War King

by Eric Schumacher

  “Return to the warmth of your hall?” asked Trygvi with a lopsided grin. “Your words are those of an old man, Uncle.”

  Hakon smiled back. He would have smiled more broadly, but his happy conversation with Sigurd had reignited the pain in his nose. “Some days I feel like an old man.”

  “Bah! Keep thinking like that and you will grow older sooner than you think.”

  Hakon shrugged. “Mayhap.” He turned the subject to his nephew. “I suppose you will be staying here, then?”

  “Aye. The pickings are yet good. And with you gone, there will be even more to go around for me and my men.” Trygvi grinned wolfishly.

  “Do not overstay your welcome, Trygvi. The Danes are defeated but not conquered. They can still fight, and you will be shorter-handed without me and the Tronds.”

  Trygvi scratched his head. “The Tronds will also leave? That is even better news.”

  Hakon grabbed his nephew's thick wrist in the warrior's way. “Fare safely.”

  “The safe are never remembered.”

  Nor the witless, Hakon wanted to add but held his tongue.

  He left Trygvi and returned to his ship. Once there, he stroked the wet wood of her hull and silently thanked God for his release from this cursed place. He had suffered, and he had endured. He had conquered, he had avenged, and he had kept his promises. Now it was time to put the campaign behind him and look to the future.

  Part III

  With batter'd shield, and blood-smear'd sword

  Sits one beside the shore of Stord,

  With armour crushed and gashed sits he,

  A grim and ghastly sight to see;

  The Heimskringla

  Chapter 20

  Lade, Trondelag, Spring, AD 958

  Sparkling waterfalls, lush shores, and crisp skies greeted Hakon and his crew as Dragon slithered against the slack tide on its way to Lade. To the east, the Keel lorded over the land, its white peaks blending with the billowing clouds that moved slowly over them. Winter's thaw was in progress, and spring's gifts were on full display. Not that the men at oar could see it, or cared. The wind had been against them since yestermorning, and they were tired and hungry and ready to reach their destination. Hakon was not so forlorn, for the weather was fine, the sights that greeted his eyes were glorious, and the treasures that awaited him in Lade made his heart swell with anticipation.

  The ship crept past rocky cliffs and quiet, low-lying pastures where the smoke from hearth fires wafted. They passed the ruins of Halla on their right, where Hakon had first fought Erik, and where, after so many winters, the vegetation had reclaimed the town and the tide had ripped the remnants of Erik's sunken ships from their sea-graves.

  Eventually, they reached Lade. Winters ago, when times were uncertain, Sigurd had lived behind an earthwork wall with his household and his hirdmen, but time and security in the land had seen the removal of the defenses and the expansion of Sigurd's Lade into a small town. It was not a Kaupang in terms of size, but it was the closest thing to it in this remote stretch of the North.

  A horn blast announced the presence of Dragon, and soon a crowd gathered on the beach. Sigurd stood before his people, his thumbs hooked into his waistline and a grand smile on his face. Beside him stood Astrid, her hands resting on the shoulders of Hakon's daughter, Thora, who bobbed up and down in her excitement. Sigge was also there, glowering at the head of his crew with his arms crossed tightly. Hakon called to Eskil to head for land.

  “So this is Lade,” remarked Egbert, his expression wavering between curiosity and concern. Over the years, four of his brethren had come to Trondelag to preach the word of Christ. Two had been sacrificed like sheep. Two more had been murdered while preaching, their heads severed from their bodies. What, he probably wondered, would befall him in this stronghold of heathens?

  Hakon looked at his priest. “Worry not, Egbert. You are Sigurd's guest here. You will not be harmed.”

  “I do not share your confidence, my lord,” said Egbert as Dragon glided onto the strand.

  Hakon's crew shipped oars, then rose and stretched their sore limbs, all the while casting greetings and jokes at friends upon the beach. Hakon leaped to the sand, ignoring the pain in his joints, and strode to Sigurd, who stayed him with a raised hand.

  “There is someone you must greet first, my king,” he said as Astrid brought forth Thora, whose flaxen hair was combed and braided about her head and who wore on her long body a beautiful blue dress that mirrored the color in her eyes.

