War of the Gods

by Poul Anderson

  Meanwhile, too, his older brother, Uffi, was at work. He did not make the rounds of the shire-Things and get himself hailed king. That could wait until later. He took for given that he was his father’s heir. Nobody cared to say otherwise.

  Instead, he fared about raising fresh warriors. Everywhere he harangued the folk, telling them what grief would be theirs unless they did what they must at once In this wise he hammered together a strong troop and led it down to the sea.

  Hadding moved north with fire and sword. Seldom did men stand against him. When they did, he overran them easily. But then word reached him, borne by riders who had flogged horse after horse to death. The Swedes were harrying the islands of Denmark, striking inland before they rowed on to the next spot, slaying, looting, burning. Hadding was very newly the Dane-king. If he let this go on, belike his folk would cast him from them.

  He could only take his warriors back. As they came down through Scania, Uffi heard. He laughed that he had given enough of a lesson for now, and set course for the Skerrygarth. The Danish host returned to the same havoc they had been wreaking and set about rebuilding.

  By then Hadding’s foot was healed. The leech had been unable to set it altogether aright. Ever afterward the king walked with a limp. That did not hamper him much. Sometimes it made him hark back to his foster father’s warning. But he never dwelt long on those words.

  XIV

  At his hall near Haven, King Skjold had let build a storehouse for his treasures. It stood somewhat apart from the surrounding buildings, close by the stockade. Stoutly timbered, it offered a small but good home in its front half for the hoardkeeper. The treasure room was at the rear, windowless, its only door on the inside, warded by a heavy lock and never opened except at the king’s behest.

  When Hadding came back from Svithjod, he brought little booty to lay aside. Rather, he would withdraw gold and goods. He must make gifts with a free hand as he fared about the kingdom, so that men would willingly follow him to the war he meant to renew next year.

  He went to fetch the wealth on a summer’s day. Half a score of his housecarles came along to carry and guard it. Through the open gate of the stronghold they saw young grain ripple in the wind, cows graze red in green paddocks, a fen where storks were stalking frogs. Beyond lifted a wood, bright in its rustling crowns, shadowy below. A hawk hovered far aloft. It hurtled downward at a prey just as Hadding reached the storehouse.

  His hoardkeeper met him at the outer door, a man once burly but now swag-bellied, nose thrusting bluish-ruddy from above white whiskers, garb none too clean. “Hail, lord,” he greeted a little thickly.

  “Hail to you, Glum,” answered the king. “How fare you?” The oldster had served Svipdag before him, but Hadding kept him on because he had served Gram before then, and there seemed no grounds for distrusting him.

  “Well enough, well enough, since the weather got warmer,” said Glum. “Come in, my lord. I’ve a jug of mead here, not the best in Denmark but the best a poor gaffer can pour for his lord.” He hiccoughed.

  Hadding frowned. He had heard something about how often Glum was drunk. Hitherto he had lacked time to look into it. “No, I’ll only take what I came after,” he said curtly and brushed past the other into a front room. For a bit he was nearly blind in its murkiness, after the light outside. Then he saw how dirty and tumbled things were. “Have you no one to keep house here?” he asked. “This is unfitting for the treasures.”

  “The wench has not come for some while,” Glum told him. “I, uh, did not want to trouble my lord about so small a thing.”

  “I know why,” snapped a guard. “Thorid, who had the task, told me; we’re kin. She’s no thrall, she’s a freeman’s daughter, and would not have this old guzzler pawing her anymore.”

  Glum tried to draw himself straight. “Have a care,” he said. “I’m a well-born man, I’ve been a warrior, I keep a post of honor. Have a care how you speak of me.”

  “He did,” Hadding broke in. “Too much care. Why did you not let me know, Einar?”

  The chief guardsman bit his lip. “Maybe I should have, lord. But we all had much else on our minds, no? I thought we lesser folk could settle things here quietly, without pestering you and without shaming an old man who used to bear a good name.”

  Hadding nodded, though the scowl did not leave his brow. “Enough. Let’s get the things and begone. Open up, Glum.”

  The hoardkeeper lurched over to a chest, fumbled among the clothes in it, and took out the big key. Slowly, as if this called for skill, he put it in the lock and turned it. Hadding himself swung the door wide.

