War King

by Eric Schumacher

  “I hope this morning finds you in a better mood,” said Sigurd by way of greeting.

  “We must talk,” responded Hakon.

  Sigurd's face soured. He fetched a comb from his belt pouch and began stroking the knots and straw and lice from his beard. “What is it now?”

  Lying in the furs was one of the thrall women. Hakon ran his eyes over her, then turned his gaze back to Sigurd. “Privately, Sigurd.”

  Sigurd glanced at Hakon and sighed. “Lead the way, my king.”

  Hakon walked around the main hall and up the hill to the trailhead where not so long ago Astrid had waited for him before their hike. There, he stopped and waited for Sigurd to join him.

  “What is it that requires such secrecy?” Sigurd huffed as he joined his king.

  “We must speak of your son, Sigurd.”

  The older man's brow furrowed as he waited for Hakon to speak. Hakon did not try to weave a soft response. “The battle at Rastarkalv went poorly in part because of your son and his crew. They were ordered to stay in line and did not. Were it not for Egil, Sigge's recklessness could have cost us the battle. My crew no longer trusts him or his men. Some blame him for Egil's death. I fear they may turn that blame to vengeance.”

  Sigurd understood well the meaning in Hakon's words and cast his eyes to the ground. Uncertainty danced in his face when he lifted his gaze again. “How do you see it?”

  “He is a fine warrior, Sigurd, but he is sometimes rash, as we both know. He did not obey my orders at Rastarkalv. I have punished him for it, but my punishment may not be enough. The men are angry.”

  Sigurd cursed and turned his gaze to the bay and to the army that assembled there. After a long moment, he sighed deeply. “By the gods, that boy….” He let his words trail off.

  “You will need to speak with him, Sigurd. You can put him on another ship, but that may not spare him or his men. To truly guard him, you need to send him back to Lade.”

  Sigurd cursed again. “I will speak with him.”

  At midday, the ships rowed from the beach beneath Birkestrand, though two ships remained. The first belonged to Sigge and his crew, who had been ordered by Sigurd to return to Lade. They did not attempt to hide their ill feelings. Sigge glowered, while his comrades spat on the beach as the ships pulled away. Near them stood a small contingent of Tosti's older warriors. Hakon had left them to watch the hall and care for the wounded. He prayed no harm would come to them as the ships pulled from the bay and turned south into the Kvernesfjord.

  The crews hoisted their sails to take advantage of the wind sweeping southward across the waterway. Just past Rastarkalv, Hakon cast his eye to the shore and gazed at the mound that covered Egil's remains. On the ridge above it stood the three stones, silent reminders of those who had perished on the field.

  The ships followed the calm fjord as it flowed southwest, then took a hard right for the open sea. They reached the gray ocean by late afternoon, and there angled southwest, using the shoreline to guide them and the wind to push them over the gentle swells. It was a pleasant passage that required no rowing, so the men turned their attention to other pursuits. Some slept, others gambled. Still others sharpened their blades or repaired their armor. Few spoke.

  For four days they sailed — four days marked by steady weather, a constantly rolling deck, and the incessant creak of the ship's strakes. The wind never shifted, affording the men the rare luxury of relaxation, if not some boredom. In all, though, it beat having to row or fight the sea or find a place to anchor each night.

  On the evening of the fourth day, Stad's massive headland came into view. At the sight of the looming rock face, Hakon pulled the fleet together and gathered the chieftains onto Dragon's deck.

  “We sail for a hall at Stad,” Hakon informed the men when they had assembled before him. “The hall sits in a broad bay on the south side of that headland. I will sail into the bay alone. The rest of you hold your position at the bay's mouth. If you hear three blasts of my horn, I will need your aid. Sigurd will lead you, should you be needed.”

  The men exchanged glances, and Sigurd spoke into their silence. “You heard your king. To your ships! It is getting late, and I, for one, would like to sleep under a roof tonight!”

  As the ships pulled away, Hakon ordered his crew to armor themselves. They did so silently, for all knew too well the dangers that might be awaiting them in the dark bay.

