Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  'Have I been missed?' Halli said.

  'Not hugely, save for Katla and me. The rest seem to struggle on without you.'

  With a sigh, Halli rearranged the branches of the fire. 'What is the news?'

  'Little enough. Your parents grow harassed at the proximity of the Gathering.'

  'I am not too late for it, then? I was growing fearful.'

  'It is seven days away, and the House struggles to be ready. Low Meadow has been cleared and the grass scythed. The first booths have been constructed. Your brother Leif oversees preparations; he struts around in his cloak like a pompous goose, giving orders that everyone ignores. Meanwhile Gudny spends hours in her room preening before the mirror; she hopes to attract the notice of eligible men from down-valley Houses. So: you have missed nothing. Except that Eyjolf suffers a strange malady. Each morning his cheeks are red and swollen, and itchy like an imp-kiss. He has tried numerous remedies, but the problem persists.'

  'He might check inside his pillow,' Halli said blandly. 'Perhaps someone put a strand of poison ivy there.'

  Brodir chuckled. 'Ah. Perhaps! I will leave him to discover it for himself.'

  The meal was good and the companionship better. Brodir produced a wine sack and Halli shared it eagerly. As the unsteady warmth coursed through him, he listened to Brodir telling of Svein's adventures on the moors, of his killing of dragons, of his three journeys to the Trow king's hall. As always the tales thrilled his heart; but tonight they hung heavy on it too.

  At last he said bitterly: 'Uncle, is it wrong to wish myself dead and buried with the heroes in their cairns? I would have been happier to live in their time, long ago, when a man could seek his fortune in the manner he saw fit. Today there's no opportunity to do anything. Even the Trows are out of bounds.'

  Brodir grunted. 'Audacity was a virtue then. It is not so now. The women of the Council see to that. Mind you, even in Svein's time the heroes were considered reckless. They became respectable only through death.'

  'Death would be preferable to what my parents have planned for me!' Halli kicked a boot out savagely and sent a branch hissing deeper into the fire. 'Father has told me more than once: I must apply myself to farming, learn every skill. Then, when I am numb with boredom, I shall be given a hovel of my own to manage till my hair goes grey and my life winks out! He didn't put it in quite those terms, admittedly.'

  Brodir's teeth glinted in the firelight. He took a sip of wine and patted Halli on the shoulder. 'The thing is, boy,' he said, 'we are younger sons, you and I, and that makes us surplus to requirements. We do not inherit, like Arnkel has and that idiot Leif is bound to. Nor do we marry easily, as Gudny will, if anyone can stomach her cool nature. What are we to do? Where can we go? The boundary is set upon the ridges and the impassable ocean waits at river's end. Small wonder we are troublesome in our youth.'

  Halli looked up at his uncle. 'You were as bad as me?'

  'Oh, I was far worse.' Brodir chuckled. 'Far worse. You cannot guess.'

  Halli waited hopefully, but Brodir said no more. 'I will follow your example,' Halli said, as soberly as he could. 'I will travel the valley and see the world! And to hell with what my father thinks.'

  'The valley isn't as big as you suppose. Leastways, your exploration will soon be done. Eleven lesser Houses you'll find, all populated by dunces, scoundrels and shysters. The seagirt ones are the worst: blond-haired villains to a man. Only one good House and that's Svein's.' Brodir spat into the fire. 'You'll be back here soon enough. In the meantime do not judge your father harshly. He has responsibilities to his people, and has Astrid on his back. He means well for you.'

  'Even so, I wish I was free of his hopes and intentions.' Halli's face felt hot; he threw himself back from the fire to lie in the soft, cold grass, gazing up at the stars.

  When Halli arrived back at the House he found a great crowd working in the yard. After his month alone he was momentarily dazed by the intensity of noise and movement. His mother passed, carrying a basket piled high with coloured cloth. She set it down on the ground and hugged him briefly. 'Welcome, my son. Good to have you back. I will hear your account another time. Now, listen well. The Gathering is almost upon us and we are not yet ready! There is much to be done and you must work as hard as anyone. Be aware there is no time for tricks, frolics, deceitfulness or any other form of nonsense, on pain of direst penalty. Do you understand me?'

  'Yes, Mother.'

  'Very well. Run along to Grim; he needs help carrying griddles to the meadow.'

