Hammeraxe

By Douglas Edward

It was Celtic missionaries from Ireland who converted the heathen English in the AD sixth century and at the time Ireland was known as center of learning. Well after AD 700, if a monk in Europe could read and write both Latin and Greek, he was most probably of Irish provenance. But by 820, the Celtic Church had practically ceased to exist.
Set against the age of the Viking terror, Hammeraxe traces the story of the wronged younger son of a Viking chieftain and his spirited Moorish wife. How she taught him to war with both bow and horse in the Moorish fashion. It tells the story of how he became a chieftain in his own right. How a chance friendship on an island near France led to the violent Viking invasion of Ireland. Why a captive Irish monk betrayed his country and became a Norse chieftain. How the power of the five kings was broken and why the Celtic Church was destroyed. A sweeping tale of flames, terror, betrayal, and love, Hammeraxe tells the story of the Viking invasion of Ireland in the ninth century and how it affected life in Ireland permanently.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481785587

Douglas Edward

The author was born in South Africa in 1954 and experienced the modern history of his country firsthand. He has variously been a traffic officer, technical nutrition advisor, salesman, and shopkeeper. An avid rock and blues fan, he has a large collection of both genres. He ascribes his interest in history to a schoolteacher in Johannesburg who taught the subject as a historical novel, bringing the characters to life. He came across the history of the Viking invasion of Ireland by chance in a book on mediaeval history. He is married and lives in Stilfontein, a small mining town in the gold belt of North West Province in South Africa. He has never been outside Africa.

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© 2013 by Douglas Edward. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 03/14/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8557-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8556-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8558-7 (e)

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CONTENTS

THE BOYS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

THE RAIDERS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

THE SETTLERS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

EPILOGUE

For Lara

Who always believed

1

THE BOYS

1

On the west coast of Norway, in a hamlet called Lavik, a local chieftain named Günnar held sway over the entire Sognafjord. All ocean-going traffic had to pass Lavik, and his father, a man with territorial ambitions, had subdued all the local people. He had four sons, and died a man well satisfied. His sons had fought manfully in the small battles for Sognafjord.

Primogeniture was the law of the land. But before an eldest son could rule after his father, he had to prove that he was Throne-Worthy. But chiefs made enemies, and wrongs, real or imagined, to be put aside, were seldom seen. Should the people of the town decide that the son was not worthy, he would be denied and banished. If there was a challenger, the issue was settled by single combat, and to the death. A defeated claimant would plot against the new chief and sow discord. Thus, if a son wished to rule after his father, he had to be a strong and popular character.

Chiefs were proclaimed by general acclaim, and loyalty was sworn to the new chief. Treachery was punished by execution, not only of the traitor, but of everything and every person in his house. Consequently, the people of these cold northern lands seldom suffered lines of royal idiots or weaklings.

As it happened, the old chief had divided all he owned equally between his sons. Even while he lived, the succession was hotly disputed between the eldest three brothers. But the dangers of single combat are sometimes incited and watched by the capriciousness will of the Gods. During the cold Norse winter, Günnar had killed his eldest brother in single combat over a slave girl that had caught his eye. The fight had not been accepted nor arranged as tradition demanded. But the corpse showed no sign of treachery. The death wound had been a straight thrust to the heart. The slave girl was quietly strangled and she died with Günnar’s son unformed in her womb.

Now the surviving three claimants were carefully watched to preclude other untimely deaths. Their father still lived, but the eldest son was dead. Günnar’s twin, Hrodebert, drowned the following summer while fishing in a foeringer, a small fishing vessel with a crew of six. Günnar had been visiting settlements further up the fjord, and was above any suspicion of a second fratricide. Moreover, there were five witnesses who swore to the manner of Hrodebert’s death.

After the death of Hrodebert, the youngest of the brood, Raginmund, wisely decided to leave Sognafjord, and go I Viking. Leaving his birthplace quietly, he joined a band of these raiders who landed at the island of Sula that guarded the entrance to Sognafjord. The drakkars that called here came from the many settlements north of the Sognafjord. Leaving their homes but lightly provisioned, they would barter here for the supplies that would suffice to sustain them as far as their first raid. The lad with the black curls on his shoulders was given a berth and started his life as a warrior and raider.

