Bloodaxe (Erik Haraldsson Book 1)

by C. R. May

  ‘Thanks to Ragnar Jarl we found a sheltered bay, hunkered down and sat them out.’

  ‘That must have been a long winter, lord,’ Helgrim Smiter replied with a look of pity. ‘Holed up for months with nothing to do.’

  Erik shared a look of amusement with Thorstein and Anlaf. ‘You would be surprised. Finnmark offers up some unique distractions.’

  They had reached the steps to the hall and everywhere he looked Erik was greeted by smiling faces. The hall steward came through the doors as they reached the top of the stairs and Erik was pleased to see the general happiness thereabouts reflected in the man’s face. ‘The king is sleeping, lord,’ the man was saying. ‘I will wake him and tell him that you have returned.’

  Erik shook his head. ‘Our meeting can wait, there is a boy nearby who has yet to meet his father. See that my men are found places on the benches while I introduce myself to my son.’

  Erik skipped back down the steps, angling towards the hall which had been his father’s gift when he had declared him heir to the high seat of the Norwegians. Anlaf and Thorstein dutifully followed on, but Erik paused and shot them a smile. ‘I think that I can manage this lads. It has been over a year since we enjoyed the pleasures of the hall, go and make up for lost time.’

  ‘If there is any chance that you are unsafe, our place is with you lord,’ Anlaf replied. Thorstein added a comment of his own as the trio neared the hall. ‘He’s right, lord.’ He cast a look around. People were emerging from the buildings again now that they were sure that Avaldsnes was not coming under attack; they had all seen the smoke from the warning beacons tainting the skyline and it was a good indication of just how fraught things had become at the very heart of the kingdom while they had been away. Erik saw the sense in their concerns and gave a curt nod. ‘Wait for me outside then, I shan’t be long. I want to be there when the king wakes.’

  The doors were ajar and the steward lowered his head as the master of the hall gained the steps. Erik saw the doorposts, the rich carvings gleaming in the sunlight and he knew that he was finally home after the long year away, and he drank in the view ahead as he passed through the portal into the building itself. At the head of the room his high seat stood framed by the twin posts carved in the images of Oðin and Thor. Set a foot lower Gunnhild rose from her own high seat as he entered, stepping forward to offer her lord a horn of mead and congratulate him on his safe return from war.

  Erik felt a pang of desire as he looked upon his queen. A pale shift overlaid a hangerock, an apron-dress of vibrant blue wool. Heavy gold brooches fastened the straps at her shoulders between which beads of amber, glass, silver and gold festooned the front of the gown. Topped off by a headdress of woven gold thread the sight caused the man, so long starved of female company, to catch his breath in anticipation of what was to follow.

  He pushed such thoughts from his mind with difficulty and flashed a smile in greeting before taking the horn and draining its contents. ‘You did well to await me in the hall,’ he said as he lowered the vessel and cupped her chin with a palm.

  Gunnhild replied in a steady tone, but her breath had quickened as much as his own at their closeness. ‘I am not some scatty wench who cannot control her urges. I am the daughter of one great king and the wife of another.’

  Erik bent to kiss her tenderly on the lips, and his face broke into a smile as they parted. ‘Did I miss anything while I was away?’

  Her lips pouted in mock indignation, but laughter danced in her eyes as she replied. ‘You have been told!’

  ‘Accidentally; Helgrim Smiter welcomed us on the strand and it slipped out.’

  She snorted. ‘That’s not how I remember the birth!’

  They shared a laugh as Gunnhild beckoned to the shadows. A maidservant came forward, and Erik’s heart leapt as he saw his son for the first time. He indicated that the servant hand the boy to his mother with a flick of his head. ‘I shall name him Gamli, but I will hold him for the first time when I take him upon my knee and acknowledge him as my son, tonight in the hall before the king and the men of the hird.’ The boy reached out and gave his father’s beard a tug, and Gunnhild chuckled as a fistful of bristles came away. ‘He’s strong!’ Erik exclaimed as he moved out of reach. ‘Just like his father.’ He dropped his gaze to the lad’s groin. ‘Does he take after me in other ways?’

