The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set

by Peter Fox

  ‘I mean it, Leif,’ Rathulf said, his anger rising over his friend’s transformation due to the despicable man’s arrival. It was as though the avalanche and Leif’s extraordinary heroism had never happened. ‘You’re not going back there. Ever.’

  ‘And how are you going to make that happen, bacraut?’ came a voice from the doorway. Alrik stormed into the room and walked straight up to Rathulf, ignoring the others; completely unaware he was interrupting an important moment. ‘You didn’t answer me, drittsekk: why did you hit me?’ He grabbed Rathulf by the arm and hauled him roughly to his feet. Rathulf let out a cry and knocked over the mead jug as he tried to find his balance. Alrik deftly avoided the splashing liquid, having no wish to soil his clothes.

  ‘Alrik!’ Ingrith protested, ‘you’ll hurt him.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Alrik responded.

  ‘Don’t,’ Leif said, coming back to himself and seizing Alrik’s free arm.

  Alrik released Rathulf and shoved Leif out of the way. Then he turned back to Rathulf and stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at his friend. Dried blood smeared his cheek, and his upper lip had started to swell. Rathulf fell back to the bench, croaking in pain.

  ‘Why?’ Alrik demanded of Rathulf, genuinely bemused. ‘It’s not like I didn’t say what everyone was thinking. Next thing I know you’re punching me in the face.’

  Ingrith rolled her eyes. ‘You are so dumb,’ she said.

  ‘You’re being a jerk, Alrik,’ Rathulf said between clenched teeth. ‘Leif deserves credit for what he did, and he’s not going back with his father.’

  ‘Really?’ Alrik said. ‘Well, you can tell that to Horik, because he’s here. You’d better get out there, Leif.’

  Rathulf heard the commotion down at the water’s edge as Horik’s longship ground onto the beach, followed by the thump and crunch of boots as the men left the boat and jumped down onto the shore.

  ‘No,’ Rathulf said. ‘He’ll stay here until we can go back and rebuild Thorvaldsby.’ He spoke directly to Leif. ‘Father’s offer still stands. Our hearth is yours.’

  ‘You don’t have a hearth anymore!’ Alrik pointed out.

  ‘I’ve already told you, we’re going to rebuild my garth.’

  ‘That so-called farm is a waste of time, Rathulf!’ Alrik protested. ‘How do you propose to work the place on your own? Your father will be lucky to ever walk again, and that’s if he lives at all.’

  ‘He will live!’ Rathulf said, shocked at Alrik’s insensitivity. ‘Helga says it’s likely he’ll awaken any day now.’

  His indignation was mirrored by Ingrith, who threw a black scowl at her cousin.

  ‘You’re also forgetting our plan,’ Rathulf continued. ‘We’re all going raiding this summer – you, me and Leif – and we’ll return richer than all our fathers combined. I’ll have a boatload of slaves to do all the work, remember? What’s all this really about, Alrik? Why do you hate Leif all of a sudden?’

  Alrik rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t hate Leif. I just don’t understand why you’d want to go back to that stupid hovel again.’

  ‘Because it’s his home, thickhead,’ Ingrith said, sitting down next to Rathulf and holding his hand.

  ‘That’s right,’ Rathulf agreed, smiling at Ingrith in thanks. Alrik would never comprehend the importance of that little plot of land to him. ‘I’ve already told you. I want to live at Aurlandsfjorden. It’s where I belong.’ He paused, realising what he was saying, then he smiled to himself. And there I’d been complaining to my father how much I hated the place! ‘Anyway,’ he added, knowing there could be no argument against this point because Sigvald was forever harping on it, ‘the Gods went out of their way to put Thorvald and me together fifteen summers ago, and that’s obviously how it was meant to be.’

  ‘But that’s where you’re wrong! Don’t you get it? What other signs do you need?’

  ‘Signs? Of what?’

  ‘That you’re not meant to live there!’ Alrik said emphatically. ‘The Gods will wreck any house you try to rebuild, and the next time it happens someone will die. They’re trying to tell you what Thorvald and uncle Sigvald won’t!’ He stopped himself, and it was clear to Rathulf that his friend had just said something he shouldn’t.

  ‘Alrik!’ Ingrith protested, ‘what a terrible thing to say!’

  ‘What haven’t they told me?’ Rathulf asked, feeling a peculiar tingling in his stomach.

