by John Snow
"You have to come along," she said to Sigurd. "The king is assembling people from all around; he wants to hold council and pass judgement on the murder of Eigil, the neighbour's son."
"Murder?"
"Yes, the king says the killing was murder."
They moved onto the trail and started walking up towards the farm. Grim followed; he was always in on the assembly, or the Thing, the meeting of free men. It was the place where laws were made and law enforced; Grim listened, but never spoke.
"The king doesn't know who it was," his mother said, "and nobody must say a word."
Sigurd remembered the soot-coloured blood on the swords of Gisli and his father. Eigil had been killed because he had been sneaking around the house of Hild. He had been crazy about Hild, the thrall woman. Sigurd's father couldn't stand such stalking; he was chief after all. Now Eigil was dead.
"No," Sigurd said, he wouldn't say a word. Sigurd had often heard about the conflict with Bringsverd, throughout his childhood.
The feud began long ago. One of the thanes at Bringsverd grew greedy and wanted to take over Vik; he felt powerful enough. The chieftain at Vik gave clear answers; there were thefts, killings and clashes every year. Now it was quiet. Peace had endured since Kalv Kolson, the Bringsverd-owner, had been chased into exile. Apparently he lived in England.
Thorstein Baldhead, who now ruled at Bringsverd, did not claim Vik. He was a peaceful man, people said; he practised blood sacrifices to White Christ, the new god. But now, Eigil, his son, had been killed. Slaughtered.
What would happen?
Sigurd watched his mother. The skirts of her fine clothes were wide; she had to lift them up from the dusty trail. She said nothing as she walked.
Sigurd wanted to ask about Yljali, but Grim, climbing with quick steps, was just behind, and on the trail in front of them, three men stood arguing.
He recognized Odd the Squinter, one of his father's warriors. Odd was tall and fair and wildly cross-eyed. He was quarrelling with his brothers, Big Bork and Bork Berserk, all of them yelling loudly.
Big Bork was twice as large as Bork Berserk, but both were brown-skinned and black-haired and dark as coal. They were living under Howlinghead, and Odd had probably seen them rowing in Vikfjord. He had not been able to put off the quarrel; he met them on the trail in the middle of the barley field.
When Sigurd and his mother came closer, they could hear the brothers arguing about the inheritance, their maternal inheritance. Again.
Sigurd's mother went straight towards the men. Getting close, she stopped and put her fists on her hips. She said nothing. Staring, she fixed her gaze at the three warriors, who immediately stopped yelling. She inspired respect, the mistress of Vik. The brothers stepped aside.
Sigurd and his mother went on, but once they had passed, the brothers began scuffling again. Sigurd's mother glanced briefly over her shoulder, seeing that Grim had stopped, listening to the dispute.
"There is one more thing," his mother said, rather dubiously, as she looked at Sigurd.
"It was the will of Sigrunn, actually, your sister."
"Yes?"
"Well, you see, I have talked with Harald, your father, and he has talked to Helgi Blackbeard."
"Yeah?"
"Your father has said that Helgi will not have Yljali. That is, unless Yljali wants to."
Was that why his mother had come?
No. It was rather because of the murder case, but joy filled Sigurd anyway; he began to stride towards the farm.
Yljali!
Walking was suddenly easy; he was floating. He turned his face to the hall.
It was a great farm, Sigurd thought, with more than ten houses around the yard. He could clearly see how well the gard was placed, with fields rolling gently down towards the fjord.
There seemed to be lots of grain this year, Sigurd reckoned, stretching out his arm and touching some spikes of barley. And it would certainly be needed. His mother complained that Helgi Blackbeard drank their storehouses empty of grain. The grain was made into beer.
"But how did you persuade Father?" Sigurd said, trying to sound indifferent. He and his mother had passed the houses and the grave mounds; they were approaching the Thing-field.
He did not look at her, and he didn't want to ask why his mother had spoken with his father. His father had threatened to move Hild up to the hall, and his mother was probably afraid he would carry out the threat if Yljali left.
Nor did he dare to ask if it was difficult to persuade his father; it might have been easy. Yljali's lips had grown bigger, and his mother knew his father enjoyed having Yljali on his lap.
