God's Hammer

by Eric Schumacher

  Heidar died that night. In the end, he was so delirious he knew not what he spoke, and mumbled continuously and unintelligibly. As life slipped from his body, Hakon said a silent prayer for his soul and hoped that God might forgive Heidar and welcome him into His arms. It was all Hakon could think to do.

  Sometime after midnight, the ships reached the mouth of the Trondheimsfjord. Still fearing the presence of enemies, Sigurd pressed on, forbidding them to make for land or to rest. Even when the wind died he did not stop, and forced them to row despite their exhaustion. They wordlessly gripped their oars and bent their backs to the task, pulling in time to Sigurd's voice as he called out the cadence.

  Finally, the familiar juts and curves of land appeared on the steerboard bank. The others must have noticed them too, for the men began to row with renewed vigor. A song broke out and others joined in the chorus. Hakon joined them too, glad to be alive and safely home.

  Lade came into the view and the singing suddenly died away. It was Sigurd who put words to every man's thoughts. “By the hairy arse of Odin himself!” he exclaimed. “Look at them all!”

  Hakon twisted to look and nearly fell off his rowing bench from shock. So full of makeshift tents was the land around Sigurd's estate that nary an empty patch could be seen between them. The smoke of countless campfires obscured the dim morning light and wafted over the myriad ships crowding the shoreline. An eerie hush settled on the men as they stared upon the scene.

  Chapter 30

  “Who are they? Are they Erik's?”

  “If they were Erik's, this place would be destroyed. No, I think they're friendly.”

  As a precaution, Sigurd's two ships back-rowed and came to a floating stop just off the crowded beach. While they waited, two dark figures made their way through the camp to the shore. The figures stopped on the shoreline and called, “Who is there?”

  Sigurd moved to the foredeck. “It is I, Emund—Sigurd. Who are all these men?”

  “They seek to join Hakon,” called the sentry.

  Hakon looked about, not believing his eyes.

  Before him, Toralv turned on his rowing bench and smiled broadly. “Did you hear that?”

  “Aye.”

  “We are coming ashore,” called Sigurd.

  The tired crew pulled a few short strokes toward shore, where Egil guided them in among the other ships. Toki cast Emund a line, which he hurriedly tied to a stump along the beach. One by one, the crew stretched their cramped bodies and jumped over the gunwales into the surf.

  The sentry named Emund pointed to the arrows that protruded from Sigurd's ship. “What happened?”

  “We were attacked near Vikna.”

  “By whom?”

  Sigurd shrugged. “If I had to guess, I would say Erik's men, but we did not get close enough to know for sure.”

  Emund watched as two men hefted a body over the gunwale.

  “Heidar,” Sigurd answered his unasked question. “He died sometime during the night. Arrow wound.”

  Emund spat into the water. “He was young.”

  Sigurd grunted. “There are more.”

  Hakon broke in then. “Who are all these men, Emund? Where did they come from?”

  The sentry tore his eyes from the body of Heidar. “They come from everywhere, Prince Hakon. Most are from the Mores and Namdalen, though there are a few from the Fjord district, and even some from Telemark. One by one, in small groups, in shiploads—they've been showing up daily now since you left for Halogaland. Jarl Tore showed up yesterday with over two hundred men.”

  As Hakon's party moved toward Sigurd's hall, the visitors crawled from their tents and stared in silence as Hakon strode past. Gradually his own men peeled away from his side to greet familiar faces among the new arrivals. Timidly at first, then with more confidence, Hakon stepped into the gathering crowd and met the men who had come to join him. They were freemen, tradesmen, and smiths; young men seeking adventure and the favor of a potential king; old men anxious to rid themselves of Erik's yoke. They were men from every part of the kingdom, some speaking dialects Hakon had never heard before and could barely understand.

  Hakon welcomed them all, and spoke to every man that approached him, thanking him for his support. In return they dropped to their knees and placed their heads to Hakon's leg, submitting gratefully and without hesitation to his rule, and vowing to help in the struggle against Erik.

