The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set

by Peter Fox

  Rathulf’s face paled. ‘On my birthday he had a big box wrapped in an oilskin, but he never showed me what was in it. He said something about me being a Viking now, and took it outside. I wanted to ask him about it, but then we found Leif and the avalanche happened that same night.’

  ‘After you found out about the trunk?’

  Rathulf nodded.

  Sigvald closed his eyes. Now it all started to make sense. Thorvald had kept his promise after all. He’d obviously retrieved the trunk with the intention of giving it to Rathulf but had changed course at the last moment. He’d made a decision, but it had been the wrong one, and so the Gods had acted.

  ‘Sigvald?’ Rathulf asked, looking very worried now.

  ‘Stay here,’ Sigvald said. He turned on his heel and marched quickly back up to the hall, anger and concern rising with each stride. He spotted Bardi’s steward and ordered him to get a longship ready for sail, then he went inside. Helga and Bardi both looked up from their places at the table, feeling the force of Sigvald’s mood as soon as he entered the room.

  ‘What’s bitten you, brother?’ Bardi asked, waving a mutton rib at his kinsman. ‘You look like you’re about to burst!’

  ‘Actually, Bardi, I’m trying very hard not to. Can you tell me where your son has gone?’

  Helga paused mid-sip of her ale and turned slowly to her brother.

  ‘He’s taken his karve out,’ Bardi said, bemused, ‘but I don’t know where, because he didn’t say. He’s old enough to go without asking.’ He stopped when he saw his kinsman’s expression. ‘Why?’

  ‘We need to get after him,’ Sigvald said, trying to contain himself, ‘before he does something he’ll live to regret.’

  Bardi frowned at his brother-in-law. ‘They are strong words, brother. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Alrik has gone to Rathulf’s,’ Sigvald growled.

  ‘What in the name of Odin are you talking about?’ Bardi asked, frowning at the jarl down his long nose. ‘Why would Alrik want to go there?’ He paused, alarmed. ‘Has he taken Rathulf with him?’

  Sigvald shot him a scathing glare, then he turned to his wife. ‘If we get going now, we might just catch the little drittsekk in time.’

  ‘May I remind you that this is my son you are describing,’ Bardi said, growing annoyed.

  ‘Quite,’ the chieftain snarled. He snatched up his cloak and turned for the door. ‘Come on Helga.’

  Bardi grabbed Sigvald’s arm. ‘I say again, I do not much like your tone. What is it my son is supposed to have done?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Sigvald exploded. ‘Your son is setting out to break the blood-pact. Your son, Bardi.’

  Bardi blinked at his brother-in-law but was unable to formulate a coherent sentence, such was his shock.

  ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Helga said, seeing Bardi’s expression harden as the full ramifications of what Sigvald had said began to sink in. She turned to her husband. ‘We don’t even know he has gone to get the trunk. In fact, we don’t know he’s gone to Rathulf’s at all, so let’s all take a breath and calm down.’

  ‘Calm down? I’ve talked to Rathulf, woman. It turns out that Thorvald showed him the damned thing on the night of the avalanche.’

  Helga stared at him for a moment, then she composed herself and took a long breath. ‘Then the Gods have spoken,’ she said, visibly shaken by Sigvald’s revelation.

  ‘It’s not as you think, Helga. Thorvald never let him see what was inside. Rathulf says the old goat took it away, saying something about Ra being a fjordlander now.’

  ‘So the Gods sent the avalanche as punishment?’ Bardi asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sigvald said. ‘Although I’m not so sure they expected Leif to save Thorvald, who I suspect was meant to die that night.’

  ‘Then perhaps all is not as dire as you think,’ Helga mused. ‘Alrik is finishing the task. He is carrying out the will of the Gods.’

  ‘And the blood oath? Do we not care about that now? Remember Eirik is a part of that pact, and he has very definite expectations of Rathulf in return for his fealty.’

  Helga frowned up at her husband. ‘Rathulf can’t grant Eirik what isn’t his to give. This is just as likely a false dream, Sigvald, and I really don’t see how Alrik’s actions affect the pact, especially if Rathulf now knows about the trunk.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Sigvald said, not sure about anything anymore. ‘Knowing about it is one thing, understanding what it means is another. I’m still going after Alrik.’

