Viking Gold (4 page)

“They make me strong … like a
big cat,” Skoggcat said, following Redknee’s gaze. “I got them in the east …
where they have cats the size of cows.”

Redknee
nodded. He wanted to be on his way – to warn the village of the impending
attack. It didn’t pay to talk to the enemy – he didn’t want to know someone he
might have to kill later.

“Is Ragnar your father?”
Sinead asked.

Skoggcat nodded.

“Did the bear get him?”

“I … don’t know … I was
stalking you …”

“Come on,” Redknee said,
scowling at Sinead. “We should go.”

“Wait!” Skoggcat called after
them. “My father is coming to your village to find a book. He says it has more
value than anyone knows. Maybe if you give him the book, he won’t destroy your
village.”

“Thank you,” Sinead called
over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Redknee
asked. “We’ve done enough damage. And he’s probably feeding us lies.”

As Redknee hurried home,
people, little more than specks in the distance, were already outside feeding
chickens and starting for the fields. Redknee’s stomach did a somersault. When
it came to it, Harold the Thin had been right. He
was
a coward. He hadn’t
believed Skoggcat’s promises, yet he’d been too weak to let him die.

Now Ragnar was coming, and it
was all his fault.

Redknee
burst into the longhouse as Uncle Sven spooned great lumps of broth into his
mouth.

“We have to get ready!” He
shouted, running past his startled mother and pulling his uncle’s bowl away.
“We’re going to be attacked at first light!”

“What’s this?” Uncle Sven
said, snatching his breakfast back. “Where have you been all night? Your mother
was worried sick.”

The longhouse was empty apart
from his mother and uncle. The big fire in the centre of the room crackled with
newly chopped wood. His mother stood at her iron pot. She put down her ladle,
wiped her hands on her linen apron and bustled over. The scent of fresh rosemary
filled his nostrils as she enfolded him in her arms. “I was so worried,” she
said, raining kisses on his forehead. “I thought I’d lost you, just like—”

“Quit your clucking, woman.”
Uncle Sven stood. “You fuss too much over that boy. He’s nearly a man. A night
in the woods will have done him good.” He slapped Redknee on the back so hard
he almost fell. “Well then?” He looked at Redknee. “What do you say?”

“Sir, we need to—”

“Your night in the woods. Do
you good? Toughen you up?”

“Er, yes Sir. But—”

Uncle Sven turned to
Redknee’s mother who was filling another bowl from her pot. “See. Best thing
for him.”

His mother rolled her eyes.
“Oh yes - what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” she said wryly, handing
Redknee the bowl of steaming porridge.

He inhaled deeply then
remembered Sinead. He turned to see her hovering in the open doorway. He held
out his bowl.

“What’s this?” Uncle Sven’s
eyes narrowed. “The Irish slave girl!” He laughed. “I would never have—”

“Sinead.” Redknee’s mother
spoke quickly. “You’re late for your duties. Take your porridge in the milking
shed.”

Blushing, Sinead took the
bowl Redknee offered and retreated hurriedly.

Redknee turned to his uncle.
“Sir,” he said, more forcefully this time. “When I was in the forest, I came
across Ragnar and his men. I overheard him say he was planning to attack us at
first light. He intends to steal
Wavedancer
.”

Uncle Sven pushed aside his
empty bowl. His grey eyes took on a faraway look and Redknee wondered if he was
remembering something from long ago. Eventually he asked, “How do you know it
was Ragnar?”

“I heard the men talking.”

“I see. How many men did he
have?”

“About fifteen, Sir. All
mounted and armed.”

Uncle Sven paced the room,
his hands clasped behind his back. “And how do you know Ragnar means to attack
us, and not some other village?”

“I heard him mention you by
name, Sir …” Redknee’s voice trailed off as his mother busied herself with pots
and pans.

Uncle Sven ceased pacing.
“Spit it out boy. What else did he say?”

“He said he wanted to … to
run you through, Sir, as he did my father.”

