Viking Gold

by V. Campbell

  Hawk laughed. “If only that were true. No, my young friend, the Kanienkehaka most definitely exist.”

  “Who are the Kanianke—?”

  “—haka.” They’d reached the top of the embankment. Hawk stopped and faced Redknee. “Kanienkehaka means People of the Flint.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, young one, that they protect this land from invaders like you.”

  Redknee followed Hawk in silence. After a short while, he asked where they were going.

  “I am going home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “You ask a lot of questions. It’s half a day’s walk.”

  “Were you following us?”

  “Picked up your trail this morning.”

  Redknee let out a long, low whistle.

  Hawk laughed. “Didn’t suspect a thing?”

  Redknee shook his head. “Had a hunch – but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “That’s the Kanienkehaka training. They move quick and quiet.”

  “Can I learn?”

  Hawk spun round. Koll and Toki were running up behind them, Silver at their heels. Olvir trailed a few paces behind. “Maybe you can learn,” Hawk said, turning back to Redknee, “but those over-fed lumps never will.”

  Redknee faced his friends. “This is Hawk,” he explained. “He saved my life. He’s going to take us to his home and tell us all about the Flint People.”

  Koll gritted his teeth. “What manner of—”

  “They are just people,” Redknee said.

  Koll shook his head. “It’s a trap.”

  “No!” Redknee said, “He saved my life.”

  Koll snorted. “He’s luring us astray – so his Flint People friends can pick us off.”

  Hawk folded his arms. “We’re days from Kanienkehaka territory, but suit yourself. Though, if it makes any difference, others are on your trail.”

  Hawk led them on a twisting route, so that by the time they reached the clearing, night was already drawing a veil over the sky. A hovel of branches and mud huddled against the frozen ground.

  “This is your home?” asked Redknee.

  “It’s better from the inside.”

  Hawk was right. Beneath the thatch of leaves and daub, the air was warm and dry. What looked small on the outside easily held the six of them. Thick furs lined the floor and woollen blankets hung from the walls. The men kicked off their boots and made themselves comfortable while Hawk lit the fire.

  They had caught a couple of squirrels on their walk and once he had a good blaze going, Hawk went outside to gut the carcasses. Soon they were talking and eating. Silver, though, sat by the door, amber eyes scanning the gathering dark. Nothing, not even the sweet smell of roast squirrel, could tempt him from his vigil. Sensing the pup’s unease, Redknee kept Flame Weaver by his side. Toki had recovered it for him after his dip in the river. One more I owe him, Redknee thought grimly.

  “Ah,” Hawk said, chewing on a piece of meat. “Tastes good.”

  “How long have you been here?” Toki asked.

  “Two winters.”

  Redknee studied the hut in more detail. A man’s tunic hung from the rafters, drying. A pair of soft, brown boots warmed by the fire. A soapstone bowl and spoon sat in a corner, half covered by a linen square. One of everything. He turned back to Hawk.

  “You live alone?”

  “My wife is visiting her people.”

  “She’s a Flint Person?” Redknee asked.

  Hawk nodded.

  Koll loosened the neck of his tunic. “Didn’t you have a wife before?”

  Hawk studied the fire, the yellow flames dancing against the dull grey of his eyes. “I did,” he said quietly. “But I will never see her again.”

  “Aye,” Koll said, nodding sadly. “My woman has gone too.”

  Something moved outside. Silver’s ears pricked up. Both Redknee and Koll jumped to their feet. Olvir grabbed his bow.

  A smile played on Hawk’s lips. He didn’t stir. “Your stalkers have finally caught up with us.”

  “What?” Redknee said. “I thought all that doubling back was to lose them.”

  Koll marched to the door and burst into the night. He reappeared a moment later, a violently struggling woman under his arm. “Vermin!” he said, dropping her onto the floor.

  Astrid scrambled to her feet and lunged across the fire, knocking Hawk backwards. She tore at him with her nails, gouging angry red lines across his cheeks.

  Hawk kept perfectly still.

  “Bastard!” she screeched, getting to her feet and kicking his shins. “I hate you, Gunnar Osvaldson, you’re a traitor and a coward!”

