Tim Leach - Smile of the Wolf

I knelt to examine the three shields I was to carry, testing for some flaw in the wood that I would need to protect. I heard the footsteps behind me and expected it would be Gunnar. I had not been a shield-bearer before, and thought he might have some last words for me, for there are many tricks in the duel that one must be wise to, all the traps a shield-bearer must know.

Yet when I stood and turned, I found that it was Hakon. His axe was in his hand, but I felt no danger from him.

‘You would rather be fighting me, I suppose?’ I said.

‘I do not wish to fight either of you.’ He knelt beside me, chopped the axe into the earth and leaned upon it. ‘If I did, it would be Gunnar. For it was not you that killed Erik, was it?’

I said nothing.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘It matters little to me, Kjaran. I know you are both honourable men, though how you let that witch trick you into this cowardice I do not know.’ He looked towards the sky, as if he thought that he might find his answer there. ‘I am ashamed of what Erik did. I am ashamed of what you both did.’

‘As am I.’

‘I have seen too many feuds in my life. Winters spent wishing that the spring will not come, and the killing summers that follow them. Waiting and killing, killing and waiting.’ I saw the touch of silver at his temple, almost white under the bright sun. I wondered how many of his years he had spent in one feud or another.

‘I have seen feuds myself. I never wish to see another.’

‘If only it were up to us. Let us hope this duel is the end of it. Gunnar means to take some blood from me, that is all. He will give me a good scar to satisfy his honour. But I do not think he will kill me.’ He gave the slightest trace of a smile. ‘I hope not. I do not wish to die this day.’

‘You might defeat him.’

‘Defeat Gunnar? I do not think the gods are feeling so whimsical today. I cannot beat the man and I cannot beat that sword of his.’ He must have seen something in my face, for after a moment he spoke again: ‘But if I do, I will not kill him. I promise you that.’

‘I thank you. Fight well, Hakon.’

‘I will. There is no honour in this.’

‘No. But there is nothing else to do.’

He nodded to me, took his axe from the ground and wiped the earth from it against his breeches. There was no need to wait any longer. There was nothing left to say, and so Hakon stepped on to the hide and said to Gunnar: ‘Let us see if you are as good as they say.’

Gunnar came forward without a word and took up his stance. I was at his left, the sun sharp in my eyes until I raised my shield. Björn held the shield for his brother; he looked at me and said, ‘A shameful thing, to have an outlaw carrying your shield.’

‘He is no outlaw yet,’ Gunnar replied. He looked at Vigdis – for she was there, silent and watchful at the edge of the hide. ‘A shameful thing to have that woman here.’

‘She is of our family now.’

‘So I see. Be careful, Björn. She has buried two husbands already. If you could call Erik such a thing.’

Björn came forward snarling, all teeth and spit like a fighting dog, only to have Hakon once more restrain him. ‘Enough, brother! I am the one who fights today.’ He raised his axe and lowered it once more. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spoke to Gunnar.

‘Did you lie in the trial?’

‘Lie about what?’

‘Did he truly fight well?’ Hakon said.

‘What?’

‘My brother. Did he fight well?’

Gunnar hesitated. ‘Yes. He fought bravely. He died well.’

‘I am glad. Come, let us begin.’

Gunnar rapped his sword against the shield I carried, Hakon did the same. And then the iron sang.

I saw only a moment of grey motion and then the wooden shield jumped and snapped at my face like a dog. A ringing close by, like a bell struck once, and then the shield shivered once more. That was all for those first few blows, for I had no time to think or to see, only to hear and to feel. The gasps Hakon made as he swung, Gunnar’s soft exhalations, fighting in near silence. Leather biting into my hand, wood pressing into my arm. And pain.

It was only after five blows had struck my shield that I began to see – yet still I saw only the weapons, not men who wielded them. The axe that rose and fell in the same way each time against my arm, a clumsy overhand blow more fit for chopping wood. The sword cutting in from a different angle each time, like a snake biting at a man. Hakon swung to break the shield, to force us to yield. Gunnar fought to pass the shield. He fought to kill.

We did not try to move. Footwork counts for nothing in the holmgang , the tricks of weight and balance rendered worthless. There is only strength and fate, and the courage to stand rooted to the spot, trading blow for blow.

Then the sun was in my eyes, sudden and blinding, as half of my shield snapped and broke away. The blows stopped falling, Hakon waiting as I picked the second of the three shields, shaking life back into his weary arm. His first shield, chipped and cracked, still stood guard. But already he was tired, gasping hard and leaning on his weapon. Gunnar was breathing easy, patient as a poet with half a hundred lines yet to sing. Soon, he would be singing in earnest. He smiled his murderer’s smile and said: ‘It is early to be so tired.’

‘We shall see.’

There was the rapping of sword against shield, and then we began again.

But not for long. Hakon’s shield broke in moments and Gunnar cut the air with his sword, impatient, as Björn took up the next shield. It seemed to slip from his fingers, falling back to the ground, and when he picked it up again and dropped it once more, I understood what he was doing.

‘You are as slow as you are stupid,’ Gunnar said.

‘There is no need for that,’ Hakon said to Björn, for he must have been ashamed of what his brother had done. He looked back on us, a ghost of a smile on his face. ‘I am glad to see that you have decided to fight properly. I had thought your reputation unearned, the way you swung before.’

Gunnar nodded, as he might acknowledge a good play upon the chessboard, a good strike of the ball in a game upon the ice. The rapping of the shields and, once more, iron played against the wood.

But something had changed. Before, the blows had fallen on my shield hard enough to shake my teeth and numb my arm. Now it was as if a boy swung that axe, growing weaker with every strike.

A snapping of wood as Hakon’s second shield broke, and there were no words this time. He simply stood, grey sweat pouring from his skin, his eyes dull with exhaustion. Gunnar was tiring too, but it was to compare the exhaustion of the wolf with that of the deer it is running down. Weak as the men were, it would take much time to break the next shield. Yet both already knew how it must end.

Hakon sobbed with effort as he swung, and he seemed to find some last remnant of strength. He knew he had no chance to win the duel. To lose by a single shield, that was all the ambition he had left, and I thought that I saw Gunnar, even in his cold rage, soften his blows a little. One cannot help but admire a hopeless bravery.

But though the man might have felt pity, that flawless sword of his did not. The last shield fell to pieces and Björn stood there, staring without comprehension at the broken wood that hung from his arm. Hakon took one last, hopeless swing at my shield, but it did nothing. Now was the time for him to take one step back to signal his retreat and end the fight, to buy back his life and honour in silver. But he did not. He lowered his axe and shifted out of his fighting stance, both legs side by side. He waited.

Gunnar checked the blow he was about to give.