God's Hammer

by Eric Schumacher

  His suffering, he knew, was not in vain. However inconsequential it might seem, Hakon knew from the girl's growing ease that their conversation was slowly repairing his earlier blunders, and that the longer he held out, and the more she said, the better his chances of gaining her acceptance. Every so often they were interrupted by other guests, or by the skalds who entertained the hall with their long stories. Hakon thanked God especially for these tales, for though he had heard many of them before, they offered a respite from Groa's banter and an opportunity for him to gather his thoughts for the next round of small talk.

  At first Ivar's absence from their conversation surprised Hakon, but this was soon explained when Ivar pulled Hakon aside and whispered in his ear, “Please forgive me for not interrupting your conversation with my daughter. It is just that you two will have little time in the coming days to be together, and I wish for her to have a strong impression of who you are.” As sorry as he was to hear the words, Hakon nodded his understanding and turned back to the girl.

  As the night neared a close and the feast broke down into a typical display of debauchery and immorality, Hakon sought Aelfwin in the crowd. To his shock, he found her seated on Ottar's lap. She poured mead from his cup into his waiting mouth while his hands ventured up her exposed thigh. Hakon stood without realizing he'd done so, bumping the table before him and spilling his mead. Groa recoiled, and every eye in the hall turned to see what had caused the commotion.

  “Hakon, what is the matter?” Ivar put his hand on Hakon's elbow.

  Hakon recovered quickly and looked down at his host. “Please excuse me. Your feast was delightful, but so much good food has made me tired. It has been a long journey. I beg your understanding and your pardon.”

  Ivar frowned deeply, though he remained silent.

  Hakon turned to Groa. “I beg your pardon, my lady. It has been a true pleasure, but I must get myself to bed. Will you accept my apologies?”

  Groa glanced at her father, then back at Hakon. “I accept. Sleep well.”

  Hakon worked his way free of the table, then moved to Sigurd, who stared curiously at him. Around them, the hall's occupants stared in rapt silence. Hakon placed a friendly hand on his jarl's shoulder, then bent to his ear, smiling. “Grab two men and come with me.”

  Forcing a smile of his own, Sigurd stood without question and motioned cheerfully to Didrik and Toralv. “Be good lads, and help me with our king.” They nodded respectfully to Ivar, then escorted Hakon from the hall. As they approached the door, Hakon caught Udd's stare, but ignored him.

  They stepped outside and paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “Do you mind telling me what is going on?” Sigurd's whisper was sharp, but slightly slurred from mead.

  “Do not ask questions,” Hakon whispered as they picked their way back to their quarters. “Simply do as I ask. No one at our table, or in our group, must touch the girl that Ottar now defiles. Tell Ottar to calmly give her up. When you return to the hall, pass the word. Is that clear?”

  Sigurd guffawed. “You jest.”

  Hakon clenched his jaw to keep from screaming. When they reached their quarters, Hakon closed the door behind them and wheeled on Sigurd, his voice husky with emotion. “I said to do as I ask.”

  Sigurd folded his arms over his chest. A cod-oil sconce sputtered on the wall, washing the room in an eerie orange light that deepened the creases in Sigurd's face. “Who is she?”

  “Someone I used to know in Engla-lond. She is kin to Athelstan.”

  Sigurd nodded, his face suddenly grim. “I see.”

  “Swear to me you will spread the word. No one is to touch her.”

  “I swear.”

  Hakon turned to Didrik and Toralv. “Swear it.”

  They did as commanded.

  Satisfied, Hakon moved to his bed and sat down heavily. “Toralv, you will stay here with me. Sigurd and Didrik, return to the hall and announce that I am not feeling well.”

  They left without further comment and Hakon lay down.

  “Hakon,” Toralv called softly.

  “What is it?”

  Toralv sat on the bench near Hakon's bed. “May I ask who she is? I mean, who she really is?”

  Hakon sighed. “An old friend, Toralv.”

  “Friend?”

  Hakon surrendered with a pained grin, but kept his lips tight.