"Oh, you know," his mother said, "your father has given me promises."
By Odin's ring, Sigurd thought.
The Thing, the folk assembly, was held on the plains above the houses, at Moy. At the far end of the Thing-field, a great rock rose, a cliff, and in front of the cliff lay a great flagstone on which the chieftains stood when speaking. The Law Rock helped their voices carry further out.
The Thing-field was midway between Vik and Bringsverd. The Vik family used the fields for grazing cattle, and before the assembly some thralls had made the grass free of dirt and cattle dung.
A lot of people were on the plains today, all that were able. Yljali was not here; the slaves had no say at the Thing.
King Godred and his men sat near the top, close to the great stone. The king would lead the assembly.
Nearest to the rock-face, the council was gathered – twelve elected men – whose leader, the law-speaker, would make their rulings known to the Thing. The elected council sat by themselves; they knew the law, and when the king was present, he had to listen to their counsel before making his judgements.
Around the king, his soldiers sat, fully armed. They had armour and shields, spears, swords, and axes. With helmets over their faces, they looked like evil spirits, but now they were bareheaded, their helmets lying on the ground. The Thing was a place of peace.
King Godred sat with his blue cloak, and even more gold, Sigurd saw. But gold could not hide his ugly eyes. Beside the king Helgi Blackbeard sprawled, his large nostrils fluttering. He seemed satisfied, the stupid bull. What was he grinning at?
Sigurd was sure his father would win the murder case; no one could know who had killed the boy, Baldhead's son. His father stood talking with his men; they were standing in a cluster at the centre of the Thing-field. His father spoke to Gisli, who nodded. They seemed to agree.
Sigurd's father was a hard man to handle in court. He knew the law and spoke well; he had people on his side. Besides, he was King Godred's man. It was good having the king on his side in a case against Bringsverd.
The Vik family had always been loyal to the eastern king, to the king of Tunsberg, where Godred ruled. The chieftains at Bringsverd were under the rule of the king in the west.
Now Thorstein Baldhead was living on Bringsverd, but before him Kalv Kolson had owned the farm. It was a crooked and long history, Sigurd knew.
Kalv Kolson's father had been one of Harald Fairhair's trusted men, and Kalv himself was ruled by Hakon the Good, Fairhair's son. But Kalv Kolson got into trouble with King Hakon the Good of Norway.
Kalv was an avid worshipper; he believed in the northern gods and made sacrifices to Odin and Thor. King Hakon the Good worshipped White Christ. Twice the king built churches at Bringsverd, but the churches burned down.
Hakon the Good accused Kalv Kolson of arson; he declared that Kalv set fire to the churches. He gave Kalv a choice: either to build a new church, or to die.
Kalv Kolson chose to leave the country. He gathered his whole family and a large amount of supplies and sailed to England. After that, Hakon the Good outlawed him and said that it was every man's duty to kill Kalv if he ever turned up in Norway.
When Kalv had fled, Hakon the Good let Thorstein Baldhead run the Bringsverd farm.
Watching the Thing-field, Sigurd saw that even more people from the realms of Vik and Bri
ngsverd had gathered. When old friends met in the field, they greeted and started to talk and chatter; some were smiling and laughing. Most people had been glad the day Kalv Kolson left, but his leaving the country was not the end of the story. Hakon the Good had died, as all kings do. Harald Greycloak, his nephew, killed him.
When Hakon died, the story arose that the churches at Bringsverd were lit by the Witch from Spedale. She had set the fires with her bare hands; she had held her palms to the church walls until they started to burn. After the first fire, her left hand burst. In the second fire, she used her right hand on the church wall. Also that hand burst.
Despite these tidings, Kalv Kolson had not come home. He was still in England and Baldhead was still at Bringsverd.
When Harald Greycloak killed Hakon the Good, the Norwegian realm fell apart. Now Greycloak ruled in the west and Godred in the east. They were enemies, and it was more than a petty dispute over lands and power. Harald Greycloak's father had killed King Godred's father.
Thorstein Baldhead was Harald Greycloak's man. Sigurd knew King Godred would never let him win a murder case against his father.
On the Thing-field, King Godred's warriors hit their swords against their shields, making an ear-splitting racket. King Godred stood up in front of the stone. He blessed the Thing, and people sat down.