He had no home now, and spent his summers raiding and his winters as a mercenary, sometimes fighting for people against their neighbours he had raided in the winter. He did not become enraged in battle, as a berserker would. He killed where necessary, and robbed where he decided to. Raginmund soon became a warrior of some renown. His prowess with both sword and axe was heard about all over the coasts of Norway. He had bartered and bought a fleet of four drakkars and now commanded a sizable force, available for hire.

The chieftain of all Sognafjord mourned his three sons deeply, understanding more of Raginmund’s departure and Hrodebert’s death than he showed. But all men have two faces. One is the face turned to all men, showing what the world wishes to see. The other face is kept deeply hidden, only allowed to surface when a man speaks silently to his gods in the night and fights the fears that steal his sleep. Every man believes he could have done more with the time the Gods will allow him, and dreams that his sons will be better men than him.

The old man, no longer bearing any semblance to the man who had bent all Sognafjord to his will took to his bed in great pain, hunched over and clutching his gut. The healers up and down the fjord had no answer to this terrible suffering. They could only administer sleeping draughts, but these finally had to be so strong that they feared they would kill him. Sometimes the pain would leave him, and though weakened, he was able to attend to the business of being a chieftain.

But the pain of this disease was merciless and cunning and would return like the bite of a wolf in his stomach. Never a coward, the survivor of many wounds, this pain was so intense that he implored the gods to take him. His body expelled almost any food, and he became a skeleton, with only the staring eyes that had not shrunk. Without warning, a clear winter’s day dawned and he sat up and conversed with those around his sickbed and had no pain. The Gods at last had decided that this brave man had suffered enough and in the morning he was found dead, his face calm and serene.

Günnar was the only claimant to the chieftainship. Men with long memories remembered the fierce young warrior who had fought at his father’s shoulder and he was acclaimed as chieftain, not only of Lavik, but also of all Sognafjord as being the most Throne-worthy. He was given the keys to the longhouse, where he would have the right to preside over all and any meeting he chose.

There were kings in the Scandinavian countries, but the title was a nominal one. Most chieftains, commanding men who were seasoned warriors brooked no interference in their lands. The Norse lands had but little space for grazing and crops and as the population grew, the land became insufficient to support its inhabitants. Only elder sons had any hope of inheriting land. As in the time of the great barbarian invasions of the Roman Empire, the younger sons burst on Western Europe like a sudden summer storm. Burning, raping and robbing, they regularly attacked settlements along the coasts of England and France.

They sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar and attacked cities in Italy and the wealthy islands of the Mediterranean. The pagan Norsemen soon learned that the churches and monasteries contained the most loot and the least danger. Only seldom were they defended with any vigour, the Church preaching peace and salvation. Christpriests were mostly killed out of hand, the nuns raped repeatedly. Many were the nuns who bore Scandinavian children, not able to identify the father as he could have been any one of many.

Well might the liturgy of the Church include the prayer From the fury of the Norsemen, oh Lord, protect us. The Viking drakkar or longship, was normally crewed by thirty men, mostly tied by family or home. The largest of them could be crewed by as many as seventy rowers. It had but a shallow draft, and the raiders could sail far inland, raiding as far as Paris, London, Bordeaux and Nantes. Their ferocity was well known, and often they would find targeted towns empty and burnt, sufficient booty left behind to turn them aside.

The Vikings were also slavers, taking the most comely girls and likeliest boys. They sold them in their settlements, and often to the trading Swedes to their south-east. Many were the longships, filled with these unfortunates that sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar and to the slave markets of the coasts of North Africa. Their light skins were especially valuable, and blue eyes placed a premium on the price.

Only free adult males attended meetings or feasts in the longhouse. This was the largest building in the settlement, as Lavik served as the capital of all of Sognafjord, from sea to mountain. The fjord was as long as it would take a foeringer to sail upstream in three days. Here, important matters were discussed and decisions made. Also, here cases of wergeld were heard and decided upon. Wergeld was allocated for wrongs committed against free people of the settlement.

These meetings were open to all free men who wished to attend. The person wronged could demand payment in equal damage or payment in kind. Thus, if a man had an arm broken in a drunken brawl, he could demand that the other man’s arm be broken equally. Most cases led to the acceptance of wergeld.

