Bloodaxe (Erik Haraldsson Book 1)

by C. R. May

  Erik snorted, despite the solemnity of the occasion. ‘When you live as long and produce as many sons as my father, it must become difficult to think of new names for them all.’

  Thorir hersir added a remark of his own as the next horse, its nostrils flared in terror, was manhandled down into the grave. ‘That may be a problem you get to know yourself lord.’ The three men shared a funny look, and smiles broke out on their faces regardless of the solemnity of the occasion. Despite the fact that Erik had been a king for several years now it still seemed unnatural for his old foster-father to defer to him and call him lord. ‘It’s true then, Gunnhild is with child again?’ Arinbjorn’s brow shot up as he asked the question. Erik nodded, and a self satisfied smirk lit his features. ‘She seems pretty sure.’ He flashed them a smile. ‘And she should know by now.’

  ‘What with looking after your father and all, I am surprised that you found the time. It must have been distressing, your father suddenly dying on her like that.’

  ‘I am surprised that she lasted as long as she did. Being tired and sickly herself and taking care of the king.’ He buried his chin into the folds of his cloak as a cold gust took his breath away before continuing proudly. ‘But she is a fighter. Nothing she does is for herself, everything is for the good of her kin.’

  What had been sleet only a short time before was thickening by the moment; soon driving snow would make the ceremony in the burial mound all but invisible to those not within the confines of the hollow itself. Erik indicated that they leave the rim and walk down as the last of the horses was led down. The final animal to be sacrificed to the gods that day would be despatched by the hand of the new high king of the North Way, and Erik threw a glance towards the great white ox as he unfastened the linen peace bands which held his short seax secure in its scabbard. The deck of the old warship was awash with blood, and Erik ran his eyes over the treasures which would accompany Norway’s greatest king to the afterlife as he waited for the last of the horses to grow still.

  Harald Fairhair lay on a wooden bed beneath the pelt of a great white bear, the dragon headed posts a whirl of intricate carving. Shields encircled the bed, their own designs adding to the splendour of the whole while spears and swords, ritually killed by the priests, lay scattered about. Gaming boards, tuns of ale and southern wine lay alongside flitch of swine and joints of beef.

  The horse had kicked its last, and Erik withdrew his seax as the ox was led aboard. He instinctively reached out as the beast came alongside, brushing the pads of his fingertips along the coarse hair of the animal’s snout as the priests tugged its head down by the nose ring. A dark baleful eye widened before him as he gripped the handle of his blade to saw through muscle and tendon, and Erik stepped smartly back as the blood gushed at his feet. The ox was the last to die that day, and Erik turned to lead them towards the ship which would carry them back across the icy waters of the bay.

  Mourning for King Harald would last for seven days, after which the death ale would be drunk and Erik would be confirmed as high king. He paused on the lip of the hollow as the wind once again plucked at his hair and clothing, throwing a last look across his shoulder at the man who had made him a king. He had now been made king twice over; if the shaman in Finnmark was right, at least three more king helms still awaited him before he too would lie alongside his father and grandfather in the mound.

  Perhaps the kingdoms of Trondelag and Vestfold were two of them, or maybe a yet greater prize awaited him? The ships had dispersed since Harald’s return, back to fjords the length of the West lands, but the war arrow would draw them from the nausts like serpents awakening from their winter slumber and he would lead them to war and see.

  24

  INVASION SUMMER

  ‘Ragnar Jarl is coming Erik,’ Thorstein said with a frown. ‘And he is not smiling.’

  Erik sighed and filled another cup to the brim. ‘He has not smiled for a week.’ He cocked his head and looked up at his huskarl. ‘Another ship bearing ill tidings from home?’

  ‘Not that I know of, but it is the usual reason.’

  Erik clicked his tongue in frustration as Thorstein made a suggestion which was only partly in jest. ‘Maybe if we stationed guard ships at both ends of the sound we could turn the traders away?’

  Erik threw him a pained expression. ‘I know that you mean well old friend,’ he said. ‘But not only will we collect no skat at all, but those same traders will take their wares either north or east and pay that silver to our enemies.’

