The Adventures of Helgi the Viking

In the days that followed Helgi’s fateful journey to the dairy, he was dismayed to learn that rumours of the Ericssons’ humiliation had swept the district and were causing a minor sensation. It had proved impossible to hush the matter up because the shameful evidence had been witnessed first-hand by Eric’s washer-woman, whose job it had been to scrub the mess off the brothers’ clothes, and who had spread the news around the neighbourhood. The one blessing was that Helgi’s father was so wrapped up in his own troubles that he seemed quite unaware of the situation—or at least he never mentioned it.

Helgi had barely set foot outside the boundaries of the farm since the incident, but Malachi made it his business to keep him informed of all the local gossip. According to Malachi, Thorgrim and his brothers were furious. Being felled by a twelve-year-old boy on a small pony was a much greater embarrassment to them than being brought down in a conventional ambush. Thorgrim in particular felt that he had been dealt a mortal insult. Not only had his favourite hat been indelibly stained by the exploding skyr, but his reputation as a person to be feared had been seriously tarnished too.

Malachi had taken to muttering dire warnings within Helgi’s earshot as often as possible.

‘If you’re expecting people to praise you for taking a courageous stand against oppression, you should think again,’ he said, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘Most of our neighbours are calling it the lunatic act of a doomed man.’

Then, turning to Gerda and shaking his head with a gloomy countenance, Malachi said: ‘I’ve learned not to expect neighbourly forgiveness among a heathen people. Feuds like this always end in bloodshed, and if I were in Helgi’s position, facing almost certain death, I would pray for deliverance. The boy should repent of his misdeeds and beg God to have mercy on his soul. Then he may still go to heaven, should a fatal incident arise, as seems most likely …’

Helgi tried to comfort himself with the thought that Malachi predicted disaster on every occasion and enjoyed wallowing in other people’s misery.

There was plenty to keep Helgi occupied on the farm. He was helping to break a young pony for his uncle, and he had Kol to look after, as well as the other horses kept at the Forge. He escaped from the house whenever he could and spent most of his time in the stables, brushing down the horses and cleaning out the stalls, or in the corral, training the pony, at the end of a long rope, to walk, trot, and gallop in a circle.

But when he wasn’t working, Helgi fretted against his self-imposed confinement. He was living in fear of his life, a virtual prisoner on the farm, no longer at liberty to roam around the neighbourhood and climb on the rocks down by the sea. He was worried too about Thorstein’s challenge to play against him at stickball at the autumn games, and what that would entail.

Embla didn’t offer him any sympathy. She was clearly exasperated with him for ignoring her warnings.

One evening, Helgi came in to find her sitting at the table in a pool of lamplight and scraping at something with a small knife. As he had nothing better to do, he sat down on the bench to watch her. She was scratching something on her ivory haircomb, and concentrating so hard that she did not even look up. She blew the dust away and traced the row of strange signs with her finger, pronouncing the sounds they made.

Helgi asked her what she was doing.

‘Marking my comb with my name so it won’t get lost,’ she said.

‘Read it again.’

‘Em–b–la. See? Each rune makes a different sound. Put the sounds together and you make a word. Every rune has its own name too: “e” is “horse”, “m” is “man”, “b” is “birch”, “l” “water”, and “a” “oak”. So if I wanted to write the word “man”, I could just use the “m” rune, to save time. People who can read would know what I meant.’

[SET RUNES HERE]

‘I wouldn’t mind being able to read runes and cut them,’ said Helgi. Embla glanced up, surprised to learn that he had any studious interests.

‘I suppose any hobby that keeps you out of trouble is worth encouraging,’ she said, smiling at him.

She told him the rest of the letters he would need to carve his name: ‘h’ for ‘hail’, ‘g’ for ‘gift’, and ‘i’ for ‘ice’, and showed him how to cut them on a stick.

