Norseman Raider (The Norseman Chronicles Book 4) (27 page)

“I bet you remember from your time growing up in the fatherland of Norway, Halldorr, that your father or maybe a rich uncle buried his treasure.  Well, those old ways are the best ways and that is what I mean to do.  You see, a king, take Maredubb, puts his faith in a series of walls and men.  In the end, though, we all know where the storehouse is and so his enemies put pressure there.  Aethelred puts his mints behind earthen and stone walls, but he might as well place a sign out front in large Latin or runes.  I know the wealth is there and I can take it if I am smart enough or brutal enough.  Usually it takes both.”

So I was right.  Godfrey didn’t know it, but I knew that a man should bury his wealth.  The Christians among you will likely take umbrage with such a thought.  Nonetheless, recall that I was not yet a member of the One True Faith.  I had not yet heard Christ’s talk about the talents.

I reached a hand to the tarpaulin covering my cart and peeked under.  It hid most of Godfrey’s spoils from our raids.  The other cart would carry the same.

We descended the other side of the hill.  There we found four men, bound, blindfolded, and gagged by the side of the road.
  The king and I helped them to their feet and, with a long rope, tied them to the back of my cart.  Godfrey said many encouraging words to them while we ushered them into place.  They didn’t fight or moan or otherwise argue.  Soon we again made our way down the path.

That night was spent turning onto ever smaller trails.  When we came to just the place Godfrey had picked out, we freed our four helpers and dug a great hole.  A portion of the treasure was placed inside the hole and buried.  Then we rebound and blindfolded our willing accomplices and moved to the next place.  Each place resembled the last.  It was always out of sight, inside a small grove of trees.  It was always on a hilltop that overlooked the sea as if the King of the Isles wanted to pay homage to the method of his raiding.

“Why am I not blindfolded?” I asked as we walked from one of our spots to the next.

Godfrey ignored my question which annoyed me.  I thought about running ahead of my oxen and cuffing the king on the side of the head.  Of course, I controlled myself.  For whatever reason, Godfrey had decided that he trusted me to never reveal the locations of his treasure more than he trusted the other four helpers.

The dawn was breaking when we set the last crate of hacksilver into the final pit.  “Rest,” ordered the king.  Not a grumble answered.  We plopped down around the lip of the hole.

Then I grumbled.  My head
still ached from the last several days of ale.  My stomach roiled for want of breakfast.  “Couldn’t we just fill in the dirt and be done with it before we sit?  Wouldn’t it be better to cover the fresh dirt with sticks and leaves like we have the previous ones?  It’s best to do it before the light of day comes and someone spies us?”

“Halldorr,” called Godfrey from the carts.

It sounded like he scolded me.  I sighed.  My fellow workers sniggered.

“Come, get the men some bread.  It was made from my own stores of wheat.”

All four workers chattered happily.  Bread made from wheat was soft.  It was a near delicacy to the common man who subsisted, at best, on bread from barley, which was harder and sometimes bitter.

I pushed to my feet and went to the far side of the king’s cart where he was fiddling with a few loaves
of bread.  There was cheese and ale, enough for all of us.  I announced as much to the men.  They cheered and talked loudly, poking fun at one another.  The king heaped portions into wooden bowls he had brought from the village.  Godfrey was a generous king.

He pinched my arm and brought me down to his level.  He whispered into my ear.  “
The old gods need their blood.  These men were told that they were blindfolded and would therefore live.  They were told that you were not and would die.  Quite the opposite is my plan.  You are here to protect me should things get tight.  You will prove your worth now or die along with them.”  Godfrey tucked a dagger under one of the bowls and turned to carry it toward the men.

It made sense, I suppose, to kill the men just in case they had counted steps and turns. 
That is why Godfrey wanted no indigenous Manx.  Their knowledge of the island might betray his hiding places if they escaped.  But if I declined to follow the king’s orders, how would he overthrow all five of us?

It was a foolish question. 
I did not disobey.  The king had walked up to the man from Norway.  He waited for me.  I walked to the Greenlander.  He’d come with us when we were exiled.  It felt cruel to kill a man who’d demonstrated such dedication to Leif and me that he’d left his family in order to follow us into the unknown.  In a way, though, it was only right that I was the one to do it.  Honor was there somewhere.  Looking back on that morning, I only wish I was somehow able to put a weapon into the man’s hand before he died.  But I would kill him quickly so that he would not suffer.  Nonetheless, you may not like me for doing it at all.

