Viking Gold (27 page)

Sinead shook her head. “No,”
she said. “I wasn’t. You went off to speak to Ivar in the longhouse.”

Redknee remembered Ivar
calling him inside and giving him the cloth embroidered by his mother. “I was
only gone a moment.”

“Long enough to leave me open
to accusations. So, I’ve been thinking. What if we ask everyone what they were
doing then and double check their stories?”

“Too difficult.”

Sinead tilted her face up to
his, a strange mix of fear and determination shone there. Redknee bit his lip.
He’d been thinking about Karl’s death himself and had come up with a vague
plan. But could he
really
trust her? How did he know this wasn’t all
part of some act? As she’d said herself, there was a big hole in her alibi. He
sighed. What choice did he have? Besides, if he played it right, his plan would
work just as well on her. He cleared his throat.

“As you know, Uncle Sven
thinks Karl discovered a traitor among us – sent by Ragnar – and that’s how he
got his throat slit. Of course, there could be another explanation. A fight
over a debt, a woman. But if Sven is right, all we need to do is flush out the
real traitor.”

“Er, how is that easier than
my plan?”

“You’re forgetting we already
know one important thing about him, or her.”

“What’s that?”

“We know they probably want
the book more than anything. That’s their weakness, and we can use it to trap
them.”

The more
Redknee thought about it, the more he became convinced the book was the key to
everything. If he played his pieces wisely, he could use what he knew to trap
the real traitor, flush out Karl’s murderer and get to the truth about the
whereabouts of his father. He no longer doubted that his father yet lived, so
convinced was he of the depth of his uncle’s lies.

Redknee
had watched as Toki took his leave of Sven, a smile playing on his lips. It
occurred to Redknee that Toki had been lying when he’d confronted him in the
burning barn. Or least hadn’t told all he knew. But that didn’t matter now. He
knew how he was going to play it.

Redknee heard a low moan. He
turned to see Harold’s pale face poking from behind the tarpaulin.

“
Please
,” Harold said,
“
help me
. My dressing has burst.”

Redknee
looked round. Everyone else was busy preparing food, trimming the sails or
trying to catch a fat, yellow-beaked gull that had landed on deck.

“Alright,” he said
reluctantly. “What do I have to do?”

Harold led him inside the
tent. It stank of raw flesh. Bloodied linens covered the floor; a bowl of salt
water sat by the makeshift bed. Harold turned away and Redknee saw the linen
bandages wrapped round his back were soaked through with blood.

“It isn’t healing,” Harold
said. “I need to you change the bandages.”

Redknee slowly unwound the
sodden linens, wincing as half-congealed blood and blackened skin came away
with the cloth. He’d never been this close to Harold before, other than in a
fight. He kept thinking Harold might suddenly draw a knife, or punch him in the
face. But then he would catch sight of the injuries Ivar’s whip had inflicted,
and he knew he was being stupid. Unfair, even. The boy was in so much pain. He
could almost have been sorry. But wasn’t that what Harold wanted by calling him
in? No, he thought. Harold wasn’t going to play him that easily. He knew what
Harold had done, of what he was capable. True, the punishment had been harsh,
but people could have died in the fire at Ivar’s farm. Harold had known the
consequences of his actions.

Harold interrupted Redknee’s
reverie when he handed him a fresh length of linen. Very carefully, Redknee
wound it round Harold’s torso, securing it in a knot at his hip. “That’s it,”
Redknee said. “I’ve done what I can.”

Harold laughed. “More than
that, I think.”

Redknee stood to leave, but
Harold grabbed his wrist. “I saw you,” he said.

“What?”

“I saw you help the cat-boy.”

Redknee didn’t understand him
initially. Then it dawned. He meant Skoggcat.

“I didn’t realise the importance
at first,” Harold continued. “But then I saw him again when Ragnar attacked the
village. I know you’re the traitor, and I’ll tell Sven unless you convince him
to turn
Wavedancer
round and go home.”

