The Norseman

by Jason Born

  Kenna ran a slender finger over my shoulder and up to my scarred ear and said, “He should marry Thyre.” The name was familiar to me, but I could not place how I knew it, so I asked Kenna to explain. “Thyre is Sweyn’s younger sister. I do not know if she is wed yet, but when we left Dyflin she was still not married.”

  “She lives in Dyflin?” I asked.

  “No, she was there only once as far as I know. She came in the spring with her brother’s flotilla when you were planning the first joint raid on England. That was the year you attacked at Maldon, I think you said. My mother had me in the convent by then and Thyre visited us because she never saw a nunnery before. We were about the same age so we struck up a conversation. Since then we exchanged letters about once a year, but I haven’t heard any more since we moved to Kaupangen.”

  Then I remembered Thyre. She was there the day we first met Sweyn in Kvaran’s home in Dyflin. Sweyn had introduced her when Olaf commented on her beauty. I think he said she was sixteen at the time, certainly marrying age or even too old. Picturing her now, I found it hard to believe that at twenty-two she was not already married. She was, after all, rich, beautiful, and royalty. Olaf was aging though and his beard was now over half white. And if I remembered correctly she was stubborn. But I thought about the possibilities. “That would build a stronger union between Olaf and Sweyn and eventually, Norway and Denmark.”

  In the spring we sailed for Denmark. Olaf so liked Kenna’s idea that he had wanted to leave during the winter months. But the ice kept us bound to Kaupangen. So I wrote warm letters to Aethelred; Kvaran of Dyflin; and Burizlaf, the king of Wendland and an old friend of Olaf from his days as a Viking pirate, for my impatient second father. He remembered the girl from Kvaran’s home that day. He talked with fondness of how she had reminded him so much of Geira, his first wife and probably only true love. Then he laughed when he told us how Thyre, such a young woman at the time, had proposed marriage to him, a warlord. Of course, she had done it to frustrate her brother Sweyn Forkbeard, but Olaf took that proposal as a good omen for our next adventure.

  The wind pushed us forward on the gentle waves. Our armada was dwindling. We sailed with fifteen ships. It was a relatively peaceful time and we were on a peaceful mission so fifteen would be enough to discourage pirates and protect the king. Most of the men who sailed with Olaf during his warlord days were still loosely allied with him, but chose to profit and trade, and so employed their boats elsewhere. As was Olaf’s custom, we stopped for two days on the Isle of Most for services in the handsome wooden church. Eirling, the man whose fingers I cut off, always attended services when we came and the priest who served on a full time basis now reported that he had become quite helpful in leading the island.

  We left Most and sailed on along Norway’s coast turning east when we reached the southernmost tip. We sailed on past Vik and then along the coast of Sweden. Two ships from Queen Sigrid’s fleet sat idly outside the fjord into which the River Gota dumped, but made no move to report our maneuverings. The men on board waved to those of us on the crew of the Serpent since they likely recognized the telltale sail billowing ahead of the wind.

  That wind died as we moved south into the waters of the Danes and so the oars came out. The men, with their strong backs, sliced the blades through the water, moving like the never-ending rhythm of the sea. We were going to Roskilde, Sweyn’s capital city, situated deep within a long narrow fjord. To get to the fjord we had to enter a large, natural bay and make a hard turn to port around a head of land. Once inside the Roskilde Fjord, a seafarer did not have to fret about taking a blind channel like our fjord in Agdenes. This one was stretched in a straight southerly course with undulating widening and narrowing sections. Also different from our home fjord was the land surrounding Roskilde. Like much of western Denmark, this portion in the east was flat land, marshy at times. No abrupt mountains like those in Norway.

  We had made no announcement of our visit, so Sweyn might become offended if he was there at all. Olaf still did not always understand the pretences or practices of royalty, and discounted even Crevan’s council for a letter sent ahead. Our presence was clearly discovered at some point because Sweyn and twenty of his household troop stood at a wooden quay awaiting Olaf. His beard was still braided in two long forks down his chest and he wore a frown.

