“And you say Toke killed Harald and all of his men?”
I nodded again. “All who were with us. I do not know how Toke discovered that we had gone to the small estate on the Limfjord with only a few men. But Toke and his crew landed in the night and surrounded the longhouse. Harald knew we were badly outnumbered. He negotiated for the women and children to leave safely, but once they were outside the longhouse Toke and his crew killed them all. They wanted no witnesses to their treachery. Then they set fire to the longhouse. We tried to break out and fight our way to the forest, but there were too many of them.”
Hastein shook his head. “Murder of women and children?” he asked. “After their safety had been promised? And murder of a foster brother? It is a grave accusation you are making. It is very hard to believe this of a chieftain like Toke.”
I felt I knew what Hastein had left unspoken. Toke was a chieftain, a respected warrior and leader, while I was but a former slave. Why should my word be trusted? I could feel my face turning red with anger.
“Does noble birth guarantee honorable deeds?” I exclaimed. “You see Toke as a chieftain, but you know him only by reputation. I know what he is truly capable of, because I have seen it. He is a Nithing, a man without honor. I have sworn to kill him and all of his warriors who helped slay Harald, and I will do so, or die trying.”
Torvald, who had been silent up until now, snorted derisively. “I think the latter is more likely,” he said. “Toke has killed many men. I myself saw him kill a man once in a duel in Dublin. You would not stand a chance against him.”
“Do you not recall men once said the same about me?” Hastein asked Torvald in a quiet voice, “when I was vying with Grim Ormsson for the right to rule as jarl in the north of Jutland?”
Hastein turned back to me, and continued. “My father had been jarl before me,” he explained, “but when he died, I was just a young man. Grim, a seasoned chieftain and warrior, thought he was more fit to rule than a beardless youth. Perhaps the king suspected the same, for he did not intervene when Grim and his men prepared to march against me. My father’s housecarls supported me out of loyalty to his memory, but few others stood with me. I was counseled to cede the right to be jarl to Grim, and swear allegiance to him. I was told I would not stand a chance against Grim. Yet today I am jarl, and Grim’s bones are moldering in his burial mound. I am jarl because I dared to face the fate the Norns wove for me, despite the fact that few but me believed I could succeed.”
Hastein was silent for a while. “I rule over the lands around the Limfjord for the king,” he finally said. “I am responsible for maintaining the peace there. If all of the inhabitants of an estate have been murdered, it is my concern. I must think on this.”
Hastein leaned back on one elbow, stretched his legs out in front of him, then called out, “Cullain!”
The little thrall, who had been squatting beside the tent, gutting and plucking the duck, looked up.
“Bring us wine,” Hastein ordered. “And something to eat while we wait for you to cook that duck. I am ravenous.”
I was hungry, too. Cullain brought us a wooden platter laden with a large slab of cheese, a loaf of bread that smelled freshly baked, three silver goblets, and a pottery pitcher. Setting the tray on the ground in front of Hastein, he pulled a knife from the block of cheese and used it to cut three sausages from the string roasting over the fire.
After adding the sausages to the supply of food on the platter, Cullain lifted the pitcher and poured liquid from it into the three goblets.
Hastein took one of the goblets and passed it to me, saying, “You are my guest at this meal. Good health.”
Cullain passed a second goblet to Hastein, who this time kept it and took a long drink of its contents, then sighed contentedly. While Hastein drank, Torvald reached forward and took the third goblet. He, too, took a long drink, then belched appreciatively afterward.
I looked suspiciously at the liquid in the goblet I was holding, then took a cautious sip. The liquid was a deep, rich red, almost the color of blood, though thinner. Hastein grinned at me.
“Have you never drunk wine before?”
I shook my head. I’d drunk ale, and on a few occasions mead, but never wine.
“This was part of the cargo from the ship I took off Frankia. The one that damaged the Gull. The priests of the White Christ drink wine like this in their rituals. They believe it turns into the blood of their God and protects them from death. From what I’ve seen, it holds no power in that regard, but it’s a fine drink nonetheless.”
