The Raven Banner

by Tim Hodkinson

  ‘You wanted to see me, High One,’ Ulrich broke the silence.

  Eirik remained still for a moment, head bowed, eyes closed. Then he looked up and opened his eyes.

  ‘Ah! Ulrich,’ Eirik said, shaking his head slightly as if in disappointment. ‘I find myself with a dilemma.’ He gestured to the other man who stood beside him. ‘You know Jarl Thorfinn of Orkney?’

  ‘Oh, I know him all right,’ Ulrich said. ‘I did not expect my king to be keeping company with snakes.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, wolf man,’ Thorfinn growled, stepping towards Ulrich. ‘Or I will cut it out.’

  King Eirik laid a restraining hand on the jarl’s chest. One glance from the eyes of the king was enough even to make as big a man like Thorfinn pause.

  ‘Ulrich, I have to be able to trust my men,’ King Eirik said. ‘I’m surrounded by enemies. If any of my men show disobedience, I can show no mercy. I can’t have in-fighting either. It seems, Ulrich, that you have not been entirely straight with me.’

  Ulrich raised his eyebrows. ‘According to who? Jarl Thorfinn? The man who made a deal with Guthfrith of Dublin – your enemy – to command the Irish Sea slave trade? The man who set my crew up so Guthfrith could kill us. Only it didn’t work out that way, did it?’

  Ulrich shot a provoking leer in Thorfinn’s direction. The jarl sneered back.

  ‘We fought our way out of Dublin and instead of being killed, we killed them,’ Ulrich said. ‘I told you all this, High One.’

  Eirik sighed. ‘I sent you to the court of Jarl Thorfinn because he was an ally. He was to help you get those Ulfbehrt swords for my men. I didn’t send you there to start going off on your own adventures. Now I hear you made a trip to Iceland?’

  Ulrich looked away.

  ‘What happened in Iceland?’ Thorfinn said.

  Ulrich pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.

  ‘Yes you do, you little bastard,’ Thorfinn said, his hand dropping to the hilt of his seax knife. ‘I sent two ships to Iceland loaded with my best men. My finest warriors. All just to kill one old woman. My son joined them with a ship from Dublin. None of them returned.’

  ‘The sea is a dangerous place.’ Ulrich shrugged. ‘Accidents happen. People get lost.’

  Thorfinn stepped closer. The big, barrel-chested jarl towered over the little Wolf Coat. His teeth were bared, as if trying to hold back the fury that blazed within him that only found escape in the flecks of spit that shot from his lips.

  ‘Not my ships. Not my men. Not my son,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Those Icelandic goat fuckers say they know nothing either. But they do. I know they do. I know you know too. What happened to my son?’

  ‘Which one?’ Ulrich said, doing his best to sound disinterested.

  Thorfinn blinked. His lips moved but no words came out.

  ‘You have another son, don’t you?’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Einar you mean?’ Thorfinn roared. ‘My bastard son! The one I sired on that Irish Christian bitch?’

  Ulrich noticed Eirik’s smirk. The king laid a consolatory hand on the jarl’s shoulder.

  ‘We all have our by-blows who haunt us, Thorfinn,’ he said. ‘My father had twenty-one children by five different wives. Odin alone knows how many bastards as well. Can you imagine how difficult that makes Yuletide? What matters is who is strongest, eh?’

  ‘I’ve sworn an oath,’ the Jarl of Orkney said through gritted teeth. ‘I will hunt that bastard Einar down. I will carve the blood eagle into the flesh of his back, break his ribs, and pull out his lungs.’

  ‘Come now,’ the king said. ‘Don’t worry yourself about troublesome children. It’s only the father’s job to create them. It is for the children themselves to sort it out among themselves. Look at me and my brothers, which brings me to my point, today.’

  Thorfinn opened his mouth to speak but Eirik held up his hand for silence.

  ‘Enough of all this shit,’ Eirik said with his characteristic bluntness. ‘I need to know I can rely on you two.’

  ‘You can, lord,’ Thorfinn said.

  ‘He betrayed you, High One!’ Ulrich said.

  ‘As I explained to the king,’ the jarl said through gritted teeth, ‘I was just leading Guthfrith on. I always meant to double cross him.’

