Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? (21 page)

Then Ragnar and Olaf and their men began handing out torches. People lit them from the embers of the pyre, and silently went to the road leading back to their homes and beds. Behind them, Temple servants gathered around the fire to tend it until it burned its last.

Chapter 16

Friday: Saga

Birdsong. Sleepy voices in the distance, and daylight beginning to glow through the canvas of the roof. Ragnar came slowly toward wakefulness.

He rose, scrabbled his feet into sandals, wriggled into a work tunic, buckled on his belt with its sword, dagger, and pouch. Shuffling, not fully awake, he made his way to the door and out to the firepit.

Nothing was there. No breakfast, no Gunnar, nothing but a cauldron and a pit of ashes.

Ragnar made the sign of Thor’s Hammer, then took buckets and headed to the river for water. He set a fire going beneath the cauldron. As the water was heating, he went inside the booth to rouse Knute.

Knute opened his bleary eyes. “What is it? Are we ready to start trading for the day?” Then he looked around, saw the other men still asleep and snoring. “That’s not it, is it?”

Ragnar was sympathetic. “I’m afraid not. We have to eat, and we don’t have Gunnar any more. You studied cooking with him, and are the best cook left among us. Even in times of sorrow, the business of life must go on. This, too, is a lesson a leader of men should take to heart.”

Knute sat up, stretched, and made an unhappy face.

“I’ve started the fire, and set water to heating. We probably can’t get breakfast ready before the trading starts. We’ll have to finish off yesterday’s bread. But could you have something ready for the noon meal?”

Knute shook his head and blew through his lips to make a sour noise. “Let me check our stores, to see what there is to work with.”

“That’s the place to start,” Ragnar agreed. “I’ll go over and see what I can get from Tony to help us break our fast.”

Tony’s wagon was still closed at his tavern.
I guess we tired him out and used up his stores at the funeral feast,
Ragnar thought. He listened carefully, and could hear faint snores coming from inside the wagon.
Best not to disturb him.

Olaf was up by the time Ragnar got back to the booth. He was looking glumly at the cauldron as the water began to boil. “Water isn’t much for breakfast.” Then he brightened just a bit. “I traded for some tea, day before yesterday. It’ll help.” Olaf went back into his booth, came out with a smaller kettle and a brick of tea. He filled the small kettle from the cauldron, then began carving slivers of tea from the brick into the kettle. Its sharp smell rose.

About then, Knute came out carrying barley, lentils, and jerky. He poured the barley and lentils into the cauldron, then began cutting the jerky up into chunks and tossing them in also. “This ought to do for a while. Let’s set some of the men to fishing. The king isn’t nearly as possessive of his fish as he is of his deer.” He gave the cauldron a good stir, then went back into the booth to get herbs and spices.

Ragnar had set up his display tables and organized them. He didn’t get his usual help from Knute, who was busy cooking, but he had a surprising amount of energy for the job.
That tea is strong stuff,
he thought.
I’ll have to get a supply of it myself.

This was the last day of trading, and the twin threats of Thorolf and Otkel no longer hung over the fair. All the merchants were eager to get as much done as they could. Ragnar put aside his memories of Gunnar for the moment by trading hard. By noon, all of Ragnar’s bulk iron was gone. The local cutlers, beltmakers, and scrimshaw workers had taken all the moose antler that was left after Captain Henry’s purchase. The bailiff had sent messengers to purchase all the arrowheads. Ragnar thought that might be a kind of quiet apology for the suspicions. The knives and ax-heads were half gone. They’d gotten silver, copper, spices, wool, glassware, wine, and a chest full of small luxuries. They even had several ounces of gold. Olaf was doing well also.

About then, a band of Skraeling arrived, hoping to catch bargains at the end of the Fair. They brought beaver pelts with them, and buffalo robes. They were handsome and dignified, with their weatherbeaten faces and their fine deerskin clothes covered with decorations of brightly-dyed porcupine quills. One of them had feathers knotted in his hair. That was their sign of a leader. Olaf took one look at the pelts and immediately wanted them. There was always high demand for beaver pelts in Miklagard, and he was looking forward to selling buffalo robes there.

Olaf motioned them over. They spoke neither English nor Norse, but could talk eloquently enough with their hands. It soon was clear that they wanted hatchets and knives, and Olaf had none to trade. “Bring some knives and hatchets!” he called over to Ragnar.

Ragnar did, and the Skraelings’ eyes lit up. They wanted a lot of plain knives, and a few very fancy ones, and the same with the hatchet heads. Ragnar, Olaf, and the Skraelings settled to bargaining, and worked out a three-way deal where the Skraelings got the knives and hatchets, Olaf got the pelts, and Olaf paid Ragnar in silver for his merchandise. They all clasped hands with a great show of smiles, and the Skraeling left as silently as they’d come.

That pretty well exhausted everything they’d brought to trade, so Ragnar and Olaf took down the display furniture and began to pack their new-won treasures for travel the next day.

In the afternoon, James Smith came by. He and Ragnar retired into the booth to talk in private.

“What’s going to happen?” James asked. “You’re free of suspicion now. But Gunnar’s dead, and people in Surtsheim are going to want to know all the details. Should I prepare to get out of town in case the news gets back to Northlanding?”

Ragnar frowned. “You don’t have much faith in my word. My judgement was that none of us would let people know you killed Thorolf. Here’s what we can do: I won’t tell anybody you killed Thorolf, and you won’t tell anybody Otkel didn’t.”

“Can you keep to that, with everybody asking questions?”

