Viking Gold (33 page)

“I’m worried about Olaf and
Harold,” Sinead said, handing round a basket of rye bread. “And Toki, where is
he? No one has seen him since the night in the hut.”

Redknee took a chunk of bread
from Sinead and used it to clean his bowl. They were both right. They’d hidden
in this troglodyte maze for two days. For all they knew, Ragnar had found
Wavedancer
and destroyed her, killing Olaf and Harold into the bargain, and maybe Toki
too.

“I’ll go and find them,” Magnus
said.

Redknee had been watching the
young tiller-man since Sinead mentioned the herring he’d given Thora on the day
of the poisoning. Was that why he volunteered now? To make his escape? Or
worse, meet with Ragnar and tell him of their hide-out.

“Someone else should go with
you,” Redknee said.

Egil stood, already fastening
the straps on his helmet. “I will,” he said. “This place makes me restless.”

Astrid lowered her drinking
horn. “Be careful,” she said. “And remember to ask after my husband.”

A shadow flickered across
Egil’s face and Redknee suddenly understood the nature of the man’s
loyalty. 

“We’ll give you until the
morning,” Redknee said. “If you’re not back by then, we’ll come and find you.”

Magnus and Egil exited the
tunnels through the well in the village. Gisela told them there were four
entrances: the trap door in the fort, a cave on the beach, the well in the
village and a hidden door that led to a riverbank. She’d shown them the
village, although Redknee thought the term ‘village’ rather grand for a
settlement of two small longhouses and a few bare fields. As far as he could
gather, about twenty people lived above ground in the ‘village’ with a further
fifteen or so sheltering in the tunnels. Thorvald, it seemed, was no more a
king than Uncle Sven had been.

Redknee spent a restless day
with Olvir, helping Koll make repairs to their kit. Between them, they had a
handful of daggers, a few swords and axes and one bow. Hardly the arsenal of an
army. He still rued
Flame Weaver’s
loss. The sword he had now was old
and poorly made; the tang and blade ill-fitted. Determined to enhance this
paltry collection, and aware they may have to face Ragnar soon, Redknee went in
search of Thorvald. As he passed their chamber, he noticed the door ajar and overheard
Gisela talking to Sinead.

“You have such beautiful red
hair,” said Gisela in a sweet, singsong voice.

“It’s very messy,” Sinead
replied, trying to flatten the flyaway strands with her palms.

“Nonsense,” said Gisela. “Sit
on the bed and let me decorate it for you.” Gisela held a length of gold ribbon
up to the torchlight.

Sinead gasped. “It’s
gorgeous. I’ve never worn anything so delicate.”

“A trader brought it to us,
all the way from a land call
Persia
. If you sit still, I’ll thread it through your hair.”

Redknee watched in silence as
Gisela first brushed Sinead’s hair with an antler comb and then, very
carefully, began to weave the golden thread through her russet curls, starting
at her crown and working round to the nape of her neck.

“Why don’t you read to me as
I work?” Gisela asked.

“From the
Codex
?”

Gisela nodded.

“I don’t know …”

“What harm can it do? I just
want to hear you using
your
magic. And later … I’ll show you some of
mine.”

“Oh, all right.” Sinead fetched
the book from the chest and opened it at a page containing a picture of a huge
pine tree with silvery-blue needles.

Redknee listened as Sinead
read a passage that talked of the riches to be found in the Promised Land. She
was reading in Latin, but every so often, she stopped and translated into
Norse. He should have been angry with her for telling Gisela, but, as he
listened to her soft voice dance over the words, somehow he didn’t mind. It was
funny, he’d always thought of her voice as whiny. Maybe he was just used to
hearing the complaints of a slave. 

“You shouldn’t listen at
doorways – you never know what you’ll hear.”

Redknee spun round to find
Thorvald smiling up at him.

“I … I was just coming to
find you.”

“I can see that.”

“We need weapons, and tools
to fix our ship.”

“Why are you here, Redknee?”

“I … I don’t know what you
mean.”

“Come with me,” he said. “I
want to show you something.” Thorvald led Redknee through the tunnels until
they came to a cave. Rock crystals hung from the high, arched roof in green
stalagtites, dripping brackish water to the floor. “Careful,” Thorvald said,
weaving his way between puddles, “it’s slippery.”

“You seem to know your way,”
Redknee said, following in Thorvald’s footsteps.

Thorvald stopped at the cave
mouth. “This is where I come to watch.”

Sand, black as ashes, led
from the cave to a calm, grey sea. But above, streaks of emerald, cerulean,
crimson, danced high in the sky, swirling amongst a mist of deepest violet. He
turned to Thorvald but the boy had a faraway look on his strange eyes.

“Do you never go outside?”
Redknee asked eventually.

Thorvald shook his head. “I
can’t; if I do, I will die. But I like to come here and sit. Especially now, at
the end of the day, when the world looks peaceful and comfortable with itself
and I can see the magic lights.”

Redknee stayed silent,
listening to the rhythm of the waves and the occasional cry of a gull overhead.
When the sky deepened to the colour of a ripe plum and he could barely see his
own hand in the gloom, he decided he’d indulged Thorvald long enough and stood
to go back inside.

“Wait,” Thorvald said. His
voice sounded hollow.

Redknee
paused. It was getting cold.

“What’s it like out there?”
Thorvald asked.

“You’ve
never
been
outside?”

“Not since I was a babe.”

“The other night, in the
fort, I saw—”

“I creep around the entrance
sometimes.”

Redknee nodded. How did you
describe the whole wide world in one sentence? “It’s
big
,” was all he
managed.

Thorvald laughed. “That’s
hard for me to imagine.”