[SET RUNES HERE]

Helgi worked hard over the next few days, memorizing letters as Embla taught them to him and carving words or little messages for her to read on anything that came to hand—rocks, bones, scraps of wood. Soon he had learnt the whole alphabet. By the end of the second week, most of his possessions were covered in graffiti, but he was proud of what he had achieved. Embla wrote him little notes and left them hidden in places where he would be sure to find them. Finding a note and being able to decipher it gave him a small frisson of pleasure. Sometimes he knew there was a message waiting for him because Embla would throw him a questioning glance, as if to say, ‘Well, have you found it yet?’ Some of them served a practical purpose; others contained jokes or private gossip. One morning, when putting on his boots, he discovered a message hidden inside the right toe. It was carefully incised on a small wooden tablet and addressed ‘To the Runemaster’. He had to read it several times before it made sense.

The lady who engraved this slip of wood
asked me to send you her compliments.
Practise your craft often.
Let friendship flower.

Helgi kept the note hidden underneath his pillow and occasionally took it out to look at it. It seemed to him like a riddle. Sometimes he felt the last three words bore some deeper meaning. He knew, at any rate, that he would be teased if anyone found it, and in the end he threw it on the fire.

The secret correspondence relieved some of the dreariness of being confined to the farm, but Helgi felt sick and ill from having to endure Malachi’s taunts and from fear of what the Ericssons might do to him when they caught him. Whenever he left the house, Embla said, ‘Don’t go off on your own.’ This never failed to annoy him. He grew particularly jealous when she came back from one of her plant-gathering forays, healthy, happy, and rosy-cheeked after romping freely for miles along the coastal path. He had to take Kol with him for protection even if he only wanted to go over to the Manor.

His nightmares were worse than ever. He sprang awake one night, drenched in sweat. The dream had begun in the same way as usual—the walls and rafters ablaze, people screaming, smoke pouring into the cold dark sky. He could not leave the hall without his father, but somehow he had lost him, and now he was alone, stumbling through the blackened shell of the building in thick, suffocating fog. He caught sight of a dim figure moving ahead of him. The fugitive slipped through the wall like a ghost. When Helgi reached the place, the breach in the wall had closed up, but he passed through the wall anyway and emerged outside. His father had vanished and he found himself surrounded by the burners, their exultant faces lit up in the dull red glare. The tallest one stepped forward; he was wearing a broad-brimmed hat and brandishing a heavy axe. Helgi remembered he had Footbiter, but when he tried to draw it all he found was a useless piece of driftwood …

He sank back onto the straw mattress and tried to put aside his dream. It was the early hours of the morning, but daylight was already pouring in under the eaves and he could hear birds singing outside. He remembered, with a twinge of happiness, that it was his thirteenth birthday.

Helgi rolled over in bed and pondered what to do about Thorstein’s challenge. He couldn’t refuse or ignore it—not if he valued his honour. Perhaps he could turn the match to his advantage. It might provide an opportunity to settle things between them. If he could keep out of their way until the autumn, the games would be the first chance the Ericssons had to exact their revenge, and he was less likely to suffer an agonizing death if a crowd of spectators were watching.

The problem was that he knew very little about stickball, whereas Thorstein and his brothers were all keen and experienced players. Helgi had overheard Audun and the other farmworkers arguing about the relative merits of various stickball players and recalling classic moments in the matches they had seen. They always assumed that everyone knew what they were talking about, and they all held such strong opinions that Helgi had thought it best to keep quiet about his total ignorance of the game.

Helgi knew it was only a matter of weeks before the autumn games. He decided to go over to the Manor and ask Audun about the rules of the game. It would be embarrassing to reveal how little he knew, but he preferred a bold course of action to doing nothing. It was just possible that Audun might jump at the chance to play against Thorgrim. He would be doing Audun a favour, in fact, because if Audun wasn’t prepared to challenge Thorgrim to a duel, the games would be the next best way for him to inflict a humiliating blow on his enemy.

The hay harvest had just begun so Helgi spent most of his birthday in the fields with Jorund and Karl, scything the tall meadow grass, while the women—Gerda and Embla—raked and turned it so it could be bundled and stacked when dry. He threw himself into the hard work, which left him in a good healthy state of exhaustion and diverted his mind from worry, but towards the end of the afternoon he slipped away unnoticed and made his way down to the Manor to find Audun.

