Deflated, Árni drove over the pass beyond Mosfell Heath and down towards the lake. It wasn’t actually raining, but there was a stiff breeze that ruffled the surface. Their approach was watched by a posse of sturdy Icelandic horses from the farm behind the cottages, their long golden forelocks flopping down over their eyes.
Magnus noticed a boy and a girl playing by the shore of the lake – the boy was about eight, the girl much smaller. Again, only the one summer house with the Range Rover was occupied. Agnar’s property was still a crime scene, with yellow tape fluttering in the wind and a police car parked outside, in which sat a solitary constable reading a book. Crime and Punishment by one F.M. Dostojevskí, it transpired. Magnus smiled. Cops everywhere liked to read about crime; it wasn’t surprising that the Icelanders had a more literary approach to it than their American counterparts.
The policeman was glad of the company and let Magnus and Árni into the house. It was cold and still. Fingerprint dust covered most of the smooth surfaces, adding to the sense of desolation, and there were chalk marks around the traces of blood on the floor.
Magnus examined the desk: drawers full of papers, most of them printouts from a computer. There was also a low cupboard just to the left of the desk, in which more reams of paper lay.
‘OK, you check out the cabinet, I’ll check out the desk,’ Magnus said, slipping on a pair of white latex gloves.
The first bundle he examined was a French translation of the Laxdaela Saga, on which were scribbled comments in French. These only covered the first half of the manuscript. Magnus had learned some French at school, and he guessed that Árni had been correcting or commenting on the work of another translator, probably an Icelandic-speaking Frenchman.
‘What have you got, Árni?’
‘Gaukur’s Saga,’ he said. ‘Have you ever heard of it?’
‘No,’ said Magnus. That wasn’t necessarily a surprise. There were dozens of sagas, some well-known, some much less so. ‘Wait a minute. Wasn’t Gaukur the guy who lived at Stöng?’
‘That’s right,’ said Árni. ‘I went there when I was a kid. I was scared out of my wits.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Magnus. ‘My father took me there when I was sixteen. There was something really creepy about that place.’
Stöng was an abandoned farm about twenty kilometres north of the volcano, Mount Hekla. It had been smothered in ash after a massive eruption some time in the middle ages, and had only been rediscovered in the twentieth century. It lay at the end of a rough track which wound its way through a landscape of blackened destruction: mounds of sand and small outcrops of lava twisted into grotesque shapes. When Magnus read of the apocalypse, he thought of the road to Stöng.
‘Let me take a look.’
Árni handed the manuscript to Magnus. It was about a hundred and twenty crisp, newly printed pages, in English. On the cover were the simple words: ‘Gaukur’s Saga, translated by Agnar Haraldsson’.
Magnus turned the page, scanning the text. On the second page he came upon a word that brought his eyes to an abrupt halt.
Ísildur.
‘Árni, look at this!’ He flicked rapidly through more pages. Ísildur. Ísildur. Ísildur. Ísildur.
The name cropped up several times on each page. Ísildur wasn’t a bit player in this saga, he was a main character.
‘Wow,’ said Árni. ‘Shall we take it back to headquarters to get forensics to look at it?’
‘I’m going to read it,’ Magnus said. ‘Then forensics can take a look.’
So he sat down in a comfortable armchair, and began to read, passing each page carefully to Árni as he finished with it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ÍSILDUR AND GAUKUR were two brothers who lived at a farm called Stöng. Ísildur was strong and brave with dark hair. He had a hare lip and some people thought he was ugly. He was a skilled carver of wood. Gaukur, although two years younger than Ísildur, was even stronger. He had fair hair and was very handsome, but he was vain. He was an expert with a battleaxe. Both brothers were honest and popular in the region.
Their father, Trandill, wanted to pay a visit to his uncle in Norway and to go on Viking raids. Their mother had died when the boys were small, so Trandill sent them to a friend, Ellida-Grímur of Tongue, to be fostered. Ellida-Grímur agreed to manage the farm at Stöng in Trandill’s absence. Ellida-Grímur had a son, Ásgrímur, who was the same age as Ísildur. The three boys became fast friends.
Trandill was away for three years, spending the summers raiding and trading in the Baltic and in Ireland, and the winters with his uncle, Earl Gandalf the White, in Norway.
