Viking Gold (12 page)

“Beach ahead!” Harold’s tinny
voice called out.

Redknee craned his neck. A
short way off, the canyon widened to a lagoon framed by amber sands and high,
vine-clad walls. No sound from the sea breached this citadel. The men
whispered, as if afraid to waken some ancient monster long hidden beneath its
emerald depths. Magnus guided the ship to the beach and they spilled onto the
sand.

“This lagoon can only be
entered from the sea, or by that path,” Ivar said, pointing towards a wall of twisted
vegetation that rose from behind the beach.

“We’ll have to swim out,”
Olaf said. “And we’ll be killed doing it.”

Vines as thick as a man’s arm
slithered up the bank in a knotty dance, but Ivar just drew his sword and charged
forward. “Time to work up a sweat, boys!” he said, diving into the fray and
hacking wildly.

Redknee
tore at the vines with his hands, while Silver barked at his feet. Soon his
fingers were drenched in blood and sap. A short way off, Harold chopped methodically
with his ivory-handled dagger.

“What happened to your
sword?” he sneered. “A big boy take it away?”

“I don’t need a weapon to
fight a plant,” Redknee replied. But losing
Flame Weaver
gnawed at him.
Just one more thing Ragnar had taken.

They continued for some time,
slicing and tearing at the vines as if they were the corpse of some loathsome
dragon. Ivar broke free first, closely followed by Redknee.

Visibly exhausted, Ivar
plunged his sword into the ground. “I’m not as strong as I used to be,” he
said, shaking his head, then added, “You’re like her.”

“Who?” Redknee asked.

“Ingrid – same sandy hair. Same
blue eyes. Same chin. Would’ve recognised you even if you’d turned up without
Sven.”

“Did you know her?” he asked,
desperate to hear any crumb about his mother.

“Ah, she was a fine woman. An
accomplished swordfighter in her own right, you know. Now, take my Matilda,
while she’s—”

Sven stumbled through the
overgrowth. “What’s that about your Matilda?” he asked, joining them.

Ivar hesitated. “My Matilda …
that’s right. She’s a good cook. Best on the island.” He started to walk away
then paused. “You’ll need those seen to,” he said, indicating Redknee’s
bloodied hands.

Smoke
rose from Ivar’s farm. “Ah, my wife is cooking!” Ivar said, rubbing his belly.

Koll licked his lips. “A
home-cooked meal,” he said, starting down the hill towards the smoke.

“Wait!” Sven shouted. “Ragnar
and his men may be there.”

Ivar reached for his
sword. 

“Not yet, Ivar,” Sven said
gently. He turned to his men. “We need a volunteer to check the farm.” 

Redknee stepped forward.
“I’ll go.”

“Don’t be daft, lad,” Sven
said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m the fastest on my feet.
I’ll be there and back before you, or anyone else, know about it.” He didn’t add
that he’d spent a lot of time creeping around recently and was getting good at
it. Besides, if Ragnar was there, he wanted to be the first to know.

“The boy’s right,” Olaf said.

“Ah … very well then,” Sven
said. “But mind and take care. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

Harold sniggered.

“I didn’t see you volunteer,”
Redknee called over his shoulder to Harold as he ran down the hillside, Silver
scampering at his heels.

He
hunkered down as he neared the longhouse. Apart from the blueish wood smoke
coming from a hole in the turf roof, there was no sign of life. Heart sinking,
he pressed his body flat against the longhouse wall and peered round the
corner. A young boy sat in the yard playing with a tabby cat. Seeing the cat,
Silver made as if to yelp. Redknee grabbed his snout and held his finger to his
lips. The pup seemed to understand. Redknee exhaled slowly.

He squinted through a crack
in the wall. Grain sacks reached the ceiling. Ivar was well prepared for
winter. Redknee shuffled further along towards the living quarters. The door of
the longhouse was ajar. Careful not to attract the toddler’s attention, he
crawled over and squinted into the dark interior. He expected to see Ragnar
holding the women hostage. Instead, he saw a pair of thick, bear-like arms pour
steaming water into a wooden tub. 

