by Hume, M. K.
Arthur watched as a number of emotions passed across Stormbringer’s face, but the Briton knew his friend would eventually make the sensible choice. The Sae Dene’s family, his seamen, his friends and his kinsmen all depended on it.
But Valdar Bjornsen would never again be the untroubled and honourable man he had always been, although long years of rule would stretch out before him.
Arthur watched sadly as Stormbringer bowed his noble head and knelt on the stone floor of the king’s bedchamber. With the corpse of Aednetta Fridasdottar as a silent witness, the Lord of the Storm took his cousin’s hand, kissed his ring and offered his fealty to Hrolf Kraki’s murderer.
CHAPTER XIV
GOING HOME
No tyrant need to feel fear till men begin to feel confident in each other.
Aristotle, Politics, Book 5
Spring came slowly and reluctantly to Heorot, while Stormbringer’s warriors ate and drank Hrolf Kraki’s long-hoarded stores of grain and beer with gusto. For long frigid months, Old Man Winter had enjoyed his time in Limfjord and famine came to the population before the thaw began, so the children began to know the pangs of empty bellies. Only then had Frodhi, the newly crowned king and a fine fellow if you ignored his murderous nature, opened the last of his grain-houses to his people. The citizens kissed his hands in gratitude.
Day after day, Arthur’s position in Heorot became more and more untenable, while he continued to ache for skies that were misty and soft. Here, the blue of these alien heavens hurt the eyes when seen against the white dazzle of the latest snowfalls. He turned to women gladly to dull the inner ache, but no number of willing bodies could warm the deep and long-buried coldness of the spirit. Waking and sleeping, he hungered to once again be warm inside, to be Arthur; and to have friends and family around him.
Stormbringer observed his friend’s suffering and his heart ached for the younger man. But what could he do? Arthur would never accept pity. That could never be the warrior’s way and God had made Arthur a warrior from birth.
‘But he’s more than that!’ Stormbringer exclaimed one dark afternoon as he sat over his beer and warmed his feet at the front of the fire pit. Surprised, Snorri almost dropped his sword which he was sharpening on a whetstone with long, practised strokes.
Normally, a master would never speak candidly with a crewman, except during sea voyages where all men had a measured degree of equality. But something of Arthur’s easy camaraderie with people of all classes had begun to rub off on the Sae Dene king. Arthur treated Snorri like a friend and a brother, and the death of Aednetta Fridasdottar had proved how profoundly Arthur trusted the helmsman, for he was the only Dene, except for Stormbringer, who knew the whole truth of Hrolf Kraki’s death. Such trust prompted Stormbringer to speak freely with this remarkable sailor.
‘I’ve been dwelling on the qualities of Arthur, your master,’ Stormbringer began. ‘As well as being my friend, I’ve discovered he’s more than just an exceptionally capable warrior. You were there at the death of Aednetta and you saw how well he controlled a potentially disastrous confrontation with our new king.’
‘Yes, master! I was there, but I try very hard not to think about what took place on that particular morning. Begging your pardon, my lord, but your cousin will have my tongue ripped out if I so much as mention a single word of what I heard. I suspect he may have me killed anyway, truth be told.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Stormbringer replied blandly, a response which made Snorri grunt with displeasure. The Sae Dene king was already falling back into the patterns of a lifetime, drinking and casting dice with Frodhi and sharing the rich background of common experiences that made them both laugh even if at times he remembered the twisted corpse of Hrolf Kraki. Snorri accepted that the Sae Dene king, his commander, had returned to a comfortable and easy friendship with his cousin, but as a Dene warrior and the helmsman of Arthur’s longboat, his loyalties were torn.
Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the battered body of Aednetta or the death pangs of the Crow King.
‘Our friend longs for his homeland so I, for one, believe he will leave us when I marry his sister in the spring. Arthur has all the instincts of a king, including a ruthlessness that allows him to say what must be said. But he made his future in the Dene Mark impossible when he exposed my cousin’s sins, even though I believe he understands me when I tell him that Frodhi wasn’t entirely motivated by personal ambition. By the gods, but I wish I knew what to say to him. For that matter, where is he now?’
