“As I was saying,” he continued, “Harald rode to warn the village. It was well he did so. Ere long, all four ships of the raiders, their taste for blood and plunder whetted by their earlier attacks, appeared off our village and their warriors waded ashore. I was but a child at the time, seven years of age. All of the women, children and thralls had fled to safety in the forest at Harald’s warning. All but me. I was long on curiosity then, and short on good sense. I was beaten thoroughly for it the next morning, but I stayed, hidden on the rooftop of my father’s house, and watched the battle.
“The men of our village arrayed themselves in a shield-wall across the road that runs through the center of our village. My father was among them, and Harald fought at his side. The Gotars and Sveas greatly outnumbered our men. The battle looked to go badly indeed, until Harald, my father, and Hrodgar, who was then a warrior in his prime, cut their way through the enemy’s ranks to where their leader stood. He was a tall Svear with a long blond mustache hanging down onto his chest. Up till that point in the battle, he’d stood behind the enemy shield-wall, surrounded by his housecarls, bellowing encouragement to his men. Some leaders choose to lead the battle from the front, others to direct it from behind.
“My father reached him first. The warrior in front of the enemy leader died under Father’s spear, trying to stop him. But while they fought, the big Svear lunged forward, swinging his sword with such might that it split my father’s shield and cut into his shoulder, driving him to his knees. I thought then that I would see my father die before my eyes, but Hrodgar lunged forward and stabbed his spear with such force that it pierced the chieftain’s brynie front and back, and the spear point stuck out between his shoulder blades. At the same time, Harald swung his sword and struck a blow that nearly severed the Svear chieftain’s head from his neck.
“Most of the Sveas, especially those who were fighting close to their chieftain, turned and ran for their ships when they saw their leader fall, but the Gotars were made of sterner stuff, and continued to press the fight hard against the men of our village. Harald stood astride my father, who lay wounded on the ground, and refused to retreat, though he took many wounds. Had he done otherwise, I would have grown up fatherless. That is the blood-debt I owe to the line of Hrorik. That is why I have done what you see here this night.”
I studied Einar curiously. He did not know me—or even know who I was. Yet he’d attacked and disarmed Toke’s man, laid down his own weapons, and called on me to enter his camp, putting his life in my hands. All this because a stranger had told Kar that Hrorik’s line still lived, and because years ago Hrorik’s brother had saved his father. He was either a man who greatly prized honor, or a great fool. I would not have done as he had. I had lived most of my life as a thrall, though, and thralls do not worry themselves about honor.
“How did the battle end?” I asked, wondering as I did if it was a mistake to encourage him to speak more.
“Back at Offa’s estate,” Einar continued, “after they made certain their families were safely hidden in the forest, Offa, Hrorik and their men traveled at quick-march down the road toward our village. They arrived not long after the Svear chieftain was slain, and fell upon the rear of the enemy’s lines. Then the warriors of the village, together with Offa and his men, made a great slaughter, crushing the Gotars between them. None were spared. Even those raiders who made it to their ships did not in the end escape. The Limfjord filled with ships bristling with armed men, hungry for revenge against the raiders. None of the enemy ships reached the sea.”
“And Harald?”
“It was after Offa and his men had attacked. The remaining Sveas and Gotars were fleeing, and the battle on land was all but over. Harald was weak and weary from his many wounds, and let his shield hang low, for no enemy was near. An arrow flew back at our lines from among the routed invaders and struck him in the throat.”
I said nothing, mulling the tale Einar had told me. Harald my brother, and Harald the brother of Hrorik, had both died young. I decided that if ever the day came that I had a son, though I loved my brother Harald dearly and would honor him, I would not risk giving his ill-fated name to another of our line.
“As I stated,” Einar said, “I have been pondering the words you spoke to Kar, and told him to tell to Hrodgar. ‘The line of Hrorik is not ended,’ you said. And I have been thinking of the events that have occurred since this hunt began. There is more for me to read here than just footprints on the floor of the forest. I think the rune you carved upon the head of the man you killed in your first ambush can only be for Harald, son of Hrorik, who died in the fight at the estate. I think you marked the dead man to show his death was a blood-debt.
