The Midgard Serpent

by James L. Nelson

  Many of the women and children were crying, and many had to be pushed or half dragged along. They all looked terrified. The men for the most part were moving only because they were driven at spear point. Most of these people had been hiding before Odd’s men had flushed them out. And now they came to discover their fate, and none of them seemed to think it would be very pleasant.

  There was one woman among them for whom Odd was looking. A tall woman with long dark hair, a dress made of silk held up with silver brooches, a strand of lovely, delicate beads strung between them. She was not crying, and she was not being pulled along. She walked defiantly, with long strides, her eyes on Odd as Odd’s were on hers.

  “Ragnhild, good day,” Odd said. A young boy, three or four years old, was standing behind her, his hair a wild mop of blond curls. He seemed to be struggling to appear as bold as his mother, but he was not meeting with much success.

  “Good day, Harald,” Odd said to the boy, and the boy took another half step behind his mother’s dress.

  “You’re a fool, Odd Thorgrimson, and now you’re a dead fool,” Ragnhild said, her voice calm, her tone matter of fact, as if commenting on the weather.

  “Perhaps,” Odd said. “I mean, the part about me being dead, perhaps. I’m certainly a fool, I won’t argue that.”

  The reply seemed to throw Ragnhild off her stride just a bit. She frowned and her eyebrows bunched up. “And you, Amundi Thorsteinsson?” she said. “You’ve been loyal to my husband all these years, and now you piss that all away? Your farm, your wealth? Your life?”

  “Those things are of no use to a man if he’s nothing but a slave,” Amundi said.

  “Slave?” Ragnhild spat. “Halfdan has never treated you as a slave! He’s treated you like the freeman you are. All of you!”

  “If everything a man has can be taken at the whim of his king, at any time, then he’s no better than a slave,” Odd said. “If the king is a master with no regard for his people, then his people are slaves.”

  “That’s not at all…” Ragnhild began but Odd cut her off.

  “We’re not here to debate,” he said. “We’re here to show Halfdan that we’re not slaves. To show him that if he turns on us, there will be consequences.”

  “You won’t be slaves, but you’ll make us slaves, is that it? All of us?” Ragnhild asked, gesturing toward the crowd of people around her.

  “No,” Odd said. “No one will be harmed. Not if they do as they’re told and no more. Nothing stupid. We’ve suffered by Halfdan’s hand. Homes lost. Lives lost. We’re here to get compensation for that. We’ll take what’s fair and be gone.”

  Ragnhild opened her mouth to speak again but Odd was done with her. He called out in a voice that all the people there could hear.

  “We don’t mean to harm you, any of you. Our fight is with King Halfdan, not you. We’re here to take what’s owed us. Payment for our losses. You men…” He pointed to a knot of laborers standing together. “You round up wagons and oxen. Bring them here. The rest of you, and the women, when the wagons are here you’ll load everything in those storehouses into them. Now, go.”

  The men went off to follow Odd’s directions, taking care to appear as unwilling as they could, so that Ragnhild would see they were not being any more helpful than they had to be. A dozen of Odd’s armed men accompanied them.

  Odd looked over the people who remained. They had naturally segregated by their relative status: the wives and children of the more important men standing near Ragnhild, the families of the lesser men further back, the servants and slaves off to one side.

  “You, you, you and you,” Odd said, pointing to four of the women there, women whose simple but clean dresses told him they were servants in the great hall. “Come with me.”

  He could see the hesitation in their faces and it did not surprise him. Ragnhild understood what was happening, knew why these invaders had come. Some of the other wives of the leading men might also understand, but these poor creatures did not. It would seem perfectly reasonable to them that they were being led away to be raped or killed.

  “Come,” Odd said, more emphatically. He pointed to a handful of men standing near. “You, too.” He headed toward the hall and the women and men followed behind.

  “That hall is my home,” Ragnhild announced. “You won’t enter there without me.”

