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Warning to Readers: This is the author’s first attempt at an AAR and it is not what it may seem at the start. It began as a game-play AAR with a narrative approach focused on the Vendel Era Norse Petty Kingdom of Sjælland. This was a rather typical AAR until… then it wasn’t. Now, it takes a rather unconventional approach that incorporates elements of graphic novels. This experimentation is not for everyone. Be forewarned. Congratulations, if you can cope with the narrative shifts and evolution. But for those who stick with it through the transitions, you will be rewarded as evidenced by the recommendations you can read later on this contents page. Please, also see the Author's Note below for more reading advice. New readers are advised to read the Author's Note for guidance. Thanks for reading.
Here is an edited version of the original preface posted in May of 2023:
Although your humble author has thousands of hours playing Crusader Kings II, this is the first venture into the Forums and an attempt at an AAR. So please have some kindness and understanding. This is also a first attempt at playing a Viking campaign, which it seems the whole world was playing six years ago. Also, another first: a first attempt at playing the 3.3.5.1 version, as older campaigns needed to be concluded first.
This AAR will be a mix of narrative with some game elements mentioned. The narrative will follow House Skjöldung, which traces its royal lineage back through the Sagas. The now lost Skjöldunga Saga supposedly tells the story of how the Norse gods deemed House Skjöldung worthy and appointed them the royal stewards of Sjælland. The narrative will follow from the 769 C.E. start date with the legendary King Harald "Wartooth" Skjöldung, now in his late 70's, ruling the Petty Kingdom of Sjælland. (Game play began in real time on May 1, 2023.)
Although this is not a truly interactive AAR, the author is open to suggestions and thoughts from the community. Our moderator Qorten has given permission of a mention that you can read more details about this AAR on an outside blog called The Tårn. (Thank you, Qorten!) This story will give a new version of how the Skjöldunga Saga might have unfolded from a modern perspective. (The longer and more detailed version will be posted externally.) There is hope you will find this shorter version entertaining, nonetheless.
Author's Note: To those looking for a quick start to the action, you might try jumping to Chapter III and then working back to the earlier chapters for reference, if necessary. Or you might try reading just Appendix A, the 12-part story of the Great Blót of 790 C.E. For those looking to only read the latest chapters it might be easiest to pick up the plot with Chapter XVII or begin with the poetry. The three appendices are designed as their own story arcs, and each can be used as starting spots, although Appendix B remains unfinished at this time. Thank you for reading.
@The Kingmaker: “Well done so far…. a stirring yarn…. What has really made it compelling… is the transition from courtly intrigue and territorial squabbles to a proper Viking Age murder mystery.”
@Midnite Duke : “The wonderful illustrations give the AAR a graphic novel vibe.”
@Bullfilter : “...enjoy the graphic novel-like presentation, illustration and characterisation of this excellent story! You’ve really done something different with this tale, in terms of both subject and presentation. The dialogue is always really well handled.”
Chapter I: The Legendary and Mythical
King Harald "Wartooth" (Partial Reign 769-774)
(King Harald "Wartooth" Skjöldung)
The full "Lost Seasons of the Danes" Soundtrack can be heard here.
This chapter of House Skjöldung begins with an ending: the end of an era of rule by King Harald "Wartooth" Skjöldung. When the game opens in 769, Harald is in his late 70's. He still has the mind of a great general but he's rather feeble for a warrior-king. Actually, Harald is a semi-mythical and legendary king – a real historical figure although many of the facts of his life are debatable given the accuracy of the historic record. You can find his life discussed in the Norse Sagas. The Sagas also discuss how he mismanaged his kingdom as he aged. And they note he went riding into battle in a chariot at the age of 150! Realistically, that's not going to happen, even in this game. As the game opens, Harald has ruled for 40 years, controlling parts of what is modern Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and northern Germany (Saxony). But his influence doesn't nearly match any of the hyperbole you will find in various Sagas, not to mention the competition he has from a band of other petty kingdom holders in Sweden.
(The Petty Kingdom of Sjælland, circa 769 C.E.)
(King Harald "Wartooth" Skjöldung in battle dress.)
Harald's short five years read like a preface rather than a full blown chapter of House Skjöldung's legend. Some sources say the historic lineage of this house includes not only Danish kings, but kings who would rule Sweden, Finland, Norway, and Saxony. Also, the family is mentioned in an Anglicized way in Beowulf as the Scyldings. (More details on this history and King Harald in the Sagas can be found on The Tårn.)
(This is an AI rendering of King Harald "Wartooth" Skjöldung via Bing.)
Harald's biggest issue is succession. He has two sons and his first-born favorite isn't popular with his council of chiefs. The popular son barely shows an aptitude for the military life and nothing much else, while the king's favorite shows a bit more prowess in the areas of military intelligence and spying. (Both sons are barely footnotes in the Sagas.) While the king is politicking for his favorite (and not gaining much traction) he successfully conquers one Norwegian province, forces one Swedish petty king to pay him tribute, raids some of his other neighbors, gets into a fight at a party, and finally dies of stress while directing a siege in western Noregr (Norway). So the game only captures the last years of a 45-year rule. (King Harald, we hardly knew ye!)
Sjælland at the end of Harald's Rule 774 C.E.
Notably, this ending changes the somewhat murky history of the 8th Century A.D. The Norse Sagas have King Harald dying at the legendary (and most historians say completely mythical) Battle of Bråvalla. Some say that battle is an analogy for the geopolitical shift that made Sweden more of the aggressive driver at the beginning of the Viking Age. Regardless, the competition between Sweden and Denmark is certainly on a course toward greater conflict, especially with King Harald's passing.
*Note: This post was edited later to add a soundtrack.
Chapter II Fulfilling the Dreams of the Father (King Hrœrekr II’s Partial Reign 774-780)
The full "Lost Seasons of the Danes" Soundtrack can be heard here.
The Challenges of King Hrœrekr II
With the death of the legendary and mythical King Harald “Wartooth” Skjöldung, his second son Hrœrekr II was elected by the council to become the king of the Petty Kingdom of Sjælland. But The Wartooth’s first-born son Þrándr, as was his right at The Wartooth’s death, took his inheritance of two provinces and became an independent ruler. Although The Wartooth had expanded the kingdom’s holdings and influence, after the effects of the elective gavelkind law, the petty kingdom of Sjælland was now smaller than it had been in decades.
(Although it may be difficult to see with this map, Þrándr Skjöldung has cleaved off Rygjafylki and Slesvig as independent provinces under his rule.)
However, the new king managed ably to win the siege and take Hordaland, making the losses a bit less than what they might have been. (The Wartooth had died just as the siege was beginning. Planning that siege was King Harald's last act.) Although The Wartooth had judged his second son as definitely the lesser of his progeny, and his first-born Þrándr had always been the legendary king’s favorite, Hrœrekr had become a more than competent general (although he was still no match for Harald as a field general, even when Harald was in his 80's). Hrœrekr was more of a strategist rather than a tactician and he liked to lead from a tent or a hilltop rather than the front lines.
After listening to his father’s ideas in his final years, Hrœrekr adopted much of his father’s strategy, something The Wartooth might not have expected and had never fully realized. (Amazingly, this strategy is laid out in the Norse Sagas.) Like his father, Hrœrekr knew King Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö the ruler of the Petty Kingdom of Svíþjóð would be his biggest challenger in the region. With the death of The Wartooth, King Sigurd was now the best general in all of the Scandinavian region and he had an eye for acquiring more land and titles.
(King Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö the ruler of the Petty Kingdom of Svíþjóð, along with his wife, Queen Vigdis and heir apparent Ragnar "Loðbrok.”)
Treachery and Revenge
Not long after he became king, Hrœrekr received the news from his spymaster that his brother was plotting to kill him. He sent a request with his spymaster to have his brother end the plot, which Þrándr agreed to do after the plot had been discovered. But this set Hrœrekr on the path to consolidate his own power with his council and then wrest back the lands the kingdom lost when The Wartooth had died. Even though his brother said the plot had been ended, Hrœrekr could not trust him and thus taking back the lost lands became the first step on his strategic path. After 18 months of waiting, Hrœrekr moved against his brother Þrándr. The weight of Sjælland’s forces was too much and Þrándr yielded; Hrœrekr took his land and his titles.
(King Hrœrekr II restores Sjælland’s lost holdings and advances the realm beyond the borders claimed by his father King Harald “Wartooth.”)
The King’s Tangled Relationships
When Hrœrekr became king he was already in his early 40’s, married to his second wife, and also possessing a concubine. Beyond that, he had been carrying on a years-long affair with Gydja Asa of Lund, a fellow member of the Ulfheðnar, the Norse wolf warriors. His wife, Queen Irmgard would discover the affair, and the king agreed to stop seeing Asa. But less than a month later, he couldn’t contain himself any longer, as he was often overcome by his lusty urges, and he took up another affair with the serving woman known as Astrid. Beyond those entanglements, the king discovered his concubine Kraka was sleeping with a member of his council, his field marshal. When Kraka gave birth to the field marshal’s child, the king decided it was best to rid himself of one more complication and he sent Kraka off to the field marshal to become his concubine.
Untangling all of these household dramas and connections is important for King Hrœrekr because he suffers from stress, the very ailment that killed his father The Wartooth. Now, The Wartooth died at 84, and his son was just over half that, but still, care had to be maintained.
Eventually, after a few years, Queen Irmgard discovered his latest affair with Astrid.
(King Hrœrekr faces the wrath of Queen Irmgard, but he refuses to end the affair with Astrid, the love of his life.)
At this point, the king has four sons, which will undoubtedly cause succession issues in the future. His sons included: Þorolfr (a 20-year-old who showed little aptitude for anything); Magni (who was rather stunted as a young child but who was now learning after a slow start); Eysteinn; and Raudúlfr. Þorolfr’s mother was the king’s first wife who had died of the great pox. Magni was the son of Kraka, his now former concubine. Queen Irmgard was the mother of Eysteinn and Raudúlfr. (Astrid had three children at this time, but one of them, Ingfrid, was likely the king’s daughter, although this was kept secret, of course.)
