Viking Gold (24 page)

“Did he?”

Toki laughed. “I wish. Do you
think I would be serving that maniac Ragnar as the hired help if I knew the
secret to riches beyond imagination? I don’t think so.”

“Do you know if my father yet
lives?”

Toki shook his head. “I don’t
know. I never saw him again after his fight with Ragnar.”

“You saw the fight?” Redknee
asked, surprised. “Is it true my father was mortally wounded?”

A rafter crashed from the
roof, setting fire to the straw at Toki’s feet. “Come on,” Toki said. “I’ll
answer anything you want once we get out of here. I’ve kept my side of the
bargain. Now untie me before we’re both killed.”

The
beach heaved with people trying to squeeze onto the few remaining vessels. A
dozen rowing boats and a couple of larger fishing crafts groaned beneath many
times their normal load. Yet still the panicked islanders piled on.

Wavedancer
had broken her moorings and was wedged in the shallow
waters near the beach. Koll and Uncle Sven were trying to push her free as yet
more people clambered onboard. She looked fit to topple.

“By Thor’s hammer,” Redknee
said to Toki as they arrived on the scene. “They’ll sink
Wavedancer
.
We’ve got to help my uncle push her free.”

Redknee and Toki hurried
across the beach. Sinead and Brother Alfred were among the mass of people
wallowing in the shallows. Brother Alfred was trying to raise Sinead high
enough to grab an oarport, while a man on the deck tried to stamp on her head.
Olvir was a little further off. He couldn’t see Silver anywhere.

“Forget that,” Toki said.
“It’s every man for himself.” He stretched his long legs, charging at the pack
of bodies, bounded across their backs and onto the deck before anyone could
stop him.

So much for gratitude,
Redknee was on his own. He splashed into the water and jammed his shoulder
under the hull next to Koll. He pushed with all his might, but the weight of
all the people had crushed the keel into the sand. She was stuck fast.

“We’ll never move her like
this,” Koll said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Uncle Sven’s face turned pink
as he pushed harder. “We need more men down here, and fewer lording it on
deck.”

“They’re scared to help,”
Koll said. “In case they lose their place.”

Redknee
had an idea. He splashed through the shallows until he reached Olvir. He tugged
on his friend’s shoulder.

“We need your help up front,”
he said.

Olvir nodded. Sinead and
Brother Alfred followed too, the pudgy monk waddling awkwardly as his cassock
fanned in the surf. They took up positions on either side of Redknee. 

“Now,” Sven said and they
pushed their weight against the keel as one. The ship creaked and scraped a
short furrow in the sand before lodging itself in the seabed once again. She
was sinking deeper into her sandy grave with every effort they made.

“It’s no use,” Sven shouted
above the clamour. “We need more strength.”

“Praise be to the Lord!”
Brother Alfred huffed. Redknee turned to see him dragging a large wooden plank
across the beach, his weedy eyes popping with the strain. “Will no one help me
with this blasted thing?” he wailed.

Redknee rushed from the water
and lifted an end.

Uncle Sven looked doubtful.
“How will we get that under the hull?”

Brother Alfred looked round
in anticipation of a volunteer. When none was forthcoming, Redknee raised his
hand.

“I’ll do it,” he said. He
didn’t want to, the tide was strong, but someone had to, someone small enough
to get right under the hull, and strong enough to wedge it there, or they would
all die on this forsaken beach.

“No!” Sinead gasped. “You’ll
be crushed.”

Ignoring her, Redknee hauled
the plank into the water and swam out, avoiding the churn from flailing limbs.
It was too deep to stand at the prow so he trod water as he filled his lungs with
giant gasps of air. Taking one last breath, he started to descend beneath the
waves when Sven grabbed his arm.

“You’re beginning to take
after your mother,” he said, sadness in his eyes. “She was afraid of
nothing.” 
               

Redknee nodded. He hadn’t
known his mother was brave. He only knew her as the woman who darned his socks
and cooked his porridge. Unsure what to say, he took one last gulp of air and
plunged beneath the waves, the board tucked firmly under his right arm. As the
quiet of the water cocooned him, he thought he heard his uncle urging him to be
careful. But he couldn’t be sure.

