Hrolf Kraki's Saga (6 page)

“Here are two

I do not trust—

they who sit

beside the fire.”

The king trembled. A hand clasped his knife-hilt. “Do you mean the boys,” he asked, “or those who’ve hidden them?”

Quoth she:

“They who stayed

there with Vifil

and who had

the names of hounds,

Hopp and Ho.”

At this, Signy called, “Well spoken, wise-woman! You’ve done more than could have been awaited of you.” Pulling off her arm-ring, she cast the heavy gold coil across the room, into the lap of Heidh.

The hag snatched it. “What’s this about?” Frodhi rasped.

Heidh looked from him to Signy and back. “I’m sorry, lord,” she said. “What was that nonsense I spoke? All my spells went astray, this whole day and eventide.”

Racked by shuddering and gulping, Signy rose to go. Frodhi stood too, shook his fist at the witch and yelled, “If you won’t speak forth freely, I’ll torture you into it! For now I know no better than before what you think about those in this hall. And why is Signy out of her seat? I wonder if wolves are not in council with foxes here.”

“I, I beg your leave,” stammered his niece. “I’ve grown sick from the smoke.”

Frodhi glared. Sævil drew her back down beside him. “I’m sure another horn of mead will make her feel better,” said the jarl smoothly. He beckoned to a girl, who hastened—teeth clattering—to pour for his wife. She drank deeply. He leaned close, arm about her waist as if to uphold her, and breathed in her ear: “Keep quiet. Hold your place. Much can happen yet to save the boys, if that be their lot. Whatever you do, show not what you think. As matters stand, we can’t do a thing to help them.”

Frodhi well-nigh screamed: “Tell the truth, witch, or I’ll haul your limb-bones from their sockets and cast you in the fire!”

Heidh cowered from him. She did not let go of the ring, but she gaped widely and struggled with her spell, until she uttered:

“I see sitting

the sons of Halfdan,

Hroar and Helgi,

both of them hale.

Forth their revenge

on Frodhi comes—”

“unless somebody hastens to stop it, but that’d doubtless
be unwise.” she added low. Jumping from the stool, she cackled:

“Hard are the eyes

in Ham and Hrani.

Grown from kidhood

are kingly children.”

A stir and rustle went among those of Sævil’s men who recalled the names. “Ham and Hrani?” said Frodhi. “Who? Where?”

But the spaewife had, in her way, given the brothers warning. They had sidled backward through the poor guests to the wellhouse door. As uproar arose, they slipped out and fled toward the woods.

“Somebody ran from here!” yelled a beggar, and: “After them!” the king.

He and his warriors dashed toward that end of the hall. Regin surged from his seat. Blundering along, as if eager to help but very drunk, he knocked a number of faggots from their brackets to the floor. They guttered out. His followers saw what he was about and did likewise. Darkness and tumult filled the space beyond the last fire-trench. There Regin’s men got in the way of Frodhi’s. By the time the mess had been straightened, no trace of the boys was to see. Outside lay nothing save frost.

Frodhi gnawed his mustache as he led the way back in. Sigridh and Signy were sobbing in each other’s arms. Heidh had scuttled out the front door with her golden ring. He paid scant heed to this. When the lights were kindled anew, he stood forth above all stony eyes and told the gathering in bitterness:

“I’ve lost them again. There seem to be no few here in dealings with them, and this I will punish when the time comes. Meanwhile, you may as well drink—you who are so glad they’ve gotten away.”

“Lord,” said Regin, and hiccoughed, “you misunderstand us. Surely tomorrow will be happier. Tonight, let’s drink indeed … as friends … for who knows how long the Norns will let him stay among those he holds dear?”

He kept shouting for brew to be fetched. Shaken by what had happened, the king’s men and most others were
glad to swill the stuff down as fast as their gullets would take it. Regin—and after Regin had whispered to him, Sævil—passed secret word among their followers: “Pretend to get as drunk as the rest, but keep your wits. Mighty weirds are abroad, and we far from our homes.”

Loudness and laughter soon lifted, harsh, not really happy, but at least staving off the stillness of the night. Booze flowed until the household troopers and many more fell asleep, one atop the next. By then Frodhi and Sigridh had gone to bed. Thus Sævil and Regin drew no remark when they led their own bands out, to a barn which had been cleaned and spread with straw and skins for the overflow of guests, even though these quarters were not meant for them. In the hall resounded only hoglike snores and the sputter of the dying longfires.

