Through traders and seamen as well as spies, Uffi knew well beforehand of their coming. He sent the war-arrow throughout Svithjod, called on those Geats who were plighted to him, and so raised his own troop. It was less than it might have been. Hunding hung back, with those who looked to him instead of to the king or who thought that following a killer of guests would be unlucky. However, the host was bigger than Hadding’s, and many in it felt that they fought for their homes.
The two met near the shore. Land sloped green with young grass, black and torn where they had passed, studded with trees, range for herds whose owners had driven them off. A narrow strait winked and chuckled. Beyond it, low and linggrown, stretched the long island called Öland. Over this, thunderhead clouds were rising ever higher and thicker. A wind blew off the sea, loud, cold, and salt. Already ravens from inland and gulls from the water were gathering in it. They had learned.
Hadding laughed as a wolf might laugh. “He’s picked a fine ground for fighting, good King Uffi has,” he said. “How kind of him.”
His chieftains scurried to and fro, barking orders, getting the men into a wedge. Across the span between, the foe formed their straight ranks. A horseman galloped from them. He bore a white shield. The housecarle who rode out to meet him brought him to Hadding as he asked.
“I bear you word from King Uffi,” he said boldly. “He dares you to meet him man to man.”
“Whatever the outcome, it would not quiet our followers,” Hadding answered slowly.
“No. Let them clash. But the way to him shall stay as open for you as he can keep it.”
“Then I will take it,” Hadding said. “Tell King Uffi that I look forward.”
The messenger nodded and rode back. Hadding gazed after him. “Uffi is a worthier foe than I thought,” he murmured. “Whoever fells him will win a great name. He shall have thanks for that.”
The ranks were taking shape. Riders went aside, dismounted, tethered their steeds, and came back. For a little, only the rising chop on the water stirred, only the wind and the nearing thunder spoke. Wrack hid the sun. Lightning flared in the clouds.
Horns sounded. The hosts roared and broke into a trot. They shocked together.
The two big men at the Danish forefront smashed with axes. One knocked a sword aside and bit through the bone of the leg beneath. The other clove a shield and sent the bearer staggering backward, to tangle with those behind him. The four Danes in the second row smote rightward, leftward, and ahead. The weight of those at their backs helped press them forward. In and in the swine array drove.
The Swedish ranks buckled and split. No longer did man stand side by side with man. Warriors milled about, striking where they could, each for himself. From the Danish wings arrows sleeted, slingstones hailed.
Hadding had taken the right end of his fourth row. That kept his unshielded side open to attack; but the men behind were ready to cut down or cast a spear into anyone who came at him. All those closest to him were from the pick of his housecarles. The man on his left upheld his banner. Its raven flew wildly in the wind.
Before the onslaught he had marked King Uffi’s. As he hewed he kept an eye on it, where it swayed and flapped above the helmets. The Swede-king did likewise. By jags and jerks they drew nearer one another.
Lightning sheeted. For that blink of time the strait shone molten. Thunder crashed down the heights of heaven. Rain fell in a flood whipped by the storm. Men fought half-blinded. Soon streams ran around the fallen, washing away their blood.
The tide of battle swept clear the ground between Hadding and Uffi. The Dane-king caught the arm of his banner bearer, pointed, and loped from the wedge. After him dashed those men he had told to go always with him. By then it mattered little. The swine array was breaking up into bands, for only thus could most of the warriors now get at foemen hopelessly scattered.
The last of Uffi’s guards had made a shield wall around their lord. A score or so, they outnumbered by a few Hadding’s oncoming gang. Rain runneled down them. Their iron shimmered with it. Whenever lightning glared, each sword or spearhead stood forth stark in sight. Thunder hammered the world.
The wall parted. Out from its midst trod Uffi. Bearlike he hunched, waiting. The top of his shield was in splinters and the rain coursed red from a gash on his right cheek, for he had fought hardily himself. But it was no weakening wound, and the sword that he gripped was heavier than most.
“Strike at the others,” Hadding called over his shoulder to his men. “That one is mine.”
