Michael Ridpath - Where the Shadows Lie

‘Magnus has read Gaukur’s Saga,’ said Ingileif. ‘And he knows that my grandfather claims to have found the ring and hidden it again.’

This information caused the pastor to pause a moment while he collected his thoughts. ‘Well, in that case you know as much as me. Using my knowledge of folklore, together with the clues in the saga, such as they are, we drew up a list of three or four possible hiding places for Gaukur’s ring. This was our second trip of the season, and it was a glorious day. We didn’t check the weather forecast, although we should have done, of course.

‘A few years before, I had read an old nineteenth-century history of Icelandic folklore, in which I stumbled across a little-known local legend about a ring hidden in a cave guarded by a troll. It was a variation on the old story of a shepherd girl meeting a hidden man or an elf and going off with him, despite the opposition of her family. That theme is quite common in these stories, but the ring was unusual. The location of the cave is identified in the story, so we took a tent and hiked out there.’

Magnus recognized the story of Thorgerd from the pastor’s old notes in the doctor’s papers at Ingileif’s house.

The pastor sighed. ‘It was more of a hole in the rock, really. And there was nothing in it. We were disappointed and we camped about a mile away, by a stream. It snowed in the night – you know, one of those sudden storms you get in May that come out of nowhere – and it was still snowing when we got up. We took down our tent and headed home. The snow thickened, it became difficult to see. Your father was walking a few metres ahead of me. We were both tired, I was just staring at the ground in front of me, one step at a time, when I heard a cry. I looked up and he had disappeared.

‘I realized that we were on the rim of a cliff, and he had slipped over. I could see him about twenty metres down, lying at an odd angle. I had to move a fair distance along the cliff top to find a route down, and even then it was very difficult in the snow. I slid and fell myself, but my fall was cushioned by the snow.’

The pastor paused and fixed Ingileif with his deep-set dark eyes. ‘When I found your father he was still alive, but unconscious. He had hit his head. I took off my own coat to keep him warm, and then rushed off to find help. Well, “rushed” is hardly the word for it in the snowstorm. I should have taken it more slowly: I got lost. It was only when the snowstorm ceased that I saw a farm in the distance. I was very cold by then – remember I had given my coat to your father.’

‘The farm was Alfabrekka?’

‘That’s right. There were two farmers there, a father and a son, and they both came back with me to look for Asgrimur, while the farmer’s wife called mountain rescue. By the time we got to your father, he was dead.’ The pastor shook his head. ‘When the rescue team eventually arrived they said he had been dead for a while, but I still wish I hadn’t got myself lost in the storm.’

‘Did the police find any evidence that the doctor’s death wasn’t accidental?’ Magnus asked.

‘Of course not!’ the pastor protested, his voice booming. ‘You can check on the file. There was never any doubt about that.’ The pastor glared at Magnus, commanding him to accept his assertion. Magnus didn’t flinch. He would make up his own mind.

He was beginning to understand what Ingileif had meant when she said the pastor was creepy. The man had an aura of power about him that reached out towards Magnus, urging him to bend to his will.

It was a power that Magnus was determined to resist.

‘Did you continue looking for the ring after my father’s death?’ Ingileif asked.

The pastor turned to her and relaxed slightly. ‘No. I let all that drop. I must confess it was fun working on the puzzle with your father, but once he had died then I lost all interest in the ring. Or the saga.’

Magnus glanced at the walls. There were three different prints of a volcano erupting. Hekla. ‘So how do you explain those?’

‘I have made quite a study of the role of the devil in Icelandic ecclesiastical history,’ said Hakon. ‘Hekla was known throughout Europe as the mouth of hell. That, as you can imagine, intrigues me.’

He paused. ‘I must admit that from that point of view, Gaukur’s Saga is very interesting. As far as I am aware it is the earliest mention of Hekla in that role. And also the first recorded ascent of the mountain. Until now we thought that no one dared climb Hekla until 1750. But of course Isildur and Gaukur were climbing it before the big eruption of 1104, so perhaps it wasn’t quite so frightening then.’

‘You spoke to my colleague a few days ago about a visit here by Professor Agnar Haraldsson,’ Magnus said.

‘That’s true.’

‘And what did you tell her he wanted to speak to you about?’

The pastor smiled, a mass of wrinkles appearing around his eyes. ‘Ah, I wasn’t entirely honest with your colleague. I take the confidences of my parishioners very seriously.’ He looked pointedly at Ingileif.

‘So what did Agnar really talk to you about?’

‘ Gaukur’s Saga, of course. And the ring.’ The pastor pulled at his beard. ‘He told me that Ingileif had asked him to act for the family in the sale of the saga.’ He frowned at Ingileif. ‘I must admit that I was quite shocked by this. After all the years that the family had successfully kept the saga a secret. Centuries even.’

Ingileif reddened at the admonition from her pastor.

‘I hardly think that’s for you to judge,’ said Magnus. ‘In fact, you should have told my colleague the truth first time around. It would have saved a lot of people a lot of time.’

‘Asgrimur was a very good friend of mine,’ said Hakon sternly. ‘I know what he would have wanted me to do.’

‘What you did was obstruct a murder inquiry,’ said Magnus. ‘Now. Did Agnar have something specific to ask you?’

‘Ingileif had just discovered the letter to her grandfather from Tolkien which referred to the discovery of the ring. Agnar came straight here and asked me much the same questions as you did just now. I gained the very strong impression that he wanted to try to find the ring himself. Of course, I couldn’t help him.’

‘How did he behave?’ Magnus asked.

‘Agitated. Excited. Aggressive in his questioning.’

‘Did you tell him anything you didn’t tell us?’ Magnus asked.

‘Absolutely not.’

Magnus paused, examining the pastor. But the man wasn’t about to say any more. ‘See, the day after he saw you, Agnar sent a message which implied that he knew where the ring was.’

‘Well, he certainly didn’t seem to know when I saw him.’

‘Did you tell him where you looked for it that day in 1992?’

‘No. He asked, but I told him I couldn’t remember. But of course I can.’

Ingileif showed the pastor the map that she had found among her father’s papers. ‘Is that the place?’

Hakon peered over. ‘Yes, that’s it. And there’s the farm, Alfa-brekka. I suppose I could have told Agnar where it was, wasted his time. I’m sure the ring is not there. At least it wasn’t there seventeen years ago, and I doubt it could have got there since.’

‘Are you certain it wasn’t there?’ Magnus asked. ‘I wonder if Agnar discovered clues to the location somewhere else and found something you missed.’

‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Hakon. ‘Believe me, Asgrimur and I scraped every inch of the cave, and it wasn’t very big.’

‘Did your son know anything about this?’ Magnus asked.

‘Tomas? I don’t think so. He was, what, thirteen at the time? I didn’t tell him about the saga or the ring either then or afterwards. Did you, Ingileif?’