The Wolf and the Raven

by H A CULLEY

  ‘Leave? And where would I go?’ he snorted in derision. ‘This land is mine and I’ll kill any man who says otherwise.’

  ‘Well, I say otherwise, Aksel. If you don’t wish to go then at least save the lives of your tenants. Fight me in single combat.’

  He heard Olaf hiss ‘no’ and sensed Sitric start in surprise. He could only imagine Leofstan’s reaction.

  ‘Fight you? But you’re a mere slip of a boy. It would hardly be fair. No, nominate one of those hairy-arsed warriors behind you to be your champion and I’ll kill him instead.’

  ‘I’ve killed more men in my short life that you have, you bloated belly of lard and piss.’

  The insult enraged Aksel, as it was intended to do. With a roar of rage he ran down the sand dune on which he’d been standing and headed for Ragnar. The comment about his belly was justified but the man had arms like tree trunks and legs to match. He stood a good six inches taller than Ragnar and was armed with a large axe in addition to the sword at his waist.

  This would be a very different fight to the one against Kiǫtvi. Ragnar knew that one blow from that axe would cleave his shield in two and so he threw it away and drew his dagger instead. Then he waited with sword in his right hand and his dagger in his left. Olaf and Sitric withdrew to a safe distance but Torstein the godi stepped forward from the rest of the crew and walked calmly towards the running giant.

  ‘Come to meet your doom Aksel,’ he yelled. ‘Ragnar is destined by the Norns for great things and the Valkyries are already circling to cart you away to Valhalla.’

  The godi’s doom laden prediction had no noticeable effect on Aksel but it gave Ragnar encouragement. He waited calmly until the bondi reached him and then he sidestepped. The axe came down with such force that it would probably have split Ragnar’s head in two and continued on to embed itself deep in his torso had he still been there.

  As it was, the absence of any resistance unbalanced Aksel and, before he could recover, Ragnar’s sword had carved into his unprotected side, followed swiftly by a stab from his dagger into his right biceps. Blood spurted out of the big man’s side and Ragnar knew from the numbness in his sword hand that he must have broken a rib or two as well, despite the covering of fat.

  Aksel roared in rage and spun around surprisingly quickly for such a heavy man. He dropped his axe, which he needed two hands to wield effectively, and drew his sword with difficulty before changing it to his left hand. Ragnar realised that he must have cut tendons in his biceps, rendering his right arm useless.

  Ragnar faced Aksel, balancing on the balls of his feet, as the man brought his sword around in a slicing blow aimed at his young opponent’s neck. When he ducked the sword did no more damage than dent the very top of Ragnar’s helmet. Once again he managed to get a counter blow in, this time slicing his sword into Aksel’s calf. The giant staggered but managed to stay on his feet. However, he could only move by hobbling now and he was getting weak through loss of blood.

  ‘Come on Ragnar, stop playing with him and finish it,’ someone called from the semi-circle that had gathered around the two fighters.

  The crowd watching from the dunes had also come down onto the beach, but they stayed a hundred yards away from the combatants.

  ‘Do you concede me the victory?’

  ‘Go to Helheim, you bastard spawn of a Norseman,’ Aksel replied, gritting his teeth against the agonising pain in his side, arm and leg.

  ‘Very well.’

  Ragnar’s sword moved too quickly for anyone to follow it as it chopped through Aksel’s wrist and his sword fell onto the sand, still clutched in his severed hand. A split second later Ragnar leaped into the air and thrust his dagger into the big bondi’s neck, severing both carotid arteries. The former lord of Toppenafdanmark fell into the sand and, just like Kiǫtvi, his blood stained it red until his heart stopped pumping his blood out of his body.

  Wild cheering brought Ragnar out of the momentary stupor he’d fallen into as soon as he realised he’d won. The adrenalin that had coursed through his system during the fight drained away leaving him feeling sick and exhausted.

  ‘You need to act before the crew massacre those who are now your people,’ Olaf whispered in his ear.

