Another man might have had a clever retort to that, but Gnup just said, “Yes, Master Odd,” and snatched up his horse’s reins and led the animal off toward the barn, the rest still following behind.
“Will any of those others, your neighbors, the hauldar, will they join you in this business?” Ari asked.
“No,” Odd said. “They seemed to think it was best if we let things be, let Halfdan make the next move. Wait and see how he reacts to our visit.”
“If they think Halfdan will just let this go, they’re fools,” Vermund said.
“Yes,” Odd said. “But honestly, I don’t think any of them really believe Halfdan is done with us. Because they’re not fools. In any case, I didn’t tell them my plans. This isn’t their fight. At least not yet. And I don’t want to drag them into it.”
Odd suddenly felt a weariness come over him. He had done no digging that day, but he had done quite a bit else. He and Ari and Vermund retreated to the long hall where náttmál, the evening meal, was waiting. They ate with Signy and the children, along with a few of the more prosperous freemen who rented land from Odd.
The freemen were, for the most part, a few years older than Odd, and unlike Odd all had gone a’viking in their younger days. For that reason Odd always felt a little out of sorts in their company. He liked them, and they liked him, as best he could tell. Odd was certainly the highest born and the wealthiest of all of them. But they had endured the privations of voyaging at sea and the horror of genuine battle, and Odd had not, and he could not forget it.
They ate well—thick cuts of beef and fresh greens and root vegetables and fish, and to drink, ale and mead—and they discussed what would definitely happen the next day, and what might happen, and what they would do.
The men went to bed earlier and more sober than was their wont, because they would be up early and would need their rest. Odd, too, went to his bed closet and lay down beside Signy, who had her back turned toward him. She had said little during náttmál, and she said nothing now, and Odd tried to gauge just how angry she was. But after a moment she shuffled toward him and pressed her back and legs against him. He reached his arm around her and she made a soft sound in her throat and he guessed she was not as angry as he feared.
It was still dark when they all rose, and the sun was just breaking the horizon out where the sea and sky met when the parade of men and wagons moved out, rolling south from Odd’s farm. Odd led the way with Ari and some of the freemen, all on horseback. Behind them came the six wagons, empty and moving easily. Each carried a driver and a couple of the farm hands. The rest of the freemen followed behind. They were in total nine mounted warriors and sixteen laborers. Not a terribly impressive war band, but then they were not a war band, necessarily. That would be determined later.
The wagons were empty and rolling over dry roads in generally good repair, but they still could not move terribly fast. It was not until midday when they finally came rumbling down the long hill that led to Thorgrim’s farm, the hall at the center of the numerous out-buildings. Odd could see folk moving around, but there seemed to be no purpose or hurry to their actions, as if the entire place was simply bracing for what might happen next.
They were nearing the buildings when Skafti Hrappsson came hurrying up at a pace somewhere between a fast walk and a run.
“Master Odd!” he said as he reached Odd’s horse, turned and walked back alongside.
“Skafti, good man,” Odd said. “Are any of Halfdan’s men here?”
“No, no,” Skafti said. “They’ve come a few times since last you was here. I think just to look things over. And then they’re gone. Usually don’t even bother saying a word to me, or any of the others. I…we…don’t interfere, as you never made your wishes known on that score.”
“Quite right,” Odd said. They reached the beaten ground outside the hall and the mounted men dismounted and Skafti called for the stable boys, cursing them for being a bunch of slow and lazy curs.
“We went to Grømstad to speak with Halfdan, me and some of the neighbors,” Odd said. “Amundi Thorsteinsson was there.”
Skafti nodded. Amundi was the neighbor whose land abutted Thorgrim’s property, and Skafti understood the man’s high status. If there was any man in Vik to whom Halfdan might listen, it was Amundi.
“And the king? Did he heed what you had to say?” Skafti asked.
“That was not actually clear,” Odd said. “Halfdan made sure it wasn’t clear. He would give us no real answer, didn’t ever hear us out, really. We don’t know what he intends. So I think it’s time to remove anything of value from here.”
