‘Ah, Ricbehrt,’ the tall Aenglishman who seemed to have taken charge said to the purple-nosed fat man. ‘Forgive me. We shall discuss business in a moment. As you can see, I have something to sort out here first.’
Einar, panic rising in his chest, tried to turn his face to the side so the newcomers could not recognise him. Osric was glaring straight at him. Einar gave up and returned the stare. Osric muttered a few words in his master’s ear. Ricbehrt’s eyes widened again.
‘What’s your name?’ the Aenglishman said to Einar. Einar wondered just who this man could be if a powerful jarl like Hakon, young as he was but a son of Harald Fairhair of Norway no less, deferred to him.
‘Lord King,’ Ricbehrt interrupted, pointing a pudgy finger in Einar’s direction. He spoke in the Saxon tongue but with the nasal accent of the Franks. ‘That man is Einar Thorfinnsson! He’s the son of your enemy, the Jarl of Orkney. He and his companions – heathen werewolf warriors of King Eirik of Norway – stole a valuable hoard of weapons from me in Ireland.’
Lord King? Einar’s mind raced. He had already been surprised by the deference everyone in the room showed the older Aenglishman and the way he seemed to command the situation. Now Ricbehrt’s words confirmed what he had already begun to suspect but could scarcely believe. This must be Aethelstan, the King of Wessex, or to give him the title he had lately begun to use, the King of all the Aenglish and Emperor of Britain.
Aethelstan looked at Einar with narrowed eyes, as if assessing him anew. The previous glint of mirth had gone. ‘Is this true?’
‘Jarl Thorfinn is my father, yes,’ Einar said.
He heard sharp intakes of breath all around the hall.
The doors opened and Ayvind staggered in, one hand holding his head.
‘Has wine so addled your mind, Ayvind,’ Hakon said in a voice like thunder, ‘that you’ve brought the son of Thorfinn the Skull Cleaver into Kings Gard?’
‘He told me he was an Icelander,’ Ayvind said, looking thoroughly confused.
‘What’s all this about poetry?’ Aethelstan said.
‘He’s got a superb voice and real talent, Lord King,’ Ayvind said, bowing his head to the Aenglishman. ‘With the right teaching he could be a famous skald someday.’
‘And the woman?’ Aethelstan asked.
Ayvind shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen her before.’
Einar shot a sharp glance at Affreca. If she revealed her true identity it would do them no favours.
‘I am Affreca Guthfrithsdottir,’ Affreca said, raising her chin. ‘Of the Ui Imair clan and the Kingdom of Dublin.’
Einar rolled his eyes. Aethelstan sighed and looked at Jarl Hakon.
‘Hakon, my visit here is supposed to be a secret,’ he said, his voice edged with anger. ‘And yet I arrive to find the offspring of two of my enemies waiting for me. One of them even knocked me on my arse! Is there anyone else here I should know about? Perhaps your brother Eirik Bloody Axe is lurking behind the tapestries?’
Hakon’s cheeks reddened and he looked at the floor. The king shot a look in the direction of the warriors holding Einar.
Einar felt their grip tighten. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding past the cold metal of the blade across his throat.
‘I have no love for my father!’ he shouted. ‘He tried to kill me and my mother. He wants me dead.’
‘And you’re really here to learn to poetry?’ Aethelstan said. His voice conveyed just how unlikely he thought that was.
‘Yes!’ Einar said.
‘And you?’ the king asked Affreca.
‘I came to take back the Raven Banner,’ she said.
There were more gasps from the others in the room.
‘So you’re a thief,’ Aethelstan said. ‘I would not expect anything different from a pagan.’
Affreca’s face was defiant. ‘You stole it first from my clan.’
‘And they are murderers, Lord King,’ Ricbehrt exclaimed. ‘They attacked my men last night. They killed one of them.’
‘So the body found in the ditch off Micklegate this morning was one of your men?’ Hakon said. ‘He had an arrow in him.’
Ricbehrt nodded. ‘I want justice.’
