by V. Campbell
“Come on,” Toki said, giving Redknee a friendly punch on the shoulder. “How could we lose?”
The feasting lasted well into the night. Redknee watched with Silver from the sidelines as Hawk, filled with mead and rosy cheeked, went to Astrid and put his arms round her waist. She tried to shrug him off, but he persisted. “I’m sorry,” Hawk mumbled. “I did love you once—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said.
“Come on – one kiss, for old time’s sake. I’ve seen you watching me.” Hawk strained to press his lips to her cheek as she fought to push him away, eventually giving up and allowing him to plant his kiss. “There,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad.”
Astrid grimaced as Hawk staggered away. Then she seemed to change her mind. “Wait,” she called after him, placing her basket on the ground and fishing in her pouch. “Have something to eat.”
Hawk smiled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking the seeds from her and supplementing them with another handful from the basket. Then he stumbled merrily into the throng, whistling a jaunty tune Redknee recognised from home.
Bright morning light shone on Hawk’s peaceful features. If he’d died in agony, Redknee couldn’t tell. Running Deer knelt beside her husband’s body, weeping into her apron while her father and brothers consoled her.
The events of the night before were foggy in Redknee’s mind. The last thing he’d seen Hawk do was kiss Astrid. Wait. He’d taken nuts from her basket. But everyone had eaten from it – and no one else felt ill, at least, no worse than to be expected after a night-long celebration. Then he remembered. He turned to Hiawatha.
“She did it,” he said, pointing to Astrid. “She killed your son-in-law.”
Astrid’s face turned pale. “No! I swear I didn’t.”
“Check her pouch,” he said. “She keeps the poison in there.”
Crouching Bear grabbed Astrid and handed the pouch she kept round her waist to Hiawatha, who emptied its contents on the ground. Three black seeds, the size of peppercorns, fell out. Wolfsbane. Everyone gasped.
“Did you poison Thora and the Bjornsson twins too?” Redknee demanded.
Astrid raised her chin in defiance. “I swear I didn’t.”
“I saw you give these to Hawk last night,” Redknee said.
“Only yesterday you thought Harold poisoned Thora and the Bjornsson twins. Now you point the finger at me. It is you, Redknee, who is hard to believe. Let us see what’s in your pouch.”
No one spoke; they just stared at him with wide eyes. They couldn’t think he’d done it … could they?
“This is mad,” Redknee said, tipping his pouch upside down. “I had no reason to kill Hawk or any of the others.” But as he finished speaking a large handful of black seeds, identical to those from Astrid’s pouch, fell out. “Wait!” Redknee said, horror drying his throat. “I know nothing about these!”
Thinking Owl whispered in Hiawatha’s ear. When his son had finished, Hiawatha nodded.
“What did he say?” Redknee asked.
Running Deer spoke between sobs. “He says … that you were the last person my … my husband spoke to before he bedded down for the night, before … before he was murdered.”
“What? But I saw him talking to Astrid.”
“No one else saw that,” Running Deer said quietly.
Toki pulled on Redknee’s arm. “I think you should leave now. Before things turn nasty.”
“No,” Redknee said. “I’m innocent. I want to prove it.” But as he looked round, only hard faces stared back. He started to edge away. Maybe Toki was right, maybe he should run.
“Come on,” Toki said, “remember what I said to you last night, how we can make our fortune. Let’s go.”
Redknee held his hands up. “I didn’t do this,” he said. “But I’ll leave now, if that’s what you want.” He turned and went over to where Silver lay, still recovering beneath the White Pine. Running Deer had saved the pup’s life, and now she thought he’d killed her husband. With great weariness, he scooped Silver into his arms and set off after Toki.
He’d gone no more than twenty paces when he heard his name being called. He turned round. Sinead ran towards him, her hood of copper curls bobbing between the trees. She had her big leather bag with the shoulder straps in her hand.
“I don’t think you killed all those people,” she said as she caught up with him.