  Toralv nodded. “I understand. So why have you not yet bought her freedom?”

  Hakon shrugged. “I probably could. But I don't know if it will serve any purpose. I don't think she will accept freedom, even if it is granted to her.”

  Toralv scoffed. “That is cra—”

  “Keep your voice down, Toralv. They must not hear us.”

  Toralv dropped his voice to a whisper. “That is crazy. Of course she would accept it.”

  Hakon rolled onto his back and focused on the dancing shadows above him, afraid to look at his friend, lest he unveil the rage and anguish that welled inside him. “She refuses to speak with me, Toralv. Refuses even to … to acknowledge herself. When I tried to call her by her name, she forbade me. Told me she was no longer that person. How does one respond to that?”

  “Mayhap it is too painful for her to remember.”

  Hakon glanced at Toralv. “I am sure of that. But there is something else. Something deeper. She called herself a sinful wench.”

  “A what wench?”

  “Sinful.” Hakon grimaced at Toralv's lack of understanding. “How can I explain this?” He took a moment to formulate the easiest explanation. “You see, the Christians believe that once a woman is … used … sexually, especially by someone who does not follow the ways of our God, that woman will no longer be allowed entrance into Heaven.”

  “Heaven?”

  “It is akin to your Valhall, only it is where Christ sits on His throne.”

  Toralv nodded.

  “In any regard, it no longer matters what she does, or what happens to her—she is an outcast from society and from her family.”

  “Her family?” Toralv looked surprised.

  “Yes. Even her family. As an outcast from society, she is an embarrassment to the family, and will drag them down in the eyes of others. In addition, no Christian man in his right mind will marry her, so she is financially and politically useless to her family. She becomes as good as a slave in her own household. I have seen it happen.”

  It was clear that Toralv did not fully understand. He scratched his head. “So she would rather spend her days as a thrall? Here? It makes little sense. You must talk to her.”

  “Aye, Toralv. That I must. But I have to be careful. I do not think Ivar will appreciate me speaking with his thrall-woman or asking him for her freedom, especially since I am here to meet his daughter and ask for her hand in marriage.”

  Toralv nodded. “You may have the right of that, although I see no harm in speaking to another woman, thrall or not, or paying for her freedom. If you become king, you can have many women, be they wives or mistresses.”

  “Yes, but would it not embarrass Ivar to know that his future son is more attendant to his thrall than his daughter?”

  “Then do not pay more attention to … your friend. Marry Groa, Hakon, then deal with this girl.”

  “Aelfwin.”

  “Huh?”

  “Aelfwin,” Hakon repeated. “That is her name.”

  Toralv grinned. “Aelfwin. It is a pretty name.”

  Hakon nodded and placed a hand on Toralv's shoulder. “Aye, my friend. It is. And you are right. I must speak with her. Perchance I can persuade her to see things differently. And if I am lucky, I will take her into my home when all this is over. In the meantime, if you discover anything about her and how she came to be here, please let me know.”

  Toralv patted Hakon's shoulder, then stood and walked to the door to stand guard.

  Chapter 34

  “Good morning. I hope you are feeling better this morning, Hakon. Please, come in.” Ivar
sat in his seat in the long hall where they had feasted the night before. His sons, Thorgil and Brand, sat on either side of him; Udd stood in the shadows behind him. Though the thralls had cleaned the hall, the smell of stale ale and spilled mead, of smoke and human bodies, hung thickly in the air.

  Hakon and Sigurd moved across the room and stopped before Ivar, who motioned to the table before him. “Please, sit.”

  They took seats beside each other. “I apologize again for my sudden exit last night,” Hakon said.

  Ivar grunted. “I hope our food did not distress you.”

  “He has always been weak of stomach, my lord. Puked the whole way from Jorvik.” Udd's comment drew a few muffled laughs from the other hirdmen standing guard in the hall.

  Ivar's pouting lips twisted into a malicious grin. “You must excuse Udd. He is a bit loose of tongue.”