Prior to the manslaughter case, or murder case, the king said he would make judgements on a couple of minor issues: the theft of some sheep and claims to a stranded whale.
"Odd the Squinter also wants judgement on his case," the king said.
Lately, his father had been ardent about taking Sigurd to the Thing. Sigurd was his eldest son, except for Hakon Mute who was dumb and sometimes deaf. Nobody counted on Hakon, nor was he at the Thing. As so often, Hakon drifted around on his own.
A leader must know the law, his father used to say to Sigurd. "The law is our defence against Ragnarok, and everyone fighting everyone else. Moreover, the law protects against the blood-sucking kings of the Fairhair clan. They are greedy for gold. Like hungry wolves."
King Godred was also of the Fairhair clan, and he was also greedy, Sigurd thought, like a wild boar. He couldn't understand that the law protected everyone. In the end it was always those with the most warriors who won their cases at the Thing.
The sheep case came up, and witnesses stood on both sides. They spoke in front of the stone. Sigurd sat next to his father, but he could not keep up. His thoughts were elsewhere, and he was light at heart. He sat with his black sheep's wool jacket, his red belt, his thin scar, and his long, blond hair; he was happy. He was dreaming of Yljali.
Sigurd envisioned her thin arms, and her hands and fingers. Yljali's fingers played steadily when doing needlework and when weaving baskets. She was always quiet, bent over her work; only her hands were moving. No one spun fishing lines like Yljali, like the fingers of Yljali.
From time to time Yljali looked up from her work; she looked at Sigurd, smiling. Her smile always hit Sigurd hard. He didn't dare to fathom the depths of those sad, brown eyes, but her smile made him happy.
Sigurd was completely lost in thought. He remembered once he had gone down to visit Grim. He had thought Grim was alone, but instead Yljali was in the room, and the curtains were drawn aside. With soft, nimble fingers Yljali was oiling Hild, who was naked: breasts and nipples, the colour of her skin like chestnuts.
Sigurd jerked awake. He was in the Thing field looking at his father, who sat secure and solid as a rock. Did his father know that Hild rubbed herself with plant juices, to stay fresh and beautiful?
Surely not; his father thought only of himself. Now his father followed the whale case. He was listening to a witness. Maybe he thought he could earn himself some silver, or some blubber.
Sigurd didn't care about the sheep or the whale; he was thinking. He studied his father's sword. His father, the chieftain, had killed Eigil with this sword so he could have lovely Hild for himself. Sigurd stared at the weapon.
His father had a beautiful foreign sword. The hilt was precious, and the grip made of black wood inlaid with fine gold threads in winding patterns. Engravings of dragons and ravenous eagles twisted around the guard and pommel. And there were runes! Sigurd hadn't seen them before.
By the hilt he discerned five small runes, and he recognised some. Two of them were slayer runes, and one was the rune for strength. The strength-rune had a line down, slightly up and then down again; its name was Sol. The sol-rune got its power from the sun. Sigurd didn't know the other two, but he had seen them on Grim's old rune wand.
7
Sigurd looked up at the council. Neither the king nor his men paid attention to the whale case. From time to time, the king whispered with Helgi Blackbeard, who was lying beside the king, resting on his elbow. He was strangely relaxed.
When the last claimant had finished, King Godred rose and asked the council to make a judgement. From under the Law Rock, the law-speaker told the Thing what they had agreed upon. No one in the field protested, and the king asked Odd and his brothers to proceed.
In front of the stone, Big Bork and Bork Berserk stood up, and Odd the Squinter prepared to speak. Odd straightened his belt. His eyes passed over the crowd, but he was actually watching his brothers.
Odd wanted his part of the inheritance, left by their mother.
The mother of the brothers was Finngjerd the Fair, a beautiful woman. She came from the north, from Lappland, people believed; she had healing hands. Finngjerd had been married to Bork the Old.
Old Bork was a well-known mage with black skin and hair. He still lived beneath Howlinghead at the entrance of Vikfjord. There he married Finngjerd a long time ago.
Bork the Old was nasty and reclusive. His black beard grew all the way up to his eyes; he never cut it. Bork's appearance was horrifying, but of no concern to him as he hoarded his wisdom under Howlinghead.