“Thanks.”
“But I do think you should go … there’s nothing for you here … with these people.”
“Nothing?”
Sinead glanced over her shoulder.
“Won’t you come with me?” The words were out before he could stop himself.
“You know I’m going back to the Northlands with Ragnar.”
Redknee nodded.
“I can’t be your slave forever, can I? I have a future with Ragnar, with his family. He knows King Hakon. He wants me to marry his son, Prince Halfdan.”
Redknee tilted his head. “How can I compete with that?”
Sinead laughed nervously. “You can’t.”
“How do you know you’ll like him?”
“I don’t. But being married to a Prince must be better than milking cows, kneading bread, grinding corn and emptying the cesspit.”
“Yes,” Redknee said, leaning closer. He felt her warm breath on his face, “I suppose it must be.” Her lips felt soft beneath his. He remembered their kiss, on the beach, under the stars. He’d thought that would be the start of something …
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Sinead said, pulling back, her eyes over-bright.
Redknee could only nod mutely.
“Here,” she said, holding out her bag. “It has a solid base, you can carry Silver in it until he’s better – it will hold.”
She helped him tuck Silver into the bag, which wasn’t easy as the pup kept trying to lick her face. Eventually, with Silver bedded down safely, his white nose peeking out, Redknee slung the bag over his shoulder, and, without a further word, turned and left.
If Sinead had run after him, she would have seen his tears. But she didn’t. His only solace was the occasional sad snuffling coming from the bag on his back.
Chapter 38
Magnus and a slightly wheezing Brother Alfred caught up with Redknee and Toki in the forest. The steersman had heard of their plan to import timber to Iceland and wanted to help. The little monk felt he still owed Redknee for saving him from the Blood Eagle.
And so the five of them, Silver stowed safely in Sinead’s knapsack, struck out for the coast. With each step away from Ragnar Redknee felt more optimistic. He had a new plan. He would make money as a trader, perhaps even petition King Hakon for Sven’s Jarldom. Though he suspected Ragnar would try and get in a claim as part of a deal with Prince Halfdan.
Redknee tried to push Sinead’s marriage from his mind. It was less than a year since she’d come to their village, and yet, he felt like he’d known her forever. Every time he heard a crackle in the trees he would turn, half expecting it to be her, come after him, just like she did that day so long ago when she’d tracked him up the mountain. Of course, it was always just a wild deer or a bird taking flight. Sinead would not follow him. Not now she had Ragnar. He doubted he’d ever see her again.
At the end of their first day’s trek, when Redknee opened the knapsack to let Silver out and stretch his legs, he noticed something heavy at the bottom. Sinead had said the base was reinforced, but this seemed something more. He reached in, dislodged whatever it was and pulled it out. He stared at the Codex in puzzlement. Why had she given it to him?
He didn’t need it now they were going home. Perhaps she just wanted rid of it? He thought about throwing it away, for it was heavy to carry, but decided against it in the end – it might have value still.
Silver seemed stronger, more alert on the fifth day. And when they stopped to eat lunch, Redknee let him out to stretch his legs.
“How you’ve grown,” he said, opening
the bag on the ground. Instead of sniffing round for a few minutes then lying down to sleep, Silver bounded off, tail wagging, into a thicket of saplings.
Magnus laughed. “I hope you haven’t lost your friend.”
Redknee hurried after him; they were in an unfamiliar forest and Silver was still weak. He pushed through the young trees and into a small clearing dappled with sunlight. He found he could hear the distant rumble of the sea. They’d nearly made it back. Silver must have heard the noise and thought there’d be gulls for chasing, a sure sign he was getting better.
Redknee heard a movement behind him. He spun round, ready to grab Silver into his arms, instead he came face to face with a broad chest. He stood back.
“Thought you were dead, lad.”
