Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  Aud glanced at him. 'Why do you say that? He is the hero of the central cycle!'

  Halli's brow corrugated. 'Of some lesser tales, maybe.'

  'Of all the finest exploits! Who else stole the Trow king's treasure? Who else killed Flori's brothers armed only with a pruning knife? Who else, above all, mustered the Founders together on Battle Rock?'

  'What?' Halli stopped dead in his tracks. 'Why, that was Svein!'

  Aud Ulfar's-daughter gave a tinkling laugh. 'You are a great wit, Halli. You make me smile. Well, perhaps your tellers have it so.'

  A certain condescension had reappeared in her tone. Halli was irritated; he spoke hotly. 'If what you say is true, if Arne was so pre-eminent a figure, why then is Svein's House the greatest in the valley?'

  They had passed the stables and Svein's hall, and were at the edge of the central yard. Silver and black flags flicked high above. The yard was thick with people carrying trays and tankards and rolling kegs to and fro. The House was busier than he had ever seen it. Aud looked at it for a moment, then turned to him. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were hot and angry. 'Unlike you,' she said, 'I have travelled more than two paces from my door. I can tell you that Arne's House is twice the size of Svein's, and Arne's is small compared to some. Don't speak of what you don't know.'

  Halli bit his lip; to his surprise her anger wounded him. 'I'm sorry,' he faltered. 'I spoke with a fool's tongue. I was . . . wrong to criticize your House and Founder. I would be grateful if you do not think the worse of me.'

  Hesitating, he forced himself to meet her gaze. The anger was still there, but Halli was relieved to see amusement too, unforced, unbitter. 'That's all right,' Aud said suddenly. 'I don't really care. All this business about Houses is rubbish when you look at it. Just based on silly stories. I don't believe any of it.'

  Halli stared. 'What stories?'

  'All that stuff about the heroes. Their great adventures.'

  'You don't believe it?'

  Her laugh again. 'No.'

  'But how else were the Trows—?'

  'Oh, I don't believe in them either. It's all— Oh, no. That's all I need.'

  On the margins of the crowd a knot of youths strode towards them, resplendent in tunics of the brightest orange-red. Halli, despite his ignorance, knew immediately they were from far down-valley. All had his mother's colouring: pink-faced, blue-eyed, with hair the colour of sandstone. Young as they were – mid-teens, he guessed, the cusp of manhood – one or two were attempting beards, shaved shorter even than his father's style. Their hair was drawn back and tied tight behind their skulls with circlets of polished bronze. It was a peculiar look, and Halli thought it unmanly. Their clothes were richly made, with fine brocade about the sleeves and collars.

  The leader, the tallest boy, the blondest, with the squarest jaw, bowed his head. 'Aud Ulfar's-daughter.'

  She inclined her head slowly in response. 'Ragnar Hakonsson.'

  'I didn't expect to find you up here, associating with the retainers of Svein's House.' His voice was high and nasal, with an inflection Halli had not heard before. 'Why aren't you down in the meadow? There will be dances before long.'

  Aud spoke carelessly. 'I was hungry for apples. You?'

  'The crowd at the ale tent in the meadow is too thick. Father sent us to bring a beer keg to our booth. If the Sveinssons had any sense they'd have distributed kegs already – that's what Father did, three years ago. But what do you expect? That fool Leif Sveinsson is already drunk, careering round, ogling the girls like the bumpkin he is. I'm surprised he hasn't fixed on you.'

  Aud's eyes flicked uneasily to Halli; she cleared her throat. Before she could speak, Halli stepped forward with a deft touch of his forelock. 'Lords, may I be of assistance? If you desire ale I can bring you a keg with all speed.'

  Until that moment none of the youths had so much as glanced Halli's way.

  'At Hakon's House retainers are silent until spoken to,' one said.

  'And taller,' said another.

  'He deserves a clip round the ear for that,' said a third, a youth with a thin fox-face. 'For his cheek, I mean, not his height. Though that's offensive too.'

  Ragnar Hakonsson said easily: 'All right, boy, get us a keg of the best ale you can. Meanwhile, if the Lady Aud would accompany us back to the meadow for the dances, she can help enjoy the drinking of it.'

