Sworn Brother v-2

by Tim Severin

  The Danes were shrewd. The crew of the newly arrived longship lashed their vessel to another one and the two ships together formed a single fighting platform. Then they rowed upwind of us, shipped their oars and began to drift down on our drakkar. Now they had no need of oarsmen. Every one of their men was free to fight. Their third vessel positioned herself to attack, once again, on our opposite side.

  The crunching impact of the rafted longships stove in our drakkar's topmost plank. I heard the ancient wood crack as the vessels collided. Our boat heeled with the weight of the sudden rush of the main Danish fighting force as their warriors jumped aboard. Some tripped and stumbled, and these men were despatched with an axe blow to the back of the head. But the sheer weight of comrades piling aboard behind them pushed their vanguard forward and broke our line. We were forced to give way and in a pace or two found ourselves back to back with our comrades who were trying to defend themselves against the attack from the opposite side. We fought viciously, either in desperation or because we believed in our oath to felag. Certainly not a single Jomsviking broke ranks. Spears were useless at such close quarters so we hacked with axes and stabbed with daggers. It was impossible to draw or to swing a sword. Shields were thrown aside as they split or splintered, and soon we were relying on our helmets and byrnies to turn aside the weapons of our enemies.

  Gradually we retreated, step by step, towards the stern of our drakkar, our dwindling band packed so tightly that when the Wend beside me took an axe blow in the neck, his body stayed upright for several moments before it eventually slipping down at my feet. My shield arm shook to the impact of blows from the Danish axes and clubs, and the leather-bound shield began to disintegrate. I gasped for breath through the chain-mail curtain which hung across my face. My whole body ran with sweat within the padded jacket under the byrnie. Rivers of sweat ran down from my helmet and stung my eyes. I felt desperately tired, scarcely able to swing a counter-blow with my own axe. From sheer exhaustion I longed to drop my shield arm and rest. My vision blurred with glimpses of open-mouthed, yelling Danes hacking and thrusting and slashing, sometimes the blows directed at me, sometimes at my comrades on each side. I began to stagger and sway with a strange lassitude. I felt as if I was wading through a swamp of mud that sucked at my feet and legs.

  I was slipping away into oblivion and a great blackness began to gather around me when an icy stinging sensation flicked at my eyes. Peering past the noseguard, I realised that our battle was shrouded in a sudden summer hailstorm. A clatter of large hailstones struck my metal helmet and suddenly my feet were slipping and skidding on the crunching white surface that covered the deck. It became very cold. The hail was so intense that gusts of the squall blew ice grains under the rims of our helmets and into our faces. It was difficult to see the full length of the drakkar, yet in the distance I glimpsed Odinn's banner waving at the stern post. I blinked to clear my eyes, and it might have been my utter exhaustion or the roaring of the blood in my ears that affected my sight, but I saw the raven, black and bloodthirsty, and it turned to look towards me and slowly lowered its knowing, wise head. At that moment a great agony erupted in my throat. My breath stopped.

  I woke to a terrible pain in my gullet every time I breathed. I was lying face downwards, wedged between two oar benches. My left arm was trapped underneath something heavy which proved to be the corpse of the Abdorite who had been our instructor at Jomsburg. In his death throes he had toppled across me, pinning me down. Cautiously and painfully, each breath drawn as gently as possible through my tormented windpipe, I wriggled clear and raised my head to look along the length of the vessel. I could hear nothing except the faint slap of waves against the hull. There was no movement, no one standing on the deck. Everything seemed very still, and dark. It was night-time and our drakkar was silent. Pain sliced through me as I shifted my weight and carefully eased myself along the thwart. I heard a groan, but could not tell where it came from. All around me the oar benches were littered with bodies, Danes and Jomsvikings together. Dizzy from the effort, I began to crawl towards the foredeck where I had last seen Thrand.

  I found him slumped down on the deck, his back against the bulwark. Even in the dim light I could see the rent in his byrnie over his chest. He was still wearing his antiquated helmet and I thought he was dead until I saw the faint movement of his eyes behind eye guards.