  Dragon slid into the shadow of the headland. If Eldgrim's men were there, there could be no doubt they would have seen his ship. Hakon's men sensed this too, and cast their eyes toward the cliff's tall heights, where sea birds circled and shadows played tricks on the eyes of men. At any moment, Hakon expected a horn to blow its warning or a beacon flame to ignite. But there was nothing. Only the crash of waves as sea met stone and the creak of strakes as Dragon glided ever closer to the entrance of the bay.

  Once there, Hakon ordered the sail furled and the men to oars. “Remove the beast, Toralv,” Hakon called to his champion, who was cinching the belt over his byrnie by the prow.

  The champion did his lord's bidding as Eskil turned the ship toward the empty bay and the dark hall that sat inland from it. A small ship lay beached on the shore, which set Hakon's nerves on edge. He scanned the cliffs to left and right, looking for a glint of steel or a sudden movement, but his gaze met only rocks and shadow and shrubs. The crew sank lower behind the shields lining the gunwale.

  In the end, an attack never came. Dragon slid forward on the rolling waves and met only silence as her hull crunched up onto the shingle. Hakon hefted his shield and called Toralv and those on the right side of the ship to arms. The left would remain in case they needed to make a hasty retreat.

  “Which way?” asked Toralv as they knelt behind their shields on the beach.

  Hakon pointed with his seax to Shadow Haven. “To the hall,” he whispered.

  They took off at a jog across the uneven sand with shields raised and weapons poised. As they neared the hall, a hound began to bark from within. The men crouched again behind their shields.

  “Damn dog will wake the whole island,” whispered Asmund.

  Just then, the door of one of the outlying structures swung open. The men turned instinctively to the new threat, but it was only Eldgrim's thrall, Hilde, carrying a pail in her hands. At the sight of the men, she dropped her bucket and screamed, which echoed off the cliffs and sent birds squawking to the skies. Asmund sprang forward and tackled the woman before she could scream again. The hidden dog gnashed and growled.

  A man exited the hall with a wooden spade in his hand. Judging from his dress and his thin build, he could only be another thrall. “Who —” The man started to say, but never finished his question. A hand axe lodged in his chest, and he dropped dead just outside the door.

  Several of Hakon's men leaped the man's body and smashed into the hall with their shields ready. The dog barked furiously, yelped, then fell silent. Moments later, the men returned to the doorway; one called, “It is empty.”

  Asmund pulled Hilde to her feet. She gazed first at him, then at the approaching men. Even in the half-light, Hakon could see the terror in her eyes. “Please,” she begged. “Do not harm me.”

  Hakon grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the hall. She stumbled but managed to stay upright.

  “Please,” she cried as Hakon smashed her against one of the hall posts. She was trembling now.

  “Where are the others?” he asked. “Where have they gone?”

  “They left, lord. With the Danes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Aye, lord. Eldgrim left only me and Bertram to mind the place.” She was trying to control her sobs, and her words came in starts.

  “Asmund. Search around the hall. Toralv. Take some men and check the beach and the cliffs.”

  Hakon turned back to Hilde. She was a thin girl in her late teens, with freckles that dotted her dirt-smudged nose and cheeks and chestnut hair that she wore in a long braid. He
r name and manner of speech suggested she might have been a Frank before her capture.

  “Whose ship is on the beach, girl?”

  “That was Lord Eldgrim's. He left it here for us. To fish in the bay.”

  “When did Eldgrim leave?”

  “Many days ago, lord. He took all of his men. He told us we were free, but we have no place to go.”

  Hakon lifted her chin so he could see her neck. Her thrall collar was gone, leaving in its place a still chafed but healing ring of skin. Hakon released his grip on the girl and stood back.

  Just then, Asmund entered the hall. In one hand, he carried his spear and what looked like a bow. With the other, he dragged a boy by his motley clump of hair. The boy was still on his feet and fighting mightily to rid himself of Asmund's grip.

  “Reinhard!” cried Hilde when she saw the boy.

  Asmund marched over to Hakon and tossed the boy to the ground. He was a tall lad, with wiry limbs and a forest of brown curls on his head. Before the boy could stand, Asmund had his spear point at the boy's neck. “Try it, you little bastard, and I will skewer you.” A trickle of blood dripped from the left side of Asmund's forehead as he spoke.

