“You did the right thing to wait,” Hogni answered. “There’s quicksand around here and some steep drops on the way.”
“I just hope no one was starting to worry about me.”
“The police were asking for you. They’ll certainly be relieved to see you again.”
Question thirty-six: Killed by a serpent. First letter. King Olaf Tryggvason went with his men to Raud the Strong’s farm and broke in. Raud was seized and tied up, and his men were killed or arrested. The king offered to have Raud baptized, but Raud answered that he would never believe in Christ and uttered many blasphemies. Raud was then tied to an iron bar and a round pin of wood was shoved between his teeth to force his mouth open. The king then ordered a snake to be placed in Raud’s mouth, but the snake refused to enter it. A red-hot iron was then used to force the serpent in. The snake slid into Raud’s mouth and down his throat to his heart and then gnawed its way out his left side. Raud then died. The answer is “Raud,” and the first letter is r.
CHAPTER 53
D istrict Officer Grimur and Inspector Thorolfur were alone in the school when Kjartan arrived, breathless after rushing there. Hogni came in right behind him.
“I’m sorry,” said Kjartan. “I seem to have gotten lost.”
Grimur appeared to be relieved to see him again in one piece, but Thorolfur had a sullen air.
“Hogni’s promised to call off the search,” Kjartan continued.
“Where’ve you been all day?” Thorolfur asked.
“When I left here,” Kjartan answered, “I got my bag and walked across the island to visit Johanna, the doctor. She invited me to take a bath in her house. After that I lay down for a bit and I must have fallen fast asleep, because when I woke up she was gone. I found it a bit uncomfortable lying there in a deserted house with the corpse of an old man, so I went out for a walk on the southern shore just to look at the birds and think. I walked quite far out from the island and didn’t think of the rising tide.”
Thorolfur shook his head with a skeptical air. “What was it that you needed so badly to think about?” he asked.
“I needed to catch my bearings a bit.”
“Have you gone astray?”
“No, but a lot has happened over the past days, and I’m not used to dealing with this kind of stress. I normally try to avoid situations I can’t mentally handle. It takes very little to knock me out of kilter, and then I get depressed.”
Thorolfur waited a moment before asking, “Is there anything special you’d like to tell me before I put my first questions to you?”
“Anything special?”
“Yeah. Something that you feel could clarify this case?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Very well. We’ve been informed that you knew the late Bryngeir and, moreover, that you served a prison sentence for manslaughter.”
Kjartan looked apologetically at Grimur before answering. “Yes. Both of those assertions are correct. I knew Bryngeir, and I did time in prison. But I still maintain that the killing was an accident.”
“Bryngeir was connected to this manslaughter case,” said Thorolfur.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Do you want to hear the whole story from the beginning?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve heard many long stories today, so one more won’t make a difference.”
Kjartan loosened his collar. “Very well then. The story starts when I was in my final year at high school and I joined a club called the Jomsviking Society.”
“Jomsviking Society? Who are they?” Thorolfur asked.
“The Jomsvikings were a pack of young swashbucklers from the ancient town of Jomsborg at the end of the tenth century. Their story ended when they were defeated in a battle against Earl Hakon in Norway.”
“Tell me about this club.”
“There were about thirty boys in it, who were either finishing high school or in their first or second year at university. A bunch of lively, intelligent young men, most of them from well-off families. I was an exception, since I had very little money and was withdrawn.”
“What was the purpose of this club?”
“Officially, it was meant to be a reading or cultural club, but at the same time it was a semi-secret society. It had been running for several decades. New members were selected from pupils in their final years, and normally people left the club when they were well into their university studies. There was, therefore, a constant turnover of fresh blood in the club. When I joined they held meetings once a month, often in little halls or on the premises of a company that the father of one of the members managed. For the fun of it, we’d have readings of racy limericks that members had dug up or composed themselves. Sometimes up-and-coming authors were asked to read something or deliver a lecture. We held debates, and on some occasions music or even plays were performed. There was a touch of cultural snobbery about it all. There was a fair bit of drinking involved, too, and sometimes the gatherings degenerated into semi riots as the evening progressed.”
“What drew you to this club?”
“Vanity.”
“Oh?”
“I was pretty well read in various foreign authors. My uncle, who was a sailor, used to bring me back quite a few books from abroad, which I loosely translated for the meetings. I was therefore able to supply some pretty good reading material. I thought it would give me some kudos when I was invited to join, and I enjoyed having a drink or two.”
“What happened then?”
“When new members were taken in, they had to kneel under the sword, as they called it. The club owned an old Viking-style sword. It was a good replica they had gotten some skilled blacksmith to make for them many decades earlier. And the sword was both heavy and sharp. One of the members held the sword up in the air over the block, and the new member was supposed to kneel under it. Part of the Jomsviking saga was read out during the ceremony, and at some point in the text, the sword would be swung down. The patter went something like this in the end: ‘A hirdman took hold of the hair and twisted it round his hands and held Sveinn’s head on the block with both hands, as Thorkell prepared to slam down his sword.’ That was the cue, when the words ‘slam down his sword’ were spoken, the sword was supposed to be swung. The new member could always see the executioner’s shadow and get his head out of the way in time. The longer you could hold your head on the block for before the sword dropped, the braver you were considered to be. In the story the hirdman’s hands are cut off when Sveinn pulls his head off the block, so everyone at the meeting would shout out in unison, ‘Whose hands are in my hair?’ and that was it, the new member had been initiated.”
“Why were you holding the sword on this occasion?”
“There was a certain prestige to it. When you’d been a member of the society for a while and created a niche for yourself, then you got to draw the sword once and that elevated you to a higher status. Bryngeir suggested I be given the role that night.”
“But there was an accident?”
“Yes, there was an accident-or it looked like an accident. I swung the sword down on cue and could see that Einar had pulled his head away from the block under me. But then it was like he’d hit a wall because he bounced right back just as the sword was coming down. It struck him in the back of the head and he died instantly.”
“It must have been a shock for you?”
“Yes, of course, horrific. When the sword hit the obstacle, it seemed hard at first, the way you’d expect the block to be, but then it was strangely soft. When I realized what had happened it was as if I’d been hit by a train, and I collapsed with my head hitting the edge of a table.”
Kjartan lifted his hand and stroked the scar on his forehead.