Wræcca

by C. R. May

  Lastly, Ohthere had shown Beowulf great honour by describing his defence of the Geat border, the battle at the river. It had been Beowulf’s first full scale battle and he had commanded a scratch Geat force composed mainly of townsfolk and dock workers, much like the people of Svartvik, as they had fought desperately to delay the Swedish invasion of their land.

  It had not escaped their attention that Beowulf and their lord were on first name terms. They were obviously being honoured themselves to be sharing a meal with such exalted figures.

  Alf had asked to see Beowulf’s Roman gladius, Pluto, and it had been handed around the group accompanied by gasps of admiration. He had explained that it had been owned by a Roman Emperor.

  “What’s that, lord?” a man had asked.

  “An emperor is a king who rules other, lesser kings, a king of kings.”

  “Oh...”

  The man had replied, seemingly still uncertain. Beowulf had started to explain further when the man interrupted him.

  “Begging your pardon lord, but I understand that. What is a Roman?”

  Slowly the fire began to burn itself down. The smaller children were the first to succumb to the effects of all the excitements of the day. They lay with their heads on their fathers laps quietly dozing as the proud men softly stroked their hair, oblivious to the commotion made by a group of older boys who were re-staging the ‘Battle of the River’ at a nearby stream. Ohthere moved amongst the men, personally thanking them for their year’s work, and sharing a few words with their women before distributing gifts and payments owed.

  Soon the fire had burned low and they began to make their way home. As Beowulf joined Ohthere and the warriors on the path back to Ohthere’s nearby hall he noticed Eirik and his sons checking that the ship was secure.

  “Time to go, Eirik. Your work is done this year!”

  Eirik turned and waved.

  “A ship master’s work is never done. Have a safe journey, lord. I will see you in the spring.”

  They left Svartvik early the next morning. Alf had come hastening up as they were about to leave the courtyard of Ohthere’s hall and quickly mounted the horse which had been prepared for him by his friend, Skamkel. Nodding his thanks he smiled broadly.

  “Sorry I was a bit late lord, I couldn’t find my seax.”

  Ohthere smiled at his hearth warrior and nodded at the figure of a young woman who had come to watch them leave.

  “Not a problem you had last night apparently!”

  Alf had asked Ohthere if he could visit his sister in the town last night. His lord had laughed and nodded, reminding him of their planned early start. He had explained to Beowulf that Alf seemed to have a sister in most towns. He had even found some when they had visited the kingdom of the Wuffings in the South one year.

  A long lost cousin lord!

  Beowulf could understand women’s attraction to Alf. He was a handsome warrior, a member of an ætheling’s war band, good natured and amusing.

  He should meet Heardred some time.

  The horses picked their way through the early morning bustle of the town. Svartvik rarely rested during the summer months, every hour of daylight was precious. For four or five months of every year the bay of the Helsingjabotn froze solid, bringing to an end the trade on which the town prospered. Ohthere had explained the local trading network one evening as they had roasted freshly caught fish. They had beached the ship for the night on the journey north in a mist shrouded bay and had gathered around the roaring fire, swapping tales of their homelands.

  “Svartvik lies at the eastern end of a road which runs all the way to the town of Trondelag far to the west on the shores of the Noregr, the North Way. Walrus ivory, whalebone and whale oil moves east through Svartvik in the summer months into Finn Mark. In return the Finns send skins, furs and the occasional shipment of amber from the South. We of course collect duty from the merchants as it passes through our land.”

  Beowulf had asked why such a prominent member of the royal family had his hall so far to the North, away from the centre of power at Uppsala.

  “My hall is built on a very special island, Froson, Frey’s Island, on the great lake. It was gifted to the Swedes by Frey himself and contains the rocks with which iron is made. It also sits astride not only the east-west road we are about to take but also the north-south route which leads down to your town of Edet and on the sea at Geatwic. As you can see it is a very strategic and lucrative position. It needs someone like me to protect it!” he had smiled.

  They soon left the town and Alf’s lovelorn ‘sister’ behind them and climbed slowly into the hills to the North. The morning was warm after the chill of the previous evening and they relaxed and let the warmth seep into their bodies. The road would avoid the great swing to the south which the river made at this point. Later it would rejoin it before finally swinging north towards the town of Ost Sund, the East Sound, which lay opposite the island of Froson.

  As they moved away from the coast the road quickly emptied of traffic. It was late in the year now and the last of the traders had passed through with their wares. Soon the snows would return and the passes would be closed. Men were hurrying home to prepare for the long dark months ahead. They moved through a gently undulating land of beech and pine forests. The ancient oak and elm trees of the South did not grow in this land of short summers and poor, rock strewn soils. It all served to remind the Geats that they were in an alien land.

  The journey to Froson took the party three days of easy riding. The evening of the second day had been spent as the guest of one of Ohthere’s thegns, Hoskuld. The entertainment had consisted of little more than food, ale and storytelling but the homeliness of the evening had reminded Beowulf of the happy years he had spent as a fosterling at the hall of Hygelac and Hygd and he had enjoyed it greatly.

