Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2)

by Millie Thom

  Eadwulf nodded. ‘I suppose we’d be fools not to follow,’ he murmured. ‘Although I can’t imagine we’ll find Ivar conveniently alone. He has eleven men guarding him, too, if we include his two aides. Not good odds for us, I’d say. And they’re probably only heading for the camp, anyway.’

  Aethelnoth huffed. ‘So does that mean we’re going, or not? The way I’m hearing it, you’re making excuses not to bother . . .

  ‘And you can piss off,’ he snarled at the young man, who’d crept a little too close again. ‘I’m not fond of eavesdroppers.’

  ‘Do you actually want something from us?’ Eadwulf asked, more equably than his friend. ‘You’re hovering about like a fly over a dung heap. Or perhaps you’d just like to be sociable, is that it?’

  The young merchant stared at him, and then at Aethelnoth, before a great grin lit his filthy face. ‘Well, I think I can safely say my disguise is better than either of yours,’ he chirped. ‘I recognised you two as soon as I saw you.’

  Eadwulf stared back . . . and recognition hit. Not the gradual swell of an incoming wave as each feature became familiar to him, but a tidal wave of certainty – carrying a small bubble of anger that was unable to keep afloat.

  ‘Jorund! What the . . . !’

  ‘He means, what in Odin’s name are you doing here – looking like . . . like that?’ Aethelnoth said, eyeing Jorund from head to foot. ‘You’re supposed to be safe back in Elston.’

  Eadwulf gaped at his young brother, struggling to find something about this situation that made sense. ‘Jorund, at this moment I can’t think of anything rational to ask you, so perhaps you’d better just explain what you think you’re playing at.’

  Jorund squirmed under the probing stare of two pairs of eyes, and Eadwulf fought back a laugh. He secretly admired his younger brother’s guts, although he wasn’t going to tell him that.

  ‘I just wanted to see Ubbi,’ Jorund said, his face downcast. ‘I thought he’d probably go wherever his brothers went, and you were convinced they were all heading for Anglia. I knew you wouldn’t let me go with you, so I waited until you’d been gone a few days and followed. I took the same roads that you and Aethelnoth had talked about, and when I reached Peterborough I heard people talking about the Danish camp in Thetford, so I came here . . .

  ‘And I look like this,’ he added, rubbing his filthy face, ‘for the same reason that you look like that.’ He made a show of gesturing at Eadwulf and Aethelnoth’s grimy appearance. ‘I remembered what you told me about disguising yourself in Nottingham, Eadwulf, and it seemed like a good idea. Not that anyone’s likely to recognise me now, except perhaps Ubbi. And before you ask, I stole the cart. The owner had just left it outside his gate for some reason. He gave a half-hearted shrug. But I intend to put it back later.’

  Eadwulf nodded. ‘What, exactly, did you plan to do once you’d seen Ubbi?’

  ‘I hadn’t planned anything. I suppose I’d hoped that once Ubbi’d seen me, he’d greet me as a friend. You know, sit with me and just talk for a while. But now I know what a warrior he’s become, I don’t think he’d want to admit he’d ever met me. He looked so fearsome.’

  Jorund turned his head to hide his pain and Eadwulf instantly felt the need to say something to cheer him up. ‘Ubbi’s not the only one with a warrior’s physique, Jorund,’ he said. ‘Have you taken a good look at yourself recently? You’re eighteen now, and a man – easily as tall and broad as I am, and would look just as fearsome as Ubbi in a warrior’s garb.’

  ‘You might need to grow that tuft you call a beard a bit longer, though,’ Aethelnoth put in, grinning pointedly at Eadwulf’s now stubbly visage.

  Jorund’s attempt at a smile almost succeeded. ‘Well, that may well be, but now that I’ve seen Ubbi, and the way he and his brothers treat these people, I don’t think it’d make any difference whatever I looked like. He’d still see me as the enemy.’

  He averted his eyes from Eadwulf’s level gaze. ‘It was a bad idea to come here, and now I’m sorry for it. And Leoflaed will probably never forgive me. Wigstan eventually said that if my mind was made up, I was old enough to do what I thought was best. But Leoflaed kept harping on about the dangers of travelling alone – especially with so many Danes about. She had a great rant at both me and her father when I told her I was going. So she’ll probably have another yell at me when we get back.’