“What,
exactly
,
do
you want to know about?” he asked, sitting back down.

“Start with your village.”

It felt like a knife in his
gut. He didn’t want to talk about the dead, about his mother. That time was
past. They were heading for a new world now. After a pause he said, “My village
burned.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Tell
me about something good, then. Tell me about … tell me about the women.”

Redknee smiled. “You’ve high
hopes if you think they’re all good …”

He spoke for a long time, the
words tumbling into the growing darkness. He told of his mountain, how it
teemed with rabbits and deer, and wild flowers so plentiful that in spring you
couldn’t see the forest floor for a sea of bluebells. He talked of helping to
build
Wavedancer
; of the team of men needed to make something so
complex; about Koll’s speed with the rivets; Karl’s dexterity with the adze and
his uncle’s ability to find the longest, straightest oak in the forest for the
keel.

“She sounds like a fine
ship,” Thorvald said, “I should like to see her one day.”

Redknee nodded and went on.
He told Thorvald about the women; about a girl who wanted more than anything to
be free and about another girl who seemed to revel in her cage. But most of
all, he talked about the land beyond the sea, about his uncle’s dreams of a new
world and of his own nascent dream, of a place to live where he would be free
from the shadows of his past.

“Thank you,” Thorvald said
when Redknee ran out of words. “You’ve given me a glimpse of life beyond my mud
prison.”

“If it’s the sun that wounds
you, why not go out at night?”

Thorvald shifted
uncomfortably. “It’s Gisela,” he said.

“How so?”

“She says it’s too dangerous
– I could get caught in the open when the sun comes up – and there I would be –
one roast piggy!”

Thorvald laughed at his own
joke. “
But
,” he whispered, “I did go for a walk along the beach once. I
never told Gisela.”

“Why do you heed Gisela?
You’re the king.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“It’s hard being king. Making
decisions.
Tough
decisions. My subjects don’t respect me. I see it in
their eyes. And Gisela is always there with her counsel. And her advice is
sound.”

Redknee spoke in a gentle
voice. “Perhaps it’s because you defer to Gisela so often that people doubt
your strength.”

“But is it not a sign of
greater strength to be able to consider the opinions of others, to weigh them
up, and to come to the best conclusion?”

“Yes. If that’s what you do.”

“Gisela has been good to me.
She was my nurse when I was a babe – my mother died giving me life. Gisela has
always looked after me, fed me, clothed me … gave me counsel when my father
died. And it was Gisela who first noticed how my skin blistered in the sun. It
was only my second summer, and the air was unusually warm, so I am told.”
Thorvald went silent and stared out at the darkness. After a long moment, he
picked up his thread. “And I’ve been living under ground, in these tunnels,
this
tomb
, ever since.”

“So it was Gisela who first
brought you down here?”

Thorvald nodded.

“Let’s go out, let’s go out
now, and explore. I’ll show you
Wavedancer
.”

“I don’t know …”

“Come on.”

“But I’m
afraid
.” He
hung his head for a moment, thinking. When he looked up, Redknee saw a new
determination on his face.

“I didn’t tell you the whole
truth before, when you arrived. Gisela stopped me. One of you asked, I think it
was the girl, Astrid, whether we had had visitors before—”

The sound of footsteps on the
cave floor startled Thorvald. Redknee turned to see Gisela picking her way
round the puddles.

“What are you two talking
about?” she asked, reaching them and folding her arms across her chest. Two
men-at-arms followed behind her.

“Nothing … just sailing.”
Thorvald blushed as he stumbled over the words.

Gisela placed her hands on
her hips in a vaguely threatening gesture. “Thorvald, you’re needed in the
great hall. Bera Helgadottir is complaining about her neighbour – the one who
keeps stealing her eggs. You need to make a decision on the matter.”

“What’s happened?” Thorvald
asked.

“Bera’s son killed one of the
neighbour’s sheep practising with his bow. Says it was an accident.”

“
Was
it?” Thorvald
asked.

Gisela shrugged. “As far as
I’m aware. But the neighbour says she’s due compensation, and a few eggs are
the least of it.”

“It seems clear—”

“The neighbour is also
refusing to let us sink a tunnel behind her longhouse. We need that tunnel to
strengthen our defences.”

“Can she do that? Refuse to
allow us to sink the shaft, I mean?”

“She says she was given the
land by her grandfather – one of the first settlers on the island. She says she
needs the land to grow turnips for winter. But you’re the King. You can take
the land – as a punishment for stealing Bera’s eggs.”

Thorvald rose to his feet. He
moved like an old man, not like a boy of thirteen summers.

Gisela went on. “If you’re
unsure as to the right outcome, I can cast the runes.”

“Yes,” Thorvald said. “That
would help me.”

As
Redknee expected, when Gisela cast the runes, the decision was clear. Bera’s
neighbour must sacrifice her land for the tunnel. It was obvious who really
ruled here. As Bera’s neighbour was led away screaming, Bera hung back, a look
of uncertainty on her face. When the screams subsided into the softness of the
earth walls, Bera approached the throne again.

“Please, Sir,” she said,
bowing low. “What is to be my compensation for the stolen eggs?”

Thorvald began to speak, but
Gisela strode across the dais until she was between him and Bera. “
Compensation?”
Gisela said, her lips curling like those of a she-wolf readying for attack.
“You want compensation for a few dozen eggs after your son killed that poor
woman’s sheep?”

Bera cowered in fear.

“You’re lucky I don’t have
you flogged for insolence, and your son strung up for recklessness. Now, get
out of my sight, and don’t trouble the king with your petty squabbles again.”
Gisela had raised herself up to her full height and towered over the peasant
woman like some monstrous Valkyrie.