Odin's Game

by Tim Hodkinson

‘What’s all this about hostages? And why do I have to carry him?’

  ‘You’re a big strong farmer boy,’ Ulrich said, bending to lift Hrolf’s knife. ‘And I will be busy making sure the other hostage doesn’t escape. Come on. There’s no time to waste. Princess?’

  The Wolf Coat beckoned to Affreca with the blade of the knife. Einar decided there was nothing else for it but to heft his cousin over his shoulder. Hrolf grunted and Einar realised he was already starting to wake up.

  Ulrich prodded Affreca through the door and Einar struggled out behind them. Outside it was a grey early morning and a mizzling rain was falling. Einar saw that they had been in one of the many booths and outbuildings that ringed King Guthfrith’s magnificent hall. He could tell it was very early as the whole King’s Gard was deserted. All the denizens of the enclosure would be in their beds, sleeping off the effects of the night before.

  Einar checked himself. It was really too quiet. Even in the blue hours before the dawn there should be guards watching the gates and now there were none. One of the tall, heavy wooden gates was actually open, revealing the way downhill through the buildings outside. Even without Ulrich’s furtive behaviour he knew now something was wrong.

  ‘Why are there no guards?’ he said as Ulrich led the way to the open gate.

  ‘I killed them,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Thor’s Blood! What did you do that for?’

  Ulrich glanced over his shoulder. ‘To make it easier for us to get away. Last night while you were all drinking and making fools of yourselves I left the hall and went back into town. I had business to attend to.’

  ‘What sort of business is done in the dark hours of the night when most men are in their beds?’ Einar said. Hrolf was starting to move on his shoulder and he knew his cousin would soon be awake and then he would be in difficulty.

  ‘The sort that doesn’t want people sticking their noses in where it isn’t welcome,’ Ulrich said. ‘I had to go back to the Merchant of Death to conclude our deal. When I told Ricbehrt that my king would be ordering more swords from him he suddenly remembered that he had overheard that your girlfriend here’s father intended to betray us. Thank the Hanged God for human greed. Our deal is worth a king’s ransom so Ricbehrt didn’t want to see it die with us. The bastard would have left us to our fate otherwise.’

  ‘I’m not his girlfriend,’ Affreca said, dragging against Ulrich’s arm that gripped her wrist, pulling her along.

  ‘Well, you looked pretty cosy all tucked up in bed together there,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘We had too much to drink,’ Einar said. ‘I don’t know how we ended up in the same bed.’

  ‘Last I saw of you before I left the feast you were dancing together,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Look, this is hardly what’s important right now,’ Affreca said. ‘What’s this about my father betraying you?’

  ‘As if you don’t know,’ Ulrich spat.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Affreca said. ‘I’m not his favourite daughter. He tells me nothing of the affairs of the kingdom.’

  ‘Are you seriously expecting me to believe that? Your father was plotting to kill us, and your betrothed – that piece of shit,’ Ulrich said, his top lip curling as he bobbed his head in the direction of Hrolf, ‘was in on it too, but you knew nothing about it?’

  Affreca shook her head.

  ‘No matter. You’ll make a great hostage that will help us get out of here.’ Ulrich said.

  ‘So you came back for us?’ Einar said. ‘I owe you my thanks.’

  Ulrich stopped and turned to Einar, an expression on his face that suggested Einar was so stupid it offended him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Yesterday afternoon Ricbehrt gave us samples of the goods we want to buy off him and we stashed them in the hut where the rest of the Orkneymen are while we went to the feast. I came back for those. Sigurd from my crew is over there getting them. When I saw Hrolf going into that hut I thought he might be useful as a bargaining piece so followed him in. Don’t flatter yourself. That’s the only reason I was there. But as you are here now, hurry up. We need to get to the ship as fast as we can.’

  They jogged across the muddy paddock. As they neared the open gate they got a better view down the way outside.

  They stopped dead.

  At the bottom of the street the way was packed with armed men. The early light glittered on the steel of polished helmets, spear points and sword blades as they advanced towards the Gard gate. Their shields, painted many bright colours, locked together as they came. There was little doubt this was a war party.

  ‘Shit! We’re too late,’ Ulrich swore through clenched teeth. ‘Back to the others.’

