by Peter Fox
This can’t be true, he told himself. I don’t want to be Caelin. I want to be Rathulf Thorvaldarsson the Viking. But even as he thought it, he knew it was not to be.
Helga appeared before him a little while later, holding a small bone cup. He took it and gratefully downed its contents, needing the soothing tonic to prevent his head and heart exploding from anguish and confusion. He lay down and curled up beside the water, murmuring his thanks to Helga. The tonic took hold, and within moments he was gliding peacefully towards a warm, safe place that held no visions, no nightmares, indeed nothing to trouble him at all.
✽ ✽ ✽
‘We have to take him back,’ Sigvald said to the gathering. They had retired to the hall, Ottar carrying the unconscious Rathulf inside and laying him down on the bedplace to sleep off Helga’s tonic. ‘This won’t end until Aneurin is reunited with his brother,’ Sigvald continued. ‘He’s the one steering this. He’s behind everything that’s happened.’
‘The two wolves,’ Helga mused, ‘and we’ve kept them apart.’
‘Exactly. Why didn’t we work this out earlier, Helga? All the signs were there in front of our faces. I’m such a fool!’
‘I don’t know, husband. Perhaps we needed to believe that Aneurin was dead? We certainly didn’t want to let Rathulf go. But we have all paid dearly for interfering with his destiny. Every time we got in the way, Aneurin – and the Gods – punished us. It all started with the avalanche when Thorvald decided not to give Rathulf his chest…’
‘Don’t lay this at my door,’ Thorvald began, but Helga raised an appeasing hand.
‘I’m not blaming you,’ Helga said gently, ‘but whenever we have erred from smoothing the path for the boys’ reunion, fate has struck back. Look at what happened to Leif. He tried to take the trunk for himself and has been banished to die in the northern wastelands. His father, too, is dead for the same reason. And, of course, there is the most terrible loss of all.’
‘No, Helga,’ Sigvald said forcefully. ‘Alrik was murdered by Ivar.’
‘Was he?’
‘Of course he was. Alrik has nothing to do with this. It makes no sense that they would kill the only one amongst us who was rooting for Aneurin’s cause, even if he didn’t know it himself. Alrik tried everything he could to get the trunk back to Rathulf and to tell Rathulf who he really was. So why slay him, and in such a cruel way? It’s bad enough that Alrik died, but for Rathulf to have managed such an incredible feat of courage only to be the one who failed him at the very end… It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s utterly unfair.’
‘Since when have the Gods concerned themselves with fairness, Sigvald?’ Helga countered. ‘I think they killed Alrik because there was no space in Rathulf’s heart for anyone else; certainly not a long-lost brother. They had to show him that no matter how bravely he fought, how deeply he loved, or how much he yearned to be a Norseman, this is not his path. To break his bond with us, they had to break his heart.’
‘Nonsense,’ Sigvald said.
‘Is it?’ came a voice from the other side of the room. They turned to see that Rathulf had woken. He sat in the half-dark, watching them.
‘You tell me,’ Sigvald said.
‘Husband!’ Helga scolded.
‘It doesn’t matter who I love,’ Rathulf continued, ‘because you’re all the same to them. Helga’s right, they’ll kill every one of you if I don’t do what they want. And there’s another reason I should go: if I’m gone from the fjordlands then maybe Ivar’s kin will leave you alone. You know they’ve vowed to kill me, and most of you as well, so maybe I can stop the blood-feud.’
Sigvald opened his mouth to argue, but in the face of such an overwhelmingly good point, he remained silent.
‘I know I have to go back. I don’t have a choice,’ Rathulf said, his voice flat.
‘Well at least you don’t have to go alone,’ Sigvald replied, looking to the others for support. They began nodding in assent, but Rathulf cut them off.
‘No, I have to go by myself,’ he said.
‘Of course you don’t!’ Sigvald protested. ‘We’ll take you back to your homeland. It’s what the Gods want!’
‘No,’ Helga warned. ‘He’s right. He needs to leave Norvegr behind. All of it. We all know it, and the sooner we accept it, the easier it’s going to be on Rathulf. And us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. How’s he going to get to Dumnonia by himself? He can’t walk there.’
‘I’ll take passage with traders,’ Rathulf said.
