The Raven Banner

by Tim Hodkinson

  ‘He’s paying for good men, yes,’ Bjorn said. Then he noticed the berserkers’ bear skins and the Wolf Skins around the shoulders of Ulrich’s men.

  ‘Úlfhéðnar?’ he said, as if unsure of what he saw before him.

  ‘Aye,’ Ulrich said. ‘We were shipwrecked on our way here. We lost our ship and most of our equipment.’

  The young man nodded in appreciation. ‘Then you’ll be welcome to join us,’ he said. ‘We’ll take you ashore and you can talk to my father. He’ll supply weapons for men like you I’m sure. Do me a favour though?’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Hakon won’t like the idea of Úlfhéðnar and berserkers in his army,’ Bjorn said. ‘You know he’s a Christian, don’t you?’

  ‘Aye,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘So tone down any religious talk,’ Bjorn said. ‘Don’t go around shouting about Odin and Thor. Men like my father and I can appreciate where you come from. Our forefathers came here from Norway after all. Hakon won’t though. You’ll have to be baptised too, you know that don’t you?’

  ‘Some of this lot could do with a good wash, anyway,’ Ulrich said.

  ‘Follow us in, then,’ Bjorn said.

  Both ships sailed to the southern shore of the firth. There was a harbour near the palisaded town but the jetties were already clogged with ships so Roan had to beach his vessel on a shelving beach a little way off. As they clambered out of the ship and onto the shore, Ulrich turned to the others.

  ‘It shouldn’t need mentioning,’ he said, ‘but whatever you do, don’t mention we serve King Eirik, all right? You berserkers especially. Be careful here. We are not among friends. I don’t want anyone getting drunk and letting their mouths get us into trouble. Stick together and keep your own council.’

  They all nodded.

  Bjorn came to meet them. He was flanked by a troop of armed warriors who fanned out on either side of him. It was clear Ulrich’s crew were not yet trusted.

  ‘You’re the leader of these men?’ Bjorn said to Ulrich.

  Ulrich nodded.

  ‘Then you will come with me to meet my father,’ Bjorn said. ‘The rest of you may as well join the queue to be baptised. The priests are busy today so follow the rest and join the line.’

  He pointed to where a long line of men snaked up from the harbour. As Ulrich went off with Bjorn, hobbling along using a spear as a makeshift walking stick, the rest joined the line.

  There were people everywhere. The fields outside the town were full of countless leather tents which Einar guessed was where the crews of most of the ships slept. The town itself must be jammed to overcrowding. Ayvind had told him that this was just the ship army as well. Aethelstan’s land army was yet to arrive. Einar judged that there were already enough warriors here to take Scotland five times over and they were still arriving. Newcomers like themselves were snaking their way up from ships docked in the harbour or beached like Roan’s. Many went directly towards the town or camp ground. Those not already of the Christian faith were directed to join the line with Einar and the others.

  There were perhaps a hundred men in line before them. As far as Einar could tell they came from all over the northern world.

  ‘What’s wrong with talking about King Eirik?’ Einar said in a quiet voice to Ayvind, who stood behind him. ‘Isn’t he Jarl Hakon’s brother?’

  ‘Half-brother,’ Ayvind said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘King Harald Fairhair was father to both of them but they don’t share a mother. They both could claim the throne of Norway. Eirik has already killed two other brothers. Who is to say he won’t do the same to Hakon?’

  ‘Ayvind why are you with us in this field?’ Einar said, the thought occurring to him all of a sudden. ‘Why don’t you go to Hakon? I’m sure he’s lodged in some palace in the town. He would be sure to welcome you. You’d be a lot more comfortable there.’

  Ayvind made a face. ‘I’m here to share your adventure remember?’

  ‘Aye but if Hakon learns you were part of the plan to steal his Raven Banner I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes,’ Einar said, then he recalled the last time he had met Hakon himself. ‘I’d better stay out of his way too, that’s for sure.’