  ‘Why?’ Helga said, smiling wryly. ‘Afraid your nephew will steal your thunder? Let him have his day of glory.’

  Sigvald’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you really want to leave something as important as this to that spoilt brat? Let’s not forget how critical this is to all of us, Helga. This isn’t just about Rathulf’s heritage or Eirik’s desires for world domination. That trunk holds the key to all our future plans, remember?’

  ‘Our plans?’

  ‘Look outside, Helga. We won’t survive another winter like this, which you well know. We need that boy to achieve manhood, then he has to take us back to Dumnonia with us standing behind him as his kin and allies. That’s why we made the pact in the first place; this is our chance to live amazing lives of prosperity, and I don’t want Alrik cocking it up because someone hurt his feelings.’

  ‘You’re getting carried away with yourself,’ Helga smiled. ‘The Gods have made themselves heard, and like it or not, they have chosen Alrik to carry out their bidding.’

  Bardi cocked an eyebrow at his sister. ‘I’m afraid I agree with Sigvald on this, Helga. Whilst I love my son dearly, this is too important a task to entrust to him, Gods or no.’

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Thorvaldsby, Aurlandsfjorden, Norvegr

  Alrik gave the tiller a nudge and steered his longship towards the shore. At his signal, the slaves lifted their oars and the ship bumped up onto the gravel beach. Alrik’s younger brother, Arni, jumped down and secured the anchor. The slaves began to draw in their oars in order to stack them in the cradles, but Alrik waved at them to remain at their places. He had no desire to be caught here, and the sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave. He ran down the gangplank to the shore.

  ‘Feels a bit spooky, doesn’t it?’ Arni said, looking up at the valley wall. ‘I hope there’s no more to come.’

  Alrik shot his brother a disparaging look. ‘Don’t be stupid. Where are the spades and torches?’

  Arni reached up and retrieved a couple of wooden shovels, a torch and some rope from the ship. ‘What was it we were looking for again?’ he asked.

  ‘A trunk, like a sea chest I guess. I think it’s wrapped in pigskin or something like that.’

  ‘What’s so important about it?’

  ‘Never you mind. It’s just important, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s in the boatshed?’

  Alrik frowned at his offsider. ‘What’s with all these questions, Arni? Uncle Sigvald said that was where it was.’

  Arni shrugged. ‘There’s no need to get ugly. I just wanted to make sure. After all, he wasn’t talking to you, was he?’

  Alrik scowled at his brother, but he let it lie. What would Arni know? Sigvald simply couldn’t be trusted, so it was up to Alrik to fetch the trunk first and make sure once and for all that Rathulf learned the truth.

  Alrik and his brother made their way along the shoreline to the low wooden boathouse and splashed through the water to get inside. The remains of the fire still smudged the shingles, and a few scattered bits and pieces showed where the three refugees had huddled together during their wait for rescue. Alrik paused and sniffed the air, surprised that it still held a strong hint of wood-smoke. Another familiar odour lingered as well, but for the moment Alrik couldn’t place it, and in any case, he didn’t have time for dallying. ‘It’s under the floor somewhere,’ he said. ‘All we’ve got to do is decide where to dig first.’

  ‘How about over there?’ Arni suggested,
pointing to one corner. A pile of old staves lay untidily beside the wall, and the boys set to work eagerly, throwing aside the planks of rotting wood to expose the gravel underneath. They started digging, but the going was tough, and the only thing their spades struck was each other in their haste to get to the treasure.

  ‘Fenrir’s balls,’ Alrik swore, looking down into the sizeable hole they had dug. ‘It’s not here.’ He looked around, trying to decide where to dig next. ‘Let’s try over there,’ Alrik said, moving towards the middle of the floor.

  But the going was harder than before and the gravely sand well compacted. They eventually abandoned that area and tried a little to the left. The sand was softer again, but just as close-fisted. They kept digging, but apart from a long lost and consequently well-rusted shipwright’s tool, they found nothing. To make matters worse, when they stopped to examine their handiwork they saw that the boathouse floor resembled a field burrowed by a family of moles. Alrik looked at the damning evidence of their search and swore again, but there was little they could do about it.