  Long after the sun had fully risen, Hakon entered Sigurd's hall. Sigurd had gathered a group of men, some known to Hakon, some not. Jarl Tore was there with his hersar, as were most of Trondelag's nobles. Even Asbjorn of Medalhus and Kar of Gryting—two men who had rejected him at the first assembly—had come. Though he had not slept, the elation hatched in the midst of his growing army kept Hakon on his feet and attentive as he moved among this group of nobles and greeted each in turn.

  Sigurd called for ale as Hakon sat in the seat of honor and looked out upon the men. Then, still standing, Sigurd raised his hands for silence and looked around. “Before we begin, I would like to extend my gratitude for your coming.” His voice was gruff from lack of sleep. “May Odin grant us wisdom in the decisions we reach in this important assembly.”

  He paused, then: “As some of us have not yet slept, I will not waste any time. We are all here for a common cause—to rid this kingdom of Erik. But, as much as I believe in our men, we are too few.” He stroked his beard as he waited for the sudden commotion to fade. “Please—listen. Erik has many men at his disposal, and he is craftier than any man I know. He will not meet us head-on if he can avoid it.”

  At this, Asbjorn cut in. “You sound as if you are afraid. We are many men, Sigurd. More than four hundred here, and perchance another one hundred from Halogaland. Surely that is enough to meet any force in battle.”

  A cacophony of agreement followed Asbjorn's argument.

  “Silence!” Sigurd's command dropped like a sword on their words, cutting them off abruptly. “I will not listen to this folly again. Olav thought the same before Erik killed him at Mollebakken. This is our last chance for victory, and I will not let pride defeat us. Now, then. As Asbjorn stated, in a few days we shall number more than four hundred. But we need even more men, which brings me to my next topic. King Ivar of the Uplands has agreed to support us.”

  “King Ivar?” Kar blurted. “You would make a deal with that serpent? He, whose own father has attacked us twice and who himself constantly whittles away at our borders—have you gone mad?”

  Hakon stirred in his seat, knowing that Sigurd had not told them the whole story. There was no deal with King Ivar if Hakon did not agree to marry Ivar's daughter. What, then, if the marriage didn't take place? That thought alone twisted his stomach and prompted a pounding beneath his ribs.

  “This is crazy,” mumbled someone else.

  Sigurd held up his hands until the nobles relaxed. “Hear me. I understand your grievances, for I do not savor the thought of bedding with the Uplanders either. But think for a moment: which is worse? Making a peaceful deal with the Uplanders, or suffering under Erik for the remainder of your lives?”

  The men answered this question with grumbles of discontent.

  Hakon had a sudden thought. He stood and gazed at the men around him, then cleared his throat to capture their attention. They turned to him. “Many of your grievances with the Uplanders are based on wrongs committed before your birth. While I mean to take nothing away from those grievances, I ask you to turn away from that past and look at your present lives. Your main trouble is Erik and the disruption he brings. If it were not, you would not be here. Now think for a moment on your future, and the future of your families. The legacy you leave will be decided today.”

  Hakon paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I myself do not relish any deal made with the Uplanders, for that deal will call for my marriage to King Ivar's daughter. However—” he raised his voice above the commotion his words wrought “—however, I can think of no better way to solve all
of our problems at once. Sigurd may not have considered this when making his plans, but a deal with the Uplanders presents us with an opportunity to end old grievances and to deal with present problems—all in one master stroke. It is a chance we cannot afford to miss.” That said, he returned to his seat and waited.

  Sigurd took up the argument. “Hakon speaks the truth. Like it or not, the deal must be made if we are to succeed. We cannot fight Erik alone. If we do, we will fail.”

  The long, drawn-out silence that ensued was broken only by two servants as they moved about the hall, replenishing ale cups. Long after they left, Asbjorn stood and lifted his cup. “Very well. I am still with you.”

  One by one, the others followed suit and pledged their support. When they finished, Sigurd once again raised his palms for peace. “I thank you all for choosing this course. You have all chosen wisely. And I ale-pledge before you that it shall not be in vain.” He lifted his cup and spilled some ale onto the ground for the gods to witness before taking a deep draught.