  The line moved forward a few paces then stopped again. This continued for some time until they went over the brow of a hill and into a small hollow through which ran a sluggish brown river, swollen by winter rains. The line snaked down the bank to a tree at the water’s edge. The line was so long they had plenty of time to see what awaited them. Seven Christian wizards stood in the river. Einar knew they were the ones called ‘monks’ by the strange way the tops of their heads had been shaved. Their black gowns were girded up around their waists. Each warrior in the queue stepped onto the river bank, stripped to his undershirt, then waded out to a monk. He kneeled before him in the brown water, the monk raised his hand in some sort of holy gesture not unlike a goði blessing a sacrifice. He spoke words Einar did not understand, then pushed the warrior under the water. When the warrior emerged again and stood up, the monk embraced him in a gesture that was not always appreciated.

  ‘Last time I did this they gave me a nice long white shirt,’ Skar said. He seemed far from impressed by the lack of gifts being given.

  ‘At least it’s in a river,’ Bodvar said. ‘Last time I did it they had a big barrel. I had to go into the same water hundreds of other dirty bastards had gone through before me.’

  After a very long time it was their turn and Einar found himself almost at the front of the line.

  ‘I’m already a Christian,’ Ayvind said, stepping aside to let him ahead of him.

  Einar looked at Ayvind in amazement as the skald spoke some words to one of the monks. The man nodded and patted Ayvind on the shoulder.

  ‘I’ll not be getting into any freezing water today,’ Ayvind said to Einar with a grin. ‘But don’t let me stop you.’

  Einar pulled off his jerkin and breeches and waited while a man in front of him received his baptism. The mud beneath his feet was cold and squidged between his toes. Then the man before him was done and the monk gestured that he should come forward.

  Einar walked into the water, taking a sharp breath as the cold washed around him and up to his middle. He felt his balls creeping up into his stomach before the water even touched him. By the time he reached the monk he was up to his waist in the river.

  ‘Kneel,’ the monk said.

  Einar sank to his knees and the cold water rose around his chest.

  The monk held up his hand above Einar’s head. He proclaimed something in a loud voice in the tongue Einar did not recognise. Then he laid the palm of his other hand on the top of Einar’s head and gently but firmly pushed.

  Einar took the hint. He took a deep breath as he had seen everyone in the line before him do, then dipped his head under the water.

  When he came back up, he sensed right away that something had changed.

  The monk was no longer looking down at him but instead was staring past him, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Einar turned around. On the bank behind him some sort of commotion was happening. A group of warriors in long mail shirts and helmets were walking down the bank to the river side, passing the queue that snaked back to the harbour. In their midst was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with long blond hair. He was about fifteen winters old and Einar recognised him straight away.

  ‘This is indeed an honour,’ the monk before him said. ‘Jarl Hakon himself is here!’

  Thirty-Seven

  Einar quickly turned away to face the monk again. He was no longer paying attention to Einar though and was instead gazing over his shoulder at Hakon, a look of rapturous worship on his face.

  ‘My lord,’ the monk said in a loud voice. ‘We welcome you to this place of our humble toil.’

  ‘Humble, brother Cuthbert?’ Hakon replied from the river bank. ‘There is no need to be so modest. When I heard so many souls are being saved for the Lord our God I
had to come and see for myself. It lifts my heart to see this. The angels in Heaven must be singing as they look down on this.’

  For one so young, he certainly has a way with words, Einar thought as he stared down at the brown water of the muddy river that swirled around him.

  ‘Look here,’ Hakon said. ‘Warriors who wear the pelts of animals. Wolves and bears.’

  Einar knew he must be talking about Skar and the others who waited in line behind him.

  ‘These men can only be Úlfhéðnar and berserkers,’ Hakon said. ‘The very warriors of the heathen God Odin himself! And yet the power of the Lord has brought them to our cause. Today they will shed their allegiance to the Devil and join the side of the One True God! Tell me, good man, what is your name?’

  ‘I am Skarphedin Harsson,’ Einar heard Skar say. ‘And who am I talking to?’

  An audible gasp went around the crowd. Hakon just chuckled, however.

  ‘I am sorry. I am so rude. I did not introduce myself,’ the young man said. ‘I am Hakon Haraldsson, leader of this expedition. I welcome your swords, good men, and thank you for your service. These men are all your crew?’

  The monk in front of Einar was glaring down at him. Einar looked up and pretended not to understand.

