by Jason Born
“Then why wait to find out?” asked Killian.
“What?”
“While you sleep out in the street your Leif, Magnus, and Tyrkr make plans with Gudruna and Godfrey and his crew. I assumed you knew because as I left with your food, Leif was giving you credit for the plan to invade Anglesey ahead of Dal Riata.”
I gave a heavy sigh. So it was true. The stories swirling in my head about treasures were not drunken dreams. “Then I might as well go find out the manner of my death. You know it’s madness to attack a grave with a thousand draugr standing guard.”
Killian extended his hand for the plate and said, “I think not. Remember, I go with you on this strandhogg of yours. God has much work for me yet to do, especially on King Godfrey. And since I’ll be standing next to you in the shield wall and since I don’t mean to die, you’ll probably survive for a few more years.”
I didn’t believe him at the time. A shield wall filled with twenty thousand hardened Norse and Dane warriors couldn’t survive a battle with ghosts and spirits. And we did not have twenty thousand. We had two ships worth of fighters, one filled with experienced men, the other filled with green men from Eystribyggo.
But we also had and an impish Christian priest.
. . .
When Killian and I returned to Godfrey’s hall, the priest dropped my empty plate onto one of the great tables that were still being cleared of the remnants of last night’s festivities. The dish made a clattering racket so that the king and his advisors abruptly stopped their conversation and peered into the smoky haze that drifted up from the hearth. The slaves, too, stopped their work at the commotion. The king saw Killian’s and my approach and quickly returned his attention to their meeting. The household thralls, one, the snarling, grubby young girl with bare feet, again began picking up the mess scattered about.
We moved easily and briskly across the cleared floor. Just a half day earlier the free men of the village and surrounding areas had littered every ell of space on that ground. Most of them had now retreated back to their shops and farms. Actually, all of them save the large Lady Edana’s husband had left.
Horse Ketil sat upright on a bench at the far end of the mead hall. His trousers still shone wet from his night of revelry. One leg was crossed on a knee. He sat back against a table, relaxing as if he were king. Ketil held a wide parchment in front of his chest and pointed to something on it with an extended finger. Two other men, strangers to me, talked in hushed tones with Ketil.
Killian caught my glance. “That’s Horse Ketil if you don’t know him.” He said the name derisively. “He’s a mischievous Manx. I don’t trust him. I think he used contacts in Dal Riata to ambush us there. I think he’ll do it again.”
“Why have Godfrey ambushed? And if he did, why do you not tell the king your concerns?” I asked like a simpleton. Ketil’s two companions skulked out of the hall through a back exit. The Manx noble rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into his soft leather jerkin.
The priest shook his head in disgust. “Politics of the Irish Sea. Godfrey lost most of his tiny army over the last twelve months. Here and there the raids haven’t gone well. Horse Ketil could have a thousand well-armed farmers at our doors in a day. That would be enough to end Godfrey’s reign.”
“And so Godfrey placates him. The king is afraid of what Horse Ketil can do,” I said.
“That sums it up. He treats Ketil with too much deference until the king has rebuilt his own forces. At that point I’ll encourage Godfrey to push his fat cousin and Horse Ketil off the banks of this island so their heads can crash against the rocks.” Killian then seized my arm, looked toward the king to make certain no one saw, and shoved a pair of bone dice into my hands. The priest stood on his toes and whispered into my ear. “Put these into your empty purse. Bring them out at the proper time.”
I was about to ask him what he meant when Killian noticed my scarred and mangled ear. “What happened to that?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Skraelings.” I pointed toward Leif with my nose. “Without him, the spear would have buried itself in my eye and not merely torn off half of my ear.” Killian studied the ear for a moment more. He gave me a knowing glance with raised eyebrows. “Providence,” he said, before quietly leading me to the conference.
We entered the circle of war planners just as Leif was finishing his second or third round of pleading for Godfrey to follow his mad plan to invade Anglesey. “It’s an unguarded treasure!” called young Leif, seemingly unaware that he was shouting at a king.
Godfrey pulled the mustache of his beard to the side as he thought. “That is not what you said just a few moments ago. You said that an army of draugr acted as sentries.”
