Sigurd tore a splinter from the pointed top of one of the posts and snapped it with his fingers. “Is a thrall-woman worth the kingdom, Hakon?”
Hakon bristled. “No one saw me.”
Sigurd studied Hakon grimly. “But why even take the chance? Why now, when there is so much at stake? Why, after all this time and all the sacrifices we have made? Hakon, we have come too far to piss it all away now.”
Hakon kept his eyes focused on the courtyard below. “I took a chance, Sigurd. But I made no mistake. And given the opportunity, I would do it again. Aelfwin is important to me. She is no thrall, nor does she deserve to be treated as one.”
Hakon turned to go, but Sigurd grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back against the wall. “Let me make something clear to you—something you have obviously failed to see. The risk was not to you alone, Hakon, but to your men, to me, and to everyone who has agreed to fight and die under your standard. If we fail to make this union with Ivar, then we will be forced to fight Erik alone. I have fought shorthanded once, and paid dearly for that mistake. I will not make the same mistake twice.”
Hakon scowled. “Ivar will not back away.”
Sigurd released his grip. “For all of our sakes, I hope you are right. If he does, we are dead.”
It was late morning when Sigurd and Hakon met again with Ivar and his sons. As before, Ivar sat across the table from his two visitors with both sons at his sides. The hall was void of bodyguards save for Udd, who stood in the shadows near the wall.
Ivar announced tersely, “The negotiations are finished. There will be no marriage.”
“Finished? But why?”
“You have forced my daughter to follow your faith, and enraged her in so doing. I spent an entire night placating her with promises to settle her down and to get her to agree.” As he spoke, Ivar's cheeks reddened; his words came as if each were forced from his mouth. “Now you spit in my face and the face of my daughter with your . . . your recklessness. I will not follow a king who so obviously disregards me and my family.”
Sigurd put words to Hakon's own confusion. “Recklessness? Disregard for your family? Ivar, what are you saying?”
Ivar waved to Udd, who stepped from the shadows and passed something to Ivar. As Udd did so, he glanced at Hakon and smiled a bit too widely. Hakon tried to ignore the uneasiness that had so swiftly settled on his spirits.
And suddenly, there it was, thrown before them as one might throw a dead fish onto the ground. At first Hakon did not recognize the scrap of material that lay before him. It seemed inconsequential, meaningless. And then its significance struck him.
“What is this?” Sigurd asked. “A piece of cloth? I don't understand.”
“Why don't you ask Hakon to explain?”
All eyes shifted to Hakon, who looked from Sigurd to Ivar, then to the smiling face of Udd. His mind grasped for a defense that might deliver him from the dangerous corner in which he now found himself, but he knew it was futile; no matter what he said to deny any wrong-doing, his damaged cloak stood as evidence to his transgressions. Hakon drew the corner of his cloak up and onto the table, exposing the tear caused by the nail.
Sigurd moved his head in a barely perceptible shake that warned Hakon to guard his tongue. “So, the tear and the strip of cloth seem to be of the same material. What are you trying to tell me, Ivar? That Hakon is careless with his clothing?”
“Sigurd, the torn strip was found on a nail just inside the thrall hut. Udd found it this morning.”
“How did you know it belonged to Hakon?”
“That is beside the point,” Ivar spat. “What matters here is that Hakon visited the thralls in the middle of the night.”
“So our young Hakon has an appetite for your thrall-women. Were you not young once?”
“Do not bore me with your petitions, Sigurd, or I will not hesitate to have Udd behead her.”
“Behead whom?”
Whom? In that simple word, Sigurd cast the lot. Hakon almost laughed aloud at the simple genius of his auburn-haired friend.
“The thrall-woman Hakon has been eyeing since he first arrived. Her name is Aelfwin, and she hails from Engla-lond. But somehow I think Hakon knows that already.” Ivar turned his harsh gaze on Hakon. “Do you deny that you visited her last night?”
