The Ice Queen

Also by Bruce Macbain

Odin's Child: Book One of Odd Tangle-Hair's Saga

Roman Games: A Plinius Secundus Mystery (Book 1)

The Bull Slayer: A Plinius Secundus Mystery (Book 2)

A novel

BRUCE MACBAIN

Blank Slate Press
Saint Louis, MO 63110

Copyright © 2015 Bruce Macbain

All rights reserved.

Publisher's Note: This book is a work of the imagination. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. While some of the characters and incidents portrayed here can be found in historical accounts, they have been altered and rearranged by the author to suit the strict purposes of storytelling. The book should be read solely as a work of fiction.

For information, contact
Blank Slate Press at 4168 Hartford Street, Saint Louis, MO 63116
www.blankslatepress.com
www.brucemacbain.com

Blank Slate Press is an imprint of Amphorae Publishing Group, LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America
Cover and Interior Illustration: Anthony Macbain
Cover Design by Kristina Blank Makansi
Set in Adobe Caslon Pro and Viking

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916957

ISBN: 9781943075140

To Carol with love and gratitude

The Ice Queen

•    Churillo Igorevich: Putscha's dead father

•    Dag Ringsson: a Norwegian noble, Harald's mentor

•    Dmitri: priest, chaplain and tutor in Yaroslav's household

•    Dyuk Osipovich: mayor of Novgorod

•    Eilif: Jarl Ragnvald's son, commander of Yaroslav's druzhina

•    Einar Tree-Foot: an old Jomsviking, Odd's companion

•    Eustaxi: Mstislav's son

•    Feodosy: abbot of the Caves Monastery

•    Harald Sigurdsson (later called “Hardrada/ The Ruthless”): a prince of Norway, half-brother of Saint Olaf

•    Ingigerd: Yaroslav's wife

•    Kalv Arnesson: a Norwegian jarl

•    Kuchug: Mstislav's bodyguard

•    Leonidas: a Greek sea captain enslaved with Odd

•    Lyudmila: Putscha's mother

•    Magnus (later called “The Good”): a prince of Norway, the son of Saint Olaf and a concubine and foster son of Yaroslav

•    Mstislav Vladimirovich: Prince of Chernigov, Yaroslav's brother

•    Murad: a Turkish slave dealer

•    Nenilushka: Putscha's daughter

•    Olaf “The Stout”: King of Norway, later canonized

•    Putscha: Ingigerd's dwarf

•    Ragnvald: jarl of Aldeigjuborg, cousin of Ingigerd

•    Stavko Ulanovich: a Rus slave dealer

•    Teit Isleifsson: deacon, later priest, of the cathedral at Skalholt in Iceland

•    Thordis: nursemaid to Yaroslav's children

•    Tyrakh: khan of the Pechenegs

•    Ulf Ospaksson: a Varangian Guardsman

•    Vladimir (Volodya) Yaroslavich: son of Yaroslav and Ingigerd

•    Vorobey: a holy man in Yaroslav's household

•    Vyshata Ostromirovich: a Rus boyar

•    Yaroslav Vladimirovich “The Wise”: Prince of Novgorod, later Grand Prince of Kievan Rus.

•    Yefrem: bishop of Novgorod

•    Yelisaveta Yaroslavna (Elisif in Norse): daughter of Yaroslav and Ingigerd

•    Yngvar: a Swedish adventurer, Ingigerd's nephew

Here begins the second book in the saga of Odd Tangle-Hair.

A year ago, Bishop Isleif, my father, brought me to the old heathen's tumbledown farmhouse to record his reminiscences of young Prince Harald, who, as all the world knows, became king of Norway and has been dead now for over a decade. Odd, so he says, served the prince as his skald in Gardariki and in Golden Miklagard when they were both young men. But, of course, the fellow is boastful. How much of anything he says can be believed? What is certain is that he returned to Iceland after an absence of forty-some years—old, ragged, and emaciated. Since then he has spoken to no one, though his neighbors whisper that he has a fortune buried under his floor and that he worships demons, as his father once did.