“Indeed, that is what I said. But you need not worry about that since I have survived a night on a barrow mound, awake,” countered Leif.
I could see that Godfrey and Randulfr, who stood to the side of the king, were nearly bent by the simple argument. Christians or not, they knew what abilities Leif had likely gained from his brush with the spirits. Gudruna gave Leif a playful wink, approving of his line of reasoning.
King Godfrey frowned. “You nearly had me there, but I’m not going to be swayed by your green eyes quite as easily as the queen. I’ve been to Anglesey before.” The king looked to Randulfr. “What fifteen, sixteen years ago?”
Randulfr nodded with a scowl.
“And you’d think if there was anything to be had on Anglesey that I would have returned in all that time, but I haven’t. I’m here to tell you that the defenses are nearly non-existent. There’s good reason for that, however, since there’s not much to plunder. Even their churches are poor. Poor churches! Can you imagine that Killian?”
“A travesty that a king such as you would never allow befall our fine Manx institutions,” said Killian with great political deftness.
The king nodded his approval at the priest and glared at Leif. “I like your enthusiasm, young Norseman, but you don’t know the area. Give me a mint. Oh, the English and their mints! That is something worth plundering.” The king again looked to Randulfr. “Five, six years ago when we had our best year of looting – Wales and Cornwall and Devon and the former Mercia – what was the name of the mint?”
“Chester,” Randulfr barked. He said it as a rebuke to Leif.
“That was a fitting raid. Not only did we take many pennies with King Aethelred’s pretty face staring back at me, but they still had buckets of coins with the English version of King Solomon. We snatched those too.” This time Godfrey went to the expert on the Bible. He looked to Killian for help with the particulars of the tale.
The priest said, “Like Solomon, King Godfrey, the English King Edgar was able to lead during a peaceful period because of all the hard work wrought by his forefathers, Alfred and Edward and all. You, I’m afraid, King Godfrey, don’t have that luxury.” Killian glanced over to Horse Ketil who returned the look with his own sarcastic smile. “Your father, Harald of Bayeux, was strong, but came up by more modest means. You are required to pursue a more aggressive strategy. King David may be a better model for you.”
Godfrey rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t looking for a model, priest.” He returned his gaze to Leif. “So, I was saying there is nothing there worth raiding. We will have to attack Dal Riata with what we’ve got.”
Ketil was suddenly behind me. “Let’s go to Anglesey. I’ve met the ruler there,” he said. He stunk of day-old urine.
“Where was your support last night during the Tynwald?” asked Godfrey. “Don’t think I didn’t see you spreading seeds of discontent through the crowd.”
Ketil gave a playful shrug. “My support was stuck on the film at the bottom of an ale mug.” He pointed to his pants.
“That’s not his reason,” barked Killian.
“Shut up, priest,” said Godfrey. Killian shook his head and folded his arms.
“No, I take no offence from the Irishman,” said Ketil. “The priest wants what’s best. The truth is th
at so do I.” I didn’t believe his words at this point, but had to admit that my view of him was skewed by the priest and Loki from the night before. “I can’t suggest that my fellow Manx throw in with you until you prove yourself victorious once again.”
Godfrey frowned. He bobbed his head sideways, acknowledging some of the truth of what Ketil said. He returned to tugging his beard. “It’s just no good.”
Gudruna was shaking her head. Her long hair had been pulled back up in the braids expected of a respectable married woman. I smiled as I thought of her illicit tryst with Leif when she’d let the hair cascade over her bare shoulders. “Regardless of the Manx lack of support, husband, king, it would seem that something worth taking is on Anglesey, for Eyvind said as much in the wee moments of this very morning.”
The king crunched his brow. “Is he the source for the fable?”
Leif looked at me. I opened my eyes wide in surprise, preferring to not be pulled into a verbal battle with a king, no matter how unsuccessful his latest fortunes had been. Even though both Gudruna and Leif knew the answer, everyone waited on me. “Yes.”
