Viking Revolt

by Gavin Chappell

  Asgeir rode at the forefront, his face grim. Behind him came Gest, the troll’s body slung across his saddlebow and its head hanging from a strap. Behind Gest was Bjorn, with another bundle carried similarly. Egil, Hogni, and the rest of the survivors rode at their back.

  They galloped across the garth and in through the open doors of the hall, the clattering of their hoofs echoing and magnified by the high roof above. Few folk were visible in the dim glow of the fire trenches, but Earl Sigvaldi sat upon his high seat, pulling the ears of his dogs absently as he spoke with his foster father Einar and other men. As the riders galloped into the hall, he looked up in dismay. His head shook.

  His thin, reedy voice drifted across the hall, almost drowned out by the noise from the men as they reined their horses in the middle of the floor.

  ‘What is the reason for this outrageous entrance? Who rides helter-skelter into my hall with so little thought for propriety? Is that you, Asgeir? Are you responsible for this tumult, this hurly-burly?’

  His words in another man’s throat would have been impressive. As it was, he sounded only impotent, petulant.

  Asgeir leapt down off his horse and flung his reins to a nearby thrall. Then he strode across the hall floor towards the high seat.

  ‘I greet you, my lord, in a dark time,’ he said in ringing tones that were heard right across the hall. ‘I return, and with me the king’s man Gest, and the others who set out on the trail of the trolls.’

  Earl Sigvaldi’s weak, rheumy eyes scanned the horsemen, fixing on Gest’s own for a moment before moving on to take in all his unexpected visitors.

  ‘There are fewer of you now than set out,’ he remarked. ‘What happened to the others?’

  Asgeir bowed his head. ‘Men died on our expedition,’ he said. ‘Some lie at the bottom of the fjord, some are lost within caves beneath the earth.’

  ‘You return with a tale of failure?’ Earl Sigvaldi crowed. ‘This would not be the first time that the king’s man has led my folk into danger—and for what? Gest swore that he would free us from the trolls that have plagued our lands for years.’ He shook his head, and his voice grew stronger as he added, ‘I should have known that I could not trust him to fulfil his vow.’

  Gest spurred his horse forward. He leaned down, took the troll’s head from his saddle strap, and held it high.

  ‘Thus is my vow fulfilled, Earl Sigvaldi,’ he said, and the hall rustled to the murmur of men. He shook the head, turning it to left and right so that all in the hall could see the slack jaws, the eyes that rolled in their sockets.

  The earl sprang back, colliding with the back of his seat. Beside him, Einar half rose to stare at the severed head. His eyes glinted.

  Then he turned to look down at the earl. ‘I know this face,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘I know it as well as I know the face of my own lord. We were friends long ago, before he was driven out of his wits and from his rightful throne.’

  Asgeir nodded. ‘It is the face of Surt, whose brother was king of Rogaland before the coming of King Harald Finehair. It is the face of your father, my lord.’

  There was a hiss of horror from the others. Gest lowered the head that he had been holding so high.

  ‘It is also the face of the troll that has haunted this country these nine years,’ he said. ‘Ever since your father fled into the wilds, mad with grief, my lord.’ He stared down at Earl Sigvaldi. ‘It is your father who was the troll, my lord. Your father who has harried and haunted the lands you rule. And I have slain him.’

  Earl Sigvaldi’s voice was a snakelike hiss in the silence that followed.

  ‘You… killed… my father,’ he said slowly, as if unable to understand the news that he had heard. ‘It is you… the king’s man… who is my father’s killer.’

  Gest flung the head. It whizzed through the air to crash with a clatter on the packed earth at Earl Sigvaldi’s feet, rolling over so that its dead eyes gazed accusingly up at his. The earl stared back in horror.

  ‘Take a good look, Earl Sigvaldi,’ Gest said harshly. ‘This is the troll who I vowed to slay. And thus my vow is fulfilled.’

  Einar motioned to a waiting thrall, who hurried forwards. ‘Take this away and prepare it for burial,’ he said urgently. ‘It must not lie in the muck at the earl’s feet a moment longer.’

  ‘And while you’re about it,’ Gest told the thrall, ‘here is the rest.’ And he turned in his saddle, seized and flung down the torso of the troll—of the earl’s father.

