Hakon's Saga

Chapter 13

That night, the four knarrs that had escaped Erik"s army landed on an island close to the open sea. A hill climbed steadily from the island"s beach and disappeared into a thick shroud of low-lying fog, the remnants of the morning"s storm. Here and there upon the hill, flat boulders jutted out like tabletops, affording the men scant shelter from the drizzle that continued to fall.

It had been rough rowing for the remnants of the Tronds — twenty-one men in all. The winds remained strong, driving swells relentlessly at their undermanned vessels as they made their way south, away from Tunsberg and the battle. For hours they struggled in the waves that crashed upon their decks and poured into their holds, threatening to sink or capsize each, until at last, as the northern sky dimmed, Sigurd determined it safe enough to put in. Exhausted, most of the men crawled under the rocks and fell immediately into a deep slumber, mindless of the mud and the wetness and the hunger that wracked their bodies.

Beneath one of these boulders, soaked to the bone and shivering, Sigurd sat and listened to the heavy snores of his men. To the north, the coastline faded, like Sigurd"s spirits, in the twilight of the approaching night. He could not seem to shake the thought that everything he and his family had done for the past few generations, all the sweat and blood and toil spent on building a small trading empire, amounted, after this day"s events, to nothing. What, he wondered, would become of the Trondelag now that Erik had killed Halvdan and Sigfrid? Would old alliances dissolve, or border fights erupt, now that Erik controlled the land? It was hard to know. For certain, Erik would install his own jarls and thanes and would kill or banish all those who opposed his rule, Sigurd being first and foremost among those. This, he surmised sadly, would not be too difficult, since most of those who might oppose Erik had perished in the battle that morning. It was a grim reality and one that made Sigurd sick with heartache.

“May I join you?”

Sigurd peered up at the creased and bloodied face of his hirdman, Egil. Sigurd gestured to the empty space beside him.

Egil sat heavily and wiped the droplets of rain from his bald crown. “So what now?”

Sigurd shrugged. “The way I see it, packing up and moving to Island might be the wisest course.”

Egil exhaled in what sounded like a laugh, but may have been disgust.

Sigurd wiped his auburn bangs from his eyes and peered at the aging man. “You do not agree?”

“No. I do not agree.”

Sigurd sat for a moment. “Why not?”

Egil sniffed. “Think you for a moment. What is there still in the Trondelag for you?”

The day"s events had taken a toll on Sigurd"s patience and he spat in response to Egil"s question. “I am in no mood for riddles, Egil. I have just lost all that my family has taken generations to build. I have lost friends and comrades and a king. Tell me what is on your mind or leave me in peace.”

Egil was not vexed by the sour tone in Sigurd"s voice and answered Sigurd calmly. “That is just it. You have lost nothing if you choose not to lose it. You act as if you are a whipped hound, running with your tail between your legs. Today you lost a battle, not your life.”

Sigurd"s brow puckered. “What do you mean, I have lost nothing? You and I watched as Erik"s army cut down the bravest of our warriors. Even if I wanted to, I could not stand against Erik.”

“Ah, but you could. All you need is more warriors, and the Trondelag has no shortage of those.”

Sigurd sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by Egil"s comment. “You are suggesting raising another army?”

Egil turned to him and grinned. “And why not?”

Sigurd stared at his warrior. “Men would not rally to me after this loss. They would need something else to motivate them. Mayhap the support of other fylker.” He sighed again. “Halogaland is out — they are far too disunited to offer much help. North and South More?” He shrugged at his own spoken thought. “Jarl Tore might help…”

“You should not discount the Halogalanders. Some might heed your call. What about the Uplands?”

Sigurd grimaced. Over generations, the Uplanders had fought the Tronds time and again for access to Finnmark and the North Sea, both of which the Trondelag blocked by sheer geography. The position allowed the Tronds to control Upland trade to the north and west, and profit on all goods traveling in those directions. “Even if I accepted this plan, the surviving jarls and thanes of the Trondelag would not. There are too many long-standing animosities. I fear that most Tronds would rather accept Erik than an alliance with the Uplanders. Besides, the Uplanders rejected our plea for help here. They are too busy defending themselves against the Swedes, it seems.”

“I admit it is a small chance. But what if the call for help came from someone other than a Trond? Someone who could offer them something more? Someone with a rightful claim to Erik"s throne? Another of the Yngling line?”

Sigurd was confused. “Perchance the Tronds would follow. But who might that king be? All of Harald"s sons are dead, save Erik.”

Egil was silent as he let his eyes drift along the gray horizon. When he did speak, his voice came softly. “There is one.”

Sigurd wiped the rain from his face as his mind searched for the king to which Egil referred. Suddenly, it struck him. “Of course. Hakon.”

Egil flashed a yellow-toothed smile. “Aye.”

