Viking Revolt

by Gavin Chappell

  There was a dark muttering from the assembled vikings. Earl Sigvaldi hobbled forwards. ‘What is this lie?’ he panted. ‘My brother would not desert me at the last hour. We planned this moment many years ago. He cannot have gone. Show me.’

  Einar helped the earl to the tent flap. Gest remained under Hild’s scornful gaze. He heard them speaking.

  ‘You are right!’ the earl’s voice came, faint and weak. ‘I see no ships… wait! Wait! Look! Oh, you fool, Einar. There they are, rounding the island. They were moored out of sight. Now they come to join us…’

  ‘Wait, sire,’ came Einar’s stronger voice. ‘That is not the Red Grasp that leads them. It bears an emblem in the form of a spread eagle. The king’s fleet is upon us! King Harald Finehair has come!’

  —31—

  ‘What about this?

  Hild’s voice carried across the din of Earl Sigvaldi’s men. The earl, who had returned with Einar at his side, looked down at Gest, who was now sitting on the deck. Hild hovered over him, a dagger in her hand.

  ‘We don’t have time to worry about a spy,’ the earl said impatiently. ‘And no time to sacrifice him. Just kill him.’

  ‘Nay, sire,’ Einar protested. ‘It pains me to say it, but we need this spy alive. We may be able to use him as a hostage.’

  Earl Sigvaldi thought it over. ‘Hild, guard him. If it seems that we are losing, bring him up on deck. If it looks like there is no hope, kill him.’

  He turned and led his men outside.

  Gest heard angry shouts, the clang of weapons and the musical jangle of mail, the thud of booted feet. Then the clatter of oars being thrust into rowlocks. The deck shuddered as they began to move. At first the distant splash of oars was all that could be heard. Then even more distant noises, the roar of embattled men drifting across the waters. Hild looked up worriedly.

  ‘That’s the fleet of King Harald Finehair,’ Gest commented. ‘Earl Sigvaldi’s forces are a pale shadow of the king’s. You haven’t a hope.’

  Hild kicked him. ‘Quiet!’ she spat. ‘You know nothing. The earl’s brother is coming to help.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Gest wheezed as soon as he got his breath back. ‘Einar said there was no sign of the sea king.’

  Hild crouched down beside him. She set the tip of the dagger to his throat. ‘I will hear nothing more out of you,’ she said and cocked her head to listen to what was happening outside.

  ‘There will be no mercy for you if they find you here,’ Gest said, adding, ‘standing over my dead body.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Hild laughed. ‘Your king will be caught between two forces, the earl’s and King Sigfrid’s. They will crush him, then everything will go back to how it was. The kings of Rogaland will bow the knee to no one.’

  ‘What do you care about Rogaland?’ Gest asked. ‘You’re English, aren’t you?’

  From outside the sound of shouting. Earl Sigvaldi’s tremulous tones were followed by Einar’s deep throated baying. From further away came other voices. Gest stiffened.

  Hild noticed. ‘What is happening?’ she hissed.

  ‘The earl is issuing a challenge,’ Gest said. ‘And it has been answered by a man whose voice I know. Hrafnsvart, the chief of the Gestasveit. They are parleying now.’ He looked at Hild. ‘Your friends have not a hope. Sigfrid isn’t coming. You might as well let me go. I’ll speak for you….’

  ‘I thought I told you to be quiet!’ Hild spat. She pricked her dagger point into the soft flesh under his jaw. ‘I won’t abandon my lord the earl. Earl! Pah! By his he is a king!’

  ‘What would his brother say to that?’ Gest asked. ‘Sigfrid Redhand is king of the sea.’

  ‘And Earl Sigvaldi will be king of the land!’ Hild told him defiantly. ‘That’s the deal!’ She broke off, as if she had said too much.

  Gest shook his head. ‘But you’re a thrall,’ he said. ‘You’re from England. What could all this mean to you?’

  The oars clacked faster in the rowlocks and the dragon ship gathered speed. The air shrieked and whipped to the sound of arrows. Men screamed in pain and death agony. The deck lurched, but still the dragon ship sailed on.