Hastein leaned forward, cut a piece of bread and topped it with slices of sausage and cheese, then reclined on his elbow again. “Help yourself,” he said to me, nodding at the tray of food. Torvald took a knife from his belt and stuck it in one of the sausages. He raised it to his mouth and ripped a large chunk off of one end. I waited to be sure he was finished at the tray before cutting myself some bread, cheese, and meat. I thought it might be unwise to come between a giant and his food.
“You said the men who killed your brother, Harald, are also hunting you,” Hastein said. “What did you mean?”
“During the final fight, I escaped into the forest. When morning came, Toke sent warriors, aided by trackers and dogs from a nearby village, to hunt me down.”
“Why did the villagers help him?” Hastein asked.
“Toke told their headman that bandits had attacked the longhouse and slaughtered its occupants. He said he’d been camped nearby and was drawn by the flames, but arrived too late for anything but vengeance. Toke claimed he and his men had killed all of the bandits, save one who had escaped. He was referring, of course, to me.”
“And the villagers’ headman believed this tale?” Hastein asked.
“He, like you, knew Toke,” I replied. “I suppose he, too, found it hard to believe such a noted chieftain would murder all of the occupants of a farm, including his own foster brother.”
“Toke cannot let you live,” Hastein said with a grim smile. “You could give the lie to his tale. You can reveal his treachery.
“It is a long way from the Limfjord to Hedeby,” he continued. “How did you escape the hunters? Or do they pursue you still?”
“I am at home in the forest,” I said. “More so than most men. Their advantage was not as great as they believed, and it made them careless. I did not kill the two villagers, for I had no fight with them. But none of Toke’s men from that first hunting party still live. I am sure, though, that Toke will send others.”
“Your tale is difficult to believe,” Hastein said. “Few men could survive being hunted as you describe, much less prevail. And you are not much more than a boy, with no experience in battle, and were only recently a slave, to boot.” He took a long drink of wine, then just stared at me, saying nothing.
It had felt good to tell my tale to Hastein. It was like a lightening of the burden I carried for someone else to know of Toke’s treachery. But as Hastein’s silence dragged on, my spirits sank. He did not believe me.
Finally he spoke.
“Your tale is difficult to believe,” he said again. “Yet I find there are some signs you speak the truth. Your appearance is consistent with your words. The cut of your hair, and the amount of time it looks to have been growing out, match the facts you have told me. And your clothes, though somewhat stained and ragged now, obviously were at one time of fine quality, and appear to have been made to fit your size, rather than stolen. Words may lie, but such things do not. Are there any other facts you can tell me that support your story?”
I let my mind retrace the events I had lived through in recent days.
“I know the name of the headman of the village, who spoke with Toke. He is Hrodgar.”
Hastein nodded. “I know him,” he said. “He is a good man.”
“And the trackers Hrodgar sent to aid Toke’s men are named Einar and Kar,” I continued. “In the end, Einar joined forces with me, and helped me overcome the last of Tok
e’s men. He knows the truth. He heard Toke’s man confess before he died. And I have these.”
I reached into one of my quivers, and pulled out two sticks, carved with runes. Hastein took them from me.
“What are they?” he asked.
“They are the names of Toke’s men who attacked the farm. Einar carved them on these sticks for me. We made Toke’s man tell us before we killed him.” I did not mention to Hastein that I could not read runes, so did not know what the sticks said. That was a problem I would deal with when the time came.
“If this Einar heard one of Toke’s men confess, as you have said, he is an important witness,” Hastein said. “I would like to speak with him.”
Hastein was silent again for a while, then let out a long sigh. “I have never been able to ignore murder and treachery, and the work of Nithings,” he said. “It is a weakness of mine. But I have no time now to attend to this. Far greater matters are about to be set in motion, and I am a part of them.