The Strategy of King Hrœrekr II
Back on the military front, the king’s grand plan would roll out each post-thaw campaigning season. Sjælland’s first target would be one of the Geatish petty kings, King Högne Ulfing of Västergötland. King Högne, who was a teenager, led his troops valiantly but he took a wound to his head from a war hammer and he would live out his days as a bed-ridden dullard who was barely able to see. With victory, Sjælland and Hrœrekr forced an alliance upon Västergötland and made them pay tribute.
The next year, in 776 C.E., Hrœrekr fought to make Vingulsmark his own. The ruler of Vingulsmark Chief Alfr af Alfheim had just lost a province to King Sigurd's aggressive expansion. Low on resources and men, Chief Alfr surrendered and became a vassal to King Hrœrekr rather than fight onward.
In the spring of 778, after building up his forces, Hrœrekr moved against King Hjörvardr “The Cruel” of House Ulfing (Högne’s father) who ruled the Petty Kingdom of Östergötland. For this war, Hrœrekr’s steward had recruited hundreds of foreign fighters from around Scandinavia and the Baltic region to gain renown as part of the Danish campaigns. The short campaign against Hjörvardr again ended with this Geatish petty king paying tribute and pledging to be a loyal ally.
The Great Danish-Geatish Conflict
Infused by the recruitment of foreign troops, Hrœrekr judged that Sjælland was now at the peak of its power and ready to take on King Sigurd “Ring.” He called in the troops of the Geatish petty kings and his own vassals to force his claim on the Petty Kingdom of Svíþjóð.
Although he fought fearlessly, Sigurd was outmaneuvered and outnumbered from the start. Using the momentum of the war against Östergötland, the Danes rolled across the various provinces held by Svíþjóð in Greater Sweden. This was the longest war fought by King Hrœrekr: 15 months of attrition with Sigurd on his heels almost the entire time. At the end, Sigurd tried a desperation move of sending his troops to siege Hrœrekr’s capital holding in Sjælland as the king was away laying a siege in Ångermanland. With that Swedish holding surrendering, word carried forth that the Danes had won their conquest not in a single battle but in a brilliant campaign. Sigurd was never able to successfully call all of his allies to war and so Hrœrekr’s calculus had been correct that he would outnumber the Geatish warrior-king in almost every instance.
(King Hrœrekr II annexes Svíþjóð, taking advantage of the aggressive territorial gains of his cousin King Sigurd “Ring.”)
With Sigurd becoming a vassal of King Hrœrekr, Sjælland’s holdings stretched from parts of Lapland in the north to Slesvig in the south and from Norway’s North Sea coast in the west to parts of Finland in the east. The Geatish kings of House Ulfing were not controlled by Sjælland, but they paid annual tribute and were able allies to the Danish cause.
And so, after five years of ruling, Hrœrekr had achieved what his father could not. He controlled vast lands across Scandinavia and all the Swedish petty kings who had not become his vassals now paid him tribute. His reputation attracted foreign fighters who wanted part of the glory of fighting for Sjælland. This would no doubt be his greatest military achievement, and the king was not only happy and proud but he thought his father would begrudgingly offer him credit too.
*Note: This post was edited later to add a soundtrack.
(More from Lost Seasons of the Danes coming in ten days or so.)
Chapter III
Intrigues at the Birth of a Nation (King Hrœrekr II’s Partial Reign 780-785)
The full "Lost Seasons of the Danes" Soundtrack can be heard here.
(King Hrœrekr II, Queen Irmgard, and heir-apparent Prince Þorolfr, along with the king's other progeny and some of the genealogy of House Skjöldung.)
After the Great Danish-Geatish Conflict, King Hrœrekr II looked to consolidate his gains and make further advances in the region, but matters at court, and the problems he had created for himself seemed to consume him. The king continued to argue with his wife regarding his affair with Astrid.
“Well, you can be sure that all at court will know of your foul affair. I hope your loose c**k rots and falls off.”
Astrid’s husband was known as Dag the Tutor. He was both the primary tutor for the children of the king’s holding but more importantly he served on the king’s council as chancellor. His many diplomatic missions made it easy for the king and Astrid to slip away for a tryst. But now he was angry and the king discovered he was going to thwart plans for the further military expansion of Sjælland. He was going to use his influence and the debts owed to him among the council members to block future votes favoring war or expansion.
(Dag the Tutor locks up control of the council of the Petty Kingdom of Sjælland in an attempt at revenge against King Hrœrekr II.)
Hrœrekr would not have a commoner on his court blocking his plans for the kingdom. This was the exchange between the king and Dag during the council meeting that had been set to discuss the next spring’s campaigning season:
“I will not have a member of this council blocking me at every turn. I know that will be your strategy from this point onward. But you will not settle your score with me here. There will be other ways if you wish. So I am dismissing you from this council now. You may leave.” The king gestured to the exit and the guards in the meeting area came to attention.
“But, my king…” Dag sputtered.
Hrœrekr cut him off. “The men here in your debt will need to find other ways to repay you. Now, leave. For what army can you raise to stop my will? Unlike the others here you have no men to command. Even Godi Holmger has a squad of men who could confront me. But not you, no. You wouldn’t even raise a sword or a knife to duel me. If you are so offended you have ways to challenge me, even as your king. But I will not stand for you hijacking this council. The realm is no longer in need of your diplomatic services. Begone now, and count yourself lucky that I will not be relieving you of your teaching job too, tutor.”
No longer forced to deal with a recalcitrant council, the king proposed the conquest of the province of Nidaros in Noregr. The king’s ultimate goal was control of the Germanic religious site at Mære, so Sjælland could guarantee the safety of key Germanic shrines and be in a position to see how the religion was honored in the region in the future.
The might of the Danish military and its allies was too much for Nidaros which folded easily against the onslaught.
After this firing at the council session, Hrœrekr committed his love to Astrid in stronger ways and he often spoke publicly about his lover and his feelings for her. Except for the queen, Hrœrekr had no other women in his life. He swore to Astrid he would stay true to her.
The King’s Illness
The winter of 783 C.E. was both cold and troubling for King Hrœrekr, as he had a raging bout of intestinal problems that lasted for weeks and left him exhausted. His court physician was uncertain what was wrong with him.
(King Hrœrekr's long bout with illness begins.)
As the king’s symptoms changed to one of daily lethargy and weakness, his physician felt that the king might be developing the slow fever (now known as typhoid). The physician ordered the application of a foul smelling herbal ointment to be rubbed on the king’s chest. Hrœrekr felt this was not improving his situation and he only felt worse. Again, the king’s symptoms shifted. He developed a brutal cough. He was constantly hacking. He could not sleep. His chest hurt. He was exhausted. The physician prescribed a daily cup of warm goat’s milk mixed with honey. Again the king’s condition did not change. The coughing fits and lethargy lasted for weeks. Hrœrekr was losing any confidence he had in his court physician. The king was beginning to wonder if someone was poisoning him. The physician dismissed this concern, saying the king was jumping to a conclusion with no evidence. By now, several months had transpired and the king was in no condition to take part in the spring campaigning season.
Again, the king’s symptoms changed. Now his testicles were aching.
His physician was very concerned about this news.
As his court physician examined him, Hrœrekr blathered nervously about his condition. “Irmgard is behind this, I know it. She has cursed me somehow. She wished for my c**k to fall off and rot and she is coming awfully close to having her way.”
The physician assured the king no curses or poisons were involved. However, he diagnosed the king with cancer. The physician’s solution was that he would bleed the king to get his humors to balance.
(King Hrœrekr's diagnosis is confirmed.)
Of course, the king was worried about what part of his anatomy would be offered up as part of this treatment. The physician assured him he could use a vein in the king's arm, rather than elsewhere. That assured the king, and after the treatment, Hrœrekr said he felt better.
The physician said he would bleed the king every change of season and if the king’s condition worsened he would return monthly. The court physician was also the chief of Slesvig and had stayed in the capital for many months to finally come up with this treatment for Hrœrekr. He was anxious to return home.
Ironically, after his return to Slesvig, the court physician would experience a similar series of symptoms and he would diagnose himself as having cancer too. “I think I caught it from the king,” he told his wife morosely. However, this drew the king and physician closer together, as they could share about their conditions when the court’s doctor made his return to the capital every few months.
(King Hrœrekr's long bout with illness and his cancer diagnosis are memorialized in a Norse Mammen-style tapestry, woven sometime in the 8th Century.)
Important Births
A few weeks after the king’s court physician had left, the king was feeling much like his old self, if a bit weaker at times. Astrid, who had been carrying her fifth child, gave birth to a baby girl named Kolfinna. But this again brought the chatter at court back to the king’s relationship with one of his servants. Queen Irmgard, who had given birth to her fifth child with the king the previous fall (a boy named Bäer) demanded to know who was the baby’s father? Was it the king or Dag the Tutor, Astrid’s husband? Weighing the issues of what was best for family and realm, the king decided he would admit he was the girl’s father but he stopped short of formally legitimizing her into House Skjöldung.
Of course, the queen was even more furious with this decision. Conversely, Astrid was pleased with this compromise.
And as the king felt he did not know when his final days might arrive with his health condition, he was concerned too about his legal regency. Queen Irmgard had always been the official regent during his rule. But with the birth of Kolfinna and his worsening health, he officially moved to name his lover Astrid as regent. This was certainly a controversial move, for the king, as Astrid was a servant in his household. Yet she was quite diplomatic and just, in her own right, and understood in great detail about Sjælland’s succession laws. She was one of the few people Hrœrekr could trust, he knew, as he began seriously considering the end of his days.
Hrœrekr also named Astrid as the kingdom’s lawspeaker. With Astrid’s new importance and titles, the king ordered that her serving duties would become more supervisory. With the birth of Kolfinna, he had decided that Astrid could be more openly seen as something like a second wife. Many began to call her Astrid the Lawspeaker, and some learned why the king had kept her close counsel for the past five years. Astrid showed her studies and listening to the men at court for years would now translate into her superior wisdom and advice to the king’s council when called upon.
So in the summer of 783, the king and Astrid would begin the sad work of planning for Hrœrekr’s passing. For they had much work to do to retain the titles and land Hrœrekr had attained in the past nine years of his rule.