  Gest peered out through the slit of pale light that was the tent flap. Outside the sky was dark with arrows. Fallen men littered the deck, other men hauled desperately at the oars, but mailed vikings stood in the prow, Einar and Earl Sigvaldi among them, resplendent in glittering helmets, clutching swords and axes. Even as he watched, an arrow swooped down and one of the vikings fell backwards, bearded mouth gaping in pain as he clutched at the feathered shaft jutting from his heart.

  In the distance was a longship. Earl Sigvaldi’s dragon ship was sailing straight for it. Einar shouted an order and the oarsmen unshipped their oars, sprang up and snatched weapons and shields, and ran to the side of the better armoured vikings. The ship ploughed straight into the enemy longship. The deck shook. Hild was thrown from her feet and fell sprawling across Gest.

  Gest’s head hit the deck and for a moment he was dazed. Dimly he heard the sound of fighting men outside, and realised that the earl’s men were boarding the enemy longship. But he could no longer see outside. As he gazed numbly up at the awning, he became aware that, above the roar of battle from outside, Hild was speaking.

  ‘I was only a girl when they came. The men from the north. Out of the sea, without warning. They came to steal our cattle, but my father and the other men took spears and bows and went to fight them. They… never came back. The Northmen came instead. They had slain our menfolk and then they came for us, the women and girls. They burnt our cottages and slaughtered our beasts, killed anyone too young to be sold as a thrall and led the rest of us down to the strand.

  ‘That was when I first knew a man. Men. Rough, crude, hairy men. They hurt me. But only enough to break me in. Don’t spoil the goods, one of them said. He wore gold and silver chased armour. I learnt that he was a son of the man who had made himself king of the Northmen. An important man in his own land. They called him Eirik.’

  Gest stirred. He turned his head again. The fight outside was growing more desperate. Would the king’s men sink the ship with Gest still aboard? He had to free himself and find them, make himself known.

  ‘Eirik?’ he said absently. ‘The king has a son of that name. One of many, but the most promising. I didn’t know his raids took him to England.’

  ‘His men sold me in the market at Kaupang,’ she said. ‘That was when I was bought by a man from Rogaland. He had me trained to please men, and gave me as a gift to Earl Sigvaldi. The earl was kind to me. The first man since my father to treat me well. But he wanted me to be the leman of a man who farmed a steading belonging to the king. I didn’t want to leave, but he told me that I was to work for him, to report everything I saw when the king’s steward was absent.’

  ‘So you became the earl’s spy,’ Gest said. ‘And that’s why you’re loyal to him. He was kind to you. He was planning this all along, but take a look out there! His plans have proven worthless, his ships are being scuppered by the true king of Norway—and his own brother has betrayed him! Earl Sigvaldi’s rebellion has failed.’

  Hild wept. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she told him. ‘His own brother? It can’t be true. Nay,’ she shook her head, ‘King Sigfrid will join us.’

  She rose and went to the tent flap. The ring of blade on blade was growing louder. Gest tested his bonds to see if he could free himself. But the earl’s men had bound him fast. Try as he might, the bonds only grew tighter. He felt as if they would cut through his wrists before he got free.

  ‘What do you see out there?’ he called. The clamour of battle was growing ever louder. Men were shouting, yelling, crying; blades clashed, shield clattered, byrnies rang. The din was almost deafening. ‘What do you see?’ he asked again.

  Hild found a whetstone in one of the men’s kit and began to sharpen the dagger.

  ‘The earl told me,’ she murmured, ‘that if it seemed that there was no hope, I was to k
ill you…’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Gest said. ‘You need me as a hostage, remember? The earl will call for me if he needs to bargain for his freedom. I’m worth more alive than dead.’ His voice was shrill in his own ears. Hild sat down cross legged and continued to sharpen the blade.

  ‘You told me that the earl’s cause is lost,’ she said. ‘And he told me to kill you if there was no hope.’

  ‘Could you do that?’ Gest challenged her. ‘Could you slip that knife into my heart? Feel my blood, hot and salty, gush across your hands? Have you ever killed a man?’ he asked her.

  Biting her lip, she shook her head.

  ‘And if you do kill me,’ he added, ‘what happens to you? If the earl has been slain, killing me would be the death of your last hope.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she demanded. ‘Are you trying to bargain with me? You’re bound and helpless. What can you offer me?’

  ‘Your life,’ Gest said. ‘Only your life.’

