War of the Gods

by Poul Anderson

Thorfinn scowled. “Maybe best I not tell that here. This is kittle ground, the Troll’s Hood, and he newly slain was not human. Who knows what vengeful ghosts are aprowl?”

  Ragnhild shuddered but kept at her work. Hadding stirred and groaned. Suddenly she slipped a ring off her right middle finger, a plain gold band, laid it in the wound, and poked it deep. At once she went on binding.

  Thorfinn returned. Hadding struggled, as if to sit up. Thorfinn lowered himself and took the helmeted head on his knees. “Are you well, lord?” he asked. “This is me, your guide. The thurs is dead.”

  “I, yes, I—maybe—” mumbled Hadding. He moved his arms, caught his breath. “Broken ribs, I think.”

  ‘And a slashed leg, bruises and scrapes, a knock on the noggin. But you’re a tough one. Lie still. When you’re more awake we’ll begone.”

  Thorfinn took off his cloak, rolled it up, and very gently laid it beneath Hadding’s head. Rising, he met Ragnhild’s eyes. She had donned her tunic and stood steadily. “You’re the king’s daughter, eh?” he said. “Well, tell your father how the best of men saved you from the worst of dooms.”

  “I will,” she answered, “but who is he?”

  “I told you, we’d better not say that till we’re well away from here. His following is camped half a day’s trek hence. It’ll take longer than that, of course, the shape he’s in, but we’ll get there and bring you home.”

  Ragnhild shook her head. “Thank you, but best I seek my own folk. They were to bide awhile, maybe a little nearer than yours. I know the way they’ve taken. We can bring the hero to them.”

  “What of his men? If neither he nor I come back, they’ll be wild. They’ll recklessly seek hither. They’re not uplanders. Belike they’ll get lost and grope around till they die. He’d never forgive me that.”

  Ragnhild smiled with tight lips. “It seems you and I must part.”

  He nodded. “I understand. You don’t know what kind of men we are or what we’ll do—the more so if our lord dies, as he might. We could be foes of your father, Vikings, or outlaws, nearly as bad as him over there.”

  “I meant no scorn or fear of you.”

  Thorfinn chuckled. “I wonder if you have any fear in you to give. And as for scorn, no, I do understand. You have to keep on the safe side. Honor binds us both. I only dislike the thought of you waiting alone till morning, amidst this filth and stink and black witchiness.”

  “I need not. There’s light enough for one who’s wont to mountains. If! can be of no more use, I’ll set off.” Ragnhild took both his big hands in hers. “I leave you with my highest thanks.” She knelt, bent low above the helmet, and said, “You have those too, warrior, and all else I can ever offer you.”

  Before Thorfinn could help her up, she jumped to her feet. He whistled softly. “What a wife you’ll make,” he murmured. “I hope that’ll be for him. Few others are worthy,” and he grinned, “or could cope with you.”

  She smiled again, now fully and gladly, before she sought the tent for clean clothes and a long draught of water. “How fares he now?” she asked when she came out.

  “I’ll stay till he’s more fit,” said Thorfinn. “But if you’re leaving, best you start, my lady.”

  “May we meet anew,” said Ragnhild.

  He watched her go down from the peak and on over the heights until the sight of her faded into the light night.

  XX

  It was a struggle for Thorfinn to get Hadding down from the peak. What strength the king had regained quickly drained from him. Ragnhild’s bindings were soon drenched with blood that oozed out whenever he put weight on that foot. It squelped in the shoe. Though he clenched his jaws, the pain in his ribs at every movement ofttimes made him so faint that he must lie flat for a while. Or maybe that was the aftermath of the blow his head had taken; when Thorfinn took off the helmet, he saw it was dented.

  Once past the steepest, trickiest downgate, the Norseman rigged a harness and took Hadding on his back. But no man could go long at this height under such a load. At last he left the other by a streamlet, with some food, and hastened alone to the camp. There he had the housecarles lash spearshafts and saddle clothes together to make a litter. With it they sought back to the king. They found him fevered, witlessly muttering. Two ravens that had been perched on rocks nearby flew off.