  Koll dragged Astrid off Hawk and pinned her arms behind her back. It was then that Redknee saw Sinead standing in the doorway, her hands folded neatly beneath her green cloak; she flashed a brief smile in his direction.

  “Astrid sneaked out. I had to come with her. She would have died on her own.”

  Astrid wriggled like a salmon in Koll’s arms as she tried to spit in Hawk’s eyes. Koll pressed his hand over her mouth. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

  Redknee turned to Hawk. “Should we call you Gunnar, as Astrid does?” Hawk just shrugged, so Redknee continued: “Our new friend is Astrid’s estranged husband. Gunnar Osvaldson, long lost Jarl of Reykjavik.”

  Koll howled. Blood flecked from Astrid’s teeth where she’d sunk them into his finger. As Koll snatched his hand away she began shouting at Hawk with renewed fury. “You lied. You said you’d come back for me.”

  “I tried to build a ship.”

  “You didn’t try very hard.”

  “My men were all killed … or died of the fever. And the Kanienkehaka, none would come with me … except for Running Deer.”

  “Ha! Your new wife? That would be a fine homecoming. Bet you didn’t think I’d come to find you!”

  “So you came all this way, risked your life, just to shout at him?” Sinead asked.

  Astrid rounded on her. “Shut up, slave. You don’t know the first thing about Gunnar and me.”

  Sinead laid a bag on the ground then marched across the room and slapped Astrid square on the cheek. “I know he left you,” she said, her expression softening at the sight of the angry welt rising on Astrid’s pale skin. “But be quiet, before someone really hurts you.”

  Tears sprung into Astrid’s eyes and she went limp like an old rag. Cautiously, Koll loosened his grip, and she slunk, defeated, to the furthest corner of the hovel, drew her feet to her chest and closed her eyes.

  They spent the rest of the night listening to Hawk tell of his journey to the Promised Land. He confirmed Astrid’s story that just over two years ago a group of men from the Northlands had arrived in Reykjavik. Word had soon reached Hawk, as jarl, that they were asking round the port if any of the sailors had visited a land far to the west, reputed to contain more riches than the great palaces of Byzantium. Their tales interested Hawk, and, disguised as an ordinary seaman in rough linen tunic and breeches, he’d gone down to the waterside taverns to talk with the travellers. Among their number was a monk. He appeared to be in charge.

  “Not a Northman?” Koll asked incredulously.

  Hawk confirmed the monk spoke perfect Norse. He also had a book with him, a brown leather-covered affair, weather-beaten and water-spoiled in places, and without precious jewels to distract your notice. But the monk and his men were entranced by this thing. Said it held the key to wealth and happiness beyond wildest imaginings. Fired by the monk’s talk Hawk committed to join them, with two longships and seventy of his best men.

  “What happened next?” Redknee asked, kneeling forward.

  Hawk explained that they set sail on a fair spring day. They made good time. Within eight days they had reached an ice-capped land. Landing they discovered the locals called the place Greenland – they thought it some kind of joke.

  The monk became very ill on Greenland, Hawk said. He suffered from an o
ld injury in his arm and the pain had returned. His skin turned grey and he was too weak to leave his bed. After a month of waiting for the monk to recover, Hawk had ventured on. He reached the Promised Land after ten days at sea, but the shores did not afford a landing place, being comprised of fortress-like cliffs. Eventually, they found a suitable bay and made a camp. But many of the men had fallen prey to a vomiting illness. Soon, there were only around thirty of them left and that was when they met the People of the Bear.

  “I’ve heard this part of your tale,” Redknee said. “From one of your men who made it back to Iceland, Ulfsson was his name.”

  Hawk nodded solemnly. “Ulfsson was indeed known to me. I’m glad to hear he survived. The Bear People came on us in the night, quick and deadly, like the lightning from Thor’s hammer. There were so many of them, we didn’t stand a chance.” Hawk hung his head in shame, eventually he spoke again. “Running Deer found me lying face down in a swamp.” A tentative smile formed on his thin lips. “She thought me dead at first.”

