On the Cold Coasts

saddle, almost like he was sleeping, and appeared neither to see nor hear when Ragna called out to him. She helped him dismount and then asked what in God’s name he was doing there all alone. He looked at his mother with a vacant expression in his eyes and made no answer. He was barely able to stand without help. It wasn’t until she started loosening the sack that he carried on his back that he began to talk, and then the words streamed from his mouth so rapidly that they had trouble understanding him: “Ingvaldur has been sleeping for so long, and he’s hungry. Einhildur can’t feed him anymore because she’s…and Kristin is gone because the Englishmen took her, all of them except Gudni and Thorbjorg, and they didn’t answer. Oswald helped me. Maybe they’re dead, so I left and took Ingvaldur, but he hasn’t woken up, and he must be so hungry…he just sleeps and sleeps…”
    Thorkell grabbed him by the shoulders. “What are you saying, boy?! Englishmen?! Did they come to Holl? Where did they go? Try to speak sense!”
    At that Michael clammed up and stared at him in despair. Ragna pushed Thorkell aside and put her arms around her son. “Tell us, darling,” she said, calmly and quietly. “You’re safe now. Where is little Ingvaldur?”
    The boy pointed to the sack on the ground. Ragna was gripped by dread. With trembling hands she untied the sack and gasped when she touched Ingvaldur’s silky smooth cheek, moist and icy cold.
    “Dear Lord help us!” she whispered and crossed herself. “They have spared no one!”
    “No, no, he’s just sleeping!” Michael cried and was about to fall on his knees next to the baby’s corpse, but Thorkell held him back. Michael thrashed about, trying to free himself, and then suddenly stopped resisting and went limp in Thorkell’s arms, leaned against him, and began to sob uncontrollably.
    The barking of the dogs, or the sobbing, or perhaps both, alerted the Enni residents to the new arrivals. Bjorn the magistrate came out holding a torch, and more men followed. The flame cast a light on the faces of the people, and the magistrate bid them welcome in God’s name. That same moment there was a shout. Helgi Gudnason from Holl had seen his firstborn child lying on the ground, and he leapt forward, scooping his son up in his arms. Ingvaldur’s small head rolled lifelessly to one side; there was a large, dark stain at the back of his neck. Helgi let out a strange, choking sound. He stared at his son in disbelief, then at Michael, still sobbing in Thorkell’s arms.
    “What happened, boy?” he asked, his voice strained. “Where are Kristin and my parents?”
    Michael sniffled and tried to answer but could not speak an intelligible word.
    “They were attacked by the English,” said Thorkell. “They may have abducted some people, and I fear that some may have been killed.” He shook Michael. “Try to calm yourself, boy, and tell us how many there were. Where did they attack? Was it on the way to Holl?”
    The boy shook his head. “When we got there…” he hic-cupped. “Lots of them, I don’t know, a dozen or maybe more…I hid till they were gone.”
    The men had been standing quietly in front of the house, but now they all began to speak at once. Most wanted to set off in pursuit of the English immediately, north along Hofdastrond. The longer they waited, the likelier it was that the villains would escape. They might even make it to their ship with the people and the goods. The air was filled with their nervous chatter until Bjorn the magistrate put up his hand and in a loud voice asked the men to keep calm and let him speak.
    “We do not know how many English there are, nor where they have headed to from Holl,” he said. “No doubt they are well armed; it has been my experience that those English dogs are skilled in battle, as many of you know. Jon Palsson has sent thirty men who are expected to arrive from Oxarfjord in the morning. I suggest we wait for them and for daybreak. It is impossible to follow any sort of trail in this darkness.”
    Helgi Gudnason, still holding his son’s body, shook his head. “No,” he said gruffly. “Every minute counts. If we leave now, we’ll reach Holl at daybreak, and then we’ll be able to follow their tracks. We are more than thirty and all dressed for battle. Jon Palsson and his men would make a good addition, but we don’t have time to wait.”
    The magistrate was clearly not pleased with the opposition