‘He walks in the snow, my lord, so he can seek the trees that help to ease his loneliness. He was born in the deep forests in his homeland, and the trees give shape and meaning to his life, just as the sea does for you.’
Snorri pondered whether he dared to speak the unadulterated truth to his lord and master. ‘He’s trying to decide how to return to his homeland with nothing but his three friends to aid him. He knows that Britain is full of avowed enemies, and as the Last Dragon, his life will be eagerly sought by kinsmen and enemies alike.’
‘But Arthur is a rich man now!’ Stormbringer protested. ‘His share of our successes on the field can buy him many acres anywhere in the wide world.’
Snorri made a snorting sound which caused his master to raise one questioning golden eyebrow.
‘Arthur plans to achieve his destiny in his homeland, master, and nothing else will do for him. Gold and silver alone won’t bring him the vast acres of good earth that he plans to farm in that far-off place. From our discussions, I’ve learned that northern invaders have forced Arthur’s kinfolk to retreat into the more remote corners of Britain, so the original Celtic lands are now owned and ruled by the Saxons, Jutes and Angles. He accepts that the old days have gone forever, so he intends to carve out a new homeland on the eastern and northern shores of his great island, in a place where people can raise their families and live in peace and prosperity. To fulfil his promise, Arthur needs warriors at his back and families of good stock who are prepared to stand beside him and resettle their children in a strange land, even if he must do it as a Dene.’
Snorri, a landless man whose family survived through Stormbringer’s generosity, could understand how Arthur yearned for a land that he could call his own. He hungered for the same dream.
‘Would you follow him, Snorri?’
Snorri pondered the question, visibly weighing up the pros and cons.
‘Aye! I would gladly follow him with everything I have, as would any of the landless men in our crew. But our numbers are too small to carve out a kingdom. From what Arthur has told me, the Saxons have burrowed into the hide of Britain like ticks, so that neither flame nor knife can remove them. Only the sword and a total dedication to strong and forceful leadership can set him on the pathway to becoming a king.’
Stormbringer’s face began to clear.
‘Then I must give him what he desires. He has already given me a precious gift in the form of his sister, who has become my heart’s desire. Would you be prepared to follow him in Sea Wife if I commanded him to raid the Saxon and Friesian coasts in the north? Would you and your men be prepared to brave the north to win gold and silver from our cousins in Noroway? He will gain much from these raids, but he needs men behind him who will be prepared to challenge the gods of wind, water and ice.’
Both men understood this referred to the fabled lands to the north and north-east where the ice never melted. Stormbringer had heard that half the year in these lands the sun never rose above the horizon, while the remainder was filled with perpetual sunlight and the darkness of the night became a distant memory. There, a longboat could easily be crushed by the living ice as if it was made of eggshells. Should the stories in the sagas be true, then Arthur would visit a world never braved by Dene sailors and he could win a great name that would last forever.
Snorri thought carefully. Would he risk his life for such a
dream? Ultimately, his answer came from the heart.
‘I will gladly go with him, master. He’s already given my family the chance of a better life with my share of the spoils of our past forays, and I know many other landless men who wish to fight under the banner of the Red Dragon. One thing is certain: Arthur is not a Dene, but he’s no longer a Briton either. He has become something other than these races, as he’ll discover when he sets foot on British soil and breathes the air of his childhood. I’ll follow him, for he offers the best chance for the future of my sons and the Dene people. And, master, I’m not alone in my ambitions.’
Stormbringer chewed over Snorri’s wisdom and knew he had just received wise counsel.
‘It’s decided then! Arthur must seize his destiny and challenge the will of the gods.’
And I’ve always considered you to be a Christian, Snorri thought. But he said nothing.
