Viking Warrior

by Judson Roberts

  Their fight was a memory I’d cherished in the years that followed when Toke turned his bullying on me. He picked on everyone smaller than him—on everyone who feared him—but he seemed to hold a special hatred for me. Perhaps it was because I’d witnessed his defeat and humiliation at Harald’s hands. That fight was the first time I’d realized that Toke was not invincible, that he could be defeated. It was also the first time I’d realized that lurking within Harald’s gentle manner was a willingness to kill if sufficiently provoked.

  Gunhild stepped forward. “You do not intend to turn Toke away, without offering him the hospitality of our home this night?” she asked Harald. “You would do as much for a total stranger who had traveled so far. Toke is my son. I have not seen him for two years. Do not turn him away. Let him and his men stay and rest, just this one night. To do otherwise will reflect badly on you.”

  Harald sighed. There was a code of hospitality that was expected. Personally, I thought he should ignore it. Harald was a more well-mannered man than I would have been. Braver, too.

  “You and your men may rest here this night,” he told Toke. “You may dine with us in the longhouse tonight. But you’ll sleep on your ship and leave at morning light.”

  Harald turned to me and said, “Come, Halfdan. Let us return to the longhouse. We need to talk.”

  For the first time since coming ashore, Toke looked at me. “Things have changed greatly since I left,” he said, surprised. “Now thralls wear fine clothes and carry weapons. I always felt Hrorik ran a slack household, but this surprises even me.”

  Sigrid put her arm around my shoulder and spoke up.

  “Halfdan is a free man, and our brother. Hrorik acknowledged him before he died.”

  “The old fool,” Toke said, shaking his head disgustedly. “The more piglets there are to suckle at the teat, the less milk there is for all. And the boy’s mother?”

  “She accompanied Hrorik on his last voyage, on the death-ship,” Sigrid replied.

  “That,” Toke said, “is a pity and a waste. I’d been greatly looking forward to getting to know Derdriu better on this visit, now that the old man is gone."

  I could feel the blood rushing to my face. Toke threw back his head and roared with laughter at my reaction to his remark. At that moment, if I’d possessed Harald’s skill and bravery, I would have challenged Toke and killed him then and there on the beach. I did not have Harald’s skill, however, nor his courage. All I had was anger—my hands were shaking from it. But even stronger than my anger was my fear. Toke still frightened me. I knew I was powerless against his insults, just as in years past I’d been powerless against his beatings. If I challenged Toke to a duel, I knew that without question I would die.

  Toke turned and called to his helmsman.“Snorre. You and the men stay with the ship for now. I am going up to the longhouse, to visit with my mother.”

  For the first time, I noticed the ship’s cargo. Almost twenty women and female children, and perhaps half as many men, were huddled together in the center of the ship, secured with chains. Toke saw me staring at them.

  “They’re slaves, boy,” he said. “Like you were. Like you should be still. We took them in England. We’re bound for the slave market at Birka to sell them. Fair-haired females bring the best price there from buyers for the Araby kingdoms.”

  “The males look like warriors,” Ubbe remarked. “Such men make poor slaves.”

  “The Sveas will buy them,” Toke replied. “They like strong-backed slaves to dig the iron ore.”

  I looked at the prisoners in Toke’s ship. All were dirty, with tangled and matted hair, and many of the men bore fresh cuts and bruises, as if they’d recently been beaten. Toke, I knew from experience, was quick to take his fists or a whip to a slave. The captives stared back at me with pitiful looks of despair and terror in their eyes. I turned away. There was nothing I or anyone else could do for them. They belonged to Toke now. The fates the Norns had woven for them had sealed their doom.

  After we returned to the longhouse, Toke retired with Gunhild into the chamber where she slept. Harald had not asked her to move out after Hrorik’s death, though as master of the estate he had a right to take the private chamber as his own. He was content, for now at least, with his bed-closet.

  Harald sat down at the main table near the hearth. “Sigrid, Halfdan, join me,” he said. “There is a family matter we must discuss.”

  I sat across the table from Harald. Sigrid brought cups and a pitcher of ale. When she’d filled and distributed the cups, she sat down at Harald’s side.

