Viking Saga

by Mark Coakley

  As soon as Halfdan had walked into King Haakon's hall for the first time, Egil had recognized him. With a group of other Oslo-fighters, Egil had angrily approached Halfdan. Halfdan had pulled out his sword. They had circled Halfdan, ready to attack him from all sides, when King Haakon from his feasting-platform in the center of the hall called out, "Stop! This man came here as a guest! Anyone who harms my guest without permission will be thrown to the snakes!"

  "But my lord," Egil whined, "this black-faced troll here killed my brother Bjaaland. And he stole my kingdom. And worst of all, he desecrated my father's burial-mound. I have no choice but to take revenge."

  King Haakon roared, "Then take it outside my kingdom! Here he is safe!"

  Egil whined, "He might be a spy for King Atli!"

  "King Atli is a good man," King Haakon said. "And, besides, there are many kingdoms and much distance separating his from mine." To Halfdan, King Haakon said, "What brings you here, and why do you look so dark in the face?"

  Halfdan briefly explained his parentage, then his reason for travelling to Oslo.

  "A poet? They're always nice to have around in the winter. Are you any good? Let me hear something before I decide on letting you stay here."

  "Of course. What subject would you like?"

  "Tell me a poem about why Egil hates you so much."

  Surrounded by tables full of feasting Oslo-fighters, the darkness of winter-night exiled by the light of the fire-place and the torches on the walls, Halfdan stepped in front of King Haakon's platform and said:

  Oslo-king asks me to sing

  A poem about — him?

  Halfdan glanced, with a sneer and one eyebrow raised, at grim-faced Egil. Halfdan loudly went on with:

  There's much to praise in brave men

  But little to mention in liars

  I like to chant of heroes

  Like the manly King Lambi

  And my berserk friend, Haki

  Not waste my words on turds

  I've nothing nice to say

  Of him, this weakling bitch

  So hear of his career

  Of cowardice and crime

  Bad King Njal and this brat

  Schemed betrayal of my lord

  Breaking vows of peace, they struck

  Burning a sacred hall

  By luck or by fate, I lived

  To tell all of you of

  My king, my blood-brothers

  My queen, trapped in the blaze

  Imagine! How they awoke

  To choke on smoke and weep

  As walls and roof danced red

  Flames stroking my queen's hair

  Sizzling skin! Boiling blood!

  Flaming wood-beams falling down!

  Hear the screams, smell the steam

  Of dreams stolen by swirling flame!

  Good Oslo-folk, see these tears

  As I tell of my grief and guilt

  And anger at the gods

  Night after night of nightmares

  So I sought revenge, of course

  As any good man should

  I vowed to kill the killers

  And did, except for — him

  Revenge! At the battle

  Of the beacon, it began

  Foes groaned, wolves and crows fed

  And the cowards fled from Eid

  Back in Sogn, bad King Njal

  Felt sickly from a tooth

  Not his own, but a better man's

  The bite of King Lambi's skull

  Sweet luck! King Njal sank fast

  With well-earned sufferings

  Until, oops, his leg fell off

  And demons dragged him to Hel

  As he died, my army skied

  Across the border-glacier

  Our force's fury hotter than

  An iron-melting forge

  At Sogn we fought a battle

  That'll never be forgotten

  Shield-walls met with fiercest rage

  On the frozen river

  The clangs of cold iron!

  The steam of blood-slick ice!

  Storm of arrows and spears!

  Bones broke, flesh tore, men roared!

  Haki's heavy ax-head fell

  Shields and shoulders shattered

  My sword danced and sang

  As I painted foe-shields red

  A famous victory

  For Fjordane and revenge

  Dead men lay in falling snow

  Wives in Sogn were widows

  The red-beaked ravens stood

  Over men and boys of Sogn

  Bjaaland too (his brother)

  Were left for laughing birds

  But what of him, in the battle?

  Has he not told this tale?

  How did this bold-tongued babbler

  Show himself in battle?

