CHAPTER 10 – NIDROS
The Madgund was a big ship. With her broad beam and her massive mast, she dominated the local boats as would a whale amidst a shoal of minnows. Her master was big, too, with grizzled hair that touched his shoulders. Gunthram was his name and he was a Gaul, like Walther and the jarl’s wife, but more of a Nord mariner than the Nords. At least that was his boast, accompanied by a hearty laugh. ‘No Nord has ever outsailed me, nor will they.’
As soon as Walther the procurator had left the ship, the crew shipped the oars, cast off mooring lines and, careful because of the drifting ice, rowed towards the open sea. Once away from the coast, they hoisted the sail, the helmsman turned the Madgund’s prow southward and they gathered speed.
The weather stayed calm. There was a lot of ice, both bergs and large floes. The sailors told tales of a cold so intense that the sea around you froze overnight and crushed your timbers. With nervous hands gripping the wooden rail, the young passengers eyed the glinting ice, their ears filled with stories of the many ships lost and crews drowned in these sluggish waters. But nothing happened. On the second day they left the embrace of the polar night. Now the sky was gray, snow-laden, with Sun so low that she touched the horizon. The five rested a lot, huddled together under the aftercastle, ate the rations the lady Radgundis had provided them with and kept to themselves. Birthe spent most of her time with Búi, holding him and singing endless songs. Hraab wandered around the ship, always full of questions the sailors answered with good cheer.
Kjelle sat cross-legged on the deck, polishing his ax and brooding. His father was dead, his home occupied. He had sworn to revenge himself. But how? The familiar feeling of panic threatened to paralyze him as he realized how unprepared he was to become theyn. Muus had called him a coward. I'm not a coward, his mind shouted. I just don't know what to do. Muus had been right, when the runt was with him he felt more secure. He stared at his former slave, who sat with his eyes closed on the opposite site of the deck. For years he had hated him. He had hated the way Muus never showed his fear, how he never spoke back or raised his voice in anger as a Nord would do. He had cursed his father for giving him Muus, for rubbing in his contempt for his son by giving him a slave who was so much better at everything. But without Muus around, he felt lost. Oh, he could talk the local girls into his bed. And sometimes, he listened when his father spoke with his advisors. Not as often as he’d bluffed to Muus, but he wasn’t entirely ignorant. Yet he was hopeless where it counted. He couldn’t lead, he couldn’t plan and behind his back everybody laughed at him. He cursed softly.
‘You’re handy with that ax.’ Hraab plumped down next to him. The little boy looked at him and in spite of himself, Kjelle smiled.
‘I am?’
‘Yes. You knocked that hunter of Rannar’s out with your ax-handle. That was neat. Could you teach me how to do that?’
Kjelle blinked. Had he done that? The whole fight at Eidungruve was a red haze in his mind. But he did know how to handle weapons. Oskar had seen to that. Oskar, he felt himself go cold thinking of the brute. Cold, cruel and overbearing, the weaponmaster had been the bane of his childhood. Quickly he pushed the memory away. ‘Sure; let’s go to the forecastle, I don’t want to hit a sailor.’ Together, they walked to the small platform on the ship’s bow.
‘The point is to surprise your enemy,’ Kjelle said. ‘You can kill your opponent with the edge of your ax, break his skull with the back, or knock him out with the handle. Say you’re hacking away at him. All at once you twirl your ax and hit him under the chin with the other end. It surprises the shit out of him. That’s one. The other is, you’re not striking with the strength of your arm, but with the weight of your weapon plus the swing of your body.’
‘Like cutting wood,’ Hraab said eagerly.
‘Exactly. Trees rarely fight back, but the principle is the same.’
They exercised until the boy began to tire. When they were done, Kjelle felt more satisfied than he could remember.
The next day he spent hours teaching Hraab all he knew about ax fighting. The boy learned quickly and what he lacked in strength, he made up in agility. He wouldn’t be able to knock out his opponent as Kjelle had done at Eidungruve. But his way of jumping on his opponent’s chest and planting his imaginary ax in the theynling´s forehead, proved rather effective, besides a regular source of merriment. Kjelle enjoyed these carefree sessions, and slowly the piggy eyes and the humiliating taunts of his father´s weaponmaster lost their sting. The third day, Ajkell joined them, quiet and respectful as always. He was a real opponent and Kjelle found himself at times sorely beset. The hardships of the last moons had done wonders for his condition, though, and after a while he noticed that while Ajkell had greater strength, the nature of the bear warrior’s fighting was purely offensive. Kjelle found himself faster on his feet and through avoidance and a careful defense; he managed to end many of their bouts in a draw. He found a joy in these fights he had never known before and the gray clouds that so often filled his mind dwindled to almost nothing.