Offences committed in ignorance were sometimes forgiven. Great importance was borne by the idea of reason and excuse. The former was allowed in mitigation of any sentence, while the latter was rejected out of hand. This kept blood feuds to a minimum. Claims were not laid on a whim. Liars faced death by hanging. To claim wergeld was not a matter taken lightly.

This was also the place where punishment was meted out to boys, older than twelve summers, for serious infractions. Punishment, before all men who wished to witness it, took the form of a whipping with a sword belt. To enter this place, the walls hung with shield and sword of heroes, drinking horns or skulls served to bring to life well hidden fears. As punishment was meted out during the day, the interior of the building was dim, with many dark corners. To show fear beforehand, or pain afterwards, was considered cowardly or girlish. No boy wished to be known as either. As most sword belts were encrusted with metal studs, loops and other decorations, a summons to the longhouse was a serious thing.

Every year, when the raiding fleet returned a great feast would be arranged. Free wives and male children that had seen eight summers would be allowed to enter and eat their fill. As the feast progressed, the chieftain would sign to his wife when their presence was no longer required. As she left, the other wives would follow her lead, taking their broods with them, relieved that they had not witnessed a brawl, the boys with regret for the same reason. No slaves were allowed in the longhouse that night and only free unmarried girls prepared and offered both food and drink. They were only the prettiest and desirable young women in the entire fjord. Bit this was not the place to play the lecher. Putting your hands on a man’s daughter could easily lead to fights, leading to serious injury or death.

Having made some powerful enemies in his fourth year, Raginmund found himself needing a place for himself and his longships to winter. A sizeable amount of loot was in the holds of his vessels, and he proposed to his men that they pay their way into Sognafjord for the winter. After some discussion, the amount to be offered was agreed to. A head taller than his brother and narrower in the waist, Raginmund was powerfully built, with thick corded muscle in arms, chest and legs.

When young, untried men asked him the secrets of command, he would often say It is easier to order men and say ‘Go!’ than to charge and say ‘Follow!’ Almost always, the aspiring captains would take the bait and enquire what would happen if the latter command was not obeyed. When you command men to follow, you charge, not looking back. If they do not follow, you die, and the Valkyries take you to Valhalla. If they do follow, you return home to your wife laden with booty. Life is simple for those who go I Viking." This little speech was one of the reasons Raginmund was never short of willing recruits.

A messenger was despatched from Sula in a foeringer, and presently returned with a message that Raginmund and his fleet of four drakkars were welcome. Günnar was not a fool. He had also heard the tales of his brother’s prowess in battle, and knew that if Raginmund wished to attack Lavik he would not have time to summon reinforcements from higher up the fjord. He also needed to ascertain their relative power, and for the same reason. On the next high tide, the four ships sailed into Lavik, the men attired in their battle array.

Günnar stood on the pebble beach, his bondsmen behind him, fully armed. Raginmund jumped off the prow of his ship, landed lightly and strode up to his brother. Well met, Günnar! Four winters have been too long. Gods! It’s good to see you! Today is for you and me to resume our friendship and brotherhood, and our men to become acquainted. Should there be some feasting tonight, I warrant there will be some fights. Even roosters have to see what their place is in a hencoop.

It is not unknown that great friendships are often forged after initial hostility. The brothers walked off, the group of men warily greeting each other. The gold Raginmund had promised his brother was produced, and all agreed that this was the amount promised. The tall, rangy raider was as good as his word. Men of Lavik nodded wisely. Most of them remembered the likely lad, and were pleasantly surprised at the man he had become. Before the sun rose twice more, the news was known up and down the fjord.

There was indeed a feast in the longhouse that evening. Beside great draughts of mead they drank, the raiders produced some sweet wines, and a clear substance as water, that made even a great man shudder at the swallowing of it. A few fights did break out, but strangely, none of them between the different sides. The brothers sat, side by side, at the head of the long table. Come with me, Günnar. Raid through the summers, and become a rich man. You have enough good people to see that the fjord is safe.

