by Griff Hosker
When they had left us, I spoke. I measured my words now. Father Harold and his clerks would write down what I said. It was there for William after I had gone. I was making Norman history. “Tomorrow is the start of a new age here in this land of Normandy. We will rule by law. What I do, so do you. We can still hold a Thing to decide what must be done by the clan but in your own fief, you are the law. All punishments must be public ones. Sentences must be passed and be passed in open court so that all can see that our law is fair. Tomorrow we will all see how our new law works. No longer will two warriors disagree and fight. That makes for blood feuds. The court at Rouen will judge in disputes between my lords.”
Bjorn the Brave looked worried. He was a good warrior and, on the battlefield, a clever general, but in other matters, he doubted himself, “That is a great responsibility, lord. What if we make a wrong judgement?”
I looked into his eyes, “You are a warrior and you live with that.”
Sámr said, “Bjorn, I am not worried. It is what we have always done but it was not written down. Duke Robert, are there laws which are written down?”
I nodded, “Over the next year I will work with Father Harold and we will formulate the laws of Normandy. Any of you may pass comment on them. One year from now we shall meet again and hold a Thing. If we decide these laws are good then they will be adopted and then all of us,” I stressed the word ‘us’, “will be subject to them.”
I saw in their faces the weight of their new roles sinking in. They were no longer the freebooting raiders who might plunder a neighbour’s cattle. They could not just take what they thought was rightfully theirs. There would still be disputes but they would be settled differently in the future. There were many warriors, now long dead, who would not have accepted such rules and strictures. We had changed since we were the Clan of the Raven’s Wing. The murder of our father and my exile in Norway had ensured that.
“Before we eat and,” I grinned, “drink. I have one more serious item to tell you about. I am old and old men die.” I heard murmurs from them. “I have lived long enough. When the traitor is sentenced tomorrow, I will be content. My son has a daughter. Who knows, soon he may have a son. I want all of you to swear on your swords that when I am gone that my son, William Longsword, will rule this land no matter what the Franks may say. More than that, when my son dies, if he has no male heir, then you will support his daughter Mathilde. She can be advised by a council of lords but the blood of Hrólfr the Horseman must rule this land. It was so prophesied by Skuld and if the blood of my grandfather does not course through the veins of the Duke or Duchess of Normandy then disaster will strike.” My blasphemy had the three priests reaching for their crosses. Father Harold was already unhappy that my men would not be swearing on a Bible. I wanted the oath to be kept. I saw that my men took in the ramifications of my words. They knew what it meant to cross a Norn. They would not risk it. For all of us, Christianity was a new tunic we wore and if it was lost, we would not worry overmuch.
“Take out your swords.” It sounded like wind whistling through trees as the blades were drawn. Each held the hilt before them. It looked a little like a cross. I hoped that would assuage the priests but, in all honesty, I did not care. They all shouted, “We so swear!” They kissed the hilts of their weapons. I saw that act gave satisfaction to the priests for, to them the sword was a cross. What they did not see was the fact that most of my lords, especially the older ones gripped the blades so tightly that they cut themselves. It was deliberate. Blood ran down the blades. It made it a blood oath and blood on the blade guaranteed they would keep it. With that business out of the way we drank and we ate. I spoke with my son. He was now changing. Marriage and the County of Brittany had done that. He was ready for my mantle and we spoke throughout the feast. Others drank the Viking way. I drank the old man’s way. Neither my son nor I were drunk and much was decided.
The trial was held in my stronghold. We gathered in my Great Hall. I had invited the men of Rouen to attend, I wanted justice to be seen to be done. I had my throne. It did not need to be raised. William’s was next to me. The lords who would judge completed the other sides of the square. The men of Rouen could stand and watch. Olaf was brought before us. Egil’s guards placed him in the centre of what we now called, the court. He had been dressed and groomed. His bonds had been cut. He had been fed and given wine. I sat on my throne and William sat to my right. My lords sat on chairs around Olaf who stood facing me. My scribes were seated behind me. They could hear my words but they were discreetly seated out of sight.