  ‘Aye, right!’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Shut up! Both of you!’ Eirik thundered. Ulrich, Skar and Thorfinn all started, surprised at the fury and animation in the normally taciturn king. For a moment he glared at them all, meeting each one’s gaze and holding it until the other finally looked away.

  ‘If either of you want to carry on this squabble then you’ll find yourself fighting a bout with my Blámaðr,’ he continued. At the sound of these words the huge black man straightened up and rolled his head around his neck, a wicked grin creasing his face.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you think you were playing at, Thorfinn,’ Eirik said. ‘Nor what you were up to pissing about in Iceland, Ulrich, but I’m telling both of you to cut it out. You must work together. My half-brothers, Olaf and Sigurd, and three of the strongest jarls in Norway, are preparing to rebel against me. They’ve had dealings with my bastard little brother, Hakon, too. There is an alliance forming. They want to put me off the throne.’

  ‘Hakon?’ Ulrich sneered. ‘He’s no threat. He’s still a boy. Besides, he’s been in Britain for years, ever since your Royal Father sent him to be fostered by Aethelstan of Wessex.’

  ‘And you think Aethelstan wouldn’t want a little tame dog sitting on my throne in Norway?’ the king shouted. His chest heaved as he fought to control the indignation within. After a few moments Eirik regained his composure.

  ‘Thankfully the Gods have given me an opportunity,’ he said. ‘Hakon cannot come to Norway yet as he is otherwise engaged. Aethelstan is marching north to attack Scotland. My little brother leads part of his army. Unfortunately, I also cannot leave Norway to deal with him. If I take my army away those rebel bastards will make their move and I’ll have nothing to return to. This is why you two have to work together.’

  Ulrich and Thorfinn exchanged glances.

  ‘Ulrich, I need you to get the Raven Banner,’ Eirik said. ‘If it’s in Jorvik then I can’t have Hakon and Aethelstan in possession of a magic standard that guarantees victory to those who march behind it.’

  Ulrich straightened up. ‘We will get it, lord.’

  ‘When you do, deliver it to Thorfinn,’ Eirik said. He turned to Thorfinn. ‘We will steal their magic banner then stop them with iron. We can’t just rely on witchcraft, though my wife would tell you otherwise. Swords and the strength of our arms will determine the outcome of this. Once Ulrich gets the banner, Thorfinn, I need you to take your ships and your warriors south and stop Hakon. March into battle behind the Raven Banner. Kill Hakon if you can.’

  ‘You want me to kill your brother?’ Thorfinn said, sounding slightly dubious.

  Eirik grunted.

  ‘I’ve already killed two of my other brothers. Will you do this or not?’

  ‘I will do it, High One,’ Thorfinn said, bowing his head.

  ‘Do we now all understand each other?’ Eirik said.

  Ulrich and Thorfinn nodded. Ulrich mused to himself how King Eirik was a man of few words, but when he did choose to speak, he made sure his words were heard.

  ‘Good,’ Eirik said. ‘Now get going, Ulrich. There is no time to waste.’

  Ulrich sucked air in through his teeth. ‘We’re not ready yet, High One. We’re still training the new men.’

  ‘I gave you my best warriors, Ulrich,’ the king said. ‘How can they not be ready?’

  Ulrich made a pained face. ‘I’m sorry, lord, but to be an Úlfhéðnar requires very special capabilities. Just today I had to throw Bragi out.’

  ‘Bragi?’ Eirik looked astounded. ‘That man is a born killer. How could he not be good enough?’

  ‘So my company is one short,’ Ulrich said. ‘As you know, we must be twelve.’
r />   ‘Why?’ Thorfinn asked.

  ‘All Úlfhéðnar are twelve,’ Ulrich said. ‘Berserkers too. It’s always been so. Odin would not favour us if we did not honour his sacred number.’

  ‘Isn’t nine the number sacred to Odin?’ Thorfinn said, frowning.

  ‘Nine is three times three,’ Ulrich said. ‘Three times three plus three is twelve.’’

  Thorfinn nodded, but the expression on his face made it clear he had no idea what the mystical significance Ulrich was attempting to convey was.

  ‘I can’t sit around waiting for you to find exactly the right men,’ Eirik said.

  ‘Lord,’ Ulrich said. ‘I have a couple of people in mind. Affreca—’

  ‘Affreca?’ the king looked incredulous. ‘Guthfrith’s daughter? Isn’t she… isn’t she a bit too much…?’