Around noon on the ninth day they sighted the fjord that was the sea entry to Nidros.
‘There ye are.’ The ship’s captain waved an arm towards the narrow strip of water between the towering walls of rock. ‘The King’s Bite, it’s called, because of its teeth. In times of danger, they post archers on top of the escarpments. Their shooting down on passing ships is a mortal danger. As are the large war machines on the plateau, waiting to lob stones at you. They can sink even a ship like the Madgund. It’s lucky we come in peace.’ He smiled as said he that, but his eyes searched their faces.
Kjelle nodded. ‘We’re the king’s men,’ he said. ‘We’re just bringing a message to our jarl, nothing more.’
‘Fine, I’d like to be able to sail out again without them trying to sink me.’ Captain Gunthram laughed his big, hearty laugh, but Kjelle thought he saw some anxiousness in his salt-seamed face. A glance told him that Muus had seen it, too.
‘Do you know something of the situation in Nidros?’
Gunthram shrugged. ‘I can tell you what I told the duchess, theynling. The mood is tense in the capital. King Vidmer is... not popular. I think it’s because of the queen that he’s not been deposed yet. Leocastre is well beloved by the people. Nevertheless, those who want the king out of the way are gaining support. The queen was very worried, last time I was here.’
Kjelle opened his mouth, but Muus was faster. ‘When were you here last?’
‘A bit over three sevendays ago. I make this trip every month.’
Three sevendays. In that time, everything could have changed. We’d better be cautious. Kjelle turned his head and looked into the fjord. Dark shadows seemed to have gathered there and he shivered.
The first impression Nidros gave was one of strength. The royal castle had been the first stone fortification built in the Norden and looked grim in the snow-pregnant sky.
‘Starreborg,’ Captain Gunthram said. ‘The queen had it built, after her marriage to Vidmer. She wanted something defensible and that’s what it is. Said to be a copy of her brother’s castle in Rhemes.’
Kjelle studied the castle. Yes, the captain was right. It looked untakable, with its high, stone walls and the central tower rising over all. He whistled softly and saw Muus looking. ‘A difficult place to get into if they don’t want you to.’
The Bryt gave that strange alven-smile of his. ‘Let’s hope it’s not difficult to get out of.’
Kjelle felt his heart flinch. ‘Do you think...’
Muus shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Why are we sailing past?’ Hraab said.
The captain smiled. ‘Because I’m turning the ship first, youngster. Then I’ll moor at the end of the jetty, before that longship with the red sails.’
‘With the cable ready to slip?’
Gunthram winked. ‘Clever fellow. Where did you learn that expression?’
‘From my brother,’ Hraab said, sadly. ‘He want
ed to go a-viking, but pa couldn’t spare him at home. He knew a lot of the words, he did.’
‘And where is your brother now?’
‘Dead. Like pa and ma. They were killed in a Fynni raid.’
The captain looked shocked at the boy’s statement. Then it dawned on Kjelle what the boy had said.
‘You mean Vulf’s men are Fynni?’
Hraab’s eyes opened wide. ‘You hadn’t seen? Those funny markings in their faces? They’re Fynni from the Ostmark, with Vulf and Swinne as their Tarkynni.’
‘How do you know?’
The boy squared his shoulders. ‘My father called him that. He knew a lot, my father did. Tarkynn, he called Vulf. “War chief, your face markings show you’re of the Fynni. Why do you come here? Why threaten us? Depart with your ulvhednar, go back to your mountains and leave us in peace.” That’s when the killing started.’ A single tear leaked from his eye and Kjelle felt his heart go out to the boy.
‘You never told me,’ Ajkell said in a soft voice.
‘I didn’t want to think about it. It... hurts. Here,’ the boy thumped his chest.
Kjelle’s balled his fists so hard the nails bit in his flesh. Fynni in Dalland. Never before they had come so far to the west. ‘Damn you, Rannar.’