  “Yes, we will,” Odd said over his shoulder, in a tone that did not welcome argument. He reached the main door of the great hall with the women behind and Amundi by his side, and behind them all a dozen of his and Amundi’s warriors. He pushed the door open and stepped into the cavernous space. It was dark compared to the light of day outside, the only illumination coming from the fire in the central hearth and the smoke holes in the roof. Odd turned to the women behind.

  “You know where Halfdan keeps those things most valuable to him. Any treasure, his own weapons, that sort of thing. Show us where.”

  For a moment no one moved.

  “Go on,” Amundi said. “Do as you’re told and you won’t be hurt.” He left it to them to imagine what would happen if they refused.

  And apparently they did imagine it, and they realized that there was no benefit to them in standing up to this conquering army. They crossed the packed earth floor to the far side. Two of the women threw open a set of doors built into the wall to reveal a sleeping chamber of startling size. The walls were hung with elaborately embroidered cloth and the floor was covered with luxurious rugs that Odd guessed had come from lands far off. A wide bed occupied a good portion of the space, enough to accommodate Halfdan and Ragnhild and their children and anyone else they saw fit to invite.

  There were large wooden chests along the walls and Odd lifted their lids and looked inside. Clothing, Halfdan’s and Ragnhild’s, blankets, furs. In one there was an array of weapons: swords, seaxes, daggers, as well as a few helmets, spurs and the like. They glinted in the muted light of the torches the women had brought. Silver, with inlays of gold and precious stones. Beautiful weapons, too good for actual combat. Odd could see why Halfdan had not brought them on his campaign.

  He turned to the men, Halfdan’s men, he had ordered to accompany them. They were lurking in the hall, just beyond the open doors, terrified at the thought of violating the king’s bedchamber.

  “Two of you, grab onto this chest and get it outside” Odd said. “If the carts are here set it in one of those.”

  They hesitated and exchanged uncertain glances, but no one moved.

  “Come along,” Amundi barked. “You can do as Odd says or you can die heroes protecting the king’s riches. Your choice.”

  But not a hard choice, apparently. They swarmed into the bedchamber and two of them grabbed onto the handles of the chest and found they could barely lift it. So two more joined them, and with grunts and muttered curses they carried the heavy oak box out the door.

  Odd and Amundi continued their search, but now the servants had a sense for what was happening, and what the invaders were looking for, and they became surprisingly helpful in the locating of it. They showed the men where hidden caskets of silver and gold could be found, stashes of arm rings and brooches, stores of wine too good for the guests’ table. Odd suspected that the occasional ring or armband or coin was finding its way into the women’s pockets or into the folds of their clothes but he did not mind that.

  Once they had finished with the bedchamber the women led Odd and Amundi and the rest to the western end of the hall where yet another door stood. This was opened to reveal a throne room of sorts, smaller than the bedchamber, with benches set against the walls and a raised platform at the far end that held a massive, intricately carved oak chair. The posts that supported the roof, fifteen feet overhead, were artfully carved as well with twisting serpents and vines.

  In the light streaming in from the smoke hole in the roof Odd looked around in wonder. In all the times he had been to Halfdan’s hall he had never seen this room. He had not even known it existed.

>   Once again he and Amundi and the others spread out and began looking for whatever they might find. The women, however, remained in the long hall and showed no interest in joining them. Entering the throne room, apparently, was too audacious, even with their queen outside and under guard and their king many miles away.

  There was less of interest in that room. A small casket of silver, a few things apparently plundered from some Christian temple overseas, a sword. Odd toyed with the idea of taking the throne itself. If he was trying to make a statement, that would certainly do it. But he set the notion aside. It was too much. Halfdan would be furious with what they had already done, but if Odd heaped such pointed humiliation on top of it there was no telling what the man would do. The idea was to convince Halfdan to bargain, to end the war, not escalate it.