  There was palpable excitement in the air and Halli shared it. For the first time in his memory, the Autumn Gathering was coming to Svein's House, and it promised wonders that he had never seen. Soon the near meadows would witness the arrival of almost four hundred people, a number he could hardly comprehend. They would accommodate the representatives of all eleven other Houses – their leading families and tradespeople, their servants, horses, carts and chattels, together with those from lesser farms. There would be feasting, storytelling, the thrill of horse fights, wrestling and trials of strength; the Council would meet to debate the latest legal cases . . . Halli thrilled at the possibilities. For once he would not feel trapped, cut off – he would see the whole valley without setting foot from home.

  For two days he worked as hard as anyone, constructing the trade booths that would fringe the meadow. He held the posts steady while the men hammered them into the soft ground; he carried blocks of turf from the drying rooms and laid them out, row upon row, to form walls between the posts. He helped dig roasting pits and fix griddles into position; he gathered hay and straw for the visitors' animals.

  On the third day the House was decorated. Svein's colours swung proudly from the flagpole in the yard; from every roof flags of black and silver flapped like seabirds. Threads of bunting lay upon the Trow wall; a great tent had been erected outside the hall, filled with ale casks ready to be broached. Trestle tables were set around, groaning with skins, cloths, bone implements and whistles and other produce of the House. By evening, all neared readiness; people's efforts slowed. Leif strode vigorously about, resplendent in his silver cape, bestowing heavy compliments.

  Halli grew tired of work; he gathered several like-minded children together in an alley behind the tannery.

  'Who wants a game?' he asked. 'Dead Crows or the Battle of the Rock?'

  The battle was chosen, as it usually was. Halli said he would be Svein.

  'Shouldn't you be a Trow?' Ketil, Grim's son, asked. 'It would make things seem more real.'

  Halli scowled. 'Who here is Sveinsson amongst us? I shall be Svein.'

  Ketil, Sturla and Kugi, the squint-eyed youth who cleaned the piggery. were voted Trows. They were given broken sickles to represent their slashing claws. For helmets, Halli and the heroes used rusting buckets stolen from the smithy; for swords they took wood snags from the stables. The great battle was fought on a stretch of Trow wall that had more or less collapsed, forming a scree of ancient stones, turfed and mossy. Upon the rock the heroes stood abreast, uttering wise, defiant comments. The Trow horde burst up from below, roaring and screaming. Birds flew from the roofs of Svein's House; cows started in the meadows. The women working in the tannery cursed and gesticulated. Battle was joined amid a hail of sticks and fists.

  Leif Sveinsson strode over from the yard, cape flapping. He watched the fight with a baleful eye. After a few moments his presence was detected; with abrupt finality the battle quietened. A few desultory coughs and gasps, then silence.

  'This is a fine sight!' Leif said slowly. 'The Gathering is almost upon us, and here are you urchins playing like dogs on a bone heap! Eyjolf and I have a hundred chores we can give you before dark. If you don't step to it, I'll lock you in the lumber rooms for the duration of the fair!'

  Leif was eighteen, a big man, burly and thick-necked. He had the trick of keeping his head a trifle lowered, like a bull's, and staring abruptly up from under his brows, as if only self-restraint prevented him from ac
ting with sudden appalling passion. The children were daunted and ashen-faced.

  Halli spoke from the top of the Trow wall. 'It wasn't long ago, brother, that you enjoyed these games yourself ! Come and join in! I'll lend you my helmet.'

  Leif stepped closer. 'Do you ardently wish for a clouting, Halli?'

  'No.'

  'Then I suggest you remember my seniority and age.' Leif drew himself up, chest swelling; he had his finest tunic on, tight black leggings, a pair of polished boots. 'As one who will one day lead this House, I have responsibilities to maintain. I have no time for rolling in the dirt.'

  'That's not what Gudrun the goat-girl told me,' Halli said casually. 'She said when you left her hut last night you were covered in straw.'

  Several noises coincided then: the laughter of the others, Leif 's roar of wrath, the scrabbling of Halli's boots upon the Trow wall as he attempted to escape. But his legs were short and his brother's long. The outcome was swift and painful.

  Leif nodded grimly. 'Let that be a lesson to you all. I have a quick way with cheek like that. Now – here are your tasks . . .' Standing astride the Trow wall, he issued orders to the children down below.