  More thralls came forwards and reverently gathered up the emaciated trunk, to bear it off after their fellow, who carried Surt’s head in his hands, sobbing piteously. All the thralls set up a wail over the mortal remains of their long lost lord. Einar, Earl Sigvaldi, and the other free men by the high seat did not lose their composure. But the earl cast his cloak over his head, and his wife came to comfort him.

  ‘Asgeir, were you there?’ Einar asked. ‘Tell us how this came about. Did this Gest truly slay my old friend and comrade in arms, our earl’s father?’

  ‘He slew him, indeed,’ said Asgeir. ‘What is more, he slew him at night time. I think everyone in this hall knows the law well enough to see what that means.’

  Earl Sigvaldi flung back his cloak. His face was tear streaked. ‘Murder!’ he cried, froth foaming on his lips as he pointed accusingly at Gest. ‘Murderer! You murdered my father!’

  He tottered to his feet and clumsily half drew his sword. ‘I’ll avenge him!’ he shrieked. His hounds sent up a piteous baying.

  Gest gave Asgeir a dark look, but he did not draw his own sword, nor did he dismount to meet the earl’s challenge.

  ‘We tracked the troll back to his lair,’ he told the assembled folk. More had entered the hall while Einar and Asgeir were talking. All had heard Earl Sigvaldi’s accusation.

  ‘It was a hard fight,’ he added. ‘Simply reaching the cave was hard. Men lost their lives. At last we found a way up through the wood as night was falling, and I went forwards alone to explore the cave. It was there that I met the troll. We fought before dawn broke.’

  ‘Troll?’ Earl Sigvaldi shouted. ‘You killed my father. And by your own words, you slew him at night. By all the laws of this land, killing by day is manslaughter, but killing by night is murder! You murdered my father!’ He turned to Einar for confirmation. ‘You have the law by heart, foster father. Am I not right?’

  Einar nodded. ‘To kill a man by night is murder,’ he said gruffly. ‘The penalty is the greater outlawry.’

  The accused, if found guilty, would be banished from the kingdom for life. Back home in Naumdale, as a young man, Gest had suffered lesser outlawry for killing a man. If he had not found a better berth as a guest of the king, he would have been allowed to return to Naumdale after three years were up. He had never returned, knowing full well that the man’s kin would kill him, lawfully or unlawfully, if he set foot in his homeland.

  And now it seemed that he faced a similar fate.

  Bjorn rode forwards. He hauled up the bundle he carried over his saddlebow. The wrappings fell back and all saw the gnawed corpse of a young girl.

  ‘My lord,’ he said, and his voice shook with passion, ‘Your father slew my daughter! Slew her and …’ He choked. ‘And tried to eat her. And there were many bones in his cave, bones of men as well as beasts. Men have vanished from these lands since your father’s leave-taking. No doubt he carried them off to devour them in his cave.’ He looked about him. ‘Gest has done us all a favour by ending the life of this troll—and troll he had become, my lord. That was not your father, whatever he had been when you remember him. He was no longer a man, subject to the laws of the land, but rather a troll, far beyond the law. And it was with your blessing that we went hunting him. Gest should be rewarded for his deed, not reviled.’

  ‘My father…’ Earl Sigvaldi wheezed, ‘My father was a man. A man of royal blood. He cared not for the laws of the land. He slew those with whom his kin was at feud and paid wergild to no man.
And in my veins burns my father’s blood. The blood that is on your hands, king’s man!’

  He tottered forward, sword unsheathed, raging. ‘Dismount!’ he shrieked as his hounds howled. ‘Dismount and meet me with steel in your hand! And then shall we see who is the better man!’

  ‘Nay!’ yelled Bjorn as Gest dismounted. The king’s man ignored his friend, brandishing the sword that the troll had stolen as he came forward to meet the earl.

  ‘Nay!’ Einar echoed Bjorn’s words. He signalled to Asgeir and together they seized the earl and dragged him back despite his struggles. As they did, Bjorn dismounted, and went to Gest’s side.

  ‘This is not the way,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see that Asgeir has provoked this situation? And Einar. We know they’re working together. They want you dead…’

  ‘Thank you, Bjorn,’ said Gest in a grim undertone. ‘But I cannot afford to be seen as a coward. Besides, I have nothing to fear fighting that weakling earl.’