Redknee stared up at Koll’s smiling face. “Likewise,” Redknee said, throwing his arms round his friend. Something squeaked and struggled between them. Redknee stood back. Koll had Silver in his arms; the pup started licking Koll’s face with vigour. Redknee laughed. “They told me you were killed by the Bear People.”
“Hardly. Nah, stabbed a few of them in the guts after you ran off to rescue Sinead. Lots of Flint People arrived; there was a bit of a scrap, then everyone started clearing out. That’s when I lost you all. Thought the best thing to do was head back to the longhouse at Svensbyan. But when I arrived, there was no one left.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Fine. It was only a flesh wound.”
Redknee told Koll how Olaf had agreed to help Ragnar find the treasure. Koll was sorely disappointed to learn there was no treasure to speak of, but he didn’t seem surprised to learn Ragnar was Sinead’s father.
“Why not?” Redknee asked.
Koll shrugged. “Because she’s just about the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.”
“There’s one other thing,” Redknee said, as they emerged from the forest and onto a wide, sandy beach. “Harold is the traitor.”
“That whelp!”
Redknee nodded. He could see the longhouse in the distance, no more than a short walk away.
Koll came to a standstill, his gaze drifting out to sea. “So that’s who poisoned my Thora,” he said quietly. It wasn’t the reaction Redknee had expected. There was no cry of anguish, nor protestations of revenge. Just sad acceptance.
“There you are!”
Redknee turned to see Magnus running to catch them. The steersman smiled when he saw Koll. “We all thought you were dead,” he said.
Koll grunted distractedly.
“I was just telling Koll about Harold,” Redknee explained.
Magnus nodded. “Can you believe it?”
Koll shook his head and resumed walking, his face set hard against the sea-breeze. “I do find it hard to believe Harold slit Karl’s throat and poisoned our food.”
“Of course, he denied the killings,” Redknee said.
Magnus snorted. “He would. But then, people are hard to read.” They’d almost reached the longhouse. Magnus hurried ahead and threw wide the door. The smell of stale wood smoke filled the air. He called over his shoulder: “I’m happier reading the waves.”
“A man after my own thinking,” Koll said, laying Silver on the floor and slipping a skin of mead from his cloak.
“So Ragnar just let you leave – knowing you were planning on starting a new trade route with Iceland?” Koll asked, laying down his axe and standing clear of the tall pine from which they’d just hacked out a wedge near the base.
Redknee nodded. They’d been out in the forest since early morning and the sun was almost full in the sky. Three long pine trunks lay nearby, waiting to have their branches cleared. Toki and Magnus were working together a little way off, Koll had instigated a competition to see which team could fell and clear the most trees by noon. Judging by the infrequent shouts of excitement from where Toki and Magnus worked, Redknee thought he and Koll had a good chance of coming out on top. It was important – Koll’s last skin of new-island mead was at stake.
Koll pushed the trunk of the tall pine and shouted “Timber!”
Redknee fancied he heard cursing through the trees.
“What I don’t understand,” Koll shouted above the noise of the pine crashing to the ground, “is why he let you live at all.”
“I won’t take that comment personally,” Redknee said. “I believe Sinead begged for my life. I don’t think there’s any more to it.”
“Seems unlikely that would influence a man like Ragnar,” Koll said, starting to clear the larger branches from the pine trunk with a small stone-headed hatchet. Redknee smiled – it was a Flint People piece.
He jumped up beside Koll, adding his own muscle to the job. “I think,” Redknee said between axe strokes, “that Ragnar knew Uncle Sven had Sinead all along … I think he knew she lived at the monastery, and when he heard Sven had been back and taken slaves he wanted to know if his daughter was among them. I think it was one insult too many.”
“Aye,” Koll said, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. “That’s as may be, but money and power are more important to a man like Ragnar than family – especially a bastard daughter he’s only just met.”
They left the Promised Land on the spring equinox. They would have left sooner, but for the need to wait for the right winds. Wavedancer had required a few minor repairs to her hull, but she looked as good as new when she greeted the sea that bright morning.
