by Peter Fox
He was aware that Alrik stood close beside him. His friend whistled when he too saw the golden standard revealed as Rathulf unwrapped the folds. Then he let out a gasp when at last the sword was revealed. The weapon even outclassed Eirik’s for magnificence, with a gold-inlaid ivory and leather grip and silver-inlaid pommel and crossguard. A polished red stone topped the pommel, and the scabbard was crafted from finely-worked leather stained a deep red, with trimmings and scape wrought of solid gold. Rathulf stared at it, past words. He carefully gripped the hilt and slowly drew the weapon from its sheath. It slipped out smoothly, and immediately the pattern-welding told Rathulf this was no ordinary blade. A name was inscribed in the fuller, and either side of the blade carried inlaid patterns like the swirling waters of a river. The edges were keen and the point deadly sharp. Rathulf wondered whether the impressive sword had ever been used in battle or was purely ceremonial. It could certainly take off an arm or head. He held it out in front of him and marvelled at its perfect balance. This was a weapon fashioned by a true master of his trade.
Alrik stared openly at Rathulf in awe, so Rathulf handed his friend the sword. Alrik at first wouldn’t take it, but Rathulf insisted. Alrik held it carefully and traced the inlay with his fingers, his mouth moving to unspoken words. Rathulf glanced up at his father, who was watching his son closely, his own face a strange mix of compassion, admiration and concern. Rathulf now understood why Thorvald had been so afraid of this moment. There was no way Rathulf could ignore the message behind these treasures. This wasn’t a simple matter of choice, and Rathulf laughed inwardly at his naivety in trying to reassure his father that everything would be fine. Everything was not fine. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Alrik, who was still inspecting the sword, bumped Rathulf on the elbow, snapping the young Viking out of his contemplations. ‘Sorry,’ Alrik said, quickly replacing the blade in its sheath. ‘Good thing it had so much grease on it. It would’ve been a pity if it had rusted away to dust after all these years.’
Rathulf returned to his exploration of the chest. Buried underneath the coins was a much smaller bundle of maroon-coloured cloth. Rathulf pulled it out, the coins jingling brightly as they cascaded back into the chest in a silver waterfall. He unfolded the fabric, and a golden ring fell onto the table with a clink, spinning on its axis then clattering to a stop in front of Rathulf.
‘This is mine?’ he asked, picking it up.
Thorvald nodded. ‘All of these things belonged to your father,’ he said.
Rathulf turned the ring over in his palm. Two beautifully contrived wolves chased one another around the band; their fangs bared and tails streaming in urgent flight, just like the symbol carved into the trunk. Rathulf peered into the tiny ruby eyes of one of the wolves and shook his head in wonder.
‘Tegen said that this is the most precious of all your possessions,’ Thorvald explained, his voice steady, quiet. ‘“The bearer of the Sword of Dumnonia and this wolven ring shall be king.” Those were her words. They are yours now, Rathulf.’
Rathulf heard the sadness in Thorvald’s voice. ‘I meant what I said before, father. We will all sail south together. And yes, you are my father. That won’t ever change. You brought me up and made me who I am.’
Thorvald closed his hand over Rathulf’s, folding his adopted son’s fingers around the ring. ‘Perhaps, but my part in your journey has come to an end,’ he said. ‘As Helga said, the time has come for you to leave the nest and follow your destiny.’
Rathulf looked at the faces of his closest friends, all watching him intently, their expressions showing the affection and concern they held for their charge. All except Alrik, who was now rummaging about in the chest to find out what other treasures lay hidden within.
‘Hey!’ Rathulf scolded, cuffing his friend’s arm. ‘Mine.’
He was only half-serious, and Alrik knew it. ‘You are soooo rich!’ Alrik said, ogling at the vast fortune in coins and jewellery. ‘You won’t need to borrow a longship; you’ll be able to buy a whole fleet of your own!’
Rathulf laughed. ‘One will do,’ he said. ‘And anyway,’ he added, sweeping up the money that had spilt from the chest, ‘Leif should see this since he’s the one who saved it.’
He noticed Sigvald and Helga exchange glances, but he still refused to think ill of Leif. Leif was telling the truth, he was sure of it. It made perfect sense that he’d want to prevent Horik from opening it, and Horik would no doubt have made a big thing of it being Ra’s chest too. But there did remain that one unanswered question: how had Horik come by it in the first place?