Spring came suddenly, with torrents of water beginning to run down the cobbled road from Heorot to pour into the lake below. The fields were chocolate and green with spear-points of growth, so Arthur took pleasure in this tangible proof that life continued. Flowers began to spring up in every nook and cranny in stone walls, and weeds flourished. Girls wore garlands in their hair, while children squealed with joy as they played in thick puddles of mud.
Finally, after a winter of silence, Frodhi called an audience for Stormbringer and his entire officer corps, for the time had come when the Sae Dene army should be disbanded to allow the warriors to return to their farms. The arrival of spring demanded that men should take over the farm work from their womenfolk. Meanwhile, those men whose lives were unhampered by family responsibilities would sharpen their weapons and prepare to go roving, for such was the way of Sae Dene warriors. Their cousins who came from Heorot and other settlements along the peninsula might be content with their broad acres, but the unfettered sailors were always eager to explore the wild and turbulent waters of distant seas.
Of all the souls who spent their days and nights in Heorot, Father Lorcan was the only concerned person who prayed with all his strength that Justinian’s Disease would pass the Dene population by, although he knew in his heart of hearts that such scourges were rarely deflected by prayers. Fortunately, only two other people were familiar with the contagion, and Lorcan was certain that neither Germanus nor Gareth would discuss the matter with anyone in the Dene lands, other than Arthur.
Stormbringer, Arthur and the other officers gathered in the familiar hall, now bright with strengthening sunlight that streamed through unshuttered windows. They met in the late morning, a time of day when the fire pit glowed with coals, but left the air in the hall untroubled by thick smoke. Arthur dressed with considerable care and carried the wolf-fur cloak that had been brought from the Forest of Arden by Gareth. Whenever he felt its heavy folds fall from his shoulders, he imagined that his father, Bedwyr, was rewarding him with a paternal embrace. In his father’s cloak, Arthur cut a barbaric figure in Heorot’s ancient, echoing space.
For his part, Frodhi had dressed with the care expected of a new king who must build a reputation for statesmanship. Golden armbands adorned his wrists and arms, while a heavy golden chain that had once belonged to the Crow King was hanging around his neck and shoulders. The new king had elected to dress in the style of a warrior, perhaps to emulate the men who, by their presence alone, had created a situation whereby Hrolf Kraki could be removed. Perhaps Frodhi chose this mode of dress to warn Arthur that he, too, would be prepared to use the sword to enforce his rule. Whatever the reason, Frodhi rejected Hrolf Kraki’s ostentatious, gold-edged armour in favour of good, highly polished iron and chain mail, while his sword was both ornamental and workmanlike. Arthur held no doubts that Frodhi would use his weapons and his regal power against anyone who stood in his way.
‘We have come in compliance with your demands, my lord,’ Stormbringer announced in a voice that rang through the rafters. His choice of words was a subtle warning to his cousin that any show of force would be unwise. But if Frodhi recognised any external threat, he chose to ignore it. The king smiled broadly with a flash of perfect canines, an unusual characteristic in warriors who had their teeth knocked out regularly during physical combat.
‘Welcome, one and all. I have asked you here to discuss our plans now that spring is with us and the thaw is well advanced. Although I am grateful for your presence and your service during the past winter, our supplies are running desperately low, so I’d be a poor king if I didn’t take action to renew our food stocks. I await your thoughts and your advice.’
How easily Frodhi adapted himself to the formal language of rule while mouthing platitudes and showing the outward trappings of friendly interest! He had proved to be a man of infinite patience, prepared to wait for his machinations to bear fruit.
Dammit, Stormbringer thought with regret. Arthur is right! I’ll never be able to trust Frodhi, even if I continue to love him like a brother. Can I rely on him as I once did? His loyalty to others will always depend on his immediate needs. He needs me during these difficult times in which we live, but that state of affairs could easily change.
‘I have developed plans to march my forces back into the south before the week is out, my lord. Once we have reached our ships and the waterways are free of ice, the army will be released to return to their homes, their farms or, alternatively, to sail with Master Arthur into the far north. Those men who are eager for plunder will be invited to take ship under his command.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I hope these plans meet with your approval, my king.’