“Olaf Olafsson, you are charged with treason. You did conspire with Normandy’s enemies to take our land from us. You had fellow lords and oar brothers slain. You had their families slaughtered. You failed to keep the oath you swore to me as Lord of Normandy! The charges are treason, murder and the breaking of an oath. What have you to say in your defence?”
Perhaps it was the wine we had given him after water for so long or it may have been some last vestige of the former Olaf but he was belligerent. “Göngu-Hrólfr Rognvaldson, you can put mail on a pig but it is still a pig. You are too uncouth to be lord of Normandy!” He glared at the lords around him. “All Vikings are barbarians. Until you become civilised then no man will take any of your family seriously. I do not regret what I did. My only regret is that I failed. I should have heeded the advice of others and had you and your bastard assassinated. It is what you do with a mad dog. You end its life. Had I done that then I would be seated upon that throne and I would be the Count of Normandy!”
My son began to move and I said, “Hold. I am the judge here. Olaf Olafsson, these words come from you? They are not words put in your mouth by another?”
“These are my words.”
“Then, lords of Normandy, what is your verdict? You may talk amongst yourselves and Sámr Oakheart can give me your judgement.”
They did not take long. Sámr allowed them time to speak and then he walked the line. They had each been given a white pebble and a black pebble. They dropped one pebble into the bowl Sámr carried around. He came to me and showed me the bowl. It was filled with black pebbles. “He is guilty, Duke Robert.”
I could see that there were no white pebbles but my priests could not see. The men of Rouen could not see. I had to ask the question. “Were there any dissenters?”
“No, Duke Robert.”
I turned to look over my shoulder to Father Harold, “Write that down. It is important.”
He nodded.
“Olaf Olafsson, you are guilty of the charges. The punishment is death. You called us uncivilised. If we were then my choice of punishment would be the blood eagle. You will not have that punishment not least for that is reserved for brave warriors and that is not you! Sámr Oakheart and Bergil Fast Blade, take the prisoner to the outer bailey. He will be executed in public for we have nothing to hide.”
William carried Long Sword. Robert had sharpened it so that it could be used to shave. I had had a wooden block placed in the bailey. Olaf was carried there. My lords hurried out so that they could have a good view. The gates to my stronghold were open and some of those who had not been in the Hall began to come in when Olaf was taken to the block. Sámr and Bergil put his head across the block. As I neared them, I heard Sámr lean in and say, “I would stay as still as you can, Olaf. It will be quicker for you.” It was spoken out of kindness. If he moved or struggled then I might not take his head. He would still die but it would be a slower death.
The imminence of his death seemed to startle him, “A priest! I need a priest!”
I had expected as much and I waved Father Harold forward. He knelt and listened as Olaf spoke. The delay allowed the bailey to fill up. Fathers put sons on their shoulders so that they could see better. I knew when the priest had finished for he made the sign of the cross. He stood and nodded at me. Olaf Olafsson was confessed. He had had absolution. In his mind, he would go to heaven. The heaven to which he went would not have either his father
or any of the other warriors of the clan. He was welcome to it. I took the sword from William. Olaf had his head turned to look at me. It was a courageous thing to do. I raised the sword and, as I did so, he closed his eyes. It was a reflex. I brought the blade down and struck cleanly. The head fell and blood spurted. There was a moment’s silence and then a cheer. Olaf was the only man I executed. From that day, so long as I lived, all my laws were obeyed. Olaf Olafsson had managed to do one thing right in his life.