‘Leif’s probably already seen it,’ Alrik said unkindly. ‘What’s the bet he has the key, too.’
‘Perhaps Rathulf should ask him,’ Snorri suggested.
‘Good idea,’ Alrik said. ‘I want to watch his face when you show him this stuff.’
‘No,’ Snorri countered. ‘You’ll stay here.’
‘But we’re brothers now,’ Alrik protested. ‘We do everything together, remember?’
Snorri couldn’t help but smile at the bemused expressions on the boys’ faces. ‘This is a visit Rathulf will make on his own. He doesn’t need you there to complicate things, Alrik.’
‘He’s right,’ Sigvald agreed, turning to Rathulf. ‘You should see Leif yourself. Well, with Snorri and his tagalong crowd of course, but they’re just background noise.’
Alrik crossed his arms in disgust. ‘So much for being your sword arm,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Ra.’
‘Not your fault,’ Rathulf said, glaring at Snorri.
‘Well,’ Bardi said to break the tension. ‘I’m not exactly sure what that was all about, but no one’s going anywhere tonight. And tomorrow I propose to return home to check on the girls. Don’t worry,’ he added upon seeing Sigvald’s worried expression. ‘I’ll be back. We can all travel to the Althing from here together. But perhaps Alrik can come with me so that he doesn’t fester on his own while Rathulf is away.’
‘Excellent idea,’ Snorri agreed.
‘Why are you so keen to get Bardi out of the way?’ Sigvald asked suspiciously.
‘Come now,’ Snorri said, putting on a face that showed hurt. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m implying nothing,’ Sigvald said. ‘I know your allegiances, and I don’t trust you, and I’m not sure I trust you with Rathulf either.’
‘I must obey my jarl’s orders,’ Snorri said, as though that should be sufficient reassurance.
‘Hmm,’ Sigvald rumbled, unconvinced.
Later the following day Alrik, Bardi and his men left on the Osprey. Rathulf made one last attempt to convince Snorri to let Alrik come, but the warrior was having none of it, and so Rathulf waved goodbye to his tousle-haired friend.
‘I’ll come back to watch you kill yourself at Odin’s Breach, obviously,’ Alrik said from the Osprey, flashing his green-eyed grin. ‘And don’t forget to practise. You need it.’
As the Osprey’s gangplank was lifted aboard, Rathulf shouted at Alrik to wait, then he ran up to the stable and dragged a protesting Myran down to the shore. ‘I entrust my slave Myran to your care in my absence,’ Rathulf said to Alrik, looking pointedly at Sigvald. ‘Make sure no harm comes to him while I am away.’
‘You betcha, brother,’ Alrik grinned, helping the Persian clamber onto Bardi’s ship. He looked over Rathulf’s shoulder. ‘Isn’t Tariq coming as well?’
‘No chance,’ Rathulf said. ‘I know what you’re like, and I don’t want you riding off without my permission and crashing him into something.’
✽ ✽ ✽
Three days later, Snorri announced they were leaving for Eirik’s. A steady breeze blew from the south which would carry them north all the way to Eirik’s home fjord. Rathulf also suspected the Viking was less than pleased with his chaperoning assignment and missed the hearty atmosphere of Eirik’s hall. Much to Sigvald’s chagrin, Snorri refused Sigvald passage too, insisting that ‘alone’ meant ‘alone’, although in truth tha
t meant being joined by a dozen of Snorri’s men for security, just as Sigvald had observed. The balance of Snorri’s crew were left behind at Thorvaldsby, also for protection.
‘Eirik wasn’t kidding,’ Rathulf said to Snorri as they drew away from the homestead on the early morning tide. His Dumnonian chest sat near the centre of the ship by the mast.
‘A lot of men want you dead,’ Snorri said bluntly, his voice a low growl.
‘I didn’t have anything to do with Horik’s death,’ Rathulf said, ‘although I wish it were me who’d killed him. He was a bastard for what he did to Leif.’
‘I didn’t make the law,’ Snorri said, ‘and besides, it’s not Horik’s friends you need fear. Ivar’s men have pledged to stick your head on a stake, and Alrik’s too, and they mean to do it, assembly or no. From what I hear, Ivar is especially upset at Alrik, who I understand turned down his offer?’
