“My lord,” Toralv persisted, his eyes shifting from Hakon's face to the arrow, “I will take you to the hall.” He grabbed Hakon's right arm before the king could protest and tossed it around his shoulders, then slid his left arm around Hakon's waist. “Come now.”
Hakon did not feel the wound yet, but he could see the crimson blood seeping through the rings in his armor. And so he let Toralv guide him up the slope, past the wounded, who moaned, and the dead lying in heaps on the grass. Past Asmund, who stared with his shocked eyes at the sky, with a similar arrow in his throat. Past Eskil, who lay curled in a ball, holding his gut in death. Past Guthorm Sindri with the spear lodged in his belly. One by one they fall, Hakon mused as they reached Eyvind's hall. Inside, Toralv sat his king on one of the blanket-covered platforms that lined the walls.
“Go get Egbert and the women,” Hakon grunted as he sat, for the wound was beginning to pulsate and he trusted only Egbert to treat it.
Toralv jogged from the hall as Hakon examined the arrow. It had struck straight on and penetrated the rings that made up his byrnie. From the amount of blood he could see, it had gone deep, most likely taking a chunk of his clothing with it. Wounds themselves were dangerous, but the stained things that got lodged within them were equally deadly. All of these thoughts troubled Hakon, but he could do nothing to change things. What mattered now was to remove the arrow before he lost too much blood, then clean and bind it. And so he gritted his teeth, gripped the arrow shaft, and broke it off close to the byrnie. He then used his right hand to release the belt at his waist. Slowly, he slipped his hand under his armor and up to the wound, where he moved the broken rings off the shaft. Ever so carefully, he pulled the byrnie up and overhead, trying and failing to keep it from hitting his bloody and throbbing shoulder. By the time the armor shirt lay next to him, Hakon was sweating with the effort and the pain of it all.
It was then that Egbert and Toralv and Astrid came in and rushed to Hakon's side. They tried to mask their concern, but even in the hall's gloomy interior, Hakon could see on their faces what he himself felt inside — that his situation was dire.
Egbert helped Hakon lie back on the platform, then used a knife to cut away the blood-soaked tunic. “I need light,” he said anxiously. “Someone bring me some candles.”
Toralv moved away to do his bidding as Astrid sat beside Hakon's head and stroked his sweating forehead and hair. Hakon closed his eyes and tried to relax. Tried to concentrate on Astrid's soft touch and the stroke of her delicate fingers. Behind his lids, he sensed that candles had come, and then he flinched when Egbert pressed the skin around his wound.
“It is deep,” he heard Egbert say.
A long pause followed and Hakon opened his eyes. He cast his gaze down at Egbert, who was looking from Toralv to Astrid. “Tell me, Egbert.”
Egbert's face seemed to age before Hakon's eyes, or mayhap it was the flicker of the candles that cast a strange glow on the priest's face. Either way, there was no hiding the set of his jaw or his uneasy eyes. “I can remove it, but if it has hit one of your major veins, I cannot bind it. It will keep bleeding.”
Hakon understood instantly what his friend was saying, and the news sucked the breath from his chest. Behind his head, Astrid whimpered as she tried to keep her sorrow from escaping. To hear her made his own heart ache with anguish. How cruel life could be! To finally give them both so much, and then, in an instant, to tear it away with the lucky shot of an arrow.
“Hakon,” Egbert was saying, and Hakon moved his eyes to the priest. “I will do what I can, but we must move with haste. You have lost much blood.”
Hakon nodded and closed his eyes again, trying to focus once more on Astrid's touch rather than the claws of despair that pulled at him. “Thank you, Egbert.”
“Astrid. Boil water and put two blades over the hearth fire. Hurry, now. I need the metal red hot.”
Hakon held up his right hand as Egbert ran off to gather his surgical tools, which were stowed in the ship. Hakon listened to the rustle of movement for a moment, then called for Astrid. A kiss on his sweating forehead announced her presence.
