"No, lord," Yngvar said. "The cluster of Saxon ships blocked our view and we did not linger to discover what had happened. I expect he would have made it to shore ahead of the Saxons and eventually warned Gorm of the attack."
Hakon nodded and the hall fell into deep silence. Yngvar's mouth had gone cotton while he had described his story. He was glad for the pause. At last Hakon rubbed his face with both hands. "You say your cousin Brandr can give me more details of Gorm's forces. Is this true?"
"If it pleases you, lord," Brandr said. "I will tell you what I know. But I wish your protection as well. Gorm will not think kindly of me once he realizes where I have gone."
"You broke an oath," Hakon said, and it seemed as if that would settle his decision. Brandr lowered his head in shame. "But you did so for the bonds of family and indirectly to aid me. I must think carefully on what value the word of such a man as you carries. But for now, if you are willing to tell what you know, I will certainly offer you my hospitality and protection. You've earned that much."
Brandr stood then knelt before the king. "I am grateful for your generosity."
Hakon stroked his beard, then gave a tired glance to Fridlief. "So a killer disguised as a priest is Gorm's way to clear me from the battlefield. Who would've thought he could be so crafty? I'd have expected more direct action from him."
"He has no honor," Fridlief said. He nodded towards Yngvar. "But this young hero will ruin Gorm's plot."
"Yes," Hakon said, smiling. "The impostor is already here. He arrived only a few days ahead of you. You can expose him for me."
Yngvar inclined his head. "After all I've been through to bring this news to you, it would be a pleasure. If you would tell me where he is, I will drag him before you for justice."
"If it were only so easy," Hakon said, leaning back in his chair. "You said Gorm hired a man to pose as a priest from Wessex. Five priests arrived, and only one is a criminal. You must expose the right man and leave the others unharmed. My life depends upon your judgment."
Yngvar's eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Words fled him and he simply bowed, hoping his dismay did not show on his face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Yngvar stood behind the hirdmen as they encircled the church. It was a large building of fresh brown logs, constructed with a steeply pitched roof and decorated with ornate carvings of dragons and coils. Had he not been told otherwise, he would not have guessed it to be a church. He supposed King Hakon wanted his people to accept this new religion by making it seem less foreign.
He occupied his thoughts with this distraction, hoping a good idea for unmasking a hidden killer would come to mind. By now he had exhausted himself, and had nothing more than water and a tough hank of salted pork to see him this far. None of the others were in better condition, but they stood stalwartly behind him. Only Alasdair seemed worried, constantly running his hands through his hair and rubbing his face.
A priest had come to the front door once those inside realized they were surrounded. He was a thin man with fly-away white hair. He wore the brown robes of a Christian priest. His arguments slowly dissipated as he looked around and saw the ranks of men surrounding the church. At least fifty armored men had him penned into his church. King Hakon was determined to root out the impostor and offer him no means of escape. Yet he had remained back at his hall, content to let Yngvar make the right choice.
He did not want to know the result if he made the wrong choice and killed a real priest. He guessed his own life might be at risk.
"Weren't we supposed to sail back with the news, become heroes, then get drunk for a week?" Thorfast asked from behind.
"I'd have been happy with just a warm meal," Bjorn added.
"We're not far from any of that," Yngvar said. "This shouldn't take long."
Brandr laughed. "Well, just don't make a mistake. I can tell you these Christians have a long memory of anything done against them. The Church will triple Erik's bounty on your life."
Yngvar did not believe the Church had so much authority here. Yet he did not doubt King Hakon would be enraged if he simply killed all five of the priests. That was the expedient and practical choice. Rather than try to unmask the killer and risk a mistake, the best solution was to kill all the priests. Four of them would go to meet their god, and one would fall to the mists of Nifleheim. Any jarl would have handled the problem so, but Christians made these matters more difficult. They insisted on sparing innocent lives, which was a noble sentiment but entirely wrong for this situation.