‘Hush.’ The captain looked worried. ‘Don’t mention that name in Nidros. The king hates him, but should you speak badly of Westhal’s jarl, his many followers in town will find you. Folk have been murdered for less.’
‘But we’re safely on board. Surely your men are loyal?’ said Muus.
Gunthram hesitated. ‘Normally I’d put my hand in a fire for them, but nowadays... the jarl is very free with his silver.’
Kjelle felt himself grow red. ‘Thor’s Beard.’ He lowered his voice. ‘So that’s why he butchered my people. He wanted the mine. He’s going to pay our enemies with our own silver. Dammit, I must stop him. There must be a way.’
Kjelle felt a hand on his arm and he found Birthe looking up at him. ‘The jarl will know what to do. Wait until you’ve spoken with him.’
The captain spat over the side. ‘I don’t know what’s going on and I’m not certain I want to know. But the duchess told me to sail you and sail you I will. I’ll berth at the end of the jetty and I’ll wait a sevendays to return you to Harkoy. After that, you’ll have to wait a month for me to return.’ Then he hurried off, shouting orders to his men in a mixture of Nordic and Gaullish that Kjelle could barely understand.
Even close-up, the castle was impressive and Kjelle felt his heart beat faster as they walked towards the gatehouse. Through it, he saw the double drawbridge over the narrow gorge that separated the castle from the mainland and he whistled softly. Truly an impregnable place.
‘Halt.’ A hirdman, one of the King’s own warriors, barred their way. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’
Kjelle was surprised by the hostile tone in the man’s voice and the way he held his spear.
‘I’m Kjelle Almansen, Theynling of Eidungruve. I seek Jarl Dettrich with a message.’
The soldier seemed to tense and he looked at his mate. ‘Jarl Dettrich, eh? Follow me inside, Theynling.’
Something inside Kjelle cried, Watch out, danger. He squared his shoulders and followed the hirdman over the bridges to the closed main door. As they neared, the door swung open and they came to a small courtyard in front of the rock that carried the towering keep. A narrow path ended at the wooden ladder to the first floor. Kjelle, used to the simple longhouses, was puzzled. How could a lord, a king, distance himself so far from his people?
They entered a circular room, with a large fire burning at the other side from the door. In front of it was a high seat, empty.
The hirdman led them through the crowded room to the fire, where a richly clad man stood warming his hands. He saluted.
‘Jarl Brundal, these people walked up to the gate house, asking for Dettrich.’
Slowly, the Jarl turned around. ‘Did they now?’
Kjelle felt his stomach turn as he saw the calculating eyes of the man staring at him. Brundal, the Marshall of the Court, foremost advisor to the king, had a nasty reputation. A proud, greedy and violent man.
‘Who are you?’
Kjelle stood straight. ‘I am Kjelle Almansen, Theynling of Eidungruve.’
‘Eidungruve... A Dalland man.’ Brundal was silent for a moment. Then he snapped, ‘What do you seek here?’
‘I bring a message for my jarl,’ said Kjelle ‘His good wife sent me hither.’
‘His good wife.’ Brundal gave a laugh. ‘Dettrich is a traitor.’ Suddenly he shouted. ‘Dettrich murdered the king. He is a dishonorable dog and shall be hunted until he’s killed like a dog.’ He turned to the hirdman. ‘Lock them up. They will be interrogated when Jarl Rannar arrives and then trice-killed. The gods will be grateful for some fresh offers.’
Kjelle opened his mouth, but no sound came. Helplessly he glanced at the others, but found no answer there.’
The hirdman turned around and shouted a command. Immediately a handful of armed men hurried forward to join him. Then he looked at Kjelle. ‘Follow me.’
Kjelle looked around and saw the stares of the people in the room. Some were openly hostile; others only curious, but no-one questioned Brundal’s command and he realized there wasn’t any help to be had either.
Tuuri stood in the shadows of the throne room, waiting until Jarl Brundal recognized his presence. For two days he’d stood there, for two days the Landesregent had kept him dangling. He thought of the great news waiting for him when he arrived in Nidros. King Vidmer was dead and Brundal, who was firmly Rannar’s man, had taken over. Then why wouldn’t the regent receive him? Every time he was fobbed off with arguments like ‘too busy with the change of leadership’ or ‘the volatility of the situation’, while Brundal hung around in the throne room and didn’t seem to be doing anything.
