The man twitched and shrugged. ‘Who did?’
‘Someone in Hogholm?’ Ceadda said darkly. ‘He visited here, didn’t he? Sent his men to buy information, and did that every spring and summer. It was information that sometimes got Goths killed, no? Do you know who spoke to him of the Svea princess and the alliance your Boat-Lord was to have with them? That bit of news drove Cuthbert mad with greed. Our new lord will want to know who lured him to that kind of a trap. The new lord is related to Cuthbert, you see? It wasn’t you, was it?’
The man twitched.
The chain was lowered, and we rowed to the harbor with our fifty furs. We went past the pier. The Saxon eyes scourged the rich Goth boat, where last of the gear was being carried away. There was no sign of Hrolf coming back. We beached, jumped to the water, and pulled the boat high onto the beach where it settled in the muddy stone beachfront easily.
Njord nodded at me. ‘So, we are here. What’s the plan?’
‘I suppose we’ll ambush him when he comes down the path?’ I asked, feeling disappointed by such a simple punishment. Perhaps I’d feel better when he was dead?
‘Let’s go and ask some questions about what’s going on up there,’ Ceadda said and pulled me with him, while Njord and the men stayed behind, making sure the boat was secure, and to unload the furs. We walked the length of the shore, and reached Hraban’s Kiln. It was busy, mead’s sweet scent drifted out of the doors with that of sweat and piss, and we pushed inside past men crowding the doorway.
There in the main hall, the huge room was surprisingly well lit, the fire-pit was high with roaring flames, and a short Goth was arranging for room for Hrolf’s crew. Men lined the walls, some slept under the tables, but there was a strange sense of order amongst the chaos. Still, there was no sight of Hrolf. No Ingulf either, thankfully, though I thought he might have been too hurt to travel so soon anyway.
Ceadda pulled the sleeve of a man, who looked horrified before my friend had uttered a single word, waving his arms around, showing how there was no room, but we had no intention of staying, only eating, and that went down well enough and they began to bargain. I looked around, saw some familiar faces in the Goth ranks, the men who had helped kill Saxa. They were carrying gear, walking to find a place for them, and then I saw a large chest being repositioned, well-carved out of pinewood and decorated with animals and strange symbols. It was sword-sized. ‘Ho, what’s that?’ I asked a young man carrying it.
‘Gifts for the Boat-Lord,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Best not think of stealing it. Hrolf the Ax would make you a head shorter, he would.’
‘Is the famous Hrolf here?’ I asked him with a smile under my hood.
‘Up the hill to make ready for the evening’s Thing. They’ll give the old lord mighty gifts,’ he said, winked and clapped the chest and dragged the thing away with his friends. They set it down in the middle of their men, and turned to fetch drink.
The sword and the ring. They were surely inside the trunk.
Ceadda appeared. ‘Hrolf’s—’
‘Up the hill.’
He nodded. ‘He’ll be feasted up there, said the tavern keeper. He’ll come back down here to gather his men later. They’ll be giving oaths to the Boat-Lord. And probably the ring and the sword. We will kill him as he comes down. Probably not well guarded, eh? If he is, we wait for the night. We’ll find a way.’
‘I have a new plan,’ I said.
‘A new plan?’ he asked nervously.
‘I want more than his death. I want to see him suffer,’ I said thickly.
Ceadda was scratching his hair. ‘Boy. It’s a fine thing to dream of. But common sense says we just gut the bastard, eh?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I want to try something. Look there. I bet that’s where the sword and the ring are,’ I said and nodded at the trunk. ‘I’m sure that’s it.’
‘Why do you think so? Granted, the size is right, but—’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘Hrolf wouldn’t dare to wear them when he meets the cranky, murderous old man. He wishes to make a ceremony out of it, and not give the Boat-Lord any excuse to get itchy about the alliance. No, they are there.’
‘Well,’ Ceadda said. ‘Shit. We can’t get to them. We’ll have to plan how to kill Hrolf anyway. Forget them.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s how we kill him.’
‘Eh?’
