A Mighty Dawn

by Theodore Brun

  But what could he do? An unblooded warrior – against a whole raiding party? There must be forty, if a man.

  He looked at them more closely. One nearest to him had a rusty beard; another, white-blond hair poking out from his helm. Many others had the same colouring. Most were of a hefty build. They weren’t Jutes. Nor even Danes. Truth was they could have come from anywhere around the East Sea. To Hakan, they looked like northerners, but then many lands lay to the north. Gotars or Finns. Estlanders perhaps, or Norskmen?

  Whoever, the raid must be avenged if possible.

  If he brought word to his father now, what use would that be with no clue as to where they went? So, settling down in the shadow of the wood, he decided to wait and see which course they set.

  It was mid-afternoon before the raiders had loaded all they could, readied their ship and took up their oars to follow Odd’s Sound out to the open sea.

  He swung into his saddle and rode for the shore. The wind was up, having wheeled to the west. Men were moving on deck, and then the great russet sail unfurled and caught the wind.

  The ship leaned over, planks kicking up spray as they cut the waves. At first, the ship headed east, away from the land. Straight across the Juten Belt. Towards Gotarland.

  But some way offshore, the prow swung north.

  The course was set.

  Northwards.

  He rode up the beach, staying with them best he could until the ship built momentum and began to slip away.

  ‘Norskmen,’ he muttered. He thought he heard laughter chattering across the waves. ‘Laugh, if you will. But you’d better flee like the wind.’ The arm of his father’s vengeance was long, swift and crueller than Hel. He watched the stern of the Norskmen’s ship rise and fall with the swell.

  ‘We’re coming for you,’ he whispered, putting his heels to his horse’s flank. The mare took off in a spray of sand.

  ‘We’re coming for you!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Ale or honey-wine?’ Probably the twentieth time Inga had asked the question.

  ‘Mead, thanks, my lady.’ Same as every other. Mead was the brew of Odin – the Spear-God. The Chooser. What else would a superstitious warrior drink before a fight?

  She filled the cup and moved down the bench.

  It was a different mood in the hall that night. Gloomy as thunder.

  A lull was to be expected, as guests pulled themselves together, head-sore and dry-tongued, before setting off for their halls and farmsteads. Sometimes folk lingered, squeezing the last drop from Haldan’s hospitality, but today the guests had cleared off early, with a sour taste in their mouths in more ways than one.

  Wanting to keep out of her uncle’s way, Inga had spent the day making something for Hakan. It wasn’t much. A token really: a silver amulet in the shape of a hammer. Not that Hakan had a particular fondness for the Thunder God, but Thor’s hammer was simple to make. Even so, Brok the smith had helped her, and it took her most of the afternoon to engrave the elaborate weavings into the metal.

  But she liked having to concentrate. It gave her time to think. And there was plenty to think about.

  Mostly about Hakan. She was annoyed, but also relieved, when she found her uncle had sent him on one of his silly errands. Annoyed that Hakan hadn’t bothered to say goodbye; relieved to put off their unavoidably awkward conversation. But when she discovered he was away for at least a week, she realized how much she would miss him.

  Still, if she was honest, Konur popped into her thoughts more than once. Quite a few times, in truth. And every time, she tried to squash his image like a roach, only for it to come scuttling back a little while later.

  It was because she was angry with Hakan, she told herself. Even so, she was ready to forgive him for being such a brute. He was only trying to protect her after all, albeit in typically blunt fashion. Sometimes, she wished he were a bit quicker with his words than his fists.

  She debated a good deal whether she, in turn, should be asking his forgiveness. After all, what had she done but talk to Konur? Laugh with him, maybe. But wasn’t she allowed to laugh if someone said something funny?

  By the time she was applying the finishing touches to the amulet and polishing it to a shine, she had decided that, if she must, she was ready to ask his forgiveness when he returned. Anyway, he wouldn’t be back for a few days. Perhaps he would have calmed down and there would be nothing to say.

  So she had thought.

  Hence her shock when, just around sunfall, Hakan came clattering into the yard, his horse a lather of sweat, raising all Hel about raiders at Vindhaven.

