Viking Chain
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The Norsemen were not the only ones who fought at Járnviðr. The Swedes, Danes, and Frisians had their own forces as well. As I said before, we met them on several occasions when they came to plunder what remained of our camp.
They would often bring prisoners with them, which would lead me to believe that some of those raids were organized by others than Ragnar’s group. We never knew for sure, but we did learn a lot about the other peoples’ fighting abilities from these encounters.
We would have been better off if we had let the Swedes raid us, but it was impossible not to try and kill every one of them. One of them, who must have taken a liking to us because he seemed like an educated man, tried to teach us how to speak his tongue and even gave us gifts.
We were still unable to learn Swedish because we lacked the necessary words; it was hard enough for us just to understand his broken English. He did manage to teach us more about their culture and history though.
He also told us stories about King Magnus, a man who was once known across the land as King Olaf and was now nothing more than a beggar after losing most of his lands to his nephew in battle. His people called him Eirik, or “the Good,” because of his many accomplishments.
When he was younger, he had been married to the famous Princess Gunnhild, whom he loved so much that he had promised her that she could choose whatever husband she wanted after he died. She decided on the son of King Haakon IV, Erik Bloodaxe.
But there was trouble between them from the start because the princess felt too much pressure being married to such a powerful man who already owned so many estates. After a while, they separated and the queen was given the estate of Hedeby.
This angered King Haakon, who was now king and had no idea why his wife had moved without consulting him first. It was then that the young Prince Erik started his reign over the kingdom as King Eric Bloodaxe.
It is a sad tale because King Eric’s reign lasted for only three years after which he lost control to his brother. By the time his nephew took back the throne, Eric was dead, poisoned by his stepmother. He died alone in exile, leaving behind the reputation of a great man with a tragic death.
I found the story fascinating because it made King Erik seem so human. He wasn’t a god like Thor, he was just a normal guy like us. Yet this simple-minded king managed to conquer half the realm and make himself into a legend.
That night we were attacked again. This time we were prepared and killed all the attackers within seconds. I am certain we would have killed more if the others hadn’t stopped us. The Swede who taught us about our foe was not there; perhaps he had returned home. We learned later that they had burned the place down, killing everyone inside.
“They’ll be back,” Othin said. “And we’re not going to wait until they do.”
“What do you suggest?” Sigurd asked.
Othin nodded toward the north. “We need to get out of this forest, and we can’t go south any longer, we are too exposed here.”
We agreed; the woods were full of enemies and we needed to find a way to avoid them. But before we could do anything else, Sigurd wanted to send word to Olaf and the rest of our companions to warn them of the dangers ahead.
He went to the mouth of the cave and stood on the rocks, holding his sword up high in the air to show the stars overhead. A moment later he turned around with a look of determination on his face.
“Come here!” Sigurd called and we did as we were told. “Tell Olaf to leave the area. Tell him to return to Denmark or he will die here. If he doesn’t listen, come back and tell me. Otherwise, I will assume he has died along the way and we will continue north. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I replied.
Sigurd turned and walked away, leaving us wondering what we had gotten ourselves into.
***
The Vikings’ Ship
I think that the reason we survived as long as we did was that we were able to move from place to place rather than stay in one spot. It seems strange that it worked against us in the end, but we were always moving when it mattered most.
As I’ve mentioned before, we didn’t have the strength to hold our ground. Our greatest enemy was hunger, but even that would soon disappear if we could find a good source of food. That happened during our last night in the woods.
We saw a campfire far in the distance. As we approached, we noticed it belonged to someone who lived in the hills above the valley. I don’t know how many were there but we counted at least five tents. They had been hunting boar; the scent of blood and fat hung heavily in the air.
“This is it, my friends,” Sigurd said as he walked past me with his sword drawn. “If we can reach these people without being seen, then maybe they’ll give us some food. We should split up and search for it while we still can.”
