Mother of Kings

by Poul Anderson

  Facing them, outside the holy ring, were benches for those men who were bringing suits and those of high rank. Behind these clustered such henchmen and others as they had taken along out of their followings. Everybody was unarmed, unless one reckoned their knives, but often glares flew back and forth. When the lawman had called for silence, it fell thick. Gunnhild heard the breathing at her back, harsh and heavy.

  Sheepskins covered the bench for Eirik and her. They were soon too warm beneath her gown. She could not shift about; she must sit haughtily straight and still. Her eyes could rove, she could turn her head slightly. Yonder—it leaped at her—were Arinbjörn, and Egil by him. The hersir had paid her a short visit. The Icelander had enough wit to keep himself well aside.

  She would know those heavy, meeting brows, thick nose, gash of a mouth, headland of a jaw, bull neck, were the two of them in Helheim. The great frame had filled out even more, but the hair had gotten thin, the bushy beard flecked with white. His goodly clothes fitted him ill. Scarred hands clasped knees. She knew that his own eyes, black in their caves of bone, darted to and fro like a wild beast’s.

  Eirik hardly moved either, nor did anything show on his sharp features. Gunnhild was glad that her brother Aalf the Shipman, who had taken her to Finnmork and gone with her to the South, stood at her back.

  The lawman called the case. Egil and Arinbjörn rose. They walked to take a stand between the king and the judges. Berg-Önund lumbered from his seat to loom at the farther side, almost as ugly and angry as Egil. All gave Eirik a few words of due respect. Gunnhild could not tell whether Egil’s were hollow or hopeful.

  Stillness came down. Somewhere a horse neighed. A hawk swept high overhead. Then Egil trod forward. Having brought the suit, he would speak first.

  The deep voice rolled across the field and over the wall of watchers. “I, Egil Skallagrimsson, take witness to this, that I bid Önund, son of Thorgeir Thornfoot, or any man who may undertake his defense, to hear my oath and my complaint and claim against him, with all the truths and the words of law that I will set out. I bid him in lawful wise before this gathering, so that the judges may hear me in full.

  “I take witness to this, that I hereby swear a lawful oath before the gods of law and justice, Njörd, Frey, and almighty Thor, that I will plead my case truthfully, justly, and lawfully, to the best of my knowledge; and I will bring all my proofs and witnesses in seemly wise, and speak faithfully, for as long as I am in this suit.”

  It was wrong that he have so rich a voice, flowing and booming, singing and thundering, like wind and waves, Gunnhild thought. Likewise was it wrong that he knew his way through the tangles of the law. Well, but he must be holding his wolf-soul on a leash. It strained, plunged, and snarled in his breast. If someone—if she—somehow made him let go, it would raven forth and folk would remember why he had been outlawed in Norway.

  Knowing the burden of his words, she only half listened to them. Her thoughts were on how to undo him. He gave his grounds for claiming the inheritance of Björn Brynjolfsson, in that his wife Aasgerd, Björn’s daughter, had the right to it; that she was freeborn in every branch of her forebears, among whom were hersirs and even kings; therefore he asked the judges to award him half of what Björn left, both lands and movables. It was a straightforward speech such as would go well with hardheaded, heedful men.

  He ended and stepped back. Berg-Önund came to the fore. “My wife Gunnhild,” he said, with a glance at the queen of the same name, “is the daughter of Björn and his wife Aalof, whom Björn lawfully wedded. Gunnhild is Björn’s rightful heiress, and therefore I have taken everything he owned, because I knew that Björn’s other daughter had no claim to the inheritance. Her mother was stolen away and made a leman, against the will of her kinfolk, and dragged from one land to the next. But you, Egil, think you can behave here as you have everywhere else, overweeningly and unrighteously. That will not help you here, for King Eirik and Queen Gunnhild have promised I shall have law and justice wherever they hold sway.”

  His speech became one long sneer. He had witnesses to show that Thora Orfrey-sleeve had gone about with vikings and Aasgerd was born outland in outlawry. Egil himself was outlawed, yet he cared so little for the king’s word that he returned to lie about his thrall woman being an heiress. The judges should award Önund the whole of the estate, and Aasgerd to the king as forfeited property.