  At that moment Hrolf came awake and let out an inarticulate shout. Einar felt him squirm on his shoulder and he twisted himself from under him, letting his cousin drop to the ground. Hrolf landed heavily on his back, his eyes rolling around in his head as consciousness returned to his mind.

  ‘Leave him,’ Ulrich shouted. ‘Run.’

  The little Viking took to his heels, running back into the enclosure, dragging Princess Affreca behind him.

  Einar hesitated for a moment, then delivered a swift kick to Hrolf’s head, sending his cousin reeling onto his side. He turned and ran after the other two.

  They sprinted away from the gates, back across the open space before the great hall to the doorway of the outbuilding that the Orkneymen had been lodged in. Just as they arrived, the door opened. One of the Wolf Coats, who must be the Sigurd Ulrich had mentioned, came out, a leather bag over his shoulder. He wore a mail shirt and helmet which Einar assumed he had got from the ship. Behind him was a bedraggled-looking Ivar, who still looked worse the wear for the drink he had taken the night before.

  ‘Is what your friend here says true?’ Ivar said, fixing a bleary eye on Ulrich.

  ‘Yes,’ Ulrich said. ‘Get back inside. Guthfrith’s men are on their way already.’

  They hurried into the building and closed the door almost shut. Sigurd left it open a crack so he could watch what was going on.

  ‘At least if they try to get in this door we can fight them one at a time,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ Ivar said. ‘But we’re trapped in here.’

  Thirty-Three

  ‘How can you be sure this weapon merchant isn’t lying?’ Ivar said.

  ‘Look for yourself,’ Sigurd said from the door. ‘There’s a company of men out there all armed to the teeth. I doubt they are here to wish us well.’

  He held the door a little wider so they all could look out, keeping one hand on it, ready to slam it shut if someone outside launched a spear or arrow. Einar did a brief count, reckoning that there were perhaps fifty warriors assembled outside, all clad in mail, with shields, helmets and armed with axes, swords and spears. Looking around the hut, a quick tally told him that the Orkneymen were less than half that number, and apart from Sigurd they were dressed for a feast, not a fight.

  As they watched, the door of the great hall opened and King Guthfrith emerged, clad in war gear like the rest. He carried his helmet and they could see his hair was tousled but he wore a broad smile and walked with a distinct swagger.

  ‘There’s a man who enjoys treachery,’ Ulrich commented.

  Guthfrith met with Hrolf, and the two began an animated conversation which involved gestures in the direction of the hut.

  Ivar shook his head. ‘I can’t believe Hrolf would betray us like this,’ he said. Einar could see what looked like genuine sadness in his eyes. ‘I hope whatever Guthfrith has promised him is worth it.’

  Ulrich laughed, the sound of it seeming strange given the situation they faced. ‘Men do stupid things for love.’ He shot a wolfish glance at Affreca.

  ‘I told you; I know nothing of this,’ Affreca said.

  Ivar looked at her too, a hostile frown creasing his brow. ‘I see. He was bewitched by the girl?’

  ‘And he’s not the only one,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Let’s not talk about
this now,’ Einar said. ‘I think we have more urgent problems.’

  ‘Hush!’ Sigurd said from the doorway, wafting a hand behind him for quiet. ‘I think Guthfrith is going to say something.’

  They huddled round the door to see that the warriors maintained a respectful distance from the hut, perhaps forty paces, far enough away to avoid any missiles that might come from the men inside, but near enough to close quickly to prevent anyone making a run for the gate. The king had walked a little way in front of his men and now stood, his thumbs tucked into his belt, feet planted wide apart.

  ‘Ivar!’ Guthfrith shouted. ‘I know you’re in there. Let us talk.’

  Ivar pushed his way to the crack in the door. ‘What is there to talk about?’ he said. ‘I think your intentions are very clear.’

  ‘I didn’t want things to work out this way—’ Guthfrith said.

  ‘No. You were planning to murder us in our beds!’ Ivar cut him off. ‘I’m quite sure you didn’t want things to work out this way. To add to your problems we have your daughter in here with us.’

  ‘So I hear,’ Guthfrith said. ‘And I have your nephew out here, who is very upset that my daughter turned out to be a slut.’

  Einar saw Hrolf try to grin like he found this funny but even at a distance he could see that the expression was forced.