‘It’s far too late to sail,’ Sigvald countered. ‘Most of the ships have already returned for wintering.’
‘Then I’ll make my way south by land and coaster and wait until next spring to sail from one of the southern markets.’
‘No. I will take you now,’ Ottar said, surprising them all with his unexpected offer.
‘And be wrecked or drowned for thanks?’ Rathulf asked bitterly.
‘I’m willing to take that risk for you Rathulf. Unlike others here I have no ulterior motive.’ He raised his eyebrows at Sigvald. ‘I’ve no plans to plunder or emigrate, and I’ve sailed later than this in the past and survived. We’ll be safe on the Storm Beater.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Helga said quickly, seizing on the proposal.
Ottar raised his drinking horn to Rathulf.
‘But how will he find Aneurin? Where will he start?’ Sigvald protested.
‘He’s been telling Ra all along,’ Helga said. ‘In his dreams, his visions.’ She turned to her foster-son. ‘Can you describe the place?’
Rathulf shrugged. ‘It was just an old byre. It could be anywhere.’
‘What about the surroundings? Is there anything recognisable?’ Sigvald urged.
‘How would I know?’ Rathulf flared. ‘I’ve never been there, have I? And anyway, I think he’s somewhere else now. Maybe the town we were born? I don’t know.’
‘You’re just going to have to trust the Gods to lead you to him,’ Helga said, ignoring the factual error in Rathulf’s statement. ‘They seem to be determined that you two get together so we must hope they’ll not make it overly difficult. Perhaps when you arrive, he will find you.’
‘And then what’ll Ra do?’ Sigvald asked his wife.
‘I’ve already told you,’ Rathulf answered with some venom. ‘I want to kill him. He’s the cause of all this, and I want to share my suffering with him.’
‘I’m not sure that’s what the Gods have in mind for you,’ Sigvald cautioned.
‘Do you think I care about them?’ Rathulf snapped. ‘What help have they been to me? My brother can have his kingdom back and all that goes with it. I sure don’t want it.’
Sigvald winced. Dangerous talk, given the mood of the Gods in this matter. ‘And then what?’ he ventured tentatively.
Rathulf shrugged. ‘No idea. Maybe I’ll join a raiding party. Maybe I’ll head east and see how far I get. With any luck, I’ll be killed quickly.’
‘But what about me?’ Ingrith said, finally daring to speak.
Rathulf gave her a long, wretched look, then he turned away and stared into the fire. ‘You’re better off without me,’ he said. ‘All of you are. These wolves are cursed.’
‘Oh Ra, you must not believe that!’ Helga said, taking him in her embrace.
His body shook as he sobbed into her warm bosom.
‘You poor, poor thing,’ she said. ‘Dearest Ra, even though the Gods may have forsaken you, we have not. Remember that no matter what happens to you, you will always have a home here amongst us. And if saying that dooms us all to terrible misfortune, then the Gods and we can jump hand-in-hand into the flames of Muspelheim for all I care.’
14. Wolf of Dumnonia
Sigvaldsby, Lærdalsfjorden, Norvegr
Ten days later, Rathulf’s extended family and friends stood on the shore of Lærdalsfjorden to send him on his way. They had awoken to a bright, early winter’s day with a steady breeze blowing in from the north; a good omen, Helga insist
ed, although it did little to lighten the gathering’s spirits. Eirik was present, but conspicuous in their absence were Bardi and his family. For some reason, Rathulf had hoped Snorri would come, but the warrior was nowhere to be seen.
Sigvald had managed to extract one concession from his foster son: Rathulf had agreed that Ottar would wait three days at the place where Rathulf disembarked in case Ra had a change of heart. After which Ottar would have to leave, as it was already dangerously late to be sailing over the northern seas. Failing that, Sigvald himself would return to the same place on the following summer solstice, by which time Rathulf would surely have discovered the lay of the land and hopefully his brother to boot.
Ingrith stepped up to Rathulf and pinned a small silver brooch to his tunic. It was a figure of Freyja, goddess of love. ‘I forgive you,’ she whispered as she kissed him lightly on the cheek while he stoically looked beyond her to the waters of the fjord. She stepped back, tears glistening on her face.
Sigvald’s youngest daughter suddenly burst from Helga’s side and threw her arms around Rathulf and pressed her head against Rathulf’s chest. ‘You must promise to come back, Ra-Ra,’ she said, sobbing into his tunic.