I didn’t want to split up, especially after we had spent so many nights together as a group. We weren’t used to fighting other men, nor were we used to being apart. But Sigurd knew that if we stayed together then we’d never find the food we needed and we might be spotted by our enemies.
He had already fought two battles and killed enough enemy warriors to know that his luck had run out. We needed help badly, and this seemed like the best opportunity available.
“Do you think we can manage this?” Sigurd asked as he looked over his shoulder and waited for the answer.
I thought about it for a second, trying to decide what to say. Then I answered, “Of course, we can! There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to reach those people and trade for food.”
“Then let’s go now!” Sigurd shouted as he pointed his blade toward the fire pit. “We need to move quick!”
Olaf had been looking back at us for a few moments, waiting for us to answer. He was the only one with weapons drawn and his shield lay across his back. Everyone else was unarmed; they were just watching us and wondering what was going on.
Olaf turned toward Sigurd and motioned with his head toward the tents. “Are they alone? Or are there others nearby?”
“It looks like it. There’s probably more than we can kill.”
“So we won’t be able to take them all alive?”
Sigurd frowned and shook his head. “We may not even get that lucky. We have to assume they know we’re coming; otherwise, it means they’re stupid. We’ll be surprised if there’s anyone left alive.”
Olaf nodded his approval. “Good thinking, Sigurd. Let’s move out.”
Olaf grabbed me by the arm. “Come on, I’ll protect you.” He smiled broadly at the thought. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious; I had yet to learn which side he was really on.
But if there was ever a time to try something like that, it was now. The enemy might see Olaf’s armor and assume he was a warrior, and we would have a better chance of surviving if they thought the same. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded though.
Olaf could not carry all three of us. We were too heavy for him to carry alone. So I picked up one of Olaf’s swords, hoping the weight wouldn’t be so much that it slowed us down. Sigurd took the other sword from him, and we started walking through the woods.
There were four of them who guarded the camp, one of them an older man who stood guard outside the largest tent. He looked old beyond his years, and I guessed that he must have known the dangers of this land well, even at his age.
He stood there as statuesque as the stone giant that he resembled. His eyes were sunken deep beneath his dark eyebrows and hairline. He wore leather armor under his cloak, as did all the guards around us, but this one seemed different from the others.
He had a thick black beard and a short mustache. The rest of the guards were bald, their scalps showing through thin, white hair. This man had a full head of silver-gray hair that hung loosely upon his shoulders. Even his skin was darker than the rest of them. He was tall for a man, taller than either Sigurd or me, and he had muscles like tree trunks beneath his mail shirt.
The other guard closest to us was young for a man of his profession. At least I thought so. His skin was almost blue-green in color, and the way he carried himself made him seem more like a youth. He held a spear in hand as we approached, and I noticed that the spearhead was a good foot long.
The other guards held spears, but none were as impressive as this one. It was obvious how much training he had received.
A fourth man sat atop a small mound of earth behind the first guard, staring into the fire pit. A single burning log was set directly in front of him, and he had wrapped the end of it with his cloak for warmth.
From my distance, I could see the smoke rising through the fabric, so I knew that fire had been lit there. He stared right past us as we walked closer, but we ignored him and kept moving until we reached the edge of the campsite.
We had decided to approach the camp from a direction opposite to the path we had taken to meet the men we attacked earlier. It made sense; the enemy would expect us to attack from above, where they could watch us coming and prepare for battle. And they might be expecting us to come through the trees; it was possible they already knew we’d found another way around their defenses.
We moved quietly through the woods and up the gentle incline, trying not to disturb any animals that might still be hiding. I heard branches snapping behind us every now and then, and I tried to remember how many enemies we faced, knowing it was unlikely all of them were sitting in a row before us.
But I didn’t turn back to look anyway. I needed to focus on what lay ahead rather than where the men might be lurking.
I had hoped there wouldn’t be so many, but we were up against four men, including the guards at the entrance to the camp, and we had no weapons but these three swords. I had the impression that we could only kill two of them, maybe one if we were very lucky.