Had Ragnar demanded a bath
after his days at sea?

He waited as the woman
sprinkled herbs on the water and pinned her hair behind her ears. The scent of
myrtle reached his nose as she began to unclip the copper brooches securing her
pinafore. Suddenly he realised the
woman
was bathing. Not Ragnar.
Panicking, he stumbled backwards, knocking over a barrel of water. A group of
startled brown geese flew, squawking, into the air.

All
round the yard, people appeared. Hard eyes staring. He tried to explain but
when he opened his mouth nothing came out. A shadow passed over the sun. He
looked up to see the bear-woman glaring down at him. She held her under-dress
tight about her sturdy body, her eyes bulging with fury.

“You were watching me as I
took my bath,” she said, her fist mashing into his cheek, not waiting for a
reply.

Laughter rang in Redknee’s
ears as he tried to dodge her anger, but the blows came fast and he was slow to
his feet. He heard Silver barking, but the pup was no match for this brute of a
woman.

 “Someone stop her
before she kills him!” The voice came from across the yard. It sounded
distinctly mocking.

A hand grabbed his ear,
pulling him upright. The brute had him against the wall now, her stale breath
curling his skin as she barked insults into his face.

“I wasn’t looking at you,” he
managed to whisper through the onslaught. “Ivar sent me … to make sure the farm
… hadn’t been attacked.” This seemed to have a moderately calming effect, and
she loosened her grip while she digested this information.

“How do I know you’re telling
the truth?” she asked.

“Because I confirm it,” Ivar
said hurrying across the yard, followed by Sven and the rest of the men. He
turned to Redknee, laughter twinkling in his eyes. “I see you’ve met my lovely
wife.”

That
night Ivar ordered the slaughter of two fine black-faced sheep and they feasted
with Ivar’s family in the warmth of the longhouse until their bellies ached.
Matilda reluctantly forgave Redknee’s spying although she still cast him an
evil look whenever she didn’t think her husband was watching.

After the feast, Redknee
lazed on the rushes in front of the fire, Silver curled across his stomach.
Matilda’s skill had not been exaggerated, and the taste of fragrant meat still
lingered on his tongue. Stewed fish and scrawny sea birds could not compare to
land food. He half listened, eyelids slowly closing, body still rocking to the
rhythm of the sea, as Sven told Ivar the story of Ragnar’s attack.

Ivar waited until Sven
finished, and asked, “So why don’t you just give Ragnar the book and be done
with it?”

Uncle Sven sighed. “It’s not
so simple. Ragnar is working for King Hakon. I fear he will have our heads on a
spike no matter what we do. We’re behind with our taxes. We’ve lost our homes
and families. We’ve nowhere to go. If we give Ragnar the book, what hope would
we have?”

“But you can’t run forever.
It’s not like old times. King Hakon has men everywhere.”

“I know. The only thing I can
think to do is to keep going west, to
Iceland
. I think that’s what the book wants us to do. We’ll
leave first thing in the morning so as not to put you and your family in any
more danger.”

“My daughter is in
Iceland
,” Ivar
said. “Astrid married one of
Iceland
’s great lords. He has his own differences with King
Hakon. And she’ll give a warm welcome to any friend of her father’s.
Iceland
’s a
big place. You could over-winter there while you decide what to do.”

“What to do?” Olaf cut in. “We
should go home. Anything else is madness.”    

Ivar looked thoughtful. “I
have something I want you to take to my daughter. A gift, if you like.”

“We’ve little room on the
ship for such things,” Olaf said.

Ivar smiled and clapped his
hands.

A small, stooped man in long
brown robes hobbled into the room. “I’m not here to join your pagan rituals,”
he muttered. “I’ve told you this before.”

