Einar stood on the side of the ship as it rose and fell on the swell, riding on the anchor. He looked down into the deep water that sloshed and slopped in the short space between the ship and the rocky cliff that formed the edge of the island. A rope was knotted around his ankle.
‘Tie a good one,’ Ricbehrt had instructed the skipper who fastened the rope, ‘one of your ship knots. I don’t want him slipping out and swimming off somewhere.’
Another rope looped around his chest, over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. When he got to the cave, he was to tie this rope on to the sword chest and the crew on the deck would haul it up.
At least his hands were now free. He had stripped to the waist and taken his boots off, now he waited, taking long, deep breaths, trying to steal himself for the shock of cold that would seize his body as he entered the water below.
Einar had nursed a vague hope that while Ricbehrt’s crew were preoccupied with hauling up the chest he might have been able to slip away, maybe jump into the sea or onto the island. The rope now told him that hope was forlorn.
He touched the amulet of Mjölnir, Thor’s mighty hammer, that hung around his neck from a leather thong. He seldom asked for the help of Thor but it was starting to look like only Gods could help him now.
There was a low chuckle behind him and he felt a hand in the small of his back, shoving him forwards. Arms spinning like cartwheels, he fell outwards, away from the ship and into the sea.
Einar hit the water and plunged deep into the freezing bosom of the sea, ropes trailing behind him. Cold enveloped him and the shock of it made the breath burst from his lungs as he was swathed in a torrent of bubbles. Some instinct awoke within him and he pulled himself together fast, forcing himself to be calm and chase the panic flooding his mind like the water that poured up his nose and into his ears. He fought the urge to breathe in as he realised he had to get back to the surface as fast as he could.
Feeling his sinking slow, Einar kicked and he shot upwards, back towards the sparkling light. His head burst above the water, long hair sending a shower of water droplets in all directions as he sucked in desperate lungfuls of welcome air.
‘I’ve heard it said our women love the Danes because they love washing themselves,’ Osric’s mocking voice came from the ship above. From where he stood it was obvious it was him who had pushed Einar in. ‘That one doesn’t look too happy getting washed.’
Einar ignored the guffaws from the deck and took several more deliberate, very deep breaths, forcing air in and out of his chest. This was not just due to the freezing water. He knew this would allow him to stay underwater longer.
As he felt his head go light, he sucked in one final breath then ducked beneath the surface again. Einar curled himself over and pulled with his hands, drawing himself down into the depths once more. As he went completely under, he kicked his legs, propelling himself faster and deeper. The grey daylight changed to a murky green. He reached out with his right hand, feeling the smooth coldness of the rock that sloped down into the black depths below. Long, ropey tendrils of brown and green seaweed waved in the current, twisting and turning as the water moved around them. Einar tried not to look straight down to where the view disappeared into blackness and who knew what lurking in the unknown depths. Perhaps right now Rán, Aegir’s wife, was looking up from down there, her net grasped in her cold, clammy hands, ready to cast it upwards to ensnare him.
Einar’s fingers slid into space. He ran his hand down and felt where the surface of the rock went inwards. He had found the top of the cave.
Thanking Thor that he was not on the wrong island, Einar shot back up through the water. Surfacing, he ignored the jeers from the deck above as he took more deep breaths. He had found the cave so now came the hard part. He would have to spend much more time underwater this time.
Taking one final breath, Einar ducked under. He swam down to the top of the cave with strong strokes then forced himself further down, passing the cave mouth until he reached its bottom. The light at this depth was gloomy. Swathes of brown seaweed growing out from the rocky side of the island trailed around him. Looking up he saw the surface sparkling above and the great dark oval of the hull of the ship. Forcing himself level, he hovered in the water, peering into the stygian blackness of the cave. How far in was the chest? Atli, the Wolf Coat who had stashed it, would have taken no chances but he hoped that he had not put it too far inside.
Einar kick his legs, pushing himself into the darkness within the cave. He reached ahead with both hands, fumbling in the darkness for the straight edges and iron binds that would tell him he had found the chest. After some moments searching, he still had not found it. His lungs began to burn and he shoved himself back out of the cave, rising again to the surface where he bobbed with the waves, gasping and panting, trying to replenish his air-starved lungs.
‘Get back down there!’ a voice called from above. ‘Don’t come back up until you have that chest tied on.’
Einar looked up and saw Osric was leaning over the side of the ship, a spear in his hands, poking the sharp end in his direction. It was not quite long enough to reach him but if the Aenglishman launched it he would easily skewer Einar before he could get out of the way.
Einar returned a glare at Osric as he took a couple more breaths, then he dived again.
He powered downwards through the cold water until he was once more at the entrance to the cave. This time he swam in from the top and into the darkness. He kicked his legs behind him and entered the blackness. Hovering somewhere near the roof, he strained his eyes, seeking for any hint or sign of where the chest could be.
Then he saw it. A dull glint of metal. Sunlight filtering down from the surface danced on one of the metal bands that bound the chest.
Einar swam closer. In the gloom he half felt, half-saw the big chest sitting on the floor of the cave, a little way inside, a nest of seaweed waving around it. It was just far enough in to not be visible from outside, but not too far in that it would be impossible for a swimmer to get to it.
He grabbed the rope over his shoulder and sought for the end of it. Working with grim intent, Einar threaded the rope through the right-hand handle on the chest and the one on the top. Then the burning in his lungs told him he would have to return to the surface one more time before the job was done.
Something rushed from the darkness of the inner cave.
It was very long and thin. From the corner of his eye Einar just had time to glimpse the thing’s rows of sharp teeth before it hit him.