‘Hughnot’s men like to light fires, don’t they?’ I said. ‘So we’ll show we can as well.’ I turned to whisper to him, while the tavern keeper arranged for food to be taken to our men. Ceadda shook his head at first, then more, but finally squinted his eyes as he looked around the tavern, and shrugged.
‘Perhaps. It’s a damned mad idea boy,’ he said. ‘Damned mad. Can’t be sure you get anywhere near, fire or not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘But why not? We’re all dead men anyway.’
CHAPTER 23
We stood by the beach. Ceadda was wearing his war-glory, and Njord and the others had new shields and spears, and sturdy clubs. They had sold the fox-furs in the afternoon, and fetched a hoard of fine weapons and precious iron ingots in return, and it had been a trade to make any man rich. The Hraban’s Kiln was busy as ever, while most of the village had settled into sleep. Dogs were barking in the lands around the town, their howls heralding deaths that night.
There had been no sign of Hrolf yet, and Njord had ran up and down the hill to check the hall of the Boat-Lord, and claimed they were feasting up there. A great many old chiefs were seated next to the master of the land. Hrolf was the guest of honor, poets were reciting stories of heroism, and so they would take a while yet to get down.
‘Do it,’ Ceadda growled.
I gazed at Njord, wishing him luck. He paled, nodded and he and two Saxons walked after him for the great mead-hall. They went in, I saw Njord turn right, the other two left at the door, and gods knew if they might succeed, but if someone could, it would be Njord.
‘There’s a storage room to the right. A large one,’ Ceadda said. ‘It’s going to be lit with fires, because they make the food and fetch the drink there. Yes, there will be fire burning in there. Njord will do well.’ He sounded dubious. ‘His slippery tongue wags, and they will be so confused they’ll do anything to be rid of him. Yea, he’ll succeed, unless he forgets his mission and finds free mead.’
‘The two men make trouble, and he slips in to the storerooms?’ I asked, though I knew that was the plan.
He grunted, as nervous as I was.
Some minutes later, we were rewarded by the sounds of a fight. There was a crash, and men roaring. Someone yelled in pain, a victim of Saxon malice. Then there was a huge uproar, guttural shouts, slapping sounds as men ran. I saw someone was at the doorway, clinging hard to the frame, then more men beyond him, and a punch threw the man from the doorway and he fell to the mud outside. It was one of the Saxons, grinning happily with a bloodied nose. A thick man followed, and he was howling and holding his jaw and a crowd came soon after, pummeling another Saxon who looked a bit torn, but he was calling the Goths nasty names, laughing while he did, protecting his face. There was no sign of Njord. I nodded as Ceadda, who tightened his belt, roared orders and cursed and walked to settle the fight with the remaining Saxon at his side.
I turned and took to the other end of the hall, where there would be rooms and a doorway.
I made my way there, found a drunken man in a doorway, and gingerly stepped over him. I had a long, furry cloak, similar to what Hughnot had given me and I also wore the hood, and made it into the better end of the hall, where men guarded their lord’s rooms. One would be Hrolf’s perhaps, but I didn’t care about that, only the chest. However, one of the men inside cared about me. ‘Hey, what are you about?’ he called as he took a step towards me. He was a tall, well-built warrior, armed with a short spear and clad in leathers. I hesitated, raised a hand towards him apologetically, and turned to the drunk. ‘Just getting my friend here,’ I said and bent to revive the drunk.
The wa
rrior stood there, uncertain. ‘Be swift, then. All the rooms are taken by Hrolf the Ax, the lord’s relative. No vagrants allowed.’
‘Perhaps you should lock the door, then?’ I retorted and kept pulling at the comatose man, wondering if I’d have to risk killing the guard, who was taking angry steps towards me. There were other men behind him in the corridor and I cursed my luck.
Then there was a booming noise.
While fires often begin stealthily, whatever Njord did in the end of the hall was anything but. There was a wave of air that staggered us, a sound of something wooden breaking, and the walls were shaking and groaning, and then there was a cloud dust billowing down from the rafters. The tavern keeper was yelling hysterically and it took only a moment for smoke to start billowing across the roof. I grasped the drunk, the guard spun on his heel and ran to the main room, and coughs and shouts of terror echoed from there. I unceremoniously dropped the man in a pool of mud outside, and rushed back in and across the room after the guard, all the way to the end of corridor, nearly to the main hall.