  Alrik dropped his eyes, and Rathulf saw guilt and indecision in his friend’s expression. Suddenly Rathulf regretted having asked. Was there also a hint of maliciousness behind Alrik’s words? ‘I’m not supposed to say,’ Alrik said.

  ‘Ignore him Ra,’ Ingrith interrupted. ‘He’s just trying to get back at you for taking Leif’s side.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with Leif?’ Alrik said irritably. ‘There’s no point rebuilding your home because you shouldn’t be here at all.’

  ‘Not that again?’ Rathulf said with resignation. ‘You’re as bad as Gunnar. So what if I’m not true-born like you? Sure, my mother was a slave and my birth-father a fisherman, but Thorvald adopted me. I’m Rathulf Thorvaldarsson, Norseman of Aurlandsfjorden.’ Despite his bravado, his stomach felt as though he’d just swallowed a handful of dragonflies.

  ‘No you aren’t, and nor were you ever meant to be.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Ingrith cried, grabbing her cousin and dragging him away from Rathulf. ‘You know as well as I do that Ra is a freeman. He has every right to be here.’

  ‘I didn’t say otherwise,’ Alrik said. ‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Then what are you saying?’ Rathulf demanded angrily. His guts wrenched at the thought that there might be something so terrible that had been kept from him for all this time. Could Gunnar be right? Is there some rule or law that says I cannot claim my place among the men because I am a foreigner, the son of a slave? Was that it? Could it be that I cannot take the Leap after all? But I have to be a Norseman. My whole existence depends upon it.

  ‘You were never a slave, Ra,’ Alrik went on. ‘In fact, you couldn’t be further from it if you tried. This is about who you really are. The secret’s been kept from you all your life. Thorvald, Sigvald, my father and all their crews swore a blood-pact to say nothing about it. That’s a pretty big secret, don’t you think? You’re about to become a man, and Thorvald and Sigvald have been fighting over whether or not to tell you the truth. I heard them arguing myself this autumn. Sigvald wants you to know, but Thorvald isn’t so sure. He says you’re a Viking now, and that the past should stay buried. The problem is, according to the pact, only Thorvald is allowed to tell you, but now that he’s likely to die–’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Ingrith said, seeing Rathulf’s distress. ‘He’s making it all up. If any of it is true, then ask him to prove it.’

  Rathulf stared at Alrik. How had the conversation turned from Alrik’s jealousy of Leif to this?

  ‘Prove it,’ Ingrith repeated. ‘How do we know you’re telling the truth?’

  ‘The trunk!’ Rathulf whispered, the pieces suddenly falling into place. On the night of the avalanche, his father had tried to tell his adopted son the truth, but Rathulf had not understood what he’d been saying. It’s like Alrik says, Rathulf realised. Father was asking me who I wanted to be. I told him that I was a Viking. That’s why he picked up the box and took it outside. He was respecting my choice. But what had happened to it, and more importantly, what was in it? I was following him out when we stumbled upon Leif in the snow, so we forgot about it, and then the avalanche came. Rathulf looked up at Alrik, shocked.

  Alrik looked back at his friend triumphantly. ‘So you do believe me then?’ he asked.

  Rathulf closed his eyes, trying to rekindle the memory of that night and his conversation with his father. He’d definitely had a large box, but Rathulf had always believed he’d been given what little had survived from his homeland. Was there more?

  ‘Alrik!’ boomed a voice
from outside. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from Rathulf!’ Sigvald stepped into the room and directed his stern gaze at Rathulf. ‘Has he been causing any trouble?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Alrik said with a conspiratorial wink to Rathulf, and before anyone could respond, the young Norseman stepped past his uncle and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  9. A bland meal

  Bardisby, Sognefjorden, Norvegr

  ‘What’s he been saying?’ Sigvald demanded, seeing Rathulf’s troubled expression. Rathulf stared at his uncle, part of him wondering whether Sigvald could possibly have been involved in a conspiracy – whatever it was – for so long. Thorvald was Sigvald’s closest friend, and when they had been younger, the two had been inseparable. Something had happened to cause them to go their separate ways, although the rift had never been total. Could it have been me? he wondered.

  ‘Rathulf?’ Sigvald asked. ‘What’s going on? Damn it, I don’t have time for this now.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Ingrith said quickly, rising from the bench and standing between Rathulf and her father. ‘Alrik just wanted to know why Rathulf hit him.’

  Sigvald raised an eyebrow, looking none too impressed. ‘He really didn’t know?’