  Egil’s jaw muscles worked, his hands knotted, and sweat studded the broad brow. Otherwise he stayed rock-still. Arinbjörn was white when Önund ended. As he took over, a shiver went beneath his words.

  “We will bring witnesses, King Eirik, and thereto lay oaths, that it was clearly agreed when the quarrel was made up between Thorir my father and Björn Brynjolfsson that Thora’s daughter Aasgerd would have rights of inheritance from her father Björn. Moreover, we will bring witnesses to what is widely known, lord, that you yourself lifted Björn’s outlawry, whereby the whole case that had hitherto stood between the men became empty.”

  This was for the king at least as much as for the judges. Gunnhild thrilled at what Eirik might say. But he sat unstirring, his face a mask. On the one hand, she knew, he hated Egil and Önund was a friend. On the other hand, Arinbjörn was his foster brother, and in spite of everything seemed as dear to him yet as any man could be to that steely heart. Also, there was the matter of law and of how these hundreds of men would look upon whatever he did. Gunnhild set her teeth.

  Again Egil stepped ahead, to stand before her bench. His gaze locked on Eirik’s ice-blue eyes. Neither man winked. The hush deepened. Quoth Egil:

  “The thievish son of Thornfoot

  thrallborn dares call my wife.

  Gross is Önund and greedy,

  grabbing what is not his.

  Warrior, hear my wish.

  My wife shall have her rights.

  Son of kings, we will speak

  and swear to naught but the truth.”

  Silence stretched. Gunnhild strangled a shriek. Here she sat helpless, she who had brought down kings, while Egil was free to wield the witchcraft of a skald. So skillfully wrought a poem—kennings interwoven, “spearshaker” for “warrior,” “pourer of the ale” and “goddess of the needle” for “wife”—so quickly made, on the spot, roused awe. A poem brought a kind of deathlessness, the memory of a man living on in fame or in scorn till the world ended.

  From as far away as the hawk that hovered on the wind, she watched Arinbjörn call his witnesses, twelve of them, men of mark. Yes, she heard through the wind within her, they had been there when Thorir and Björn came to terms. They offered to take oath that what Arinbjörn said was true.

  The judges drew together and talked low among themselves. The wind blew stronger.

  “Yes,” she heard their spokesman say, “we are willing to take these oaths, if the king does not forbid it.”

  Surely the king wanted to. Surely he hungered to slay the evildoer who had killed men of his, brought shame and exile and defeat on his queen’s brother Eyvind, spurned his orders, and by openly coming here mocked his might. Sleet lashed on the inner wind.

  “I will say neither yea nor nay to that,” answered Eirik, flat-voiced.

  Egil must not go scatheless. It would be humbling. It would be dangerous. Suddenly calm, back to herself, fully and coldly aware, Gunnhild knew she could stir her husband’s manhood to break through his carefulness.

  She turned to him and spoke evenly, sharply. “Unbelievable, lord, how you suffer this big Egil’s effrontery. Belike you wouldn’t stop his mouth though he snatched after your kingdom. But if you won’t do anything to help Önund, I’ll not let Egil tread my friends underfoot and rob what belongs to Önund.” She sprang up. “Aalf Shipman, where are you?” she cried. “Take your crew to the judges and see they don’t render a judgment that’s unrightful!”

  She had talked beforehand with him. Not knowing what would happen, he nonetheless plighted his help in any need of hers. She had raised him to what he was, she his
sister and queen.

  He whistled to the men around him. They dashed at the ring. Knives flashed. Blades cut through the halidom. Hazel stakes went down. The six and thirty shouted, astounded, outraged. Warriors shoved them. They gave way. Aalf and his gang held the circle.

  Uproar burst loose. Men roiled about, yelling. Many drew their own knives. But those were not real weapons. Bewildered, none attacked those who stood side by side at the middle.

  Egil shouted above the ruckus: “Can Berg-Önund hear my words?”

  “I hear,” bawled the other.

  “Then I call you to a duel. We’ll fight it out here and now at the Thing. Let him who wins take all we’ve striven for. If you beg off, may you be every man’s nithing.”

  Önund growled like a hound. Arinbjörn plucked at Egil’s sleeve, aghast. Glee welled in Gunnhild. Her foe had lost hold of himself.