  “Now, let us make our plans. By the next half moon, Hakon and I must be at King Ivar's court. That does not leave much time. I originally hoped that we—meaning all of us—could travel overland, but that route presents difficulties. We would have to travel on foot, for I am limited in my supply of horses. We would never reach the Uplands in time. Secondly, we would have to leave our ships here. If Erik were to attack, he would not hesitate to destroy them all.”

  “But we cannot sail,” opined Tosti, Tore's hersir. “The seas are far too stormy to venture far enough from land. And if we stay close, we would surely encounter Erik's ships.”

  “True enough. Has anyone else an idea?”

  “What if we split our forces and sailed in smaller fleets, each fleet two days apart?” This came from Bjorn, a nobleman from Namdalen. “We could sail at night, and slip by Erik's defenses. That way, if one of the fleets is captured, it will only be a small part of our entire force and will not deplete our strength too greatly. Besides, the smaller fleet might not raise too much attention from Erik's scouts.”

  Sigurd grimaced at the suggestion. “What if more than one fleet is captured? What if Erik gleans from the capture of one fleet that more exist? He would hunt us down like pigs.” He shook his head. “No. We must stay together.”

  “This seems a perfect opportunity for the gods to guide us,” offered Kar of Gryting. “Let us consult the lots and see what they have to say.”

  “No. We will do no such thing.” The words shot from Hakon's mouth before he could think to hold them back.

  The men began to grumble. “Perchance you have another option for us?” Asbjorn's tone was deferential, but his eyes demanded that Hakon speak.

  “I have another idea,” Hakon began hesitantly. “Sigurd has vowed to be at Ivar's before the next half moon, but that does not mean the rest of you must be. If Sigurd and I and a small force were to go overland on horseback, we could get there in time. The rest of the army can hide the ships here in the fjord. When that is done, they will follow us to the Uplands, bringing the needed food, blankets, and other supplies on the remaining horses.”

  The others mulled the idea over. Asbjorn spoke first. “I, for one, have no desire to walk all the way to King Ivar's lands and leave my ship behind, unprotected. But it is the best idea brought forth. Unless someone else can offer better, I agree.”

  “Why not summon Ivar here?” Tore asked. “After all, you are the king, Hakon. Let the cursed Uplanders do the walking.”

  “I pledged to go there,” Sigurd answered, his tone regretful, “before I spoke with all of you, and before we knew the size of our army. At the time it seemed a safer bet, and I will not go back on my pledge now. Besides, having Ivar come here would require that a messenger be sent there, and then Ivar would have to travel back to us. Simply put, it would take more time than we have.”

  Sigurd peered about the room. “Any other comments?”

  No one spoke.

  “So be it, then,” concluded Sigurd. “We will follow Hakon's plan and leave tomorrow. If we encounter no problems, we should arrive at King Ivar's in about twelve days. Fynr and his men should arrive here soon after we leave. Before they do, hide your ships, and be ready to leave upon his arrival. Travel as quickly as you can, bringing only what you need. Load the horses with all the supplies they can carry. You can hunt for food along the way. Make haste. We cannot afford to wait too long. By foot, I would estimate a journey of twenty days. Are there any questions?”

  “What about the people on your estate? And others that live in the Trondheimsfjord?” asked Kar.

  “And your animals,” added Asbjorn.

  Sigurd chewed on his lip for a moment. “We cannot make people leave, but if they will go, send them away. Explain to them that they are doomed if they remain behind and Erik attacks, for we will not be able to protect them. Winter's hold is almost over. They should be able to travel elsewhere. As for my thralls, loan them to the people. Let them help everyone who needs assistance until we return from this campaign. Though it is yet early, take my animals to the mountain pastures when you go. Leave a few men there to guard them. If any other problems or questions arise, I leave them up to Jarl Tore, my father-in-law, to solve. Is this agreeable?”

  The men mumbled their agreement.

  Sigurd hoisted his ale cup. “To a successful adventure, then. May the gods bring us safely through to the Uplands, and see us through to victory.”

  Chapter 31

  Hakon slowly climbed onto his horse and lowered himself gingerly into his saddle. It was their eleventh day on horseback, and despite being accustomed to long rides, Hakon was sore.