“If you were the murderous bandit that Toke claimed, you would have killed Kar, too. Instead you spared him, but killed Toke’s man as an act of vengeance for Harald. Who are you?”
I did not answer. Einar was not deterred. I began to suspect he must actually be known by his comrades as the Long-Winded, not Sharp-Eye, for again he began to speak.
“‘The line of Hrorik is not ended,’” he repeated. “I was long confused by that, for all in the village know that Harald was Hrorik’s only son. But then I remembered the Irish woman, the thrall, whom Hrorik was so taken with. You are her son, aren’t you?”
He was a clever man in many ways. I nodded. “I am,” I answered. “Harald was my brother, and I have sworn to avenge his murder. Halfdan is my name.”
Einar’s eyes traveled over me.
“Your clothes are soiled and bloodstained now,” he said, “but clearly of fine make, and fit you well. They’re not the clothes of a thrall.”
I nodded again. “I was raised up by Hrorik before his death.”
“Let us sit and rest our legs,” Einar said. “I have food and drink, and you must be hungry. Feed yourself, and while you do, tell me of the attack on the farm, and how you alone escaped. I know Toke’s tale must have been a lie, and he was somehow involved. I would know what truly happened.”
Einar’s fare was simple—just salted pork, stale bread, hard cheese, and water—but after my sparse rations on my flight it was welcome. I wolfed down all he offered me. Between bites, I told him of the quarrel between Harald and Toke, and how Toke had repaid Harald’s insults to him with the treacherous attack in the night.
“What happened beside the work sheds?” Einar asked, interrupting me. “I could tell a great spilling of blood occurred there.”
I was speechless for a moment as in my mind I saw again the slaughter of the women and children I’d witnessed that night, lit by flickering torchlight.
“Harald mistakenly believed the attack was led by Ragnvald, a chieftain whose son he’d killed,” I answered. “He negotiated for the women, children and thralls to leave the longhouse in safety. The leader of the attackers—Toke, though we did not realize it at the time—gave Harald his oath granting them safe passage, but his word was false. The women, children, and thralls were all killed when they were beyond our protection.”
“That was Niddingsvaark indeed,” Einar said, a disgusted look on his face. “Toke is a man without honor.”
“Afterward, they shot fire arrows and set the roof ablaze above our heads,” I continued. “We tried to break out and escape to the woods, using the animals from the byre as cover, but there were too many of Toke’s men and too few of us.”
“How did you escape?” Einar asked.
“Harald had told me, before we made our final run, that if he ordered me to leave him and the others and flee, I must do it. He said I alone among us would be likely to escape if I reached the forest, and someone must survive to avenge all who fell. When Toke’s men swarmed upon us in the final attack Harald cut a way clear for me to escape. In the final moments of the fight, only Harald and Ulf were left, fighting back to back, and Harald killed many of Toke’s warriors before they fell.”
Einar stiffened as I spoke my last sentence. “What was the name you spoke?” he asked. “The n
ame of the warrior who fell at Harald’s side?”
“Ulf,” I replied.
“Describe him for me,” Einar demanded. When I did, he put his face in his hands for a moment. When he removed his hands, I saw he was weeping. “He was my kinsman,” he said. “My sister’s son. I loved him greatly. He left the village eight years ago after his wife died, to join Hrorik’s household. I have raised his son.”
By now Tord was fully awake and listening to us. I drew my dagger and pointed at him.
“I have sworn to kill every man who took part in the attack,” I said to Einar. “It was my intention to kill this man and the wounded man, too. But you have suffered a loss also. You can kill them if you wish, to avenge Ulf.”
“Do not be so hasty,” Einar said. “These men possess something you need.”
I frowned. “Only their lives,” I answered.
“Do you know the names of every man in Toke’s crew?” Einar asked.
