by C. R. May
He stopped the ships
when the strife he expected,
blows struck on shields;
ere Haklang was fallen…
It was the start of the battle. Most of the men in the room had hefted their shields and ringed their lord as he had led them over the prow, clearing the deck of the enemy ship; driving its crew back beyond the mast. Eyvind Glum had made his stand, at the stern with those men who were true to their oaths, and Thorir had earned his own foster-brother’s lifelong gratitude when he had sent the king’s enemy to Oðin’s hall that day. It was a good tale but it was a tale of other men, and Erik snorted as he ducked through the doorway as he sensed the chance to weave the first stanza of his own.
Thorir was on the far side of the yard with Horse Hair Gisli, deep in conversation with a full bearded man he had never seen before and he wondered at it. Away to the south-east the new moon shone bright from a vault sprinkled with stars, bathing the hillside with its steely light and turning night to day. In full view of the comings and goings of thralls as they went about their work, men would see them clearly as they came from the hall to use the piss trench which had been dug for the occasion. Before his disappointment could make itself fully felt, Erik and Arinbjorn were up on the group. Thorir raised his eyes as they drew up, and the hersir indicated the visitor with a roll of his head. ‘This man is Kari Hallsson, a hunter and tracker who works the highlands of Jostrudal and the valleys and woodlands to the East. His brother is a bonder of ours who farms further up the Nausta Valley, paying skat as did his father before him.’ He clapped the man on the shoulder. ‘They have always been among the first to send tribute and answer the war arrow’s call when the hird has need of bolstering. They are an honourable and trustworthy family.’
The man inclined his head in gratitude at the respect shown towards his clan, the great bush of his beard splaying on his chest like a breaking wave as he did so. ‘It is my honour to be in your presence lords,’ he said. He turned his head towards Erik and dipped his chin a little further. ‘And to be of use to a son of the king on such a day as this.’
Erik acknowledged the greeting with a nod before turning his eyes to his foster-father. ‘Kari has the right of it. What could be so important that it would call me away from my own coming of age festivities?’ A thrall woman passed by with a cheese from the store, and Kari surprised the younger men by turning back to the others and raising his voice a notch. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said earnestly, ‘a wolf it was, a big one too, an old grey muzzle. He must have been driven out of the pack, or he is just a loner; either way he is helping himself to a meal from our traps and he has no fear of us. Something needs to be done.’
The woman stole a glance back across her shoulder, and her pace increased just a touch as she approached the door to the hall. Thorir and Gisli shared a look, and the pair snorted as a flash of buttery light played upon the sets before the door closed with a thump. ‘That should do it, lord,’ Gisli said. ‘She has a mouth on her like Sognefjord that one.’
Erik and Arinbjorn were clearly bemused, and Gisli began to explain. ‘Kari is a huntsman, but it is not old grey muzzles which are to be our prey but young bucks.’ He flicked a look at Thorir, and the hersir continued with the explanation. ‘I have been doing more than gathering in the crops and preparing for winter since we returned from the autumn Thing. I had men travel up to Nidaros and Lade to see what they could discover about the movements and habits of the jarl and his boy.’ He flashed them a look of triumph as Arinbjorn and Erik began to hope that retribution for the humiliation at the Gulathing was at hand after all. ‘Bolli Sigurdsson and three score of Sigurd’s huskarls left the Trondelag to spend this Jule with his favourite leman at a hall near Dofrar.’
Erik looked crestfallen. ‘Whether Sigurdsson intends to spend a cosy Jule at this place with his mistress or not, we will never be able to attack him before he is forewarned. Dofrar is too far from the sea and the roads inland are snowbound at this time of year.’
Arinbjorn shook his head. ‘You are too easily dissuaded brother.’ He turned his gaze to the man at his side. ‘No man who could spend all winter on the hills and fells would need the help of his lord to chase away a toothless old wolf.’ He shared a smile with his father before turning back. ‘Kari knows a way; Bolli thought that making you look a fool at the corral would be a fine thing, but you made him a promise that the jest will cost him his life and we mean to help you keep it.’
