Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge?

FTL Publications

Minnetonka, Minnesota

Copyright © 2011 by Ellen Kuhfeld

FTL Publications

P O Box 1363

Minnetonka, MN 55345-0363

www.ftlpublications.com

[email protected]

Cover art copyright © 2011 by Alicia Austin

ebook

ISBN 978-0-9825232-9-2

All rights reserved.

With thanks to

Rebekah Sheely, who got me started

Mary Monica Pulver, who kept me going

Susan Henry, JW “Dub” Greenhill, and Monica Ferris,

who commented on earlier drafts

and the Aaardvark Writers’ Group,

who lived through this with me.

Prologue

Every Columbus Day, people argue about which European reached the Americas first. “Columbus didn’t discover America, Leif Eriksson did!” The reply is usually, “It didn’t work out for Leif, did it?”

History, archaeology, and the sagas tell a different story. Leif Eriksson didn’t discover America, Bjarni Herjolffson did. The news spread, and about the year 1000, Leif Eriksson bought Bjarni’s ship and went to explore this new land. He was delighted: Vinland was a
paradise
. (Leif came from cold Greenland, so his criteria for ‘paradise’ were easily met.) He went back to Greenland and told everybody about Vinland. His brothers joined in the exploration, and eventually the extended family tried to start a colony. The archaological traces at
L’anse aux Meadows
in Newfoundland may be the remnants of that colony. The Kensington Runestone is a questionable indication that the Norse even made it as far as Minnesota.

They didn’t get along with the local people, whom the Norse called Skraelings. After a while, the Norse went away. They still visited Vinland to cut trees—timber was scarce and valuable in Greenland and Iceland—but they no longer tried to settle there. When the Little Ice Age came along, the North Atlantic got downright harsh. Europe lost contact with Greenland and Vinland. Columbus, taking a southern route far from the ice of the northern seas, rediscovered the New World.

But what if the settlements in the lands Bjarni discovered had taken root, and grown? What if more settlers, from the other lands of Europe, had poured in? There are more reasons for settlement than timber and furs. The Pilgrims came for religious freedom; others came to spread their faith. The Spanish came for gold. Some came because, for them, it was get-out-of-town or die.

The Americas would have developed very differently. There’s always conflict when settlers move in on somebody’s territory—but settlers from an eleventh-century Europe would have been on a relatively even footing with the Skraelings. They had iron, while the natives had flint and copper; but there were no guns to tilt the scales far off balance. The devastating plagues Columbus brought wouldn’t be an issue—Europe wasn’t plague-stricken until centuries after the Greenlanders’ discoveries.

In the days of the Vikings, Muslims were invading and conquering southern Europe. They had Spain, they had southern Italy. In 846, they sacked Rome. They took the Caucusus, and they kept on expanding. In our world, they split into many countries, empires, and caliphates, then fell to fighting among themselves for supreme power. The Europeans were able to stop their territorial incursions.

But—what if Islam had kept on expanding, instead of quarreling? By the time Leif Eriksson came along, Christian Europe would have been eager for a quiet, peaceful New World to settle. From there, we can assume migrations proceeded somewhat as they did in our world, ending up with Spaniards and Portuguese in South America and Mexico, French at the lower end of the Mississippi, English and Dutch along the eastern seaboard of North America. English settlement could go west along waterways like the Ohio River, ending up at the Mississippi River.

Norse might settle the center of the continent—the first land they explored in the new world was Helluland, the ‘land of flat rocks’, commonly thought to be Baffin Island. If some had explored the Hudson Straits, home of seal, walrus, whale, and bear, the Norse would have discovered Hudson Bay. From there, they could travel by river to Lake Winnipeg, and further south along the Red River of the North and the other rivers of that region—routes the Voyageurs used in the fur trade. The Swedes, in particular, were great river travelers. The controversial Kensington Runestone suggests they took the Hudson Bay route as far as Minnesota.

