by Peter Fox
‘It’s true,’ Rathulf said, stunned by Helga’s wrath. ‘This is all down to me.’
‘Is that so?’ Sigvald said from beside his wife, his raised eyebrows revealing his disbelief. ‘Tell us how did you disabled the ship.’
Rathulf swallowed. What had Alrik said he’d done? There was a little piece of wood, but what was it for? The Vixen looked perfectly fine now. Rathulf looked up at his foster-father, helpless.
‘Just so you know,’ Sigvald said icily, ‘your friend took out the shear pin, which, to a landlubber such as yourself, is the bit that holds the rudder together.’
Rathulf closed his eyes, wishing there was some way he could turn back time and be in the hall playing that stupid game so he could put an end to this escapade before it even started.
There was a scraping sound in front of him, then he heard grunts and the shuffling of feet. He opened his eyes to see four slaves struggling to lift what appeared to be a very heavy trunk. They carried it over to the side which stood next to the Wave Skimmer, and Rathulf felt Helga’s ship list as they brought it up over the railing.
‘Hey, what’s that?’ Alrik demanded.
‘Your kist,’ Helga said, then she nodded at the men. Before Alrik could do anything to prevent them, they dropped their burden onto Alrik’s deck. The chest landed on the timbers with a splintering crash, cleaving the thin planking and plunging straight through to the hull. It hit the thin oak strakes with a heavy crunch, the impact sending a tremor through the karve. The trunk split two of the hull timbers and water rushed in through the gaps. Alrik stared at the breach, then he looked up at Helga, shocked.
‘You’ve just holed my ship,’ he blubbered. ‘On purpose!’
Helga raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely you aren’t suggesting I deliberately sabotaged your karve,’ she said, wagging her finger at her nephew. ‘I was just returning your property, although why you’d want to keep all those rocks and iron in your trunk is beyond me. How strange of you.’
‘Rocks?’ Alrik said plaintively as his ship began to list. ‘But I only took out the pin. This isn’t fair.’
Helga leaned over the ornately-carved stern of her longship and peered down at the crippled yacht. ‘It does seem to be taking on rather a lot of water. Still, with all those slaves bailing you might just be able to keep her afloat.’
Rathulf was certain she sounded disappointed.
‘But I need them to row!’ Alrik cried. ‘How will I get to the shore otherwise? And I haven’t got anything to bail with.’
‘Well, you should be better prepared, young man. Every good sailor knows that bailing pots are an essential item on any ship.’
‘But what am I going to do?’
‘You have two good hands dear, but I’d start bailing soon if I were you. That leak looks rather bad to me.’ She turned and instructed a pallid-faced Gormond to get her ship moving.
‘Hey! Stop!’ Alrik cried. ‘You can’t leave me here. What if I can’t get to shore? What if I sink?’
‘You can swim can’t you dear?’ Helga said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
‘But what about my slaves? We’ll drown!’ He looked down at the hole in his hull then he suddenly picked up a piece of the broken decking and proceeded to smash it into little pieces against the mast, swearing roundly as he did so.
Helga ignored him, settling down into her portable armchair and taking up her knitting. Sigvald stood a little to the right of her, his hand half-raised in an abandoned effort to speak up on his nephew’s behalf.
‘What’s the matter with you, husband?’ Helga asked calmly as she counted the rows.
‘You don’t really mean to leave him there, do you?’
Helga looked up at the jarl, her expression revealing that was precisely what she intended to do. ‘It will teach him a valuable lesson.’
‘What good will it be if he drowns?’
Helga stopped counting and placed a finger on the line to mark the spot. ‘That boy went out of his way to wreck my longship–’
‘He removed a tiller pin,’ Sigvald countered.
‘And you think that’s all right, do you?’ Helga asked dangerously.
Sigvald hesitated. ‘Of course not my dear. It’s a dreadful thing to do, but does it warrant sinking his ship? And dare I point out that it isn’t even his anymore?’
‘I haven’t sunk his ship. If you’re so worried about it, why don’t you take my pails and show him how it’s done, although with your reputation, I suspect he’ll be better off without you.’