"You may enter the church," said the hirdman who had been speaking to the priest. "They're all inside."
"Can I talk to the original priest first?" Yngvar asked. The hirdman gestured toward the gray-haired priest, who was standing by the door looking like an orphaned child. Yngvar and the others approached.
"What is your name, old man?"
"I am Father Afi."
"So, Afi, you know you hide a killer in your church? Do you know which priest is not real? Surely, after three days with them one must seem less genuine than the others. Who is it?"
Afi's watery eyes looked through him. When he did not immediately answer, Yngvar repeated his question. The priest blinked then stared toward the horizon. "I can't believe any of them would be a killer. They are all pious men. They all know the scripture and are eager to carry the word of God to all corners of Vestfold and beyond. You are mistaken, surely."
Yngvar shook his head. "I spent the lives of good men to carry this news. I do not lie. In fact, I want you to come with me and be a witness to all I do. If there is a killer among your guests, then I want you to confirm for King Hakon that I did the right thing. Will you do this?"
Afi's eyes remained unfocused. To Yngvar it was the same look a man wears after his first battle when he sees the corpses of friend and foe intertwined on the grass. The priest simply nodded in answer to Yngvar's question.
Inside the church, candles lit every corner. Yngvar's first thought was to knock them over and claim a scuffle had set the place ablaze. It was a foolish dream to flee the reality that faced him. Standing amid the benches were five old men in brown robes and wooden crosses about their necks. Each one looked barely strong enough to wring an old hen's neck.
"None of them look particularly threatening," Thorfast observed. "I was hoping for one with broad shoulders and battle scars."
"That'd be too simple," Yngvar said. He walked into the church, the only sound his boots clacking on the wood floor. Each priest raised a brow at his approach and turned to Afi. Yngvar called him forward. "Explain to them what is happening."
The priest spoke the strange language of Wessex. It had notes of the Saxon he had heard from his fellow prisoners, but it was softer. He studied the priests for their reactions to the accusation. Each one grew more indignant as their host continued explaining.
When Afi finished, one of the priests puffed out his chest and spoke in deep tones. His speech was clipped and accented, but his indignation was clear.
"You make a heavy accusation. What proof do you have to accuse a servant of God?"
"The proof of my own eyes and ears. I was in Gorm's hall when he plotted this. It is not me alone, either, but all my companions as well. One of you means to kill the king."
"How long have each of you known each other?" Thorfast asked. "Is any one of you new to this group?"
Afi translated for the others, but already two of them looked toward one of their number. When the translation ended, all were looking at a pockmarked priest with some black streaks left in his thin hair. His dark ringed eyes widened as he realized the silent accusation leveled at him.
The priest began to babble in his language and held up both hands. He backed away.
Afi explained, "Father Godwine only joined their company at the last moment. He rushed his way aboard their ship and had a thin excuse for his late arrival. They're not sure the bishop even approved him for this mission."
"Well there," Yngvar said. A smile
stretched his face as he closed on the priest. "Seems like we have our man. Now we need proof."
Bjorn and Brandr seized Godwine by an arm and held him between themselves. The other priests began shouting down their companion, extending bony fingers to denounce him. Yngvar did not need to understand their language to see Godwine had lost all his friends.
"Bring me his belongings," Yngvar said to Afi. He vanished into rooms at the rear of the church and Yngvar began to pat down the priest.
The priest struggled and kicked out, screaming his rage while his companions tried to drown out his protest with their own shouts. Yngvar felt something long and hard at the priest's ankle. Godwine went still the moment he touched it. Yngvar pulled his own dagger then cut the robe away.
A dagger was strapped to his leg.
The shouting stopped and everyone stared at the exposed weapon. Father Afi let out a despairing moan, then handed a small bag to Bjorn.
He dumped the contents on the floor. Mostly it was clothing and small items. But there was a wooden tube with a sealskin cover tied over it. Bjorn held it up carefully.
