Sigrun's Secret (7 page)

‘And you were riding for help?’

‘I was frightened,’ I babbled. ‘I live over there. I was running home.’

I prayed he wouldn’t ask me how I’d got out of the house.

‘You’re lying,’ said the man. Looking back at him, I saw a slow smile spreading over his face, revealing a broken front tooth. ‘You were calling for help. I saw you yesterday with the horses. You must be the impostor’s daughter. Well, well. A gift from the gods.’

‘My father’s no impostor,’ I said hotly, forgetting caution. ‘He’s a free man and was a chieftain.’

‘He’s a runaway slave, a thief, and a murderer,’ said the young man, in his strange, flat voice. But his eyes had changed now. They were burning with a fanatical, greedy light. ‘And it’s time for him to pay his blood debt.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I cried, struggling against the man who held me and against the ropes around my wrists. ‘You’re mistaken. My father’s never done anything bad to anyone. He’s a good man.’

The leader leaned forward and glared. ‘Let me tell you who I am,’ he said. ‘My name is Halfgrim Bjornsson. I’ve come from Norway in search of land and in search of my father. My father’s name was Bjorn Svanson.’

I stared, confused, no longer sure what to think. Had my father had a child before he came to Iceland? Could this man be my half brother? The man watched my evident confusion without emotion. ‘You wouldn’t fool a child,’ he said coldly. ‘You must know that your father murdered mine and fled, stealing his ships and all his possessions. He even stole his name. He’s not Bjorn Svanson, and he was certainly never a chieftain.’

A numb feeling crept over me. There must be some mistake. My father, a slave and a murderer? It wasn’t possible.

The man called Halfgrim mounted his horse and I was thrown up in front of him, my hands still bound. Halfgrim caught me round the waist and cantered towards the farm. I was limp and unresisting, my mind in turmoil.

‘Hey, impostor!’ shouted Halfgrim. ‘I have your daughter. What do you say to that? Will you come out now?’

I could hear panic-filled voices inside the house. I felt so guilty for having allowed myself to be caught. I would have given anything at that moment to be back inside the house with them all.

‘Don’t give in, father!’ I shouted. Halfgrim clapped his hand over my mouth. It stank of sweat, horse, and damp leather and I retched.

‘What are your terms?’ I heard my father’s voice call.

‘No terms. You come out and face justice, bringing all your treasure with you, and we’ll let the rest go. Or the girl is mine to do as I please with and we burn the house with everyone in it.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’ demanded my father.

There was a pause. My heart was hammering in fear. What was going through Halfgrim’s mind? Was there nothing I could do?

‘You don’t know,’ he said. ‘You can’t be sure. You can’t trust me any more than my father could trust you. Perhaps I’ll enslave all your women and claim the farm for my own. You can only hope that I’m an honourable man. More honourable than you were.’

I squirmed in the tight hold, but I couldn’t move. I could only listen helplessly.

‘You hide like the cowardly slave you are!’ shouted my captor. ‘But if you doubt my word, here’s a taste of what’s coming to you.’

Halfgrim wheeled his horse round and shouted orders to set the stable alight. I felt a spasm of fear that Ingvar might still be in there. Was he hiding, watching, or had he gone back down to the others in the tunnel? I watched, desperate, as three men rode up to the stable and then thrust their torches into the straw inside. They emerged coughing, and rode back down to us. I saw flames flickering inside the building. Smoke gushed out through the doorway and the gaps in the walls and roof, as all the remaining bedding and feed from last winter went up in flames. Soon the fire was licking the outside of the building.

‘Please Freya and Eir and all the gods and goddesses, protect Ingvar,’ I prayed silently. ‘Let him have gone back into the tunnel.’ I felt a sharp stab of guilt and anger at myself for failing to reach Helgi, for allowing myself to be captured.

As the stable turned into a shimmering tower of flame, cracking and roaring in the intensity of its own heat, I knew that even in the secret tunnel, my friends wouldn’t be safe. The heat and smoke must be pouring into it, funnelled through the passageway. They would all be forced back into the house to take their chances with the same fate there. I felt sick with dread.

