Kings Without Lands: The Tavastian Trilogy, #1

By J. S. Halla

Svealand, 967 AD.

 

At just sixteen, Rotko, a skilled Tavastian hunter and son of a blacksmith, sets sail on his maiden voyage alongside his fellow Tavastians, bound for the bustling trading hub of Birka. Their mission: to secure better prices for the prized Tavastian furs.

Years later, having secured a prosperous marriage and established a lucrative fur trade with the influential Swedes, Rotko begins to dream of kingship in his homeland. But tragedy strikes with the brutal murder of Rotko's esteemed guest, shattering his ambitions in an instant.

As the headman of a rival clan vows vengeance for his son's death, Rotko finds himself inexorably drawn into a deadly game of power and survival. A scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air, drifting over the Sea and far beyond, as exiled kings seek to join forces.

 

Can a trader, hardened by the harsh realities of life, transform into a warrior and, ultimately, a king? In this martial adventure, characters familiar from medieval sagas and chronicles intertwine, weaving a masterful tapestry of prosperity, betrayals, and sacrifices.

 

"Kings Without Lands" marks the inception of "The Tavastian Trilogy," a sweeping saga that traverses the rivers and landscapes of the North and East.

Author J. S. Halla, a Finnish wordsmith, deftly summons the spirit of the Viking Age, captivating readers with tales of ambition, loyalty, and the unyielding struggle for power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. S. Halla
• Release date: Mar 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9789526544410

Book preview

PART I

Svealand and Tavastia

Chapter 1

Coast of Svealand, 967 AD.

The ship plowed the sea with the power of the fair northeast wind. It turned into the middle of the narrow strait gracefully like a swimming serpent .

The Tavastian crew sailed in strange waters, and none of its members had ever been this far west. Young Rotko leaned on the bow of the ship, enjoying the rapidly changing landscape of the archipelago. The steering oar of the ship was held by his bearded older brother, Kaukamo, who kept a close eye on the cliffs. Between the brothers sat the old master of their neighboring farm, Palvas of Miemala, and his firstborn son, Janakka.

Rotko, who had seen sixteen summers, tiredly rubbed his sunburnt cheeks. They were still boyishly smooth, even though his arms were strong beneath his rolled-up sleeves. He gazed on shoals and gray islets until he turned eagerly to the stern of the ship and broke the long silence: You should squint too. If this is Stocksund, we’ll be in Birka tonight.

Janakka looked at Rotko and grumbled, What else could I do? I had a miserable night.

Something about the red-eyed Janakka reminded Rotko of the beer-loving sailor whose instructions had helped them to sail so far. The guidelines consisted of a long chain of place names and landmarks that the crew had to memorize. According to him, somewhere southwest of the Åland Islands began the final part of the waterway, an inlet that led to the Bay of Mälaren, which expanded deep into the heart of Svealand.

The gods will judge that troll if he guided us wrong. He swore an oath in front of everyone, Rotko continued.

Calm down, lad, Palvas replied and grasped the closest horn of the oarlock. I know you’re on your first sea voyage, but I said I knew that old drunk. He wouldn’t have dared to lie.

Janakka grinned.

Just saying, Rotko mumbled, trying to hide his embarrassment.

In the middle of the strait were rocky islands overwhelmed by red-green pine trees. Suddenly, some men appeared on the shore of one of the islands and began to wave cheerfully at them. Rotko instinctively glanced at his weapons resting under his knapsack of birch bark. He had heard from the older men of the crew that many men on the coast provided for themselves by piracy.

Fishermen? he asked.

More like guards. So, this truly is Stocksund. How about that, Palvas answered. He explained that the islanders would light a large bonfire, a beacon, immediately into flames if some landless king arrived with his boats to threaten the rich and famous traders of Birka.

Kaukamo, listening to the men exchange words in the bow, announced: The wind is calming down. It’s time to lay oars in the water. Wake up the others.

