Viking Gold (17 page)

“Yes, yes,” Brother Alfred
said, and began reading again. “When Saint Brendan first saw the Promised Land
his eyes lit with delight – for never before had he seen such a well-formed
shore-line. Perfect for ships of all sizes to dock.  And … and studded
with well-formed bays, perfect for ships of all sizes to … to drop anchor and
to protect them from the vagaries of the weather – storm, tempest, gale.”

While Brother Alfred spoke,
Sinead had been peering over his shoulder at the spidery black script. Brother
Alfred stopped and glared up at her. “You’re putting me off,” he said. Sinead
pursed her lips and sat back down properly.

Brother Alfred frowned and
began reading again. “Yes, and, er … when Saint Brendan, who was a strong
Irishman, with flame red hair and arms as long as oars and legs as thick as oak
trunks—”

“I don’t remember that bit
from before,” Sven cut in.

“Well, that’s what it says,”
the monk blustered.

“And what about magic
animals?” Sven asked. “Are there any?”

Brother Alfred paused for a moment
while he studied the text. “Yes,” he said. “It says further down here there are
people who run well-organised farms, but they have the heads of  … dogs.”

Sven gasped. “Then it is
true!” he said, his eyes brightening with excitement.

Sinead had raised herself
onto her heels again, trying to get a good look at the place on the page where
Brother Alfred was pointing with his finger.

“Show me,” she said. Brother
Alfred looked startled. “Show me,” she repeated, “where it mentions dog-headed
people.”

“There,” Brother Alfred said
pointing quickly to a knot of thick, spidery writing before slamming the book
shut. “Really,” he said, rubbing his temple with his thumb and forefinger,
“that is all I can do for today. The light is fading and reading takes it out of
me. I’m not a young man.”

Sven smiled and slapped
Brother Alfred on the back. “Not to worry. You have done well. We shall do more
tomorrow.”

Sinead grabbed Redknee’s arm
as Sven and Brother Alfred moved away. “I don’t think he was reading from the
book,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Well, I tried to get a good
look at the text, but I couldn’t see any of the things he was saying. I can’t
be sure, but I think he was making it up.”

“Why would he do that?”
Redknee asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he
doesn’t want us to find the Promised Land and its treasure. Maybe he thinks
it’s only for Christians, not heathen Northmen.”

Redknee watched as Brother
Alfred joked nervously with his uncle while his uncle locked the book safely
inside his iron-riveted chest. Was she right? Was the little monk really
leading them on a wild goose chase? If he was, he was taking a big risk with
his life. Uncle Sven was the only person who would protect him against
Matilda’s wrath. Redknee turned back to Sinead.

“Well, there’s only one way
to find out if he’s telling the truth. You’re going to have to get hold of that
book and take a proper look at it.”

Redknee
watched Sinead saunter over to Brother Alfred while he ate his dinner and offer
him a second helping of boiled whale-meat. Redknee could just hear what they
were saying. She asked him which monastery he came from.

Brother Alfred smiled as she
spooned the dark meat into his bowl. “I come from
Winchester
in
Sussex
, my
dear.”

“Oh,” Sinead feigned
interest. “I come from the great monastery of Rock Fells … in
Ireland
.”

The little priest grinned. “I
used to know the Abbot well. He kept pigeons.”

Sinead rolled her eyes. “Hundreds
of them. They made
such
a mess.”

“And what did you do at the
monastery?” he asked.

“Various things: I worked in
the kitchen garden, planting herbs, weeding. I also helped the apothecary make
his medicines.”

“Really my dear? What a
responsible job. And how did you end up here, with these … these heathens?”

“They came to Rock Fells this
spring and took me, along with many others. Most of the others they sold, but
Jarl Sven’s sister-in-law, Redknee’s mother, she took a liking to me. I’ve
worked for her ever since. She was a good mistress – fair. But she was killed
when Ragnar attacked our village.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And
I’m sorry to hear that you have not had the opportunity for Christian
fellowship these last months past. Perhaps we can pray together?”

Sinead nodded. “I would like
that. I also enjoyed hearing you read from the
Codex.
I should like to
listen to you again.”

Brother Alfred grinned. “Why
thank you. I’m delighted you are so interested. It’s a very special book –
about one of your countrymen, if I’m not mistaken. A man of great faith.”

“Yes,” Sinead said. “You know
so much about it. Shall we pray now?”

Redknee watched as they knelt
together, clasped their hands and closed their eyes. He hoped Sinead chose her
words carefully.

There
was one mouth onboard
Wavedancer
Olaf refused to feed. “We have few enough
rations to last us,” he said, “without having to fill our enemy’s belly.”

Redknee had deferred to his
uncle.

“Don’t look at me,” Sven had
said. “Olaf is in charge of provisions. Toki is
your
captive. If you
want him to eat, you’ll need to feed him from your own portion.”

“Of course, we could just
drop him over the side,” Olaf said.

At this, Sven threw his hands
up and said, “It’s up to you, Redknee. I’ve questioned him, he claims to know
nothing of Ragnar’s plans. But he’s a big, strong man. Maybe you can sell him
as a slave when we reach
Iceland
, though his teeth are black from too much mead.”

Matilda
turned out to be a beautiful singer. She knew all the old sea-faring ballads
and sang long into the night about Siegfried and Orla. The men listened; awed
such a lovely sound could come from such a foul-tempered woman. Even Thora,
Koll’s wife, listened in silence, a rare occurrence for her.

It
was the afternoon of their third day at sea. Redknee watched as Sinead and
Brother Alfred huddled beneath their cloaks, hands clasped together, eyes
pressed shut. They looked strange, their pale lips moving in sync. Like
sleep-talkers.