  ‘… of a woman?’ Ulrich said. He was aware his cheeks were flushing. ‘But so was Brunhild. So was Lagertha, Ragnar Loðbrók’s wife. Being a woman didn’t make them any less formidable. Affreca’s skill with a bow is uncanny. She has no value as a hostage to you now. I can use her.’

  Before he died, King Guthfrith of Dublin had sent King Eirik a message stick carved in runes that said Eirik should have no thought of using Affreca as a hostage. She had dishonoured his family so much that she no longer held any value to him. If Eirik wished to return her, Guthfrith would cut her throat himself.

  ‘There is also Einar, Thorfinn’s other son,’ Ulrich added.

  The jarl coughed. Ulrich noticed he was biting his lip.

  ‘He’s in Jorvik too,’ Ulrich continued. ‘I believe Odin wants him in my company.’

  King Eirik looked at Ulrich for a long moment. ‘I know how religious you are, Ulrich,’ he said at length. ‘And I don’t want to disregard that but we really cannot wait.’

  ‘Then I can help,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Gizur, my champion, can take Bragi’s place in your crew. I offer his services to you freely and without obligation.’

  Ulrich looked far from happy. King Eirik on the other hand was delighted. He clapped his hand on the jarl’s shoulder.

  ‘That’s the spirit, Thorfinn,’ the king flashed a rare grin. ‘Already working together. Ulrich, get your ship ready to sail. There’s no more time to waste.’

  Eleven

  Moonlight scattered countless silver diamonds across the surface of the sea on the strait of Karm. Jarl Thorfinn ignored the beautiful vista as he strode towards the shore. Behind him laughter, singing and chatter – the sounds of feasting – emanated from the king’s great feasting hall on the summit of the ness, the same way the warmth from its fires seeped out into the freezing night air. Thorfinn pulled his furs around him and tried to look as nonchalant as he could as he glanced around him.

  The jarl followed the track down to a tumble of boathouses and a dry dock that lined the shore of the harbour. Stone quays reached long fingers out into the sound, the waters of which slopped against their rock, thick and soup-like and on the verge of freezing. A forest of masts was outlined against the moonlight, rising from the longships, knarrs, trading ships built like a longship but wider and with a deeper hull, and other vessels that thronged the quays or sat beached in the shallows.

  A little way offshore was the dark shape of a little rocky island. Amid its rock pools the moonlight glinted on metal chains and the white of human bones, picked clean of flesh by crabs and fish.

  As he neared the largest boathouse, Thorfinn saw two figures waiting for him. The jarl frowned. There should have been only one of them.

  As he got closer he made out the tall, broad-shouldered figure of his champion, Gizur.

  ‘You wanted to see me in private, lord?’ Gizur said in a hushed voice. The big man’s teeth chattered, clad as he was in only a lavishly embroidered shirt and breeches, his best clothes that he had put on to attend the king’s feast.

  ‘You didn’t bring a cloak?’ Thorfinn said. His tone was slightly incredulous.

  ‘You said you did not want anyone seeing us meeting,’ Gizur said. ‘I left the feast saying I was going to the outhouse.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Thorfinn said, cocking his head towards the man who stood beside Gizur. He had the body of a warrior but he looked like he had seen better days. One eye was blackened, swollen and almost completely closed over. His right cheek was also puffed up and discoloured. His nose was broken and bent, something that had happened not that long ago as caked blood, black in the moonlight, still clogged the ends of his nostrils.

  ‘His name is Bragi,’ Gizur said. ‘I think he could be of help to us.’

  ‘How?’ Thorfinn cast a disparaging glance at Bragi. ‘He looks like he’s really good at losing fights.’

  ‘He’s one of King Eirik’s best warriors. Ulrich did this to him earlier today,’ Gizur said. ‘I think he sees things our way, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Ah!’ Thorfinn said, realisation dawning on him. ‘That Bragi.’

  ‘I want revenge,’ Bragi mumbled through his thickened, split lips. ‘I’ll make Ulrich pay for what he did to me.’

  ‘Why not challenge him to a Holmgang?’ Thorfinn said, unable to hide the hint of disapproval that crept into his tone of voice. ‘Sort it out man to man?’