One day a traveller returning to Iceland from Norway arrived at Tongue with a message. Trandill had been killed in a fight with Erlendur, Earl Gandalf’s son. Gandalf was willing to pay the compensation that was due to Trandill’s sons, and to hand over the inheritance if one of the brothers would come to Norway to collect it.
When Ísildur was nineteen, he decided to travel to Norway to visit his great uncle and claim his inheritance. Gandalf and his son Erlendur welcomed him with great warmth and hospitality. Gandalf said that Erlendur had killed Trandill in self-defence when Trandill had attacked him in a drunken rage. The other men at the court who had witnessed Trandill’s death agreed that this was the case.
Ísildur decided to spend the summer on Viking raids with Erlendur. They went to Courland and Karelia in the East Baltic. Ísildur was a brave warrior and won much booty. After many adventures, he returned to the house of Gandalf a wealthy man.
Ísildur told Gandalf that he wanted to return to Iceland. Gandalf gave Ísildur the compensation he was owed for his father’s death, and also Trandill’s treasure. But the night before Ísildur was due to set sail, Gandalf said he had something else to give him. It was locked in a small chest.
Inside was an ancient ring.
Gandalf explained that Trandill had won the ring on a raid in Frisia when he had fought the famous warrior chieftain, Ulf Leg Lopper. Ulf Leg Lopper was ninety years old, but he appeared to be no older than forty and he was still a fearsome fighter. After a long struggle, Trandill felled him. He saw the ring on Ulf Leg Lopper’s finger and chopped the finger off.
Despite the fact that he was dying, Ulf Leg Lopper smiled. ‘I give you thanks for relieving me of my burden. I found this ring in the River Rhine seventy years ago. I have worn it every day since then. During that time I have won great victories and wealth in battle. Yet although I wear the ring, I feel that the ring owns me. It will bring you great power, but then it will bring you death. And now I can die, in peace at last.’
Trandill examined the ring. Inside were inscribed in runes the words ‘The Ring of Andvari’. He was going to ask Ulf more about the ring, but when he looked down, Ulf was dead, a smile on his face, no longer a great warrior, but a wrinkled old man.
Gandalf told Ísildur the legend of the ring. It had belonged to a dwarf named Andvari, who used to fish by some waterfalls. The ring was seized from Andvari, together with a hoard of gold, by Odin and Loki, two ancient gods. Andvari laid a curse on the ring, saying it would take possession of its bearer and use the bearer’s power to destroy him, and would continue to do so until it was taken home to Hel. [Translator’s footnote: Hel was the domain of Hel, the goddess of death and Loki’s daughter.]
Odin, foremost of the gods, reluctantly gave the ring to a man named Hreidmar as compensation for killing his son. The ring had drawn great power from Odin. In the following years the ring fell into the possession of a number of keepers, each of which was corrupted, including Hreidmar’s son Fafnir, who became a dragon; the hero Sigurd; the Valkyrie Brynhild and Sigurd’s sons Gunnar and Hogni. Everywhere it went it left a trail of treachery and murder in its wake, until finally it was hidden by Gunnar in the Rhine so that his father-in-law Atli could not get hold of it.
There it lay for centuries until it was found by Ulf Leg Lopper.
When Trandill returned to Norway he was a changed man: s
ecretive, cunning and selfish. He constantly taunted Erlendur and one evening, in a drunken rage, he attacked him. Erlendur killed him with a lucky blow.
Erlendur was going to take the ring, but Gandalf laid claim to it. That evening he put it on. At once he felt different: stronger, powerful, and also greedy.
Later that evening a Sami sorceress from the North knocked at the door of Gandalf’s house seeking shelter. She saw that Gandalf was wearing the ring. She was overcome with terror and tried to leave into the night, but Gandalf stopped her. He demanded to know what she had seen.
She said that the ring had a terrible power. It would consume all who owned it, until a man so powerful wore it that he would rule the world and destroy everything good in it. The world would be plunged into eternal darkness.
Gandalf was concerned. He could feel the effect that the ring was having on him, but he was not yet in its power. He took off the ring at once and told the sorceress that he would destroy it. She said that the only way the ring could be destroyed was as Andvari had prophesied; it must be thrown into the mouth of Hel.