  Hakon smiled at the sight of his daughter, not only because he had not seen her in months, but because he had never seen her so well kept. He knelt and marveled at her growth and her limbs, which looked like long reeds. He marveled at the color in her thinning cheeks and the weave of her hair. He marveled at the white of her teeth. Thora now cast her gaze to the ground under her father's scrutiny. He understood her awkwardness and did not force her to feel otherwise. “You are well, Thora?” Hakon asked gently.

  She nodded, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “What took you so long?” There was an edge in her voice.

  “I came as soon as I could. Do not cry.” He stroked her cheek. “I am here now, and we will be going home soon.” He opened his arms. “Do you have a hug for your long-absent father?”

  She nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and turned his eyes to Astrid.

  She smiled down at him. “She has missed you, my king. As have I.”

  Hakon kissed his daughter's head, rose, and wrapped his arms around Astrid. He had not words to equal Astrid's, and so he just clung to her, reveling in the smell of her hair and the press of her body against his.

  They must have clung to each other a bit too long, for Sigurd finally cleared his throat to get their attention. “Come, now. There will be time for that later.” His deep laugh brought a chuckle to the crowd and the heat to Hakon's cheeks. Sigurd walked over to his king and embraced him. “Welcome to Lade, Hakon. As always, you are well met.”

  “And you,” replied Hakon. “Your scar befits you. Now you finally look like a warrior.” Which was true. For all of his struggles, Sigurd had rarely shown the wear of war.

  Sigurd's finger went to his scar. “I thought the wound would ruin my fine looks, but the ladies love it.” He grinned and slapped Hakon on the shoulder, then turned to the crowd. With a theatrical flourish of his arms, he pronounced: “We shall feast in my hall tonight to welcome King Hakon and his men. All are welcome as guests under my roof! Even the scrawny priest!” He nodded to Egbert and winked. He then ushered Hakon from the beach and through the cheering crowd. “Come. I would hear the tidings you bring.”

  Hakon lifted Thora onto his shoulders to keep her from the press of Lade's folk. The girl forgot her tears and giggled as Hakon pretended to be a horse, trotting behind the old jarl as he led them through the lean-tos and trading stalls and makeshift structures that dotted the area just inland from the beach. Hakon galloped over to Toralv, who smiled first at Hakon and then up at Thora. In return, she reached out and ruffled his black hair, which made him laugh.

  “You have grown, princess,” he said. “Now I can finally look you in the eye.”

  Thora giggled, and Hakon used the opportunity to whisper to his champion, “Keep an eye on Egbert, Toralv. I do not want him getting into trouble.”

  Toralv smiled. “I will make sure to keep the women off of him.”

  “Careful,” Hakon scolded and cast his eyes upward at his daughter.

  Toralv's smile persisted. “It is about time she understood the wicked ways of your priests.”

  Hakon kicked Toralv in the ankle, making the champion jump away with a laugh.

  “What is that he says, Father?” asked Thora, who was paying little attention to the banter of the two men.

  “Nothing, Thora. He is just making jokes.”

  The crowd moved into Sigurd's hall, which was alight with candles and the flame of the hearth fire. Hakon had handed off Th
ora to Unn at the door of the hall, then walked with Sigurd and Astrid past bowing thralls to the head table. The warriors and citizens of Lade entered behind them, fanning out to the empty seats, their voices and laughter echoing through the cavernous space.

  Sigurd stood on the dais before the crowd and raised his ceremonial drinking horn. The crowd settled to hear their lord. “A short time ago, King Hakon came to us with a promise of wealth and fame in the land of the Danes. He has kept his promise, and for that we are grateful.” The crowd cheered their jarl's words. “But lest we forget, fine warriors died in that pursuit, so it is to their memory that I toast first. To the comrades and kin we lost. Skol!” Sigurd hoisted his horn to the crowd.

  “Skol!” They cried in unison.

  Sigurd drank first, then passed the horn to Hakon. And as the mead slipped into Hakon's mouth, his mind turned to the friends and loved ones now gone. To Bjarke. To Ottar. To Gyda. And especially, to Egil. God, how he missed that sour old man and his counsel. Wherever they were now, he hoped they feasted together as he did with Sigurd.