He stopped a yard or two short. Through seven lightning flashes they stood and stared, feet braced in the mire. “I think you ken me,” said the Dane-king across the wind-howl. “I am Hadding Gramsson, whom you have sought for so long.”
The Swede-king nodded. “And I am Uffi Asmundsson,” he answered. “Hadding the Halt, this day you shall go down hell-road with the limp my father gave you.”
“I think you will go first,” said Hadding, “but we shall see.”
He took a step forward. His blade whirred. Uffi caught it in his shield. He cut at a leg while he tried to twist the sword from Hadding’s hand. Hadding had already slacked the thews in his other leg. He swung aside and the blow missed. Nor had he driven his own edge too deeply into the wood. He had hewn slantwise, to strike across the grain, and merely nicked it. With nothing to drag at, Uffi’s twist swept his shield aside, baring the arm behind it. Before he could bring it back, Hadding had slashed from elbow to wrist.
Uffi lowered his head and bored in. Iron banged and rang. Hadding’s sword found only helmet or byrnie. Uffi struck Hadding on the left thigh. There likewise ringmail turned the edge, but it was a mighty blow. With no padding beneath, that low down, it bruised like a slingstone on bare flesh. Hadding faltered. Barely did he get his shield between Uffi’s blade and his own neck. Uffi chopped at his calf. Hadding sidestepped, but his lame foot betrayed him. He slipped on the mud and went over.
Uffi yelped and moved in to hack him from above. Hadding rolled onto his back. His two-legged kick got Uffi in the belly. The Yngling fell too. He was up on his knees as fast as the other man. For a while, kneeling, the two flailed.
Hadding worked his way backward. When he knocked Uffi’s swordpoint to the ground, he could leap up. The Swede swung at his shin. Awaiting that, he blocked with his blade. His right boot dug into the mire. It flung a spattering gob into his foeman’s eyes.
Uffi screamed. Before he could see again, Hadding caught him once more on the left forearm. This time the sword hit better. Blood spurted. The shield fell free.
Rain flooded Uffi’s face clean. His blade winged to and fro. Hadding could not come near. Uffi rose.
Dauntlessly he lumbered to attack. Swords met. Hadding’s was well-nigh torn loose. He sprang back. Blow after blow gnawed his shield. Never could he trap the edge. Suddenly, though, he rammed it ahead to meet the next cut. The iron glanced off. He had an opening. His blade struck like an adder. Into Uffi’s left leg it went, above the knee that thrust out from the byrnie, to the bone and onward.
Uffi sank to earth. On his right knee, the left leg useless and blood rivering from it, he snarled up at Hadding through the rain. “Come and get me,” he grated, “if you dare.” Thunder rolled around his words.
“I could stand here and watch you die,” said Hadding, “but you are worthy of better. Yet I wonder if you would have given me this much.”
He trod close. Sword clanged on sword. It was hard and dangerous work until Uffi sagged. He lay in the mire while the last of his blood drained off into the gurgling brown streamlets. Rain beat over him. Lightninglight flamed on his mail.
Hadding looked about. The Swedish guards had fought stoutly, slain four Danes and wounded all the rest. But they took worse losses, and when they saw their king go down, they broke and ran. Their foes were too worn out to give chase.
Everywhere over the field, their fellows were likewise in flight. None stayed behind but the crippled and the dead. Hadding set about
getting his troop back together.
The storm passed. The night was calm. Morning shone lovely. Mists steamed low above the battleground, where birds flocked and cried. Hadding gave his men a day of ease, except for those who buried fallen friends. Himself he ordered that King Uffi’s body be undressed, washed, and shrouded in three good cloaks.
Next morning he sent most of his followers home under their shire-leaders. With three hundred long-seasoned warriors he bore northward. Taking remounts and pack horses for food and gear, they rode speedily. One horse bore King Uffi.