  Aud had been staring at Halli in some perplexity, but now she seemed to collect herself. 'I'd be glad to.' She smiled round at the youths, eyes creasing. Halli watched them shift and simper, basking in her attention. He felt an odd prickling in his belly.

  'What are you waiting for?' Ragnar Hakonsson enquired. 'Get going, boy.'

  Halli gave a smile in which his canines were prominent.

  'Of course, sir. I am sorry to have caused offence. If I might just give these apples to the Lady Aud . . . Now, one cask of ale without delay! If you would wait by the main gate I will fetch it for you from the tent yonder.'

  Halli pattered away into the crowd. When he was out of sight his movements became slower, more deliberate. He entered the tent stealthily, keeping out of sight of the attendants, who busily trundled casks from the central pile to handcarts waiting in the yard. A hop, a skip; Halli was at the rear of the stack. Selecting a solitary keg with a tap at its end, he rolled it to a place where the tent fabric was flapped and torn. A moment later, he was back in the yard on the opposite side to the waiting Hakonssons.

  He rolled the keg rapidly into the deserted workshop of Unn the tanner.

  The process of curing skins to make strong leather was a messy and unpleasant business, and as always the bitter smells made him gasp and wrinkle his nose. He considered Unn's vats where the curing leather festered. Each contained solutions of – among other things – urine, chopped bark, decaying vegetation, sour milk and animal fats – ideal substances for hardening the skins.

  Now they would have another, more satisfying, purpose.

  Halli found a jug and set it under the keg. He poured out a good quantity of ale, some of which he drank, some of which he transferred to an empty vat. Then, turning the keg upside-down, he unscrewed and removed the tap, leaving its small round hole. Taking up the jug again, he scooped it full of foul black liquid from the nearest vat. Moving carefully to avoid getting any of the noxious substance on himself, he poured it into the keg, where it fizzed and steamed.

  Halli considered. Enough?

  He recalled Ragnar's haughty manner and the possessive way he talked to Aud.

  Perhaps a little more.

  Another jugful went into the keg, together with a scraping of white paste from a nearby bowl. From the smell Halli guessed this to be chicken dung, used for cleaning flesh from skins.

  All was ready. Halli refixed the tap and went his way.

  Ragnar Hakonsson and his friends waited at the gate, surrounding Aud in an admiring horseshoe ring. They regarded Halli impatiently as he approached.

  'You took your time, boy.'

  Aud said: 'Do not be hard on the lad. He means well, I believe.'

  Halli performed an elaborate salute. 'I found the finest ale I could, sirs, a special brew for the noblest guests. If I might be so bold, I would suggest it is too strong for the Lady Aud to sample.' He looked at her pointedly, bowed and withdrew.

  Down to the meadow went the happy Hakonsson party, clustering close about Aud, each youth laughing louder than his fellows. Halli watched them from the shadows of the gate, then went back to the hall.

  5

  SVEIN'S YOUTHFUL PROWESS IRRITATED the other heroes so much that several decided to kill him, but their ambushes never had much luck. One time Hakon lay in concealment and shot Svein with arrows. The first struck Svein's silver belt and bounced harmlessly away; the second narrowly missed his neck and pinned him to an oak tree by the tangle of his plaits. Svein was unable to pull himself free without plucking out half his hair, which he was unwilling to do. Seeing him standing helpless, Hakon drew his sword and sauntered u
p to make an end to him, but Svein pulled the oak up by the roots and, whirling it round like a fighting staff, gave Hakon the thrashing of his life. Svein made light of the incident afterwards. 'It was only a sapling,' he said. 'It was no great feat.'

  The first day of the Gathering ended happily with festive revelry in the meadows, but with the mists of morning, news drifted up to Svein's House of a misfortune befalling the Hakonsson deputation. A violent cramp and sickness had overtaken the menfolk of the party; they had spent all night leaping urgently into nearby bushes before returning groaning to their mats. Several neighbouring parties had been forced to move their tents further afield, while no less than six horses had shied and broken free of their tethers in their efforts to move upwind of the Hakonssons.

  Halli learned the particulars from Eyjolf, who was busy in the kitchen organizing herbal brews for the sufferers.

  'It is a wretched inconvenience,' the old man grumbled. 'No crops will grow again in that corner of the meadow, take it from me.'

  Halli's expression was melancholy. 'Does anyone know the cause?'