He opened his eyes and saw the sadness on her beautiful face, and he felt his own face twist with an awkward smile. “This is not how I wished to spend our first days of marriage.”
She smiled through her tears. “Nor I.” A sudden fierceness washed over her face. “You cannot die, Hakon. We have a life to live together, you and I.”
Hakon tried to show his strength despite the fear and sorrow and regret that washed over him in rolling waves. But his fire was dying. He could feel its flicker receding, its power waning with the fact that whether he lived or died, the fight would continue. And on and on, men would die. People would die. It was all so tiring. So futile.
He sighed as a new thought washed over him. A gentler understanding that, despite all of his efforts, he was not in control. None of them were. Not him. Not Astrid. Not even Egbert, who wielded the surgical tools and the power of prayer. Who, then? The Norns with their life threads? Odin? Thor? The Christian God? Did it really matter?
“You cannot die yet,” Astrid whispered fiercely again as tears streamed down her face. “I need you to be strong.” She kissed him on the lips and studied his eyes. He tried to focus on her but found it increasingly hard. And then she was gone, and he closed his eyes.
“Toralv,” Hakon said, lifting his right arm to grasp his friend's.
“I am here, lord,” the champion responded as his paw enveloped Hakon's and his bear-like head appeared above the king's.
“Hear my words carefully,” Hakon began softly, his body and thoughts straining now. “Send word to Harald Eriksson that he shall be king of the Westlands, of all the land from Agder to More. And that he shall recognize Jarl Sigurd, Jarl Gudrod, and Jarl Trygvi as rulers of their fylke.” Above Hakon, Toralv's face blurred and then refocused, as if someone were dragging a veil over Hakon's eyes and then removing it.
Toralv's brow furrowed. “But you are yet king. Why should I send him such a message? And why would you break up the kingdom so? Let that bastard fight for what he gets.”
Hakon tried to grin, but even that effort drained him. “I am done with ruling, Toralv. I have done what I can and want nothing more of this life than peace. If I live this day, I shall take Astrid and Thora and go somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. As for Harald, he is the seed of my father's loins, as are Trygvi and Gudrod. He has fought me well and earned a place at the table. Giving him a scrap just might end the fighting that has plagued us all. That would not be such a bad thing, would it?”
The lines in Toralv's face deepened. “And if you should die? What are your wishes?”
“Give me the burial you think fitting, Toralv.” Hakon squeezed his hand. “I have friends in both heavens, so I have nothing to fear.”
Those words made Hakon's friend smile, even as tears welled in his green eyes. “I will see your wishes through, just as I will never forget the day I came to you as a teenager and swore my oath to you. I was young and foolish, but of all of my witless decisions in life, that was the least. I have questioned you at times, but I never regretted serving you, lord, and never will.” Toralv clamped his other hand on Hakon's, as if to imprint his words on Hakon's heart through his grip.
Egbert returned then and interrupted the moment. He was sweating. “Hakon, here is your belt. Use it to bite on. This will hurt.” He handed Hakon the thick belt, which was still stained with the blood of his foemen. Hakon took it in his mouth and readied himself to bite. “Toralv. Hold Hakon down.”
Toralv climbed onto the platform and laid his hands on Hakon's shoulders near his neck, and away from his wound.
“Astrid, be ready with those blades.”
Egbert's instruments entered his wound. The pain of it seared Hakon's mind, and he screamed through his clenched teeth. He tried to close his eyes, but the world spun beneath him, and so he opened his eyes, and the world continued to spin.
And t
hen, suddenly, the pain stopped; and Hakon, after nearly forty winters, ceased fighting and surrendered to the peace.
Chapter 26
Hakon Haraldsson, whom some called “the Good” and others Athelstanfostri, or the foster-child of Athelstan, was laid to rest not far from Fitjar, at the very place he was born — a place beside the water called Hakonarhella. He was buried with his weapons and his armor and covered with a mound of dirt that resembled an upside-down ship. The ship's form was marked with simple stones. At its prow stood a wooden cross that Egbert had fashioned.
