Forged by Iron

by Eric Schumacher

  Holger gestured toward the hall and Haakon shook his head. Though I could not hear his words, Holger's anger was clear. The man next to him, who stood nearly a head taller than Holger, held up his hands as if to calm Holger, but Holger kept up his tirade, motioning to another man. That man moved up to Bursti and yanked him forward. I heard my father hiss a curse as the warrior forced Bursti to his knees. Holger pulled his seax from its sheath and pointed it at Haakon, then at his thrall.

  Please, no, I thought. Not Bursti. I closed my eyes to shield myself from what I knew would come next.

  “Stop!” my father roared and exited the barn.

  I opened my eyes as the men spun to face this unexpected threat. My father stopped but kept his sword in his hand where the others could see it. I knew not what to do, so I remained hidden, watching through the peephole with my heart thumping in my chest.

  Holger strode to my father and stopped just beyond his sword's reach. The others followed him, including Haakon and the tall man who had stood at Holger's side. “You have not been easy to find, Loose-beard,” said Holger.

  “Who is he?” asked the tall man. He had the lilt of a Swede and the bearing of a lord, though I did not recognize him.

  “This is Torolv Torgilsson, the foster father of Astrid Eriksson. He used to be a lord in our lands, but is now a nithing. A runaway from the true king, Harald.”

  “You did not mention that Astrid would have others with her.”

  “I did not know if he would still be by her side,” Holger answered with a glance at the taller man. He studied my father with his dark eyes and a wicked grin suddenly stretched across his thin face. “But you are a man of honor and her foster father. You would not abandon her, would you?”

  “If you want Astrid and the boy, Holger, you will have to fight me for them,” said my father.

  Holger's grin widened. “For the troubles you have caused me in finding you, it would be a pleasure to lay you low, Torolv. But in all candor, you are not worth any more of my sweat. I have others who would relish killing you, and I will still take Astrid and the boy.”

  “What is this talk of fights and killing?” asked the taller man, visibly confused and angry now. “You told us that Queen Gunnhild wished to foster the child. That this was a mission of goodwill.”

  His words made my thoughts spin. Gunnhild was the former wife of Erik Bloodaxe and the mother of the man who called himself King Harald, the very same man who had killed Olaf's father, Trygvi. By all accounts, she was a calculating and wicked woman who some said was a witch. Her desire to foster Olaf made no sense unless it was to see him killed.

  I was not alone in my shock. “Goodwill?” asked my father incredulously, then laughed.

  Holger seemed to remember himself then and grinned. “That is indeed the case, Dag. Thank you for the reminder.” He looked my father full in the face. “Gunnhild wishes to extend peace to your charges, Torolv. And as a token of that peace, offer Olaf a place in her home as a fosterling. He will, of course, be treated as befits his station and his lineage as a king's son. We shall return Astrid to her father. She will not be harmed. You have my word.”

  “As King Trygvi had your word when you invited him to raid with you?” my father retorted. “Your word means nothing, Holger.”

  Astrid and Olaf appeared then at the barn door and peered out at the men. Holger noticed their presence and smiled his serpentine smile. “My lady,” he said with a brief nod in her direction. “Queen Gunnhild, the mother of King Harald, has offered a place in her home for your son as a fosterling. He will not be harmed, nor will you.”

  “So I heard,” responded Astrid sourly.

  “Gunnhild has kings enough in her family,” continued my father, meaning Harald and his remaining brothers. “You and I both know that Olaf is a threat to those sons. I can see no reason to put him in Gunnhild's care.”

  “I am not privy to the reasons of a queen,” Holger said evasively. “I have only her promise of friendship and this sack of gold to repay you for the losses you have suffered.” He motioned to one of his men, who lifted a sack as large as a man's fist. “There is enough here, Torolv, for Astrid, you, and your son to live comfortably until your final days.”

  “And what of my lands? My title?” asked my father.

  He lifted his hands as if the matter was beyond his control. “I am afraid those are now gone. But with that much gold, you can easily start over.”

  “Is that as large as the ransom you placed on our heads?” called Astrid from the barn.

