Viking Boy Read Online Free PDF Page B

wind full of snow. Gunnar came to a village where he used one of the old man’s coins to buy oatcakes and goat’s cheese from an old woman, who offered him a bed for the night in her cow byre. And on the third day the track brought him to the crest of a ridge from which he looked down on Kaupang. He had arrived.
    There were hundreds of huts, the smoke of cooking fires rising to hang in a blue-grey haze over their thatched roofs. Narrow alleys wriggled between the dwellings. Several bigger buildings stood among the huts, one in particular larger than the rest, perhaps the hall of some rich lord. Beyond it was the harbour, broad wharves with dozens of vessels tied up to them – lean longships with their proud dragon’s head prows, fat cargo ships, a host of smaller boats nestling cosily between the others like piglets suckling from their mothers.
    Gunnar walked on and entered the town. The alleys were crowded, and everyone seemed to be yelling at the tops of their voices. Some spoke the Norse tongue, although many had strange accents, and there were plenty whose speech Gunnar couldn’t understand. Most of those looked wild and exotic – men with tattoos swirling over their faces, warriors in pointed helmets, women covered in jewels. There were ragged beggars everywhere, crying out for alms.
    “Terrible, isn’t it?” said a voice behind him. “It’s the smell I can’t stand.”
    Gunnar turned round. A boy a little older than him was standing near by, thumbs hooked in his belt, a grin on his face. He was wearing ordinary clothes and boots like Gunnar’s and had a shock of fair hair and blue eyes. The boy’s grin was open and friendly and Gunnar couldn’t help smiling back.
    “Mind you, the whole town stinks, not just the beggars,” said the boy. “I hate to think what’s in the mud of these alleys. My name’s Gauk, by the way.”
    “I’m Gunnar … Gunnar Bjornsson.”
    “Well then, Gunnar, son of Bjorn, what brings you to crowded, stinking old Kaupang? Nobody comes here without a good reason.”
    Gunnar paused. It would probably be a bad idea to tell the story of what had happened to him. If he started talking about Valkyries and Valhalla this boy might think he was mad, and a friend with local knowledge might prove useful.
    “I’ve come to take passage on a ship,” said Gunnar at last, deciding to tell Gauk the truth, although not all of it. “I have to find my father.”
    “Well, you won’t be the last to go on
that
particular quest.” Gauk put his arm round Gunnar’s shoulders. “This is your lucky day. I know plenty of men who own ships, so there’s nobody better to help you. But first things first. Let me treat you to breakfast. You look as if you could do with a good meal.”
    “You don’t have to do that.” Gunnar felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t want Gauk to think he was poor like the beggars. “I can pay my own way.”
    “Of course you can, no offence meant!” said Gauk. He took Gunnar by the elbow and led him towards the entrance of a narrow alley. “I was just trying to be friendly – I know the best places to eat. There’s a great tavern down here…”
    Gunnar resisted, a small voice in the back of his mind warning him to be careful. But he was hungry, so he let Gauk pull him into an alley.
    It was fine at first – but then gradually the huts seemed to close in on them. Strange faces peered at them from the shadows. A mangy dog growled from a door, a rat scuttled over Gunnar’s foot, the mud grew thicker and smellier.
    “Wait,” Gunnar said. “Are you sure this is all right?”
    Gauk smiled. “Nearly there,” he said.
    They soon came to a place where another, narrower alley cut across the one they had been following. Gauk stopped and turned to face him.
    “Is this it?” said Gunnar. He looked round, puzzled. The alleys were empty, the huts shuttered and silent. “I don’t see any tavern here.”
    Suddenly two boys stepped out of the shadows. They were dirty and