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CHAPTER VIII

Olaf Trygvesson had spent the winter cracking heads in the far north. When he'd bullied and held feet to fires (literally) and forced the lords to pretend to believe what they didn't, he baptized them all and took hostages so they'd remember to keep pretending. He kept most of the hostages around himself (no fool he); but two of them—two boys from Halogaland named Thorir and Sigurd Thorisson—he sent to Erling.

They came with Sigurd Eriksson on his way south to Opprostad. Sigurd would have stopped to feast with Erling anyway (anybody who was anybody did). I was there with the greeting party when they disembarked at Somme. The two hostages, fifteen and sixteen years old, were handsome lads with upturned noses, red-gold hair and freckles. The three girls, Thorliv and Sigrid and Freydis, who never missed a landing, broke into muffled giggles and chatter when they saw them.

They also giggled when they saw the master of the second ship that came with Sigurd's. This was not a warship but a knarr, well tarred and bright-painted and outfitted with a brand-new diamond-patterned sail. This master was a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with red hair. He looked very grave, as if he were on an unwelcome errand, but he gave the girls a long, appraising look. He and his men were well-dressed and flashed gold and silver.

We took them all to Sola and Erling met them in the yard. Sigurd introduced the hostages, then put a hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"This is a most important guest," he said.

"From the new sword he bears, I'd say he has Olaf's favor," said Erling.

"This is Leif, son of Erik Thorvaldsson of Brattahlid in Greenland."

"I know of your father," said Erling, offering his hand.

Leif looked at the hand and made no move to take it.

Erling paused, then said, "Well, let's go inside. We've much to talk of, and talking is dry work."

We adjourned to the new hall for drinking and feasting. Erling set Sigurd Eriksson, of course, in the guest's high seat across the hall from him, Leif Eriksson at his right, but he honored the hostage boys by seating them directly on his own left. They looked sullen, as who wouldn't in their place? We were not a cheerful company.

We drank, and then we ate, and then we drank some more and there was poetry, music and dancing, and at last the time came to talk business.

"Well, Leif Eriksson, let's hear your case against me," Erling said, after he'd called for southland wine and had the thralls set glass beakers of it before Sigurd and the Greenlander.

"I did not say I had a case against you," said Leif, leaving the red drink untouched.

"I'm not a fool," Erling replied, "and I've no use for feuds. I'm a man of property and business. I'm sure I have something that would buy peace with you, and I want peace."

"I live in Greenland, on the edge of the world," said Leif drily. "Why should you care whether you're at peace with me?"

"Now you're gaming with me, Leif Eriksson. Speak plainly in my house. This is not Nidaros. I am not Olaf."

The young man paused for a long moment before speaking. "Your father Skjalg picked a fight with Thorvald my grandfather. It mattered nothing what my grandfather had done—it mattered nothing where the right was in the case—he was only a counter in the great game your father played with our kinsman, Erik of Opprostad. Erik managed to save Grandfather's life by brokering a settlement that gave Skjalg our farm and outlawed him. And so we went to Iceland—latecomers forced to take what scrawny land was still available. In the end we found Greenland and made a life there, but that is only because my father is a man of daring and dreams. My grandfather died in Iceland, a broken man."

"I make no excuses for my father," said Erling. "He was a hard man who did what was right in his own eyes. But cases have changed. You have the upper hand now. So you must name your terms to make peace."

Leif's face went red. "You jest," he said.

Erling raised a hand. "Not at all. You're a friend of the king, and kin to his chief counselor. No doubt you need grain in Greenland, but you can always get it from them. I can bargain and offer you terms, but there's no reason you'd want to do business with me.

"This is truth—you have much that I want in Greenland. You have walrus hide for ship's ropes, and narwhal and walrus tusks for ivory, and white falcons, and white bears, and rich furs, and other things that can be got nowhere else in the world. I want to build a market town. I want to handle trade—not only with Norwegians but with all the world. I want a share of the Greenland traffic. What will it take to get it from you? Do you want your ancestral farm, Oksnevad, back? It's yours if you wish it."

"I am the son of the chief man in Greenland," said Leif. "In my way I'm a prince. Why would I come back to Norway and be a bonder?"

"Greenland is a remote place. It costs to carry things there. You must have needs."

Leif allowed a small smile to raise one corner of his mouth. "I suppose I could do what you did with Olaf, when you were in a like case. I could ask for the hand of one of your sisters." There was giggling from the women's end.

Erling didn't turn a hair. "I'd give it strong thought."