The doors opened and like everyone else he craned his neck to see who entered. It was a group of five young people, and seeing them, he involuntarily stepped back deeper into the shadows. They’re the two fellows from Helmshaven. The others... His breathing stopped and his heart changed to ice in his breast. It can’t be! He’s dead. He must be dead. It was the dying boy from Vulf’s raid. The smallest one, the one he’d lied about to Vulf. There wasn’t any possible doubt; it was him. Somehow, he must have escaped the flames, recovered from his wounds and met up with the others. He couldn’t hear what Brundal was saying, but it was clear the five hadn’t expected it. Then he heard Brundal shout something about Jarl Dettrich being a traitor and shortly afterwards the five were arrested and marched away.
Tuuri let out a sigh of relief. The child hadn’t seen him. What had they wanted? Whatever it was, it had brought them great danger. Being close to Dettrich was as good as a death sentence.
The side door to the throne room flew open, a boy of some twelve winters marched in, his face set, and his fists balled. Prince Ottil!
‘I want an explanation, Lord Brundal,’ the boy said in a clear voice. ‘Why are my orders ignored? Why am I kept in ignorance about my father’s murder?’
‘Prince Ottil,’ the Landesregent began, but the boy cut him short.
‘I don’t want excuses, Brundal, I demand an answer.’
Brundal stiffened. ‘You can’t demand anything; you’re nothing but a stripling. I rule in King Vidmer’s place.’
‘Then you’re a cursed usurper, Brundal,’ the boy snapped.
‘Enough! Guards, take His Royal Highness to his apartments and lock the doors. I need no little boys running around in my throne room.’ There was some murmuring at that, but the regent’s angry glare silenced it.
‘You can’t do this!’ The boy was white with fury. ‘I’m to be king now.’ But guards came and half-dragged the young prince away. Again, there were sounds of protest.
‘Silence!’ Red-faced, Brundal confronted the courtiers. ‘The prince will be well cared for, but he’s only a chi
ld. An unruly child. There is a new order now. Jarl Rannar is on his way here and he’ll decide how the future will be. Until he is here, the prince will remain in his rooms. You may all leave.’
Tuuri was about to obey, when he heard Brundal’s yell. ‘Not you, messenger. Come here.’
Brundal paced back and forth, his face furious and uncertain at the same time. Tuuri stood and waited patiently. After some minutes, Brundal halted. ‘I have kept you waiting, I’m sorry. Any orders you carry are superseded, Master Tuuri. Lord Rannar is coming. It will take at least a week before he is here and I fear for the prince’s safety. You saw his impudent behavior, his childish tantrum, and you’ll know them for the same foolishness his father was infamous for. Still, I’m afraid somebody will try and get the prince out of our hands. I can’t allow that. Nor can I do anything to the brat without Lord Rannar’s permission. I’ve one option left. You will take the prince and his tutor to Lord Rannar. Let him take care of the child, and I can handle the situation here. Clear?’
Tuuri, dumbstruck, nodded.
‘Well then, return to your ship. I will have the prince and his tame paladin brought to you soon after midnight. You sail at once and take the boy off my hands. Lord Rannar will be in Agdir when you arrive. Call him the Warlord. On no account use his name.’
Tuuri bowed. He hadn’t thought about this, while dreaming of Vidmer’s deposition. He barely knew there’d been an heir and apparently a brave one. Of course the boy resented Brundal’s takeover. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said. ‘I’ll return to my ship then.’
As in a dream, he walked back to the harbor. Carrying a boy prince into exile wasn’t a noble deed. Not into exile, into safety, he thought. That sounded much better.
The soldiers hurried them away, out of the great hall.
‘The king was killed?’ Kjelle said once they were outside.
The hirdman glanced at him. ‘Three days ago. He choked on a horn of wine. Poison swelled his throat shut, the healers said. Dettrich was with him, and nobody else. In the confusion, he and his men fled. What more evidence of his guilt do you need?’
‘Or of his sense of caution perhaps?’ Muus said. ‘Had he stayed, wouldn’t they have named him murderer still, just as we were judged without any evidence at all?’
‘Shut up,’ one of the soldiers growled and prodded Muus’ shoulder ungently with the blunt point of his spear.
In silence, the soldiers herded them down the rocky path, to a door at the bottom. The hirdman beat on the wood with his sword hilt and the door opened from the inside. A small man with a pinched face shone a lantern at them. ‘New visitors?’