And even if we did manage to defeat them, we would still have to somehow capture or escape with those we’d killed. If we managed it, we’d be trapped in these woods surrounded by enemies, and we’d have to fight our way out again.
“Keep an eye out, Sigurd,” I whispered. “If anything happens, shout as loud as you can.” I nodded at the pile of dirt beside the young guard. “Don’t let him surprise us.”
Sigurd nodded at my words, and after about ten minutes of careful climbing, we arrived at the top of the rise.
The guards were just as surprised as we were when they saw us approaching from the opposite direction as expected, but we had seen them enough times to know they were not going to change tactics in response.
Instead, they remained seated in their chairs, unmoving and unthreatening. I wondered whether it was possible that some of the others might be watching us from the cover, but it was impossible to say without turning around. We couldn’t afford to stop for such a long time. The sooner we could get inside the camp the better.
Sigurd crouched low, holding a blade in each hand. His face showed signs of excitement; he was eager to test his skills against these new opponents, and he had a fierce glint in his eye. I followed suit, though I didn’t show quite as much enthusiasm. We were in danger of being seen at any moment, and I could feel the sweat pouring down my neck despite the cool autumn air.
The guard that we had first seen was the first to move. His cloak fell away from his chair and landed beside him, and he slowly rose to his feet, taking a step toward us, spear at his side. I felt something tug at my arm—Sigurd was suddenly beside me.
I looked over and saw him looking back over his shoulder; we’d been spotted. We both froze, and I held up my hand to signal Sigurd to be quiet while I listened. The guard was walking forward, his eyes fixed on us and moving quickly. He must have realized his mistake.
“Who’s there?” he called out in the harsh language of the north. He spoke clearly and loudly, so the others would know to come running if they weren’t already.
“Just friends,” I replied. “What do you want? Can’t sleep?”
He stopped and turned his head to stare at me. He took another step closer, and I could hear his heavy breathing and see the bulge at the throat of his shirt which meant he was carrying a shield. Then he raised his sword overhead and prepared to throw it at us.
I stepped left, avoiding the blow, and slashed across his wrist. The blade sank deep into the flesh, tearing a great gash that spurted blood. He screamed like a beast and dropped the weapon. As he reached for it to retrieve his sword, Sigurd lunged and drove his sword through the man’s belly, right at the base of his sternum.
It wasn’t deep enough to penetrate all the way through, but it knocked the wind from the guard’s lungs. He gasped for breath, trying to hold back the pain until he could draw his sword free.
But Sigurd was not finished. He pulled his sword free and stabbed the man a second time. Blood poured out in great quantities, coating our hands and clothes in red. The other men began shouting from their place among the trees, drawing the attention of more guards who started running toward us, shields in hand.
“Run!” I shouted at Sigurd.
With little choice, we ran along the ridgeline, following the path that led to the main road and our freedom. I tried to make myself invisible, blending in with the shadows of the forest, but I knew it was too late; there would be guards stationed near the road in case we tried to leave. There was nothing else we could do except continue on our way.
There were no more attacks during our flight. Our guards seemed content to let us go. Maybe they were impressed at our ability to fight without weapons. Or maybe they were afraid of us for some reason. But whatever the reason, we were free, and we made good progress in the dark.
It was cold now, and the rain was coming down steadily. A few times we thought we heard wolves howling in pursuit, but every time, we found ourselves alone. I was tired, hungry, and soaked by the end of the day, but we were alive. All that was important.
We had traveled far from the camp, and we had seen no sign of the enemy, which was worrying. If we were lost in this thick wood, what chance did we have of escaping again? We had no food or water, no map, and no plan.
In fact, it was only because I had brought my father’s sword with me that I knew we still possessed the means to get home if need be. We couldn’t hope to survive another night in the wilds if we were captured.
