Then Asgrimur stood watch, hiding in the roof of the barn to ambush Gaukur, if he should come looking for the helm. Sure enough, on the third night, he caught Gaukur entering the barn, looking for the helm. Asgrimur confronted Gaukur who drew his sword.
‘Would you kill me in order to steal what is not yours, just as you killed your brother?’ Asgrimur asked.
In answer Gaukur swung his sword at Asgrimur. They fought. Although Gaukur was the stronger and the better warrior, he was overconfident and Asgrimur was fired with anger at the betrayal by the foster-brother whom he had always supported so loyally. He ran Gaukur through with a spear.
Asgrimur searched for the ring but never found it and Ingileif would not tell him where it was hidden. She said that the ring had already caused enough evil and should be left to rest.
Six months after Gaukur’s death, Ingileif gave birth to a son, Hogni.
But the ring did not lie quietly. A century later there was an enormous volcanic eruption and Hekla smothered Gaukur’s farm at Stong in ash, to be lost for ever.
The ring is still hidden somewhere in the hills near Stong. One day it will emerge, just as it emerged out of the Rhine at the time of Ulf. When it does, it must not fall again into the hands of an evil man. It must be tossed into the mouth of Mount Hekla, as the Sami sorceress decreed.
Until that time this saga shall be kept secret by the heirs of Hogni.
Magnus handed the last page to Arni, who still had several pages to go, which was fair enough since English was not his first language. Magnus stared out over the lake at the two small islands in the middle.
He tried to control his excitement. Could the saga be real? If it was, it would be one of the greatest finds in Icelandic literature. More than that, its discovery would reverberate around the world.
He was quite certain that if it was genuine, it was previously unknown. There were no doubt plenty of minor sagas that Magnus had never heard of, but this was no minor saga. The Ring of Andvari, and the fact that the main character was Gaukur, the owner of Stong, would have ensured that the story would have become widely known within Iceland and beyond. Magnus recognized a couple of the characters from his beloved Njals Saga: Njall himself and Asgrimur Ellida-Grimsson.
But was it genuine? It was difficult to be sure in translation, but the style looked authentic. Icelandic sagas had none of the poetic flourishes of medieval tales from the rest of Europe. At their best they were terse, precise and down to earth, more Hemingway than Tennyson. Unlike the rest of Europe, the ability to read in medieval Iceland was not confined to the clergy and books were not restricted to Latin. It was a nation of scattered farms, and there was a need for farmers isolated from village priests to be able to read the Bible for themselves and their households during the long winter nights. The sagas were historical novels written to be read by, not simply recited to, a mass audience.
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.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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
