by Mark Coakley
As she took the food from a wood chest and put it onto the little table, Halfdan told them what had happened in Eid and how he had run away.
"We heard about the hall-burning, and that only a black-looking fighter escaped," Harald said. "When the Sogn horsemen came here, they asked folk about you, but nobody told them that this is your home-town."
"Have they come here?"
"They have, demanding silver and searching the house. But they did that to everybody. I don't think that they are likely to come back, at least until next tax-time. You can hide out here as long as you need. Right, Anna?"
"Of course. Now, eat."
As Halfdan took bread and piled it with slices of yellow sheep-cheese and smelly pink fish, he said, "I'm not going to stay here and put you two in danger."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Get revenge."
Aunt Anna's happy expression changed to worry.
Uncle Harald said, "Isn't killing two kings a bit ambitious?"
"Right. So I came here to get help. There must be men around here who aren't happy with what happened."
"Nobody is happy about it," Uncle Harald. "Lambi was a great ruler, one of us. But that doesn't mean that folk are eager to get killed for the memory of a dead man."
Aunt Anna said, "And the pains in your uncle's leg have gotten worse; he can barely walk most days, never mind trying to fight. Isn't that right, Harald?"
He looked embarrassed and scowled. "Quiet. My leg is strong enough to fight, if I so decide. In the Swedish War, there were a lot of older men — older than I am now — who spilled their share of blood."
"Oh, Harald," she said, shaking her head.
Halfdan said, "Uncle, I don't want to you to join me in this. You wouldn't be able to keep up. And I don't want to take you away from Aunt Anna. I want young, single, ambitious men. You've done your fighting; stay here and enjoy your farm and your grandchildren. How are Einar and Endre?" — the twin sons of Halfdan's foster-sister.
Aunt Anna beamed and said, "So cute and so smart! Barely a year old, and both of them can say 'cake' and 'no' and 'up' and some other words. Endre will peacefully stare at the fire for hours, like you would, though Einar is more of an active-type and likes to crawl all over the place, putting all he can into his mouth. You haven't seen them yet, have you?"
"Not yet. I was planning to come back this summer to see them, and you two, but other things kept getting in the way and I kept putting it off. Sorry."
"I know that Lise —" Halfdan's foster-sister "— would love a chance to show off the babies to you. It's amazing how they can make folk laugh. So cute! Maybe it would inspire some ideas in you. Yes, that was a hint. You need a woman who will make you want to settle down and have babies."
Halfdan rolled his eyes, saying nothing about Yngvild.
Harald said, "Tell me about your plans. How many men do you need?"
"As many as possible," Halfdan said. "And I'd like your help."
"You want me to go around to all the young, single, ambitious men around here — those who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut — and recruit them for you."
"Yes. Tell them I want to meet them tomorrow night."
"Where?"
"I was thinking about near the sacred swamp. Nobody goes there at night."
"The gods might be offended by you using their sanctuary for that. It might bring bad luck. And folk might get lost trying to get there in the dark. A better place would be at your parents' memorial-stone."
Halfdan had not been there for many years. He said, "Good. We'll meet there, pick a leader and leave. Each of them is to bring weapons, blankets, food and water-containers."
"What about horses?"
"We'll have to stay off the roads. No horses."
"Anything else?"
"No."
"Fine, I'll do it tomorrow," Harald said. "Now it's very late. Let's talk about it more in the morning."
Halfdan said, "I'm not sleeping here. Too dangerous."
Harald said, "Nonsense! I told you, nobody told the new rulers that you were from around here. There's no chance of anybody showing up here tonight to search the place. You're safe here."
Halfdan said, "I mean, it's too dangerous for you. If a neighbour sees me and later tells a fighter from Sogn or Førde that I was here, they'll kill both of you for giving me shelter. We are dealing with bad men."
Aunt Anna said, "Halfdan, this is all sounding too crazy. Can't you just go into exile for a while? Come back when things have calmed down?"
"I thought about that," Halfdan said. "But if I don't do this, there will be nothing for me. Wherever I go, I'll find nothing to live for. I made a vow to King Lambi and must keep it."