A year to the day after the trial, the laws I had written were ratified by a Thing. The year had been the most peaceful year I could remember. We had no wars. We were not attacked nor invaded. The harvest was a good one. King Charles married and my son had another daughter, Gefn. The only black cloud was that I was ill for a month in Þorri. It was the winter sickness. I was hot and sweaty. I sneezed and I coughed. I would not have been worried except for the fact that this had never happened to me before. It was a sign of old age. I had now seen more than seventy summers! I feared that my time on this earth was drawing to a close. I threw myself into making Normandy as strong as it could be. I used the money from taxes to strengthen our ability to defend ourselves. Our men were better armed and mounted. Our strongholds, we now called them castles, were improved. All in all, I was pleased. When, almost a year after our Thing, I was summoned to Paris to meet with the King I wondered what it meant.
I went with my horsemen and Robert and Leif. Both were now young men. They were armed and mailed much as my horsemen. We had more young men for when they were trained by Erik all of them wished to serve with me. I rode with forty men to Paris. The days when I might be ambushed were long gone. When I reached King Charles’ palace, I discovered the reason I had been summoned. His wife, Queen Eadgifu, had given birth to a son, Louis.
I was brought, alone, to the Great Hall. The King and Queen, along with the babe were there. The Archbishop of Paris was also present. It was the King who spoke, “Count Robert, I have a son. I would have you swear that you will do all in your power to see that he attains the throne of the West Franks.”
It was unfair of the King to spring it upon me. I looked from him to the child. All babies looked the same to me but the older I grew the more sentimental I was. I realised that I would not have to do that which I promised. I had but a few years left to me. The King was hale and hearty and so I dropped to one knee, “I so swear.”
The relief was so obvious on the King’s face that I wondered if I had made a mistake.
He led me away and we went to a small ante-chamber, “You cannot know what a relief it is to have a son.”
“You are safe now then, Highness?”
He shook his head, “Safer, that is all. The fact that you are my supporter is equally important to me. My enemies are circling like carrion around a dying animal. What you may not know is that earlier this year I was imprisoned by my nobles. It was only the intervention of the Bishop of Rheims that secured my release. I have few supporters. The birth of Louis buys me time.” He poured me some wine and raised his goblet. “To Robert of Normandy! You are a rock. When you swore the oath to me you were a barbarian and now, even King Edward of Wessex acknowledges that there is a rule of law in your land. What could have been seen as an act of violence was changed to one of justice when you captured your traitor. That was well done. I knew that you were a clever man and you have proved it to the other kings.”
I nodded and sipped the wine. It was a good wine. “It is important that you know of my oaths, King Charles. While you live, I will not attack your land. When you die, I will do all in my power to see that Louis attains the throne.”
“Good.”
“But know that those oaths die with my death. My son has not sworn them. I am an honest man and I keep my word but you need to know exactly what that means.”
He looked surprised, not disappointed, just surprised, “You need not have told me that but it speaks well of you that you did. I know what the oath means. Despite your age you still seem, to me at least, to be in good health. I hope we both emerge from the next few years with our oaths intact. Now that I have a son I can begin to make my land safer. I have heard of a Magyar army which is rampaging the lands to the east of me. Perhaps that threat will unite my lords. I had hoped the birth of Louis would do that but it seems I was wrong.”
We spoke at length about the King’s enemies. I learned that King Edward of England was unwell. That also worried King Charles for two of King Edward’s sons, Athelstan and Elfweard were being touted by different factions as the next king. It seemed to me that our way of passing the crown to the firstborn seemed a better way.
The next year saw me determined to visit as many of my lords as I could. I also spent longer periods with my son and his now three daughters. He was still hopeful that he would have a son. I was not convinced. Perhaps his wife, Sprota, had been cursed. There were such women who only had girls. King Charles’ first wife had been one such. I was now glad that I had put in place an oath which would outlive me. My men began to die. It was not in battle. Like me they were old. Some had been wounded so many times that it was inevitable that they should die before me. Gandálfr had the winter sickness but did not recover. Haraldr grew thin and coughed up blood. He died. The most grievous loss was Erik Gillesson. He died when he was in a stall with a horse. For some reason, the horse went mad and he was trampled to death. The horse was put down. My men knew what had caused it. It was the Norns. I wept when we buried him. Now there was just Sámr, Bjorn the Brave and Bergil Fast Blade who were memories from my past. The rest of my warriors would be waiting for me in Valhalla but it seemed I was still being spared. There were still things I needed to do.
