Sworn Brother (30 page)

‘Thorgils!’ he exclaimed, thumping me on the shoulder with his fist. ‘Who would have thought to find you here! It’s good to see you.’

‘How’s Gisli the One Hand?’ I asked.

‘Fine, fine,’ Kjartan replied, looking around at the parade ground. ‘You can’t imagine how good it is to be here, away from those canting Christians. I’ve still got those wax coins you gave me. I suppose you know that Archbishop Wulfstan, that wily schemer, died.’

‘No, I hadn’t heard.’

‘Last year he finally went to meet his maker, as he would have

put it, and good riddance. But sadly his departure to join his precious angels has had little effect on the king’s court. There seem to be just as many Christians in positions of power, and they are making life difficult for the Old Believers. Queen Emma encourages them, of course. She goes nowhere unless she is accompanied by a pack of priests.’

‘What about Aelfgifu?’ It was a question I could not hold back.

Kjartan gave me a shrewd glance and I wondered just how much he knew.

‘She’s well, though we don’t see much of her now. Either she’s at her father’s place in Northampton or she travels overseas as Knut’s representative.’

At that point a trumpet sounded. The felag was called to attend to a meeting in the great hall and Kjartan turned to go. ‘I hope we’ll have the chance to remember our days in Northampton and London,’ he said.

The meeting was packed. Every Jomsviking, whether veteran or recent recruit, had assembled to hear what Kjartan had to say. He was escorted into the hall by two leading members of the felag’s ruling council, who introduced him to his audience. He spoke clearly and firmly, and his soldierly bearing and battle injury made his audience listen respectfully. His message was clear enough: King Knut, ruler of England and Denmark and rightful heir to the throne of Norway, invited the Jomsvikings to join his cause. War was looming. The enemies of the king — Kjartan described them as a league of resentful earls forgetful of their oaths of loyalty, warlords from Norway and Sweden, and a false claimant to the Norwegian throne - were assembling an army to challenge Knut’s authority. King Knut, of course, would crush them, and in victory he would remember and reward those who had helped him. There would be much booty to distribute — here an appreciative murmur rose from the listening warriors — and there was fame to be won.

Kjartan reminded his listeners of the renown of the Jomsvikings, their illustrious history and their prowess as fighting men. Finally, he proffered the bait that, all along, he knew would most tempt his audience. ‘King Knut holds you in such high regard,’ he announced, ‘that he has authorised me to offer each one of you fifteen marks of silver if you agree to fight on his behalf, half to be paid now, and half to be paid on the conclusion of the campaign.’

It was a munificent offer and characteristic of Knut’s statecraft: silver coins rather than iron weapons were his tools of preference.

When Kjartan had finished speaking, a senior member of the Jomsviking council rose to reply. It was a generous proposal, worthy of a generous ruler, he began. He himself would recommend acceptance, but it was the custom of the Jomsviking assembly that any member of the felag could state his views, whether for or against, and he called upon anyone who wished to express an opinion to speak up. One after another, Jomsvikings came forward to address the assembly. All were in favour of accepting Knut’s offer, which was not surprising. The advance payment of fifteen marks for every man was an enticing prospect and it seemed that further discussion was a mere formality. Until Thrand spoke.

He had been sitting with the other members of the council, and when he rose to give his opinion a hush fell on the gathering. Everyone in the hall also knew that he was a survivor of the original felag.

‘Brothers of the felag,’ he began, ‘before you make your decision whether or not to accept the King of England’s offer, I want his emissary to answer one question.’ Turning to Kjartan, he asked, ‘Is it true that in agreeing to join King Knut’s army, we could find ourselves fighting alongside, or even under the command of, Knut’s deputy in military affairs: the leader of the royal huscarls, his earl known as Thorkel the Tall?’

The man standing beside me abruptly sucked in his breath, as though a raw nerve had been exposed. Behind Thrand several older members of the council looked uncomfortable.

‘And am I right in thinking,’ Thrand continued, ‘that this same Thorkel, more than thirty years ago, broke his Jomsviking vow when he, with his crew, turned tail and abandoned his brothers who were left, unaided, to fight the Norwegian Haakon and his fleet?’

A terrible hush had fallen over the assembly. A few paces from me someone was whispering to his neighbour the story of the disgrace, when the honour of the Jomsvikings was shattered.

Kjartan rose to give his answer. All could see that he had been shaken. He had not anticipated this. Thrand’s question implied that no Jomsviking should go to the assistance of a man who had betrayed the fellowship. We waited expectantly. The pause lengthened slowly and became an embarrassment. I felt sorry for Kjartan. He was a soldier, not a diplomat, and he could not come up with the fine words to wriggle out of the dilemma.

