Viking Boy (9 page)

“Maybe so…” said Ari. “But your son would still be alive if the boy hadn’t distracted him. Starkad was more than holding his own till then.”

“Liar!” Gunnar yelled. “He would never have beaten Rurik and you know it. You were sneaking up behind Rurik to stab him in the back!”

Ari hit him hard with his free hand, knocking him sideways. Pain shot through Gunnar’s head and his cheek throbbed as he lay on the floor.

“Very well,” said Orm. “The boy dies too. Take them down to the harbour. One of them is a slave, and the other can die a slave’s death.”

“That’s more like it,” said Vigdis, cackling. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Gunnar was pulled to his feet and dragged out of the hall with Rurik, as the crowd swarmed round them. Ari led the procession through the dark alleys with a flaming torch held high, Vigdis beside him. At one point an old man emerged from an alley and nearly bumped into them.

“Forgive me,” said the old man. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

“Move aside, you old fool!” Ari yelled, roughly pushing past him.

The old man did as he was told, but not before Gunnar felt something being pressed into his hand. It was a small knife – and suddenly he remembered the bone-handled blade the old man had used at the God House.

Gunnar tried to look over his shoulder, straining against the men holding him. Had it been the same old man? And what was he supposed to do with such a small knife? It wouldn’t be any good as a weapon. He might be able to cut the binding on his wrists with it, but he was surrounded and wouldn’t have a hope of escaping. He would have to bide his time, wait for a better opportunity.

“You men, fetch more torches!” yelled Ari at last.

They had reached the harbour. The tide was out and mud stretched beyond the ships to the drowning posts. Gunnar glanced at Rurik again. The big man was smiling with his eyes closed. “Rurik!” Gunnar hissed at him.
“Rurik!”

“He isn’t listening, boy,” said Ari. “He’s halfway to the afterlife already. Hurry up, lads, let’s get them lashed to the posts. The tide will turn soon.”

A couple of men shoved Gunnar and Rurik off the quayside. They landed in the mud and Gunnar’s breath was driven from his body. He held on to the knife though, keeping it hidden in his clenched fist while a couple of men lashed him and Rurik to the posts. “Well, Rurik, are you ready to die?” Ari shouted from the quayside. “Any last words for us? Or has your wit finally failed you?”

Gunnar looked up at Ari and Vigdis and the crowd. He thought about the knife again and turned it over in his hand. He would have to wait until he was under the water to cut himself free. What then? There was a crowd watching, so he’d have to swim off underwater to escape. But where could he go? If he headed out to sea he’d drown just the same. And what about Rurik?

“Well, there’s one good thing about dying, Ari,” said Rurik. “At least after tonight I won’t ever have to look at your ugly face again.”

There was a great roar of laughter from the crowd, and Ari scowled. “I should have killed you when I had the chance!” he yelled.

“You mean when four men were holding me down?” said Rurik. “They’re lucky you didn’t try. You’d probably have killed one of them instead!”

The laughter was louder this time, and Ari scowled so fiercely it looked as if his face was folding in on itself. But then Gunnar saw the old man from the God House standing just behind Ari, smiling beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Gunnar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. So it
had
been him!

“I’ve a good mind to come back down there and kill you now,” Ari yelled.

“Don’t you dare, Ari!” screamed Vigdis. “Orm said he was to drown!”

“Don’t argue with her, Ari,” said Rurik. “She’ll take your other ear off.”

The crowd roared again, but Gunnar was watching the old man. He moved forward, peered over the quayside, then sought Gunnar’s eyes. Of course – the quayside was supported by thick pilings, and behind them was a space which the sea never filled, however high the tide. If they could swim there underwater no one would see them from above, and they could wait till the crowd had gone.

“The tide’s coming in!” someone yelled, and the crowd cheered.

Gunnar looked down. Sea water was rolling over the mud, making pools that swiftly overflowed. Soon it was up to his ankles, and rising steadily.

G
UNNAR BEGAN SAWING
at the bonds on his wrists, and soon his hands were free. Dealing with the rope round his chest would be harder. He would have to wait till the sea covered it. And he still had to work out what to do about Rurik.

“I’m sorry, Gunnar,” Rurik said suddenly. “You don’t deserve to die like this.”

“I don’t intend to,” muttered Gunnar. The ships in the harbour stirred and creaked. Small waves slapped against their hulls, and the sea chuckled under their keels. Up on the quayside the crowd grew even noisier, and the old man from the God House had disappeared.

“You must try to accept it, Gunnar.” Rurik’s voice was soft and sad. “This is our fate. It seems neither of us will be going to Valhalla.”

“But I can save us, Rurik. I’ve got a knife.”

“I should have died a warrior’s death…” Rurik said wistfully. “Do you really want to know what happened to me in Miklagard?”