  “Yes,” replied Hakon, “I have learned that already.”

  “On the topic of food, have you eaten yet?”

  Hakon and Sigurd shook their heads.

  Ivar clapped once, whereupon Aelfwin and another woman shuffled into the room. Hakon stiffened as Aelfwin reached by him and set a plate of bread and soft cheese on the table. He smelled her familiar scent and felt her shift brush against his shoulder, and his heart suddenly hammered in his chest. She then turned without so much as a glance in his direction and retreated to the kitchen.

  Ivar cleared his throat to gain Hakon's attention. “So. What do you think of my daughter? Would she be a suitable match to you as a queen?”

  Hakon grabbed a pitcher of mead and very slowly poured himself a cup, feeling it suddenly very important that Aelfwin be out of earshot before he answered. When he was sure she was gone, he looked up from his cup. “Aye. She would be suitable.”

  Ivar smiled. “That pleases me to hear. Groa told me this morning she is of the same mind, provided the result of this meeting is to her liking. Now, then. We need to discuss the financial aspects of this union.”

  Hakon and Sigurd had discussed the monetary conditions of marriage in detail on the journey to Ringsaker, and knew well what they had to offer. For the groom, there were two gifts—the bride-price and the morning gift. Sigurd had spent an entire day explaining the distinction between the two. The bride-price was similar in worth to the girl's dowry and was meant to show that the marriage was financially sound, that the girl was marrying into a stable family. The morning gift was payable to the woman upon consummation of the marriage, as compensation for her sexual availability, and was hers to own. In more common marriages, this was usually one-third the value of the bride-price. But as this marriage was a marriage of state, politics magnified the importance of each gift. Lacking experience in this area, Hakon relied on Sigurd to make suggestions, and it was these that Hakon now presented to his host.

  “You must understand that I can only offer this with the hope that I will soon be king. And I cannot do that without your assistance, Ivar. When we defeat Erik, everything he owns will become mine by forfeit, and I will have all that I promise in this discussion.”

  As he said this, Aelfwin ventured into the room and replenished the plate of bread on the table. Again she leaned close to Hakon during her task. Hakon felt himself drawn to those wondrous black curls and the smoothness of her tanned cheek. The sharp pressure of Sigurd's boot upon his own brought him painfully back to the discussion. He winced and focused on Ivar.

  Ivar stared at him. “I am a reasonable man, Hakon, and I understand a young man's interest in the opposite sex. But if you do not take your eyes from that woman, this conversation will end. Have I made myself clear?”

  Hakon blushed and tried to speak, but managed only to trip over his tongue as he mumbled an apology.

  “Ivar,” Sigurd interjected amiably. “Please excuse Hakon. He is still young and new to—”

  “Silence, Sigurd. I need not hear your excuses.” Ivar gulped from his cup. “Now, then. Let us be on with this.”

  “As—as bride-price,” Hakon stammered, “since trade and access to the sea seem to be two of your larger interests, I will grant you unhindered access from Lake Mjosa to the Oslofjord. No one will tax you on this route, nor be allowed to stop you. Thus, the true bride-price will be all the wealth you can accumulate through this open route.”

  Hakon waited for a response, but received only the silent stares of men well trained in debate. He continued. “As for the morning gift, I would like to offer Groa an estate within half-day's sail of the Oslofjord, along this same river, and all the wealth that can be derived from it. I will give her one head of every type of livestock from every estate now owned by Erik, as well as one thrall from each of those estates. This should be sufficient to support her in the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. Furthermore, it is close enough to be defended from Ringsaker, and close enough to the sea, should trade be conducted from there.” Hakon scanned the faces before him, nervously awaiting a response.

  Slowly, the pout on Ivar's face curled into a smile. His boys followed suit. “A generous offer, and one that has been well thought out. I applaud your intelligence, Hakon. Or was it yours, Sigurd?” He paused to let his words sink in. “It gives us access to the sea and opens up our trade routes without encroaching on your precious Trondelag. But it gives us nothing if we refuse to help you, or if the marriage never comes to pass. Indeed. It is good to be dealing with men of intelligence.” Ivar leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. “Your situation is unique, Hakon, and requires … how shall I say it … a degree of flexibility. On those grounds, I accept your offer, with one condition of my own.”