  She well-nigh felt the same chill gladness shine from the king. Later he could settle with the law—Egil’s challenge was as great a peace-breach as Aalf’s onset, if not more—or, shaken as the folk were, he might override it. But when matters had come to a head like this, it was time for Eirik Blood-ax.

  He stalked forward, light-hued, lithe, against the swart hulk, their heights and maybe their strengths alike. He grinned. “If you hanker to fight, Egil,” he said, “we can grant you that.”

  The Icelander lowered his fists and hunched his shoulders. A vein throbbed in his temple. “I’ll not fight you and a whole troop,” he rasped, “but if they let me, I won’t hang back from meeting them on the same footing, man to man. And for me that’ll be regardless of whoever it is.”

  Eirik froze. For a heartbeat those in earshot also went stock-still. Egil had as good as challenged the king himself.

  Arinbjörn understood. His followers had closed in from behind his bench. The rest of the men who heeded him were making their way to him through the milling crowd. He caught his friend’s arm and pulled. His voice rang hard. “We’d better go, Egil. Here we can do no more for ourselves.” With two others he half urged, half hustled the Icelander off.

  When they had hastened a few yards, Egil wrested free. He whirled around, shook his fist, and roared across the field, “I call you to witness, Arinbjörn and Thord, and all those men who hear my words, headmen, lawmen, yeomen, that I lay a ban on all the lands that were Björn’s. Nobody shall dwell there or build there or work there. I forbid them to you, Berg-Önund, as well as all other men, homelander or outlander, high or low. And any who do I name lawbreakers, peacebreakers, and offenders of the gods.”

  He turned back. The band passed over the hillcrest, out of sight.

  The hubbub was dying down. Men stood in scattered clumps, stared, muttered. Their leaders went among them, getting them quieted. None drew near the judgment circle, where the followers of Eirik and Önund gathered. Aalf stood tall amidst them. He and Gunnhild swapped a smile.

  Eirik beckoned his warriors to rank themselves before him. “Arinbjörn’s gone to his ships,” he said. “Go you to ours. Tell those there to strike the awnings and make ready to launch. I’ll come as soon as may be.”

  Gunnhild cast a glance toward the sun. It had not moved through heaven that she could see. Had the time really been so short? As Eirik went from them, she hurried to meet him. “Where are you bound?” she asked.

  Though she foreknew he would answer, “To find Arinbjörn and Egil, and get Egil killed if we can,” it flamed in her. At last, she thought, at last.

  xx

  Only bit by bit, in jagged shards, through the months afterward, did she learn how the hunt went. Men who had seen this or heard that stopped by on their farings and told. Often what one said about a happening was not quite the same as another who was also there said. They had seen it differently, or remembered it differently, or forgotten some part of it. As pieces came into her hands, she fitted them together until she held the whole.

  And that she would never forget. She could not.

  The first reached her soon and unbroken. Eirik’s warships had run swiftly through the straits between mainland and islands, into the Sognefjord. There he spied Arinbjörn’s longship. She turned in to a sound. Eirik followed and lay alongside. He asked if Egil was aboard. Arinbjörn said no, as the king could see for himself. When further asked, the hersir could not but say that Egil and twenty-nine other men had taken a skuta and gone off to Steinsound, where he had left his knarr.

  Oh, he looked for trouble at the Thing, Gunnhild thought; if nobody else made it, he would.

  The king had already marked several craft bound that way. He ordered his own rowed there too. Night was falling as he drew near the inlet. He had anchors dropped. At daybreak they went on in. Through dawn-mists they made out the freighter.

  Her crew saw six longships coming at them. Egil bade them get into the skuta. Eighteen did. The rest stayed, thinking the odds better where they were. All armed themselves fast. Egil had those who came with him row between the land and the dragon passing nearest the land, which was Eirik’s. Then things went at breakneck speed.

  In the dim light, none of the king’s crew spied the skuta before it was going by. Egil rose and hurled a spear. It struck the steersman, who was close kin to Eirik, stabbed into his rib cage, and dropped him dying in a gout of blood.

