"Saga" - Chapter 10, part 1
Content - Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). No warnings for this chapter. This chapter rated NC-17.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Links to previous chapters follow after the cut. Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan who beta’d this chapter.
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/22271.html
Chapter 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/32308.html
Chapter 3: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/33130.html
Chapter 4: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/33946.html
Chapter 5: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/34153.html
Chapter 6: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/34535.html
Chapter 7: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/35104.html
Chapter 8: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/35376.html
Chapter 9: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/36279.html
Saga - Chapter 10
Einnis and his two men rode homewards through a white landscape where winter held firm sway. The heavy snowfalls before yule had not continued, but the weather had since been very cold, and all the tracks and paths through the valleys were slippery with ice where the snow had been packed together by many feet. Their horses had ice spurs in their hooves though, so the three of them rode at ease and at a good pace.
Einnis’s two companions had served several years at the farm and knew each other well. They talked and joked between themselves contentedly, and Einnis was left to his own thoughts as he rode silently in front.
They were approaching home. Although dusk was turning into an early winter night, Einnis knew every pathway this close to the farm, and they kept going. He would rather travel on, late though it be, than have to ask for a bed and a guest’s welcome at a farm in the valley this close to his own home. It was a clear night, too, and because of the snow there was just enough light to see by.
“Look there,” one of the men said, pointing to the east. “Look how very bright the moon is before she rises over the hilltop! It is almost as if Sun has decided to return to us!”
“I hope it’s not so, for she wouldn’t escape Skoll then,” the other responded nervously.
Whether or not the two wolves were chasing Sun and Moon persistently enough to make them change their course, the bright light radiating from behind the hilltop was a beautiful, strange and eerie sight. Suddenly Einnis was filled with cold foreboding.
“That’s not the sun, nor the moon either - and the light is too unsteady. Look, how it shifts about. Those are flames! Something is burning, and not just some little cot or outhouse from the look if it!”
Unease gripped them. The flames were too far to the east to have anything to do with their own home, and it wasn’t unheard of that a farmhouse by mischance would go up in flames in the cold season, when there were fires on every hearth, and lamps or torches were needed so that men and women had light to do their chores by. But in these times of unrest and war there might be other reasons for farms going up in flames.
They urged their horses on as quickly as they could in the gloom, not speaking now, worry driving them on.
Suddenly Einnis reined in his horse and lifted his hand as a signal to his two followers.
“Halt! I hear something - someone’s coming!”
A horse was approaching down the track towards them, from the sound of it galloping at breakneck pace on the treacherous ground. Soon it came round the bend, and the rider spotted Einnis and his companions waiting in his path. He reined his horse in sharply, staring at them in the darkness.
“Who rides in the night?” he called out to them.
Einnis responded by loudly stating his name and also naming their farm. “We would know who you are, and what reason there is for your urgency?” he called back. His hand didn’t leave his sword.
The horse now trotted forward till they could see each other. Einnis recognized the youngest son from one of the farms to the east of his own.
“Einnis Elmarson! I’m glad to see you! I’m spreading the word that the valley’s under attack - two farms have already been burned down! Warriors came out of the blue, heavily armed. We don’t know for sure who they are, but some mere band of outlaws they’re not - they are too many and too well organized. We think it may be the king of Oppland and his men striking back!”
Einnis looked homewards. There were miles of woods and fields yet to pass before they would reach the farm.
“Thank you, Trond,” he said. “Ride on, ride on, warn as many as you can down the valley! On our way home we will rouse any farms that haven’t already heard these ill tidings.”
With that they rode off in opposite directions, Einnis and his men pushing on in desperate haste, much like Loki once hurtled towards Asgard with Tjatse on his tail in hot pursuit.
--
Their horses were worn out to the point of exhaustion when they returned home at last. They’d alerted some few farms they passed riding northwards, but most had already heard of the attacks and were visibly up in arms. They left behind a trail of men grimly arming themselves, and women and thralls making such other preparations as was possible in the nighttime hours.
Their own farm looked no different when Einnis rode up. Torches blazed in the courtyard, and there was hectic activity all around, a nervous buzz rising to the night sky as if a large hornets’ nest had been stirred.
Ketil was standing in front of the hall, talking with a man who held a foam-lathered horse. Einnis practically threw himself out of his saddle and hastened to join them, weaving in and out of the crowd in the yard.