  He must have seen my crab-like approach for his voice said softly, 'Odinn must love you, Thorgils.'

  'What happened? Where are we?' I croaked. 'Where we met our fate,' he replied. 'Where are the Danes?'

  'Not far away,' he said. 'They withdrew to their ships when it became too dark. Nightfall came early in the storm and they dread killing anyone in the dark in case the victim returns to haunt them as undead. At dawn they will return to finish off the wounded and strip the corpses.'

  'Is there no one left?' I asked.

  We fought well,' he answered. 'None better. The Jomsvikings are finished.'

  'Not all of them. I can help you get away from here.'

  Thrand made a faint gesture and I looked down. His legs were stretched out flat on the deck before him and I saw that his right foot was missing.

  'Always the weak point in a ship battle,' he said. 'You defend yourself with your shield and someone crouches beneath a thwart until you are close enough for him to hack at your leg.'

  'But I can't abandon you,' I said.

  'Leave me, Thorgils. I'm not afraid to die.' And he quoted the High One:

  'The sluggard believes he shall live for ever

  If the fight he faces not

  But age shall not grant him the gift of peace,

  though spears may spare his life.'

  Reaching forward, he grasped my forearm.

  'Odinn sent that storm for a purpose. He brought the early darkness to preserve you from the final slaughter of the wounded. You must go now and find King Knut. Tell him that the Jomsvikings kept their word. He must not think we failed to honour our hire. Tell him also that Earl Ulf is a traitor, and inform Thorkel the Tall that the dishonour of Hjorunga Bay has been expunged, and that it was Thrand who led the felag to their duty.'

  He sank back, exhausted. There was a long silence. I was so tired that, even had I wanted to, I felt I had no strength to leave the drakkar. I only wanted to lie down on the deck and rest. But Thrand would not let me. 'Go on, Thorgils, go,' he said softly, and then as if there was no doubt, he added, 'you saw the raven. Defeat was Odinn's will.'

  Every movement was agony as I took off the heavy byrnie. Its chain-mail throat guard had stopped the sword slash from taking off my head but had left me choking. I dragged off the padded undercoat and pulled myself across to the gap in the bulwark where the Danes had smashed into us. I was too bruised and exhausted to do anything more than lower myself though the gap and into the lagoon. The shock of the cold water revived me for a moment and I tried to swim. But I was too tired. My legs sank downward and I resolved to let go of the boat and allow myself to drown. To my surprise my feet touched the ground. Our drakkar must have drifted far enough into the shallows for me to stand. Slowly, half swimming, half walking, I headed for the shore, until I was able to lurch up the beach. My feet sank into the drier sand, and I stumbled over the first clump of dune grass and fell. I picked myself up, knowing that I had to put as great a distance as possible between myself and the Danes.

  As I crossed the first of the dunes I looked back towards the drakkar and saw a point of light. It was a tiny burst of flame. It died down and then flared up and grew brighter. I remembered the pitch which the shipwrights had used to revive our ancient vessel inside and out, and knew that she would burn well. But whether it was Thrand who set the fire, or some other survivor of the fight, it was impossible to tell. I only knew that by daylight the last warship of the Jomsvikings would have burned down to the waterline.

  It took me nearly two weeks to walk or, rather, stumble to Knut's headquarters at the town of Roskilde. I was crossing the lan
ds of Earl Ulf, whom I knew to be a traitor, so I avoided human contact, skirting around villages and sleeping under hedges or in the lee of earth banks. I have no clear memory of how each day of that grim journey was spent, only that my nights were filled with terrible visions of violence and death. When it rained, I awoke shivering with cold and fear, the rain drops on my face reviving images of grotesquely swirling storm clouds, the vanquished raven and an image which at the time had seemed so malevolent that I had buried it deep in my thoughts — a black hag riding on the wind. Once or twice I could have sworn that Thrand sat somewhere close to me in the shadows, a pool of black blood leaking from his leg. I lay numb with despair, wondering if my second sight had summoned his ghost from the dead, only to realise that I was alone and close to madness. When hunger drove me to knock on the doors of cottages along my path to beg for charity, my throat was so badly bruised that the inhabitants thought I was a mute. I had to gesture with my hands to make myself understood. They gave me scraps of food occasionally. More often they drove me away with kicks and curses, or set their dogs on me.