Sigvald shot her a black glare, snatched up the buckets and threw them over the side into Alrik’s floundering karve. ‘You and your bloody longship, Helga. Women just shouldn’t be allowed…’ He was gone before Helga could jab him with her needle.
The jarl strode up to Alrik and snatched the splintered decking from the boy’s hands, rebuking him like a child. ‘Stop blubbering! It’s only a little hole.’
‘Little hole?’ Alrik snapped. ‘Have you any idea what I’ve been through thanks to him? I’m never going anywhere with him again!’ He pointed his finger at Rathulf.
Sigvald raised his eyebrows. ‘Neither of you are going anywhere again, period. After what you two did to Horik, you’ll be lucky to escape a sentence of outlawry.’
‘Outlawry?’ Rathulf said, incensed. ‘What for?’
‘You insulted Horik in front of Eirik and all his men, then you threatened to kill him in front of those same witnesses, then you proceeded to carry out that threat, only Horik bested you. So you two stood there crying like babes, pleading for your lives. Fortunately for you, Horik chose to stay his hand, despite the fact that in front of all those people he’d have had every right to put his sword through both of you. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to hear his description of your actions, Rathulf? If he had decided to bring charges against you, there would be nothing I could do! You are very lucky he has decided to excuse you on this occasion.’
‘What?’ Rathulf spat, astonished that Horik would have the audacity to turn the events around in his favour. ‘That’s a pack of lies. Eirik was the one who saved me, not Horik. Ask him. He’ll tell you what really happened.’
‘I have no intention of adding to this debacle by asking Eirik the Black for his version of the events!’ Sigvald roared. ‘You deliberately disobeyed my orders and have caused us all great embarrassment with this foolishness. What if Horik had killed you? I would have had to kill him, Eirik me, Helga him and Thor knows how many others, and then we would have had a blood feud on our hands the size of which Norvegr has never seen before! As it is I will have to pay Horik a considerable sum to keep him off our backs. Why do you think he has agreed not to take this any further?’
‘You offered compensation?’ Rathulf said, struggling to contain his fury.
‘Yes, in return for your life, boy.’ He turned to Alrik. ‘And what was going through your head? You should have been at your friend’s side, not cowering in your boat with your slaves. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Rathulf drew in a sharp breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Alrik exploded before Rathulf could step in.
‘Ashamed?’ Alrik screamed. ‘I was right there beside him! It might have gone differently if idiot Rathulf had remembered his sword before going for Horik, but no, the dumb-ass just went charging in like a rutting stag.’
‘Alrik, calm down,’ Rathulf began, but the young Viking cut him off.
‘Calm down? Tell him what happened next, Rathulf, tell him!’
Sigvald stared at Alrik, astonished by the intensity of the boy’s reaction. The jarl looked to Rathulf.
‘Alrik, don’t do it,’ Rathulf urged desperately. ‘For Thor’s sake shut up.’
Alrik’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s all right for you. He didn’t touch you.’
‘Who didn’t touch who?’ Helga said, frowning at her nephew. She dropped her knitting, suddenly realising Alrik was only half-dressed. ‘Alrik, where are your clothes?’
> ‘He fell overboard,’ Rathulf began, but he was wasting his breath.
‘They’re in Ivar Blood-trader’s longship!’ Alrik shouted over the top of Rathulf, hysteria mounting in his voice. ‘Yes that’s right, that’s where Rathulf took us last night, after picking his fight with Horik, the jævela geck steered us to Ivar’s. Do you know what that filthy slime-bag did to me? He, he…’
Helga stood up from her chair. ‘Ivar? Nobody said anything about him! Where was he? What did he do?’
Alrik couldn’t say. His eyes suddenly filled and he burst into tears, sinking to his knees on the tilting deck of his yacht. Helga was there in a flash, wrapping protective arms around her nephew. ‘It’s all right, Alrik,’ she said. ‘You’re safe now.’
Alrik collapsed into her embrace, sobbing into her bosom as she held him tight.
Rathulf glanced over at Sigvald, who was staring at his nephew, his face so frightening that Rathulf closed his eyes and began praying to all the Gods in Valhalla. He had only seen that expression twice before, and on both occasions, people had died at Sigvald’s hand.