  Evening was coming on by the time the last of the wagons rolled down to the harbor, and the last of the plunder was loaded aboard one of the ships. The slaves and servants who worked in the hall were put back to their former tasks, cooking, serving, pouring ale and mead and wine. The great hall was big enough to easily fit the two hundred warriors who made up Odd’s army, and now they lined the tables and feasted on the best that Halfdan’s pantry had to offer, which was very good and very plentiful.

  Odd and the other freemen sat at the head table and Ragnhild sat with them, though not through any choice of her own. She glared at the plate set down in front of her and glared at the servant who set it there, enough that the servant backed away in terror, then turned and fled.

  “What we’ve taken will pay us back for the harm Halfdan has done,” Odd said to her, speaking loud enough to be heard over the feasting men. “Anything beyond that we’ll gladly return once peace has been made.”

  Ragnhild looked up at him with even more disdain than she had had for the plate or the servant.

  “Really?” she said. “You self-righteous prick. You think Halfdan will listen to that foolishness? Just forget all this?”

  “I don’t know,” Odd said truthfully. “But something has to be done. To end this. And now I’ll tell you something so that you might relate it to Halfdan, when he returns.”

  “What makes you so sure he’s gone far? That he won’t be back this night?” Ragnhild asked.

  “Because he’s being watched,” Odd said. “Because I don’t like surprises, so I guard against them.”

  But even as he said it he felt a qualm of uncertainty. He had sent Vandred off to keep an eye on Halfdan because Vandred, being a sheepherd, knew the country well and would not stand out. And then he had sent another to find Vandred and see what news he had. But he had not heard from either man. There were a hundred reasons why that might be, and Odd was trying not to think of the worst of those possibilities.

  “You’re a clever one,” Ragnhild said. “Or so you think. But you are not your father, Odd Thorgrimson. You remind me more of your grandfather, that old fool Ornolf.”

  That old fool was more loved than your bastard husband ever will be, Odd thought, but he kept that to himself.

  “When Halfdan does return,” he said, “when he finally tires of searching all over Agder for us, then you tell him what I said. Tell him we still do not want war, we do not want to be an enemy to him. We want to be his subjects, loyal to him, but we will not be his slaves. We’ll pay the tribute that’s fair, but we won’t stand for him to take whatever he wants from us. Tell him we want to talk, and if we can talk like honest men then we can agree like honest men.”

  Ragnhild laughed, a short, sharp laugh. “I’m Halfdan’s second wife, as you know, and I have not been his wife very many years. But I’ve been his wife long enough to know that he won’t be much interested in talking to any of you, ‘like honest men’.”

  Odd looked at her and she looked back at him, still as bold and defiant as she had been from the first. He had a feeling that if he burned her at the stake she would still wear that expression, and it would never change.

  He, in turn, did not allow his own expression to change, though his thoughts were roiling. This plan had always been a gamble. While Halfdan was abroad hunting them, they would use their ships to come behind and capture his great hall. They could burn it all to the ground but they wouldn’t. They would just plunder it, and be gone long before Halfdan returned with his army. They would show Halfdan that he would never be safe, that he would never be free of the threat, as long as he was at war with the freemen of Agder. Show him the wisdom of coming to an agreement.

  Amundi and the others had harbored serious doubts about the whole thing. They were skeptical that Halfdan’s compound could be taken that easily, and skeptical that Halfdan would learn any lesson from it, or at least the lesson they wanted him to learn. They had debated it, argued it back and forth, and in the end Odd had convinced them that it would work, and that they had no other choice.

  And so far Odd had been proven right. The taking of the hall had been as easy as he hoped. Easier, really. They had gathered enough plunder that Halfdan would feel the loss, but not enough that he would be in any way impoverished. Now, on the morning tide, they would be gone, and they would wait for word from Halfdan, and from there decide their next move.

  “Very well,” Ragnhild said. “I’ll tell Halfdan all you wish me to tell him. I’ll tell him as soon as he returns. Which will not be long, I shouldn’t think.”