‘I’m not afraid of them,’ Rathulf said, although this was precisely what he feared. They’d all conveniently forgotten about Ivar since Eirik had him collared and muzzled, but he was still a dangerous man, indeed much more so now that he was in captivity thanks to the boys.
Snorri raised his eyebrows at Rathulf. ‘Then you are a fool, for you should be afraid. My brother-in-law has powerful allies.’ He smiled when Rathulf’s face paled upon hearing that revelation.
‘Don’t worry; I shan’t do anything until we’re out of sight of your precious family. But as soon as we’re clear of that bend, I’m going to cleave your head from your neck, throw your body into the fjord, and steal your treasure.’
Rathulf took a step away from the Viking, stunned that he would turn upon him so swiftly. You’re related to Ivar? he thought, horrified.
Snorri burst out laughing, and his men joined him as they revelled in Rathulf’s transparent alarm.
‘Hah, see how readily he sees ill in me,’ he said to his men. ‘True, by rights I should take this opportunity and chop you to pieces for humiliating my kinsman, but fortunately for you I must first serve my blood-brother, and few men test Jarl Eirik’s will and live to boast of it.’
Very funny, thought Rathulf, angrily distancing himself from the huge Viking nevertheless, and not at all reassured by Snorri’s words. He glanced nervously around him at the crew as he made his way up to the prow, wondering whether he should take his chest with him. The men lounged indolently on the deck, enjoying the sun as the stiff breeze drove the ship northwards. No need for the oars today. Some played dice, others sharpened their weapons, but most lay on their backs in the sunshine, enjoying the respite; each one of them sworn to Snorri, and, by virtue of the Viking’s relationship to Ivar, Rathulf’s enemy.
The trip was, however, uneventful, and they arrived at Eirik’s in the late evening. The lowering sun cast long shadows across the sprawling settlement of Eiriksby. Bustling with activity, the town had grown in size over the years to become an important trading centre, and Eirik was Lord over it all. A row of warehouses lined the broad wooden pier, and beyond them, two streets ran up the valley towards an open area, in the centre of which stood Eirik’s vast fire hall.
Snorri led Rathulf up one of those streets towards the hall, his men following in full armour. Rathulf blushed self-consciously as scores of eyes followed him and his impressive escort. He couldn’t tell what most of the people were thinking, but he was starkly aware that many of them must surely side with Horik’s or Ivar’s cause and therefore did not harbour good intentions towards Rathulf. But Eirik had been true to his word, and no harm came to him. The wealthy jarl himself met Rathulf halfway down the street, making a big show of the greeting, clasping Rathulf’s hand warmly and slapping him on the shoulder as one would a good friend.
‘Wondering how many daggers are whistling through the air towards your back?’ he said, again reading Rathulf’s mind. It really was a disturbing talent.
Rathulf nodded guiltily, unable to deny it.
‘You’re safe here, and so is Leif. I’ve made people aware of the situation. I’ll not deny that some don’t give a damn and want the boy drawn and quartered, but they’ll not cross me; at least while he’s here in my hall. That said, Snorri will stay with you at all times.’
Rathulf stopped and looked Eirik in the eye. ‘Thank you,’ he said, genuine in his appreciation.
‘Accepted, but don’t fool yourself into believing I’m doing this because I like you.’ He pointed at Rathulf’s trunk. ‘You’re as wealthy as me now, and some would say nearly as important too, which makes you either a tremendous ally or a mortal enemy. I’ve not yet made up my mind, although friends generally try to avoid killing each other’s families.’
Rathulf winced.
‘For now, I’m choosing to treat you as a friend,’ Eirik continued, ‘but it’s up to you how this plays out. Think carefully about what you say and do at the Althing.’ With that he peeled away, hailing a trader in a side street. Rathulf felt uneasy after that exchange, and suddenly his trunk felt heavy on his shoulder.
He found Leif in the hall, sitting in a quiet corner, playing a game of hnefatafl against himself. The youth made a pitiful sight in his conspicuous solitude, but what Rathulf did notice was how much better his friend looked, even after so short a time. For a start, Eirik had found his nephew some decent, properly-fitting clothes so that at least Leif no longer resembled a beaten slave. There were still clear signs of abuse on the boy’s face and arms, but the bruising and swelling had lessened, and he seemed to have already put on a bit of weight.
‘You look better,’ Rathulf said, genuine in his praise.
