Sven showed his skill as a war chief. He shouted, “Push! Drive the Danes into the fjord!”
I heard the jarl’s voice, he was behind Bergil, “On! On!”
I felt the weight of the clan behind me. I had been taught to step off with my right leg so that I could use my shield as a weapon. As the chief’s hearth weru tried to pull his wounded body from the fray I punched, with all my might into the face of one of them. The boss caught him squarely on the side of the head. The skull is weaker there. He fell to the ground and the Danes behind had another barrier. Our men had brought spears and I saw a line of them stab over our heads. Two of the Danish hearth weru fell along with three others. The last two hearth weru pulled the chief’s body from the press and forced their way through the warband. For the Danes it was a disaster. It brought the front of our line closer to them and we had the advantage of the slope.
Bergil and Sámr slashed and stabbed. Sven hacked and chopped. I had no enemies before me for I was following the hearth weru. Sven shouted, “Break wall!”
I began to run down the slope. My long legs began to catch the hearth weru. When we were twenty paces from the drekar one of them left the others and turned to face me. “You may be a giant but you will fall to Guthrum Skull Crusher!”
He was mailed but I was a good head taller than he was. He swung his sword in a sideways arc. I blocked it and brought my own overhand. He blocked it with his shield but he had no metal rim on his shield and my blade found a joint. The shield cracked asunder. He looked at the boss which was all that was left. I punched with my own shield and my boss hit him under his chin. As his arms spread to regain his balance I drove my sword deep into his body. Around me Danes ran to get aboard the drekar. Even as I withdrew my sword the mooring lines were being cut and Danes were hurling themselves at the departing drekar. Behind me I heard the last of the Danes as they were slaughtered by Sven and the rest of the clan. We had won! The tower had saved us.
The Danes who had survived made no attempt to surrender. They had come to win. There would be no honour in surrender. They would die with their swords in their hands and go to Valhalla. After they were killed Sven Blue Arm organised the stripping of the Danish bodies while the women came to see to our wounded. Bergljót came to see to her son and when she saw that he was without wound she looked at me. The blood was pouring from the wound in my face. Her eyes widened, “Bergil fetch me a cloth and my needle. This wound needs stitches!”
The jarl came over. He clapped his hand around my shoulders, “Once again we owe you much. Your tower worked and you braved our enemies in the front of the shield wall. It was you and Bergil who defeated their chief.”
Sven came along, “I have my men bringing the best two mail byrnies. Our smith will combine them. You shall have a mail shirt! I am honoured to have you and Bergil as shield brothers.”
I pointed to Ragnar, “Our other shield brother died well.”
“And we will honour him.”
Arne shouted, “What do we do with the bodies of the Danes, Sven Blue Arm?”
Throw them in the fjord. When we feast on the crabs and the prawns we will be feasting on our dead enemies!”
Bergil had brought cloth, gut, and a brand. Bergljót carefully cleaned the wound. In my land they would have used vinegar. Here it was in short supply and so she used the stale ale which Bergil had brought. I bore the stitching stoically. A Viking did not complain of pain. When it was done she said, “Your ale is cold. Come I will heat it up and fry some dried ham for you. You are both heroes and deserve a hero’s meal.”
I picked up the Danish two-handed axe. It was a fine weapon and I would have it for Bergil and for me. We trudged back up the hill. The woman had pails out and were already swilling away the blood and the gore from the battle. By morning there would be no sign. The dead would be laid out in their homes and we would bury them when the sun rose.
As we ate and then quenched our thirst Bergil said, “You were right about the tower. Perhaps you were right about the stockade.”
I nodded and swallowed, “When we fought I saw that it would not need to be a large gate. There are rocks on both sides of the jetty. They would be hard to scale. With a gate and a wall, two men could safely watch.”
“And you will have a mail shirt.”
“But not for some time. I know how long it takes to make one. I am patient. We will not be raiding until Einmánuður. That is two moons away. By then my scar will have healed.”
“Many men put charcoal in the wound as it is healing. It makes them look fierce!”
His mother snapped, “Bergil you have not the sense of a lemming! You think women find such things attractive?”
I nodded, “Besides I think my height and my width are enough to attract attention in a battle. What do you think?”
He laughed, “True and you are so big that they miss me. We make a good pair of shield brothers. You strike high and I strike low.”
Bergil only came up to my shoulder. I knew that we made an incongruous pair but as we had shown with the Danish chief that sometimes worked to our advantage.
The next day we buried our six dead. The Danes had lost twenty to our weapons and another eight to the fjord. We saw their bodies in the fjord. They were not the ones we had thrown there for these had their clothes yet. The mail was duly delivered to the blacksmith and, after measuring me he worked out it would take a moon for it to be made. Although the clan had promised me the gift for my efforts I gave him some of the coins I had accumulated. I reasoned that I would have had to use them for mail anyway and this made a friend of the blacksmith.
A week later I was summoned to the jarl’s hall. His brother was there along with Sven Blue Arm. There were also the ten hersir who made up the counsel. It was a little intimidating. Unusually Gefn was also there. Women rarely attended such meetings. They were normally called to punish a wrong doer or to arbitrate on a dispute. Bergil had not been invited and that worried me.