  So they bore him away, tending him as best they knew how. On the edge of lands where men dwelt, they found a crofter’s hut and laid him in that poor shelter. They thought it would be only for the night, but the woman there said she had healing skills. “I know this breed,” Thorfinn told the warriors. “I’ll believe her. At least she won’t likely make him worse.”

  The woman called herself Gro and said her husband was elsewhere. Those who remembered King Gram’s first wife were taken aback. However, the name was a common one, and this bearer of it clearly had nothing to do with the long-dead queen. Sparely clad and housed though she was, something about her made them ask no more. Rather, they went around the neighborhood buying their food, cooked it themselves, and did the work of the little farm.

  Meanwhile she brewed herbs for the burning in Hadding’s wounds and body. The men heard her sing to him after dark, words they could not follow. After a night, a day, and a night, the fever broke and his mind steadied. He was so weak, though, that he stayed for days more.

  It grew harder and harder for his friends to keep him abed. When at length Gro deemed him fit for the road, she warned him to fare easily.

  “You shall have rich reward for this,” he said.

  She smiled. “Send no messengers, for they’d not find me here,” she answered. “I need no pay. Once I had a greater reward than any you could give me, for a less lucky outcome to my leeching. Sometimes the token of it shines before dawn. Spoil not my work by heedlessness, and I’ll be content.”

  Indeed the trek onward was slow. However much Hadding chafed, he could not sit a horse or walk for any long span; but must lie again on the litter. Still, each day he was stronger.

  Thus they reached Ivar’s home. He ferried them out to the isles and their ship. “Say naught of this for now,” Hadding bade him. “If the news got out that I am sick in a strange land, Uffi and others would be swift to make trouble.”

  “Surely King Haakon would take you in,” Ivar said.

  “I want to come to him as a fellow king, not a sapless way-farer.”

  “You would come as a hero, lord.”

  “Still, it isn’t fitting. Worse, the truth about me would be bound to go abroad, and Denmark would suffer. If nothing else, 14ffi,could go reaving through Scania. It’s not worth that risk.”

  Hadding sat thoughtful until he went on, “Ivar, you have been a friend to me. If you would be a brother, now help me mom See to it that any word of us that may have gotten out is hushed. See to it, also, that what we need in the way of food and other goods is quietly brought us here. Then sail again south. I’ll give you tokens so Eirik Jan l will know I sent you. Bring back treasure such as I will tell you of.”

  The Norseman agreed, and they fell into close talk. Some days later his knorr stood out to sea. Hadding abode with the housecarles, working to build back his health. That went ever faster.

  Meanwhile Ragnhild and her following had returned to Nidaros. Great was the joy and wonder. Folk thought her unknown rescuer could have been an elf, or even a high god. However that might be, surely one who had flown from the bottom of hopelessness back to freedom was born to luck. Also, of course, her father was rich and mighty.

  Men had sought Ragnhild’s hand before the grief came upon her. She had not wanted any of them, and King Haakon had found mild ways to turn them down. She was, after all, quite young. Now she was fully grown and famous. Sons of chieftains and neighbor kings, and some of those leaders themselves, arrived to woo her.

  “It tore my heart when I must yield you up to the thurs,” he said to her as they walked alone. “I know not if I would have, had you not told me you chose to go for the sake
of our house. Nevermore shall you be betrothed against your will. But we are getting well-born guests, who bring many more with them. They stay on in hopes of you. Quarrels are rising among them. I fear uproar, killing, and all the aftermath, if you do not pick one soon.”

  “Or none,” she said.

  “If you take one, the rest will not go away angry. They’ll see it’s merely that you like him best. But if you tell the whole lot of them nay, then everybody will be wroth. They’ll think you feel that not a one is worth having.”

  “I’ll wait a while yet.”

  “You will take a man soon, won’t you? You’d not go barren to your grave”

  She nodded. “Him who saved me.”

  “But you never saw his face. You met only a fellow of his, likewise unknown to you. He has not come forth. How do you know he ever will?”

  “I will know him if he does.” She looked beyond the fields and the fjord. “No, when he does.”