Gunnar groaned in frustration. He wanted to yell and scream at Rurik and shock him out of his despair. They didn’t have time to worry about such things – the tide was coming in quickly and the water was already up to Gunnar’s waist. But Rurik’s story might be important. “I’m listening,” Gunnar said.

“I betrayed my brother,” said Rurik. “We had always been close – only two summers separated us. So we took the road to Miklagard together, and as I was the older I swore an oath that I would look after him. We fought the Greek Emperor’s enemies many times side by side. But on the day he was cut down by barbarian raiders I was sleeping off the ale I had drunk the night before.”

“That wasn’t a betrayal. You might not have been able to save him.”

“Maybe so,” Rurik said quietly, his head down. “But I should have been there. I would have died to protect him, I swear.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

“We do have a lot in common, you and I,” Gunnar said after a while. “You punish yourself because you believe you let your brother down. I do the same because I did nothing while raiders killed my father.”

Rurik turned to look at him. “But there was nothing you could have done. They were warriors and you were a boy.”

“What does that matter? Like you, I can never forgive myself.”

A rock splashed into the sea between them. “Hey, stop all that whispering!” Ari yelled. “You should be doing less talking – and more drowning!” Ari grinned, pleased with his joke, and the crowd laughed with him. Rurik looked up at them, but said nothing.

“What was your brother’s name, Rurik?” said Gunnar, his teeth chattering. “Do you think he would have wanted you to die a slave’s death? Somehow I doubt it. You swore an oath to him that you didn’t fulfil. You can make up for that by helping me fulfil mine. But only if you live.”

Rurik frowned, then closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them and turned to gaze at Gunnar again. “Did I hear you say you have a knife?” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“That’s not important,” Gunnar said. “I’ll cut myself free as soon as the water covers me. I’ll stay under and free you, then hide beneath the quayside. You can follow as soon as the water covers you too. Once the crowd has gone we’ll make good our escape, get out of this stinking town for ever.”

Rurik shook his head and laughed gently. “Ah, Gunnar, how full of courage and cleverness you are! Most grown men would have given up long since, but you keep fighting. Who am I to argue? We’ll probably drown, but I’ll try your plan. For your sake, and my brother’s…”

But Gunnar had stopped listening and was already hacking at the rope round his chest. They were running out of time. The water had reached the level of his shoulders and was lapping at his chin. Soon it reached his nose, and he just managed to cut himself loose as the waves swept over his head.

The crowd cheered, but the sea roared in his ears and their noise vanished. It was dark under the water and he felt afraid that he might not even be able to find Rurik. The current tugged at him, but Gunnar reached out in what felt like the right direction and found the big man’s arm. He held on to Rurik’s post with one hand, sawing at his bonds with the other.

He cut through them at last, then turned to swim towards the quayside. He kicked out, his chest bursting, and had almost started to panic when his hand touched something hard covered in slimy seaweed – one of the pilings.

He pulled himself round it and shot up, bursting through the surface and gulping in a huge breath, the knife slipping from his hand. More pilings stood to his right and left, and an arm’s length above his head was the quayside. Stray gleams of light from the crowd’s torches stabbed down through the narrow gaps between the planks. They were still cheering and jeering, and suddenly Gunnar heard the unmistakable voice of Vigdis. “There he goes!” she screeched.

Gunnar whipped round. Rurik was struggling to keep his head above the water. As Gunnar watched, the big man took one last, desperate gulp of air – and then the sea claimed him, leaving only bubbles and foam.

The crowd gave the biggest cheer so far. Gunnar stared out over the waves, praying that Rurik was swimming towards him below the surface. But he didn’t appear and Gunnar began to worry. How long had it taken to cover the distance from the posts to the quayside? Surely Rurik should have made it by now. Perhaps he hadn’t cut all the ropes. Perhaps Rurik was already dead…

“Well, that’s the end of them,” Gunnar heard Ari say. “They’re both food for the fishes now, and good riddance.”

Come on, Rurik, thought Gunnar, where are you? Suddenly a dark shape rose from the water beside him. It was Rurik, and the big man took a deep breath and squeezed Gunnar’s shoulder. Above them people laughed and called out to one another, but it was clear the crowd was leaving. When it seemed that everyone had gone, Gunnar made as if to head for the quayside steps. Rurik held him back.

“Wait,” Rurik hissed. There was a sudden flare of light and Gunnar saw that somebody was directly above them. He looked up through the planking – and drew in his breath sharply. Ari was holding a torch out over the water.

Gunnar’s heart pounded. What if Ari had guessed what they’d done? But Ari walked away at last, his heavy footsteps echoing in the space beneath the quayside, and Gunnar breathed out. Rurik squeezed his shoulder again, and they made for the steps. Rurik hauled Gunnar up beside him, and they lay there gasping like a pair of dying salmon in the bottom of a fisherman’s boat.

After a while Gunnar sensed a light above them and raised his eyes. A dark figure was standing at the top of the steps, a man holding a torch, his face in shadow. Gunnar groaned again, sure Ari had found them.