The other half of the eight-man crew slept on the thwart benches in the middle of the ship: four Tavastian brothers who spoke a Finnish dialect of Rotko’s tribe’s language. Rotko had only gotten to know them on the sea voyage. They were the sons of the old King of Rikala and his Finnish wife, who lived on the borderland between Finland and Tavastia—their father was Rotko’s clan’s most important ally on the coast. Rikala’s firstborn, Unto, was the most experienced sailor on the crew and the ship’s skipper.

Wake up, sleepyheads! Palvas exclaimed. It’s time to row. Today, you’re going to see Birka!

After Rotko had shaken the brothers and pulled their cloaks from their faces, they lazily tore their shirts off. It was a hot summer day and soon they were all rowing hard along the bay, drenched in sweat. As the sun turned further west, the Tavastians caught sight of boats. Most of them headed to the west of the island, which was covered with birches, which the Tavastians accepted as their destination.

As Rotko's ship drew nearer to the island, his senses sharpened, dispelling any lingering numbness from the tranquility of the open sea. Many questions popped into his head. He eagerly fixed his gaze upon the western shore, where a bay unfolded beyond a modest headland. On its shores stood a sturdily fenced town, with smoke plumes rising into the sky from dozens of thatched roof houses. Although the town was well-fenced, a strong wooden fortress had been erected beside it.

The sight seized Rotko's breath, igniting a fervor within him. He was on his first long-distance journey, and the pace of his worldly enlightenment seemed to quicken with each passing moment. From escorting precious furs along Tavastia's winding horse paths to navigating the open sea, he now found himself on the cusp of reaching their ultimate destination. If this isn't Birka, then nowhere is! Rotko exclaimed to his companions, his finger pointing emphatically at the fortress adjacent to the town. His declaration prompted a brief diversion of attention from the crew. A shadowy figure could be discerned moving within the watchtower of the fortress, yet the presence of eight traders failed to warrant alarm. Instead of the Tavastians, the guard seemed to follow something more interesting in the town harbor.

The great harbor of Birka was also an unforeseen revelation for the Tavastians. The harbor was protected by a stunning line of wood poles in a semicircle. The pole wall was rammed into the mud at the bottom of the bay and there were two passageways on the wall from which vessels could safely navigate to the piers.

Unto moved to the bow and gave commands in a hoarse voice, making Rotko forget his restlessness.

Halikko, Halo, pile the sail fully out of the way! Helmsman, head for the southern passageway! Don’t forget to pull the oars in before the opening! Rotko, Palvas, remove the front oars from the locks quickly. The rest of you, clear the ropes under your sacks!

There were three piers in the harbor, and the southernmost of them had no boats. While the Tavastian ship glided slowly toward the free pier, a longship from the middle pier was just about to sail away. An escort of three men was watching its last preparations.

Rotko and Janakka jumped onto the free pier and started tying ropes to its poles. At the same time, they noticed that a spearman wearing a big leather helmet broke away from the escort party on the middle pier. He walked assertively over to them with his head tilted like a sheaf of wheat in the wind, looked at the guests, and asked in Swedish, "Varifrån kommer ni?"

Rotko didn’t understand the Swede but looked at his older brother, who cleared his throat.

"Tavastland. We… um… have a lot of good stuff, a lot of good furs," Kaukamo stuttered out in Swedish.

Rotko smiled slightly. He knew that his usually fluent brother had taken it upon himself to learn every Swedish word that both acquaintances and strangers knew between the sea and Lake Vanajavesi. The task had been arduous, but it immediately proved to be better than nothing.

Rotko assessed the impact of the speech on the harbor guard. He tried to see the situation through the eyes of a Birka man, and it couldn’t look like much: seven scruffy lads and one old beard. Half of the crew weren’t even wearing shirts.

Then, the guard spoke again, but in a tenser tone than before. Rotko immediately saw in his brother’s face what Kaukamo thought of what he had heard.

Twenty? Kaukamo jumped up. If I understood correctly, this bucket-head demands that we pay almost two dozen rare pelts as a toll. I’d rather sail back to Tavastia than give him a single hair from my furs. Even our common squirrel furs are the best you can get.

What? That’s two bundles. If you’re sure you have it right, Unto said and glared at the Swede suspiciously, There’s either a fathead or a pisshead under that ridiculous headgear. Right, boys?