Godfrey nodded.  He rammed the dagger into the Norseman’s back so that the blade slipped between his ribs. 
He tried to scream, but no voice came.  I dropped the plate, slapped a hand on the Greenlander’s forehead and drew my saex across his neck.  His warm blood splashed onto my hand.

The two Welshmen jumped into the hole to get away and climb out the other side.  They ran atop the treasure.  Rather than run along the lip and hem them in, I dove after them.  They were among friends, they thought.  They had worn no mail.  They were told that the king would dispatch me after we’d eaten a meal.  They were weaponless.  With my arms spread wide I brought them down.  Their faces smashed into the far wall of the pit.  Their knees cracked into hard chests and scattered artifacts of gold.  My father’s saex found a place in one of the men’s lower back.  I left it there.  My
now free hand fell onto a green statue of a fat man with narrow eyes that had been traded around the world.  I used it to bludgeon the second Welshman.

It was brutal and evil.  Truly
, it was evil.  I knew it then, but my mind would not allow such feelings to erupt.  My heart wanted to weep.  My eyes remained dry.  This was to be the life of a raider.  Remember, I thought I was on my path to happiness.  A fool, I was a fool.  It is only by the free grace given by the One God that I am able to stand tall today.

I climbed from the hole.  Randulfr and Brandr emerged from hiding places.  They had several of the most trusted, the closest men of Godfrey with them.
  Godfrey handed me the bowl of bread and cheese and a pot of ale.  I thought that it was now my turn to die by the hand of the king or one of his lieutenants.

“Now I can count you as my trusted man
.  In all things you are mine.  You took an oath with words.  Now the oath is sealed with blood,” said Godfrey.  He unclasped the elegant ring-pin that held his cloak at his shoulder.  He tossed it to me.  “Now you’re my man.”  I looked at the arm-ring I wore that told the world I was Erik Thorvaldsson’s sworn man.  But my second father was still in Greenland.  He’d banished me.  I decided that I was Godfrey’s oath-bound servant.  I’d follow him until one of us died and was released to serve Odin.

The king
turned his back to me and walked to the man he had killed at the edge of the pit.  He took a finger and dabbed at the dead man’s blood.  He wiped two stripes down his cheeks, one from each eye.  When the king again faced me he appeared as fearsome as a warrior of the old tales.

“And you’ll not tell Killian anything about this,” he began.

“I won’t say a word to anyone about the killing or the treasure,” I swore, pinning the gift in place.

“Killian would never endorse the killings, but he likely knows that they must be done, for protection of secrets, for appeasing the old gods of this island, and for my family’s old gods.  No, don’t tell him I dabbled in the man’s blood.  He’ll question my commitment to the
One True Faith.”

I nodded and ate my bread
in silent thought.  After I finished, I helped Randulfr and the others push the dead bodies into the pit and cover the hole.

We ambled our way back to the village, arriving by the midday meal. 
The town was still just as closed up as it was before.  The king had made sure that only a handful of people knew where his riches were buried.  If any of the wealth ever came up missing, the culprits, us, could be dispatched with a single order.

We entered after the whistle of the king alerted the men behind the gates.  After going our separate ways, I went to the Odin stone
outside Godfrey’s hall.

I spoke to Odin there.  I paid no attention to the fact that the cross was overshadowing him.  I wanted no rebuke for my part in the night’s affair.  The cross and my r
eading of the One God’s word have done enough of that over the years since then.  Likewise, those same articles have brought forgiveness.  That night I wanted to ignore my faults and sins.

I thanked the gods for sending me to a king who was a winner.  I followed a victorious king who was ruthless when need be.  I was devoted to a king who trusted me with his most precious secrets.

I had made it further than I had ever hoped.  I was an orphan.  Most orphans wound up dead or enslaved or stealing pennies enough from passersby to scratch out a pathetic existence.  Because of Erik’s blood oath with my true father, I was spared such a life.  Yet, while maturing on Iceland and Greenland, I had only wanted a plump wife and a plot of land.  Now, with Godfrey cutting the waves and I in his wake, I saw that one day we could conquer the world.

