I appreciated Hastein's desire to help me. I truly did. But I still could not believe that his doing so—or that my becoming a chieftain—could be part of some grand plan.
"So that is why I told you to change your shabby clothes," he continued. " If you wish men to believe that you are a person of note, a chieftain or at least someone who might someday become one, you must look and act like one. It is also why I wished to ride to Jarl Arinbjorn's estate, rather than walk there. From now on, you must always be aware of the impression you make when others meet you—particularly important men, such as Arinbjorn. And it is also why I told you to bring your bow. You have already gained some renown as a warrior, in no small part due to your unusual skill with your bow. A renowned war-king, Ragnar Logbrod, has named you Strongbow, in front of an entire army. That is an honor that few achieve. Do not let others—and particularly do not ever let the carls of your estate— forget that. Many a great man is great to a large extent because others believe he is."
What Hastein wished of me would not be easy. How could I convince others that I was worthy of becoming a chieftain, if I myself did not believe it?
"Do you truly believe that the path of my life has already been set by the Norns? That the paths of every man's life has been?"
Hastein shook his head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It is not like that. It is not that simple. I have given much thought to this matter—the nature of fate—and I believe that I perhaps may understand it better than most.
"You mentioned the path of your life. It is useful to think of life that way. Each of us, as we travel through our lives, regularly come to places where the path forks—where there are different directions our life may take, depending on some decision we must make. In your life for example, what would have happened if, after Toke slaughtered your brother Harald, and his men and the folk of the farm up on the Limfjord, you had not sworn to avenge their deaths? What if you had just fled, caring only for your own safety, and had become a homeless wanderer? For certain, if I had met you under such circumstances, I would not have been moved to offer you a place in the crew of the Gull. And had that not happened, you would not have been with me and my men in Frankia, and would not have been in a position to save the life of Ragnar Logbrod. And had that not happened, you would not have been honored by him before an entire army as ‘Strongbow,' a warrior of renown. Do you see how it works? How so much has flowed from that one decision you made? How your life could so easily have gone a different way?"
The more Hastein tried to explain it, the more confused I felt.
"If it was part of the Norns' plan that I seek to avenge Harald and kill Toke, could I have decided anything else?"
"Oh, yes," Hastein said. "It was your decision to make, or not to. The path of a man's life is not like runes carved into stone, which cannot be changed."
"But if, as you suggest, the path my life has taken thus far is part of a great pattern of fate being woven by the Norns, had I not sworn vengeance—had I just fled from Toke—would the pattern not have been altered?"
"Ah!" Hastein said. "That is a good question!" He clearly was enjoying this discussion far more than I was. "What makes fate so very hard to grasp is its vastness. That is why mortal men do not have the ability to truly comprehend it."
That, among other things, I thought.
"To the Norns," he continued, "every man's life is no more than a few threads—and short threads, at that. You have seen cloth woven, have you not?"
I nodded. When growing up I had watched my mother and the other women of Hrorik's household seated at the big looms, weaving the threads they'd spun from sheep's wool into cloth.
"Think of it this way. Many, many threads are woven into a single bolt of cloth. And to make something as large as a longship's sail, many bolts of cloth must be woven, and sewn together. If a single weaver were to fail to weave a few short lengths of thread in their proper place and order into a single bolt of cloth, it would not change the sail in any way you could notice, would it?"
I shook my head.
"Fate—the fate of the whole world, which the Norns are weaving, is far, far vaster than a longship's sail. Unlike mortal men, the Norns can see, as they weave, that which has not yet come to pass. As they hold the threads of each man's life in their fingers, they can see a path our lives could follow that would best serve the pattern they are weaving. We are, each of us, given the chance to follow that path which the Norns wish us to take. But if any man, through his own decisions and actions, turns aside from that path…" Hastein shrugged. "He is but one man, and his life but a few threads. There are other lives, other threads, which can be woven instead to achieve the final pattern. No single man's life can change the course of fate itself."