“I’ll just tell the simple truth. Thorolf is dead, and both the bailiff and Thorolf’s men think that Otkel did it. Otkel tried to kill me, and I myself saw Otkel kill Gunnar. Otkel is in trouble for both killings, and will probably be hung.”

James shivered. “Remind me never to get in a war of words with you.”

“It was words that did Otkel in,” Ragnar said. “That was a very dangerous poem I chanted.”

They parted amicably, but somewhat coolly. It wasn’t long before Dirk came by. “It’s a sad day. I’ll not forget the hospitality you and Gunnar gave me in the storm. And now he’s dead. That might not have happened if we hadn’t been suspicious of you.”

“Dirk, sooner or later there was going to be a clash between Gunnar and Otkel. The two were fated for it. And if I hadn’t
known
I didn’t kill Thorolf, I would have suspected
myself.
Now Thorolf and Otkel will trouble people no more, and Gunnar has gone to the afterlife with fine last words. There are worse ways to die.”

Dirk shook his head. “There are Northmen around here all the time. I should be used to it by now, but I think I’ll never understand you.”

“If you know Northmen at all, Dirk, you should know there are still matters to be taken care of. First, we should have Snorri Crow’s brooch so we can return it to his family.”

“We’ll need it for Otkel’s trial, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it after that.”

“Give it to Benedict when you can. He’ll take care of it until I can collect it. And then there’s the matter of the wergild. Gunnar wasn’t an important merchant, but he was an honest landholder with a good reputation and an illustrious lineage. His family should get a hundred ounces of silver as his man-price.”

“That’s a lot of silver. The baron may object, but Thorolf – and then Otkel – left behind enough merchandise to pay it a dozen times over. I’ll argue the case for you.”

“That’s all I can ask of you,” Ragnar said. The two men grasped hands.

“Come back this evening. We’re having a small memorial for Gunnar.”

“I will.” And they took leave of one another.

Ragnar looked over and saw that Tony’s tavern was open, and his wife Maude was there with the supply wagon, stocking it up for the afternoon’s sales. He went there, and arranged for Tony and Maude to host a gathering that evening.

The tavern was full, and people spilled out around it: Northmen, and lots of merchants. Light spread from the central firepit, and was reflected back down from the trees and the canvas fly above. People had been drinking for some time. Even with his wagon replenished from the stores of his inn in Milltown, Tony was almost out of ale. Matilda was sprawled on the ground, leaning back against a tree – she’d been at the ice-wine again. Getting
out
of peril is at least as good a reason for a drunk as getting
into
peril, and safer as well. Benedict was leaning against the tree, smiling down at her; and Maude was watching them quietly from the wagon.

People were telling Gunnar stories, and Ragnar was listening carefully.

“… and then there was the time Gunnar ran into those Finns when he was travelling in the North.…”

“Tell me about it!” said Knute. “I haven’t heard that one!”

“Well, they offered to sell him a prime reindeer to help carry his supplies. Gunnar bargained them down, and got it for an excellent price as reindeer go. The Finns went off muttering and grumbling, but as soon as they got away from the camp they started laughing. They’d sold him a wild caribou, instead of a tamed reindeer. One of Gunnar’s companions overheard them laughing.”

“But Gunnar had the last laugh. Several days later the Finns came by again. The caribou was nowhere to be seen. ‘How have you been getting along with your reindeer?’ they asked.”

“‘He was delicious,’ Gunnar replied. Then the Finns saw the hide stretched between two trees. They realized they’d sold Gunnar a food animal at a reasonable price, instead of playing a joke by selling him an unmanageable caribou. When they left, they were muttering and grumbling again. I have it on good authority that this time, they didn’t start laughing once they were out of earshot.”

The Northmen laughed, but few of them laughed as loud as the merchants in the crowd. Merchants like bargaining stories, and these merchants had taken on quite a bit of drink.

Tony stood high on one of the stumps. He spread his arms, called for attention. “Good people, you’ve drunk all there is to drink, and eaten all there is to eat. I’m closing for the night.” He hopped down, shut the doors to the wagon, then he and Maude walked over to Ragnar. “It’s been a long day.”

“It has, indeed. And it would have been longer and harder without your help.” Ragnar removed a small pouch from his belt. “I’ve already paid you the silver we bargained for, but here’s more to thank you for being there in our time of need.” He handed the pouch over to Tony, who smiled as he felt its weight, and tossed it to Maude for her to feel.

With the ale gone, the party was over. Merchants and porters began drifting away to their beds. Tomorrow would be busy with packing and departure.

Soon only Ragnar and Olaf’s men were left, and a few of their friends. Benedict and Matilda were there, as were James Smith and Dirk Cachepol. They moved in closer to the fire where Ragnar stood.

Ragnar’s voice took on the carrying note of a bard. “Yesterday, we took leave of our friend, Gunnar. Tomorrow, we take leave of Northlanding and this fair. But tonight is a night to tell the story of Gunnar the Unsleeping and Otkel the Short-handed.” Everybody moved closer still.

“There was a man called Gunnar, who was the son of Ottar and Hilda. Ottar was a prosperous man who kept an inn on the northern shore of the Little Sea. He and his wife were famous cooks and hosts, and no cooks could take full pride in their food until Ottar and Hilda had approved of it. Ottar could trace his lineage back to Bjarni Herjolfsson, who discovered these lands we live in.

“It was the time of year that we gather together for the Althing, and Gunnar intended to be there to support Snorri Crow in an important matter. Gathering his travel gear, he set out on the road to the north….”

The End