by C. R. May
Gunnar turned from the doorway of the hall and called back to the others.
“They’re here lord. They are waiting for us on the road.”
Beowulf nodded his thanks and turned to the group which had assembled to see them off. Before him stood some of the most important people in his life and he was reluctant to leave them again after such a short time.
“Goodbye father, enjoy your winter with the men. Try not to get too bored!”
Ecgtheow had been placed with the majority of the Geat warriors in the southern part of the Swedish kingdom, near the border with the Wuffings. They had been tasked by King Ongentheow with guarding one of his favourite hunting lodges while they all waited to see what the new campaigning season would bring the coming spring.
“A winter of hunting and feasting will keep us all sharp, son. Keep yourself fit. I expect we will have a busy year again next year when Hythcyn finds out where we all are.”
Alfhelm had just found out that he would be accompanying Ecgtheow to the lodge. Beowulf smiled as he addressed the ealdorman.
“Rebuild some bridges with the men old friend. You will need them when Hythcyn comes after you.”
“The norns will decide when the strings of my life are cut, not Hythcyn.” Alfhelm replied cheerfully.
Beowulf turned and regarded his cousin Heardred. They had been as close as any friends could be since the day they had first met on the beach below Hygelac’s hall. Heardred had returned for his sister’s wedding to his English friend, Eofer, and they had fought together for the first time only days later. They hugged each other warmly.
“See you in the spring. We’ll see off Hythcyn, find your father and then we are off to Constantinople or Britannia, you can decide which over the winter.”
With a final slap on the back they parted. Beowulf left the hall and stepped out into the bright morning sunshine. He felt the warmth on his upturned face and smiled.
It is good to be alive!
Mounting his horse he led his hearth warriors slowly over to the smiling figures of Ohthere and his two companions.
They were on their way.
They reached Sigtun early in the afternoon. Ohthere had asked Beowulf if he wished to make an offering at the temple before they left but to his surprise Beowulf had declined. The wizard Asgrim’s words had come into his mind as he made to accept the generous offer and he had decided that he knew a far better place.
You can’t keep the gods locked up in a building they are everywhere, all around us!
While Ohthere and his men, Alf and Skamkel, had gone onto their ship to ensure that all the preparations for the voyage were in hand the Geats had stood and looked once more at the place where their desperate defence had stood on the morning of their attack.
Eerily the scene remained essentially the same. The two ships which they had used to anchor their shield wall still remained in place. Even the Raven, Heardred’s ship which had brought them all the way from the middle of the Baltic, remained in position where they had left it as they jumped ashore.
“We should have died here, lord.”
Gunnar had stepped to his side. Cola and Finn were tracing their feet slowly in the dust where they had stood that morning as they faced the ranks of Swedish warriors. He had no doubt that they were thinking the same thoughts.
“But we didn’t Gunnar. You are about to spend the winter at the hall of a Swedish ætheling, what were you doing this time last year?”
Gunnar chuckled at the memory.
“I was coasting up and down Lake Vanern, working my balls off. I have never really thanked you properly for rescuing me from that life, lord.”
“Believe me you have, many times over Gunnar,” Beowulf smiled.
They looked along the waterside as Alf, Ohthere’s hearth warrior, hauled himself up from the ship and walked towards them.
“My lord sends his apologies but the ship will not be ready until later today. We left it a few days ago and asked for the steer board to be replaced but what with all the excitement around here lately things got a bit behind. Apparently they were attacked by a shipload of madmen a few days ago.”
Alf was a tall, fair, muscular man of about twenty winters. His main distinguishing feature was the braided plait which he always seemed to wear in his beard. He changed the colour of the braid every day, today it was red. He had a kind, open face which perfectly matched his temperament. Beowulf liked him immediately, unlike his companion Skamkel.
Although slightly darker, the man shared Alf’s good looks and tasteful dress sense but not his good humour it would seem. Beowulf had met his kind before. They would need to earn his respect before he would accept foreigners in his war band.
So be it.
The delay suited Beowulf perfectly.
“Alf, would you show Gunnar, Cola and Finn where they can get some food and ale in the town while we wait. I have something I would like to see. I don’t think that they should go wandering off into the town alone in case the townspeople are still jittery about foreign invaders and mistake my boys for a certain bunch of madmen.”
Alf grinned as Beowulf tossed him a pouch of hack silver.
“I’ll do my best lord.”
Beowulf had no doubt that he would. Alf seemed to have all the natural good natured charm of Cola but without the big ears and green teeth. He was sure that there would be a string of drinking dens just dying to welcome him and his new friends.
He watched, amused, as they hurried off into the town. Give a group of young men enough silver and tell them to go and have a good drink and you would have thought that you had promised to give them all the riches on middle earth. It was the same wherever he had travelled he smiled. Luckily he was above such things, although his head did still ache a little from the diplomatic drinking he had to indulge in last night in King Ongentheow’s hall.
Once they were safely out of sight Beowulf made his way through the town. Sigtun was built on the point of a peninsula which jutted out into the large bay they had crossed in the Raven. The town rose in a series of terraces, although only the lower one nearest the bay was fully built upon. The buildings became progressively poorer as Beowulf ascended the hill towards his goal.