As he entered the gate, he saw there was some unusual activity in the yard. A horse and wagon were standing outside the house. Boxes were being unloaded in an atmosphere of bustle and excitement. Helgi’s uncle Arnor was supervising the unloading and talking animatedly to a tall young man whose bearing was distinguished and refined. Arnor’s wife Astrid was clinging to the man’s arm, her face shining with happiness. The man wore a peacock-blue cloak fastened with a silver pin and a small hat of the same colour with a brown feather stuck in it. His boots were of soft brown leather, fashionably cut, with large turn-overs at the ankle. An ornate sword hilt was visible in the scabbard hanging by his side. Although Helgi did not know him, his features were familiar—he had the same blonde hair, swept back from his forehead, as Arnor, and the same pale skin and high cheekbones and tiny tuft of beard trimmed to a point. But his eyes were colder and his posture exuded arrogance. He looked a little bored by the attention he was receiving.

‘Ah, here’s Helgi! Let me introduce you to your cousin! This is our son Hedin.’

Hedin bowed graciously, and Helgi—surprised by this courteous gesture—bowed back, suddenly self-conscious about his scruffy appearance after a day working in the fields. He brushed some hayseed off his clothes.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve been gathering hay all day.’

A look of disdain flashed across Hedin’s face at the mention of farmwork.

‘Hedin has been away for so long on his voyages, but he’s back home now for the whole winter,’ said Arnor.

‘It’s so good to have him home at last,’ said Astrid, giving her son an affectionate hug. Hedin smiled condescendingly. ‘Such a beautiful gift,’ she murmured, twisting her waist to show off a large silver brooch pinned to her belt.

‘Hedin has been telling us about his adventures while we’ve been unloading his baggage.’

‘Just a few souvenirs,’ said Hedin casually, regarding the large heap of boxes. He lifted the lid of one of them, removed some wadding, and took out a bundle of cloth, which he proceeded to unwrap. Inside the wrapping lay a splendid horse harness with gilt-bronze mounts. ‘Gold-Harald gave me some parting gifts for my war service. All in all, quite a profitable trip. Gold-Harald was given a few bits and pieces himself, when we met the King of England.’

Helgi’s eyes widened in amazement.

‘You met the King of England?’

Hedin nodded slightly but made no effort to elaborate. Helgi wondered whether Hedin moved in such exalted circles that meeting the English king was an everyday occurrence for him.

‘Gold-Harald must have done well for himself to have given you all these gifts,’ said Helgi.

‘Indeed he has,’ replied Arnor. ‘Gold-Harald was leading the expedition. He’s the nephew of the Danish king, Harald Bluetooth. He’s almost a king in his own right—a great sea-king! Unfortunately he has no kingdom of his own, but he’s ambitious and he’s amassed a huge fortune from raiding, so who knows? Gold-Harald’s certainly a man whose friendship is worth cultivating. The expedition attracted a lot of interest. Many of the best warriors in the north joined up—Hedin was fortunate to get a place in one of the ships.’

‘We were able to pull a few strings, make use of some well-connected friends. My Danish relatives are frequent guests at the royal court,’ Astrid confided, with obvious self-satisfaction.

‘That’s not all—Hedin’s been invited to join Gold-Harald’s men next summer, when the raiding season starts up again. And Gold-Harald’s going to put in a good word for him with his uncle, the Danish king. So if things work out, Hedin will be spending some time at Harald Bluetooth’s court.’

‘Did I mention, father,’ Hedin interrupted, ‘that I met two people on the voyage who are applying to Jomsborg this year? Thorkel the Tall and his brother Sigvaldi.’

‘Excellent!’ beamed Arnor. ‘Pity you’re not quite old enough to apply this time round, but there’s a good chance that Palnatoki will accept you next year when you turn eighteen.’

‘What a wonderful stroke of luck! If your friends get in, maybe they’ll recommend you for the brotherhood too,’ gushed Astrid. ‘Every aspiring young man dreams of getting into Jomsborg! The training is terribly rigorous, but there’s the chance to gain wealth and prestige, meet people in high places, and make a good marriage when one decides to settle down.’

