Tim Severin - Sworn Brother

It took me nearly two weeks to walk or, rather, stumble to Knut's headquarters at the town of Roskilde. I was crossing the lands of Earl Ulf, whom I knew to be a traitor, so I avoided human contact, skirting around villages and sleeping under hedges or in the lee of earth banks. I have no clear memory of how each day of that grim journey was spent, only that my nights were filled with terrible visions of violence and death. When it rained, I awoke shivering with cold and fear, the rain drops on my face reviving images of grotesquely swirling storm clouds, the vanquished raven and an image which at the time had seemed so malevolent that I had buried it deep in my thoughts — a black hag riding on the wind. Once or twice I could have sworn that Thrand sat somewhere close to me in the shadows, a pool of black blood leaking from his leg. I lay numb with despair, wondering if my second sight had summoned his ghost from the dead, only to realise that I was alone and close to madness. When hunger drove me to knock on the doors of cottages along my path to beg for charity, my throat was so badly bruised that the inhabitants thought I was a mute. I had to gesture with my hands to make myself understood. They gave me scraps of food occasionally. More often they drove me away with kicks and curses, or set their dogs on me.

In the end it was Odinn who relieved my plight. I crept into Roskilde like a vagrant, filthy and wild-eyed, and was promptly arrested by a sentry. Odinn had arranged that Kjartan, the one-handed huscarl, was commander of the guard that day, and when I was brought before him, he looked at me with astonishment.

'Thorgils, you look as though you have been chewed over by Nidhoggr, the corpse-tearer!' he said. 'What in Thor's name has happened to you?'

I glanced towards my captor, and Kjartan took the hint. He sent the sentry back to his post, then made me sit down and eat a meal before he heard my story. My battered throat allowed me only to swallow a bowl of lukewarm gruel before I told him of the ambush and destruction of the Jomsviking expedition sent to join Knut.

When I finished, Kjartan sat silent for a moment. 'This is the first I've heard of it,' he said. 'Your battle with the Danes was fought at a place so remote that no one knows about it. I presume the victors put to sea after binding up their wounds and, if they were Earl Ulf’s men acting treacherously, then they would have kept quiet because events overtook them.'

'What do you mean?' I asked hoarsely.

'While you and the Jomsvikings were waylaid off Sjaeland, the king and his fleet caught up with his enemies off the coast of Skane. There was a great battle in the estuary of Holy River. Both sides are claiming the victory, and frankly I think we were lucky that we did not suffer a major defeat. But at least the Swedes and Norwegians have been thwarted for the time being.' Then he paused and asked, 'I need to be sure about this - when did you say the Jomsvikings were ambushed?'

'I lost track of time during my journey here,' I said, 'but it was about two weeks ago.'

'You had better tell your story to the king in person. I can arrange that. But don't say a word to anyone else until you've had your audience with him.'

'I would like to tell Thorkel the Tall,' I said. 'Thrand's last words to me were that I was to inform Thorkel that the dishonour of Hjorunga Bay had been wiped away.'

Kjartan looked at me. 'So you don't know about the changes at Knut's court.'

'What's happened?' I asked.

'You can't speak to Thorkel, that's for sure. He's dead. Died in his bed, amazingly enough. Never expected it from such an inveterate warrior. So he'll never get Thrand's message unless the two of them exchange news in Valholl, if that's where they have both gone. Thorkel's death was a setback for Knut. The king had appointed him regent here in Denmark, and when he died Earl Ulf took his place.'

'But it was Earl Ulf’s men who attacked us,' I blurted.

'Precisely. That is why it would be wise if you did not tell anyone else about the Jomsvikings' ambush.'

Kjartan must have had considerable influence with the royal secretariat because my interview with the king took place that same evening. It was held in secret, away from the king's official residence. Only the three of us were present - Kjartan, myself and the husband of the woman I still loved.

For the first time I was able to see Knut close to, and of course I judged him jealously. The king was on his way to an official banquet, for he was wearing a brilliant blue cloak held at the right shoulder by a gold buckle, a tunic of fine linen with a thread of gold running through it, gold-embroidered bands at the hem and cuffs, scarlet leggings and cross gaiters. Even his soft leather shoes had lines of gold stitched in square patterns. He radiated authority, privilege and virility. What impressed me most was that he was almost my own age, perhaps three or four years older. I did a quick mental calculation. He would have been leading an army while he was in his teens and I was still a youngster in Vinland. I felt inadequate by comparison. I doubted that Aelfgifu had found me a satisfactory substitute. Knut had a magnificent physique, well-proportioned and robust. Only his nose marred his good looks. It was prominent, thin and slightly hooked.

But that deficit was more than made up for by his eyes, which were large and wide-set and gave him a level, confident gaze as he stared at me while I stumbled huskily through my account.

When I had finished, Knut looked at Kjartan and asked bluntly, 'Is this true?'

'Yes, my lord, I've known the young man for some time and I can vouch for his honesty as well as his bravery.'

'He's not to tell his story to anyone else?'

'I've told him not to, my lord.'

'Well, he's certainly earned his pay. How much did we promise the Jomsvikings?'

'Fifteen marks of silver each man, my lord. Half in advance. Final payment to be made after they had fought for you.'

'Well, that's a bargain! They fought, it seems, and now there's only one of them to collect his pay. I'll double it. See to it that the paymaster gives him thirty marks. And make sure, also, that he's kept out of sight. Better yet, arrange to have him sent away, somewhere far off.'

The king turned on his heel, and was gone. Knut's brusque dismissal left me wondering whether he knew about my affair with Aelfgifu.

As Kjartan escorted me back to his own lodgings, I dared to ask, 'Is the queen, Aelfgifu, I mean, is she here with the king?'

Kjartan stopped. He turned to me in the darkness, and I could not see his expression but his voice sounded more serious than I had ever heard him. 'Thorgils,' he said, 'let me give you some advice, though I know it is not what you want to hear. You must forget Aelfgifu. Forget her completely, for your own safety. You do not understand about life at court. People act differently when they are close to the seat of power. They have particular reasons and motives and they pursue them ruthlessly. Aelfgifu's son, Svein, is now ten years old. He takes after his father in looks and manner, and she is ambitious for him to be Knut's heir rather than the children of Queen Emma. She will do anything to further his chances.'

I tried to interrupt. 'I never knew she had a son; she never told me.'

Kjartan's voice ground on remorselessly, overriding my halfhearted objection. 'She has two sons, in fact. If she failed to mention them to you, that makes my point. They were fostered out at an early age. They grew up in Denmark while Aelfgifu was in England. Right now she's playing for very high stakes — no less than the throne of England. If she thinks that you are a threat because of anything that happened at Northampton . . . I'm not accusing you of anything, Thorgils. I just want you to realise that Aelfgifu could be a danger to you. She has a ruthless streak, believe me.'