It was the jarl’s brother Bjorn who spoke. “The counsel is here to thank you, Göngu-Hrólfr. You and my nephew saved the clan when the Danes sought vengeance.”
He sat. Jarl Rognvald Eysteinsson stood and he smiled. “Know you that the sons of our family are dead and there is none to follow us save our sister’s son. Bergil Svensson. I have decided to adopt you as my heir. From this day you will be Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson. When I go to the Otherworld, you will be jarl. I hope that will not be for some years. I ask the counsel to endorse my decision and ensure that my wishes are obeyed.”
I noticed his brother said nothing. I also realised that the jarl had said his heir. Did he really mean I would be jarl? His brother’s eyes said not.
All of them stood and banged the table with the daggers. I was pleased to see that Sven Blue Arm did so as enthusiastically as the others. If he had not then I could not have accepted. I knew I had to accept the jarl’s offer. I still had a mother, grandfather and grandmother. If I was going to find men to follow and reclaim my land then I had to accept this offer for it gave me power. I would have a drekar and the jarl’s men, if they would follow me. I had, in the twinkling of an eye a warband. I would not be able to attempt the reclamation for some time. I intended to increase my wealth and buy warriors to follow my banner.
I knelt. Half of my body still rose above the table, “I accept your decision and henceforth I shall call you father. I have lost one and one was found. Your son was lost and one was found. It is wyrd. ”
Although most of us had thought this no one had vocalised it yet and, as I stood I saw that all of them clutched their Thor’s hammer. This was the work of the gods, or the Norns and either way we were their playthings.
Gefn came to me and I saw tears streaming down her face. Her head barely reached my sword belt. Her arms would not go all the way around me. I put my huge ham like hands around her back and squeezed. Neither of us said anything. There was no need. The words were in the tears and in the hugs.
She stepped away, “I w
ill have ale fetched.”
Jarl Rognvald held his arm out in a warrior’s handshake. “I know you have a family but they are two oceans away. The clan will help you reclaim your land.” He gave me a knowing look. “I know that it is in your heart. That will happen when we are stronger. Since you have come we have not been defeated. Our raids will make us stronger. Those who live further up the fjord will send warriors to join the band led by Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson. We will build a bigger drekar. We will raid and make our warriors stronger.” He pointed to Sven who was watching me. “Sven believes that you are the warrior who will make this clan great. I believe him and we believe in you.”
Again, I saw that his brother had distanced himself. He had said little.
The ale came and we raised our drinking horns to each other. The beer had been brewed especially for the occasion. It was not watered down. It was a strong ale for a momentous decision. When I left I felt the effects of the drink but I knew that there was something I had to do first. I returned to Bergljót’s hall. She was, as usual, sewing and Bergil was carving a piece of bone. They both looked up and smiled.
“You know?”
Bergljót nodded, “The jarl and Sven spoke with Bergil and me when you were hunting six days since.”
“And you are happy?” I was looking at Bergil when I spoke. He was the nephew of the jarl. Had I taken his birth right?
“Rollo, I am happy for you. I am not the leader. I am a warrior you are the warrior. I never expected to be leader nor did I wish it. I am a man of words. I will tell the tale of Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson. People may remember the man of words who fought by your side,” he laughed, “and often in your shadow. If not then I am happy to be part of your journey for I believe that a thousand years from now Rollo, or Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson will be remembered.”
I was happy. I could see beyond the horizon and I could plan for the death of my treacherous brother. I was more of a brother in blood with Bergil than with Ragnvald!
Chapter 12
I might have been the heir to Jarl Rognvald but it was still Sven, the jarl and Bjorn Eysteinsson who made the decisions. I did not blame them. I was still young. The difference was that I was informed of those decisions before anyone else.
“We will raid the land of the Picts. They are our closest neighbours save for the Vikings of the islands. The Vikings of Orkneyjar are kin and we would not raid those.”
I must have looked confused. Sven said, “The Picts have poor weapons and little that we might want from them save that they make good slaves. We need women for our young men to seed. By bringing in hardy women from outside the clan it makes the clan stronger. They are also Christian and that means that their priests may have treasure. We will raid the land around the north-eastern corner of that land.”
“What about Northumbria? They also have hardy women and better churches.”
They looked at each other and Sven Blue Arm laughed. Bjorn Eysteinsson frowned and shook his head, “Do you read minds, Göngu-Hrólfr? That is what Sven said.”
“And we have decided to raid the Picts first and if that is successful then we will consider a raid on Northumbria.”
“And when do we sail?”
It was the jarl who answered me. “In seven days. First, we visit with our relatives at Hafrsfjord. I wish them to know of my decision to adopt you. It lies south of here and the jarls of Møre meet there at this time of year.” I had discovered that Møre was not the name of the village, it was the name for the whole area.
His brother said, “We tell each other our plans. We do not like to raid where another of the tribe has raided. It can cause bad blood. This way if another has an idea to make a big raid then others in the tribe can join. If they do not approve of you as heir then it will not be so.” Was there a threat in those words?
