"Since the answer escapes you, let me tell you such independence is strictly forbidden. I am jarl here, and any raid undertaken either drunk or sober must be first decided with me. Let me make it plain. Any man who defies this rule will be cast out from my protection. Yes, even my own kin, if it came to that."
Yngvar raised his head and found Hakon's blue eyes smoldering on him. His father would not throw him out, not for a run-in with a farmer.
"The two of you and that troublemaker, Thorfast, nearly set a fire I can ill-afford to combat right now. Thank all the gods that you were incompetent fools and Ferdegar had sense enough to recognize what danger you brought him."
Bjorn was about to speak over his uncle. Yngvar heard him inhale. So he cut off his cousin before he could dump grease into the flames.
"Father, you are right as always. We were not thinking clearly."
Hakon pulled up at the interruption, but since it was Yngvar's contrition he let his frown melt into a slow nod.
"Thinking is a warrior's greatest strength. Men make much of swordplay and ax-throwing. They admire the berserker's wrath. But none of that will carry a battle for you. You must always be thinking. Count on your enemies to do the same and you will have a chance for glory. Stop thinking, even for one detail, and you may have spent your life and the lives of your men."
"We just wanted to prove we could be raiders like the heroes of old," Bjorn said. Yngvar closed his eyes. His cousin never did learn how to keep quiet.
Hakon's light brows arched and his mouth remained frozen in an O-shape as he stared at Bjorn.
"Raiders like the heroes of old," Hakon said. "Do you understand what could have happened yesterday? Come, boys, show me the depth of your thinking. Consider the possibilities of your heroic raid."
Neither Yngvar nor Bjorn spoke, but glanced at each other.
"Don't look at each other!" Hakon snapped. His voice echoed through the empty hall, the banners on the rafters swaying as if blown by his voice. "Can you not imagine any other outcome from yesterday's disaster?"
"We could've been killed," Yngvar said. His father's fears were so predictable.
"Yes," Hakon agreed. "Two bowmen trained on fools wallowing in the dirt like pigs. You should have all been raked with arrows before you could cry for your mother."
"But they missed," Bjorn said. "And if I had got my sword drawn, they'd not have a chance."
"I'm sure you'd have batted the arrows out of the air with your flashing blade," Hakon said, tilting his head to the side. "Then in one stroke of your mighty sword you'd have cut the heads from all of the Franks and their dog as well. It would've been the makings of a song. Only you were on your back with a hound tearing off your arm. So I suppose we'll have to imagine the glory instead."
Yngvar fought his smile. Bjorn deserved that.
"So going with the more reasonable outcome, all three of you could have been killed before anyone recognized you. Then the true problems would begin."
Yngvar's smile vanished and he furrowed his brow at his father. He expected to hear about his mother's tears and how no one would inherit his father' lands. But Hakon continued on without stopping on any of those clichés.
"Your deaths would have to be avenged. So, for your adventure where your spoils amounted to three sheep I hardly need, I would ride with twenty men and kill good Ferdegar's family. Mind you, it would have to be done in the most terrorizing way. I'd give his wife to my men while Ferdegar and his sons watched. When they were finished, we'd cut off her head and the head of her young boy and put them atop spears. Then Ferdegar would follow after we brutalized him to the point of madness. At last, we'd blind his oldest son and chop off his sword hand. He'd be sent to his lord as a warning of my wrath. I would do all of this, though I detest it. For this is how a man avenges his family, and what those who follow a jarl expect of him."
Yngvar lowered his head. He had not considered this. Yet Hakon was not finished.
"But that is only the start of the suffering. Now the peace is broken. The Franks will come to make their own determination on the justice of my actions. They will demand compensation which I will not pay. We will fight. More men on both sides die. Jarl Vilhjalmer Longsword in Rouen will be displeased, and I will have to answer for my aggression. I will plead vengeance for my dead son and nephew and he might understand. But politics demand a peace and he would force me into a humiliated truce. So I will be disgraced and poorer, and families on both sides will face the winter without fathers and sons they depend upon. All for your three fucking sheep and childish dreams. This is how a man weighs the possibilities of his actions."