"Ask Father Godwine if he is willing to drink whatever is in that vial." Before Afi could translate, the priest went limp and shook his head. He began to weep like a child.
Yngvar folded his arms. "Of course he would not drink poison. Alasdair, call the hirdmen inside. We have our hidden killer."
Father Afi stood among the other priests, defeat slumping his shoulders and draining the blood from his lips. He appeared on the verge of tears.
"He planned to poison our king's food," Yngvar said, patting Afi's shoulder. "Or cut him with a poisoned blade. You could not have known."
"I must pray for forgiveness," Afi said, his voice hoarse.
The hirdmen entered with Alasdair leading them. Father Godwine looked up, his eyes now red. He said something in his language and his fellows hissed and cursed at him. He gave each man a long stare before the armored hirdmen dragged him from the church. His companions followed to the door, shouting their curses and insults.
Yngvar watched them leave. Bjorn rubbed his hands together. "That was a lot of worry for nothing. Easy!"
"Too easy," Yngvar said. "His companions gave him up rather fast, don't you think?"
Thorfast shrugged. "He had a weapon and poison. So of course they want to distance themselves. King Hakon will have questions for them too. They don't want to be tainted by one bad man."
Yngvar tugged the end of his beard. This was too simple. Priests defended each other against outsiders, even if they were wrong. Before Yngvar even had proof of any intended crime, these priests were already accusing one of their own. The four of them clustered at the door, their thin arms raised above their heads as they shouted after their former brother. But Father Afi had already taken to his knees before the altar of his god. He prayed and wept.
"These others are making a bit of show, aren't they?" he said. Again, none of his companions did more than shrug. But he saw Brandr stare after the priests and his expression soured. He knew such a display was unlike Christian priests. They should be demanding a trial or finding excuses for their brother.
"Alasdair, when you were a slave to the priests, what was the one thing they could do that none other could?"
"I was their student, not a slave." Alasdair's voice betrayed mild irritation, but his cheeks reddened after he spoke. "But all the priests could read and write. That was what they taught me, lord. I learned letters from them, though I confess not much of their lessons have remained with me. I was a poor student."
"Father Afi, cease your blubbering and get off your knees. There is more work to be done."
One of the Wessex priests turned at his command, suddenly silent. Afi slowly got to his feet, his droopy eyes meeting Yngvar's. "What now?"
"Have these priests read anything to you since they arrived?"
Afi stopped. "They read the bible."
"I want them to read to me."
The room went still. The Wessex priest who seemed to understand strode forward and spoke gently to Father Afi. Then he turned contemptuously on Yngvar. "I will read a passage for you from Romans, chapter twelve, verse three. Not that you will understand Latin."
The priest went to the front of the church and took down a heavy leather-bound book. He stared at Yngvar as he opened to a page. His heavy voice filled the room with strange words. It sent a chill up Yngvar's back and he grabbed Thor's hammer at his neck. Perhaps this priest was casting a spell.
When he was done, he stepped down and turned his chin up at Yngvar.
"What did he say?" Yngvar asked Afi.
"For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned." Father Afi wiped a tear from his cheek. "It is a true reading."
Yngvar smiled. "He reads without looking at the page?"
Afi's saddened face suddenly tightened and he stood straighter. Yngvar gave him a slow nod. He walked to the bench where the bible sat opened. He grabbed a handful of pages and flipped them to another section. He held out the heavy book.
"Read this part, and this time look at the pages."
"He has no doubt memorized the passages," Afi said. "He has only to glance at them to recite their meaning."
"Read!" Yngvar shouted and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The demeanor of the priests had shifted. Yngvar glanced at Brandr, who was already moving to block the door. The priest who had just completed his reading stared at Yngvar, his nose flared. He took the book this time and looked down at it. Father Afi read over his shoulder.
"Ah, this is--"
"Don't help him," Yngvar said. "If he can read one page he can read any of them. So read, priest."