No, brother. I have much to see to here. Sognafjord is a deep and long fjord. I am kept busy enough as it is. I do, however, have a proposition to put to you. Let me buy four drakkars and crew them for you. That way, I will have an interest in your fleet, you will have winter quarters and I gain a third of your booty. My men of course will share as is the way. Should you or your men find wives here and wish to settle here, Sognafjord has much to offer.

Raginmund took but little time to agree. A fleet almost doubled made his ventures somewhat easier, but he would have to collect more booty to turn a profit. The loyalty and courage of Günnar’s men would be quickly tested. He immediately determined to split the crews so that no captain could call on their absolute loyalty. Thus he knew that should treachery raise its head; there would be quick and sudden deaths.

Pressed to tell the story of his disappearance during the previous long, cold winters, Raginmund told the stories of his winters as a mercenary. "The English are quite mad. They fight their neighbours, for kingdoms one could cross on horseback in two days. Raiding a village during summer, we took the local chieftain prisoner. He offered to pay me in gold to assist him in a war against the neighbouring kingdom during the following winter. Birth or marriage nearly always relates their kings. Yet, they ally themselves with anyone to hand, old enemy or no.

They war amongst themselves during winter, not for plunder or blood feuds as among men. They kill and lay waste simply to gain territory. Günnar could understand this. Is this because their land has become barren, or they become too numerous? The answer was not as simple as Günnar would have thought. Nay, brother. They fight each other simply to lord it over others. Anyhow, he paid us handsomely, and in gold. By now, his defeated kinsman has probably dispossessed him. He had few warriors, and they not at all like us."

Günnar frowned, perplexed. "We have raided these people for two generations. You have told us that their land is warmer than ours. Yet they always allow you into their towns under the ruse that you wish to trade furs. Why do they have need of fur? Drakkars never carry trade goods. They must surely know that you could just as well raid them and take what you wish.

Do the survivors never tell others how they were raided on a ruse? We have heard of their God who became a man and was killed without defending himself. Is this why their priests teach them to turn the other cheek if struck in the face? To what advantage? How then do they fight and war at all? Do they have a feast time when they are allowed to fight? If someone were to strike me or any man here in the face, the result is foregone. Someone will get hurt, and badly.

I am also told that these priests wield great power over commoner and king alike. One of Raginmund’s crew answered It is easier to find the end of the ocean than to understand them. When we raid them, they quickly give us all we demand, deserting their priests. Most of them simply wring their hands or look aside when we put our seed into their wives and daughters. However, if their king, who rules but a small kingdom calls them to war, they are fierce enough.

A man laughed. Beware that we do not breed strong Norse sons on them! Raginmund’s man continued. The priests scurry off to their temples, holding the altar as if it alone could save them. These temples often have golden ornaments that become part of our booty. Their female priests are almost always virgins and there are those that die rather than submit.

2

Within the next three raiding seasons, the Sognafjord I Viking fleet had grown to ten vessels, and enjoyed successful raiding seasons. Gold, jewels, coins and slaves enriched the inhabitants. Only comely girls and young boys were taken. Much grain was taken, as the growing population put pressure on the steep fields. Sognafjord was growing, and many men were going I Viking, the first longships sailing in the spring. The decision to depart for the summer was not taken lightly. The North Sea was not a thing to trifle with, and could go from placid and flat to a ship devouring demon in a few hours.

The trading Swedes easily traded slaves and gold for iron. They also traded for hides and dried meat and fish. Sognafjord had all of these, and in quantity. They only traded during the winter, but nevertheless, it was prudent to allow no more than four of their traders into Lavik at a time. Only a very few were allowed to disembark to haggle and argue. They were outnumbered, and keen eyes watched the trading ships. Goods were brought to trade from up and down Sognafjord and trading could easily take ten days.

Günnar preferred to be a chieftain who remained at home while others raided and warred, and he wished to remain so. Why these Swedes did not war nor hunt, was beyond the ken of Günnar. Given the amounts of iron they possessed, it was a wonder that they never became a warlike people. If they could sail into the teeth of the winter gales to trade, they were excellent and brave sailors. He was not to know that it was Swedes that would tame the great rivers of the lands of the Slav, as far as the Black Sea. They gave their name to the land they conquered. In old Slavic, the word ‘Rus’ translates to ‘Red’, referring to the colour of their hair.