Messengers had gone out far and wide, and those who heard had come in haste to see their king laid to rest. Alongside Hakon's hirdmen stood Eyvind and what remained of his comrades, as well as Astrid, Thora, Egbert, Unn, and the locals. Even Harald Eriksson had come, though he remained on his ship, offshore, out of respect for the ceremony and the mourners.
As the people gathered in the late morning sun, Egbert stepped forward and signed the cross over the grave. The gathering watched the monk pray in his strange Latin language with tears in his eyes and sign the cross over the mound to conclude his prayer. Astrid and Thora stepped forth next, hand in hand, and laid wild flowers across the mound. Neither made any attempt to hide her grief, and the sight of them brought tears to the eyes of even the most battle-hardened men.
The next man to step forward was a local skald. He was a pasty-skinned man with disheveled hair and rotting teeth, who looked incapable of remembering a verse, let alone an entire poem. But Guthorm Sindri had died in the fight, and Eyvind Finson had recommended this man as a suitable replacement, and so he stepped forward cautiously to speak the poem he had composed for this occasion. And this is what he said:
“In Odin's hall an empty place
Stands for a king of Yngve's race;
'Go, my valkyries,' Odin said,
'Go forth, my angels of the dead,
Gondul and Skogul, to the plain
Drenched with the battle's bloody rain,
And to the dying Hakon tell,
Here in Valhall shall he dwell.'
“At Stord, so late a lonely shore,
Was heard the battle's wild uproar;
The lightning of the flashing sword
Burned fiercely at the shore of Stord.
From levelled halberd and spearhead
Life-blood was dropping fast and red;
And the keen arrows' biting sleet
Upon the shore at Stord fast beat.
“Upon the thundering cloud of shield
Flashed bright the sword-storm o'er the field;
And on the plate-mail rattled loud
The arrow-shower's rushing cloud,
In Odin's tempest-weather, there
Swift whistling through the angry air;
And the spear-torrents swept away
Ranks of brave men from light of day.
“With battered shield, and blood-smeared sword
Sits one beside the shore of Stord,
With armor crushed and gashed sits he,
A grim and ghastly sight to see;
And round about in sorrow stand
The warriors of his gallant band:
Because the king of Dag's old race
In Odin's hall must fill a place.
“Then up spoke Gondul, standing near
Resting upon her long ash spear, —
'Hakon! the gods' cause prospers well,
And thou in Odin's halls shalt dwell!'
The king beside the shore of Stord
The speech of the valkyrie heard,
Who sat there on his coal-black steed,
With shield on arm and helm on head.
“Thoughtful, said Hakon, 'Tell me why,
Ruler of battles, victory
Is so dealt out on Stord's red plain?
Have we not well deserved to gain?'
'And is it not as well dealt out?'
Said Gondul. 'Hearest thou not the shout?
The field is cleared — the foemen run —
The day is ours — the battle won!'
“Then Skogul said, 'My coal-black steed,
Home to the gods I now must speed,
To their green home, to tell the tiding
That Hakon's self is thither riding.'
To Hermod and to Brage then
Said Odin, 'Here, the first of men,
Brave Hakon comes, the Northmen's king, —
Go forth, my welcome to him bring.'
“Fresh from the battle-field came in,
Dripping with blood, the Northmen's king.
'Methinks,' said he, 'great Odin's will
Is harsh, and bodes me further ill;
Thy son from off the field to-day
From victory to snatch away!'
But Odin said, 'Be thine the joy
Valhall gives, my own brave boy!'
“And Bragi said, 'Eight brothers here
Welcome thee to Valhall's cheer,
To drain the cup, or fights repeat
Where Hakon Erik's earls beat.'
Quoth the stout king, 'And shall my gear,
Helm, sword, and mail-coat, axe and spear,
Be still at hand! 'Tis good to hold
Fast by our trusty friends of old.'
“Well was it seen that Hakon still
Had saved the temples from all ill;
For the whole council of the gods
Welcomed the king to their abodes.
