CHAPTER ONE
DUBLIN, IRELAND, OCTOBER, 936 AD
The stench of rotting fish and burning peat was thick in the air as they docked. Magnus Haraldson followed his brother, Gunnar down the gangway and through the busy markets of Dublin. Magnus had been to many ports over the last few years, but none could match the trepidation and fear emanating from every corner of this one.
Pockmarked wenches pushed heavy carts with fly infested fish, toothless old men huddled together for warmth, and threadbare clothed children milled about by the dozens begging for scraps. The scene was not welcoming.
They’d been sailing for what seemed like an age from Ayr in Scotland and Magnus was hungry, tired, and in want of a woman. But all that would have to wait. As they meandered through the crowded streets and onward toward the gates, his fingers gripped his dagger. This might be a Norse settlement, but it was nothing like theirs on Islay. Nay, this was not a place one visited for pleasure. This was where one went to disappear, or in their case, forge a covert alliance.
They had recently aligned with Giric MacDomnail and through him, King Constantine of Scotland. Their goal was to band together to push back the English King Athelstan. King Olaf of Dublin was part of that plan.
They crossed the ramparts and stopped at the gates where they were questioned by the guards. Magnus wasn’t worried about entry, but was not happy about leaving his weapons outside. Not here. The reeking air came from more than just the putrid provisions. Everything here felt soiled, like King Olaf had given up on the place. Well, by Odin, he would need to do better than this if they were to keep King Athelstan at bay. When the proposal from Magnus’ Scottish brother-in-law to strengthen this alliance had been first suggested, Magnus scoffed. How could they possibly join together against such a foe? But somehow he’d been convinced, and so here they were on the doorstep of Olaf’s kingdom, if one could call it that.
“You’re very quiet, brother,” Gunnar said as they passed through the gates.
“I do not like what I see,” Magnus said.
“Nor do I, but we need Olaf’s banner.”
“That remains to be seen,” Magnus said as he eyed the guard who took his weapons. The man wore a shiny chest plate of steel and a helmet that was far too polished for that of a seasoned guard.
“Through those gates and keep to the right,” the guard said once their weapons had been confiscated.
Magnus looked left and right as they crossed over yet another bridge and toward two large wooden doors flanked by more guards with their spears crossed.
Once they reached the end of the bridge, the guards pulled open the doors and stepped back to permit entry.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, Magnus’ jaw dropped. The palisades were high enough to keep what lay beyond from view. Instead of amassed decay in the form of people or their wares, here were finely garbed men and women set about in what appeared to be a covered market. The aroma in the air could not have been in greater contrast; breads, roasting boar, and bubbling pots piqued Magnus’s interest.
What lay beyond was even more surprising. Instead of a wooden longhouse, which was a common structure in his people’s villages, it appeared Olaf had made one out of stone. The view from this angle suggested it was twice as long as his brother’s on Islay and nearly twice as high. The only thing taller at the moment was the palisades.
“Gunnar, where in Odin’s name have we landed?”
“I am not quite certain, brother, but I have envisioned such a place in my dreams when I think of Valhalla.”
Magnus couldn’t reconcile the contrast. Why the vast poverty outside and the appearance of decadence inside the gates? There was only one person who could answer that question at this point, and they were about to meet with him.
They approached the longhouse and waited until more guards opened the doors for them. Magnus turned around as a flash of green fabric caught his eye. Its owner was cloaked in black and walking away from him. A bright flaming lock of hair fell from the cloak and landed over a shapely shoulder. Magnus watched as it bounced and glinted in the sunlight. A large man walked beside her and held her elbow. He turned and glared at Magnus then urged her forward. A heady scent of cloves followed the pair and as he looked down, he could see leaves trickling from a pouch on her arm.
“Magnus, are you coming?”
Magnus blinked a couple times at Gunnar then shook his head. He nodded and followed Gunnar inside the longhouse.
It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The set up inside the stone structure was not entirely unlike any other longhouse. A grand fire pit was flanked by roasting, steaming, or boiling delights that made Magnus’ stomach rumble in approval. He counted ten tables on each side of the pit leading up to the main table at the head behind which sat the largest chair Magnus had ever seen with great buck horns protruding from the back. Small groups of men and women took up most of the tables.
Before he could scrutinize any further he noticed the din in the hall had dwindled to the crackling fire and one spitting pot.
“State your name and business,” a nearby scruffy Viking said from over his horn.
“Gunnar Haraldson of Islay. This is my brother Magnus. We are here to speak with King Olaf.”
“What makes you think King Olaf wants to speak with you?” another voice could be heard amongst the crowd.
This was irritating. Magnus suspected Olaf was sitting among those gathered, and he himself may not be forthcoming among strangers either, but for Odin’s sake, they had been permitted entry. Why the scrutiny here versus at any of the other guarded locations outside of here?
“King Olaf has created quite the kingdom for himself here. He will want to speak with us if he wants to keep it,” Magnus said. Gunnar slowly placed his hand on Magnus’ arm. He may have just overstepped, but he would rather face the man directly than play these games.
“What my brother means to say is that it is in Olaf’s best interest to hear about meetings we have engaged in with King Constantine of Scotland. Should he not be interested, we will take our leave.”