During 784, treasonous slander by Godi Holmger of Hleiðra, the Seer of Sjælland gave the king reason to arrest the godi. But the godi eluded capture and went into rebellion. His small force was squashed easily by Hrœrekr’s warriors. Holmger was arrested, stripped of his title, and sent into exile by the king.
The rebellion came at a fortuitous time, because the funds Holmger had acquired in donations to his temple now flowed into the coffers of the Petty Kingdom of Sjælland. Those funds would finance what would be needed to hold a coronation ceremony and fashion the new laws and legal framework to shift Sjælland from a petty kingdom to something larger: the Kingdom of Denmark.
(The Kingdom of Denmark in August of 785 C.E.)
By the summer of 785 C.E., Hrœrekr, Astrid and the council had done all of the necessary work to make the formal transition. In early August, the king was crowned for a second time in a simple ceremony, using a modest crown carved from wood and the Kingdom of Denmark was formally born. Also, Astrid had advised the king on how to redistribute some of his titles in Sweden so the titles would not be lost from the Kingdom of Denmark upon his death.
Although no one knew when the cancer would finally fell Hrœrekr, some of the need to become a Danish nation was spurred on by the tribalism still apparent in the realm. That tribalism often created internal tensions. The Geatish parts of what was Sjælland had shown they were still not happy as vassals to Hrœrekr. Early in 785, Hrœrekr’s cousin, the legendary Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö had declared himself Jarl of Finland. Without a stronger legal structure as a full kingdom, upon Hrœrekr’s death, both Finland and Svíþjóð might become independent, as Hrœrekr held both the titles to the petty kingdoms of Sjælland and Svíþjóð. Under the legal structures of the Kingdom of Denmark, the Jarldom of Sjælland would pass to his first born son, Prince Þorolfr. But to keep Svíþjóð attached to the kingdom, the title would need to be passed away from House Skjöldung.
Hrœrekr picked Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel the chief of Vestmannaland and other holdings as his unlikely ally in this process. Alfr was the best friend of Sigurd “Ring” and truly he had been Sigurd’s secret weapon during the expansionary phase of the Petty Kingdom of Svíþjóð. While Sigurd was grabbing provinces in Finland and Lapland, Alfr was gobbling up land in Noregr. Truly, Alfr’s gains had forced the Danes to take action against Svíþjóð more than six years ago, lest they lose their pathway to take Nidaros and the holy site at Mære.
Earlier in the year, after the legal maneuvers of Sigurd “Ring” to set himself up for possible independence, Hrœrekr appointed “The Irongrip” as the realm’s new spymaster. And Hrœrekr went further, once the Kingdom of Denmark was officially formed, he made “The Irongrip” the Jarl of Svíþjóð, setting the two Geatish friends up as competitors in the Danish kingdom’s holdings in Sweden.
(Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö, along with his wife Vigdis and heir apparent Ragnar “Loðbrok.”)
(Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, along with his wife Saga and heir apparent Gnupa.)
As the king often measured himself against the expectations set by his father, the legendary King Harald “Wartooth,” he felt that he had advanced the Danish cause in great ways. Denmark had expanded considerably in large part due to conquering Svíþjóð. The Kingdom of Denmark now stretched from Lapland in the north to Slesvig in the south, from parts of the western lands of Noregr to the east into Finland. Hrœrekr had realized his goal of taking the Germanic shrine at Mære, and conquering Nidaros along with other parts of Noregr. Much of the expansion can be credited to Jarl Sigurd and Jarl Alfr, who were already expanding Svíþjóð aggressively before it was conquered. Hrœrekr had also forced the unconquered Geatish lands of Sweden to bow as tributaries along with one of Noregr’s provinces.
(The Petty Kingdom of Sjælland in 774 C.E. when King Hrœrekr II's reign began.)
(The new Kingdom of Denmark and its tributaries in the fall of 785 C.E.)
So just three months after he had founded this new wider kingdom, King Hrœrekr took a small group of guards with him into the forest near his holding for a long walk, as he liked to do. As the day grew long, and the guards grew hungry, the king suggested they find a farm nearby where they might pay the farmer to dine. One of the guards said he knew a path that would lead them toward farmlands. Once they had found a farm, the king introduced himself to the elderly farmer and asked if he could give him some coins in exchange for a meal for his men. The farmer suggested the king and his men wait inside his humble farmhouse while he went to find his wife and daughters in the fields to help him prepare a meal. The farmer was gone for a long time and the king and his men grew impatient. The king sent the guard who knew the area out to find the farmer. The guard was not gone long, when two torches were thrown into the windowless farmhouse from the doorway. The king and his remaining guards rushed to get out of the house but a host of men outside held the only door closed and were nailing boards across the door to prevent their exit. More torches were thrown on the thatched roof of the small farmhouse. The king and his men beat on the door to no avail and soon the acrid smoke was choking them into submission. The king would breathe his last long before the fire began to burn his body and the bodies of his men. The fire burned the king, his warriors, and the farmhouse until nothing was left but cinders.
(King Hrœrekr II's reign ends with his assassination. Perhaps the only part of this assessment that can be questioned is whether he will dine in Valhalla, as an assassination is a dishonorable death.)
*Note: This post was edited later to add a soundtrack.
(King Hrœrekr II’s Reign 774-785)
(A more detailed and graphic recounting of these happenings can be found at The Tårn.)
(More from Lost Seasons of the Danes coming in two weeks or so.)
The Spymaster of Denmark, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð began investigating the assassination of King Hrœrekr II. Here is the partial list of suspects that he and King Þorolfr assembled as the inquiry began. King Þorolfr even considered his spymaster as a suspect.
Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð
Means: He’s the Spymaster! Of course, he has the skills. Motive: Put a weaker, younger king into power? Opportunity: The Spymaster could pull off a complex assassination like organizing a group to burn the king alive at a farm along with his guards. But Jarl Alfr was away in Nordaland conducting a war for more territory. Plus, he claims if he wanted the king dead he would have just challenged him to a duel.
Jarl Alfr points out that Þorolfr as the new king is a suspect too.
King Þorolfr Skjöldung of Denmark
Means: Increasing political skills but generally unconnected from powerful vassals; unlikely to be able to pull off a complex assassination plot. Motive: He becomes the King of Denmark! Opportunity: As prince, he loved and admired his father; uninterested in becoming king at 27.
After discussing whether they both should be considered suspects and dismissing those accusations out of hand, they were left with this list:
Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland
Means: Most powerful jarl; highly-skilled; expansionist ruler; chafes at being conquered by the Danes. Cousin to King Hrœrekr II. Motive: Put a weaker, younger king into power? (Doesn’t really get him closer to ruling as king again though.) Opportunity: Has the means to pull off a complex assassination plot and dislikes the Danes who conquered him. However, as pointed out by the Spymaster, if he wanted the king dead he would have challenged him to a duel. Sigurd is not only the greatest general of his era but also a renowned duelist.
Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland
Means: Field Marshal of Denmark; highly skilled and organized; knowledgeable of all of the king’s security arrangements. Motive: After King Hrœrekr II was assassinated, Froði became one of the driving forces behind the independence of Noregr (Norway). Opportunity: Resigned from the council after the king was assassinated and helped bring 14-year-old Prince Magni to Noregr (from where he was being tutored in Slesvig) to declare him as King of Noregr. Although King Hrœrekr II gave Froði land and elevated him into royalty from his court, could it be that this propelled Froði to want more? Instead of bringing Danish rule to Noregr, was Froði swayed by the Norwegian urge for independence? Froði becomes one of the leading suspects behind the assassination.
Godi Þorsteinn of Mære
Means: Secretly a Norwegian nationalist and the Seer of Denmark, he is influential although he likely needed collaborators to pull off a complex plot. Motive: With King Hrœrekr II dead, he became the Regent of Noregr and ruled an independent Noregr in the name of Magni Skjöldung Opportunity: Resigned from the council after the king was assassinated and helped bring 14-year-old Prince Magni to Noregr to declare him as king. Spymaster Alfr believes Þorsteinn is the prime suspect although King Þorolfr is less certain. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that an alliance between Þorsteinn and Froði took advantage of the king’s assassination. Did they plan the assassination or merely take advantage of the situation?
Dag the Tutor
Means: Former Chancellor of Denmark, so connected to powerful vassals, but unlikely to have the skills to pull off a complex assassination plot. Also, non-violent, so again unlikely. No financial resources. Motive: Revenge. Cuckolded by King Hrœrekr II and fired from the council. Dag’s wife, Astrid the Lawspeaker, openly acknowledged her love affair with the king, and the king acknowledged the affair too. Opportunity: Unlikely to be involved in such a plot because he abhors violence, but possible he could have collaborated with others if his need for revenge over-rode his ethical compass. Discarded as a major suspect.
Queen Irmgard
Means: Well connected throughout the kingdom and certainly not above plotting. Motive: Revenge. King Hrœrekr II had a long history of cheating on her with many women. His affair with Astrid the Lawspeaker had become public and the king flaunted Astrid almost as his second wife. The king acknowledged an out-of-wedlock child he had with Astrid. Opportunity: She understood the king’s court and his security arrangements. Of all the suspects, she was the most powerful and present in the king’s holding in Sjælland. Certainly considered a major suspect.
Thor, God of Thunder
Means: He’s a god. How much more power do you need? Motive: Jealousy. The Skjöldung Dynasty acquired a sacred war hammer in a raid and many believe it is Thor’s hammer Mjölnir. Of course, the Thunder God wants it back! Opportunity: Many people believe a rumor circulating in the kingdom that Thor smote King Hrœrekr II because of his ownership of Mjölnir. Both Spymaster Alfr and King Þorolfr reject this theory, despite the rumors.