Leif allowed himself a sip of wine. "My marriage is already arranged. Charming as your sisters are." He looked at the women's table and hysterics followed.

"What then?" asked Erling with a smile.

"Freedom from all docking tolls and taxes here."

"The king expects the taxes paid."

"Pay them yourself. Half of them go to you in any case."

"I'll meet you halfway."

"Done." Leif grinned and drank his wine down, then stretched his hand out for more.

* * *

The second night of the feast Sigurd sat silent for a long time, which was not his habit. Erling asked him about it at last.

"I've a message from my kinfolk," said Sigurd, shaking his big, handsome head and twisting one of the rings on his left arm.

"Have I offended you in some way?"

"No. No. The other side of the house altogether. You've been a good kinsman and neighbor, and brought us all profit. We want to give you somewhat in return."

"Indeed?"

"You refused to be made a jarl, at our bidding, as a favor to us. We've talked the matter over, and this is our thought—you should be a jarl. You are a jarl in all but name. We take back our objection. Be a jarl, Erling Skjalgsson."

Erling took a long pull from his best blue Frankish glass beaker.

"This was Olaf's idea, wasn't it?" he said at last.

"He . . . may have brought it up, yes."

"I thought so."

"What of it?"

"Hersir Erling. I've come to like the sound of it. Jarl Erling sounds less good to my ear. I think I'll keep the name I have."

Sigurd frowned. "You know the story of the death of King Haakon the Good, don't you?"

"Of course. At Fitjar. Haakon was of my kin after all."

"And mine. We've that in common. Eyvind Finnsson took a hat and set it on top of Haakon's helmet, because it was such a rich, gilded thing that everyone could pick him out by it."

"It wasn't enough though."

"No, Haakon died that day in any case. Because it's always dangerous to outshine the men around you."

After the feasting was done, I leaned near to Erling and asked him, "What was all this about jarldoms and Haakon the Good?"

Erling smiled and spoke low to me. "All these killings and burnings Olaf is doing up north—'tis not about Christianity, you know."

"Of course not," said I. " 'Tis about power."

"Exactly. How much power the king will have. I've seen a bit of the world, and I know that Christian lands don't really have to have mighty high kings who tell everyone where they may sleep and what they may eat and where to relieve themselves. It's not like that in Ireland. It's not like that in England. But for Olaf it's not enough to be a king that way. He wants to be a king like his friend Valdemar in Russia, or Charlemagne in Frankland while he lived."

"But I thought you wanted to be a jarl."

"I wanted it once. I thought it the only way to hold my rights under a king. But I got the power without the name. And what do you think? I like this better. My title is my own. It's mine by birthright. It's not the king's gift. I'll wager that makes Olaf nervous."

"I see. I heard a story once of a king who went through the fields, snicking off the tops of the tallest grain stalks with a stick. He meant it as a lesson in politics. Get rid of great men if you want to keep power. Olaf has gone to his school," I said.

"Haakon the Good was a different kind of king from his father Harald Finehair. Harald wanted to make thralls of every man in the land. Haakon worked along with the lords. He respected their rights. He let them steer their lands, and he himself looked to the good of the whole commonwealth."

"And he compromised his faith. He sacrificed to the old gods."

"Yes. He payed for that too. But it won't come to that for Olaf. Times have changed. My dream is to make a bargain with Olaf that will let me work with him as my father worked with Haakon."

"You want to force Olaf Trygvesson to king it on your terms? You've a bold mind."

"It's for Olaf's good as much as mine. If Olaf tries to be the king he wants to be, and fails, it will be a sad fate. If he succeeds, it might be worse."

* * *

On the morning when Sigurd and Leif set out, we gathered at the pier and old Bergthor came stumping over to Erling (he was getting quite slow by now) and said, "Do you know what that crazy Greenland lad wants to do?"

"I gather he plans to sail home."

"I tried to give him good advice on sailing directions to the Faeroes, and do you know what he said?"

"No."

"He says he plans to sail over open sea all the way! No stop in the Faeroes, no stop in Iceland! He says he can sail north to Hernar, then shoot straight west and come to Greenland! Days and weeks, maybe months without clear sight of land, trusting the stars to keep him on course! He's mad!"

"He's bold, I'll give him that," said Erling. "It was bound to be tried sooner or later. I wish it had been me."

"The sea is not a pond for children to game in!"

"No, but the world belongs to bold men. You know that, Bergthor. You told me as much once."

"I didn't mean madness. Those Oksnevad men were always mad. I knew Leif's father Erik the Red—rash-bold he was. A great warrior, though. This boy will never make a name as he did."

