The Viking Wars (Carthal Chronicles Book #1)

  "The boy's agreed to leave Lindisfarne?"

  Gryndall nodded.

  "Very well."

  "Today."

  Both men were tense as they entered the Great Hall, the wagon following noisily in their wake as it rattled along. Theo and Antolis were seated at the same table Anwir had seated them at earlier. Unlike earlier however, there was no Anwir and the table was laden with enormous bowls of steaming soup and massive dark grain buns.

  "Your Majesty."

  Antolis rose from the table and ushered he and Donal into the two vacant chairs.

  "Thank you, Antolis."

  "It's no trouble, your Majesty. You have shown us hospitality at Carthal many times."

  Gryndall grunted, wondering if that would mean anything once Anwir discovered he'd taken Lionel and left him with only half the money he'd originally promised.

  "Is Anwir not joining us?" he asked as casually as possible as he and Donal took their seats beside Theo.

  The Deputy Priest shook his head. "No, he's doing some work in the study. Translations of Morgar's Poretheum."

  "Ah," Gryndall replied, having no clue what the monk was talking about.

  "But you and your men go ahead and eat," said Antolis with a tone of assurance, spreading his hands and gesturing towards the feast on the table. "I shall leave you three in peace. Send Patrick to get me when you're leaving," he added, pointing to the invisible page standing in the far corner of the Hall, "and I'll come and see you off."

  Gryndall nodded. "Of course. And as for the money, here come Brother Isaac and Brother Fenwir," and he pointed Antolis towards the entrance of the Great Hall were the six exhausted monks were dragging the wagon inside.

  "Excellent. Again, allow me to tell you, your Majesty, that you are a most generous Carthalian king."

  Gryndall shrugged as he tucked into his soup. "I try."

  "Why even bother giving them any money, my Lord, when your nephew has agree to leave the monastery?" Donal asked once Antolis had gone.

  Gryndall glanced around the Hall, ensuring there was no one within earshot, before answering. "Because it will soften the blow. When Anwir discovers that we've taken my nephew, he'll be fuming mad. By providing him with two hundred and fifty crowns, he'll hopefully be able to forget the whole thing. Given enough time."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  Gryndall grunted. "Then so be it. What can he possibly do?"

  Anwir is sitting in his chamber, stewing, and plotting his revenge against Gryndall. It's cark, cold, dank. Stone floor and stone walls. A fire is burning in the fireplace.

  The warmth from the fire could not thaw the icy anger on the High Priest's face. Seated in his chamber and staring into the flames, Anwir hurled his drinking mug across the room. It shattered against the stone wall, pieces flying in every direction.

  Bested by that ignorant scoundrel. You'll pay for this, Gryndall. Oh, you will pay for this.

  He glanced at the eight money chests that sat, lined up like sentries, in the corner against the wall. Gryndall had filled the bottom portions of each with stones so that coins only made up the top portions.

  That whoreson.

  Gryndall's crude ruse had left him with just half the money.

  Half! Half!

  Anwir clenched his fists in anger. Two hundred and fifty crowns was not enough. Not for the grand building he wished to construct, anyway.

  That thieving...little...

  Perhaps worse than the money was the fact he'd taken Brother Lionel. From right under his nose. Gone. Vanished. Like a puff of smoke.

  And all the while Gryndall had been smiling and good-natured and amicable.

  Oh, he played the part so well!

  What would the people of Lindisfarne say when they found out the king of Carthal had just waltzed in and taken a monk from the monastery.

  He'd be a laughing stock. He would lose all respect.

  They'll think me powerless...unable to keep watch over my own flock...

  When he found Lionel again, and he would, he would kill him.

  Anwir felt his anger subside as he thought about the ways in which he would exact his revenge on Lionel, Gryndall and all the rest. He smiled wickedly as he stared into the fireplace, the reflection of the dancing flames playing off the black pools that were his eyes.

  He still had the upper hand. He still had something that Gryndall didn't know about. Morcant. That fat Knight of the Order who had agreed to do his bidding for a mere fifty crowns and the promise of a position as commander of the new guard once he'd seized Carthal.

  Morcant. That fat, treacherous slob.