  Ingrith shrugged.

  ‘That boy’s head is too far up his own–,’ Sigvald began, but he didn’t get a chance to finish, for he was interrupted by a harsh voice from outside.

  ‘Boy, come out here NOW!’

  Leif flinched at the sound of his father’s barked command.

  ‘I’m sorry Leif,’ Sigvald said, ‘but you’d better come out. Your father is none too happy and is demanding we hand you over.’

  ‘Well, he’s made a wasted journey,’ Rathulf said firmly, ‘because Leif is staying here.’

  ‘I’ve already told him that, but it’s not going to be that simple. Horik’s brought a few friends along, and Bardi is ill-inclined to resist, given we’re outnumbered.’

  Rathulf glanced at Leif, whose face had paled further. ‘I’m not afraid of him.’

  ‘BOY!’

  ‘Leif?’ Sigvald said, standing aside to let Leif through.

  Rathulf struggled to his feet, half expecting Sigvald to restrain him, but the jarl offered a helping hand instead. Leif hovered just inside the doorway, then he took a breath and was about to step outside when Rathulf grabbed his arm and held him back. Rathulf saw the fear behind Leif’s eyes, and he knew exactly what would happen to his companion if he was allowed to be taken onto Horik’s longship. Rathulf shook his head. ‘I’ll go,’ he said and stepped outside. He ducked under the lintel to find himself facing a dozen heavily-armed men. At their centre stood Leif’s father, feet apart, arms crossed, glaring at Bardi, who in turn stood between the men and the guest hut. Ottar and a few others stood alongside Bardi, but most were unarmed and would be little match for Horik’s thugs. Rathulf felt movement at his elbow and glanced to his right to see that Sigvald had stepped up beside him.

  Horik was a stocky man with a broad chest, strong arms and thick neck. His dark eyebrows emphasised his pale blue eyes, and his face was made all the more brutish by the odd angle of his broken nose. Unlike many of his followers, he was without a beard, but stubble smudged his square jaw. His thin-lipped mouth was drawn into a severe line, and it was with some force that he now directed his gaze at Rathulf.

  ‘Where is he?’ Horik growled.

  ‘He is my guest,’ Rathulf responded, then he realised how ridiculous that sounded, given that he himself was a guest of Bardi.

  ‘The boy doesn’t have my permission to be here. Bring him out.’

  ‘No.’

  Horik cocked an eyebrow and smiled. ‘That’s up to Bardi Twig-legs here, and he’s hardly going to take orders from a slave who wets himself like a baby.’

  ‘Wets? I… How?’ Rathulf was so outraged by Horik’s comment that he simply couldn’t find words in response. Horik’s men all laughed at his indignation, and it was then that Rathulf spotted Gunnar standing among them, sniggering at him with delight. Rathulf glanced beyond them to the ship, and his heart sank; it was Gunnar’s drakkar. Which meant that in all likelihood this was entirely Gunnar’s doing. He’s probably been waiting all this time for an opportunity to go fetch his uncle and bring him here to cause trouble, Rathulf thought. Does Eirik know what Gunnar is up to?

  ‘That’s enough,’ Sigvald snapped, glaring at Horik. ‘Make another remark like that and you’ll be leaving here without the benefit of your head. Leif is free to stay as long as he wishes.’

  Horik feigned surprise. ‘Really? Forgive me, but this is not your steading.’

  Horik looked to Bardi for confirmation. ‘Leif stays,’ Bardi responded coldly.

  ‘Damn right,’ Rathulf growled.

  Horik shrugged. ‘I was only trying to be polite.’ He turned to Sigvald. ‘Where is Thorvald?’

  ‘Leave him out of it,’ Sigvald warned.

  ‘No matter. Rathulf Thorvaldarsson, I charge you and your father before these witnesses of the kidnap of my son. Sigvald Sigurdsson and Bardi Thorleifsson, I name you as accomplices.’

  ‘What?’ Sigvald roared. ‘I’ll give you kidnap!’ Unlike Bardi, who had been keeping a safe distance between himself and Horik, Sigvald stepped up to the unpleasant man and stood within a hand-span of his face. Horik appeared unruffled.

  ‘Leif came to Rathulf’s of his own free will,’ Sigvald continued angrily, ‘because he was thrown out of his home by his scum-sucking father. That’ll be you, by the way. No one has kidnapped anyone, as you well know.’