As Hadding had foreseen, they met no trouble along the way. Beaten men were straggling back to their dwellings by ones or two or threes. Nothing was left that could stand against even so small a troop as his. Nevertheless he kept them from doing any harm except, maybe, now and then stealing a chicken or a pig. He had a higher end in mind.
And thus after a few days they came to Uppsala. That was on another rainy day, but a mild one. Only a drizzle grayed the land, cool and still. It was as if the earth mourned. The town across the river stood dim, almost dreamlike.
Fast though the Danes went, word of them was bound to have gone ahead. Some scores of warriors waited before the bridge. Hunding sat mounted in front. He rode forward, sword in sheath, alone. Hadding rode to meet him. They halted.
“Be welcome, if that is your wish,” said Hunding low. Raindrops glistened in the hair of his bare head and trickled down his face.
“It is,” answered Hadding as quietly.
“You are bold to come into our lair with no more strength than this.”
“I thought it would be strength enough to break through anything we might find.”
“Yet you did not await more fighting.”
“No. I have heard how it is with you.”
Hunding nodded. He pointed offside. “See yonder,” he said. Charred snags stuck out of an ash heap. “I’ve had the house of shame burned.”
Hadding’s voice warmed. “That was good of you. For my part, I’ve brought your brother, Uffi, home.” Hunding stared. “He was a fearless man, who did mighty deeds,” Hadding said. “I would give him his honor.”
He could not tell whether it was raindrops or tears that caught in Hunding’s lashes. “Now I know you are greathearted as well as great,” the Yngling whispered.
Fully cleansed, the kingly hall took the Dane-king in. He and his men abode for many days. Since they hurt nobody but were, instead, kindly behaved, the town and neighborhood soon felt friendly toward them. No few wenches wandered offside with these dashing newcomers, while men were often glad to share a stoup and a gab.
Hadding was busier. First he, with Hunding, saw to the burial of Uffi. They got the lich into a box before rot had gone too far, then put workmen to digging and bringing in big stones. When the grave chamber was ready, they laid Uffi in it with a hoard of gold, silver, glass, and amber. Hadding laid thereto weapons he had brought along from the battlefield. The workers heaped earth high above to make a howe, and set the stones around it in the outline of a ship. Folk came from widely around for the death feast. With their own hands Hunding and Hadding slaughtered oxen and horses in the holy shaw. In kettles hung over the fires in the halidom, that meat seethed before the gods until men partook of it. Afterward there were three days of eating, drinking, games, and roistering, that Uffi have a good farewell.
With these honors did Hadding end the feud between Ynglings and, Skjoldungs.
Meanwhile he and Hunding were much together, talking. “You shall have my niece Arnborg as was promised you,” the Swede said.
“I thank you, but no,” Hadding answered. “I’ve thought on it, and indeed the maiden is very fair. But best not have two queens in Denmark. Strife between their sons could well split the kingdom asunder, and maybe this one too. Find her a strong man you want beholden to you.”
Hunding smiled. “I’d liefest that were you yourself,” he said. “But I yield to your wisdom.”
Hadding sighed. “Maybe it’s not so deep. I’ve all I can do keeping Denmark together. With you for king here in Svithjod, I’ll be free to deal with lesser foes.”
They had touched on this before. “Then you will help me to that?” Hunding cried. “Never while I live shall you lack for a friend—no, an oath-brother.”
Hadding nodded. “That will be well. Bare is the back of the brotherless.”
As word went out that he stood behind Hunding, the Swedes became the more willing to take the young man for their new king. Hadding rode with him from Thing to Thing around the land and heard them hail him. Summer was far along when the Danes set homeward. They went laden with gifts, and as the years flowed by, the friendship between the two kings grew ever closer.
XXVI
For season after season, their lands lay at peace. Spring came with a shout of wind and rush of rain, sunlight smote through and was victorious, wet earth went everywhere suddenly green, frogs whooped in the marshes, the wanderbirds returned. Summer brooded huge over grain fields tawny or whitening and leaves more manifold than the stars; clouds loomed on worldrim halfway up the sky, swan-hued but shadowy blue in their depths; the sea shimmered and blinked. Fall turned the world red, yellow, bronze, until wind stripped the bits of color off and whirled them away on its song. Winter stretched snow about bare trees and empty meadows, under leaden skies; nights lengthened, days shrank to glimpses of a sun low and wan in the south; but when weather cleared, frost glittered under the moon and the wheeling Wain.