‘Tell me, woman, where is Hel?’
‘It is a mountain in the land of fire and ice,’ the sorceress replied.
‘I know where she means,’ said Erlendur. ‘Trandill told me of it. It is Hekla, a great volcano near his farm at Stöng.’
So Gandalf decided never to wear the ring again and to keep it safe for Trandill’s sons. He told Ísildur to take the ring to Hekla in Iceland and throw it into the volcano.
That night Ísildur had a dream that he was leading a glorious raiding party through England and he won a hoard of gold. He woke up before it was light and put on the ring. Immediately he felt taller, stronger, invincible. And he was determined to earn an even greater fortune overseas.
He went to Gandalf and demanded that the earl give him a ship and permit him to lead a raiding party to England. Gandalf saw he was wearing the ring and ordered him to take it off. Ísildur felt a surge of anger shoot through him. He took up an axe and was just about to split Gandalf’s skull when Erlendur grabbed him from behind.
As they struggled, Erlendur shouted: ‘Stop, Ísildur. You don’t know what you are doing! It is the ring! You will make me have to kill you just like I killed your father!’
Ísildur felt a burst of strength course through his veins and he threw Erlendur off him. He raised his axe high above the defenceless Erlendur. But when he looked down on his cousin and his friend with whom he had shared so many adventures that summer, he stopped himself. He threw down the axe and pulled the ring off his finger. He replaced the ring in its box and left for Iceland immediately.
He returned home to Iceland with the ring and his treasure. Gaukur had taken over the management of the farm at Stöng, and was betrothed to a woman named Ingileif. When Ásgrímur heard that Ísildur had returned he travelled to Stöng to meet his foster-brother. Ísildur told his brother and his foster-brother about his adventures in Norway and the Baltic. Then he told them all about Andvari’s Ring, and Earl Gandalf’s instruction that he toss it into Hekla. He described the immense sense of power he had felt when he put on the ring, and the constant temptation to try it on again. He said that he intended to take the ring up the mountain the very next day and he asked Gaukur and Ásgrímur to accompany him to make sure that he went through with the quest.
Hekla had a fearsome reputation and no one had climbed it before. But the three men were brave and undaunted, so early the next morning they set off for the volcano. On the second day, they were most of the way up the mountain when Ásgrímur slipped down a gully and broke his leg. He could not continue further, but he agreed to wait until the brothers returned from the summit.
He waited until nearly midnight before he heard the sound of footsteps scrambling down the mountain. But there was only one man, Gaukur. He told Ásgrímur what had happened. He and his brother were standing by the crater at the top of the mountain. Ísildur took the ring from its box and was about to toss it into the crater, but he seemed unable to do so. He said that the ring was very heavy. Gaukur urged him to throw it, but Ísildur became angry and put the ring on his finger. Then he turned and before Gaukur could grab him, he leaped into the crater.
‘At least the ring is destroyed,’ said Ásgrímur. ‘But at a very high price.’
In the years afterwards, Gaukur changed. He became vain and quarrelsome, cunning and greedy. But he was even stronger and braver in battle and had a fearsome reputation. Despite all this, his foster-brother Ásgrímur remained steadfast in his loyalty. He frequently supported Gaukur in the various disputes Gaukur was involved in at the annual gathering of the Althing in Thingvellir.
Gaukur married Ingileif. She was a wise woman and beautiful. She had a strong temper, but she was usually quiet. She noticed the change in Gaukur and she did not like it. She also noticed that Gaukur spent much time at Steinastadir, the farm of his neighbour Ketil the Pale.
Ketil the Pale was a clever farmer, wise and peaceful and a gifted composer of poetry. He was popular with everyone, except perhaps his wife. Her name was Helga. She had fair hair and long limbs and was contemptuous of her husband, but admired Gaukur.
There was a marsh between the two farms, on Ketil the Pale’s land. It was waterlogged in winter, but in spring it produced very sweet grass. One spring Gaukur decided to graze his own cows on the land and chased Ketil the Pale’s cows away. Ketil the Pale protested, but Gaukur brushed him off. Ketil the Pale did nothing. Helga scolded her husband for being so weak.