Sigurd"s mind conjured the memory of Hakon being born, for his mother had been en route to meet Harald when the child came and Sigurd had been there to see the child"s first cry. Since Harald had not been there, the honor of naming the child fell to Sigurd, who had named him after his own father. Then just as suddenly, the memory vanished. “But he is a boy. He could never —”

“How old were you when you first wielded a sword in battle?”

“Fifteen winters. But he cannot be older than…than twelve or thirteen by now. He is too young. The people would never accept it.”

Egil waved his argument aside. “Hakon is fourteen, Sigurd, by my count. I was thirteen when I first went to battle. Harald Fairhair was younger still. And if he is anything like Erik, his eagerness will make up for any lack in physical ability. Besides, think of it. You will be Hakon"s advisor, his most trusted councilor. If you succeed, you will have his ear and his trust, and your power will grow. In my eyes, there is no choice but this one. Unless, of course, you want to give up all that your forebears have built.”

A thin wisp of a grin creased Sigurd"s face as he shook his head. “Odin"s arse, Egil. From whence did you dream all this up?”

Egil shrugged. “I have been considering it for some time.”

Sigurd nodded thoughtfully. “Suppose I do entertain this idea. It seems to me that there is plenty here yet to plan. For instance, how will we get the jarls to follow this boy king? And if we get past that blockade, how will we convince them to ally with our enemies?”

Egil patted Sigurd"s shoulder. “There is yet time to plan and to think. You are a smart man and I know you can come up with something.” He scooted from under the boulder and stood. “Give it thought, Sigurd. But do not think overlong. Hakon lives far to the west in Engla-lond. If we are to bring Hakon home, we will need to sail on the morrow to fetch him.”

Sigurd crept from under his boulder early the following morning to find that the clouds had broken and the rain had ceased. Despite his having slept little the night before, his spirits were as crisp as the new day and his mood remarkably improved.

After spending much of the previous night in deliberations with himself, and exhausting every thought that came to his mind, Sigurd was convinced that Egil"s plan was bold, but possible. It was far from flawless, but it afforded a little hope where, only the night before, none had existed. In addition, it had restored a sense of purpose to Sigurd"s life, as well as a modicum of confidence for his future and the future of the realm he and his kin had labored so inexhaustibly to build. Thus heartened, he worked his way down to the beach, where the remainder of his men had already gathered.

He called them together and spoke so that all could hear his words. “Our plans are changing.” He found Egil"s face in the crowd. “The remaining members of my hird will take three of the four ships and sail for Engla-lond. There you will seek out King Athelstan and bring his charge, Hakon Haraldsson, back to my estate at Lade. I am placing Egil in charge, so heed his word. The remaining five of you will sail with me back to Lade, where we will make plans for our defense against Erik.”

“What of supplies?” called one of the hirdmen. “Engla-lond is a long way away and we have no food or change of clothing.”

Sigurd silenced him with a lifted hand. “You are all resourceful and I trust that you will not starve. There are many farms along the coastline, as well as fishing nets in the boats. As for clothes, I believe you will find those in the same place you will find the food. Do whatever it takes to bring the boy back to Lade. Are there any questions?”

The men looked at each other, but not a man spoke.

“Good. Then Odin willing, I will see you all when you have returned from Athelstan"s kingdom. Make haste. We have no time to spare.”

The men scrambled to arrange themselves in their ships. As they did, Egil pulled Sigurd aside. “What should we do with the boy if Erik kills you before our return?”

Sigurd deliberated on that gloomy reality before speaking. “What was it you said to me last night? Ah, yes.” He patted Egil on the shoulder. “You are a smart man and I know you can come up with something.” He smiled, then sobered. “Three winters ago, you came to me for a reason, Egil. You did not support Erik. If I die before you return, see this through. Support the boy and rid this land of Erik.”

Egil grinned. “Farewell. I will see you again before the leaves start to turn.”

Sigurd watched him walk away. “May Odin bring you luck, Egil.”

Erik climbed through the wreckage of bodies to the top of Mollebakken. The corpses had been stripped of their weapons and their wealth and left to the ravens and seagulls that now gorged on their flesh. At the crest of the hill, he turned and peered southward, down the waterway through which Jarl Sigurd and some of his men had escaped. He had thought to pursue them, but his men had been busy stripping the dead and celebrating their hard-won victory. To organize a pursuit would have been like prying red meat from a wolf"s jaws. Besides, Jarl Sigurd was a defeated man — Erik would find him soon enough and cut him down along with the remainder of those whoreson Tronds.

He turned his gray-green eyes to the clearing sky and smiled. The mighty oak of Harald had fallen and the Norns had seen his fate come to pass. He and his army of hounds had prevailed.

There was nothing and no one standing in his way now.