The hirdman nodded. ‘They’re to be kept here till Jarl Rannar calls for them. So feed them sometimes.’
The smell of sweat and decay in the narrow corridor made Kjelle gag.
‘Go on,’ the soldier said. ‘Your room waits at the end, noble theynling.’
Kjelle colored hotly at the tone in his voice. That was Oskar’s voice. The same taunting he had endured for so long. ‘Don’t use that tone with me, you low born goat.’
The warrior grew pale. ‘Goat? Why, you beardless monkey!’ He raised his spear and knocked Kjelle against the wall. Blood spurted from the theynling’s nose and mouth. Again, the man swung his spear, but now Ajkell gripped the shaft.
‘No more, soldier of the king.’
The man exclaimed and tried to wrest his spear from the bear warrior’s grip. But Ajkell pressed the weapon down, forcing the soldier to his knees, and pushed. The man lost his balance and fell in a heap. With a curse he scrambled to his feet and went for his sword.
‘Enough.’ the hirdman said. ‘Remember Brundal’s words, Rannar wishes to see them. Alive. Now act like a soldier.’
The second man sheathed his sword and picked up his spear. He didn’t speak, but his eyes yelled his wrath.
Kjelle wiped the blood from his face. ‘Rannar may hang me, stab me and drown me, but I am theynling and a kingsman. I will report your behavior to the jarl, soldier.’
The corridor ended at a door. ‘Your cell,’ the hirdman said. ‘It’s dark and unfitting, but perhaps Jarl Rannar will set all aright. He’s said to be a fair man.’
‘We’ve got to take their weapons,’ the soldier said sullenly.
‘No. Time enough for that when it’s necessary. For now we’ll leave them with their honor intact.’
The jailer unlocked the door. ‘Here ye are. Not the best beds in town, but the best I can offer.’
Hard hands pushed them inside, the door slammed shut and the sound of the key in the lock was like the closing of the doors of Helheim.
‘Come here with your face,’ Birthe said. ‘Let me feel if there’s any damage.’
A blue glow lit up the cell and Kjelle cursed. ‘That damned stone again.’ Speaking was difficult, his lip felt twice as thick as it ought.
‘But its light helps.’ From one of the satchels on her belt Birthe took a dried leaf. ‘Here, press this to your lip. It will sting, but it prevents your mouth swelling shut.’
Kjelle held the leaf to his lower lip. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, but he forced them back.
‘You were brave,’ Hraab said, ‘talking back to that soldier.’
‘Foolish-brave. The men could’ve killed you and then what?’ Birthe let go of Kjelle’s nose. ‘The bleeding has stopped.’
‘Not foolish,’ Ajkell said. ‘A soldier of the royal guard using that tone to a kingsman is unforgivable. The theynling couldn’t have done anything else apart from splitting his skull. And that would’ve killed us all.’
‘Men,’ Birthe said bitterly.
Ajkell shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, völva, but that’s the way it is.’
The girl looked at him, but she didn’t say anything.
‘We must get out of here,’ Kjelle said. ‘I refuse to be slaughtered ’
‘Getting out is n problem.’ Hraab put a finger on the door. ‘This lock is easy to pick. I could get it open with me eyes shut.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Kjelle stepped forward. ‘We must get away.’
‘Not so fast,’ Muus had been silent for a while, and now his words halted the theynling.
‘What?’
‘Getting past that door is one thing, but how do we get out of the castle and over those bridges?’
Kjelle turned. A feeling of complete hopelessness came over him. ‘You’re right.’
‘I can spy around.’ Hraab looked eager as always, his eyes glinting. ‘I’ll slip by that jailer; I bet he spends his days drinking. Once outside, I’m only a kid. Not a big ‘un like you. Nobody will notice me.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Muus said.
‘No more dangerous than waiting for Rannar.’ Ajkell looked at the little boy. ‘I say let him try.’
‘Woohee,’ the boy yelled, but softly. From the folds of his tunic he drew a thin knife. Humming an unfamiliar song, he started picking the lock. His hands, always fluttering like busy bees, were rock-still. A click sounded, and he sat back on his heels, looking around. When he had everyone’s attention, he pushed the door open and peered into the corridor. Then, with a cheery smile and a wave, he slipped out.
Kjelle let out his breath. His eyes met Ajkell’s, who gave a slight nod and shrugged.