  ‘Nay,’ said Bjorn, ‘but if you were to kill him, Einar could use it against you. Don’t you see? They want you out of the way. They want…’

  ‘King’s man!’ Einar shouted from the high seat where he now stood beside the unmoving earl. ‘Would you draw steel in Earl Sigvaldi’s presence? You who represent the king?’

  Gest lowered his sword. ‘I draw steel whenever I am challenged,’ he said. ‘Now that the earl has thought better of it, I shall sheathe my blade.’

  He had no sheath, however, having left it in his own hall after the troll took his sword. Instead he thrust it into his belt to hang at his side. He rested his left hand on the pommel and exchanged a look with Bjorn.

  ‘What now, my lord?’ he addressed the earl. ‘You maintain that I murdered your father. That is a serious charge. I, however, say that I slew the troll that troubled your lands, as I had vowed to do. He was no longer your father, but an addle-pated outlaw who had sunk to the level of a beast. His death has saved many more of your folk from suffering the fate of Bjorn’s daughter.’

  Cold sweat sheened Earl Sigvaldi’s skin. He looked unwell, seemed barely aware of where he was. Gest wondered if all his kin suffered from some kind of madness. The madness of Surt, who had run away into the wilds to live as a troll, was perhaps more dangerous than the earl’s own weakness of mind. But who knew what Earl Sigvaldi was capable of? And what his cronies might egg him on to?

  ‘I summon you to the Midsummer Thing,’ the earl told him, as his wife mopped his brow and his hounds growled furiously. ‘There this whole matter will be decided, with witnesses and lawmen and a jury. Should you be found guilty of murder, the penalty will be the greater outlawry, king’s man or no king’s man. I shall send word of this matter to the king, and in the meantime, I would ask you to remain at your steading. What is your answer?’

  Gest looked from the earl to the two men who stood flanking him. Asgeir returned his gaze with a sneer. Einar was coldly triumphant.

  Bjorn’s words were true. These men were working against him. They had poisoned the earl’s ear. They must have hoped that the troll would kill him as it had killed so many others. When it did not, but instead turned out to be the earl’s father, the discovery gave them another chance. If he was unable to leave his own steading, Gest would not be able to learn anything more about these mysterious vikings and their plot to burn Kaupang. He had until Midsummer.

  He glanced at Bjorn, who gave him an encouraging look. ‘Very well, earl,’ Gest said. ‘I will abide by your demands.’

  But he lied.

  As they both rode back up the strand together, Bjorn spoke with Gest.

  ‘Will you really stay in your steading?’ he asked. ‘You have given your word that you will do so while all were listening, and yet…’

  ‘And yet it will be impossible for me to solve this riddle,’ Gest said wryly, ‘if I cannot leave.’

  Bjorn nodded seriously. ‘I will do what I can for you,’ he added, ‘You know that. Now I know that my daughter was carried off by Surt, matters are different.’ He still carried her mortal remains over his saddlebow; he would bury them on his return to his steading. ‘But I am still your man, king’s steward. So I will work for you. I’m just a farmer. I will help you as much as I can, but you know what you are doing, Gest. So if you stay on your steading until Midsummer…’

  ‘At Midsummer,’ Gest said meditatively, ‘I will have to face these trumped up charges. Earl Sigvaldi has been egged on by Einar and Asgeir to bring me low. I very much doubt that I will get a fair trial. The earl is a weak man, easily used by others. Einar and Asgeir know that I threaten them. They want to get rid of me.’ He looked frankly at Bjorn. ‘Thank you for your offer of help,’ he added. ‘It won’t go unforgotten, of course.’

  Bjorn looked hurt. ‘You’d spurn my offer?’ he said.

  Gest shook his head quickly. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you up on it. But I’m not asking you to go into danger on your own for me, or for the king. I want you to come with me.’

  ‘With you?’ Bjorn echoed. ‘You mean…’

  ‘I mean I’ll pay no heed to the earl’s words,’ Gest said. ‘He’s a weakling and a fool, and I have no regard for him. What matters is Einar and Asgeir and whoever else they are working with. But we’ll find out—together.’

  ‘You gave your word,’ Bjorn protested. ‘It is dishonourable to break your word.’

  ‘What faces us means much more than the honour of a king’s man,’ Gest said, and spurred his horse into a gallop.

