Next morning the ship resumed the voyage north. Later in the day the skipper announced they had reached the northern coast of Ireland. Here they rounded a dark headland and then began sailing west. The sea remained choppy while the shore was either black rocks that threatened the hull of the ship if they were swept too close or stretches of beach with sand so white that even in the dull winter daylight it dazzled the eyes. Further north there was just sea, dotted with occasional dark islands that rose in the distance. To the north-west, Einar knew, beyond the horizon was nothing but empty ocean until Iceland. The thoughts of his home made his heart heavy. With a fair wind it was perhaps four days sail away but may as well have been on the other side of the moon.
He had left home intent on making a name for himself, to travel the world and weave a story of his deeds that poets would celebrate for generations to come. But here he was back in Ireland. Was it fate that kept bringing him here? Was this as far as he would ever go? Would his tale end in the cold of the Irish sea?
Not if he could at all help it.
His situation was dire but surely nothing was ever totally without hope? All the same it was hard to see a way out. Einar gritted his teeth. If this really was it then when they came to kill him he would make it as hard for them as he could.
Excited shouts came from the others. Wondering if it was another strange sea creature, Einar went to the landward side of the ship where the others were gathering. There he saw tightly packed stone columns rising from the sea. Each column had regular faces as if they had been carved like the pillars in King’s Gard. The shoreline was covered in countless shaped stones that appeared to have many flat sides.
‘The Irish call this place the Giant’s Stepping Stones,’ the skipper said. ‘They say a giant built it as a causeway for him to get across to the island of Britain so he could fight another giant who lived there.’
‘There are cliffs like that back home on a black sand beach to the south of the island,’ Einar said. ‘They say there that they are made from two trolls who got caught by the sunlight and turned into needles of rock. I’m starting to think both were probably built by the Romans.’
Ricbehrt let out a guffaw. ‘The Romans were great builders, Icelander,’ he said. ‘But they also had the good sense never to come to Ireland. Or Iceland.’
The weapon merchant’s face lost its initial humour and his voice took on a threatening tone.
‘We’ve arrived at the place you told us to sail to,’ he said. ‘Where are my swords?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Einar saw Osric’s hand drop to the hilt of his knife.
‘There’s a line of skerries a little further down the coast,’ he said. ‘We should sail to them. I’ll tell you more when we get there.’
Osric’s upper lip curled. ‘Why drag this out, Dane? Just tell us where they are.’
Einar’s lips remained clamped shut.
‘Let me make him tell us, lord,’ Osric said. ‘Just give me a little time alone with him and my knife. Look at him standing there, all cocky. He’s making fools out of us!’
‘If you so much as touch me I’ll never tell you where they are,’ Einar said. His tone was neither boastful nor provoking. He just stated the words like he was commenting on the colour of the sky.
Ricbehrt looked him in the eye. He stood for a long time gazing at him, then he nodded.
‘Something tells me that this young man is rather pig-headed,’ the merchant said. ‘He is the sort that if he puts his mind to something, he will go through with it, no matter how stupid. Very well. We shall play his game. But know this, Icelander: When I play, I only ever play to win.’
He turned and walked away. Osric glared at Einar for a few more moments, then he too stomped away.
Rounding the next headland, the ship came to a sandy beach that ran for a long distance. At the end of this they rounded another headland where the sea mashed itself into white foam against the black rocks. Up on the clifftop they could see a fortress, the palisaded residence of some Irish chieftain. Einar knew they were now close. To everyone’s surprise, the uniform blackness of the rocky shore changed as they passed a section of the cliffs that were entirely white. They gave way to sand dunes and another beach led around the edge of a long, wide bay that ended in yet another black headland that stretched out into the sea like a long, dark finger. They could see smoke rising from a settlement on the headland. A little way offshore, in the middle of the bay, were a line of islands. This was their destination.
Ricbehrt, Osric and Oswald came to where Einar stood then the bodyguards grabbed him and shoved him to the stern where the skipper guided the ship with the steering oar.
‘Tell him where to go now,’ Ricbehrt said.
‘Sail for the seaward side of the middle island,’ Einar said to the skipper.
The islands were narrow but long. The smaller ones were just rocks, but two or three of the larger skerries had a sparse covering of turf and coarse grass. All of them sloped upwards towards the sea, then at their highest point dropped straight down into the water. As they got nearer the skipper frowned.
‘I doubt we can land on them,’ he said to Ricbehrt. ‘The ship will be wrecked if we get too close. We’ll run aground or be dashed against the rocks by the tide.’
Osric’s face on the other hand, was lit up by delight.
‘There’s nothing to these islands, lord!’ he grinned to Ricbehrt. ‘They’re just barren rocks. We can search all of them in no time. We’ve no need of the Dane any more.’
‘The swords aren’t on the islands,’ Einar said. ‘You can search them all you want. You’ll never find them.’
Ricbehrt’s face darkened to the colour of a blackberry.
‘This game is done, Icelander,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘If they aren’t on these islands then why are we here?’
‘We’re close, I promise,’ Einar said in what he hoped was a placatory tone. ‘Get as close to the island as you can but we don’t need to land.’
They sailed around the islands in uncomfortable silence. When they were about halfway along the length of the largest, sailing as close as the skipper dared to take the ship, Einar held up his hand.
‘This is it,’ he said.
‘Drop the anchor stone,’ the skipper said to Osric and Oswald. The two men went to the side and heaved the bulky anchor stone over it. It exploded into the sea and disappeared into the blue-green depths trailing its rope behind it until finally it went rigid.
The side of the island was like a short cliff that rose sheer out of the water to about the height of the ship’s mast.
‘It goes on down into the sea,’ Einar said.
The skipper looked down at the tight anchor rope and shook his head.
‘It’s very deep here,’ he grumbled. ‘I can’t be certain we will stay in the one place. We might drift a bit.’
‘And the swords?’ Ricbehrt demanded.
Einar pointed down into the dark green water. ‘Down below the surface, about the height of a man underwater there’s a cave in the side of the island. The swords are in a chest down there.’
Ricbehrt, Osric and the skipper all exchanged glances. Ricbehrt blew out his cheeks.
‘Well I’ll say this for Ulrich,’ Ricbehrt said. ‘It’s the perfect place to hide something.’
The others all looked into the cold, choppy waters. Murmurs went around the crew of the ship. The weapon merchant looked around his men, all of whom seemed suddenly very interested in the sky or the deck, anywhere but their master’s eyes. No one looked like they were about to volunteer to go into the water.
Osric nodded at Einar.
‘May as well use the Dane,’ he said. ‘We can kill him after. I’ve waited this long. What’s a few more moments if it means I avoid a soaking?’
‘Well, Icelander,’ Ricbehrt said. ‘It looks like my men are all too fond of their comfort to jump off a perfectly good ship into a freezing cold sea. You’ll have to go instead.’