"Bregthor." Yngvar slumped, pulling a wool blanket into his hands. He began twisting it as he thought of the man. Gunnhild continued on, fixing her cloak with a silver pin as she did.
"Yes, he presented King Erik with a gift, a fine sword with an emerald in the pommel."
Yngvar leapt up, naked, and flung the blanket aside. Gunnhild stepped back, hands at her throat. "Is an emerald a green stone?"
She nodded and seemed to be considering calling for her huge guard, a man called Hrut. Yngvar let his breath go and sat back down on the bed, hopefully putting Gunnhild at ease.
"That was my sword," he said. "He must have stolen it when we were getting our weapons back. The bastard made it a gift to the king, then."
Gunnhild also relaxed. "So it would seem. He is an ambitious man, this Bregthor."
"He murdered my cousin, who was our leader before me. When Erik's ships came we were about to settle that debt for good, but now we are here."
Everything was as Thorfast had said. Nor had he learned his lesson from what Ander Red-Scar had told him. He had not befriended anyone outside his small circle of friends, leaving himself distant from Erik's men. Bregthor had done the exact opposite and now prospered. He would be outplayed by this fool at every turn.
"Murder is a strong charge," Gunnhild said. "Can you prove what you say?"
"You doubt me?" He looked at her as if he had met her for the first time. Had they not been making love for hours at a time, day upon day and week after week? She could wonder if he would lie about the murder of his cousin?
"Don't stare at me like that," she said, the sharp edges returning to her face. "It must be more than your word against his."
"I have witnesses. You needn't be worried for that, " Yngvar said, letting his indignation show. This seemed to rile Gunnhild, who straightened her back and glared at him.
"It's not me who has to worry." Yngvar wondered at what she meant, but the frosty edge of her voice disappeared and she adjusted her cloak pin. "If you are confident, then take your accusations to my husband. He will give you justice."
Yngvar remained quiet, thinking through how to phrase his concerns without raising her ire. "King Erik has a reputation for, well, they call him Blood-Axe."
She stared at him flatly. "He was a great king of a great land. He will be that king again. Men are ever jealous and say a great many things that are not true. Do you think Erik is cruel?"
Remembering the man whom Erik killed in his own hall, he had to concede he was. Instead, he held his mouth shut. She seemed to take his silence as affirmation, nonetheless. She clucked her tongue.
"Erik is in a hard situation. His brother forced us from the throne of Norway, and he has to hold men together with strict discipline. Do not mistake that as having no love for justice. If Bregthor is a killer, then my husband will grant you justice."
The thought of bringing Bregthor down held great appeal. How often had this snake escaped the consequences of his evil? Yngvar should drag him back to Frankia and let his father pronounce judgment upon him. Yet if given the time to travel, the crafty bastard would find a way to slip justice once again. His victory in the holmgang was one example of how he could twist things to his favor. Yet here, trapped on this island and in the center of Erik's military power, Bregthor would have nowhere to go. Vengeance for Brandr might not come from the hand of his own kin, but at least it would be fulfilled.
"I will do it," he said. "I will take my witnesses and bring the charges against him."
Gunnhild smiled, small and fleeting. "Good. Now I must leave."
Rather than kiss or even touch him as she normally did, she spun around and strode out the door. Yngvar lay back down on the bed. He had to give her enough time to reach her destination before he left the house. While Bjorn, Thorfast, and Ander may have thought all this time away was given to pleasure, in fact much of it was spent waiting. He occupied his wait with thoughts of Bregthor's final defeat. While he might not have succeeded in securing Gunnhild's aid in speeding up their ransom, at least he had found a means of extracting revenge on Bregthor.
He had not even considered charging Bregthor in public and demanding justice from Erik. Yet, of course this had always been a possibility. He was a hostage and not a slave, though sometimes the distinction was negligible. Erik was a law-giver and any complaints among his people were judged according to his decisions. Even as a hostage, Yngvar was one of his people. Bregthor himself must have realized this earlier and worked to ingratiate himself with the king. Well, Yngvar had ingratiated himself with the queen. She could prove just as powerful an ally, and perhaps more so. Gunnhild seemed to exert a control of Erik that no one else did. With a word from Gunnhild, everything would turn in Yngvar's favor.
