Hrolf Kraki's Saga

by Poul Anderson

  Word passed along the line that she was troubled. Sævil trotted rearward. He was a dark man, fork-bearded, given to keeping his own counsel. There in the wagon, beneath the frightened gaze of her servants, sat his wife crying. He drew alongside and asked what her trouble was. How she answered need not be from a later tale-teller. The wellborn were expected to be able to make a verse at any time, and a gift of skaldcraft ran in her blood.

  "The end has come

  of Skjoldung athelings.

  The oak has fallen,

  leaving only twigs.

  My darling brothers

  are riding bareback

  while Sævil's folk

  go off to feast."

  The jarl sat quiet in the saddle for a bit until he said, most sternly, as he stared at the driver and girls: "Great tidings, but let them not come out."

  He spurred toward the lads. They dismounted, to show rum respect and listen more readily. "Go home, you shameless whelps!" he bellowed. "I ought to hang you! It's not fitting for you to be in a troop of good men!" He whirled his horse around and cantered back.

  Helgi bristled. "If he thinks—" he began.

  Hroar cut him off: "If you think, brother mine, you'll recall how his hand moved, hidden from his followers. It signed us a warning, not a threat. And see, our sister weeps. She must have known me and told him. He doesn't want anybody else to learn it from his words."

  "Well," said Helgi, "what should we do now?" They had had no fast-set plan. They merely hoped to spy things out while seeming a pair of nitwits, and afterward do whatever looked best. Could they get near enough to King Frodhi to sink their knives in him, then before the guardsmen slew them call out who they were—but Hroar called that a daydream.

  "We'd better not keep these nags," the older youth decided. "Too open a defiance of Sævil. If he didn't punish us, the rest would ask why. They're more trouble than they're worth, anyway. Let's leave them off at yonder garth and tag along afoot."

  Thus they did. When the early dusk fell, Sævil and Signy took hospitality from a yeoman. Their folk spread warm sleeping bags outside. Hroar and Helgi shivered hungry in a thicket.

  They had not far to fare, however. Frodhi was not keeping this Yuletide at Leidhra, but in a lesser hall he owned north of Haven. Most kings traveled about for part of each year, in order to gather news, hear complaints, give judgments, and on the whole strengthen their grips. Besides, truth to tell, their main dwellings must from time to time be cleaned, aired out, and let sweeten.

  That tip of Zealand is wind-whipped, a land of moor and sandy hills, thinly peopled. The hall and its outbuildings stood alone, to north a rolling reach of ling gone gray with winter, to south a darkling skeleton woods, one farmstead barely in sight across empty miles. Most months none dwelt here save a few caretakers, who tended, slaughtered, smoked and salted those cattle and swine which guests would eat. The chief building had a single floor, and in front a single door; at the rear it abutted on a wellhouse.

  Frodhi the Peace-Good had raised it for two reasons. First, this spot was handily near the middle of what fishermen lived on the north coast and the bay to westward, what farmers plowed the heaths, what hunters or charcoal burners ranged the wilds. Second, here was a clump of oaks taller than elsewhere in these parts, where offerings had always been made. A hall hard by it would gain in holiness, and when its owner was on hand he would be the head butcher and spokesman to the gods.

  That was why Frodhi his grandson now chose to keep Yuletide here. Among the heathen, the midwinter rites honor chiefly Thor, who stands between our earth and the giants of endless ice and night. Belief is that on the eve of it, all kinds of trolls and spooks run loose across the world; but next day the sun turns again homeward and hope is reborn.

  Moreover, the king meant to talk with different leading men, sound them out, win their friendship by an open-handedness which inwardly griped him. Hence for days, wagons creaked hither, bearing food, beer, mead, and gifts—golden arm-rings and other jewelry, weapons, furs, clothes, silver-mounted harness and drinking horns, glass goblets and stamped coins from the far Southlands. Kine, sheep, and horses, to be slain for the gods and eaten by the folk, milled around in pens. Thralls filled what lowly shelters they could find. Then arrived the king, the queen, and the royal guards.