When he finally spoke he was hesitant. ‘Yes, Knut’s most trusted earl is the same Thorkel who was a member of your fellowship. Thorkel has become a great war leader, won riches, earned the confidence of the king. I believe that you should be proud of what he has become, rather than remember what happened thirty years ago.’

His words made little impression. I could feel the scepticism of the crowd grow around me, their mood suddenly changed. Kjartan felt it too. He knew that his mission was on the verge of collapse. He scanned the faces of the crowd. I was standing close to the front, looking up at him and, like all the others, waiting for him to continue. Our eyes met, and suddenly Kjartan announced.

‘You don’t have to take my word for it. One of your own brotherhood has met Thorkel the Tall at King Knut’s court, and he can tell you about him now.’ He beckoned to me and, after a moment’s surprised hesitation, I stepped forward to stand beside him. He gripped my elbow and whispered in my ear, ‘Thorgils, for the memory of Edgar the huntsman, try to say something to make them accept my proposal.’

Turning to face my audience, my breath seemed to leave my lungs. A couple of hundred warriors were looking at me curiously and I could scarcely breathe. For the first time in my life I had been called upon to address a large gathering and my mind was in turmoil. I realised that I held the balance between two men to whom I owed great debts: Thrand, who had been my mentor over the years, and Kjartan, who had stood by me when I was in desperate need in England. I had to find a middle way without dishonouring either man.

Odinn came to my rescue.

I cleared my throat and, stammering over the first few syllables, said, ‘I am Thorgils, a follower of Odinn, and I have always let the High One be my guide - Kjartan is my friend and I know him to be an honest man, so I believe he is carrying an honest message. Thrand is also my friend and has told me of the cowardice of Thorkel and the others in the fight against Earl Haakon. Yet I have seen how high Thorkel the Tall then rose in the court of King Knut, and I know that he would never have achieved such fame and wealth if he had stayed to fight and die. So I say — let Odinn’s wisdom guide you, and accept this as his sign. Seventy survivors of our felag came before Earl Haakon for judgement, and this is the seventieth of the High One’s sayings.’

Here I paused to draw breath before reciting:

‘It is better to live than to lie a corpse,

I saw flames rise before a rich man’s pyre

and before his door he lay dead.’

Kjartan saw his chance. He quoted the next verse for me.

‘The lame rides a horse,

the handless is herdsman

The deaf in battle is bold

No good can come of a corpse.’

A low mutter of approval came from the crowd, and a voice from the back shouted, ‘Forget about Thorkel. Odinn had other plans for him. I’m all for the accepting Knut’s silver.’

One by one, the members of the council spoke up and all were in favour of Kjartan’s proposition. Only Thrand failed to speak. He sat there silent, and on his face was the same distant expression that I had seen while he gazed into the ship’s wake and thought of the defeat at Hjorunga Bay.

As the assembly began to dissolve, Kjartan took me aside to thank me. ‘Your speech made all the difference,’ he said. ‘Without it, the men would not have committed themselves to fight for Knut.’ Then he smiled. ‘With my wooden leg, I liked the bit about the lame being able to ride a horse. But I’m not sure that when I get back to London I should tell Gisli One Hand that, according to you and Odinn, he should become a cowherd.’

‘It was All-Father Odinn who spoke through me and swayed the minds of the audience,’ I replied. What I did not tell Kjartan was that, after a month in Jomsburg, I knew that the new order of Jomsviking could never resemble the felag Thrand had known. The new Jomsvikings were driven by their thirst for silver, not glory, and in the end they would have accepted Knut’s bribe whatever Thrand had said. By citing the High One, I had given Thrand a reason to accept their decision with no loss to his own sense of honour or duty to his fallen comrades.

W
e
were
summoned
to earn our fifteen marks of silver early in September. Knut moved against the forces massing to oppose him, and sent a messenger to tell the Jomsvikings to join his fleet, now on its way from England. His messenger slipped into our citadel disguised as a Saxon trader because Knut’s enemies already lay between us and the man whose pay we had taken. To the west of Jomsburg a great Norwegian force was raiding Knut’s Danish territories, while their allies, the Swedes, were harrying the king’s lands in Skane across the Baltic Sea. This left the felag dangerously isolated and our council met to discuss how best we should respond. After much debate it was decided to send two shiploads of volunteers, the most experienced warriors, to run the gauntlet and join the king. The rest of the Jomsvikings, fewer than a hundred men, would remain to garrison the citadel against any enemy attack.