“Master?”
“I’ve brought wagons,” Odd said, gesturing behind him as if Skafti had not noticed them. “We’re going to take all the food in the storerooms and the smokehouse. All the grain. Barrels of salt fish. The ale and mead. The honey. And the bee hives. I want you to personally fetch the bee hives and bring them over here.”
“Master Odd?”
“I’m kidding,” Odd said. “We’ll leave the bees for later.” Now that they were there and taking action rather than just talking about it, Odd felt his mood rise.
“Very well, Master Odd,” Skafti said, visibly relieved.
“Not just the food,” Odd continued. “All the blacksmith tools, the shipwright tools, the farm tools, any weapons, clothes, blankets, furs, anything of value. The cattle up in the hills can stay there for now. We’ll drive them to my land later.”
“You’ll keep Halfdan from getting whatever you can, is that it?” Skafti asked.
“Exactly,” Odd said. “If I could take the buildings as well, I would. You and the rest had better come to my farm, too. It might not be safe.”
“Indeed it might not,” Skafti said, looking around as if Halfdan’s men might be sneaking up at that very moment. “But see here, young master. This won’t go unnoticed. I have a feeling Halfdan has men watching all the time. I haven’t seen them, but I have a feeling they’re there.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Odd said. Of course Halfdan had men watching Thorgrim’s farm. Halfdan had men watching everything he possessed, or wished to possess.
There was an awkward pause as the obvious but unasked question hung between them. If you know they’re watching, and you know it will provoke Halfdan, why do this?
Odd could not have answered the question if it had been asked. He could not answer it when Signy asked it. He might have told her that he felt in his gut it was the right thing to do, and that his pride would not allow him to just submit to Halfdan’s capricious land grab. That would have been true, but it would not have swayed Signy, so he had said nothing.
“Well, we had better get on with it,” Odd said. He slapped Skafti on the shoulder. “Go gather up your people and I’ll set mine to work as well.”
Skafti hurried off, Odd turned to Vermund, and soon the wagons were brought around to the various buildings and gangs of men and women set to the job of emptying the buildings out, stacking their contents on the wagon beds. The wagons that belonged to Thorgrim’s farm were rounded up as well, oxen hitched up, and those, too, were loaded with the contents of the farm.
It was a considerable amount of work, but they had many hands, and it was not long before the wagon beds were full, the axels threatening to snap under the load. Skafti and Vermund came to Odd as the last of the wagons came groaning round the back of the hall to join its brethren, each with its patient teams of oxen waiting in the traces.
“That’s it,” Skafti said. “Half of the back storehouse is still full, but there’s not an inch of space left on any of the wagons. If so much as a mouse were to climb aboard they’d collapse, so I guess we’ll have to leave it.”
“For now,” Odd said. “We can return.” He looked past the men to the country to the south, where the road disappeared over a hill. Nothing. No movement.
“Let’s get the people something to eat, and then we’ll be off,” he said.
Skafti cocked his
head and gave Odd an uncertain look. “Master Odd,” he said, “is it wise, really, to waste time with eating now? The wagons are full up and we should be on our way. It’ll be dark in a few hours and we won’t be making much speed with this load.”
“Exactly,” Odd said. “There’ll be no chance to eat on the road, and the people are very hungry after such a hard day’s work. Just a quick meal and we’ll be off.”
Skafti nodded slowly, clearly dubious but in no position to argue. It was not the dark that concerned him, Odd was sure, but the possibility of Halfdan’s men returning. And it was not the people’s hunger that was on Odd’s mind, but the fear that he would miss the chance to show Halfdan he was no slave to the king.
The meal was as quick as it might be. Bread and butter and dried fish were served out and each person took their share and found a place to sit and eat, with Skafti hurrying them along.
They were just swallowing the last bites when the riders appeared. Off to the south, coming up the dry road, pushing their horses as hard as they could. Odd had posted a man to keep watch in that direction and now he called out his warning.
