Norseman Raider (The Norseman Chronicles Book 4) (13 page)

Leif and the king threw down their packs of smoked fish and barreled down the hill toward us.  “Where did you get the torch
?” I asked the girl.

“In there,” Aoife said pointing toward the walkway.  “I saw the hole and crawled in.  It kept going down a passage way that widened and grew tall enough for me to stand.”  The girl rubbed her head.  “I bumped into the torch and stepped on jasper stones.  I married the two and made fire.”

“How am I to believe you?” asked the king.

“Because I have a burning torch in my hand.
”  Thankfully, the waif didn’t add, “You idiot!”  Her tone was sufficient.

“I warn you girl that I may easily tire of your insubordination.”  The king raised his hand as if to strike her face.  “How am I to believe that there is no treasure without digging?”

The foolish girl didn’t back down or cower.  “You may dig all you wish, but there is no treasure.  And I’d not dig up there,” she said pointing to where Godfrey’s great sword still shone in the moonlight.  “Once you’ve wasted most of the night and moved a mountain of earth, you’ll come to a terrific slab of stone that is held up from beneath by a carved, stone pillar and stacked stone walls.  That slab won’t be moved by you men before next week.”

The king swore to the old gods and gave Leif an icy stare,
taking back the praise given by his previous glance.  It was Leif and the amorous Queen Gudruna who had pushed Godfrey to entertain this quest in the first place.  Godfrey even gave me a dirty glance, remembering that it was “my” dice that helped him make his decision.  If Aoife was correct and the crypt was empty, Godfrey risked the last of his most loyal of men and his very kingdom on a fairy tale.  “The Troublesome!” the king cursed, referring to Eyvind, the skald who had told me the story just a week before.  The king wanted to blame anyone but himself.

He stepped down to the mangled pile of enormous stones that covered the entranceway.  “We’ve still got men’s backs and a war charger.”  The king rested a wide palm on one
of the cool rocks.  “We can move these enough to get some of the men in to see if the girl tells the truth.”  Angry now and raising his voice, Godfrey shouted toward the men over the mound.  “Killian!”

The priest trotted around the man-made hill and saw the concern on his king’s face.  He
awaited orders.  Killian’s dark features danced on his face in the fading, sputtering light of Aoife’s torch.

“Bring the men over here, now.  Bring the ropes and my horse.”  The king was quick and efficient.  Sensing the urgency, Killian nodded and ran back to gather everything.

“The girl has no reason to lie,” I said, not defending her.  It seemed the truth to me, for Aoife wanted glory and wealth as much as any man.  It also seemed true that if there was no treasure; that meant the legend was wrong.  And if it was mistaken, then there would be no draugr to fear.  Though frustrated that I’d still be poor, I was more than pleased that I’d not have to fight spirits.

Godfrey dropped his rump onto the rim of stones that encircled the barrow.  “Perhaps not,” he said
, cooling down.  Aoife set a surprisingly gentle hand on the king’s shoulder.  He looked at it out of the corner of his eyes.  Godfrey gave a weak grin and brushed her hand with equal gentleness.  “But we’ve come all this way.  My Kingdom of the Isles will no longer exist or it will be another man’s in a year’s time if I can’t replenish her with a real army and fleet of ships.”  He was suddenly grave.

Leif, reflective, moved back up to the top of the mound and sprawled out on his back
amidst the grasses.  Godfrey craned his neck to see what my friend was up to.  I remembered the night Leif had spent on the barrow, a much smaller one, in Greenland.  “It’s best to leave him alone, King Godfrey.  He’s thinking, about our situation tonight and your predicament as king.”

“I need every back working on that stone,” the king protested
, still bent on unearthing what may or may not be inside.

“He’s still a lad.  His back is weak and he’d be in the way,” I said.  “Besides, when left alone, Leif can so
lve any man’s problems.  Then it’s just up to the man to follow through.”

