War King

by Eric Schumacher

  The tune ended, but Astrid kept her head on Hakon's chest. “There was sadness in your face last night,” she said. “Can you tell me about it?”

  And with that tender question, the world and its pains flooded back into Hakon's thoughts. He no longer saw the trees above or the rays of light cascading down to the forest floor. Instead, the images that flooded his eyes were of pain and death and bloodshed. His fingers stroked Astrid's hair mindlessly. “I told you I would share, though as I think upon your request, I know not how to answer without spoiling this moment.”

  “Is it me?” She lifted her head and looked into his face with genuine concern.

  “You?” he asked with bewilderment. “You are everything that is right in my life, Astrid.”

  “What, then?” She stroked his beard with her finger.

  He laid his head back against the stones and closed his eyes. “I think upon this past year, Astrid, and this war with Erik's sons, and I am ashamed. Their attacks have forced me to do things I never thought I would do. I have allowed my men to do things I never thought I would allow. I have lost things I never wanted to lose. Not just friends and comrades and loved ones. To a degree, I have lost myself.” He opened his eyes and splashed a handful of the warm water onto his face to clear his mind of the thoughts.

  She watched Hakon closely, and in her face, Hakon could see her concern transform to sadness. He could see it in her eyes and in the softening of her features, though it could never match his own.

  “Do not be sad. Know that you are what makes me happy,” he said as his eyes found hers. He stood and the steam rose from his muscled chest. He smiled down at her. “Enough of this talk, eh? Let us turn to better things. I have something for you.”

  Astrid sat up as Hakon reached for his saddlebag and produced a silver necklace. It sparkled in the spring sunshine as he held it up to her. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the gift.

  “I had this made for you,” he said, before she could ask where he had acquired it. “I want you to be my wife, Astrid.”

  Her hand went to her mouth as she searched Hakon's face. “Your wife? Truly?”

  He clasped the necklace around her long neck and smiled at her. “After the mistake that was Groa, I never thought I would marry again, but you are unlike any woman I have ever met. From the moment I saw you sing at my feast all those summers ago, until this day, you have been in my thoughts. When I saw you again at Tore's funeral, my heart leaped in my chest. I know now that you are my happiness and that I have loved you all along. Will you marry me?”

  She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Aye, Hakon Haraldsson. I will.”

  Hakon and Astrid brought the news to Sigurd as soon as they returned from the hills.

  The jarl sat on his high seat in his hall and listened intently as Hakon explained his desire to wed Astrid, including all the reasons why the union would be a good one. Sigurd stroked his beard as he listened to the younger couple with their wet hair and clothes, his face devoid of emotion. When Hakon finished his monologue, the old jarl stood and paced before his chair, concern etched on his face. It was not the reaction Hakon expected, and so he glanced at Astrid for explanation but found only deep lines of worry furrowed in the space between her brows.

  Suddenly, Sigurd turned and opened his arms. “By the gods, of course I bless this union! I had you worried, did I not?” At this, he laughed so loud it echoed through the empty hall. He embraced his daughter, then Hakon. “When did you two lovers want to have the wedding?”

  “Soon, Father. We want to do it here, in Lade.”

  Sigurd clapped his hands. “My heart is full! Give me some time to make the preparations. We will make this the grandest wedding Lade has ever seen!” He turned to a thrall. “Birgit! Bring me three cups of mead! Quick, now. A toast is in order!”

  Chapter 21

  The couple was to be married on the eve of Sigge's departure from Lade. They needed that much time to invite the locals, give the chieftains enough time to gather, and to prepare the hall and the food for a wedding Sigurd hoped would live in the minds of the Tronds for generations to come. And, they felt it right that Sigge should be there for the ceremony, whether he wanted to be or not.

  On the morning of the wedding, Hakon woke early and climbed from under the skins in his tent. As custom demanded, he had slept alone on the eve of the betrothal. Across the dark interior, Egbert knelt in prayer. A sliver of soft light crept from beneath the tent flaps to lie on the priest's hooded form. Egbert heard his lord rise and turned. He removed the cowl of his gray habit to reveal his shock of orange hair. “I am here as you requested, lord.”

