Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (4 page)

‘You’re right, but we had a fair glut of skins last winter. Most of mine were picked up at Birka a few months back. You know the sort of thing – fox, beaver, wolf and seal, but a few reindeer and ice bear furs as well. We’ve a fair stack of walrus ivory and whalebone, too, and several barrels of Rhenish wine, all acquired from the market at Kaupang on our way back through the Skagerrak. Oh, and some fine quality Byzantine silks. Then of course we’ve got the usual amber and honey–’

‘And your own villagers need none of these?’ Eadwulf interrupted what seemed an endless catalogue of generally sought-after wares.

‘Our folk have had first pick, of course, but now they’re more in need of manufactured goods: pottery for one thing, ironware for another. And quern stones. I’m told they work some high quality stoneware in York. So here we are,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘But by Thor’s bollocks, Ulf, I never thought I’d see you here. Wait till I tell them all back home I’ve seen you again. My wife thought the sun shone out of your arse! And you’re not so much the lad now, either.’ Olaf grinned, revealing teeth in far better condition than his hair. ‘How long’s it been? Five years . . .?’

‘Almost,’ Eadwulf replied, noting the deeply etched lines around Olaf’s eyes and corners of his mouth. ‘Though it seems longer.’

‘Aye, lad, life passes by too quickly: seems like only yesterday I was a strapping young man like you – and look at me now.’ He gave a rueful sigh before gesturing towards the bustling area behind the wharves. ‘Walk with me,’ he said, waving to catch the attention of a couple of his crew and gesturing at the bay. ‘My lads’ll keep an eye on your mount whilst we share a mug or two and do some catching up.’

They strolled through the town, observing craftsmen working materials as varied as leather, bone and antler, stone and wood, and smiths casting items from iron, bronze and lead, whilst others specialised in more intricate and costly items in silver and gold. Some of these goods were destined for markets across the seas; others were displayed for sale on stalls set up along the winding streets.

Purchasing cold ale, a freshly baked loaf and some ripe cheese, they perched on some discarded wooden crates to enjoy them, chatting as they watched another artisan creating coloured beads from recycled Roman glass and trying to ignore the stench of raw fish from a nearby stall.

‘So, you’re married with a young son. All men need a generous wife and warm bed at some stage,’ Olaf reasoned, chuckling devilishly. ‘I doubt marriage’ll stop you eyeing up other pretty faces, mind, or sharing other beds from time to time. And on raids, well,
those
women are our just reward for trouncing their menfolk.’

‘Speaking of raids, I’ve often wondered where you got to after you’d dropped me off on the Northumbrian coast. If I recall rightly, you’d a mind to sail right round the northern lands of Britain and down to the west coast of Ireland. Is that what you did, or did you change your plans again?’

Olaf gave Eadwulf’s arm a genial punch. ‘Yer memory’s as good as ever, Ulf, but we’ll have less of the cheek! As ship’s master, I’m entitled to change my plans, should I so choose. Anyways, we sailed into the mouth of the Liffey, where many of my countrymen have headed in recent years. The settlement there’s grown a fair bit since my last visit ten years ago. Goes by the name of Dublin, and it’s becoming quite a honey-pot for Norwegians, as well as more than a few Danes. And the Irish are getting used to doing as they’re told. We got back to the Lofotens fair loaded with loot and thralls.’

Olaf chuckled at his memories and Eadwulf grinned. ‘I’m glad it all turned out well,’ he said. ‘I really enjoyed my year with you and missed you all for a long time. But . . .’

‘What’s up, lad? Are you about to ask me to take you on again?’

Eadwulf smiled briefly, before a deep sigh seemed to emerge from nowhere. ‘Olaf, there’s something I should tell you, since you obviously don’t know.’ He swiped the back of his hand across his ale-wet lips and placed his mug at his booted feet as the old seaman stared at him expectantly. Sorrow at the anguish his words would cause sat heavy in his chest. But Olaf had a right to know. ‘I’ve been waiting to see if you’d mention it but–’

‘Thor’s balls, Ulf, just spit it out!’ Olaf cut in, downing his last mouthful of ale. ‘It can’t be that bad . . . can it?’

At Eadwulf’s continued silence Olaf’s grin faded. ‘Come, lad, tell me what it is.’

Eadwulf explained as much as he knew about Ragnar’s capture and his own feeling that the jarl would probably be imprisoned close to the king’s palace. Olaf held Eadwulf’s gaze, his own eyes narrowing. ‘So that’s why you’ve come to York, is it? Tell me, honestly, Ulf, have you come to see the end of an old enemy?’