  After that, everything moved fast.

  Her uncle appeared and listened to the grim tidings.

  ‘Blood will run in its furrows,’ he whispered when Hakan was done. And in an eye-blink, he was changed, his black mood forgotten, shooting orders like arrows.

  He took his horn and blew it so long and loud she thought his head might split. Its echo had hardly died than other horns on neighbouring farms took up the call. And soon, Haldan’s summoning was racing away in every direction.

  Many kinsfolk were still close when his summoning reached them. Many turned back, though not all. Inga had watched anxiously as riders came in, but Konur and his father were not among them.

  As evening turned to night, the men sworn to Haldan’s sword and honour assembled one by one, and with them what vassals they could muster from the nearest farmsteads. In all, enough to fill two longboats – close to eighty men.

  Haldan gave the grizzled twins Eskel and Esbjorn a dozen thralls to make ready the boats, waiting on the strand. Each had helmed since boyhood. Each could make a sea-wolf fly.

  Eskel said they’d have a favourable tide two hours before dawn, if all was ready.

  ‘Good. We leave then. Meanwhile, let every man eat and sleep as he can.’

  Word came from the eastern lookout. A sail had been seen tracking north just before dusk: rust-coloured, heading for the Skaw. It was a long lead, but Haldan was undeterred.

  Of course, Tolla had collared Inga into helping feed the men.

  ‘For some, the next hot food they taste will be in the halls of Valhalla,’ Tolla had said. The thought made Inga’s stomach tighten. Some, she prayed to the Spear-God. But not my Hakan. A shameful prayer for a warrior, but she didn’t care.

  Meanwhile, sparks flew into the gloom as whetstones worked, till each man was satisfied his killing edge was ready. Thralls hurried to fill barrels with bread and beer, packing salt casks with dried pork and fish, and carrying them to the boats. Tents of hemp and woollen blankets were loaded. Oars were checked, ropes lashed, sails made ready.

  Everything had been too frantic to snatch even a few moments with Hakan. And foreboding gnawed at her belly. She had known this moment must come. One day. Just not so soon. Now, thanks to those stupid oaths, Hakan must sail too.

  Along the benches, men shared jokes, or sang bawdy songs to amuse the thrall-girls, or sea-shanties in anticipation of the voyage. Over the womenfolk, she noticed a darker mood. For them, it was no joke. Some of these benches would be empty when Haldan and his men returned.

  If they returned . . .

  She filled another cup, and moved to the next man. ‘Ale or honey-wine?’

  ‘Ale for me. I’m sweet enough already, my lady,’ said Garik, with a friendly leer.

  ‘But your breath is still sour,’ she teased, happy to empty some of her ale. Garik chuckled grudgingly, and when a few others laughed too, he disappeared into his cup.

  But he soon reappeared, wiping his beard. ‘You’re a hard one to please, my lady. Still, there’s plenty girls round here don’t seem to mind. Then it’s not my mouth they’re usually interested in.’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Gunnar, a fair-haired man with serious eyes, and the best bowman sworn to her uncle. ‘High-born ladies like her shouldn’t have to hear about your sordid exploits.’

  ‘What? There’s nothing sordid about it! What I’ve got
is a thing of beauty, so I’ve been told!’ He laughed heartily.

  ‘Gaaah – you know all women are liars,’ returned Gunnar, sparing an apologetic wink for Inga.

  ‘Well, I’ve had no complaints.’ Garik called down the table, ‘Here, Hakan! You seen them girls they took. Any beauties among ’em?’

  Hakan looked up from his food to see everyone waiting for his answer. He shrugged. ‘I was pretty far away. And they weren’t exactly looking their best.’

  ‘Hmm – well, there’d better be one or two worth going after, otherwise what the Hel are we doing?’ Garik gave another roar of laughter. A few laughed with him, but Inga noticed his question left a couple of younger ones stony-faced.

  ‘Don’t you ever take a rest from thinking with your cock?’ drawled a voice up the bench. They all turned to see who spoke. Sat apart from the others where the torchlight was dimmer was a man with a long sharp nose and dark sunken eyes. Inga knew him. His name was Dag. His reputation as a killer was enough to curdle anyone’s blood.