  ‘We’ll kill her if you come any closer,’ Ulrich shouted.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Guthfrith responded. ‘It’s what she deserves for breaking her betrothal vows. It will save me the bother of doing it myself. It’s of no consequence to me. I have other daughters, and they are in marriage alliances with powerful kings that bring me much greater advantage.’

  The king half turned and gestured towards Hrolf. ‘Affreca’s usefulness to me came from the alliance her marriage would bring. Go ahead and kill her. I will look on it not so much as losing a daughter, but as gaining a son.’ An unpleasant grin spread across his face.

  ‘That fat old bastard!’ Affreca spat.

  ‘So much for that plan,’ Ulrich muttered.

  ‘Guthfrith always was a hard bastard,’ Ivar said as the men around him in the hut shook their heads and growled at how cold-blooded the king was. There was more than a little admiration mixed with their resentment.

  ‘We may as well kill her then,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘No!’ Affreca and Einar said in unison.

  Ulrich scowled at Einar. ‘This is no time to be sentimental, boy. She’s no use to us as a hostage and she’s one of them. The last thing we need is an enemy in here with us. We’ll have enough to worry about.’

  ‘You heard my father. I mean nothing to him,’ Affreca said. ‘Why would I help him?’

  ‘Because you’re half-Irish,’ Ulrich snarled. ‘And I never met a single person from this island I could trust further than I could throw them.’

  ‘I’ll vouch for her,’ Einar said. Then, feeling a painful stab of shame at the note of pleading that was his voice. He bunched his fists and bared his teeth as his embarrassment turned quickly to anger. ‘And if anyone tries to touch her he’ll have to come through me first.’

  Ulrich’s expression changed to one of irritation, as if a fly was annoying him, which did nothing to assuage Einar’s rage. ‘This is not the time for us to start fighting among ourselves, Icelander,’ he said. ‘Very well, she lives. If she does us any harm I’ll hold you responsible. I want her tied up though. And not by you.’

  Ulrich directed a couple of the Orkneymen to see to it and soon Affreca’s hands were bound before her by ripped up sections of blanket from the bed. Her mouth was also gagged by a strip of cloth. Einar stood watching.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, with an awkward shrug. The fierce glare in Affreca’s eyes told him all he needed to know and he turned his attention back to what was going on outside.

  Across the enclosure, King Guthfrith motioned with his head to Hrolf. Einar’s cousin sauntered forward to join him. The king said something quietly to him that the men in the hut could not hear. Hrolf nodded, then said in a loud voice, ‘Uncle. Come out. The king has given his word that no harm will come to you. I give you my word too. No one wants a fight. We will merely hold you hostage.’

  ‘Don’t call me uncle,’ Ivar shouted back. ‘Your father is my nephew. You are just his worthless pup. I cannot believe you would betray your own father. You’re worthless scum. Nið. Nothing to me.’

  Hrolf’s lip curled in a snarl. ‘Who said I betrayed my father? How dare you say that to me. It is he who betrayed you, you stupid old fart. We arranged all this between us.’

  Ivar’s jaw dropped open. He tried to say something but no sound came out.

  ‘My father and Guthfrith have made a pact,’ Hrolf went on. ‘They will rule the Kingdom of the Irish Sea, the throne of Jorvik in England and the northern and southern Isles between them. They will be Sea Kings and the richest monarchs outside Constantinople. But to do that my father must be free of King Eirik of Norway, who sits on his back like a beggar, constantly demanding taxes, ships and warriors. He wants a share in everything that is not his.’

  ‘King Eirik is his rightful lord,’ Ivar said, his voice suddenly sounding weak and old. ‘Thorfinn swore loyalty to him.’

  ‘As did you, Ivar,’ Hrolf said. ‘You are King Eirik Bloody Axe’s greatest supporter in my father’s court. You think we don’t know that you are his eyes and ears? My father has decided to throw off the yoke of Eirik’s tyranny and to do so he needs to be rid of you too, and Bloody Axe’s dog soldiers who are in there with you.’

  Sigurd growled at the insult, his knuckles tightening on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘You were never meant to come back from Ulster,’ Hrolf continued. ‘But, granted, you were too smart for the ambush laid for you and sent the Icelander in your stead. But we had a second plan in case that one did not work, and this one would remove both you and King Eirik’s bastard wolf warriors he billeted on my father in one stroke. There will be no more interference in the affairs of the Jarl of Orkney by the King of Norway.’