  Hakon stiffened.

  Ivar must have seen Hakon's discomfort, for he raised his hands to ease the tension. “It is nothing you have not already heard. We seek support against those who encroach upon our lands. Namely, the Swedes.”

  “Can you not handle them alone?” Though Sigurd's tone was flat, his words mocked.

  “We can continue to fight, Sigurd, but why do so alone? As you are probably aware, Harald assisted us when he was king—gave us men and supplies. But regrettably, and through no fault of Harald, this system fell apart when his sons began to fight with each other. Now we spend most of our time and resources trying to defend ourselves and keep our land intact.” Ivar leaned forward and peered intently at Hakon. “Let me remind you that it is not only our land we are defending. Being on the border as we are, we defend all of the western and southern kingdoms. Without us, the Swedes would overrun most, if not all, of the North in a few seasons.”

  “I can promise you some support, Ivar, but until I have had a chance to look at my resources, I cannot say with any certainty what form that support will take.”

  Ivar's eyes narrowed angrily. “I need assurances.”

  “Ivar,” broke in Sigurd, “what good would it do to promise you specific things before Hakon knows what he can give? If he promises you one thousand men and only has five hundred, then he breaks his pledge to you.”

  Ivar cut Sigurd off with a sharp, backhanded swing of his hand. “Let the boy tell me himself, Sigurd.”

  Hakon gulped. “I swear now, before you all, that you, Ivar, shall have assurances of everything we have discussed, but only after we have defeated Erik and only after I have inventoried my resources. It is the same promise I have made to Sigurd and to others. You are no different in this.”

  Ivar's eyes locked with Hakon's, as if trying to suck the truth from Hakon's gaze. Hakon stared back, knowing implicitly that to drop his eyes would be a grave mistake. The moment stretched unbearably, until Hakon's eyes began to sting from the smoke that swirled in the room. Finally Ivar blinked and leaned back to look at both his guests. “Very well.”

  Sigurd cleared his throat. “What about a dowry?”

  “I can offer you two chests of silver and jewels. Together they should be sufficient to support my daughter and her offspring, should the gods grant her some. These, of course, would be in addition to my support against Erik.”
>
  It was an offer that Sigurd had told Hakon to expect. “That will be fine,” conceded Hakon, wanting to rile Ivar no more than they already had.

  “Good,” said Ivar, and clapped his hands. “Then shall we conclude for—”

  “There is one other thing,” Hakon interjected.

  “Oh?”

  “She must become a Christian,” he said as calmly as possible. “I will not be married to a heath—a non-Christian.”

  This drew a grumble from everyone in the room, including Ivar, who sounded as if a sword had just pierced his gut. He felt Sigurd tense beside him, for this was not something they had previously discussed. A long silence ensued, in which first one son, then the other, tried unsuccessfully to whisper something into Ivar's ear. He shooed each away with the back of his hand.

  Finally Ivar straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “This presents a problem, Hakon. Perchance in Athelstan's kingdom things are different, but here, women have the right to choose their husbands. If she rejects this new development, then the deal is off. You understand that, do you not?”

  “I understand.”

  “And you are willing to stake your kingship on this?”

  Hakon nodded.

  “Hakon, think what—”

  Hakon shot Sigurd a warning glance that silenced him.

  Ivar shrugged. “Very well. I hope for your sake that my daughter is not bothered by this … this unfortunate desire of yours.”

  “I, too, hope that,” Hakon agreed, feeling at once elated by his devotion and afraid of the consequences that that devotion could reap.

  “Then, if that is all, I suggest we reconvene on the morrow to seal our arrangements and offer our tokens. At that time, we can discuss any other issues that we may have forgotten to raise.” Ivar turned away from his guests and focused his attention on his sons.