Folk followed their lives. The yeoman plowed, sowed, reaped, slaughtered, filled crib and pen and stable with the wealth of his acres. The craftsman hammered, cut, fitted together, saw his work grow beneath his hands and found it good. The fisher cast his nets, the trader fared with his cargoes, bold men sought farther abroad than ever before and brought home tales of wonders. Their wives cooked, spun, wove, sewed, and raised strong children. At fairs and offerings, weddings and grave-ales, voices rose from the crowds as merrily as the smoke from their fires.
In Denmark King Hadding warded and tended it all. From shire to shire he rode. Wherever there were dwellings, though they stand on the least of the islands, he set foot now and then. The greater burghs and thorps saw him often. He sat in the Things, and he gave ear to anyone who bespoke him as he passed. None were too lowly. His judgments were strict but fair, with no more heed paid to rank than the law called for. If someone needed help and was worthy of it, that help was forthcoming. Withal, under his eye the chieftains, sheriffs, and their warriors went ruthlessly after illdoers. They hunted down robbers, they scoured out nests of vikings, they did not let a man who had been outlawed go freely about still bullying his neighbors. At last a maiden could walk alone, mile after mile, without fear.
Thus freed from strife and danger, folk did whatever they did best, and Denmark waxed rich. Trouble came yet, sickness, murrain, blight, wounds by mishap, the weakness of age, all the olden griefs. Men quarreled as always, and sometimes the quarrels became murderous. But such was the human lot. On the whole, they called this the happiest time ever known in the kingdom.
So did fourteen years go by.
During them, Queen Ragnhild bore no more children. Nonetheless, at first she and Hadding lived blithely enough together. He did not even keep a leman at his side, only bedded other women on his wayfarings around the kingdom and then only if he found them comely and they were willing He and his wife watched their offspring grow. Both were being raised in other households, as was the wont among the highborn, but the parents visited these whenever they could, or had the families as their own guests.
In Frodi they, like his foster father Eirik Jarl, had gladness. The boy was handsome, stalwart, quick-witted. When he chose, he could delight anybody. However, a fierce heart beat in his breast. Early on he was eager at weapon-play and in the hunt. He talked much •of the wars he would wage after he reached manhood. Hadding smiled. “Yes, you will have your fights,” he said. “You may start by coming along with me on mine. I’ll
surely get some more, wherever they may arise.”
Ragnhild bit her lip.
They saw less of Ulfhild, for she lived afar in Scania with Eyjolf. When they did, she was apt to stir up unease in them. Thin, keen-faced, hair fox-red, she seemed to have little womanliness. She hated the tasks she was set to learn, did them badly, and screamed at those who taught her. Likewise could she fly into rages at anyone else who overrode her will. That will was for ordering others about, for running off recklessly by herself over the hills and into the woods, for climbing trees and throwing stones and handling sharp things. Sometimes somebody coming on her unawares spied her torturing a bird or small beast she had caught. With Eyjolf’s hounds she got on well, and when she grew able to ride she was always pestering him to let her take off on a wild gallop.
“I wonder whence a soul like that came into her,” Ragnhild said low.
“Oh, she’s only mettlesome,” Hadding answered. “And bright. She’ll soon find out that misbehavior gets her nowhere. It’s no wonder if a youngster like her waxes restless.” He did not sound as if he altogether believed it.
Ragnhild gave him a long look. “You do yourself, don’t you?”
“Well, the days and years are becoming much the same, over and over. My housecarles begin to chafe. They have their lands to oversee, their gains to garner, but where can they win fame?”
“Must they make their names by killing, looting, and dying young? Are there no better ways?”
Now Hadding looked at her. “I think you also feel somewhat caged.”
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