  —18—

  Bjorn and Gest rode on to Bjorn’s steading, where with the household gathered to mourn, his daughter’s remains were interred with much solemnity in a barrow near the hall. Gest was introduced to the farmer’s wife, a mousy, diminutive fair haired woman with ice blue eyes, although they were reddened with weeping.

  As soon as seemed decent, Gest reminded the grieving father of their intentions.

  ‘Come to my hall. When we are between four walls,’ he said, ‘we will be able to plan our approach.’

  Once the wake was over, Bjorn seemed content to go with Gest, to ride alongside him to the steading, and to join him in his clandestine work. As an outsider in Earl Sigvaldi’s land, he had stronger loyalties to the king than to any of the local folk. Although Gest had yet to reveal his true identity, his status as a housecarl was sufficient to secure the man’s loyalty.

  As they drew closer to the stockade, Gest began to feel uneasy. The gates were standing open, and he could see no one at work in the fields, nor any herds in the meadow. An eerie hush hung over the steading, which they broke as they galloped into the garth. They reined their horses and dismounted. From the byre came a dejected lowing, and when Gest investigated he saw that the cattle had neither been pastured nor milked.

  He returned to Bjorn. ‘Surely they haven’t run off,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t so foolish. I was only away a short time. And they were well treated at this steading.’

  Bjorn shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t get far,’ he said, ‘unless they took ship. Then who knows where they might end up.’

  Gest shook his head impatiently. ‘The skiff and the fishing boats were in the boatsheds when we rode past,’ he said. ‘They must have taken to the woods. They’ll die there. They are not of the stuff that makes outlaws. One meeting with a bear or a wolf pack will be enough.’

  At a sudden noise from behind him, Gest turned to see a yawning figure standing in the hall doorway, stretching. It was Dufthak. Seeing the two men in the garth, he paled, shut his mouth mid yawn, dropped his arms, and bolted back inside.

  ‘Come back!’ Gest roared. He glanced angrily at Bjorn. ‘So that’s it! My back is turned and they’re all sleeping. Come on!’

  After tethering the two horses, he led Bjorn into the hall. Passing under the porch, he could hear raised voices.

  They swept into the hall to find Dufthak haranguing the sleepy figures of the other thralls. They started guiltily at Gest’s appearance.

 
; Njal stumbled forwards, hauling on his tunic. ‘Master!’ he cried. ‘You’ve returned!’

  Gest looked sardonically at the puddles of ale on the floor and the mead horns and trenchers that lay untended upon the trestles. The more he looked, the more he saw the hall was in disarray. Quite a feast they had helped themselves to while he was gone. ‘So it seems. And it seems that you were not expecting my return so soon.’

  ‘Did you find Hild?’ asked Kraka, brushing back the straggly, unkempt hair that fell in her bleary eyes. She looked about her but her eyes fell only on Bjorn’s grim face and she looked away.

  Gest pushed through them, and Bjorn followed him to the high seat, where both sat down. Gest’s eyes glinted malignantly.

  ‘What made you think that I would not return?’ he snapped. When only silence answered him, he added, ‘I did not find Hild, though I found and slew the troll who you told me had carried her off.’

  ‘You slew the trolls?’ Njal gaped at him. He turned to the others. ‘I said the master would live,’ he said. ‘Whatever we were told.’

  ‘There was only ever one troll,’ Gest said. ‘And he was only a crazed old man, no worthy opponent. The only reason he became such a scourge was because he knew how to take advantage of a good defensive position.’

  ‘But what were you told?’ Bjorn rumbled. ‘And who told you?’

  Njal looked at him. Then at Gest. ‘Men came here,’ he said. ‘They said you were not returning, that the trolls would have killed you. They forced their way in, and ransacked the place.’

  ‘They did not drive off the cattle,’ Bjorn remarked. ‘Nor did they burn the buildings. They have not taken off much loot.’ He looked about him. ‘It’s hard to say, neighbour, if this clutter is the aftermath of a ransacking or just the slovenliness of your thralls. I’d beat them all soundly if I were you.’

  ‘Thank you for your counsel,’ Gest said. He looked back at his thralls. ‘What do you have to say for yourselves?’

  Kraka spoke for the others. ‘They were armed men,’ she said. ‘They rode into the garth when we were driving the cattle back into the byres for the evening.’