  The journey had started pleasantly enough, with a slowly winding ascent up a maze of muddy paths to slopes thick with snow-covered pines that twinkled in the spring sunshine. On the third day they reached a flat mountain pass that offered breathtaking views of the peaks that formed the Keel, the mountain range that split the western kingdoms from the eastern.

  At these elevations, nature offered a deceptive splendor. Treeless meadows of unspoiled snow concealed ice-covered rocks that made footing treacherous for the normally sure-footed horses. After a morning of stumbling and falling, the men decided to walk through the frigid drifts. Progress slowed to a crawl.

  To make matters worse, a brittle wind swept unobstructed up the pass and churned stinging bits of ice into their eyes and faces. The men covered their noses and cheeks so that just their watering eyes could be seen. Beards, mustaches, and clothing turned frosty white as they accumulated ice. Every so often the men would have to stop and brush it away to keep it from freezing solid.

  That first night in the pass, the air was clear and star-filled, but freezing. A few boulders offered the men a modicum of protection from the wind, but did little to fend off the cold. The men took turns huddling over a feeble fire built from wet kindling that smoked more than flamed, and provided little warmth. Sleep was forbidden, for all knew how simple it could be to freeze. If someone began to doze, they were shaken awake.

  After enduring these conditions for two nights, the third day found them descending the pass toward a valley blanketed in trees and dotted with lakes. On the way, the men found a stream that babbled beneath a melting layer of ice toward the trees below. The men followed it, grateful for the taste of the cool water and the sound of something besides wind in their ears.

  Once among the protective branches, the men built a camp and collapsed. Mindless of everything save his own exhaustion, Hakon slept like a dead man, neither dreaming nor moving from the spot where he had fallen.

  Six days of hard riding followed. They ate what they could forage or hunt, and stopped only at night. Rarely did they venture out of the foothills to where the streams emptied into lakes, for, according to Sigurd, a wild people lived in these areas who cared little for man-made laws. Like the Halogalanders to the north, their law was that of nature, and if nature had been particularly harsh, they might see in a well
-maintained party a source of food, supplies, and perchance, victims to offer up to the gods in return for better conditions. Though Sigurd's party was well-armed and more than capable of defending itself, he wished to attract no more attention than necessary.

  As they rode deeper into the valley, Hakon thrilled at the scenery. Gurgling brooks and tumbling streams, roaring waterfalls, greenish-blue glacier-fed lakes, twinkling icicles, the smell of earth and pine—it was a kaleidoscope of color, sound, and smell that kept Hakon's senses tingling and made him feel more alive than ever before. Foxes, rabbits, squirrels, badgers, and red deer darted about them like elves playing a game of hide and seek. Occasionally they saw a raven among the pine branches, gabbling and mewling without pause as the group passed beneath. At the sight of these, the men whispered and gestured at the birds. Seeing this, Hakon asked Sigurd what they were doing.

  Sigurd drew his horse up alongside Hakon's until their calves touched, then leaned in to whisper, “Ravens are the messengers of Odin. Two sit on his shoulders and speak into his ears all that they see and hear in the world. Each day they fly out and each night they return, bearing news. This is how Odin learns of what goes on in the world. When you are near a raven, you must always pray to Odin, so that when those ravens return to their master, they will deliver the news of our faithfulness.”

  “How do you know those ravens are Odin's ravens?”

  Sigurd kept his voice low. “One never knows. This is the reason we pray.” Before he pulled away, he added, “They are also the harbingers of death, and for this reason, men fear them. Somewhere nearby there is a carcass, or there soon will be.”

  In addition to the distractions that nature afforded, Hakon listened as Sigurd used the long days on horseback to share all he knew of the Uplands. He recounted the history of its four districts—Hadeland and Hedemark to the north, Ringerike and Romerike to the south—and of how Hakon's father conquered the districts as a young man. “In the ensuing peace, Ivar's father, King Eystein, was given control of the four districts and ruled in Harald's name, although the peace was always tenuous. You see, Harald had killed Eystein's older sons in the battle, and Eystein harbored a deep hatred for your father.”