  A kitten, a sheep, a rat

  This wretch ran from my rage

  His brother's body forgotten

  Fast-footing to the forest

  Ha! What a funny sight

  Full of fright, weapons dropped

  Sprinting with girlish gasps

  A spear stuck in his ass!

  Pull down your pants, coward

  And show all Oslo the scar

  No? Then I will go on, with

  A verse on your cursed dad

  I dug in Njal's great grave

  And dragged out something gruesome

  Rotting flesh was fed to hogs

  Bones shoved down a shit-hole

  King Haakon, lord of Oslo

  I've told you of the feud

  You have heard how and why

  I hate him, he hates me

  The king and most of the fighters thought very highly of the poem. The applause was loud and long, except at the table where Egil sat. Egil, humiliated, seethed with fury at the new-comer, but dared to do nothing.

  "Welcome, Halfdan the Poet!" the king cried. "You are welcome to stay all winter, if you like!"

  King Haakon left his chair to shake hands with Halfdan.

  Halfdan spent every night in the hall, chanting poetry and feasting. To prevent a sneak-killing by Egil, Halfdan made sure to never leave the hall except with King Haakon or some trustworthy Oslo-fighters.

  King Haakon had a daughter, Solvi, who was Halfdan's age and very beautiful. She was married, but her husband's mind had been damaged by a horse-kick, and now she did as she pleased. She decided that she wanted Halfdan as her lover.

  So, during a night of feasting and boozing, she came into the hall and asked to speak privately to Halfdan. They went to a quieter part of the hall and sat together on a bench.

  "Yes, Solvi?" he said.

  "You are very strange-looking," she said, "but almost handsome. And your poetry is lovely."

  "Thank you."

  "I hear that, before you devoted yourself to your art, you were a famous fighter and war-chief."

  "That is true."

  "I see that you still carry a fearsome-looking sword."

  Halfdan glanced at the weapon hanging from his belt, nodded.

  "May I see it? Its blade?"

  Halfdan drew that long, sharpened iron from its sheath and rested the blade on his lap.

  She said, "How many men has it tasted the blood of?"

  "None. I bought it new last year. My old one got too much rust."

  Solvi said, "There is no rust on this blade. It's so bright and beautiful. May I touch it?"

  "Of course."

  Solvi put her hand onto the blade resting on his lap. She stroked her small, pale fingers along the side of shining iron. "Is it sharp?"

  "Of course."

  "Let me test it."

  She touched a finger-tip to the tip of the sword.

  "Careful!"

  But she had touched the sword-tip hard enough to break skin.

  She gasped, looking at her fingertip. She showed it to Halfdan, holding the finger in front of the bare tops of her breasts, which were squeezed up and together by her t
ight, fancy-looking dress. The finger-tip oozed a small, dark-red bead of blood. "Now your sword has tasted the blood of a woman, at least," she said.

  "I should go back to my table," Halfdan said. He looked around; King Haakon was paying no attention, but a few of the Oslo-fighters were looking curiously at him and Solvi sitting together.

  Solvi lifted her pierced finger-tip to her face. Her eyes not leaving Halfdan, she parted her lips and licked the blood. Then she put the finger into her mouth, sucking it, still staring at Halfdan.

  Halfdan, feeling uncomfortable and unwillingly aroused, quickly stood and shoved his sword away and went back to his feasting-table.

  Solvi left the hall, grinning.

  The next night, a slave-girl approached Halfdan's table in the hall. She said, "Princess Solvi would like to talk with you."

  "Fine."

  "I will take you to her."

  "No. She can talk to me here."

  The slave-girl whispered, "Princess Solvi wishes to speak to you in private. About something very private."

  Halfdan said, "No."

  The slave-girl left the hall, looking worried.

  A short while later, the slave-girl returned, whispering to Halfdan, "Princess Solvi insists that you visit her. She is waiting for you in a place where nobody ever goes, but it is comfortable. There is food and booze there. And Princess Solvi wants you to enjoy other kinds of treats as well."

  Halfdan finally stopped trying to be polite. "Tell Princess Cat-In-Heat that I'm married."

  "Your wife does not need to ever know."