I could try to shake it. Just a little, said Halikko, Rikala’s youngest brother, and clenched his fist around the oar. Maybe then we will find out which one he is.

The tired and hungry Tavastians looked at each other in frustration and disappointment.

"This Swede is really annoying me. He keeps saying tjugo. I’m sure it means twenty," Kaukamo said.

No one has said anything about such payment. Maybe he’s just a fraud. What would you say if he accidentally fell off the pier? Janakka asked.

The excitement caught Rotko, and he slowly stood up with Halikko who suggested: Or someone would skin him for a sailcloth’s patch?

Hold on! Plant your arses back on the bench, you fools. We didn’t sail here for a brawl, Palvas grumbled. Maybe we do have to pay a toll, but I’ll give my weights as a pledge that this man will be happy with a pair of quality furs.

The negotiations commenced quickly. Rotko, conceding to the wisdom of the old man’s counsel, resumed his seat. Memories flooded back of his father, Asikka, the parish’s blacksmith, who had grown weary of the greedy traders frequenting the Tavastia coast. Asikka had rallied capable families willing to equip a ship, aiming for better prices for their prized minivers and sables. Rotko found himself unexpectedly thrust into the venture when Asikka injured his hand just before departure, leaving an oar vacant for him to seize.

After a while, Rotko saw past the harbor that the long boat had cast off from the middle pier. Two men who had remained on the pier turned toward the Tavastians. At the same time, the situation on the southern pier escalated quickly, and not just because of language problems. Kaukamo, whose judgment often dragged far behind words, threw his own salt into the soup. The wrangle on the pier started to get out of control.

When the guard started prodding Kaukamo with his spear and then cut a hole in Halo’s shirt with his blade, Rotko also decided to head into the fray. He no longer cared about Palvas’s demand for restraint. Finally, the old man gave up on assuaging the younger ones’ anger, All right, then. Go punch each other, blockheads. Only Janakka stayed by Palvas’ side.

The guard’s eyes widened as Rotko and the others surrounded him on the pier. Hardened iron appeared in the Tavastians’ hands. At the same time, Halikko swept the guard’s legs with his oar, and the man fell on his back onto the pier.

The Swedish guard panicked. With his oversized helmet hanging over his eyes, he groped for his weapon, but Kaukamo pressed his foot on the guard’s wrist and nailed his hand to the pier with his knife.

Are you happy with the payment now? Kaukamo shouted sarcastically.

The guard cried once loudly with a high-pitched voice and began to hiss like a cat. The Rikala brothers glanced at each other and burst into boisterous laughter.

The approaching thud of boots silenced the pier.

Two men, who had been standing on the middle pier a moment earlier, marched to the southernmost pier. The younger of them was dressed in a blue cloak, an orange tunic shining beneath it. The tunic was tightened at the hips by a leather belt adorned with silver decorations, from which hung a sword with a bronze handle. A hammer pendant hung around his neck. Based on his clothing, Rotko knew that the blue-cloaked man was wealthy, even though he didn’t seem much older than the rest of the Tavastians—not counting Palvas. An older man with black tattoos spiraling across his face stood behind the blue-cloaked man. He watched the arrivals calmly while the blue-cloaked man kneeled to rip the knife out of the guard’s hand and spoke to him sharply. The guard squeezed his bleeding hand into his armpit and walked off the pier, grimacing.

The blue-cloaked man turned to greet the Tavastians: "Terve! I heard you sailed here from Tavastland. How do you say it, Häme, right?"

The Tavastians responded to the greeting sulkily. Rotko wondered how the Swede could say a few words in his own tongue.

Traders are always welcome in Birka. Do you understand what I’m saying?

Rotko realized the blue-cloaked one was assessing their language skills—and their heated emotions.

Who are you? Kaukamo asked.

I’m a trader myself and— the man began to say, but suddenly fixed his eyes on the boat’s bow. He walked up to a skillfully carved bear-head sculpture attached to the bowsprit, patted it with a smile, and nodded. Bjorn. That was my father’s name. I’m Olof Bjornsson.

