At this point, the only thing I would have felt comfortable fighting with was my bow. But duels are fought hand to hand.
I nodded. Harald had trained me to fight with a spear.
“Good,” Hastein said. “Use one tonight. At least with a spear, you can match his reach.”
“Some of Snorre’s men are already sneaking out of the arena and going to ready their ship,” Einar volunteered. “I think they are concerned for their safety, regardless of the outcome of this duel. Jarl Hastein did a fine job of telling the tale.”
Torvald clapped his hand on my shoulder. “There is Snorre,” he told me. “It is time.”
I strapped on my helm and picked up my spear and shield. Following Hastein’s advice, I shortened the shield’s strap and tucked it out of the way. Breathe, I told myself. Do not forget to breathe.
Einar clasped my shoulders with his hands and stared into my eyes. “Do not forget, my friend,” he said. “Trust fate.”
Hastein walked with me out onto the arena floor. Extra wood had been thrown on the fires scattered across it. They were blazing high now, lighting the ground on which Snorre and I would fight.
Snorre was waiting out in the center. I stopped a safe distance away. There were no courtesies to be observed in a fight such as this. We were here to kill each other.
“This will be a duel to the death!” Hastein shouted in a voice loud enough for all in the arena to hear. “No quarter will be asked, no quarter will be given.” To me, he murmured, “May good luck be with you, Halfdan.” He made the sign of the hammer with his fist and added, “Strength and honor.” Then he turned and walked away.
“There are only the two of us now, boy,” Snorre said. “Just you and me. You have nowhere to run, and no one to help you.” He raised his shield and began moving toward me.
He led with his left foot, one step at a time, holding his shield centered in front of him and his axe hanging down loosely and angled slightly to the rear. He was holding it by the very end of its shaft, like Hastein had warned.
What were his weaknesses? There was the blind left eye, of course. That was obvious. But he held his head cocked slightly to the left to compensate, giving his right eye a more centered field of vision. Still, it was something to work with. I began circling to his left, backing as I did in time with his advance, to keep my distance from him. I was not ready to feint, to try to feel him out. I did not know how swiftly he could swing his axe.
Suddenly Snorre lunged forward with his left leg, swinging his axe overhead in a looping blow as he did. I jumped back far enough so he missed me altogether. Then I lunged forward in turn after his axe had swung down past me, holding my shield angled out in front of my chest while I stabbed with my spear at his left leg.
I’d thought it would take him longer to recover from a missed blow, but he blocked my thrust easily with his shield and, at the same time, using his axe’s momentum he whipped it around in a complete loop and smashed it down against my shield.
The impact almost knocked the grip from my hand. I scurried backward, glancing down at the face of my shield as I did. There was a deep gash across its face, just to the left of the iron boss. If another such blow landed close to the same spot, the planks would surely break.
Snorre’s mouth twisted into what looked like a grim smile—although as scarred as his face was, it could have been a snarl—and he resumed his slow, steady advance. “It’s different fighting man against man, isn’t it, boy? It’s not like with a bow.” I glanced quickly behind me and realized he was trying to back me toward one of the bonfires.
I could not win this fight if I stayed on the defensive. Reversing my grip on my spear, I slid my hand farther back along its shaft, closer to the butt, and held it against my forearm to brace it. The spear felt heavy and awkward holding it this far back of its balance point, but I needed the extra reach.
I flicked the spear head out toward Snorre’s face in a series of quick, feinting jabs. He stopped advancing and raised his shield slightly, but did not overreact or give me any opening. He merely raised his axe, holding it cocked and ready, and waited to see what I would do next.
He is more experienced than me, I thought. And it shows. Snorre did not look frightened at all, not even anxious. My own heart was hammering in my chest. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Trust fate, trust fate, I thought, repeating Einar’s words in my mind. If it is my fate to be a killer—to avenge Harald’s death and Toke’s treachery—then it will be Snorre’s fate to die at my hands this night.