When he had judged his wait finished, he raced back to the village where he found Thorfast and Bjorn hauling empty casks from the ships back to the village. Alasdair filled in for Yngvar's absence, and he alone seemed happy to meet him. Such a strange slave, Yngvar thought. Hadn't he murdered Alasdair's master? After explaining what had happened, he looked to Thorfast for confirmation. His friend held his hand over his mouth as he thought. Bjorn spoke first.
"It's not as good as cutting Bregthor's head off myself. I was Brandr's cousin, too. I could still do it."
Thorfast shook his head. "That'll just make you a murderer in Erik's eyes. I think Yngvar is right. Bregthor is worming into Erik's good graces, both to protect himself and to sow trouble for us. If he gets in too deep, we might never see home again. Bregthor has no care to return, nor do those following him. We have to stop him now."
Satisfied that a more devious mind than his approved the idea, Yngvar set out to gather his supporters. Ander Red-Scar and a half-dozen other men promised to stand behind him in the accusation. Yngvar's heart was fluttering with excitement. The stain of shame for not having avenged Brandr had been a shadow over his heart for so long he had not realized how it had affected him.
That night, they drank and ate in the hall as usual. Yngvar found everything tasted like cloth and he had no appetite. Rather than let his gaze drift to Gunnhild as it did every time she was near, he instead sought out Bregthor. Indeed, he had moved closer to Erik's table than the rest of the crew. He laughed with men from Erik's hird, raising his mug again and again with his fellows. How nice that he should live a life of celebration while Brandr's corpse was devoured by scavengers at the bottom of the sea.
When the evening meal finished, Yngvar looked at all his supporters. Thorfast's face was whiter than usual. Bjorn's had flushed with anger. Only Alasdair seemed positive. "I will ask God to serve justice tonight, master."
Yngvar gave him a lopsided smile and patted his shoulder. He'd take any god's favor tonight.
Now was the time for men to bring their glories or their worries to the king. It was not an official moment, but one that all men understood was available from their lords. Yngvar stood up from the bench, and forced his way through the long hall toward the front.
He looked straight ahead, but the corner of his vision followed Bregthor. He was as acutely aware of Yngvar as he was of Bregthor.
Standing before his king and captor, Yngvar cleared his throat. Gunnhild was filling Erik's mug and gave him the barest glance. Her hulking, clear-eyed guard, Hrut, did not even look down at him. Erik himself remained embroiled in conversation with the burly man beside him. Finally, Yngvar summoned the will call for attention.
"My King Erik, I have a complaint to bring to you."
Some at Erik's table put down their mugs and bowls in astonishment. Erik himself continued to drink as if he had not heard.
Yngvar squared his shoulders and spoke louder. "I demand justice for the crime of murder."
The hall stumbled to silence, so that the crackle of the hearth fire was the loudest sound. Men pushed away from Yngvar as if he had suddenly developed an odor. Perhaps he had an odor of doom, but he cared not. He tilted his head back and waited for Erik's response.
The k
ing's mug clacked on the table, and he gave a long belch. He spread both hands wide along the board and finally met Yngvar's eyes. His gaze was the steady beam of a wolf hovering over its kill. The gold adorning his arms and neck glittered as he spoke.
"Why do you trouble me at my meal?"
"You are law-giver here, and I am your subject while under your protection. You hear the complaints of your men after the meal. I have witnessed this myself, lord. Am I wrong to speak up now?"
Erik's eyes seemed to narrow, but he did not move. Gunnhild faded into the darkness behind him, and Yngvar silently hoped she would whisper to him from behind. Erik remained still long enough for the entire hall to hold its breath. At last he tipped his head and extended his palm. "Speak, then."
"One night at sea, months ago now, Bregthor and Davin both fell upon my cousin, Brandr Gunnarsson. It was late at night while he worked the tiller and rested a moment at the rails. They each grabbed a leg and dumped him into the sea. He barely had a moment to shout before his voice was only for sharks to hear. Then they walked the deck to kill any witnesses, but he did not find me nor Thorfast. We both saw the crime happen. So I ask that Brandr be brought to justice for the murder of his oath-holder."