“Then it’s either a spun tale or truth. There’s no in between with Eyvind. I think that is why they call him the Troublesome. You can never tell.” I smiled amidst the cover of my long blonde beard since I knew the true story behind Eyvind’s moniker. “Find him and bring him to me.”
“He left this morning on a knarr bound for the south of England,” said Killian.
“Then can we please stop talking in circles about a fortune in land devoid of wealth?” growled Godfrey. It wasn’t a question.
The queen ignored her husband. “King Godfrey, there are men in this room who believe the treasure is there and that it will be enough for you to use build an army.” She looked at Ketil. “Will you be more aggressive in your support of the rightful king if he comes back from Anglesey with ample plunder?”
Ketil didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“Then it’s settled. Dal Riata cannot be effectively raided with two longboats worth of men, even those as fine as yours. You’ll rebuild your army from among the Manx upon your return.”
“It’s no good,” Godfrey muttered.
Gudruna turned to Killian as she spoke. “I think we ought to seek the council of the One God as well as the luck of the old gods that these foreigners bring back to our shores. Why not cast lots and let the fate woven by the norns decide whether or not you go to Anglesey?”
Godfrey grimaced. “How will casting lots be like seeking our Christian God’s guidance? Just last week our priest here excoriated us about the evils of gambling.”
“This won’t be gambling, husband.” She patted him gently on his chest. “It will be using fortune for divination. And the best way to incorporate the One God’s direction is to use dice from our local priest.” Gudruna didn’t wait for her husband to answer. “Leif, you advocate an attack on Anglesey. Ketil does too. Randulfr, you do as well.” Randulfr appeared surprised by the woman’s assertion, but obviously had, from experience, gained the sense to avoid a conflict with her. He merely nodded. “Since you three will be affected by the king’s casting of lots as much as he, will you accept the course that the dice lay bare?” Gudruna finished with another nearly imperceptible wink to Leif. She offered one to Killian, who answered her by surreptitiously pointing toward me. I was utterly confused.
Randulfr and Leif gave the queen a slight bow. “We will.”
Ketil simply said, “Aye.”
“There you have it, husband. These men,” began Gudruna.
“These men are trying to trick me and you are in league with them,” accused Godfrey. “I’d sooner sail the rolling slopes of Meiti with a fieldstone as a ship than accept dice from Killian. The entire island knows that he has dozens of weighted pairs that he uses to teach lessons to those caught in the sin of gambling.” The king stood and paced in front of his throne for two full passes. “But every respectable Norseman, especially those who still follow the old gods, has dice of his own. Since this Halldorr has no spear in this fight, I’ll use his.” It was Killian’s turn to give Gudruna a secret wink.
I decided that now was the proper time mentioned earlier by Killian. I reached into my mostly empty purse, pushed aside the lone silver Kufic, and snatched up the dice Killian had given to me on the way in. Godfrey quickly snagged them for himself and walked over to the low stone wall that held up the mighty roof. As he crouched, preparing to throw the dice, I marveled at how adroitly Gudruna had helped turn the argument from certain defeat to one that would hinge on Killian’s loaded dice.
Horse Ketil grinned as if he, too, already knew the outcome. Perhaps it was he who was manipulating the strings of all of us.
While we all began huddling around the king, Godfrey fished into his jerkin and pulled out a small gold cross that hung from his neck. He put it to his lips and kissed it. Then the king clutched the dice in one hand, closed his eyes, and mumbled a prayer. It started in the Latin, which I was quickly tiring of hearing, before it morphed into a familiar Norse expression that asked for Thor’s favor. Before the last words escaped the king’s mouth, he tossed the dice. They rattled and vaulted their way to the wall, struck it, and bounced their way back. Godfrey’s head was in the way and I couldn’t see the result. I didn’t have to, for the king swore bitterly against his Christian God.
“Godfrey,” Killian scolded.
The king swore again as he rose, kicking the dice so that they bounced off the feet of Horse Ketil. “I am sorry, father,” said King Godfrey, genuinely. But then he swore again.
“It looks as though we attack a non-existent cadre of draugr in the non-existent grave of a non-existent king for non-existent wealth to help me raise what will be a non-existent army,” said the king sarcastically.