  “This is the way of it,” Harald said to me. “Sigrid already knows this, but it is time you were told. I’d hoped to pick a time of my own choosing, but Toke’s coming has taken matters out of my hands. No doubt Gunhild is even now telling Toke what I am about to tell you.

  “As you know, Hrorik died just before dawn on the day after we returned from England. Late the night before, he gave these instructions for the division of his property: To Gunhild, he gave the right to live on this estate for as long as she desires, until her death or she remarries. Also, Gunhild possesses a small wooden casket, decorated with plates of ivory and silver, that Hrorik took in his raid on Dorestad and gave her as a gift when they wed. Before he died, Hrorik gave Gunhild the right to fill that casket with whatever jewelry, silver coins, or other valuables she desires from among his treasure. Gunhild’s right to choose from among Hrorik’s treasure was to be the first, before anyone else took their share.”

  Sigrid nodded. “And Gunhild has done so. She has chosen what she wished and filled the chest.”

  “To Sigrid, Hrorik left the two small matching chests of carved wood that he took in Ireland. She was to fill both of them with whatever jewelry and silver coins she desired, after Gunhild had chosen. Those chests of treasure are to be her dowry.

  “The estate itself,” Harald continued, “and the Red Eagle, Hrorik gave to me, plus any treasure that remains after his other gifts have been distributed.”

  “It is all as Harald says,” Sigrid added, nodding her head. “And I, too, have already chosen my share.”

  I did not understand why Harald was telling me this. It seemed none of my affair. His next words solved the riddle.

  “Hrorik left an inheritance to you, too, Halfdan. He still owns a small estate in the north of Jutland, on the Limfjord, though in recent years he has rarely gone there. Hrorik left his small estate to you.”

  I stared at Harald, my mind suddenly blank from my astonishment. I had not expected Hrorik to give me anything besides my freedom. I could not get my mind around the thought of it. I, a former thrall, now owned lands? And not just lands, but an estate?

  Suddenly the sound of Toke’s angry voice erupted from within Gunhild’s sleeping chamber. “Why am I angry?” Toke shouted. “Why do you not understand, Mother? Your husband left me nothing! Nothing! But he gave lands to a slave!”

  Gunhild answered him in voice loud enough so that we could now hear her, too. “He gave you a ship, Toke. And you are the sole heir of my father, Jarl Eirik, who has vast holdings on the island of Fyn. When my father dies, the King may give all to you.”

  “Bah!” Toke shouted. “That old man seems determined to live forever. Besides, you, dear Mother, no doubt will marry again, and might bear your new husband brats who would split my inheritance. And the man you marry could catch the king’s eye, and be deemed more suitable a jarl than me. I do not possess the patience to fit in at a king’s court.”

  Nor the manners, I thought. Within a week at the court of a king, Toke’s rude ways would no doubt cause his head to be displayed upon a pike at the execution ground.

  “Toke seems very unhappy about the division of Father’s property,” Sigrid commented. Harald shrugged his shoulders.

  “Toke is a berserk,” he replied. “Since he was a young child, that darkness has laid upon him. He is usually an unhappy man, about everything…or nothing at all.”

  For a time,
Toke and Gunhild’s conversation was whispered and could not be understood from where we sat. Then Toke’s voice, raised in anger again, roared above the sounds of the longhouse.

  “You burned Hrorik’s sword? Thought you not of me? This household is rife with fools.”

  When she responded, Gunhild’s voice was sharp and loud with anger, too. “Yes, Hrorik bore his sword on his final voyage. I myself laid it on his body. He was a great chieftain and warrior. It is his due to bear weapons befitting his rank in Valhalla.”

  It was perhaps the only time I ever heard Gunhild defend Hrorik. Toke possessed a special talent. He could offend anyone, even his own mother. The evening meal promised to be a grim one.