I needed to make him commit, one way or another. I needed him to raise his shield enough to block his vision for just a moment, or to strike at me or my spear with his axe. Either would suffice. I needed some kind of opening.
Suddenly Snorre roared out a wordless cry—an old trick, but nonetheless startling—and lunged forward as he had in his initial attack, raising his axe to strike. I leaped back, while stabbing out at his face with my spear. As soon as I did, I realized my mistake and tried to stop my thrust and jerk my weapon back.
When Snorre had leaped to attack, he had not actually swung his axe—not until after my thrust. He’d merely feinted with his shoulder, drawing me out. Then when I struck at his face, he whipped the axe down, chopping at my spear. The axe’s blade clanged against the iron socket of my spear’s point and drove it downward, but did no damage. Had it hit the wooden shaft, it would have cut it through.
But now I was off balance and my weapon was out of position. Snorre lunged forward again, his arm cocked, the axe ready as I stumbled backward.
I could not safely retreat as swiftly as he was charging. He had me in his killing zone. His great-axe swung up, and when it began swooping down I pushed my shield up to meet it, trying to brace myself for the blow I knew would come.
The axe blade smashed through the already damaged planks, narrowly missing my wrist and showering me with splinters. Snorre wrenched his axe to the side, trying to jerk the shattered shield from my grasp. A triumphant look gleamed in his eye.
I let him have it. I let him pull the ruined shield from my hand and fling it aside. As he did, I thrust down hard with my spear, stabbing its long point completely through his left foot and into the ground.
He screamed. It was more like the howl of a wounded beast than the voice of a man. Most men would have fallen—the broad, sharp blade of the spear had cut through bone and tendon, almost severing the front portion of his foot.
But Snorre somehow remained standing, and flailed out wildly at me with his shield. The rim caught me in the face. The nose guard of my helm stopped the worst of the blow, but the edge of his shield gashed my brow and cheek open, and the blood that spurted from the wounds ran into my eyes, so I could not see. Stunned by the impact, I staggered back, releasing my grip on my spear and wiping frantically at my eyes with both hands to clear them. Then I remembered the axe.
Snorre shook my ruined shield free and swung a low, sweeping, off-balance blow at my legs. Had he been able to move freely—had one foot not been pinned to the ground by my spear—his axe would likely have severed my legs. But I threw myself backward, and just barely escaped. As the axe whooshed past in front of me, I hit the ground, rolled clear, and scrambled back to my feet.
Snorre dropped his own shield, freeing one hand, and used it to wrench my spear from his foot. He grunted with pain when he did, and blood spurted from the gaping wound. Again I marveled that he did not fall. Then, using my spear like a staff to help him balance, he began hobbling toward me.
Shaking my head to clear it, I retreated a few more steps, keeping safely out of his range. I could move far more swiftly than he now. Snorre stopped and leaned on the spear, panting and watching me.
Time was on my side now. Snorre was badly injured and would only get weaker. Unless I made a serious mistake, he was mine.
I slid my sword from its scabbard and drew my dagger with my left hand. It was the dagger Harald had given me on the night he had died.
&nb
sp; “Snorre,” I said, “there is only us now. Just you and me. Man to man. It is not like fighting with a crowd of Toke’s men to support you, is it? It is not like killing women and children. There is nowhere you can run, and no one who will help you. I am going to kill you, Snorre. And you are just the first. Someday, I will kill Toke, too.”
Whatever else Snorre was, he was not a coward. He tried to move forward to meet me, clutching the spear shaft tightly in his left hand, using it to take the weight off his maimed foot. He’d switched his stance, so his right leg was in front, supporting most of his weight, while he dragged his wounded foot behind, leaving a broad trail of blood. He let the axe’s long handle slide down through his hand till he gripped it choked up high on the shaft, above the center. It was a much stronger grip, one that would allow shorter and quicker—though less powerful—blows.
I let him come closer, making him use up his strength. He did not have much left. The pain, and the blood pumping out of his foot, were draining it away, like water draining from a punctured waterskin.
