The Norseman

by Jason Born

  I walked up to the fence that contained the pigs but could not contain their stench. I set down my bow and quiver of arrows and leaned on the fence peering into the darkness at the outline of the hogs. Their barn was a cave that was devoid of any light. I don’t know how deep the cave was. The fence on which I leaned formed a wide circle around the mouth of the cave and several pigs rutted and grunted in the mud and manure just inside the perimeter. How I wished my designated pig man was there, but Brandr died at Maldon.

  Cnute walked up next to me and leaned on the fence. Before long we would both be covered in manure so I said, “Let’s get this over with.” While I picked up my bow and arrows, Cnute examined the hogs and selected the best two. From close range I shot two in quick succession to bring them down so we wouldn’t have to chase them. The other hogs went scurrying into their cave squealing and grunting when Cnute and I jumped the fence into their yard. Cnute grabbed the front legs and I the back of the first pig and heaved it over the fence then did the same for the second hog. We found some buckets in the man’s hut, rinsed the manure from the dead hogs, and butchered them. By the time we finished, the fire was slowly building and we turned our hogs over to the other men.

  It was time to get clean. Cnute rustled through the man’s hut a second time to find a large kettle. We heated creek water next to the fire and used it to wash ourselves and our clothes. The men had not brought enough ale on our pursuit to get drunk, but that didn’t stop them from singing songs and telling stories about the day’s battle. The hogs barbecued in a few hours and we ate joyously. Olaf, the new king, went into the farmer’s hut to sleep. Slowly, men found their own places to rest for the night and soon, all but several sentries, slept.

  My own sleep was fitful, being constantly interrupted by snorting hogs and dreams. The first I tried to ignore, but the second I couldn’t drive from my mind. I dreamt that I returned to Greenland in my glittering mail, carrying the best weapons money could buy. Freydis greeted my return with derisive laughter. Erik and his wife, Thjordhildr, cried. Thorstein, Leif’s younger brother, lay cold and dead on a bed of straw. Thorvald, Leif’s other brother, died a bloody death at the hands of blurry, dark-skinned people. The dreams repeated themselves throughout the night over and over, always ending with Thorvald’s screams.

  Screams. They were louder now, louder than in any of the previous dreams. Then my eyes shot open looking at the pigsty in the predawn light. A wild man was standing in the pig yard covered in shit and mud, screaming in a foreign language. At one side he carried a sword dripping with fresh, wet blood. On the other side he carried the head of a man with long, curly brown hair and a terrified look permanently etched on his quickly draining face. Men throughout the camp were shouting now. I jumped to my feet and readied my bow. Cnute who slept somewhere nearby was already at the fence holding his sword talking to the man. “Who are you? Where did you come from?” Cnute asked.

  The man walked forward and was babbling now in his foreign tongue. Cnute raised his sword and placed the point at the man’s eye level and he stopped just inside the fence. Cnute repeated his questions to which the man responded in his foreign language. Olaf walked up behind us, carrying the belt which held his weapons, just as the man seemed to realize his error. He answered in accented Norse, “I’m Tormod.” And then lifting the head he added in a pleading tone, “This is Jarl Haakon. We spent the whole night hiding in the cave with the pigs. I swear by your gods of Odin and Thor that he was going to kill me to keep me quiet. I had to kill him first.” A pig brushed past him and then he scanned the lot of us and added, “One of you must be Olaf, King of Norway. Since I have saved you the time and trouble of finding and killing Haakon, will you grant my freedom and a gift of silver to send me on my way?”

  Olaf stood while silent rage built inside. His face grew flush. Tormod, a thrall, had the insolence to negotiate with the king. He had the audacity to kill his own master. Olaf clenched his jaw, but then I saw the anger slowly melt away from his face. He calmly gave orders to break camp to travel back to the fleet. Cnute still held his sword at Tormod’s face. Olaf buckled his belt about his waist and walked down the hill. Cnute gave me a questioning glance and I lifted my shoulders in return. Cnute called down to Olaf, “Lord, what shall I do with this Tormod?”

  Olaf stopped and turned around, “He swears by Odin and Thor, but we follow the One True God now, so it’s hard for me to believe what he says. The thrall is right though, we owe him a reward for his troubles. I know he asks for silver, but all I am willing to part with is steel. See that he gets what he deserves, Cnute.” Olaf half turned down the hill then added, “Oh and bring me Haakon’s head please. See that it doesn’t get any more pig shit on it than it already has.” Cnute faced Tormod who started sputtering words out like a river. In one motion Cnute drew the sword back and flicked it at the man’s neck. His head popped off and landed in the mud behind him. While his body remained teetering for a split second longer, Cnute poked Haakon’s head with the point of his sword. When Tormod’s lifeless form finally fell backward, Haakon’s head remained on the sword stuck like a pig on a spit. Cnute walked the head to the creek without touching it and rinsed it off. Giving him my haversack, he slipped the head inside, and slung the sack over his shoulder. We jogged to catch up to the group and spent half of a day marching back to the fleet knowing we served the undisputed King of Norway.

