The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set

by Peter Fox

  Alrik hesitated, and again his eyes moved to the Osprey’s stern. ‘I… that is … it’s not here,’ he suddenly blurted. ‘We looked but couldn’t find it.’

  For a moment Sigvald was thrown by the boy’s frank admission. Where is the elaborate excuse? Surely he must have manufactured a tale against the possibility of being caught? Unless, the jarl suddenly realised, he is telling a lie now.

  ‘So, against my express instructions to keep your nose out of this, you came here looking for Rathulf’s trunk?’

  Alrik nodded.

  ‘What have you done with it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Alrik said, his tone fearful.

  Sigvald noticed Arni’s wide-eyed expression, and he directed his gaze at him. ‘Arni?’

  The boy looked down at his feet, his face growing paler by the moment.

  ‘Alrik!’ Bardi said, his voice hard, ‘answer your uncle.’

  ‘I told you,’ Alrik said. ‘It wasn’t there!’

  ‘We’re not fools, Alrik,’ Sigvald said. ‘Hand it over.’

  Alrik raised his hands in protest. ‘Look for yourself. I’m not hiding it, if that’s what you think.’ He stood aside and indicated for Sigvald to check his ship.

  Sigvald and Bardi did just that, determined to call Alrik’s bluff. They searched the little karve from top to bottom but found nothing. Sigvald even checked the sides for a rope hanging over the edge. It was a trick he had employed himself in the past to hide cargo he hadn’t wanted to be stolen or found. Alrik did, however, appear to be speaking the truth; at least in that the trunk was not on board. Yet Alrik’s slaves all gazed back at him in a peculiar way, and Arni looked as if he was about to pee himself.

  ‘What’s going on, Alrik?’

  ‘Nothing, uncle. Honest. We can go back to Rathulf’s right now, and I’ll show you where we’ve searched. It isn’t where you said.’

  ‘That’s funny. I don’t recall ever telling you where it was.’

  Alrik winced but remained silent. He looked like a goat who had just been caught in the vegetable garden with a half-eaten cabbage in his mouth.

  Sigvald turned back to the shore, his heart beginning to race. Why do I get the feeling something terrible has happened? Then he saw Arni out of the corner of his eye. The boy was staring at his father as if Hel herself stood before him. The chieftain decided to try a bluff of his own.

  ‘Why are you looking so frightened Arni? Is it because you know we saw you with the trunk on the boat?’

  Arni’s face visibly turned a shade paler, and Alrik almost gagged.

  Bardi found it difficult to speak calmly. ‘What happened, Arni?’

  His son stared back at him, his face twisted into a petrified simper.

  ‘Arni,’ Alrik warned. ‘He’s trying to trick you. They didn’t see anything.’

  Arni suddenly turned to Alrik. ‘We have to tell them,’ he whined.

  ‘Shut up!’ Alrik cried.

  ‘We didn’t mean it to do it,’ the boy blurted.

  Alrik threw himself at his brother, but Bardi was faster. He stuck out his leg and tripped Alrik in full flight. The young Norseman fell head-first to the deck, cracking his chin on the hard wood.

  ‘It slipped out of my hands,’ Arni said, wanting to unburden himself of the terrible thing for which he was in part responsible. ‘I didn’t mean for it to fall into the water. I’m sorry, father.’ The last words came out in a barely audible whisper. He stared bleakly at the jarl, then burst into tears.

  ‘You threw it overboard?’ Sigvald whispered, horrified.

  Arni refused to acknowledge the chieftain.

  ‘Alrik! Is this true?’

  His nephew lifted himself to his hands and knees. ‘You were never going to give it to him,’ he said angrily.

  ‘You worthless runt!’ Sigvald snarled. He flung out a hand and grabbed Alrik by the scruff of his neck. He hauled the lad to his feet and shoved him up against the mast. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

  Alrik coughed as Sigvald crushed the breath from him.

  ‘Sigvald! Unhand my son,’ Bardi demanded.

  The jarl hesitated for a moment, then he released Alrik, and the boy fell to his knees, holding a hand to his throat.

  Bardi stepped from the Osprey down onto the Wave Skimmer and walked up to the mast.

  ‘Get up,’ Bardi said icily.

  Quavering, Alrik complied.