  ‘You’d lie there at my mercy,’ she laughed mirthlessly, ‘my dagger at your throat, and offer me my life? Your life is mine to take, but you’re in no position to…’

  ‘Could you kill me?’ Gest tried again. ‘We have shared a bed, laughed and loved together. And you’d thrust that blade into my heart? Or cut my throat? I’ve killed men. It gets easier after a time, but the first time….’ He shook his head.

  ‘I’ve slaughtered swine at the beginning of winter,’ she said defiantly, ‘wrung the necks of chickens… It was hard when I was a girl, but I’ve hardened as I’ve grown older.’

  Gest shook his head. ‘Not the same. Killing swine is as nothing to killing men. Trust me. May you never learn how hard it is.’

  There was a great roar from outside. They both looked up. Men were shouting again, and Gest caught the words, ‘Dead! He’s dead!’ The ring of blade on blade broke out again. The situation was growing desperate.

  ‘Dead,’ Hild murmured. ‘But who?’

  Gest glanced towards the tent flap. The fight was reaching some kind of climax, in a crescendo of steel. Dark figures were struggling, blocking out the sunlight, but he could make out no detail. Who was dead? Someone of some significance, it seemed. But on which side?

  ‘Take a look out there,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe you’ll find out.’

  She shot him an angry glance but did as he bade, crossing over to the flap and peering outside. She came back to him, her face grave. Gest looked quizzically in her direction. The roar of battle had not abated.

  ‘Did you see who it was they had killed?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘The deck is awash with blood,’ she said, ‘and dead and dying men lie everywhere. The sky is black with ravens. Men still fight, aboard this ship and others. They are fighting, wearily, it seems, and they’re bloody and their shields are battered. But still they fight. I saw no man I knew. Each had a face like a mask of horror. And the sea is packed with ships, both the earl’s vessels and those of King Harald Finehair. Aboard each, men are fighting. I couldn’t see who was winning.’

  ‘Let me up,’ Gest said, struggling to get to his feet.

  ‘Stay there!’ she hissed. She seized him and set the dagger blade to his throat again. ‘Don’t move again or I will kill you like the swine you are. I may not have killed a man before, but I brought about Thorstein’s death, betrayed him after he had taken me into his confidence. So I am already a killer. The act itself can be no worse.’

  A chill ran down Gest’s spine as the cold steel caressed his flesh. ‘I thought we’d been already spoken on this matter. You need me alive if you don’t want them to kill you out of hand. I will speak in your favour if you spare me.’

  ‘So you say,’ she murmured. ‘But I have a better idea. If the king’s men come here, I will demand safe passage or you die. They will give me a boat and I will row away to safety, with you as my hostage. And then I will go back home.’

  ‘Back home?’ Gest’s words rang hollow in a sudden silence. ‘You think you will be able to row all the way back to England? It’s a long way.’

  ‘We will take turns,’ she said. ‘You will row too, or I’ll kill you…’

  ‘Enough of this,’ Gest said. ‘It’s gone quiet. What’s happened?’

  Her face was wracked by conflicting feelings. ‘The fight is over. The earl has won…’

  ‘Or the king,’ Gest remarked.

  Footsteps rang loudly outside. They both exchanged looks. Hild rose to her feet.

  ‘Wait!’ Gest hissed. But she ignored him, and walked dagger in hand to the opening.

  The footsteps halted. From further away drifted triumphant voices. Hild reached the opening. She knelt down to peer out.

  There was a whizzing sound, followed by a wet, chopping thud. Hild’s body fell backwards and blood spurted across the deck. Some of it spattered his cheek. Numb with shock, he lay unmoving as a huge dark shape appeared in the opening, silhouetted against the light. It held Hild’s head in one hand, a long handled axe in the other, and was peering into the gloom in puzzlement.

  ‘I’ve killed a girl,’ it said. ‘What was she doing here?’ He broke off as Gest stirred. ‘Who’s that?’ he barked. ‘Who’s that in there?’

  He flung down Hild’s head and it rolled away into the shadows, glassy eyes staring into the dark. He gripped the axe in both hands, advancing into the gloom.

  ‘It’s me, you fool, Bjorn,’ Gest said, feeling sick. ‘What did you kill Hild for?’

  Bjorn’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. ‘What are you doing, Gest? The fight’s over. Get up off the deck,’ he urged him. ‘You’ll catch your death.’