  It was a good summer. Haakon’s withering head graced a post on the beach where we originally landed. His horrified eyes were swiftly removed by ravens but the men still waved and said their welcomes to the head when they travelled by. I enjoyed that humor thoroughly. We spent most of the days scouting the Fjord at Agdenes and venturing along the western coast of Norway. Only once did I get anxious to go on a raiding party for profit. But Olaf saw my anxiety and sent me to meet with one of the jarls north of Trondelag to confirm the jarl’s position on Olaf. I soon discovered that the loathing of Haakon was so universal that Olaf had no opposition to becoming king. As messengers went out to and returned from the most powerful jarls, we learned that they supported Olaf’s efforts for a united kingdom if not for a change in gods. Olaf took this information for the success it was and could not have hoped for an easier campaign. Olaf would have to persuade his men over time to accept the new faith.

  My only regret was that I let Haakon’s second son, Eirik, live. Instead of hitting only Erlend with my arrow, I should have rightly sent another into Eirik’s face as well. While we were out searching for his father the coward, and while Crevan was baptizing men just off the beach, Eirik slipped away. I heard that by the end of summer he had gathered his brother Sveinn and they made it all the way to Sweden, now participating in the royal court of the queen.

  One of my first duties following our victory was to scout for a location for Olaf’s capital city. He wanted to locate it in the very fjord where he successfully defeated Haakon. His chief goal was to find land that was easily defensible, but also easily accessible by long boat. Much of the land in the fjord climbed out of the water like a mountain and could, therefore, be dismissed early. I spent days sailing the Boar in and out of inlets and rivers among the flattest land before I found the right location at the mouth of the curvy River Nidelva. The winding river reminded me of the way the River Poddle made a sharp turn around Dyflin, but the turn in Nidelva was even more pronounced and created a peninsula of land connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of earth. One strong gate would take care of most of the defense of the city. A trading post was already located there and it would be an ideal location for a city.

  I brought Olaf to the location and he asked me to take him upstream in Serpent. He looked at the tree-filled land that came right to the very banks of the river. For its part, the river was wide enough and deep enough for our shipping. About one mile upriver it turned sharply to starboard and continued straight until it curved sharply to port and headed far inland. At the second sharp turn was where the city gate would be and Olaf asked to g
et off. With his foot in the river he started walking north across the isthmus in long strides, counting all the way. It was only eight hundred fifty paces from the river to the fjord at this narrow point. We traipsed all over the peninsula that day and walked to the trading post. Olaf chatted about his favorite battles and told jokes. It was hard to remember that he was actually a king. When we finally climbed back aboard Serpent Olaf said simply, “I shall call it Kaupangen.” The name meant market place or trading post. I told him I liked it very much to which he replied with sarcasm, “I’ll try not to take that as an insult from the man who has named his latest longboat after a furry, grass-chewing animal.”

  By late summer we were constructing the wall at the end of the peninsula. It would be constructed like the wall at Dyflin; a large earthen mound would be topped with a tall wooden palisade. In the center of those eight hundred fifty paces would be a gate made of thick logs at ground level for livestock, wagons, and mounted soldiers to traverse. Olaf had left to go on a missionary journey with Crevan and many of his ships, leaving the rest of us to fell trees and carry baskets of earth. After one thousand men worked for one month, we cleared the area and had the earthen mound completed at over twenty-five feet tall. We had rolled heavy logs on the mound and stamped it, but the rain and snow would settle it to about twenty feet tall. We buried the vertical logs of the palisade into the top of our mound, knowing that many would have to be reset after the heaving caused by winter’s frost.

  The autumnal equinox came and with it Olaf and his fleet returned. Many of the men brought their families back with them including women and children. It was pleasant to see the shape of a woman again after so many months. At the time of Olaf’s return, I was setting thatch on the roof of what would be Olaf’s great hall, where many of us would spend the winter huddled inside until spring brought us another chance to raid or to do whatever it was a king did.

  Serpent slid into the shore and Olaf sprang out with his usual vigor. His men set about unloading Olaf’s luggage and soon Crevan climbed down looking pleased. Other ships anchored in the fjord or beached their boats on the shore or set the boats on the river bank. Olaf marched past his partially constructed hall, giving me an enthusiastic greeting and walked to the wall. Crevan followed slowly behind carrying a large, tightly filled pack on his back. Einar, the commander of Shining Sword who copied me during the battle in the fjord, climbed a short ladder and handed up several more bundles of thatch, so I returned to my work.

  Olaf scaled the earthworks and strode atop it, pausing to shove the fence every few feet. It held firmly and he seemed pleased for he nodded to himself. Crevan was struggling to climb the hill in his robes with the pack on his back. He made it halfway up at one point then slipped and rolled down the embankment in a cloud of dirt. Vigi barked at the priest and nipped at his feet. Olaf watched it all happen and laughed. I laughed too, under my breath.

  Men, many men, were walking amongst our construction groups after they departed their ships. They seemed to walk with purpose toward the wall and Olaf. I did not anticipate to recognize each man’s face because Olaf’s army had grown so large, but I noted more men dressed in glimmering mail and expensive coats than I thought was expected. I recognized none of those men. Cnute walked up to Olaf’s hall holding a bundle of lumber on his back and asked Einar and me, “Where’s everyone going?”