Our lives were in the hands of a cruel madman. I truly believed he wouldn’t hesitate to burn us all alive. My wise and beautiful mother, my gentle and kindly father, my brother, my friends, and Ingvar, the friend of my childhood. Almost everyone I knew and loved in the world was inside that house.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ I heard Halfgrim say impatiently. ‘He’s not coming out. Block the door and fire the house.’

‘No!’ I begged, desperately. ‘Don’t. Please.’

‘Shut up,’ said Halfgrim fiercely. ‘You’re my slave now, and you’ll obey me.’

I watched appalled as men tore planks from the smithy and nailed them across the door of the farm. I didn’t want to show my fear, but I couldn’t bear it. I imagined the farm nothing but a burnt-out shell, still smoking, everyone burnt to ashes inside.

‘Please, spare them,’ I begged again, all pride deserting me. ‘I’ll do anything.’

‘You have nothing I could possibly want,’ sneered Halfgrim. ‘And it’s obvious your father cares nothing for you either, or he’d have come out by now.’

I knew this wasn’t true. I could think of several reasons why my father hadn’t rushed out to rescue me, and none of them were because he didn’t care. I was in less danger out here than he was inside the house.

‘Set fire to it,’ ordered Halfgrim. Four men rode towards the house, their torches held aloft. Terror froze me and I choked on all the pleas I wanted to utter.

‘It’s a terrible waste,’ said one of Halfgrim’s companions. ‘You won’t find timber like this in Iceland again. It has to be brought from Norway. And there’ll be treasure and weapons in there too.’

‘Silence!’ ordered Halfgrim. ‘This is about honour and vengeance, not just loot. My father must be avenged. All these years, his soul hasn’t been able to rest.’

His men had reached the house now. They spread out to the four corners, torches at the ready.

‘Now,’ nodded Halfgrim. But as he spoke the word, two of the torchbearers fell from their horses, arrows in their arms. Another screamed, and dropped his torch on the ground, as an arrow caught him in the leg. Their horses squealed and scattered. Only the fourth man threw his torch onto the roof where it lay smouldering.

‘I suggest you all keep very still,’ spoke Helgi’s familiar and very welcome voice from somewhere behind me. I went limp with relief. He’d heard my cries for help after all.

There was silence except for the restless movement of frightened horses, quickly checked. Halfgrim was motionless, his arm tight around my waist.

‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ he asked.

‘I’m a neighbour, and I want an end to this at once.’

‘I have the right to vengeance,’ said Halfgrim. ‘The man who calls himself Bjorn Svanson is an impostor and killed my father.’

‘Your father?’

‘The real Bjorn Svanson. He was murdered nearly twenty winters ago in Norway, his ships and goods stolen. The impostor brought them all here and married one of my father’s slaves. I don’t know what happened to my kin who came here before to avenge his death. But they failed, and I won’t.’

‘You’re mistaken,’ said Helgi. ‘All that will happen today is that you and your friends will ride away.’

Halfgrim made a sudden move behind me, and something cold pressed into my neck. I froze. ‘Either the impostor or his ill-begotten spawn dies today,’ said Halfgrim, and turned his horse round slightly so Helgi could see the knife at my throat. The movement jarred the knife which pressed harder against me. I could hardly breathe for fear it would slice into me at any second.

‘We can negotiate,’ said Helgi quickly. ‘But I only have your word for it that the man’s an impostor. His daughter is certainly not to blame for any misunderstanding. If you hurt her, you make an enemy of me.’ Helgi’s hands were tense on his reins, and his horse was fretting as he spoke.

‘We’re at an impasse,’ said Halfgrim. ‘Because if you attack us, by Thor, the girl dies and the house will be burned. You won’t be able to defeat us in time to save it or the people in it.’

My heart was hammering in my chest and my hands were sweating. For a moment it had seemed that Helgi had saved us, but now we were no better off than before. Our lives still hung in the balance. And the lighted torch still lay smouldering on our roof. At any moment it could catch and the house would burn.