She said, "Is that it, or are you just worried that people will say you weren't brave enough?"
"Don't try to talk me out of it."
"Anna," Uncle Harald said, putting a big, sun-browned hand on her thin, paler hand, "let Halfdan do what he thinks he has to do. He's not a child anymore. And he made a vow."
"To a man who is now dead. He just said some words, which the wind blew away as soon as they were spoken. Is that a good reason to risk death?"
Halfdan said:
No life can last longer
Than all-ruling fate allows
When a debt to death is due
Do not fear to disappear
Aunt Anna, unhappy, said nothing.
Uncle Harald said, "Did you make that one up?"
"No," Halfdan said.
"I know your style too well to be fooled. Whose is it?"
"King Lambi's."
Uncle Harald said, "People say that he could see into the future. Lambi probably foresaw how his life would end. That poem sounds like he did." A thought came to Uncle Harald and he scowled. "I just remembered something that I heard when I was at the market," he said. "I don't know how true it is, but someone who had come from Eid told it to me. Apparently, King Njal of Sogn went digging around in the ashes of the hall and found King Lambi's body. It was burnt and charred, but they could recognize his jewellery and sword."
Halfdan put his hands over his eyes.
"What did they do to it?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this. Well, the man said that Njal cut off the head of King Lambi's burnt body and tied it to the saddle on his horse, like a decoration. He rides around everywhere with King Lambi's fire-black skull hanging there, bouncing beside his leg."
Aunt Anna said, "Why would anyone do such a nasty thing?"
Uncle Harald shrugged.
"I can figure it out," Halfdan said, the look in his eyes turning hard. "It's proof of the change in government. And to make folk afraid. The kings of Sogn and Førde will rule by fear until one or both of them gets elected king of Fjordane and makes their rule legitimate."
"Election-time is almost a year away," Uncle Harald said. "They want to keep everybody poor and terrified until then. It makes sense — nobody in Fjordane wants our kingdom turned into a vassal-state of Sogn and Førde, and the only way to get us to vote for Njal and/or Gunvald as king is through hard oppression. Making all Fjordane-folk too intimidated to campaign for the kingship against those bloody-handed outlander shits."
Aunt Anna said to Halfdan, "If exile is out of the question, then I hope you kill them all."
"I'll try," Halfdan said.
No more is recorded of their conversation. When Halfdan left, carrying a bag of food and the ax, he walked slowly back across the harvested farm-field; back to where Yngvild — sitting with her back to a tree, bow and arrows still in her hands — had fallen asleep.
Halfdan covered her legs and belly with a blanket, then crouched to look closely at her shadowy face for a long time.
In sleep, she looked beautiful, gentle and peaceful.
When early sunlight woke her, he was still awake, still looking closely at her.
Squinting, she smiled up at him and said, "How did it go?"
"Fine."
"So what's next?"
<
br /> Yngvild was as beautiful awake as sleeping — but not as gentle, not as peaceful.
"Let's go," he said.
The memorial-stone, and others much like it, were on some flat ground near a bend in a path up to the mountains. Other than an occasional shepherd bringing a herd to or from pasture, few used this out-of-the-way path. The runes on the man-sized chunk of rough grey granite sticking from the ground read:
Gødrød OF OS ~ LEFT AND NEVER RETURNED
Aasa OF NUBIA ~ DIED HERE
RUNES CARVED BY THEIR SON ~ Halfdan
After darkness fell, the men Uncle Harald had spoken to started showing up. Halfdan and Yngvild greeted each of them with hand-shakes and explanations. Some of them he did not recognize; Halfdan had lived away from Os for eleven years, and some of these men had been children when he left. He recognized most of those who were around his own age, and was pleased to see some of the area's best brawlers.
One of these was Atli the Red, so-called because of the colour of his hair and beard. He was a very smart man, capable in most things, though not very confident or assertive. He and Halfdan had grown up on neighbouring farms, but had never been close friends, although Halfdan greatly respected Atli's wisdom and calm, stubborn character and skill at poetry. Atli showed up at the meeting because of his political beliefs: he did not want to be ruled by men who had killed Lambi, and who were terrorizing innocent folk, and who were outlanders from Sogn and Førde. "Fjordane should be ruled by a Fjordane-man."
