“Onward the wayfarers went, until they came to the Tree itself. Mighty beyond men’s knowing grows this ash, the worlds clustered at its roots, about its bole, high in its boughs. Great ill does it suffer; Nidhogg gnaws below, a hart grazes above, and rot attacks the wood. Along it races the red squirrel Ratatosk, chattering out ill words between the dragon in the depths and the eagle that perches aloft overlooking all things. Yet the Tree lives, for it is life, and it shall abide when the worlds go under.
“Aloft among the limbs went Odin and Loki, over their twisting, swaying lengths, through shadowy, whispery caverns of leaf, until they found the one that they sought.
“There did Odin lay a noose around his neck and leap off the bough. There did Loki, standing below, wound him with his own spear. There did Odin die.
“Nine nights he swung in the wind, offered up to himself, on that tree whose roots go into the unknown. Loki waited. No loaf or horn was there for them, only night and the wind.
“Then did Odin’s staring eye kindle again. He looked down and saw what none else had ever seen. He shrieked aloud. The rope, which had creaked to and fro for so long, broke. He fell. Rising, he took in his hands the graven runes and read them.
“They are the runes of the high magic, the deep wisdom, gathered together from the lore of gods, elves, dwarves, giants and men. With them can one who knows bring help in sorrow and sickness; he can break fetters and blunt a foeman’s sword; he can stop arrows, spells, and fire; he can quell hatred among men and storms at sea; he can make witches flee; he can hearten warriors when their hearts are failing them; he can raise the dead and they will foretell for him what shall come to pass; he can win the love of any maiden—and thus did Odin afterward win the love of skaldcraft; he can know the hidden names of gods, elves, dwarves, and giants; he can know what he will never tell to anyone else.
“So did Odin go beyond death and come back. So did he find the runes. Ever since has the Tree borne the name Yggdrasil, the Horse of the Terrible One, who is Odin. And when men are offered to him it is by hanging, for he is the Lord of the Gallows.”
Hadding stopped. Rain rushed loud. Cross-legged at the little fire, their hands held to it unless the mead was going by, Ketil and Vigleik peered blearily at him through the curdling gloom. His tale had been of such uncanniness that they wanted great swigs from the horn while they listened.
“Well, what then?” Ketil mumbled.
Hadding laughed. “The rest is merrier. Mind you, I heard it from a jotun, who may not have felt as worshipful toward the gods as he should.
“Two brothers does Odin have, Vili and Ve. It was with them that he slew Ymir and made Midgard from the body of the father of giants. Afterward he had taken the lead, and they dwelt aside. Less and less did they like this.
“Now, while he was away and none knew if he would return, they went to Asgard. They said—honestly enough, maybe—that theirs was the right of kingship after him, and ill would the Aesir fare unless they yielded it Indeed, what but lawfulness makes gods different from thursir? Thus Vili and Ve took over the might and riches of their brother, and, yes, his wife Frigg, lady of Fensalir and mother of Baldr the Bright.
“This was what Odin found when at length he had wended the weary road home. With his hard-won new wisdom, he did not want strife in Asgard. The Vanir were still his foemen. Besides, these were his brothers.
“He was the foremost of skinturners. He made himself into a flea and bit the upstart kings, over and over. He made himself into a fly and buzzed around them every dawn. They grew haggard from lack of sleep. When they sat in the high seat before the gods, he was a louse that danced in their beards for all to see, but they could never catch him. He became a worm and burrowed through those apples of Ydun’s, the apples of youthfulness, which were to be Vili’s and Ve’s, making the fruit too disgusting to eat. In all this grief there was nothing of honor. The gods began to laugh. That is worse than hatred.
“When Loki deemed the time ripe, he told Odin to ride into Asgard. ‘Welcome back,’ said Vii and Ve grimly. ‘We have no further wish to dwell in a stead so ill kept and are glad to lay down the burden of it.’ Thereupon they left. Odin has heard no more from them. He took back his lordship and his queen. By his wise words he wrought peace with the Vanir.
“But first, after what Loki had done, Odin swore blood brotherhood with him and gave him a seat among the gods. Already he knew something of what a troublebrewer this was. Yet he owed him much. Also, he thought, the gods might well have use for the cunning and deftness of Laufey’s son Loki.
