"Saga" - Chapter 20, Part 2
Saga chapter 20, Part 2
For information about content, disclaimer, and A/Ns see the chapter’s Part 1
Ketil rode out from his farm the next morning, dressed for fight. Bright mail glinted from under his cloak, he wore his distinct helmet with the beak-like nose-guard, and he carried Holmhogg proudly on his hip. With him rode his brother and three of their men, all of them armed and carrying the three shields that the rules of Holmgang would let Ketil use in the course of the fight.
The rain had let up, but the day was grey and cloudy, the light somehow murky, and the landscape they rode through was covered in dirty melting snow and yesteryear’s wilted brown grasses.
Ketil and Einnis rode next to each other but spoke little. Approaching the lakeshore they could see a group of men, their horses hobbled nearby. Ulv was there with his father and younger brother, and several of Sigurd’s free-men and guards besides. Two men were preparing the Holmgang site. They’d placed a large bull-hide on the ground, pegging it down firmly to ensure that it would stay in place, and were just starting to mark the fight area around the hide.
Ketil rode up to the group at an even pace, nodded briefly to Sigurd, and swung down off his horse in a movement surprisingly graceful for such a big and brawny man. Einnis and their men followed suit.
Terse and brief greetings were spoken among the two groups of men. Ketil looked Ulv in the eye coldly, then made a point of studying his followers.
“By Tor and his hammer both, you mean to tell me you didn’t bring Helga along to watch you fall while defending her honor?” he asked Ulv mockingly, a slight note of disappointment lurking behind his scorn. “Who will tend to your corpse and weep womanish tears over your lifeless face, I wonder?”
“No, of course I didn’t bring her. She’s so loath to meet you even once more in this life, she’s even willing to forego the pleasure of seeing you die,” Ulv sneered.
“Shut your mouths, the both of you,” Sigurd said, annoyed. “You shame yourselves and your clans, behaving with such indignity.”
He turned to Ketil. “Of course Helga Hauksdottir isn’t here, Ketil Elmarson. This hardly is a joyful day for her, or for her reputation, no matter the outcome of this Holmgang, which should have been avoided and which does our clans and the valley no good. And Helga certainly has more honor than to let herself be paraded in front of you two like a mare in heat being led out for stallions to fight over!”
Ketil’s jaws clenched, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead he pointedly looked towards the bull-hide staked on the ground and the hazel twigs marking the outer perimeter of the battle area. “Has everything been made ready? No need to dawdle. Let’s get it over with!” he said.
He and Einnis both walked over to inspect the place that had been readied, and found everything to be fair and proper. Sigurd was not a man to flout the rules.
Now the two fighters’ spare shields were placed by the perimeter so they would be able to get at a new one without stepping out of the fighting area and thereby be judged a coward. Both men shed their cloaks and unsheathed their swords, drank some water, and moved about flexing their limbs and loosening up their joints and muscles. Eventually it was time. Ketil clasped Einnis’s hand briefly, the brothers standing very close for a moment. Sigurd clapped Ulv on the back. “Good luck!”
With that, Ketil and Ulv stepped up to the fight area, eying each other warily. All the other men moved away from the bull-hide. They would be watching from a distance in order to create the illusion of an original Holmgang. In the older days and along the coast the two combatants would have gone to a small island or promontory fight it out alone. Only one would have come back.
Now the two saluted each other briefly with their swords, and Ulv spoke up, his voice ringing out clearly without any noticeable tremors.
“Hear you all here assembled, that these are the rules of this Holmgang which we have agreed on and will follow, on pain of forfeiture of honor, life and property: This Holmgang will be fought to the death. The winner proves the loser honorless and wrong in all that he has spoken of the other, and earns three marks of silver besides. The battle will be fought with swords. Three shields are allowed for each, and since I challenged Ketil Elmarson, he will be allowed first strike.”
Ulv drew a breath and bowed his head. “May Odin look to us here, and the Norns and powers grant victory to the one who deserves it.”
With that the two men picked up a shield each, and stepped inside the fighting area, facing each other.
The landscape was strangely peaceful, a marked contrast to the life-and death battle that was commencing. Some patches of mist were drifting over the lake, obscuring the calm water and lending the place an otherworldly air.
Einnis held himself still, watching the fighters intently. His hand sought and clutched the silver Tor’s hammer on the thong around his neck.
There was a loud clang as Ketil struck. The combatants’ swords met for the first time. The men crashed into each other with bruising force, pushing at each other with their shields, judging the opponent’s strength, then at once backed off. They circled each other warily, crouching slightly behind the large round shields.
Ulv rushed forward, Ketil sidestepped, and their shields grazed off each other with a whack as the younger man tried to get at Ketil’s neck with his sword. Ketil stepped sideways and deflected his opponent easily, wrenching Ulv’s sword hard enough with his own to send the young man stumbling. Ulv was up and back in defensive position in a flash, jumping aside and out of Ketil’s way, once more circling to look for an opening.