The inhabitants looked at him nervously as he passed. Even without his war shirt and mail he was heavily armed and stood at least a head taller than most men.
A gentle breeze blew up the hill from the bay below as he neared the summit. High above, the indigo sky was filled with the cries of barn swallows as they tail chased at tremendous speed. Soon they would disappear from the skies, only to magically return again the following spring. The long grass which grew around the ancient oaks was full of the stems of the May Lily. The hillside would be awash with its white flowers in springtime. It was a peaceful and appropriate place for the last resting place of a mighty king, a good place to lay his bones as his spirit feasted in valhall and waited for the final battle against the forces of chaos.
Gaining the summit Beowulf sat on the side of the barrow and unslung the skin of wine from his shoulder which he had brought with him from the hall. He took one small swig and toasted the man in the cold Earth. Rising, he placed the skin of wine on the side of the mound and surveyed the land below. Yes it was a good place to build a barrow he decided.
He had not been surprised to see the remains of a small camp fire beside the mound. Asgrim had told him that Woden had enjoyed watching the small band of Geats confront the might of the Swedes.
He could have thought of no better vantage point.
They were all waiting for him as he dropped down the final terrace to the waterfront.
Obviously the dock workers had realised that there was no future in keeping a leading member of the Shylfings waiting!
Ohthere smiled openly as he approached.
“Not planning your next attack I trust?”
Beowulf laughed.
“Not any longer, I have enough enemies at home!”
They boarded the
ship which was to take them part of the way to Ohthere’s hall in the North. Gunnar had already unloaded his belongings from the horse and stowed them safely amidships.
“This is my ship master, Eirik.” Ohthere indicated.
Eirik stepped forward and inclined his head in respect. Although not a tall man his upper body was thick set, the muscles on his arms standing proud like so many plaited ropes. His brown hair was tied at the nape by a sealskin cord revealing a weathered, ruddy face. He looked every inch the seafarer Beowulf decided.
Thankfully Beowulf was able to disguise his smile at the mention of the ship master’s name as a smile of greeting. Ever since Gunnar’s ruse with the serpent ship he had dreaded meeting an Eirik. He was pleased to see that none of his men had laughed despite the ale which now swilled within them.
“Welcome aboard, lord!” Eirik announced. “I hope that you have brought your furs.”
It took fully ten days to reach their first destination, the port of Svartvik, the black harbour. Two days were spent as Eirik guided the ship, the Sea Otter, through the channels which separated Lake Malaren from the sea.
They had spent the first night at the new fort which the Swedes had built to control the entrance to the lake at Stock Holm. It was an impressive timber and stone structure which incorporated a harbour and duty collecting station within its defensive works. Eirik had noticed Beowulf and Gunnar studying it as they drew up to the jetty.
“No, you would not have got through this way!” he had chuckled.
They had smiled, self consciously as he continued.
“The new stockade completely dominates the channel as you can see. You would not have been able to enter Lake Malaren by going through Telje either soon. The channel there is growing tighter by the year. It has halved in size during my lifetime. Soon it will disappear entirely I think.”
The following day had been spent negotiating the myriad channels which led north east from the Stock Holm to the sea beyond. Stretching away to steerboard lay hundreds of small islands, Skerries and isolated rocks, many of them submerged just below the surface.
It was the stuff of nightmares for any unwary seafarer who was unfamiliar with the correct channels to take.
“There is no way we would have made it if we had come this way, lord. If the rocks had not got us the fort would have.”
Beowulf had had to agree with Gunnar. This had been the route they had been told to take by Hythcyn’s advisers. It only confirmed to him that they had not been intended to survive the expedition.
On the morning of the third day they had finally broken free of the land’s reluctant clutches and entered the wide channel which lay between the Baltic and the Helsingjabotn. As they had cleared the lee of the land one of the Swedish crew members had moved amongst them distributing sealskin capes and hats. The Geats had looked surprised. The weather was calm and the skies, although not as blue as they had been inland were still clear.
“Put them on,” Ohthere had advised them with a knowing smile, “you will be thankful for them soon enough.”
As the Sea Otter pointed its prow northward towards the Helsingjabotn, thick grey clouds had rolled down from the North. Soon the waves had been whipped up above the level of the wales, spindrift flying in long tendrils from their foamy crests. Eirik leaned across and shouted above the wind as he fought the tiller.
“The Kvaren Sea! Luckily we caught it on a good day!”
It had taken a full day of hard sailing to clear the Kvaren and enter the calmer waters of the Helsingjabotn. Luckily the winds had never quite blown hard enough to force them to reef the sails and take to the oars.
A few days later they were approaching the small bay which was their destination.
The crew of the Sea Otter had lowered the sail and mast for the final time that trip and stowed them safely on the midship trees. Sliding the oars proud of the hull they had swept the ship steadily down to the port which had taken its name from the bay, Svartvik.
Beowulf was surprised by the size of the port. Instead of the tiny collection of ramshackle huts which he had been expecting this far north he had found a bustling, obviously wealthy, settlement. Ohthere approached Beowulf,
“We will leave the ship here and complete our journey on horseback. If we had a heavy cargo we could follow the river for half of our journey but it is very narrow and winding for much of its length. It will be much quicker by road.”