  Behind him, Halli dabbed silently at the blood running from his nose. Then he wiped his face with his sleeve to remove the blood and tears, stood, took careful aim, and kicked Leif squarely in the centre of his buttocks.

  With a high-pitched wail Leif toppled from the wall, arms flapping like a bird. Below was an extensive dunghill. The fall was just long enough for Leif to roll forward in mid-air so that he met the brown soil of the mound headfirst.

  An emphatic squelch: Leif 's head, shoulders, upper arms and midriff disappeared from view. His legs stuck straight up, gyrating oddly; his silver cloak settled gently upon the dank slope of the mound.

  The gasp of horror from the assembled children gave way to pop-eyed wonder.

  Halli said: 'Look how deep he's gone! I wouldn't have guessed it was so soft.'

  Kugi the sty-boy raised a hand. 'I just added a fresh barrow load.'

  'That would explain it. But how on earth does he remain so upright? Look at his legs a-waving! It is quite athletic. He should do this at the fair.'

  As they watched, however, the legs dropped down, the back bent swiftly; Leif was now in a kneeling position, head and shoulders still buried in the muck. His hands pushed, his muscles strained; with a protracted popping noise, his upper half emerged in a shower of debris. A violent stench spread rapidly.

  As one, the children began edging towards the nearest cottage doors and alleys.

  Halli thought it time to descend silently from the wall.

  Hesitantly, precariously, Leif got to his feet, his boots slipping and sloughing in the mire. His back was to them; his cape hung lank and limp. Slowly he turned; with awful deliberation he raised his caked and matted head and gazed upon them. For an instant everyone froze; he held them all transfixed.

  Then, like dandelion seeds upon the wind, they scattered.

  Halli moved fastest of all. Obscured as his brother's face had been, the emotion in his eyes was painfully suggestive. Halli leaped from the Trow wall. As he landed, he heard a frantic clattering of stones: his brother was scrambling up the other side.

  Halli ran up the alley beside Unn's tannery. His legs fairly flew, but his strides were not large. He heard Leif roar, heard him spring down to the cobbles. Up ahead a woman carried washing; she blocked his route. He ducked sideways into the tannery, raced between the scrubbing racks, slipped on discarded sheep fat, and fell on his back to land heavily against a soaking vat.

  Unn stood above him. Her face was pink, her hands stained. 'Halli? What—?'

  In darted Leif; he saw Halli, lurched for him. Halli rolled to the side, between the legs of a rack. Leif swiped, missed him and careered into the soaking vat, which toppled over, sending foul yellow curing fluid cascading to the floor. Unn cried out in woe; Brusi, her son, screamed and leaped to avoid the deluge; he grabbed a rafter, hung suspended. Leif paid them no heed; he charged towards the main door, through which Halli was busy fleeing. Leif seized a scrubbing brush, hurled it at Halli's head; it missed, bounced back off the jamb and struck Leif in the eye.

  In the central yard of Svein's House, preparations for the Gathering neared completion. Boys swept the cobbles; the tables were neatly stacked; flags flew merrily. Arnkel and Astrid stood at the hall porch, handing out refreshing beer.

  Out into the yard ran Leif. Where was Halli? There – darting below a trestle! Leif sprang, vaulted the table, scattering pots around him. People lurched aside, fell back, knocking into each other; plates and produce fell crashing to the stones.

  Halli evaded Leif 's outstretched hand and hopped onto a table piled with cloth. Leif followed, trampling the cloths with his dung-caked boots. Halli jumped down and ran into the ale tent. In charged Leif, saw Halli clambering across the stack of ale casks. Pushing a woman aside, he sprang like a wolf and landed heavily on the barrels, dislodging several from the stack. They rumbled out of the tent and away across the yard, sending onlookers flying like skittles before breaking on the cottage walls.

  Now Leif closed in. He had Halli trapped at the top of the stack. Halli looked about, saw a rope hanging loose from the tent roof. He jumped, grabbed hold, swung wildly, and fell suddenly to earth as half the tent gave way. He landed heavily amid a gently settling mass of cloth and bunting, stumbled forward from the capsized tent – and stopped dead.

  Leif loomed behind him. 'Now then, brother—'

  He too stopped. He looked around. Before them stood Arnkel and Astrid, dark-eyed, stony-faced; on every side the people of Svein's House steadily converged, men, women, urchins from the gutter, all in utter silence.