  A shadow fell across the doorway, and Erik looked up and threw his jarl a beatific smile. ‘Ragnar! I was just saying to Thorstein. I wish that I had someone with more to their conversation than skjald-borg and tits to share a cup of mead with.’

  To his credit the Halogalander forced a smile, despite the worries which were becoming more obvious with every passing day. He came forward, reaching out a meaty hand to grasp the cup. Sinking the drink in one, he held the cup out for a refill. As Ragnar watched the golden liquid pour from the spout, Erik spoke again. ‘Has another ship arrived from the North?’

  Ragnar blew out through his nose and nodded sadly; ‘yes lord fresh in today.’

  ‘From Halogaland?’

  The jarl nodded again. ‘I wish that shield walls and tits were my only concerns. Things are taking a turn for the worse, Erik.’ His brow creased into a frown and he studied the floor as if reluctant to continue.

  Erik encouraged him with warm words, despite the fact that he was dreading hearing what must surely follow. ‘Ragnar,’ he began, ‘old friend. Of all the men who have sworn an oath to me since my father made me a king, none have proven more loyal in council or steadfast in battle. Were it not for your advice returning from Bjarmaland I should not be standing here now, so I am not only honour bound to listen to your woes, but keen to help in any way that I am able.’

  Ragnar brightened a touch at his king’s words, but it was clear to all present that it was an onerous duty that he was bound to perform as he lifted his chin and spoke again. ‘Lord,’ he croaked, before clearing his throat and trying again. ‘Lord king. I must ask your leave to remove my ships from your fleet and sail for home.’

  Erik had expected as much and he nodded immediately, much to the jarl’s surprise. ‘You have my permission to travel and my blessing. No man here in Avaldsnes has displayed more loyalty towards me than you.’ Erik snorted and exchanged a look with Thorstein and Anlaf at his side. ‘How did we feel when we were outnumbered on a hillside, cut off from our ships and we saw the prow beast on the Orm come clear of the Dvina channel?’ Erik’s huskarls nodded their agreement as Erik went on. ‘If you are needed at home, go now,’ he said earnestly. ‘If their king cannot come to their aid, it is only right that their jarl and hersar act on his behalf. Is the cause the same as before?’

  ‘The situation has worsened lord,’ the jarl replied. ‘The traders in the fjords have been forced to remove the goods from their warehouses and carry them inland. This saves their stock but ruins trade, so they still suffer almost the same depredation. Now that they have destroyed our trade, the Trondelag ships have moved offshore to harry the fishing fleet.’ He pursed his lips and ran his gaze around those present to allow the enormity of the problem to sink in. ‘Not only will we lose a good part of our trade goods, but many will face starvation this winter if the fish are not cured in time. Sink or carry away the fishing boats themselves...’ The jarl let the sentence hang in the air before shaking his head sadly. ‘Halogaland faces devastation, lord. We will have no kingdom left to save, far less tax.’

  Erik nodded. ‘You must gather your men and leave for the North as soon as you are able. Any king’s first duty is to the safety of his subjects and I would be no king if I allowed otherwise. As you know, circumstances dictate that I cannot be there yet in person so you will have to act on my behalf, but tell every man, woman and child that their king is coming and will make their southern neighbours pay for their actions as soon as he is able.
’

  The change in Sigurd’s demeanour was palpable, and the jarl’s eyes shone with gratitude as he offered his thanks. As the leader of Erik’s most northerly province hurried off to gather his men, the king cast a look at his own most trusted men and hissed a curse.

  The last stern post became lost from sight behind an arm of land as Arinbjorn turned to Erik with a scowl. ‘Who would have thought that young Gudrod would have turned out to be such a competent king?’ Erik glared, and his foster-brother cleared his throat and quickly backtracked. ‘It’s a family trait Erik, like falling to your sword.’

  ‘Who would have thought that the death of my greatest enemy would have caused so many problems?’ Erik gave a snort of irony as the horses walked on. ‘Halfdan the Black gasps his last and drops dead suddenly at a feast, and all it does is delay their attack. That means,’ he said as he looked out across the sound to the mainland, ‘that not only do I have to feed and pay for an army to camp within the sound for a whole summer, draining a treasury of funds which are not being replenished due to the war. But that my enemies can use the time to scathe and weaken the lands which are loyal to me while my strength ebbs.’