There were flames smiting the main hall from the end of the room, where the kitchens had once served the customers and the drink had been stored. The wall at the end of the hall, the one separating the storage area from the main hall was a wreck, the roof was tilted, smoldering, and flames licked the ceiling. Men were throwing water on flames, some were rushing out, others back in, and calls for more water could be heard when the flames began to lick the pillars and the benches, driving men away from their attempts to save the place. The tavern keeper and his lot were desperate, and begging for the warriors to help.
All Hrolf’s men were there, either helping, or trying to get out or in.
Save for the guard.
The diligent, nasty bastard came to sight, pulling at the chest. He was dragging it across the floor, towards the corridor, hoping to save it, and I swiftly sneaked back, all the way to Hrolf’s room. I was cursing the man, and taking deep breaths, trying not to cough. I heard the man’s grunts and curses as he dragged the thing across the uneven floor. I waited, nervous to the bone. I had hoped there would be no fight, but of course, it hadn’t been likely. I thumbed the ring of branches on my finger, Saxa’s ring, preparing.
I pulled Hel’s Delight, kissed the blade, and waited.
I heard the scraping sound coming closer. I heard the puffs, the curses. Then the man’s ass appeared, he was pulling the trunk mightily, then the face and the eyes turned my way. He had expected an empty room, and instead found a deadly blade coming for him. I moved fast as a wraith and punched the weapon to his chest. It impaled him, he screamed briefly, and I pushed it all the way through him, embracing him desperately, twisting and pulling at the blade. I looked to the main hall, and nobody could see us. I had succeeded and I laughed wildly, and then disaster struck.
The man didn’t die. He was impossibly tough, and pushed back with a maniac’s strength and we fell into Hrolf’s room. I struck him across his face, breaking his nose, but that didn’t matter to the dying man, who raised an arm.
He held a seax.
It came for my throat, and I twisted my blade in panic. That made him scream with pain, and instead of impaling me, the blade struck my side and I howled, as the chain mail split. The wound was deep, though perhaps not lethal, but it weakened me immediately, and I felt blood flowing. I grasped him to me, kept a hold on Hel’s Delight and we stayed thus, in a deadly embrace. When he finally stopped moving, I pushed him aside. I was seeing dark spots, and while fighting nausea, I pushed and kicked the man to a dark corner and threw a blanket of cheap furs on him.
I staggered out. The smoke billowed thickly across the hallway, and I heard men yelling. I kneeled next to the fine chest, ripped it open, and did my evil deed as fast as I could. Then I retreated to the room, as I saw shadows, coughing specters of warriors rushing nearby. I hid behind the wall, praying they’d not save anything of Hrolf’s from the room, but they stumbled on the chest, took it out swiftly and finally, after coughing terribly, I dragged myself out of the hall that was soon a sea of flames.
Later, we looked on as Hraban’s Kiln burnt. People were dousing fires in the nearby houses and it felt somewhat appropriate to end Hughnot’s schemes like they had started. I grasped Ceadda, and wondered at Njord whose beard had burnt, his clothes had blackened, and who had a terrified, huge-eyed look on his face. He waved towards the flames. ‘There was a tub of liquid. A lot of it. I just dropped a burning log into it to douse it after I had used it to start a fire in a stack of kindling,’ he whispered.
‘Why,’ Ceadda asked thinly, ‘would you bother dousing a log you just used to start a fire with?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just did. I like the sound when fire goes out. But it didn’t go out, oh no. It went boom. I was thrown through the wall.’
‘Ignore him,’ Ceadda said desperately. He was looking at Hrolf, who had rushed down from the top with the Boat-Lord’s guards, and they were organizing the chaos. The precious chest was carried to the side, and there was a great deal of commotion as they counted men and found some missing and then, after half an hour he ordered the chest to be picked up, and they started up the hill.
‘Wait for me,’ I said weakly and walked after the Goths.
‘We’ll wait for you,’ he said and turned to make our boat ready.
It was time to see a murderous lord fall.