  I cannot describe the meal we ate that night as a feast, though normally we would have called it such, when the hospitality of the estate was offered to visitors. The air was too filled with tension from the very beginning. Gunhild tried hard to make the best of it. She had a fat sheep killed, and made a rich stew with barley and the mutton, and also served meat from the deer’s haunches. The special venison roast that Sigrid had been so excited about cooking was served to the head table, which tonight seated Harald, Sigrid, Gunhild, Ubbe, his wife Ase, and me, plus Toke and his helmsman, Snorre.

  Things went badly from the very beginning. Toke’s crew arrived at the door of the longhouse wearing their weapons. Harald stood in the doorway and would not let them enter.

  “It is not the custom in this house that we dine as though expecting imminent attack,” he told Toke. “Your men must leave their weapons here before they enter.”

  “That is not our practice in Dubh Linn,” Toke protested. “We are warriors, and expect to be treated as such.”

  “You are not in Dubh Linn,” Harald replied. “You are under my roof and under the rules of my household. If they are not to your liking, do not enter. As chieftain, you may bear your sword, but your men must leave their weapons here or this roof holds no welcome for them.”

  The two stood glaring at each other for several moments. Then Toke gave a signal and his men laid their weapons in a pile at the doorway and filed inside. The feast tables had been set up down the length of the hall, and at each table, our housecarls sat on one side and Toke’s crewmen on the other. Before he took his place at the head table, Harald walked to his bed-closet, retrieved his own sword from where it hung inside, and fastened it on his belt.

  Harald made no attempt at conversation during dinner. His patience with Toke’s ill-mannered behavior seemed to have worn through, and his mood seemed dangerous, like a pot of water simmering just below a boil. Snorre tried to engage Sigrid in conversation, but his attempts consisted mostly of leering at her and making suggestive remarks. After a short time, Sigrid excused herself from the table to help Astrid at the hearth.

  I was sitting between Harald and Ubbe. Ubbe was normally a taciturn man, but he surprised me by keeping Toke occupied with questions about Ireland and details of raids he’d made there. Toke seemed flattered by the attention, and eager to describe his own exploits. He even disclosed that in Dubh Linn he was developing a reputation as somewhat of a skald, and he stood and recited a brief verse:

  Irish wolves

  In packs fast traveling

  Their teeth sharpened steel

  Hunt the seafarers

  Raiding Northmen

  Catching them

  Away from ocean’s steed.

  Too late the wolves discover

  They have cornered a bear

  Who turns upon the pack

  And paints the grassy hills red

  With wolves’ blood.

  The poem brought polite applause from our men, and cheers and toasts from Toke’s crew. Even Harald seemed grudgingly impressed. I began to hope that the rest of the evening would pass without incident.

  It was not to be. Angry voices erupted at a table down the hall. One of Toke’s crewmen, a red-haired Norseman from Dubh Linn, slung the ale from his cup into the face of one of our carls seated across the table from him, apparently angered by some remark he’d made. Our man—Ulf was his name—responded by reaching across the table, grabbing the man’s hair with both hands, and slamming his face down into his platter of food.

  The Norseman leapt to his feet, cursing. He drew a long knife from his belt, and climbed onto the table.

  “Sheath that weapon,” Harald shouted, leaping to his feet.

  The man looked back at Harald, hesitating, then turned to Toke.

  Harald drew his sword halfway from its scabbard.

  “Sheath it now, or die now,” he ordered.

  The crewman, his face red with anger, sheathed his blade and stepped down from the table. When he did, Toke stood up from his chair and pounded his fist on the tabletop.

  “No man gives orders to my crew, save me!” he roared.

  Some of our carls began backing away from the tables, edging toward the walls where their weapons were hung. Several of Toke’s crew, those seated closest to the doorway, began eyeing the pile of their weapons.

  “I am the master of this household, Toke,” Harald warned, shouting back. “I order whom I please under this roof. Take care, and do not misjudge my patience.”

  Toke put his sword-hand on the hilt of his sword but stood, wavering, and did not draw. He looked around the hall as if gauging the relative strengths of his crew against our men. Toke had more men, but by this time many of our carls had reached their weapons and armed themselves.