Eadwulf shook his head, recalling Wigstan jumping to the same conclusion. ‘No, Olaf, I haven’t. Ragnar was not the man who took my freedom: he simply bought me for work in his household – no more than is the custom in Norse lands, or these Saxon kingdoms, come to that. I feel no animosity towards Ragnar, and I owe his son for the freedom I enjoy now; if not for Bjorn who knows what my life would have become?’

Struggling to swallow his rising emotions, Eadwulf watched Olaf’s cheerful features crumble, his face drain of colour. The watery eyes blinked. ‘I’d no idea Ragnar was raiding again. His old injury’s kept him at home for many a year now.’

Eadwulf shrugged. ‘I suppose we may find out if we ask him.’ He smiled at the old man’s startled expression. ‘I came to York to say farewell to Ragnar, and that’s what I still intend to do, once I’ve discovered where he’s being held. But I’ve no doubt he’ll be put to death, Olaf. He’s renowned in these lands as a barbaric raider, who deserves to die. And to become known as the king who put an end to him would do wonders for Aelle’s reputation in the eyes of his people.’

Suddenly more tired than he’d realised, Eadwulf rubbed his aching brow. ‘We need to find out when this execution will take place. And before you ask, I believe it will be a public spectacle. Humiliation will be part of Ragnar’s punishment.’ He shrugged. ‘I could be wrong, of course. For all I know, he could already be dead.’

‘We’d planned a few days here, at most,’ Olaf said, fixing eyes full of sadness on Eadwulf, ‘and I have to trade, for our people’s sake.’ Eadwulf nodded, knowing the truth of that. ‘We’ll make a start today,’ Olaf went on, glancing about him. ‘Some of these craftsmen could well make use of hides or bone, though perhaps not the silks. But that’s not for you to worry about. I would ask though, that when you find out what’s happening, you let me know. I can extend our stay a day or two, if need be.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Eadwulf said, rising to brush crumbs from his tunic. ‘Right now I’m heading behind those walls.’ A sudden thought crossed his mind. ‘Those Byzantine silks, Olaf . . . Would they be of interest to ladies of a wealthy household?’

Olaf chuckled. ‘If I’m right in thinking what
you’re
thinking, you’re welcome to a few bolts. And Aelle’s wife would also be welcome to them. At the right price, of course.’

*****

The close scrutiny that Eadwulf underwent at the gateway surprised him, since anyone wanting to enter the city undetected would find little difficulty in crossing over – or through – the collapsed walls at any number of locations.

‘Dismount,’ one of the three mean-looking guards ordered brusquely, a burly man with a purple scar across his left cheek, who left Eadwulf with little doubt that the sharp point of his sword would soon find a target should he not comply. ‘Name and business here?’

‘Egred,’ Eadwulf lied, dismounting, ‘here to purchase boots, pottery and other items for my wife from the market back there. But I’ve a call to make for a trader friend of mine first,’ he added, gesturing toward the area inside the walls. ‘He’s some goods that may not sell in the general market.’

‘Oh yeah?’ a scrawny looking guard cut in, eyeing Eadwulf suspiciously. ‘Why can’t this “friend” make his own calls?’

‘He’s trading back there as we speak,’ Eadwulf replied, nodding at the market area alongside the Foss. ‘He’s a tight schedule and hasn’t the time to–’

‘Where’re you from, Egred?’ the first guard took over again, his right hand resting pointedly on his sword hilt. ‘Foreigner, are you?’

Eadwulf took a deep breath, his impatience at these questions escalating. ‘Only to these parts. I live near Nottingham.’

‘Mercian, then,’ the same man continued, his tone holding contempt for anyone not Northumbrian. ‘And just what goods are you hoping to sell for this friend?’

Eadwulf gestured to the two hefty bags attached to the bay’s saddle. ‘Take a look yourself. Of course, these are only samples,’ he added affably, watching the skinny man pull out a roll of glossy fabric interwoven with exquisitely exotic designs. ‘My friend has yards of Byzantine silks, the sort of thing that high-born ladies crave. And we’re told that King Aelle’s in residence with his wife and her ladies.’

‘That’s true enough, they’re here all right – the reason we’re guarding the gates,’ the skinny man confirmed, fingering the silk.

The third guard shuffled closer, a menacing scowl on his face. ‘We never know if King Osberht’s going to try something funny.’