‘Rathulf,’ Sigvald spoke quietly, his voice ominously calm. ‘What is Alrik talking about?’
Rathulf stared at the chieftain, his stomach churning as he realised what Sigvald thought had transpired. What could he say? No matter what the truth was, Sigvald would doubtless declare war on Ivar that very moment, as would Bardi, Thorleif, and half the men of the western fjords. Ivar would come after the boys as he had promised, and even if Sigvald did eventually get to him, it would be too late.
‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ Rathulf said desperately. ‘He was only trying to scare us.’
‘Scare us?’ Alrik yelled. ‘You weren’t the one being held on his ship while he–,’ Alrik suddenly pulled free of Helga and threw up over the side, his body shivering uncontrollably.
‘What did he do?’ Sigvald growled.
‘Nothing,’ Rathulf said again, knowing he had to prevent this from happening. No matter what the consequences might be for him and Alrik, he had to stop a blood feud from starting. He couldn’t be responsible for this. Not for the killing of his own family. They were all he had, and Ivar would stop at nothing if Sigvald went after him. ‘He only took off Alrik’s shirt to frighten us. That’s all he did!’ He was aware his voice sounded like a desperate child pleading with his parents for clemency, but he went on, regardless. ‘We got lost last night, and he found us this morning. He did threaten things, but that’s all he did.’
‘All?’ Alrik pulled himself from Helga’s arms and went for Rathulf, his eyes blazing with hatred. Sigvald caught him before he could clamber up over the railing into Helga’s ship. The chieftain bodily dragged his nephew back down into his own karve and held him in a bear hug, oblivious to any damage he might be causing to Alrik’s injured arm.
‘This is the last time,’ Alrik shouted, pointing at Rathulf again, ‘that I ever go anywhere with you again!’
‘I think you’d better stay here,’ Sigvald said, letting go of Alrik and indicating the stern of the boat. He turned to his wife. ‘You take Rathulf back home, and I’ll take Alrik to Bardi’s. We need to do this properly. We must call witnesses.’
Helga looked down through the shattered decking at the trunk which lay at the bottom of Alrik’s boat. Water gurgled and swirled around it. She winced. ‘Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea.’
Sigvald shot her a scathing glance. ‘You think? And there I was believing it was a good lesson.’ The jarl reached down and scooped up Alrik’s trunk as though it was filled with nothing but feathers. He shoved it over the side and clapped his hands with satisfaction as it disappeared beneath the water. He then handed out buckets to the slaves and instructed them to start bailing. ‘Off you go,’ he said to Helga, waving his hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll meet you back at home.’
Helga looked at the water-filled hold doubtfully, then she shook her head. ‘I think we’d better follow you to my brother’s. Help Alrik up onto the Vixen; best he doesn’t drown.’
‘What about me?’ Sigvald said, disgusted.
Helga gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and climbed back on board her own longship, taking the tiller back from Gormond. Rathulf sat as directed near the mast fish. Alrik was instructed to sit opposite Rathulf, but the boy wasn’t happy about it. He dropped down in the lee of the shield rail, clutching his arm and biting his lip in an effort to keep himself together. Rathulf watched as Sigvald organised the slaves in the Wave Skimmer, then there was a jerk as the Vixen started moving.
Never had Rathulf felt so worthless. What kind of friend am I? he thought, dismayed. This is a disaster beyond any devising, and worst of all is the fact that at the end of the day, Leif is now much worse off. Rathulf couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen to his friend as a result of this failed rescue mission. He could only hope, desperate though it was, that Leif was in fact at this moment making his way to Sigvald’s and that he wasn’t just up on the high shielings herding the flock; or worse, a pile of shredded flesh and bones in some wolf’s lair. He turned and looked across at his friend, who sat with his back to the strakes, eyes closed and breathing loudly through his nose. Helga had put his arm back in a sling, but Rathulf could see that something had been damaged underneath the skin. He also recognised the stain and smell on his friend’s breeches, and thanked the Gods that no one had pointed out that Alrik had peed himself. Perhaps Alrik himself hadn’t even realised. There was another smell as well, but Rathulf didn’t even want to go there. Alrik had completely withdrawn inside himself, which was no wonder. Rathulf sighed. This was the end of their friendship.