‘A king must deliver justice,’ Aethelstan said. He looked up into the air and spoke in a tone that suggested he was discussing with himself as much as talking to Ricbehrt. ‘And Jorvik is part of my realm now, even if its people have not learned to love me yet. I can’t have brawling in the streets. At the same time this is all very messy. No one is supposed to know I am in the city.’
Einar felt his heart pounding in his chest. He thought hard once more for some sort of plan to escape. The arms that held him were strong and there was at least three men on him. The blade was so tight across his neck that if he even moved, he could cut his own throat and it would all be over. There was no way out.
‘What did you do with my swords?’ Ricbehrt said. ‘I want them back.’
‘These must be very special swords, Ricbehrt,’ Aethelstan said, ‘for you to be so anxious for their return.’
‘The value of those swords is worth half the taxes in this land,’ the weapon dealer said.
‘Hmmm,’ Aethelstan raised an eyebrow. ‘Ulfbehrt swords, were they? The type that are not supposed to be exported from the Holy Roman Empire? No wonder you’re so keen to get them back. If Prince Otto finds out you’ve been shipping them abroad, he would not be pleased.’
‘My lord,’ Ricbehrt dipped his head, an obsequious smile creeping across his greasy cheeks. ‘Prince Otto does not need to know. Perhaps if a few Ulfbehrts turned up amidst the order you wish to place with me for your upcoming campaign you would not be too disappointed?’
Aethelstan grunted.
‘Indeed. I imagine your price will go up considerably too. Let’s discuss that later.’
‘I know where his swords are,’ Einar said. Perhaps now he had a chance to get out of this mess.
The attention of everyone in the room returned to him.
‘Where are they?’ Ricbehrt spat through clenched teeth. ‘Tell me, you bastard!’
‘Ulrich’s crew took twelve of them but the hoard was weighing the ship down,’ Einar said. ‘We needed to sail fast for Iceland so we stashed the rest.’
‘Where!?’ Ricbehrt’s purple face looked like it was about to pop.
Einar smiled.
‘Do you think I’m stupid? If I tell you, then I’ll be no more use to you. You’ll have me killed.’
‘Hanged for murder, actually,’ Aethelstan said, a half-smile forming on his own lips. ‘Barbarians like Eirik Bloody Axe or your father might execute people on a whim but we have laws here. If you’re to die, you will be put to death legally.’
‘It’s the same outcome, from my point of view,’ Einar said. ‘I will not tell you where the swords are but I will take you to where they’re hidden, Ricbehrt. It’s across the seas, that is all you need to know for now. So we need a ship. When we get you to the swords, then you’ll let us go.’
‘Well?’ Aethelstan looked at Ricbehrt. ‘It seems the Skull Cleaver’s son has something to bargain with. I would indeed like some of those swords if you get them back.’
Ricbehrt ground his teeth. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But if you try anything, you’re dead. And I will make sure your death is far from legal and far from painless.’
‘What about the woman?’ Hakon asked Aethelstan.
‘She has to come too,’ Einar said.
Aethelstan chuckled. ‘No. If she is an Ui Imair then she could prove a useful hostage.’
‘We can’t keep her here,’ Hakon said. ‘The people of Jorvik resent Aenglish rule enough as it is. If word gets out that she’s in Kings Gard we could have a mob outside demanding her release. It could spark outright rebellion.’
Aethelstan looked at Affreca for a moment, regarding the habit she wore. Then he said, ‘She wants to be a nun, so let’s send her for safekeeping among the good sisters of Withern Abbey. They can save her heathen soul as well. Take them away. I have business to do with Ricbehrt.’
Hakon’s warriors dragged Affreca out of the hall while Osric and Ricbehrt’s other bodyguard took hold of Einar. His hands were bound behind his back, then they shoved him towards the door.
‘The bitch’s arrow just missed me last night,’ Osric hissed in his ear, ‘which is bad luck for you. As soon as we get those swords, you’re a dead man.’
Einar sighed, realising that all he had just achieved was to postpone the time and place of his death.