Loud laughter came from behind us. It was Freydis Sotisdatter, looking at Bergthor and hugging herself in mirth.

* * *

Sigurd was heading home to attend the Quarter Thing, held at Klepp. I've told you about the Thing at Sola, where I went through the iron-ordeal. That was a Quarter Thing too, but at that time our Quarter had had two Thingsteads. This wasn't the time-honored way of doing things, but Thorolf Skjalg had set up his own thingstead some time before, due to his unfriendship with Erik Bjodaskalle. All that was past now, and we gathered in early spring all together at Klepp, as in ancient times.

We used Erling's new road, as far as it went. Those of us who rated a horse rode, and others walked, and we carried goods in carts for trade and gifts.

Once we'd passed the limit of the road-building there was a lot of wrestling with carts mired in muddy places, and once or twice a stop to fix a stone-broken wheel. We had to keep our pace down to match the slowest among us, and in bad weather we all huddled under the tent awnings we'd brought for the booths.

But the weather wasn't foul all the time, and one morning Thorliv moved up beside me on her horse, and with the ease of a master horsewoman maneuvered me a little away from the rest, behind the last rider and before the first walker.

"Father, would you marry a man and a woman without their parents' consent?"

I looked at her twice, because I'd had this conversation once before, with her sister. I told her as much.

"I don't think it's right, to tell people whom they can marry," she said when I was done. "People should marry whomever they wish."

"And whom do you want to marry?"

"Arnor."

"Arnor? Isn't he . . . friends with Freydis?"

"Oh, that's just Freydis. She leads on all the boys, but it's never serious. No, Arnor is mine."

"Arnor's a good boy, daughter, but he's beneath your rank. You know your brother and mother would never stand for it."

"Arnor's free, and he has a trade."

"Your brother is as good as a king. He'll wed you to someone with land and ships."

"Whether I like him or not?"

"You know he'll never force you. But he won't let you throw yourself away either."

"Yes, God forbid anyone should ever do anything just to be happy. God forbid anything should happen that doesn't profit Erling."

"Erling has your good at heart, and the good of everyone in the west, down to the thralls themselves. You know this."

"Does he really? Are you so sure?"

"Why would you doubt it?"

"Think of all the good Erling does. He is brave. He keeps his word. Those things earn him honor among men whose support he needs. He gives generous gifts. That binds men to him with ties of obligation. He helps the thralls free themselves. That earns him gratitude, and a profit, and gets him new tenants to pay him rent. Everything he does makes him stronger and richer."

"Well that's always the puzzle, isn't it? You can ask that question about every good man and every good deed ever done. You never know until the test comes."

"What test?"

"The test that falls on each man soon or late. The day when doing right costs. Does he still do right then? Or not? That's when we know for sure."

"It would cost him to give me to Arnor."

"It might cost you as well, daughter."

* * *

We came at last to the Thinghaug at Klepp, and set up our booth in Erling's traditional spot.

We'd expected a lively Thing, for there were many lawsuits that year, mostly involving Baug Kollasson, who seemed to have a bent for putting a toe over his neighbors' fence lines.

But about half the lawsuits had been dropped. Another few had been voided by the deaths of the plaintiffs. And the rest came to Erling Skjalgsson's booth.

One after another the men came, shoulders slumped, still bearing their swords or axes but somehow disarmed.

"I'll be gaining a lot of new land off this," said Erling to me after the first afternoon. "Free bonders become my tenants in return for my taking up their suits against Baug. What can I do?"

"Isn't there some other way they can repay you?"

"Some can. Others have nothing else to give. I'll try to help them buy their land back. If I can do it for the thralls, I'll do it for the bonders. But I can't make them think I'm not giving them charity."

Erling won every suit. It went without saying. Nobody could challenge him for power except perhaps Sigurd Eriksson "Karl's-head" of Opprostad, and why would he want to? Baug paid the fines assessed against him without visible grudge, sending his brother Hoskuld to fetch a chest of silver. Everyone wondered where Baug had gotten such wealth.

Afterwards Hoskuld Coal-chewer swaggered over to the place where Erling, Steinulf, Eystein and I were standing.

"Not too high and mighty to take up another man's lawsuit now, are you Erling Skjalgsson?" he sneered.

"I treat none of them otherwise than I treated you, Hoskuld," Erling replied. "I'd have stood your friend if you'd not been so proud."

"Well, it's good I didn't. Because it brought Baug home, and now we have power and honor. Our kin are great in the world today."