Time passed. Most, if not all, the raiders had wives born free or slaves that were claimed as part of booty and then freed. Some became farmers, planting crops in the early spring and reaping them in high summer. But the hard raider was what he was, and waited for the first serious thaw impatiently. Those who possessed sheep or goats herded them during spring and summer, ready to fight off predators, wolf, or bear. Their kine were kept safe in communal pens during winter. Slaves were put to work providing enough feed to keep the animals well fed for the cold months.

Hunting was popular in winter, with many offerings to the gods, and much feasting beforehand. Killing wild animals for meat and hides was dangerous work. One did not trifle with the gods. They were a capricious lot, Odin especially having seduced many women and siring heroes. Loki played tricks which could easily cost a man both happiness and life. Great Thor hammered away during thunderstorms with Mjölnir, his great hammer.

There were many other gods, and all of them needed to be placated before entering the forest. Here, a man could sometimes see a rainbow, the bridge to Asgard, where the gods lived. This colourful sight was only visible when the gods came to Midgard, the place given unto man to work, war, live, love and die. Also, this was the bridge by way of which brave men went to Valhalla. Should he become fearful of the great height, he would fall to his eternal death. Brave men feared nothing, nor did they show fear. That was the way of women.

Günnar had fathered three sons on his wife, Eberhild. The eldest, Asgeirr, had seen seventeen summers, and was nearly counted a man. Although untried in deadly combat, he had had his share of fights with boys in his age group. Being the son of a chief carries the almost certain chance of challenges. He had won enough of these fights to ensure that he was not easily crossed. It seemed that he carried the mantle of his birth easily. A downy fluff had recently sprouted on his cheeks of which he was inordinately proud.

During the autumn, he had been given command of a foeringer. He had proven himself a capable fisherman, and a popular captain. The rest of the crew, five in total, had been carefully selected. Günnar needed his eldest alive, and required accurate reports of his son’s behavior. Captains and chiefs did not receive respect as a right of birth. It was something to be earned and guarded jealously. Soon, Gunnar’s eldest would be invited to his first meeting in the longhouse, take a woman to wife and build his own house. He would acquire a field, and be counted a man.

However, each autumn, Asgeirr yearned for the return of his uncle Raginmund to volunteer to go I Viking. As he had ideas of succeeding his father, he would have to show prowess in battle. There did not seem to be a war stirring among the neighbouring tribes and fjords, and this would prove impossible if he were unable to join Raginmund, even if only for a season. Even so, Asgeirr was fully aware that his father would prefer him to be a farmer, fisherman and hunter.

The two younger brothers were the twins, Eyrekr and Thurgeis. Eyrekr had entered the world first, followed by his brother in less than a hundred heartbeats. At fifteen, and the sons of a chief, their chores were light, and not as tedious as the sons of other men in Sognafjord. This left them free to pursue those things that interest all boys of their age. However, they often felt left out of the games of other children.

The twins, were both physically and otherwise, two very different boys. Eyrekr, rather shorter than his twin, was almost startlingly blonde. In fact, all the hair on both his body and head appeared almost white. His eyes, of palest blue, never seemed to show emotion, and his body tended toward stockiness.

Games not of his choosing were soon abandoned, and the boy was quick to avenge wrongs, real or imagined. Friendly when he was given his head, he would almost instantly become surly when crossed. It seemed that his peers never sought him out. The dogs in the settlement avoided him. Dogs are wise, and they had soon learned that tidbits offered were often only bait to lure them into range of a booted kick.

Thurgeis, on his part, had a thick mop of reddish hair shot through with black, with beetling black brows promising an unruly beard in good time. Strangely, the colour of his eyes seemed to change with his mood, now green, then grey, but when angered, as blue as a summer sky. When truly angered, Thurgeis would start speaking very quietly and reasonably. It was a fair warning. His fists and boots had bested some boys a few years his senior. When he lost in the games of children, he accepted his losses with good grace. Boys of his age did not seem to fear him, and often turned to him for advice.

Physically larger and better proportioned than Eyrekr, Thurgeis seemed more of an age with Asgeirr. A natural athlete, he seemed to be clumsy as other boys are. Indeed, the two of them were so often together, and appeared so alike, that visitors often mistook them for Gunnar’s twins. Thurgeis, blushing darkly, would defer to Asgeirr to clear up the misunderstanding, and try to hide his pride.