  Hakon scratched at his chin. “So you are.”

  “How may I serve you, my lord? A prayer, perchance, before your betrothal?”

  Hakon dipped his head into a bucket of water, then rubbed his dripping face and beard with a small deerskin rag to dry himself. He cupped the water with his hands and sucked it into his mouth, then gargled it loudly before spitting it back into the bucket. “I will need that too, but not now,” Hakon said when he was done.

  “What, then?” Egbert asked as Hakon pulled on his breeks, then a tunic.

  Hakon clasped a cloak into place with a bronze brooch, then winked at his friend. “You shall see, Egbert. Come.” Hakon stopped at the tent flap and grabbed a knapsack that lay at his feet. “Quietly, though. I do not want to wake the camp. This adventure is for you and me alone.”

  Egbert's eyes widened. “Adventure, lord?”

  Hakon smiled. “Do not be concerned, Egbert.”

  They exited the tent and wove their way through the maze of structures and sleeping forms until they reached the beach where the ships lay. Here they turned east, toward the mountains, and continued over the uneven shingle until they came to a place where the land angled out into the fjord. As a new arrival in the North, Hakon had come to this tree-lined finger of land often to think, especially to the small beach at its tip, which was shrouded by trees and offered a fair amount of privacy. Hakon headed for that beach now with a silent, hooded Egbert following closely on his heels.

  When they reached the tip, they stopped and gazed out at the silent fjord. Clouds shrouded the rising sun, casting the water and the distant shores to the north in a steel gray. There was little wind, so what waves there were lapped against the shore in a rhythmic shuffle of pebbles. Hakon breathed the tangy air into his lungs and released his breath in a slow exhalation.

  Egbert had stopped behind his king and now cleared his throat. “Pardon me, my lord. But why are we here?” Hakon could hear the trepidation in his voice.

  “Today I am to be married, but I have misgivings.” Hakon's eyes studied the fjord as he sought the right words. It was unfamiliar territory and the words came awkwardly. “Not about Astrid. About the ceremony. There is much I have done in my life that worries me.” His thoughts flashed to Gyda and the child within her. “I fear this ceremony will be but another stain on my soul.”

  “So what do you wish me to do?” asked Egbert.

  “I want you to baptize me,” Hakon said. “Or mayhap the proper way of saying it is rebaptize me. For I was baptized in Winchester as a youth.”

  There was a crunching of feet on the tiny stones as Egbert made his way to Hakon's side. “Baptize you?” he asked from the dark confines of his hood.

  “Aye, Egbert.”

  Egbert pulled the cowl from his head and gazed at Hakon questioningly. “And how do you feel this baptism will help you? You think it will remove the stain on your soul?” Egbert grinned.

  “You find that humorous?”

  Egbert's grin vanished at the malice in Hakon's tone. He turned his gaze to his feet, where it lingered for a long time. “I do not find the request humorous, lord, but it is not so easy as that.”

  “Why not?”

  Egbert gestured to the rippling water. “You cannot just wash away a lifetime of sins as you might wash away dirt from your skin. You must confess and reject the s
ins committed, and resolve not to commit them again. You must do penance to reconcile with God, and to return to His mercy.” Despite the weight of his words, Egbert kept his tone soft.

  Hakon sighed heavily. He had thought this might be easy. That with his baptism he could start anew, and enter into his betrothal as a man reborn in his faith. He had been excited by that prospect, frankly, but Egbert's words sucked that energy from him like a man sucks the marrow from a bone, leaving him dispirited and tired. “Must I confess each sin in turn?” Hakon finally asked.

  “You must try,” responded Egbert delicately.

  Hakon's thoughts wandered back over the summers and winters, recalling all of the death and the destruction his hands had wrought, all of the boasting and drinking and women, all of the pagan sacrifices he had not challenged, and so much more besides. He had tried to be a good Christian. He had kept his Fridays and prayed almost every morning. He had refused the blood of sacrifice his entire life. But he had gotten lost in a violent land that was staunchly pagan, and sinned often as a result. The prospect of recounting all of them, of laying open wounds long since scarred over, of conjuring the guilt and sorrow and pain, was beyond daunting.