  In the end it was Odinn who relieved my plight. I crept into Roskilde like a vagrant, filthy and wild-eyed, and was promptly arrested by a sentry. Odinn had arranged that Kjartan, the one-handed huscarl, was commander of the guard that day, and when I was brought before him, he looked at me with astonishment.

  'Thorgils, you look as though you have been chewed over by Nidhoggr, the corpse-tearer!' he said. 'What in Thor's name has happened to you?'

  I glanced towards my captor, and Kjartan took the hint. He sent the sentry back to his post, then made me sit down and eat a meal before he heard my story. My battered throat allowed me only to swallow a bowl of lukewarm gruel before I told him of the ambush and destruction of the Jomsviking expedition sent to join Knut.

  When I finished, Kjartan sat silent for a moment. 'This is the first I've heard of it,' he said. 'Your battle with the Danes was fought at a place so remote that no one knows about it. I presume the victors put to sea after binding up their wounds and, if they were Earl Ulf’s men acting treacherously, then they would have kept quiet because events overtook them.'

  'What do you mean?' I asked hoarsely.

  'While you and the Jomsvikings were waylaid off Sjaeland, the king and his fleet caught up with his enemies off the coast of Skane. There was a great battle in the estuary of Holy River. Both sides are claiming the victory, and frankly I think we were lucky that we did not suffer a major defeat. But at least the Swedes and Norwegians have been thwarted for the time being.' Then he paused and asked, 'I need to be sure about this - when did you say the Jomsvikings were ambushed?'

  'I lost track of time during my journey here,' I said, 'but it was about two weeks ago.'

  'You had better tell your story to the king in person. I can arrange that. But don't say a word to anyone else until you've had your audience with him.'

  'I would like to tell Thorkel the Tall,' I said. 'Thrand's last words to me were that I was to inform Thorkel that the dishonour of Hjorunga Bay had been wiped away.'

  Kjartan looked at me. 'So you don't know about the changes at Knut's court.'

  'What's happened?' I asked.

  'You can't speak to Thorkel, that's for sure. He's dead. Died in his bed, amazingly enough. Never expected it from such an inveterate warrior. So he'll never get Thrand's message unless the two of them exchange news in Valholl, if that's where they have both gone. Thorkel's death was a setback for Knut. The king had appointed him regent here in Denmark, and when he died Earl Ulf took his place.'

  'But it was Earl Ulf’s men who attacked us,' I blurted.

  'Precisely. That is why it would be wise if you did not tell anyone else about the Jomsvikings' ambush.'

  Kjartan must have had considerable influence with the royal secretariat because my interview with the king took place that same evening. It was held in secret, away from the king's official residence. Only the three of us were present - Kjartan, myself and the husband of the woman I still loved.

  For the first time I was able to see Knut close to, and of course I judged him jealously. The king was on his way to an official banquet, for he was wearing a brilliant blue cloak held at the right shoulder by a gold buckle, a tunic of fine linen with a thread of gold running through it, gold-embroidered bands at the hem and cuffs, scarlet leggings and cross gaiters. Even his soft leather shoes had lines of gold stitched in square patterns. He radiated authority, privilege and virility. What impressed me most was that he was almost my own age, perhaps three or four years older. I did a quick mental calculation. He would have been leading an army while he was in his teens and I was still a youngster in Vinland. I felt inadequate by comparison. I doubted that Aelfgifu had found me a satisfactory substitute. Knut had a magnificent physique, well-proportioned and robust. Only his nose marred his good looks. It was prominent, thin and slightly hooked.

  But that deficit was more than made up for by his eyes, which were large and wide-set and gave him a level, confident gaze as he stared at me while I stumbled huskily through my account.

  When I had finished, Knut looked at Kjartan and asked bluntly, 'Is this true?'