  “Of course,” Sigurd continued, interrupting Hakon's thoughts, “with battle comes fame and riches. And there was no shortage of either in the land of the Danes.” Sigurd turned to Hakon. “We have profited much on your campaign, and for that, I thank you, King Hakon. Skol!”

  “Skol!” cried the crowd again, though Hakon's body tensed with the praise. For the plunder had come at a steep price to his soul. He accepted the horn again but only pretended to drink. Astrid laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him, her face filled with pride. Hakon gave her a sad grin, then turned to the raucous crowd and bade them sit.

  “I thank Sigurd for the kind words and for your toasts, though I am no more deserving than him, or you, of praise,” Hakon called to the crowd, his voice unusually subdued. “Had many of you not been by my side in Jutland, or at the side of your comrades, we would not be here today to speak of such things. And so, I say only this: thank you. And please, thank your comrades for their courage in the face of fear. Let us celebrate bravery and friendship and sacrifice. Now please, sit and enjoy yourselves.”

  “What is the matter?” Astrid asked as they sat beside each other. As usual, she did not mince words but jumped straight to the heart of things.

  “It is nothing.”

  Astrid frowned, but pressed the issue no further. Instead, she rubbed Hakon's forearm gently and, through that touch, told Hakon all he needed to know. That she was there for him. That she loved him. That she would wait until he was ready to open his heart. And in knowing that, Hakon loved her all the more. He laid his hand on hers, entwined his fingers with hers, and squeezed.

  “On the morrow,” he whispered to her. She looked at him questioningly with those pine-colored eyes. He smiled. “On the morrow, I will tell you. Meet me at the door of this hall at daybreak with two horses. One for you and one for me.”

  She smiled. “Whatever you have in mind, I like it already.”

  Hakon grinned and sipped the cup of mead that had just been placed before him. His eyes scanned the hall discreetly until his gaze came to rest on Sigge. As usual, women and cups surrounded Sigurd's son, but for once, the young man did not join in their merrymaking.

  “Your son is not happy,” said Hakon to Sigurd.

  The jarl grunted. “No, he is not. His mood has soured ever since Rastarkalv. His honor was trampled upon, or so he thinks.”

  “By me?” Hakon asked.

  “By you. By the gods. By everyone,” Sigurd spat, then reclined in his seat as if defeated. “Only the gods know, my king, for he will not tell his father.” Sigurd drank from his horn.

  Hakon's anger smoldered. “It is hard to hear that Sigge feels slighted when the mistake was his. He was given an order and did not heed it. Men died as a result. Egil died as a result.”

  “I know,” Sigurd sighed. “I have tried to talk to him about it, but he will not discuss it. I have finally tired of it. In half a moon's time, he will leave with his ship to seek his own fame in the Eastern Sea. And good riddance.”

  “You are sending him away?”

  “Let us say it was a mutual agreement. The boy needs lessons I cannot teach. He can only learn them from the world, and this,” he waved at his hall, “is not the world.”

  Hakon sipped his drink as he took in Sigurd's words. “That is good, I think. He could use some adventure and some time away from here.”

  Which made Hakon wonder where exactly Sigge would go, and what he would learn along the way. He prayed it was fruitful for them all, for when Sigurd's life ended, it would be to Sigge that Hakon looked first.

  The following morning, Astrid did not forget. She met Hakon at daybreak with two horses and a smile, ignoring the curious looks of the guards standing by the door to Sigurd's hall. She and Hakon wore riding clothes, and Hakon had packed an extra knapsack, which he tied to the wooden saddle of his steed. Though it was spring, winter's chill still hung in the air and clouded before the nostrils of the anxious horses. Hakon stroked his horse's muzzle and mounted.

  “What is in the bag?” Astrid asked as she climbed onto her horse.

  Hakon just smiled and kicked his steed forward. “You will find out soon enough,” he called as he passed her.

  They guided their horses through the wooden structures and clumps of warriors who slept off the previous night's feast in the alleyways. The air was heavy with the stench of stale ale and fish and the smoke of cooking fires. It turned Hakon's stomach and made him yearn for the clean air they would soon find in the wooded hills east of Lade.