  Since he was asking great men here, each of whom would bring followers, the troop of Frodhi was smaller than was common for him. Besides servants, he brought just his berserkers and a chosen few of those younger sons of yeomen who most often take royal service— chosen for looks, manners, and garb. The rest he gave leave to spend the holy season with their kindred. As I have said, Frodhi had begun to feel at ease in his over-lordship.

  Soon guests came, until the stead was a roaring whirlpool. Most shire-dwellers stayed home. There would be no room indoors for them, and they did not like the thought of camping out on Yule Eve. A number of landloupers risked it, for the sake of meat and beer during those few days of their starveling lives. Among them was a witchwife known as Heidh. When Frodhi heard about her, he said she should enter the hall

  VI

  Hroar and Helgi reached the place in mid-afternoon, an hour or two behind Jarl Sævil's band. They mingled easily with the throng in the courtyard. Kegs had been broached, bread and cheese and cold meats stood out for whoever would partake, the smell of roasting oxen welled from the cookhouse to warm the bitter air. Men laughed and bragged, ladies gossiped while eyeing each other's gowns and gauds, children tumbled in play, dogs yammered.

  Between their own rawness, and the blow that a stoup or three of beer can give to a hollow belly, the brothers more than carried out their aim of behaving like loons. They sprang around, somersaulted, cracked foolish jokes, stood on their heads, waved legs in air, and all in all made themselves out as silly and loud-mouthed. So folk merely looked down on them, or away from them.

  Day drew to a close. At this season, it was hardly more than a glimmer between two gaping darknesses. Guests streamed indoors. Frodhi required that weapons be left in the foreroom. His excuse was that on Yule Eve men always drank heavily; quarrels might well flare, and if edged metal was to hand, a blood feud could much too easily start. The truth was, he did not really trust them. To be sure, he must lay the same command on his own warriors; anything else would have been a deadly insult. But those who were armed only with eating knives would hardly attack household troops who, outnumbered or not, were highly skilled fighters.

  The foreroom thus grew crowded and agleam. Despite the longfires and many lesser flames, the chamber beyond seemed murky. Smokeholes were not drawing well and a blue haze thickened, stinging eyes and lungs.

  When they had pushed deep into the crowd, the boys suddenly stiffened. They could make out a man who sat near the seat of guest-honor that Sævil and Signy would share. Stout, gray, coarsely clad, he must have stayed within this whole while. "Regin!" Helgi cried in joy. "Old Fosterfather!"

  He started toward the sheriff. Hroar grabbed his cloak. "Hold back, you staggerpate," the elder hissed. "Do you want to get us slain?"

  Helgi yielded. Still, he could not keep from leaping and dancing down the length of the hall. Hroar must needs pace his sibling. He cast a glance through reek and dimness and elbowing, chattering folk, toward the high seat. There sat his uncle and his mother. The king was leaned forward, in earnest talk with a beggarly-looking crone who bore a crooked staff. He would not mark what anybody else did. Across from him was Signy. Her husband had not yet joined her. The longfires roared high, red, blue, yellow, casting sparks and a surf of heat Among huge hunchbacked shadows glittered the gold on Signy's arms, at her throat, in the coiled braids beneath her headdress. She was signing to her brothers.

  Hroar urged Helgi thither. They stood before her, their faces beclouded by the cowls. Hers was drawn taut. She beckoned them close and whispered wildly, just to be heard by them amidst the din: "Don't stay here in the hall. Don't! Your strength is so little."

  Helgi started to an
swer. Hroar thrust him onward. It would not do for others to see the strand-jarl's lady beseech two witlings. They sought the far end of the chamber and squatted down among the wanderers and dogs that waited for whatever the king would order given to them or the great men deign to throw their way.

  The feast came forth. Good and plentiful were both food and drink: trenchers heaped to overflowing with juicy meat, flatbread and loaves stacked beside tubs of butter and cheese, servants scurrying ceaselessly to keep horns full of beer or mead. Yet there was no mirth. Talk buzzed dull and low. Few youths invited maidens to come sit and drink at their sides. A skald chanted forth old lays, and new ones in praise of King Frodhi, but his tones seemed lost in the smoke. Only the row of fires was loud, brawling and spitting above white-hot coals.

  That downheartedness stemmed from the mood of the host. He sat withdrawn and curt-spoken, giving off chill like an iceberg. Sigridh his queen was wholly woeful; her fingers twisted and twisted together.