  ‘Really,’ Horik replied, ignoring Sigvald’s slight. ‘We’ll let the assembly decide that, shall we? I never gave Leif permission to go to Rathulf’s. For all I know he could have been held against his will all this time.’

  ‘There will be no trial,’ Sigvald growled.

  ‘Suit yourself. We can resolve this here and now.’ Horik rested his hand significantly on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘It’s all right, Sigvald. I’ll go.’

  Everyone turned to see Leif appear in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Rathulf ordered his friend.

  ‘Keep out of this, thrall,’ Horik warned Rathulf. He turned to his son. ‘Get over here, boy.’

  Leif began to move.

  ‘Leif,’ Rathulf said, throwing his friend a pleading look.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Leif said, distraught. ‘Let him kill you on my account? Forget it, Ra. It’s best I just go.’

  ‘He can’t take you against your will,’ Rathulf countered, but when Leif just shook his head helplessly, Rathulf turned instead to Alrik for support. Alrik stood with Ingrith and the other girls, well out of harm’s way. For a moment, Rathulf was sure that Alrik – still smarting over their earlier encounter – was about to let them down, but he surprised Rathulf completely. He walked the few steps across to Leif and stood in front of him, crossed his arms, then offered Horik a cold smile.

  ‘If you want him, you’ll have to take me down first.’

  Horik glared at Alrik, then his expression changed as he took in Alrik’s swollen lip and the fresh bruise developing under the boy’s left eye. He pointed at Alrik and Rathulf in turn, then he smiled. ‘Have you two been fighting over my son? You have!’ he exclaimed, barely able to contain his delight. His men sniggered in mocking approval. Horik pointed again at Alrik. ‘I’ll wager an ounce of gold that you wanted him gone.’

  Alrik’s silence gave him the answer.

  ‘I wonder what this is costing you then, standing up for my pathetic boy when you hate him so much? What they say must be true: you really will do anything for your kuksuger boyfriend, won’t you?’

  ‘Be silent, Horik,’ Bardi snarled, grasping his son’s arm to restrain him. ‘Another word like that and I’ll cut out your tongue. Now take your men and get off my land.’

  Horik considered Bardi for a moment, then he turned to Rathulf and tilted his head. ‘I must admit that from Gunnar’s description
of your injuries, I was expecting you to be flat on your back.’ His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. ‘I hear that’s what you prefer.’

  ‘Fæn ta deg!’ Alrik spat, struggling against his father’s iron grip.

  Rathulf glared at Leif’s odious father, hating him all the more for his inflammatory words, knowing that the Viking wanted a fight, aware that Alrik was ripe for baiting, and hating himself for landing Alrik in the thick of it.

  ‘Leave, Haraldsson,’ Bardi growled. ‘Now.’

  ‘Not without my son,’ Horik replied, chillingly calm.

  ‘Stop!’ Leif said, but no one paid him any attention.

  ‘Forget it,’ Sigvald said.

  ‘Hand over my son. Now.’

  ‘Stop!’ Leif cried again.

  ‘Or what?’ Sigvald said to Horik, unfazed.

  ‘Or we fight,’ Horik snarled back.

  ‘So let’s fight!’ Alrik shouted, wrenching himself from his father’s grasp and snatching at his sword.

  ‘About time,’ Horik snarled, ripping his own sword from its scabbard. Suddenly there was the hiss and clank of blades being drawn all around them.

  ‘This has gone quite far enough!’ came a woman’s voice, firm and clear. Ignoring the mass of weaponry pointed in her direction, Helga strode up to Horik, pushing her husband and nephew out of the way as she swept past. She snatched the sword from Horik’s hand as if he was a naughty boy brandishing a stick, then she recklessly flung the heavy weapon aside, causing Horik’s men to scatter as the slashing blade span towards them.

  ‘What the…?’ Horik blurted. ‘Out of my way woman!’ he roared, raising his fist.

  ‘Take Leif and be gone,’ Helga spat back, ignoring his threatening posture. ‘I’ll have no blood shed on my father’s ground. You are a loathsome toad, Horik, and in the way of the Gods, your rudeness and cruelty will be repaid to you in plenty. In the meantime, if I learn that you raise so much as a harsh word against your son, I will come after you, and just as I retrieved my stolen drakkar fifteen summers ago, so I will call upon Aegir and have him drag you and that pitiful little færing of yours to the bottom of the sea where you belong. Now get off my land.’