Brandr had not actually taken anyone's oaths, but Yngvar thought it a nice twist. Perhaps it would make Erik hesitate in accepting Bregthor as one of his own. He felt a warmth of pride in his chest for having thought of that detail.
"Lies!" Bregthor roared, shoving his way to where Yngvar stood. He stared up at Erik, more to see what Gunnhild might do. Yet it was too early for her part, and she remained impassive behind her husband.
Erik held up his hand to silence Bregthor, who inhaled to continue his protest. So Erik slammed his fist on the board and set every bowl and mug jumping.
"You have witnesses? Thorfast, you say. Why is he not here beside you?"
Before Yngvar could think of a reason, Thorfast leapt to Yngvar's side. "I was not certain of how to act, my lord. Forgive me. It is all as Yngvar said."
"And the crew will vouch for me," Yngvar said, vaguely waving behind himself and hoping he was pointing at Ander and the rest.
Erik nodded, as if he began to take an interest at last. "And Bregthor, you deny this?"
"As I've told you before, my king, this one is a liar and a cheat. He thinks he's better than anyone else. He hates me because I had the strength to lead the crew when he did not. I know the crew will support me in this."
Yngvar's heart leapt. So he had been working against him with Erik. At last he faced Bregthor, who glared at him from the one eye he could bring to focus.
Erik sighed, leaning back from the table. He spoke wearily. "Who supports Yngvar?"
Turning to the crowd, Yngvar saw all he expected with raised hands.
"And support of Bregthor?"
Hands went down and the expected hands went up. It seemed to Yngvar that some who raised their hands were not even part of the crew. Had Bregthor prepared for this? Before he could count, Erik began laughing.
"So it would seem each side of this argument is equally represented. How unhelpful."
Erik sat with his arms folded. Yngvar watched Gunnhild, for now a word from her would turn everything. But she was staring off idly, not even watching the proceedings. One of her serving girls knelt at her side, holding a cup.
"Well, I have a way of getting to the truth," Erik said, his voice brightening. "And it will provide us some entertainment on this dull night."
Animated murmurs circulated around the hall. Yngvar's heart pounded harder. Gunnhild stood up and walked back into the darkness of the rear, not glancing at him.
Erik stood and gestured to his guards. "Take Yngvar and Bregthor outside. Strip them to the waist and tie them to posts. You two will be whipped until the truth is told or one or both of you die."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Yngvar staggered out of the hall, a guard shoving him through the door. The open ground between the mead hall and barracks was now filled with hundreds of faces, leering white orbs in the gloom of the night. A fierce bonfire threw its heat across the muddy ground, and shadows of children danced around it. Intermittent shouts of protest defeated the loud chatter of excited spectators. Yngvar wandered toward these voices, head spinning, but something yanked him back.
"This way, you fool."
His guard pulled him by the waist of his pants. Nearly an hour had passed since Erik declared this event, and the entire time he had sat without his shirt as a prisoner in the hall. He and Bregthor, both with their hands bound at their laps and guards surrounding them.
"This is not law! This is a crime itself!" Thorfast rushed toward him, but a score of guards had him, Bjorn, and all his other supporters held at bay. Whatever else Thorfast shouted was lost behind the wall of spears that warded him away.
A series of posts had been sunk into the earth, and Yngvar had never paid them any attention until now. Today he realized their cruel purpose.
The guard hauled him to the post where he unbound his hands. A sharp, cold point in his back warned him that another guard had a spear ready to impale him. The guard then pulled his arms around the post and tied them anew.
Opposite the posts, King Erik's chair had been carried out to the yard. He sat sprawled in it as if relaxing for a night of riddles and song. Hirdmen and servants surrounded him. Next to him, Gunnhild sat in a second chair. She looked directly into Yngvar's eyes.
She blinked slowly and looked away, smiling.
"He's innocent! It's all lies." These calls came from Bregthor's camp.
Yngvar's face pressed up against the cold, rough wood and he turned aside so he would not have to see Gunnhild. Had she led him to this on purpose? Why not just have Hrut cut his throat after their last tryst? Did she have to kill him in such a public, humiliating way?