  Einar noticed Ivar’s old shoulders sag a little.

  ‘So it was all a lie?’ the old man said. ‘The jarl is not sailing an invasion fleet to Ulster? There was no need for a peace pact between Orkney and Dublin?’

  ‘Oh we’ve come to an agreement,’ Guthfrith smiled. ‘Just not the way you would have wanted.’

  ‘There is little point talking further,’ Ulrich said in a low voice to make sure no one outside could hear. ‘We should get ready.’

  ‘Hrolf said they would let us go,’ Einar said.

  Ivar barked a short, mirthless laugh. ‘If you believe that you’re even thicker than you look. We’re all dead men the moment we walk out that door. If only we had some decent weapons! How do we defend against swords and spears with nothing but our eating knives?’

  ‘We can help with that,’ Ulrich said. ‘Sigurd?’

  The Wolf Coat at the door unslung the leather bag from his shoulder and dropped it to the floor. As it landed, the unmistakable clink of metal on metal came from inside. Ulrich crouched down and loosened the drawstring at the neck of the bag, then emptied the contents onto the floor. Four swords, their blades wrapped in the finest soft leather, clattered out.

  ‘Ricbehrt thought we were only here to buy four,’ Ulrich said. ‘But when he heard last night that King Eirik actually wants forty of them he nearly had kittens. He let us keep these as samples until he can deliver the rest from his secret hoard.’

  The Úlfhéðnar leader pulled the cover off one of the blades as gasps burst from the lips of the Orkneymen standing around him.

  Einar gazed, spellbound by wonder at the sight. Even in the poor light inside the hut the blade of the weapon glimmered blue as if there was a light within. The metal was patterned with intricate waves like when the sun shines on oil floating on water. The edge looked sharp enough to slice a feather if it landed on it. Down the middle of the flat of the blade were runes. These were not the runes Einar knew but were
the letters used by the Christians in their writings. To his further surprise the single word spelt on the blade was started and ended by the cross symbol used by the Christians so it read +ULFBEHRT+.

  ‘Ulfbehrt swords,’ Ivar said, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘One of these is worth half of all the wealth in Dublin. And you have four?’

  Ulrich smiled. ‘Not quite half the wealth in Dublin. Dublin is a very rich city. Perhaps half the wealth of Orkney.’

  ‘I understand now why Ricbehrt was prepared to tell you about Guthfrith’s plot,’ Ivar said. ‘This deal will make him richer than a king.’

  ‘Richer than a jarl, certainly,’ Ulrich said. ‘Right: Sigurd gets one and I’ll take one. Who else knows how to fight with a sword?’

  Einar looked with envious eyes at the beautiful sword and longed to put up his hand. However, swords – any swords – were expensive weapons and only the rich or those with an ancestral weapon handed down through the generations knew how to use one. Einar was neither.

  ‘I’ve plenty of experience but I’m an old man,’ Ivar said. ‘The weapons should go to the young and strong.’

  Ulrich looked around the room, counting the meagre number of men who had raised their hands. ‘Old or not,’ he said, ‘Some experience is better than none. It looks like you get one.’

  He passed the old man a sword then pointed at one of the bigger of the Orkneymen with their hands up.

  ‘You. What’s your name?’

  ‘Thorketil,’ the Okrneyman replied.

  ‘Well Thorketil,’ Ulrich said, passing the fourth sword to the Orkneyman. ‘You look competent enough not to chop your own legs off.’

  Ivar hefted his sword. He took a couple of practice swipes in the air as a smile spread across his face.

  ‘These swords must be very special,’ Einar said.

  ‘Special?’ Ivar said. ‘They’re the best swords in the world, lad! They’re forged somewhere in Francia by a blacksmith called Ulfbehrt. His forge is so secret only a very few know where it is. The blades are welded with skill beyond human knowledge from a form of steel unknown anywhere else. They say Ulfbehrt is a wizard, or that he is really Völundr, the smith of the Gods, reborn on this Middle Earth. This feels so light and well balanced it’s like part of my own arm. These will even things up a bit.’