  ‘And why the Hel should I?’ Garik snorted. ‘Whatever gets you up in the morning, I reckon. Or whoever!’ he yelled, to more laughter.

  Dag drew deep on his cup and, without looking up, said, ‘It’s just you sound – so – fucking – boring.’

  ‘You reckon?’ sniffed Garik. ‘Well, we know you’re a heartless son of a bitch, Dag, but I never knew you had nothing between your legs neither!’ But the others weren’t so keen to laugh at a joke about Dag. ‘Anyway, a man’s got to have some reason to fight.’

  ‘Why can’t he just fight?’ Dag’s voice sounded cold as the northern snows.

  ‘You telling me you care nothing for getting back what those Norsk bastards took?’

  ‘If a man steals a horse from me, I’ll go after him. I’ll kill him. But not because I care two shits about the horse. I’ll do it ’cause he thought he could steal from me. ’Cause he took me for a fool.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ said Dag. ‘If you make it home and I don’t – you even think about going near my old woman, I swear I’ll come back from the dead and scare you fucking shitless.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, friend,’ grinned Garik. ‘A man’s got to have some standards.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Besides, he scares the shit out of me already!’

  They broke into gales of laughter. Garik raised his cup to Dag who gave him a wink back, his mouth curling in a wolfish smile.

  Inga, seeing Hakan only a couple of seats on, took advantage of the laughter and went to refill his cup. ‘I need to see you before you go,’ she whispered.

  He looked up. ‘And I you.’

  ‘Outside. Soon as you can.’

  He gave a quick nod.

  ‘All gone,’ she lied to the next man, shaking her far-from-empty pitchers. Leaving behind half-hearted groans of disappointment, she heard Hakan announce he was going out for a piss. She hurried back to the kitchen, abandoned her pitchers and slipped away unnoticed through the back, out into the night.

  Outside the air was cool. She crept along the edge of the hall, one hand brushing the wall, hugging the shadows. In the two months of their secret love, they had learned to make darkness their friend. Her fingers slid into her apron pocket, feeling for the hundredth time the squat arms of the amulet nestled there.

  She saw a silhouette appear at the end of the hall, then melt into the shadows of the buttresses.

  Suddenly Hakan’s face appeared, pale in the gloom. She stopped, startled. Opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For all her thinking that day, she didn’t know how to begin.

  Instead, they eyed each other warily in the half-light. ‘You went without saying goodbye,’ she said finally.

  ‘I had no choice. The old man wanted me away as soon as possible.’ He sniffed. ‘Besides . . . didn’t think you cared.’

  ‘And you proved you don’t.’

  ‘You should be glad. I’m sure it gave you more time to say farewell to your new friend.’

  ‘Don’t be such a child.’

  ‘Oh, but you’re so ready to be a woman, aren’t you? All grown up, ready to impress fine men like Konur.’

  ‘You become very horrid when you’re jealous!’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’

  ‘I did nothing wrong.’ She’d spent all day protesting as much to herself. ‘We were just talking.’

  ‘That’s not what I saw.’

  ‘Then he forced himself on me! You said so yourself.’

  ‘’Course I said that last night! I had to have some reason for flattening his face. Whether he did or not, I don’t know or care. I just wanted him off you.’

  ‘You didn’t seem so keen to get that fat little slattern off you!’

  ‘What?’ He seemed genuinely mystified.

  ‘Kella! She was all over you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘I’m not surprised – you were drunk as a Dane!’ She felt her hands bunching into fists. ‘Oh, you were such a beast last night!’

  ‘We’re all of us beasts,’ he snapped back. ‘You’re no better than the rest of us, you slut!’

  She slapped him then. Hard as she could. The sound cracked the darkness. Both froze; each shocked as the other. His hand went to his cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry – that was too much,’ he said. ‘I . . . I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Why are you being like this?’ She felt tears welling. ‘Why?’

  No answer.