I tried to picture it. I tried to think of the decisions I had made, the things I had done, that could have changed the path of my life. But I quickly realized it was much more than just me. What of every other person whose path of life my own had crossed—of the decisions they had made, too? What of all the men I had fought and killed? What if they had decided not to fight me? What if they had not died? And for that matter, what if I had not met Genevieve? Was it all part of some great pattern of fate the Norns were weaving? It was too much to grasp. Thinking about it made my head hurt.
Hastein laughed. "You look very confused," he said.
I nodded. "I am."
"Do not try to understand it. You will not be able to. As I have told you, no mere mortal man can."
"Then why have you given it so much thought?" I asked.
"That, too, is a good question. I do not try to understand the great pattern the Norns are weaving, for that is beyond the ken of any man. But I do believe it can be possible, at times, for a man to discern the path the Norns would have him travel—to sense which choices will make his life fit smoothly into their plan, and further it. It is not so unlike your own skill at reading signs, which allows you to track men or beasts in the forest. There are times, when I am weighing a choice to make, that I feel I can almost see the fork I have come upon in the path of my life. At such times, I weigh the decisions I make very carefully, for I seek always to live my life as the Norns would wish it to be."
"Why do you try so hard to serve the Norns?" Many believed in fate, but I had never before heard of anyone who tried to serve it.
"In truth, because I believe it often profits me to do so. I believe the Norns caused your path and mine to cross for a reason. I believed, when we met and I learned what had befallen you, that the Norns wished me to take you into the crew of the Gull, and to aid you in your quest for vengeance. But aiding you has certainly brought benefit to me, as well. You saved my life more than once in Frankia. I could have died there, but instead I came away from Frankia a much wealthier man."
"So you believe that by aiding me—by furthering what you believe is the Norns' plan for my life—you will benefit as well?" That somehow made me feel better.
"I believe that if any of our lives no longer furthers the pattern the Norns are weaving, we will be of no use to them, and then the risk grows that they will choose to cut the threads of our lives."
By now we were approaching Jarl Arinbjorn's estate. I was glad for an excuse to end our discussion of the Norns and fate.
Arinbjorn's longhouse was the largest I had ever seen. It was far larger than Hrorik's, in which I had grown up, and bigger even than Hastein's, on his estate up on the Limfjord. The land around it contained numerous other buildings, as well: three boathouses on the shore of the nor, various work-sheds, a separate byre for livestock, and even what looked to be a second, much more modestly-sized longhouse.
Unfortunately, Jarl Arinbjorn was not at home. He had ridden, we were told by some of his retainers as we approached the great longhouse, to the cliffs along the eastern edge of the island, to inspect the watch stations there. They did not know when he was expected to return.
I had hoped Hastein might be able to speak briefly with Jarl Arinbjorn, learn whether his men ha
d seen Toke's two ships, and we could be on our way. It was an unrealistic wish, of course. When one jarl called upon another, the occasion required at least a modest feast. But how much longer would we be delayed here now, since Arinbjorn was away?
An old man came out of the longhouse. He had white hair and a long white beard. His back was crooked with age, and he leaned on a staff for support as he stared at us, squinting.
"By the gods!" Hastein exclaimed. He swung himself down from his horse's back and approached the old man, studying him. "Aki? Is that you?"
"Do I know you?" the old man said.
"I am Hastein. I am the younger son of Jarl Eirik."
"There's a name I have not heard in many years. Jarl Eirik. Drowned, did he not? And you say you are his son? I thought he drowned too."
"That was my brother Hallstein. I am Hastein. I spent a summer here, many years ago. You were the foreman of the estate then."
The old man—Aki—pulled his crooked body upright and jutted his chin out. "And I still am," he asserted. "I may be old, but I have not gone too simple in the head to keep this place in order. Hastein, son of Eirik. I know who you are now. Arinbjorn told me the tale of your father's and brother's deaths when it happened, but that has been some years ago. And there was some trouble after your father died, as I recall, but in the end you became the jarl. You say you spent a summer here?" He scratched his head and squinted at Hastein again, studying his face, then a look of recognition slowly came over his face.
