Blue Viking
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There was an awkward pause after the priestess of the goddess had finished her speech, silence as she looked about at all the faces that turned to meet hers. Then from where she stood in the doorway, the queen nodded and they were dismissed.
It seemed there would be no feast or celebrations this day; instead, it appeared as if they would return home before sunset. They would go back to their homes and wait for news of their husbands; some of them were missing, some injured, and others captured. And now there was only one more thing to do.
“I’ll not leave without him,” said Sigurd, turning to look at Olaf. The jarl’s eyes were hard with purpose and the other men who had remained behind all knew he would brook no argument on that point. But it seemed Egfrith was not prepared to give up.
“We’ve come too far. We need him here.” He stared out across the meadows, his dark brow furrowed as though his mind could not quite focus. “He knows these lands; he knows what we need to know. I’ve heard of his reputation. This man has faced lions and wolves. He won’t give us any reason to doubt him, I’m sure of it.”
As Egfrith spoke, there were murmurs of agreement around the room, and Sigurd was pleased by this reaction. If Egfrith did not have faith in their guest, then the others certainly would not. It was strange how such a thing could turn so quickly, from being unsure if you should trust someone to feel that you would be stupid not to.
“You think this man is going to walk right into our enemy’s camp and kill him?” Sigurd asked, looking from Egfrith to the king and back again. Then he turned to his crew and his voice was a little softer than usual. “If this is the way they work, it’s a good idea not to give them the satisfaction.”
His eyes returned to Egfrith and Sigurd could see in those eyes that there would be no convincing him. It appeared Egfrith thought the gods themselves would take notice if he did something like that and he was probably right.
“We’re still here because we have no choice. I say let this man stay. There will be enough time after we’ve dealt with the Romans to question him and bring him home if it suits us.” Sigurd’s eyes swept around the group and his voice hardened a little more. “So tell the king we’re going on.”
A moment later Egfrith had left the room and when Sigurd glanced over at King Oswald and the rest of his men they all knew what that meant: they would follow Egfrith, and they would follow Olaf. The jarl was right about one thing.
The Roman army wouldn’t give them a chance to ask any questions of this mysterious warrior who stood beside their host. If Egfrith could persuade the king to allow him to go with them then so much the better. As Sigurd and the rest walked out the door behind Egfrith he hoped he might find out what sort of man they were traveling with, as well as how best to handle him if the time came for fighting.
As Egfrith led them through the town and along a path leading into the forest that was thickest here, he explained they would walk as far as possible today until they reached a place he called the Red Boar.
He said they would need to stop there overnight as it was too dangerous to camp in the dark. Then, the next morning, they would head for the Red Horse, which would bring them up to the edge of the Roman territory before continuing south to a place called Dun Breatann, the fort they had just been told of. As they trudged through the damp grass, the rain continued to fall.
The forest seemed to come alive in that rain-drenched dusk; birds squawked from under the cover of the trees, insects chirped and frogs croaked as the light began to fade and a pale moon rose high into the night sky.
But it was Egfrith who had brought them to a good spot to camp. There were two small stone circles set in the midst of the woods and Egfrith guided them into these where they found shelter from the driving rain that threatened to wash them away at any minute.
It was here Egfrith revealed a little secret of the forest. “I’ve told no one else of this,” he whispered. “But if we want to see the stars and have a fire, then we will need to dig out some of this turf.”
He gestured to the ground surrounding the two circles of stones and Sigurd knew what he was saying: you cannot see the stars when it’s raining. So we are going to build a fire.
As Olaf started to cut away some of the wet grass with his sword, he could not help thinking how strange this whole thing seemed to be. Here they were, walking into enemy territory and preparing to make themselves a home within their own enemy’s camp, all the while trying to avoid being seen by any of the Romans.
“It won’t take long,” Olaf shouted back at Sigurd and Bjarni, who were already setting up a line of shields across the entrance to the ring where they would sleep.
The men began to work in silence. Olaf had taken his shield off so it lay beside him as he worked, though the rain washed it almost white, the iron rivets gleaming like stars themselves as the water ran down it.
The rest of the men were sitting close together for warmth; they took turns digging out the earth until the hole was deep enough and then covered it again, ready for use next night. In this way, Olaf was soon joined by the others who had gathered around them for protection from the elements.
As soon as the fire was built and burning well, it was time to light it and the warriors set about building it with sticks and twigs. There was a certain skill to building a good fire so that it was bright, hot and dry when it came to cooking over it later that evening.
As they worked and talked of nothing more than keeping warm and waiting out the rain, one man stood in the midst of them like an island surrounded by raging waters. It was Egfrith, his dark eyes staring off into the distance as though there was something beyond his vision he wanted to share with the others, but which he couldn’t because he could not speak the common tongue. Instead, he made his feelings known with his body language.