Rotko exchanged glances with his brother: who was this man? The slow pace of the conversation was irritating, but Olof Bjornsson seemed in no hurry. Rather, he seemed amused by a situation where he could make a favorable impression by chance. In addition, he appeared genuinely curious and asked detailed questions about the journey and the cargo of the Tavastians. The guests answered what they could.

I’m starting to believe this man is different from the first one, Kaukamo remarked to his brother. Rotko felt the same way, even when Olof Bjornsson showed with his fingers that each trader should give him one fox or beaver pelt. In return, the man of Birka offered a berth, protection, and a lockable storehouse in the town. After his seemingly fair promise, Olof demanded that the Tavastian traders come that evening as his guests on the neighboring island. After a brief discussion, the Tavastians agreed to the offer.

Be at the storehouse tonight. You will be picked up as my guests, Olof announced as he stepped into the small rowing boat with his companion.

Rotko watched impressed as the gusts of wind that rippled across the water’s surface escorted the rowers to the shores of the neighboring island.

Finally, the party arrived with their belongings at the small storehouse Olof had shown them. Kaukamo grumbled about the cramped space—the cabin was hardly big enough for all of them. He was relieved when the Rikala brothers volunteered to spend the night on the boat. They would take down the mast and spread the ship's canvas over it to fashion a makeshift tent.

The sun was setting when Olof Bjornsson’s servant limped into the storehouse. He urged the guests to leave their weapons in Birka. Rikala’s Unto said it was wisest for him to stay with his brothers to guard the ship. He also noted it would be unwise to fully trust the sudden invitation. The escort shrugged and beckoned Kaukamo, Rotko, Palvas, and Janakka to follow him. Soon, the boat carried them across the strait between the islands. Once on the shore, Rotko saw a large farm complex looming between the trees and bushes. Olof’s servant called the place Hovgården. The Tavastians walked past the cattle, workshops, granaries, and other outbuildings to the longhouse. Standing in front of the house, they all marveled at the grand complex.

Our host must be a king if he’s able to maintain a mighty place like this, Janakka observed.

No, no. I’ve heard that the king of the Swedes lives further north in Uppsala, Palvas claimed, stroking his beard.

Kaukamo was silent. It was obvious that none of them knew, for sure, who the king of the Swedes was, or where he lived.

The main building of Hovgården was spacious. The walls of the hall were covered with shields and pelts and circled by benches. Olof Bjornsson, who got up from his seat behind the table, greeted his guests and began to introduce his people. Several swordsmen were present, including the tattooed man from the pier. Smiling tiredly, the host also introduced his pregnant wife, Ingeborg Thrandsdotter, his son Bjorn, and his younger sister Ingegerd Bjornsdotter.

The latter’s dimples immediately made an impression on Rotko. He thought he had never seen anything so enchanting. Ingegerd’s every gesture, gaze, and word launched a mysterious wave of euphoria through him. Nothing in the world could have stopped such a stream of power in a young man’s body, and Rotko didn’t want it to stop. He sensed so much joy and fascination in it. At the same time, the feeling was so stunning and surprising that he tried to calm himself down by avoiding looking in Ingegerd’s direction. He needed time to think about what was going on in his racing heart. So, he was relieved when she sat on the other end of the long table, away from him.

The guests settled onto the benches as the hostess signaled to the servants. Rotko's stomach growled audibly as drinking horns, bowls of mead, barley bread, and a roast pig were brought to the table. Olof raised his horn jovially, toasting the guests and the colorfully painted sculptures standing in the corner—figures that Rotko assumed to be the gods worshipped by his host.

In addition to the invited guests, Olof had also welcomed Masko, a Swedish-speaking tradesman from Finland. Masko appeared to be an honest man, his double-chinned face glistening with sweat and grease in the flickering firelight. At Olof's request, Masko served as an interpreter, facilitating conversation between the men.

At the end of the meal, the host belched and started a more serious talk: It is always a pleasure to dine with traders. You’ve come to the right place, Tavastians.

We always follow the call of honorable men, Palvas replied politely.

