GUNHILD LED THE way along a path that led deeper into the forest. After a short time she stopped and appeared to be examining the trunks of some of the trees. She went to one in particular – a stout pine – and ran her fingers over the bark.
‘It’s this way,’ she said, pushing aside some undergrowth that grew beside the pine tree. To Hagan’s surprise he saw another path leading off into the trees that had been concealed by the bushes. Gunhild moved off down this new track. Hagan went after her, pausing for a moment to note there were cuts in the bark of the pine tree – markings made so the path could be found by those who knew where to look.
They trekked through the undergrowth for a while then Gunhild stopped once more and examined more tree trunks. They took another turn and journeyed ever deeper into the forest. This happened two more times and the track became little more than an animal path. Hagan was surprised and impressed that Gunhild was still able to follow it. He had been through the forest many times hunting but it looked like she was every bit as able as him at tracking.
After a time sounds came through the trees from up ahead: raised voices and the noise of shovels scraping rock and stones. Gunhild stopped and held up a hand. Hagan stopped beside her and was about to ask what was going on but the warning glare Gunhild sent towards him told him without words he must be silent.
She reached up and pushed aside some of the undergrowth with a careful movement. With her other hand she beckoned to Hagan to look. He peered through the leaves and saw beyond it a narrow glade. A small stream came tumbling through the forest floor at one end, emptying into a creek of the Rhine that had stretched a long finger into woods. The little glen was surrounded on both sides by thick pine forest, obscuring it from view of any unknowing passers-by.
Where the stream met the top of the creek was the rocky entrance to a small cave in the side of the glen. It was oval, about half the height of a man and stretched away into darkness. Three slaves Hagan recognised from the Royal Household – young men who tended to do a lot of the heavy lifting and agricultural work – stood on top of the arch of stones that marked the cave entrance. One had a pick and the others had shovels. They were hacking away at the stones below their feet. Some stones had already fallen down and half blocked the entrance. Another two slaves had worked long, sturdy poles into the rocks above the entrance from below and were working them up and down, loosening them from their surroundings.
Watching them was the king.
Gundahar was a big man, though not as big as Godegisil. His long mail coat gleamed as if every ring was made of silver. The thought of what it must have cost made Hagan’s head spin. Across his broad back a round shield was slung by a leather strap. The shield was decorated with two gold and silver Nibelung eagles that faced each other across the iron boss. On his head was the Kin Helm, the great helmet which denoted kingship of the Burgundars. It was conical, with cheek plates fastened under the king’s chin to protect the sides of his head. A long iron neck guard reached to his shoulders. A great metal boar, its back dented by several sword blows, ran across the crown of the helmet from front to back. The wings of a falcon were fixed to the left and right of the boar.
When the battle began, there would be no doubt who the king of the Burgundars was. Hagan felt a surge of pride that Gundahar was his ruler. With such a man to lead them, how could they fail to win victory?
Gundahar was watching the slaves work with a stern glare. The king’s bushy, arched eyebrows always gave him a fierce look but this morning he appeared especially intense. His teeth were clenched in a tense grin of impatience.
‘Hurry up, you lazy dogs!’ Gundahar shouted. ‘I don’t have all day.’
The slaves, familiar with the anger of the king, redoubled their efforts. They kept their eyes down lest they met his fiery gaze.
What were they doing? Hagan shot a questioning glance at Gunhild but she just shook her head and looked back at the activity around the cave entrance.
As if aware – or wary – that he was being watched, the king began to sweep his gaze around the whole of the glen. Gunhild’s eyes widened and she closed the gap in the undergrowth with a careful but swift movement. Grimacing, she held a finger to her lips. Hagan wondered what was going on that could make his own daughter so worried that the king might see her observing him.
For long, agonised moments they crouched in silence, unaware if the king knew of their presence or not.
Then there came shouts of relief and triumph from the slaves, followed by the loud rumble and clattering of falling rocks. Gunhild pushed aside the undergrowth once more and they peered through to see that the slaves had managed to collapse the top of the cave into the entrance, blocking it with rubble.
‘Good work, men,’ the king said, some of the fierceness dissipating from his face. ‘Come here and I will reward you for your efforts.’
The slaves too smiled, happy or perhaps relieved that their efforts had pleased the king. Those on the top of the cave entrance clambered down to join the others on the bank of the creek then they shuffled forwards to where Gundahar waited. Hagan noticed he now wore a broad smile, though it did not seem to reach his eyes which remained dark and filled with menace.
‘We are pleased just to serve you, lord,’ one of the slaves said. ‘That is reward enough.’
‘I insist,’ Gundahar said.