He kicked hard until he was
beneath the sloping underside of the hull. As he struggled to get deeper, the
sea flattened him against the strakes. Barnacles gouged his skull. He clutched
at seaweed, his cursing muffled as the stalks came away in his hand. He had to
wedge the plank tight under the keel for the plan to work. 

Something slid past his calf.
His heart quickened; roared in his ears. Panicking, he lashed out with his feet
in a frenzy of bubbles. The force sent him crashing into the hull. Blood
trickled into his eye and he blinked in the half-light as an eel slithered
past. He relaxed. An eel he could deal with.

But his relief was
short-lived. In his terror, he’d let go of the board. He saw a dark shadow
floating towards the light. He kicked after it, reaching it just before it
popped through the surface. Damn. He had to start again. Kicking like a frog
and pulling at the hordes of barnacles clinging to the hull, he inched his way
along. Eventually, he made it deep enough. Faint with lack of air, he fought to
wedge the board under the keel. Summoning the last of his strength, he pushed
as hard as he could until the board was jammed tight between the ship and the
soft seabed.

His fingers tingled. Yellow
spots swam in front of his eyes. He had to reach the surface. He kicked,
forcing the water to carry him faster towards the light. Every nerve in his
body ached for air. Craved it ferociously, like a parched man craves water. He
was nearly there: his delicious drink of air in reach. And then, nothing …

He
woke, coughing and spluttering in Uncle Sven’s arms. “We thought we’d lost you
there. You were gone for some time.”

“I got it under,” Redknee said,
quickly composing himself. He was still in the water, but it was shallow enough
that he could stand. He found his feet and moved away from his uncle. “Someone
needs to get those people out the way.”

“I’ll do it,” Sinead said.
She stood waist deep in the water, strands of hair plastered across her face
like trailing vines.

Sinead
did her best to convince the stricken islanders to stand back while the men
tried to push
Wavedancer
free. A couple of the islanders came to help
them. But still nothing happened. Redknee sighed. His efforts were in vain.
They were all going to die. Clouds of black smoke had reached the beach now.
People covered their mouths as lumps of ash rained down, blotting out the sun.

“We’ll all choke to death!”
Koll said, wiping a pulpy mixture of ash and water from his face.

Suddenly, a great explosion
rent the air. Redknee covered his ears as the seabed shook beneath his feet. He
staggered. A large wave slammed into his side, knocking him under the water.
When he surfaced, a jet of orange fire shot hundreds of feet skyward from the
top of
Mount
Hekla
, hurling a torrent of rocks in all directions. A vast
plume of black ash crowned the fire, and it appeared to be coming their way.

Brother Alfred stood, his
mouth agape. “Dear Father in Heaven,” he said, trembling, “the whole island
will be swallowed.”

“Come on,” Redknee said. “We
need to push, NOW!”

It must have been the tremor,
or strength born of panic, for this time,
Wavedancer
slipped free of the
sand. But the people on board lost no time. As soon as the ship was free,
someone gave the order to begin rowing and twelve sets of oars struck the water
at a brisk pace.

“Those ungrateful dogs,” Sven
said. “They’re leaving without us!”

Redknee powered through the
waves after them, followed by his uncle and hundreds of desperate souls. He
heard his heartbeat echoed in the rhythmic splash of
Wavedancer’s
oars.
He didn’t know what he was doing; swimming after a ship? Damn stupid.
Wavedancer
had been built for speed by some of the finest craftsmen in all the Northlands,
and she cut through the waves faster than any swimmer could hope to follow. He
would never catch them, but then, what else could he do? He couldn’t turn
round.

His heart bounced in his ears
as he forced his limbs to keep going in disregard of the odds. He’d rather
drown trying to escape than be fried alive ashore.