  'Yes, my lord, I've known the young man for some time and I can vouch for his honesty as well as his bravery.'

  'He's not to tell his story to anyone else?'

  'I've told him not to, my lord.'

  'Well, he's certainly earned his pay. How much did we promise the Jomsvikings?'

  'Fifteen marks of silver each man, my lord. Half in advance. Final payment to be made after they had fought for you.'

  'Well, that's a bargain! They fought, it seems, and now there's only one of them to collect his pay. I'll double it. See to it that the paymaster gives him thirty marks. And make sure, also, that he's kept out of sight. Better yet, arrange to have him sent away, somewhere far off.'

  The king turned on his heel, and was gone. Knut's brusque dismissal left me wondering whether he knew about my affair with Aelfgifu.

  As Kjartan escorted me back to his own lodgings, I dared to ask, 'Is the queen, Aelfgifu, I mean, is she here with the king?'

  Kjartan stopped. He turned to me in the darkness, and I could not see his expression but his voice sounded more serious than I had ever heard him. 'Thorgils,' he said, 'let me give you some advice, though I know it is not what you want to hear. You must forget Aelfgifu. Forget her completely, for your own safety. You do not understand about life at court. People act differently when they are close to the seat of power. They have particular reasons and motives and they pursue them ruthlessly. Aelfgifu's son, Svein, is now ten years old. He takes after his father in looks and manner, and she is ambitious for him to be Knut's heir rather than the children of Queen Emma. She will do anything to further his chances.'

  I tried to interrupt. 'I never knew she had a son; she never told me.'

  Kjartan's voice ground on remorselessly, overriding my halfhearted objection. 'She has two sons, in fact. If she failed to mention them to you, that makes my point. They were fostered out at an early age. They grew up in Denmark while Aelfgifu was in England. Right now she's playing for very high stakes — no less than the throne of England. If she thinks that you are a threat because of anything that happened at Northampton . . . I'm not accusing you of anything, Thorgils. I just want you to realise that Aelfgifu could be a danger to you. She has a ruthless streak, believe me.'

  I was stunned. First I had lost Thrand and now my cherished vision of Aelfgifu was smashed. Mother of two, ambitious royal consort, deceitful, conniving — this was not the sweet, high-spirited woman whose memory I had cherished these two years past.

  Kjartan's voice softened. 'Thorgils, give thanks to Odinn that you are still alive. You could be a corpse along with your shipmates on the drakkars. You are young, you are free of restraints and from tomorrow you'll have money to spare. Tomorrow I'll take you to see the king's paymaster and you'll have your royal bounty. Look upon Knut's wish to be rid of you as another sign
that Odinn protects you. The court is a snake pit of intrigue and you are best away from it. You may think that the king was generous in his payment to you, but if the Danish vessels which attacked you had reached Holy River in time for the battle, King Knut might have lost his crown. And monarchs do not like to know that they are in another's debt.'

  His last observation made no sense. 'I don't understand how the defeat of the Jomsvikings could have saved the king. We never reached the rendezvous. We were no use to him,' I said.

  'Think of it this way,' Kjartan replied. 'Recently Knut has been increasingly mistrustful of Ulf. He fears that the earl is plotting against him and your story of the ambush of the Jomsvikings confirms Ulf s double dealing. His ships attacked the Jomsvikings, knowing them to be reinforcements for the king. They did not expect any survivors to live to tell the tale. But as it turned out, the ambush delayed Ulf’s ships so they missed the vital engagement at Holy River. Had they been there, Ulf might have felt strong enough to switch sides and join the Swedes. And that would have been the end for King Knut.'

  I thought that Kjartan was being overly cynical, but he was proved right. Soon afterwards matters came to a head between the king and Earl Ulf. They were playing a game of chess when Knut, a chess fanatic, made a wrong move on the board. Ulf promptly took one of his knights. Knut insisted in replaying the move, and this so angered Ulf that he got up from his seat, tipped over the chessboard and stalked out of the room. Knut called after him that he was running away. Ulf flung back the jibe that it was Knut who would have run away from Holy River if Ulf’s force had not fought on his side.