  Olaf scampered over the gunwale, even stepping on one of our rowers in the process. Einar and I followed him while Cnute helped Vigi onto the dock. The dog was aging. He still demonstrated bouts of agility and even quickness, but was slowing. Vigi trotted behind the four of us with a lolling tongue, while Crevan, the rest of the crew, and Kenna stayed on the boat. Olaf thought that Kenna would help encourage Thyre to agree to the union; that is if she needed any convincing.

  Olaf engaged Sweyn as he approached, “Brother Sweyn! It’s an honor to see you. Thank you for welcoming us at the quay.” He had outstretched arms and actually gave the Danish king a hug, surprising all of us.

  Sweyn looked confused and disgusted then sized up Olaf and his small group on the dock, “Where’s the smart one, Leif?” He looked at me implying I was not the smart one. I ignored the remark.

  It was Olaf’s turn to look confused, “Oh, I don’t know, Sweyn. He got a woman pregnant and now lives with her on Sudreyjar. Why do you ask?”

  Sweyn looked at us again and then past us to the ships, he was clearly sizing up our intent. Our men wore mail, but no helmets and did not brandish any weapons. Our shields were stowed in the hold and not displayed on the gunwale. Each of these was a sign in its own right that we meant no harm. Finally with a wary look remaining in his eyes he returned his gaze to Olaf and said, “I always thought he was prudent. Not impulsive like this one or even like you, at times, King Olaf.”

  A healthy laugh spouted from Olaf and he slapped the back of his counterpart. “Brother, King Sweyn, we have much to discuss. I come to talk about a blessed union under God. By the way, I’ve never asked why do you not go by your baptismal name, Otto?”

  Sweyn continued to be surprised by what he perceived as Olaf’s random set of questions, “Because my father named me Sweyn!”

  Olaf turned Sweyn with his hand and walked the two side-by-side toward the fortress of Roskilde. Two of his men broke away from the troop, the rest stayed to keep a watch on our ships. “Ah, but he also allowed you to be given the name Otto after the first Holy Roman Emperor. Tell me, do you devoutly practice the True Faith? I don’t recall seeing anything of the sort in our travels in the English countryside.”

  “Olaf, you know I am a Christian as my father Harald Bluetooth was before me. You weren’t a Christian in England anyway.”

  “I was on our second trip. It’s good to know we walk among Christian brothers. As the dear Aethelred of England says, we, as followers of the One True God, ought not fight each other. We ought to be united. Don’t you agree?”

  Sweyn couldn’t take the uncertainty any longer and stopped in his tracks. “What is it that causes you to come with your fleet to my capital unannounced?”

  Olaf saw Sweyn’s frustration for the first time and gave him a smile to defuse his emotions. “I told you we need to discuss a holy union! Now, may I retrieve my priest and that little woman standing on the deck of Serpent? These three Berserkers will be the only others that attend our talk. You can keep the rest of my men on our ships if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

  Sweyn was now embarrassed for implying that he was afraid or weak so he tried to cover for his mistake, “Olaf, retrieve whomever you like. We can talk shortly and then we will hold a feast in your honor tonight in the great hall.” The tension that had been gathering on the two bodyguards’ faces dissipated with the king’s offer.

  “And your sister Thyre, will she be in attendance tonight?” asked Olaf.

  “I didn’t realize you knew her. But yes she is here in the city and will certainly be in the hall tonight,” Sweyn answered.

  With that answer Olaf became excited and sen
t Cnute the Reliable to gather Crevan and Kenna from Serpent. The rest of us went with Sweyn into his fortress. In some ways the fort reminded me of Dyflin’s wall with its earthen embankment and wooden palisade bristling from the top. Sweyn’s fortress was much more deliberate in its layout, though. It was a perfect circle and, therefore, must have been laid out with a long rope pulled tightly from a center stake. The ring fort was over five hundred feet in diameter and the earthen embankment was over ten feet wide. On both the outside and inside circumference of the embankment stood a ground level ring of wooden posts to keep the earth from eroding. As we walked up to the fortress, workmen were pulling down a decayed section of the logs to replace them with newly cut timber. The palisade at the top of the earthen mound was well constructed as you would expect from a race of master ship builders.

