Michael Ridpath - Where the Shadows Lie

If the saga was real, Gaukur’s descendants had done a wonderful job of keeping it secret over the centuries. Until now, when a two-bit professor of Icelandic had taken it upon himself to show it to the wider world. Magnus had no doubt that this is what Agnar wanted to sell to Steve Jubb and the modern-day Isildur.

The links to The Lord of the Rings in Gaukur’s Saga were obvious, much stronger than the Saga of the Volsungs. For one thing, the ‘magic’ of the ring was more powerful and more specific. Although there was nothing about invisibility, the ring took over the character of its keeper, corrupting him and causing him to betray or even kill his friends. And it extended his life. Isildur’s quest to throw the ring into Mount Hekla had obvious parallels with Frodo’s quest to fling Sauron’s Ring into Mount Doom.

The Lord of the Rings Internet chat rooms would be buzzing for years once they saw the saga. If they ever saw it. Perhaps the modern Isildur’s plan was to hoard it somewhere, his very own Viking booty.

Magnus was not surprised he was prepared to pay so much.

But this was an English translation. There must be an Icelandic original, or more likely a copy of it, from which Agnar had made his translation. Magnus was sure that Baldur would have noticed an original saga written on eight-hundred-year-old vellum, but he could easily have missed a modern-day Icelandic copy.

While Arni finished reading the last few pages, Magnus searched through Agnar’s other papers.

Nothing.

‘Perhaps it’s in Agnar’s office at the university?’ Arni suggested.

‘Or maybe someone else has it,’ said Magnus, thinking.

He looked out of the window over the lake towards the low snow-topped mountains in the distance. Then it came to him.

‘Come on, Arni. Let’s get back to Reykjavik.’

The Gallery On Skolavordustigur was only open for a couple of hours on Sundays and by the time Magnus and Arni got there it was closed. But, peering in through the window, Magnus could see a figure working at the desk at the back of the shop.

He rapped on the glass door. Ingileif appeared, looking irritated. The irritation increased when she saw who it was. ‘We’re closed.’

‘We didn’t come here to buy anything,’ Magnus said. ‘We want to ask you some questions.’

Ingileif saw the grim expression on his face and let them in. She led them back to her desk which was covered in number-strewn papers, weighted down with a calculator. They sat facing her.

‘You said your great-grandfather’s name was Isildur?’ Magnus began.

‘I did.’

‘And your father’s name was Asgrimur?’

Ingileif frowned, the nick appearing above her eyebrow. ‘Obviously. You know my name.’

‘Interesting names.’

‘Not especially,’ said Ingileif. ‘Apart from perhaps Isildur, but we discussed that.’

Magnus said nothing, let silence do its work. Ingileif began to blush.

‘Anyone in your family named Gaukur?’ he asked.

Ingileif closed her eyes, exhaled and leaned backwards. Magnus waited.

‘You found the saga, then?’ she said.

‘Just Agnar’s translation. You should have known we would. Eventually.’

‘Actually, Gaukur is a name we tend to avoid in our family.’

‘I’m not surprised. Why didn’t you tell us about it?’

Ingileif put her head in her hands.

Magnus waited.

‘Have you read it?’ she asked. ‘All the way through?’

Magnus nodded.

‘Well, obviously I should have told you, I was stupid not to. But if you have read the saga, you might understand why I didn’t. It’s been in my family for generations and we have successfully kept it a secret.’

‘Until you tried to sell it.’

Ingileif nodded. ‘Until I tried to sell it. Which is something I deeply regret now.’

‘You mean now that someone is dead?’

Ingileif took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

‘And this saga was really kept a secret for all those years?’

Ingileif nodded. ‘Almost. With one lapse a few hundred years ago. Until my father, knowledge of the saga had only been passed on from father to eldest son, or in a couple of instances, eldest daughter. My father decided to read it to all us children, something my grandfather was not very happy about. But we were all sworn to absolute secrecy.’

‘Do you still have the original?’

‘Unfortunately, it wore out. We only have scraps left, but an excellent copy was made in the seventeenth century. I made a copy of that myself for Agnar to translate; it will be in his papers somewhere.’

‘So, after all those centuries, why did you decide to sell it?’

Ingileif sighed. ‘As you can imagine, people in my family have always been obsessed by the sagas, and by our saga in particular. Although my father became a doctor, he was the most obsessed of the lot. He was convinced that the ring mentioned in the saga still existed and he used to go on expeditions all around the valley of the River Thjorsa, which is where Gaukur’s farm was, to look for it. He never found it, of course, but that’s how he died. He fell off a cliff in bad weather.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Magnus. And although Ingileif had lied to him, he was sorry.

‘That put the rest of us off Gaukur’s Saga. My brother, who until then had been brainwashed by Dad to a level of obsession that matched his, wanted nothing more to do with it. My sister was never very interested. I think my mother had always found the saga a little weird and held it responsible for Dad’s death. Of all of them, I was perhaps the least put off: I went on to study Icelandic at university. So when I found I needed money desperately, it seemed to me that I was the only one who would really care if we sold it.

‘The gallery is going bust. It is bust really. I need money badly – a lot of money. So when my mother died last year I spoke to my brother and my sister about selling the saga. Birna, my sister, couldn’t give a damn, but my brother Petur argued against it. He said we were custodians of the saga, it wasn’t ours to sell. I was a bit surprised, but eventually Petur relented as long as it could be sold privately, with a secrecy clause. I think he might have his own money problems. Everyone does these days.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He owns bars and clubs. Do you know Neon?’

Magnus shook his head. Ingileif frowned at his ignorance. ‘It’s one of the most famous clubs in Reykjavik,’ she said.

‘I’m sure it is. I haven’t been here very long,’ said Magnus.

‘I know it,’ Arni chipped in.

‘I could see you were a party animal,’ Ingileif said.

Now it was Arni’s turn to blush.

‘So, once you had decided to sell it, why did you approach Agnar?’ Magnus asked.

‘He taught me at university,’ Ingileif said. ‘And, as I told you, I knew him quite well. He was sleazy enough to agree to sell the saga on the quiet away from the Icelandic government, but he liked me well enough not to rip me off totally. And it turned out he knew just the right buyer. A wealthy American Lord of the Rings fan, who was willing to keep the purchase private.’

‘Lawrence Feldman? Steve Jubb?’

‘I didn’t know his name. You mentioned the name Steve Jubb before, didn’t you? But you said he was English.’

‘That’s why you said you had never heard of him?’

‘I hadn’t heard the name before. But I admit I wasn’t very helpful. I was desperately trying to keep the saga secret. As soon as I had told Agnar about it, I had second thoughts. I even told him that I wanted to take it off the market and keep it in the family.’ She pursed her lips. ‘He told me that it was too late. He knew all about it, and unless I went through with the sale, he would tell.’