Hakon's Saga

Chapter 5

Avaldsnes, Norway. November, AD 930

Avaldsnes, Norway. November, AD 930The winter sky had lightened to the color of ash by the time Erik navigated his ship into the bay below his father"s great estate at Avaldsnes. Erik tightened the woolen cloak around his chest to warm himself, then surveyed the landscape with gray-green eyes moist from the cold. Though the sun was up, torches lit Harald"s estate and cast the entire area in an eerie glow that shifted and stirred like a vision from a strange dream.

“It is quiet.” The comment from Erik"s foster brother, Arinbjorn, put voice to Erik"s thoughts. Only four sentries stood on the beach and their stillness put Erik in mind of boulders, not men. The only other sign of life came from the occasional call of a lone seagull roaming the fjord.

“Aye,” he answered as his gaze shifted from one sentry to the next.

Erik"s ship glided forward, bobbing in the gentle waves. On the strand, one of the sentries moved off in the direction of the great hall looming on the hill at the south end of the beach. Erik could see a cluster of men gathering there, but did not see his father among them.

As soon as the ship ground to a halt on the pebbles, Erik vaulted the gunwale and splashed into the shallow surf. Arinbjorn and ten of Erik"s most trusted hirdmen followed. “What news of my father?” Erik asked the approaching sentries by way of greeting.

“He is at his hall, lord, and is expecting you.”

The sentries led Erik and his men from the beach toward the group of men gathered near the great hall. It was as they climbed the trail that Erik saw his father. Though surrounded by his hirdmen and advisors, Harald"s hulking shoulders and shock of white hair were unmistakable. Erik would have smiled, but the faces of Harald"s councilors made him frown. The councilors were Harald"s most trusted men — advisors and wealthy bonders who attended him when matters of import required their presence. Normally they came to Harald between spring and autumn, or met with the king at the law assembly in high summer. It was uncommon to see them here, in the winter.

“What are the councilors doing here?” he huffed to Arinbjorn. “They should be home for winter.”

Arinbjorn could only shrug.

As Erik reached the group, the councilors bowed and stepped back to let Erik pass, revealing a man Erik barely recognized. Though still taller than many of his men, Harald"s body had hunched and softened dramatically. The hair that had once earned him the byname of Fairhair clung to his head in thin, stringy wisps of white. Above pink bags of flesh that rested on his jowls, Harald"s blue eyes were now sunken and misted with age. He grinned through his beard and reached out to his son with fingers that looked like the branches of some long-dead tree.

They embraced, then parted, and Harald held his son at arm"s length to gaze into his eyes. “You are surprised to see me like this.” His voice wavered with age.

Erik looked down, angry at himself for not suppressing his alarm and embarrassed that his father had detected it so easily.

Harald barked a short laugh and patted his shoulder. “What did you believe you would find? A young man? Hah. Age takes its toll on every man, especially when you have lived as long and as hard as me. But enough of this. You remember my councilors, do you not?” Harald swept his arm theatrically toward them.

Erik smiled politely to them, though nothing in him felt like being polite. “I do.”

Harald grunted and grabbed his son"s arm. “Come. Let us go inside and find some warmth. My old bones do not like the cold.”

The journey into the great hall took longer than Erik expected. Weight had so weakened Harald"s knees that the old man needed someone on each arm to support him, and even then, he paused every ten steps for breath. He grunted and snorted, and his sagging cheeks turned a deep crimson with the effort. Yet, in his obstinacy, he refused to sit until he had walked the length of his hall — more than one hundred paces.

Halfway across the hall, Erik glanced at Arinbjorn. The other man pursed his lips and shook his head sadly. Erik turned away, disgusted by the frailty that had overcome his father. Here was a man who, through unnatural intelligence, incredible strength, and unyielding will, had conquered the whole of the North — the first king ever to accomplish such a task. A legend not only in his own land, but throughout Midgard. A man that Erik had tried hard to emulate. And yet, this same man, this godlike being, could now barely walk from one end of his hall to the other. Erik forced himself to focus on other things, lest he lose control of his temper, but his thoughts would not unbind, and by the time they reached the opposite end of the hall, he had worked himself into a frenzy of frustration.

Harald sat heavily in the High Seat of Norway — a massive oak chair carved with the interweaving, serpentine pattern so commonly found in the art of the day. Its massive arms ended in dragon claws, which Harald gripped as he pushed his girth farther back onto the High Seat. Two thralls appeared then with a pine table and placed it before the king. On the opposite side of the table they placed a short bench.

Harald motioned to his councilors. “Leave us. You also, Arinbjorn.” He then turned his crimson face to Erik. “Please. Sit.” He motioned to the bench. “We have much to discuss.”

As Erik sat, a pretty serving girl brought a pitcher of red glass and filled two silver drinking cups. Harald let his eyes linger on the girl as she poured.

“I see your appreciation for beautiful women has not abated,” commented Erik. The girl"s cheeks turned as red as the pitcher in her hand.