  He hissed, "Tell Solvi that she is ugly and slutty and I'd rather mount a sheep. Leave me alone."

  The slave-girl left. She did not return.

  Princess Solvi — furious, insulted and outraged by the rejection — did not ever communicate with Halfdan again.

  This scheming, wicked woman started to pay much attention to Egil. Again and again, she goaded Egil in private, taunting him as a coward for not taking revenge on Halfdan.

  In one of her secret bedrooms, Egil said, "I can't do anything. Your father said he would kill anyone who hurts Halfdan. And now your father and Halfdan are great friends. There's nothing I can do."

  "You can be a man, not a whining coward!" Solvi said, eyes flashing with contempt. "If you provoke him into challenging you to a duel, I am sure that my father will not interfere."

  "But how can I do that? He ignores all my insults and dirty looks."

  "You are so smart — you'll think of something. Be bold. Like this!" She pulled Egil into her arms, ripping away his fancy clothes; she groaned with shameless lust, dragging him down inside her.

  The next night, Egil swaggered over to Halfdan's table and said, "I hear that you Fjordane-folk can't hold your booze! Is that true, troll-face?"

  Halfdan said, "That sounds like a challenge to a drinking-contest, you snivelling spawn of Sogn."

  "Let's do it!"

  A crowd of Oslo-fighters eagerly gathered to watch. Halfdan and Egil each pulled a chair from the table and sat in the gap between tables, facing each other. Even King Haakon left his raised table to come watch.

  The rules of the drinking-game were simple. Egil ordered a slave to fill a silver-decorated horn with mead, then he drank it all back in a single guzzle, without stopping to breathe. The slave refilled the horn; Halfdan drank it. The mead (made of Oslo's finest honey) was very strong. The horn was passed back and forth; the two foes got drunker and drunker.

  At one point, Egil accused Halfdan of cheating. "You didn't finish it all! You left too much on the bottom!"

  Halfdan said, "There is always a little bit left at the bottom."

  "No, you're supposed to drink it all! You have to do that one over again! Or I win!"

  "Fine," Halfdan said. The slave filled the second horn in a row for Halfdan, and Halfdan drank it quickly back without a breath.

  "Now we've both drank the same," Egil said.

  Later, both men were having some problems staying on their chairs. Egil's voice was loud and slurred. Halfdan slumped on his chair, his beard and shirt soaked with drooled booze, struggling to focus his vision.

  As Egil was guzzling back yet another horn of mead, he coughed. Booze sprayed from his nostrils as Egil pounded a fist on his own chest and gasped for breath.

  "Is the horn empty?" Halfdan said.

  King Haakon looked over Egil's shoulder and said, "Half of it's still there."

  "So I win, Sogn-spawn."

  "No!" Egil howled. "I went first. We've both drank the same number."

  "You don't admit defeat!"

  "No! You have to drink one more to win! All of it!"

  "Fine." Halfdan stood up and gestured for the slave to fill the horn and hand it to him. Halfdan lifted the horn to his mouth and lifted it, pouring all of the thick, sticky liquid down his throat. Then he showed the crowd the empty horn.

  "The winner is Halfdan!" King Haakon said.

  Halfdan burped. He wiped sudden beads of sweat from his forehead.

  King Haakon said, "Are you well?"

  Halfdan shook his head. He burped again. Clutching his belly with both hands, Halfdan leaned towards Egil and opened his mouth.

  Thinking Halfdan was about to say something, Egil said, "What?"

  A tide of mead-puke burst out of Halfdan's gagging mouth, pumping out in sticky brown waves, splashing onto Egil's hair and face and fancy-looking clothes, completely soaking King Njal's son with dripping, reeking puke.

  "Well-done!" King Haakon howled.

  Egil wiped at his face and shouted drunken threats. But, with King Haakon present, he dared not do anything. Defeated and a mess, Egil left the hall, the mocking laughter filling his ears.

  The next time that Egil was alone with Solvi, she said, "It is obvious that you will need help taking on Halfdan."