Very few things enraged Eyrekr more. He had often corrected both visiting dignitaries and trading Swedes, angrily, declaring his seniority over Thurgeis. At first, Günnar had smiled indulgently at his son’s presumption in the presence of adults. As the boy grew, however, he would be expected to be more diplomatic and tactful. A thrashing in the longhouse might very well prove the only answer.

The inhabitants of Sula Island were always the last to see the raiding fleet depart, and the first to see their return. The raiders would spend a night on the island, delivering grain as the price of their accommodation. As soon as their sails were spotted, a foeringer would be despatched to Lavik bearing news of their arrival on the morrow.

It was a fine, crisp autumn morning when Raginmund sailed up Sognafjord in his drakkar, a prize ship sailing ponderously ahead of him. The arrival of the fleet, or most of it, caused more of a stir than usual. The prize ship was of a pattern never seen before. Almost as long as a drakkar, she was much wider in the beam. There was a high poop deck, with a carpeted roof. She carried no oars, nor was there provision for them. Strangely, the rudder was placed at the stern. All knew that the rudder of a vessel was placed on the starboard side, close to the stern. This strange ship also carried a huge triangular sail, attached to a long, bent yardarm.

As was the custom, the entire population of Lavik turned out to meet the fleet, each for their own reasons. Wives to ascertain if they were widows, mothers to count to sons and fathers of sons. There were worried faces in the crowd, as the fleet was returning earlier than was usual. Also, two of the longships were not present. However, the longships were loaded heavily, the slung shields dragging in the water. Messages had been sent hurriedly to the top of the fjord, summoning friends and relatives of crew members.

Fully armed, Raginmund leapt from the leading longship. Wet to the navel, every inch a warrior, he strode up the pebble beach toward his brother. He wore full raiding regalia, his shield on his left arm and his sword on his right. His helmet, though beautifully etched and inlaid, had no nosepiece. He sported a large unkempt black moustache, but wore no beard. He knew that elaborate equipment either hampered you, or gave your enemy something to hold onto.

His clothes were black, as his cloak was black. There was nothing to relieve his dark visage. There were no jewels on his swordbelt. Only the silver buckle of his cloak and the golden inlay of his helmet relieved the sombre clothing. The appearance was that of an extremely dangerous man who knew that appearance alone can cool the stomach of an enemy. His appearance did not belie his courage and cunning.

This was an experienced man wise in the ways of war. Günnar, dignified in his best cloak, greeted his brother happily. The rest of the fleet, laden with booty and grain from their raids were beached. Only after the brothers embraced, did the crews disembark. It was prudent to stay aboard until the intentions of all present had been made clear. Much could change in the short space of a raiding summer.

Günnar pointed at the prize ship, anchored in deeper water out in the fjord. By Aegir! What in the name of our Sea god is that? It is a monstrosity! Waddles like an old, fat washerwoman, and the sail has lost a corner! Where are the other drakkars? The raider chief put his arm around his somewhat shorter brother’s shoulder. Patience, brother! My men and I have had a long and dangerous journey. We are all hungry, and have been reduced to eating raw grain for five days. We have been drinking our own piss for two days now. Allow us some time with our wives and mothers. Knowing that he would have no peace about the outlandish ship, he pointed and said She comes from the far South. The survivors of her crew name her a dhow. She sails well, and carries a great cargo."

Seeing his wife, Gwynneth among the crowd, he shouldered his way to her and kissed her soundly despite her blushes. Instead of the braids preferred by the local woman, Gwynneth kept her hair held in a single plait that reached to her waist. No man besides Raginmund had seen her hair loosed since the day of her marriage.

The raider chief stalked off towards his winter quarters, Gwynneth having to skip and trot to match his long legged gait. Over his shoulder he remarked Now there is work to do. You, brother, to arrange the feast for the returning raiders, I have work that is long overdue. I have much to tell and show my wife, and she surely has much to show me. Lo! I might be late for the feast tonight! This sally was greeted by a ragged cheer. The men searched out their wives, finding secluded places to celebrate their homecoming. There would be surely some conceptions this night.