Holmger “the Bottomless”
Means: In exile, stripped of his title and without his former monetary resources. Motive: Revenge. He was the former Godi of the Temple of Hleiðra. He revolted against King Hrœrekr II when the king moved to have him taken into custody, due to his slanderous and treasonous statements about the king. The king won the war, and exiled Holmger, taking his title and the temple’s treasury. The king used these funds to finance the process to move Sjælland from a petty kingdom to the full-fledged Kingdom of Denmark. Also, the king played a part in tagging Holmger with an embarrassing nickname. Finally, the king beat Holmger in an arm wrestling contest after Holmger’s exile when the king was visiting Östergötland in the Geatish lands outside Denmark. This was a further embarrassment to Holmger as King Hrœrekr II was called “the Girl-Armed” and generally considered weak. Opportunity: Little opportunity to contribute to a plot as he was in exile and stripped of his resources. No opportunity to duel or challenge the king as he was no longer allowed in Denmark. Although he had motive, no means or opportunity. Discarded as a key suspect.
Þrándr Skjöldung
Means: Former chief of Hordaland and Slesvig, well known, connected to various vassals and with the skills to plot. Uncle to Þorolfr and brother to King Hrœrekr II. Motive: Revenge and jealousy. Þrándr was Hrœrekr’s rival. He resented how his brother had beaten him in war and snuffed out his leadership of independent provinces. As the older brother, he felt cheated out of his chance to become king. Opportunity: Not popular with many vassals and lost the vote in the council of chiefs to become Petty King of Sjælland to his brother Hrœrekr, despite being the chosen pick of their father King Harald “Wartooth.” The question remains, given his unpopular nature and lack of finances, could he have pulled off such a complex plot alone? He remains a suspect and possibly he could have collaborated with others to help kill the king as he was present in court in Sjælland, although likely unaware of the king’s security arrangements.
As King Þorolfr begins his reign, Spymaster Alfr will continue to sort through this list of suspects and possibly find others who could have planned or collaborated in the assassination of King Hrœrekr II.
(More on how King Þorolfr and Spymaster Alfr sorted through the suspects can be found at The Tårn. Beyond the graphics provided by Crusader Kings II, some of these graphics are from Chac1’s Playground AI account where he holds the copyright. The image of Thor is from Thor's Fight with the Giants by the Swedish artist Mårten Eskil Winge and is in the public domain. The Lost Seasons of the Danes logo is via Bing and created by Chac1.)
(Author’s Note: Apologies to all that these new parts have taken so long to pull together. Lost Seasons of the Danes is now at book length in its other form and some of the pause was due to fleshing out all the stories connected to that longer version.)
Chapter IV Conquest and Treachery (King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 785-786)
The full "Lost Seasons of the Danes" Soundtrack can be heard here.
(King Þorolfr of Denmark at the beginning of his rule, with his uncle Þrándr Skjöldung as heir-apparent, and he is betrothed to Chieftess Gerðr Refr of Helsingland who is 14-years-old.)
Besides bringing those who murdered his father to justice, King Þorolfr’s immediate challenge when he came to power was reassembling the Kingdom of Denmark. About a third of the kingdom’s land was now part of the independent Kingdom of Noregr (Norway) ruled by his half-brother King Magni. After waiting for the winter thaw, the king ordered his forces to retake Noregr in 786 C.E.
Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland would show why he was regarded as the best military commander of his era during this war. Sigurd’s strategy was not to march on Nidaros, the new capital of Noregr, but rather to march across the country’s southern coastal region, fracturing the country’s holdings and keeping his opponents separated into different camps: confused and unable to consolidate their forces. Denmark was still the bigger country and could muster a larger array of troops if all lords answered the call. Sigurd’s forces would strike first in Vingulsmark.
With a strength of almost 4000 warriors, Sigurd arrayed his forces to trap his opponents. He put Þrándr Skjöldung, the king’s uncle, in charge of his right wing and he purposely left that flank weaker, to draw the Norwegian force’s attention in that direction. Meanwhile, the Danish center was commanded by General Yngvar of Blekinge, who some said was almost as wise and experienced a commander as Sigurd. Sigurd would command the left flank. They were opposed by General Gunnarr of Vestfold who commanded a force of about 2200. The fighters arrayed themselves on a wide field not too far outside the settlement of Fredriksten (now the city of Halden in Norway). Already outnumbered, Gunnarr fell for Sigurd’s trap and did not rebalance his flanks. Yngvar’s center not only moved to crush the outnumbered Norwegians in the middle but troops fell off to support the weak right flank. Meanwhile, Sigurd’s attack with shock troops and berserkers on the left flank destroyed that Norwegian flank quickly. Then, Sigurd wheeled his forces around to crush the rear of the Norwegians in the center. Soon the Norwegians were in retreat and the first major engagement of the war was a major success.
Five months later, following Sigurd’s plans to the letter, Denmark would have its victory, after Sigurd and Yngvar’s success at the final battle near Eikundarsund. Meanwhile King Þorolfr had success in a series of sieges, grabbing control of five of Noregr’s southern provinces.
After several weeks of discussions, a formal peace treaty was agreed upon. However, King Þorolfr was not completely happy with all of the results. Due to the formal laws of Denmark, he was unable to seize the titles of any of the chiefs in Noregr who had supported independence. Although Þorolfr gained the crown of the Kingdom of Noregr, his brother, Magni remained the chief of Nidaros. Those who were the true fathers of Noregr’s independence, Godi Þorsteinn of Mære and Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland also retained their titles, although they bowed now to Þorolfr. For his part, Þorolfr was glad that the reconquest of Noregr had gone in Denmark’s favor, and he counted that as partial vengeance for the murder of his father.
Notes on Treachery
After the peace negotiations and the formal oral promises of peace, Spymaster Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, the Jarl of Svíþjóð came to visit King Þorolfr with news about his findings regarding the assassination of Þorolfr’s father. A year had passed since the assassination.
“You may remember that I asked you a year ago who could be the connection at court who may have helped with the assassination, and my suspicions now lie with the former queen, Irmgard.”
(King Þorolfr as imagined by Playground AI and the LunaPic editor.)
King Þorolfr was sickened by the sight of the former queen. After his father’s murder, he soon arranged for Irmgard to be married off, so she would be far from Sjælland, the capital. In one of the new king’s first decisions, he met with Chief Guðröðr of Åland who was looking for a wife and he promised Irmgard’s hand to the chief.
“What I have are some facts and some suspicions. As I told you, I have learned to always have suspicions. But there is a connection between Chief Froði of Hordaland and Irmgard.”
“My spy network tells me that at some point, Froði began an affair with Irmgard. What we know definitively is that she told Chief Guðröðr that she was going to Saxony for the summer to visit and stay with her son, Chief Theodwin of Thietmarcsca. Instead, during the war with Noregr, she traveled with her retainers and guards into Noregr. She stayed in the Norwegian military camps and slept nightly with Froði. This went on for months. This explains why the so-called hero of the Great Danish-Geatish Conflict, General Froði was nowhere to be seen on the frontlines in the Norwegian Independence War. He never set foot out of the encampments and the planning tent. His only interest seemed to be bedding Irmgard. It looks to me like while his men were getting f***ed on the battlefield that he was getting a good f***ing in his tent.
“Well, her guards felt like traitors, of course. They told Guðröðr. It’s quite the scandal in Åland. Especially, because now Irmgard is pregnant, and Chief Guðröðr doesn’t know if it’s his or Froði’s. Irmgard saw how the war was going and returned to Åland in September before she was showing. So it’s anyone’s guess. Guðröðr is quite angry as you might expect.”
“Are there any indications this affair was going on while she was with my father in Sjælland? Froði was a general for my father for some years before he was granted his title to Hordaland. They certainly had opportunity here. It would make sense that Irmgard sought revenge for my father’s cheating ways by running into the arms of Froði. So he thought he could have land, titles, a royal standing and the queen. I had no idea Froði was so greedy. He and my father were the ones who taught me quite a bit about commanding troops and being a general.”
“The man certainly has balls! But my network of spies in Sjælland and beyond have no more information. We don’t know when this illicit relationship began. We have no proof that Froði was bedding the queen here in the capital. We don’t know when the affair started and we don’t know if Irmgard helped Froði to kill your father.”
“That’s more than you knew before, and it certainly helps us reason that there are important connections between Irmgard and Froði. This is actually some fine spycraft. Don’t be so spoiled. Life doesn’t come tied up in a neat little bundle.”
“I would like you to continue to work on finding the truth regarding my father’s death, please.”
“But I am not done with my tale. Irmgard isn’t the only woman that Froði is bedding. While Froði was here for the treaty promises and negotiations, a prominent woman from court was seen on multiple days sneaking into his quarters. My ears heard all of their lovemaking. So much so, that when they told me, I had to witness it for myself. And I saw Astrid the Lawspeaker exiting the building where we put Froði up with others from the Norwegian delegation. She and Froði had a very loud session. I must say, my liege, that woman has so much passion and gusto, I almost felt like knocking and asking if I could have a turn when Froði was done.”
Þorolfr’s head was spinning a bit with surprise, about these revelations.
“Alright, Alfr, what do we know about Froði and Astrid? When did their illicit affair start? Was Astrid cheating on both Dag the Tutor and my father?”
“All good questions, young king. Just like in the case of Irmgard, we only know definitively about the affairs existing now. I will need to redouble my efforts to speak to people who were here in the court last year before your father was killed. Someone must have seen or heard something.”
“I can’t believe that Astrid and Irmgard were conspiring together to help Froði when my father was alive. They are such rivals. And again, I can’t believe Froði’s greed. Not only did he want titles, land, and power, plus to rule over a kingdom with that godi in Mære while my brother was still a boy, but he wanted both my father’s wife and mistress.”
“Yes, at one point Froði had taken a lot of what your father had.”
“Including my father’s life. I need to know which of those women was in league with Froði. And once we have the proof, it will be time to avenge my father.”
King Þorolfr decided he did not want to talk to Astrid the Lawspeaker until he put some thought into what he wanted to say. The king decided a prayer to the All-Father Odin would be best, and perhaps the king of the Æsir would give him wisdom. So he had said his prayers and he had a dreamless night, which upon waking, he found disappointing. He was hoping Odin would have given him some sign or dream in his sleep. He was sure the Æsir had guided him properly before but today again he felt alone, without their counsel. Soon he would be summoning Astrid the Lawspeaker to his private meeting room.
The obviously pregnant Astrid came into the king’s quarters dressed in a simple brown dress. They began with brief pleasantries and the king asked her to sit. Not known for his diplomatic skills, especially around women, the king dove head first into his concerns.