Yngvar swallowed, not daring to raise his head. Hakon stood before them, his booted feet lined up directly before Yngvar. He let the quiet simmer until it grew uncomfortable.
"Go see to your arm," Hakon said, pointing at Bjorn's wound. "The bandages are still spotted. That is not good. I should have demanded that hound be put down, but I let anger distract me. Yngvar, remain with me a while longer."
Bjorn gave an astonished look. "No punishment?"
Hakon shook his head. "Unless you want one. No one was hurt and nothing actually happened. In the end, you have punished yourselves. You looked like fools, and admitting to raiding a farm with peace straps on your swords--well, you will be living down that stupidity for as long as men have memory."
"Thank you, Uncle." Bjorn bowed, gave Yngvar a bright smile, then backed out of the hall.
Hakon swept off his cloak and sighed. "I wear that so Bjorn doesn't think he's getting size on me. What have I been feeding him these years? His father will not recognize him when I send him home. Here, sit with me."
Yngvar took the bench his father dragged from beneath a table. It was odd sitting in the center of the hall with no one else. Even the servants had disappeared into the shadows or other rooms, though doubtlessly they listened to be called and to eavesdrop. His father rubbed his face with both palms, then smiled weakly.
Feeling encouraged, Yngvar sat up straight. "You did not ask us to think about what would have happened had we succeeded. Do you believe we could not?"
Hakon's smile strengthened and he shook his head. "Even had you got away with three sheep, they'd have fled you. You could never drive off the flock over such a distance without a dog and shepherd to aid you."
"But had we got back with the three, certainly it would not be a disgrace."
His father leaned back against the table. "Let me ask a question that I already have the answer for. I wonder if you know it. Had you not tied peace straps to your hilts, and had you the upper hand on Ferdegar and his family, would you have killed them?"
"There wouldn't have been need to kill them."
"You are raiding their home and destroying their livelihood. How do they know you will not return with others? They would try to kill you. Could you kill Ferdegar and his two sons? Would you enslave his wife, or kill her if she resisted? All for three sheep you have no real interest in or need to steal?"
Yngvar held his father's gaze, but faltered. This was always his problem. He saw Ferdegar as a man with a family. He had even felt bad for the dog's wound.
Hakon slapped Yngvar's knee. "You would not do it. Your face answers for you."
"Are you saying I'm a coward?" Yngvar thought to stand to the challenge, but his knees were weak.
"Not at all," Hakon said. "I know my son. You are smart, certainly smarter than what yesterday showed to the world, and you have compassion for your fellows. That is good, but such hesitation will get you killed. If you raid, then forget pity and forget compassion. You threw aside those ideals the moment you thought to take another man's property by force. I do not doubt had you drawn your swords Ferdegar would have killed you. He would have no hesitation. If that choice sits ill with you, then do not put yourself in such a position. You are not a raider, son. You are filled with foolish ideals of what raiding is."
"Grandfather was a raider," Yngvar said, glancing at the green banner wit
h black elk antlers. "He came from nothing and created all of this by his own strength."
"He did not raid poor farmers," Hakon said. "At least, if he had a choice. I'm not certain what stories you hear, but there is no glory in raiding. It is the work of desperate men who have no other means to prosper."
"The strong take what they desire from the weak," Yngvar said. "Is that not true of these very lands? Didn't you and Grandfather take these lands from the Franks? Did you need them?"
"Of course we did," Hakon said. He folded his hands over his belly. Yngvar noticed how it bulged now, where it hadn't in years past. Was his father getting soft in his age? It was hard to conceive. "But I am speaking of this free life on the seas you and your cousin imagine. It is a hard life and one for desperate men. You are neither disposed to a hard life nor are you desperate. You are my only surviving son. When the pox took my children, only you survived. That marks you as one the Fates left to a great destiny. You will inherit all of this when I go on to Valhalla. You will lead armies to glorious battle. You will have no need of raiding."
"But how can I lead men in battle if I have not tasted it? There is nothing but peace here. I have to go across the channel to where our people still fight for their lands."