When we finally came to a clearing, I saw a bright light ahead and decided to investigate. The sky was growing darker, and we needed to find shelter. Sigurd agreed, and when we arrived, we saw an inn just beyond the next hill.
Its doors opened onto a large room where a fire burned merrily in the hearth and smoke curled from the chimney. The place was busy, and the doorways and windows were lit by dozens of small candles. We went inside and found two men arguing over dice.
Both were tall and thin and wore long cloaks made of sheepskin, but otherwise, they were as different as could be: One was a dark-haired man wearing a leather jerkin and woolen trousers, and his face was lined with wrinkles and gray stubble; the other was tall and broad-shouldered.
His hair was blond, almost white. He also wore a leather jerkin over his clothing and bore several weapons in addition to his axe at his belt.
The shorter man was winning the argument, and I could tell from his voice that he was a Dane. The taller man was clearly English, but his accent was much harder to understand. Perhaps he was Irish; that is, if there were such things as Irishmen in this part of the world.
I had never been to Ireland, but I knew enough about it from what I’d heard to believe that one would find Irish folk here.
As soon as the two men noticed us, both of them stood up and greeted us with respect, although neither was quite sure why they had done so. The dark-haired man spoke first. “Are you two travelers?” he asked, gesturing toward the others in the room.
I saw then that he was accompanied by three women and a young girl who looked frightened enough to die. They were obviously captives of some kind.
I nodded my head at them while keeping my eyes on him. “We are,” I said, though he already knew that much from Sigurd’s appearance.
“Then follow me.” He gestured toward a side door, and we followed him outside. Once there, I realized we had come to a tavern or some other gathering spot; a number of people sat around in a circle playing cards and drinking ale, some singing. It reminded me of the Norse games we used to play with the skalds back home. Except these people were strangers, and they did not know us.
We approached and bowed our heads to them. When I rose, a pair of dark eyes met mine.
“Welcome to the Red Boar,” the woman said. Her accent was strong enough that I could understand her despite her dark hair. She was older than I had imagined, perhaps sixty years old, with deep lines across her forehead and cheeks; she wore a red cloak that matched her hair, and it fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk.
She turned toward us. “What brings you here? And who are your friends?”
Sigurd answered before I could open my mouth, which I considered an improvement since our conversation thus far had consisted of very little talking. “Two of us are warriors of Frey. We seek passage westward to take up arms against Christian invaders and the Saxon king whose lands they have seized.”
She nodded and glanced at the man who had been playing cards.
“You must be from the north,” he said. He was older than the dark-haired man, and his beard had been cut close. It was silver-colored and well-trimmed as if he cared for it daily. But what surprised me most was the way he seemed to stare into our souls when his eyes met ours.
His gaze was intense and penetrating, and even though I felt nothing from him, I sensed that his attention would make any lie difficult to maintain. “We’ve seen you before in the hills above Hedeby,” he continued. “Your faces are marked by battle and drink. I don’t suppose you’ve come here seeking a new master to fight beside? If so, it seems a strange place to find a crew.”
Sigurd looked at me. I knew we could not leave this place without finding a ship and crew if we wanted to get back to Iceland as quickly as possible. “No, we are not looking to join anyone else, but we do require a ship for a short voyage,” Sigurd replied. “We will pay well.”
The older man nodded. “Of course, but that is not what I meant when I said you look familiar,” he said. His tone indicated that he would not continue until Sigurd explained himself.
The man smiled at the three captives, but I noticed that their fear seemed to increase tenfold now that they knew they were being scrutinized closely. I also noted that all of those present, except us, were dressed like men: swords at their belts, cloaks, and armor.
The captives were dressed differently. One wore a tunic made of wool, and a thick fur cap covered her head. Another wore a simple dress; the third wore a shirt and leather breeches, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail.
They were all younger than me, and they all seemed frightened, though perhaps none more than the last. She was small and thin, and her hair was blonde as a flame, but she had the eyes of a wild animal.
