Northern Fiction - The Saga of Freydis Eiriksdattir
Chapter 4
The arrow-storm fell fierce.
The hero stood on blood-stained roof,
Slaying foe’s with spear and tooth.
And high above the battle roar,
Of blade and shield, and raven’s caw,
Of helm and ax, a ringing sound
Is heard the hero’s roar of ‘Victory.’
Within, Thorir called to his men, "I see one of their arrows outside the wall. I will get it and shoot it back at them. It will shame them to take a wound from their own shaft.” He stuck his arm out from the door and grabbed the arrow from the ground.
“Look!” cried Geir the Priest. “They are picking up our arrows. They must be out of shafts within, why else gather arrows from outside?” He ran forward toward the door to hack at Thorir. Instead he encountered fate. The returned shaft pierced Geir the throat with a yard of feathered death, and the raider-priest fell to the ground gurgling and spitting up blood in thick clots.
“Surely, it is Ull within, none but the god of archery could let fly each shaft so true,” yelled a man beside Mord.
“Let us pull down the roof about them and the god Ull,” directed Mord. He sent men to throw ropes up to catch the carrying beams that extended from under the thatch. The ropes caught and were looped over a tree limb in the yard for leverage. Then several men threw their weight upon the rope and used spear shafts as levers to twist the cable taunt. The roof at the end of the hall was pulled down but that failed to hinder Thorir and his archers who continued to harry the raiders in the yard. The warrior Gunnar leaped onto the opened roof where he received a bill hook through his groin. Castrated, he fell back to the ground with a scream. Then his brother Asbrand sprung up on the breached eaves, shield held before him, sword at the ready to hew the defenders within. His efforts earned him a spear thrust that went right through his shield, his byrnie, and his life. Asbrand tumbled from the wall impaled by six feet of ash and iron and raced his brother to Hel.
The raiders then threw torches through the gap in the roof. The brands landed on the dry rushes scattered on the floor and the flames kindled the hangings which ignited the old wood paneling that covered the walls. The thatch cuaght fire from within and the house became an inferno.
Thorir’s bowstring unraveled and snapped under his mighty drawing on the bow; turning to his wife, Hallgerdal, he called out: “Give me two locks of your hair that I might twist them together and restring my bow!”
Hallgerdal looked up at him and asked: “Does all hang on my two locks of hair?”
“My life depends on it woman.“
To which she replied: “Well, recall to your mind that slap that you gave to me, and how it broke my tooth, twelve months ago. I have my pride. I care not one whit if your life is in the balance, nor if you hold out long or short, husband mine!”
“I respect you pride woman. Wife, you have ever been proud and obstinate. But, I have no time to tarry. If that is your reply, you stay here and await the coming of our guests!” As he climbed up where he could watch the yard, he called back: “Play hostess to this party who come calling at our door. Better, you burn here. I for one shall leave. I trust we will meet again in Hel, my beloved wimple-hooded help-meet.” With that said, he ordered his henchmen to form up at the door, calling after them the Words of the Wise One:
Beware that the god may enchant you,
And, turn heroes into hogs for slaughter.
Now great clouds of smoke roiled heaven-ward from the burning hall and obscured the roof line from the ground below. Thorir climbed out and ran along the roof tree to the end of the house as flames licked at his heels and singed his long flowing hair and beard. He leaped to the ground, landing on the shoulders of a man in the yard. The man’s back was broken by Thorir's weight and Thorir pause a moment to offer thanks to man and god’s for a soft landing in so desperate a situation. He slashed out and cut another man’s throat quickly through in a single swipe of his blade. The man yelled: “He is,” and his severed head uttered: “here!” The head bounced upon the ground, the lips soundlessly forming words of dismay and rage. Without a pause Thorir ran across the backs of his cattle that were fleeing the flames and the melee in the yard. He did not stop running until he had gained the gate.
With a yell, Thorir’s henchmen burst from the hall door and sallied against the raiders in the yard. Mord Valgardsson was cleft from his helm to his shoulders by a single blow and two other men were parted from their limbs. Thorir’s doughty followers attacked with the ferocity of berserks and scattered raiders before them like chaff in a breeze filled threshing floor.
Thorir and his men then gathered and attacked from the gate, sending men crowding about the gates of Valhalla with each slash of their swords. Aunund of Witchwood, the king’s-ship captain tried to rally his raiders, but the heart was gone out from them. Paniced, they ran for the beach, casting away shields and weapons in their flight, racing wildly through the streets to escape through the gates. The struggling and screaming roused the householders of Norumbega who came out to defend the town. Protecting their own they pursued the raiders who sought shelter by cowering in dark side lanes and yards behind the houses.
Alerted by the turmoil in the town, and seeing the rising flames from Thorir’s hall, the boat crews of the raider’s vessels launched the two ships. They gave cover to the few comrades who reached the beach with a shower of ash spears that fell among the pursuers. Faced with sudden resistance, the townsmen fell back, then rallied and waded into the water after the ships. But, the shelving shore dropped away steeply and foiling the pursuers only a few yards into the bay. The two party’s roared challenges at each other and missiles flew back and forth for a short time. Then the raiders hoisted their sails and slipped away, chastened badly by the stout defense made by the men of Norumbega.