  A few days later Hadding entered the harbor.

  Folk cried out when they saw his ship draw nigh. Ragnhild was among those who sought higher ground from which to watch. It was a splendid sight. The weather had gone bright and warm. White clouds stood tall to north, over the land that rose green across the water, but the sun rode free and light spilled down to sheen and glitter on wavelets. Hadding had waited until the breeze blew such that from Nidaros his colored sail with the woven raven showed broadside on. The warlike figurehead was lowered, the white shield of peace hung at the masthead, but the shields along the sides flashed in their many hues above the red and black and gold of the hull. Himself at the helm, as he came near he winded a horn. Men struck and smartly furled the sail, others took up oars, and Firedrake walked on thirty legs to a berth.

  Richly clad, as were his crew, Hadding stepped ashore. One ran ahead toward Haakon’s hall, to say that the king of the Danes was bound thither. He led his troop at a staid pace. The crowd gave way, closing in again behind. Voices buzzed. From her hillock Ragnhild saw his height and the slight limp in his gait. She caught her breath.

  King Haakon met King Hadding outside the hall and made him welcome in seemly wise. Hadding kenned the graybeard who had bidden Ragnhild farewell on the Troll’s Hood, but said nothing of it. “I hear great men are gathered in your house,” he told Haakon. “I thought this might be a good time to speak with you and them of things that touch all our kingdoms.”

  “They are more the sons of great men,” answered the Norseman. “They seek the hand of my daughter, for everybody thinks she will be a lucky as well as gainful match.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard something of this too,” said Hadding. “I’ve been hereabouts a while.” More than that he did not tell. His men were as close-mouthed as he.

  He did not want to blurt forth that it was he who had saved the woman. Rather would he first feel out how things stood. These were haughty hot-tempered men that wooed her. If any of them called him a liar, for his own honor he might well have to fight; and if he killed, that meant a blood feud on his hands, not easily settled. Of course, Ivar, lately back from Denmark, Thorfinn, and others were witnesses to the truth. Nonetheless he felt it beneath him to call straightway on them, as if he were a worker whining to be paid.

  Moreover, there could be reasons why wedding Ragnhild was unwise for him. He only knew the Niderings by word of mouth and what little he had seen. They might not be the best of allies. She herself might be a bad sort. He doubted that, but he had no sure knowledge All in all, he reckoned it best to wait and watch. His years of kingship had taught him carefulness.

  Haakon’s queen met him at the threshold of the hall. She was young, for Ragnhild’s mother had died, but she knew well how to speak to so high a guest, lead him to the seat of honor, and with her own hands bring him a beaker of mead. The man who sat there before, a king from the Uplands, glowered, though Haakon was quick to give him a fine sword. These could indeed be gurly waters.

  The light of the long, late afternoon filled the hall. House-folk were busy laying the fires and otherwise readying for eventide. Some of the guests were there. They talked with Hadding’s men, trying to learn more about his aim but getting short answers. The rest were elsewhere, riding, hunting, boating, wenching, playing ball games, or egging two stallions on to fight.

  Ragnhild bore his second beaker to Hadding. She had put on a shift of Southland silk under embroidered apron panels held by silver brooches set with gems. Her coppery hair flowed free from beneath a headband of gold. An amber necklace draped over her bosom. “I too make you welcome, king,” she said slowly.

  They looked one another in the eyes. Red and white fled through her face, but she held herself and her voice steady. “Thank you,” he said with a smile “It’s twice a welcome from so fair a maiden.”

  “You have come a long way. I hope the voyage has been worth your while.”

  “Yes, I’ve gotten a thing or two done.”

  “Have you more in mind?”

  “We’ll see. Today I’m taking my ease and getting to know folk. May they become my friends.”

  “I think you will always have friends here.”

  Hadding laughed. “For a beginning, would you like to sit with me?”

  She hung back for a heartbeat or two, then nodded and joinded him in the seat. Like most such, it was big enough for two. They could talk together beneath the hubbub, softly if they wished. Though both might be men, a woman did a guest honor if she gave him this kind of fellowship.