  Anwir smiled. He wouldn't make him commander of the new guard. He'd hand him to the archers to use as target practice. But only after Gryndall learned he'd been betrayed.

  The look on Gryndall's face...he thinks he's so smart...just wait until he learns that one of his trusted knights has been spying for me...

  As for the money...

  The priest used his fingernail to scrape at something stuck to his frock before glancing at the eight money chests once more.

  What would he do with the money since it wasn't enough to build a new monastery? Hire an assassin? Pay someone to inflict the same pain and humiliation on Gryndall's house as he'd inflicted on him?

  He was already going to inflict pain and humiliation on the Carthalian king. Better to be patient. To wait until his plan was carried out in full. After all, he'd already waited this long.

  Anwir smiled his wicked smile once more as his eyes returned to the fireplace and fixed themselves on the flames.

  The money would go to Erik the Bald.

  My third, and final, favour.

  He would finally have the Viking thain's trust. And with his trust, the use of his Viking army to seize Carthal.

  Chapter Fourteen

  (July 5)

  Erik the Bald is in the sitting room, nursing a hangover. An hour earlier, Olaf delivered a letter from Carthal. The Viking jarl finished reading it several minutes ago.

  Erik the Bald spat and crumpled up the letter he held in his hand. Gryndall had sent his father a letter. His father. Gryndall of Carthal - that Celtic, Roman half-breed.

  How dare he try to pin those murders on a Viking...

  Not that he was wrong. Krall, and Olaf, and Leif, and Ragnar had ambushed the royal carriage. But the idea that Gryndall would suspect them. It was insulting. Arrogant.

  As though Carthalians never commit murder...

  The pot-bellied Viking rose angrily from his chair and tossed the crumpled letter into the unlit fire place. Then, taking a handful of goose down and woodchips from the tinder box beside it, he covered the ball of paper and lit the mass of kindling using the flint and steel from his pouch.

  The sparks grew into a flame. First strong and raging and then soft and subtle as it died, all the while reducing the ball of paper to black ash. When he was satisfied that the letter had been destroyed, Erik the Bald spread the ashes with the end of his sword and closed the grate to the fireplace.

  He would soon repay Gryndall for his arrogance.

  Castle Clarendon. The queen's chambers.

  "Lionel! Nephew! It's been so long!" Ygraine gushed, wrapping her arms around her sister's son as though she planned to never let him go.

  "Erf...hmph...aunty...I can't breathe..."

  Gryndall and Winifred laughed as they watched the boy struggle to free himself from the queen's embrace.

  "Aunt Ygraine," he coughed, when she'd finally released him.

  Cough. Cough.

  "I've missed you as well."

  "Not as much as I've missed you," she said warmly, tousling the boy's hair. "How's my sister? I haven't heard from her. I expected her to send us a letter of congratulations at least..."

  Lionel shot his aunt a weary look. "She's not your biggest fan, Aunt Ygraine."

  "Sorry? What was that?"

  "He said she's not your biggest fan," Winifred repeated, the words stunning the queen
as they rapped her in the face one by one.

  Rat, tat, tat.

  "What are you trying to say? That your mother doesn't love me?"

  "She loves you...it's just..."

  "Just what?" the queen demanded, gripping her nephew by the shoulders.

  "She doesn't like that you're...secular."

  He said the word as though it was somehow dirty. Tarnished. Unspeakable.

  "She doesn't like that we're secular!?"

  Ygraine's cheeks were red and her eyes were furious.

  "She says you won't go to heaven."

  Gryndall laughed out loud. "Oh, goodness. Boy. You've spent two years now on that island, living as a monk. Watching what they do. Doing what they do. Are they all such pious and honourable men that deserve heaven? Or are some a little...you know...crooked in their ways?"

  Lionel looked at his uncle as though he was a seer.

  "What...what do you know?"

  The king shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "I don't know particulars...but I know the nature of men. And I know men to be animals first and men of god second."

  The boy nodded as though he had fully grasped what Gryndall was implying. "You mean, are there some members of the Cycliad - monks - who don't follow the tenets of the faith?"

  "That is exactly what I mean."