The horsemen waved in farewell as they guided their mounts back to the track. Kari gave his sister-in-law a parting hug, clapped his brother on the shoulder and vaulted into the saddle. Within moments the guide had exited the yard and cantered to the head of the column. The iron grey light of the false dawn drew a line on the heights to the east, but darkness still held sway in the depths of the dale. Gormánuður, Slaughter Month, was drawing to a close, soon it would be Jólnir, the month of Jule; the sun would rise midmorning and set little more than four hours later. Blizzards could be expected on the fells, some lasting for days, further delaying their progress; it was the reason why they had left a full month to make the journey to Dofrar and why the wolf story had been so vital to their quest. People gossiped, and tales of powerfully armed groups taking to the hills at this time of year required an explanation. Thorir had provided his foster with a party of forty men, good fighters, men proven in battle; enough to set tongues wagging, but not so great that untrustworthy eyes would count it an army. It was the reason why they had made such a show with the heavy hunting spears as they had left Thorir’s hall at Naustdal; despite the season ships came and went via the North Way, the channel which sheltered in the lee of the string of offshore islands and skerries and gave the country its name. Even during the season of storms, Sigurd Jarl’s hall at Lade was little more than a few days’ sail to the North; traders came and went: men talked.
Erik glanced across as the horses picked their way eastwards in the gloom. ‘That was a good meal and better company. Thorir was right, you have a fine family Kari.’ The guide beamed at the praise from the king’s son and pulled a cheeky smile. ‘You were expecting salmon then lord?’
He raised a brow at the man’s cockiness before his mouth curled into a smile. Self-assurance was a valuable trait in a guide, and he replied with a chuckle. ‘This close to the Hovefoss, yes,’ he admitted, ‘I did. I know that most of the bonder downstream of the waterfall stock up on salmon and sea trout in late summer. I daresay that elk meat is one of the benefits of having a huntsman as a brother.’
Erik looked through the trees to the dark line of the River Naust. Following its course the shredded waters which marked the position of the foss came into view, gleaming as they cut the vale despite the gloom. ‘How long will it be before we can expect to encounter deep snow?’
Kari screwed up his face. ‘A dozen miles or so yet, lord.’ He looked at the sky. The band of grey which marked the returning sun had widened, but the stars still reigned in a sky as cold and hard as iron. The guide turned back with a smile. ‘This weather is perfect for our journey. We will be in the foothills tonight and on Jostrudal itself around midday tomorrow. There is a hut at the head of the valley where we can rest up before then, and then it is up onto the high fells.’
It was the first time that Erik had trodden the mountain paths at midwinter and the young prince pumped the guide for information as he sought to order his mind. Despite Thorir’s recommendation it was his own life on the line, and he knew that he needed all the details he could gather before they came into any danger. ‘Snow would have been falling for months up in the highlands. How can we expect the horses to carry us through with only a few hours of daylight?’
‘Thor himself helps us, lord,’ Kari explained in reply. ‘We sacrifice and dedicate our kills to old red beard and he makes it possible for us to work the highlands during the months when the animals wear their best winter coats.’ Erik cocked his head in question and Kari fished inside the pouch at his side. Withdrawing a
small figure, he held it up for all to see as he continued with his explanation. ‘If you look, lord,’ he said, ‘you can see Thor grasping his whiskers, pulling them apart as he blows through to create the wind.’ Erik looked at the small bronze figure as the guide held it up to the wan light and turned its face to him. ‘Because the mountains are so high they are nearer to his hall, Bilskirnir, lightning strike, up in Asgard, so the winds are fierce.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘You wait until we reach it, lord. If you think that the gales at sea are strong, you might be in for a surprise if we are out of luck. But,’ he added with a look of triumph. ‘Because the winds are so strong they compact the snow, pushing it together harder and harder with each and every blow until by this time of year it will bear the weight of men and even horses.’ Kari glanced at the sky again. ‘With the clear skies we have had over the last few days, it will be as cold as Hel’s dark hall up there. If we rope the horses together to help them travel across the slippery surface, we should be able to make good time.’