The guard tugged hard on Yngvar's bindings, making his hands go cold. He gave Yngvar a pat on the shoulder and winked. "I've got silver against your name, boy. Pull through for me and I'll share it with you." He laughed as he strolled away.
Beside Yngvar, Bregthor was similarly tied to his post. The bonfire light shined on his naked back and his eyes were wide with fear.
"This is where the gods show who they love most," Yngvar said. "I will feel no pain. But, you murdering bastard, they'll pour fire into every stripe you get."
A loud clap from King Erik silenced most of the crowd, though the villagers' excitement hummed in the background. Yngvar twisted his face along the post, bending his nose, to face Erik. The king stood up from his chair to address the gathering.
"One of these men has accused the other of the gravest crime I know, murder of his oath-holder."
"Untrue!" The faint shout was so far back that Erik merely blinked at the interruption and continued.
"The truth of the claim cannot be proved. One of these men is lying to me, and I detest liars. So for the last time, in the interest of sparing an innocent man from the torture, I ask you both to speak the truth."
"Bregthor Vandradsson is a murderer," Yngvar shouted. "He and Davin the Shit-Eater threw my cousin overboard in the dead of night. I witnessed it."
The crowd laughed at Davin's name, for Yngvar did not know what else to call him. He closed his eyes and prayed Bregthor would have sense enough to surrender now.
"I'm innocent. I don't know what he saw, but it was not me who threw Brandr overboard." His voice dropped and pitched at the back of Yngvar's head. "And the gods love me. They chose me once before."
Erik smiled as if genuinely pleased. "I'm so glad both of you can stick to your convictions. But a man cannot be innocent and a killer at the same time. So we will let blood decide who is honest. Is everyone ready to see blood?"
The crowd roared. From the corner of Yngvar's vision he saw fists and spears raised in the night, flashing orange light at him. Gunnhild sipped demurely from a cup as if bored with everything. He wished it was filled with poison. Erik raised his hands to the crowd like a master en
tertainer, turning to face all of his people. At last he worked off a gold armband from his bicep, one of three that adorned each arm. He held it aloft.
"For the honest man, I will bestow this gold band from my own arm. For the liar, if the gods do not kill him first, I will pronounce judgment once he confesses. If neither confess, then the gods have called these men to their own judgments. They will be whipped until death."
A second roar of approval shook Yngvar's eardrums. Erik Blood-Axe was a worthless king. He loved violence before law, spectacle before justice, and cruelty above anything else. His wife was his pet viper. Never had Yngvar ever imagined something as heinous as this happening under any jarl in Frankia. There was law in that land, and good kings who respected their people. Here, if any man accused another of a crime he would be whipped. Who would dare ask for justice under King Erik? Escaping Erik's grasp had to come at any cost.
His hateful thoughts had stolen Yngvar's vision, but a sudden flurry before Erik awakened him again.
Alasdair had prostrated himself before the king, and men were running with spears lowered.
"Don't hurt him!" Yngvar shouted.
King Erik held up a hand and his guards stopped short of impaling the small slave. When he seemed to realize he wouldn't be skewered, Alasdair raised his head. His dirty, torn brown robe made him look like a miniature priest. Yngvar realized it was barely any covering at all for the poor boy.
"Please, great king, take me instead of my master. He spared my life and saved me from the priests who kept me prisoner."
Erik's head tilted back in laughter. "You look like a Christian priest. Makes me want to cut your belly open right here. But you can't take your master's place. That would serve nothing. But I promise you this, if your master is a liar, then I'll have you buried with him. Now get away from me."
Three men hauled Alasdair off the ground and threw him back into the crowd like a fisherman throws a poor catch back into the water.
Erik returned to his seat and gestured to someone behind Yngvar. The crowd grew quiet. He twisted his head aside to face Bregthor again. Now all that mattered was the competition to endure the pain longer. He would not be whipped to death. Bregthor would crumble because in his deepest heart he was a liar and a criminal. He had no resolve, nor fire for justice. He would beg for his life. Bregthor's drifting eyes settled on nothing, but his back was slick with sweat.
Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 17