  ‘You do know that the enemy are blaming the death of your brother on Gunnhild, lord?’ Arinbjorn asked.

  Erik shrugged. ‘Well, they hate us. Why would they not try to use every trick against us that they were able? They seem to have conveniently forgotten what the consequences would be if Halfdan broke the agreement with our father brokered by the skald.’

  ‘And that she murdered King Harald?’

  ‘Because she was caring for him when he died? After they had raised armies against him hoping to do the very same thing? How do you know this?’ Erik spat the question before he was able to contain his rising anger at the way the war was progressing. It was not the fault or wish of Arinbjorn or any other of the men who had rallied to his cause that things were not going according to plan, and his shoulders slumped as he turned his face to his old friend. He opened his mouth to offer an apology for his outburst, but Arinbjorn beat him to it. ‘There is nothing to apologise for Erik, if anyone knows you it is me.’ He held Erik in his gaze as he spoke again. ‘Erik, you know that I am loyal to your cause. Nothing will ever shake that conviction. However part of that loyalty and, I hope, friendship, is that I must be free to offer you advice or information which you may not wish to hear. A king can find any number of men to stroke his ego and laud him far and wide, but we both know that those men will be loitering at the rear or far away when the war horn sounds.’

  Erik had been watching Anlaf Crow and Thorstein swimming in the shallows at the foot of the hill with Thorir hersir’s men Helgi and Horse Hair Gisli, splashing about and acting the fool for the washer women nearby. Further out a small boat was crossing the strait as his foster-brother spoke. There was something about the way the rowers were bent over their oars that looked out of place as men went calmly about their business, but he had taken in his friend’s words and he turned back with a self-deprecating smile. ‘You are right, if I cannot listen to well meaning advice from my friends I would be no king but a tyrant. Tell me what you have heard and I can counter their lies.’

  Arinbjorn slid from the saddle and flexed his legs. ‘You will have to give me a moment,’ he said as he turned his back to the wind before loosening his trews to piss into the grass. ‘There is a lot to tell, and this can’t wait.’

  Erik dismounted and followed suit, and the chuckles turned into full bellied laughs as each eyed the other and tried to piss the furthest. As the golden arcs were snatched up by the wind to spatter the hillside, the simple pleasure caused the cares and duties of adulthood to fall away, and they were back rampaging in the hills above Naustdal for a welcome moment. ‘The heather will colour the hillside here soon,’ Erik said as he finished and tucked himself away. ‘The island of Kormt is well known for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Arinbjorn replied as his mind came back to the business at hand. ‘The summer is almost spent. It looks as if we will not get our war until next year after all. We will have to release the bonder soon to gather the harvest. High King or not,’ he said with a look. ‘Only tyrants would insist that the farmers serve in the levy at harvest time, it is against ancient law and custom.’

  ‘Next year it is then. We can crush them in the spring. For now tell me what you have learnt, it may help us in some way.’

  ‘Well,’ Arinbjorn replied, ‘the main thrust of it is that they are suffering under the intolerable yoke of Danes.’

  ‘Because of Gunnhild?’

  Arinbjorn shrugged. ‘Partly; she is undeniably the daughter of King Gorm, but they are also spreading the rumour that she practices seith.’

  Erik crinkled his brow in surprise. ‘They think that she is a witch?’

  Arinbjorn shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter what the leaders believe, but if the bonder begin to consider that your wife is not only a witch but a Danish witch...’ He paused and shot Erik a look. ‘Well, you can see how bad it looks. Not only did King Harald die in her care, but the man who had just tried to burn you in keeled over and died with no warning. One moment he was at his cups with his warriors, the next he was choking and gasping on the floor.’

  ‘As Oðin warned he would if he conspired against me. Either that or the stupid bastard choked on something.’

  Arinbjorn narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you think that this skald really was the Allfather?’

  Erik shrugged. ‘Everybody has to be somewhere. My father seemed convinced.’