When he drew nearly into striking range, I sidestepped to his left and circled him quickly. As he tried to pivot and follow me, he put weight on his injured foot and gasped. I could see him momentarily lose his balance. I lunged in and thrust my sword’s point toward his face, to see what he would do. He jerked the spear shaft sideways, using its shaft to try and bat the sword’s blade aside.
That was something I could work with. I danced back and forth in front of him, feinting to the left and right. Snorre stood watching me, leaning on the spear, panting, keeping it in front of his body like a shield, waiting. Then I threw a lunge at his face again.
It was a trick, a feint. Once more he swung the spear shaft across his body, to block my sword’s blade, but it wasn’t there. I pulled it back, then snapped the sword's tip forward again in a quick cut that hit his hand where it clutched the spear, cutting it nearly in half.
“That was for Harald,” I said, but I was lying to Snorre and to myself. Killing him was for Harald. Dragging it out, cutting him to pieces, making him feel pain, was for me. I wanted someone to pay for all that I had suffered.
Snorre was breathing hard. He looked down at the gaping wound splitting his hand, then let the spear drop from it and spread his arms wide, exposing his chest.
“Finish it,” he said.
As I stepped closer and raised my sword, he threw himself forward against me, wrapping his wounded arm around my body while raising his axe with his good arm to bury it in my head. I caught the blow with my sword and held the axe above us, the curved underside of its steel head hooked over my blade.
“This is for Harald,” I repeated, and stabbed the long blade of my dagger into Snorre’s throat with my left hand.
I backed away, ripping my knife free through his neck as I did. Snorre stood swaying for a moment, then sank to his knees. While I watched, the life faded from his one good eye and he toppled sideways onto the ground.
Hastein, Torvald, and Einar ran toward me across the sandy floor of the arena. Up in the benches, the warriors of our army were on their feet, chanting “Strongbow, Strongbow!”
“It is done,” Hastein said, when he reached me and looked down at Snorre’s body.
“No,” I told him, shaking my head. “But it is begun.”
Glossary
berserks: Warriors in Scandinavian society who were noted for their exceptional fierceness and fearlessness in battle, and for their moody, difficult dispositions in periods of peace. Ancient Scandinavian sagas sometimes describe berserks as possessing the supernatural ability to take on the form of bears or wolves or assume their powers in battle. Some modern scholars have suggested that the barely controllable warriors known as berserks may have suffered from mental illness, possibly manic depression or schizophrenia.
boss: The raised iron center on the front of a wooden shield, to which the planks of the shield were riveted, and which provided extra protection over the hand grip on the back side.
brynie: A shirt of mail armor, made of thousands of small iron or steel rings linked together into a flexible garment.
Dorestad: A Frankish port and trading center located near the convergence of the Rhine and Lek Rivers, in the area now forming part of the Netherlands. Dorestad was one of the largest trade centers of early medieval Europe.
fletching: The three feathers attached to the back of an arrow’s shaft, used to stabilize its flight.
Frankia: Also called Francia; the land of the Franks, roughly corresponding to most of modern France, Belgium, the Netherlands, and western Germany. By A. D. 845, the year during which The Road to Vengeance is set, the former Frankish Empire had split into three kingdoms: the Western Kingdom of the Franks, roughly corresponding to modern France; the Eastern Frankish Kingdom, stretching from the Rhine River eastward into the lands now comprising modern Germany; and the short-lived Middle Kingdom, which stretched from Frisia in the north to the Mediterranean coast of modern France, and also included parts of northern Italy.
fylgja: A beneficial spirit which attaches itself to a person and brings him or her good fortune. Some were visible and took the form of animals, often reflecting some aspect of the character or personality of the human they followed, such as a raven symbolizing wisdom, or a wolf ferocity. Others were invisible, but were generally considered to be female guardian spirits.
godi: A priest in pagan Viking-age Scandinavian society. The position of godi was usually held by a chieftain, and typically a godi would not only preside over religious festivals and sacrifices, but would also administer oaths, which were sworn on a large metal ring, usually made of iron or gold.
greaves: Armor, usually constructed of curved steel or bronze plates, worn to protect the lower leg from the knee to the ankle.