  ‘You’re done,’ the monk muttered in Norse. ‘You’re one of us now. Welcome to the Faith. Now stand up and stop turning your back on the jarl.’

  Einar did not want to say that keeping his back turned to Hakon was exactly what he wanted to do. He rose up out of the water and went to wade on past the monk in the direction of the other bank. That way he would not have to turn around.

  ‘Your clothes are on the bank behind you,’ the monk sighed, as if he suspected he was dealing with someone who was weak of mind. ‘The river gets rather deep behind me so unless you’re planning a swim you need to go back the way you came.’

  Einar realised there was no way out. He turned around and, keeping his head down, waded back to the shore. Glancing up, he saw to his dismay that Skar was now introducing the Wolf Coats one by one to Hakon. With the slow, reluctant steps of one walking to meet an appointment with the hangman, Einar completed the journey to the bank. In his mind he found some hope in the thought that his soaking wet, dishevelled appearance might lead Hakon to mis-remember him. To add to the effect, he left his wet hair hanging plastered over his face. To run was useless. Hakon’s warrior bodyguard lined the whole riverbank. Trying to fight his way through would be futile. There were perhaps thirty of them and they all had mail coats, helmets, swords and shields.

  ‘And this man here…’ Skar said. He had introduced all the others and now was holding a hand out towards the approaching Einar, ‘… is Einar Thorfinnsson.’

  Einar cursed himself for not warning Skar that the last time he had met Hakon it had not gone well. He had expected they would just be blending into the vast multitude of the army. He not been expecting to actually meet Hakon.

  With a sigh he lifted his head and smiled at the young jarl. The expression on Hakon’s face was all he needed to know Hakon knew exactly who he was.

  Einar raised his right hand and gave a little wave.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said.

  For a second there was silence as Hakon glared at him. Skar sensed something was wrong and his hand dropped to the hilt of a knife he wore on his belt. The instant his hand moved down there was a hiss of steel as every one of Hakon’s bodyguards drew their swords.

  Hakon smiled. ‘Well, well. Einar Thorfinnsson. I thought perhaps Ricbehrt might have had other plans for you after you showed him where his stolen swords were.’

  ‘You hoped he’d kill me, you mean?’ Einar said.

  Hakon did his best to look hurt. ‘Please. That would be so… unchristian. I merely did not expect to see the son of one of my most notorious enemies standing before me so soon. Or again, for that matter. You must really want that magic banner. I wonder why?’

  Einar did not reply. Hakon turned his eyes back to the others.

  ‘And the fair Affreca Guthfrithsdottir as well!’ he said. ‘My apologies, lady. I failed to recognise you with your long hair shorn away. No doubt the sisters in Withern Abbey gave you that haircut. Perhaps you did not find the monastic life was for you after all? Is that why you are here now?’

  Affreca just spat on the mud.

  ‘You’re a lucky girl though,’ Hakon’s voice lost most of its mock-pleasantry. ‘The priory was raided by a crew of pagan Vikings. The sisters and brothers were slaughtered like animals. The priory was burned.’

  He turned to Skar, his chin raised, his teeth gritted. ‘And here you are, Affreca. Among a crew of pagan Vikings. What a coincidence.’

  To Einar’s surprise Skar was grinning. He could not for the life of him understand why. Their situation looked hopeless. Hakon had thirty warriors. The four berserkers, Gizur and Gorm had swords but no armour, the Wolf Coats had only what they had scavenged after the wreck. Most of them had already began stripping off for their baptism in the river. Fighting would be self-slaughter.

  ‘That thing at the nunnery,’ Skar said. ‘That might have been us.’

  ‘You’re not helping this,’ Einar said.

  ‘We’re fucked anyway, lad,’ Skar said. ‘May as well go out in some style.’

  Einar saw Hakon laughed.

  ‘As our big friend here puts it,’ he said. ‘You are indeed fucked. You may as well tell me what this is all about. No, wait, let me guess! Let’s see: Four berserkers and several Wolf Coats. All Norwegian. These are not work-a-day warriors. These sorts of men serve jarls and kings. They’re the sort of men a king would send on a crucial task. Could this all by any chance have something to do with my dear brother Eirik?’