CH
APTER 9

With the riches properly dispersed deep in the earth and the pockets of nonstop celebrations dripping to an end, the island settled into what I gathered was a more normal routine.  Talk of strandhoggs and war briefly faded.  Killian helped the king give the law at the Tynwald.  Church services were held.  I skipped them.  The farmers’ oats came in.  A few of the enterprising, risk-taking farmers even broadcast late barley as they harvested the oats.  I marveled at such a thing.  Nowhere I had lived previously would have had a long enough growing season to even contemplate a year with double crops!  But the cool, not cold, wet, not deluging, weather seemed perfect for such a thing.  If they could duplicate that pattern year in and year out, they’d even raise enough food to sell to traders.  Astonishing!

And those t
raders came and went.  Some of these merchants traveled overland, picking up goods from the small shops in Godfrey’s capital and taking them out across the island, through Rushen, Doarlish Cashen, and up to Knock y Donee.  They sold farm tools, steel, ropes, nails, or anything else a homesteader would need.  Sometimes English or Kufic coins were exchanged.  More often than not, however, these traders had to accept a hen or her eggs for their wares from these simpler, poorer residents.

Other peddlers, the
adventurous sort, tucked into Godfrey’s port on their way to the booming town of Dyflin.  Sometimes they carried thralls for Dyflin’s Monday slave auction.  These men and women and children were gathered by raids on Scotland, or England, or Wales, or even Ireland itself.  I was told the Berbers or other Muslims made the journey north to Dyflin for its constant stock of thralls.  The same sea merchants also brought fine finished goods from the continent, especially from the kingdom of the Germans or from the formerly great Rome.  It was a Frankish man who laid out his wares on the floor before the king that had Godfrey especially excited one Thursday.

“A real +ULFBERHT+,” said Godfrey with such giddiness that he sounded like a maid who’d just discovered that
the man she was arranged to wed was actually something other than hideous.  He giggled.  He studied his reflection in the shining blade as he moved it in front of his face, stopping only when the letters +ULFBERHT+ interrupted the image.  Godfrey seemed captivated by the word.  I knew nothing of writing, certainly not those Latin letters or the Frankish word they formed.  Clearly they assembled to make something that the king thought was special.

“It is indeed,” agreed the happy merchant.  The man, too, was excited, for he could sense a pending sale.  The peddler stood stooped to one side so that I could see just half his grin.  His age was too young to justify such a posture so I assumed that he was born with the defect.  It forced him to gaze at the king through the upper corner of his eyes.

Aoife brought the king a plate of smoked fish.  Godfrey picked up a slice and ate it, offering some to the merchant with a wave of his hand.  The girl obeyed and walked the plate to the man.  He snatched three bits and shoved them into his mouth and past his gullet before anyone could protest.  The food would do him good.  He appeared dangerously thin with grossly protruding cheek bones.  Aoife turned up her lip into a snarl that was directed toward me as she silently walked away.  The girl somehow blamed me for not rescuing her from the king and a life of housework.  The king!  As if it was my fault.  She would just have to learn that she had her fate.  I had mine.

“Do you know what this means, Halldorr?” asked Godfrey.  He answered his own question.  “The +ULFBERHT+ is the most renowned blade in
Christendom.  The king who carries such a specimen cannot be killed.  He cannot be defeated.”  Aoife moved to the shadows, still holding her plate of food.

“Such a blade would be priceless,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

My comment seemed to upset the king, but buoy the peddler even further.  The crooked merchant smiled again.  “Yes, king.  I can see that you surround yourself with strong, able, and intelligent men.  This young man knows that such a weapon – light, flexible, sharp, strong – has nearly infinite value in the right hands.  Dare I say that yours are the right hands?”

“You may dare,” said Godfrey.  He frowned at me as if his enthusiastic response hadn’t already increased the price of the sword more than my comment ever could.  The king slid the beautiful weapon into its scabbard.  The sheath itself appeared poorly constructed compared with the main attraction.  Yet, the blade was able to nearly silently whoosh into place.  The guard made a
gentle clack as it came to rest against the throat.