Then
it struck him. He could no longer hear the rhythmic thud of the oars. He
stopped to look up. Oars flailed randomly, splashing water into the air, like
the legs of a drunken caterpillar. In their panic, and without the leadership
of his uncle, they’d lost their rhythm.
Wavedancer
would not make good
time unless her oarsmen worked together. His heart soared. This was his chance.
He tucked his head down and ploughed forward.  

Redknee reached
Wavedancer
right behind his uncle. Seeing a place where the oars were still, he slid
underneath and scrabbled to grab hold of the hull. But the wood was slippery
and his fingers failed to find purchase. His uncle fared better; being tall
enough to reach an oarport, he hauled himself bodily over the rail and onto the
deck.

The hysterical voices of
those onboard rose above the waves, punctured by the sound of drawing steel.
The crowd fell silent. Redknee looked up, expecting to see Sven’s body tossed
over the side. Instead, he heard a man shout above the din:

“We can’t take anymore people
on board. This ship is full.”

The man hadn’t asked a
question, but Redknee waited, hoping to hear a response in his uncle’s familiar
voice. After what seemed like a long time, he heard his uncle reply.

“We must all work together,”
he said. “You cannot sail this ship without the knowledge of the men who built
it.” Redknee breathed with relief. His uncle’s voice was strong and true. He
was unhurt.

“Ach, they’re all much the
same,” the man who’d spoken before shouted. “Any more people and this tub will
sink.”

“Aye!” Someone else shouted.
“Throw any newcomers overboard.”

The clang of steel on steel
echoed through the hull. Redknee struggled to see if Ivar or Olaf were there to
help his uncle, but his hand kept slipping and he feared being swept beneath
the keel.

Other swimmers started
arriving at the longship, circling out of reach of the oars. Koll was among them.
Redknee motioned to Koll to swim under the oars and join him. Just as Koll’s
head disappeared beneath the surface, a hand appeared over the side of the hull
and dragged Redknee upwards, out of the water and onto the deck.

“Couldn’t leave you to drown,
after you saved my life,” Toki said, smiling.

Redknee shivered in the cold
air. Fighting had broken out between Sven and the Icelanders. Sven wasn’t
alone. Olaf, Magnus and the Bjornsson twins had come to his aid. But the ship
was packed, leaving scant room to swing a sword. Fearful women and children
huddled together, stamping on the hot ash that singed the deck. Astrid stood at
the prow, her beloved Beyõral curled beneath her cloak. She was protected by
four of her men-at-arms. They seemed to be biding their time before choosing a
side. Redknee had no such luxury.

He turned to Toki. “I suppose
you’re unarmed.”

Toki grinned. “These big
fingers can be light as a feather.” He pulled an old twin-edged sword from his
belt and handed it to Redknee. “I prefer to fight with an axe,” he said,
producing a short-handled hatchet from beneath his tunic.

Redknee shook his head. “I
won’t ask who you took these from.”

“Can’t reveal any more
secrets today,” Toki said as he turned to meet a charging Icelander head-on.

Redknee gripped the hilt of
the rusty sword and glanced round. Sven and his men were outnumbered by the
rabble of Icelanders by as much as six to one. But the mob fought carelessly,
panic in their eyes. Sven’s men stood a slim chance.

His uncle swung the great
Dane-axe above his head. It whirred through the air, terrifying the two men
who’d been about to attack him. Sven growled savagely, baring his teeth at the
pair, and they scampered away. Redknee was about to join the fighting when a
fiery rock struck a rolled-up sail. The wool erupted in a flash of orange.
Silver darted out from under it, his amber eyes wide with fear.

Sven’s
display did not deter the ox of a man who stepped up next. The beast lunged at
Sven with an iron-tipped spear, the muscles in his vast arms snapping with
every thrust. Sven brought his axe crashing down on the man’s hand, but the
blade skittered off the spear, causing only a flesh wound. Sven dodged the next
jab. But the deck was slick with ash and seawater; he faltered. His attacker
took the advantage, lunging at Sven’s chest. Redknee heard a strangled cry. It
could have come from him, he couldn’t be sure as he tore across the deck to
where his uncle first convulsed and then stiffened against the spear.