  Ragnar glanced up the beach towards the folk gathered there, who looked as if they were about to flee. If they did that his warriors would chase them and mayhem would ensue. Olaf was right; these were his people now.

  ‘Stay here,’ he barked at his crew, a new authority apparent in his voice.

  He walked alone towards the nervous group of Danes with a forced smile on his face.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. You have nothing to fear now. It was Aksel who had displeased the jarl. You are my tenants now and no harm will come to you; on the contrary I swear to protect you.’

  The men came forward and introduced themselves whilst the women took the children home. He noted that the older boys went unwillingly, wanting to stay and meet the youth who had defeated the mighty Aksel. Of course their fate had been to work the land, whereas they doubtless dreamt of becoming warriors. That would now change.

  When Ragnar inspected the longhouse and the hovels in which the inhabitants lived he was appalled. The whole place stank of human and animal faeces, rotting straw and urine. The overriding impression was one of poverty, decay and lethargy. The area around the settlement was full of blown sand, salt water bogs and scrub. What areas of soil there were had been cultivated but the crops and vegetables they produced were of poor quality. The few sheep and cattle were scrawny and the three horses looked as if they were about to expire. They’d been worked almost to death. Even the oxen used to pull the two ploughs that the place possessed looked weak and undersized.

  Only the pigs looked as if they could provide a decent meal and Ragnar bought two of them to give his men and the inhabitants a decent meal. It was obvious why Aksel hadn’t paid his taxes to his jarl; he had nothing with which to do so. Gutfred must be laughing into his ale, Ragnar thought sourly. Who would want such a hell hole?

  -℣-

  However, Ragnar had something that Aksel didn’t: a drekar and the crew to man it. There was three months left before winter made raiding hazardous and he intended to take full advantage of the time. He decided to raid Sweden and he didn’t intend to seek permission from his uncle to do so.

  First, though, he toured his new territory with Olaf and Leif the skáld. He had been tempted to take Torstein as a godi tended to frighten most people out if their wits, but he wanted to enlist the support of these people, not make them afraid of him. On the other hand, the skáld would entertain folk and earn him support. At the last minute he decided to take Leofstan as his servant and the boy couldn’t be more pleased if he’d been made a warrior. The presence of a young lad would advertise the fact that he came in peace too.

  There were ten farmsteads in all in Toppenafdanmark, in addition to those on the peninsula around Skagen. The coastal area on both coasts was much the same as it was on the narrow peninsula but inland there was good pasture, areas of woodland and even some rich soil that produced good crops.

  ‘Why on earth would Aksel choose to live at Skagen when he could live here?’ Ragnar wondered aloud.

  As he toured the area he learned that Aksel was a lazy bully. His father had chosen Skagen because he was paranoid and wanted to be away from people and Aksel had been too idle to move elsewhere after the old man died. He hadn’t even bothered to collect all the rents due from his tenants and seemed content to live in squalor and poverty.

  Initially Ragnar’s reception was mixed. Now his tenants would have to pay him the proper rents as their landlord, which was unpopular, but he let them off what they owed from the past, which helped. Leif’s sagas and Ragnar’s promise of plunder and wealth under his leadership won the bondis over and he gained a grudging acceptance as their hersir, despite his youth.

  He calculated that, between the outlying farmsteads and the settlement at Skagen he could raise another fifty
warriors; enough to fill his empty rowing places and protect his land whilst he was away. There were also enough fishermen and eager boys to crew a knarr to carry the plunder. First he would have to build it though.

  At the end of his tour he found a better place for his hall. There was a large curved bay called Fladstrand twenty miles south of Skagen. There was a wooded hill south of the bay and Ragnar decided that the hill would be the perfect place for his new hall. It was much more defensible, was surrounded by good arable land and wasn’t too far from the sea where he could keep his ships. To protect them he would build the warriors hall where his hirdmen would live close to the shore. The shipbuilding yard he planned would be located there as well.