I shook my head. Einar walked over to where he’d been sitting when I’d first crept close to the hilltop, and picked up two sticks that were lying on the ground. Each was twice as long as a hand, and as big around as two fingers together. Both had been stripped clean of bark, and whittled flat to make four sides. There were runes carved on each of the sticks.
“Ship’s crews change,” Einar said. “Men join, men leave. A crew like Toke’s, which has taken heavy losses, will add many new men to its crew. How will you know who to kill?”
It was a problem I hadn’t thought of.
“I’ve listened much to the talk of Toke’s men while we’ve been on this hunt,” Einar continued, “and it is my practice to remember what I’ve heard. His men spoke carelessly of having over forty men in their crew when the Sea Steed left England. Yet when I was with Hrodgar when we met Toke there at the farm, the crew we saw could not have numbered even thirty. More than ten men, perhaps close to twenty, must have died in the battle that took Harald’s life. Many of the Sea Steed’s crew have already paid the price for their and Toke’s treachery. It is those who remain of his crew, including these who hunted you, whom you must kill to complete your vengeance. It is certain that Toke will recruit more men to fill out his crew, but they will be innocent of the murders you seek to avenge.”
When I’d sworn to kill all who’d slain Harald and the others, I hadn’t thought through the consequences of my oath. Einar was right. Toke was certain to recruit more men to fill his crew. And some of those now serving with him, who had participated in the murders, might leave. How was I to identify those I’d sworn to kill? How was I to track them all down? It could take a long time to fulfill my oath. A long time, and a lot of killing.
Einar continued. “Tonight, while Tord sat awake, afraid to sleep, I drew him into conversation about his fellows. Who is the strongest on your ship? Who can drink the most ale? That sort of thing. As we talked, I was carving on these sticks. I told him I was just whittling to pass the time and stay alert, but the truth was I was carving the runes for the names he told me. At the time, I thought to give these to Hrodgar. It would be on him, I believed, to bring a charge against Toke at the Thing if the truth could be uncovered. Now perhaps it will be you who does so. I have fifteen names so far. I figure we have close to fifteen others to learn, or somewhat less, since by the morrow’s sunrise three will not have survived this hunt.”
We both turned and looked at Tord, who’d been listening intently.
“I will tell you nothing,” Tord spat. He thought for a moment, then added, “Unless you agree to let me go.”
Einar walked over and squatted beside Tord. He pointed back at me.
“My new comrade here tends to be a hasty man,” he said, “but I am not. Here is only the bargain I’ll offer you: If you tell me what I need to know, I will kill you quickly and painlessly. If you do not, I’ll slice your belly open—carefully, just deep enough to cut through the skin and muscle—and I’ll pull your guts out into your lap. And if that is not enough to loosen your tongue, I’ll build a fire upon them and cook your entrails while you watch. Is this how you wish to die? Think carefully…. No one but us will know if you tell us the names of your comrades, and you will save yourself much pain.”
I wondered if Einar would carry through with his threat. It was a very creative torture he’d planned. And he thought I was a rare killer? I told myself I would never have thought of such a thing, and felt better for it.
Tord cursed Einar and refused to talk. Einar knelt before him and began cutting his tunic off. Once he’d exposed the skin of Tord’s belly, he placed his knife’s edge against it and began to press it into the skin.
I never found out if Einar would have carried his threat through to its gruesome end. Before his skin split open under the knife, Tord reconsidered and told us the names of all of Toke’s crewmen. Einar carved the runes to name each man in Toke’s crew who still lived into the wood of the tally sticks with his knife. Then he used his knife to cut Tord’s and Alf’s throats.
“For you, Ulf,” he said, as he spilled their blood.
Einar handed me the two sticks he’d carved. “You should keep these,” he said. “It is you who have sworn the oath.”
I looked at the two sticks, carved with strange figures. It was good, I supposed, to have a record of the names of the guilty. There was a problem, though. I could not read runes. My mother had taught me to read and write the Latin tongue. But she herself had never learned to write the language of the north-lands, and no one else had taught the runes to me. Reading and writing were not skills a thrall needed. It was a problem I’d deal with later. I stowed the two sticks in my quiver.