  ‘Maybe the tide will smooth it over,’ Arni offered helpfully.

  ‘What tide?’ Alrik said. ‘Most of this ground is above the waterline. We’ll just have to leave it.’

  ‘What if Thorvald was mistaken?’ Arni said. ‘Maybe he got confused? Maybe he meant the house. Maybe he took it inside. Maybe you heard Sigvald wrong.’

  ‘Maybe you’d better shut up,’ Alrik snapped, trying to think. That said, Arni did have a point. Although he couldn’t imagine Thorvald forgetting where he had buried the trunk, it was entirely possible that Thorvald had lied to Sigvald about its location for the same reason that Sigvald had denied its existence to Alrik. Thorvald didn’t want anyone finding it. Perhaps the trunk was in the house. It clearly wasn’t here. Alrik looked up at the sky. They had already stayed too long, and the last thing he needed was to be caught here red-handed. Better to leave now and deny everything later. Then again, what a triumph it would be to hand Rathulf the undeniable proof of his heritage. It was simply too important an opportunity to miss.

  ‘Alrik?’

  ‘What?’ Arni was more irritating than a swarm of flies.

  ‘Why is it so important you get the trunk before Sigvald does?’

  ‘Because I want Rathulf to have it. Thorvald and Sigvald won’t give it to him, which isn’t right. Rathulf ought to know who he is, and this is our chance.’ He snatched up his spade and walked back out into the water. And I want to be the one who tells him, Alrik thought, his heart still confused by their parting conversation following Leif’s departure.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Arni asked.

  ‘Up to the house.’

  ‘There isn’t time,’ Arni pleaded. ‘Uncle Sigvald will have worked out what’s happened and will be on his way.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Alrik said. ‘So get a move on.’

  They hurried up through the snow towards the shattered house. The scene looked little different from when he and the rescue party had arrived, and the blanketing snow belied the furious destruction that had been wrought by the avalanche. They paused for a moment beside a second hole in the snow, and it didn’t take much effort to work out that it was once the byre. They could see the frozen sheep carcasses amid the debris. They moved on.

  Arni whistled in awe. ‘Wow, this is really messed up.’

  ‘Sure,’ Alrik said, not really listening. He stood at the edge of the hole in the roof of the house and peered in.

  More of the roof had collapsed since the rescue, and Alrik’s heart sank. How are we going to find anything in that? he wondered.

  He went around to the ice ramp and picked his way down the tangled mess of stone, wood and ice. Arni followed, making more sounds of astonishment as he went.

  ‘You’re noisier than a yard-full of hogs, do you know that?’ Alrik said, amazed that anyone could make such a racket.

  Either Arni didn’t hear, or he ignored him because he carried on making his various huffs and grunts and snorts as he picked up bits and pieces of broken furniture and other household items and tossed them aside again, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘This must have been really scary. Hey, Alrik. Is this it?’

  Alrik had stopped listening to Arni’s commentary, and it took him a moment to register what his brother had just said. He whirled around and peered into the gloom on the other side of the house. ‘What have you got?’ he asked, hopeful, and tripping over a fallen joist in his haste to see what Arni had found.

  Arni beamed back at him triumphantly. ‘One trunk,’ he said.

  Alrik glanced down at his brother, pleasantly surprised, then he bent down for a better look at the chest. From what he could see it was made of oak and was bound by a leather strap, and it was the size of a sea chest. It lay on its side amid a scattering of other bric-a-brac, a couple of pieces of which Alrik recognised as Rathulf’s trinkets. Alrik’s heart raced. Yes! he thought jubilantly. Look out, Rathulf. You’re about to learn the truth. He snatched up his shovel and began hewing at the timber that stood in his way.

  Before long they had cleared the debris, and Alrik stood over the chest, hands on his hips. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘This is it. Well done Arni.’ He handed his spade to his brother and lifted the trunk onto his shoulder. It was heavy, but he hurried recklessly up out of the ruined house nevertheless, keen to get well away before Sigvald finally came after him. The two boys quickly made their way back to the Wave Skimmer, and without any further delay, cast off.