He did it best by the simple act of pointing his hand in the air to emphasize a point he made, or to ask someone something, and he did it well: he knew just what his gestures meant and when he needed to be quiet or let the words pass him by.
Olaf could see from Egfrith’s stance, which seemed to make him look like the statue of some ancient king, that the old warrior wasn’t sure what they were getting themselves into. That Egfrith didn’t understand what we’re doing is a mistake, Olaf thought, for surely he must know by now this will be more trouble than it’s worth.
But Sigurd seemed to think Egfrith and his people had done them a great favor; that they would do anything and everything to keep us safe from danger, as he and his friends would do the same.
And it seemed that Egfrith did indeed have some trust in Sigurd and his men as Olaf watched as he began to relax. The old man was smiling as if he was glad they had come along. As for Olaf, he could hardly believe it as he watched Sigurd, Bjarni, Egfrith, and others gather around a fire that suddenly sprang up from the wet ground and began to burn with a bright flame.
“Well?” Sigurd called out, holding out his hand to show them all the spark that still hung between his fingers.
The others clapped their hands together and laughed. “We are going to be all right then,” Bjorn said, though he looked doubtful at best.
That was when Egfrith turned to face the flames and bowed his head towards it. “Heavenly Father,” he whispered. “God of our fathers. Please let this fire burn long enough so we may sleep in your warmth and be warm tonight. Let it not go out while we sleep. Let it last until we rise from it in the morning. We thank you, God.” And he held his breath, listening as though waiting for an answer.
Olaf saw that Egfrith’s words were not just meant for a god. He was praying for their survival and, as Olaf stood beside him, he did not doubt for a moment that those prayers had been heard and answered.
***
There is no way out of Rome, except for death, but I can’t kill myself so this is where we’re going to end up anyway: the place where all men die, a place that’s neither here nor there. But if we are going to be damned by a god as we surely will, then it’s better to be damned with a clear conscience than without one, eh?
– The Last Confession of Saint Augustine of Hippo
Hakon looked back over his shoulder and watched as the two horses led the rest of the animals on. For the last few days, he had been thinking about what he might do to earn more silver. His father had been a good provider for his family; his brother Harald could afford to send them out into the countryside and hire Hakon to tend horses or farm labor for the winter months when food would be scarce for those who worked the land.
But as luck had it, there seemed to have been too many farmers like Harald and far fewer of us thralls, which was bad luck for those thralls. And since the gods had sent rain and the rivers to flow with a vengeance after the long dry summer, Hakon found that work as a thrall was scarce these days and most farmers could do without thralls at any time of year.
That was why I’ve got to do something else to earn my keep, he thought, even though he knew it was no use wishing his life away because that always brings trouble along with it.
He was right about the rain continuing to fall in a steady drizzle and now it had become windy too as the clouds that covered the sky threatened to open up and show a torrent of water from above.
“What are you doing?” Hakon heard Bjorn call out from the lead horse.
It took some effort, but Hakon turned around and climbed back down off the high seat, and stood on the ground. He looked across the road and saw Bjorn riding ahead, his face grim and dark as he rode his own horse with both hands wrapped tight around the reins and the others following behind him, keeping the horses under control as they rode along a narrow road leading away from the settlement at Eiðu and towards the hills and forest that bordered the south side of Eiði’s Lake.
As the day began to draw on and it was late afternoon, Hakon felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders; he could feel the warmth from the sun through the misty air. It seemed impossible that this was the same man who’d spent all winter hunkered down inside the hut on the shore of Eiðu’s Lake.
It had taken him until the end of autumn to find himself a place to stay, at last, a hut near one of the streams that flowed into the lake where a few other men, most of whom were strangers to him, also made their home.
He knew there was little food and even less drink but he did not care; if he was going to be miserable, let it happen where there would be no one to see or hear him. And for the first few weeks, he had done just that.
But as luck would have it, he had met a woman, a beautiful girl called Nilsa. She lived nearby with her father, and though she knew nothing of him being a thrall or any other such thing, she was happy to spend time with him every night in exchange for cooking and cleaning duties during the day. In fact, I think she might have been happier if I hadn’t learned how to read.
Hakon had taught himself to read because he needed a way of passing time and now he found there was nothing left to do but teach himself to write so that he could send letters back home. His parents, Bjorn and the others, they did not know he was here and he did not plan on telling them unless he could manage to send word ahead to warn them of where he was.
That would make them safer because people who were aware of the threat posed by Hakon Haraldsson would certainly not want him anywhere close to their families. So when his father had received news of his arrival at Eiðu and how well Hakon was doing, he had sent another letter saying that he and Bjorn should wait until Hakon came to visit.
If I do not tell him about my current situation, I can come home and surprise him. But what will I say? Will he even believe me when I explain I’m not like the others who were captured when we raided Lindisfarne?
The End