  'No. They blame a keg of beer, which is ridiculous: no one else at the Gathering has complained. More likely it is their vile personal habits.' Eyjolf looked left and right, and spoke quietly. 'The sons of Hakon rarely wash, and I have heard it said that some of them cultivate the grime between their toes and crumble it on their salads as a garnish. So: they only have themselves to blame!'

  Halli spent the day quietly; dusk found him behind the hall, throwing horseshoes round a hob-stick in the flagstones. As he completed a cast, his father appeared beside him. Arnkel's face exhibited lines of weariness and care.

  'My son,' he said heavily, 'I am glad to see you have been keeping out of trouble, as your mother and I requested. This is a small boon on such an unlucky day.'

  'What is the matter, Father?'

  'It is those cursed Hakonssons! Still they vomit, without consideration for the general festivity; when they catch their breath, they vow to bring a legal case against me on a charge of poisoning! Oh, they would lose, of course, but the threat taints the atmosphere of the Gathering. There are no takers for our delicious giblet sausages and pigs' entrails in butter sauce; worse still, some refuse to drink our beer! What is a Gathering without unseemly drunkenness?' He shook his head in wonder. 'If matters continue, our visitors will disperse, bringing shame upon our House.'

  Halli said musingly, 'Perhaps mention could be made of the Hakonssons' novel approach to hygiene, so that blame does not rest on us?'

  His father grunted. 'I have been spreading rumours to that very effect. Hopefully it will take root. Still, when the pompous fools recover, I must appease them to forestall their legal action. They are a powerful House and are best kept on good terms.' He took a horseshoe from Halli's arm and tossed it to spin elegantly round the stick. 'I have taken the advice of Ulfar Arnesson, a well-known mediator of such troubles. He suggests a Friendship Feast held for the Hakonssons after the Gathering. Inevitably he intends to participate. Ulfar likes his food. Well, I must return below.'

  The thought of Ragnar Hakonsson coming to the hall gave Halli a gnawing worm of anxiety. At least he, Halli, would be elsewhere. A thought occurred to him. 'Father, will Ulfar bring his daughter to the feast?'

  'His daughter?' Arnkel frowned. 'Is she a somewhat slatternly girl, with dirty kirtle and hair tied back without a jot of care? I thought her a servant of some kind. Then, yes – I presume she will attend. As will you.'

  Halli gave a jump. 'But I am banned! Father – this is not a good idea!'

  'The Gathering will be over then and your punishment complete. You will be a credit to the House, I'm sure. With luck you will entertain young Ragnar Hakonsson – if he recovers from his cramps, that is. He seems to have suffered most of all.'

  Two days later, the Gathering was over, and Halli's restrictions were at an end. He dawdled about the House, observing from afar the dismantling of the tents, the clearing of booths, the loading of carts and horses. Most of guests left that morning, passing in a stream along the road into the valley, but the knot of people at the Hakonsson booth remained. Halli retreated to the hall, where preparations were being made for the Friendship Feast. Beds were prepared for the overnight visitors, trestle tables drawn into the centre of the hall, lanterns lit, bunches of sweet rosemary hung from the rafters and fresh straw strewn upon the floor. Eyjolf and the servants located a cask of beer that had survived the Gathering. Cooks laboured in the kitchens; a pig was killed and placed upon a spit; men returned from the river bearing fish.

  Halli watched all this in agitation, trying to think of an excuse to avoid the feast. He approached his mother with a number of pretexts, but was rebuffed, and in due course found himself with Katla, being inserted at last into his formal clothes.

  His mood was not improved by this outfit, which had once belonged to his brother. The tunic reached almost to his knees, while his leggings sagged beneath his buttocks. Katla did not heed his shrill complaints. Instead, she patted his face gently. 'Halli, Halli, at every opportunity you scowl and knot your brows. Why do you think you aggravate people so? Like midwinter's children everywhere, you spread a cloud of rancour.'

  'I am far less smelly than Leif, whose passing makes the pigs go pale.'

  'That is not what I meant, though you'll find it is a close-run thing. I speak of another effect you have. From the day you took your first steps on those fat little legs, you have spread division among even the mildest folk. Try to be sweet-natured and innocent of expression! Especially with the Hakonssons, who are notoriously quick to take offence.

  Take care not to scowl at them. Feuds have begun with less.'