Hedeby: The largest town in ninth-century Denmark, and a major Viking-age trading center. Hedeby was located at the base of the Jutland peninsula on its eastern side, on a fjord jutting inland from the coast.
hnefatafl: “King’s table,” a Viking board game of capture and evasion, where one player begins in the center of the board and tries to move his king to the outer edge, while the other player maneuvers his pieces to try to block the king’s escape and capture him.
housecarl: Also huscarl; a warrior in the service of a chieftain or nobleman.
jarl: A very high-ranking chieftain in Viking-age Scandinavian society who ruled over a large area of land on behalf of the king. The word and concept “jarl” is the origin of the English “earl.”
Jotunheim: In Viking mythology, the mountainous realm of the giants located between Midgard, the earthly home of men, and Asgard, the kingdom of the gods.
Jul: The Germanic pagan midwinter feast, known in England as Yule.
Jutland: The peninsula that forms the mainland of modern and ancient Denmark, named after the Jutes, one of the ancient Danish tribes.
Limfjord: A huge fjord that runs completely across the northern tip of the Jutland peninsula, providing a protected passage during the Viking period between the Baltic and North Seas.
longship: The long, narrow ship used for war by the peoples of Viking-age Scandinavia. Longships had shallow drafts, allowing them to be beached or to travel up rivers, and were designed to be propelled swiftly by either sail or by rowing. They were sometimes also called dragonships, because many longships had carved heads of dragons or other beasts decorating the stem-post at the bow of the ship.
niddingsvaark: Acts of infamy; the dishonorable acts of a Nithing.
Niflheim: A vast wilderness of snow and ice which, according to the mythology of the Viking peoples, existed in the great void even before the earth was created. Niflheim was the home of the frost giants.
Nithing: Also Nidding; one who is not considered fully human because he has no honor. “Nithing” is the root of the modern English word “nothing.”
nock: The notch cut in the rear of an arrow, into which the bowstring is placed to shoot it. Also, the notches cu
t into the tips of a bow’s limbs, in which the bowstring is secured to the bow.
Norns: Three ancient sisters who, according to pagan Scandinavian belief, sat together at the base of the world-tree and wove the fates of all men and of the world itself on their looms.
Odin: The pagan Scandinavian God of death, war, wisdom, and poetry; the chieftain of the Gods.
Ruda: The Vikings' name for Rouen, a Frankish town near the mouth of the Seine River.
runes: The alphabet used for writing in the ancient Scandinavian and Germanic languages. Runic letters, comprised of combinations of simple, straight strokes, were easy to carve into stone or wood.
scara: A unit of Frankish cavalry. Each scara was composed of several smaller units called cunei, each of which numbered from fifty to one hundred men.
skald: A poet.
Thing: A regional assembly held periodically in Viking-age Scandinavian countries where citizens of an area could present suits to be decided by vote, according to law. Lawsuits heard at Things led to what became, centuries later in English culture, the concept of trial by a jury of peers.
Thor: The pagan Scandinavian God of storms and thunder, fertile harvests, and of oaths, strength and honor—the virtues of a warrior. Thor was considered the mightiest warrior among the Scandinavian Gods.
Thor’s hammer: A common piece of Viking Age jewelry, worn as a good luck charm by both men and women, representing the magic hammer which was the favorite weapon of the God Thor.
thrall: A slave in Viking-age Scandinavian society.
Valhalla: The “Hall of the Slain,” the great feast-hall of the God Odin, which in pagan Scandinavian mythology was the home in the afterworld of brave warriors.
Valkyries: Warrior maidens who served the God Odin and carried fallen warriors to his feast-hall, Valhalla, where they spent their days in the afterlife fighting and their nights feasting.
The Road to Vengeance Page 22