The Midgard Serpent

by James L. Nelson

  Is that the last I’ll see of him? Amundi wondered. Him walking calmly toward Halfdan’s mounted guard? Yes, I suppose it is.

  Halfdan and his hird stopped in front of the gate just as they had several times before over the past few days, Halfdan a dozen feet ahead of the rest. The girl Hallbera was on the saddle in front of him.

  “You made a wise choice, Amundi,” Halfdan called.

  “Odd made the choice, not us,” Amundi replied.

  “It doesn’t matter. The right choice was made.” It occurred to Amundi that they might still end up fighting for their lives. He had little confidence that Halfdan would keep his word, or that he could be trusted not to pull some trick or other.

  “So, now what?” Amundi asked.

  “Now all of you go home and allow me to live in peace in my hall.”

  Amundi paused, considering that. That could not be it, the end of it. He would need some guarantee that Halfdan would not attack them once they were clear of the walls. He was about to make that point when Halfdan spoke again, as if he had read Amundi’s thoughts.

  “I have the girl here, and I’ll let her go, as I promised,” he said, then lifted Hallbera under her arms and leaned over and set her down on the ground, where she stood, unsure what to do.

  “Now I’ll ride back to my camp,” Halfdan continued. “Me, with my guard. We’ll wait there until we see you’ve all marched off. We’ll be under arms, of course, in case you get some stupid notion, but we won’t advance beyond the edge of the camp.”

  Amundi looked up and off toward the camp in the distance. It was far enough away that Halfdan’s men could not launch a surprise attack. If Halfdan did come for them, the freemen would at least have time to ready themselves for a fight. But it still seemed too easy.

  “That’s it?” Amundi asked. “We just leave?”

  “Yes,” Halfdan said. “Just leave. And I’ll thank you not to steal any of my things, no more than you’ve stolen already.”

  Amundi did not answer right off. He sorted through the possibilities, the options, but there weren’t many to sort through. Odd had given himself up and so far Halfdan had fulfilled his side of the bargain. He and the other freemen could remain in Halfdan’s compound and face all the difficulties they had already considered: an overwhelming assault on the walls, starvation, a desperate fight to break free. Or they could trust Halfdan enough for them to open the gates, march out, and hope the king remained true to his word.

  “What of Odd?” Amundi asked.

  Now it was Halfdan’s turn to remain silent for a moment, as if he was calming himself in order to speak. “Odd is mine now. He will be treated as a traitor should.”

  “Aren’t we all traitors?” Amundi asked. “Don’t you want to do as much to us?”

  Halfdan shook his head. “You were led to this by Odd, that snake. I put no blame on you. Besides, who will pay taxes if I kill you all? You’ll pay, I promise, but not with your lives.”

  Amundi thought back to what Ragnhild had told them all: you’re worth much more to him if you’re allowed to live. Dead men don’t pay tribute.

  “It’s not my decision to open the gates,” Amundi said. “I’ll speak with the others.”

  “You do that,” Halfdan said, and there was an edge to his voice that suggested his patience was running short, or, more correctly, he would not be able to maintain the façade of patience much longer. “My guard and I, we’ll return to camp. You have until sundown to leave. After that, there are no promises anymore.”

  Amundi returned to the men on the ground, who had heard perfectly well the exchange he had with Halfdan. “Well?” he asked.

  The discussion went as Amundi guessed it would. They cursed Odd for doing what he did. They were still more than willing to fight. But now, apparently, there was no reason to fight. What’s more, with surprise lost, the slaughter would be even more complete. The men’s honor would hardly allow them to just slink away, but did it make sense to die for no purpose and doom their families to starvation or slavery without them?

  They did not have to talk long before that answer became clear.

  It took until midday to load up food and drink for the journey home, for the men to sling their shields on their backs and push the big gate open. They stepped out, bold as they could. Amundi knew that each of them silently hoped Halfdan would attack and allow them to die with honor rather than slink off like beaten dogs, even though they all knew that slinking off was the right choice.