  During the late afternoon of the third day the town of Ost Sund came into view and, off to its left, the island of Froson. After passing through the town they had been ferried across to the island and had made their way, wearily, up the track which led to the summit of the hill on which lay Ohthere’s hall. The hall was built on a commanding position, overlooking the town and straits. It was to be their home for the coming winter.

  Ohthere and his men, Alf and Skamkel, were smiling the broad smiles of men who were returning home after a long period away. Thralls working in the fields inclined their heads in respect as they passed by. A large wolfhound barked excitedly at their approach.

  Ohthere dismounted and spread his arms wide.

  “Eirik! Come here boy!”

  The Geats laughed and Beowulf caught Gunnar’s eye, mouthing the word ‘Eirik’.

  “Yes, lord. Even the dogs!” he had whispered.

  A finely dressed woman came from the hall to greet them. By her manner she was clearly the mistress of the hall, Ohthere’s wife Valeska. Ohthere had explained that his wife was from the Slavic lands which bordered the Baltic in the far south. He had tried to persuade her to take a Swedish name when they had married but she had steadfastly refused. Despite the fact that theirs, as was usual with royalty, was an arranged marriage, there was clearly warmth between them.

  Beowulf and his companions dismounted as she approached. They watched as she greeted Ohthere with a hug before standing back and raising a questioning eyebrow in their direction.

  “This is the Geat lord, Beowulf and these are his men Gunnar, Cola and Finn. They came to invade us last month and decided to stay.”

  Valeska shook her head in dismay.

  Why do men always have to joke? Why can’t they just give a straight answer?

  Ohthere looked around the courtyard.

  “Is Eadgils home yet?”

  “No, but he still has plenty of time to get home. He will make it.”

  “What about Eanmund is he here?”

  “He is in the bath cabin, which is where you should be. Go and clean yourselves and I will send some ale and food over for you.”

  They all lo
oked at themselves. After more than a week spent on the ship and further time spent on the dusty road it was true, they were in need of a wash and change of clothes. Beowulf ran his hand through his hair feeling the dust and grit clinging to every strand.

  “That is a fine idea!”

  Ohthere turned to them.

  “Leave your weapons with the horses and they will be taken care of. Let’s get over there. I am looking forward to this!”

  They all trailed after Ohthere. Beowulf smiled to himself as he heard his men talking in whispered tones as they followed on behind. Clearly their upbringing had differed from his.

  “What is a bath cabin?”

  “I don’t know. What is a bath?”

  Tucked away behind the hall they came to a small pine built hut. It was ideally located for relaxation Beowulf noted with satisfaction. Perched atop the hill the view from the pools which lay outside the bath cabin were glorious and far reaching.

  “Drop your clothes here and a thrall will take them away to be cleaned. You will find clean clothes waiting for you when we are finished.”

  A cry of pleasure came from within the cabin at the sound of Ohthere’s voice.

  “Father, you are back!”

  Ohthere had dropped his grimy clothes outside the cabin and ducked inside. Beowulf and the others took their time undressing, allowing the pair more time for their reunion. Once they were all naked Alf stood by the door.

  “Ready?”

  As he opened the door Beowulf ushered his men in as quickly as possible, ducking inside behind them and laughing at the shocked look on their faces.

  “Is it on fire? I can’t breathe!”

  Ohthere joined in the laughter. It had not occurred to him that Beowulf’s men had never experienced a bath cabin before. All classes in Swede land used them regularly.

  “Sit on the lower benches. It is not so hot,” Ohthere chuckled.

  “And whatever you do don’t touch the stones in the middle!” the other figure advised them. “Who have we here father, guests?”

  Ohthere introduced Beowulf and his men and explained that they were Geats who were exiled from their land.

  “I heard about the fun you and Onela had down south father. I wish that I had been there!”

  Beowulf frowned.

  “It did not seem so much fun from where myself and Gunnar were standing.”

  Ohthere grimaced.

  “I am sorry, I apologise to both of you. I have not had time to explain the events of this summer to Eanmund yet. Beowulf, you know that I hold you and your men in high regard. Perhaps we should respect the custom of the bath cabin and not speak until we are relaxing in the pool outside with some ale.”

  They sat back and luxuriated in the hot air. Beowulf could practically feel the grime and dirt ooze from his skin with every passing moment. Once they had allowed the steam to cleanse their skin they emerged from the cabin and followed Ohthere to the first of the two pools. He turned and smiled, mischievously, at the Geats.

  “A quick dunk in the first pool and then over to the larger pool. You go first Cola, jump straight in!”

  Cola held his nose and did as he was instructed, disappearing beneath the surface in an instant. Moments later his shocked face burst from the surface, his mouth gasping like a freshly landed trout.

  “Shit! That is freezing!”

  “Stop whingeing man,” Ohthere laughed delightedly, “it is good for you. Right out you get and into the other pool!”

  Cola pulled himself out and lowered himself gently into the larger pool. He sighed contentedly as his shoulders slipped beneath the surface of the hot water.

  One after another they followed suit. Ohthere explained that the water in the cold plunge pool was cooled to just above freezing by the use of blocks of ice. Ice was cut from the lake during the winter months and buried in a special underground room where it stayed cool enough to last throughout the summer.