It soon became apparent that Ulv’s inexperience was both a strength and a weakness to him in his fighting. He left himself open to Ketil’s sword more than once, and only by means of youthful agility and quick reflexes did he manage to jump out of harm’s way in the very nick of time. But Ketil was used to fighting opponents who knew their game and who were predictable in anticipating his moves and trying to counter them. Ulv several times fell for his feints and ruses when Ketil hadn’t expected him to.
Ketil moved in close, pushing Ulv backwards, trying to make him lose his balance, then stepped back while slashing at Ulv’s face. He clearly expected Ulv to dance to the side, protecting his legs, seeing the high sword thrust for the feint it was, but Ulv met it straight on with his shield instead. The force of the blow on his arm made him scream in pain. He lashed out wildly with his sword. It was by pure coincidence and blind luck that the flailing tip grazed Ketil’s skin under the left eye, slicing his cheek. Blood immediately poured from the gash. Had the Holmgang been fought on a first blood wins basis, as was often the case, the battle would have been over.
Ketil jumped backwards, ignoring the wound, circling the other man warily, his eyes mere slits looking for an opening. Ulv was favoring his shield arm slightly; it had evidently been numbed by the force it had just deflected. He had been dancing away to the side each time Ketil advanced, but suddenly he threw himself forward, pivoting as he advanced, spinning to get behind Ketil’s shield. His sword lashed out towards Ketil’s neck as he rushed past. But Ketil was too quick for him; he slid skillfully out of harm’s way, his sword slashing at Ulv’s exposed backside. The sword glanced off Ulv’s mail and downwards, sending him tumbling, but not before slicing into his buttocks. Ulv roared and jumped forward to get away, and turned at once into a defensive position.
Once more they were circling each other, swords at the ready. They had stepped beyond the bull’s hide now and were fighting on the bare earth near the outer border, which was becoming blood-spattered as crimson dripped steadily from both men’s wounds.
Despite Ulv having drawn first blood, there was no doubt that Ketil had the upper hand, and that the younger man seemed out of his depth. Einnis glanced at Sigurd. The man was pale and tense, his eyes dark as he followed his son’s battle. His hand was clenched around his sword hilt enough to make his knuckles white, but he made no effort to draw the sword or interfere in any way. Somehow he noticed Einnis looking at him, and shook his head imperceptibly.
“He’s had to endure many jokes about the difference in age between Helga and himself, and there’s been no end of lewd comments about how demanding it will be for him to keep up with his experienced wife, - how she’ll wear him out. It’s made him irritable and too easily provoked, lately,” Sigurd said, to everyone and no-one.
Einnis didn’t reply, and both men’s eyes were drawn back to the battle by a shout. Ketil was rushing forward again, stabbing at Ulv’s feet as he moved right past him. When Ulv immediately lowered his shield to deflect the thrust, Ketil sent his own heavy shield spinning at Ulv’s head with all the force he could muster, the wooden disc missing the younger man’s forehead by a hair’s breath when Ulv ducked. Ketil shouted in rage and sprinted to where his two other shields were waiting. He hurriedly picked one up and turned back to fend off Ulv who followed hot on his heels, sword slashing through the air in a predictable counterattack.
Both men were moving more slowly now, their strikes appearing less precise. Intense fighting was demanding on the body and draining on the mind. Ketil looked like a wild creature with one side of his face completely covered in blood. Ulv obviously was noticing the painful sword cut across his buttocks, but seemed surprisingly unhampered.
The end came quickly and unexpectedly.
The two men were up against each other again, Ketil pushing at Ulv with his full body weight, making him yield, his knees starting to give. Somehow, as Ketil pressed his advantage, Ulv slid under his opponent’s arm, nearly falling forward as he did so, his arms thrown wide in an effort to remain upright. The larger man spun to jab at him forcefully. Ulv flailed, his shield askew, and by chance hit Ketil square on the jaw with the shield rim, the sound of the impact loud enough to be heard by all the spectators. Ketil was felled like an ox hit over the head with a butcher’s axe. He went down hard, and remained on the ground.
Einnis gasped and took a step forward, but halted himself in his tracks. The Holmgang was being fought to the death; he had no right to interrupt the fight until one of the men was dead. His own life would be forfeit if he did - he would likely be outlawed.
Ketil lay in a daze, unmoving, as Ulv stumbled into position by his head, his shaking hands taking aim with the sword over Ketil’s throat. At the last possible moment, just as the sword stabbed downwards, Ketil came to and made a desperate effort to roll to the side and out of harm’s way. He was still dazed and his movements were too slow and sluggish. He did not manage to completely avoid the sword. It bit into the side of his neck where it met his shoulder, and got stuck in the ground, the downward momentum violent enough to make the blade slice deep into the earth.
Bright crimson spurted from Ketil’s throat and down over his chest and shoulder as he somehow managed to wrench himself free and get up on his knees, his fist still convulsively locked around the hilt of Holmhogg. He flailed out wildly with the sword arm, a last desperate effort to fight, and with a bellow managed to slash Ulv in the leg above his knee, a deep tendon-severing cut that at once started gushing crimson over the soiled and trampled fighting ground. Ulv screamed and fell forward, and Ketil too once more hit the ground with a thump, going limp. Wielding his sword for that last violent thrust had ripped Ketil’s wound completely open. Blood gushed from his neck.