  At last the tables were cleared away. The king rose and made the sign of the Hammer above a great silver cup which he then drained. Next should have come the turn of the earth-god Frey. In his honor, a boar made of gold should have been carried in, for those who wished to lay hands upon and make vows.

  Instead Frodhi said, flat-voiced and tight-lipped while glooms went hunting around his head: "I want to make known that ill faith is among us tonight, yes, and a will to do murder. If we end it not at once, surely the gods will feel themselves aggrieved, and we may look in the coming year for famine or worse." He was silent for a bit; the eyes upon him glistened white; some guests could not help coughing, an ugly noise. "A witch wife has told me," Frodhi went on, "that she smells danger nigh, stemming from my own blood.

  "Well, you know how I've sought after the sons of my brother and my lady. I would heal the breach, I would bring back the peace which ought to dwell among kinsmen. Ever have they hidden from me, though. Why else save in hopes of uprising and murder? And who else might be hereabouts, wishing me harm, save those two?

  "I will give rich rewards, and forgive whatever he may formerly have done or plotted against me, to whoever will tell me where Hroar and Helgi Halfdansson are."

  Queen Sigridh fought not to weep. King Frodhi peered about. He could not see well in the gloom. Besides, the faces of men like Sævil Jarl and Regin the sheriff were cold and shut.

  "Stand forth, then, Heidh," ordered the king, "and tell me what you need to learn what you must"

  The woman hobbled from her seat. Shadows blent with her rags while firelight reddened her unkempt gray locks. She leaned on her staff and spoke in low tones.

  Among the stinking paupers, Helgi and Hroar squatted on the floor and gripped their knives. A hound smelled their sweat and growled.

  Frodhi spoke to his frightened thralls. They fetched a witching seat. He often had to do with spellcasters and therefore kept such things on all his garths. It was a high beechwood stool whose three legs were of ash, elm, and thorn. Heidh put it before the king and herself like a raven upon it. She closed her eyes, moved her withered hands, and muttered.

  No firepit lay between the royal seat and the place of honor opposite. Frodhi squinted across at Signy and Sævil. The jarl sat quiet—the carven pillars seemed to have more movement in this uneasy light—but his wife breathed hard and her gaze roved. Heidh fell silent "Well, what have you seen?" Frodhi shrilled. "I know much has been opened to you. I see you have luck with you. Answer me, witchwife!"

  She parted her jaws and gasped. A cracked croaking came from her mouth:

  "Here are two

  I do not trust—

  they who sit

  beside the fire."

  The king trembled. A hand clasped his knife-hilt. "Do you mean the boys," he asked, "or those who've hidden them?"

  Quoth she:

  "They who stayed

  there with Vifil

  and who had

  the names of hounds,

  Hopp and Ho."

  At this, Signy called, "Well spoken, wise-woman! You've done more than could have been awaited of you." Pulling off her arm-ring, she cast the heavy gold coil across the room, into the lap of Heidh.

  The hag snatched it. "What's this about?" Frodhi rasped.

  Heidh looked from him to Signy and back. "I'm sorry, lord," she said. "What was that nonsense I spoke? All my spells went astray, this whole day and eventide."

  Racked by shuddering and gulping, Signy rose to go. Frodhi stood too, shook his fist at the witch and yelled, "If you won't speak forth freely, I'll torture you into it! For now I know no better than before what you think about those in this hall. And why is Signy out of her seat? I wonder if wolves are not in council with foxes here."

  "I, I beg your leave," stammered his niece. "I've grown sick from the smoke."

  Frodhi glared. Sævil drew her back down beside him. "I'm sure another horn of mead will make her feel better," said the jarl smoothly. He beckoned to a girl, who hastened—teeth clattering—to pour for his wife. She drank deeply. He leaned close, arm about her waist as if to uphold her, and breathed in her ear: "Keep quiet. Hold your place. Much can happen yet to save the boys, if that be their lot. Whatever you do, show not what you think. As matters stand, we can't do a thing to help them."

  Frodhi well-nigh screamed: "Tell the truth, witch, or I'll haul your limb-bones from their sockets and cast you in the fire!"

