Einar stood at the prow of Roan’s ship as they sailed up the narrow strait of the Karm Sound. In places the sea became narrow as a river. The countryside slid past on both sides. The snow was melting, exposing withered brown grass beneath. Here and there were settlements. Smoke drifted up into the grey sky from the fires inside the long houses.
Einar had never set foot in Norway yet there was much that was familiar to him. The houses were built exactly like those at home in Iceland. The people they saw too, were dressed almost the same, though in much brighter colours. Hair and beards were cut the same way.
‘What are you gawping at, lad?’ Skar said as he joined Einar at the prow.
‘I was always told that the coast of Norway was cleaved by narrow fjords that ran between cliffs as high as mountains,’ Einar said. He waved his hand at the low rolling hills dotted with the remains of the snow that lined the sound on both sides. ‘This looks a little like Scotland.’
‘It gets that way north of here,’ Skar said. ‘That coast to the west of us is really a huge island, Karm. This strait goes all the way up to Haugasund, then opens to the sea. Where we are now is the bottom of the whale road they call Norðr Vegr, the North Way.’
‘Northwards and netherwards,’ Einar said, feeling a little shiver go down his spine as he quoted the words of the old lore. ‘They say that is where the kingdom of Hel lies. But I’ve heard of this place. It’s also said that when the bridge to Asgard becomes too hot after a thunder storm, Thor wades up this channel on his way to make judgements at Yggdrasil.’
Ulrich appeared beside Skar.
‘So typical of that red-bearded lout,’ he said with a tut. ‘He wades up the sea when there’s perfectly good land to walk on. Doesn’t he cause the thunder in the first place?’
Roan’s ship sailed on up the strait, heading ever further northward. As time went by Einar noticed they were passing a steady line of ships all heading south. The further north they got, the more frequent the ships going the other way became. Some were longships, some were knarrs like the one he was on; all were fully laden.
‘We seem to be going the opposite way to everyone else,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ Ulrich said, rubbing his chin. ‘There is something going on. I don’t know what.’
After some time, they came to a point where a peninsula jutted out from the western shore. It was the royal seat at Avaldsnes.
A jumble of boathouses and a dry dock lined the shore of the harbour while stone quays reached long fingers out into the cold waters of the sound. A forest of masts rose from the longships, knarrs and other vessels that thronged the quays or sat beached in the shallows. Beyond the harbour the promontory of the ness itself rose to a mound in the middle and on this the feasting hall of the king stood like a great whale rising up from the sea. At first Einar was surprised that there was no palisade or ditch around the royal residence, then realised that the ness it sat on provided protection enough. It was almost an island, surrounded on all sides by water except for one narrow strip of land which was the only way onto it. Apart from the natural harbour all other shores were rocky and offered no place to land a ship. He could see why for generations kings had made Avaldsnes their home.
‘We can be sure King Eirik is here,’ Ulrich said. ‘Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many ships in harbour.’
The harbour and quays thronged with men. They carried barrels, weapons and chests to the ships. It was not unlike the scene they had sailed away from in Cathair Aile.
‘I think we got here just in time,’ Skar said. ‘It looks like they’re preparing for a voyage.’
‘Everywhere we go people seem to be leaving,’ Bodvar said.
‘Eirik’s not the only one here,’ Bodvar added, pointing towards a longship docked in the harbour. Its sail was still unfurled and bore the emblem of a red raven.
‘That’s an Orkney ship,’ Ulrich said. ‘Einar; if your father is here then you need to stay out of the way.’
Einar nodded, but inside he wondered if he really could. If Thorfinn was here could he just sit in the background and not even speak to him? Perhaps this was a chance for reconciliation. They could bury their grievance and he would no longer have to worry if Thorfinn was trying to kill his mother while he was away from home and unable to protect her.
As they got closer, a ship came to meet them. It was sleek and fast and cut through the water like a viper. Einar recognised it as a snekkja like the one they had been sunk on off Scotland. This snekkja was filled with warriors clad in shining mail and iron helmets. To Einar’s consternation he saw many had drawn swords. The others on his own ship seemed non-plussed, however, so he relaxed again.
‘Drop your anchor stone,’ a warrior on the prow of the snekkja shouted to them. ‘No one is to come any closer to the ness.’