Though it was night, most of the people of the farm were moving about outside. Some women were standing in a group close to the wall, talking nervously among themselves while keeping a few crying little children close. The larger boys excitedly ran after the free-men who were walking back and forth carrying bundles of spears or large round shields collected from the storage houses and weapons chests, and hefting swords with varying degrees of confidence. Thralls were busy carrying buckets of water from the well, bringing them into the houses and also filling vats placed outside.
In the torchlight Einnis could see Eoin coming into the yard, clad in his brown cloak and balancing two large buckets of water hanging from a yoke over his shoulders. For a moment their eyes met and held across the frantic courtyard commotion. Eoin’s face lit up, and he smiled. Einnis looked away.
The farm dogs were barking furiously, stirred by the tension and fear radiating from the people rushing about the farm. The animals in sheds and stables had been frightened by the unusual noises and activity, and were adding their own anxious whinnies and bellows to the general din.
If any attackers now approached the farm, they would have more than fair warning that the farm was getting ready for them, and that they could not win through by stealth and surprise.
Ketil looked tall and proud and menacing in the flickering torch light, a warrior fit for one of the poems of the gods. He had donned both helmet and chain mail, and had strapped a broadsword to his side. His large round shield with a painting of Tor hauling the Midgard’s Worm from the depths of the sea was slung on his back. The bright beaklike nose guard on his solid helmet made him look like a sinister bird of prey. Now he stepped forward to meet his brother, his cloak flapping open for a moment to resemble dark wings spreading wide.
“I’m glad to see you returned, Einnis. You have heard the news?”
“Yes, but I don’t know more than what Trond Toreson told me, when we met him down the valley, sounding the alarm. Two farms attacked and burned down, no-one knows for sure who the attackers are, so he said.”
“That’s all we know for sure, too,“ Ketil said and named the two farms destroyed. “Stig here saw them passing, he brings news that the war party was large and well armed, and that they took prisoners and won themselves a rich loot before they retreated into the night. People think it’s the men of Oppland who are attacking - we’ve not seen the last of them, if so.”
Einnis nodded and looked around.
“Where is Sigrid?”
“She and some of her women are preparing linen cloth for bandages, and clearing sufficient space for the wounded, if need be.”
“Very well,” Einnis said. “I’ll go get properly armed and then I’ll join you. I noticed when we rode up that you’ve set guards around the perimeter. If they sound the alarm I’ll be ready, and we’ll give any attackers a welcome to make them realize at once that this farm is not ruled by women or cowardly thralls!
--
Next day Einnis and Ketil sat down to agree on their further course of action. They had both of them slept but little, though no more news of skirmishes or looting had reached the farm during the night, and no enemies had been sighted.
Cold dawn had come late. The windy and darkly overcast sky mirrored their mood as they sat over the morning meal, chewing dried meat and bread with scarce enthusiasm while they talked.
“Not knowing where this enemy will strike next, it’s every farm for itself at first, till help can be called. Our free-men will all have to stand ready to fight. We need to muster as many men of arms as we possibly can, and that will be hard going here,” Ketil said grumpily. “Except for our regular guards, they are very rusty fighters, most of them. I should have taken this in hand earlier, more fool am I for letting it slide. Some of them scarcely handle their swords and spears better than a maiden would manage in a pinch!”
“They aren’t that bad,” Einnis said stiffly. “We have had little need or cause for arms-play here in the years you were away. Every hand has been needed just to keep the farm going. This is no Earl’s manor where bodyguards and men-at-arms practice at weaponry all day long.”
“I know it well. Isn’t Holmhogg proof that I agree with your decisions? You’ve done the right thing, but now we have no choice - every free-man may soon need to fight to the death to defend the farm, and they must be skilled in using their swords.”
Ketil tapped his fingers on the table top, his eyes distant.
“I’ll start training them in earnest right away. Odin himself only knows how long we’ve got - king Eystein’s men might be on us tomorrow! I’ve set men to fletch more arrows and to sharpen all our swords. I think there aren’t enough swords, though…. We’ll get the smithy going right away to mend every last old and notched one we’ve got.”
Once the weapons overview was complete, Ketil took a new draught of ale and continued right on with his planning.
“Otherwise we’ve prepared the farm as well as we may on such short notice. From now on, the thralls will have to take over the free-men’s responsibilities around the farm. We’ll stock up on more water, and more firewood. We have to get the sleighs out today to haul much more of the animal fodder in from the out-barns where it’s stored. Otherwise we risk it being burned, even if the farm escapes attack. We’ll need every last man and woman now.… “
Realization dawned, and he looked at Einnis with an embarrassed frown.