Not that our good reputation hasn’t attracted hostile crowds here for raids, but we have equipped the fortress and ships to protect our property. As my friend Masko knows, I am concerned about Birka’s safety these days.

Then, the kindness faded from his face.

Winds bring people to Birka from all directions and lands, but I haven’t come across any Tavastians here yet. We’ve noticed that strange traders sometimes move around our regions before an attack. My men and I, and even my wife, are keen to hear what the real purpose of your journey is. What are you looking for?

Rotko was astonished by the question, which was as provocative as it was surprising. The thought of defending a long-planned journey to Swedes frustrated and annoyed him. A little drunk, he didn’t wait for other people’s answers, but slammed his palms hard on the table and shouted, Tell this blind nincompoop that he saw our sail and our cargo. We’re nothing but traders!

Rotko was as amazed at his blunder as anyone else. When he noticed that Ingegerd was also looking at him, frowning, he blushed and settled down.

I apologize, Kaukamo said and made sure with his gaze and tone that his little brother did not continue whatever he had thought he was doing. Your beer is too strong for some of our crew.

Olof stared at the Tavastians still and quiet, yet Rotko heard Ingegerd saying something.

She wants to know what your brother said, Masko interpreted.

After Kaukamo had nodded, Masko interpreted Rotko’s words in a friendlier tone. Rotko could do nothing but listen and look at the table.

Kaukamo explained their cause in more detail: We are tired of Gotlanders visiting our shores. They’re just a bunch of robbers who love to sail for their own greed. You said you do trading too, so you know exactly what it’s like: dirty hands skim the cream off the surface, and those who do all the hard work are left with nothing but their fingers to lick. We want a better price for our minivers.

The serious man with tattoos on his face listened to the explanation calmly but then said from under his thick mustache: I’ve heard better stories. I say that the cargo is not yours, nor is the barter your cause.

If you had better weights in your head, you’d already know how much our words weigh. We have told you the truth, Palvas replied sharply.

The room fell silent for a few moments.

All right, I believe you. You’re not pirates, Olof said, staring at his guests. To be honest, you came at a good time. We need more furs. Cold winters have made them the best commodity. I have heard that the wilderness of Tavastia extends from the south coast to the west coast and is rich in game, full of bushy, shiny furs. You can’t get the same from the south, even if you bathe in silver, can you?

The Tavastians shook their heads, and everyone was happy that they had finally got to the point.

Gotlanders are good at deceiving even an experienced merchant. If you ally with me, you will be fairly compensated for your troubles. I can buy all your furs right now. What do you say?

Rotko frowned and turned to his older brother, who muttered expressionlessly that the meal wasn’t free after all.

I’ll give you time to think, Olof said, lightening the mood, because after hearing your story, I’m not going to force you to do anything. There are already enough things here for one night. Rest, patch your sails, trade, and explore our town in peace.

Kaukamo nodded.

But before you do, you must enjoy the offerings of my table. Drink and eat as much as you want. My slaves will row you back in the morning.

Kaukamo thanked Olof for his hospitality. He announced that the first thing he and his fellows wanted to do was go around and see what the town had to offer.

Olof and his people didn’t continue on the subject, and the summer night went on without worries.

Rotko kept secretly glancing in delight at Ingegerd throughout the evening. He wondered if he would have dared to say a word to her if he could speak more than two or three words of Swedish. Then, she disappeared somewhere, and the idea that the sister of the lord of mighty Hovgården could ever be fond of a poor hunter-boy from Tavastia felt as intriguing as it did ridiculous. Smiling sadly at the thought, Rotko decided it was wisest to bury his feelings deep inside his heart before he started imagining too much and embarrassed himself even worse. After all, they were spending only a short time in the town.

He quickly drank himself to sleep that night.

Over the next few days, the Tavastians received good offers for their furs, though most buyers withdrew after hearing that the sellers were living in Olof Bjornsson’s storehouse. The reason for this became clear in the harbor, where they met Masko, who was arranging his affairs there. He shed light on their host’s background. At first, the Finn told the lucky Tavastians that they had been treated and taken care of as well as a precious silk garment. Olof possessed the coveted three-day right of forestallment—a privilege to procure goods in the kingdom's interest or exploit potential price surges before they reached Birka's eager markets. Yet, on this occasion, he chose to abstain from exercising this right.