  "There are many. I have seen men having relations with each other...several had asked me if I would like to join in."

  Winifred's eyes bulged out of her head. "What were they doing?"

  "I think we can imagine what they were doing, Winifred," answered Gryndall before the boy could reply. "Go on," he said, turning back to Lionel.

  "Well...Brother Anders once stole from the tithe pot. And Brother Athling was caught defiling himself. Oh, and Brother Dalgish once forced the Gracie family to give him ten crowns because he'd found a book on the history of Carthal in their sitting room. Books about Carthal are forbidden at Lindisfarne."

  "Good grief," Ygraine muttered. "Why is that?"

  "Brother Isaac told me books about Carthal are forbidden because they tell the real story of how the Cycliad came to be established at Lindisfarne."

  "And that is...?" asked Gryndall, folding his arms across his chest.

  "That the Cycliad was established at Lindisfarne by Taog more than a thousand years ago."

  "Ha! Taog only died three hundred years ago. And it was at Riordan, not Lindisfarne, that he founded the religion. Those lying, sneaking - "

  "Alright, enough, Gryndall," Ygranine chided. "But, nephew. Pray. Tell me. My sister actually said those words? That she doesn't like me because I lead a secular life?"

  "That's what she said."

  "You see, Ygraine," said Gryndall, raising his hands and puffing out his cheeks, "you can't reason with these people. They're wackos. They think that they're right and that the rest of us are wrong. And that's how they see the world. They have no concept that there were other religions that existed long before their's and that other religions still exist today, in other parts of the world."

  "Really?" Lionel asked, dumbfounded.

  Gryndall gestured at his nephew. "You see!?"

  Winifred shook her head in dismay. "This is what my father's problem was with religion as well. He said that the religious only have their own opinions in mind. Never mind about what anyone else thinks. And you know, my father once met a man from another land. A man by the name of Jubo. He told me the man's skin was brown like the colour of chestnut - and I've never seen one of these people with my own eyes mind you - but my father said it and bless his heart, he was an honest man - "

  "And? What did this man Jubo say?" Ygraine interrupted, impatient to hear the rest.

  "Well," the maid continued, "he said that he was from a land called Masir and that in his land they prayed to a sun god named Ra. Have you ever heard of such a thing!? A sun god."

  "It sounds like witchcraft," said Lionel quietly.

  "And there you are again," Gryndall snorted, putting out his hand to show his nephew. "People with different ideas or different opinions are witches and sorcerers. Never mind that their ideas are just as valid and maybe even true. This is why my father banned religion from Carthal. It's far too divisive and creates far too much conflict. Carthalians are Carthalians first and all else second. Except for your father's people up in Riordan," he added darkly, staring squarely at Lionel.

  "Oh, leave him alone," said Ygraine, pushing on her husband's shoulder. "And that's enough talk about religion for one night. Lionel. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

  The boy looked at Gryndall as though he were checking to see if it was alright that he said yes.

  "If you're hungry, say so. We've always got food in the kitchen."

  Winifred nodded, an enormous smile pasted to her face. "Finest food in Carthal! Cooks working round the clock. What would you like, my dear?"

  "Can I have some pie?"

  "Pie!? Pie!?" Winifred barked, laughing and fanning herself with her hand. "Why ever would you want pie at this hour!"

  "Not sweet pie. Meat pie."

  Winifred stopped herself. "Meat pie."

  Lionel nodded.

  "I thought we had something like that last night," said Ygraine thoughtfully, brushing a hand through her hair. "Pheasant or something. Duck. I'm not sure what Horace prepared. But whatever it was...it was some kind of meat...and pie."

  "Well then," said Winifred, wrapping an arm around Lionel's shoulder and pushing him towards the door. "We shall go and find this dear boy some meat pie," she said theatrically, adding, "and leave you two alone for a bit."

  She winked at Ygraine who turned a fierce shade of red.

  "Thank you, Winifred. Come find me in an hour and you can help me with my bath."

  "Of course, my Lady," the maid answered, taking one last look at the royal couple as she ushered Lionel through the doorway and disappeared.

  Gryndall removed his sword belt. "Is it our time to be be alone together then?" he asked, smiling and taking a step towards his wife.