“What is your plan now?” Einar asked.
I realized I had not thought beyond merely surviving the pursuit, beyond escaping my hunters and finding a chance to turn on them. I hadn’t thought how I might find Toke and kill him and his men. Now that I did think about it, I felt daunted. Killing three men in the forest had been difficult enough. Killing a chieftain and his entire crew seemed impossible.
“I do not have a plan,” I answered truthfully.
“Let me offer you advice,” Einar said. “It is one thing to take vengeance against carls by killing them from ambush. But Toke is a chieftain and the grandson of a great jarl. He is considered by many to be a great man in his own right.
“Toke is a great man who has committed a great wrong. To truly achieve vengeance, you must do more than just kill him. You must destroy his name and blacken his memory, for those are what live on after a man is dead. You must destroy his honor by making all see him for what he truly is—not a chieftain, not a great man, but a Nithing, an oath-breaking murderer, a treacherous slayer of his own foster brother.”
“Only by a suit brought against him in a Thing can Toke be declared a Nithing,” I protested. Even I knew that from hearing tales told during the long winter nights. “How can I ever hope to win such a case? On my oath alone? Not long ago I was just a thrall, whereas Toke is, as you yourself have pointed out, a chieftain. And his crew will surely give their oaths and testimony to support his. They’ll not admit their own crimes.”
“You must take time to win your revenge,” Einar explained. “Beware of being hasty. It is a weakness I see in you that you must guard against. Ale drunk before the brewing’s finished is weak, and sour. So, too, your vengeance will not be nearly as sweet, if you do not dishonor Toke to all men before you kill him. An arrow in the back from ambush is far too gentle an end for a villain like Toke.”
Before I’d met Einar, merely spilling Toke’s blood had seemed quite satisfactory. A part of me was wishing I’d never realized Einar might be an ally. Had I killed him in ignorance, the task that lay before me would seem much simpler.
“What do you propose?” I asked him.
“You must gain stature among honorable men, and gain allies,” Einar said. “You will need them to win a case at a Thing. Already you have found one ally in me. If need be, I can testify that I heard Tord confess the a
ttack and murders before he died. The vengeance you seek is an important one. It must be properly done. Toke is still a young man himself. He will give you time.”
I wanted Toke’s life. I wanted to see his blood stain the ground, as Harald’s had. I was not at all sure that killing his honor, too, was worth the trouble.
Einar had told me what I must accomplish, but he’d not revealed how. He was not an easy man to pull a straight answer from.
“What are you proposing?” I asked again. “How shall I win stature and gain these powerful allies? I am but fifteen years of age. Most of my life I was a thrall. I’ve lost my family. I have nothing, and am nobody.”
“Go south to Hedeby,” Einar replied. “You’ll find longships there, loading provisions and looking to round out their crews. The summer raiding season is almost upon us. Join a ship’s crew and go i-viking. Though young, you’re bold and true, and have already killed more men than many who are years older than you. Become a respected warrior. Gain a high-ranking chieftain as your ally if you can. Above all, develop patience. When the time for your vengeance is ripe, you will know it. The Gods will give you a chance to bring justice to Toke. The Gods hate a Nithing as much as all men of honor do.”
Though my heart protested, in my mind I knew Einar’s counsel was wise. It was ironic. I’d often dreamed, as a thrall, of crossing the seas as a Viking raider. I’d dreamed of it as a path to adventure and glory. Now, it seemed, it was to be my path to vengeance. I wondered how long a journey it would be.
12: The Road To The Sea
The next morning, I began my preparations to travel south to Hedeby. Einar, ever loquacious, admonished me with many suggestions and warnings. “A traveler cannot carry better gear than good sense and caution,” he told me. I thought that advice seemed obvious and not worth the breath it took to speak it. But Einar, I was learning, greatly enjoyed the sound of his own voice. He also urged me to more fully equip myself from the gear of the two dead men, Tord and Alf. That, I thought, was a sound suggestion.
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