  Wooers glared. Hadding heeded them not at all. Benched among them, his battle-hardened warriors were enough to keep anyone from saying anything untoward. Haakon and his wife were clearly pleased, while striving to show everybody due respect.

  Hadding and Ragnhild sat eagerly talking. He spoke less About himself than he asked about her, but she learned how witchy a life his had been. Hitherto only snatches of the tale had reached this far north. He saw that it did not frighten her, and found that her doings with the jotun had given her few nightmares afterward. When she tried to find out what he had been about in Norway, he said again that it had been a thing or two, then shifted to another ground. She could not well ask him outright. More than once he saw her fleetingly frown and bite her lip. Yet she was glad of his nearness, and often they laughed at something funny.

  The sun lowered. More and more men arrived, cleansed and well clad for the evening. Ragnhild told Hadding she must go help her stepmother. But it was her father to whom she went and spoke low.

  Fires sprang down the length of the hall. What smoke did not escape through the roofholes drifted, sweetened by juniper boughs. Though summer daylight lingered, shadows deepened, as if to bring weightiness; but the fire-flicker made them unrestful.

  A hush fell when the queen led the other high-born women in to give out filled drinking horns. To King Haakon she handed the horn of a great aurochs, banded with gold and graven with runes. He lifted and said, “We drink the cup of Freyr.”

  This was olden wont here, with which a feast began. Whoever wanted to make a vow would then get up and cry it aloud. None did, so now the servants brought in the trestle tables and heaped them with food. Men ate and drank and made merry. Guesting this many every day heightened the king’s renown, but he would not be sorry to see an end of the outlay.

  Dusk had fallen when the tables were cleared away. Then Ragnhild trod forth to stand before the high seat and raise a horn of her own. Firelight went like sea waves over her. She seemed to glow against the gloom behind. Breath and a mumble flew around the hall. This was unheard of for a woman. Yet they knew that she was not like other women and that the Norns had sung no lowly weird over her cradle.

  “Freyr and Freyja hear me, and all high gods,” she called. “It is not right that when men come asking for my hand we keep them waiting long. You know my father lets me choose among them. Hard is that to do, when each is mighty and well thought of. Yet I must plight myself to one and one only. This eventide I will do so.”

  A surf of
voices rumbled along the benches. She let it die down before she went on: “How I do this will strike you as odd. But on the Troll’s Hood I learned what sign it is I am to seek. You are wise men, who will understand that what is at work here is more than human.

  “Sit where you are. I will go among you and feel of your legs.” A few startled laughs sounded. “Your legs upbear you on earth and bring you wherever you fare. Even on horse back, even in wain or ship, your legs are your strength. I tell you, this is knowledge I have from beyond the world of men.”

  Some shivered at that, and everyone grew quiet. King Haakon spoke soothing words. The wooers sat tight strung.

  From each to each did Ragnhild pass. Bending low, she felt a man’s calves up and down. He might well quiver as that touch pressed breeks against skin. But he held his mouth. Her face she kept unstirring.

  To Hadding she came last. A sigh went through the hall when she stopped and stooped before him. He had said nothing about seeking her. Yet they two had been much together this day. He waited stiffly, not altogether sure what she meant.

  Ragnhild’s fingers searched over his calves. They found a spot, a small lump beneath a scar over the hard flesh. They roved and thrust.

  She straightened. Her hands clasped his. Her voice rang. “Here is my man, he who slew the jotun! I laid a ring in his wound, that I might know him again, and now it has come back to me. Hadding, Dane-king, I will be yours.”

  After that he could not do otherwise than say how glad he was, laugh at how she had outfoxed him, and promise gifts to those who drank his betrothal ale. In truth he was happy, though things had moved faster than he looked for. In his life they often did.

  XXI

  Overawed, the wooers spoke no word against him, but sought instead for his goodwill. King Haakon sent far and wide, bidding more come to the wedding feast. It took place as soon as might be, lasted for days, and was remembered for lifetimes. Foremost among the torchbearers who lighted the bridal pair to bed on the first night were Ivar and Thorfinn.