Harald grinned. “As you know, I have always had a weakness for women. When I was young, it was about the chase and, of course, the conquest. Why do you think I have so many children, eh?” He barked a laugh, then quickly sobered. “But times change. Now they are the only thing that keeps this old heart pumping.” He tapped his thick chest as the serving girl moved away. “But enough of that.” Harald lifted his horn with a shaking hand. “A toast. To your future.”

“And to yours,” Erik responded lamely, unable to think of anything else to say.

Harald snorted. “My future has long past, Erik. But I accept your toast nonetheless.”

They drank deeply from their cups and Erik smacked his lips in appreciation. After several days on the sea, it was a pleasure to feel the wine work its warmth in his gut.

Harald smiled and the lines around his eyes creased deeply. “Tell me, how fares your family?”

“They are well. Gunnhild has produced another son, whom we have named Harald. If his body grows as strong as his lungs, then he should have no problem in this world. The other lads are fine, too. As you know, Beard-Thorir now fosters Ragnvald, who is entering his twelfth winter. He is a good boy. Strong and well-spoken. I have high hopes for him.”

Harald took another lingering draught, then replaced his cup on the arm of his chair. “He is nearly marrying age.”

“Aye, and I have my eyes on a few who might suit us well.”

Harald"s left brow rose. “Anyone I know?”

“Most certainly. Groa Ivarsdottir of the Uplands and Kara Hervardssdottir from Halogaland. Either would do, though I would prefer Groa.”

Harald twined his gnarled fingers together and brought them to his lips. It was a gesture he used when thinking and one, Erik had learned, that permitted no interruptions. After a moment, Harald nodded. “Aye. I believe you are right in that. Groa would do quite well. We have never been very friendly with the Uplanders and there would be much to gain from such a union. What of Gunnhild? How does she fare?”

“Still as strong in mind as ever. A woman to be reckoned with.”

Harald grinned. “I would expect that. The moment that woman submits to your will is the moment you should start worrying for her health.”

A t****l placed a few more logs in the large hearth in the center of the hall, then stoked the flames until the wood began to snap and pop. Erik could feel the heat on his back and removed his cloak to enjoy the warmth. Neither father nor son moved to speak, content instead on the presence of the other and the glow of the fire.

Erik took another gulp of mead and sighed — he could abide his curiosity no longer. “Father, your summons sounded urgent, and you have all of your councilors here. Was there something you wished to discuss besides my family?”

Harald grinned again. “You have never been one to dawdle, my son.” The old man hefted his cup and took another sip, then slowly placed the vessel on the table. “Very well. I shall tell you plainly. I have decided to abdicate my High Seat.”

“You have decided to what?”

whatThe edge in Erik"s voice caused Harald to gesture for peace. “I am old, Erik. Too old to run a country effectively. I can no longer do most of the tasks required of me as king. I can barely walk across my own hall or pour two cups of wine.” He held up his age-gnarled hands as if to prove his statement.

“But…you still have your mind. That is all you need.”

“That, too, will go. It already has. I forget names. Memories have faded.”

“But father —”

“You know I speak the truth, Erik. I see it in your face. In your eyes. I am getting too old and it is time to step down.”

“No,” Erik protested.

Harald looked more amused than offended at Erik"s outburst. “Do you not want the arvel of inheritance?”

Erik"s jaw dropped.

Harald laughed. “Aye. Now you understand.”

Erik had known a day like this might come, but he had never expected it to happen this way. He had always assumed his father would fall in battle and that his own ascension to the High Seat would come only after summers of conflict between his brothers. But this? This was too…what? Too easily done? Too simple?

Harald smiled. “I thought you might react this way.”

“Forgive me. I am merely startled by the suddenness of it all. Why me? You have other sons.”

Harald"s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do not want the High Seat?”

“No, no.” Erik shook his head. “That is not what I am saying.”

“Do you doubt your ability, then?”

Erik straightened immediately, his chin thrust outward. “No.”

Harald studied his son. “Erik, you are the strongest of my sons in will and prowess. Your successes here and abroad have shown me that. You are a bit headstrong, perchance, but that can be a good thing in the right circumstances. You are also the most ruthless — a trait you will need all too often.”

Erik"s mind was too filled with discordant thoughts to think of an appropriate response. There was something missing here, something he couldn"t quite grasp. He lifted his cup and drank deeply of the wine, trying desperately to subdue the troubled feelings that swirled within him. “Do my half-brothers know of your abdication?”

Harald shrugged as if it were of no concern. “They will soon enough.”

“You did not invite them here?”

“I did not want them here.”

want“Why?”

“Why should I? I have sent messengers to them with my decision. They may come in time.”

“My half-brothers will not accept this news lightly.”