Happy the day when men are born
Like Hakon, who all base things scorn. —
Win from the brave and honored name,
And die amidst an endless fame.
“Sooner shall Fenris-wolf devour
The race of man from shore to shore,
Than such a grace to kingly crown
As gallant Hakon want renown.
Life, land, friends, riches, all will fly,
And we in slavery shall sigh.
But Hakon in the blessed abodes
For ever lives with the bright gods.”
Historical Notes
This is a work of historical fiction. A lot of effort has been made to stick to the facts as we know them, but those facts are few. So I have endeavored to construct a plausible story based on the rough information we possess. I freely admit that in some cases, I have manufactured characters and plotlines, but the overall story sticks pretty close to the little we know.
Let us look first at the battles. We know that Erik's sons came back to claim the High Seat their father had once occupied, and that they fought Hakon for it. Heimskringla by the Icelandic writer, Snorre Sturlason, reports that there were three such battles, though his story recounts events that happened roughly three hundred years before his time. Gwyn Jones in A History of the Vikings follows a similar train of events. Various other histories and sagas suggest that two or even one battle occurred and no more. We may never know for certain. However, for the sake of the story, I chose to follow Snorre's guidance.
Coupled with the battles were the timeframes in which they occurred. Gwyn Jones suggests they began in 955, or shortly after Erik died in England in 954. Heimskringla is a little less clear on that point. Multiple sources also suggest that the Danish kings, Gorm and his son Harald, had territorial claims to parts of Norway and therefore it made sense for them to support the efforts of Erik's sons once they returned to the North. Again, I followed this line of thinking.
The counter-argument to this is that Erik's sons would have been roughly Hakon's age by the time they returned, so it is equally plausible that they had already gone a-Viking and that their father's death had nothing to do with their alliance to the Danes or the timing of their attacks on the North. Perhaps it was merely coincidental that they happened at roughly the same time. Perhaps not. We may never know.
Regarding Erik's sons, we do not know who was oldest or who was youngest. Some sources suggest Gamle was the oldest. Others state that it was Harald. It is known, though, that Harald Eriksson
was the ultimate winner of the war and that he took over the western area of Norway, ruling in the name of the Danish King, Harald Bluetooth. It is also known that some of his other brothers — perhaps his younger brothers? — still lived and that they co-ruled with Harald.
The Fyrkat Danes are my invention, but they are based on some facts. We know, for example, of the Jomsvikings who lived as a brotherhood of warriors in a ring fort. We know, too, that there were several ring forts, and one in Fyrkat. Recent research connects those forts to the reign of Harald Bluetooth. Dendrochronology dates the wood in the ring forts to a timeframe just after the death of Hakon the Good. However, there is no research to refute the idea that some sort of forts existed earlier and that they may have been the vehicles with which Harald Bluetooth managed to gain and keep control of larger portions of Denmark. That same idea I then extended to his support of Erik's sons in their campaign to conquer Norway.
Many of the characters in the novel are mentioned in Heimskringla, such as Toralv, Egil Woolsark, Jarl Sigurd, Gudrod, Trygvi, and Erik's sons. Others are complete inventions, meant merely to enrich the story. Such is the case with Astrid and many of Hakon's hirdmen. Hakon Sigurdsson and his philandering nature are also mentioned in the history books and both would eventually play a much larger role in the history of Norway. His treachery is manufactured, but given his survival and his documented friendship with Harald Bluetooth several years after Hakon's death, I found it plausible that his relationship with the Danes began early and might have been based on something a bit more nefarious. I have also wondered how the Danes managed to find Hakon at Fitjar on the island of Stord, and Sigge gave me the perfect vehicle for that discovery.
That brings me to Hakon's death. I kept it as close to the telling from Heimskringla as possible. In that telling, it is a boy who shot the arrow. I wanted to give that boy a little more than a mention, so I invented Reinhard. In addition, we do not know the exact year in which Hakon fell, but it was around the year AD 960. I put it as AD 958.
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