  Egbert's soft voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. “Hakon?”

  Hakon turned to his priest. “I cannot, Egbert. Not yet. There is still much I must do. Much killing. A pagan wedding. I fear my confession would be just hollow words spoken to you.”

  Egbert's face sank. “I understand.”

  “When this war with my nephews is over, I will come to you and confess. I swear it.”

  Egbert searched his lord's eyes and nodded. “Very well.”

  Hakon turned back to the fjord. “I still feel stained, though. Is there nothing we can do to remove this feeling before my betrothal?”

  Egbert scratched his tuft of hair as he thought for a moment. “I suppose we could reaffirm your faith. It would be like a baptism without all of the trappings.”

  “In the fjord?” Hakon asked excitedly, for he liked the idea.

  “If that is your wish.”

  Hakon smiled. “It is!” he exclaimed as he shed his cloak. “It is indeed!”

  Egbert turned his eyes to the fjord to give his lord some privacy. Hakon undressed to his underpants, then gingerly stepped into the icy water. Chills climbed his skin as he carefully made his way over the mossy stones.

  Behind him, Egbert removed his sandals and walked to the water's edge. “You are sure about this?” he called to Hakon as he stared at the gray water and hiked up his habit.

  Hakon turned to Egbert. “I am sure.”

  Egbert crossed himself, then stepped into the water with a quick intake of breath. Together, they waded into the fjord until both of them were waist deep in water. Hakon stood with his arms at his side, his skin white and goose-pimpled. Egbert's teeth were on the verge of chattering.

  “Lord, forgive me, but we must abbreviate this blessing given the chill of the water. I do not wish for you to catch your death on the morning of your wedding.”

  Hakon laughed, knowing it was Egbert, and not him, who suffered more. “As you wish, Egbert.”

  Egbert nodded his thanks, then began by signing the cross over Hakon. “Let us pray. O God, thou author of all wisdom, look graciously down on this your servant Hakon, and preserve him ever in thy fear, which is the beginning of wisdom, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” Egbert paused. “I ask thee, Hakon, do you renounce the devil?”

  Hakon nodded. “I renounce him.”

  “And all his works?” Egbert asked.

  “Aye,” answered Hakon, which received a raised brow of rebuke from Egbert. “I renounce them,” he responded.

  “And all his pomps?” asked Egbert through teeth that had begun to rattle in his head.

  “I renounce them,” answered Hakon.

  ”Do you believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth?”

  “I do,” replied Hakon.

  “Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only-begotten Son our Lord, who was born and hath suffered for us?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you believe in the Holy Ghost, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the flesh, and life everlasting?”

  “I do,” said Hakon earnestly.

  Egbert placed his hands on Hakon's purpling shoulders and pushed the king into the water so that its surface reached Hakon's beard. “Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, regenerate your humble servant, Hakon Haraldsson, in your faith. Strengthen his resolve in thee, and in your son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Egbert signed the cross over Hakon and smiled. “The Lord be with you, Hakon Haraldsson.” Egbert grabbed the king's wrist. “Come now from this water. I have never killed anyone with a blessing, and you will not be my first.”

  The two men made their way quickly to the beach, and Hakon retrieved the knapsack he had been carrying. He rummaged through it and yanked from it a pair of trousers and a gray tunic, which he tossed to Egbert. “Put these on.” Egbert grabbed the garments and began to strip himself of his wet habit as Hakon quickly dressed in his tunic and breeks.

  When they were both dressed again in dry clothes, Egbert laughed. “That was the hastiest blessing I have ever performed.”

  Hakon smiled at him, feeling cleansed both inside and out. “But the most meaningful, Egbert, and I thank you for it.”

  “It is rare indeed to see you looking so…so grand,” Toralv joked as he approached his king and bowed with a flourish. “One would think you were about to be married, eh?”