  “Ransom?” asked the man, Dag. This exchange was clearly not what he had been expecting.

  “Aye, ransom,” Astrid repeated to Dag. “This man and his lord killed my husband and have been pursuing us ever since.” She then shifted her fiery gaze to Holger. “Tell your lord Harald and his mother that they may not have my son for any price.”

  My father looked at her, then at Holger. “Astrid has spoken and as her oath-sworn protector, I am honor-bound to ensure that her words come to pass,” he said. “Queen Gunnhild will need to look elsewhere for a fosterling. Olaf will stay with his mother.”

  Holger's face pinched into a scowl. “Very well, then, I shall take the boy by force.” He pulled his sword from its scabbard.

  “You will do no such thing, Northman!” hollered Haakon. “These people are guests in my house and guests they shall remain. Dag, since when have we allowed Northmen to come to our lands and threaten violence or break our laws?”

  The old man's words struck a chord with the Swedes, and especially Dag, who stepped forward. “Put your sword away, Holger. You too, Northman,” he said to my father. “There will be no violence this night. The boy and his mother are guests in this hall and free to decide their fate. If they do not wish to go with you, Holger, then that is their right. Besides, I now see that there is something more at play here and that you and your men have been dealing with us in half-truths.” Then, to add salt to Holger's wound, Dag said, “Holger, you shall give Haakon one of your gold coins for his trouble. Come. We are done here.” He whirled and motioned for his men to follow.

  My father faced Holger for a long, tense moment. He was ready to fight if Holger made a move. Holger must have sensed it, for he held himself in check. “There will be a time for you and me, Torolv Loose-beard.” He spat in my father's direction.

  “I will welcome it, Holger.”

  Holger sheathed his weapon, then turned to go. My father stepped back and returned his own blade to its scabbard. There was a part of me that ached to rush forth and ram my seax into Holger's back and fulfill the oath I had made to the god Thor, for I blamed him more than the faceless King Harald or his mother, Gunnhild, for our plight. But I knew, too, that even if I managed to reach Holger, I would fall to his comrades' blades before I could pull my own blade free. And so, instead, I stabbed the wood planking of the barn wall and cursed under my breath at the retreating snake.

  And Holger slipped away into the gray morning.

  Later, we sat in Haakon's hall, debating our journey as we broke our fast on porridge. With Holger's sudden appearance, we knew not which was the better choice: staying on Haakon's farm or chancing a trip to Westra Aros where Holger might be waiting.

  “I would not put it past that snake to be camped downriver,” Astrid said sourly, “just waiting for us to make our escape.”

  “One thing is clear to me,” said my father as he sleeved some porridge from his mustache. “We cannot stay here and endanger Haakon any more than we have. Holger could easily have killed Bursti this morning, and that does not sit well with me. I also believe that Dag would not allow Holger to lie in wait for us. Dag now knows Holger's true mission and was ill-pleased at having been deceived by him. He will be keeping a closer eye on Holger and his men, I think.”

  “And if Holger and his men are waiting for us in Westra Aros?” asked Astrid. “Or worse, they are there and Sigvard's ship is not?”

  My father turned to Haakon. “Do your neigh
bors know Sigvard's ship?”

  “Sigvard's Swan?” asked Haakon. “Every local knows it.”

  “So it will be easy to spot if it is there? Or if it is not there?”

  “Aye. It is unmistakable.”

  My father nodded, having made up his mind. He looked at us. “We go. Let us grab our things from the barn.”

  As planned, Haakon's neighbors came later that day to collect us. They arrived in a shallow riverboat and helped us load our meager possessions into the vessel. Haakon and his household gathered on the riverbank near his humble dock and watched in silence as we prepared for our journey.

  We went to them when we were finished loading to say our farewells. I, being more reserved than the others, took my place at the end of the line. The others hugged and said their well wishes or shared a laugh. I did not. Rather, I mumbled my awkward words to Tala and Gamal and Bursti. It is not that I did not care for them or feel the loss of leaving them — I simply did not know how to show it. They responded with a pat and a kind word, but said no more, perchance knowing that any greater outpouring of emotion might embarrass me. If that is true, then they were right — it would have.