Gwynneth had been captured nine years ago as a slave on one of the raids to England. She was of Welsh extraction, with the dark hair and expressive eyes of the highborn Celt. Of slender build, she had the chiseled face reserved only for those women who keep their beauty into old age. At the dividing of the spoils after the summer’s raiding, Raginmund had offered to fight any man in single combat who wished to count her as part of his booty. There were no takers. As soon as possession had been ritually conferred on him, he had freed the woman and gave her a field of her own.

The courtship had been short but intense. There had been some talk of a fearsome warrior following a freed slave like a lost puppy. When he heard of it, he found the whisperers to be men, and murmured that he could forgive the prattling of women, but a man who belittled a man secretly but did not have the salt in his belly was not much of a man. The whispering stopped.

He married her, before all men and all gods as was the custom. She would not be a plaything, but his true and first wife. She was soon pregnant, but miscarried. Another three miscarriages followed. Although other men would have taken a second wife to provide him with sons, Raginmund would have none of it. Now, nine years later, even a fool could see their love. The lack of sons did not appear to bother Raginmund.

Entering his home, Raginmund removed his swordbelt and placed it on a shelf especially made for it. Gwynneth, knowing his need for her, silently went to their room and, naked, loosened her hair which spread around her shoulders and upper body like a black cloak. Her hair had always been a powerful aphrodisiac to Raginmund. She called his name softly and her husband entered, discarding his clothes still wet from his disembarkation.

There was no wild urgency in their lovemaking, just the practiced progression from the valley of renewing the sight of each others bodies to the mountain of climax, Gwynneth crying out, her limbs shuddering uncontrollably. Raginmund, spent, rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. Gwyneth’s hair covered both their torsos, and they lay there for a time. Then slyly and knowingly, she began to tease and stroke her husband’s manhood. That such a spear could shrink like new wool in water! she murmured. But a short while ago, it felt is if it had pierced my very heart, and I thanked the gods for it!

Raginmund stroked her breasts almost absentmindedly, knowing that her nipples were extremely sensitive. Soon, her breathing became labored and she rose, kneeling with her left side toward him. Slowly, too slowly, she bent over him and took him into her mouth. Tasting herself on him aroused her instantly, and soon she had straddled him and was moving, rubbing him back to tumescence. When he was fully erect once more, it took a much longer time for his seed to leave him.

By dusk, the homecoming feast had been prepared in the longhouse. The arrival of the raiding fleet galvanized the women and slaves of Lavik. Günnar always kept large amounts of mead and barley beer on hand, and his brewer was locally famous. He would have need of his stock this night. The returning men would have prodigious thirsts, and they had eaten only the fish the captured slaves could catch. To starve a slave is a stupid thing to do and of them alone, there were almost two hundred. The fish was eaten as it came out of the ocean. Only a fool started a fire aboard a longship.

Many pigs and much poultry was slaughtered and made ready. The meat dismembered and cut into large portions, it was roasted over hot coals, and was piled upon platters placed in the centre of the long tables. Pastries filled with the last of the summer berries, liberally laced with honey, were hastily baked and placed between the meat platters. Steam still rose from them and the aroma was a sweet, heady sweetness.

Tonight, all the wives of the raider’s wives, including those not yet returned, and their male progeny would be permitted. The children would eat their fill, and be permitted small draughts of sweet mead. Unaccustomed to alcohol, their heads would soon droop, leaving their parents enough time to rediscover each other later.

Günnar and his brother entered, talking quietly. Must we divide the spoils before the wives of those yet to return? Surely what is here belongs to those who became the masters of it? Raginmund scowled, his brows beetling. It can hardly be done in secret! All these men were present when battles were joined, storms braved and raids undertaken. Not all those who departed in the spring are here today. Their wives and their children are to be provided for.

Also, we do not know what has happened to either of our other drakkars. Until they return, we are obliged to at least provide and protect those that are theirs. Would you cause a slaughter even as we set foot in Sognafjord? Hastily, his brother answered Nay, brother! It is just that you and I have not spoken for half a summer, and presenting booty takes half the night. I have need of your company.

You will have all winter to see me, and your thirst for my company will be slaked soon enough, Raginmund rumbled softly. Günnar acquiesced quickly. The crews had grown slim by their voyages. Their faces had been tanned to the colour of old leather, and their eyes had seen much. They had the appearance of men always alert, always ready.