Erik remained unconvinced, but his foster-father seemed content to place his life in the hands of this mountain man and it would be unbecoming in a son of Harald Fairhair to show fear. The uplands men called Jostrudal contained some of the highest peaks in the whole of Norway; if a storm did hit while they were exposed up there, Thor could very well finish what Bolli Sigurdsson had started, back at the horse fight.
The conversation had taken his mind away from the pathway ahead, and Erik looked up as the roar of water on rock broke into his consciousness. The track rose as it skirted the thundering waters of Hovefoss, and the little column climbed up out of the shadows and into the pale light of a northern winter. Free from the confines of the woodland, Erik could just make out the crescent of the sun as it peeked above the crinkled crags on the skyline to the South.
Within the hour the path was rising again, the incline increasing steadily now as the foothills of Jostrudal itself hove into view in the distance. The temperature fell with each mile travelled, but the increasing elevation lengthened the hours of daylight available to them as they cleared the shadow filled confines of the valley floor. A dusting of snow became a fall, and very soon the drifts were above the hocks of the animals as they trudged steadily towards their destination. Conversations lessened as the cold seeped into tired bodies and minds, and it was with a sense of joy that the hut which was to be their home for that night came into view.
Kari turned back with a smile. ‘Another early start tomorrow lord, and we will be up on the fells long before sunset.’ The guide twisted in the saddle, squinting as he peered back westwards. Erik followed his gaze. The sun had left the sky long before, but the pale glow which marked its passing still blushed the horizon. The temperature had plummeted in the last hour, but the skies remained clear and the threat of fresh snow seemed remote for now at least. Kari confirmed his thoughts as they turned the head of their mounts away from the path and pointed them towards the shelter. ‘Best we make the most of the good going,’ he said. ‘The mood can change quicker than a she-bear in heat up there.’ He hawked and spat into the snow. ‘And be just as dangerous.’
Erik gave two sharp tugs on the rope which bound him to the mountain man and urged his mount forward with a press of his knees. It was the agreed signal that he wished to talk, and Kari drew rein, bringing his own horse to a halt as he waited for Harald’s son to come up. Erik moved forward, craning his neck as he bellowed above the roar of the gale. ‘How much further?’
Kari attempted a smile of reassurance, but both men knew that it was half-hearted and he quickly thought better of it. Erik’s hopes dropped a little more at the thought that there was a good chance that the man was lost, and he knew that he would have felt far more confident had he never tried; if he was lost they were very likely dead men. Kari was speaking again, and Erik strained to listen as the wind snatched up the words and threw them away to the East. ‘There should be a gentle dip ahead, lord, not much more than a short bow shot away. There is a low ridge as you come up the far side, the shelter is in the lee of that.’
Erik nodded that he understood and spoke again, the concern obvious from his tone. ‘How close are we to the edge?’
Kari grimaced. ‘Close enough.’ He pinned him with a look, and Erik felt the first reassurance that day as he recognised the heft in Kari’s words. ‘Don’t worry lord, I will not take you over the edge.’ The white line of a smile showed in Kari’s beard again, but this time the confidence contained in the man’s reply lifted Erik’s spirits as he offered a joke despite the mayhem all around them. ‘I have never gone over the side before, lord, and I don’t mean to start now!’ The wind redoubled as he spoke, and he cupped a hand to his mouth as he bawled out again. ‘Besides, roped together as we are you boys will all land on top of me if we do go: it would spoil my good looks!’
Erik snorted as he recalled the name which Thorir’s man Helgi had called the guide, Elk Kari, back at the hut. It was said that he had hunted elk on the high fells so long that he had begun to resemble one. A bulbous nose and widely spaced eyes did nothing to quash the rumour among the more superstitious folk back in Naustdal that he had been sired by one of the great animals, and if that was the case Erik thought, he could think of no other he would rather lead them at this moment.
