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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

On the first night, we put in to a rocky cove on an island called Hidle and Gersine sat beside me and handed me a cup of ale that one of Eldgrim’s warriors had given him. The Norsemen all seemed to like Gersine, despite the barrier of their languages. He was eager to please and uncomplaining and, on that first windless day, he had been the only one of our band to sit at a bench and take to an oar.

“Do you think he is as bad as they say, this Ljósberari?” Gersine asked. “Does he really put out people’s eyes? Do you think he truly burns them?” He sounded almost excited by the prospect. I knew it was more nervous tension than a lust for blood, but still it rankled.

“You saw the buildings at Skorri’s steading,” I said, staring out at the near-dark of the summer night. “You heard Audun, and the king. I see no reason for them to lie. But I know not what would cause a man to be so evil.” I chose not to mention the book that Leofstan and I sought. “But evil exists. Temptation and wickedness are all about us. We must pray to remain strong and not to succumb as so many do.” I thought of Hjorleif and his debauched lust. Was it possible that any man could become so depraved? I recalled how Cwenswith had filled my thoughts, my dreams of passion with Thurid. What separated me from a man like Hjorleif? I took a gulp of the ale. “The Devil must have a hold on the man they call Ljósberari.”

“And it is our task to slay him,” said Gersine. “Like in the saga of Beowulf and Grendel.”

I thought of the story of the great warrior who rids the land of the terrifying beast, Grendel, that had been preying on the Danes. For some time I could not get out of my mind the image of Grendel’s mother. Grendel must have been the hero of her tale, and to her, Beowulf the monster. Surely there could be no doubt here who was the villain and who the hero. Ljósberari was killing and destroying with impunity. And yet a splinter of doubt at the king’s motives in sending us north needled me and every now and again I would worry at the scratching thought.

After the initial tensions that come of meeting strangers, we had laughed and told tales with Grágás’ crew. At first, the men relied on my language skills to communicate, and I was exhausted by the time I lay down to sleep. But judging from the amount of speaking, laughter and shouted wagers over dice that echoed around the still island and across the sighing waters of the fjord, the men managed to communicate well enough without my help.