  Hakon had dressed in his finest clothing — soft leather trousers, his best boots, a cloud- white tunic, and a new blue cloak fastened at the shoulder with a serpentine silver pin. He had forgone the ritual bath administered by the wedding attendants due to his baptism in the fjord earlier that morning. Nor had he applied all of the colorful eyeliner or hair decorations that were so common in weddings. Instead, he had cut and combed his short beard until it gleamed, and he fastened his blond hair into a fine braid that hung down to his shoulder blades. He now stood under a tree behind the gathered crowd, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

  Hakon smiled at his friend. “And thanks to your slovenly outfit, I look all the more grand.”

  Toralv laughed. “Come now. You have never seen me so presentable. I even bathed.” He smelled his underarm as if to prove it, then smiled. Toralv was about to say something more when the blast of a horn beckoned the friends forward. “After you, my lord,” said Toralv with a wave of his hand and a slight bow.

  Sigurd had spared no expense on the decorations. Banners of green and yellow encircled the wedding area, as did wildflowers, which had been laid by Thora and some other children that very morning. The crowd gathered within the circle parted for Hakon and Toralv as they made their way to the dwarf godi, Drangi, who stood on the strand with the gray fjord behind him, a soft breeze rippling its surface. The dwarf inspected the king with a stony countenance, perchance peeved that Hakon had forbidden his sacrificing an animal during the wedding ceremony. Or mayhap it was the Christian cross hanging from Hakon's neck or the Christian priest standing so close to the king that irked him. In the end, Hakon had not the time to dwell on it, for moments after Hakon arrived at his assigned spot, a second horn announced the arrival of Astrid and Sigurd.

  The crowd parted to reveal the bride, and Hakon's heart leaped. Astrid wore a flowing green dress that reached to her feet and matched the shade of her smiling eyes. Her auburn curls had been pulled into a braided bun that had been decorated with tiny white flowers. She, too, wore no makeup, for it was not needed to accentuate the lines of her face or the keenness of her eyes. Encircling her graceful neck was the silver necklace Hakon had given to her at the pool. It was the only jewelry she wore.

  Beside her strode an equally resplendent Sigurd. He walked with his shoulders back and his gray-bearded chin jutting as he acknowledged the guests who had gathered to see his daughter ma
rry the king. As he approached, Hakon could not help but feel as if this had all been preordained. As if God and his host of angels had decided long ago that through all of the strife and pain and struggle that had brought Hakon and Sigurd together, they would finally be united by love. And so here they were, in Lade, to close a loop that had begun with Hakon's return to the North, and to begin another with the union of Hakon and Astrid.

  Sigurd let go of his daughter's arm and allowed Hakon to take it. The king smiled into Astrid's beautiful face as she blinked back happy tears, and together, they turned to the dwarf. The little man raised his arms high and called to the sky with words Hakon had heard long ago, or so it seemed. When fate had forced him into a marriage he did not want, with a girl he despised. This time, however, the words held a different significance and he listened without judgment, secure in his own faith with the woman he loved by his side.

  “Blessed Aesir, creators of man and earth, sky and sea. Since the dawn of time you have bonded man to woman and seen to our existence and our welfare. You have provided for us and watched over us. Look down upon these two now and bless the marriage. Frigga, mother of Gods, Goddess of Weddings, bless this union with love and offspring. Odin, gaze down on these two and provide them with the wisdom to learn, just as you learned when you sacrificed your eye for knowledge. Freya, stoke the flame of passion in this couple that might never extinguish, so that the Yngling bloodline and the power of Lade might carry on through the ages, together.” After he had called out these words, he turned to the bride and groom in turn. “The rings?” he asked.

  Normally, the rings would be exchanged by placing them on the pommel of the husband's and father-in-law's swords to signify their protection of each other, but in this case, such formalities were not necessary. Hakon grabbed Astrid's hand and slipped a golden ring upon her delicate finger. Astrid then offered a family ring to Hakon, though his thick knuckles made it harder to secure and she giggled at the struggle that resulted.