Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [106]
He dropped the skald, dispassionately watching his knees buckle as he thudded hard to the ground. He was panting to gain breath, his hands rubbing wildly against his throat. Oleg raised his foot, but Merrik said, “No, Oleg, ’tis enough.”
Deglin looked up and saw Merrik. He felt the weight of the trap, felt all he’d ever known crumbling around him. He tried to speak, to defend himself, but his throat was bruised and he could only make small mewling cries. The pain brought tears to his eyes. He felt as though he were collapsing in upon himself.
“He deserves to die, Merrik.”
“Aye, Oleg, he does. He murdered my brother, his motives so base, it borders on madness. Take him to the blacksmith’s hut and have Snorri chain him near the fire pit. Let him bake in his own sweat.”
“No! I didn’t kill Erik. Aye, ’tis true that I saw her lying unconscious there on the path, and I was pleased for I had seen that Erik was dead. But she must have killed him. I know that she did!”
Laren watched Oleg drag Deglin away, his hands still clawing at his bruised throat, still trying to speak.
“It is over.”
“Aye, now I will ask you, my skald wife, what shall I do with Deglin?”
She was silent, looking over his left shoulder to the rich barley fields and the several blackbirds that were eating the crop. She saw a slave banging an iron pan with a heavy stick, startling the blackbirds, sending them squawking into frenzied flight.
“Not only did he kill Erik, he did it for the most base of reasons.”
“Aye, ’tis true. But I do not understand him. Why didn’t he simply kill me? He had no hatred for Erik. Why?”
“Because I would have flayed the flesh from his back without even asking him a single question. He believed by killing Erik, you would be blamed and he would still gain what he wanted. He could sit back and laugh at all of us, watching us perform as he’d wanted.”
“I am very sorry about Erik.”
“Aye, to die to have another blamed. I miss him sorely. Now we have the guilty man. I have sent a messenger to my other brother, Rorik, on Hawkfell Island. He and his wife, Mirana, will come, I doubt it not. Answer me, Laren. What should I do to Deglin?”
She said slowly, “Perhaps I would send him to my uncle Rollo. Let him serve up justice and punishment.”
Merrik’s nostrils flared. “Aye, it would be fitting. Rollo would have Deglin ripped apart by four horses or he would have him hung upside down next to a wolf. Your uncle isn’t known for his clemency or his forgiveness.”
“No, he is not, particularly toward those who attempt to hurt those he loves. No Viking is known for clemency. I would kill him, but not so crudely.”
“And what would you do?”
“I think I would take him deep into the forest, give him a knife, and leave him. He is proud of his wits. Let him save himself if he can.”
“Perhaps he would save himself. I cannot bear for him to live. It would offend the gods and all our people.”
She sighed then. “You are right. Kill him.” She paused a moment, then added, “He didn’t really confess to killing Erik.”
“He killed my brother.”
“He swore only that he saw me unconscious, and that is what I remember, Merrik. There is no doubt now in your mind?”
“None at all.”
All the Malverne people agreed that Deglin was guilty. They all had heard him speak ill of Laren, heard his bitterness, his rage at her seizing of his position. The men told of how Deglin, in his jealousy, had knocked Laren into a campfire, badly burning her leg. All of Deglin’s silver was given to Merrik as Danegeld for Erik’s life.