  Gunnhild hooked a little finger and flashed a roguish smile. ‘He is definitely Norwegian, lord.’

  Erik snorted as Gunnhild handed the boy back to the wet nurse. Slipping her hand inside his own, she began to lead her husband towards the rear of the hall as her features took on a darker mien. ‘Did Helgrim tell you anything of the difficulties we faced while you were away, Erik?’

  ‘Yes, I have yet to meet my father but he walked me up from the landing place. I got the impression that he wanted the opportunity to talk to me alone before I reached the hall.’

  She nodded. ‘Helgrim has been useful to us, I am sure that he is trustworthy. There were others whose loyalty I am less certain of.’ She turned her face to him and he was surprised by the coldness in her eyes. ‘When you failed to return last year some men talked of invoking the law of attræðr and having your brother Halfdan made king. As soon as I gave birth I made arrangements for our son to be carried to my father in Jutland if our position grew more serious.’

  Erik was about to tell her that he already knew about the plot, but he paused as he realised that Gunnhild had not included herself in the plans to flee. ‘And yourself?’

  Gunnhild looked puzzled at the question, and Erik could see that she had never given a moment’s thought to her own safety as she replied. ‘My place was here Erik, organising the defence of your hall.’

  He gave her waist a squeeze of affection as they reached their private chamber. Stepping inside Gunnhild was finally free to remove her headdress, and Erik thrilled to the sight as her flaxen hair tumbled free. ‘Which others?’ he said as they embraced. She put a finger to his lips to stop the questions as she pulled him down onto the bed. ‘I know their names. Some are no longer a threat to anyone, others I can use to deceive Halfdan’s supporters if we ever have the need.’

  Erik looked at her fondly. Gunnhild was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon; now it was obvious that she was fox cunning too. Allied with his strength and battle prowess, who could hope to stand against them?

  She spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Come,’ she breathed as she loosened his belt. ‘Our enemies are growing bolder Erik; let us add another kinsman to our ranks.’

  Part III

  Konungr

  20

  WARLOCK

  Harald Fairhair settled back into the depths of the chair and let out a low sigh of contentment. ‘I love this seat Erik,’ he purred. ‘When you are a king you spend so long on benches, high seats and saddles that to feel the softness of a deep fleece beneath your arse is worth a purse of silver.’

  Erik kicked back, taking a pull from his ale cup as the last of the servants closed the door behind them with a thunk.

  ‘It is good to have you back son,’ the king said. ‘There is something important that I need you to do.’

  Erik’s ears pricked up. ‘Sigurd Jarl?’ he suggested hopefully. ‘He is scheming against us father. He has turned my brother Halfdan the Black against us and means to deny me my birthright, the king helm which you promised shall be mine alone.’

  Harald gave his son a quizzical look. ‘Sigurd is an old friend, we fought together at Hafrsfjord.’ The king’s face brightened as his mind drifted back to the day. ‘Did I ever tell you about the fight? What a day that was!’

  Erik cut in, eager to discover what plan the king had in mind. ‘Yes lord, you have, many times. It was a great victory, every man of worth throughout Midgard has heard the tale.’

  Harald ploughed on regardless, tapping out the metre of the poem which recalled the event on the arm of the chair as he spoke:

  Listen ring-bearers while of
Harald I tell you,

  the mightily wealthy and his manful war-deeds;

  words I overheard a high-minded maiden speaking,

  golden haired, white-armed, with a glossy-beaked raven.

  Wise thought her the valkyrie; who welcomed

  men to the bright-eyed one…

  King Harald took another breath and Erik grabbed his chance. ‘You said that you need me to do something father.’

  His concentration broken, Harald’s mind came back as if from a dream. ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes father, something important. Was it to do with the men in the Trondelag? Sigurd Jarl and King Halfdan? They conspired against us while I was away in the North.’

  ‘You were in the North?’

  ‘Yes lord,’ Erik persisted, ‘we killed King Svasi there. You remember, the warlock king of Bjarmaland, Snofrid’s father. I offered up his head to you before the warriors last night in the hall.’