  Egil said, "He cheated! That last horn should not have counted — it has to stay down!"

  "I don't care about the rules of your childish games," Solvi said. "I want you to show me that you are brave enough to be worthy of my passion. Or I'll have to find another, less cowardly lover."

  "I'll do whatever you want."

  "I know. What I want is for you to visit a friend of mine, a powerful wizard. He will know what to do. And if you tell him that I want Halfdan dead too, he will be eager to help, for this wizard is a very close friend."

  Egil visited this wizard, who lived in a run-down shack on the edge of Oslo, and told him what Solvi wanted. The wizard was called Thrand. He was an old man, short and plump-faced, one-eyed, with a habit of occasionally licking his lips. He was not Norse, but an exile from Finland. Thrand knew mighty magic.

  "To kill Halfdan without angering King Haakon, you must find a way to get Halfdan to challenge you to a duel," Thrand said.

  "But he won't challenge me. He acts as if he has been just a poet his whole life, knowing nothing of violence. No matter how I try to provoke him, he always finds a way to ignore it or to embarrass me."

  "I have a spell that can change that."

  After a silence, Egil said, "There is another problem. Even though he is now just a poet, Halfdan was once the second-most-feared fighter in all the west-lands. I am not sure that I could defeat him in a duel."

  "Ah," said the wizard. "Well, I can take care of that difficulty as well."

  "Wonderful! What do we do?"

  The wizard Thrand told Egil his plan.

  The next night, Egil walked into the hall with Thrand. But only Egil could be seen, because the wizard wore a magic cloak from Finland that made him invisible.

  As planned, Egil went to Halfdan's table and said, loud enough for everybody in the hall to hear, "Halfdan, I have treated you badly and wish to apologize."

  "Fine."

  "As a token of my good-will, please take this gift."

  Egil held out a shiny silver ring, carved with strange runes and decorated with a glittering, honey-yellow amber-stone.

  Halfdan looked at Egil suspiciously
.

  But King Haakon called out, "Halfdan! I don't know about the manners of folk in Fjordane, but here in Oslo, if a brave man offers an apology and a fine gift, it is rude to refuse."

  "Fine. Thank you," Halfdan said, taking the enchanted ring and slipping it onto a finger.

  Egil slunk away to a dark corner, where he spoke with the invisible wizard.

  "That ring has magic in it, which I can use to make Halfdan say whatever I choose," said Thrand's voice.

  "Do it now!"

  Thrand's disembodied voice said, "No, we need to wait a while, and then you need to do something to provoke him."

  So Egil waited, until he decided that he had waited enough, and he walked to Halfdan's table. Pretending to stumble over a man's foot, Egil staggered forward, spilling his cup of beer into Halfdan's face.

  "Sorry!" Egil said, grinning spitefully.

  In the corner, the invisible, watching wizard saw that the time had come to use the magic of the ring. The wizard whispered, "You did that on purpose."

  And on the other side of the hall, magic-craft pulled Halfdan to his feet and the wizard's words burst loudly from Halfdan's mouth: "YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!"

  Thrand whispered, "Oslo is full of fools, and you are the worst!"

  Halfdan shouted, "OSLO IS FULL OF FOOLS, AND YOU ARE THE WORST!"

  Thrand: "Egil, you let yourself be used as a woman every ninth night!"

  (That was the worst insult among Norse fighters.)

  Halfdan: "EGIL! YOU LET YOURSELF BE USED AS A WOMAN EVERY NINTH NIGHT!"

  Thrand: "I challenge you to a duel."

  Halfdan (amazed to find such unwanted words flying out of his mouth) shouted: "I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

  Thrand grinned and walked out of the hall.

  Halfdan ripped the ring from his finger and complained, "I was enchanted by magic! I did not say those words!"

  But nobody believed him.

  "I accept your duel-challenge," Egil said, his evil eyes twinkling.

  The duel was to be held the next afternoon, on a little island on a river that ran into Oslo-fjord. Grey stones were put on the snowy ground, marking a square. Neither duellist would be allowed to leave the duelling-square.