King Frodhi gave a grunt of approval, but Stormbringer saw scarifying thoughts surface out of the deceptive blue of Frodhi’s eyes.
‘Why is he travelling to the north?’
Arthur decided that there was little profit in this particular ruler knowing his exact intentions, so made an immediate decision that he would always travel by a far different route to any suggested by the new king. As he responded to the king’s request, Arthur gave vague descriptions for, to be honest, he was unsure himself. One thing was certain: he wanted to remove himself from Heorot and its dubious charms.
Frodhi was quite avuncular by the time the audience was over. The Sae Dene’s army would no longer be eating his storehouse bare; he would be able to deal with the cleaning up of the Crow King’s rule without Stormbringer peering over his shoulder; and the one man who could do him harm would be far off in Noroway and other points in the distant north. With luck, the Briton would die there.
‘Hopefully, he’ll make a fatal mistake outside my borders, and then I’ll be done with him without any cost to myself,’ Frodhi remarked to the spring breeze later that evening. The air held just a promise of chill at its edges to remind the king of dark winter storms. ‘It’s strange! I rather liked the Last Dragon too, so it’s a pity he outlived his usefulness.’
Two days later, Stormbringer’s army departed from Heorot and the Limfjord with few signs of regret, having scrounged whatever provisions they needed without even a modicum of apology. Once so disciplined, his warriors remained loosely within their assigned crew-groups but their imminent return to their women and children took priority over almost everything but the speed with which they could reach their homes. A hundred of the single warriors opted to go with Arthur, so he robbed no wives of their menfolk.
For the first time, he had the leisure to view the green fields of the Dene mainland. The country spread around him, bright with wildflowers, grain that burst through the rich soil and cattle that grazed on a patchwork of industry. Streams were bountiful and Arthur washed himself daily in the icy water. With a sharpened eating knife, he scraped away at his chin and cheeks to free them from the fledgling beard he had grown during the colder months.
And so, with the next year planned, Arthur felt a tentative sense of satisfaction and hope.
Still, the young man’s nights were filled with dark drea
ms that were quickly forgotten after waking. Nights found him drenched in sweat and shaking with vague horrors but, by and large, the days seemed to pass swiftly.
Home! Every time a warrior spoke of the impending joy of spending time with their kinfolk, Arthur felt as if a long spike had pierced his heart. In the Dene lands, he had learned the precious, ineffable wonder of kin, so he was now longing for his mother, his brothers, Lasair and Barr, and his other sister, Nuala. Deep inside, Arthur was reasonably certain that Bedwyr would have passed into the shades by now, and he would never again know the warm embrace of that fine old man. When he slept, he found himself running once more through Arden’s forest branches in the depths of a freezing winter. Although there were no pursuers that he could see, he knew with the certainty of dreams that something frightful sniffed the air to catch his scent. One slip, even one minor error of judgement, and he would fall to earth where the pursuing horrors would have him at their mercy.
Although Stormbringer had urged Arthur to take ship once spring was upon them, the prospect of his friend’s absence dented Stormbringer’s feelings of well-being. He had lived and fought beside Arthur for more than four years, and knew the Briton better than he had ever known his father or his uncles. He had come to depend on Arthur’s cold logic. Although at times he found the chill in Arthur’s nature to be alien, he was also aware that it was the well-spring of his remarkable gift for strategy. Like his ancestors, he could crush his feelings so as to act with the ruthlessness that all kings must possess.
All too soon, Sea Wife and its two consorts, sweet of line and graceful in the waves, left the eastern coast of the Dene Peninsula and headed into the north. Stormbringer stood on the beach and raised his sword so that the morning sun caught the blade as if it was wreathed in a sudden burst of flame. As the longboats set their sails once they had reached the slow sea swell, a small figure standing in the stern blew on a horn taken in plunder, so that a full-throated roar came to the Sae Dene king over the grey-blue waves. Stormbringer was comforted by this masculine salute, but bereft at the same time. He stood alone on the beach until the horizon was bare and empty under the rising sun.