“So tell me please, lawspeaker, whose child do you bear?”
“I’m sorry to say this my liege, but I do not appreciate starting this meeting with such rudeness.”
“As your king, it is my right to use rudeness where I may, especially regarding important matters of court. Have you been sleeping with our enemies, lawspeaker?”
“Why are you asking such questions? I am your trusted advisor, just as I was the trusted and loved advisor to your father. You are scaring me with these accusatory questions.”
“I am not sure I can trust you any longer. Don’t deny that you have been bedded by Froði Kráka.”
Astrid’s eyes grew a bit larger, as she realized she was further inside the verbal trap of this argument than she might have surmised. She realized her attempt to parry the king initially with his awkward and hostile start was a mistake as he continued charging ahead and she was on her heels, literally. She shuffled her feet uneasily. After a pause, she admitted her affair.
“Yes, I have made love with Froði, but you have to understand…”
“Finally, some truth and not evasions. I don’t have to understand anything other than I think you sold out your kingdom at the peace negotiations, and that you were a fool to Froði’s seductions. So I will amend my first question. Is the child you bear Froði’s and how long have you been bedding him?”
(This image shows how the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing sees one of the liaisons between Astrid the Lawspeaker and Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland.)
“The child is Dag’s,” she insisted. She did not know how many times she had spoken that response in her time married to Dag the Tutor, by now the response was almost a reflex.
“This tryst with Froði, you have to understand, it had nothing to do with the negotiations. It is just my bad habit.”
Astrid hung her head.
“A bad habit! That is laughable. You have made us both fools, but I will not be f***ed and cuckolded like your husband. I refuse to believe you just coincidentally developed a girlish crush on one of the traitors who killed my father to create Noregr.”
“That’s speculation. There’s no proof. We cannot judge him yet because…”
Again the king interrupted her and stormed to his feet gesticulating. He was shouting now.
“I should have you executed! I’ll chop off your head myself! Lawspeaker you must recuse yourself from any discussion of Froði. How can we believe anything you would say of him when you freely offer your loins to his c**k. No, you have been blinded and cannot rule on anything I decide about you or Froði.”
“I admit, I was wrong to take up with Froði. But I assure you, my liege, that this affair did not influence my reasoning for the kingdom. Many of the jarls and chieftains already had similar opinions of the title law. If anything I was getting ahead of myself. I felt because Froði and the others were to be welcomed back into the realm that he was no longer the enemy. And I do not believe he killed your father. That was the godi in Mære. So many of us believe that.”
The king sat back down, his anger ebbing.
“Aye, I once believed that he was alone in kidnapping my half-brother. But I have news from Spymaster Alfr that Froði should definitely be a suspect. And your loud lovemaking with that traitor has now exposed you as a potential suspect too.”
“I loved your father like no other. I did not want him dead. I would have never helped anyone trying to hurt him or the kingdom.”
“That doesn’t balance with the idea that you are bedding one of the men who likely burned him to a crisp so they could build themselves their own kingdom. Their gains are built on the ashes of my father’s bones. Perhaps I should jail you. Maybe that will loosen your tongue.”
“No, please. I don’t want your tortures. I don’t want to lose my child to some misunderstanding.”
From her chair, Astrid dropped painfully to her knees and she leaned forward to hug the king’s thighs. He jerked a bit in surprise at this physical touch. She began to babble a bit and sob as the words fell from her lips quickly.
“I needed a man’s touch. You don’t understand. Those last months with your father, he was ill. He was tired. He’d lost his passion. It has been so long since I had a real man. Froði has charisma, the real presence of a warrior. I remember his long looks when he was Hrœrekr’s marshal. My husband doesn’t compare to your father or Froði. Dag just flops like a fish and he…”
“I don’t want to hear about the sex you have with your husband, nor do I want to hear of your bedchamber romps with my father or Froði.”
The king had grown quite stiff in his chair and he pulled her arms off of his legs.
“Go back to your own chair,” he demanded.
Instead, Astrid sat back on her heels as she kneeled and looked up at the king, no longer touching him. She was coming to a realization.
“You really don’t know how to treat a woman, do you?”
She asked this with an accusatory tone.
He looked down on her, a bit confused.
“That is exactly my point. A pregnant woman throws herself on her knees asking for understanding, and you don’t know where to begin do you? Do you know how to comfort a woman? Do you even see me as a person? Do you even see me as the lover of your father, someone who we both loved and admired? Someone who I cared for and served?”
“I think you are part of the troubles my father made for himself and the kingdom that I am now forced to clean up.”
The king pushed his chair a few inches back to realign it and perhaps duck the withering stare that Astrid was sending his way.
“Have you ever been with a woman? Have you ever held a woman close who was not your mother? Have you ever cared for a woman and showed her you can love her?”
“That discussion is not on the agenda today.”
“You’re still a virgin, aren’t you? A big strapping handsome warrior who is still a virgin. What a prize.”
Astrid’s voice was underlaid with contempt. The room grew silent. The king was not sure how he had lost the verbal initiative.
“You know, we are not so many years apart. Perhaps only five years. It’s possible you could have become my lover at court instead of your father. I could have taught you so many things about the bedchamber. You have no idea the fun you are missing.”
“I am not a prude and my experience in the bedchamber is not up for discussion. And I will not fall for your wiles and seductions today. I will not bed you in this room like my father once did.”
Astrid returned to her chair.
“You think that was me trying to seduce you?”
Astrid chuckled a bit as she wiped away some tears.
“You have no idea. If I wanted to seduce you, then you’d have your cloak off already and be having a jolly time. But I am not interested in a virgin king who has no idea of how to satisfy a woman, in or out of bed.”
The king was squirming a bit in his chair and he felt very uncomfortable. He decided he needed to move the conversation elsewhere.
“Did you know Irmgard is also bedding Froði? Seems you are always playing second to that woman.”
“Your spymaster told you that, did he?”
“Aye, he gave me all the details. He told me Irmgard was likely carrying Froði’s child too, so that’s why I’m inquiring about yours.”
“And you’re not considering that she is the more likely one who plotted with Froði?”
“You could all be in it together. It seems General Froði certainly has a seductive way about him, enough to get many to follow his treasonous plans. What I can’t understand is why an intelligent woman like you would put up with being second to that Saxon bitch?”
“Who says I’m second? Is that more slander from your spymaster?”
“Oh, more truth now. It sounds, Astrid, like you are in love with Froði.”
She tucked her head down to duck the king’s glare.
“Good lovers are hard to find, you will learn.”
“And you want me to believe you fell in love with him over the course of a week or so? You take me for a fool. I am young in my job but not that young.”
“Love is possible quickly. It can be as if Freyja borrowed Thor’s hammer to strike you.”
Astrid now raised her eyes and returned his glare.
“Froði and Irmgard have played us all for fools and my father is dead because of it. Jarl Alfr is on the trail and he will find the truth. I have confidence. And if he discovers you joined them in your plotting, you can be sure the punishment will be swift and terrible. Perhaps for you the worst, because you fooled my father so well.”
“We had a true love. That my heart tells me.”
“Or you were the best spy the Norwegians ever had. But you will always be cursed, I’m afraid, to be taking the scraps that Irmgard will leave you.”
The king shook his head.
Now, Astrid shouted angrily at the king:
“I was your father’s true love. He loved me first and best. The scraps were left for her.”
“Yet she was the queen. And you will never be royalty. No, and I no longer trust you to ever possibly be making the decisions that will run this country. I know my father trusted you as regent, but that ends today. I cannot put that trust in you.”
“Who will do a better job? I am more learned than most of the men on the council. I understand the laws of this new country like no other.”
“Aye, you are just. But your sense of justice has been blinded by plotters and arrogant seducers. I cannot trust you will not make the same mistake again. There are some who are more learned too. The court physician and Seer Styrbjörn, come to mind now, and with some thought on my part there may be others.”
“But can you truly trust them? They are not of your blood.”
“And you are not of my blood either.”
“I was closer to your father than any other.”
“And look what he received for that closeness. Pardon me, but I do not wish to end up the way my father did, extinguished from the earth, leaving no trace. No, there may be no one else in my family who I can trust at this moment, but I will find a replacement for you because your judgment is clouded by the heat in your loins. And this is just a small punishment for now. You will remain lawspeaker. You are correct, no one else understands the complexities of the new laws. At least not yet. So count yourself lucky to keep one title. I think even in your clouded judgment you can see that is a fair compromise.”
“Aye, a compromise. But you have misunderstood my motives and intentions.”
“Be assured once Alfr has found all the facts for me, my justice will be swift and my father will be avenged. If you are involved, you will not be spared.”
“No need to threaten me further. I understand.”
Astrid now sighed deeply with resignation.
“And as for Froði, he is no longer welcome in the capital holding. Once I have enough proof, rest assured your lover will be the first to feel my wrath. And if you intend on keeping this new love affair going, not only will there be consequences for you both but you can expect further demotions and worse. Please feel free to relay my warning to your lover.”
Astrid was now very tired. The fight had left her. She realized this was the best of a bad situation. The king dismissed her and she left with her head down in sorrow.
New Suspect
Astrid the Lawspeaker
Means: Lover of Froði Kráka, one of the prime suspects. When did their affair really begin? Motive: Lust. Throwing her old lover over for new? Or merely duped by her new lover? Is she pregnant with Froði’s child? Opportunity: No one was closer to King Hrœrekr II, and few knew more of his security arrangements. Possible that she unwittingly helped the plotters? Or was this her way to end her affair with the king?
(The images included in this chapter that are not from Crusader Kings II are all from accounts linked to Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the developments in the investigation of the murder of King Hrœrekr II can be found there: see profile link.)
*Note: This post was edited later to add a soundtrack.
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return in the coming weeks….)
Chapter V Plots and Vengeance
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 786-787)
(This image shows a woodcut of the Ulfheðnar gathering at Sjælland’s largest alehouse, led by Jarl Sigurd “Ring.” This image was created with the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing. )
King Þorolfr thought his greatest challenge would be reuniting the Kingdom of Denmark with the Kingdom of Noregr. He was unprepared for the pressures of ruling, especially the court politics, council maneuvering, power-plays, egos and espionage. He wanted dearly to find justice for his father’s murder. Although he felt he knew more about who was at fault he was frustrated by the glacial pace of his spymaster’s investigation. Other forces were not prepared to let him rest and he felt bombarded by plots, rumors, and slanders that Spymaster Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel continued to turn up, unrelated to his father’s assassination.