‘Grettir, is that you?’ Ulrich said, recognising the lanky build and the long grey hair of the warrior on the prow. ‘It’s me, Ulrich. Are things so bad that the king’s bodyguard are intercepting ships now? You know us. We can sail on into the harbour, right?’
Grettir shook his head. ‘King Eirik’s orders,’ he shouted back. ‘No ships must come ashore. These are dangerous times, Ulrich. The king is surrounded by rebels and traitors. Drop your anchor and we’ll take you to him.’
Ulrich sighed. ‘On your head be it,’ he said. ‘I have urgent news for the king about his brother Hakon. When Eirik hears you’re pissing me about like this he’ll have you fight a bout with the Blámaðr.’
Einar felt an involuntary shudder at the mention of the Blámaðr. Skar, Ulrich and the others had told him many tales on the voyage there about the mysterious, black-skinned giant the king kept in chains to punish those who wronged him.
Ulrich sighed and ordered Roan to drop the anchor stone. The rest of the men furled the sail and as the stone dropped to the bottom of the sea the ship slowed to a halt. The snekkja drew alongside and warriors on board it grabbed the sides of the ships to hold them together.
‘Come across,’ Grettir said and the crew of the knarr scrambled over into the already crowded snekkja. Einar looked around. He did not like the hostile eyes that glared from behind the visors of the warriors’ helmets. An uneasy feeling crept through his guts.
‘Where’s the king going?’ Ulrich said, gesturing towards the ships preparing to leave the harbour.
‘He’ll tell you himself, soon enough,’ Grettir replied. ‘Now hand over your weapons.’
Ulrich raised his eyebrows. ‘Here we go again. We’re not in a holy place this time, Grettir. We’re not before the king yet.’
‘Just do what you’re told,’ Grettir said. His voice was cold. It was clear that his words were an order, not a request.
‘We’ve only got this one sword between us,’ Ulrich said, holding up the weapon that Bodvar had taken from Ayvind.
‘You expect me to believe that?’ Grettir said.
Einar could sense something was wrong. He saw that Ulrich was starting to think the same way. The Wolf Coat narrowed his eyes.
‘This time, I will tell you to fuck off,’ Ulrich said.
‘Get them!’ Grettir yelled. In an instant his men surged forward, flooding like a steel waterfall towards the Wolf Coats. They went forward shields first, swords and spears ready. Einar felt panic grab his chest. With no armour or weapons, they stood no chance against Grettir’s warriors.
Ulrich dropped his crutch and raised Ayvind’s sword. Grettir’s warriors were already upon him before he could strike. They surrounded the Wolf Coats, Einar, Affreca and Roan, their big, round shields pushing against him, overwhelming them by the sheer weight of their numbers. Those with spears reversed them and began battering the Wolf Coats with the butts.
With a roar Ulrich launched himself against the wall of shields that surrounded him, hacking and slashing with the sword, trying to hit heads, feet, any exposed body part that could send its owner sprawling and open up an escape route for him.
A group of the king’s warriors closed on him together, pressing their shields against him. Ulrich was squashed in the middle, unable to move or swing his sword arm. The warriors kicked his legs from under him. He cried out as a boot struck his injured foot. Ulrich toppled and with practised ease the king’s warriors used their shields to push him down flat to the deck. Ulrich kicked, roared and spat but there was nothing he could do. Hands reached down and tore the sword from his grasp.
It was the same for the others. Einar staggered as he was hit from all sides, blows striking his ribs, stomach and knees. He lost sight of the others as he too was pushed to the deck. He felt a hard blow above his right eye and stars exploded before his vision. He could hear grunts and shouts from all around and saw Bodvar not far off, face down on the deck like he was, amid a forest of legs that drove kicks into his unprotected body.
Einar felt hands grab his arms and force them behind his back. Rope scraped his skin as it was wound round his wrists and tied to secure his hands.
Then the warriors pulled back. Einar looked around and saw the others from Ulrich’s crew were all like him, panting, lying beaten on the deck, their hands tied behind their backs. One of the warriors handed Ayvind’s sword to Grettir.
‘You’ve really come down in the world, Ulrich,’ Grettir said, running a critical eye along the blade. ‘Last time I took a sword off you it was an Ulfbehrt.’
‘Eirik will kill you for this,’ Ulrich said. His face was twisted with impotent rage.
Grettir smiled.
‘No, Ulrich. Quite the opposite. He intends to kill you.’