‘As I said: we talk,’ said Helgi. ‘I’m the
godi
for this region, so I’m the right person to negotiate a settlement between the two of you. I’m sure you’ll find Svanson generous, as befits a former chieftain. He’ll forgive your mistake and recompense you for your trouble.’

‘That man was never a chieftain,’ shouted Halfgrim furiously. ‘My father was tall and red-haired like me, not small and dark like a slave. There are men here who knew him.’

‘Bjorn Svanson was my kin too,’ said one of Halfgrim’s men. ‘He’s not the man who’s bearing that name now. I saw him and confronted him at the summer market.’

I swallowed with difficulty for the knife was still pressing into my throat. My father
not
the real chieftain? That had been the mysterious incident at the market? I couldn’t take it in. Had my whole life been based on a lie?

‘As I said,’ said Helgi with a calmness that was belied by his nervous horse. ‘Let’s negotiate.’

I was allowed down from Halfgrim’s horse but closely guarded by two men. A knife was kept at the ready, but not against my throat. I could breathe again, but had no idea whether this was a brief respite only. I sat down on the damp grass, shaking from head to foot.

Helgi sent men to unblock the door, to pour water onto the smouldering roof of our longhouse, and to tend to Halfgrim’s wounded men. It was lucky the summer had been so wet, or the fire would have caught far more quickly. Then Helgi and Halfgrim sat down to discuss terms. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and my stomach was churning with fear, wondering what the outcome would be. I kept trying to grasp that my father had lied to me. How many times had I heard and retold the story of how he came to Iceland? Was a single word of it true? The thought was hurtful and bewildering. Had he lied to everyone or just to me?

Several times Helgi walked down to the house to speak to my father: the negotiations seemed to go on for ever. I grew bitterly cold sitting on the open hillside in the wind. The warmth from the frantic ride to Helgi’s had left me long ago. Once Halfgrim jumped to his feet, fists clenched. ‘NO!’ he yelled, lashing out at Helgi. His friends restrained him and they talked on.

At last they shook hands. Suddenly there was activity around us. Our people emerged from the house, bundles and clothing in their arms. Barrels too, and a sack of provisions. They made their way to our ship, their faces drawn and sad. Asgerd cast a frightened glance at me and mouthed something: I couldn’t catch what. Surely we weren’t leaving? Running away from our beautiful home, the crops sown in the fields, the horses, sheep, and cattle out at pasture?

Besides, the ship wasn’t nearly big enough for us all. Years ago, when I was just a little girl, father had traded our
knorr
, the big cargo ship that had brought our household, young animals, and timber from Norway, for a faster ship that was more manoeuvrable. It was better suited to fishing, trading, and shorter journeys than the old ship, but it was much smaller. So what was happening?

I tried to get up, wanting to ask someone, but was pulled back down and the man who was guarding me threatened me with the knife. At last my father came out of the house, surrounded by a number of men. Ingvar was one of them, my brother Asgrim was another. Ingvar’s eyes sought mine at once, and held them, a look of such sadness in his face that fear surged up in me once more.

The men kept close around my father as he made his way down to the ship. I could see that they were armed; they were my father’s shield, preventing any of Halfgrim’s men from attacking him, or worse still, picking him off with an arrow. My confusion and sense of loss grew.

My father climbed aboard the ship, and some of his men joined him. My brother Asgrim was among them. Others fell back, staying on land, watchful of the enemy behind them. Then Ingvar made his way over to me, his sword at his side. ‘Come, Sigrun,’ he said, stretching down a hand. ‘It’s time to go.’

‘Go where?’ I asked, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. My limbs were chilled and cramped with sitting so long on the damp ground. Ingvar, seeing me struggle to walk, took my arm to support me.

‘To the ship,’ he said quietly. ‘It was the best my father could do.’

‘But … ’

‘Your father will explain it all to you on board.’ Ingvar’s voice was subdued, but also tense. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he added, pressing my arm reassuringly.