In the winter of CE 786-787, Jarl Alfr reported to the high council of Denmark that rumors were spreading throughout the kingdom that the king was often drunk at court and constantly drinking. Although the false rumors started first independently, later they were accelerated by real events. The king won a drinking contest at a gathering of the Ulfheðnar, the berserker wolf warrior lodge of which he was a member. The Ulfheðnar dubbed Þorolfr as the “King of Mead” and this unofficial nickname only fueled the rumors more. But as the winner of the contest, the king was awarded a generous gift from Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland, one of the leaders of the Ulfheðnar clan. The gift of gold boosted the royal treasury by more than 20 percent.
At the thaw of 787, the high council approved the proposal to attack the Geatish realm of Petty King Bersi Ulfing in Västergötland. Again, Jarl Sigurd, the Field Marshal of Denmark, led the campaign, making quick work of the Geatish forces and forcing a surrender by the end of July. The ten-year-old Bersi’s regent and retainers agreed to pay Denmark an annual sum and become a formal tributary to the kingdom.
Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð reported the following plots to the king:
The already suspect Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland was again promoting Norwegian independence but this time saying the king’s 12-year-old half-brother Eysteinn should have the crown; and
Chief Ulfr Mikli of Årus, the Chancellor of Denmark, was now promoting the idea Prince Eysteinn should be crowned King of Denmark, but Þorolfr could keep the crown as the King of Noregr.
“Here’s another ungrateful commoner. I’m surrounded by such plotters.”
Chief Ulfr was another of King Hrœrekr II’s retainers who had been raised up to royalty and given a landed title for his service to the king. Now, as Hrœrekr’s successor, Þorolfr seemed to be surrounded by these former retainers and their barbed agendas.
“I want Ulfr fired. I don’t have to put up with plotters on the council.”
“That may only make matters worse, my liege. Sometimes it is better to have the plotters close to read their intentions better.”
“Franky, jarl, I’m tired of you and Lawspeaker Astrid restraining me at every turn. Plotters need to stop their treachery and face punishment. This is the least I can do to let Ulfr know he has overstepped. I want you to go personally to Årus and to carry my message that he is fired from the council. You can demand he stop his plotting too. I want him to know he is being watched and that he needs to change his ways.”
So, in this way, Chief Ulfr was fired, but little did the king realize this firing would set off another chain of unexpected consequences later.
However, Jarl Alfr, the Spymaster, was not done with his report. There was an additional plotter to consider:
Chief Knut Hammer of Rygjafylki, the Court Physician of Denmark, was plotting to reduce the king’s powers.
Like the other plotters, Knut had been a commoner and retainer to King Hrœrekr II, transplanted to Noregr as an attempt by Þorolfr’s father to maintain stronger control on those conquered lands. And like those other plotters, he had his own ideas about how the young king was handling his affairs.
With this news, the king was bereft. Perhaps the only person who could replace Knut as court physician was the Seer of Denmark, who was busy working to convert the Finnish lands to the true Germanic faith.
“I suggest you don’t get sick!”
“I’m not sure if that is sarcasm or true advice. But I promise to keep my distance from Knut. And how goes your investigation into the death of my father?”
“The trail is cold. We may have to resign ourselves to the fact that we may never know the whole truth.”
“I find that unacceptable. At the least, you need to continue to work to link Chief Froði to the crime so he can be brought to justice.”
“We will see what can be done, but don’t pin your hopes to having all the answers.”
“Somehow, someway, I am going to avenge my father’s death and Froði Kráka is the top name on my list.”
“What have I counseled you about vengeance, my liege? Once you have unleashed that violence, it will strike out in all directions like a wildfire. You can’t control it, especially if you don’t have all the proof. Where is the justice in that?”
The king was unsatisfied by these answers. After his meeting with his spymaster he realized more than 22 months had gone by since his father’s assassination. Thinking that he could do a better job than his spymaster, he started laying his own plans.
The impressive Germanic Temple of Hamburg, along the River Elbe, just outside the village of Hamburg, as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
The story of how Godi Sigburt “The Blushing” of Hamburg in Saxony became best friends with King Þorolfr is for another place and another time. But they had become fast friends in 787. The godi had traveled to Denmark looking for sanctuary and he had heard of the kingdom’s devout king. The king was a lonely man, still unmarried, without a concubine, and someone who had found trust was difficult to parcel out, especially as king. When Sigburt had showed up in Sjælland the king welcomed him.
Now, as the seasons turned from summer toward winter, the king was escorting the godi back to his holding, the Temple of Hamburg. At least that’s what everyone thought the king was doing, all except Sigburt. Sigburt had also run some important errands for the king, one of which was to ask the spymaster of Hordaland to meet with the king secretly in Hamburg, far from the reach of most of the spies in Denmark, and even away from Jarl Alfr’s espionage network.
The king was delighted to discover that the Spymaster of Hordaland was none other than Chieftess Gyrið, the wife of Chief Froði Kráka.
Godi Sigburt took the king’s guards to the market in Hamburg, while the Spymaster of Hordaland met with the king secretly in the temple.
As the king was very devout, he gave his standard greeting to begin the meeting. Then they exchanged pleasantries about travel and how the king recalled her from her brief time in his father’s court. Eventually, the king said it might be time to discuss what he called “the delicate matters.”
“My information says there are two women who are problems for your family and I think they are problems for mine as well.”
“You mean Irmgard and Astrid, of course. We can openly discuss them here without fear, my liege. Yes, I am fairly sure my husband continues to see Irmgard. I know of the scandal in Åland. But the chief there accepted Irmgard’s latest child as his own, so that has died down. However, I am certain they both still meet when they can.”
“I don’t know how people do it. Disappearing for weeks at a time for trysts while there is work to be done.”
“My husband disappears for weeks on end and so do I. But I have an excuse. As spymaster, that’s expected and my husband takes advantage of my travels. But who knows, if word of our meeting ever is disclosed some might think we are having a tryst. We are meeting in a bedroom. Your father was well known for just that.”
“Don’t be afraid of me. I am not my father. I have no designs on you except for what business we can do together.”
Gyrið ran a finger along the sheath of her hunting knife.
“Well, I know my way around a bedroom with a king, so I have no fear of you. And as a woman who travels unescorted and armed, I fear very little actually. I am ready for what comes my way.”
Gyrið had been a concubine to Petty King Hjörvardr “The Cruel” of House Ulfing, the ruler of Östergötland. She was the mother of Petty King Bersi. In the odd politics of the Geatish realms in Sweden, King Hjörvardr ruled Östergötland and his young son Bersi now ruled Västergötland but through a regent who was a commoner. Gyrið had fallen out of favor with King Hjörvardr and she was set aside and banished. This opened the door for her to come to Sjælland so Þorolfr’s father could match her with Froði and she could eventually become the Chieftess of Hordaland.
“I like that spirit. But what of Astrid, is your husband still bedding her?”
“I am not certain. I have heard the same stories I’m sure you have heard about Astrid and my husband during last year’s peace conference. It’s possible she is still involved with him but you would know better than I. Does Astrid have unexplained travels?”
“Not that I am aware. None that my spymaster has reported.”
“And on the other hand, my husband can’t keep his c**k in his pants. I know he has relations with several of our servants, and then there are his disappearances with Irmgard. It is highly likely there are at least one or two other women who he sees too.”
“I wish there were more definitive facts. And what of his plot to put my half-brother Eysteinn on the throne of Noregr?”
“Yes, he is plotting. He wants to run Noregr through a puppet king. There is no question of that.”
“Now, we are getting somewhere. You were his spymaster two years ago. What can you tell me about my father’s murder? Did you and Froði plan it? I know that seems like a silly question, but I’d be ready to forgive you for a favor, if you confirmed my suspicions.”
“I’m curious about the favor. But I will be no help regarding the assassination. That surprised me too. I know Froði took advantage of it, but I was never aware of his planning such a complex killing. I had always thought it was Godi Þorsteinn of Mære. He benefited the most. He became the regent for your brother, Magni. He was running Noregr, of course, with my husband’s help.”
“That’s half-brother. Magni’s my half-brother.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. But you have to know that my husband and Þorsteinn don’t like each other. They were competitors while Noregr was independent. I always thought the godi had planned the assassination and told my husband afterward so they could scoop up Magni and declare independence.”
“Too many theories. I want something definitive.”
“And your spymaster has no more than I have?”
“Well, you have been very informative, but unfortunately he does not. I thought you would get me closer to knowing the truth and taking care of the plotters.”
“We can still take care of one plotter. My husband may have been smart enough to respond quickly to your misfortune, although he was not the cause of it. However, he’s still plotting against you regarding an independent Noregr. And as for me, the man is a cheat and a liar. I came here because I thought you might be offering a way for us both to get justice.”
“Yes, that is what we have in common, a need for justice.”
The king leaned out of his chair and put his face close to Gyrið.
“My entire body aches to bring justice for my father’s murder. Will you help me kill Froði Kráka?”
A wicked smile grew across Gyrið’s face.
“I thought you had that in mind from the godi’s message. Yes, it would be my pleasure.”
So the two put their plans in motion. Once Gyrið returned to Hordaland, she aimed to take action against her husband during the annual Jul celebration.
A Jul to Remember
Gyrið's special arrangement of flowers as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
This year, Gyrið added a special arrangement of dried purple-pinkish flowers to the usual Jul decorations. The flowers were the size and shape of thimbles and sat on stalks in rows, with the stalks ranging in size from two to three feet in length. Gyrið remembered seeing similar dried flower arrangements at the market in Saxony, but she had gathered these herself at the end of the warm months. She had learned the Saxons called the flowers “fingerhut.” An interesting and memorable name.
Eleven days of Jul festivities had preceded this last day of the special season.