Redknee stood motionless.
This was the real reason Harold had called him in. Eventually he said, “I’m not
the traitor.” It was all he could think to say.

“We both know you are,”
Harold said. “And I want to go home.”

Before Redknee could reply,
the tarpaulin flew back. Olvir stood wide-eyed in the opening. “You’d better
get out here,” he said. “The stew has been poisoned. Koll, Thora and the
Bjornsson twins are sick.”  

A
crowd had gathered midship. Sinead stood in the centre.

“But I haven’t been
near
the stew,” she said, her shoulders thrown back, face held high. Redknee saw her
hands trembled.

Sven stroked his chin
thoughtfully. He’d ordered a barrel to be filled with sea water. “I know
there’s a traitor among us,” he said. “Whoever it is, I believe they killed
Karl because he knew their identity. And now the traitor is trying to sabotage
this voyage by poisoning three of my best men.” He stared directly at Sinead. “
You
gave Mord the
Codex Hibernia
though you knew it to be of great value.
Then you left with him of your own free will.”

Sinead shook her head. “Mord
took me with him. I had no choice—”

“Silence woman!” Sven said.
“I haven’t finished.” He paced the inside of the circle. “I allowed you to
rejoin us because of your ability with the book words. But I have found myself
unable to trust you. And now I hear you were alone at the time Karl was
murdered.”

“I was browsing the market,
was all,” Sinead said. “Tried some of their wares. I
saw
Karl’s body. A
woman couldn’t inflict such wounds on a grown man.”

“She could if the man was drunk,”
Olaf said, stepping forward, his face set hard, accusing. Others in the little
group began nodding in agreement. “Karl had had more than his share of mead and
sweet ale.”

“Indeed,” Sven said.
“Likewise, you had the opportunity and the ability to carry out the poisoning.
You worked in the apothecary at the monastery where you lived in
Ireland
. You
would have learned all about herbs and poisons there.”

“But when would I have
gathered them?” Sinead wailed.

“When you went up the fire
mountain with Brother Alfred,” Olaf said with satisfaction.

Sinead laughed hysterically.
“Even if that were my intention, that mountain was black and bare, strewn only
with dead grass. There were no herbs of the kind I knew in
Ireland
.”

“Then you brought them with
you,” Olaf snapped. “A conceited slave like you is always scheming to kill her
masters.” He turned to Sven. “I say we do it now. Get her confession quickly.”

Redknee stared at the barrel
of water standing before them.

Sinead saw it too and shrank
back in fear. “
I swear
,” she whispered, “on the life of the Blessed
Virgin, I did not murder Karl or poison the stew.”

Sven appeared to think for a
moment then he nodded to Olaf, who grabbed Sinead by the wrists, dragged her to
the barrel and forced her head under the water. She struggled, kicking and
flailing her arms. Water slopped onto the deck. But Olaf held her fast, a smirk
tugging at the corner of his mouth. Sven nodded again and Olaf let her up,
gasping for air.

“Ready to confess?” Sven
asked.

She coughed, defiantly
shaking her head. “I won’t admit to what I haven’t done.”

Olaf started to plunge her
under again—

“Wait!”
Redknee shouted. It was too much. He knew Sinead
wasn’t guilty, knew deep in his bones. He’d been with her right after Karl’s
murder. She hadn’t seemed worried or out of sorts in any way. And most
importantly, there had been no blood. “She’s not the traitor,” he said.
“Whoever killed Karl would have been soaked in blood. I saw her - her dress was
dry.”

Olaf’s
hand hovered, holding Sinead’s head just above the surface of the water. Sven
nodded for him to wait and he relaxed his grip.

“Go on then,” Sven said,
“though if this is a ruse to help your little friend—”

“No, no,” Redknee said. “I
speak the truth. Though I know nothing about the poisoning.”

Sven sighed wearily. He
turned back to Sinead. “I’ll ask you one last time. Did you have anything to do
with the stew?”