The foreign priest scanned the pages and Yngvar knew he was not reading. He was plotting his way out of the trap.
"Enough of this foolishness," the priest said, clapping the book shut. "If you are accusing me, then take me before the king. I will not be tested again."
"I represent the king, and I tell you to read."
The priest sneered and set the bible down on the bench. "I refuse. Take us to King Hakon."
They stared at each other like two men in opposite shield walls, neither wanting to advance into the other's defenses. But like a real battle, the enemy had to be baited into attacking.
"Very well," Yngvar said, turning his back to the priest. "You can explain yourself to the king."
He narrowed his eyes at Brandr and the others. Everyone except Alasdair nodded back to him. His young friend seemed genuinely astonished, his eyes wide and brows raised.
Without warning, Yngvar whirled on the priest, dagger drawn and stabbing for his neck.
Father Afi screamed and stumbled away. The Wessex priest deflected the feigned attack with a reflexive forearm block. He and Yngvar stared at the dagger between them.
"Now that was quite a reaction from a man of peace," Yngvar said. "You should've eaten this blade."
The other priests leapt for the exit. Brandr blocked them, but they had drawn long daggers like their former companion's.
"No!" Father Afi shouted. "This is a house of God!"
Yngvar's priest shoved him back and dashed for a side exit. He reached down to a slit in his robe and drew his own dagger. Yngvar tackled him before he reached the door. They crashed into benches. He heard more shouts from the other priests. Bjorn had started his bellowing, filling the church with his war cry.
Yngvar barely grabbed the thin priest's blade before it slipped into his gut. He was far stronger than he seemed and a competent fighter. He tried to head-butt Yngvar, but he pulled out of the way. They struggled on the wood floor. Yngvar was weak from his journey, but the lust of battle carried him. He got atop the priest, then flipped the dagger in his grip. He drove the pommel into the old priest's head repeatedly until he stopped moving. Blood and bruises cove
red his face, and the strap of his wooden cross was tangled in his hair. Yngvar stood.
The hirdmen had flooded back into the church. Father Afi had sunk to his knees, holding his face in his hands. Alasdair crouched beside him, as if shielding him from the violence. The others hovered over the three other priests. One still seemed to move, his leg pumping as he groaned in pain. The other two lay still in a spreading pool of blood.
Yngvar wordlessly pointed to his defeated priest. Hirdmen retrieved him from the floor.
Thorfast gave Yngvar a warm smile. "So you got to kill them all, anyway. Good idea!"
He gave Thorfast a weak laugh, and hoped King Hakon would feel the same.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The roar of the hall's celebrants rang in Yngvar's ears. His face was warm and his head dizzy. The malty ale went down easily, flooding around a belly full of succulent meat. He had eaten it so fast he had not realized it was beef, a rare treat indeed. King Hakon's hall was bright with hearth light. The scores of hirdmen and Yngvar's own crew filled every space on the dozens of benches. Every serving girl was a beauty, and they slipped and squeezed among the throng of admiring men.
"He throws a good feast for a Christian," Brandr said. "I feared we'd all be praying for the dead."
Thorfast shook his head. "I don't know our king well, but I think he is wise enough to please his people rather than please his god."
"Aye, I'm well pleased with his choice of servants," Bjorn said. "I'd marry any of them."
"You don't need to marry them to do what you're thinking," Thorfast said. All who could hear laughed, but the noise of the crowd limited that to one man a side. Yngvar, who sat across from Thorfast, smiled and glanced across at King Hakon.
Hakon sat at the high table. Despite the horrors of the day, he remained lighthearted. He raised his drinking horn to everyone who met his eyes. He laughed at every joke, attempted every riddle asked of him, and was transfixed by every story told. It was probably an act. Yngvar did not care. Here was a true leader and a man worthy of loyalty. He had saved this young king's life and by doing so, Yngvar felt he had saved the people of Norway.
Odin's Ravens (Descendants Saga Book 2) Page 25