Rotko was not blind, but the next thing he was surprised to hear was that Olof really was of royal blood. Masko, who was well-informed about the Swedes’ affairs, said that Olof was not the only king of the Swedes, and not even a legitimate king yet. The Swedes of Svealand were ruled by two kings at the same time, one living in Birka and the other further north in Uppland. Olof’s father, King Bjorn Eriksson of Birka, had died early. Now, the only king was Bjorn’s brother, Emund Eriksson.

At first, young Rotko found it difficult to understand the complicated hierarchy of the Swedes, but he gradually realized that they would soon have two kings again. Masko said that Emund would not be able to hold on to power long because the sons of his brother, Olof and Erik, had begun to perform duties as rulers of the Swedes once they had reached the age of sixteen. Emund, however, still kept his nephews under his thumb, so there wouldn’t be too many kings. Furthermore, the decrepit old Emund was not expected to live long, and there were no challengers for the family in sight.

Then, it is only a matter of time before Olof is named the true king of Birka, Kaukamo said. We must stay on good terms with him.

Masko nodded, looking amused, and continued: Fortunately, our friend has strong support in Birka, as there are rumors that Emund prefers Erik in everything. He would like Erik to be the sole heir to the kingdom.

Is that due to Emund’s greed or stupidity? Janakka asked.

There are many things that have caused wounds in that family. One is that Emund tried to force his niece to marry an old earl. The girl ran away to Olof’s place.

Rotko flinched. You mean Ingegerd?

Yes, indeed. You haven’t forgotten her smile, have you? Masko laughed and winked licentiously. Olof lets his sister do what she wants, which annoys the king even more.

The head of the Birka stands in a precarious position, Unto summarized in his hoarse voice, though the Tavastians had no great interest in the problems of the Swedes—they had their own business to attend to.

After the king’s three-day priority to buy had expired, most of the furs brought by the Tavastians were snapped up as quickly as scraps thrown to hungry dogs.

Go hunt your own furs, if ours are worth nothing, Rotko learned to snap in Swedish if someone was too eager to bargain.

They decided to leave a third of the furs for sale to Olof, whom everyone wanted as a trading partner for the coming years as well. After many exchanges, Rotko and Kaukamo also got their hands on some luxurious items that were rarely seen in Tavastia: a big roll of deep blue fabric, Byzantine silk, glass beads, salt, and a stack of bronze bars from which Asikka could craft jewelry to sell.

They also had time to explore Birka and its surroundings. There were hundreds of people moving around on the island, even though it wasn’t market time—far more than the Tavastians were accustomed to seeing. The air resonated with the sounds of artisans, animals, and children, while the aroma of smoke, fish, and dung pervaded Birka's streets. People from all shores spent time by the storehouses.

The Asikkala brothers held great reverence for the gods, their curiosity piqued by the grand, thatched longhouse rumored to be a sacred shrine. They had heard that within its walls, the gods of Birka were worshipped. Rotko believed the most revered among them to be Odin, the father god, and his son Thor, the god of thunder.

Unable to resist his curiosity, Rotko once followed a group into the building. Inside, he observed locals burning the first harvest's cereals in an iron cauldron, positioned before a goddess named Freyja. In the dim twilight, Rotko's gaze also fell upon another, more curious sculpture—a ribald depiction of a sitting man with a hat and mustache, a brass phallus protruding from his crotch towards the soot-stained ceiling.

In the vibrant town, there were also Christians, followers of the executed son of God. They had built their place of worship, which they called a church, outside the town from timber. The building had been there for several generations, since the days of the holy man Ansgar.

Rotko thought the followers of the White Christ seemed peaceful but determined people. Only one of them preached repentance and the atonement of sins in his black cowl, but the locals treated him with indifference.

Chapter 2

The Tavastians had stayed for half a moon in Birka when Masko caught up with them. Kaukamo and Janakka were weighing pieces of silver on the scale, and the others stood beside them.