  They backed away from the shore at speed, Alrik throwing them into a hard hundred-and-eighty-degree turn as soon as they were free of the shallows. He ordered the slaves forward at a fast pace, anxiously keeping an eye on the fjord ahead.

  ‘Should we open it?’ Arni asked, fingering the leather strap that bound the trunk.

  ‘We don’t have the key,’ Alrik said, nodding at the cumbersome padlock that secured the latch.

  ‘We can always use the axe,’ Arni suggested.

  Alrik shook his head. ‘As if I’m going to let you open it before Rathulf gets a chance,’ he said scornfully.

  ‘Master!’ One of the slaves pointed out ahead of them.

  Alrik lifted his head to see a longship turning into the far end of the fjord. ‘Hel’s thighs!’ Alrik cursed, astonished and afraid in the same breath. ‘How did he get here so fast?’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Arni asked in alarm.

  Alrik glanced down at the oaken trunk then back to the Osprey. Even from this distance, Alrik could see that Bardi had ordered a fresh turn of speed from his rowers. Alrik looked back at the trunk. ‘We’ll have to hide it,’ he said quickly.

  Arni looked back at him, dismayed. ‘Where? There’s no time.’

  ‘Pull up the decking!’ Alrik snapped. ‘Hurry!’

  Arni stood rooted to the spot, staring at the fast-approaching ship.

  ‘Do it!’ Alrik snapped. He abandoned the tiller and stepped down onto the deck.

  Arni recovered his wits and scooped up the trunk. He backed away from Alrik, struggling under its weight. ‘We should give it to uncle Sigvald. If it’s that important, we shouldn’t be keeping it from him.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Arni. It belongs to Rathulf, not uncle. Give it to me.’

  Arni shook his head, his jaw set in stubborn refusal.

  ‘Hand it over,’ Alrik demanded, lunging at his brother.

  Alrik saw it all happen before his eyes. So slow, it seemed, that he should have been able to prevent it. He saw the rope lying on the deck behind Arni, and he watched his brother’s heel land on it and slip. He saw Arni’s eyes fly wide in surprise and then he was falling backwards. He stumbled into one of the rowers, and it was gone. Just like that. Tumbling over the side and falling into the water with a plop, disappearing amid the wash without a trace.

  Alrik threw himself to the railing, but of course it was in vain, for the heavy trunk had already plunged into the depths like a stone.
<
br />   ‘Mother of Thor!’ Alrik said, the sound barely coming out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Arni whispered, holding his hands to his mouth. ‘I didn’t mean it, honest.’

  Alrik stared at him, completely at a loss for words. He imagined himself flying at his idiot brother and thumping him until he bled, but instead he just looked at him, his heart wrenched from his chest. All his plans, all his hopes had just been dashed in that simple act of clumsiness.

  ‘We’re going to get into so much trouble for this,’ Arni continued, staring at the place where the trunk had disappeared beneath the water.

  ‘Us? You’re the one who dropped it over the side, kukskalle. You’re a useless toad, Arni!’ Alrik closed his eyes, fighting back the rush of despair as he imagined Rathulf’s horrified expression as he learned the news. What am I going to tell Sigvald? Think, he instructed his mind. Think!

  ‘You’ll not tell a soul,’ he said suddenly, turning to his brother. ‘Understand? No one will have seen the splash because it fell amongst the oars. As far as everyone is concerned, it got lost in the avalanche.’

  Arni shook his head in horror, but Alrik decided he would have to deal with him later. Right now he had to come up with a convincing story to cover their actions. He looked back out to their wake and the place where the trunk had fallen over the side. He knew with all certainty that what had just happened would change their lives irrevocably, but it was too late for regrets now. The trunk was gone, consigned to the icy depths where no man, no matter how determined, could ever hope to find it again.

  11. Set adrift

  Aurlandsfjorden, Norvegr

  Sigvald fixed his gaze on Alrik as the Osprey drew alongside his nephew’s smaller karve. He made no attempt at courtesies. ‘Where is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘Where’s what?’ Alrik asked confidently, then he saw Helga sitting up at the stern, and standing alongside her, Bardi. Upon seeing their black expressions, Alrik instantly lost his air of arrogance and nervously returned his gaze to his uncle.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, boy. I know why you’re here.’