  I left the table and slipped along the wall to my bed-closet. My stomach was twisted with fear, and my hands were trembling. As quickly as I could, I slung the strap of my quiver over my shoulder, strung my bow, and nocked an arrow on the string. I’d known, ever since Harald began my lessons, that someday I would have to fight for real—to kill instead of practice. But I’d never expected that it would happen inside our own longhouse.

  Staying in the shadows, I moved until I had a clear shot across the hall at the doorway where Toke’s crew’s weapons lay. If a fight started, I was certain Harald would go for Toke. The danger I feared was Toke’s crew reaching their weapons before our outnumbered men had a chance to cut them down.

  I saw that Ubbe had already taken a position beside the pile of weapons, a spear balanced in his hand. Between the two of us, no crewman of Toke’s could reach the weapons alive…unless they all rushed at once.

  Long did Toke stand undecided, glaring at Harald and looking around the hall, as if still weighing the strength of his men against ours. His eyes met mine and paused, while he tried to stare me down, but I would not look away.

  Suddenly he barked to his men, “To the ship. The air in this dung-hole is foul to breathe.”

  The first of Toke’s men to reach the doorway bent down to pick up his sword. Ubbe pressed the point of his spear to the man’s throat and said in a quiet voice, “Get you along now. We’ll bring your weapons to the water’s edge, after you’re back onboard your ship.”

  By now our men had formed an armed corridor leading from the center of the hall to the doorway. One by one, Toke’s crew passed between them and out into the darkness. Toke himself was last to leave. As he reached the door, Harald called to him. “There is no welcome here for you, Toke. Be gone at first light, and do not pass this way again.”

  Toke glared back at him, but said nothing as he stalked out into the dark. After he left, the only sound in the hall was Gunhild, quietly weeping.

  That night, we built a bonfire on the small rise overlooking the wharf and kept watch all night long in case of treachery. Toke perhaps feared the same, for we could see sentries moving throughout the night on his ship, their arms glinting in the light from our fire.

  When the black of night first faded to gray, and while the air was calm and the morning mist still lay upon the water, the Sea Steed cast off from the wharf. Her oars beat the water’s surface in steady strokes, and she slipped through the mist down the fjord and out of sight. I breathed a sigh of relief when she could no longer be se
en.

  9 : Harald's Dance

  The confrontation with Toke caused the carls of our household and the men of the nearby village to give thought to the condition of their weapons. As a result of the battle in England, where Hrorik and so many others had found their doom, many had helms that were cut or dented, and shields needing new planks, or with damaged rims or bosses that required repair or replacement. Many had lost spears and arrows in the battle. In addition, there were farm tools and household implements in need of making, or repair. All had gone undone, for Gunnar, the estate’s blacksmith and one of Hrorik’s housecarls, had perished in the recent battle.

  Since the age of ten, most of my work on the estate had been divided between helping Gudrod the Carpenter and Gunnar. Gudrod had been first to use me. I’d been watching him at the tedious task of splitting out and shaping arrow shafts. He’d let me try my hand at it. We both were surprised to learn how quickly my hands took to the task, and soon Gudrod was using me to help with more and more of his duties. Gunnar saw me working with Gudrod on a day when the thrall who had been helping him clumsily broke the handle of a hammer. He’d borrowed me for that day, but was so taken by my eagerness to learn, and how quickly my hands took to shaping the heated metal, that he went to Ubbe and asked if I could work as his assistant as well as Gudrod’s.

  The two men shared me. Over time, both taught me all they knew about their crafts. No one else in the village besides Gunnar, and now me, possessed the knowledge of working heated metal. So now, at least until Harald could find a new smith to join his household, the responsibility fell on my shoulders.

  Ubbe persuaded Harald that we must call a brief halt to my training, as my skills as a blacksmith were sorely needed. Ubbe urged me to select a helper from among our household to speed my labors, and hopefully begin to learn the smith’s craft. My apprentice would need to be someone who would be willing to take orders from me. In my mind, that ruled out our house-carls. I was still too newly a free man, and they, too recently my superiors for me to feel comfortable commanding any of them. My helper would also need to possess sufficient intelligence to be able learn the complex knowledge and mysteries of forging iron. That eliminated most of our thralls, for a lifetime of doing only what you are told tends to dull men’s minds.