VII

During those hours, a breeze scattered the overcast. Huddled and ashiver in a brake at the edge of the woods, Hroar and Helgi saw the heaven-signs blink forth—the Great Wain, the Little Wain in whose tongue is the Lodestar, Freyja’s Spindle, more and more until the land lay grey and the hall bulked black beneath that icy light.

“Nothing have we done,” said Hroar.

“No, much,” Helgi told him, “for now men know that the Halfdanssons live—Hold! Yonder!”

A man came riding from the stables, across the open ground between dwelling and wilds. At first he was a blot and a clash of hoofs on rime. As he drew nigh, they knew him. “Regin!” Helgi cried. He bounded forth, Hroar close behind. “Oh, Fosterfather, we’ve missed you so!”

The sheriff gave no greeting. The shadowy shape of him and his steed turned about and moved back toward the hall. Stricken, the boys gaped after him. The cold gnawed deeper into their bones.

“What?” Hroar whispered. Starlight glistened on tears. “Is he disowning us? Is he off to tell Frodhi?”

“No, never will I believe that of him.” Helgi’s tone wavered.

Regin brought his beast around. A second time he neared them. He drew his sword and, when he was upon them, they saw how he scowled. He made as if to hew at them. Hroar choked but stood his ground. Helgi snapped numb fingers and breathed: “Hoy, I think I get what he means.”

Regin sheathed blade, twitched reins, and again rode toward the hall. He went at a very slow walk. Helgi urged Hroar along, and they trailed. “I don’t understand,” said the latter weakly.

Said Helgi, and his voice clanged: “My fosterfather behaves like this because he will not break his oath to King Frodhi. So he won’t speak to us; but nonetheless he wants to help us.”

They closed in on the garth. A few dogs bayed. No man roused, nor did any stand watch. A shadow of looming trees swallowed Regin. The youths heard him speak a
loud:
“If I had great things to avenge on King Frodhi, I would burn this shaw.” Thereupon he spurred his horse to a trot, rounded the main building and was gone from their sight.

The boys halted. “Burn the holy shaw?” wondered Hroar. “What can that mean?”

Helgi seized his brother’s arm. “Not the trees themselves. He wishes we’d set the hall afire—as near as may be to its door.”

“How can we do that, two mere lads, with such might against us?”

“There’s no help for it,” Helgi snarled.
“Sometime
we must dare it, if ever we’re to get revenge for the harm done us.”

Hroar stood a while until, slowly: “Yes. Right. Here we have men gathered who’ll know we’re the doers. If we make the first move, some of them will rally to us, for our father’s sake and in hopes we’ll deal better with them than Frodhi has. A chance like this may never come again.”

“Let’s go, then!” Helgi laughed aloud.

Eager or no, they moved thereafter with every trick of silence and concealment they had learned in hunting.
And surely their hearts hammered thickly when they entered the hall itself.

Stacked weapons gleamed in the foreroom. The chamber beyond was a blindness full of bitter smoke, heat, man-stench, noises of drunken slumber. Fire-trenches glowed dull red, but the pillar-gods upbearing the rafters were lost to sight.

With unsteady fingers, the athelings took war-gear. Outside once more, they helped each other don padded undercoat and coif, noseguarded helmet, byrnie of ring-mail whose weight they felt only briefly, sword at waist and shield laid handy. What they chose did not fit them too ill, since Hroar was fifteen and Helgi, thirteen, big for his age.

“Man’s arms!” Helgi grew dizzy from gladness. “After three years like thralls—warriors!”

“Hush,” warned Hroar, though hope drove the winter out of him too.

Most quietly, they flitted everything from the foreroom and laid it on the ground. Then they slipped into the main room. On hands and knees they went, fumbling a way among sprawled bodies. When someone stirred or mumbled, they froze. Yet a tide of sureness carried them. No boy really believes he can die.

Groping along a trench, they found sticks not quite eaten away and plucked them forth. The light from these made them more sure of not kicking anybody awake. Helgi bore an extra one in his teeth.

Under the stars, they straightened. They whipped the brands to flapping life. They reached high and put torch to low-sweeping eaves.

At first these would not catch. Helgi muttered a stream of oaths. Hroar worked patiently, trying first this spot and then that.