  ‘You and me both, Jorund,’ Eadwulf murmured, attempting a smile. ‘My wife declared she wouldn’t have me back at all if I left.’

  ‘She’ll see things differently once she sets eyes on you,’ Aethelnoth assured him, yet again.

  Eadwulf nodded, still unconvinced, and turned again to Jorund, wondering whether he’d witnessed Edmund’s gruesome end.

  ‘I only got here two days ago,’ Jorund said in response to Eadwulf’s question, ‘just after Edmund had been killed, and the streets were full of people, all crying and moaning about what had happened to their king . . .

  ‘And I’ve been looking round for you two since then. So where’ve you been?’

  The accusatory tone in Jorund’s voice caused Eadwulf and Aethelnoth to laugh, bringing a broad smile to Jorund’s face. ‘We’ll talk about all this later,’ Eadwulf said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But right now, we need to get out of here. For one thing, I don’t like the looks we keep getting from those guards over there; for another, we’ve a cart to return and our horses to collect. And, from what you said, you’ve got to do the same.’

  ‘I take it we are going after Ivar then,’ Aethelnoth said as they headed back to the craftsman’s yard.

  Eadwulf nodded. ‘We are – after we’ve returned the cart and offered the leather-worker the vegetables by way of thanks for his kindness. Then we need to find a foodstall to buy supplies for a few days before we meet up with Jorund at the alehouse.’ He shook his head, unable to suppress the smile that crept over his face. ‘That young rogue’s got some mettle, I’ll say that much for him.’

  *****

  Jorund was waiting for them at the alehouse. Astride his own handsome sorrel, he flashed them a smile as they heeled their mounts in the direction of the Danish camp.

  ‘I reckon if we’re caught anywhere near those tents, we’re dead meat.’ Aethelnoth said as the expansive encampment came into view. ‘The guards won’t be asking questions first.’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ Eadwulf agreed. ‘So we’ll just wait back here in the woods, watch what happens. If Ivar heads out anywhere, we’ll be ready to follow.’

  ‘He’ll be moving out soon,’ Jorund said, matter-of-factly.

  Eadwulf dismounted, giving his brother a long, calculating look as he tethered his horse to the low bough of a tree. ‘And just how do you know that?’

  ‘I heard some of the Danes talking about it yesterday,’ Jorund said as he and Aethelnoth tethered their own mounts and came to stand beside him. ‘I was watching the hall – close to where I met up with you two today – and three men just walked past me, heading for the door. They didn’t notice me squatting in a corner by the fence back there, and stopped a few yards in front of me, still talking. I think they were Ivar’s men . . .’

  ‘So, will you tell us what they said,’ Eadwulf said irritably at the pause, ‘or are we supposed to guess?’

  Jorund shrugged. ‘They said something about Ivar itching to get back to Dublin. I didn’t even know he’d ever been to Dublin–’

  ‘Ivar was in Ireland for a couple of years a while back,’ Aethelnoth interrupted, nodding thoughtfully. ‘I remember Hastein and Freydis talking about it. I also seem to recall them saying that Ivar hadn’t even known his father had gone raiding again until he arrived home – then a few weeks later news of Ragnar’s death reached him.’

  ‘Well, he’s aiming to get back there – Dublin, I mean,’ Jorund continued from where he’d left off. ‘And he’s taking a hundred or so of his men with him, leaving Halfdan and a Norwegian warrior called Bagsecg as leaders of the Great Army.
’

  Eadwulf digested the information and looked at Aethelnoth. ‘So, now we know: Ivar and his men will be heading to the coast, for their ships.’

  ‘Ubbi’s ships are beached along the Anglian coast as well.’ Jorund’s blue gaze clouded as it shifted from his brother to Aethelnoth and back again. ‘His fleet reached Anglia a short while after Ivar and Halfdan got here from York, his arrival being the main reason for King Edmund’s outright defeat. Ubbi had close on two hundred ships. The men I overheard had a good laugh about Edmund being trapped like a deer in the middle of a pack of hounds and not knowing which way to run. They thought it even funnier that Halfdan had buried his head somewhere and refused to tell the townsfolk where – and they’re desperate to give it Christian burial with the rest of his body.’

  Eadwulf smiled at the thought of Halfdan’s prank, despite his hatred of the Dane. ‘You seem to know a lot more about events than we do, little brother.’