  But Halfdan did not attack them. There was no discernible movement at all in his camp. Amundi and the other freemen and their warriors walked north along the hard-packed road until the walls of Halfdan’s compound were lost to sight. Halfdan and his army made no move. It was as if they were carved out of wood.

  More than a week had passed since that had all happened, and every day since returning to his farm Amundi braced himself for what would come next. Halfdan had kept his word about letting them leave, but Halfdan had also said they would all pay, but not with their lives. Amundi had heard the words then but had not given them their proper weight. Now he heard them again and again in his mind, and he was starting to appreciate what they could mean.

  They would pay.

  All of it — the worry, the shame — beat him down, filled him with a weariness he had never experienced before. The humiliation of surrender, marching off and leaving Odd to Halfdan’s mercy, waiting to see just what Halfdan would do next.

  Little Hallbera had come with him when he left Grømstad, and Alfdis had done her best to give the girl comfort, but she was still frightened and confused. But she was safe, and she would remain safe there until Signy could come for her.

  When that might be, Amundi did not know, but he had good reason to think she would. Word had been sent to the waterfront. The people on the ships had been alerted to Halfdan’s arrival while there was still time to get away. The men and women on board had slipped their anchor cables and taken up the oars and made for the open sea before Halfdan even knew they were there.

  Amundi’s ship, carrying Alfdis and the other women and children of Amundi’s household, had parted company with Signy’s ship and landed as near to the farm as it could get, just a few miles away. There was no word of what had become of the other ships, but also no reason think they had not gotten safe away.

  Word would reach Signy that her young sister-in-law was at Amundi’s farm, and she would send for her, Amundi had no doubt. Until then Hallbera would remain with them.

  He glanced over at the girl, sitting on a bench fifty feet away. She was sitting with a handful of the other children and they were all employed shucking peas from their pods.

  Odd sacrificed himself so that she might live, Amundi thought. It was a noble thing to do. The right thing to do. He knew that he himself had to keep going, if for no other reason than to honor Odd’s sacrifice.

  “Lord?” Thord said, pulling Amundi from his reverie, a waking dream state that was becoming all too frequent.

  “Yes,” Amundi said. “I guess this bastard is from Halfdan. We can do nothing but wait and see what he has to say.”

  “Yes, lord,” Thord said and as soon as the words were out of his mouth they heard the hoof beats of the rider, coming close. The two men looked in the direction of the sound. The chief part of Amundi’s farm — the hall, the smithy, the sheds, the smokehouses —was surrounded by a wattle fence about five feet high, as were most farms in that region. This was to delineate the boundary of the farm yard and to keep any wandering livestock out. It was not for defense, for which it was useless.

  “Berg, open that gate!” Thord called and Berg, a farmhand who happened to be near the gate, swung it open just as the rider came up.

  Will we hear of Odd? Amundi wondered. He thought of Odd often. Odd was like a ghost, haunting him. Indeed, Amundi wondered if that was more than just a feeling. He imagined Halfdan had killed Odd already and Odd’s spirit might well be coming to him. It would not be so strange or surp
rising that it would.

  Amundi did not care to think about what Halfdan had done to Odd, but he found himself thinking about it nonetheless. Halfdan was capable of great brutality. But Odd knew that when he gave himself up.

  Well, it’s over now. Odd’s a dead man, Amundi thought. He had no way of knowing if that was true, but he very much hoped that it was.

  The rider slowed as he came through the gate and approached Amundi and Thord, pulling the reins hard and stopping with a flourish as he did. He was one of Halfdan’s hird. Amundi recognized him, though he did not know the man’s name. Even if he had not recognized him, his armor and sword and fine horse would have marked him as one of the elite. Above his head the long white and red banner lifted and fell in the light breeze.

  “Amundi,” the rider said, a statement, not a question.

  “Yes?”

  “King Halfdan is on his way. King Halfdan and his party. He’ll be here by midday and he expects you’ll be ready to receive him. With proper honors.”

  Amundi nodded. “We will,” he said.