Godfrey opened his mouth to issue forth another complaint, but Killian came around the hill with a long rope draped over his shoulder.  The other men filed after him carrying shovels, more rope, and leading the horse. 
They still gnawed on the last of their dinner scraps while they piled empty hudfats which were ready to receive the mound’s riches.  Even the captured farmer, who was now untethered, came around with eyes wide, curious with a mixture of fear and awe splashed across his face.

We went to work.  Aoife crawled
back into the tiny hole with her torch and caught the end of the rope that had been sent down a crevice.  With her thin arm she stuck the same end out another crack.  The rope was tied off, laced around an alder, and cinched across the horse’s shoulders and chest.  Men found a place all along the rope’s length to get a grip.  Several others found solid footing nearer the stone so they could help push it up and out of the way.

“Now!” the king rasped.

Every man sucked in a last big breath and heaved.  Killian held the charger’s reins.  The small priest stepped backward.  The dappled horse obeyed the silent command and the muscles of her shoulders bulged, her shod hooves pressing down into the sod that surrounded the hill.  The rope creaked as it slowly stretched.   Men methodically stepped and pulled.  Grunting began, jaws clenched, teeth grinding.  The workers themselves had moved an ell from where they started.  The stone had not budged.

I remained at the stone and wedged my large frame between the mound and the
boulder at an uncomfortable angle.  I pressed my feet into the earth and my shoulders and hands into the cool rock.  I had entirely forgotten about my earlier fears.  Draugr or not, I meant to move what the ancients had placed in our way.  Like the charger, my shoulders bulged, my neck strained.  A rumbling groan rolled around in my chest.

The king and Magnus used the sturdiest of our wooden shovels to pry at the stone.
  Godfrey stood up the hill with his back to the rock and pressed down on his lever.  Magnus stood in the dark walkway that led to the pile of stones.  He hung with all his weight on the handle.  Another man, who had not found enough room to tug on the rope came up behind Magnus, reached up, and also hung from the same shovel.  The oak handle started to turn downward.  The stone did not move.

We toiled for many moments until King Godfrey called out in frustration.  “Stop!”

It took no further encouragement.  The rope went limp.  Men panted and wiped sweat from their foreheads, frustrated that despite their work, nothing had been accomplished.  Godfrey sank down in the turf of the mound, catching his breath.

“Do we have another rope?” asked Magnus.

“Aye,” said Killian.  “But we’ve no more horses.”

“There are cows in th
e field around this grove,” said Aoife’s voice from the passage.  A tiny stream of light flickered out through one of the holes and lit up the king’s face.

The king raised his eyebrows.  “I knew there was a reason I kept you as my own when I should have sold you or sent you to the ocean’s bottom for fun. 
Horse Ketil, make yourself useful.  Brandr and Loki, help the man.  Bring us a cow or two.”

The king’s pledged men
jumped to their feet.  They gathered the extra rope from Killian and dove into the trees.  Horse Ketil stood and sighed before making a show of slowly moving after his fellow cattlemen.  As each moment of the raid passed, his defiance of the king’s wishes was becoming more open.

Killian frowned while watching him go.  “I don’t trust a man like that,” he said.

After several long moments and countless curses echoing from the pasture, each of the three men returned leading a cow.  Behind the three cows hopped three calves that appeared to be a month or so old.  Godfrey’s face lit with excitement.  Loki said, “We caught the calves first.  Their overprotective mothers came nearer and we slipped the ropes from the calves to the cows.  It worked better than I expected.”

“And who thought of that?” asked the king, ready to give praise.

“Horse Ketil,” answered Brandr, glumly.

Surprised, Godfrey said, “And what made you think of that?  I’ve never known you to have a way with animals.”
  What the king meant was, “Why would you help me?”

Ho
rse Ketil slapped his rope into the awaiting hands of another man.  The Manx noble strutted toward the barrow in the clearing’s center.  With his back to the king, Ketil said, “I saw the cows and their engorged tits.  My Edana is not much to look upon, but she has great tits.  Your cousin has great tits, Godfrey.”

The king clenched his jaw.

“It’s King Godfrey,” grumbled Killian.