“Who’s that?” I asked the woman. Her eyes met mine briefly, then returned to Sigurd.
“A daughter of King Eirikur,” the man said. “Her father has taken the throne after the death of Olaf Haraldsson.”
“Eirikur of Wessex?” I gasped. A chill ran down my spine; I knew the name from our history books about the Christian invasions of England. “I remember now. He was captured by Christian raiders.”
“So it appears,” the man said. “But we are still unsure as to whether or not he escaped or died during the ordeal.”
“It seems unlikely he would die, if only because we saw him in person,” Sigurd responded. “He fought like a warrior worthy of respect. And his daughters … they are as brave and capable as their father.”
His words sounded convincing, but I wondered why Eirikur would let his daughters travel such a dangerous road. Surely he must know they were in danger if they did. But the woman didn’t seem concerned as she watched the flames from the hearth dance on the hearthstone, and the man who spoke to us remained silent, too busy shuffling his cards. After a moment he looked up again.
“If you think you can help these girls, then you’re right, but you’ll need more than gold to gain their freedom. You’ll need a ship. And if you want passage through the Danelaw and beyond, you must answer a question that is often asked of people from outside our kingdom: Are you Christians?”
Sigurd frowned, but I felt myself relax slightly. “As long as you understand that we are heathens and wish no part of the Christian faith, you may ask whatever you’d like,” Sigurd said.
“I do,” the man agreed. “And I am sure you’ll be honest with me.”
My heart raced. Was it a trap? Did he plan to murder us in cold blood and throw our bodies overboard? Had we walked straight into the jaws of death?
The older man looked around the room, and Sigurd rose to his feet. The man gestured for him to sit back down.
“We have nothing against Christians,” Sigurd said. “In fact, we fought many of your countrymen and defeated them. Many of them died in that fight.”
“Good,” said the man. “There are others we might kill, but we won’t burn them or leave their remains scattered over the countryside.”
Sigurd smiled and nodded. “Then you will receive the same treatment as we received.”
“That’s a fine way to speak, son of Thorgrimsson,” the man said. “You’ll find out how much more pleasant we are soon enough. Now please tell me what you know of the Christian religion.”
For a moment I thought Sigurd would refuse to answer, but instead, he leaned forward and said, “Christianity is not unlike any other belief system in that it teaches good and evil, right and wrong. Those who follow Christ believe he preached love and forgiveness, while those who worship God as a jealous deity will see us as evil and unworthy of salvation.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that one before,” the man said. “Many times, actually. But Christianity is a religion, so what does that mean?”
“Those who believe in Christianity must adhere to its teachings,” Sigurd replied. “They must pray daily, fast regularly, and give tithes to the Church, which supports them. In addition to that, they are forbidden from eating certain foods and drinking wine and beer.”
“So if a Christian eats meat, drinks wine, or does not pray properly, they become damned to Hell or damnation?”
“No. They simply cannot expect to enjoy eternal life after death. They can only hope that they lived a moral life on earth. And in many cases, it is difficult to distinguish between those who are Christians and those who aren’t.”
“Do you know what this means?” the man asked. “What it all means, I mean.”
“I do.”
“How could you not? You are a heathen, yet you claim to know so much about the Christian religion.”
Sigurd shrugged. “We don’t know it well, but we understand it. Our ancestors conquered most of Europe and brought Christianity here, but even before our arrival we learned some things from traveling merchants and missionaries sent to convert us.”
“Such as?”
“We learned that the Bible is just that—a book of stories, not a true storybook of events and characters, like the Norse sagas.”
This seemed to surprise the man as Sigurd went on to explain how we knew the Bible contained several contradictions in its chronology and how the tales told by Jesus were far less heroic than we imagined them to be.
He talked about the way Christians killed our enemies in battle, the way they ate food made from sacrificed animals, and the way their priests and bishops ruled with an iron fist. I listened intently, hoping my answers would satisfy this man and lead him away from the possibility that we were Christians.
The End