 The clatter of pots
falling to the earth floor filled the room. Redknee’s mother gripped a big
cooking pan to her chest like a shield. “Oh Sven,” she said, her face tensed
with fear, “it’s not happening again, is it?”

“Mind yourself, woman.” Sven
leant on the table and his long hair fell across his face, hiding his
expression.

Redknee hadn’t known his
father, but he’d often wondered if he had looked like this man. Six and a half
feet of tightly thatched muscle, with wide grey eyes carved in a face the
colour of sandstone. Redknee reckoned most of the villagers would do anything
for Sven. They would stand their ground and defend the village to the death, if
that was what Sven asked of them. Redknee wondered if his father had mustered
the same respect when he was jarl.

Sven straightened to his full
height and turned to Redknee. “Did Ragnar mention anything else at all? Think
Redknee, did he talk about hidden treasure?”

“Er … other than wanting to
steal
Wavedancer
?”

Sven nodded.

Redknee remembered Skoggcat’s
words about the book. He should probably mention that, no matter how crazy it
sounded. “Erm … I think he also said something about a book. But I’ve never
seen a book in the—”

Sven slammed his hand on the
table. “Damn it, Redknee!”

“Sorry,” he said, hanging his
head. “Does that mean he really is coming to … to kill you?”

 “I thought I’d seen the
last of Ragnar sixteen years ago,” Sven said quietly. “I should have killed him
when I had the chance.” He took his battleaxe from an iron hook on the wall,
slung it over his shoulder and crossed to the doorway. He paused, his hand on
the oak frame. “It seems I’ve failed.”

Uncle
Sven stood beneath the village oak and bellowed orders. Everywhere Redknee
looked, people were readying for the attack, their faces pinched with fear,
their hands shaking. Two boys scurried past laden with scythes, axes and lumps
of wood. Makeshift weapons.

Gudrid the Healer and Thora,
the Smithy’s wife, women Redknee knew as his mother’s friends, were gathering
rocks and piling them inside the door of the feast hall. Their faces shone with
the effort and sweat darkened their coarse brown dresses.

Redknee recalled the fine
tempered swords Ragnar and his men had carried and his heart sank. There were
only five seasoned warriors in the village. The rest of the free men were just
farmers, used only to the occasional summer raid. There were the slaves, too,
of course. Wends from the
Rhineland
and Celts from
Ireland
. In total Redknee estimated there were maybe twelve
male slaves. But they couldn’t be trusted. And Uncle Sven would never give them
weapons.

Add
to this the fact that Koll the Smithy had spent the spring helping build
Wavedancer
instead of making new weapons or fixing the old ones. True, the village would
have the advantage of numbers – it boasted the thirty free men needed to sail a
longship. But everyone knew that, even under Uncle Sven’s direction, farmers
and part-time raiders, even ones strong and willing to defend their homes, were
no match for Ragnar’s warriors.

At the edge of the village,
just short of the treeline, a group of men were digging knee-deep pits. Redknee
watched as they filled them with wooden spikes and covered them with grass – a trap
that would lame a horse or snap a man’s leg like a twig.

Something soft pressed
between Redknee’s shins. He patted the pup on the head. “Hey, Silver,” he said.
The pup nuzzled his hand and he knew the name Sinead chose fit. “There’s going
to be a fight here this morning. I’ll need you to help me defend the village.”

Silver blinked and rubbed his
cheek against Redknee’s boot. “I’ll take that as—”

The scrape of iron on granite
made him look up. Harold the Thin sat on a big stone sharpening his dagger, his
hard blue eyes trained on Redknee. Harold uncoiled and swaggered over. “Where’d
you get him?” he asked, pointing at Silver with his dagger.  

“The forest,” Redknee said,
pushing Silver behind him.

One of the younger boys came
over too. “That’s a wolf pup,” he said, eyes widening in his round face. “Did
you take it from its mother? Did you kill her?”

“Maybe.” Redknee shrugged,
his eyes focussed on Harold’s dagger.

Harold sneered. “You didn’t
kill a wolf.”

“Its mother’s dead,” Redknee
said, challenging Harold to disagree.