Once they had the sail up and were underway, Redknee moved to the stern. He wanted to watch as the Promised Land, with its green hills, long sandy beaches and sheer cliffs, disappeared out of view. There was something sad about leaving – about returning home. It was as if everything that happened, since they set sail from the Northlands almost half a year ago, had been a dream.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe Ragnar’s attack on his village had never happened. Any moment his mother would call him in from the training yard; Uncle Sven laughing as he tried to carry his sword, spear and shield together.
“We don’t call you Redknee for nothing,” his uncle would say. “You’re the clumsiest Northman I’ve ever seen.”
How he’d hated the teasing then. He knew now that it was all in jest. That the real world, outside his village, was so much tougher than his family had ever been. And it was Ragnar who had brought that hard, cruel world rushing in. How he wished he’d taken his revenge – and to hell with Sinead and her new-found family.
They arrived at Greenland a mere ten days later. Redknee was glad to see Thorvald settling in well to his responsibilities without Gisela looking over his shoulder. Thorvald was glad to see them too, laying on a feast of spring lamb and herring. Although most of his wealth was lost when Ragnar destroyed the tunnels, the boy king still bought almost all their cargo. He had plans to build the greatest palace ever seen this far north, one filled with light and air, in contrast to the dark earthen warren where he’d grown up. And, he told Redknee, he would have need for a lot more timber … if Redknee could supply it.
The journey from Greenland to Iceland with the last of the timber was harder. Huge waves, as tall as the mast, threatened to overwhelm them. Only Magnus’s skill with the helm, and Toki’s quick lowering of the sail ensured they stayed afloat.
When they arrived in Reykjavik harbour, wet and battered, they were amazed by the change in scene since they’d left. Redknee had expected to find a busy hub, desperate for timber to rebuild their shattered town. Instead, they found a wasteland, barely populated and still smouldering from the volcano’s fire. He sought out Ivar, who they’d left sheltering, with most of Reykjavik’s unfortunate inhabitants, on an island just outside the harbour. Redknee was unsure what he would tell Ivar about his daughter. He still thought Astrid had murdered Hawk. But as for the others … Karl, Thora and the Bjornsson twins, he couldn’t be sure. Ivar had been good to Redknee, he deserved more than supposition when it came to news of his only daughter.
Redknee needn’t have worried, for Ivar was nowher
e to be seen. The poor wretches who were trying to rebuild Reykjavik said they thought he’d gone back home, to the Sheep Islands, others thought he’d died, drowned, when Mount Hekla had erupted for a second time.
Much to Toki and Magnus’s annoyance Redknee offered the last of their timber to these wretches for free.
“But we’ve risked our lives for this wood,” Magnus said. “We can’t just give it away.”
“These people have nothing,” Redknee said. “Thorvald gave us a lot of coin – a full case – for the wood he bought. We can afford to be a little charitable.”
Brother Alfred grinned. “I see you are becoming a Christian.”
“It’s nothing,” Redknee said, shrugging, for in truth, he felt no affection for the ways of the Church.
Eventually, the others agreed to give away the timber, and they decided to spend the evening celebrating having rid themselves of their cargo. They found a small stone tavern on the edge of town. Being one of the few places to have survived the volcano, it was packed. A mixture of stale sweat and hops filled the air.
Koll took a deep breath. “When you can’t find mead,” he said smiling, “ale’s the next best thing.”
They found five seats near the back and ordered. Silver slipped under the table and settled on top of Redknee’s feet. His injuries attracted the sympathy of the serving wench who surreptitiously slipped him a morsel of her master’s best ham.
It was a long night, replete with dancing, games of dice and stories of bygone times. None were as rich as their tale of the journey to the Promised Land and the fierce warriors they met there. Even the sea-wizened merchants who claimed to have been as far as the exotic desert city of Baghdad, listened in wonder as Koll, helped by Toki and Redknee, told the tale of their voyage.