Health to you all! Have you sold all your goods yet? the Finnish trader asked.

A third of the goods are still in the storehouse, and those are for Olof. We decided there's no need to rush. The profit is good, and we’ve come a long way, Rotko replied, standing close to Masko.

I’m going to sail back to Finland with a tailwind.

This is not the last west wind yet, Unto of Rikala answered.

There is another reason to sail away in good weather, Masko said. Olof sent me word from Uppsala that all people should be avoided. I thought this news would interest you too.

The weighing was interrupted. A curious silence descended over the Tavastians. Many of them noticed that something new was glinting strikingly from under Masko’s gray cloak: a cross-shaped lucky charm.

What? Why? Has something happened? Palvas asked.

Unfortunately, yes, although it’s not yet visible on the streets. The wrath has come upon Birka, for the plague has arrived in these regions. It is said to be of a kind that fells even sturdy men into a feverish sleep, kills children, and spreads like wildfire in the wind from house to house. You would be wise to avoid people who look sick. I myself saw a fisherman shivering feverishly. He couldn’t stop scratching the swellings on his face. That’s when I decided that this island and the Finns could do without each other.

There are many kinds of plagues. Not all of them are deadly, Palvas said soothingly.

Most of them are, and I can’t afford to stay and find out. Why don’t you boys go home while you still can? Autumn is coming fast. How many tailwinds do you think you’re still going to get? Next summer, you can come again if the wrath has ended. May the gods be with you, the Finnish trader said, and no one saw him after that.

I don’t give a crap if someone’s a bit under the weather. Children’s diseases don’t knock down a robust grown-up. I have struggled with various plagues and here I stand, a man in his best strength, Janakka said and pointed to his pox-scarred face.

Palvas grunted approvingly at his son’s words, but Rotko was gloomy. We’ll see about that. As good as it’s been so far, it would be cruel if our journey ended here. He remembered many people in his home district who had been killed by fiendish disease. Coming out of nowhere, the plague was a familiar guest on every farm, but never welcome. The indiscriminate ruthlessness of the disease terrified every healthy person.

None of us have yet seen or heard any sign of the disease. What if it’s just a rumor? There is no need to rush away after such a great journey, Unto of Rikala shrugged.

If only we could strike a good deal with the head of the Birka, there would be one more good story to tell back home. Besides, I still haven’t had the chance to make out the girl who trades fish in the harbor. I swear she’s smitten with me, Halo of Rikala said with a twinkle in his eye.

The others laughed freely.

Very well, we’re in no hurry, Kaukamo said. But let’s make a sacrifice to the local gods. Maybe they’ll protect us.

Everybody thought that was an excellent idea. The Tavastians decided to equip their ship for the journey home and to sell their cargo within four days, whatever the weather. They bought eight roosters and cut their necks, dedicating their blood to the gods of the shrine. Then, they ate the meat they had butchered and raised each other’s spirits, sharing ribald stories while enjoying some beer. Palvas commented that the journey had been more successful than he ever dared to hope.

Two days later, Rotko woke up with a terrible headache. He felt as if a berserk blacksmith had used his head as an anvil. He had already been unwell the day before, but now he threw up violently in the corner of the storehouse and assumed he had drunk spoiled beer the night before.

The others left him alone and sailed to the neighboring island, where they had been invited to buy bread, fish, and beer for their journey home.

The ache didn’t go away after resting, so in the afternoon, Rotko decided to search for a healer who could mix the right herbs for him. However, none of the people he met understood his questions and did not know how to help the stranger. Eventually, he sat down in despair on the shore next to a stone adorned with mysterious snake carvings.

There may be strong magic in the carvings. Maybe I’ll get better by resting near them, Rotko hoped. But the pain didn’t go away. Instead, he threw up and began shivering as if he had just stepped out of an ice hole, even though the late summer air was warm. That’s when he saw a familiar maiden getting into the boat with another, a strange-looking woman.

Ingegerd. Rotko recognized Olof’s sister and remembered with hope their friendly exchange of looks at Hovgården.