  ‘Just lucky to have been “eavesdropping” in the right place,’ Jorund said, flashing a cheeky grin at Aethelnoth.

  ‘Did those men say anything about Ubbi’s plans?’ Eadwulf asked, frowning as possibilities filled his head. ‘I mean, will Ubbi be staying here with Halfdan and this Bagsecg, or sailing off elsewhere with his own fleet – or perhaps even heading for Dublin with Ivar?’

  Jorund shrugged. ‘Does it make any difference to you what Ubbi does?’

  ‘I really don’t want to have to confront Ubbi,’ Eadwulf admitted. ‘As far as I know he’s done nothing to warrant my vengeance, and I was always fond of the lad. But if he’s riding with Ivar, who knows what could happen?’

  ‘Surely you wouldn’t kill him . . . would you?’

  Eadwulf held Jorund’s appalled stare. ‘Only if it came to him or me. I’ve no intention of dying just yet. I’ve not yet finished what I swore to do many years ago.’

  Jorund nodded slowly, his mind seeming to accept Eadwulf’s answer even if his heart had not. ‘No one mentioned what Ubbi would be doing,’ he said quietly, ‘so I suppose that means he’s staying with the rest of the Great Army, for now at least.’

  ‘Well, at least we now know which way we’re heading,’ Aethelnoth put in, as a moody silence threatened to settle. ‘Following Ivar and a hundred men to the coast. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep up with them, if Ivar’s travelling in that wagon. We just need to figure out how to get near enough to actually kill the bastard. A hundred fighting men to our three doesn’t strike me as very favourable odds ’

  A little after noon it became evident that their quarry would soon be on the move. The covered wagon and a couple of horse-drawn carts loaded with supplies already stood in readiness, and mounted men were gradually congregating.

  ‘We need to get to the far side of Thetford before we follow them,’ Eadwulf said, glancing at the others. ‘That way, there’ll be less chance of being spotted by anyone in the camp. We can always close in on Ivar’s convoy later on.’

  Aethelnoth nodded as they mounted up, ready to skirt the town. ‘It’s already well past noon, and there won’t be enough light for travelling much longer.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘Who knows what can happen once darkness falls.’

  Twenty

  It had taken them little time to catch up with Ivar’s convoy, keeping their distance along the dirt-track road, and relying on the proximity of woodland should they be spotted. The journey had been a slow one for the Danes as the heavy wagon and carts trundled along at their own laborious rate at the back of the train, and by the time they’d travelled a mere ten miles from Thetford, the early November dusk began to fall.

  Ivar’s company halted in a sheltered spot at the the edge of a stretch of largely leafless woodland and pitched camp for the night. Almost two miles to their rear, Eadwulf and his companions made their own camp deeper into the same stretch of forest, their horses hobbled in a nearby glade where they could graze on the scant November grasses. Eadwulf was finding it hard to contain his escalating anxiety and excitement, and recalled experiencing the same conflicting emotions before he’d taken his gruesome revenge on Rorik. And he sensed Ivar’s comeuppance drawing increasingly closer . . .

  Following an afternoon of near-cloudless skies the air was bitterly cold, and they huddled in their cloaks as they ate an unappetising meal by the light of a slim new moon, their exhaled breaths clouding into the darkening night. They dare not risk the comfort of even the smallest fire. Eadwulf ate in silence, his thoughts awash with the problems of finding Ivar alone; the obstacles in their way. But, he promised himself, tomorrow night he’d make the attempt. Tonight they’d already set up camp – not something they’d do when they needed a quick getaway. Late tomorrow night, he and Aethelnoth would leave their ready-saddled horses with Jorund and make their way to Ivar’s camp on foot. All Eadwulf had to do was get inside that wagon whilst Aethelnoth kept watch, and silence the bastard before he could raise the alarm.

  Yet such a plan depended not only on the proximity of Ivar’s aides, but on the alertness of the night watch. It could take hours of silent surveillance beforehand to determine the positioning of Ivar’s entire company, when any of the horses could give them away. Then there was always the possibility that Ivar wouldn’t be asleep even if Eadwulf did manage to get inside the wagon . . .

  It seemed a hopeless plan, but right now Eadwulf couldn’t think of anything else. The only thing he knew for certain was that Ivar must die before he had the chance to board his ship. It would probably take another three days for the convoy to cover the remaining forty or so miles to the coast – which meant that Eadwulf had, at most, two nights to get into their camp.