  The king’s orders clanged across glimmery waters. Three of his ships turned about, threshing white foam, and gave chase to the skuta. The rest sought the knarr, hemmed her in, and sent their crews aboard with ax and sword. Some of Egil’s men won free, made it to shore, and ran inland. Ten of them died. The attackers took everything off that was of any worth and set the knarr afire. Flames answered the new sun with roar and reek.

  The three hunting Egil were two men to an oar, while the skuta was shorthanded. They began to overhaul. But between two islands went a narrow, shallow channel; and the tide was at ebb. The boat slipped through where the ships could not. By the time they had gone around, they had lost the quarry. Eirik returned grimly to the Thingstead.

  There, before everyone, he made Egil fully an outlaw, whom any man might kill and owe no wergild.

  Berg-Önund asked uneasily if he could stay home when the levies went to meet with the king. He thought it would be risky to leave his farm while Egil was loose. Eirik allowed it.

  Thereafter they sailed south. When they overnighted at Aarstad, a holding of the king’s near Askey, he told Frodi, who oversaw it, to stand by Önund if need be. This Frodi was a handsome young man, kin of his. With him dwelt Eirik and Gunnhild’s son Rögnvald.

  The boy was then eleven years old. His limbs had lengthened since last his mother saw him; he was shooting up toward man-height and manhood. Straight and strong he stood. Under the flaxen hair his face was much like his father’s, but his laugh much more ready. It sounded spring-clear, for his voice had not yet broken. Already, though, he bore himself boldly, withal wisely for his age. Pride surged through Gunnhild in a warm wave. She longed to hug him. She wished she could have had him with her his whole life, to watch him grow and love him. But he was highborn.

  In the morning the ships pushed onward.

  Eirik brought his queen to the steading at Byfjord. They had a few wildcat nights together; then he was off to his war. Gunnhild settled down with Ragnhild, Erling, and Gudröd. There was enough to keep her busy. From time to time, news arrived from the North.

  Egil had found Arinbjörn at home. “I awaited no better from your dealings with the king,” said Arinbjörn when he had heard, “but you’ll not lack for money. I’ll pay you for your loss and get you another ship.” Egil gave gruff thanks.

  That ship was ready, with a cargo of lumber to boot, when the rest of Egil’s men who lived reached the garth. Thus he had a crew of almost thirty. Everything was done in some haste, for one thing because Arinbjörn himself did not mean to stay here long.

  So Aasgerd boarded while her husband and brother bade one another farewell. Egil knew his friend would join the king, and was not happy about
that. He must have been brooding on the verse that now ripped through the wind:

  “All ye gods and Odin,

  drive Eirik out of the land!

  Harm be his lot and hatred,

  he who robbed me of wealth.

  Frey and Njörd, send fleeing

  this foe of every freedom.

  Be wrathful, Thor, and bereave

  the wrecker of the halidom.”

  The housefolk and even the warriors shuddered. Such a curse was a fearsome thing. Arinbjörn frowned. “Mishap may fall on more men than it’s meant to,” he muttered. Nonetheless he clasped Egil’s hand and wished him luck. He stood on the wharf watching the ship till she was gone from sight.

  Egil did not at once steer for Iceland. He lay to at the skerry called Vitar, off the outlying island Alden. Little shipping passed this way, but fishermen went there often. From them he learned how Eirik had outlawed him altogether. Blackly wroth, he glowered over the sea until he stood up and cast another verse eastward.

  “Land-god, the road is long

  that the lawbreaker’s set me on,

  Blood-ax, the bane of brothers,

  badly led by his wife.

  Gunnhild it is who gave me

  grounds for taking revenge.

  Once I was quick to work it.

  I wait now and bide my time.”

  The man who uttered this to the queen stood stiff-backed before her. Shocked stillness filled the hall. Her mouth drew taut. She stared ahead, as if beyond the walls. At length she smiled at him and said, “Tidings are tidings. You did well,” and gave him half a gold arm-ring.

  The weather at Vitar was calm, with land breezes from the hills at night and sea breezes by day. One evening Egil hoisted sail and tacked westward. The fishers had been asked to watch for him. Some rowed to the mainland and told how he had gone. The word soon reached Askey. Berg-Önund gloated. He sent home the men who had guarded him; they were costly to feed. He rowed to Aarstad and bade Frodi come help him make merry; he had lots of ale. Frodi took a few men of his own and returned with him.