  “And that’s how you came to be with the Flint People?” Redknee asked.

  Hawk nodded. “I thought I was the only survivor out of my men. Now I know there was another.”

  Redknee remembered the blank look on Ulfsson’s face as he lay across the threshold of the tavern, his head bashed in. He decided to say nothing. “What happened to the monk?” he asked instead. “Did he catch up with you?”

  “I never met him if he did. I assumed he either died or returned to his monastery when he was well enough to travel.”

  Redknee thought about this. It was most likely the monk had died. “I was wondering,” Redknee began tentatively, “if my father might have been among the Northmen who came to Reykjavik.”

  “What was his name?”

  What, indeed?

  “Erik Kodranson,” Redknee said finally. It was the only name he had to work with. Something told him, if he found Erik, he would find his father.

  Hawk shook his head. “I don’t recognise it. But there were a good number of men. What does he look like?”

  Redknee bit his lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Ah,” Hawk said, smiling kindly. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Wait,” Redknee said. It was likely Erik looked somewhat like Sven, so he gave Hawk a description of his uncle.

  Hawk shook his head sympathetically. “I’m afraid that describes half the Northmen I’ve known.”

  Disappointed, Redknee sat back and allowed the others the chance to question Hawk. Predictably, they spent the remainder of the evening asking if he’d found Saint Brendan’s treasure. He said that he had not. Koll snorted at this, suspicious, it seemed, of their host’s veracity. Hawk explained he hadn’t had the advantage of the Codex – the monk had kept it. At the mention of the book Sinead glanced at Redknee, then moved to conceal her bag under her cloak. Had she brought it? Clever girl.

  Turning back to Hawk he asked, “Have you been looking for the treasure these two years past?”

  Hawk shook his head. “I have a new wife, I am happy—”

  Astrid groaned scornfully.

  “—I am happy with her,” Hawk asserted. “And I’m no longer interested in treasure. You would do well to forget it too – I doubt it can be found.”

  Koll shook his head. “If anyone finds it, it’ll be us.”

  Eventually they got to discussing the footprints in the snow. Had they been made by the Flint People or the Bear People? They pestered Hawk for information. Hawk said the Flint People, the Kanienkehaka, were proud, but fair. They were experts with the bow, which made Olvir smile, and hunted wild deer and all manner of smaller creatures for their thick, warm pelts. But Hawk had no time for the Bear People. He went to sleep insisting that if either the Kanienkehaka or the Bear People had wanted to attack them, they would have by now. The footsteps in the snow, he explained, had likely been a warning.

  Redknee dreamt of a face with hazel eyes and spidery lashes. This was strange, because he usually dreamt of green eyes and hair of flaming copper; or of standing at his uncle’s side, fighting Ragnar.

  The face leant closer. It belonged to a beautiful woman. He felt her warm breath on his skin. This was a realistic dream. He smiled and snuggled into his sleeping fur. His dreams weren’t normally this good. The beautiful woman began to speak. Her words were garbled, but she sounded panicked. His eyes shot open. A very real woman with curtains of jet-black hair leant over him. She was frowning.

  Redknee leapt up and drew Flame Weaver. The woman looked startled.

  “It’s alright,” Hawk said, “it’s just Running Deer and her brothers.” He pointed to two well-built young men standing by the door. Hawk lay on a rug, fully dressed and sipping hot soup from a bowl. He looked perfectly relaxed.

  Silver still slept at Redknee’s feet, paws twitching. Some guard dog, Redknee thought, lowering his sword.

  A scream came from the back of the hut. Koll jumped to his feet, instantly awake, swinging his battleaxe in front of him, knocking over the pot of soup.

  “Wait!” Redknee shouted as Toki and Olvir began to stir. “They’re our friends.”

  The young woman with the raven hair spoke. “My name is Running Deer,” she said in halting Norse. “These are my brothers, Crouching Wolf and Thinking Owl. A Bear People war party is heading this way. They know about your camp on the beach. They are coming for you. You will be safer if you come with us.”

  “She lies,” Koll said, his battleaxe still in his hand.