  ‘But you can see how easily they could use the Danish connection against you. You know how much the folk of the Fold and the Vikken have suffered under the Danes over the years. Show them any hint of weakness or disunity and the sea is a cloud of sail, either come to scathe the land or stay to rule. The gods know the people thereabouts have suffered both horrors at Danish hands for as long as men can recall.’

  ‘So,’ Erik replied, ‘my wife is a Danish witch. Is there anything else I should know about?’

  ‘Erikr Danøx.’

  Erik narrowed his eyes. ‘Erik Dane axe? A lot of men use the long hafted Dane axe, I do so myself. Is he a berserk?’

  Arinbjorn laughed. ‘Some would say so!’ He pointed a forefinger and poked Erik in the chest. ‘It’s what they are calling you!’

  Erik was about to scoff at the absurdity when he paused as his mind began to tease apart the weave of the thing. Finally he nodded as he had to admit to himself that the accusation contained more than a grain of truth. ‘I have underestimated our foemen,’ he admonished himself with a scowl. ‘They are a wily bunch. I may be a son of Harald Fairhair, but I was the only child of his queen Ragnhild Eriksdottir and I am named for her father, a Danish king in Jutland.’

  Arinbjorn nodded. ‘So we have a half Dane, married to a Dane who they say dabbles in seith. Said half Dane just killed two of his brothers who were kings in the Vestfold and Hathaland, and the Dane they say used her witchy powers to kill another of her husband’s brothers who stood in their way, not to mention the much loved high king of Norway who refused to die quick enough.’

  Erik’s features took on a frown as his foster-brother ran through the situation. The boat with its frantic rowers had reached Kormt now and men on the jetty were pointing in his direction. As he watched a figure detached itself from the group, threw itself onto the back of a horse and began to gallop in his direction. Arinbjorn had noticed him too, and he shaded his eyes against the late summer sun as he watched the rider come on. ‘It’s Kari Hallsson!’ he exclaimed suddenly as he shot Erik a look. ‘You remember Elk Kari, Erik. He led you across Jostrudal when you burned in Bolli Sigurdsson, the Lade jarl’s son. Let us hope that he brings us good news, he is not a man to make a fuss over nothing.’

  The pair watched with mounting dread as Kari goaded the horse up the rise. Both men knew that if the mountain man carried news of an impending attack on them, it could scarcely have arrived at a worse time. Within a short while he was be
fore them; the same widely spaced eyes, bulbous nose and easy smile which Erik recalled from his youth as he dipped his head, jumped to the ground, and took a knee as he waited for permission to speak.

  ‘Kari, it is good to see you again after so long,’ Erik greeted him with a smile, despite his fears. ‘Two score years is a long time, but I am glad to see that a life on the fells has been good to you.’ He hauled the man to his feet and smiled. ‘You have news for us; spit it out and we shall deal with the consequences, good or bad.’

  ‘The men of the Trondelag are on the move lord king,’ Kari announced in reply as he whipped the leather cap from his head and wrung the sweat from it. ‘Thorir hersir sent me to keep an eye on the passes between Trondelag and the Vikken at the beginning of summer and report to you here if either army made a move. Well, they have. A month ago King Gudrod passed through Upland with his hird. I tailed them for a couple of days to make sure of the heading before questioning a few country folk as to their destination.’ He gave them a shrug and a gap toothed smile. ‘Women like me, always have. They always tell me what I want to know, it’s a gift.’

  Erik snorted. ‘Well, that’s debatable. But carry on, what did these lovelorn women tell you?’

  ‘They all said the same, lord,’ Kari continued proudly. ‘King Gudrod was on his way to meet with King Olav in the Vestfold, to pledge their loyalty to each other and make plans to rid the country of the Dane axe. That’s you, lord,’ he added happily.

  Erik and Arinbjorn exchanged a look as both men immediately realised the importance of Kari’s report. ‘So Gudrod and Olav are in Tunsberg together, now?’

  Kari nodded. ‘Yes, lord, they must be. I had to cross the highlands to get here and they had a far easier road to travel, even if their numbers would slow them down.’