There was a flash of sun on steel as the king ripped his sword from its sheath. His movement was so fast the first slave was still mid step as Gundahar slashed the blade backhanded across his torso. A red trench opened from the man’s right hip to his left shoulder. He gasped, astonished, then the huge wound parted like two lips and the man’s insides tumbled out in a horrific cascade of green, white and purple entrails.
Gundahar took the hilt of his sword in both hands and swept it around in a great arc, beheading the second slave with one blow. The man’s head went tumbling backwards to the ground while his severed neck spurted blood into the air to spatter the face of the appalled slave standing behind him.
One of the remaining three slaves recovered fast from his surprise and jabbed his shovel at the king. The blade just skidded off the king’s mail shirt. Gundahar drove his sword through the man’s guts. The last two slaves dropped their wooden poles and threw their hands up, shock pushing them into their accustomed obedience.
‘No, Lord King!’ one of the men said in a terrified howl. ‘Please spare us. What have we done to deserve this?’
For a moment Gundahar stood, sword raised to strike, looking down at the slaves kneeling before him. His grin was gone, replaced by what seemed to Hagan to be an expression of sadness or regret.
‘No one can know where this place is,’ he said. ‘Only I.’
‘We won’t tell anyone, Lord King!’ the other slave sobbed. ‘Spare us, I beg you. I swear on the lives of my family.’
Gundahar shook his head. His eyes became fierce and hard once more. He slashed his blade across both their throats in one movement, opening terrible wounds that pumped their lifeblood out onto the forest floor. Both men dropped to their knees, as if in prayer, then toppled forwards onto their faces.
The king stood for a few moments, panting from his sudden effort. Then he used his boot to shove the bodies and parts of bodies one by one into the water of the creek.
Then Gundahar began to take another look around the creek and glen.
Quick as a flash, Gunhild closed the gap in the undergrowth again. Once more she and Hagan crouched in agonised silence. Shock at the sudden violence he had witnessed flowed down Hagan’s spine like icy water. With it now was a new terror. He understood why Gunhild was so worried about the king knowing they were there. If Gundahar was prepared to murder the slaves to keep whatever secret this place held, would he also kill his daughter’s friend? Perhaps even kill his own daughter?
Then they heard heavy footsteps loping over the forest floor; dull thumps on the thick carpet of dead pine needles. The sound was accompanied by the rattling of the metal rings that covered the king’s body. Gundahar was running.
Hagan’s heart felt like it was frozen in his chest. If the king was leaving then surely he was coming their way. He would find them, and then what? Kill them as well? The terrifying thought that he could be about to face his king in combat made his throat tighten. Hagan thought yet again with dismay of the shield and spear he had discarded to run into the forest. All he had now to protect himself was a long-bladed knife. That would be as useless against Gundahar’s superior armour as the slave’s shovel had been.
He was going to die.
Then to Hagan’s relief the footsteps did not get closer but instead faded off into the distance.
When silence returned Gunhild let out a heavy sigh. Hagan, realising he had been holding his breath, did too. They rose to their feet. Gunhild parted the undergrowth and they both saw the glen and creek were now empty, apart from the grisly corpses bobbing in the shallow water of the creek. The collapsed entrance to the cave completely hid it and it now resembled a rock-strewn bank.
‘Now you have seen two sights today that you should not have,’ Gunhild said in a quiet voice. ‘Two things you must never speak of again.’
‘Where has the king gone?’ Hagan said.
‘To the battlefield, I hope,’ Gunhild said. ‘My father uses another track to get here. One known only to him. The way we came by I worked out myself.’
‘How do you know about this place?’ Hagan said.
‘I followed my father here by his own path once before,’ Gunhild said. ‘He did not know I was there. I was a lot younger and knew he sneaked away into the woods every now and then on some secret task. That time he killed two slaves who had carried a chest here for him. I could not let him know I knew about this place. It would be the death of me too. So I worked out another way to get back from here, and left markers on the trail in case I had to find my way back.’
‘He wouldn’t hurt you, surely?’ Hagan said, eyes wide. ‘His own daughter?’
‘Gold puts a sickness in the minds of men that takes away all pity,’ Gunhild said.
‘Gold?’ Hagan said, excitement replacing the tension in his voice. ‘Is that the treasure you spoke of? Is that what is here?’
He glanced at the collapsed entrance to the cave.
Gunhild shook her head.
‘See? It’s infecting you already,’ she said. ‘Even from a distance.’
‘But what—’
Gunhild cut him off with a wave of her hand.
‘There is no time now to explain,’ she said. ‘You must go. My father is on his way to the battlefield so your task is done. I will lead you back. We need to hurry or it will be all over before you get there.’