On this final day of the Jul festival, Chief Froði was dressed in a billowing fur cape and matching fur hat. He wore a leather vest over his cloth shirt and he had loose-fitting leather pants. Also, he wore a variety of golden necklaces. Like the tribe he ruled now, he was decked out in his finest for the end of Jul and the beginning of the new year.
The chief was seated in the center of the head feasting table, flanked on one side by his wife Gyrið and the other by his concubine. The rest of the head table consisted of other members of the chief’s council or others of importance in his settlement in Hordaland. Scores of the most important people of the settlement were dining in the chief’s house on this final night of Jul.
“More! Bring me a second helping of this fine stew!” the chief ordered loudly in the bustling and noisy longhouse.
Soon one of the chief’s serving women had brought him another heaping plate of stew. As the woman set down the plate, Froði grabbed the woman’s buttocks with one of his thick hands. He squeezed her hard, rubbing his fingers coarsely along her pelvic region. “I think I know a treat for after this feast!” he said as he gave her a lewd smile.
The woman winked back at him, not offended by the chief’s obvious invitation. She had actually visited the chief’s small private dwelling that he kept just outside the longhouse. She had been there more than a few times. Froði did not sleep in the longhouse with the women and children. Now that he was a chief and not a commoner, he liked the fact he could demand such privacy and ownership of buildings without anyone in the settlement to question him.
Noticing the chief’s vulgar flirtation, Gyrið leaned into the chief and said, “If you would stop sowing your seed in so many fields, maybe you might finally get an heir for Hordaland.”
“My dear,” Froði retorted, “you know I have the biggest and widest c**k in the kingdom. And like any tool, you must use it often, or it becomes dull.”
“Well, your c**k might never be dull,” Gyrið agreed as she could attest to the size of his endowment, “but how you use it dulls the mind.” Gyrið glared at him.
“Your eyes want to kill me it seems,” Froði laughed and took a gulp of mulled apple wine from his cup. “But perhaps I will die instead of boredom, while you keep on talking.”
“An interesting way to start the new year,” Gyrið growled a bit.
“Come away from the feast now and I can give you what that serving woman wants instead,” Froði offered. “Or come with me after the feast. You know where I sleep.”
“Oh yes, I know. I just never know who is there with you,” she replied.
“My suggestion is visit more often,” the chief said as he tried to give her a kiss but she moved away.
“I don’t like to be surprised that way,” Gyrið said, “Besides it is Margareta’s night with you. She and I agreed that I would watch the children.”
“Have it your way,” the chief said and dug into his stew with a fistful of bread and a spoon. While he munched on a mouthful of pork stew, he leaned the other way and gave his concubine Margareta a wet kiss on the neck while he pinched her breast.
“I intend to have it my way,” Gyrið muttered to herself.
After the feasting, songs were sung. There was a poetry reading. The Seer told a tale about Freyr’s adventures. Soon it was time for the toasts, as the evening wore on to a late hour, and the crowd was anxious for more singing and merry-making to usher in the new year.
Chief Froði gathered the crowd around the fire pit and asked everyone to stand and fill their cups or horns with the mulled apple wine that had been scented with herbs. The chief was already wavering a bit on his feet as he was a bit into his cups but still lucid enough to be thinking of bedding his concubine later.
“First, a toast to the All-Father Odin, who shall give us victory on the battlefield and give Magni the power to rule an independent Noregr, again!” Froði declared.
A few people cheered and some nodded approvingly, but others let out worried sounds and some even said “no” in a slow groaning way. The sounds created a sense of disorder in the room. Many did not drink after the chief gulped down his cup of mulled apple wine.
“The tradition is to ask the All-Father to grant the king foresight and power,” Hordaland’s Seer piped up. “This is a bad omen to begin the new year this way. Perhaps you are drunk, my liege, and you misspoke?”
“You’re a little bit right,” the chief said. “I got my brothers mixed up. I should have toasted Odin to ask that he place Eysteinn on the throne of Noregr.
Now, there were uneasy murmurs around the room, although a few people cheered and clapped. One man shouted, “Noregr!”
“Perhaps we should move on to the next toast,” Gyrið pulled at the chief’s elbow and handed him a fresh horn of drink.
“Yes, please, the next toast,” the Seer agreed.
“Alright then,” Froði waved this new horn filled with drink around, sloshing its contents out a bit and spilling some on the wooden floorboards. His eyes focused on the herbs floating in the mulled apple spirit but his vision blurred momentarily, and they went in and out of focus. “To the Vanir Njörðr, may he bless our fishing boats and give us a bountiful harvest from the sea. And to his son Freyr, I thank him for giving me the biggest c**k in the land. Almost as big as Freyr’s!” The chief swigged down the horn full of apple spirits.
Not many others drank.
The Seer frowned at the lewd toast and quickly interjected loudly, “May Freyr sow his seed across the land and give us a bountiful harvest!”
Several people drank to that toast but the crowd was uneasy and murmuring now.
“Shush…shush,” Froði said. “I was only jesting. Don’t folks want a good jest on Jul? Good to start the new year with laughter.”
Gyrið handed the chief yet another new horn filled with the mulled apple wine. “Time for your last toast to the king,” she nudged him.
“I’m not toasting that oaf in Sjælland!” Froði growled. Then he held the horn over his head, and yelled. “A toast to the better brothers, Eysteinn and Magni!” Then he poured the horn down his throat.
A few people cheered and there were shouts from some of “Noregr! Noregr!” but most of the room was silent or murmuring uneasily.
Froði handed his empty horn back to the chieftess. “Another! Let’s have one more toast! Where has the spirit of this feast gone? Why are you all so quiet?”
Gyrið quickly filled a fresh horn for her husband and handed it back to him. But before the chief could speak the Seer interjected and held up his own cup. “May we remember the spirits of the departed! May Odin and Freyja toast with them now in their feasting halls and may they be remembered in the land of Hel too, where I am sure they are all having a fine Jul feast.” At that the Seer, chief and the entire longhouse of people gulped down their drinks. There were a few cheers and many people added a solemn “Aye!” after finishing their horns and cups. One man shouted “Noregr!” again, a time or two.
Many people began to give their good-byes immediately, some leaving the longhouse without bidding the chief or chieftess or Seer any departing words. Gyrið and the serving women were left to tidy up the longhouse a bit now but most of the cleaning would be left for the next day. Meanwhile, Chief Froði was already leading Margareta out of the longhouse just as his two baby daughters awoke up from all of the commotion.
Gyrið heard Margareta say, “Maybe you shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight. The toasts did not land well with the people.”
“I haven’t had too much to drink!” the chief countered, “Certainly not enough to keep me from giving you a good rutting.”
Later, as all had calmed in the longhouse, with the babies again asleep and the servants gone to their area on the other side of structure, Gyrið lay in bed and she could hear Froði grunting and exhorting loudly next door as he made good his word and rutted with Margareta. She could hear her cries too. Then she drifted off to sleep.
Hours before the sun rose during the dark days of January, Gyrið was startled awake not by Margareta’s cries of pleasure but by her screams of terror.
Pulling a fur cape about her, she rushed to the servants and told them to mind the children. She put on her shoes as quickly as she could and rushed next door. When she entered the small hut, Margareta was over the prone and naked body of Froði on his large bed. Margareta wore a simple nightgown as she pushed on Froði’s unmoving chest.
“He’s dead! Dead!” she wailed. “How? Why?”
“The seer told him that toast was a bad idea,” Gyrið said flatly. “The new year has certainly brought us change.”
“How can you be so cold?” Margareta said. “He was our future.”
“His vision of a shared future,” Gyrið replied. And then she gathered herself, “I am still the chieftess for the next little while. I will gather the Seer and the council. We will take care of his body and do the necessary chores. Gather yourself and leave now. There is much work to do.”
As Margareta gathered her things, Gyrið pushed herself out the door as some others from the holding were starting to come to see what was happening. “All will be set right. Go home. I am taking care of it,” Gyrið said to the onlookers.
She made her way to the worship house. There she asked the Seer for his help with the body and an able man to make the long trek to Sjælland to inform the king.
.
As she walked back to the longhouse, slowly and purposefully, she bared her teeth and smiled. She felt like jumping up and down but she contained her exhilaration. Her plan had worked to perfection. Unseen by anyone, and using a secret pocket sewn into the sleeve of her garment that she had worn to the feast, she took her own special ingredients and added them to some of the chief’s wine horns during the toasts. They mixed with the herbs in the mulled apple spirit and were undetected. The special ingredients were the finely ground flowers and stems from the fingerhut plant, a plant the English would call later the foxglove. Those special ingredients had done their magic and stopped Froði Kráka’s heart during the night.
This Mammen-style tapestry records the image of Chief Froði making his infamous Jul toast as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator.
(The images included in this chapter that are not from Crusader Kings II are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found at The Tårn.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return next week.)
Disposition: Insufficient proof to link him to the crime, despite his obvious organization of the movement for Noregr’s independence (Norway’s independence) after the king’s murder. Reigned as Regent of Noregr in the name of 14-year-old King Magni, one of Hrœrekr’s sons until Noregr lost the Norwegian Independence War. Still in charge of the Temple of Mære.
Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland
One of the Prime Suspects
Disposition: Died suspiciously on New Year’s Eve night, as 787 CE became 788 CE. As he had no male heir, his land and titles were transferred to King Þorolfr, Hrœrekr’s heir. He had been a leader in Noregr’s independence movement and was still plotting for an independent Noregr when he died. He had been knowledgeable of the king’s security arrangements as the former Field Marshal of Denmark.
Chieftess Irmgard of Åland (formerly the Queen of Denmark, King Hrœrekr II’s second wife) One of the Prime Suspects
Disposition: Revealed to be one of the mistresses of Froði Kráka. Did she have a child with Froði? No definitive proof of her involvement in the murder, but highly placed at court and aware of her former husband’s security arrangements. Did she seek to have her husband killed as revenge for his many affairs?
Astrid the Lawspeaker (formerly the acknowledged mistress of King Hrœrekr II) Suspect, Possible Collaborator, or Dupe?
Disposition: Also revealed to be one of the mistresses of Froði Kráka. How many of his children did she bear, if any? Stripped of her position as Regent of Denmark after the truth of her affair with Froði was revealed. Also, very knowledgeable of the king’s security arrangements and his habits.