  Then for a span he stood staring, unstirring. A hush fell upon the troopers. It spread from the few inside to the others outside. The sounds of everyday life seemed thin and far off.

  “What is it?” mumbled Glum. He went to the platform where he had set down his wooden drinking cup and glugged from it. “Why are you so stiff?” he cried. “What doesn’t anybody say anything?”

  Each word of Hadding’s fell like a stone. “Thieves have been here.”

  “What? No, no, can’t be, I’ve been ever faithful, ever watchful—” Glum stumbled across the floor and caught the king’s arm. “I have!” he shrilled. “I am no thief!”

  Hadding shook the hand loose. “Nevertheless,” he said, “much is missing.” He went into the storeroom.

  Searching about in its gloom, he found much still there, weapons, furs, costly garments, amber necklaces, glassware, and boxes of coins from the Southlands. But his voice rang out, gone iron: “The gold chain that King Skjold wore when the Thing met. The silver goblet set with gems that his Queen Alfhild brought with her from Saxland. The gold-headed mace wherewith King Gram slew Sigtryg. The great silver bowl with bull’s-head handles that I brought back from Dynaborg. And I know not how many golden arm-rings. You should be able to tell me, Glum. You have the tally of everything in your head. Come reckon it out, hoardkeeper.”

  “I know nothing,” the elder groaned. “I have not been in there since last you were.”

  “You should have, from time to time,” said Hadding. Then he shouted: “Ha! Einar, Egil, Herjulf, come here and look at this!”

  The warriors crowded in with him and peered. A hole in the floor yawned black amidst dirt piled around it. “Someone dug his way hither,” breathed Herjulf.

  “Then the thief is indeed not Glum,” said Einar.

  “Thieves,” the king answered. “One man alone cannot have done the work. Who’ll crawl down and find where the burrow ends?”

  Egil was first, though he was the oldest in the troop. Hadding stepped out into the dwelling room. Glum cowered from him and blubbered, “You see, lord, I did keep faith—”

  Looming over the wretch, Hadding said, “I call it not faith that you could never stir yourself to look in on what was entrusted to you, but instead drank yourself deaf to the noise of what was going on. Do you in truth know nothing of this?”

  “Nothing, nothing, I swear by the gods and on my honor.”

  “We may squeeze something else out of him,” said a guardsman starkly.

  Hadding shook his head. “No, I believe he speaks truth of a sort, and I will not torture a man who once followed my father to battle.”

  “Thank you, lord, thank you,” gasped Glum.

  “But speak not of your honor,” said Hadding. “That you have thrown away.”

  Glum sagged down onto the floor and sat with his face sunken between his knees. Hadding went outside. He stood there among his men in the sunlight, waiting. Now and then a warrior cleared his throat or shifted his feet, but nobody spoke.

  After a while the searchers came back, muddy and disheveled. “We followed the burrow beneath the stockade and on till it came up near an oak in yonder woods,” Egil told. “We found only heaped-up earth.”

  “You’d hardly find more,” Hadding said. “The thieves were at their work a long while—mostly at night, I think, when they could steal out to it with nobody marking them.
The winter nights are the long ones. I’ll go later and see. First I have a judgment to call for.”

  He bade two men stay in the house and others spell them until it could be made more safe than formerly. The rest of his guards went back to the hall with him. Glum walked between two of them, leaning on their arms, head bowed low.

  Now Hadding sent word around that on the morrow there would be a meeting to which all men of the neighborhood should come. Thereafter he had those who had passed through the burrow bring him to the end where they crawled forth. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll cast about, and don’t want any tracks trampled.”

  They knew what woodcraft as well as seamanship was his, and obeyed. When he returned to them, he sighed, “No, it’s too late. Weather has blurred every spoor away. Yet from the look of the mound here, the thieves weren’t done digging till a month or two ago. Surely they’ve hidden their loot somewhere in the woods. Unless they’re utter fools, they’ll bide their time. Next year, when folk have half forgotten this and the warfaring is the big news, they’ll sneak out, pry loose the gems, melt down the metal, and trade for other wares when the merchants gather at Haven. Or they may make off to the Jutes or Angles or Saxons and set themselves up there.” His anger flashed, only for an eye blink but so cold that those hardy men quailed the least bit. “That they would dare! With ill shall ill be repaid.”

