Sigrun's Secret (6 page)

‘Vengeance,’ said Hild. ‘Black signifies revenge.’

‘Hush!’ whispered Asgerd fiercely.

‘Revenge for what?’ I asked, ignoring her, a hundred possibilities crowding into my mind.

‘The greatest danger,’ Asgerd whispered, not answering my question, ‘is if smoke comes into the tunnel. If anyone smells smoke, we’ll move further along. And if it’s really bad, we might have to go right outside.’

A spasm of fear shot through me. It clutched my stomach and squeezed it, making me crouch over in terror. So that’s what the torches were for. The men, whoever they were, were planning to set fire to the house and burn us all alive. There was a frightened murmur of voices around me as everyone understood what Asgerd had said.

I thought of the men back there in the house. My mother unable to walk. My throat went tight at the thought of them trapped in there, the house blazing. The closeness of the crowded tunnel was closing in on me, suffocating me. I couldn’t stay still. Silently, I turned and began to make my way along the dark passageway, following Ingvar. At least from the stable I’d be able to see what was happening.

The roof of the tunnel wasn’t high enough to stand upright, so I had to stoop as I ran. There was mainly rock above, the ceiling of the tunnel disguised as a stone wall from the outside. I was quickly short of breath and realized it was fear that was affecting me so badly. I’d always suspected I lacked true Viking courage, and chided myself as I walked. I
have
to be strong, I told myself. Fear
won’t
help. It’ll weaken me. I
won’t
be afraid.

As I said this, I stumbled and fell because my legs were shaking so much. I could feel a sharp pain and wetness on my right knee and on the heel of my right hand. Blood. I wiped at it with my tunic and walked on, forcing my trembling legs to carry me.

I knew the exit from the tunnel was hidden behind the stable, so that anyone fleeing would have the best possible chance of getting a good head start before they were spotted. But real cover wasn’t possible in such an open, barren landscape. There were no trees that reached above a man’s waist. Once Ingvar was outdoors, they would see him and pursue him. Everyone I cared about was in danger and I could do nothing to help.

I emerged behind the stable, blinking and stumbling into the brightness of the early morning. I saw Ingvar crouching down, peeping over the low stone wall next to the building.

‘That’s more men than Bjorn reckoned on,’ I heard him mutter. ‘We don’t stand a chance.’

His words made my stomach lurch. I crouched down beside him, gazing at my home. Some twenty strangers had surrounded the house, most on horseback.

‘Why are you still here?’ I whispered.

‘They’ve taken the horses,’ Ingvar replied angrily. ‘There’s only the old mare left, and my feet practically touch the ground either side of her. I’m so sorry, Sigrun. I wondered if I should try to get through on foot, but they’d catch me almost at once.’

Ingvar looked back down towards the house. There were voices drifting up from the longhouse. ‘What are they saying?’ I asked.

Ingvar hushed me, listening intently.

‘I think they’re offering to let the women and children out of the house,’ said Ingvar, his voice very grave. ‘They must truly be intending to burn it.’

My ears were singing. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t think straight. My home. My family. They mustn’t burn it. ‘Why?’ I asked in a voice that was half moan, half wail. ‘Why would they do that to us?’

Ingvar shook his head helplessly.

‘Why doesn’t father let them out?’ I asked, desperately. ‘Mother especially. She can’t get out through the tunnel. What’s he waiting for?’

Ingvar looked at me briefly and then averted his eyes. He spoke low: ‘Letting them out is no guarantee of safety, Sigrun. Death is not the only thing to be afraid of.’

I couldn’t imagine what he meant. ‘What could be worse than burning alive?’

‘If you’d seen the way women are sometimes treated … ’ Ingvar’s voice trailed off, and I remembered what he’d said to me on the boat, though I still didn’t understand what he meant.

I took a deep breath, trying to still my shaking before I spoke.

‘I’ll ride to fetch your father,’ I said. ‘The mare will carry me well enough. I ride light.’

‘No,’ Ingvar said immediately. ‘She can’t outrun those horses.’

But I’d already pulled away from him and slipped inside the stables. I grabbed a bridle off the hook to put onto the mare. There was no need for a saddle. Ingvar appeared behind me and grasped my arm.

‘I can’t let you go,’ he said. ‘Your father will kill me.’

‘If I don’t go, we’ll all die!’ I cried, my voice too loud. I saw Ingvar move to silence me and lowered my voice. ‘You
have
to let me try, Ingvar,’ I said desperately. ‘Even if I get caught, perhaps I can alert your father. It’s our
only
chance. I’ll be halfway there before they even spot me.’

I vaulted onto the mare and pulled her round. Ingvar caught my hand and held it tight. I could see the indecision in his face. He hadn’t been afraid to go himself, but he was afraid to let me go. I didn’t give him a choice; I pulled my hand out of his and kicked the mare hard. I ducked low over her neck as she shot out through the stable door, leaving Ingvar behind.

I tried not to think about the consequences. About what might happen to me if I was captured, which I almost certainly would be. My mouth and throat were dry with the fear I’d been hiding from Ingvar. To keep it at bay, I focused all my thoughts on riding to escape the men’s notice. As we cantered straight up the side of the hill behind the stable, the hoof beats were muffled in the long grass. No one looked round.

The hillside was steep and the horse was old. She struggled as the slope grew ever steeper, the vegetation fading into a rugged barrenness. Her unshod hooves which had been silent on the grass were now clattering softly on the stones; any minute now we’d be heard.