Ketil nodded
in a way that said, for now.  “I saw the tits and thought of how much a calf yearns for milk.  I thought then that the mother’s instinct must be to protect her young.  From there it was easy to capture the small calves.  A simpleton could have come up with the plan.”

“A simpleton did,” murmured Killian.

Godfrey was standing again.  “Shut up, priest,” he said quietly.  The king walked over to the Manx noble.  “We have to give praise where it is due, especially if we still have hope for the truce to last on Man.  We want a unified homeland, Norse and Manx.  You did well, Horse Ketil.  Do you see what you can accomplish with a few hours between your cups of ale?  Think of what we can accomplish if we work together.  You make your family on Man proud.  I’ll gladly convey as much to them.”  Then the king, in a moment of misplaced philanthropy, said, “If you still want your divorce from your woman, I’ll see that Killian pushes it at the Tynwald.”

Killian and several others uttered short gasps.  The priest was shaking his head.

“I don’t want a divorce from my fat woman, king,” said Ketil, bowing sarcastically.  “How else am I to have any Norse support if I get rid of her?  Besides, her giant tits will be complementary to Gudruna’s meek chest when I take her for a second wife after you’re gone for good.”

King Godfrey’s face turned red with anger.  His hand was tugging on the axe in his belt.  Ketil stuck his chin out almost daring Godfrey to strike.  The king did not kill Ketil
, however.  I would have, but the king was king for a reason.  Occasionally, he could demonstrate restraint.

“Not yet, Godfrey,” Killian was saying.  “It’s not worth it.  Not yet.”

My king swallowed his anger.  “In that case, dear Ketil, since you so love your bride, I’ll encourage Killian to continue to exasperate Edana’s pleas.”  Godfrey’s hand left the axe.

Ketil gave a wicked smile.  “That suits me just fine.”

A brief awkward silence followed.  Mumbling began among the crews.  Loki leaned in and whispered.  “I know that I’d want to kill the Manx bastard.  I know that Godfrey wants to grant a divorce and be done with both his cousin and Ketil, but we can’t let it happen.  For now, it’s better for the king to keep them together.  We don’t want to create any more enemies, especially any on our own island.  We’ve already got enough.”

All I could do was shake my head.  I understood nothing about alliances.  I was a political idiot.  I knew men and their hearts.  I wore mine on my sleeve for all to see.  Ketil did the same.  If it were me I would take him at his word.  I would believe he meant to harm the king.  He just waited and waited for the right time.  There was nothing to gain by keeping him alive. 
I would have chopped him in half on the grave under the watchful eyes of the moon.  But those were my simple thoughts.  Godfrey, Loki, and the others had families on Man they had to protect.  They earned money from the trading that went on in the main port.  They remembered how hard they had to work to take control of the island in the first place.  They were willing to endure a verbal slight here and there from a man who commanded a few farmers.  They were willing to listen to Ketil’s blustering until the day Godfrey’s army was again strong enough to deter the native Manx population from rising up against him.

The king understood the realities of his situation.  It is why he was eager for treasure
, for the riches in that mound would buy him his army.  Godfrey turned his attention back to his grand project and began issuing orders for the cows and the ropes.  Horse Ketil had more to say, however.  He plopped down while untying Killian’s rucksack.  “I’ll take my second helping of ale.  And I’m not going to work on any of this treasure hunting tonight.  I feel like I should be ready for whatever tomorrow might bring and I want to be fresh.”

Godfrey frowned.  He motioned to the priest.  “Give the man ale, Killian.
  I really don’t want to hear any more from him.  Maybe he’ll drink himself into a stupor.  Then we can work in peace.”

Displeased, but smart enough to choose his battles, the priest complied
.  He pushed Ketil out of the way and rummaged through the pack and gave our resident traitor a small pot of ale.  The reliably unreliable drunkard leaned back on the hill and began nursing.  It was clear to me, as it likely is to you, that Ketil was waiting for his moment to strike.  But when?  Tomorrow?  If he did, would Godfrey be ready?

Magnus slapped me. 
He tugged on my arm and we returned to our work.