  “What happened to you?” Hakon asked.

  “This goat turd almost killed me with this toy bow of his.” Asmund held the bow aloft and glanced at Hakon. In that instant, Reinhard knocked his spear aside and scrambled to his feet. Asmund tossed the bow and righted his spear but too late. The boy had produced a small knife from his belt and now faced Asmund, ready to strike. Asmund leveled his spear at the boy.

  “If you wish to live, boy, then I suggest you drop the knife,” said Hakon, who had drawn his own seax. The other men in the hall readied their weapons too.

  “Do it, Reinhard,” pleaded Hilde.

  “They killed my father!” The blood rose in Reinhard's whiskerless cheeks as the tears welled in his brown eyes.

  “Aye,” said Hilde, more calmly now. “They did, and they will kill you too, if you do not obey them.”

  “What say you, lord?” asked Asmund. “Shall I skewer the little bastard?”

  Mayhap it was the steel in his nerves or the fire in his emotions; whatever it was, Hakon liked the boy and did not want to see him hurt. “This is your last warning. You have my word as your king that we will not harm you or the girl if you put your blade aside.”

  Reinhard blinked. “My king?”

  “Drop your blade,” Hakon repeated, this time more calmly.

  Reinhard blinked again, as if Hakon's words were chipping away at the fury that had possessed him and he was coming again into his own mind. The boy's eyes moved then from the blade in his hand to the armed men in the hall, and finally back to Hakon. He nodded and set the knife down. Asmund used his spear point to knock it away. It skidded across the floor and into the shadows.

  With things more settled, Hakon turned back to Hilde and made a show of examining his seax. “You said there were no others. You lied.”

  Tears welled in Hilde's eyes again. “Forgive me, lord. Please. Reinhard is usually in the seter with the livestock. He is good with animals. There are no others. I promise you.”

  “I will take you at your word, Hilde. But if we find others…” He let the words hang in the air between them.

  “Why did you kill my father?” This question came from the boy, who had regained his senses. His voice cracked with emotion as he asked it.

  Hakon shrugged. “It was an accident. We are not in the business of killing defenseless thralls.”

  The boy raised his chin proudly. “He was no longer a thrall.”

  Hakon conceded the point with a nod. “No, he was not.”

  “You shall pay for his death,” spat the boy.

  “Reinhard!” Hilde pleaded.

  “Mind your tongue, boy, before I cut it out of your head,” added Asmund.

  Hakon merely laughed. “I like your spirit, lad, but I would do as Asmund says.” He turned back to Hilde. “My army is near and needs a place to camp. They shall stay here tonight, and you shall open your stores and this hall to them.”

  Hilde nodded her understanding.

  Toralv returned then with his search party. They had found no others save for a few wandering goats, one of which was dead and draped over Bard's shoulders. Hakon nodded at Hilde. “I am glad you spoke the truth. For that, I will let you and Reinhard bury Reinhard's father. Asmund. Take some men and guard them.”

  That evening, the hall and the beach thrived with life. Though it was now nearly midnight judging from the position of the sun, the men could not resist the temptation of fresh ale and warm goat stew to supplement their diet. The prisoners buried their father down near the beach, then returned under guard to the hall, where Hakon had them seated and bound to separate posts near the head table. Hakon then explained their presence to his fellow warriors and forbade any man to harm the prisoners on pain of death, for though bound, they were still Hakon's guests at his feast.

  “You have a strange way of treating your guests,” Sigurd grunted between mouthfuls of stew, motioning to the prisoners with his spoon.

  “I do not trust them, nor do I trust our men with them. So there they will sit until we leave on the morrow.”

  Sigurd drank deeply from his cup, then sleeved the ale-froth from his mustache. “So, will you tell me now why we are here?”

  Hakon slurped from his spoon, relishing the rich, gamey flavor of the goat and its warmth in his belly. “Eldgrim is the name of the warrior who lives here. He was Jarl Tore's man. Long ago, I banished his son, who had murdered a neighbor unjustly. When Erik's sons attacked Avaldsnes, I was here and asked Eldgrim to join me. He refused. But he had no such quarrel joining Erik's sons when they attacked us at Rastarkalv.”