“Yet I wonder,” he added, “if it is the Norns who have caused your path and mine to cross. When weaving the fates of men, rarely do the three sisters cross the threads of separate lives without a reason. I have learned to watch the path my life follows for the telltale footprints of fate. I wonder if the shot I saw you make today was not a sign for me—a sign that your fate has been touched by the Gods. And if that is so, I do not believe it is an accident that we have met.”
He sighed again.
“There is no way around it,” he said. “I must keep you with me for now, until I have time to investigate your accusation against Toke, and decide what must be done. Despite your youth and lack of experience, you will join the crew of the Gull.”
4 : The Gull
I was surprised at Hastein’s words. Torvald was more than surprised. He was indignant.
“My jarl,” he exclaimed. “This is but a beardless youth. He cannot join the crew of the Gull! We are all chosen men.”
“You have heard his tale,” Hastein replied. “He has more experience fighting than you would expect from his age. And you have seen him shoot his bow. No archer on the Gull could make the shot he made today, not even Tore.”
Hastein turned to me. “But Torvald is right. The men will not like it. They have all seen many campaigns, and have proved their worth. Do not expect their acceptance to come easily. You will have to earn it.”
“This will cause bad feelings,” Torvald said, shaking his head. “It is a mistake.”
“It is my decision who serves on my ship,” Hastein retorted. “The crew will abide by my decision, as will you. And you are my second in command. I expect you to ensure there is no trouble over it.”
Torvald sprawled back on the bear skin, leaning on one elbow and frowning fiercely. He reached for his goblet and took a long drink from it, but said nothing more.
“As a member of the Gull’s crew,” Hastein told me, “You will be entitled to one share in the felag, the fellowship of all the crews of my three ships. That means you will have one share of any common plunder we win. Any individual plunder you take will be your own.
“I’ve seen that you are a master archer. You tell me you are also skilled in the forest, and I’ve heard you speak the Latin tongue, which is likely to prove useful on this voyage. Have you any other talents I do not know of?”
“I can craft bows and arrows,” I answered. “And since I was ten years of age, I worked as a blacksmith’s helper on my father’s estate.”
A slow smile spread across Hastein’s face. “This is another sign for me,” he said. “The blacksmith on my estate on the Limfjord slipped on ice this winter and broke his leg. It has not healed well, and he is not fit to go to sea. The Gull has been without a ship’s smith on this voyage….Until now.”
He turned to his helmsman. “You see, Torvald. It is meant to be. And this will help the men accept him.”
Torvald only grunted. He looked doubtful.
Hastein waited, looking at me expectantly, but I said nothing. I was certainly not going to protest working as the ship’s smith. I was glad to be on the crew at all.
“As a blacksmith, you possess a valued skill beyond that of an ordinary crewman,” he finally said. “An experienced warrior would bargain for additional shares in the felag. I will not take advantage of your inexperience. You’ll be entitled to one and one-half shares rather than one.”
Hastein glanced at the gear I had lugged with me to his camp. In addition to my bow and two quivers, and the small-axe and dagger stuck in my belt, I had a shield, a helm, a rolled bundle containing two cloaks and a metal-studded leather jerkin, and my food pouch and waterskin. It was all I owned in the world.
“Obviously you do not have smithing tools,” Hastein observed. He reached into a small leather pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out several silver coins. Handing them to me, he said, “Use these to buy the tools you’ll need. At the end of the voyage, you can repay me if you wish to keep them. Use any silver that remains after you’ve bought your tools to buy pigs of iron.”
I took the coins but sat staring at them in my hand, saying nothing. I could feel my face turning red.
“Is there a problem?” Hastein asked. “Do you think you’ll need more silver?”
“I know the tools I’ll need,” I answered, looking at the ground instead of into his eyes, “but I have been a thrall most of my life. I do not know the fair value of the things I need to purchase, or the worth of this silver. I do not know how to buy what I need.”
“You are a strange lad indeed,” Hastein said, “Though what you say is consistent with your tale. Torvald, accompany Halfdan and be sure he is not cheated.” Torvald rolled his eyes but said nothing. I felt I was sinking ever lower in his esteem.