  The blow came as such a shock that Alrik stumbled sideways, not even sure what had hit him. Bardi lashed out at him again, smacking him even harder this time, sending him reeling in the opposite direction. He stumbled on one of the oar shanks, and suddenly he tipped over the side, landing in the water with a loud splash.

  Bardi turned, stepped back onto the Osprey, and made his way to the stern. Not once did he utter a word.

  It fell to Ottar and a couple of slaves to drag the spluttering boy from the fjord. The shipwright dumped the sodden Alrik unceremoniously on the deck at Sigvald’s feet.

  ‘By Thor, boy,’ Sigvald said. ‘You’ll be lucky if the Assembly only sends you to the farthest end of the land to live out the rest of your days as an outlaw. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The penalty for breaking the pact is death, and you’ve brought your brother into this!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alrik said. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Spare your apologies. It’s time that you learnt there are consequences for your actions. Get up.’

  ‘But I thought you weren’t going to give it to Rathulf. I wanted Ra to have it.’

  ‘Silence!’ Sigvald roared. ‘Stand up!’

  Alrik did as he was told and he stood dripping on the deck, holding his hands around his shoulders as he shivered from the cold and from fear. The boy looked across to his aunt for help, but he would find no aid there.

  ‘You will sail with us, Alrik, and you too, Arni,’ Sigvald said. ‘Ottar, you can captain the Wave Skimmer. Now for the naming of witnesses.’

  Alrik stared at his uncle, his face registering alarm. Sigvald looked him square in the eyes. ‘Alrik Bardisson, in the presence of your father, Bardi Thorleifsson of Sognefjorden; my wife and your aunt, Helga Thorleifstochter of Lærdalsfjorden; and Ottar Hrafnsson, shipwright also of Lærdalsfjorden; I name them as witnesses against you in the matter of the theft of Rathulf Thorvaldarsson’s personal belongings, and the breaching of the blood-pact made by the men of the Osprey, Sea Dragon and Sea Swift, the latter act being punishable by death. I claim your longship and all your slaves on behalf of Rathulf as part compensation for this crime; that claim effective immediately.’

  ‘No! That’s not fair. You can’t do that!’ Alrik looked towards his father for support, but Bardi turned his face away.

  ‘Oh yes I can,’ Sigvald continued, ‘and your father knows he can’t stop me. You will present yourself at the summer Althing whereupon you will be required to explain your actions to all those present, and you will then place yourself in the hands of the Assembly who will determine your rightful punishment.’ He grabbed Alrik’s arm. ‘Which by Odin, I hope for your sake is merciful. Now get on board your father’s ship.’

  He all but threw Alrik onto the Osprey, then he turned to Arni. The boy scuttled up without any need for coercion, settling himself down near the mast with his hands between his knees, apparently waiting his turn for the naming of witnesses.

  ‘Fortunately for you, Arni, you are just a child, albeit influenced by your older brother.’

  ‘We didn’t mean to lose it,’ Alrik pleaded, his eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Spare me,’ Sigvald said coldly. ‘I want you up on the prow where you will catch the best of the breeze.’

  ‘But I’ll freeze to death!’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ the jarl responded.

  ‘It’s not my fault!’ Alrik protested, shooting his brother a look laden with malice. ‘Arni’s the one who dropped it in the water.’

  ‘It was your ship and your idea,’ Sigvald roared, ‘so yo
u’d better start thinking about what you’ll pack for your life of solitude, but remember an outlaw may only take what he can carry on his person. Now sit down and shut up, or by Thor, I’ll carry out the decree of the pact and cleave your head from your neck myself!’

  Once again Alrik looked to his father and aunt for help, but they remained silent.

  Dusk had fallen by the time the Osprey pulled up alongside the pier at Bardisby with the Wave Skimmer close behind. Upon their arrival, Bardi nodded at Arni to disembark, then he walked up to his son and ordered him down from the prow. Alrik offered no resistance, for he was barely conscious. He had sat as ordered up at the bow for the entire journey home in his sodden clothing and now his teeth chattered noisily, and he shivered uncontrollably. ‘Get inside the house and wait for me there,’ Bardi said, pushing him up the path, then he turned to Sigvald.

  ‘Rest assured Alrik will receive due punishment for what he has done, assembly or no,’ he said.