  Sigurd grunted. “So you have come for revenge.”

  Hakon nodded. “I have come for justice.”

  “And he is now gone. So what do you do?”

  “I will ensure he has nothing to return to, though it sounds like he had no interest in returning anyway. If he sails with Erik's sons, mayhap I will meet him again and find the justice I seek. In the meantime,” Hakon smiled, “I will eat his food and enjoy the warmth of his hall.” He raised his cup. “Skol.”

  Sigurd returned the gesture. “Skol.”

  The warriors awoke the following morning to clear skies and a gentle wind. Hakon ordered the men to take what livestock, rations, and supplies they could find and to replenish their water and ale. As the men plundered the hall, the prisoners watched helplessly from their seats with eyes bleary from lack of sleep.

  Hakon returned to Hilde and Reinhard when the army was ready to depart. By his side stood Asmund and Toralv. “We are leaving,” Hakon announced. “As promised, you have not been harmed. I have placed your bow down on the beach, Reinhard, so that you can hunt once we are gone. If you try to retrieve it before we leave, you will be killed.”

  The color rushed to Reinhard's cheeks as he glared at Hakon. “You have killed my father. That is harm enough.”

  “I smell smoke,” Hilde said.

  “So you do,” said Hakon. “I am burning Shadow Haven. I cannot leave it for Eldgrim.” He raised his hands to halt their next questions. “I have released the remaining livestock from the barns.”

  Hakon motioned to Toralv, who moved to Hilde. Her eyes bored into Hakon as Toralv untied the ropes that bound her to the post. Once free, she worked her wrists to return the feeling to her hands.

  “You will wait until we are gone. Then you will untie Reinhard,” Hakon commanded her.

  Hakon, Asmund, and Toralv left them and marched to the beach, where the army waited on their ships. Flames danced on the thatch of the various halls as ash swirled in the morning's breeze. In short minutes, those halls and all that was inside them would be engulfed and burn down to charred, smoldering frames.

  As Hakon climbed aboard Dragon and motioned for the ships to pull away, Reinhard and Hilde rushed from the burning hall toward the beach. Hilde
grabbed Reinhard's arm, but he yanked it free and retrieved his bow from the sand. The boy searched about him for a good arrow but found only broken shafts. Hakon smiled at his own foresight, for he had known Reinhard would try to use them.

  “May God curse you, King Hakon!” Reinhard hollered, and the words echoed off the cliff walls, chasing Hakon and his ships back to the sea.

  Chapter 15

  Kaupang, the Vik, Late Summer, AD 957

  Beacon flames and the doleful echo of warning horns greeted Hakon's ships as they rowed into the waterway that led to Kaupang, the only town in Hakon's kingdom. It was early evening, and on either shore, the sun's sinking rays shone on the spear points and helmets of watchful warriors. Hakon did not mind the unwelcome sights and sounds. In truth, he felt a heavy weight lifted from his spirits. Long ago, Hakon had given the town and the area around it to his nephew, Gudrod, to rule. As the town grew and trade flourished, so too did the need for its protection. It was good to see Gudrod's vigilance in this task, especially with Erik's sons so near at hand.

  But there was another reason for the grin that now parted Hakon's sopping beard. As soon as the fleet hit the open seas south of Karmsund Strait, the blue skies turned as dark and gray as unpolished metal. Sheets of rain rolled in from the west, driven by a relentless wind that turned the rain sideways and pushed the waves against their hulls. For five days the rain came down, not strong enough to force the fleet to seek shelter, but potent enough to soak the men through and shorten their tempers as they struggled to round the south tip of Agder and reach Kaupang. Only that morning had the rain stopped, and as Hakon looked to the shores on the approach to the trading town, his vexation slipped away like the remaining raindrops on his cloak.

  Eskil guided Dragon into the narrow waterway, and Hakon's good cheer turned to elation. For there, lined up on the beach, were more than a dozen warships.

  “God be praised,” said Egbert, who stood at Hakon's side. “That is a sight to behold.”