Odd was sitting on the back of one of the wagons, his legs dangling down, and at the lookout’s cry he hopped off and walked over to where he too could see.
“There, Odd,” the lookout said unnecessarily, and pointed, which was just as unneeded. The riders were clearly visible, half a mile away. Odd counted them as best he could. Twelve, it seemed. He thought he could count twelve.
“Those will be Halfdan’s men,” Odd said. He turned and walked back to where the others were getting to their feet. Some were crossing the ground to where they could also see down the road.
“Those will be Halfdan’s men,” Odd said again, louder now, so that everyone could hear. He looked over at the freemen who were standing by themselves. They had removed swords and helmets and the other weapons they carried so that they could help load the wagons, but now they had armed themselves once again.
“You men,” Odd said, nodding toward them. “Let’s mount and be ready to meet our guests properly.” The freemen, farmers turned warriors, mounted their horses, and Ari and Vermund, who were similarly armed, did as well.
“Skafti, get the rest of the people back, well away from here,” Odd said. “I’m not expecting any trouble, but let’s keep them clear, to be safe.”
Skafti nodded and began herding the people back beyond the line of wagons. The sound of the riders’ horses was audible now in the still air of the afternoon. Odd adjusted the way his sword hung on his belt, put his foot in his stirrup and swung himself up into his saddle.
There were fifteen of them, it turned out. Odd had miscounted. He could see that as the riders came down the sloping road and covered the last hundred yards into the farmyard. And he could see that Einar Sigurdsson was on the lead mount, his green and red cape flogging behind him.
Einar and the rest reined their horses in and walked them toward Odd and the other mounted men. The horses’ flanks were covered in sweat and Odd could see Einar was breathing hard and he approached slowly so he could catch his breath. Ten feet away he stopped and when he spoke it was with admirable calm.
“Odd, whatever are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought King Halfdan made it clear that he intended to take this property for taxes.”
“King Halfdan made nothing clear,” Odd said. “In any event, it appears he has not taken it. The property is still here.”
“Don’t try to be clever,” Einar said. He gestured toward the wagons. “This is all a part of the property. Halfdan’s property.”
“We haven’t really determined that, have we?” Odd said. “Maybe Halfdan should have given me the courtesy of a real interview.” His eyes moved from Einar to the men behind. They were part of Halfdan’s hirdmen, professional warriors, not the one-time raiders turned farmers who had Odd’s back. They wore mail and helmets and carried fine swords. Their horses, though panting for breath, were good-looking animals that had surely never known a plow or a wagon.
“It’s not for you to determine what’s proper for the king to do,” Einar said. “Now, I order you and your men to leave, and leave now. The people who belong to this farm will put these stores and tools and such back where they should be. Until the king determines who shall have it.”
“No,” Odd said.
The single word seemed to take Einar by surprise. “No?”
“No. It’s you who must leave, and leave now. All of you. Go.”
Einar’s eyebrows came together and he frowned, which made his moustache twitch. His horse shifted under him. For a moment he said nothing. And then the words returned, even as his calm deserted him.
“I’ve had enough of your arrogance, you trumped up little farmer. You wear a sword when you should be pushing a plow. Now leave us before you get hurt.”
Odd felt his face flush. There was nothing feigned in the fury he felt as he pulled Blood-letter free of the scabbard. “Bastard!” he shouted as he kicked his horse in the flanks. The animal bolted forward and Odd slashed at Einar, but in those few seconds Einar had managed to pull his own blade, and he held it up to stop Odd’s in mid-stroke.
“You dare…” Einar shouted. Odd twisted his horse around in a tight circle and slashed at him again, and again Einar met Blood-letter with his own blade. Behind him the fifteen mounted warriors drew their swords, but Odd did not hear any of his freemen do likewise. Fifteen against one. That was not a fight he wished to have.