  Once they’d finished eating, Eadwulf expressed his concerns to Aethelnoth and Jorund. Aethelnoth was unable to offer any better plan of action, but Jorund suddenly piped up, ‘Well, I’ve got a really good idea.’

  ‘All right,’ Aethelnoth said, beating Eadwulf to a response, ‘tell us what this brilliant idea is, then we can all get some sleep.’

  *****

  After a night of fitful dozing, woken all too often by the penetrating cold, Eadwulf and his companions roused to a morning of clear skies and gleaming white frosts. A morning for thick cloaks and brisk movement; ideally suited to Eadwulf’s throbbing anxiety.

  Having accepted Jorund’s plan as a better option than his own obstacle-beset one, they set out to trail Ivar’s cavalcade for a second day, he and Aethelnoth with their bows across their saddle pommels and quivers strapped across their backs. For a while they rode in silence, contemplating the task ahead, and before long they had their quarry in sight. They held well back, not wanting to alert the two guards bringing up the rear to their presence.

  ‘Can’t we just get on with this?’ Jorund griped. ‘Those two guards are easy targets, and they’re the only thing between us and Ivar.’

  Eadwulf twisted in his saddle to face his brother, riding between himself and Aethelnoth. ‘Not knowing the road ahead, Jorund, we need to be patient, wait for the right opportunity to arise. And when it does, we move fast.’

  Jorund frowned, evidently thinking about that, and Eadwulf added, tolerantly, ‘So far, the road’s been straighter than the Fosse Way and . . .’

  ‘We need some bends,’ Jorund finished for him, looking pleased with himself for not needing the rest explained.

  ‘Right,’ Aethelnoth said. ‘Then your brother and I will do what we have to do and you’ll do as we planned. The horses must be ready for us to make a quick getaway.’

  It wasn’t long before the road gradually began to meander around spurs of forest that extended down to the dirt-packed road, some curves sharper than others. Then, as Ivar’s cavalcade rounded one particularly acute turn, Eadwulf gestured forward with his hand, the signal to close in.

  By the time he and Aethelnoth were in range to loose their arrows, most of the convoy had disappeared from sight. Then the two carts rounded the bend, leaving Ivar’s wagon and the two rear guards – possibly Ivar’s aides – within their
sights.

  The arrows flew true, striking the backs of the two Danes with a dull thud. One slumped across his horse’s neck; the other slid sideways from his saddle to the road. Dismounting and handing their reins to Jorund, Aethelnoth and Eadwulf sprinted forward. Reaching the back of Ivar’s wagon, Aethelnoth crept along its side, keeping pace with it as it rolled along, his hand on the hilt of his sword. If Eadwulf’s actions alerted the driver, the sword would be put to its bloody use. Eadwulf swung himself up to stand on the bar at the base of the chassis. The hide drapes hung loose, still screening the inside of the wagon, and for a moment he stood there, listening, his heartbeat racing. If Ivar had detected anything amiss above the rumbling of the wagon’s wheels, he could have a knife to hand – and Eadwulf’s plan could go totally awry.

  He parted the drapes and stepped silently into the dim, oppressive space, his upper body stooped beneath the low-ceilinged cover.

  Ivar was slumped on the floor of the wagon, his dark head facing frontwards, propped by a mound of thick cushions and his misshapen back supported by a small chest. He seemed to be staring out through a narrow gap in the hides that shielded the interior of the wagon from the driver, completely oblivious to the presence of the assassin at his rear . . .

  Eadwulf sprang forward, looping a thin cord around Ivar’s bull neck with crossed arms, pulling it tight and twisting it at the back. Ivar’s hands shot up, clawing frantically at the ligature crushing his neck, cutting off the very air he breathed.

  ‘I should have strung you up in Odin’s oak,’ Eadwulf whispered into Ivar’s ear as he continued to twist. ‘The same fate you caused to be inflicted on my mother. Or I could have slit your throat, as you did to Sigehelm. Perhaps Odin’s ravens will accept you as a suitable offering . . . Or perhaps not,’ he murmured with a grim snigger as Ivar’s arms slid down from his throat and his head fell forward.

  ‘I doubt that Odin would welcome one as heinous as you,’ he added to the lifeless corpse.