  The water in the larger pool was heated by sinking stones in the centre which had been heated in a fire. The Geats had to agree that it was a fabulous way to cleanse and rejuvenate the body after a long ride.

  As they sat around the sides of the wood lined pool Ohthere and Beowulf described the battles earlier in the summer at the border between the Bronding kingdom and Geatland and the following day beside the Trolls hat, the hill which the Geats had begun to call Sorrow Hill. As they soaked themselves and drank the ale which had been provided for them Ohthere made a point of describing the bravery of the attack which Beowulf had led on Sigtun the previous month in retaliation.

  It was a time for reflection on both sides and Beowulf had found out for the first time that Alf and Skamkel had both been present at the battles in Geatland.

  A sudden gust of wind blew up the side of the hill, catching one of the clean garments which had been laid out for them whilst they were in the bath cabin and sweeping it over the wattle fence which shielded the area from the bustle of the courtyard.

  “I’ll get it!”

  Beowulf leapt from the pool and loped after it. Rounding the fencing he was watching the shirt as it fluttered in the wind above him.

  “Stop!”

  He froze. Looking down he was horrified to find that he was standing before three young women.

  “We have thralls to chase after wind borne clothing.”

  The leading woman was about his age with long brown hair, plaited at the rear, where it fell to her shapely waist. Soft brown eyes shone from a face which was pale skinned as befit a woman of quality, which she clearly was, but to which the gods in their wisdom had seen fit to add a sprinkling of delicate freckles. He was smitten.

  The woman moved closer, perhaps to spare his blushes and looked up, sweetly, into his face, as her companions giggled behind her. Unfortunately she was now close enough for Beowulf to breathe in her scent. It was more than his body could cope with and it began to respond accordingly. As his mind raced in panic she carried on speaking to him, completely unaware of the effect she was having.

  “Don’t tell me. You must be a warrior. Who else would run around the courtyard unclothed showing off his muscles?”

  He could see the other women grinning widely, obviously hugely enjoying his discomfort.

  Think of something horrible.

  They had watched in disgust as they had passed through the town earlier and witnessed a choking dog regurgitate a pigs’ trotter in a welter of blood and phlegm. He tried to bring the image to his mind as the woman carried on sweetly describing the oafishness of every warrior she had ever met. It was of no use. To his consternation the offending part was not to be dissuaded and had now achieved its full glory.

  His mind swam as her companions finally collapsed into gales of laughter. She looked slightly bemused.

  “What? We have all grown up around warriors. Sometimes it seems that they spend more time unclothed than clothed.”

  He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. She glanced down and took a pace back.

  “Oh, I see!”

  He slowly opened his eyes and gave her a sickly smile. He opened his mouth to apologise but no words seemed to come.

  “It’s best that you get back to your friends,” she snorted as she tried to contain her laughter.

  He turned and walked, as casually as he could manage, back. Just as he rounded the wicker fence she called out.

  “Or the stables!”

  His heart was thumping as he crossed to rejoin the others, his manhood still swaying ridiculously before him. Behind him screams of hysterical female laughter only added to his embarrassment. He lowered himself as quickly as he could into the pool. Ahead of him Ohthere and Eanmund were watching him, open mouthed. Finally Eanmund was the first to find his tongue.

  “What did you do to my sister!”

  Beowulf, his mind already swimming, looked at him in confusion.

  “What sister?”

  Ohthere recovered enough to ask.

  “My daughter, Halldis!”
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  Beowulf was still bemused.

  “You haven’t got a daughter!”

  The men were enjoying it immensely. Cola grinned a great, green toothed, grin, and nudged his ‘new best friend’, Alf.

  “You’ll have to marry her now, lord!”

  Beowulf could think of nothing else he could do. He slid slowly beneath the surface and hoped it would all go away.

  7

  Beowulf and Eanmund edged their mounts carefully into the ford and started to cross. They had been travelling north for nearly a week now and, although he was too polite to say so to his host and companion, he was growing tired of the never changing scenery in this part of Swede Land.

  Pine forest, lake, boulder, Pine forest, lake, boulder….

  He longed for the deeper soils, oak, ash and elm trees of his own land in the South.

  Several days after they had arrived at ‘The Eyrie’, Ohthere’s hall on the summit of Froson, a delegation of men from one of the Northern provinces had arrived at the gates. They had travelled south seeking help from their lord in ridding their district of a deadly danger.

  At first nobody could understand their high country accents and they had been assumed to be foreign merchants looking for a place to stay. Despite being directed to Ost Sund, across the strait, they had refused to leave and discussions were beginning to become heated before one of the thralls from the stables realised the problem and acted as interpreter.

  Ohthere had seen them the following day, after they had rested from their long journey in the guest hall. To the delegates obvious delight he had spoken to them in their own dialect, without the need for any help. Beowulf had been impressed. It had been a lesson in good governance which he would try to heed in the future. It had meant much to the men that their lord had taken the trouble to learn their way of speech. It would help to bind their area to Swede land tighter than any number of warriors ever could.