  ‘That’s up to you,’ Sigvald replied. ‘We’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime I want you to make sure that your boy goes nowhere near Rathulf, because by Thor if I find him within a hundred paces of my foster-son I’ll cut him down where he stands.’

  ‘I think not Sigvald, but you can be certain I’ll not let him anywhere near you or your foster-son.’ He moved off towards the house.

  ‘Damn that interfering little dritt!’ Sigvald cried when Bardi had gone, and Helga instead stood by his side.

  ‘Well it’s done now,’ Helga said, ‘and although it hurts me to say it, I think that we should make as little of this affair as possible.’

  ‘And let Alrik off?’ Sigvald turned to his wife to check that she was in full command of her senses.

  ‘He will have to live with this for the rest of his life, husband. That will likely be punishment enough.’

  ‘Tell that to Rathulf.’

  ‘For whom is your indignation truly directed, husband? Your foster-son? Or is it for the dashing of your own plans and expectations? You need to calm down.’ She gave her husband a long, hard look.

  Sigvald remained silent.

  ‘It is better that Rathulf doesn’t understand what has been lost,’ Helga continued, seeing the look in her husband’s eyes, ‘so you need to get control of yourself and stop blundering about like a troll in blood-lust.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Sigvald snorted. ‘See that black spot on the horizon? That’s the horse that bolted when Alrik set off on this caper. You catch it, and I’ll reconsider.’

  ‘Then what do you propose to do?’

  ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘We can’t tell him now. It’s pointless.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that? But how can we possibly hope to keep Alrik from saying something now? Apart from cutting off his head, which at present I’m inclined to do, I don’t see how it can be prevented.’

  ‘It must be. It’s unlikely Alrik knows what was in the trunk.’

  ‘Well that’s all right then,’ Sigvald said sarcastically. He shook his head in despair, unsure where this would end, and wondering what the Gods were trying to tell them in their confusing actions. ‘If Alrik was supposed to be the instrument of the Gods, then why did they get him to throw the damned thing overboard?’

  Helga shook her head. ‘Perhaps we got it wrong the first time. Having failed to destroy the trunk with the avalanche, and to prevent you from retrieving it, the Gods sent Alrik to find it and drop it into the fjord, where it is now lost for good.’

  ‘You think so? It sounds pretty convoluted to me.’

  ‘To be honest, I have no idea. I think that it is time to seek the counsel of the Oracle, for I confess I too find the Gods’ behaviour puzzling. In the meantime, we have to deal with the consequences of Alrik’s actions.’

  ‘Very well,’ Sigvald said, not at all happy with the outcome. ‘I’ll go talk to Bardi and that idiot son of his, and you can keep Rathulf out of the way.’ He turned to go, stopped in mid-step, then swore. ‘Then again, maybe I won’t.’

  Helga looked up to see Rathulf standing by the door to the guest house. The boy’s expression was difficult to decipher in the dim light that spilt from the entrance. With all the hubbub, it was hardly surprising he had been drawn out from his bed.

  ‘Well,’ Sigvald said. ‘What now?’

  ‘We stick to our plan,’ Helga said decisively. ‘He’s not meant to know.’

  The chieftain shook his head, unconvinced, yet how else could they interpret the disastrous events that had befallen Rathulf? The boy had so far been successfully protected from his past, but now that he was to come of age, there were those who would change it. A terrible thought struck Sigvald. Could I have brought all this upon Rathulf through my determination to interfere? he wondered. Have the Gods acted to ensure that I and Alrik and anyone else so resolved cannot betray Rathulf? He tugged at his moustache, unable to find a satisfactory answer. ‘And if we are wrong?’ he said to his wife.

  ‘We are not,’ Helga said firmly, but Sigvald saw in her eyes the same doubt that he felt in his own heart.

  For a fleeting moment, he felt a wild urge to trust his instinct and ignore his wife’s counsel, but reason ultimately prevailed. ‘Then we’d best catch us a horse,’ he said.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  ‘What’s going on?’ Rathulf asked, instantly realising that Alrik was in serious trouble. He turned to his friend, moving his whole body in order to avoid twisting his chest. ‘Why are you wet?’

  ‘I’m sorry Ra,’ was all Alrik got out before his father clamped a hand over his mouth.

  ‘Be silent,’ Bardi growled, hauling Alrik away from Rathulf.

  ‘But…?’ Rathulf began, stunned. He had never seen Bardi so angry.