“And as for you,” he said, looking back at me. “You were wise to tell me the complete truth. I will not hold it against you that you were born a thrall. But you should know that many men will judge you by what you were, rather than what you are. It is a thing best kept secret.”
After the meal, Torvald and I set off into the town. I suggested that we find a blacksmith and see if he had any extra tools he would be willing to sell, but Torvald insisted we go first to the market square.
“If you truly know nothing about the value of silver, or how to bargain, you need to learn,” he insisted. “If you do not, you will soon embarrass yourself in front of the crew. It will be hard enough as it is to get them to accept you. Tore in particular will not like it.”
“Who is Tore?” I asked.
“He is the leader of the archers in the Gull’s crew. In battle, you will usually fight under his command. If he accepts you, the rest of the crew will at least tolerate your presence. But Tore will not be pleased to have one as young and inexperienced as you fighting under him.”
Torvald sighed. “It is just like the jarl,” he said, “to make a decision like this, then leave it to me to make it work. I must think of a plan.” He sighed again. “The jarl is fortunate to have me to depend on.”
When we reached the market square, we wandered through the wares that had been set out for trade or sale. Torvald often stopped and bargained vigorously for some item. Though he never bought, his negotiations with the merchants helped me begin to understand the value that lay in the silver coins I carried. To my surprise, it was not the type of coin—whether an English penny, a Frankish denier, or even a coin stamped in Hedeby itself—that set its value. It was the weight of the silver that mattered. The one time Torvald actually did make a purchase—a skin filled with Frankish wine, which we passed back and forth between us as we wandered—he did not even use a coin to pay. Instead he pulled a thin, twisted silver bar, that looked like it might once have been part of an arm torque, from the pouch at his belt and chopped a small piece from it with his knife.
Despite his initial grumbling to Jarl Hastein about bringing me into the Gull’s crew, I found Torvald to be a pleasant and entertaining companion. He smiled often, laughed easily, and
seemed to enjoy having a listener eager to hear his tales about Hastein and the crew of the Gull. Torvald was, I learned, not only the helmsman of Hastein’s ship, but also the warrior who carried the jarl’s standard in battle and fought at his side. Hastein and Torvald had been friends since childhood, and—to hear Torvald tell it, at least—most of the jarl’s successes would not have occurred but for Torvald’s assistance. I wondered if Hastein held the same view.
I was tilting my head back to take another swig from the wineskin when Torvald nudged me with his elbow. A nudge from Torvald was like a shove from a lesser man, and I staggered sideways, squirting wine across my face instead of in my mouth.
“Look there,” he said. “That man is selling sea chests. I knew someone would be selling them in a port town like Hedeby. Now it is your turn. Bargain for one and buy it.”
I looked in the direction Torvald was pointing. A short distance ahead of us, an old man with a grizzled gray beard was sitting on a long, low wooden chest. Another was nearby, its lid propped open. The man, who was wearing a simple tunic and trousers of rough gray wool, was whittling on a fat stick with a thin-bladed knife.
It had not occurred to me that I would need a sea chest until Torvald mentioned it, but as soon as he did, I recalled watching my father and his crew prepare for their voyages on the Red Eagle. Each member of his crew had had such a chest, to store his gear in and to use as a seat when he was rowing.
“How much should I pay for it?” I asked Torvald.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Find out how much he’s asking for one,” he suggested. “Then offer him less.”
The graybeard looked up from his whittling when I approached.
“Did you make these chests?” I asked him. He nodded. I looked at the chest he wasn’t seated on. It was beautiful craftsmanship. Its planks were made of a dark, tight-grained wood I didn’t recognize. They felt as smooth as steel, and gleamed as though they’d been rubbed with oil. The hinges were of brightly polished bronze, and two bands of the same metal wrapped the chest near either end to strengthen it. An ornate bronze plate cast in the design of a writhing serpent was set into the wood on the front of the chest, with a slot for a key cut in its center.
Dragons from the Sea Page 4