‘Rathulf?’ Leif looked up in surprise. His brow creased into a frown, then he looked down at himself. ‘Fattening the goose for the slaughter,’ he said.
‘Don’t say that,’ Rathulf said, troubled by his friend’s dark observation. He put down the chest and sat next to his friend. Snorri kept a respectful distance, but, Rathulf noticed, stayed within earshot.
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ Leif replied, but he changed the subject before Rathulf could protest. ‘Why’d you come?’ he asked, and Rathulf couldn’t help but notice a tinge of antipathy in Leif’s voice.
‘To see you, of course,’ Rathulf said, feeling hurt. ‘I didn’t go to all that effort to leave you here alone.’ He glanced at Snorri, reminding himself he needed to be careful with his words. ‘I brought my chest. I thought you’d like to see what’s in it since you saved it. We had to break it open because we couldn’t find the key.’
Leif looked at the spot where Rathulf had set the box. A shadow crossed his brow. ‘This is the last place you should have brought that,’ he said.
Rathulf didn’t know what to say to that, but before he could respond, he was interrupted by a coarse voice from the doorway.
‘Oi, kuksuger! What are you doing in my house?’
Rathulf’s heart sank when he saw Gunnar striding across the hall towards them with his huddle of sycophantic followers in tow. Gunnar’s arm was still bound in a sling, and he walked with a slight limp.
‘I’m talking to you, thrall,’ Gunnar sneered. ‘Come to see the murdering breiddjame, have you?’
‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ Rathulf asked Leif, ignoring Gunnar.
‘You’re not welcome here, rævpuler,’ Gunnar snarled, walking up to the two boys. He was intercepted by Snorri, who put one of his large hands on Gunnar’s chest, stopping the boy in his tracks.
‘Scat,’ the big Viking growled.
Gunnar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Remember who you’re talking to,’ he said icily.
‘Oh, I know well enough,’ Snorri answered, clearly untroubled by Gunnar’s threatening tone. ‘Now, get lost.’
For a moment Gunnar didn’t move, but then he thought better of disobeying Snorri and turned on his heel and stalked off. Rathulf couldn’t help but smile as his gaggle of friends followed him out.
‘Arsehole,’ Leif muttered.
‘Watch it,’ Snorri warned.
‘Come on,’ Rathul
f said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Rathulf heaved his chest onto his shoulder, and they left the hall. Rathulf led them away from the buildings, and they headed a short distance up the valley towards a hillock that was topped by a large slab of pale rock. Snorri and three of his men followed, their eyes sweeping the surroundings for any sign of danger. Leif muttered his apologies to Rathulf for bringing all this trouble down on him.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rathulf said, setting down the trunk and sitting with his back to the rock. They had a good view of the settlement from here, the setting sun veiled by tendrils of smoke from the many hearth-fires drifting upward from the town.
Rathulf unlatched the chest, opened the lid, and then moved back so that Leif could look inside. Leif made a show of being impressed, but that’s exactly how it felt to Rathulf: an act. Leif made the right noises when he drew the sword from its scabbard, and was suitably impressed by the coins, but somehow it wasn’t convincing. It was nothing like the reaction of everyone back at Thorvaldsby, even by those who already knew what was inside. And it couldn’t all be down to the fact that Rathulf had left most of the money behind so that he could more easily carry the chest (and Helga felt it prudent not to take himself into enemy territory carrying a small fortune with him).
Leif looked at Rathulf’s hand and let out a grunt of surprise. ‘You’re not wearing the ring?’ he said. Rathulf frowned at his friend. He’d not unwrapped it yet. A cold tendril of doubt crept into Rathulf’s heart.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s in here.’ He took it out and gave it to Leif, who turned it over in his hand, much as Rathulf had done when he’d first seen it. If Rathulf had wanted to see ill in Leif, then his friend’s expression of coveted longing did little to quell Rathulf’s feelings of unease.
Leif handed it back to Rathulf. ‘You should have it on,’ he said.
It was an odd thing to say, and Rathulf could have sworn Leif sounded resentful. No wonder, he supposed, given all that had happened as a result of it. ‘I guess I haven’t felt ready to,’ he said by way of explanation, as much for himself as Leif. He folded it back into the cloth and returned it to the chest. ‘Come with me,’ Rathulf said suddenly. ‘Come with Alrik and me to Dumnonia.’