CHAPTER 24
The Silver Anvil of Boat-Lord was eerily like the Bone-Hall. Friednot, having no imagination, had tried to emulate their father’s house, but had succeeded only partly. Where the Bone-Hall was a ghastly, smoky affair, the walls of Boat-Lord were painted white. It was an oddly clean hall, the slaves well dressed and healthy, and the only contrast to all of this finery was the man sitting on the wide throne at the end of the hall, under the most gigantic antlers I had ever seen, stretching left and right across the wall in all its bone-white glory.
The man was ancient.
His hair was gone, and only stubble remained. His belly was round and large, while his chest looked fragile, and his face was lean, but there was an ample amount of extra skin under his chin, suggesting he had once been corpulent, but was sick and old now, holding a weak hand across his stomach.
And that, of course, was why Hughnot had wanted to ally with him, I thought.
If Hughnot, a lord as high as any in the land, would return to the fold, he would rule vast lands when the old man died. He would deal with the lords who had served the Boat-Lord since Friednot and Hughnot had left the island. He’d scheme, he’d have power, because he was the son of the Boat-Lord, no matter how errant. Perhaps his dreams of power across the seas had not been lies after all. He could have it all, even more if he ruled Hogholm. I stood near the gigantic door that was guarded by men both wide and vigilant. Rows of warriors stood to the sides. Lords—well-armed and nervous—looked at Hrolf, who stood tall as a young god in the midst of his men. The Black Goths had tried to rub the soot from their skin, but had failed. They were an impressive party, nonetheless, over thirty men with long spears and wide shields, many dressed in leather armor. I swooned with weakness as I stared at the hated murderer of Saxa. Hrolf was now walking forward to the unkind-looking host, my great grandfather, ancient as a moldy rock, and Hrolf was bowing his head, gesturing for the men to bring forth the chest. It too, was blackened in places.
My plan was suicidal. Mad, even.
I had not fully shared it with Ceadda, but I begged the gods would show him their favor, and he’d escape. I might not be able to. I’d probably die there. He knew it, I was sure.
I’d not leave before Hrolf stopped breathing, no matter what it took.
They’d be fine, I thought. Their job was to capture the chain and the fort from the sleepy guards, and there would be a rowboat for me, but it was not likely I’d use it.
I watched behind the guard’s backs as the hated enemy of mine walked forward. His men crowded after him and were stopped just shy of the
throne, as our great grandfather gestured them to kneel. They put down the chest, and went to both knees, which must have irked the proud Goths terribly, but Hrolf went down also. And then he spoke. ‘This, Lord, is the beginning of a new start for our families. Let the wound mend, finally. My father erred in following Friednot, and freely admits it. Much harm has come out of it.’
The ancient man nodded, but could not resist a dry barb. His voice was like the grating of whetstone on a spear blade, and he waved his hand weakly. ‘I’ll want to hear it from his lips one day. For now, this will do. Allies again. So be it, though I lack the Svea woman hostage.’
‘I lack a wife, but Gislin is dead, and Tiw knows who rules them now. Yet, I know we shall win together.’
The Boat-Lord grunted. ‘Yes, we shall. But it shall be costly. This Saxa died in the battle, they say?’ the old man asked with a wry, evil smile.
Hrolf was not shaken by the question. He shrugged. ‘She drowned herself. Did so after hearing of the loss of her brother and father. She had a weak, cowardly heart. And I would agree to marry a woman of your choosing, great Lord, if you tell me whom,’ Hrolf said smoothly.
I had to stop myself from entering the hall.
‘Sad,’ the Boat-Lord uttered, not believing a word about Saxa. ‘She could have been useful, despite the loss of her father. If her bothersome brother died, she actually might have ruled them. With a good husband, it would have aided us all. Now many Goths will die, when we could have had the Svea take the losses when we take the coast.’
I felt tears fill my eyes, and pushed them away angrily. I clutched a weapon under my cloak and smiled at a guard who glanced at me, and turned back to the hall.
‘It is truly sad she did this to herself,’ Hrolf said with barely hidden satisfaction. ‘I failed to expect it,’ he added, but I could hear from his voice he relished the memory. He had enjoyed the pain he had inflicted me. He no doubt was thinking about it right then and there.
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 35