‘It would indeed be an honour to be admitted to Jomsborg—assuming I pass the test,’ said Hedin with an air of smug confidence.

‘There can be little doubt of that, my son,’ said Arnor, swelling with pride.

‘Palnatoki must be a great man,’ said Helgi, embarrassed that he didn’t know who Palnatoki was but curious to find out more.

‘He certainly is! He’s become a legend in his own lifetime, you might say,’ said Arnor grandly. ‘You have heard of Jomsborg—the mighty fortress in the Baltic?’

Helgi did not answer either way, so Arnor continued: ‘Miesko the Wendish king had it built not long ago, to protect the coast from pirates, and Palnatoki governs it on his behalf. His warriors live under a strict rule of conduct. It’s very difficult to get in. Anyone who wishes to join the brotherhood must have a proven record of courage and great deeds.’

‘Though it doesn’t hurt to know the right people,’ added Astrid.

‘No, no, you’re mistaken, my dear. Individual merit is what counts,’ said Arnor with a reproving glance.

There was a sudden commotion just above their heads. Helgi looked up and saw Audun sitting astride the turf roof of the farmhouse and waving his arms about.

‘What’s Audun doing up there?’ asked Helgi.

‘Oh, he’s trying to coax down a sheep,’ Arnor explained. ‘One of them strayed into the yard and liked the look of the fresh grass up there.’

‘I’ll give him a hand,’ said Helgi, glad to have an excuse to get away.

‘Hedin and I will drop in on your father later,’ called Arnor after him.

‘He’d like that.’

Audun was thoroughly annoyed. Every time he tried to shoo the sheep back the way she had come, she trotted obstinately to the other side of the grassy slope and continued to nibble. The pristine blades of grass had never been trampled by hooves or sullied with dung and were clearly too tempting to give up. Helgi crawled along the roof-ridge, and edged his way down the slope, grabbing handholds of grass to prevent himself slipping. He gave the sheep’s woolly bulk a shove. She bleated loudly in protest and skittered back along the roofline and down onto the grassy slope behind the farmhouse.

‘Thanks, Helgi,’ said Audun gratefully. ‘Did you see the mark on her ear?’

‘Yes! She’s not one of ours, is she?’

‘No, she belongs to Eric. Thorgrim deliberately drives their sheep over to our side of the valley and encourages them to graze on our land.’

‘Why does he do that?’

‘Just to annoy Arnor. It’s his way of showing that he doesn’t respect Arnor’s boundaries. That’s one of the reasons why Arnor’s fallen out with Eric. Thorgrim’s got his eye on Arnor’s property. He’d rather live on the headland.’

‘So would I,’ said Helgi. ‘Stapi’s got the best climbing-rocks.’ He crawled back up and perched on the roof-ridge. ‘But Arnor got here first. Anyway, Arnor doesn’t own the whole headland, whereas Eric owns most of the bay. Eric’s got loads of land.’

‘Yeah, but it’s split in two by a sodding great lavafield.’

‘Why doesn’t Thorgrim set up a farm on the other side of the lava?’ asked Helgi.

Audun shrugged. ‘Dunno. Probably thinks Stapi would give him a more commanding position, or something. He’d like to get his hands on the whole headland, I reckon.’

‘Yeah, I bet he would,’ agreed Helgi.

‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ remarked Audun.

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘You mean you’ve been keeping a low profile. I heard all about your little run-in with the Ericssons.’

‘The Ericssons don’t frighten me. Kol and I were more than a match for them,’ Helgi replied coolly.

‘Well, you’ve certainly proved that you’re no coward, though some people would say that attacking the three of them like that was a stupid thing to do. It was asking for trouble. I don’t envy your position now.’

‘Malachi thinks they’re going to kill me,’ Helgi said with a wry smile.

‘He could well be right,’ said Audun.

‘Not that I regret what I did. A bold man never shrinks from his opponents, no matter who they are.’

‘True,’ said Audun, ‘but a wise man takes a moment to consider his chances of survival before rushing into action.’