  This was completely unexpected. A royal visit was generally announced weeks ahead of time, but here Halfdan had given no more than a few hours’ notice.

  “Good,” the rider said. He spun his horse around and headed back the way he had come.

  And now we’ll find out just how Halfdan intends to make us pay, Amundi thought. Taxes? Gifts? Slaves confiscated, property confiscated? Whatever price Halfdan put on treason, it would be high.

  Amundi was still watching the guard ride off when Alfdis came up to him.

  “What does he want?” she asked, nodding toward the rider. She did not have to ask who he was, or who had sent him.

  “He says Halfdan is on his way. He’ll be here by midday.”

  “Midday? Today? Why is Halfdan coming here?” Alfdis said.

  “He didn’t say,” Amundi replied. “Only that we’re to receive him with proper honors.”

  Alfdis was quiet for a moment. “How many in his party?”

  “He didn’t say that, either,” Amundi said. “Many, I would think. Halfdan does not go abroad unless he’s well protected.”

  “Nor should he,” Alfdis spat. “Very well, I’ll see that we’re ready for the king’s visit.”

  She turned and walked off and soon Amundi could hear her calling out orders, and could hear the bustle of the servants hurrying to their tasks. He wondered what he himself should do to make ready. He couldn’t come up with any ideas, and he knew that even if he did he would not have the motivation to carry them out, so he shuffled over to a bench near the side of the hall and sat.

  I will wait here, Amundi thought. He felt as if there was nothing else he could do. Indeed, there was nothing else he could do but wait there and see what new horror Halfdan the Black had come to visit on them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  [I]n the fleet's midst,

  a king hard to make flee,

  who has often

  the eagles sated,

  while thou wast at the mills,

  kissing the thrall-wenches.

  The Poetic Edda

  They discussed what they would do next — Thorgrim and his men, Bergthor and his men — there on the beach on the south coast of Engla-land. And in the course of that discussion Thorgrim Night Wolf realized several things.

  He realized that the masters of the ships in his fleet, men who had fought with him against Irishmen and Englishmen and the sea, had a powerful devotion to one another. It was something he had always believed, but had never really seen on display in such a way as that.

  Certainly he had seen them standing side by side in a fight, overlapping their shields to form a shieldwall or charging screaming into battle. But that sort of thing he would expect of any warrior. What surprised him now was their unwillingness to break up the fleet. They did not think of themselves as separate things, any more than a man’s arm would think itself separate from the rest of the body.

  Thorgrim made it clear that he was willing to let any man or ship go its own way. His men made it clear they had no interest in doing so.

  Bergthor and Geldwine explained to the others in some detail what they might hope to gain from raiding Winchester, and it was considerable. Seat of the king of Wessex, home of one of the grandest of the Christ churches: plundering Winchester could mean doubling the fortune they had spent the past year gathering. And the more Bergthor spoke, the more Thorgrim realized how very much he wanted him and his men to be part of the raid. He was not so much offering to let Thorgrim join as he was begging him to do so.

  Thorgrim had the impression that the raiding had not been so good for Bergthor, who was not the luckiest of men. Now Bergthor seemed anxious, perhaps even desperate, to meet with some good fortune. It was possible that his men were ready to leave him if things did not change. When a man gained a reputation for being unlucky it was hard to convince anyone that it was not true, no matter what he said or did.

  And, indeed, sometimes it was true.

  But Thorgrim Ulfsson did not suffer that problem. He was known to be a lucky man. The fact that Thorgrim had made and kept a fortune in his younger days and turned that into one of the most bountiful farms in East Agder was proof enough for most. So was the fact that he had lived through all that he had lived through and was still alive, even now, when so many back in Vik had thought he was surely dead.

  Thorgrim had to be a lucky man. He was the son of Ulf of the Battle Song, and Ornolf the Restless had seen fit to give him his favorite daughter as a bride.

  Bergthor knew that, and most of the others did as well, and they believed it, even if Thorgrim himself did not think he was very lucky at all.