  When I came to Haakon, he studied me with his rheumy eyes, then motioned me to him. I stepped forward and he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Walk with me.” We took several steps away from the others. “I have some words for your ears alone, Torgil. These words are not to share. Not even with your father.”

  My curiosity piqued, I nodded.

  “You have in you two gifts: your silence and your mettle,” he began in his direct manner. I felt my cheeks flush at his words, for I knew not where they were headed and already they made me uncomfortable. “I have seen both. But I also sense an uncertainty in you, perchance born from your circumstances. It is understandable. I want you to understand that you cannot change your circumstances. They are woven into your life threads. The gods wish to see how you react and if you are indeed worthy of their favor. I have seen that you have the gifts to react appropriately to those challenges and they will not only serve you well, they will keep that brave but foolish charge of yours alive. Do you understand my words?”

  “I think so,” I responded.

  He straightened and looked in my eyes. I had a hard time meeting his gaze and so looked down. He brought my chin up with his crooked finger. “Be watchful. Be considerate. And be fierce when you decide to act. The world is vicious and you must be ready for it.”

  I nodded, understanding a little better now, but still not fully.

  “Fare you well, lad.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to mutter and turned to go.

  I climbed into the riverboat and waved briskly to Haakon and his household, hoping the knowledge he had imparted to me would become clear soon.

  Chapter 14

  Westra Aros was a fetid place.

  By the gods, how it reeked. Rotting fish. Manure. Smoke. Urine. Before I even set eyes on the village, those foul aromas invaded my nose. I covered my face with my forearm, but it did little to mask the odor. Olaf, who sat before me in our small vessel, covered his face in his tunic.

  Wilderness met civilization in that strange town. Yet it seemed to my young eyes that the two had not yet reconciled how to coexist. Long a trading center of the Swedes, its shelters huddled on the tree-thick banks of the Lake like lots cast haphazardly by the hands of giants. Tall pines loomed over the structures, their branches casting the place in a sinister shadow from which echoed the faceless cackle of revelers, the bark of hounds, and the hum of conversation. There were three docks against which larger trading vessels rocked in the current. Smaller ships lay strewn on the shore in no particular order. I could see pockets of people moving about and hear the call of tradesmen hawking their wares. To the west of the town, on the beach, two men fought with swords surrounded by a group of cheering men. To the east, women washed laundry, oblivious to the fighting or the men who pissed in the water not twenty paces from where they toiled. I sensed that this was a place where men came to lose themselves and where hopes and dreams grew and died in equal measure. I dreaded it instantly.

  “Do you see Sigvard's ship?” called my father from the shadows of the ship's small prow where he sat.

  “Aye,” responded Aki, the man who had interrogated us at the harvest festival and who owned the small vessel in which we sat.

  “Pull us up beside the ship,” my father ordered as he ventured a peek above the gunwale to see the ships. Olaf and I sat behind him and followed my father's lead, peering into the darkness at the ships' hulls that glowed in the firelight of the village.

  “Oars up,” whispered Aki from the stern. “Bjarni, fend off the ships.”

  The man named Bjarni raised his oar as we angled toward the easternmost dock, glided slowly past one ship, and sidled up to another. This one, he tapped with his oar to keep us from hitting it too hard. The ship was large, its hull nearly twice the length of our small vessel, its gunwale high above our heads. Unlike a warship, this was a trading ship, or knarr, designed less for speed and maneuverability and more for holding cargo.

  “Who is there?” came a gravelly voice from the ship's aft deck. A face appeared, a wrinkled graybeard wearing a woolen cap.

  “It is Aki. I have the cargo we discussed.”

  “Get 'em aboard. Quickly, now.”

  We did not need more coaxing. I grabbed my sack of possessions and my weapons and lifted them into the knarr, then followed Astrid and Turid in their climb over the gunwale. The old man grabbed each of us in turn and hoisted us aboard.