“And they did. But ever oftener, the woes he helped them deal with were of his own making; and more and more did he wreak sheer evil—”
Hadding went silent. Tired and drunken, Vigleik had fallen asleep, snoring and sprawled on the floor. Ketil nodded heavily and his eyelids sank. “My throat is dry, wet though the evening be,” Hadding said. “Give me another drink.”
“Indeed, fellow Dane,” slurred from Ketil. He reached the horn over. “Hoo, it’s gotten late, no? Vigleik, wake. We’ve a task, don’t we?” He shook the Geat but aroused no answer. “Well, well, a hard day yesterday, we’ve a right to our rest, no hurry, no hurry. Say on, friend.”
There was scant need. Ketil too drowsed off while Hadding told a bit more.
Dusk stole in like the chill. When he was sure both his keepers were deep in slumber, Hadding smashed the horn against the roofpost. It splintered. The shards were sharp. He used them to saw his bonds across.
Groping through gloom, he took a sword and went out the doorway. Nobody else was abroad. A wolf-howl sounded. The but stood hard against the stockade. He clambered up onto its roof and from there sprang over the uprights. His weight thudded softly on earth. Away he loped to the wood.
It was like his homeland with Hardgreip. Night or no, he knew how to go among trees, through brush, around brambles, over deadwood, across quagmires. Nonetheless he went warily, the sword naked in his hand.
That came which he awaited. Something huge lumbered out of the blackness ahead. Branches broke before it and cracked under its weight. He heard it growl, he breathed the rotten-meat breath of it.
No fear was in him as he braced for its onslaught. In the great dim hall Gangleri had chanted:
Leave them behind. Along your way
Soon a monster you meet.
With fang and claw it catches men,
But grip its gristly hide,
Boring your blade into its breast.
Then suck the steaming blood.
Eat of the flesh and all the heart
To straightway gain their strength.
Through your marrow will rush new might,
Enlivening every limb.
I will help you, hovering nigh,
To make those watchers weary.
If he had fulfilled that promise, he would surely keep the next. Hadding’s laughter rang aloud.
When he had slaughtered the troll and feasted as the old one bade, he felt as if reborn. Thenceforward he was as strong as any three other men.
XII
In a boat he stole on the coast, Hadding crossed over to Scania, no small deed of seamanship. From his landfall he went afoot to Bralund. There Lysir’s son, Eyjolf, made him welcome. ragged though he was, gave him clothes and other good things, and bade him stay as long as he wished. That was for the father’s sake and also because Eyjolf felt awed. He was stocky, sturdy, coppery haired, freckle faced, a year or two younger than Hadding, and had been left behind to look after things here. This was no common man whom he guested.
Hadding abode there through the winter. He lived quietly, lest word of him reach Svipdag. Bralund was not off in the backwoods like Yvangar. The chieftain’s garth was much bigger and finer than Braki’s, with more folk there and on the land round about. However, it lay far enough from Uppsala that news did not readily pass between. Furthermore, nobody here wanted to warn a king they loathed.
Thus Hadding was able to ride widely around,
speaking with chosen men. Messengers rode farther. They recalled oaths that had been given and they raised fresh hopes. If Lysir had failed and fallen, Hadding would not. He had shown only a little of what he could do, but that was great indeed. He was the rightful Dane-king, the last of the Skjoldungs. Men who stood him true now in his need could look for unstinted reward after he came into his own.
Fewer said yes than had followed Lysir, mostly younger sons and the like. He told them frankly that they might well be gone for longer than one raiding season. He would take none who could not be spared from work at home. That strengthened faith in him as a leader. Those who did come were a picked band, tough and keen. When they met in spring on the shore, they crewed a dozen ships. He offered horses and oxen to the gods. Thereafter his vikings launched forth.
Back across the sea he steered, and again into the Kurland gulf. This time they only landed for a strand-hewing, then rowed on. Where the River Dvina emptied out they bent their backs and pulled the harder. Swiftly up the stream they fared, into those wide lands the Northmen called Gardariki. There was no time to raise a host against them before they lay to under the walls of Dynaborg.