“As long as this threat from Oppland lasts, I fear there will be neither free-men nor thralls available to help build your farm, brother. We need to keep everyone here till we know for certain that the danger has passed, and the men have been properly trained.”
Einnis closed his eyes and laughed, a harsh and angry bark.
Ketil looked at him. “Why do you laugh?”
“It has often enough been said that no man may flee from his fate,” Einnis said and snorted mirthlessly. “I see clearly now that never was a truer word spoken.”
Ketil was confused. “Do you think it’s your fate not to build the farm, then?”
Einnis shook his head. “Oh no. The farm will be built, even if I have to do it all on my own. I am not going back on my sworn word to Mjod. I will soon be leaving for Einstad, unless we’re attacked and I end up feasting in Valhall instead.
Ketil’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “You’re leaving?”
In response, Einnis slowly quoted a well-known verse of ancient advice.
“Then second I rede thee, to swear no oath
If true thou knowest it’s not;
Bitter the fate of the breaker of troth,
And pitiful perjured words.”
Ketil looked annoyed.
“You are no oath-breaker if war forces you to alter your plans,” he said. “The foreseeable happens, and the unforeseeable too, as everyone well knows. Mjod himself will have to arm all his men and to ready them for battle and war when this news reaches him. He’d deem you an irresponsible fool if you didn’t stay here to fight.”
“Maybe so”, Einnis said. “But I have given my word, and repeated it too, only a few days ago when Mjod welcomed me with much honor. Never let it be said I didn’t do all I could to keep my oath. I won’t abandon Einstad.”
“What then is your plan?” Ketil asked.
“I will stay here for some days yet, or for a week. I’ll help you and Sigrid, and be ready to fight - I won’t leave if there’s battle brewing even as we speak, and the farm must be defended! But after that, if we are spared attack, I will start the tree-felling at Einstad.”
Einnis shifted in his seat, his chain mail clinking in the sudden silence of the room.
“If I bring no more than one other man and some horses along, I can still manage to fell all the marked trees but the largest ones, and have them dragged down to the farm site. The building work may be delayed, but everything will be ready so that building can start as soon as peace has been restored to the valley.”
“Don’t you think there is better use for you here, brother?” Ketil asked.
“No,” Einnis replied. “I am only one man. You have taken charge now, and you are the stronger warrior, with fighting skills from many a raid and war and sword-play. You know how to lead men in war and train them. The farm is yours, and it is in safe hands, unless the gods will it differently.”
Ketil sat in silence for a moment. He could hardly disagree with Einnis’s words.
“Very well, he said grudgingly at last. “I see that you won’t give up, and I won’t try to change your mind. Go where your honor takes you.”
He sighed. “Who do you intend to take with you?”
“Jaran the Irish thrall,” Einnis promptly replied.
Ketil looked up sharply. “What? Why him?” he asked.
Einnis looked him square in the eye. “Why not?” he responded evenly and with emphasis.
Ketil met his eyes stare for stare, but soon frowned and lowered his glance to the ale bowl. He shook his head slightly, then lifted the bowl and drank. He said nothing.
Einnis relented. “Don’t you see that it makes sense? Because Jaran is a stranger here, my men accused him of causing the ills that befell us while we worked on the farm. It isn’t difficult to guess that soon they’ll start laying blame at his door for these attacks in the valley. If anyone was to harm Jaran, you’d lose not one but two thralls, since I would need another one to come north with me.”
He sighed. “Every wise man knows that our gods are far stronger than that milksop the Irish pray to. The unforeseeable happens, as you said. Even our godi didn’t see omens of this war on our very own doorsteps. Jaran has nothing to do with it.”
Ketil sat silent, a groove etched between his brows. Einnis paused for a moment, then ploughed on.
“Jaran’s a strong worker, and now that he speaks Norse, I can make him tell me tales of Ireland and far away-places. That will make for better cheer in the lonely woods than any of the farm-born thralls could manage. The few words they have to say for themselves I already know by heart.”
Ketil shrugged, his eyes unreadable. He lifted his ale bowl, seemingly tired of the topic.
“You will do as you think you must, Einnis. If this really is your fate, you should meet it head-on with pride and patience.”
With that their talk turned back to weapons and the plans for protection of the farm and the valley.
To be continued in chapter 10, part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/37564.html