  Skar nodded. ‘You’re cleverer than you look. We are sworn men of Eirik Bloody Axe Haraldsson. He sent us to get the Raven Banner.’

  ‘Eirik Brother-Killer as he is known here,’ Hakon said, his smile gone again. ‘He murdered two of our other brothers. Was my death part of the plan as well?’

  Skar shrugged. ‘You never came into it.’

  Hakon grunted. ‘No, I wouldn’t, would I? No doubt my dear brother Eirik thinks me of no consequence.’

  Einar could almost smell the bitterness churning in Hakon’s heart.

  ‘Our father, the great Harald Fairhair, held me in such esteem that he gave me away. Do you know that?’ Hakon said with a snarl. Einar was startled to see a brightness in the young man’s eyes that could only be tears.

  Hakon glared at them all. When no one responded he said, ‘Perhaps I should tell you that story? It’s really funny. People have laughed and joked about it for years. I’m sure you’ve heard it. Heard how seventeen winters ago news reached King Aethelstan of the great deeds of my father Harald in Norway. How he had unified the whole country for the first time under his own rule. How men were starting to say that Harald was the greatest and most powerful king in the northern world. But since Aethelstan had done similar deeds here in Britain, men began to say the same things about him. The question was, who was the greatest king in the north of this Middle Earth? King Aethelstan or King Harald? Aethelstan sent men to Harald and they took with them a sword. It was magnificent. The hilt and handle completely gilt. The whole sheath adorned with gold and silver and set with precious jewels. The ambassador presented the sword-hilt to the king, saying, “Here is a sword which King Aethelstan sends you, with the request that you will accept it.” My father took the sword by the handle. Then the ambassador said, “Now you’ve taken the sword according to our king’s request. This means you now accept you are his subject.”’

  ‘My father, to his credit, did not fly into a rage,’ Hakon continued. ‘He did not get where he was by acting rashly after all. He let the ambassadors go home, acting as if the insult was beneath him. He was, after all, Harald of Norway. However, there was no way he would let this lie. The following summer my father King Harald sent a ship to England. It was commanded by one of his best warriors – a
man probably not unlike you, Skarphedin. He was called Hauk Habrok. My father sent with them a baby boy. Hauk travelled to King Aethelstan in London. He arrived at Christmas, just when the great feast had begun. Hauk went up to the king and saluted him, and the king welcomed him in return. Then Hauk took the child and set him on the king’s knee. The king looked at the boy, and asked Hauk what the meaning of this was. Hauk replied, “Harald the king bids you foster his servant-girl’s child.” Realising the insult, Aethelstan flew into a rage. He grabbed his sword as if he was going to kill the child. Hauk said what my father had told him to say. “Kill him if you want; but Harald has more sons and you won’t kill them all.” Aethelstan found he could not kill an innocent child. Instead he told Hauk he would foster the child as his own. When my father heard this, he was pleased. Everyone knows that the man who fosters another man’s children is of less importance of the two. Do you know who the baby was?’

  Hakon spat the words through gritted teeth. Einar could guess the answer but was impressed by the depth of anger that still boiled within the young lad’s heart.

  ‘Me,’ Hakon said. ‘I was the baby boy. The son of his bed-slave. Of so little worth I could be thrown away like so much rubbish.’

  ‘We have something in common then,’ Einar said. ‘My father is Jarl Thorfinn of Orkney,’ Einar said. ‘My mother Unn was his bed-slave. She escaped from him with me. Thorfinn has been trying to kill us ever since.’

  Hakon blinked and looked at Einar as if confused. Then the clouds of his rage cleared as if by magic, leaving his previous pleasant, handsome continence. He nodded, as if accepting some sort of understanding.

  ‘We are fellow bastards then, my friend,’ Hakon said with a smile. ‘I was lucky that Aethelstan was a good foster father. He brought me up like his own son. Perhaps that is because he has no son of his own. He treated me well. He had me baptised in the true faith. I have learned so much from him, including statecraft and how to rule. Somehow I don’t think my real father would have treated the son of his bed-slave with such favour. I am a very lucky man.’