“You look funny,” Redknee
said, standing over them.

“Be quiet,” Sinead said
irritably. “He won’t hear us over your jabbering.”

“Who won’t?”

“Do you know nothing? God, of
course.”

“You’ve been sitting like
that for ages. Are you sure He’s going to reply?”

Brother Alfred opened his
eyes. “It takes time,” he said. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

Redknee
hesitated. As part of her plan to get a good look at the
Codex
, Sinead
had been spending a lot of time with Brother Alfred over the last three days.
Of course, Sven had kept the book locked in his chest for that whole time, so
the exercise had been pointless so far. But Sinead seemed to be enjoying
herself – too much for Redknee’s liking. He was beginning to think she
wanted
to spend time with the strange little monk, doing her God-talking and generally
acting strange.

“No one is watching,” Brother
Alfred said, seeming to read Redknee’s reluctance.

Redknee slumped down on the
deck beside Sinead. There
was
a great deal he could learn from the monk
– after all, he was the only person apart from Sven who had seen the book
properly.

“You look like there is
something you want to ask me,” Brother Alfred said.

Redknee thought about the
book – he had so many questions. Like what it said – if it mentioned anything
about his father. It was a stupid thought, but it had occurred to him
nonetheless. Then he remembered Sinead’s theory that Brother Alfred was a fraud
and he bit his tongue. Instead, he asked about the God-talking.

“The praying thing you were
doing just there.” Brother Alfred nodded. “We saw some hermits living on top of
a tiny rock off the coast of the
Sheep
Islands
. Uncle Sven told me they do the God-talking all day
long. Do you know if that’s true?”

“Yes, it is. They are very
spiritual men.”

Redknee let out a long, low
whistle.

“You are surprised?” Brother
Alfred asked.

“Don’t they get bored –
talking to themselves all day long?”

“You liked to go up to the
mountain on your own,” Sinead cut in. “Didn’t you ever get bored up there?”

“It’s not the same thing. I
was busy – hunting, looking for good bits of wood, that sort of thing. Even if
I let my mind wander, my body was always at work.”

Brother Alfred chuckled.
“Perhaps we have found an ascetic in training.”

“What did you call me?”
Redknee asked.

“Nothing … nothing. I just
meant you could be like a hermit, going into the forest on your own.”

Redknee
wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he changed the subject.

“Are you worried about
landing in
Iceland
?” he asked.

“Redknee!” Sinead said. “What
a terrible thing to ask.”

“No, child,” Brother Alfred
said. “He’s quite right to ask.” The little monk turned to Redknee. “I am not
afraid of going to the next world, if that is what you mean.”

“But only great warriors have
an honoured place with the gods.”

“Those are your beliefs. But
they are not mine. The way to heaven, the equivalent of your
Valhalla
, is
not through fighting and killing, but through loving your fellow man and
believing in Jesus, the son of God.” With these last words, Brother Alfred
gazed skyward, as if this heaven place he spoke of was somehow located above,
with the birds of the air.

“That’s stupid. Isn’t it
competitive to get a place? Just being loving is too easy.”

Brother Alfred chuckled
again, a habit that was beginning to annoy Redknee. “That’s where you are
wrong, my child. It is the hardest thing, to love. Quite the hardest thing of
all.”

By
the end of their fifth day at sea, Sven still hadn’t brought out the
Codex
for Brother Alfred to read again and it was driving Redknee crazy. All he could
think about was the possible connection between the book and his father. He had
to know what it said. So he confronted Sinead after their dinner of smoked
fish.

“This isn’t working,” he
said. “I need to ask Uncle Sven if he knows the book once belonged to my
father.”

“No,” Sinead said, dragging
him as far as she could from prying ears. “You mustn’t. Something is wrong. I
don’t know why Sven hasn’t brought the
Codex
out for Brother Alfred to
read again. Maybe he has his suspicions about the monk’s motives too. But you
mustn’t ask Sven about the book’s connection with your father. He’ll know the
information could only have come from me – I’m the only one Ragnar could have
told.”

“I don’t understand how
Ragnar would know that.”

Sinead shrugged. “Neither do I.
But he did. And I don’t think anyone here knows about the history of the book,
not even Olaf.”

“Alright,” Redknee said. “If
you won’t let me ask that, I’m going to tell him you can read.”

“But Brother Alfred – that’s
as good as killing him.”

“You heard the silly monk.
He’s accepted his fate – is even looking forward to going to heaven. If he
didn’t start the fire, then he’s a fool to cover for whoever did. It’s not our
problem. We need to know about the book. If what my mother said is to be
believed, my father is out there somewhere. Alive. And I’ve a growing feeling
he may need my help.”

The
following morning Redknee found his uncle going over the remaining food
supplies with Olaf.

“Ah, there you are, lad,” he
said when he saw Redknee approaching. “It’ll be half rations from now on if we
don’t reach
Iceland
soon.”

“This trip has been madness
from beginning to end,” Olaf grumbled behind him.

“Thank you Olaf,” Sven said.
“But I don’t remember anyone asking your opinion.”

Olaf slunk away with a frown
on his face, leaving Redknee alone with his uncle.

“Please Sir,” Redknee said.
“I need to talk to you about the
Codex
.” He
so
wanted to ask
where his uncle first got the book – if he’d gotten it from his father. But he
remembered his promise to Sinead.

“Yes,” Sven said. “What do
you want to say?”

“Well, it’s just Sinead
doesn’t think Brother Alfred is telling you the truth about what it says in the
Codex
.”