“Run! Run! Go!” Odd shouted, turning his horse once again, sliding his sword back into the scabbard as he did. He kicked the horse’s flanks harder this time and whipped the reins as he goaded the animal to a run. He could see glimpses of the faces of his own men, the surprised looks, looks bordering on panic. They, too, whirled their horses around and urged them forward, fast as they could move.
“Go! Go!” Odd shouted again as his horse flew past his own men, pounding off for the road down which they had come, the road that led back to his own farm and relative safety. He heard Einar shouting behind him, calling for his men to follow. He heard the confused sound of men trying to sheath their weapons and force their tired mounts to run once more.
Then Odd was past them all, his horse’s speed building as he fled. He looked back over his shoulder. The freemen had responded quickly, charging after him, driving their mounts forward. And behind them, Einar and the hirdmen sorting themselves out, recovering from the surprise. There was already fifty feet between Odd and his men and Halfdan’s, and the distance was widening as the men from Fevik raced away.
Odd looked straight ahead. His horse was charging for the road, already heading up the slope that led up from his father’s farm. He whipped the reins back and forth once more. Run, run, you whoreson, he thought. Einar and the hirdmen were coming now, and Odd had only his short head start and the horse’s speed to keep him from being cut down like a dog.
Chapter Fifteen
I sing to thee the fourth.
If foes assail thee ready
on the dangerous road,
their hearts shall fail them
The Poetic Edda
Odd was just cresting the hill that ran up from Thorgrim’s farm when he heard hoofbeats close behind and he thought, May the gods grant those are my men and not Einar’s.
He was standing in the stirrups, leaning forward, and he turned his head half around to see behind. Vermund was there, right on his heels, and he caught a glimpse of the other freemen behind.
Odd straightened a bit and turned his head further until he could see back down the road, until he could see Einar and Halfdan’s men. They were coming hard after them, but there was a good hundred and fifty or two hundred feet between the two groups of horsemen, such was the lead that Odd’s surprise retreat had opened up.
Good, good… Odd thought, as his horse and the others came up over the high part of the hill. The road stretched off in front, tending off to the left, as familiar to Odd as anything on his
own farm.
He had lived there, on his father’s farm, until he was a man and married. While his brother, Harald, only seventeen years old, had already seen a good part of the Western world, Odd, in his first nineteen years, had rarely left the farm. And when he did leave, he had only gone as far as his own land in Fevik. It was something he thought about. Often.
The road dipped a bit, then leveled out and ran straight for half a mile before bending around a steep hill where it was lost from sight. He looked behind once more. Three hundred feet between the last of his men and Einar’s. That would do.
Einar’s horses were fast, certainly faster than those of Odd and his men. But after the long, hard ride from Halfdan’s hall Einar’s mounts were nearly blown, whereas Odd’s had done little but walk that day. That was what Odd had counted on.
They were closing fast with the hill on the side of the road and Odd pictured what he would see on the other side. He had taken careful note on the trip down, even dismounting to see that part of the road from various angles, and he felt he knew it well.
“Follow me, now!” Odd shouted, as loud as he could, though he had no idea if the others could hear him over the hoofbeats and the wind rushing past. He could barely hear himself. But he leaned a bit and nudged the charging horse off to the right side of the road, where the worn path met the summer grass. He could see the hill off to his left, and the road that had been hidden by the short, steep ridge began to open up. He could see the place in the road where Gnup and the others had been at work, and the beaten grass where the wagons had left the road to avoid it just that morning. He shifted a bit more to the right. His horse left the road and continued running over the short grass, racing along the long, narrow grooves left in the wake of the wagons’ wheels.
Odd gritted his teeth and listened for the sound of disaster behind, but he heard nothing above the cacophony of the running horses. Thirty feet, forty, fifty, sixty, and he began to ease his horse back from its flat-out run, bringing the speed down slowly so the animal would not hurt itself. He heard the sound of the wind in his ears die off and the sound of the other horses slowing as well. And beyond them, now out of sight around the steep hill, the sound of Einar and the others racing after them.
Kings and Pawns Page 15