The result of this visit was that I, who recoiled even from the heathen's shadow, was forced to spend seventeen days and nights alone with him, scribbling madly to record the details of his bloody and godless life. At last, fearing for my sanity, I fled the house while Odd lay sick and delirious with fever. But by then he had worked his devilry on me. I fell prey to dreams of battle and lust, and to deadly curiosity about forbidden things. I saw myself caught in the web of that man's life, with all its carnage, lewdness, and idolatry—at once repulsive and alluring.

Now, once again, I am ordered by my kindly, unsuspecting father (who is about to depart for Rome) to return and, if the old hermit is still alive, to hear more of his saga.

I am sorry to say that he seems to have recovered his health. This
morning he took my arm and drew me into his dusky hall. The man resembles his house: weather-beaten, uncared for, squat, broad-shouldered, ruinous in places but still solidly founded.

Without preamble, he has sat me down firmly on the bench and has begun a great bustle of unrolling my bundle of second-quality parchment on the table, mixing my ink, and trimming my quill for me—all done with a practiced hand. While he is thus occupied, I recall to mind the events which have brought us to this point in his saga.

In the year AD 1029, Odd was a youth of sixteen. His father, Black Thorvald, a gloomy, soul-sick man, had filled the boy's head full of ancient poetry, rune-lore, and tales of Odin, Thor, and the other demons of old. As the result of a brawl at a stallion fight, Odd's family found themselves at feud. Their enemies attacked and only Odd escaped from their flaming house—the very one in whose ruins we sit now—and fled Iceland in a stolen ship to seek his fortune as a viking. His chief companions were young Kalf Slender-Leg (a good Christian boy who nevertheless was devoted to Odd), and Stig No-One's Son, a rootless vagabond who taught Odd the art of seamanship and became something of a father to him.

But this Odd Thorvaldsson is, by his own admission, a man of dark moods and uncontroable rages, who cannot keep friends for long.

Arriving in Norway, they found themselves in the midst of civil war. Blessed King Olaf was fighting to regain his throne and convert the heathens, who were still thick in the land. Kalf chose the better side, Odd the worse, and there was a painful break between them.

The following Spring, Odd and Stig and their shipmates sailed out to go a-viking in the Varangian Sea. Along the way, they were joined by a bloody old heathen, Einar Tree-Foot—a man who had lost a leg, an eye, and a hand in the wars of his viking youth. He promised to guide Odd and his crew to riches; instead, they were captured and enslaved by the barbarous Finns. At last, Odd was able to rescue his men and escape with a casket of stolen silver—oh, he is clever and brave—that must be admitted. Well, he's an Icelander, isn't he? But again, as so often before, his wild temper threw away what his shrewd head had won.

Their ship was dismasted by a storm and their hard-won silver washed overboard. On Einar's advice they decided to make for Aldeigjuborg on the shore of Lake Ladoga where they could lay over for the winter. As they toiled at the oars, rowing slowly up the Neva, they were overtaken
by a large and splendid dragon ship, which bore down on them as if to sink them if they didn't steer out of its path. Standing in its prow was none other than Prince Harald, Saint Olaf's brother—the very man whose story I was sent here to collect from Odd's lips. A wise captain would have given way. Not Odd. Stubbornly, he held his course steady, despite Stig's countermanding order. At the last moment, the men obeyed Stig and a collision was averted. In a fury, Odd flung himself on his old mentor and Stig knocked him down. When his anger had cooled, Odd knew he had been in the wrong—for he isn't a stupid man, far from it, and somewhere in his shaggy chest there lurks a good heart, if he would only listen to it more often. But now there was a wall of hate between these two old friends, which neither seemed able to cross. It was a pitiful and divided crew that finally docked in Aldeigjuborg's harbor.