“No, they will not,” Harald agreed. “But I have taken measures to appease them. They shall keep their lands for now, and a portion of the taxes that will come from those lands. Any attempt on their part to widen their borders or challenge my ruling will be met with force. When I die, things will change, of course. But for now, I believe they will accept this.” Harald paused to sip at his wine. “So,” he concluded, “do you accept my offer?”

“I would be a fool not to,” said Erik, who still felt himself reeling from the suddenness of it all.

“Good. On the morrow, then, we shall host a ceremony and rightfully pass the High Seat to you.” Harald lifted his cup once again. “And we will drink then to the new king of the North.”

The following morning, the call of Harald"s battle horn summoned the men to the great hall. Councilors and warriors and those of Harald"s family living on the estate trickled into the cavernous space and settled themselves on the wooden platforms that stretched the length of the hall"s two long walls.

Erik stood near the entrance, watching the people enter. As he did, he could not help but feel cheated by the whole event. Here he was, on the threshold of his greatest moment — nay, his greatest victory — and the only people to witness it were those who bowed to him already. What of his family? Did they not deserve to stand by his side and be publicly acknowledged as the heirs to this Seat? What of the other northern chieftains and jarls? Had he not won the right to stand before them all and be avowed as their rightful king? And what of his half-brothers? Oh, to look into their forlorn faces and gloat as they bent to his kingship! But this? This was not how he had dreamed it would be, and that thought ate at him.

“Is everything alright, my lord? You look a bit flushed.”

Erik turned his eyes to the chief steward of Harald"s household and forced a smile. “I am fine.”

The steward smiled grandly. “Well, have no cares. It is a simple affair.”

A simple affair. The words stung Erik and he fought to hold his anger in check.

A simple affairWhen all had entered, the steward motioned for Erik to follow him inside, then led him to a bench against the southern wall. Directly across the hall from him sat the empty High Seat. “All rise for the king,” called the steward.

Every person in the room stood and peered down the hall as two servants escorted Harald into the room from a doorway off to Erik"s left. Two low fires burned in the hearths in the center of the room, partially blocking Erik"s view of his father as he entered. Yet even through the wavering smoke, Erik could see the effort and strain on the old man"s face, and his own heart wrenched at the sight.

“Seat yourselves,” instructed the chief steward as Harald finally reached the High Seat. “Erik. Come forward.”

As instructed, Erik strode across the hall, aware now of the eyes that scrutinized him. He stopped two paces before the High Seat. As he did so, he marked the low table to the left of the king upon which rested the bejeweled horn of inheritance. Its silver rim twinkled in the light of the two hearth fires, beckoning him to take it in his grasp.

“Kneel,” Harald"s voice boomed in the quiet interior.

Erik obeyed.

Harald grabbed the golden band on his brow, pulled it clear of his white hair, and slowly lowered it onto Erik"s brow. Erik"s heart pounded at the feel of the cold metal on his forehead, but his excitement was short-lived, for Harald suddenly lost his balance and placed his hand on Erik"s shoulder for balance. Erik reached up to steady his father, heat rising in his cheeks at his sire"s weakness.

Harald nodded his thanks and stepped back from his son. “Rise,” he commanded, “and take the High Seat.”

Erik stepped up to the oaken chair and turned to face the room. Then, with utmost care and a nervous exhalation, he sat on the smooth wooden seat.

The steward placed the horn in Harald"s outstretched hands. Carefully, Harald took the vessel and raised it to Erik. “From the womb of giants and gods alike has grown and flourished a race of kings. And like a giant oak, that race has spread its branches and roots of dominance throughout the North, and throughout Midgard. You, my son, are the next in that line of kings. I bid you, do not take it for granted, and remember always that your power lies in the hands of those who granted it to you — the gods.” Harald lifted the horn over his head. “With the gods as my witness, I relinquish my High Seat to the care of my son, Erik. I beseech you, my gods, grant him in his kingship the wisdom of Odin, the strength of Thor, the vigilance of Heimdall, and the cunning of Loki.” Harald then lowered the vessel to his lips and drank deeply of the liquid within.

Erik took the horn from his father"s hands and rose to his feet. “Noble Father, I thank you for the trust you have bestowed upon me. Let it be heard by all that I will rule your kingdom as you yourself ruled, and I will guard with my life all that you worked so hard to create.”

Erik turned to the men who lined the hall, instantly marking their expectant gazes. They had a right to be nervous, he thought, for he planned to replace many of those old nobles with his own lords when his father finally died. “Noble lords and family. I ask you to accept me as your king and to follow me as you followed my father. If you do, I can promise that you will want for nothing and that you will live as you have always lived under Harald.” It was a lie, but it needed to be said.

He lifted the vessel above his head and gazed into the shadows beyond the roof beams. “Gods above. I thank you for the gift you have bestowed upon me and humbly ask you to grant me all that I might need to rule this kingdom well.” He dripped some of the horn"s contents onto the hall"s floor as a small offering for his request before bringing the vessel to his lips.

“Come forth,” the chief steward called after Erik replaced the horn on its stand, “and kneel to your new king.”