The Serpent King by Tim Hodkinson

Author:Tim Hodkinson [Hodkinson, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788549998
Publisher: Head of Zeus

Thirty-Four

Einar glanced around to check no one was looking at him, then stepped off the walkway. He ducked into the shadows between two wattle-walled buildings that sat against the inside of the rampart. From there he could see what was going on at the gate without being seen himself.

‘Get Rodinserk,’ one of Thorfinn’s warriors shouted. Another man ran off down the walkway Einar had just vacated. Behind him Atli, Sigtryggr and the berserkers stood, surrounded by a hostile ring of steel. They did not seem at all perturbed, however, looking at the men surrounding them with a mixture of insolence and contempt.

The thud of footsteps on the wooden boards renewed and Einar saw the man who had run past him returning. Now he was followed by the barrel-chested, bald warrior with the braided beard that had asked Einar to help move the queen’s bodyguards’ weapons. Behind him came the others who had moved the war gear as well.

‘What’s going on?’ the long-bearded man, who Einar deduced must be Rodinserk, said. The commanding tone he used told Einar this man was in charge.

‘Aulvir sent these men up here, Lord Rodinserk,’ one of the gate guards said. ‘They sailed right into the harbour and announced they were sent by King Eirik.’

‘King Eirik?’ Rodinserk’s voice rose in tone. There was exasperation in it too. ‘And Aulvir sent them here? On tonight of all nights! What’s that idiot playing at?’

‘Is there a problem?’ Einar heard the smooth voice of Atli.

Rodinserk hesitated.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not. The king’s men are always welcome here. It’s just there is a great feast tonight. We were not expecting more guests.’

‘I need to speak to the jarl,’ Atli said. ‘I have an urgent message for him.’

‘Get Jarl Thorfinn. Make it quick,’ Rodinserk said to a warrior standing near him. He turned and jogged into the hall, entering through the front doors.

For long moments the two groups stood in uneasy silence, each watching the other like a pair of tomcats. Then the doors of the hall opened once more, breathing out a blast of warm air, the aromas of hot food and malted ale and the noise of music, social chatter and good-natured laughter.

Thorfinn, dressed in his finery for the feast, strode out. If the jarl was in any way surprised or discomfited by the arrival of Atli and the others, he did not show it. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the crowd at the gate with a cool gaze.

Watching from the shadows, Einar again found himself staring at the man he had come here to kill. This time there was no doubt about it. If he broke cover he was as good as dead. If Thorfinn’s men did not kill him, Atli, Sigtryggr or the berserkers would.

‘Sigtryggr,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Good to see you again. Where’s that brother of yours?’

‘He’s dead,’ Sigtryggr said, unable to keep his voice slipping into a snarl. ‘Murdered.’

‘I’m very surprised to hear that,’ Thorfinn said. ‘It must have been quite the man who killed the great Hallvard of Hising.

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