"I see it," he said. "You are a man now, and much changed. But I see it now." He grinned. "You are that boy. I had forgotten. Where are the rest of your men?" he asked.
When he learned there were two ships and their crews, currently docked down at the village, Aki insisted that Hastein and all of his company must be guests of the estate for the night, if not longer. Bryngolf was dispatched, leading the rest of our mounts to return them to the fort, with instructions that the Gull and the Serpent should be rowed down the nor to the jarl's estate as soon as their re-provisioning was complete. "And I will send a rider up to the cliffs, to fetch Arinbjorn," Aki said.
It would be dusk, Aki told us, before Jarl Arinbjorn could return, even though the messenger was instructed to ride hard. "You and your men are welcome to use the bathhouse," Aki offered. "It is always good to wash the salt off, after a sea voyage."
After ale was poured for us to drink, while water for the baths was being heated, Aki hobbled off to give orders for the preparations for the night's feast.
"So you know Jarl Arinbjorn?" I asked Hastein. "You have met him before?"
"Oh, yes," Hastein replied, nodding. "He is one of King Horik's most trusted councilors, and because Mon is so close to Sjaelland, the king often consults with him, even when he does not call a broader council. I saw him most recently at the meeting of the council when the decision was made to carry war to the Franks.
"But I also know him from many years ago. Arinbjorn is an old man now, and rarely leaves Mon except to cross the strait to Sjaelland, to visit with the king. But as a young man he was a great warrior, and he and my father sometimes raided together, in the Austmarr. As a boy, I spent a summer here on Mon—it was the year before I was fostered in Halland, in the household of Thorfinn, a chieftain there who was a comrade and ally of my father. I stayed here, in Arinbjorn's household, while he and my father went raiding for the summer."
As he spoke, Hastein's eyes took on a far-away look, and his mouth a faint hint of a smile. I wondered if the summer on Mon had been a happy time for him.
"What did Aki mean when he said you were that boy?" Hastein frowned at me, as if he thought me impertinent to ask.
Stig nodded. "Aye, I wondered that, too."
"It was of no consequence," Hastein said. After a few moments, when we kept staring at him expectantly, he added, "There was a girl."
Stig grinned. "Aye, there would have been," he said.
* * *
Jarl Arinbjorn was, as Hastein had said, now an old man, but he wore his years lightly. His carriage was erect—age had not bowed him, as it had Aki—and he looked still fit enough to wield a sword or spear, and bear the weight of mail brynie, helm, and shield. His hair and beard were a yellowish-white in color, but they looked well-groomed—the beard trimmed close around the line of his jaw, and his hair, which still fully covered the top of his head, was straight and tangle-free, and had been cut so that it hung just above the top of his shoulders.
He seemed genuinely glad to see Hastein. "I was pleased to hear that you came safely through the campaign in Frankia, and won much silver from the Franks, besides. Though a great victory, it sounded as though the battle fought with their army was won at the cost of many lives."
"You have already heard about the campaign?" Hastein asked, sounding surprised.
Arinbjorn nodded. "At Horik's court. It is fortunate you did not arrive sooner. We only returned to Mon four days ago."
Arinbjorn turned and waved his hand at a young man standing behind him, indicating he should come forward. "This is Sigurd. He is Ragnar's youngest son. He is fostered here with me. When Ragnar arrived at Horik's estate, upon returning to Denmark from Frankia, the king summoned us to come to the feasts he held to honor Ragnar, and to celebrate the victory over the Franks. And there was another matter he wished to discuss with me, as well. Concerning the Sveas."
I was surprised to learn that Ragnar had a son so young. Though nearing manhood, Sigurd looked to be younger than me. His two brothers, Ivar and Bjorn, who had helped command the army on the Frankia campaign, were many years older than he. Sigurd's hair was a light, yellowish tan, the color of sand, as was Ivar's, and he had Ivar's lean build, too, rather than Bjorn's stockiness. There was something strange about his right eye, though I could not make out what it was.