  At first the bondi who currently rented the land from him was reluctant to give it up, but when Ragnar told him he’d reduce his rent as compensation, his tenant reluctantly agreed. Privately he thought that he’d secured a good deal because he didn’t have the thralls to farm the land properly in any case.

  Chapter Five – The Rise of Ragnar

  823 to 824

  When Ragnar returned from his raid on the south-east coast of Sweden he brought with him four horses, a small flock of sheep and half a dozen calves as well as a quantity of silver and a few slaves. They had to fight for some of their plunder and they had lost three men, but everyone was elated by the success of the venture. Admittedly the return journey with so many animals on board had been unpleasant and Ragnar was even more determined to build a knarr before his next raid.

  During his absence the hill near Fladstrand had been cleared of trees and work had started on his new hall, the palisade to go around it and the longhouse to house his hirdmen to guard the port that was taking shape in the bay. One jetty was complete so he could tie his drekar up instead of beaching her and sheds for the shipyard were well underway.

  It was going to be a race to finish the hall and the longhouse before the cold and wet weather set in and, in the end, Ragnar decide to concentrate on the longhouse. Living with his men until the spring would be no hardship, or so he thought.

  What he hadn’t expected was the gales that continually struck the low lying land once October arrived. He was lucky that his longship hadn’t torn free of her moorings during the first of these. After that they hauled it well up the beach, out of possible reach of the storm driven sea.

  Spring came as a great relief. Food had grown short and they had even been reduced to eating the tough old horses that they’d found at Skagen. Once the warmer weather arrived they quickly discovered that there wasn’t much to hunt in that part of Denmark, so increasing the herds of livestock became even more important.

  Work on the hall, palisade and shipyard recommenced in mid-March and by early May they were ready to start work on the new knarr. Ragnar was now sixteen and had the beginnings of a beard on his face. He decided to wait until the knarr was ready before raiding again. This time his target would be Frisia, he decided. However, all that would change.

  At the beginning of June he had a visitor. Jarl Gutfred had sailed up to Skagen and became concerned when he found the place deserted. No-one had spotted the new settlement at Fladstrand because they had been struggling with a squall when they rowed past it. When they sailed back down the sky was blue and visibility was excellent.

  ‘Jarl, there’s new buildings over there,’ the lookout called down as they cleared the point north of the bay.

  Half an hour later Gutfred’s snekkja was tied up on the other side of the jetty from Ragnar’s much larger longship and the jarl cast envious eyes at it. Ragnar had seen the snekkja approaching and had walked across from the shipyard to the jetty to welcome the jarl.

  ‘Welcome to Fladstrand, uncle.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you’d moved from Skagen,’ Gutfred said without acknowledging the greeting.

  ‘I didn’t know I had to, but I did intend to visit you once my new knarr is ready and discuss raiding this summer. I’d have told you then.’

  ‘This summer is well underway and it’s time you earned the land I’ve given you.’

  He looked around him with pursed lips and Ragnar guessed that his uncle hadn’t realised that Toppenafdanmark included such good land. No doubt he thought that it was all like the area around Skagen.

  At that moment Ragnar spotted the girl he’d first seen in Gutfred’s hall and who had seldom been out of his thoughts ever since.

  ‘I see you have brought someone with you,’ he said, trying to hide his interest.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, my daughter Thora. She insisted on coming with me, Odin knows why; normally she hates the sea.’

  ‘May I be introduced to my cousin?’

  ‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re interested in her. She’s destined for a much better match than the exiled son of a dead king.’

  ‘Oh, is she betrothed then?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Nor will I be sold off to the highest bidder like some thrall,’ Thora said with some passion.

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, girl.’

  ‘No, I won’t. If you make me wed against my will I’ll kill my husband and involve you in a blood feud.’

  Ragnar laughed, which earned him a furious look from Thora.

  ‘You’d make a good shield maiden, cousin,’ he told her.