Hrolf had only arrived when the battle was terminating in a yelling across the waters, and when he questioned: “Who were these men?” none could say. Thorir would not answer to anyone, nor admit to any outstanding blood feud with any man. The attack however was clearly directed at his household and an interrogation of the three surviving raiders produced no clear answer. The one man who survived the rough questioning was still able to speak, but Thorir visited his anger with his sword administering the ordeal known as the rista orn. Thorir “cut an eagle” on the hapless soul. Turning the man face down on the beach Thorir hacked through the man’s ribcage on either side of the spine. Then he divided the ribs from the backbone and plunged his hands into the body cavity. Thorir grasped and tore the hot and bloody lungs out through the back and the lungs formed into the likeness of a pair of wings: the blood eagle. The man expired coughing up blood and hemorrhaging until his lungs filled and he drown. This did not generate any useful information nor compensate Thorir for the loss of his hall and possessions; however, it seemed to give him immense satisfaction and a degree of closure to the episode.
The matter could not be silenced by Thorir’s actions or objections. The entire community was somehow affected. Therefore, when Hrolf called a meeting of the leading citizens the idea was immediately accepted. Spiritual leader of the parish, member of Norumbega’s governing council, and master of the pulpit at St. Olaf’s his suggestions’ carried weight. Therefore, while the villagers dispersed to gossip of the singular events of the night, the leaders arranged to meet at Freydis’ hall.
It was said among the Norse that women are tougher than men: The “keepers of family hate” and “cold in counsel” ordering what must be done to insure the honor and pride of the family. Freydis was Landtaker and first citizen, in effect, the mother of Norumbega. Like Aud the Deep in Iceland, she was a woman of great ability. Like Aud her age was no disability. It was said:
When they have counsel to give
Their words are often wise.
Clear words often come from
Shriveled skin and scraggy hides.
Freydis hall was readied: Flames had been kindled in the fire-trench and trestle tables set up to receive the council. Even as the councilmen arrived servants were setting out beakers of ale and mead, trenchers of cold meat, and baskets of bread, to tide them through the meeting. This would be a long session and the Landtaker was already seated at the high table speaking in an animated manner with several councilmen. She rose from the great carved chair on the dais and with a wave of her hand bid them be seated. Leaning across the table she beckoned Thorir to the seat at her side. “Pass the horn, it is a thirsty business we have to discuss. You must be the most thirsty after your fiery roof run Thorir.” Freydis laughingly said: “I hereby rename you Sviduthorir -- Scorched Thorir, you have earned the honor.” Then, she confided: “You know more of this business than you have told the others Thorir. I know that Gudlaud is a cousin and had a personal score to settle with you.”
“Gudlaud and I had spoken privately before the feast. He claims an inheritance of ours in Norway. I told him to be damned. I never give up gold. Yet we parted on speaking terms.”
“You say ‘speaking terms’ of this parting. Some conversation. My people get murdered. Your house burns down. Your wife dead.”
“Some good there in all this after all,” he chuckled. “No loss with that bitch.”
“Quite,” she agreed in passing. The Freydis went on to refer to the “new-rich” townsmen as merely “gold necks” dismissing their opinions with a sneer, but she darkly observed that, “But now this involves us all. Something is up that is broader than a mere family feud.”
“Yes. For one thing, Geir the Priest is dead.”
“That could be a problem. Didn’t anyone tell you Thorir that it is not nice to kill priests? People frown on that sort of thing nowadays.”
“You to talk!”
“I never killed a priest.”
“Well, just about everyone else.“
“But not a priest. Never a churchman. Never a king’s man from Norway. There will be more to this. Wait and see. We will say as little as possible. Let them figure it out if the can. If they do, we will only tell what needs to be known. Agreed Thorir?”
“Agreed.”
The general discussion concluded that raider’s had knowledge of the harbor. They had glided their ships straight to the best landing point and beached without a sound. The landing party had traversed the streets and gone directly to Thorir’s hall. No general sack or massacre had taken place. The hall was burned after the initial attack failed, but the town had not been put to the torch. A number of the raiders were recognized: Gudlaug the kinsman of Thorir had not been seen after the feast, but the leader of the raiders had been Aunund of Witchwood. Aunund was the captain of a king’s ship and, it was generally known, a foster-brother of Gudlaug. Mord Valgardsson and Geir the Priest were also known. Freydis asked Hrolf what he knew of Geir the Priest, but aside from recognizing the name he was unable to say more.There was some concern that Geir, as clergy, should have been killed. However, in the western settlements Geir was recognized as a lapsed priest and better known as a pirate. He had been in the thick of the fighting and acting as a warrior not as a priest that night, nevertheless, it could be a catching point among those unfamiliar with his reputation. In addition, it was discovered that, shortly before the raid Snorri and Gudlaug had launched their vessel, waited out the raid in the deep waters of the lower bay, then departed with the beaten raiders.
<< Previous Page Next Page >>
© 2004-2007 Northvegr.
Most of the material on this site is in the public domain. However, many people have worked very hard to bring these texts to you so if you do use the work, we would appreciate it if you could give credit to both the Northvegr site and to the individuals who worked to bring you these texts. A small number of texts are copyrighted and cannot be used without the author's permission. Any text that is copyrighted will have a clear notation of such on the main index page for that text. Inquiries can be sent to info@northvegr.org. Northvegr™ and the Northvegr symbol are trademarks and service marks of the Northvegr Foundation.
|