  Astrid's fair hair was coiled and braided tight to her scalp; her exposed neck shone thin and white. Her expression reminded Halli of the one she wore during judgements in the hall, when felons were sent wailing to the gallows. Her eyes flicked between Leif and Halli, and back again.

  'You look like my sons,' she said, 'but by your actions you are strangers to me.' Neither spoke; the crowd watched, listened. Somewhere at the back, a baby cried. 'What,' Astrid continued in the same calm tones, 'is your explanation?'

  Leif lurched forward. His account was rambling, aggrieved, full of self-pity.

  Their father Arnkel held up a hand. 'Enough. my son. Step back a little. Your stench makes my eyes water. What of you, Halli?'

  Halli gave a shrug. 'Yes, I pushed him in the dung heap. Why not? He had struck me and abused me and my companions, as they can easily confirm.' He looked about, but Sturla, Kugi and the others had melted back among the throng. Halli sighed. 'The fact remains, I thought it a matter of honour, which I could not overlook.'

  His uncle Brodir was standing in the crowd. 'This seems reasonable enough.'

  Astrid addressed him sharply. 'Your contributions, Brodir, are not looked for. Halli, do not dare talk to me of honour! You are a wretch – you have none!'

  Arnkel added: 'If you felt Leif had wronged you, you should have challenged him fairly, not kicked his backside.'

  'But Leif is considerably stronger than me, Father. If we'd fought fairly, he would have beaten me to a sorry pulp. Isn't that so, Leif ?'

  'Yes, as I will gladly prove.'

  'You see, Father? In all honesty, what good would that have done?'

  'Well—'

  'And didn't great Svein often ambush the other heroes in the days before their truce and the Battle of the Rock?' Halli cried. 'He didn't utter an official challenge to Hakon when he saw him riding alone beside the cataract. He just threw a boulder down from the Snag. Think of my boot as Svein's boulder and Leif 's arse as Hakon: the principle is the same! Only my aim was better.'

  Arnkel adjusted his feet uneasily. 'You have a point, but—'

  'Your proper conduct, Halli,' his mother interrupted, in a voice like glass shards, 'would have been to ignore Leif 's actions altogether. Just as he should have ignored you
rs. Now you have both shamed me! It will take time to repair this destruction before our guests arrive. Yet it must be done; all must put down their beer cups and set to. Tonight's feast will be delayed.' A murmur of discontent ran round the crowd. 'But first, to your punishments. Leif – your appearance and behaviour are a disgrace. I would bar you from the Gathering, but you are Arnkel's heir: you must attend. Let this public shame be sufficient: go now and wash in the horse trough.'

  Leif slunk away. 'Now,' Astrid said, 'Halli . . .'

  'He is just a boy!' Uncle Brodir cried out. 'With a boy's exuberance! This mess can easily be cleared—'

  Astrid spoke in a cold, high voice. 'We all know of your youthful exuberance, Brodir, and what you did. The House paid dearly for it.'

  She stared at him. Brodir flushed dark, his lips white and drawn. He opened his mouth, then closed it. A sudden movement – he was gone into the crowd.

  Then Astrid addressed Halli. 'In two days,' she said, 'the Gathering begins. It will be an occasion of great festivity, when even Gudrun the goat-girl may make merry from dawn till dusk. Everyone here shall enjoy it, except for you. You are banned for the duration of the Gathering from the festival meadows, and shall take no part in formal feasting in this hall. You may not drink from the kegs, nor eat from the roasting pits; the cooks will serve you scraps in the kitchens. For four days it will be as if you are gone up to your cairn. Perhaps this will inspire you to restrain your behaviour.'

  Halli said nothing. He looked at his mother with hot eyes.

  As he left the yard, Halli succeeded in maintaining a stiff, proud posture and a defiant expression. Once he got to the family apartments, his defences slackened and his pace slowed. He lay quietly on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Up and down the corridor he heard the footsteps of his family and the servants. Each time he tensed in expectation of a visitor; he even hoped for it, however angry they might be. But whether out of rage, embarrassment, or plain indifference, no one came to see him.

  He was on the point of attempting sleep when Katla opened the door and entered, carrying a plate of chicken, turnip and purple sprouting. Without ceremony she set it down upon Halli's bed and blinked at him.