  “So, there it is,” Bergthor said to the assembled companies when he and Geldwine had finished their description of the riches to be found at Winchester. “If you wish to join us, you’re welcome to do so. If not, we’ll eat some more whale together and part company as friends.”

  Bergthor had make the raid sound tempting indeed, and easy as well, but Thorgrim had some time ago decided what his priority was. He had made it clear and he meant to make it clear again.

  “We were on our way back to Norway,” Thorgrim said, ostensibly for the edification of Bergthor’s ship masters, but as a reminder to his own men as well. “We’ve been raiding some time in Ireland and England. We’re heading home now.”

  He looked over at his men once again, expecting to see heads nodding in agreement, but instead he saw men exchanging uncomfortable glances with each other. And it was then that Thorgrim realized that the others did not necessarily share his burning desire to get home.

  “What say you?” Thorgrim said, but no one spoke, not at first. Then Starri Deathless broke the silence.

  “What’s to be had in Norway, Thorgrim Night Wolf?” he asked. “A slow death. There’s fighting to be had on these shores. A warrior’s death.” He looked around at the others but their expressions remained fixed. It seemed they were no more eager to follow Starri to a warrior’s death than they were to follow Thorgrim to Norway.

  “Lord Thorgrim,” Godi said. “Sure, we’re all eager to get to Norway. Those of us from Norway. The Danes and Swedes among us, they’re probably eager to get back, too. That Frank, Louis, he thinks of nothing else. But… I think… and I could be wrong… but it seems to me that, me and the others, well, we think this raid on Winchester might be worth the effort. It’s not so far from here, and wouldn’t take so long. There and back and then underway for Norway once more, and richer to boot.”

  This time Thorgrim did see heads nodding and looks of relief, the men pleased that Godi at least was willing to say what the rest of them wished to say but did not dare.

  “Of course, we’ll do whatever you think best,” Hardbein interjected. “If you don’t think it’s wise we go on this raid, then that would be fine with all the men here.” Thorgrim looked around. Heads were still nodding in agreement, but more in resignation than with any great enthusiasm.<
br />
  Thorgrim wanted to sigh, long and loud, but he kept it to himself. He wanted to grab Bergthor by the tunic and beat him senseless for showing up like this and throwing everything in disarray, but he did not do that, either. He wanted take Sea Hammer and sail off and forget all he had ever thought or said about not weakening the fleet, but he knew he could not do that, either.

  In some situations — in most situations — Thorgrim was perfectly happy to issue orders and expect them to be obeyed without question. And almost always they were, because men did not generally cross Thorgrim Night Wolf. But this was not such a situation. This had to do with letting men choose their own destiny.

  “You’ll take a vote among you,” Thorgrim said to his people. “And whatever the majority of the company wants, that’s what we’ll do. And while you vote I’ll go find a cup of ale.”

  He left the ring and walked across the sand to where the stove-in barrels were resting by the smoldering remains of the bonfire. He drank a cup of ale, and then another, and when he felt he had given the men time enough to talk among themselves and vote he walked back to the circle. There he learned, to no surprise at all, that they would be going to Winchester.

  But not immediately. They had been a few days on the beach already, enjoying their bacchanal and feasting on whale, and it would take a day at least to get everything back aboard and secured. There was still some whale meat to be had, despite the creature getting a little ripe, so a few men were set to butchering what they could and setting it to dry in the sun.

  Thorgrim and Bergthor discussed plans for the raid, though there was not too much to discuss. They would make their way up the long bay to the place that Geldwine called Hamptun and go ashore there. And if there were English warriors waiting then they would fight their way ashore. And once there they would sack Hamtun and decide what to do next.

  Simple.

  It took the better part of the day to make preparations for getting underway, and the ships and men were still not ready by the time the sun had dropped far into the west. So once again the bonfire was lit, once again the mead and ale was passed around and once again the Northmen took their pleasure as if it was their last day on earth, which it might well have been. They were bound off for raiding in the morning, and there was every chance they would be in desperate battle before day’s end. Every chance that any of them might be wounded or dead.