Those walls lifted long and high, of well-dressed timber, with watchtowers at the corners. Above them could be seen the shake roofs of the biggest houses within. This town had waxed rich off trade. Here dwelt King Andvan, who had overthrown the stepfather Hadding never saw.
Ships and boats had fled from the wharfs. The vikings did not give chase. They went ashore and made camp before the closed, iron-bound gates.
Watchmen on the walls jeered at them. How could they storm a stronghold like this? Horsemen were bearing a call to arms across the hinterland. King Andvan had but to wait. In a while his farmer levies would come overrun these upstarts, unless they first got too hungry or sickness broke out among them and they slunk off. He hoped not, said the watchmen. Those were some good-looking ships. He looked forward to owning them.
Hadding gave it no heed. He had asked searchingly of everybody he met who had been here in the past, and knew well what the place was like. “I’ve laid my plans,” he said merrily. “Now they’ll hatch.”
It was nesting season. Birds that were making their homes in the thatch of homes flew to and fro. Hadding had brought. a few skilled fowlers with him. They set out their nets and snares. Soon they had taken scores. They bound wicks to the legs, lighted these, and let the birds go. A number did not scatter but sought back to their nests. Dry reeds and moss blazed up. Shingles caught, then the buildings underneath. Smoke and flame ran high through Dynaborg.
Men fought the fires as best they could, lest they and their families burn together with everything else. Hadding winded his horn. The vikings set ladders against the now unguarded walls and swarmed over. The fighting did not last long.
Hadding had told his men strictly to hurt no one who yielded and to lay no hand on woman or child. He meant to do his business here fast. As his troop reached the king’s hall, Andvan came forth, empty-handed, and named himself. He spoke the Northern tongue, having that blood in him like many lords of Gardariki. Through the smoke and reek he squinted into Hadding’s eyes; through the crackle of the dying fires he asked, “What would you of me?”
“I could avenge my mother on you,” Hadding told him, “but you did not kill her. I will take weregild instead and go away—your weight in gold.”
That stripped the wealth of Dynaborg, but the town lived. Some vikings grumbled that they should have been let at the women. Hadding answered that with their shares of the winnings they would soon find plenty of willing wenches. Meanwhile let them be off before an overwhelming host came at them.
They did not go straight home from their raid. Rather, most of them were abroad with Hadding for the next four years, ranging the Eastlands. They rowed along the rivers and over the lakes, sailed by the strands, got horses and rode through green endlessness, saw towns and tents and many different folk strange to them, warred and traded, caroused and hungered, buried fallen friends and took new ones into their ranks, from Ladoga to the White Sea and south to the lands of the Greeks. They huddled together in the gruesome winter of Gardariki and ate the golden apples that grow in the orchards of Krim. They watched a Finnish wizard send his soul in quest out of a smoky turf but and they heard a poet read aloud from the steps of a white-pillared temple in a Roman city. They talked with kings and merchants, they walked with herdsmen and hunters. They sated their lust wherever they could and sometimes it hurt to say farewell, but always Hadding led them on.
Oftenest they were in service. He had reckoned on this when he spared Dynaborg. Word got around that his was a dreadful band to fight against but sensible in peace and trustworthy. Kings throughout Gardariki needed men like that for their wars with each other and, still more, against the wild tribes that galloped in from the steppes. Traders needed guards for the laden fleets that yearly went down the great rivers and back up again. Hadding’s were worth high pay. To this they laid the plunder and ransom that were theirs after a victory: gold, goods, thralls, kine; and they learned shrewdness in selling such of these gains as they themselves did not want to keep. Those who lived brought home the means to buy farms, or whatever else they liked, and settle down well to do. Hadding became rich.
When he deemed he had enough, he began to spend his wealth on ships, weapons, stores, gifts to give, and the hire of men. Many a hard-bitten Northerner who had been knocking about Oardariki sought to him, and many an eager youth sprung from its own soil. He spoke carefully with each one, for his farings had taught him much, and chose the best.