  She leaned forward, searching his face for some sign of softness. At last a little shame leaked into his eyes. ‘Before the sun rises, you’ll be gone,’ she sobbed. ‘The gods only know when you’ll come back. I’m frightened for you – don’t you understand?’

  She waited, weeping. And then he reached out, brushing away a tear with his thumb. His fingers had always been more eloquent than his tongue. Neither said a word. More tears fell, warm rivulets tickling her cheeks. His fingertip traced her temple, down her jawline, then his hand slid around her neck under her hair.

  ‘My love.’ He pulled her close. She felt his warm breath on her lips mingled with the taste of her tears. ‘Forgive me.’ He kissed her again.

  After a few moments, she pulled away. ‘I’m sorry too.’ She dabbed her cheeks with her sleeve. ‘I wasn’t thinking last night. Maybe I was jealous of the attention you were getting. But there could never be anyone but you. Our lives are bound as one.’

  Hakan gazed down. He didn’t need to say anything. His thoughts were her thoughts. No one knew her like he knew her. No one had done as much for her. She saw love burning in his eyes like a madness. And then he clasped her tight against him. She heard the urgency in his quickening breath. Felt it rising in herself.

  Her hand closed around his in the darkness, guiding it downwards until his fingers touched the heat between her thighs. She shut her eyes and moaned. The wool felt coarse against her secret parts, the motion of his fingers stirring up sweet agony.

  Hakan pushed her against the hall. She watched him drop to lift her skirts, glimpsed her own thighs, white and slender in the night. She slid her hands around his neck as he picked her up, his hands rough against her buttocks, pushing her harder still against the wall. Her thighs closed around his hips. There was a fumbling, and then she felt him, hard and hot as firestone, against her. She was wet with wanting him, and suddenly he was inside her. They groaned together.

  Inga giggled. ‘Someone might come.’

  ‘Let them come – damn them!’ gasped Hakan, biting at her ear. The muscles in his shoulders were taut as a stallion’s. Once this hunger took him, there was no turning him aside. His chest pressed against her, smothering her, squashing the soft heat of her breasts, chaffing her hard nipples inside her dress. The murmur of many voices seeped through the cracks in the wall. But no one came.

  A moan rose from faraway in the depths of her throat. She licked her lips, still tasting his there. Their movements grew faster and
faster.

  Her mind was a storm of pleasure, but she still remembered one thought.

  Be careful, she meant to murmur. But never did. Perhaps she was beyond caring. Now it was too late. She felt his body stiffen, felt his seed inside her, and then they slumped against the hall.

  ‘If that isn’t a good reason to come back alive, I don’t know what is,’ Hakan gasped, chest heaving.

  Inga laughed. She felt invincible, like her world could never end. But then, too quickly, her ecstasy subsided. What seemed so shatteringly real vanished like the dew. She held him tight. ‘Come back,’ she murmured. ‘You must come back.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I keep thinking about what the vala said.’

  ‘You mustn’t.’

  ‘I can’t help it. I have a kind of dread about it.’

  He passed a tender thumb over her ruffled brow. ‘You must put it from your mind. Promise me.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘I will live. And we will be happy. Together.’ She saw his eyes shining in the gloom. He seemed so confident. But how could he be so sure?

  She nodded. ‘I have something for you.’ She felt in her pocket and produced the amulet on its leathern cord. ‘I made it for you.’

  She slid the cord over his head. The little hammer fell into place around his neck. He took it, turning it in his fingers. The metal glinted in the moonlight. ‘For luck,’ she added.

  ‘And love?’

  ‘Yes. For love too. Keep it safe for me.’

  ‘I will.’

  She pressed it against his chest. ‘Now you must sleep.’ She sighed. ‘And I must send you out, my love – into the wild winds of the All-Father’s will.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  North was all they knew. North pursuing an enemy who might have come from half a hundred lands, half a thousand places.

  Some croaked the judgement of a lad wasn’t much to go on. But Hakan was sure: the raiders were Norskmen. North, they would find them.

  And with the last light of that first day, Njord, god of the seas, tossed them some luck. A sail on the horizon, no bigger than a rivet on a shield. The men cheered, sniffing their quarry.