“How many?” the king asked.
“So many that it would be tight for them to drink together if they were to stand all round the lake side by side.”
The king answered, “That would be a big herd. And what would you want, Harald?”
“Soldiers,” he answered.
“How many?”
“I’m not very good at counting,” he said, “but I think it would be good if there were enough of them to eat all of my brother Halfdan’s cows in one meal.”
The king laughed and said, “You are bringing up a king here, Mother!”
The answer is therefore “Halfdan’s cows,” and the fifth letter is d.
CHAPTER 34
Dagbjartur spent the rest of Whitsunday tracking down Arni Sakarias. He wasn’t at home in Raudararstig, nor at the swimming pool or the diner in Austurbaer. “Try Cafe Hresso,” said the lifeguard at the municipal swimming pool, “or 11 Laugavegur.” It was in the cafe on Laugavegur that Dagbjartur finally found the author in the company of a group of good friends. Arni Sakarias was slightly tipsy and introduced the detective to his buddies.
“This good man here works for the detective division of the police force and is specialized in liaising with poets and writers. Salute him.”
Dagbjartur nodded to them and got straight to the point with Arni Sakarias: “Did you know Gaston Lund, and did you know that he was connected to a child in Iceland?”
“Those are big questions,” Arni Sakarias answered. “That can’t be answered on an empty stomach. Let’s just go to Hotel Borg and have some dinner, beef patties and fried eggs, courtesy of the police department.”
Dagbjartur wasn’t sure he’d be able to get a reimbursement on these bills but didn’t want to run the risk of insulting Arni Sakarias. After all, the man was under no obligation whatsoever to answer these questions, and it was therefore best to keep him happy. One cheap meal wouldn’t go to waste if he got some good information out of it in return.
Arni Sakarias wasn’t open to questions as they walked down Laugavegur, but instead launched into a lecture on contemporary poetry. It was not until he had received his payment in food at Hotel Borg that he finally came to the detective’s question:
“You’re asking about events that took place during the royal visit of June 1936, when King Christian the tenth came over. The king was still a bit wary after his previous visit for the celebration of the Althing in 1930. Everywhere he went, conversations seemed to veer toward the Icelandic sagas, as if he was supposed to know them inside out, and he never knew what answers to give. So this time he decided to bring along a Danish scholar who was an absolute expert in the field, Gaston Lund. His job was to follow the king every step of the way and answer on his behalf if the topic of the sagas cropped up. As soon as the Icelandic government got wind of this, they were dead scared that the Danish expert would wipe the floor with the Icelanders, so they called in an Icelandic expert of their own to follow the conversations and join in if the need arose. The person they appointed for the job was me. Already on the banks of the harbor, one could see that Lund had done his homework because the king delivered a short speech in Icelandic. The day after that, we went on this dreadful trip east to the waterfall of Gullfoss and Geysir and stayed in Laugarvatn. Gaston Lund and I were like two roosters in a cock fight, although as in most cock fights, most of the energy went into strutting about and flapping our wings, but there was little actual pecking. Then we started to relax a bit, and it all ended in a wonderful booze-up.”
Arni Sakarias pondered the memory wistfully before continuing with the story: “The following day, on the way to Reykjavik, we went to the Sogsvirkjun power plant, and some silly inauguration ceremony took place there. Then there was a dinner party in the evening at Hotel Borg, and that’s when the real story begins.”
Arni Sakarias leaned over the table toward Dagbjartur and lowered his voice: “I arrived at the hotel early because I had some errand I wanted to discuss with Gaston Lund before the dinner party. I announced my arrival at reception, and a bellboy was sent up to his room with a note from me. I waited patiently because I knew he was preparing for the party and that it could take a while. Foreign guests were gathering in the foyer before going into the hall, and I greeted some of those I knew. Despite the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice a young woman who had planted herself on a chair in reception and was obviously waiting for someone. She was very pretty to look at and nicely dressed without being ostentatious. Standing beside the woman, there was a boy who was probably ten years old. He was also well dressed and all spruced up. No one paid them much heed, and I was probably the only one who was giving them any attention. Even though the woman was considerably younger than I was, I nevertheless allowed myself to feast my eyes on her every now and then. She was the best looking woman in the room, and I can never resist eyeing a pretty woman if I get a chance. Meanwhile, it was quite some time before Gaston Lund appeared. I was standing to one side, talking to one of the king’s retainers, and I didn’t notice straightaway that Gaston had come down the stairs. Then I saw him standing on the bottom step and gaping in horror at the woman and the boy, who were walking toward him across the reception floor. The woman said something to him when they met and offered him her hand. He responded very oddly, by refusing to accept her greeting and slipping his right hand behind his back, as if to avoid her touching it. The woman then slipped her arm around the boy’s shoulder, pushing him forward at the same time and saying out loud in Danish, ‘Gaston Lund. This boy is your son.’ Lund then backed off, moving back up two steps, and glared at him with a gaping jaw, speechless. This was beginning to attract some attention. The woman looked around apologetically on both sides and then at Lund again. She entreated him to speak to them, by all means. Then, it was as if Lund had suddenly snapped out of a trance. He beckoned the doorman over and, pointing at the woman and boy, shouted, ‘Out, out!’ The boy, who up until that moment had been so polite, started to bawl his eyes out, and so did the woman, yes, the woman, too. I’d never seen such a pitiful sight. All the dignity she possessed vanished with that single wave of his hand. Her back stooped and she stared bleary-eyed and blankly at the floor without uttering a sound. ‘Out! Out!’ Lund shouted, horror-stricken, and waving his arms. The doorman took the woman by the arm and the boy by the collar and practically dragged them out of the building. Everyone who had been in the foyer witnessed the scene and now stared at Lund. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs. The woman’s words echoed in the foyer as people repeated them. ‘She said the boy was his son,’ they kept on repeating, both in Icelandic and Danish. Those who knew Gaston Lund better than the others recalled that he had come to Iceland in the summer of 1926. Could he have had a relationship with this woman and fathered that boy? Regardless, his behavior was considered as nothing less than shameful, and he never showed himself again for the rest of trip. The story reached Copenhagen and tarnished his reputation. I’ve never been ashamed to tell this story if I’m asked. I don’t think Gaston Lund came to Iceland again until last autumn.”
Arni Sakarias had finished his speech and now concentrated on his food. “Who was she, this woman?” Dagbjartur asked.
The writer shook his head as he finished chewing and swallowing. “No one knows. No one who saw her at the hotel knew her by sight, and she was never seen there again. I tried to track her down, but without success. No one in town was familiar with the description I gave of the woman. It was assumed she wasn’t from Reykjavik. The Icelanders in Copenhagen tried to recall Gaston Lund’s trip to Iceland in the summer of 1926, but no one had any particular memory of any liaison with a woman. It occurred to no one to mention it to Lund himself, and bit by bit the story was forgotten in Copenhagen.”
Question eighteen: Earl Hakon’s tooth token. First letter. Hakon became so uncontrolled with women that he felt entitled to have his way with all of them, whether they were mothers, sisters, maidens, or married. He also treated his underlings cruelly in many other ways and came to be known as Hakon the Bad. Eventually the yeomen formed an army and took up arms against him. Hakon escaped and hid with his slave, Kark, who had been given to him as a tooth token. Kark then killed the earl in their hideout and delivered his head to Olaf Tryggvason. The king rewarded Kark by having him beheaded as well. The answer is “Kark,” and the first letter is k.