Erik’s son, Bagsecg, returned to Montfort. He would continue to produce horses and men for Normandy but it was not the same. I wondered why I was being kept alive. The Norns had not yet taken me but I could not see the reason.
It was not all sadness. Robert and Leif, son of Egil, now led my bodyguard and both had proved themselves to be good warriors. They had been trained by the best. Robert’s start in life had been hard. Perhaps he had been forged like good steel. At Erik Gillesson’s behest, we had begun to hold competitions at Montfort. It had begun after the Thing. It was designed for warriors to show their prowess. Using blunted lances and wooden swords lords competed with one another. It was a way of practising war without death being the result. It became an annual event at Heyannir. Robert and Leif, leading their team of warriors, won the prize for horsemen each year. My son, William, and his team won the shield wall competition. When Erik died, I asked his son, Bagsecg, to continue the tournament and to hold it in his father’s honour. And so, without fighting, we practised for war and we were ready to fight. At heart, we were still Vikings, it was just that we wore a Frankish coat.
Chapter 11
War came when Louis was a little more than two. It was Hagano who caused the revolt. He had given away bishoprics belonging to Frankish nobles. The lords had had enough and this time they elected a new King. King Robert was Robert of Neustria. He had been plotting for some time with other lords and with the collusion of the King of the East Franks. The first I knew was when Bjorn the Brave sent a rider to Rouen. He told me that King Charles had been deposed and he and his court had fled to Évreux. He and his loyal lords now sheltered at the stronghold of Bjorn the Brave. The King had begged for me to come to his aid.
I was alone when the news arrived. I went to my study and looked at a map of Frankia. Was this the chance I had been waiting for? My oath was no longer valid. Charles was not king. I had sworn my oath to King Charles. His country would be in disarray and my army could seize huge chunks of land. We could even take Paris. I poured some wine and I reflected. Perhaps I was getting old or, more likely the spirits in the Otherworld spoke to me. I heard, in my head, Padraig’s voice. In his own inimitable way, his voice calmly told me that I had sworn an oath to a man and not an office. The King and I had an understanding and I could not abandon him. I had sw
orn he would be King.
Stirred I went to Father Harold, “I need summons writing for my lords. We go to war.”
“To war, lord?”
“King Charles has been deposed and we are honour bound to aid him. I want each of my lords to present themselves with half of their available men at Évreux.”
“Half, lord?”
“I would not leave Normandy defenceless. That should be enough. I will use my bodyguards to send the missives. You have until they are saddled to write them. Have wax ready and I will use my seal!”
“Aye lord.”
“Robert, Leif, summon my bodyguard!”
I suddenly realised that I felt energised in a way I had not felt for years. I now knew why the Norns had saved me for so long. I would be the barbarian who saved Frankia! I should have heard the Norns spinning but I did not.
I sent my bodyguard with the letters for my lords and then I summoned Egil. “I need half of the garrison to march to Évreux,” I told him what had happened.
He nodded, “You are right to go to his aid, lord, and it is time we showed others that Normans can still fight. Since you defeated the Bretons, they think we have become soft.”
“You know your son will be in the forefront?”
“He is a warrior and he has learned much. I could never fight from the back of a horse. I am pleased that he can.” He laughed, “Aye and he can still fight on foot. He will be a better warrior than his father.”
Egil and I went to study the maps. Both Neustria and Poitiers, not to mention Lothringia, were both far from Frankia. King Robert of the West Franks, as he now styled himself, would need time to gather an army. We were closer and my men could protect the King at Évreux. What King Robert would not do would be to try to cross Brittany. The last thing he would need would be an open war with me. Perhaps he hoped I would sit and watch. I had given my word and I would keep it.