  As night fell. Arnkel. Astrid, Leif, Gudny and Halli gathered in the hall, waiting for the guests to arrive. They said little, wandering back and forth, fiddling with knives and dishes laid out on the table.

  Gudny had piled her hair into a tower of intertwining braids; the process had taken her and her maid most of the afternoon. Now she stood making winsome faces into the polished silver dishes. As Halli wandered near, she hailed him anxiously. 'Tell me, brother, do you think my braids are tight enough? Look at these fine hairgrips I bought from a trader at the fair! They are antique – generations old!'

  Halli was waiting with trepidation for Ragnar's arrival and did not wish to indulge his sister. Still, recalling Katla's advice, he bit back a sarcastic remark and arranged his features into an expression of sweet, wide-eyed benevolence.

  His sister flinched. 'If you want to sour the milk, that is just the way to go about it. Oh no, Halli – here is Brodir! And Mother begged him to stay away.'

  With a flurry at the drapes their uncle entered, looking very white and sour in the face. He went straight to the keg and filled a cup. Halli's mother hurried forward, pale with vexation and anxiety.

  'Brodir! You promised! Please – you will not do us any good by being here! I will bring food to your room – you shall have the best cuts, the finest fruits . . .'

  It was clear to all that Brodir had been drinking; nevertheless his voice was calm. 'Eyjolf ! Lay an extra place here at the end. I will be attending after all. It seems to me. Astrid,' he went on, 'that tonight Svein's hall needs filling with those who hold his memory dear, not those who grovel before his enemies!'

  'Do not be a fool, Brodir!' This was Arnkel, his voice high and strained. 'Reconciliation has long been made – there is no bad blood between them and us.'

  Behind his beard, Brodir smiled blandly. 'Why then object to my presence?'

  Arnkel took a deep breath. 'Because, brother, you live in the past.'

  'And because you have the skill of making the past live,' Halli's mother hissed. 'Will you be gone from here?'

  'No, Astrid, I will not. What if the Hakonssons run true to form and try to steal Svein's treasures from the walls? Someone must be here to guard them.' Brodir wheeled round unsteadily; his gaze fell on Halli. 'Don't you agree, Halli? You're a true son of the House
. You wouldn't cast me out.'

  Everyone looked at Halli. Everyone recoiled. Brodir said: 'Is something wrong with your eyes, boy? If you want the privy, go now before the guests arrive.'

  As Halli abandoned his innocent, wide-eyed look, hooves sounded on the cobbles of the yard. Arnkel and Astrid cursed. Arnkel said: 'If you love me, brother, do not rise to their bait.' The family lined up inside the door.

  A few moments later, handing their cloaks to Eyjolf and blinking in the warmth and light, the Hakonssons entered the hall.

  There were fewer of them than Halli had expected – only three, in fact: two men and a youth. At the head of the line, Arnkel bowed stiffly. 'Hord Hakonsson, we bid you and your family welcome and offer you friendship and service during your stay. Our House is yours.' Beside him, Halli heard Brodir snort under his breath.

  Hord Hakonsson spoke: 'You do us honour with your generosity. I bring here my brother Olaf and my son Ragnar to share this fellowship in your great House. My wife will not be joining us.'

  Arnkel spoke anxiously. 'I hope she is not still sick.'

  'No indeed. She has left with the servants. As you know, our road is long.'

  At Halli's side, Brodir muttered: 'That's insult number one; look at Astrid's face.'

  But Halli was gazing straight ahead, towards the fire, dry-mouthed at the prospect of Ragnar Hakonsson's approach. When he recognized Halli, what would he do? Strike him? Shout out? Call down a curse on his head? Anything was possible.

  The three guests moved along the line, murmuring greetings to his family; Halli heard Leif 's gruff salute, his sister simpering . . . Then Hord Hakonsson came to Brodir.

  There was a silence. Neither man said anything. They did not clasp hands.

  Hord moved on. Now he stood before Halli, looking down at him from a great height. His beard was reddish, and shaved low and squared upon the cheeks. Like Ragnar and his companions, he wore his hair drawn back tightly behind the head. He was burly about the neck and shoulders, a very powerful man. Heaviness hung about his jowls and eyes; he looked at Halli with little interest. Halli cleared his throat, gave his name; his hand was enclosed in a giant meaty fist. Hord was gone.