It seemed like a good idea. As it was peaceful and we would only be travelling thirty miles down the coast we took one drekar and she just had one man to an oar. We were not going to war. We were going to talk. I now knew why Bergljót had been sewing so much lately. She had been making me clothes which would not disgrace the jarl.
We took no shields. The drekar looked naked without them. ‘Fáfnir’ was a fast drekar but without the weight of shields, she flew. We did not need to use the open sea and so we had the sail furled. The jarl found it easier to steer using the crew of rowers. For us it was a hard row. We had to respond to commands instantly or risk fouling the oars on unseen rocks. When we reached Hafrsfjord, there were already eight drekar moored there. We did not go ashore directly. We were sweaty from the voyage. Men swilled water over them. To their amazement I dived overboard. I had often been asked if I feared the sea. I did not. I had survived and I knew that the sea was not my enemy. I had touched bottom and I had risen. The water was still icy from snow melt but it made me feel alive.
I climbed back aboard and rubbed myself dry with an old kyrtle. I then dressed in my newly made clothes. The breeks were made of a sturdy fabric dyed red. My shirt, in contrast was a dark green and the kyrtle I wore atop them both was a rich embroidered brown. Bergljót had embroidered a dragon on the front and a horse on the back. When she had given it to me Bergil had told me that she had begun work on it the day after I arrived. It was finer than anything I had ever worn in the Land of the Horse. With my hair combed and tied back and my beard also groomed I strapped on my long sword. My grandfather had a sword which was magical. It was called Heart of Ice. I had always wanted a named sword. After our battle with the Danes Bergil had said, “It has given you its name Longsword. Why make life hard? You are the only one who can wield the blade with one hand. The sword was meant for you.”
He was right and I had looked at the sword differently now that it was named. I replaced the grip. I went to the blacksmith and had the blade engraved with runes. The runes said simply,‘ I am Longsword, Göngu-Hrólfr is my master ’ . From that day I fought with no other weapon. We waited on Jarl Rognvald Eysteinsson. We would be making an entrance. It was important to do such things well. The Jarl led followed by his brother, me and Bergil. A few paces after us Sven Blue Arm led the men we had brought. The head of the tribe was Hálfdanar the Black. He had built up the power of the tribe slowly. He had eaten into the lands of other tribes and clans. They had been absorbed. He would be king.
The hall was huge. Men were drinking. We marched to the table where a Viking with long white hair and a long white beard was drinking. The others with him, with one exception, were also older warriors. Jarl Rognvald Eysteinsson looked almost young in comparison. He bowed, “I have come to pay my respects Jarl Hálfdanar Svarti and to introduce a new member of my clan and my family.” He held a hand out and I stepped forward. “Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson.”
The jarl laughed, “By the Allfather I have never seen a bigger Viking. What do you feed him on? Whole cattle?” Everyone laughed. He turned to the young warrior, “What say you, my son?”
The younger warrior who was even younger than Bergil and me smiled, “He is father. I can see we will have a tale tonight instead of the same family stories I have heard my whole life.”
His father shook his head, “You should respect the past, Haraldr Hálfdanarson.” He waved a hand and said, “Welcome Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson. When we have finished with our family business we will get to know you better.”
Jarl Rognvald Eysteinsson took his place at the jarls’ table and a chamberlain took us to a side table. I had never been to such a gathering and I was fascinated. I drank sparingly and listened to all that was said. We were there until after the moon had set. Others had to be carried to their beds but Sven and I, along with Haraldr Hálfdanarson, did not overindulge and we helped to carry both our jarl and Jarl Hálfdanar Svarti to bed.
Haraldr said, “It is late but I would speak with you in the morning.” He clasped my arm and we headed to the warrior hall.
Sven said, “That will be the jarl of our tribe soon. His father is old. I hear he is ambitious and would be ki
ng of the Norse Vikings.”
“There is no king of Norway!”
“And he would have himself as the first. Did you hear that story they mentioned?”
“The raid on the Franks? I did. Will Jarl Rognvald not join it?” If he did then I would have an opportunity to confront my brother sooner rather than later.
“Were you not listening? Haraldr does not wish that to happen. I told you he would be King of Norway. His father was a clever jarl and I hear that his son is too. If others raid the Franks then it makes their homeland weaker. Many will not return. Our tribe will take over their lands. Haraldr Finehair would eat up Norway piece by piece.”
“Haraldr Finehair?”
“That is his nickname. Did you not notice his fine flowing locks? When you talk to him do not be deceived by his youth. He is an old man in a young man’s body. Let him plot and plan we will sail our own course.”
Sven was wise and I heeded his sage advice.
I was up early and I took the opportunity of walking around the town. It was a town. We lived in a collection of huts but this was a mighty town. A double stockade surrounded it. It was on an island and without a hill. They had made one by digging ditches and planting a palisade. Within it they had stables, smithies, bakers, tanners. They had workshops making beads and weapons. They had potters turning out dishes. They had halls in which were stored the goods brought by sea. I could see why Haraldr Hálfdanarson had plans to become king. More than half of the warriors I saw had mail byrnies. This was the rich part of the tribe. We were the poor relatives.
Brothers in Blood (Norman Genesis Book 7) Page 18