If Bork was withdrawn, Finngjerd was out-drawn. She ran all over the countryside with her warm hands, hungry for men, and her fingering hands found what they sought. Whatever the men's brawn, the hands of Finngjerd made the men's pride swell. She was a gift, they said.
But sons they got, Bork and Finngjerd. The first son Old Bork named Bork. "After my father," Old Bork said. Little Bork grew fast and became a giant. Big Bork, he was called.
The next son Bork also called Bork, after his grandfather. This Bork grew slowly, but well. He was a wild one and a troublemaker. Bork Berserk, he was called.
Old Bork also wanted to name his third son Bork, after his great grandfather. But Finngjerd said no. "Never!" she said. "But what should the boy be named, if not Bork?" said Bork. "Odd," said Finngjerd.
Odd grew to be very different from the Bork brothers. Big Bork and Bork Berserk were dark-skinned, like their father, with ropey black hair. Odd had blond, curly hair and blue eyes.
This Old Bork disliked immensely, and he often stared at his son, at Odd. When Odd was three winters old, Old Bork went to work. He grabbed his son, got a knife, and gave Odd a deep cut in the corner of his eye. Full of blood, Odd was sent away to Eskdale. There, Odd grew up.
At Eskdale, Ivar the Cross-Eyed ruled. He was a good farmer, but stingy. Ivar had light hair and curls.
Ivar's wife was Turi. Their sons were Skarphedin the Second-Sighted and Bjarni. They both had good eyesight. Skarphedin, the elder, could see an eider at two miles distance; he was lookout on the warship at Vik. Neither of the brothers was cross-eyed like their father.
But Odd became cross-eyed after Old Bork's cut. Odd the Squinter grew up and became more and more like Ivar the Cross-Eyed, the farmer. Odd was more like Ivar than his own sons, Skarphedin and Bjarni.
This made Ivar feel very uneasy, especially when people started talking. Finally, he sent Odd to Vik, to the chieftain. At Vik, Odd became a warrior, twelve winters old. Odd grew up to be a great fighter.
This was long ago. Now, Odd stood under the stone near the council; he wanted to have his case tried. Odd stood with his curly h
air and waving arms, his eyes crossing wildly.
People in the field were laughing. Odd was getting no support.
Odd yelled and raged; he was son of Finngjerd, he said, and he wanted his case judged!
The case was that Finngjerd was dead; the mother of the brothers had died last summer. In Finngjerd's coffins Old Bork found a variety of items: there was silver and jewellery, fine woven fabrics, and clothing. He didn't want to keep her things, Old Bork said, he wouldn't touch them. He gave them to Big Bork and Bork Berserk.
"They took everything," Odd the Squinter said, pointing at the Bork brothers; they stood by the stone. "And I got nothing!"
The huge Big Bork was laughing, his mouth wide open; he towered high under the cliff. Bork Berserk just smiled; he was smarter than his brother. On the Thing-field people were enjoying themselves, this was good fun.
"I want a judgement of the king," Odd said, but people were screaming; they wanted the case dismissed.
The king stood. He asked for silence.
"What I would say," said the king, standing powerful and mighty, "is that we can well laugh at Odd in this matter, but Odd is right. Old Bork did not want Finngjerd's belongings. So, by law, Odd has the right to inherit from Finngjerd the Fair, his mother. Now, Big Bork here and Bork Berserk have taken the heritage, but should Odd be scowling for that reason?"
"No," yelled the crowd, but they were not altogether sure.
"On the contrary," the king continued. "Don't we all know how Finngjerd gained her wealth? Didn't she run around the realm with warm hands? Didn't she please both warriors and farmers?"
"Yes!" cried people, especially the males attending. They were having a great time now, feeling more confident. They all remembered the hands of Finngjerd. Some could still feel the heat, they said.
"Oh, yes," said the king, smiling at a memory.
"So, I ask you: Is there anyone here," the king pointed at the assemblage, "who never gave gifts to Finngjerd the Fair?"
"No!" cried the men.
"Yes!" shouted the king. "There is one, I know, who never gave Finngjerd gifts. And he owed her the most!"