  “Good,” Odd said and gave a half smile and a nod of his head. But Ragnhild’s words had struck just as she hoped they would. Time was short. There was no leaving now, not in the dark with the tide well out. Nor did Odd want his men, or Halfdan’s men, to think they were scurrying away like thieves. First light, that was when they would go. Halfdan just had to stay gone until first light.

  It was some time later that Odd finally went to bed, stretching out on blankets on top of the platform that ran most of the length of the hall. He sent Ragnhild and the boy Harald to sleep in the king’s bedchamber and set two guards at the door, more of a formality than anything else. He did not think any of his men would be stupid enough to do anything untoward, though he thought it possible that one of Halfdan’s servants or slaves, feeling liberated now with the hall in enemy hands, might decide retribution was in order.

  Odd stretched out, worked the stiffness out of his legs and shoulders. He closed his eyes and kept them closed for a moment, then opened them again. He sighed. Sleep was not going to come, not for a long time, if at all.

  First light… Their luck just had to hold out until first light. He felt an ugly sensation in his gut and he tried to dismiss it. You’re sleeping in the king’s hall, which you’ve captured…of course your gut is fighting you…

  It did not help. He could not reason away this sensation. But sleep did come at last, an unrestful, tossing sleep filled with strange, swirling, unsettling images.

  He woke suddenly, covered with a film of sweat. The sleep, such as it was, had done nothing to lesson his sense of foreboding. And then he realized that Amundi was crouching beside him, that it was Amundi who had woken him up. There was light enough in the hall to see the man’s face. To see the awful expression on his face.

  Odd closed his eyes. He knew what Amundi was going to say, knew with as much certainty as if he had already said it.

  Halfdan had returned.

  It was first light, but they would be going nowhere.

  Chapter Nine

  There was a dash of oars,

  and clash of iron,

  shield against shield resounded:

  the vikings rowed;

  roaring went,

  under the chieftains

  the royal fleet

  far from the land.

  The Poetic Edda

  Situations changed, and they changed quickly. Thorgrim knew that.

  A storm could blow up out of nowhere, and suddenly a calm day at sea became a struggle to survive. A battle that seemed headed for an easy victory could change course and a thousand lives would be sent off in another direction. A healthy ma
n might ride away in the morning, fall from his horse in the afternoon, and by nightfall find himself a broken cripple.

  But for all that, he was still surprised by how quickly the course that he and his men were on, both literal and otherwise, had changed that day.

  Suppposed to be an uneventful sail, Thorgrim thought, and then smiled at his own foolishness. As if the gods would ever let such a thing happen. Sure, they had hinted that such might be the case. Beautiful morning, a moderate swell from the south, wind from a near perfect direction. Sun, warmth. Any man could be excused for thinking he was in for an easy run across open water to the far shore.

  The first half of the day had been just that, with the fleet making good progress: east, always east. And then the strange ships had appeared, crossing their heading from south-east to north-west. They showed no interest in Thorgrim’s fleet, but that did not mean Thorgrim would be unprepared if they did. He slowed Sea Hammer’s speed, let the other ships come up, told his men to be ready to fight if that was what these strangers had in mind.

  And then Harald decided to add his own contribution to the madness, abandoning his position at the end of their neat line and racing off toward the cluster of fishing boats to the north.

  “Harald! What by all the gods do you think you’re doing?” Thorgrim shouted across the water, though he knew that the boy could not hear him over that distance. He shouted out of surprise, a surprise which changed quickly to anger. He turned and looked aloft. “Starri! What is Harald doing?”

  “How should I know, Night Wolf?” Starri called back. “He’s your son! But he looks to be going after those fishing boats we passed!”

  Thorgrim took his eyes from Starri and scowled out over the water toward Harald’s ship. He could feel his anger rising like a fast-moving flood tide. Harald was leaving the fleet to go after some ridiculous bunch of fishing boats? That foolishness alone would have made Thorgrim furious. Now, with a fleet of strangers bearing down on them, it was inconceivably stupid.