‘Maybe. … Actually, I don’t know what came over me,’ Helgi said, with a strange, unhappy laugh.

He seemed genuinely mystified by his own behaviour.

Audun felt a growing sense of irritation and bewilderment. He just couldn’t figure Helgi out. It was as if he was driven by a strong inner preoccupation or fixity of purpose that made him forgetful of his diminutive size and strength.

He thinks he’s an outlaw, but he’s not—he’s nothing but a poser, a spoiled brat who’s had everything handed to him, and thinks he can always get his own way, Audun decided. It would probably do him good to get beaten up by Thorgrim. He’s not living in the real world. He acts as if he’s on a different level to the rest of us. It’s as if he’s saying ‘Hey, look at me, I’m going to prove how hard I am by insulting the meanest, toughest men in the neighbourhood’, though he knows full well what the consequences will be. Then he comes round here expecting me to offer him support. Well, I’ve got enough troubles of my own without shouldering his as well.

‘You’re in luck, as it happens,’ Audun told him. ‘Under normal circumstances, Thorgrim probably would kill you. But he won’t dare to do anything once he hears Hedin’s back.’

‘Why?’

Audun glanced down over the end of the gable and lowered his voice. ‘Because Hedin’s the only person Thorgrim’s afraid of. His reputation as a warrior is unrivalled in these parts. Hedin will feel obliged to protect you because you’re his cousin. So there’s no need for us—for you to worry.’

‘I’m not worried,’ replied Helgi. ‘And I’ve got no intention of grovelling to anyone for help.’

‘He’s a good man, is Hedin,’ said Audun. ‘We used to hang out together before he went away on his travels. We became sworn friends. Of course, we’ve both moved on a bit since those days.’

When Hedin had arrived home, he had greeted Audun warmly, as if they were still old friends. Hedin was far too gracious to lord it over Audun, and there was no need for him to do so. His elegant attire, the aura of celebrity surrounding him, and the rumours and gossip that circulated about his exploits whenever he returned home, made the difference between them all too obvious. Audun was acutely conscious of it.

‘Actually, I came over because I need some advice,’ Helgi said. He explained about the challenge Thorgrim had given him.

‘You have to accept the challenge,’ said Audun firmly. ‘But they’re bound to use the match as an opportunity to get back at you. If I were you, I’d start training right away.’

‘Yeah,’ said Helgi. He plucked some grass from the roof and rolled it between his fingers. They sat in silence for a few moments until Helgi gave a small chuckle and said, ‘This is going to sound ridiculous, but I’ve never played stickball before. I’m not sure of the rules.’

‘Never played stickball?’ Audun cried, with a burst of laughter. Helgi blushed in mortification, but endured the ridicule, hoping that now he had given Audun a good laugh, Audun might give him some advice in return.

When Audun had recovered from his mirth, he said, ‘Learning the rules will be the least of your worries—there are so few to remember. You’ll need a stick and some stout footwear. They hold the games ever year at Winter Eves—you know, the autumn feast?’ Helgi nodded, and Audun went on: ‘The ball games take place on the lake at Leikskalar Fields, which is usually frozen hard by mid-October. You’ll need to treat the soles of your boots with tar and sand, to make them less slippery. I guess you’re used to moving around on ice, having lived so far north.’

‘I can ski,’ said Helgi. ‘Back home, we used skis to get about in the winter months when the snow got deep. The reindeer used to wander all over the island and it was the easiest way to track them down for the autumn round-up …’

Helgi wondered sadly what had become of Luomi and the rest of the herd since Aslak had taken them back with him to the country of the Finns. He would probably never see them again. He was in a foreign land, utterly friendless, bereft and alone. Suddenly, he was gripped by an anxiety so desperate that his eyes welled up and he felt physically ill.

A minute of gloomy silence passed. Helgi sat lost in his morbid fantasy, thumping his heel slowly and rhythmically against the sloping turf. Audun watched him and said nothing. He was determined not to feel guilty about Helgi. His hopes were already hanging by the thinnest of threads, as far as Solveig was concerned, and if he backed Helgi against her cousins she might never forgive him. Hedin ought to protect him in any case, he told himself.