Sinead shook her head.

“Did
anyone
see who
prepared the stew?” Sven asked.

Blank faces stared out from
the little crowd. Eventually Magnus spoke up. “Thora made it herself.”

Sven groaned. “Well, we can
hardly ask
her
.” He waved his arm to where Thora lay on the deck,
shaking with fever, Brother Alfred hunched over her trembling form, dabbing her
brow with a cloth.

“
I
would start by
looking in Astrid’s pouch,” a male voice said evenly.

Everyone
turned to see Toki standing a little apart from the others. He leant casually
against the rail, his arms crossed loosely about his chest. The low sun behind
him cast his face in silhouette.

“Look
inside the pouch she carries on her belt,” Toki went on, “and you’ll find the
poison.”

The ship fell silent as
everyone stared at Astrid. Her men-at-arms had fallen in around her, but there
were only four of them. No match for Sven and the others.

“Is this true?” Sven asked.

Astrid shook her head. “Why
would I want to sabotage our voyage? I’ve as much interest in its success as
anyone.”

“Because you don’t want to
pay the coin you promised?” offered Toki.

“Oh, this is nonsense.”

“Then turn out your pouch,”
Toki said simply.

“Will you allow us to have a
look?” Sven asked.

Astrid nodded reluctantly.
“I’ve nothing to hide,” she said, untying the ribbon holding the leather pouch
to her belt and handing it to Sven.

He
tipped the contents onto an upturned barrel. Little black seeds spilled out.

“See!” Astrid said. “Nothing
but horseradish for flavouring meat.”

“Can I see those?” Sinead
asked.

Sven nodded and Olaf held her
while she peered at the seeds. A frown creased her forehead. “These aren’t
horseradish,” she said. “They’re
wolfsbane
. I know it well. We used it
in the apothecary to treat rheumatism. But it’s only safe if rubbed on the skin
in small doses. This amount,” she said, her voice catching, “taken internally,
could kill the entire ship.”

“No!” Astrid shouted. “She
lies. It’s only seasoning.”

“Swallow it then,” Sven said
calmly. “Gulp down a handful of these harmless-looking little black seeds and
we’ll believe you.”

Astrid hesitated. “I’d rather
not,” she said eventually. “Someone must have swapped my horseradish for this …
this
wolfsbane
.” She stared accusingly at Toki. “How did you know of
this?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sven said, joining in.
“How
did
you know, and why didn’t you mention it before?”

Toki shrugged. “Simple. She
was showing her men what food she’d brought. I saw then. I didn’t realise what
it was until now. As Sinead said, the two are similar and I only saw them from
a distance.”

Sven turned to Astrid. “How
could anyone have changed the seeds in your pouch?” His voice had taken on a
harder edge.

Astrid stared at him through
the wall of her men. “I did
not
poison the stew.”

“It’s hard to believe you
when you are
caught
with the poison.”

Astrid’s chief man-at-arms,
one Egil, began to slide his sword from its scabbard. Redknee saw the telltale
twitch of his uncle’s cheek. Anger. Olaf pushed Sinead aside, reached for his
own sword—

Magnus stepped forward. “
I
can swear that neither Astrid, nor any of her men, left the stern all
morning.” The quiet steersman stood, unblinking, beneath the onslaught of
stares. “I have been at the tiller all day. None of them went forward; none
could have poisoned the stew.”

Sven studied Magnus. The
creaking groans of the ship filled the silence. Timber chaffed against timber,
a discordant echo. “Very well,” Sven said eventually. Sighing, he tipped the
poisonous seeds overboard. “But whoever is responsible for this, mark my words:
you will not make me turn back. I
will
find the Promised Land and its
treasure.” He looked at Redknee. “Come, lad. We shall see how Koll and the
others fare.”

As his uncle turned to go,
Redknee saw Astrid mouth a silent
“Thank you”
to Magnus.