Now it was Hakon's turn to lie. “Ivar, I do not know who you mean. It is true, I visited the thralls last night. But I sought no one thrall in particular. You have many attractive women here who are more than overt in their advances toward me. Excuse me for saying so, but I could have any one of them at any time. There was no master plan about last night's escapade—I simply weakened in the face of such temptation.”
Ivar studied first Sigurd's face, then Hakon's, as he unconsciously played with the scrap of wool before him. “Udd? Do you have proof that Hakon visited Aelfwin?”
The wide grin that had earlier graced Udd's face had vanished. He shifted on his feet as he fumbled for something to say. “I . . . um . . . no. I do not.”
Sigurd spoke. “Ivar, are you certain that you want to end this negotiation based on Hakon's mistake? Freya's tit, man, you were young once too, and should remember the temptations that often befall kings and princes. I am sure Hakon will apologize for any slight his stupid escapade caused to you and Groa. It will not happen again. Am I correct in that, Hakon?”
“Please accept my apologies, Ivar. I meant no one any harm, especially your beautiful daughter Groa.”
Ivar sat in silence for a long moment. His fingers continued to twirl the scrap. When he finally spoke, his voice was restrained. “Will you give my boys and me a moment? I would like to confer with them before concluding his matter.”
Sigurd and Hakon nodded and headed for the door. Once outside, Sigurd pulled Hakon away from the hall and out of earshot. “I have a mind to pummel you, Hakon, for your utter stupidity.”
“I am sorry, Sigurd. There was no way I could know that Ivar was having me followed.”
“That is beside the point. You should not have risked it. We were lucky just now, but our luck can only hold so long in the face of stupid actions. Do I make myself clear?”
Hakon's head sank like that of a scolded child. “Perfectly.”
Moments later Udd summoned them back into the hall. As they came closer, Hakon marked a deep red blot on Udd's cheek. In the middle of the mark, the skin had been slightly split. Hakon smiled grandly but kept his wicked thoughts to himself. Udd sneered back at him.
“We have agreed to resume the negotiations, but with a warning,” said Ivar when Hakon and Sigurd had reseated themselves. “Should we find that you lied to us, Hakon, the girl will die. I will not permit my daughter to marry you knowing that you keep a leman. Is that agreeable?”
Hakon nodded his agreement, and in doing so, consciously placed the noose around Aelfwin's neck. God help me, he prayed.
The remainder of the meeting was strained and coldly polite as they exchanged tokens to prove that their wedding gifts would be granted as promised. They mutually agreed to a mid-August marriage, when honey for the wedding mead would be in ample supply. That would give Hakon, should be succeed in defeating Erik, enough time to claim his High Seat, to settle most of his affairs, and to take inventory of his men and supplies. Satisfied, they shook hands and ale-oathed to each member of the opposite party to seal the bargain.
By the end of the meeting, Ivar's sour mood had lifted. He ordered his thralls to start preparations for a celebratory feast, then sent messengers out to the neighboring holdings with invitations for his hersar and their households to join them that evening.
Given such short notice, the thralls scrambled to their tasks. Barrels of soft cheese, flour, grain, and butter were rolled to the kitchens, while swine, cattle, and chickens were led away to be slaughtered. By midday, the wonderful scent of boiled meats mingled with the aroma of warm bread, blocking for once the stench of rotting flesh that permeated Ivar's estate.
By late afternoon, a pres
s of humanity had crammed inside the walls of Ivar's estate. Many responded quickly to the invitation and arrived early, obviously anxious to see Hakon and Groa and hear more about the union that had been formed. Some of the local hersar complained to the king about the short notice given. Ivar, ever the diplomat, placated their sour spirits with his special stock of ale until their moods lightened and their stone-faced anger softened.
It was soon clear to everyone that they could not all fit inside Ivar's hall. Seeing this, Ivar ordered his thralls to place eating boards and long benches around the muddy courtyard for the commoners. Hungry, or mayhap weary of standing, the commoners aided the thralls in this task until there was room enough for everyone.