  The mention of his old wife’s name seemed to finally cut through the fog of ages which clouded the king’s mind, and Erik felt a pang of pity despite his frustration as he saw tears begin to form at the corners of his father’s eyes. ‘Yes, I do remember now,’ Harald said sadly. He shook his head and held Erik’s eyes with his own. ‘Don’t ever grow old, Erik,’ he said with a sigh. He looked down at the hands which had wielded a sword and hurled spears on that far-off day, carrying the fight against Thor Haklang; felling the great berserk with a blow of his war axe and leading his huskarls across the wale to clear the ship of hated foemen. Erik’s gaze followed the king’s, and he too sighed as he saw the ravages of time laid bare there.

  King Harald spoke again, and his eyes narrowed with hate as he recalled the reason why he had summoned his intended heir. ‘All the sons I have sired are Oðin wolves,’ he spat as his knuckles whitened on the arm of the chair. ‘Some have done questionable things, the gods know that I have done so myself. But only Rognvald Straight-Boned has done shameful things.’

  Erik’s own eyes widened in surprise. ‘My brother in Hathaland?’

  Harald nodded. ‘Another of Snofrid’s whelps. There are not many left now, and this one is the worst of a bad bunch.’

  ‘Men say that he is a warlock like his grandfather,’ Erik said. ‘It is true then?’

  ‘It is even worse,’ the king replied with a look of disgust. ‘He is a seith-man, he practices female rituals and is argr, unmanly. I have learnt that he will be leading a gathering of likeminded sorcerers a week after the midsummer blót at a remote hall in Hathaland. I will not suffer such a son to live, Erik.’

  Anlaf puckered his lips and shifted from side to side. ‘A week in the saddle! It’s a shame that we could not take the ship, we would have been there by now.’

  Erik threw him a look. ‘Yes, we would have arrived far quicker but my brother would have been long gone.’

  ‘Maybe it would not be such a bad thing, lord,’ Anlaf replied earnestly. ‘Eighty sorcerers, all worked up into a slathering madness following the midsummer blót.’

  Erik gave a snort of amusement as the horses trotted on. ‘You have the beginnings of a verse there. See if you can finish it on the way, that should take your mind off angering the gods.’

  Anlaf shook his head at his lord’s good humour. ‘I should think that we are too late to worry about that. We have spent a lifetime killing priests and desecrating churches and temples. Even if they were foreign gods, I doubt that they will look too kindly upon it.’

  ‘Why should they care? We know that the gods fight wars as do men. Oðin led the Æsir in the very first war against the Vanir. When neither could overcome the other both sides spat into a pot. From this was created the very first man, Kvasir. So you see,’ Erik said, ‘man was created from war and we follow the gods’ example; why would they disapprove?’

  The pair drew rein as they crested the rise and looked out across the treetops to the hills of Hathaland. ‘It’s a gentle country,’ Erik said as the column came to a halt on the lee. ‘Far too good to waste on seith-men, whether Oðin likes it or not.’ Summer was at its height now, and only the scattering of lakes glinting like jewels in the sunlight broke the carpet of green all around. Beyond that in the middle distance, the expanse of Randsfjord shone like burnished silver in the light of a westering sun. ‘We shall ride down into the vale and spend the night beside the first lake we reach,’ Erik said. ‘I doubt that anyone will come this way, even with the lighter nights, and we cannot risk any of the settlements down on the main road this close to Hov. All it would take is one man with a rowboat to cross the fjord and warn our friends, and a week spent in the saddle will have been for nought. At least down there we can water the horses and light fires without fear of being seen.’ He patted his belly. ‘A few spoonfuls of hot food would go down just fine after another day spent chewing on wind dried fish and oat cakes!’

  They had departed Avaldsnes and been ferried across the waters of Karmsund the previous week. Erik had shadowed Harald as the old man performed the duties of king and godi at the Thing, many clearly thought for the final time. To his surprise his father had been in fine fettle, and the years seemed to roll way as the bonfires were lit and the folk jumped hand in hand through the cleansing flames. The midsummer gathering had been a great success, and Erik had felt more than a little relieved that his father appeared to be more like his old self as the crew of the Draki had climbed the valley side early the following morning and made their way to the east.