Reassured, Erik clapped the guide on the shoulder as he fell back into line. He made sure to catch the eye of the men immediately to his rear as he did so, throwing them what he hoped would be taken as a reassuring wink. Only the nearest men’s eyes were visible in the near whiteout, red-rimmed and sore as they battled against the effects of the wind driven snow. Hooded travelling cloaks of the densest weave were pulled tight, while even breeks of wool-backed leather struggled to hold the worst of the bone chilling wind and damp at bay. On top of it all the upper body of each man was swathed in fur, bear for Erik less noble animals for the huskarls, the side facing windward as snow covered as the peaks which surrounded them.
Kari’s reference to the nearby precipice caused Erik’s mind to wander back across the day as the men lowered their eyes once again and the horses struggled forward. They had been in the saddle as the first light flared in the eastern sky. Long before the sun had appeared, the track had left the valley floor and plunged into the wildwood. Slowly, as the light returned, oak and elm had been replaced by fir and beech and by midday they were clear of the tree line, the snowy path dog-legging as it climbed the valley side, skirting waterfalls which tumbled down to mist the air from the heights above.
At first the journey had been uneventful, the stillness of the high fells broken only by the soft crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath hooves and the occasional snort or whinny from the animals themselves. Half a mile to the West the far side of the vale had shone in its seasonal cloak, with only the odd grey slash where bare rock showed through to taint the flawlessness of the white wall which greeted their looks. Golden eagles soared as they rode the updraft, away to the North the pale winter sunlight shimmered from the icebound waters of Oldevatnet.
By early afternoon the clouds had swept in from the West and the first flakes of snow, as large as silver coins, had begun to fall. Very soon the sun was little more than an indistinct smear, low down to the West; the wind rose by degrees, and before they could reach their destination for that day land and sky had merged and the soft-as-a-feather snowflakes had become arrowheads as a full scale blizzard drove them at man and beast alike.
A jolt and the column had stopped again. Kari was out of the saddle, boar spear in hand as he probed the surface, and the relief which washed through the men in the column was palpable as the elk-man turned back and threw them a smile of triumph.
4
A BURNING
‘Either I am going deaf or the storm is finally blowing itself out.’ Erik heaved himself up onto the narrow stone shelf, licked a fingertip and held it to the flow. He turned back with a smile. ‘I thought so, it’s no longer screaming death: the wind has dropped to a gale.’
&
nbsp; The others, despite the discomfort, raised a smile in return. Thorir Hersir had always said that you could never tell a man’s real worth until he was faced with adversity; the past two days had been that and more.
If the storm which had burst upon them had caused them on occasion to doubt the abilities of their guide, the manner in which he led the party directly to the mountaintop shelter had fully restored the men’s faith in him. Wind driven snow had completely buried the refuge, but the guide had led them unerringly to it despite the whiteout which had smothered the little band. Two walls of stone had been constructed in a crisscross fashion in such a way that at least one part of the haven must always be sheltered from the direction of the wind. Kari had explained as the men set to work digging out the packed snow, that it was an unspoken duty of all men who habitually travelled the highlands that they collect mosses and lichen from the route and deposit them at the shelters for use in time of need. A fire was soon blazing that night, small and delicate, but enough to warm a little broth for each man. It had thrown back the darkness, and the men had hunkered down to see out the worst of the gale as the wind howled and shrieked about them.
The horses had suffered the most, but although they were exposed to a greater degree to the violence of the storm, the remaining walls had offered shelter from the worst of it and their sheer bulk and habit of bunching together had saved them. By periodically switching the horse’s place in the line each had only spent a short time exposed to the worst ravages of the storm, and with the gale clearly blowing itself out Erik was pleased to see that they seemed none the worse for their ordeal.