Leif, Killian, and Gudruna smiled. Randulfr growled, for he had been to Anglesey and thought it would be nothing more than a chase of the mythical.
Horse Ketil turned and walked across the hall to sit back down on his bench. He snatched a stray jug of ale from a table. The Manx noble chuckled to himself.
The king clapped his hands to end the meeting.
We filed out into the sun. I remember thinking that if all those things the king listed were truly non-existent, that would be the best chance any of us had for survival.
I did not look forward to going to war with ghosts, but that is just what we meant to do.
. . .
It was quite easy for an experienced raider king to arrange and equip a short expedition of just two ships. Since we planned on a total time for the outbound and return trip in the Irish Sea to be just one full day and since we hoped to run onto the island, steal the treasure, and scurry home without giving King Maredubb time to mount an attack, Godfrey asked that only three days worth of foodstuffs be spread between the longboats. Hudfats were crammed with bread recently made over the king’s hearth as well as the hearths of many of the village residents. Since the voyage was to be so quick, I looked forward to having to scrape mold from the bread for perhaps just a single a day. Several large barrels of ale were tightly secured at each ship’s center around and over the mastfish. Heavily salted eel and turbot filets were packed in a trunk onboard each ship so that we didn’t have to chase over the countryside and delay our march in search of meat. Livestock was left behind as I learned that for almost all strandhoggs, thievery was the preferred method of finding additional sustenance. Other than the rats in the bilge, the king’s lone horse was our only animal companion.
The two warships thus packed were the small and fat Charging Boar, under Leif’s command, and Godfrey’s flagship, Raven’s Cross, a name that I thought took the menace associated with the great, black bird and ruined it with a reference to the Christian faith. Despite the feeble name, it was a long, sleek boat with lines that looked like they could slice right through any waves that Aegir would place in the ship’s path. Dangling from both hands, I hung down from the forestay of Charging Boar, watc
hing Raven’s Cross like a lustful old man watched a barefooted maiden carry a basket of eggs back into her father’s house. She was a fine ship.
“You want your own boat someday?” asked Magnus as he dropped a heavy spare rope into place up on the steering deck, aft of where he would control the rudder.
I had never thought of it. Growing up, as you know, I wanted a home, a woman, a place to hunt and fish, and gaggles of children. I pushed back and forth on my dangling toes and gently swung on the forestay. “She’s pretty isn’t she?”
“She is,” agreed Magnus. The helmsman then jabbed my ribs. “Come on, Leif has a present for you.”
I dropped to my feet and rapped Magnus’ forehead with my knuckles. He swatted the hand away and laughed. “Where is the little red-haired son of a jarl?” I asked in a manner that said to be the son of a jarl was a dishonor, which, of course, it wasn’t. “He’d better have something nice for me since he’s getting us into one mess after another.” Actually, I was the one who first volunteered to be a part of Godfrey’s crew. But I was drunk. You know that.
Magnus led me to the gunwale over which we leapt easily, thinking nothing of the jarring vibrations that greeted our knees when our young feet slapped against the narrow oak dock. He pointed to the shore and there I saw Leif wearing a grin that overshadowed his orange and blue striped cloak, a gift from Gudruna. He was a point of calm amidst a sea of marching warriors, servants, villagers, and thralls who put the finishing touches on the details of the voyage. Next to him stood a knobby-kneed, barefoot girl aged about six summers. It was the dirty household thrall I had seen working in Godfrey’s hall. “This can’t be good,” I mumbled as we approached the pair.
I opened my mouth to question and protest whatever he had in mind, but Leif held up a hand. I clamped that mouth shut because even though when he cut me off like that, it sent a bolt of fury coursing through my veins, I had learned the confident lad was usually correct in what he said next. “You have no say in the matter. You were bound to my father. We were exiled together. You’re bound to me.” I huffed and shook my head like an ambling toddler getting ready to fall to the ground in hysterics, but Leif was correct and I didn’t argue. He continued. “Someone must take care of you. Our old goddess Friggas has clearly forgotten all about you. This is Aoife. She’s to take care of you.”
