead nodded silently. She looked terrified.

  “I need to know why you ran away with Ragnar.”

  “Please Sir,” Redknee said. “She didn’t run away. Mord took her.”

  “I see,” Sven said. He turned to Sinead. “Is that correct?”

  She nodded.

  “And you are unhurt?”

  She nodded again.

  “Good,” he said smiling, and he started to leave.

  “Sir,” Sinead said, her voice small and high-pitched. Not at all how Redknee was used to hearing her.

  “Yes?” Sven asked, pausing.

  “When I was at Ragnar’s camp, I overheard him talking about why he wanted the book, why King Hakon wants the Codex.”

  “Really? Why you’re quite the little eavesdropper.”

  Sinead smiled.

  “And how do I know you’re not sent by Ragnar to spy on me now?”

  Her smile quickly faded.

  Sven laughed. “Relax, I’m just teasing. So tell me, why does our esteemed king seek the Codex?”

  “King Hakon is ill. Some say it is leprosy and that he is dying. This book, the Codex, it is about an Irish monk, Saint Brendan, who lived many years ago. The book tells of his journey to the Promised Land – a place far to the west – where he found great riches. But, more importantly, according to the Codex, the Promised Land is a place where death has been conquered.”

  “I see,” Sven said. “So he isn’t looking for Saint Brendan’s treasure. He wants to go to the Promised Land where he will be able to live forever.”

  Sinead nodded. “That’s what he believes.”

  “And he has sent Ragnar to find this place for him
.”

  “Yes. But Ragnar’s son, Mord, he wants the treasure for himself. It is to be their reward for helping King Hakon.”

  Sven stroked his beard. “Well this puts a different slant on things. King Hakon wants my head on a spike for non-payment of taxes. But then the fox will keep putting them up.”

  “He is spending a lot of money trying to find a cure for his illness,” Sinead said.

  “Well, well. Perhaps there is a way I can get back on his good side. If we were to find the Promised Land first, then we could legitimately claim the treasure for ourselves, and also save King Hakon from his terrible death. Thank you, Sinead,” he said, starting to leave again. “If we do indeed find this Promised Land, I shall personally see to it you are given your freedom.”

  Redknee watched as his uncle made his way up the deck, speaking to each of his men in turn, giving them encouragement. He stopped beside Brother Alfred and motioned for the little monk to sit with him.

  Satisfied his uncle was out of earshot, Redknee turned back to Sinead. “Why didn’t you tell my uncle you can read?” he asked. “Then we’ll find the Promised Land sooner – Brother Alfred is taking ages with his reading.”

  “I don’t know … I’m afraid.”

  “You?”

  Sinead nodded. “I don’t want them to kill Brother Alfred. I don’t think he caused the fire.”

  “Neither do I. But if it wasn’t Ragnar, and if it wasn’t an accident, where does that leave us?”

  “Maybe someone started it deliberately.”

  “But who would do such a thing – and why?” As he said this, his eyes were drawn to where Harold sat, busily sharpening his ivory- handled dagger on a slice of granite.

  Sinead followed his gaze. “The thought had occurred to me too,” she said.

  “But why try and warn us?”

  “But was he warning us, or was he trying to keep us away – blame someone else?”

  “We can say what we like, but it means nothing without proof. And if we can’t prove it, Brother Alfred will hang, or worse, when we reach Iceland. Matilda will see to that.”

  He glanced over to where Brother Alfred was sitting beside Sven on a thick bundle of furs. They were going through the Codex – with Sven turning the pages, the little monk reading them aloud. Something Brother Alfred said made Sven frown. He asked the monk to repeat it, which he did. This time Sven grinned.