  Bragi directed his good eye towards the ground. ‘Ulrich is an Úlfhéðinn. He is surrounded by his men. I want to kill him but I don’t want to die myself. Gizur says you can help me get my vengeance.’

  Thorfinn nodded. ‘You’ll get your chance. Get ready and come with me to Orkney to join my warband. I will tell the king you are needed.’

  Bragi’s open eye brightened with delight. He grinned.

  ‘Now go,’ Thorfinn said.

  Bragi looked at Gizur, who nodded as well. The damaged warrior hurried off in the direction of the feasting hall.

  ‘I hope we can trust him, Gizur,’ Thorfinn said as he watched Bragi go. ‘If Eirik even suspects I’m not fully cooperating with Ulrich we’re both dead men.’

  ‘I believe we can, lord,’ Gizur said. ‘He sought me out this afternoon. He wants revenge on Ulrich more than anything else.’

  ‘Good,’ Thorfinn said. ‘I hope that’s still the case when he learns that you will be his replacement in Ulrich’s Wolf Coat company.’

  Gizur’s mouth dropped open. The moonlight glinted on his exposed teeth.

  ‘Me, lord?’ Gizur shook his head. ‘I don’t understand? I’m your champion.’

  ‘Who better deserves a place in an elite Úlfhéðnar company, Gizur?’ the jarl said. ‘Gizur I have a special task for you. One that requires a man of great courage, wit and resolve. I want you to sail with Ulrich to Jorvik as one of his company. I want you to be my eyes and ears in that company. I’m sure Ulrich intends to make contact with my bastard son in Jorvik.’

  Gizur opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  ‘Do everything in your power to help them get the Raven Banner,’ Thorfinn continued, ‘but once it is obtained, I don’t care what you have to do or how you make it happen, but I want Einar dead. Take the banner and get it to me. Do that and you will prove a worthy champion. Can I rely on you for this, Gizur?’

  The red-haired man took a deep breath. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said.

  ‘Good man,’ Thorfinn said, laying a meaty hand on Gizur’s shoulder. ‘Go and prepare. Ulrich sails in the morning.’

  Thorfinn watched as Gizur left on the same path Bragi had taken. For a few moments the jarl waited, watching the moonlight on the sea. He did not wish to be seen coming back to the hall too soon after the other two.

  ‘Isn’t it rather a cold night to be out walking?’

  The sound of a new voice made Thorfinn spin. It felt as though his heart had leapt up into the back of his mouth. A woman stood behind him, swathed in heavy furs against the cold. The hood of her cloak was raised so her face was lost in its shadow. She was mere steps behind him. How could she have got so close without him hearing her? How long had she been there and how much had she overheard?
>
  Thorfinn’s hand dropped to the hilt of his seax knife. At the same time the woman reached up and pulled back her hood.

  The jarl gasped.

  It was none other than Gunnhild, Queen of Norway and wife of King Eirik Bloody Axe.

  Twelve

  Gunnhild’s pale skin was milk white in the moonlight. Her black hair spilled around her shoulders. The sight of her beauty was so arresting that Thorfinn’s hand relaxed on the knife hilt, leaving the weapon undrawn.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, nodding his head towards her in deference. ‘I could very well ask you the same question.’

  Thorfinn thought hard. If she had overheard everything and told Eirik what he had just said to Gizur and Bragi then he was a draugr, a dead man walking. What could he do? Gunnhild was the queen. Could he kill her? If he did where would that get him? The outcry would be enormous. Eirik would leave no stone unturned until he found who did it. He could run but would need a crew to take one of the ships. At this time of night that would be impossible without alerting everyone in Avaldsnes as to what he was up to.

  The queen stepped closer. In the moonlight her blue eyes seemed almost translucent and they bore into his. Thorfinn felt his heart quicken. Somehow his confusion became insurmountable.

  He had heard the tales that the queen was a witch. She had been taught her craft by two Sami wizards far to the north in Finmark. King Eirik, travelling north on a Viking raid had come across her and straight away fell in love with her. Despite their powers, Eirik had killed both wizards and taken Gunnhild as his wife. Some spoke in hushed whispers that it was through witchcraft she had made Eirik love her. Was she working that magic on him now?

  ‘That was an interesting little talk you had,’ Gunnhild said.

  Thorfinn’s heart plunged. She had heard everything. He had to do something. But what? What was happening to him? He had always been a man of action yet now he was frozen by confusion.