  —32—

  ‘By now you must have some idea of who was responsible for Thorstein’s death.’

  Hauk sat back in his workshop in Kaupang, gazing at his two visitors. One was the man he knew as Hunding, but he was better known to his other visitor as Gest. The name, which meant both “stranger” and “guest”, was commonly used by Gestasveit spies.

  From outside came a hubbub of carts and passers-by, men shouting their wares, arguments… All the normal sounds of a trading town. Kaupang had been saved, thanks to the opportune appearance of the king’s fleet. Thanks to this man who sat before him.

  The third man in Hauk’s workshop was Bjorn. He looked from one to the other. ‘So was that why you came to Rogaland, Gest?’ he asked. ‘To find out who had killed your predecessor?’ Gest nodded.

  Some days had passed since the sea fight, and they had gathered in Hauk’s workshop to discuss both past and future.

  ‘That was my original mission,’ he said. ‘Word of Thorstein’s death reached Tunsberg and I was called to the guest hall where Hrafnsvart told me to go to Rogaland and learn the truth. So I went there as Thorstein’s replacement. In the end, I heard it from the lips of a berserk called Valgard—that Sigfrid Redhand’s men burnt Thorstein’s hall. But Sigfrid Redhand was not working alone. Einar had to turn a blind eye to his vikings when they sailed into Boknafjord that night. And Einar himself was not the only traitor in Rogaland…’

  ‘When do you think Earl Sigvaldi began to suspect you?’ Bjorn asked. ‘And when did you in turn suspect Earl Sigvaldi?’

  ‘I think the earl suspected me from the start,’ said Gest. ‘And why not? He had successfully removed a spy with the aid of his brother’s vikings. Any replacement would be under suspicion. The whole plan hinged on secrecy, of course. And I gave him cause to work openly against me, when I unwittingly slew his crazed father…’

  ‘Ah, and then there was the earl’s brother,’ Bjorn said. ‘Who would have thought that the notorious Sigfrid Redhand was kin to the earl of Rogaland? And yet…’ He looked troubled.

  ‘What is it?’ Hauk asked, sharing a secret smile with Gest.

  ‘The sea king had you in his clutches,’ Bjorn burst out, ‘but then he let you go. Sailed his ships away in the night, so Earl Sigvaldi had only his own ships for the attack on Kaupang—and then had to face the king’s fle
et.’

  Gest laughed quietly. ‘When I came to speak with Hauk after discovering the ships in Hafrsfjord, he told me that there was another spy in those waters, so secret that none knew his identity. I thought it was you at first, since you were aiding me…’

  Bjorn laughed. ‘I knew nothing,’ he said. ‘It was only the fact that you and I had both had trouble with the so-called trolls that brought us together. And we were both outlanders, at odds with the Rogalanders. Did you find the real spy after I left you on the island where Sigfrid Redhand’s fleet was anchored?’

  Gest nodded. ‘I did, but it was a long time, almost too late, before he identified himself to me. He had no reason to suspect me as a fellow spy. In the end, it was merely my blundering on a viking raid that inspired him to utter the secret watchword. Even then I was wary. Others in that land had learnt Gestasveit watchwords, but betrayed me….’

  ‘So the sea king himself was a spy of the Gestasveit!’ Bjorn realised. ‘But how… he was a thorn in the side of the king! His ships raided Norway for years.’

  ‘At first he was an enemy,’ Hauk broke in. ‘But he tells us that Thorstein, while he still lived, wormed his way into Sigfrid Redhand’s confidence, and made him an offer.’

  ‘What kind of offer?’ Bjorn asked.

  ‘What does a king of the sea want the most?’ Hauk asked. ‘Land, of course. In return for working secretly for the king he was promised a return of his ancestral lands. He was playing a dangerous double game, it seems, and hoped also to gain them by conspiring with his brother. But Earl Sigvaldi insisted that he, as the elder brother, must rule the land, while Sigfrid Redhand would be land warden, defending their coasts from vikings.’

  ‘When he identified himself to me,’ Gest said, ‘I told him that if he withdrew his help from his brother, he would be given Rogaland as his reward. This goes no further,’ he added. ‘No one is to know that the new earl of Rogaland reached his position by betraying his own brother.’