  Ygraine nodded and pressed a finger to his lips. "Yes. But first let's go and see our baby. He missed you today."

  Chapter Fifteen

  (July 7)

  Gryndall, Theo, Dalwynn, and Donal are in a section of the Great Wood. They need to cut down six oak trees for Germanus, the castle carpenter, so that an extra-large carriage can be built to transport twenty hogs to Lancaster.

  "Is this one wide enough, my Lord?" Theo called as he, Gryndall, Dalwynn and Donal traipsed through the forest.

  "Can you wrap your arms around it?" Gryndall answered.

  "Yes...but just barely."

  "Then it's not wide enough," said Gryndall as he broke through a hedge and appeared beside the young knight.

  "My Lord," Donal shouted from a spot amongst the thick brush.

  "Yes, Donal."

  "We've got one. Well, I think we've got one. I'm not entirely sure. I suppose I could just use Dalwynn to check. He's about as wide as we need these oaks to be."

  There was crash followed by thrashing in the bushes as Dalwynn responded to Donal's verbal thrust. "You insolent little - just wait until I get ahold of ye!"

  Gryndall shook his head in exasperation. "Knights! That's enough! You two are worse than children!"

  "Shall we check to make sure Donal's still alive, my Lord?" asked Theo nervously, his head bobbing from side to side as he tried to spot the men through the dense, green brush.

  "Aye. Though. We might finally get some peace if those two were to do each other in."

  Theo and Gryndall drew their swords and hacked through the tree branches, brambles, hedges, and rotten logs as they made their way towards the two knights.

  "Ow! Ooh! My Lord!" Donal yelled. "He slapped me with a branch! Right across my arse! Ow! My mom was still better at that than ye, you big oaf! Ow!"

  "I'll use my sword then, you little shit!" came Dalwynn's booming voice.

  "Alright, alright, that's enough. Come
now men. Germanus needs four wide oak trees to build this carriage."

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "Sorry, my Lord."

  "Now - is this the one you've chosen," Gryndall asked, stepping between them and placing a hand on the trunk of a massive oak tree.

  "Yes, my Lord. That's the one," Donal answered, wincing as he massaged his backside.

  Gryndall nodded. "Very well. It looks good. Definitely wide enough. Grab an axe and get chopping," he said, pointing to the two axes encased in a leather sack on the ground at his feet. "Theo and I will find another. I want four trees felled by sunset. Tomorrow we'll bring out a team of labourers and oxen and they can transport the trees right to Germanus'. He's promised that with his four assistant carpenters, they'll have the carriage built within six days. But he needs those trees before he can start. So let's go. Get to work."

  "I'm on it, my Lord," said Dalwynn, removing a double-edged lumber axe from the leather case.

  "Come, Theo," said Gryndall. "We'll find another tree to cut down."

  "Yes, my Lord. I see several over there - near that patch of yellow flowers."

  "Yes, those oaks look quite large, don't they?"

  The pair followed a little trail which brought them to the grove of oaks. There were twelve in all - Theo counted - and all but two appeared wider than the oak Dalwynn and Donal had selected.

  "Looks like we've got our other three and not just one," Gryndall remarked happily as the steady chop-chop-chop-chop of the Dalwynn's and Donal's axes filled the forest and echoed all around them.

  Theo nodded. "Which one shall we do first?"

  "This one," Gryndall answered, patting the crooked one that bent away from the other oaks.

  "Alright."

  Theo undid the clasp that held together the two leather straps that made an X on his chest. Two axes, one crossed over the other, fell from his back and onto the fern-covered ground as he pulled his arms through the loops.

  "It's a good thing it's been dry these past few days," Gryndall commented as he bent down and picked up one of the axes. "Have you ever tried to cut down a rain-soaked tree?"

  "Yes, my Lord. My hands - afterwards - I couldn't feel them for the rest of the day. They get so numb from chopping wet timber. I've learned that."

  "Yes, I hate that feeling," the king agreed. "And normally we could use a saw for this task," he continued, freeing the axe blade from its leather sheath and rolling his sleeves up past his elbows, "but these trees are too wide for it."