Hakon's laugh shook his stomach. "You are too young to remember the wars we fought here. Peace? Could it be six years, not even? Hrolf the Strider broke his truce with Paris and sent us all grabbing more land. Now that his son Vilhjalmer rules after him, he will do the same. I've known Vilhjalmer since he was a boy. He will push south once more. There will be plenty of fighting here. No need to go overseas in search of it."
Yngvar folded his arms. His father could never understand what it meant to be trapped in a life of unwanted obligations. He had always been a jarl, and had his fill of adventure and glory before retiring to his easy life. Yngvar would have to accept a role made for him by his father, and inherit his responsibilities. Whatever wars he might fight would not be from any choice of his own, and the spoils would go to a jarl sitting behind the walls of Rouen.
"I wanted you to remain behind today because I have something to tell you," Hakon said. He leaned on both his knees. "Your mother and I have discussed this at length and we think a cure for your youthful dreaming is to take on a man's responsibilities. Yesterday just reminded me how long I have let this slip past. You are seventeen, by the eye of Odin. The years have sped like an arrow to the mark."
A fire lit in Yngvar's belly. He hoped his father was not about to say what he expected. But the twisted smile on his father's lips worried Yngvar.
"It is time you married," Hakon said. "We have been discussing arrangements with Jarl Flosi the Breaker. He has a daughter, thirteen years old, a good match for you. Jarl Flosi brings key lands on those southern borders where there will be the battles you so desire. It is a good union between our families."
Yngvar stared through his father. Kadlin was walking toward him across a field of golden grass, smiling, her platinum hair wreathed with brilliant sunlight. He carried an armful of riches to her, hard-won from a month at sea raiding fat merchants and gold-laden churches. She was breathless at the spoils and Yngvar's heart soared to see her so pleased.
"Yngvar? You've nothing to say to this?"
The vision faded. His father's eyes were lined from his smile. Yngvar shook his head.
"She's a fine choice, from what your mother says. A sturdy girl from a good family. They are Danes, not Norse, but we cannot ask for everything. Jarl Flosi still honors the old gods, too. You will be happy with her."
Yngvar's mouth was cotton. "Wh--when will this happen?"
"We've not set a date, but it won't be long. You're probably surprised, but you should've realized at your age you cannot remain unmarried. I met your mother later in life, but all was in chaos then. Otherwise, I'd have been your age when your grandfather married me off." Hakon slapped Yngvar's leg once more. "Well, that was all I wanted to tell you. Go think upon it. You will have more to occupy your mind than fantasies now."
Yngvar did not even remember leaving the hall. He was alone outside, the two door guards staring after him. He gave them an idle nod, then stumbled off without any direction.
"I've got to get out of this," he said. "Thorfast will know what to do."
CHAPTER FIVE
"What do you mean you don't know what to do?" Yngvar's voice cracked high.
Fair-haired Thorfast shrugged. "He's your father and jarl. No one can gainsay him, least of all on decisions for his own family."
Yngvar looked to Bjorn, who seemed flatly disinterested in the discussion. He held his bandaged arm and studied the brilliant white wrapping.
They stood behind the forge wall, where Davin the Blacksmith hammered at his work. The clang reverberated through the rough wood. Burning embers filled the air with sweet smoke, and as Yngvar leaned against the wall, he felt the forge heat emanating through it. They all waited for the hammering to stop so they could continue. In the distance, farmers worked at whatever they did in their fields. Yngvar never had a clear idea of how they harvested, only that some years were better or worse than others. Farmers also never seemed to agree which field belonged to which farm, seeing how often these disputes came to his father's hall.
The bellows began to huff once the hammering stopped. Yngvar jumped back into the opening.
"Do either of you know Jarl Flosi's daughter?"
Bjorn frowned. He knew nothing. Thorfast scratched his head.
"I think my father had dealings with him once. Did your father say she was sturdy?" Yngvar nodded. His stomach churned and gurgled. He had not eaten yet, such had been the chaos of the day. Thorfast scratched his head harder, grimacing. "That sounds about right. She was a square girl. Short, dark hair, and a mole on her chin."