Another good recruit was Haki the Berserker. Haki was a thick-armed and tall bully, who had once earned a living by travelling from town to town, challenging men to duels; these men could either pay Haki to cancel the duel, or fight — in which case, Haki would kill them and become the legal owner of all the duel-loser's property. Haki had duel-challenged dozens of unlucky men, earning a fortune in land and silver, but his passion for gambling and whoring meant that he was usually broke. Earlier this year, he had been outlawed by the Fjordane Assembly for his many notorious wrongs — which meant that anybody who wanted to could kill him without penalty, even if it was a sneak-killing. Unlike most outlaws, Haki did not go into exile, and he went around openly daring the families of his victims to try vengeance on him. None so far had dared, and Haki went on doing as he pleased. The only difference being an outlaw meant to Haki was that he could no longer force other men to duel; as an outlaw, his challenges could be ignored without shame. So he was looking for something else to do. Fighting to avenge King Lambi sounded fun and, if successful, would bring silver.
Some of the twenty-two young men who met with Halfdan that night were there for political ideals, like Atli. Others had a grudge over a family member who had been killed or raped by "tax-collectors," or they themselves had been treated badly, and were after revenge like Yngvild and Halfdan. But most shared motives with Haki: ambition and small-town boredom. They were younger sons, who knew that an eldest brother would inherit all of their father's farm or fishing-boat or flock of sheep. Without inherited property, they would need luck to find any work that paid well enough support a wife and family — if they were also lucky enough to find someone to marry. There were always more single men than women around here (as it was customary then to drown unwanted babies, and mothers mostly drowned daughters), so women could choose from many suitors — usually choosing one with inherited property. Younger brothers, denied inheritance and wife, knew of Halfdan's reputation and joined him in hope of getting rich through war — or at least getting out of Os for some excitement.
One of the last recruits to arrive was called Fisk the Bone-Chewer. Fisk was Halfdan's cousin; the youngest son of Halfdan's Uncle Gunnar (Gødrød's brother) and Aunt Ragnhild. Fisk was nineteen years of age and very skilled at hunting.
After embracing Halfdan, Fisk said to everybody, "I have news! My brother Ole just got off a ship that was in Eid yesterday, where Ole heard that King Gunvald is dead! People say that King Njal killed him — stabbed him in the back while they were drinking together, or so folk said. Then there was a battle in Eid between King Njal and his Sogn-fighters against the fighters from Førde who had served King Gunvald. King Njal's side did better in the fighting, though lots of men on both sides were killed. After the battle, most of the surviving Førde-men went onto their ships and sailed back to Førde, very angry. Some Førde-fighters switched allegiance and stayed in Eid to serve King Njal. Folk in Eid say that there are still bad feelings between these side-switchers and the real Sogn-men, because of the battle. Things are very confused over there."
Atli said, "That is good news for us."
"There's more," Fisk said. "Ole heard a rumour — he doesn't know how true it is — that King Njal is not well. Whether hurt in the battle or just sick, that's not known, but people in Eid think something is definitely wrong with him. Nobody has seen him in the streets since the battle, and he used to ride around all the time, showing off King Lambi's head on his saddle-string and looking for young girls to rape in front of their parents. Of the two kings, Njal was always the worst, and folk in Eid are sacrificing lots of beasts for the gods to not let him recover."
Everybody offered their opinions on this news, asking questions that Fisk did not know enough to answer, until Haki said, "Enough! Whether we go to Eid to kill one foe-king or two, the important thing is that we go!"
Both Halfdan and Haki volunteered to be war-chief. There was a vote — the only weapons raised for Haki belonged to Haki and his big cousin, Sten. Haki shrugged and stayed calm.
Halfdan had all the Os-men swear an oath not to abandon the feud until King Njal or they were destroyed, and all agreed that anybody who broke the oath would lose their life.