  Keeping to the ridge tops and rarely travelled pathways to avoid the settlements which lined the route, they had nevertheless made good progress thanks in large part to the length of the northern day. Now they were almost within striking distance of the hall at Hov, and Erik clicked his tongue, urging his mount forward with a dig of his heels as he led the army back down into the shadows of the greenwood. Soon they were there, and the first fires were already flickering into life as men unsaddled weary mounts and led them to the lakeside. The needs of the horses satisfied, men gathered about him as he prepared to share his plans before they dispersed to eat.

  The trunk of a tree lay hard against the track, the insect ravaged bole testament to the length of time which had passed since it had fallen foul of some long forgotten autumn blow, and Erik hauled himself up as he waited for the chatter to die away. Close to the lake the air was a haze of midges, and the king shared a smile with his shipmates as he slapped at his neck, rolling the thing into a bloody ball before flicking it away. ‘That is something we are used to at least,’ he joked, and the men shared his laughter as they recalled the voracity of their Finnish brethren the previous summer. ‘I will not keep you lads,’ he began as they waved the pests away. ‘I just want to outline the attack before we settle down to eat. We can pull back a little towards the trackway at least; this far from any settlements, we should be able to use dampish wood on the fires to smoke the bastards out.’

  The men shared a smile as Erik began to outline his plan. ‘We are near the northern end of the fjord now, and we will get as much rest as we can as soon as we have eaten. At first light we move off. Good roads skirt both sides of the fjord, but they don’t come together until they reach the crossing place on the River Etna half a day to the North. That’s obviously too far away to be of any use to us,’ he said as his eyes swept the gathering. ‘An hour’s ride away on the far side of this wood, the waters of the fjord come together at a pinch point where the nearness of the far bank makes it little different to a river crossing. We swim the horses across, pick up the road south and follow it to Hov as fast as we can.’ Erik ran his eyes across the upturned faces of the warriors to see if any questions were forthcoming. A man raised his chin and Erik indicated that he go ahead. ‘Do we know the layout of the hall, its surroundings and if they can expect any help from nearby?’ Erik nodded in reply. ‘I spoke to men, back in Avaldsnes before we left. They told me that the building which the seith-men will be using for their witchery lies in a secluded clearing on a heavily wooded slope, so w
e will have both cover and plenty of time to make sure that none of these fiend escape us. It is more a large farmhouse than a king’s hall, with the only door up near the end of the long wall which opens into a room for boots and wet clothing. To the left of this, beyond an oaken screen, lies the main room where we can expect to find our friends.’

  ‘We are not just going to burn them in then, lord?’ the man said with obvious surprise.

  Erik shook his head. ‘I want to make sure that we leave no man alive. It’s bad enough if a normal man survives to plan his revenge.’ He shot them a smile, and a rumble of laughter rolled around the lakeside as the men exchanged knowing looks. Every man there knew the story of Bolli Sigurdsson’s death, the reason for it and Sigurd Jarl’s ongoing hatred for their lord. ‘But I don’t want to leave a single warlock alive to cast spells against me or my kin.’

  ‘So, we are going into the building then?’

  Erik nodded. ‘We are going in. Once we are sure that they are all dead and there are no others lurking in any outbuildings we will fire the place before we leave.’

  Erik furrowed his brow to invite any further questions, but the warrior nodded that he was satisfied with the answers he had received and no others were forthcoming. ‘Watch out!’ Erik warned them with a stab of a forefinger. ‘I am told that these sorcerers are well versed in weapon craft despite being argr. Keep your wits about you and I am confident that any man here will have the beating of them, but these are dangerous men nevertheless. I want them dead before they can reach for their weapons.’ He threw them a smile, and a rumble of laughter came back in reply to his concluding words. ‘Much less chicken claws, powdered bat wings or rune staves.’