The cooks and servers struggled to bring the food and ale as quickly as they could. Sweat dripped from their foreheads as they raced from one table to another. Guests rewarded their efforts with jokes and callous remarks. Hakon took in the scene with newfound remorse. He knew that he had been guilty of treating thralls just as harshly at some point in his life. Now, with Aelfwin among them, his outlook had changed. Never again would he see thralls quite the same way.
Hakon spotted Groa standing by the entrance of her father's hall, greeting the guests as they arrived. She glanced at him through the crowd, her face unreadable. Hakon forced himself to grin at her. She did not return the gesture. Holmfrid, seeing the exchange, grabbed Groa and swooped down on Hakon. She led them both to the seats of honor at the middle of Ivar's table.
When they were seated, Ivar strode to the center of the room, close to the roaring hearth, and called out his welcome to his guests. “As many of you have heard by now, the gods have smiled kindly on us this day. Hakon and Groa have agreed to marry, and with this great union, we Uplanders will provide the vessel from which the next generation in the Yngling dynasty shall spring! Odin be praised for this blessing! Let us drink to the health of this marriage and to the future of this young couple!” Ivar hoisted his drinking horn, then tilted it to his lips. The room erupted in raucous cheers and congratulations to the young couple.
When the cheering ended, Hakon stared at the table, at his hands, at the guests, everywhere but at Groa. When he could take the pressure no longer, he glanced in her direction, only to find that she, too, looked everywhere but at him. Hakon groped for something to say. “You are angry with me,” he finally managed.
She turned on him abruptly, surprising him. “Why do you want me to become a Christian? Your request is stupid. I have no desire to become a Christian and you know it.”
“It is not stupid,” Hakon retorted.
“It is to me,” she spat, then without so much as a nod in his direction, she stood and walked off into the crowd.
Hakon turned his attention to the only thing he could think of: the food. He gorged himself on everything that came his way, wolfing down plates of broiled beef smothered in mushroom sauce, roasted pig topped with sweetened cream, and honey-topped trout. He lost count of the cups of ale that numbed his mind and warmed his belly.
The others interpreted Hakon's voracious appetite as joy over the sealed arrangement with Groa, a joy in which they did their best to partake. They toasted to Hakon's success and slapped him lustily on the back. They joked about his future as a husband, and about his forthcoming sexual exploits. Hakon accepted their jests gracefully, knowing inside that they had it wrong.
Hakon's voracity was the only way he knew to deal with the confusing emotions he felt, the only thing he felt comfortable doing in the midst of men who showed their joy in the same manner. Truth was, he could barely bring himself to look at Groa, much less think of her as his bride. She represented all that he did not want, all that he found unattractive in a woman. Not physically so, for she was handsome enough, but emotionally and spiritually. She lacked the spark that Hakon found so attractive in Aelfwin. Downtrodden as she was, Aelfwin was the sun to Groa's moon, and the flame that fired Hakon's soul.
The evening wore on. Hakon continued to sate himself, and as he did, his inhibitions slowly loosened. He participated in the games and wrestling matches and demonstrated his skill at axe and spear throwing. Delighted with his approachability, the men challenged him to drinking bouts and roared with laughter when they finished before him, or when he spilled and had to drink a penalty draught. A few guests brought flutes and lyres and other instruments that they played while the guests danced. Hakon found himself in their midst, joining arms with the dancers and chortling with delight as they spun.
By midnight, Hakon listed precariously in his chair of honor, his stomach painfully distended, his vision blurred, and Groa mercifully nowhere in sight. Before him Didrik and Gunnar argued with two of Ivar's men about the outcome of a drinking bout. Hakon watched in hazy silence, neither able to follow their conversation nor caring that he couldn't. It was the last image he remembered from the feast.
Chapter 37
Days of cool sunshine and scattered rainfall attended Hakon and his small group as they awaited their army. Hakon enjoyed the respite, but as the days wore on, and the battle with Erik loomed before him like some giant wave growing before the deck of his ship, the pressure began to wear on his nerves. He knew that when that wave finally broke, the havoc it would wreak and the carnage it would leave in its wake would be horrific beyond words.
