Hakon's Saga

Chapter 10

Tunsberg, Vestfold. Late July, AD 933

Tunsberg, Vestfold. Late July, AD 933“Erik is coming, I tell you. We are not yet fully prepared.” Sigfrid made no attempt to hide his consternation.

Jarl Sigurd frowned. Having been raised with Sigfrid, he was used to the man"s fretting. Still, he did not like it, even if his king did have the right of it.

Olav could not have been more different in nature; he scoffed at his half-brother. “We have Mollebakken, Sigfrid,” he protested, motioning vaguely in the direction of the hill that rose to the east of his estate. “Let Erik come. He will find us atop that hill and will wish he had not wasted his time. And if he decides to attack us as we stand upon that hill, we will cut him down like the swine that he is.”

Though Olav"s words silenced Sigfrid, Jarl Sigurd was not so easily impressed. He was seated behind his rotund king and now he stood and drew his bearlike frame to its full height. “It is true that we have your hill on which to fight, and we have scouts watching the approaches to your estate. But the situation is graver than you might think, Olav. As we have told you already, Erik has found support from the Orkneyjar as well as from King Gorm of the Danes. If the numbers being reported about Erik"s army are true, we will need more than the hill of Mollebakken and our hird, however stout, to defend ourselves. We will need defensive works and assistance from the locals.”

Olav laughed. “That does not speak well of your army then, Jarl Sigurd. My men are the finest fighters in the North,” he boasted. “Based on Sigfrid"s whining, we have agreed to meet Erik on Mollebakken, though I think my men alone could meet his men on a flat plain and still win the day, eh men?” A chorus of skals met his boast.

Sigurd had to bite his tongue to keep from insulting Olav"s blind pride. A man had the right to be proud, but when that pride jeopardized the lives of everyone about him, it became nothing more than folly. “With all respect, Olav, we did not sail from the Trondelag to take chances. We came to crush Erik once and for all time.”

Despite the deference of his words, Jarl Sigurd"s tone was condescending. Others in the room heard it too and a few looked up in surprise. Sigurd ignored them.

“I advise you watch yourself, jarl,” Olav warned. “It may be that you can speak to my mighty brother so,” he motioned at the blushing Sigfrid, “but you are in my hall and I am your host.”

myyour“Thank you for the clarification,” Sigurd mumbled.

“I only clarify to men who are too daft to grasp it themselves.”

Sigfrid held up his hands beseechingly. “Olav. Please. Listen to reason. I know you thirst to cut Erik down, as do we. But if the reports are true, he outnumbers us. We need more defenses and to rally the locals, as Jarl Sigurd says.” His jowls shook as he spoke.

Sigurd could almost see his lord"s words glance off Olav"s high forehead, like blunt arrows off a shield.

“What of the Uplanders?” It was Olav"s nephew, Gudrod Bjornsson, who asked the question. His father had been Bjorn the Chapman, whom Erik had killed. Now he lived under Olav"s roof as a fosterling. “Can we expect assistance from King Ivar?”

Jarl Sigurd glanced at the boy. “No.”

“Why?”

“King Ivar has been busy fighting the Swedes on his borders and can spare no men, or so he says. More likely, he is waiting like a wolf to come take what he can after the fight is over. Whoever wins and loses this fight is no concern to him, so long as he can profit.”

Outside, the wind howled as it blew in from the bay, calling to mind the spirits of warriors and the gods of war. Within the hall, the hearth fire snapped and popped, fueled by a gust that had worked its way through the walls and now swirled about the room.

Sigfrid tried one last time. “Brother, please. Listen to reason. We need to prepare our defenses. It is the prudent course.”

Olav considered his brother. After a long silence, he stood, straightened his tunic, and studied the men gathered about the hall. “Very well. On the morrow, we shall start to build some defenses and send word to the locals. Now, this discussion has given me a headache and I must retire. I will see you all at daybreak.” He downed the dregs in his cup and marched from the room.

Sigurd watched the man go, thanking the gods that he had finally acquiesced. Though a part of him wondered if it was already too late, for Erik was on the move, and from the latest reports, he was close.

In a large bay east of Olav"s estate at Tunsberg lay the army of Erik Bloodaxe.

In less than two moons, Erik had assembled an army larger than any he had ever commanded and moved it to within an easy hike of his foe. Nearly thirty ships. Over fifteen hundred men. Most were from his native Rogaland and the neighboring fylker of Hordaland and the Fjord — men anxious to support their king and gain favor in his eyes. Some had come from Denmark, allies only in their thirst for adventure and plunder, and their desire to spill the blood of ancient enemies in Vestfold. Still others had come from as far as the Orkney Islands, or the Orkneyjar. And now all camped here on this nameless shore along the Vik, waiting for the battle and their chance at glory.

The wind had picked up earlier in the evening and now blew fiercely across the fingers of land that protected the bay. In the half-light of the northern summer night, Erik watched it stir the waves into a frenzy of whitecaps and bend the trees that stood like sentries on the islands of the fjord. Every so often a branch would tumble to the ground, torn from its trunk like a limb sliced from a body.

His gaze moved west, toward Tunsberg, and he wondered what his brothers might be doing. Were they alert to his sudden arrival? Would they be waiting for him when he arrived? In a way he hoped they were. He wanted them to be prepared and to die despite that preparation, for they had taken what was rightfully his and deserved to die for their perfidy.

A dark mass of low-lying clouds was gathering to the east. Erik smiled. Thor had come to witness the fight. He had brought with Him his foul weather, but it mattered not — Erik had come too far to turn back now.