But something prevented him from concentrating on these thoughts. Something kept tugging at him and interfering with his resolution. If Thorgrim gives you a hard time, just let me know … Audun looked away and shook his head as if to clear it. You can’t just leave things as they are … You will take him on sooner or later.

Audun glanced at Helgi suspiciously. He had the peculiar feeling that Helgi was somehow responsible for planting these nagging reminders in his head. He told himself not to listen. Then he told himself he was being ridiculous. It was his own conscience speaking to him and he probably ought to listen. With a surge of annoyance, Audun realized that the responsibility had fallen to him.

Helgi roused himself and made a move as if to go.

‘Well, thanks for the advice,’ he said, with a resigned smile. ‘I’d better start practising.’

When he saw that Helgi was about to leave, Audun expected to feel relief, but strangely he did not. Instead, he was plunged into a state of turmoil, almost panic. His fears for Helgi’s safety became too compelling to ignore any longer—suddenly they dominated everything else. He struggled, but then a burning desire to save Helgi took hold of him. It was so strong, so disproportionate, that for a moment he felt he would have undertaken anything for Helgi, for he could make no distinction between Helgi’s needs and his own.

‘Look, Helgi,’ Audun said urgently, ‘I know you would never ask for help, but I did make you a promise and I intend to honour it. I’m a big fan of the game. I’ve played in matches before and I don’t see why this year should be any different. I’ll ask around and if enough people are interested we could form a team.’

‘Thanks, Audun!’ Helgi gasped in relief. He felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude towards the older boy.

Audun felt elated too, though he wasn’t sure why.

‘I really appreciate this because I know how much is at stake for you. You’re a true friend!’ Helgi said, grasping Audun’s hands.

Audun laughed, and said, ‘No offence, Helgi, but I’m surprised they asked you to play. You’re not particularly strongly built. People don’t normally compete at the games until they’re at least fourteen and a good deal taller and heavier than you.’

‘Size isn’t everything,’ said Helgi. He felt buoyant now he knew he wouldn’t be facing the Ericssons on his own. He could take anything on, he thought, with good friends like Audun by his side.

When he got back to the Forge, he was surprised to find his father looking less grim-faced than usual—in fact, he seemed positively cheerful. Helgi decided that this would be a good time to ask him for permission to go to the autumn games.

‘I’ll be going with Audun and some of Audun’s friends. Audun’s going to get a team together,’ he said disingenuously.

He did not like lying but neither did he want his father to know the whole truth.

‘Audun seems like a sensible lad. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go,’ said Halfdan absent-mindedly.

Gerda brought Helgi a cup of milk and a plate of cheese and boiled sausage, which he wolfed down. Halfdan sat staring contemplatively into the fire, but finally broke the silence.

‘I had a visitor this afternoon.’

‘Was it Hedin? I met him too. He said he’d call in on you.’

‘Did you talk to him?’ his father asked curiously.

‘A bit. He told me about his plans. To join, er—Palnatoki. And I saw all the stuff he’d brought back from his travels—a huge pile of boxes filled with treasure.’

‘Really?’ said Halfdan thoughtfully. ‘Hedin seems like a promising young man. He’s already made quite a name for himself. Intensely ambitious. He’s been raiding every summer since the age of twelve. I had quite an interesting conversation with him.’

‘He met the King of England!’

‘Yes, so Arnor told me at great length. Boasting about all famous people his son had been hobnobbing with on his travels.’ Halfdan smiled, amused, then looked suddenly serious. ‘He’s got a lot of contacts, it seems. I think he could be useful to us, Helgi. I need people I can count on, and Hedin is not only my nephew but an experienced fighter. He’s offered me his help. Well, it was only a vague offer, but I intend to take him up on it.’

Halfdan’s mouth curled into an enigmatic smile. Helgi waited for some further explanation, but his father didn’t seem disposed to talk any more. Helgi didn’t really mind; it was enough just to be sitting with him, in companionable silence, sharing the warmth of the hearth.

Chapter 11