Harold beckoned the pup over.
“Let me see him.”

Silver squashed between
Redknee’s legs and began licking Harold’s fingers.

The younger boy laughed.
“He’s friendly,” he said, and tried to pat Silver himself.

Harold
pushed the younger boy away, grabbed Silver by the neck and squeezed. Silver
whimpered and his big paws went floppy.

“Stop that!”

“Make me,” Harold said,
grinning.

Redknee
shoved Harold to the ground and grabbed Silver. The pup looked at Redknee with
confusion in his amber eyes. He was too trusting by far.

Harold scrambled to his feet.
“I’m watching you,” he said. “And your stupid mutt.”

The muscles in Redknee’s
right hand clenched into a ball of anger. He knew he had to show Harold or the
teasing would never end. But he couldn’t start a fight here, now …

The younger boy hurtled down
to the shore, to where the men were pulling a sheet over
Wavedancer’s
bow. “Redknee killed a wolf! Redknee killed a wolf!” He shouted, over and over,
as he tore along the sand. Redknee cringed at the false credit.

“Stop fighting!”

Redknee turned to see Uncle
Sven bearing down on them.

“We’ll see how you fare in a
real battle,” Harold said. He tucked his dagger into his boot and scuttled off
towards his father, who was overseeing the digging of the pits.

Redknee looked up to see
Uncle Sven looming over him. “What am I going to do with you?” He folded his
arms across his chest. “You warn me Ragnar is making an imminent attack, then I
find you mucking around. Why aren’t you helping with the defences?”

“I, er …”

“Look at Harold. He’s helping
Olaf prepare the ditches.”

“I was—”

“You were just doing nothing,
as usual. Go help Magnus ready
Wavedancer
.”

Redknee trudged down to the beach,
Silver trailing at his heels. He didn’t notice Sinead walking towards him, a
basket of arrows balanced on her hip, until she was right beside him.

“How’s your arm?” she asked.

Redknee moved his elbow to show
he could still use it. “Not as bad as I thought. Gudrid gave me a paste. It
stinks of mustard, but it seems to be working.”

She nodded then asked, “What
did Harold want?”

She must have seen his
telling off. “Nothing,” he replied, ashamed.

Sinead looked doubtful. “I
think you’d better watch your back during the attack.”

Redknee
glanced over to the pits. Harold was knee deep in mud, his skinny frame taut as
he drove his spade into the earth.

“Don’t worry,” Redknee said.
“I’ll be ready for him. Besides, this is all my fault.”

“With Harold?”

“No – Ragnar. If I … if
we
,
hadn’t helped Skoggcat, none of this would be happening.”

She shielded her eyes from
the rising sun. “You saved a life. No one can criticise you for that.”

Redknee shook his head.
“Look, you won’t tell anyone about it … will you?”

“Who would I tell?”

He studied her for a moment,
her face half-hidden by her hand, inscrutable. In truth, Ragnar would have
found the village by himself eventually. Redknee nodded, dismissing her.

Redknee hurried down to the
beach where he found Magnus pushing
Wavedancer
into the fjord. He
already had a few slaves helping him. “We taking her out?” Redknee asked.

“We’ll leave her just past
the headland,” Magnus said. “It’ll keep her safe from attack. Will you follow
me in a rowboat?”

Redknee took one of the
rowboats and followed Magnus to the centre of the fjord. Only a couple of years
older than Redknee, Magnus already had the unblinking gaze of a steersman. He
guided
Wavedancer
expertly to the calmest part of the fjord and dropped
anchor. Redknee brought his rowboat portside and waited while Magnus unhooked
the sail.

As he waited, he ran his hand
along the overlapping strakes of
Wavedancer’s
hull. Sixteen on each side
– one for each summer since his birth. It was only a coincidence, but he
fancied it linked them. Her keel was made from an oak as tall as twelve men. It
was the longest he’d seen. Tonight was to have been her launch ceremony. They
had been saving their food for weeks. He doubted it, but maybe the village
would be as proud of him one day.