War of the Gods

by Poul Anderson

  XXIII

  The next spring a flock of ships passed through the Sound and out into the Kattegat. No man aboard answered any Dane who rowed close enough to give.

  War hail, but it was clear that the crews were Swedes. However, they did nothing hostile, not even camping ashore at night. Nor had they more than a few warcraft. Most of their vessels were knorrs and other kinds of freighters, lightly manned. Eirik Jarl dogged them from afar till he saw them head in for King Uffi’s Norse lands. Later Hadding got word that after resting for a while the sailors had set forth again, south around Agder and north along the coast.

  He sent a swift ship to warn King Haakon. She brought back the news that the fleet had gone by the Niderings. Haakon had not learned what its errand might be, yonder where folk were first few and poor, then wild Finns. He would send out spies and scouts for whatever they could turn up.

  Late in summer a messenger craft, ruthlessly rowed, came from him to Denmark. His searchers had found that a Norse chieftain by the name of Thuning, somewhat known to him, had gathered a host of Bjarmians and was bringing them back down from the White Sea. Since only a king was able to get together so many keels, belike they meant to fall on Denmark.

  By the time Haakon’s men got to where the Dane-king was, little remained for marshalling warriors. Moreover, he could not lawfully call a levy now at harvest. He could only have the war-arrow carried from house to house as widely as might be, at horse-killing speed, asking for freely given help. Meanwhile he brought ships to Haven and stocked them for sea.

  Even so, it was a goodly troop that fared north astern of Fired rake. Two score hulls were filled with fighters. All were well outfitted and hardened to battle. “I could almost feel sorry for the foe,” bragged Gunnar.

  “They’ll outnumber us,” Hadding said.

  “What of it? Woodsrunners and spearfishers. Maybe we’ll each have to cut down two.”

  “Thuning is no fool, from what I’ve heard of him. He knows those folk. There go dark tales about them.” Hadding shook his head as if to throw off the thoughts perched on it. “Enough. We’ve sailing to do.”

  Helped by fair weather and a full moon, the ships made a fast crossing to Norway. Thereafter Hadding took a day on an island at Boknafjord and another day off Hordaland, that men might stretch cramped limbs and have a sound sleep. In between, they rowed as hard as thews could drive oars, turn by turn by turn.

  The shore rose, cliffs sheering cloudward, cleft with inlets, above a maze of islets and skerries. Here he kept the sea and gave his crews no more ease than they must have if they were to carry on. He hoped to join his wife’s father at Nidaros before Thuning got that far.

  A west wind sprang up, shrill and raw. Green-backed waves rushed to break in foam and thunder on the rocks. Ships rolled and pitched. Rowers braced feet against rib timbers as they heaved to keep clear. However chill the air, sweat ran down their skins till its salt mingled with the spindrift on their lips.

  Hadding squinted landward. Behind him the sun struck through a gray wrack. Brightness flared off the surf. Beyond it a narrow strip of strand ran below heights where a few dwarfed pines clung. A man stood there. Hadding saw him take off his cloak and hold it high. It beat in the wind like a great blue wing.

  “Is he wrecked?” wondered Svein. “He seems to want us come take him aboard.”

  Einar barked a laugh. “If so, his woes have driven him mad.”

  Hadding stiffened. He gripped the rail and leaned far over. The rolling brought him breast-on to the water, then aloft into the weather. Still he peered. All at once he shivered, turned about, and said, !We’ll go after him.”

  “What?” shouted Einar. “Lord, you can’t be mad too!”

  “Tell the crew,” Hadding said. “I’ll take the helm myself.” He made his way aft through crowded, crouching men.

  “Do as he bids,” Ax-Egil said. “He kens more about some things than you or I would like to.”

  As folk watched aghast from the other ships, Firedrake came around. Stern to onshore wind and seas, she bounded at the deadliness ahead. Breakers sheeted white above reefs. Water swirled and chopped between. The roar drowned the groaning of strakes. Grimly, for none would show fear, the rowers bent to their oars, the riders hunched down and gripped what handholds they could find.