  ‘Ra?’ came a concerned voice from the path below. ‘You shouldn’t be out.’

  The young man turned to see Helga hurrying up the slippery duckboards with Sigvald close behind. Before he could ask either of them for an explanation, Helga was ushering him back towards the guesthouse.

  ‘What has Alrik done?’ Rathulf demanded, refusing to be bullied out of the way.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Now come, you should be in bed.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Rathulf said firmly, ‘until you tell me what this is about.’ When Helga didn’t answer, he turned to his foster-father instead. ‘Well?’

  ‘Rathulf,’ Helga began, reaching out to him.

  Rathulf shrugged her off. ‘I want to see it. I know that Alrik went to get my chest; the one my father didn’t want to give to me.’

  ‘How do you know he went…?’ Bardi started, then realised what he was doing and stopped.

  ‘He’s not an idiot!’ Alrik cried, trying to wrench himself free. He turned to Rathulf. ‘They were never going to tell you anything,’ he said with great vehemence, his angry gaze flashing from his father to Helga and Sigvald in turn. ‘Were you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we were,’ Sigvald said coldly, ‘but only when Rathulf was ready.’

  ‘Ready?’ Rathulf asked, trying to calm his fluttering stomach. ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’ The voice was Alrik’s. ‘It’s not what you are, but who you are. This is about your parents, Ra, your real parents.’

  ‘Enough!’ Bardi roared.

  ‘It’s true, isn’t?’ Alrik said, trying to pull away from his father. ‘If Ra really is slave-born, then why did Thorvald adopt him, and why did Sigvald get him Tariq? Tell him who he is!’

  Bardi hit Alrik so hard that the boy toppled over backwards, hitting his head on the ground. Alrik rolled onto his side, clutching his skull.

  ‘Stop it!’ Rathulf cried, distressed. What was happening? Why were his friends all fighting amongst themselves on his account?

  ‘Rathulf,’ Helga said, noticing her charge sway on his feet. ‘We can talk about this later. You need rest.’

  ‘No,’ Rathulf said, pulling
away from her and giving himself a blast of pain for his efforts. ‘What haven’t you told me about my parents, and what’s a tareek?’ When no one answered, Rathulf looked at Sigvald.

  ‘Tariq is your birthday present,’ Sigvald rumbled. ‘He was meant to be a surprise.’

  ‘He?’ Rathulf stared at Sigvald, unable to comprehend any of the conversation. Surely they hadn’t bought him a slave? ‘Is tareek what he stole?’

  ‘No,’ Sigvald answered.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You were right the first time,’ Sigvald said with resignation. ‘Alrik took your trunk.’

  ‘My trunk?’ Rathulf said, apprehensively. ‘Then where is it?’

  The jarl let out a long sigh, then he turned to his wife. ‘I think we can forget about catching that horse,’ he said. He looked to Alrik’s father. ‘Bardi, it’s cold, it’s getting dark, and I need a drink. Let’s go inside.’

  Bardi signalled to his stewards to pick up his son, but Alrik was already getting to his feet. Blood trickled down his temple and glistened on his cheek. Rathulf reached out his hand, but Alrik shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he muttered, then he added, ‘but that’s the last time I try doing you a good turn.’ He winced again as he rose, and Rathulf grabbed his arm to help steady him. Alrik shrugged him off.

  Rathulf did his best to feign nonchalance, despite the fact that his stomach writhed with uncertainty. ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ he lied. ‘Whatever you’ve done can’t be that bad.’

  Alrik let out a bitter laugh. ‘How much do you wanna bet?’ He pulled clear of his friend and walked into the hall.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Rathulf took a seat on the bench that ran the length of the eastern side of the hall, automatically putting out his hand to take the mug of mead offered by Sigvald. Nearby, Alrik was being swamped by attendants, who shook their heads in dismay. Alrik, in turn, threw a look of consternation at Rathulf.

  A slave appeared with a platter of roasted meat, but Rathulf put it aside, his appetite having vanished. Instead, he took a long draught, needing the comfort of the warm tonic. The slave dutifully refilled the cup, then Sigvald drew up a stool and sat down before his foster-son. Ingrith settled on the bench beside Rathulf and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Helga sat down next to her husband. Rathulf shifted uncomfortably on the wool-covered cushion, suddenly aware of his aching chest.