"Gods, stop joking. Did you see her or not?" Yngvar pressed his lips together, hoping Thorfast would laugh. He did not.
"I'm telling you what I remember. Sorry if it's not to your liking, Jarl Yngvar."
"He ain't a jarl yet," Bjorn said, then lowered himself onto the grass. "Maybe he'll never be. His fat wife will crush him to death before that day."
"This is not good." Yngvar ignored the other's laughter. The bellows stopped their heavy wheezing and Yngvar felt the heat immediately recede from the wall behind him. His thoughts were filled with Kadlin and the gifts he would bring her from afar. He could not envision bringing even a copper bit to a boxy wife with a mole on her chin. Did a hair grow from it, he wondered. He repeated his worry. "This is not good. My whole life will be ruined. I'll be chained to her, to a sow from what it sounds. And all my toil will be to bring glory to Jarl Vilhjalmer who hides in Rouen."
"Hey," Bjorn said, sitting cross-legged in the shade of the forge. "Maybe you should talk to my father. He's Jarl Vilhjalmer's best friend. Maybe they can find someone better for you. Someone as pretty as you are, cousin."
"No one is as pretty as the heroic Yngvar Hakonsson." Thorfast and Bjorn laughed again, but Yngvar gave a dismissive scowl.
"Did Kadlin mention anything to you this morning?"
Thorfast stopped laughing. "She said nothing other than mother was in a foul mood and I had to hurry home. Foul was not the word to describe her, either. She was in a rage, and I heard it from her until my ears were bleeding. She doesn't like you much. Seems to think you're going to get me killed. Da put an end to all the yelling, though. His head was still ringing from last night."
"Did Kadlin say anything about me?"
Thorfast studied Yngvar now, giving him an appraising eye. Bjorn began to rip up grass and let it blow from his hand.
"She said nothing. But she was quieter than usual. Did you meet her before she came to the hall? The servants arrived before her but did not say what had delayed her. I didn't think to ask, either."
Yngvar's face heated and thankfully Davin began hammering once again. The riotous clanging offered him a reprieve. Thorfast had long ago figured out Yngvar's fascination with Kadlin and use
d to tease him when they were children. Still, he had asked Kadlin to marry him this morning. It hadn't been in earnest. It hadn't been properly thought out, which had become his recent hallmark. If she had said nothing at all, did that mean she was considering his proposal? She had stormed off, but women were strange that way. If she had truly been as disgusted as she had behaved, then shouldn't she have said something to her father?
Again the clanging stopped, and now they heard the satisfying hiss of Davin quenching his work in a bucket of water. Yngvar decided he had best change the topic.
"Maybe I should do as Bjorn suggested. Uncle Aren is well connected. Maybe he can delay this arrangement while he works out something better. Maybe he could even convince Jarl Vilhjalmer to send us raiding overseas."
"I was joking," Bjorn said. "My father isn't interested in us. He never sent for me again after putting me with Uncle Hakon. He's too busy being the jarl's right hand to worry about who you'll marry. He didn't even want my mother."
"Don't say that," Yngvar said. But it was true. Uncle Aren was so smart as to be a strange man. Jarl Vilhjalmer prized his intelligence and kept him always at hand. Aren had his son, Bjorn, and satisfied with his duty to pass on his blood, he then divorced his wife and sent Bjorn to foster with Hakon. Yngvar enjoyed having what amounted to a little brother, but he did feel regret for his uncle's callous treatment of his own family.
"Bjorn is right," Thorfast said. "Your uncle is not going to interfere with your father's wishes, and I doubt Jarl Vilhjalmer would send three inexperienced men on any task of importance."
"Well, that just proves my point," Yngvar said. He clasped both hands to his temple and began to pace. "We'll never be of use to anyone if we don't all get experience. My father wants to keep Bjorn and me safely under his wing so he can pass on his hall to family. Your mother is just as bad, and I don't even know why. Your father is a hirdman, after all."
Thorfast frowned and nodded. "I don't argue it. My father is more concerned with marrying off my sister than seeing me properly made a man."
Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 3