We could end up with an Anglo-French empire along the Mississippi up to the head of navigation at Saint Anthony Falls. North of that would be Norse, settling on the Iron Range; and north of the Norse, Finns. Large areas of North America would still belong to the Skraelings. Traders would travel about, by land and by river, as traders always have. At trade fairs, men and women of different lands, laws, and customs would come together. As always, jackals would gather to prey upon them....

Chapter 1

Sunday:  A Meeting with Trouble

“There have been rumors of thieves, yes indeed,” Benedict said. “More rumors than usual.”

Ragnar Forkbeard looked the trade booths over. They were about five paces wide, ten long, and there was fresh stonework and mortar at the top of the walls.
Clean and weather-tight,
Ragnar Forkbeard thought. Olaf Far-traveler, Ragnar’s partner in this merchant venture, agreed. He smiled at the little agent. “Excellent job, Benedict! I see you’ve even had the walls heightened!”

“Strong men are your best protection, but strong walls are good also.”

Ragnar looked back to the river, where his men were busy making sure the riverboats were well-grounded and moored. Nobody wanted them to get loose and go over the waterfall. “I think,” he smiled, “I will go back to the boats and set our strong men to work carrying our goods inside of these strong walls. I’d hate to have thieves making free with my cargo.”

Olaf grinned. “Haw! I’d like to see them running away with their booty!” Much of Ragnar’s cargo was heavy bars of iron from the smelters of Surtsheim, though he had quite a few lighter items as well. Olaf had cloth and furs. His cargo was at greater risk.

Ragnar pointed. “I’ll take the booth on the end nearer the river. You take the one on the other end, and we’ll use the center booth for extra sleeping space and storage. Knute, you check everything out and make sure it’s ready for us.”

“Yes, Father.”

Soon lines of men were carrying furs and fabrics into Olaf’s booth and chests of knives, axes, arrowheads, and iron into Ragnar’s. “Put the goods in the back,” Ragnar said. “Set my bed up just this side of the wares.” The man holding the carved dragon-posts leaned them against the wall and began fitting the sides of the bed to them and weaving the support cords together. Other men tossed canvas over the roof-beams and snugged it down tightly. Gunnar, the cook, went directly to the cooking area. He had started a fire, and was making quick bannock bread to feed them all.

Ragnar saw a friend across the way: a burly man with dark hair and beard cut short, well-dressed in a tunic of yellow linen trimmed with interlacing embroidery at neck, sleeves and hem. They headed towards each other, and grasped shoulders warmly. “James! It’s good to see you again!”

Ragnar paused, and examined the tunic. “But even dressed for trade you’re at the anvil.” His hand reached out to brush a small burn-mark.

“I went through the smithy on the way here,” James explained. “One of the ‘prentices was drawing out a bar with his fuller at an angle. I had to show him how to do it properly. Let a ‘prentice learn the wrong motions, and it can take weeks to get them out of him. A spark must have flown in my direction.”

“Don’t those sparks always fly! Tell me, James, how have things been with you? Cecily was with child last time I was here.”

James smiled. “A boy, strong and healthy, with his mother’s eyes. We named him Mark. You can ask the same question next time, because Cecily is working on another. I just wish the business were as strong. I’m turning out more ironwork than ever. I have a new type of sword which is selling nicely.”

“A new type of sword?” Ragnar interrupted.

“You’ve heard how the Saracens sometimes temper swords by heating them, then thrusting them into the belly of a slave? They say the swords take on the slave’s life-strength. I don’t know about that, but by all accounts such swords are uncommonly hard and tough.

“So I thought: if a sword can be improved by taking on the life of a slave, how about that of a bull? Bulls die for the butchers near my smithy in any case, but now they temper my blades in the process. The swords go for a premium, and I’m told by those who have used them that they hold their edge for an entire battle.”

“It sounds to me as if your business should be doing very well,” Ragnar said.

“There is one problem,” James replied. “And here he comes, at this very moment.” A cluster of men was approaching, led by a tall, wiry Northman with lank flax-colored hair. He was wearing a blue tunic embroidered with red and gold animals, and carried a polearm. All his men had swords, and two carried axes hooked over their shoulders as well.