Neither of the men tried to get up again.
Einnis looked Sigurd in the eye, and without speaking they nodded briefly to each other before hurrying over to their fallen kinsmen. Ulv was unable to get up and was desperately trying to staunch the leg wound. His father threw himself down over him, already tearing at his son’s trousers to get at the wound and tie off the bleeding.
Einnis disregarded them. He only had eyes for Ketil. His brother lay with open eyes, crimson pooling around his head and shoulders, dripping from the wound in his cheek and bubbling from the gaping gash in his neck.
“Ketil!”
He opened his eyes and struggled to focus. Death was already hovering over him, leaning in over his shoulder, breathing coldly on his skin, dimming the light in his eyes and clouding his sight. His voice was a mere rattle.
“Einnis,” he whispered, a gargling rattle marring each word. “Einnis Eldhug… brother…. Fate brought me love… and dishonor. The joke’s on me.” He tried to laugh, a gulping, hacking sound escaping his lips as fresh blood stained them crimson. Once more he struggled to speak. “But I don’t regret…. tell Helga… tell her…….” His eyes went wide and frantic as his focus shifted to something behind Einnis’s head in the last instance before life left him. “Einnis…! The wolf….”
Ketil’s head rolled over to the side, and the tense body went lax. The pool of blood under him still mirrored the sky for a moment, but was already soaking into the earth, the large stains on the bull hide going dull, brown and lifeless.
Einnis gripped his brother’s limp hand, crushed it in his own, and bent his head.
Ketil Elmarson was dead.
Tbc………
Notes and explanations;
High seat poles - the wooden beams that would hold the roof up on either side of the "high seat" or place of honor in a hall or hov, ie. the beams by the bench space (on a dais, even) where the lord or master of a farm or manor would sit and which indicated status and clan leadership. The poles in question were often richly decorated, unique to each manor or hov and were imbued with power and magic related to the fortune of the clan. Several Icelandic sagas (including Kormak’s Saga, Islendinga Saga and Öyrbyggja Saga) tell how settlers who’d emigrated from Norway in the days that Iceland first was populated threw their old homestead's poles overboard from their ship and then built their new farm and their new life in Iceland on the place where the poles drifted ashore, and which therefore had to be an auspicious place.
Holmgang - Ritualized duel between two opponents, often fought on a matter of honor, and originally taking place in a secluded spot (an island etc.) where the two would go, but only one would return. In the course of the Viking era the Holmgang rules became more ritualized (and less lethal) and eventually Holmgang was banned altogether.
The following link goes to a very brief clip of a Viking duel reenactment. It shows very well how the large round shields the Vikings used impact the fighting and make the duel different from the many sword duels without shields that have been seen in numerous movies. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQMqlFY7T64&feature=related
The Wiki page on Holmgang has a lot more details on this Norse version of ritualized duels for anyone who’s interested: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holmgang
I’ve spoken worst of her that I least wished harm - this isn’t an exact quote, but closely echoes the sentiment of the main character, the four-times married Helga, in Laxdæla Saga: “To him I was worst whom I loved best”. As an old woman she speaks of Kjartan who was her first fiancée but who forsook her early on in their lives. Helga later egged her husband (and Kjartan’s foster-brother) Bolle to kill Kjartan, but in her old age she admitted he was the one she’d loved the most.
“No man lives beyond the fated day” - One of the many Grettir’s saga sayings.
“Cattle die and kinsmen die, etc. - One of the most well-known stanzas (no. 75) from Havamal. It epitomizes the Norse belief that the one thing a man could govern and should strive for was to live in such a manner that he be spoken well of after his fated death. In Norse belief, the way a person lived and behaved on earth had no bearing on where he ended up after death - even the good god Balder had to stay for ever in the dark and sinister death realm kept by Loki’s daughter Hel, whose name now forms part of many languages’ name for Hell. It was therefore not the hope of reward (or fear of punishment) in the afterlife, but the fear of being spoken ill of by one’s peers here on earth, that kept men (and women) on the Norse version of the straight and narrow.
Ulv - the name means “wolf” and together with Bjorn (“Bear”) is used as a man’s name in Scandinavia even today (though rarely).
Dvergamal - “Dwarf speech”; ancient term for echo. People believed that echoes were dwarves in the mountains, aping human speech.
“Wise men oft… etc. “ - the quote comes from Stanza 94 of Havamal, which despite its mostly very pragmatic living advice admonishes the listeners that love can strike unexpectedly, and no-one should blame another man for loving (a woman) out of turn and acting unwisely as a consequence.
Verdandi - one of the three norns, the goddesses of fate who spin and cut each person’s life thread. The name means “What will be”
Fylgje - (“one who follows”), according to Norse beliefs a spirit that followed each single person, often in the shape of an animal corresponding to the personality of the man or woman in question. (A bear for a warrior, for instance). Seeing one’s own fylgje was a strong omen of imminent death.
A mare for two stallions to fight over - Horse fights were a cherished “sport” among the Vikings (and bets were made on the fights). In order to egg the fight on they would actually lead a mare in heat out to get the stallions into proper fighting spirit.