Far North - Michael Ridpath [80]
‘I understand,’ said Magnus with a smile. ‘And thank you.’ He stood up to leave. ‘I know it happened a long time ago, but I am very sorry about your father.’
A tear suddenly appeared in the old lady’s eye. ‘So am I.’
Ingileif got her way. Despite Magnus’s reluctance, they stopped by the Berserkjahraun on the way back. They parked the Range Rover just below the farm of Hraun, on the eastern side of the lava field, the opposite side to Bjarnarhöfn.
Hraun was much as Magnus remembered it, with several large outbuildings, and a couple of small houses in addition to the main farmhouse. Circular bales of hay in white plastic lined the home meadow, on which round woollen balls of sheep grazed. Magnus and Ingileif headed into the lava field, and a few metres in they found the Berserkjagata, the ‘Berserkers’ Street’. It was a footpath cut into the rock, only a few inches wide.
‘I thought it would be bigger than this,’ said Ingileif.
‘If you think it was made by two men cutting into solid rock, it’s big enough,’ Magnus said. ‘And it made it much easier to walk to Bjarnarhöfn.’
‘Show me the cairn.’
The path wound through the twisted rock, down into hollows and up again. Autumn in Iceland has its own beauty. Not as striking, perhaps, as the change of leaves in Massachusetts, but the heather and grasses turn to gold and orange, and the bilberry leaves to a deep red. Peaceful.
They caught glimpses of the little Hraunsvík, the ‘Lava Bay’ between the two farms, where the lava flow had spilled into the sea. Two eider drakes in their black and white finery patrolled the cove. Magnus wondered whether the inhabitants of Bjarnarhöfn still collected their mates’ dun-coloured down every summer after the ducklings had left their nests. Beyond the bay, flat islands dotted Breidafjördur, familiar to Magnus from fishing trips in the farm’s skiff.
‘It’s quite hard to take in,’ said Magnus. ‘Jóhannes. Gunnar.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got yourself your very own family feud,’ Ingileif said. ‘It’s fascinating really. Just like the old days. Arnkell and Thórólfur and Snorri and – who was the other one – Björn of Breidavík?’
‘That’s him,’ said Magnus. ‘It does sound a bit like that.’
‘What do you think of Benedikt’s murder? Do you think it is connected?’
‘It must be a possibility,’ Magnus said. ‘Burglars don’t usually murder people in Iceland, although of course it can happen. I’ll pull out the police file next week and take a look.’
‘At least your grandfather wasn’t involved.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Magnus said. ‘He would be right there for a family feud.’
‘You mean he could have killed Benedikt?’
‘Possibly. Once I take a look at the file it will be clearer.’
‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
Magnus didn’t answer.
They reached the cairn nestling in a hollow, a flat mound of stone big enough to contain two large men.
‘This is it?’ Ingileif said. ‘Wow. And do they really think the berserkers are inside?’
‘They dug it up a hundred years ago,’ Magnus said. ‘There are two skeletons buried there. Apparently they are not particularly tall, but they were powerfully built.’
Ingileif stopped and looked around at the wondrous stone shapes. ‘This must have been a great place to play as a kid.’
‘Yes. Although Óli was scared of it. Grandpa told him the berserkers were still roaming around.’
‘But not you?’
Magnus took a deep breath. ‘I tried not to let my grandfather scare me. I didn’t always succeed.’
Ingileif glanced at him. Magnus could tell she wanted to ask him more.
Suddenly he needed to leave. ‘Let’s go.’
‘No. I’d like to walk a bit further.’
‘Come on.’ Magnus turned on his heel and strode rapidly along the path back to the car. He didn’t look behind him until he reached it. Ingileif was struggling to catch up.
Wordlessly, Magnus started the engine and drove off.
They passed a spot where a