Eadwulf stared at the man. ‘King Osberht?’

‘Let’s just say that Aelle wrested the throne from Osberht who, unfortunately, believes he’s still the rightful king. So, until one of them manages to get rid of the other, we’re stuck with the two of ’em! Of course,
we’re
all loyal to Aelle.’

‘You’ll leave before dark?’

Eadwulf’s attention swung back to the brawny guard, his eyes tracing the course of the jagged scar from cheekbone to chin. ‘I hope to. I’ve no intention of paying for lodgings when my friend’s got a very fine ship back there. I might return tomorrow though, depending on how quickly the silks go. My friend may come then, too. He’s also got barrels of Rhenish wine for sale, well suited for the tables of the nobility.’

‘Lodgings won’t be easy to find in there anyway.’ The thin man sucked in his gaunt cheeks. ‘Most of the buildings in the centre belong to the kings, especially those old stone ones the Romans built. Others are either the dwellings of townsfolk, or alehouses of course, and some do have beds for travellers. But they’re likely to be full to bursting this week. Some of the folk from villages hereabouts have come to York to enjoy the execution.’

Eadwulf raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. ‘Execution . . . ?’

‘Some bloody Norseman, shipwrecked on our coast, daft bugger!’ the burly guard said, contempt puckering his scar. ‘And here’s stupid old us, thinking them Norse to be skilful sailors – having those great dragonships and all. But this dolt steered himself into a storm and ended up wrecked on some very nasty rocks. Lucky he wasn’t drowned right out, like the rest of his crew. Or perhaps not so lucky . . . Depending, of course, on whatever Aelle’s got planned for him.’

*****

The buildings inside York’s neglected walls were a strange architectural mix. Eadwulf could easily visualise something of the layout of the original fortress, with its straight, grid-iron pattern of roads, now criss-crossed by the curving tracks of successive years of Angle occupation. Evidence of Roman masonry could still be seen in many buildings, notably where the low stone ruins had been topped with wood or wattle and daub by later settlers. Simpler dwellings entirely of wood or wattles stood amongst them, the proud Angles refusing to be cowed by the grandeur of Roman stone.

He rode along what appeared to be one of the principal routes into the centre of the city, eventually nearing a number of solid, stone buildings. The number of guards here suggested he’d reached his destination, and he veered onto a side road, hoping to find stabling for his horse for a few hours. Locating a small establishment attached to a reputable-looking inn, he felt no qualms in leaving his bay in the care of a cheery stable lad, with promise of an extra silver piece if the animal was fed and watered.

Slinging his bag of silks across his back, Eadwulf headed for the city’s centre.

The building around which most of the guards hovered was large, wide as well as deep, and a fine example of Roman masonry. Only its straw-thatched roof and shuttered windows that replaced the original Roman glass hinted at Angle restoration. The large area covered by the structure suggested that the ground floor was not a single hall, but was partitioned into a variety of rooms – private sleeping chambers for the royal families and visiting nobles, most likely. An upper storey perhaps provided sleeping quarters for the servants, or additional storage space.

‘Oi, you,’ a florid-faced guard snarled, approaching from his side. ‘There’s naught here for the likes of you, so you can piss off!’

Eadwulf fixed his features into an agreeable smile, weighing his chances of getting round this snarling, red-faced man and his paler, crooked-nosed companion. ‘I was hoping to call on the household servants, my lords,’ he said, reaching up and patting his large bag as the eyes of the ruddy-faced guard narrowed ominously. ‘I’ve managed to acquire from a trader friend of mine, recently returned from the great city of Constantinople, some of the finest Byzantine silks ever seen this side of the Northern Seas, and the master or mistress here may well not have the opportunity to purchase such fabric again.’ He shrugged as the two guards remained silent. ‘I’m told that noble ladies can’t resist the delicate texture of top quality silk. Of course, these are mere samples, but I have–’

‘The “master”, as you called him, so happens to be King Aelle himself,’ the growling guard interrupted. And right now, he’s better things to do than deal with someone hawking cloth.’

‘Queen Idona may be interested, though,’ the crook-nosed man put in, jerking a thumb at the palace door. ‘My wife’s one of her attendants in there, and
she
says Idona thinks of little other than fine clothes.’ He grinned at his surly comrade, displaying crooked teeth to match his nose. ‘I reckon it’d do no harm for this pedlar to take his silks to the women, Sigward. Provided he hands that knife over first,’ he added, staring pointedly at the dagger through Eadwulf’s belt.