“King of the Isles,” the peddler began his closing chatter, “will be what history says was just your beginning
, Godfrey Haraldsson.  King of Dyflin, King of Jorvik, King of Wales, Scotland, England, these are all in your future if you just add the fearsome weapon to the arsenal at your belt.”

Queen Gudruna walked in, her long green dress fluttering. 
One of her braids was errant.  A shock of her hair was tucked under the chain that held the Anglesey amulet around her neck.  I knew she was finding more excuses and time in order to spend the latter with Leif.  I suspected that the stray hairs dancing on her head were the result of one more of those occasions.  “What is the cost, merchant?” she asked.  “The king is a busy man and has no time for clingers or compliments from greedy peddlers.  What is it worth to you to leave today without the king instituting a burdensome port tax?”

Godfrey smacked his queen’s rump as she stepped past him to her throne.  He smiled.  They kissed when she sat. 
Godfrey allowed the marital flexibility of his old faith to shine through.  He didn’t take offense at Gudruna’s indiscretions.  It was a convenient position for the king to take since he wanted the same freedom for himself.  I’ve never been comfortable with such a thing.  It would be hard to know which children I should feed and which I should turn outside.  I’d be jealous and want to thump any man who’d plow my woman in such a way.  Also, as Killian pointed out, no respectable Christian king should do such a thing.

“Now, that is why every king needs a queen!” exclaimed Godfrey.  “She cuts a man’s heart surer than even this blade.”  He waved the sheathed sword in the air.  “The woman is right.  I may have forgotten to announce the port tax that was to begin today.  Of course, if the price of the blade is correct, I can easily push the tax until after you’ve left.”
  To my knowledge Godfrey had never thought of or discussed a port tax.  He certainly never set one in place, for to do so would do nothing but drive the lifeblood of coins that the traders brought to another port.

“But the blade cost me a fair penny across the seas and across the channel,” pleaded the merchant
who did not know the king’s mind.

“And you’ll make your money on it and on all the other goods you sell in Godfrey’s kingdom,” said Gudruna.  “We may always barter or bicker back and forth, but I warn you that I’ve never seen the result of such a quarrel come out in the favor of the merchant when the king is involved.”

“But particularly if the queen is involved,” said Godfrey with a twinkle in his eye.

If it was possible, the trader’s shoulders, especially the one that tilted toward the floor, sank down even more.
  He was defeated by the quick thinking and quicker tongue of Gudruna.  The peddler’s eyes darted back and forth as he ran through the possible scenarios of bid and then offer that would ensue once he set his price.  “Eight silver pounds?” he said, at last, to the floor.

Godfrey again kissed his bride, this time on her cheek.  “You’re much too kind, merchant.  I want you happy and I want you to tell others that King Godfrey is generous to his friends.  You’ll take ten pounds.”  It was a fortune to the average man, but inexpensive if the blade was as renowned as the king had said.

The bent peddler straightened as best he could.  A natural, wide grin stretched across his worn face.  The teeth that showed were yellowed; a few were long since gone, leaving black gaps behind.  “You are most munificent, King Godfrey.  I accept your kindness with joy.  It is a fair price and still a fine bargain for you.  I’ll spread the news from port to port that Godfrey is liberal with his coin.”

Gudruna stuck a finger of caution into the air.  “Not too liberal, peddler.”

“No, no, of course not, Queen Gudruna.  Let an evil end come to any man who says that Godfrey spends his treasury unwisely.”  The peddler crossed himself just as Killian shoved open the doors at the far end of the hall.  The priest came bounding toward our tiny assemblage.

“Spread the word, merchant, that King Godfrey has divine Providence on his side.  Say that when you slide into Christian ports.  Say that King Godfrey has
the crack of Thor’s mjolnir hammering in his smithy when you go to the ports of the Danes or Norsemen.  Tell them I want able and ferocious men to come to serve me.  Do that and your ten pounds of silver will find itself multiplied from my fair hand.”  The peddler was nodding with excitement.  The king reached a hand back and gently set it on Aoife’s shoulder.  “Girl, take the merchant to the steward and have him give our trader here his coins.”

Aoife led the toddling trader to the back of the hall. 
“Foolish errands,” she grumbled.  “All I ever wanted was to serve a king on the high seas.  I wanted to kill a man or two.  I got one, but it looks like I’ll get no others.”  On and on she mumbled as they faded into the shadows and through a door.  Godfrey laughed at her.  Gudruna frowned.