A flame stirred. It was tiny, pale blue, a bird of Surt newly hatched and frail. It trembled in the cold breeze, cowered down between two shakes, peeped a weak little song as if to keep up its own heart. But all the while it fed; and it grew; now strength flowed into it out of the
wind; it stood forth boldly, flaunted bright feathers, looked around and crackled a greeting to the sisters it saw.

The timber of the hall was old and weathered. Moss that chinked the cracks had gone dead-leaf dry. Pitch in the roof drank fire as once in its pine trees it drank a summer sun.

Helgi took stance near the foredoor. “If they waken in there before this way is blocked,” he said, “we’ll have to keep them from boiling out.” He scowled. “The well-house! Best you go kindle that end right off.”

“What of our mother?” Hroar fretted. In his thrill he had hitherto forgotten Queen Sigridh.

“Oh, warriors always let women and children and thralls and such go free,” said Helgi. “But—” He broke off and spun around. From the courtyard stole a band of armed men.

At their head was Sævil. He turned to them and said: “Stoke up the fire and help these lads.
You
have no duty toward King Frodhi.”

They hastened to obey. Many already bore torches, the rest ranked themselves by the athelings. Helgi cheered. Hroar stuttered, “L-l-lord Jarl—”

Sævil stroked his beard. “I think erelong you will be my lord … Hrani,” he murmured.

“There’s an escape through the wellhouse—”

“Regin is taking care of that.”

The sheriff joined them. Firelight waxed till it skipped across metal and lured stern faces out of shadow. As yet, however, the burning was not far along. Neither noise nor heat aroused King Frodhi.

He stirred in his shut-bed. One like that is built short, for its users sleep sitting up. The mattress rustled beneath him. “Ugh, ugh!” he choked. “It’s close and black in here as a grave.” He slid back the panel. A bloody glow crept over him from the trenches.

Beside him, Sigridh asked, “What’s the matter?”

He sighed heavily before he cried: “Awake! Waken, my men! I’ve had a dream and it bodes no good.”

Much though they drank, his warriors had remembered
to lie near him. The call brought them fast out of their rest. “What was it, lord?” asked a man. In murk and reek, he seemed to bear the shape of a troll.

Frodhi snapped after air. “I’ll tell you how it went. I dreamed I heard a shouting at us: ‘Now are you come home, King, you and your men.’ I heard an answer, and grim was the tone: ‘What home is that?’ Then the shout came so near me that I felt the breath of the one who shouted: ‘Home to Hel, home to Hel!’ And I awoke.”

“O-o-oh,” crooned Sigridh.

The dogs indoors had not thus far marked, in their sleep, anything that seemed worth barking at. Now they also stirred, caught the first whiff of death, and set up a hubbub.

Those outside heard. It was needful to lull fears until the trap was sprung tight. Frodhi had two smiths who were both good handworkers and both called Var, which means Wary. Regin boomed:

“Outside it is Regin”—which could mean “raining”—

“and also the king’s sons,

fiercest of foemen;

say it to Frodhi.

Wary wrought nails,

Wary set the heads on,

and for Wary did Wary

forge wary nails.”

A guardsman grumbled, “What’s this to make a verse about? That it’s raining, or the king’s smiths are at work, whatever they make—”

Frodhi answered starkly: “Don’t you see these are tidings? We’ll find a different meaning, be sure of that. Regin swore an oath to me, and so he warns me of danger. But sly and underhanded is that fellow.”

Most who thought about it afterward felt that Regin kept his word by thus saying that Hroar—a wary one—was wreaking a crookedness which Helgi—another wary one—put to work, while Regin—a third wary one—gave warning of this to a fourth wary one who was Frodhi himself. The sheriff had never promised not to give news in riddles too twisted for easy reading.

Finding no rest, Frodhi rose a short time later. He threw a cloak over his nakedness and sought the fore-room. There he saw how the roof was ablaze, the weapons were gone, and armed men waited beyond. After an eyeblink he spoke steadily: “Who rules over this fire?”

Helgi and Hroar stepped from the line. In their young faces was no ruth. “We do,” said Hroar, “the sons of your brother Halfdan whom you slew.”

“What terms of peace do you want?” asked Frodhi. “It’s an unseemly doing among us kinsmen, that one should seek the life of the other.”

Helgi spat. “None can have faith in you,” he said. “Would you be less ready to betray us than you were our father? This night you pay.”

An ember fell upon Frodhi and scorched his hair. He walked back into the hall and shouted for everyone to make ready for battle.