  Shield maidens existed only in Scandinavian mythology as far as Ragnar was aware but Thora’s eyes seemed to light up at the idea. She smiled at him and then looked demurely down at the ground. Ragnar thought that she might be as interested in him as he was in her. Her obvious feistiness was an added attraction. He didn’t think life with her would be boring.

  ‘Don’t encourage her, Ragnar. She’s bad enough as it is. I’ll be glad when she’s married and off my hands. But that’s not why I came here. The raiding season has started and I want you to join me in a raid on Austrasia.’

  ‘But that’s part of Louis the Frank’s kingdom isn’t it? I was under the impression that he and your king, Harald, were allies.’

  ‘That’s why my ships will be displaying a plain sail, like yours.’

  They had been walking up the path to Ragnar’s new hall as they talked but now Ragnar stopped.

  ‘My sail has now been dyed in red and white stripes and displays the raven symbol of my family.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to get another plain one from somewhere, won’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean no?’

  ‘I’m not creeping around like a thief in the night. I want my enemies to know who I am and to tremble at the sight of my ships.’

  ‘You’ll do as I say or I’ll take back these lands. In fact, I’d never have given Toppenafdanmark to you if I’d known it contained rich lands like this.’

  ‘If you remember you didn’t give me this region, I had to fight for it, and I pay taxes for it, which is more than my predecessor ever managed to do.’

  Gutfred looked Ragnar in the eye and then grunted before continuing to climb the slope towards the hall.

  ‘By Thor’s hammer, boy, I thought your father was pig-headed but he was a model of amenability compared to you. If I let you go raiding on your own where would you go?’

  ‘Ireland.’

  ‘Ireland? Why?’

  ‘Because few have ventured that far as yet so there should be richer pickings, but not until next year. I need to leave early to make the most of the summer and I need to take my knarr to bring back everything I manage to steal; half of which will be yours, of course.’

  ‘And this year?’

  ‘The area around Uppsala.’

  ‘Uppsala? On the east coast of Sweden? Why?’

  ‘Because their warriors will be busy raiding the land of the Rus. I need more livestock and more thralls to work the land.’

  ‘They’re no use to me, I want silver.’

  ‘There’ll be some of that too.’

  By now they had reached the palisade around the hall and Gutfred nodded in approval at the depth of the ditch and the hei
ght of the ramparts. The top of the earth bank was ten feet above the bottom of the ditch and the palisade stood twelve feet above that. It would be a difficult place to assault.

  The hall itself was a typical Norseman’s hall, built to keep out the weather rather than for comfort. The roof trusses were supported on a colonnade of straight pine trunks that ran all the way around the hall. Inside it planks had been set up vertically to make the walls and then the gaps had been plugged with dried mud. There were windows with shutters, one main doorway and the roof was of turf laid on more timber planks. The protruding roof edge and colonnade beneath it gave some protection to the walls and allowed the windows to be open in all but the foulest weather.

  Despite the windows the interior of the hall was still dark. As Gutfred entered the hall he noted the usual features – the beaten earth floor covered in rushes, the tree trunks down each side of the hall supporting the roof trusses, the partitioning between those columns and the outer wall and the benches in each alcove that served as a place to sit during the day and as sleeping platforms at night.

  The central hearth was round and had a pig slowly roasting over it. A boy stripped to the waist was slowly turning the spit, the sweat glistening on his thin body. The jarl noticed the lad’s badly scared back and assumed that he needed punishing to keep him in line. He was therefore startled when the boy grinned at Ragnar who punched the boy lightly on the arm as he passed.

  ‘Are you that familiar with all your thralls?’

  ‘No, of course not, but that’s Leofstan. He’s not a thrall; he’s my body servant. He’s a Northumbrian who I rescued from the Picts to become one of the ship’s boys on my drekar. He’s also got the knack of cooking pork to perfection without burning it. All my thralls either char the outside or leave the meat half cooked inside.’

  Gutfred looked around at the number of thralls busy cleaning the hall and laying out refreshments on the table at the end of the hall.