  I shrugged and Einar replied, “I don’t know.” Then Einar saw Randulfr, who had been away with The Whale and Olaf, walking past in the crowd of men and asked him.

  “Olaf’s coronation. His priest is going to crown him at the gate to the new city,” answered Randulfr.

  I shouted down, “Who are all the rich strangers?”

  “Many of the jarls and their thegns from nearby fjords wanted to come and watch the proceedings, so they followed us here. You’d better hurry if you want to see for yourself.” With that, he rejoined the river of men flowing toward the wall. I set down the bundle of thatch I was holding and climbed down the ladder to join Einar and Cnute. We were eager to watch because none of us had ever seen such a ceremony and God knows we could have used a diversion from our construction toiling of the past month. We joined the line of men and found ourselves several rows away from the base of the wall. In front of us stood the noblemen of Norway who had made the trip for the coronation.

  Crevan had finally made it to the top, set his pack down, and was brushing the dirt from his robes. Olaf stood next to him looking out at his soldiers and free men assembling below. He wore his typically worn cloak with mud and blood stains just above the fraying edges. His head was uncovered and both his hair and beard were neatly combed.

  The assemblage rang with conversation as we greeted one another after being absent for a time. Olaf silently nodded to Crevan who began speaking. “Noblemen and free men of Norway, you have struggled under an oppressive ruler for too long. Many of you lived directly under that oppression here in your homeland, watching your daughters be swept away by Haakon’s wickedness, while others fled to find fortune elsewhere and yet both sets of you knew that the One True God would bring about a savior in our time; a savior with Harald Fairhair’s blood coursing through his very body.” I was impressed that the old Irishman knew the Norse lineage. “You had that knowledge of better times, which was really an example of hope and a further example of faith. It’s a faith that prepared you for better days under a Godly King, a king who will unite us all under one rule and One True God. A Godly King who demonstrated his faith by building the first church in all of Norway during his travels this summer. You didn’t know of your own faith in the One True God, but it was there. And that faith allowed you to persevere and eventually triumph. So just as Christ suffered and persevered through pain, anguish, so that we would be saved, we endured pain and anguish for our better days.” Men in the crowd already began fidgeting. The new faith was going to be difficult for our people to swallow. Crevan sensed it and since he was a gifted speaker, shifted tact. “Our new king is the great grandson of Harald Fairhair. He fled his father’s murderer Harald Greyhide, but was sold into slavery by pirates in exchange for a cloak. Sold for the price of a cloak! A good Norseman saved him and Olaf went on to build an army and become our king. I ask you if our God can come back from death and if our Godly King Olaf can come back from the death of slavery, then why can’t all Norsemen, noble and free, grow and build our own Norse empire? Olaf will need you to serve him to conquer men and territory. In exchange he will serve you and keep you free.”

  Crevan bent down and rustled around in his pack. Before long he pulled out a smaller item wrapped in fine violet cloth. He held the bundle up in one hand and gave the cloth a tug with the other. It fluttered away and beneath it Crevan had revealed an ornate crown. It was made of gold with jewels inset at the base. Like tentacles, golden, intricate arms curved up from the base to join together in the center. Sitting in the center at the top of these arms was a simple golden cross. Beneath the arms was a lush piece of red velvet to cover the king’s pate. Upon seeing the crown, the men cheered and I found myself clapping as well. The cheering went on for several minutes and both Olaf and Crevan seemed to soak it in. Finally, Olaf held out his hands to quiet the crowd and slowly silence resumed. Olaf turned to face Crevan and stood erect with an enormous smile upon his face. The two exchanged some hushed words which I could not hear and they looked confused for a moment. Finally, Olaf knelt down on one knee before Crevan, who promptly placed the crown on Olaf’s slightly bowed head. With his hands solemnly clasped at his chest level, he then said a long prayer in Latin which I could not understand at the time. Men fidgeted. When he was done, Olaf stood and we cheered our new king.

  Olaf spoke, “Bastards! All of you are the toughest bastards I ever laid eyes upon!” We cheered again. “I am a warlord and that is all I’ll ever be. My great grandfather was your king and so shall I be, but I need you to lead with me and defend a united Norway.” He paused and paced back and forth a few times thinking of something. �
�A king needs fearless warriors and wise counselors and I have some in you.” He pointed to the crowd. “I’m not sure what a king does on his coronation day, but I’d like to reward my closest fighters, my most loyal subjects.”

  The king bent down and searched through Crevan’s pack which was still stuffed full. He pulled out two handfuls of gold and silver arm rings. Olaf proceeded to call out to the deserving men in the crowd. Some were given to the noblemen who just became his sworn men as a token of good faith. Others were given to his warriors who fought and bled with him in the fjord or elsewhere. The recipients had to scale the dirt slope to accept their reward and Olaf slapped each on the back as if they were old friends. All this made the long ceremony take longer. Men shuffled their feet to keep the numbness away. He finally gave the last away then gave a host of other trinkets to still more men. Still the pack was at least half full and I began to get anxious to find somewhere else to be, but I stayed for my king.