"And you'd rather be Baug's thrall than my debtor?"

"I'm no thrall!" Hoskuld's face went black with anger.

Erling wasted no more words on the wretch, but turned his back. This enraged Hoskuld, who rushed at him with fists raised. Erling heard him coming and turned back almost casually, flicking his arm and sending Hoskuld flying onto his back on the grass.

"Beware Erling Skjalgsson! You're not so great as you think!" Hoskuld screamed.

* * *

Helge of Klepp was the Lawspeaker for the Jaeder Quarter. This gave him many social obligations and made it hard for me to spend time with him (though he kindly lent me his gospel book for the length of my stay).

But I found him one evening after supper, sitting alone with Freydis on a stone wall in the red sunset light.

"Here's Father Aillil," she said to him.

"Ah, Father! Freydis is showing me her dolls."

"He can't really see them, but I'm telling him about them," said the girl.

"And what are their names?" I asked, sitting on her other side.

"Freydis, Thorliv, Sigrid, Arnor, Thorir and Sigurd."

They were cunning little images, cleverly carved, clothed with scraps of wool and topped with hair in the proper colors. Somehow she'd managed to limn the character of each so that I could have named them without being told.

"Tell him whom they love," said Helge.

"Thorliv loves Arnor. Sigrid loves Thorir. Both the boys love Sigrid."

"Interesting.

"But these things will change."

"How do you know?"

"Because all the boys belong to Freydis. They don't know it, but they do."

I felt very serious of a sudden. "How do you know this?"

"I have ways."

"No magic, Freydis," I said, standing and taking hold of both her arms. "Listen to me. If the king's priests found you doing magic, they'd kill you. No matter that you're young. They'd kill you, and they'd do it very painfully."

"Don't be silly," said Freydis, shaking loose and skipping off. "The king has a deacon who divines for him. He has no quarrel with magic."

I sat beside Helge and watched her go. "Sometimes I feel the world has ended already, and I'm in some other place," I said.

* * *

One of the many pleasures of the Thing was that there the freedoms of thralls were announced. It put the stamp of the law on their status, and made them less likely to be taken for runaways.

One of the thralls being cried that year was a black Irishman named Ciaran, whom I'd always thought one of the best. He was big and strong, and he worked hard in the evenings on the piece of land Erling had set him to. He'd never taken a wife, preferring to concentrate on becoming a freeman before he took on gentler burdens.

Erling gave Ciaran a horn of mead in the booth that night. "What do you wish to do now?" he asked him. "Do you want land? You'll make a good farmer."

" 'Tis not what I'd choose first."

"Do you want a herring boat?"

"No, I'm no fisherman."

"Do you have some skill I don't know of?"

"Yes, one."

"And that is?"

"I was bred to be a warrior."

Erling sat silent a moment. "You came to Norway young, as a captive. You can't have much training."

"Nevertheless, my father was a warrior, and his father before him. I learn fast."

"So you wish to go back to Ireland?"

"No. I wish to fight for you."

A murmur went around the men gathered in the booth.

"It's not done, Ciaran," said Erling. " 'Tis true we arm thralls for defense now, but the men of the bodyguard would not stand for a freedman in their company."

"I know that," said Ciaran. "I don't ask to join the bodyguard. I wish to start a new company of warriors. Irishmen or freedmen all. Give an Irishman an axe, and he'll defend his lord as long as he has legs under him."

Erling rubbed his chin. "I know that to be true," he said. "But a one-man guard is of little use."

"There'll be others in time."

"You still need training."

"Give me Lemming. Make him captain. You've never been able to use him as he deserves."

"He's not a trained warrior either."

"And what a loss that is! Steinulf will train us, won't he? Or Eystein?"

"Perhaps . . . "

"Not I," said Steinulf. "I've seen enough of thralls putting on airs."

"I'll do it," said Eystein, almost invisible in the shadows. "You can never have too many fighting men."

"But you can't let them live as the guard does, training and protecting you and running errands for you. The men would never stomach it," said Steinulf.

"I'll work as I have, with the thralls," said Ciaran. "Pay me and feed me. Just let me get my training and form the company. You'll not regret it."

Erling stood. "You've a long head, Ciaran. We'll give it a try."

"These freedmen will not dine in the hall with us!" cried Steinulf.

"No, we can't have that. They'll eat in a separate house, and in the old hall when we feast."

 

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Framed


Title: The Year of the Warrior
Author: Lars Walker
ISBN: 0-671-57861-8
Copyright: © 2000 by Lars Walker
Publisher: Baen Books