lads even then! I do believe there would have been murder done – if it hadn’t been for Bjørn and Arnë Egilsson who came to the door at that moment with some barley to grind. Yes, I might have been knocked on the head for that cup.”
“And that’s why the millers hate us?” asked Hilde, pleased at her success in changing the subject. “Because you’ve got the cup and they haven’t?”
“There’s more to it than that,” said Gudrun. “Old Grim was crazy to have that cup, or something just like it. He came round pestering your father to show him the exact spot on the fell where he saw all this. Wanted to dig his way into the hill.”
“Old fool!” Ralf growled. “Dig his way into a nest of trolls?”
“We said no, and wished him good riddance,” said Gudrun. “But next day he was back. Wanted to buy the Stonemeadow from your father and dig it up!”
“I turned him down flat,” said Ralf. “‘If there’s any treasure up there,’ I told him, ‘it belongs to the trolls and they’ll be guarding it. I won’t sell!’”
“Now that was sense!” said Gudrun. “But what happened? Next day, old Grim’s telling everyone who’ll listen that Ralf’s cheated him – taken the money and kept the land!”
“A dirty lie!” said Ralf, reddening.
“But old Grim’s dead now, isn’t he?” asked Hilde.
“Oh yes,” said Ralf, “he died last winter. But you know why, don’t you? He hung about on that hill in all weathers, searching for the way in, and he got caught in a snowstorm. His two sons went searching for him.”
“I’ve heard they found him lying under the crag, clawing at the rocks,” added Gudrun. “Weeping that he’d found the gate and could hear the gatekeeper laughing at him from inside the hill! They carried him back to the mill, but he was too far gone. They blame your father for his death, of course.”
“That’s not fair!” said Hilde.
“It’s not fair,” said Gudrun, “but it’s the way things are. Which makes it madness for your father to be thinking of taking off on a foolhardy voyage and leaving me to cope with it all.”
Hilde groaned inwardly. Now the quarrel would begin all over again!
“Ralf,” Gudrun begged. “You know these trips are a gamble. Ten to one you’ll make no profit!”
Ralf scratched his head uncomfortably. “It’s not just for profit,” he tried to explain. “I want – I want some adventure, Gudrun. All my life I’ve lived here, in this little valley. I want—” he took a deep breath, “new skies, new seas, new places!” He looked at her pleadingly. “Can’t you see?”
“All I can see,” Gudrun flashed, “is that you’re throwing good money after bad, for the sake of a selfish pleasure trip!”
Ralf went scarlet. “If the money worries you, sell this!” he roared, seizing the golden cup and brandishing it at her. “It’s gold, it will fetch a fine price, and I know you’ve always hated it! There’s security for you! But I’m sailing on that longship!”
“You’ll drown!” sobbed Gudrun. “And all the time I’m waiting and waiting for you, you’ll be riding over Hel’s bridge with the rest of the dead!”
There was an awful silence. The little ones stared with big, solemn eyes. Hilde bit her lip. Eirik coughed nervously and took a cautious spoonful of his cooling groute. Ralf put the cup quietly down and took Gudrun by the shoulders. He gave her a little shake and said gently, “You’re a wonderful woman, Gudrun. I married a grand woman, sure enough. But I’ve got to take this chance of going a-Viking!”
A gust of wind buffeted the house. Draughts crept and moaned through cracks and crannies. Gudrun drew a deep, shaky breath.
“When do you go?” she asked unsteadily. Ralf looked down at the floor.
“Tomorrow morning,” he admitted in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Gudrun. The ship sails tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Gudrun’s lips whitened. She turned her face against Ralf ’s shoulder and shuddered. “Ralf, Ralf!” she murmured. “It’s no weather for sailors!”
“This will be the last of the spring gales,” Ralf consoled her.
Up on the roof the troll lost interest in the conversation. It sat riding the ridge, waving its arms in the wind, and calling loudly, “Hoooo! Hututututu!”
“How the wind shrieks!” said Gudrun, and she took the poker and stirred up the fire. A stream of sparks shot up through the smoke hole. The startled troll threw itself into a backwards somersault and rolled down off the roof, landing on its feet in the muddy yard. Then it prowled inquisitively round the buildings, leaving odd little eight-toed footprints in the mud. The farmhouse door had a horseshoe nailed over it. The troll tutted and muttered, and made a detour around it. But it went on, prying into every corner of the farmyard, leaving smears of bad luck, like snail-tracks, on everything it touched.
CHAPTER 3
Talking to the Nis
There can’t be another Uncle Baldur! After the first stunned moment, Peer began to laugh, tight, hiccuping laughter that hurt his chest. Unable to stop, he bent over the rail of the cart, gasping in agony.
Uncle Grim and Uncle Baldur were identical twins.
Side by side they strutted up to the cart. He looked wildly from one to the other. Same barrel chests and muscular, knotted arms, same thick necks, same mean little eyes peering from masses of black tangled beard and hair. One of them was still wrapped up in a wet cloak, however, while the other seemed to have been eating supper, for he was holding a knife with a piece of meat skewered to the point.
“Shut up,” said this one to Peer. “And get down.” Only the voice was different – deep and rough.
“Now let me guess!” said Peer with mad recklessness. “Who can you be? Oooh – tricky one! But wait, I’ve got it! You’re my Uncle Grim! Yes? You are alike, aren’t you! Like peas in a pod. Do you ever get muddled up? I’m your—”
“Get down,” growled Uncle Grim, in exactly the same way as before.
“—nephew, Peer!” Peer finished, impudently. He held up his wrist, still firmly tethered to the side of the cart, and waggled his fingers.
Uncle Grim snapped the twine with a contemptuous jerk. Then he frowned, lifted his knife and squinted at the point. He sucked the piece of meat off, licked the blade, and sliced through the string holding Loki. He stared hard at Peer.
“Now get down,” he ordered, through his food. He turned to his brother as Peer jumped stiffly down. “He’s not much, is he?”
“But he’ll do,” grunted Uncle Baldur. “He can start now. Here, you!” He thrust the lantern at Peer. “Take this! Put