  Hawk uncoiled his long legs and stood. “I doubt it,” he said, crossing the room and planting a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “We will be safest if we go with them.”

  “If anyone is coming for us, we’ll fight them ourselves,” Koll said.

  Hawk folded his arms. “Suit yourselves. But this war party is more than thirty men.”

  “We can’t leave Olaf and Magnus to fight a war party on their own,” Redknee said.

  “The longhouse is two days’ walk,” Toki said, pulling on his boots and looking outside. “And the weather is closing in.”

  Thinking Owl spoke to his sister, and she translated: “My brother says if you come with us, the war party will follow your tracks – they won’t go to your longhouse. You’ll be saving your friend’s lives.”

  “What about your village?” Redknee asked her.

  Hawk snorted. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Running Deer’s father is chief. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Chapter 30

  The village lay in a wide valley, surrounded by snow-covered meadows. A wall of tall stakes protected four longhouses. The longhouses were set out at right angles to form a large square in the centre. Wood-smoke fluttered from a central hole in each roof, a smudge on the blank grey sky.

  Even from the surrounding hills, Redknee could see children playing in the snow. Old women watched, fingers ever busy with some task or other. Already, it reminded him of home – of his village in the Northlands before Ragnar came and changed everything.

  “We plant the three sisters in spring,” Running Deer said as they started on the path to the valley floor. Redknee must have looked puzzled, for she laughed until her eyes watered. “They’re not real people,” she said eventually. “They’re crops – maize, squash and beans. We call them the three sisters because we plant them together. The beanstalk supports the maize and the squash, and they grow leaning on each other, like sisters.”

  “I’ve never had a brother or sister,” Redknee said, treading carefully on the frozen slope.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Running Deer said. “I have four sisters in addition to my two brothers.”

  A sentry nodded to Thinking Owl as they passed through the main gate. Close up, Redknee saw that the four longhouses were made of elm bark stretched over wooden frames. They were big, each perhaps able to hold as many as forty people. He caught a whiff of a rich, meaty smell. Three women were stirring a large pot outside the nearest longhouse.

 
Koll sighed audibly.

  “You ever think about anything but your belly?” Redknee asked, laughing as Koll loped over to the women, a hopeful grin on his face.

  A group of children ran up to Sinead and Astrid. The youngest held out a small leather ball. Astrid shook her head and turned away. Sinead rolled her eyes and handed Redknee her bag. He watched as Sinead kicked the ball high into the air, and then sped after it, copper hair streaming. Silver stared after her.

  “On you go,” Redknee said, and the pup tore into the fray, nose down, tail wagging.

  Astrid hung about awkwardly. Her eyes had never left Running Deer since they set out that morning. Redknee frowned as she made a circle in the snow with her toe. Hate seemed to rise off her like steam.

  “We’re going inside.”

  Redknee turned to see Toki standing at the entrance to the nearest longhouse, beckoning him in.

  “We’re going to meet their chief.”

  Redknee’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark. A corridor dissected the hall in two. Stretching along each side of this corridor, at knee height, were two wide, fur-covered platforms. Sacks of food, clay jars and extra furs lined a second, higher platform beneath the roof.

  Thinking Owl and Crouching Wolf emulated a small, grey haired man sitting cross-legged on the lower platform. The grey haired man indicated to Redknee, Koll and Toki to do likewise. Running Deer sat beside her father, lowering her eyes as Hawk joined them.

  Sitting opposite him, Redknee saw the chief clearly for the first time. His long, straight nose was held regally aloft, as if in defiance of the world. Yet his eyes held the shrewd sparkle of ambition. Even before he spoke, Redknee sensed he was in the presence of a true leader of men, a force that could turn the wind and halt tides.

  The chief turned to his daughter and spoke in the same strange language Redknee had heard Hawk use with her. She listened with her head bowed and hands folded across her lap. When her father finished, she raised her eyes until they met Redknee’s. “My father, Hiawatha the Wise, wishes to know your purpose here.”

  Redknee cleared his throat. He’d known they would be asked this and had prepared his answer.