The Sea Otter was drawing steadily near to what was obviously its home berth. A series of ship houses had been built to accommodate the vessels belonging to the wealthier traders. Built on the foreshore the ship houses enabled them to be worked on during the long winter months whilst protected from the severe weather.
Eirik approached Ohthere as the men tied the ship to its moorings. By the hopeful looks on their faces he had something important to say to his lord.
“Do you want us to make another journey this year, lord? We should have time to make one last trip before the Helsingjabotn freezes over.”
Ohthere looked around the crew men and smiled warmly.
“No, that was your last journey this year. We will roast a fat ox tonight for you and your families and then you can all prepare for the coming winter at home.”
Wide smiles greeted the announcement from the members of the crew. Tonight they would feast with their wives and children and their lord would distribute gifts for the loyalty and hard work they had shown him that summer.
“Eirik, can I leave the details to you for tonight? Have two of the crew purchase an ox and plenty of ale in the town on my behalf and prepare a fire pit.”
Eirik nodded and turned to the grinning crew members.
“Right you heard our lord. The quicker we can get this all tidied up the quicker we can prepare for this evening. We have had a good year, barely a broken finger nail between us. Let’s celebrate and have a night to remember throughout the long winter months!”
Ohthere turned and took Beowulf by the arm, leading him to one side.
“We will stay in my hall in Svartvik. I have thralls there to keep the place ready for when I require its use so it will be quite comfortable for us all.”
“Yes, lord.”
“That is what I want to talk to you about.” Ohthere said.
Puzzled, Beowulf waited for him to continue.
“I know that I am the son of a king and you are the son of a jarl, an ealdorman I believe you call it, but I would prefer if you called me Ohthere while you are my guest. I think that it will help you to gain the respect of my family and the rest of the household if we treat one another as equals. As you know I am keen for you to get on well with my sons Eanmund and Eadgils and you are all the grandsons of kings after all!”
Beowulf nodded his agreement.
“Are your sons at home or do they live at their own halls?”
“Eanmund is there. I am hoping that Eadgils will return from raiding before the Helsingjabotn freezes. If not we may not see him until the spring.”
The wives and children of the crew were beginning to arrive at the boathouse. Word had obviously reached them that the Sea Otter had returned to its home port. Beowulf and Ohthere smiled happily as the men were reunited with their loved ones.
A few of them were wary of the warriors with the strange accents until Cola began throwing the delighted children as high in the air as he could before catching them just as it seemed that they must hit the ground. The mixture of terror and excitement on the children’s faces as they rose and plummeted back to earth soon had everyone laughing together and any differences were soon forgotten.
As dusk fell the men returned with a cart loaded with ale and food which the women began to prepare. As the sun dipped to touch the western horizon the ox was brought forward and hobbled before a small pit. As if anticipating its fate it lowered its head and waited patiently for its death blow. Ohthere walked to the front of the beast and addressed the gathering.
“We give thanks to Frey, the Lord, and
his father Njord, god of the sea and seafarers, for the safe return of our menfolk to their hearths for another year.”
With one fluid movement Ohthere drove the blade of the axe deep into the skull of the animal. It was a powerful and accurate stroke and the knees of the ox immediately buckled beneath it as it fell to the ground. Ohthere exchanged the axe for a long seax and knelt beside the still twitching body. With a deft sawing action he opened the chest of the ox and, reaching inside, withdrew its steaming heart. Holding it aloft he placed it inside a rune marked jug held by Eirik. Moving to the rear he removed the animal’s testicles, held them aloft for all to see and added them to the jug.
Eirik led the crew members to the rear of the ship house. Nearby was a small shrine which Beowulf had not noticed during the day. There they knelt as a group and gave thanks to their gods for their safe return for another season.
Beowulf felt his own talisman, the shard of wood which Woden, his god, had given him many years ago. He noticed that the men of his comitatus were also fingering their lucky talismans. He was glad. In the short amount of time he had been with the Swedish crew he had grown to like and admire them. His men obviously felt the same. It was becoming increasingly difficult to see them as fiend he realised.
As the ale flowed freely and the carcass of the ox turned slowly above the hearth Ohthere called the men, one by one, to his side. He had explained to Beowulf earlier that, “it is an old custom of ours. Each man tells of the funniest, saddest or most memorable moment which has happened to him since we last gathered here, this time last year.”
Beowulf and his hearth warriors listened as the men rose and told tales of the frequent brushes with death which were the lot of seamen everywhere, comical adventures in foreign ports and of dealings with strange looking people from the far reaches of middle earth.
To his surprise they had been called upon to tell their own tales. Gunnar had held them captivated with the tale of his participation in the battle of Sorrow Hill. Finn had shocked many of them, particularly Alf and Skamkel, when he had revealed that earlier that summer he had been a fisherman like many of their neighbours. Cola had described his childhood in distant Britannia and of the great battle against the warlord Arthur. Beowulf rose and told the tale of the tragic killing of his uncle, Herebeald, by the present king of the Geats, his brother Hythcyn.