Ivar laughed. “We have
guests, Brother Alfred.”

The monk peered round the
fire-lit hall. “More heathens, no doubt.”

“Brother Alfred was on his
way to convert the Icelanders to Christianity, but got lost and ended up here.
We didn’t tell him he wasn’t in
Iceland
for nearly two months.”

“Most uncharitable,” Brother
Alfred sniffed.

“So, Sven, will you repay my
kindness and take this fool with you? My family have no use for him. The boys
merely throw stones … and I won’t even tell you what the girls do!”

Sven nodded, a look of
satisfaction glinted in his eye.

Redknee
took a gulp from his drinking horn. It would be a
long
journey to
Iceland
.

Later
that evening Sven let Brother Alfred examine the
Codex Hibernia
. The
little monk’s eyes lit up when he saw the picture of the unicorn with the five
ivy leaves above its head.

“Does it say how far we
should sail to the west?” Sven asked.

The little monk nodded
enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. It says right here,” he said, pointing to the page
opposite the picture of the unicorn. “Oh, now, this is very complicated
language. But it says the treasure you seek is buried in a land far to the
west. Er, with high mountains and er, green forests and er, big rivers.” He
looked up from the book, his pale features all squashed and serious in the
firelight. “Are you going to take me away from this godforsaken place?” he
asked.

“If you help me find this
treasure,” Sven said.

“Oh, I can do that,” the
little monk replied. “So long as you take me with you.”

After they had looked at the
book for some time and Sven was satisfied the treasure did indeed lie further
to the west, he took the book from Brother Alfred and locked it away in one of
the oak chests at the back of the longhouse.

Everyone
dozed together, head to foot in a circle round the fire. Sleep eluded Redknee.
He wanted to ask his uncle why he’d hidden the book if he hadn’t thought it
valuable. But he hadn’t had the chance. Instead, he filled his time trying to
block out the sleep noises of the men, and when the grunting and snoring and
farting became too much he quietly let himself out of the longhouse. Silver
followed him down to the beach.

“Hey there little one,” he
said, ruffling the pup’s thick collar. “I suppose you couldn’t sleep either.”

Silver dipped his head in
what Redknee took to be agreement.

“You and me both,” Redknee
said, selecting a smooth round pebble from the sand and skimming it across the
still water of the bay. It bounced four times before disappearing beneath the
surface.

“So much for that,” he said.
“You know what I don’t understand?”

Silver gazed up at Redknee
with dark, golden eyes.

“Well, what I don’t understand
is this – I’d never heard Uncle Sven even mention the
Codex Hibernia
before, and now he knows all about it. He’s determined to find its treasure,
that’s for certain. No matter what the cost. And he knew the book was valuable
before Ragnar came, otherwise why would he have kept it hidden?”

“I used to be good at that.”

Redknee spun round to see
Ivar standing in the moonlight, a flat, grey pebble between his thumb and
forefinger.

“Shall I see if I can beat
you?”

Redknee nodded, though he hadn’t
really been trying before.

Ivar snapped his hand back
and sent the pebble skating over the water, it bounced once, twice, three, four
… five times before plopping beneath the surface.

“Bad luck,” Ivar said. “You
know, I used to do this with your mother, the summer she came to stay with us.”

“Why was she here?”

“You know, I can’t really
remember, but I think she was expecting you.”

Redknee wasn’t sure why, but
he felt himself blush. “You were going to tell me something about her back at
the lagoon, before my uncle came upon us.”

“Oh, that. It was nothing.
Only that my daughter, Astrid, has something that once belonged to your mother.
When Ingrid was here, she spent time with Matilda, embroidering. They made
beautiful things – caps, gloves, belts, everything. But your mother had a
special talent. She gifted Astrid, who would only have been one or two at the
time, a lovely cloth decorated with flowers. When Astrid married, she took it
with her to
Iceland
, but I’m sure she would let you have it. Considering.”