"This is Stig, one of my captains," Hastein said, as Stig stepped forward and nodded to Arinbjorn and Sigurd. To Arinbjorn, Hastein added, "You may have met Stig when he was with me at the meeting of the council on Sjaelland in the spring." Arinbjorn and Sigurd nodded back to Stig.
"And this is one of my warriors, Halfdan son of Hrorik," Hastein continued. "If you have already heard tales of the campaign in Frankia, you may have heard of him. He is also known as Strongbow."
Arinbjorn looked at me appraisingly. "Ah, so you are the one who with his mighty bow saved Ragnar the Raven-king."
"Raven-king?" Hastein asked.
"It is the name they were calling Ragnar, at the feasts," Arinbjorn explained. "I believe it was coined by one of Horik's skalds, in a poem he is composing about the campaign. Something to do with Ragnar's victory as war-king in Frankia, and how he fed the ravens with the dead of our enemies, and perhaps it has to do with that bird of his, as well. In truth, it sounds better than Hairy-breeches."
I felt embarrassed by Hastein's introduction of me, and of the tales that apparently were being told about me, but tried not to show it. If Hastein wished to present me as a potential chieftain, I must try to play my part, even if I did not believe it.
"It is an honor to meet you, Jarl Arinbjorn," I said, nodding to him.
"What brings you to Mon?" Arinbjorn asked Hastein.
"We are hunting a man whose life carries a heavy blood debt. I was hoping that if he passed by Mon, you or your men might know."
Arinbjorn shrugged. "Perhaps," he said. "We do keep watch over the straits. It is the scot King Horik asks of me: to be the eyes of the realm in the south. Primarily we watch for Vendish raiders—they have been growing bolder in recent years. I have sufficient warriors here on Mon, and ships, to turn back small raids, or to kill the raiders if they are not wise enough to flee. Thus far the Vends have never attacked in great force, but if they should, we have great bonfires laid atop the cliffs to light as warning beacons. The cliffs are high enough for the fires to be seen in Sjaelland, and on Falster, and beacons there would be lit to spread the warning to the west and north."
"I had noticed that your war-band seems quite la
rge," Hastein said.
"Some of the warriors and ships are provided by King Horik. He considers it to his advantage to stop any raiders from the south here at Mon, at the edge of his kingdom."
"Two of your ships approached mine when we entered the waters around Mon. Do they examine every ship that passes so closely?"
"It depends on which of the captains are out in the straits. Some are more inquisitive than others. But they do so more often than they do not. This man you are seeking—how was he traveling?"
Hastein turned to me and nodded.
"He sails with two longships," I said. "One has a dragon's head carved like the head of an eagle, painted red with a golden beak. She has sixteen pairs of oars. The other is smaller, just fourteen pairs, and her dragon's head is gilded, and carved like the head of a stallion. Both ships would have been manned by very light crews."
"That last is a thing that would draw notice," Arinbjorn said, nodding. "This man is a chieftain, then? These are his ships?"
"They are."
"And his name?" Arinbjorn asked.
Hastein answered him. "His name is Toke. He does not yet know for certain that we are pursuing him. We would keep that unknown to him as long as possible."
"I will send word out to all of my captains, asking if any have seen these two ships. They do not need to know why I am asking. If any do recall seeing them, I will ask that they come here, to my hall, so you may question them. We will know by mid-day tomorrow.
"And tonight," he added, "we will feast together."
7
A Feast and a Contest
To my great surprise, at the feast I was invited by Jarl Arinbjorn to sit at the high table. It was the first of several surprises that night.
Two of his captains, plus Hastein, Stig, Hrodgar, and I joined Arinbjorn and his wife at the high table. Women from the jarl's household—all comely, and save Arinbjorn's wife all young—were paired with each of us. As the guest of honor, Hastein was given the place to Arinbjorn's right. The jarl's wife sat at her husband's left side, with young Sigurd beside her. I was seated to the left of Sigurd.
The Long Hunt (The Strongbow Saga) Page 11