Halfdan and Yngvild went where the others couldn't hear, and Halfdan said, "You can not come with us now."
She protested, "I know healing. If a man gets hurt fighting, I can treat him. And if things get really desperate, I can help out with my arrows."
"I'm not saying that you would not be useful. But there are two reasons why you can't come. First, with one woman in a group of twenty-three young, single men — there will be problems."
"But I'm yours," Yngvild said. "Tell them that with enough authority and they'll leave me alone."
"Some would. Some might not. For the war-chief to bring along a woman as pretty as you, while the others are alone and far from home, will lead to jealousy."
"And the other reason?"
"Because I don't want you to be hurt. Some of us will probably die soon. I do not want one to be you. After this is all done, I'll send for you."
"If you abandon me now, maybe I won't want you then."
"I hope you do. If not, that's your decision."
"You troll! Let me come with you! I'll go into the woods to cut off my hair and dress as a male, then come back here and say I'm a new recruit. Yngvar the Beardless."
Halfdan smiled and said, "And how will you hide those?" — glancing at her chest.
"A belt under my shirt can squash me flat."
"Unlikely. You have to stay behind."
"No."
When Halfdan kissed her, her lips stayed tight and cold. He turned away, went back to the men, picked up his bag and ax.
Yngvild stood by Gødrød and Aasa's weather-worn stone, watching him lead the small army away. The fighters followed the shepherd-path south, towards the mountains and fjord.
Chapter 12
TETTA WRITES TO ALCUIN *
October 27, Year of Our Lord 792
To Alcuin of York, venerable scholar, evangelist and ambassador of Rome to the barbarians:
Tetta, the unworthy and weak, sends to you, so-loyal friend, across stormy seas and foreign lands, her warmest affection.
Knowing, as I do so well, that "a friend is long to seek, hard to find, and difficult to keep," I acknowledge that reading the affirmations of your affection for me, as expressed in your thrillingly-eloquent last letter, has filled my very inmost soul with a sweetness as of honey.
; Not to waste further words: not a day nor a night goes by without some remembrance of that long-ago summer in York with you, and with my departed brother, whom we both loved. And even though now we are so very distant and apart, my faithful Alcuin, yet you remain, as always, my tower of strength against enemies both without and within.
Believe me — as a storm-tossed sailor longs for harbour, as an anxious mother watches by the shore for her son — do I long for the sight of you. But I am so oppressed by the tyranny of my sins, and so weighted down by my countless faults, that hope of salvation from impending danger cannot be mine, and I am plunged again and again into vexation.
May I presume to ask Your Reverence's advice on a problem of great difficulty? I am struggling to find a fitting course of discipline for a very unusual Nun, who has caused me great perplexity. Let me tell you briefly of her background, and her continuing offence, so that you might offer your humble student a few words of advice, if you are willing to condescend.
Her name is Leoba, of the town of Melrose; of common birth, quite plain of face, and twenty-five years of age; to the eye, there is nothing indicating her strangeness. Leoba was unwillingly brought here after being caught in a shocking act of deception — she had somehow managed to spend over two years living at the Iona monastery dressed as a Monk and pretending to be a man. I am informed that she assumed a false voice at all times; she scraped a razor across cheeks and chin every day, as if to remove beard; I blush to mention how this impostor went so far, in her unnatural scheme, as to carry around a leather device to enable her to pass water while standing.
Why did she join the Monks at Iona, rather than joining other girls and women at a Convent? She claims that her only motivation was the fact that, since the Synod of Whitby, Pilgrimage to foreign lands has been forbidden to English females. Despite that absolute injunction, backed by both ecclesiastical and royal authority, Leoba stubbornly wishes to see the Holy Land.
She was just two weeks away from setting sail for Jerusalem, on a ship full of duped Monks, when the deception was uncovered. An unmarried peasant-woman from a town near Iona became pregnant, and rumours spread that she had been seduced by one of the Monks. This peasant-woman was confronted by Iona's Abbott, brought to Iona, and the peasant-woman was told to identify which of the Monks had made her pregnant. The lying peasant-woman pointed at the disguised Leoba.