  They left the small town behind and ventured out into open ground. The area had not changed much since Hakon was a teenager. Inland from Lade were two expansive fields set side by side, each divided into three rectangular areas. As soon as winter's frost receded, Lade's thralls had planted rye and barley there, mayhap some vegetables too. The flatlands gradually climbed toward tree-strewn foothills. Here, rays of sunlight twinkled off the leaves and illuminated patches of wildflowers that grew in the muddy carpet of pine needles. Here and there, clumps of melting snow dotted the landscape, sending sparkling streamlets down the hillside and the path on which the horses plodded. Hakon breathed deeply of the pine scent and let it rejuvenate his hall-tainted lungs.

  “Where are you taking me, Hakon?” asked Astrid from behind him.

  “You will see,” Hakon called over his shoulder. “Have patience.”

  “I am a curious person. I cannot help but ask.”

  Hakon laughed. “And I am good at keeping secrets, so you are wasting your breath.”

  When they had gone a short way into the hills, Hakon halted at a spot where another, smaller path shot off the main trail at a right angle. The second path lay partially hidden beneath tree limbs and underbrush, but Hakon recognized it well enough. He dismounted and tied his steed to a tree. Astrid cast curious glances at Hakon and her surroundings as she, too, fastened her reins to a low branch.

  Hakon untied the saddlebag and threw it over his shoulder. “Come.” He beckoned and started down the path. Astrid followed without a word.

  After a short distance, they came to a small clearing at the base of a rocky slope. In the middle of the clearing lay a large pool of steaming water surrounded by a thin coating of snow that had not yet melted. In truth, Hakon knew not whether the pool would still be there and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of it. Astrid stared at the pool in wonder, then at Hakon. He smiled at her. “Have you not been here before?

  “Never,” she whispered.

  “It is wondrous, is it not?”

  “How do you know of this place?”

  “Your father showed it to me when I was new in this land. It was here we agreed to partner in overthrowing Erik. It is called Surt's Pool.”

  Astrid had dipped her finger in the water and, at the explanation, looked at Hakon curiously. “You would sit in a pool named for a fire giant? Does that not frighten you as a Christian?”

&nbs
p; “It did when I first heard your father call it so, but now I know there is nothing to fear. It is just a name.” Hakon had removed his cloak. He hung it on a nearby tree branch.

  “Are we to go in?”

  Hakon could not decide if her tone was playful or puzzled. Mayhap she was both, which amused him all the more. “It is not just there to look at. Come,” he urged as he removed his tunic and began working on his boots. “Do not be frightened.”

  “Pools do not frighten me,” she protested, then removed her cloak as if to prove it.

  Hakon shed his last vestiges of clothing, then climbed gingerly into the pool, letting its warmth envelop his chilled skin, his aching bones, and his purple scars. Astrid followed close behind, first dipping a cautious toe in the water before stepping down. Despite his best efforts at discretion, he could not help but admire the firmness of her long body with its goose-pimpled skin. So often he had seen it by candlelight or in his dreams, but here, by daylight, Hakon noticed the tangle of auburn hair between her legs, the flatness of her belly, and the curve of her small, round breasts, and he felt his own excitement grow. He stood and folded her in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips, and then the neck, and then the shoulder. Her hand slipped beneath the water to feel his excitement and to coax it further.

  “I like this pool,” she moaned as Hakon sat back and she slipped onto him.

  Slowly, gently, they rediscovered each other, exploring their bodies with an unrestrained passion that churned the pool into a tempest of steam and sweat and wavelets. Their moans were masked only by the sounds of the forest, until the intensity of their lovemaking scared even the birds from the trees and they collapsed into each other's embrace.

  “You need to go away more often,” Astrid exclaimed as she tried to catch her breath.

  “I do not like leaving you, but if my homecomings are always so memorable, I will honor your request,” Hakon agreed through his smile as he stroked Astrid's steaming hair.

  They lay in each other's arms in the warmth of the pool for a long time. Neither spoke, though Astrid hummed a song. The tune calmed Hakon, and he laid his head back against a stone.