As if reading his mind, Alrik opened his eyes and glared at Rathulf. ‘I pissed myself,’ he muttered, incredulous. ‘I frigging pissed myself!’ He clenched his teeth together, biting back his rage. ‘I never, ever want to see you again,’ he said. ‘Ever.’
Rathulf didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry.’ He stopped then, aware that he, too, was not far from tears.
He felt eyes on him and looked up to the stern to see Helga regarding him from the tiller. She said nothing and returned her gaze out to fjord ahead. Rathulf looked out over the railing ahead of them and saw that the Wave Skimmer sat dangerously low in the water. Yet despite its handicap, the karve still made reasonable progress thanks to the furious bailing of the slaves.
Rathulf glanced back over at Alrik and realised that his friend was still only half clothed. The boy sat huddled in the shelter of the strakes, looking cold and miserable. He offered Alrik his cloak, but his friend shrugged him off. Rathulf draped his cloak around Alrik’s shoulders nevertheless.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Rathulf said encouragingly.
‘All right?’ Alrik hissed, turning to his ex-friend, his eyes glittering with hatred. ‘Did you see how Ivar looked at me? He won’t be satisfied until he has me in his filthy hands. I’ll never be safe, Rathulf. Never. And not father, Sigvald or anyone will be able to protect me. Least of all you!’
Rathulf didn’t know what to say because he feared Alrik was right. Somehow, though, they would have to get on with their lives. But how? Rathulf wondered in despair, his own fears threatening to overwhelm him too. We’ll need to be on our guard every breath of every day. Nowhere or at no time will we be safe.
The journey back to Bardisby was the most excruciating in Rathulf’s memory. Not a word was uttered by anybody throughout the rest of the trip, except for the occasional command barked by Sigvald on the Wave Skimmer ahead. They arrived in the late twilight, and as soon as the gangplank hit the shingles, Helga was gone, striding up towards her brother’s hall. Rathulf and Alrik both remained in their places, too afraid to move without permission. Sigvald let them sweat, overseeing the landing of the Vixen and the Wave Skimmer before allowing the boys to disembark. Rathulf watched with growing dismay as his and Alrik’s karve began to slowly sink at her moorings once the bailing slaves had abandoned the craft.<
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‘Rathulf, you will come up to the hall with me. Alrik, wait here for your father.’
‘But,’ Alrik began to protest.
‘Do it!’ Sigvald boomed, brooking no further argument. He grabbed Rathulf and bodily hauled him down to the shore, oblivious to any pain he might be inflicting upon his foster-son.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rathulf whispered again as he struggled to keep up with Sigvald.
The jarl stopped and looked down at Rathulf. ‘Here’s a tip for you,’ he said harshly. ‘Stop apologising. It’s far past that now. Just know that I am beyond angry with you for what you have done. Right now, however, there’s a more urgent matter to attend to. Ivar has been preying on young men and women like you for some while now, and this is our fault for not acting earlier. Be assured that miserable piece of scum will regret he ever set eyes you two. Come tomorrow evening, there will be nothing left of him or his disgusting household.’
Rathulf looked back down to the shore and watched as Alrik clambered over the side of the Vixen and stood waiting for his father. The boy glanced up and saw that Rathulf was looking at him. His expression of sheer and utter hatred perfectly mirrored Rathulf’s inner thoughts.
Life, as he had known it, was over.
3. A carpenter’s tools
Bardisby, Sognefjorden, Norvegr
‘You have to believe me,’ Rathulf was pleading again, but this time his audience included Bardi, Sigvald, Thorleif plus eleven others. He stood in Bardi’s great hall; the other men having been summoned immediately upon Sigvald’s return. The one tiny consolation was that Rathulf was spared the added humiliation of Thorvald’s presence; Sigvald had refused to fetch him on the grounds that the shocking revelations might set the old farmer back in his recovery. ‘This isn’t worth starting a feud over,’ Rathulf said.
‘I shall be the judge of that,’ Bardi said curtly. ‘Alrik does not agree with your account of the events and nor do I. Ivar molested my son, and he will pay for it.’