  His face became a mask. Speaking no more, he led them back. Likewise was he withdrawn at eventide. His mood spread to his men, and that turned into a bleak meal. When he and his leman sought their shutbed he did not take her in his arms. She knew that he lay long awake beside her in the dark.

  At sunrise, though, he got up calmly, if not merrily. At the time set, he walked forth to the meadow where folk met and sat down on the squared-off stone there. Warriors, yeomen, fishermen, craftsmen stood in a ring that he closed, under a sky where tall clouds had risen, sunlit on top but graying underneath. Crows flew about, low overhead. Their caws went harsh through a wind that blew cool and smelled of oncoming rain.

  When the lawman had spoken those laws of old that bore on this day’s gathering, two guards brought Glum onto the open ground and forward to the king. He shambled along amidst the eyes until he halted and stood hunched. Hadding’s words unrolled the tale of what had happened.

  “I say that this man has broken faith,” he ended. “He swore he would ward the treasures. For that he was well housed, well clad, well fed, and well honored. But he lay sodden and unheeding. Thus we have suffered great loss—not only I, but the Skjoldung house and the whole kingdom. The rings that are gone were merely rings. The rest, though, was hallowed to my forebears, Dane-kings and Dane-queens. Power was in them, and luck. Now we have lost them.

  “Glum Styrsson, you shall die. First have you aught to say for yourself?”

  The hoardkeeper stiffened his back and met the king’s look. Suddenly his voice came steady. “Yes. I was less watchful than I might have been, but Lam old and maybe you should have had a younger man there. Leave me what honor is mine. Otherwise do as you will.”

  Hadding nodded. “It’s true, once you fought beside my father. You shall die quickly on the gallows.”

  Glum ran tongue over lips. “That is well,” he said; for by his bearing this day would men remember him.

  The folk murmured agreement. A man-offering to Odin should help against the bad luck that was in the loss. And who knew but what the god would take the hanged man home to himself? No one wept except the small grandson he had been raising after the boy’s parents died, nor gave any thought to that.

  The housecarles led Glum off. Hadding stood up. “Hearken,” he said aloud. “Among us are belike the thieves themselves. I speak to them. Think well. What gain is yours? Do you truly want to slink forth again, huddle in the woods at a Charcoal fire, make wreck of keepsakes that belonged to great men and famous deeds? Surely no good can come to you from it. In fear and trembling must you trade off what you bring to market. you will not dare ask for the full worth, nor openly enjoy what you buy. Or else you must carry the plunder away and drag out your lives among strangers, forever sick with longing for your motherland. Who will tend your graves, who will recall your names? What have you gained?

  “Glum shall suffer death for what he did not do. The thieves need not suffer for what they did. It matters more to get the things back. I promise that whoever brings me the loot unharmed, him will I make welcome. Yes, I will bestow on him honors like to those that were Glum’s.”

  He called on the lawman to set out the oath-ring. Laying his hand on it, he swore to those words, so help him the Vanir and almighty Thor. Wind strengthened, tossing his hair golden around his brows. It whistled. Cloud shadows hastened across the land and thunder began to growl from afar. Men looked at each other, muttered, and left as soon as the king told them the meeting was over.

  After the hanging he went for a hunt in the wood with a few friends. They did not hope to stumble on the booty, but it would work some of the anger out of him He met the onset of a boar that ran up his spear until the tusks nearly gashed him before it died. Then he grew mild, almost cheerful.

  They wended their way back. As he strode into the thorp around the hall, a strong-thewed, sooty man stepped from under a roof and hailed him. “Lord king,” he asked, “can we speak alone?”

  Hadding knew the blacksmith Bosi. “Yes, of course,” he said, and waved his huntsmen aside. Those two went into the smithy. There, by the glow from the coals at the forge, Bosi brought forth, “I’ve been thinking over your words at the folkmoot, lord. Did you mean them?”

  “All heard what I swore to,” Hadding answered.