Ragnar’s face was neutral as the fourteen men stopped before him. “Thorolf Pike,” he said to the Northman in the blue tunic.

“Ragnar Forkbeard,” Thorolf Pike replied. The two looked at one another in silence. They were much alike in body, each half a head above the others. Thorolf had shaven chin and drooping moustache, thin mouth and cold blue eyes. Ragnar’s hair was red-brown and thinning on top. His moustache flowed into his beard, which was neatly plaited in forks. He had seaman’s wrinkles around his brown eyes, and still wore travelling clothes.

James Smith had quietly left, and Ragnar felt very much alone.

The man next to Thorolf spoke. He had red hair, and a face like a fox. “Nothing to say, then, Ragnar? Have you been studying the wisdom of Odin from the
Book of the High One?

The ignorant man had best stay silent

When he moves among other men.

None will know what a fool he is

Until he begins to talk.”

Ragnar flushed. “Let me finish that for you, Otkel.

No man knows less what a fool he is

Than the one who talks too much.”

Thorolf Pike moved between the two. “Otkel! Be more polite to our friend.” He turned toward Ragnar. “After all, he
is
a Northman in the lands of the English. He should be gladdened by the sight of men from his homeland.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ragnar saw James with Olaf Far-traveler. Olaf turned and signaled within his booth, and Ragnar breathed more freely. “Thorolf, I am sure you have a reason for speaking with me, other than the joy of seeing a Northern face here in your exile.”

“Why, yes,” said Thorolf. “It seems to me that at recent fairs you’ve not been doing as profitably as you might. Perhaps you don’t know these English traders well enough to protect yourself against their wiles.”

“Who knows what can happen to a trader, alone among foreigners?” Otkel added with a sly grin. He was one of the men with an axe.

“And so, I am offering to conduct your trades for you,” Thorolf continued. “I have lived among the English, and understand them. For a share in the profits, I am sure I can get you better prices. It is the least one Northman can do for another.”

“I admit, I
would
feel at a disadvantage among the English, without Northmen to come to my aid,” Ragnar agreed. “That’s why I brought thirty Northmen with me.” He gestured, indicating the area beyond the men facing him.

Thorolf and his men turned. Olaf and the crews of the boats had taken up weapons, come up silently, and stood in a semicircle behind them. Olaf smiled at Thorolf, then made the sign of Thor’s Hammer—his fist across his chest, then down—as he was known to do before a battle. Gunnar, the cook, scowled at Otkel. Knute moved forward to stand by Ragnar.

“I like to think I’m a good trader, Thorolf,” Ragnar’s voice cut into the silence. “Humor me. If I’m right, I’ll take the profit. If wrong, at least you won’t take the loss. And now, I must oversee the storing of my wares.”

Ragnar turned, and went to his booth. Thorolf and his men strode briskly off, though Otkel glanced several times over his shoulder. Olaf and the crewmen relaxed, and the normal bustle of setting up camp resumed.

“This sort of thing,” Ragnar told his son, Knute, “is just
one
of the reasons you want your men to like you.”

James was at their booths, and Ragnar thanked him for his help. “That could have gone badly if you hadn’t called out my men, and Olaf’s. It’s bad enough that there are rumors of thieves, without adding Thorolf. How much trouble
has
he been causing?”

“Things were bad when his band arrived here six years ago, after Surtsheim outlawed them. They were pressuring all kinds of tradesmen, insisting on a share of their profits. Several merchants were beaten, and their families were threatened. Thorolf and his men promised to protect them from that kind of thing for a ‘moderate’ fee.” James spat on the ground. “After that year Thorolf had enough money and influence to use silver, rather than violence, to lean on people. But nobody forgot. Thorolf and Otkel were good with the kind of smile that reminds you. These days, the way Otkel has been behaving, all the merchants are worried the threats and violence might start up again. And now I have a wife and a newborn son to protect.”