Rathulf pushed her away and shook his head at her, not sure of anything anymore. He turned to leave, but Helga’s hand found his, and she turned his face to hers.
‘Remember, you will always have a place here, Ra,’ she said gently.
‘Look after… father for me,’ Rathulf said, hesitating on the title as Helga embraced him one last time.
‘Of course I will, my darling boy,’ she said, crying freely, ‘and you, in turn, must promise me that you will look after yourself.’
Rathulf didn’t answer, but instead, he turned away to climb the gangplank onto the knarr.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Sigvald asked. He lifted a Viking sea chest from the ground behind him with a grunt and handed it to Rathulf. ‘I still don’t know why we couldn’t have added a pair of feet to your Dumnonian one so you could sit on it. This thing’s as heavy as a suckling sow.’
Rathulf had insisted they keep the royal box but place it in a sea chest just to be safe. They’d had to fashion a new chest especially, and as he took up the ridiculously heavy trunk, Rathulf immediately regretted his decision. How am I going to lug this around Dumnonia? he wondered. If only I could take Tariq with me. At that thought, he sought out Myran, who he found standing at the back of the group. Rathulf had not plucked up the courage to thank the slave for saving him, mostly because he still resented the Persian for interfering. He knew it was wrong to think that way and that he owed a great deal to the stable master, not least his life. How long have you been looking out for me? he wondered. Clearly longer than he knew. So he offered Myran a silent acknowledgement of that remarkable fidelity now.
Take good care of Tariq for me, Rathulf said in his thoughts. It came as no surprise that Myran nodded back in understanding. Suddenly Rathulf wished that he could bring Myran along with him, for in truth there was much he wanted to learn from the slave, and, importantly, the Persian would know how to get to Konstantinoupolis. Most of all, Rathulf needed the calm reassurance of his presence. Unexcitable Myran had a quiet confidence about him borne of a depth of experience and wisdom beyond that of any other person Rathulf had met, with the exception perhaps of Helga. The slave knew things about the world that no others did, and he spoke so vividly of foreign lands and their peoples that Rathulf had almost felt he had been there himself.
What do I do? Rathulf asked him in his thoughts. Where do I start?
In response, Myran offered him a compassionate smile, then he turned and walked back towards the stables.
There was a commotion amongst the crowd as Gunnar pushed through and made his way to the ship, carrying his own sea chest aloft on his shoulder. To the astonishment of all those present, Gunnar sprang up the gangplank and dumped his chest down onto the deck and saluted Ottar. ‘Permission to join your crew,’ he said in a tone that was more a command than a question.
Sigvald began to protest on Rathulf’s behalf, and Eirik too stepped forward and demanded his son return to shore immediately. Gunnar cut them both off. ‘He needs someone who can handle a sword and who won’t piss himself at the first sign of trouble,’ he said, ‘and I’m not afraid of some stupid curse.’
‘Get back down here at once,’ Eirik repeated.
‘No, father. I am here to ensure that none of his enemies tries anything. They’ll have to kill me first to get to him, and if they do that, then it means they take on not just Sigvald, but you as well.’
It was an indisputable argument, but Sigvald was not entirely sure that Gunnar would have been Rathulf’s preferred travelling companion. He also doubted Gunnar’s motives. What was the boy really up to? Gunnar smiled at Sigvald and Eirik. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll leave some spoils behind for you.’
Sigvald looked to Eirik for support, but the jarl raised his hands and shrugged. ‘He does have a point,’ he said, ‘and he is a man in his own right. It’s his choice. If anyone should have a say, it’s Rathulf.’
For his part, Rathulf was too stunned to argue, so Ottar gave the order to release the mooring lines and raise the gangplank, and then he pointed to the two boys. ‘Oars. We’ve no slaves to help us on this ship, and we need to turn her about before we can hoist the sail.’
‘Great,’ Gunnar muttered as he dragged his sea chest over to an oar port. Rathulf followed his example, then he helped Gunnar and the other men set the oars. There were seven oarsmen in total. Gunnar sat beside Rathulf because Rathulf was a useless sissy who bore so many injuries that he couldn’t possibly draw an oar on his own. Annoyingly, Gunnar was absolutely right; Rathulf wasn’t able to pull on the oar properly thanks to his injured hand and still-damaged shoulder, so Gunnar rolled his eyes and shouldered Rathulf out of the way. He hauled as strongly as any man, despite, Rathulf mused, his own not-too-distant shoulder dislocation.