  Unlike Dyflin we had to cross a man-made ditch to get to the wall and then, instead of climbing steps over the wall, a tunnel led through the earth into the fortress. The bridge over the ditch was light enough to haul into the fortress if necessary and each end of the tunnel had heavy timber gates. Once inside, I saw that the layout was precise with a central street going straight from the tunnel on this end to a tunnel on the other end. Another main street perfectly bisected this street and led between two other tunnels so that the fortress ring was cut into four equal sections. Within each section the layout was identical. Four main halls were organized into a square with a central courtyard. There were two such squares of halls in each section so that thirty-two halls sat inside the ring. Various out buildings for horses, cattle, and thralls sat around the edges of the sections. Above each section on the earth mound, men, equipped with spears and shields, guarded the fortress. They hid behind their palisade with most of these men clustered overtop each tunnel entrance.

  Sweyn’s hall was situated in the square nearest the tunnel through which we passed. It was stout and of solid construction. Two enclosed entrance ways had been added to the side of the hall, unlike our halls where the only way in was on the gable ends. I had to stoop when I entered due to my height as I always did through doorways. For some reason, at that moment I wondered why I didn’t ask Tree-Arm to make my door taller on my own house. The extra doors on Sweyn’s hall did not help let in any extra light because of the roofs covering them and so once inside the hall, it looked identical to any others I had been in. Sweyn barked some orders to the hangers-on who loitered in the hall. They immediately set about organizing for the feast that night.

  Several pots of ale were produced and we sat at a long table lined with benches. Sweyn sat in his own chair at the head, while Olaf sat on the end of the bench to Sweyn’s left. Einar and I sat to Olaf’s left. Sweyn’s men sat to his right on the bench across from us. After we each drained a cup, wetting our mouths and beards in the process, Sweyn started the conversation again, “I’ve heard reports, Olaf, that you are taking territory from me in the Vik.”

  Olaf took this in stride and replied, “Haakon was just a vassal for you; I know that. Most of Norway needed your help and protection when he ruled.” This wasn’t entirely true, but it served to smooth over Sweyn’s damaged pride. “But Sweyn, you and I, we work together. Under my leadership Norway can stand on its own and under your leadership Denmark can stand on its own. We can work together as the closest of allies, as Christian brothers, and even closer.”

  With one hand Sweyn tugged on one of the forks of his beard as he listened to Olaf. He seemed more thoughtful than he had been in England. But it was early, yet, maybe he wasn’t drunk. “You tell me we can work together as we did in the past, but why should I cooperate when you seize part of my kingdom?”

  “Damn it Sweyn! You’re not listening! I am telling you it’s not your kingdom in the first place. It’s mine. But I am trying to propose a separate, yet united kingdom.” Olaf’s description was cryptic to even me, and I knew his plans.

  Sweyn took a long draw from his cup, refilling and draining it a second, then a third time. No one said anything. I wanted to help Olaf explain, but knew that Sweyn already had a low opinion of me, so I kept my mouth shut. A racket at the door caused us to turn and see Cnute, Crevan, and Kenna entering with several more of Sweyn’s men. They all found their places on the benches along the obvious sides of the table. I smiled down the bench to Kenna. She offered a thin unsure smile from underneath a hooded cloak she still had pulled up about her frame. One strand of her dark hair hung at her forehead. I thought of the rest of the hair that was now tucked tightly in braids and would be forever in braids when we were in public until the day she died. I was the only man on earth allowed to see her beautiful hair freed from its bonds.

  The interruption was enough to soothe much of the tension so Sweyn didn’t reply to Olaf’s obscure outburst. Olaf nodded to Crevan and then continued talking much more calmly now, “Sweyn I propose a blessed union of our two kingdoms. You and I have so much in common, not just our faith in the One. We have both buried our wives and it’s not good for any man, certainly not any king, to be without the company of a wife.”