He thought of attacking King Loker in Kurland, to avenge his friend Lysir and seize the hoard that was there But he heard that Loker was gone. He had taken a few men along into the wilds to hunt, and nobody ever saw them again. Folk said they must have suffered mishap; maybe a pack of wolves had overrun them. Hadding, who knew the ways of wolves, did not believe this. He wondered. This was a kittle thing. It was almost as if Loker had had something to do in the world and then, having done it, went elsewhere Hadding cast the thought from him. It was too outlandish.
Besides, his real aim lay across the sea. In the fifth year after he went from Denmark, he came back.
This was with a mighty fleet. Hulls in their scores decked the waves. Prowheads reared above gleaming shields and spears. Oars walked spidery, creaking, water aswirl aft of the stroke, now and then casting foam white into sunlight. When hills hove blue on the rim of sight, a whoop went skyward. The startled gulls whirled and mewed in clouds.
So great an undertaking could not be mounted without news of it getting to Uppsala. There King Svipdag had his seat. He sent the war-arrow around and met his foe with a fleet still bigger. Yet when Hadding saw it, he grinned. “Of all men you might pick to fight at sea,” he said into the wind, “I am the worst.”
They clashed near Gotland. Hadding had spoken long with his skippers, over and over. They raised their masts, though it was not a time to hoist sail. At each masthead flew a banner. Thus every crew could readily tell where their warmates were. The ships kept apart, but not too widely. As often as could be, two closed in on one foe. Arrows, spears, and slingstones hailed from them. They laid alongside and grappled fast. Their men beat a way into the captured hull and cleared it. After that they looked for another. Where a ship of Hadding’s found herself alone among craft of Svipdag’s, other men of Hadding’s could see it and steer over there to give help.
It did not always work so well, but it worked more than it failed, and Svipdag had nothing like it. One by one, his crews saw how they were thinning out, broke loose, and fled off across the reddened waters. As the sun went low, casting a broken bridge of fire from the west, he stood on the foredeck of his own ship and fought his last fight.
Starboard, larboard, forward, aft, the vikings crowded in. Warriors came over the rails in tide after tide. Shield thunked against shield. Iron rattled and rang. Men shouted less than they cursed and panted. Shrieks of pain
rose ragged. Feet slipped on blood and spilled guts. Men sank and other feet trampled over them. The ship stank of death. Overhead circled the gulls. The light burned gold on their lean white wings.
Svipdag hewed down at those who pressed against him. Teeth gleamed in his sweat-sodden gray beard, under the helm that shone with sunset, above a shield splintered and cloven. Once the few men left at his side heard him gasp, “We’ll take this up again, Hadding, when you too are dead.” His blows fell ever more slowly. A spear caught him in the throat. He let go sword and shield, dropped to his knees, fumbled at the shaft, slumped, and died. The red geyser out of him became a flow, a trickle, a widespread stain on the planks.
As fitfully as always in a battle, by sight as much as by word, the knowledge came to Hadding that he was victorious. Through the light summer night, when stars are dim because the sun is never far down, he looked across the sea-gleam and saw only ships of his, besides those manned only by deathlings.
In the morning he made landing on Gotland and held Thing with his followers. From there he went on into Denmark.
Everywhere folk hailed him. None said nay. Svipdag’s son had all he could do to hold onto Svithjod and the Norse homeland. Hadding rode freely through Scania, took ship across the strait to Zealand, and so the other islands and at last that shire of northern Jutland which also acknowledged Skjoldung overlordship. Thus did he come into his own, he the Dane-king.
XIII
That year the fields throughout Denmark bore overflowingly, kine grew fat, and fishermen filled their nets. The Danes thought this was because they had a rightful king again. They flocked about Hadding wherever he went, wanting him to set everything else to rights for them also. Nevertheless he must make sure of their chieftains, some of whom had fared well under Svipdag and might not be overly glad to have a Skjoldung back. He must reward men who had staunchly stood by him, and give to the most trustworthy such power as he believed they could handle. At the same time, he should not do injustice to those of whom he felt wary, if they had not yet done him any harm. In all these matters and more, he strove to learn the skills of kingcraft, from good counsel and from his own watchfulness.
War of the Gods Page 8