  Hadding wove his way. The ship was not broached, she did not strike. The bottom here must slope slowly, for the surf that elsewhere pounded the land broke well offshore and was low. As Hadding steered through the smother of it he took no worse than a drenching. Nor was this a stony ground. Only sand grated when he drew to a stop.

  The man waded out. Hadding came forward to give him a hand up. “That was well done,” the man said. His voice was as deep as the sea’s.

  Hadding looked into his one, eye. “We have met before,” he answered. “I knew you at once.”

  “You shall not be sorry,” said the man after man.

  The crew stared silent Shaken and bewildered though they were, every warrior rose to his feet. The newcomer was very tall. Somehow, in this wind, he kept a broad hat on his gray locks. It overshadowed a lean face from which a long gray beard fell over the cloak he had donned again. He seemed to have no weapon except a spear.

  “This is Gangleri,” Hadding told them. “I owe him much from aforetime.”

  “Best you rejoin your fleet,” Gangleri said.

  “Indeed.” Hadding gave orders. Men snapped to them, sprang overboard and shoved the ship off, climbed back when she was afloat, and set to the oars. It was harder work than coming in, but they were happier doing it.

  Already the wind was lower. When Hadding reached his folk he found the seas running easier. The wind shifted. Soon he could cry, “It’s fair for our course. Up masts and sails, in oars, and out ale casks!”

  “Does he bring luck, him Gangleri?” muttered Gunnar.

  “When he chooses to, I think,” said Ax-Egil as softly.

  “How did he happen to be on yon strand right when we passed by?”

  “It didn’t merely happen, I’m sure. But let’s speak no more of this.”

  Still, the mood aboard Firedrake became, if not altogether merry, hopeful. It spread to the rest of the crews. Hadding bore speedily north.

  As the voyage went on, men saw Gangleri eat and drink, sitting on a bench, as a king might eat and drink in his high seat. They never saw him drop his breeks, nor did they see him sleep. They wondered, but not aloud. Few got more than a word or two with him, aside from Hadding. The pair of them were most of the time alone in the forepeak.

  Now and then others overheard them. Though strange, the words were heartening rather than daunting. Gangleri was giving Hadding redes about war.

  “You are bound against a bigger host than your own,” he said. “Most are poorly armed, but a stone-headed ax or spear, a bone harpoon, or a wooden club deals the same death as iron. Moreover, their bowmen are as good as any Dane, and their slingers are better. Hardly any of them have byrnies, but few of your yeomen do either. Although Bjarmians have seldom fought in great numbers, these have had Swedes to teach them something of it, who will lead and stiffen them. They are hunters of bear and whale. They have their blood feuds and clashes between tribes. Far from home with nowhere to flee to, they will fight like trapped wildcats. Their warlocks will egg them on and cast spells to strike fear in your men. You, have no light task. Well can you leave your bones in the high north.”

  “Your wish may be otherwise,” answered Hadding slowly.

  “I do have things to tell you. Hitherto hosts like yours have had no true shape. Men try to stay near the banners of their chieftains and shoulder to shoulder with their friends. If set on from all sides, they make a shield wall and stand in a ring as best they can. Once that is broken, the foe reaps them piecemeal. Otherwise both troops go forward with no better plan than to come to grips. A battle is hardly more than a huge brawl. Nobody knows what is happening beyond his arm’s length. Anything may spark fear, it will sp
read like wildfire, men will cast their weapons from them and run as blindly as chickens, the foe will come after them like weasels, and so the battle is lost.”

  Hadding nodded. His face went bleak. He knew this all too well.

  “Now I will tell you what is better,” said the old one, “and if you think about it you will see that it is.”

  “I know already that it is—coming from you,” whispered the king.

  They spoke much together as the ships sailed on.

  With the wind holding fair, Hadding reached the fjord of the Niderings as soon as he had hoped. But he could not go in, greet Haakon, and raise more warriors to help. Even as the remembered landmarks hove in sight, over the northern searim came a fleet outnumbering his. Those who had spied it earlier now told their fellows, who howled. Here were the Swedes and Bjarmians.

  “How have they moved so fast?” wondered Svein. “The winds that bore us along were against them.”

  “That need not be,” said Egil starkly. “I’ve heard tell of how Finn-wizards hold sway over the weather.”