It might have been alright, had he something to anticipate on the opposite side of that swell, but he did not relish the thought of Groa waiting with her chubby arms outspread, ready to provide a comfort he did not want. Nor did the dream of bringing his faith to this darkened land seem obtainable. Too many times now, he had observed the deep-rooted beliefs of the Northern people, and began to doubt that Christianity might ever take hold. He was an island in the middle of a hostile sea, his beaches pounded by the waves of pagan rituals, the rocks of his faith assailed by the gale of common feelings and mindsets. Bringing his faith to these people was as futile an undertaking as forcing those waves back and turning the wind around.
To keep from dwelling on these worries, Hakon developed a daily routine. Each morning he spent his first waking hour in prayer, then broke his fast on a small bowl of steaming porridge or a plate of bread and cheese. He spent the balance of the morning training with sword and spear and bow, challenging all takers to friendly duels and demonstrations of skill. After a sparse midday meal, he swam in the bone-chilling water of the lake and, when he could stand no more, dried himself by exploring different parts of Ivar's lands with anyone who would join him. Sometimes they fished or hunted, but more often they just walked, so that Hakon could focus on the beauty of nature and discuss whatever topic came to mind.
Evenings, he joined the others in the main hall and talked until late at night, or listened as the skald recounted stories of glorious battles, blood feuds, and love. Occasionally he called upon his own narrative skills to tell a story of Frankish knights or Saxon kings. The guests listened with polite interest, yet always found a way to better him in their next story with a more able champion, a more powerful king, or a more beautiful heroine. Frustrated by their competitiveness and their obvious disrespect for Franks and Saxons, Hakon put an end to his efforts.
For Hakon, this was the most challenging part of the day. Not only did the day's physical exercise weight his eyelids and leaden his muscles, but the constant presence of both Groa and Aelfwin forced him to deal directly with his own tormenting emotions. More than once, he found his eyes lingering on Aelfwin, feeling at once excited by her gentle curves and furious that she had been violated by so many of the men with whom he now drank his ale.
Powerless to stop himself, and frustrated by that weakness, he was usually the first to leave the hall. In his quarters, he flopped onto his straw mattress and let his mind embrace the woman he could not possess, dreaming of the day when this whole affair was over and he could spend more time, limited though it may be, with the girl who constantly lived in his mind. It took everything he had to keep himself from going to her. But deep down, he knew tha
t nothing more would be solved by taking the risk.
When the pressures weighed most heavily on him, he harkened back to something Athelstan used to tell him. Athelstan was convinced that God had a plan and that everything had a reason, even things that seemingly happened for the worst. Hakon could almost hear Athelstan, in his flat, emotionless voice, saying, “Misery, grief, sorrow, and all things bad are a trial of faith, of mind and of body. Men worthy of kingship do not waver in the face of such things, but find ways to overcome them, to ignore them, to look past them.” Hakon knew that Athelstan had the right of it. But how easy it was, in the face of those trials, to lose sight of something so rudimentary and so uplifting.
On the morning of the sixth day at Ringsaker, the looming wave finally crashed.
Hakon was on the sparring grounds, not too distant from the walls surrounding Ivar's estate. Egil had just finished reviewing a move Hakon had known but had never really mastered.
“Again,” Egil commanded, his shield held high before him.
Hakon dropped his sword so that its point dragged on the ground. “Egil. This is the hundredth time we have done this. I think I know it now.”
Egil lowered his shield and scowled from beneath his helmet. Sweat trickled from his temples, down his bony cheeks, and into the silvery forked beard tucked into his belt. “I do not do this for my enjoyment, boy. I do this so that your body will remember the motion even if your mind does not. Now again.”
Hakon wiped his sweaty palms on his breeches, then hefted his sword and shield. After an entire morning of sparring, the sweat stung his eyes and his muscles burned under the weight of his weapon. He crouched and circled Egil as he waited for the opening Egil would give him. Egil circled before him, then suddenly stopped, his neck craned above his shield. It was not the move Hakon had been awaiting.
Hakon relaxed his guard. “What is it, Egil?”
God's Hammer Page 27