  Heidh cowered from him. She did not let go of the ring, but she gaped widely and struggled with her spell, until she uttered:

  "I see sitting

  the sons of Halfdan,

  Hroar and Helgi,

  both of them hale.

  Forth their revenge

  on Frodhi comes—

  "unless somebody hastens to stop it, but that'd doubtless be unwise," she added low. Jumping from the stool, she cackled:

  "Hard are the eyes

  in Ham and Hrani.

  Grown from kidhood

  are kingly children."

  A stir and rustle went among those of Sævil's men who recalled the names. "Ham and Hrani?" said Frodhi, "Who? Where?"

  But the spaewife had, in her way, given the brothers warning. They had sidled backward through the poor guests to the wellhouse door. As uproar arose, they slipped out and filed toward the woods.

  "Somebody ran from here!" yelled a beggar, and: "After them!" the king.

  He and his warriors dashed toward that end of the hall. Regin surged from his seat Blundering along, as if eager to help but very drunk, he knocked a number of faggots from their brackets to the floor. They guttered out. His followers saw what he was about and did likewise. Darkness and tumult filled the space beyond the last fire-trench. There Regin's men got in the way of Frodhi's. By the time the mess had been straightened, no trace of the boys was to see. Outside lay nothing save frost

  Frodhi gnawed his mustache as he led the way back in. Sigridh and Signy were sobbing in each other's arms. Heidh had scuttled out the front door with her golden ring. He paid scant heed to this. When the lights were kindled anew, he stood forth above all stony eyes and told the gathering in bitterness:

  ‘I’ve lost them again. There seem to be no few here in dealings with them, and this I will punish when the time comes. Meanwhile, you may as well drink—you who are so glad they've gotten away."

  "Lord," said Regin, and hiccoughed, "you misunderstand us. Surely tomorrow will be happier. Tonight, let's drink indeed ... as friends ... for who knows how long the Norns will let him stay among those he holds dear?"

  He kept shouting for brew to be fetched. Shaken by what had happened, the king's men and most others were glad to swill the stuff down as fast as their gullets would take it. Regin—and after Regin had whispered to him, Sævil—passed secret word among their followers: "Pretend to get as drunk as the rest, but keep your wits. Mighty weirds are abroad, and we far from our homes."

  Loudness and laughter soon lifted, harsh, not really happy, but at least staving off the stilln
ess of the night. Booze flowed until the household troopers and many more fell asleep, one atop the next. By then Frodhi and Sigridh had gone to bed. Thus Sævil and Regin drew no remark when they led their own bands out, to a barn which had been cleaned and spread with straw and skins for the overflow of guests, even though these quarters were not meant for them. In the hall resounded only hoglike snores and the sputter of the dying longfires.

  VII

  During those hours, a breeze scattered the overcast. Huddled and ashiver in a brake at the edge of the woods, Hroar and Helgi saw the heaven-signs blink forth—the Great Wain, the Little Wain in whose tongue is the Lodestar, Freyja's Spindle, more and more until the land lay grey and the hall bulked black beneath that icy light.

  "Nothing have we done," said Hroar.

  "No, much," Helgi told him, "for now men know that the Halfdanssons live—Hold! Yonder!"

  A man came riding from the stables, across the open ground between dwelling and wilds. At first he was a blot and a clash of hoofs on rime. As he drew nigh, they knew him. "Regin!" Helgi cried. He bounded forth, Hroar close behind. "Oh, Fosterfather, we've missed you so!"

  The sheriff gave no greeting. The shadowy shape of him and his steed turned about and moved back toward the hall. Stricken, the boys gaped after him. The cold gnawed deeper into their bones.

  "What?" Hroar whispered. Starlight glistened on tears. "Is he disowning us? Is he off to tell Frodhi?"

  "No, never will I believe that of him." Helgi's tone wavered.

  Regin brought his beast around. A second time he neared them. He drew his sword and, when he was upon them, they saw how he scowled. He made as if to hew at them. Hroar choked but stood his ground. Helgi snapped numb fingers and breathed: "Hoy, I think I get what he means."

  Regin sheathed blade, twitched reins, and again rode toward the hall. He went at a very slow walk. Helgi urged Hroar along, and they trailed. "I don't understand," said the latter weakly.