  Svein cast a glance at the graybeard with hat and cloak who stood silent astern. “I think we have one such ourselves.” He shivered.

  “This, then, is where we’ll meet them,” called Hadding, the length of the hull and across the water. “Make ready!”

  He steered for the island of Hitra, which lay with others near the mouth of the fjord. Long, low, and green, it offered safe strands for landing and meadows for fighting. The only dwellers he saw were a pair of cowherd children, who made haste to drive their kine into the background woods.

  One by one the Danish ships touched shore. Anchors went out. Men jumped over the sides and splashed to land. Soon it was a roiling of warriors. Iron blinked under the midday sun, banners tossed in the wind, gulls wheeled and piped overhead.

  Standing in the prow of Fired rake, Hadding blew his horn. The sound brought men packed close around. He harangued them a short while about how well it was to stave off the foe this far from their homes, the fame to be won, the booty to gather afterward—if nothing else, ships that would fetch good prices. Their cheers rang.

  Then they quieted, for he spoke sternly of what he wanted them to do. Gangleri, who stood beside him, spearhead shining above, had taught him a new array of battle. He put it forth in a few words. There was no time to say more, he told them, nor to quarrel over who should stand where. All posts were alike honorable. Gangleri would go among them and lead every banner-band to its place. Let none question or hinder him. Anyone who did would rue it.

  The Danes were quick to obey. Although most had not seen the old one before, the beholding awed them.

  He spread them on the field as a great wedge. Hadding and Gunnar made the first row—not because Hadding was king, for it would have been wisest to have him farther back were it not that they two were the mightiest of the fleet. Four men behind them made the second row, eight behind these the third, and thus until the last, who were promised that there would be enough fighting for everybody. On the wings Gangleri set the bowmen and slingers.

  So did the Danes take their stand. They had not long to wait.

  Thuning had known who they must be. If he tried to sail on past, they would be after him, harassing all the way. His men could not even land for a night’s rest without being attacked before they could busk themselves. Best was to have it out this day. He led his fleet to a strand a few miles off, grounded, and brought his host ashore.

  As they came near, they were a grim sight. Widely over the grass they spilled, a swarm of hornets angrily buzzing, stings out and agleam. Swedish warriors in helm and ringmail went at every uplifted banner. They were well-nigh lost among the tribesmen. The Bjarmians were stocky, sturdy, high in the cheekbones, and narrow in the eyes. Most were clad in leather and felt; some coats bore sewn-on iron rings gotten from traders. Few owned helmets. Their hair showed greasy but often as fair as any Norseman’s. Their rude weapons had felled beasts stronger than men. Many had bound tokens of magic onto themselves, aurochs horns or reindeer antlers at the brows, necklaces of bear teeth or ferret skulls, ruffs of eagle feathers. Toward the rear a few elders were squatting down. They carried staffs topped with the same kittle things, and small drums. They began to beat on these with the flats of their hands. From their wrinkled lips a keening wove into the thutter.

  Hadding drew sword. “Hey-saa-saa!” he cried.

  The Danes bayed and followed him. Thuning bawled answer. His own banner led a rush to meet them.

  Battle burst loose. Weapons clashed and thudded, men yelled, grunted, panted, bowstrings twanged, gulls mewed and ravens croaked on high where they wheeled watchful, and through all the racket went the drumbeat and chant of the war-locks.

  The Danes were new to their array. It held together less well than it might have. Yet it clove into the disordered foe, scattering those it did not straightway overrun. Bowmen and slingers were more free than erstwhile to spy targets and pick them off. Thuning’s banner reeled aside. Others stood forlornly fast, cut off from help.

  And now Gangleri threw back his cloak, to show that a bag hung around his neck. From it he took a bow. It seemed a toy, then suddenly it was the longest that men in these lands had ever beheld. Standing on the right flank, he strung it and took arrows from the quivers of the nearby Danes. They forgot their own fighting as they saw the old one draw that bow to his ear. When he loosed the shaft, string and wood sang like a stormwind. A Swede crumpled, spitted through byrnie and body. Again Gangleri shot, again, again, again. It was as if he sent ten arrows at once. Each killed.