Killian inserted his words into the momentary silence
left in the girl’s wake.  “Did I just hear you say that man is getting ten pounds of silver?  For what?”

King Godfrey patted the scabbard as he set it next to his simple throne.  “An +ULFBERHT+!”

The priest’s eyes widened with wonder.  “A true +ULFBERH+T?  For two hundred years the master sword smiths in that family have produced some of the most admired blades.  They do it all from their outpost in the land of the Franks.”  Godfrey beamed at the praise being heaped on his new purchase.  “I’d say it would be an honor just to see the forge that produces such magnificent objects, but I suppose it looks just as sooty and dirty as our own shop here in town.”  Killian paused before snapping his fingers.  “I’ve heard there are many forgeries being sold now.  They are trying to capitalize on the +ULFBERH+T name.  They use inferior steel and techniques.  Such blades are said to be a liability in battle.  Is it genuine?”

“I’m sure you didn’t come to give me
a lesson in trade and war,” warned Godfrey.

Killian immediately forgot about the sword.  “No.  I’ve
come to alert you that your cousin, Lady Edana is afoot.”

It was at that moment that the thick-necked woman punched open the hall’s doors. 
She was a different person than what I’d remembered from just weeks before.  The first time I had laid eyes on her she appeared to be a fleshy creature, well-fed, and spoiled like a favorite cow.  That was the night of my first Tynwald before our successful raids.  Now the woman had somehow made all of her ample parts fit into a dress that pushed them in a host of directions, mostly in, but with some noticeably pronounced bulges that stretched her tailor’s talents with a seam to the limit.  Edana looked stronger, confident, and angry.  She was almost man-like, warrior-like.  Gone was her impotent frustration that had been cultivated further by both Killian and the king as they gave the law at the Thing.  Edana now scowled as she pushed her way through the hall directly toward Godfrey.  Like the prow of a mighty longboat, she sliced a path among the furniture, tossing benches out of her way so that the ten armed men who trailed behind her plentiful aft passed through cleanly.

The joy I’d seen on Godfrey’s face for the past few weeks fled.
  No, it sunk as a war axe dropped into the sea by a clumsy seaman is quickly eaten by the depths.

. . .

The king’s elation from his grand purchase was replaced by the cruel knowledge that despite his recent success against external foes, Godfrey still had small factions working against him on his own island and now in his own capital.  The truth was that the life of a Norseman was the same whether he was a bondi living among the other free men of his status or an outright king as Godfrey fancied himself.  Defending rank was a constant battle.  Never could any king, especially the king of the ever-changing Isles, rest with assurance that his hoard of silver was well hidden.  Never could any free man sleep soundly.  A bandit would gladly slice his throat and take his farm.  The law was what a man could get away with.  Edana, with her few clingers, appeared all too willing to play the part of the thief, not in the night, but in broad daylight.

She wagged a regally bejeweled finger at the king.  “My husband?  I’ve been told that you allowed him to be captured by the enemy.”  Godfrey snuck a glance at me, but said nothing of my role in getting rid of Horse Ketil.  As quick as his orbs jumped to me, they leapt back at the rotund Edana.  “Can’t answer for your own actions?” she asked.  “Need to look to vagrants from Greenland
, wherever that is, for your answers?”

Godfrey slowly mustered a stately attitude.  “Lady Edana, it is not customary to burst into a king’s longho
use unannounced and then compound the infraction by accusing him of things which you know nothing about.”

The cow wouldn’t be cowed.  “
You’re my cousin!  I knew you when you still shit your trousers.  And about Horse Ketil, I know enough.  His family here and his extended family in Ireland and Scotland, you recall, allow you to reign over this hunk of rock and a few others because I ask them to stay their strong hands.  I am the glue that binds your operation together.”  Maybe at one time, I thought.  Now Godfrey’s glue was a monstrous hoard of treasure.  “Should now be the time I change my opinion?  Should I foster the natural distrust of you and take my men to the side of Ketil’s family?  To be clear, my intentions would involve deposing you and your Norseman followers.  Will you work to retrieve my husband to get back into my good graces?”