All the plunder had been removed from the longships in the fjord. Gruffly, their chieftain gave the order to bring the plunder into the longhouse. The tables had been moved to form a U, the brothers seated at the top. Raiders whose homes were further up the fjord would have first choice after the chieftains and the captains. The unspoken rule and habit of allowing each man to claim plunder as he chose would have caused fights, but at the end of a raiding season most of the men had had their fill of fighting. The seats faced the middle of the building, men and women at table together. Only at the homecoming of the raiding fleet were they seated thus.

A Norseman was served his food first and then his sons in order of their birth. Wives and daughters were free to whatever remained. What was brought into the longhouse fairly filled the available space. The new slaves, some of which had become rowers by dint of losses to Ragimund’s crews were brought in. Made to sit against the far wall, they were bound; right hand to their neighbour’s left foot. In addition, they were attached by knotted rope around their necks, loose enough to move in some comfort, tight enough to discourage excessive movement.

Some of Gunnar’s men, armed with spears, stood guard over them. They kept their distance. Slaves had been known to rush their captors, and those too close were in danger of being torn apart by desperate men. Most of the human loot had pale countenances, like their captors. A few were swarthy, and much smaller than their fellows. However, they appeared wiry, and an old saying warned that steel does not need thickness.

Among the darker skinned captives was a girl-child. She had probably seen twelve winters, and appeared thin. Do you bind children now, brother? We will have to plant an entirely new field simply to feed this starveling! Günnar laughed uproariously at his own joke. The smile from his brother was cold. Beware that wildcat, Günnar. Ask Amund here. Six days ago, he nearly lost a finger trying to discover if there were bushes growing in her fjord. Still amused, his brother said By Freya! Does she also have teeth down there?

Amund got out of his place on the long bench and walked up to his chief. He held the bandaged hand close to Gunnar’s face. He recoiled. There was the sweet smell of putrefaction. Quietly, almost confidentially, he said The poisonous bitch bit me! The wound is deep, and I may well lose this hand. I will have her useless life for wergeld! His commander pushed him back roughly.

What occurred is your own affair. You know full well that the gods punish those who would bring a child to his bed. If we must determine wergeld, the trial will be an open one. Do you wish your wife to know where you put your fingers when we go I Viking? Your home is two day’s sail inland. Perhaps your wife can cure your wound.

Amund walked away, muttering to himself and cradling the injured hand. Within a week, the poison had spread in a red line up his arm, and was slowly killing him. His wife, now fully informed of his preference for children, silently prayed for his death. Three days later, the gods answered her. Amund died, and in much pain.

Not being a chief, and disgraced, Amund’s corpse was simply put on a makeshift raft and allowed to drift out of the fjord on an ebb tide. All he took with him to the Halls of the Dead were his sword and shield. For all his strange tastes, he had been a good fighter. He would have need of his weapons if the gods found him worthy to enter Valhalla, where there was feasting and fighting for eternity.

The returned drakkars had acquired plunder well beyond their carrying space. What had been on the dhow had been simply sailed up by a prize crew, the captives forced to act as rowers on the longships where dead men had sat. A slave proving unwilling to row and row well learnt to swim. The seats for the rowers had been thrown overboard, and sacks of grain served as seats on the journey home.

There was jewelry enough to silence event the most acquisitive men, the most intractable wives. Enough gold to trade and purchase livestock, and slaves. Some, a little, of the gold would be used to exchange raw iron and beautifully wrought weapons from the trading Swedes. It was an arrangement that suited both sides well.

The Swedes thought the Norsemen fools to trade so much gold for iron mined by their slaves, and weapons made by their smiths. Günnar and his ilk could not understand why the stupid Swedes did not simply raid the rich monasteries to the south and get their gold easily enough. Small amounts of gold served to keep the goldsmiths in Sognafjord busy and happy. They were great artists, and knew the secrets of inlaying gold into steel.

Amongst the plunder, there were also fine wines and some of the liquor that looked like water, but burnt like a furnace in the gut, and hammered in the head like great Thor in the morning. Mixing it with honey sweetened mead made it more drinkable, but also made