This is going to be a long journey, Rathulf thought gloomily.
Before long, they had pulled into the deep water in the middle of the fjord, and Ottar instructed the men to ship the oars. Rathulf offered to help Gunnar stow their oar, but Gunnar shrugged him off, obviously determined to show up his shipmate. It gave Rathulf some satisfaction to see the boy wince as he struggled awkwardly to hoist the heavy pole up onto the oar rack.
Rathulf decided he would be most useful out of everyone’s way, so he retreated to the steering deck at the knarr’s stern. The tiller was unattended, so Rathulf took the smooth wood in his hand and turned from the activity on the deck to look at the shore behind them. Everyone stood watching in silence, although more than one of the women was crying, including Gunnar’s mother, which came as a surprise, given her well-known glacial reputation.
There was a sudden crack and heavy thump as the wind caught the large, square sail and the mast creaked as it took the strain of the filling cloth. Rathulf tightened his grip on the steering oar which bucked under his hand as the ship gathered speed. He glanced for’ard to check his bearings, then he turned back to the receding shoreline. Farewell Norvegr, he thought sadly, as he watched their wake spread in ever-widening ripples from the stern.
‘You’re looking the wrong way, dolt.’ Gunnar’s harsh voice broke into Rathulf’s thoughts. Rathulf turned to find Eirik’s son standing just below the steering deck, hands on his hips, shaking his head.
In a panic, Rathulf looked ahead, but to his relief, he saw that he had held them on an even course towards the centre of the fjord. Several suitable retorts sprang to mind, but Rathulf decided to keep things civil. ‘Thanks for offering to come,’ he said instead.
Gunnar shrugged. ‘I told you I would. And anyway, Leif had a good idea, even if the pathetic loser couldn’t carry it through. I, however, can best you with sword, bow and bare hands. In fact, I can beat you any way I choose. So don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m doing this because I like you Thorvaldarsson. I plan to take the b
est advantage of whatever the situation throws up, and if that means you falling overboard somewhere along the way and me taking up your identity, who’s going to stand in my way?’
Rathulf’s heart went cold. He surely doesn’t mean that?
Gunnar smiled malevolently. ‘Best pray for calm weather,’ he said, ‘’coz terrible things happen in storms.’
Rathulf turned away from his adversary, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a response. He felt a brush on his arm and saw that Ottar had stepped up onto the steering deck beside him.
‘What’s he been saying this time?’ Ottar asked, seeing Rathulf’s dark expression.
Rathulf looked in the direction of Gunnar, who was making his way up to the prow. ‘Nothing,’ he said. He lifted his gaze beyond Gunnar to the towering walls that flanked either side of the fjord. Does Dumnonia look like this or is it completely different? he wondered.
‘Pay no heed to him,’ Ottar said. ‘He doesn’t really hate you, you know.’
‘Hah!’ Rathulf laughed mockingly.
‘He won’t admit it to you, but he is in awe of you, as are we all. What you did was extraordinary, Rathulf. You are a young man of great power and courage, and he desperately wants to be like you, and dare I say it, be liked by you.’
‘Well he has a weird way of showing it,’ Rathulf said, ‘and he will never be my friend.’
‘Remember that he’s lived in the shadow of his father all his life,’ Ottar said. ‘You want to know what he’s thinking right now? He wishes he hadn’t been so hasty. Look closely at his face. He’s scared out of his wits, but that’s why he’s here. He wants to overcome his fear. He wants to be remembered for deeds of his own making, not for being Eirik’s son.’
‘You can tell all that from his face?’ Rathulf asked, sceptical. Even so, as Ottar had observed, hadn’t Eirik himself said the same thing about Rathulf and Alrik?
Ottar nodded. ‘We all must confront our fears one day or another, Rathulf. I pray that fortune will smile upon you and you find a way to fill the hole that has been left in your heart; not through your death but through finding new love, new hope. It won’t seem possible now – far from it I expect – but Dumnonia will hold that promise for you. I am sure of it.’