After midsummer, when Gaukur was returning from the Althing at Thingvellir, he passed by Ketil the Pale’s farm. He came across a slave of Ketil the Pale who was slow to get out of his way. So Gaukur chopped off his head. Once again, Ketil the Pale did nothing.
Helga was again contemptuous of Ketil the Pale. She scolded him from morning until night, vowing never to share his bed again until he had demanded compensation from Gaukur.
So Ketil the Pale rode over to Stöng to speak to Gaukur.
‘I have come to demand compensation for the unlawful killing of my slave,’ Ketil said.
Gaukur snorted. ‘His killing was perfectly lawful. He blocked the way back to my own farm and would not let me pass.’
‘That is not my understanding of what happened,’ said Ketil.
Gaukur laughed at him. ‘You understand very little, Ketil. Everyone knows that every ninth night you are the woman to the troll of Búrfell.’
‘And they know that you could not sire anyone because you were gelded by the troll’s daughters,’ Ketil replied, for at that time Gaukur and Ingileif had no children.
Whereupon Gaukur picked up his axe and after a brief struggle chopped off Ketil the Pale’s leg. Ketil dropped down dead.
Afterwards Gaukur made even more visits to Ketil the Pale’s farm, where Helga was now the mistress. Ketil’s brother’s demanded compensation from Gaukur, but he refused to pay, and his foster-brother Ásgrímur supported him loyally.
Ingileif was jealous, and determined to stop Gaukur. She spoke to Thórdís, Ásgrímur’s wife and told her a secret. Ísildur had not jumped into the crater of Hekla while wearing the ring. He had been killed by Gaukur, who had taken the ring, and then pushed his brother into the crater. Gaukur had hidden the ring in a small cave watched over by a troll’s hound.
Thórdís told her husband what Ingileif had said. Ásgrímur did not believe her. But that night he had a dream. In his dream he was with a group of men in a great hall and an old Sami sorceress pointed to him. ‘Ísildur tried and failed to destroy the ring and was killed in the process. Now it is up to you to find the ring and to take it to the mouth of Hel.’
Killing a man without reporting it was a great crime. Although Ásgrímur was convinced by his dream, he had no proof with which to accuse Gaukur, and Gaukur was not the man to accuse without proof. So Ásgrímur went to his neighbour Njáll, a great and clever lawyer, to help him. Njáll admitted that it would be impossible to prove anything at
the Althing. But he suggested a trap.
So Ásgrímur told Thórdís who told Ingileif that Ísildur had given him a helm in secret when he had returned from Norway. The helm belonged to Fafnir, the son of Hreidmar, and it was famous in legend. Ásgrímur had hidden it in an old barn on a hill at the edge of his farm at Tongue.
Then Ásgrímur stood watch, hiding in the roof of the barn to ambush Gaukur, if he should come looking for the helm. Sure enough, on the third night, he caught Gaukur entering the barn, looking for the helm. Ásgrímur confronted Gaukur who drew his sword.
‘Would you kill me in order to steal what is not yours, just as you killed your brother?’ Ásgrímur asked.
In answer Gaukur swung his sword at Ásgrímur. They fought. Although Gaukur was the stronger and the better warrior, he was overconfident and Ásgrímur was fired with anger at the betrayal by the foster-brother whom he had always supported so loyally. He ran Gaukur through with a spear.
Ásgrímur searched for the ring but never found it and Ingileif would not tell him where it was hidden. She said that the ring had already caused enough evil and should be left to rest.
Six months after Gaukur’s death, Ingileif gave birth to a son, Hogni.
But the ring did not lie quietly. A century later there was an enormous volcanic eruption and Hekla smothered Gaukur’s farm at Stöng in ash, to be lost for ever.
The ring is still hidden somewhere in the hills near Stöng. One day it will emerge, just as it emerged out of the Rhine at the time of Ulf. When it does, it must not fall again into the hands of an evil man. It must be tossed into the mouth of Mount Hekla, as the Sami sorceress decreed.
Until that time this saga shall be kept secret by the heirs of Hogni.
Magnus handed the last page to Árni, who still had several pages to go, which was fair enough since English was not his first language. Magnus stared out over the lake at the two small islands in the middle.
Where the Shadows Lie Page 10