  The warlocks drummed and wailed. Wind strengthened outworldishly fast. Its boom and shriek drowned the noise below. The carrion birds fled. Salt spume flew off the sea, over the field. Clouds boiled up black in the north and across heaven. They blotted out the sun. Rain lashed from them, slantwise over the Danish ranks. Hailstones hit like fists.

  A wavering went through Hadding’s troop. This was something more than a squall. Who could stand against witchcraft? The Bjarmians yelped in glee, rallied their broken gangs, and pressed inward. Stone axes, bone harpoons struck down man after man.

  Gangleri laid his bow aside and raised his arms. His cloak and beard blew wildly, but still the hat clung to his gray head and half hid the gaunt one-eyed face. He called to the sky.

  From over the eastward mainland lifted a new cloud. In the blue-black depths of its nether half lightning leaped blinding. The heights shone snow white. Onward the cloud thrust. The wind that drove it warred with the wind behind the rain. Wrack whirled, thunder crashed, while woodland trees tossed their boughs and moaned.

  The rain withdrew, a grayness bound south. The heavens opened and the sun stood forth. Wet grass sparkled many-hued. Blood on the slain lay shoutingly red.

  “Hey-aa!” roared Hadding. “On!” His warriors rebounded from fear. They fell on a foe whom it had seized. What followed was slaughter.

  Afterward a vast stillness fell. Men went about doing what they could for wounded friends, or sat a few together quietly talking, or sat alone and stared across the water. The westering sun cast a long light over gaping things asprawl on trampled earth. Soon the Danes would shift elsewhere for the night. Tomorrow they would bury their dead, leave their fallen foemen to the birds, and take over the empty Swedish ships. Later they would row to Nidaros and feast before setting homeward. But now they were weary deep into their marrow.

  Hadding and Gangleri stood near the hacked, reeking lichs of the warlocks. Thuning’s was among them. “You saved us, lord,” said the king. “How can I ever repay you?”

  The old one leaned on his spear. “There is no need,” he answered. “This was my will.”

  “But we must at least give you your honor at Haakon’s hall and afterward at mine.”

  “That shall not be. I am bound elsewhere.”

  “What? How can you get off this island, unless in a ship of ours?”

  “I have my ways.” Gangleri was silent a whil
e. Two ravens swung low, croaked, and flew off. “You shall see me no more in this life,” he then told Hadding. “Remember what I have taught you.”

  “I shall.” And indeed the wedge of men lived on throughout Northern lands. It caine to be known as the swine array, for it ripped through an unready host like the tusks of a wild boar.

  “But—this life?” Hadding dared ask.

  “Yours will not end at anyone’s hand but your own,” Gangleri said.

  After another span in which only wind, sea, and hovering fowl spoke, he went on: “This do I rede you. Squander not your years on small quarrels, but seek such wars as are worth fighting. Wage them abroad rather than close to home. The work of a king is to ward his folk.

  “Farewell.”

  He turned and strode off toward the wood. His tallness was quickly gone into its shadows.

  XXIV

  That midwinter Queen Ragnhild was again brought to bed with child. Her fight was still harder than before. Sometimes a moan slipped out between her teeth. The blankets were so bloodied they must be burned afterward. It took months for her to get back her strength. Yet the bairn, a girl, was healthy. She came into the world shrieking as though in wrath, and at the breast she bit painfully hard. It seemed right to her father that they name her Ulfhild, Wolf Battle.

  In spring a ship arrived from Svithjod bearing high-born men who sought out King Hadding. They brought word from King Uffi. He was sick of a war that gained him naught. Surely it cost the Danes, too, more than it was worth. Let them make peace.

  Hadding sent back a stiff answer. His folk had much to avenge. However, he was willing to think about taking a weregild, and meanwhile would stay his hand if the Swedes behaved themselves.

  Messengers went to and fro during the summer. Uffi did not want to pay, as much because that would be knuckling under as because of the gold. Nor had Hadding awaited it. He merely did not wish to seem overly eager. He lowered the award but said that oaths must be sworn that Danish traders would have entry to Geatish and Swedish marts, free of hindrance and scot. And thus the dickering went between those two.