  Olaf let the description hang for a moment preferring for Sweyn to come to the conclusion without having to use the words himself. Sweyn looked down our bench one by one at those in Olaf’s party and his eyes tarried upon Kenna, sitting at the end, for a few moments. Then he pushed his chair back and walked behind his men, leaned on their shoulders and studied her face more closely. He squinted and tipped his head from one side to the next. Sweyn stood up straight again and after giving a big huff, strutted back to his seat. “Olaf you are unbelievable. You use wealth from raids into England. Raids that were my idea! You use the wealth to make yourself king, you take territory from me, you come unannounced to my fortress, you come wanting to marry my sister Thyre, and then all you offer in return is for me to marry a sickly, skeleton of a girl of who-knows what breeding stock.”

  I shot up off my seat and nearly pushed the bench over with the back of my straightened knees. Olaf grabbed the sleeve of my mail to steady the bench on which he sat and to keep me from jumping across the table to kill Sweyn. Sweyn and his men all stood up with their hands on swords or axes. “Halldorr!” Olaf shouted. “Sit down, now!” I stared at the confused and angry Sweyn. His eyes told me that he hated me as much as I hated him. “Halldorr! Sit down,” Olaf repeated. Einar who had enough presence of mind to remain seated as well, put a surprisingly gentle hand on my arm and gave a squeeze to encourage me to sit. I fixed my gaze upon Sweyn and slowly sat down. Olaf then stood slowly and walked to Sweyn with outstretched hands. When Sweyn didn’t offer his hands in return for a handshake, Olaf kept his own hands hovering in between the two kings. “Good King Sweyn, we have had a terrible misunderstanding. We did not bring you a woman to trade for Thyre. The young lady on the bench is already married to a fine, patient Norse warrior.” Olaf turned to Kenna and said, “Dear, please pull down your hood so that the king can see that what I say is true.” Kenna obliged and pulled her hood down to reveal her tightly wrapped braids. Olaf continued, “As you see no insult was intended. We come offering only me, King of Norway, as a suitor for your sister Thyre in order to bring our kingdoms to a more devoted loyalty to one another. The girl here has met and talked with Thyre before. We thought the two women might like to get reacquainted in the coming days and on the trip back to Norway.”

  With some hesitation Sweyn reached out and took Olaf’s hands and shook them both and indicated that his guards should sit back down. “Olaf, King of Norway, I welcome you for our feast tonight. This girl may certainly visit with Thyre over the coming days. But my sister will not be marrying you, as she’s betrothed to a man who cites you as a good friend, King Burizlaf of Wendland.”

  Sweyn’s great hall hummed with activity and song for the feast was on. The hearth held a large fire that burned brightly and hot. The weather was mild and so most of us sat at some distance from the blaze. Two large hogs weren’t so lucky and roasted on spits above the lapping flames while thralls attended to them.
I sat apart from the kings who visited quietly at one end of the hall. Keeping me company were my Berserker friends, Cnute and Einar, Ox-Foot and Vikar. We were at the beginning stages of a night of consuming much ale, I could tell. We visited with some of the Danes we had fought with at Maldon and London in previous years. Our heroic exploits grew with time and lies and ale.

  We had gone hunting with Olaf and Sweyn all afternoon while Kenna visited with Thyre in the great hall. That night, they sat there still, at the end of the hall opposite the kings, chatting about things which interest women I suppose, but also the things which interested Kenna in particular, languages and books.

  While we hunted Olaf was conversational, but, to those of us who knew him, was in a dejected state after finding that the entire purpose for our visit was ruined. The killing of a boar, angry and black with sharp hair covering its hide, didn’t even help his mood. Sweyn was oblivious to Olaf’s disposition because he was totally drunk by the time the hunting party was beyond the city gates. I looked at the kings. Olaf sat with his cloak and mail removed and in a messy heap beside him. Sweyn was in a reclined position doing most of the talking; his hands moved in sweeping gestures as if he were making many important points, though I could not hear what he said. More likely, he blathered the type of nonsense he had spouted that morning on Northey Island in Essex. I hated that man. He was rich beyond even Olaf, mostly from the work of Olaf. He was a weak drunkard with a propensity to lash out like a spoiled child.