  “Then—” Bosi braced himself and went on in a rush: “I am one of those who lifted the treasure. I’ll give you back what I have.”

  Hadding took the news quietly. “That is well,” he said. “I’ll abide by my oath. But can’t you show me the whole of it?”

  “No, I fear not. We split it among us, and each took his share off to hide where only he knows. But I will return Skjold’s chain and many rings.”

  “That is worth much,” Hadding said. “Better yet will be if you name the others.”

  Bosi shook his head. “We swore blood brotherhood.” He gulped. “You did not say you wanted us to break our own oath.”

  “No, I did not,” Hadding yielded. “Come with me and take your reward. Maybe they too will think twice.”

  Bosi walked stiffly after him. That eventide in the hall Hadding called him to stand before the high seat. “This man did wrong,” he said aloud. “But he is doing his best to set things right. Therefore he shall have a ring off my arm and a place at our feast. Speak well to him, for he shall have more honors hereafter.”

  However amazed, the men could not but take Bosi in among them and even try to talk with him. As the drink went around and they got mellow, his deed came to seem a daring one, cunningly thought out. There was good stuff in this fellow, they agreed. Henceforward he could put it to good use and win a famous name.

  Indeed, Hadding stayed very friendly to him. Although Bosi was not a weaponsmith, the king asked him to make a sword and paid far more than it was worth. Hadding also offered to take Bosi’s son into the housecarles when the lad was old enough. He spoke of finding wealthy husbands for Bosi’s daughters.

  And so after a while another thief came forward, a crofter by name Ro. He brought Queen Alfhild’s silver goblet, as well as more of the gold. Him too the king rewarded well, giving him woodland that he could have in freehold after he had cleared it, along with the means to hire help for that work.

  Thereon the two thieves who were left gave themselves up and returned their shares of the loot. Hadding bestowed rings • on them and made known that there would be a folkmoot again, at which he would put all four of them to rights with the law and give them in full everything he had promised.

  Wind boomed and rain showers lashed at that meeting. The king stood before it, facing the thieves, and cried through the
weather, “Here are those who would have robbed us of things that are holy. I swore that whoever brought the treasure back should have reward and honors like to those that were faithless Glum’s. Now let me fulfill my oath. They too shall hang.”

  “What?” blared Bosi, and lunged at him. It took three guards to wrestle the smith to a standstill. He struggled in their grasp and raved. The other three were easier.

  Hadding smiled at them. “What higher honor can you have than to go to Odin?” he said. His hand chopped downward. “Take them away”

  He left their widows and children in peace, nor did he snatch from these any of what he had given the men. Still, he did not think Bosi’s son would want to join his housecarles.

  Word went around Denmark. Here, men said, was a king shrewd as well as hard. Those who followed him could hope for much.

  Throughout that winter and spring he readied for war. He knew he could not go straight at Uppsala as he had wanted to. He must never again leave his kingdom open to such raids as it had suffered. Rather, let most men stay behind to watch over their homes. He would take a well-chosen troop each summer and harry the Swedes. Thus he could wear them down, until when at length the kings met on a battlefield he would overcome once for all.

  So it came about. Sometimes his longships prowled around the shores, their crews striking as if out of nowhere, to kill, sack, burn, and bear away captives to thralldom. Sometimes a host ferried across the water and went deeply inland, bearing the same havoc. King Uffi fought back as best he could, and many of those fights were hard, but he never had enough forewarning and the Danes always went up against mere shire-levies. These they could either overwhelm or beat to a draw.

  When each warfaring season was past, Hadding returned to Denmark and spent months faring through the land. He gave judgments that folk deemed were wise and often kindly; he gave freely not only to the well-born and the yeomen he met but also to the poor; as a go between, he brought deadly feuds to an end; he started the clearing of wildernesses, the building of thorps and marts and shipyards; he found openings for lowly youths who wanted to better themselves; by his gifts, words, and smiles he brought a flowering in skaldcraft and handicraft; by his dealings with the Jutish, Anglian, and Saxon kings, he safeguarded and heartened trade. It was often said that he seemed to be two different men, one ruthlessly warlike, one a forethoughtful landfather.