I steadied the horse a little, letting her catch her breath and place her hooves more carefully. The men below were clearly absorbed in whatever was going on down there. I prayed that might last. I didn’t look down to the house, afraid the sight of all those men might take the last of my courage from me. Already my hands were slippery with sweat.

A shout broke into my thoughts, and I realized I’d been spotted. I’d expected it, but had hoped my luck might hold a little longer. Helgi’s house was still distant. I was acutely dismayed that I’d covered so little ground before they came after me.

I dropped my hands and kicked the mare.

‘Go! GO!’ I shouted at her, heedless now of noise. We lurched forward, the mare finding new strength after her short respite. I leaned forward, urging her, yelling, desperate to increase her speed. I pulled her round so that we were no longer going straight up the hillside. We were heading directly for Helgi’s now. As we raced along the side of the hill, the mare’s pace quickened, and her stride lengthened.

‘Good girl,’ I urged. ‘Faster!’

For a moment, as I drew closer to Helgi’s house, I really thought we might make it. But then the mare stumbled. She was flagging. I steadied her, and risked a swift glance behind. Two horsemen, their torches abandoned, were heading up towards us. They were riding diagonally at the hill, intending to cut me off. I felt a wave of pure terror at the sight of them. These were the men who were attacking my home; what might they do when they caught me?

The horse sensed my fear and faltered. ‘No! Don’t stop!’ I said, pushing her on. Her pace seemed appallingly slow as the hooves behind me thundered closer and closer. It was like being caught in a nightmare when you need to run, but your legs will barely move.

The horses were so close now I could not only see and hear them, I could smell them too, sweating and straining to get ahead. And then they’d done it, got between me and Helgi’s house. They both slowed, wheeling round, the riders’ hands ready to snatch at my reins. As one reached out to grab them, I pulled my horse round so hard she half reared and stumbled again, and then we were through and past them, galloping flat out.

They were after me at once. Hooves thundered below and behind, a blur of noise and confusion. I could hear the men shouting, blaming one another for letting me escape. Helgi’s house was ahead and I made straight for it. My horse was fighting for breath now, her sweating flanks heaving, her legs trembling. The two horses behind me were much younger and stronger.

A horse crept into my peripheral vision on either side, sweat drenched, galloping all out to catch us. I leaned lower over my horse’s neck and shouted at her to go faster, but she was slowing, completely spent.

One horse was level with us. I could see the foam flying from its mouth. Now the rider was beside me, his knee almost touching mine, focused on snatching the reins and getting control of my horse.

‘Helgi!’ I shouted with all the breath I could muster. ‘Helgi, help us!’

The sound echoed against the mountains, coming back to me and blurring with the noise and confusion of the horses.

The man almost had me. Once more, I pulled my horse aside, and she swerved wildly, almost losing her footing. She recovered, but stumbled and staggered with tiredness, coughing.

‘Helgi!’ I screamed again, terrified and desperate. The man reached forward and grasped my reins, pulling us to a halt. The old mare stood, head hanging, trembling and snorting with exhaustion.

I slipped off the mare’s sweat-drenched back on the side away from my captor and ran towards Helgi’s farm. I’d never been much of a runner, but this was life or death. I remembered my parents trapped in the longhouse, and the thought gave me a swiftness I’d never known before. But it was only moments before there were hoof beats behind me. Even a tired horse could outrun a girl on foot. I kicked off my fish-skin shoes and pulled up the hem of my long kirtle to go faster still, but before I’d covered even half the distance to Helgi’s farm, the horse pulled up beside me, and the man grabbed me by the hair and twisted it.

‘Helgi!’ I shouted yet again, the pain making my voice hysterical. Then louder, every last vestige of breath in my body going into the cry: ‘Help us! Enemies!’

My captor clapped a hand over my mouth. My hands were still free, so I tore at it with my nails and bit down hard on his fingers. There was a grunt of pain and I tasted blood. ‘Vixen!’ he snarled.

‘Hel—!’ I began one more time, my voice ringing in the still air, but the man clamped his hand back over my mouth, cutting off the sound. This time, no matter how much I squirmed and struggled in his arms, I couldn’t escape. I could see Helgi’s house still some distance ahead, silent and shut up for the night, its solid timber-and-stone walls and turf roof, built to keep out the winter winds, locking out sound too.

The second man reached us and between them they half carried, half dragged me away from the farm, back towards their companions. I thrashed and kicked and fought, desperate to get to our friends, to get help. I couldn’t bear that I had got so close and still failed. I’d let my family down.

One man held my mouth closed, almost suffocating me, while the other tied me. I was slung across a horse and taken swiftly back to the longhouse, the breath knocked out of me by the jolting. I fought and struggled against my bonds, but I was a captive.

When I was dragged down from the horse again, I found myself face to face with a tall young man. I recognized him at once as the man who’d lost control of the colt and hurt mother. He stood quite still, looking me over, while I was held bound and helpless by his companions.

I glared back at him. He had a fleshy face, puckered by a small scar on one cheek, and eyes that were so pale blue and cold, they’d look more at home in the face of a dead fish. I could detect no compassion in his expression. Nothing that led me to believe he’d have mercy on my family.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Who are you?’ I asked back.

The man slapped me, making me gasp. My cheek stung and burned and my head spun for a moment. He was already raising his arm to strike me again, so I had to think quickly. I didn’t know who this man was, or what he wanted, but surely the less he knew the better. ‘I’m Gudrun Helgisdottir,’ I blurted out. If I pretended to be Ingvar’s sister, he might let me go.