  “Into the hold,” he hissed, indicating the sunken space between the fore- and aft decks. The space was already crowded with sacks and barrels and ropes and spare oars. We climbed down and sat wherever we could find space.

  “Get you gone,” the graybeard said to Aki and Bjarni, and I realized with some guilt that we had not thanked them for their help. The old man then turned to us and pointed to two metal pots in the middle of the hold. “There is food in one o' those pots. The other is your privy. Do not mistake one for the other. We will see you in the morn.” And with that, he shoved a plank in place to cover the hold, then another, until we sat in complete darkness.

  I sensed some movement to my right, then heard Astrid say, “Come. Bring your spoons. I have found the food.”

  Though we could see nothing in that dark place, we could still smell and feel and hear, and so we worked our way to Astrid and the pot that she had found. I fumbled for the spoon I carried in my belt pouch and felt my way to the pot's opening, then lowered it until I felt my fingers touch warm liquid. Lifting my spoon back to my nose, I sniffed and was greeted with the smell of fish and potatoes. I ate. After several spoonfuls, I retreated to an empty spot and tried to position my goods to form a pillow under my head.

  For what seemed like an eternity we waited in that dark space with the rank smell of Westra Aros in our nostrils. To take my mind from my discomfort, I tried to discern the various sounds, parsing order from misconduct, sobriety from intemperance. I could not — it all blended into one grating cacophony that seemed somehow fitting for that strange place.

  “I want to see what is happening,” Olaf announced impatiently and made to rise.

  “No,” my father growled in the darkness.

  Olaf ignored him and began working on one of the planks that formed our ceiling. I was lying near him and as soon as I found the wool of his trousers, I pulled him back. There was a thud as he careened off a barrel and another as he hit the ship's ribbing. He cried out and his voice sounded like thunder in that small space. I did not know if he was truly hurt, but at the moment, I did not care. “My father said 'no,' ” I hissed.

  “Quiet, you fools,” the graybeard jeered above our heads. “Men are coming.”

  I noticed the footfalls on the dock, distant at first but getting closer. Their approach did not unsettle me. Holger could not possibly know of us. It was probably just more crew. That is, of course, unt
il the graybeard asked, “Who are you? What do you want?” With his words, my calm evaporated.

  “We want what you have in your hold.”

  I recognized Holger's voice instantly and now my heart thundered. I knew not how that snake had found us. I knew only that there was no way out of our watery prison.

  “And what is that? Furs? Amber?” asked the graybeard. “It is not yours to take.”

  “Torolv?” Holger called, apparently tired of the graybeard's game. “Is that you in there, skulking like a rat? Have you fallen so far from that mighty hall of yours?” His words prompted some laughter from the others with him, though how many others, I could not tell.

  The slow rasp of my father's sword sliding from its scabbard answered Holger's accusation. I could not see my father, but I could sense his fury, and wondered if he might leap from the hold to slice the tongue from Holger's mouth. Holger, too, must have sensed it, for I heard blades sliding from scabbards out on the dock. The sound raised the hair on my arms and reminded me of my own blade, which I now readied by my side.

  “What are you doing? You have no right to board this ship,” the old man protested.

  “Silence, or I will feed you to the fish along with the friends you hide. Remove these,” Holger commanded.

  Heavy feet climbed onto the deck above our heads. To my left, a plank slipped from its spot. Though it was dark outside, it was lighter than in the hold. I could suddenly see the shadowed forms of my father, who sat across from me, and Olaf, to my right. Astrid and Turid were to my father's left, though deeper in the hold. As the men moved a second plank, I slithered farther into the shadows and tightened the grip on my blade. My father showed me the blade at his side and pointed directly above me, where a man stood. I knew then what he intended and he confirmed it by pointing at me, then at the deck above his head. I nodded my understanding.

  Sweat beaded at my temples, though it was not a warm night. My stomach tightened, and I felt a sudden urge to piss. I said a quick prayer to Thor for courage and safety, then looked to my right. Olaf was on his knees, blade in hand, smiling that mischievous smile of his. Wait, I mouthed to him and held up my hand, but he ignored me.