Chapter 1

1: The Red Daughter

Alright then. If you really want to know, I'll tell you.

By the time I found the wharfside tavern, the storm was at its height. The waters of the Liffey were choppy and disturbed, echoing the dark and swirling skies that poured rain down upon the pointed roofs of the Norse colony of Dublin, and as I hurried up the wharf, the line of tethered longships on my left rose and fell with the unsteady river. My clothes were sopping wet from the rain, and it was with a sense of relief that I banged open the door and hurried into the bright light and noise of the tavern.

I picked my way through the crowds of foreigners, Norsemen and Danes for the most part, careful to ensure that I did nothing to offend them. Native Irishmen have a low standing in Dublin, and King Sigtrygg Caech would most likely turn a blind eye to any who got themselves knifed in a barroom brawl. Besides, my mission was too important - and I'd been too well paid - for me to jeopardise it. I reached the bar, and ordered a mug of mulled ale.

The barkeep, a squint-eyed old man whose accent hinted at a childhood spent in my own homeland of Connacht, handed me my order and I paid in silver pennies. They had just been introduced that year, which dates me, if you like. I took a swig of ale, and let the warmth course through my chilly body. Then I leaned over to the barkeep again.

'I hear the Red Daughter drinks here, when she's not at sea,' I murmured. At the name, the barkeep went still, and stared warily at me. 'Oh, don't worry,' I said grinning. 'It's just that I'm looking for her. I don't know her by sight. Is she here?'

The barkeep, a taciturn man for a Connacht-man, was about to answer when a sudden roar of laughter broke out from a booth on the far side of the bar. I glanced over to see a whole crowd of thickset Norsemen sitting around a smaller, slighter figure. Looking more closely, I caught a glimpse of long, lustrous waves of red hair, and a soft, beardless face. I realised that this was a woman. And from the way she held herself amongst these fierce Vikings, I could tell that she was no mere trull. Suddenly, she looked up, and caught my eye. She scowled most beautifully in my direction. Beside her, one of her companions rose heavily to his feet.

A hand landed heavily on my shoulder.

'That's her,' the barkeep told me when I turned round to face him. 'The one you were staring at. And I'd better warn you, my friend, she courts no man, nor lets no man ogle her. Certainly not tonight.'

'Why not tonight?' I began to ask, when I noticed that the barroom had suddenly gone silent. I turned slowly around, and collided with the most massive man I have ever seen. He had been standing directly behind me, and now he was glaring down. His thick black beard bristled, his tiny, piggy eyes blazed above great rolls of fat, and two arms almost as thick as my thighs were folded across a mighty chest.

'Ah, greetings,' I tried. The Viking glared down at me, and rumbled;

'Inghen wants you to sit with us.' It was clear that his own wishes were at variance with this, but also that he was in no position to argue. Neither was I. But one thing puzzled me.

'Inghen?' I asked. 'Who is that?'

The Viking bristled, but before he could speak, the barkeep leaned over and whispered in my ear;

'Inghen the Red, of course. Her who we Irish call the Red Daughter.'

I glanced at him, then turned to the Viking and grinned.

'Why, in that case, then,' I said cheerily, though inside I was quaking, 'I'd be delighted to meet her.'

I followed the Viking, whose name was Bjorn, across to the booth, where he pulled up a stool for me to sit on, then stood behind me, resting his hands on the haft of a great axe. I sat before the crowd of bearded men and the slight figure of Inghen the Red, my coward heart booming in my ears. For a moment there was silence. Then I started to speak, at the same moment as the woman. For this, Bjorn cuffed me around the head.

'Silence,' he rumbled. I shrugged, and turned back to Inghen.

'You seem interested by our discussion,' the Red Daughter repeated slowly, in a soft voice. She leant forward, placing her hands on the stained table surface with the fastidious delicacy of a cat. I shrugged, and returned her gaze impassively.

'You must be having the most fun in the place,' I said weakly.

She tossed her head back, grimacing.

'Fun?' she sneered. 'We've been having precious little fun recently. Hvirvil the Dane sank my fleet. All I have left is one longship.'

I raised my eyebrows. This wasn't what I'd been expecting. Still, it might make things simpler, I thought darkly.

'But you were laughing!' I exclaimed indignantly.

'Ragnar Lothbrok laughed when he was cast into the snake-pit of King Ella,' came a thin voice from Inghen's left. I saw a shock-headed figure sitting at the warrior woman's side; a blond Dane, smaller than his fellows, and with a constantly calculating look. He was staring at me now, evidently sizing me up.

'Indeed, Thorir,' Inghen said quietly. 'And Bjorn here laughs in the face of defeat.'

From behind me, the giant rumbled;

'I was laughing at the expression on Hvirvil's face when you hacked his hand off.'

Inghen smiled thinly.

'True, that was the topic of discussion,' she admitted. She put back her beautiful head and laughed shrilly. 'We may indeed have lost the fleet. But we got something from our foe.'

There was a hiss of metal, and the Red Daughter unsheathed a gleaming sword, holding it aloft.

The guttering lamplight glinted off the weapon, and writhing, serpentine patterns ran up and down the blade. The cross-piece was moulded to resemble a man with arms and legs spread wide. It wasn't a Norseman's sword; it was the kind my own folk used to make, back in the days of old when Good Queen Medhbh had fought the men of Ulster, or maybe even earlier. I'd been hoping to say my piece and get things moving, but this marvellous weapon had left me staggered.

'Where did you find this?' I demanded. 'Did you rob a burial mound?'

'I?' Inghen asked casually. 'No, though that's something I've always wanted to do' - which for reasons that’ll soon become apparent, came to me as something of a relief - 'No, I took this from Hvirvil, in the midst of the battle where he destroyed my fleet...'

'The fleet that was once your brother's?' I asked.

She stopped short, and gave me a closer look.

'You seem to know a lot about me,' she said in a cold, dangerous voice.

I laughed, and shrugged. 'You're famous throughout Ireland,' I said. 'People say you are one of the warrior women of old, reborn as a foreigner.'

'Do you believe that?' Inghen asked quietly.

I shrugged again. 'Superstition,' I said dismissively. 'Still, you are a mighty warrior, and well-respected.'

'More so than Thrond,' she hissed. Thrond was her brother, who had owned a fifty strong Viking fleet before his sister conspired with his right hand men and took over. Underhand dealings that I would expect only from a woman, but I was diplomatic enough to keep my opinion to myself.

'Of course,' I replied. 'And furthermore, your brother has no weapons like this one, that you took from Hvirvil.'

'I cut his hand away, and pulled the sword from the stiffening fingers,' she said dreamily, her eyes faraway. She licked her lips; a gesture that in another woman might have seemed erotic, but in the Red Daughter was simply terrifying. 'I would have slain him too, had his men not intervened and carried him out of my reach. By then only the Trollwife, my flagship, still remained afloat out of my once-mighty fleet. I was forced to flee. But one day, when I have the gold to buy myself a new fleet, I will return, and cut the rest of him away.'