Þrándr Skjöldung Formerly the Chief of Slesvig & Hordaland Suspect or Possible Collaborator?
Disposition: As Hrœrekr’s rival, Þrándr remains on the suspects’ list, however he was not knowledgeable of the king’s security arrangements and he was not close to the king. He did not have the means to pull off a complex plot by himself and it is questionable just what he may have added to any plot with the mix of other suspects on this list. Þrándr remained angry at his brother because he felt he should be king and he didn’t like that his titles were stripped by Hrœrekr.
Loki Trickster of the Jötnar Suspect? Collaborator?
Disposition: Some in these forums have suggested that Loki is an overlooked suspect in the murder of King Hrœrekr II and the various ripples of other problems linked to that event. As a powerful shapeshifter could Loki have encouraged one of the other suspects somehow? As a cruel trick aimed toward Odin’s favored family and nation, Loki certainly could have had both the means and motivation to start a cascade of events that led to the assassination and further troubles. Loki always has the opportunity to pop up and push events and people enough to produce tragedy. So far though, no one in Denmark in the 8th Century has linked him to the crime, which ensures whatever role he played stays hidden. Loki would revel in the fact that some thought Thor was a possible suspect.
With King Þorolfr now reigning for more than two years, as Spymaster Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel told him, “the trail has grown cold.” However, events connected to the murder and the investigation continue to ripple through the politics and happenings in the Kingdom of Denmark. The death of Hrœrekr II haunts King Þorolfr and remains a topic of speculation and rumor. (Some still believe Thor smote the king for various reasons.) Even if Spymaster Alfr no longer prioritizes the investigation very highly, the king has his own designs on setting up his own independent espionage operations, conducting his own investigation, and seeking vengeance if necessary. This list of suspects is still important to King Þorolfr.
(Beyond the graphics provided by Crusader Kings II, some of these images are from @Chac1’s Playground AI account where he holds the copyright. The image of Loki is from an 18th Century manuscript now in an archive in Iceland and is in the public domain.)
(This is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about who killed King Hrœrekr II can be found at The Tårn.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes, the next chapter coming later this week.)
Chapter VI Learning the Art of Politics
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 788)
This game piece showing a Norse berserker is either from a Hnefatafl set or a chess set from the Middle Ages as part of the Lewis Chessmen Collection of the National Museums Scotland. The piece is similar to ones used in the Hnefatafl set given by Dag the Tutor to Jarl Sigurd “Ring” of Finland. This photo is used here as part of an agreement for its free use between Wikimedia Commons and the British Museum, CC BY-SA 4.0.
The Spymaster of Denmark, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel learned of the death of Chief Froði Kráka within hours. Alfr and a contingent of his scouts were wintering miserably in their small huts in the mountains overlooking the fjord and Froði’s settlement in Hordaland where they had been spying on him for months. For them, there was no Jul feast, and they were glad when Alfr gave the word that most would leave soon for Sjælland. Despite the winter weather, they would row a karve back to the capital: much faster than the dangerous trek a messenger would take at this time of year.
Alfr immediately suspected foul play, but he had other murders and plots to attend to at the moment. He didn’t need the corpse of someone he considered a traitor adding to his work in the dark shadows of the kingdom.
So King Þorolfr would receive news first from Alfr, personally, about the death of Froði. The official messenger from Hordaland sent by Chieftess Gyrið would struggle into the capital weeks later at the end of January, beaten-down and weathered by his winter hike across a great expanse of Scandinavia.
In mid-February, in the heart of the winter, Alfr would return to the capital to visit with the king, prior to the regular meeting of the high council. The two men settled into their regular chairs in the king’s personal meeting room. Both had already hashed over their differences regarding Chief Froði. In January, Alfr suggested that the king might have had a hand in the chief’s death. Feigning innocence, Þorolfr said the cause of death was natural causes. Alfr wondered why a man in his early 40’s just died in his sleep. The king countered with the fact that this happened all the time, and possibly the Æsir had struck the man down for his lewd Jul toast. Alfr had ended that conversation by saying such a theory was as believable as saying Thor had killed the king’s grandfather. And so like the duelists they both had been as younger men, they tapped blades and renewed their verbal sparring.
“What news do you have from Hordaland? Any more thoughts on the death of Froði?”
“I might ask the same about the murder of my father. But as you like to say, that’s a dead subject.”
“I hate hearing my own puns repeated back to me. Still very convenient that my top suspect ends up dead. That’s only going to make finding out the truth harder.”
“If Froði murdered my father, he was never going to admit it. Justice is done one way or another. On to other subjects.”
“No more lectures on either topic, please.”
The king held up a finger, signaling Alfr to wait with any response. Eventually, after a long awkward pause, Alfr resumed the conversation.
“I have some news you’ll need before the next council session.”
In a bit less than two and a half years, Þorolfr had reunited the kingdom and won a short war with Västergötland to become the suzerain of that Geatish petty kingdom. Now, Þorolfr had his goals set to war against Östergötland and make them pay him tribute too, recreating much of the same tribute structures that his father had established. He would be discussing those plans with the council so they could be settling on a decision before campaigning season. Informally, the discussion about Östergötland had been going on for months.
“Östergötland is going to be off the table.”
“And why is that?”
The king asked this with some annoyance.
“Dag the Tutor. That’s why.”
With the firing of Chief Ulfr of Årus from the council in October, the king had very few places to turn to find someone with diplomatic skills as chancellor. With some reluctance, he had turned to Dag the Tutor, despite knowing his history. Better to have someone with political images of grandeur on the council than someone who was a dangerous plotter, the king thought. Neither was a good choice, but Denmark, at this stage, was a young kingdom with a history of warrior-kings, not stewards or diplomats. Men who could use their tongue like a blade on behalf of the kingdom were hard to find. Dag had just returned from Hordaland where he had traveled as an official representing the king in his new lands, to smooth over any grievances left from the Noregr War and clear the way for the king’s planned trip there in the next month.
“He has the votes to stop me?”
The king was incredulous.
“Yes. Dag is just out of step. He doesn’t seem to like war. He’s an odd duck. But he surely has control of the council and he wants to exercise that control. You know this has happened before.”
The king nodded that he knew the story. He had heard it second hand over the years, although he wished his father had told him and provided him with some political insights of how to handle Dag and the odd way he expressed his self-interests. If Dag were a general, he would specialize in the sneak attack, and forgo all frontal assaults. The king asked his spymaster how Dag had wrangled the votes.
“Well, if you know the story then you know Dag is a tireless worker. That’s a good characteristic usually. So he works at gaining political capital, which isn’t easy for a commoner. If you know him, he likes to play games, on many levels. He’s a master at Hnefatafl. He’s played my friend Sigurd a few times. Well, in his travels, Dag brought back a beautiful Hnefatafl set, carved from whale bone. He gave it to Sigurd, so Sigurd feels indebted.”
Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland served as the kingdom’s field marshal.
Þorolfr was trying hard to quell his anger. He asked his spymaster who else had accepted gifts from Dag.
“Well, it’s not always gifts. So in the case of Tryggve, Dag has spent a lot of time with him sharing poetry from memory. Tryggve heard a lot of new and wonderful poems this way. You know Tryggve is very serious about his appointment as the court’s skald, besides being your chief advisor. So Dag just won his heart. It’s the same with Godi Styrbjörn. Dag has spent a lot of time with him in the past few months and they discuss the oral Sagas all the time. Styrbjörn learned new Sagas from Dag, so again, he feels indebted.”
“Alright, that’s four votes.”
“No, five votes. He has five.”
“Who else then?”
“He has my vote too.”
“What!?! What do you mean he has your vote too?”
“Dag brought me a box of these very specially smoked and salted sardines from Nordaland. I love these Norwegian sardines. He brought me the sardines and ten pieces of gold, and I was happy.”
“Not a jest. Just facts.”
“Be careful with your confessions, spymaster, perhaps I should fire you for your corruption.”
“No. You don’t want to do that,” Alfr said. “Any new spy service you reconstruct will not be as good as mine plus you’d miss our witty debates.”
The king had heard enough of the hubris of his spymaster, but he knew getting angry at Alfr would just compound the problem. They ended the meeting on a sour note and soon the king had Dag summoned to the king’s private meeting room.
King Þorolfr confronts Dag the Tutor as pictured by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
The king asked that two guards stay stationed outside his door, but none were present in the small room. However, the guards could easily overhear most conversations in the room without straining, especially if voices were raised as they sometimes were when the king was not happy with his retainers or council members.
After the preliminary greetings, the king questioned his chancellor directly.
“It has come to my attention that you oppose our plans to make Östergötland a tributary. Perhaps you could give me your reasoning before the council meeting so we can hash out any differences here.”
“That’s very kind, but I don’t think I need to explain myself. I know I wouldn’t be here unless you discovered I have favors from most of the council, more than a majority.”
“Don’t be unreasonable and high handed with me, tutor.” You’ve been set in your place before and you can be again. At least, I’m not bedding your wife to boot.”
The king’s anger now boiled over. He wagged his finger at Dag.
“Don’t you see I’m being reasonable with you. I’m not embarrassing you in public. I gave you cause to explain yourself. Instead, I think part of your revenge is challenging me in a place where you think that you have some leverage. Let me warn you, there is no leverage with me. And my punishment can be far worse than anything my father delivered to your doorstep.”
“You talk, but it sounds just like your father.”
The king paused. He wasn’t sure if he should get angrier or feel complimented. He decided he would use a different tactic. He quickly took a knife he kept hidden inside of his robe out of its sheath and plunged it into the tabletop. Dag’s eyes flew open in surprise.
“Take the knife. Strike me down. Or try to. That is more honorable than all this sneaking and skulking that you have done to tangle up the council.”
Both men could hear the guards shifting outside the door.
“Stay outside. This is handled.”
Dag looked at the knife. He looked back at the king. He didn’t know what to do. He sat there with his indecision, looking around nervously. Then he let out a tired sigh and collapsed to the tabletop sobbing.
“I can’t. I can’t. I don’t believe violence is a solution.”
“So that is why you tangle up the council to stop campaigning season?”
The king was calmer now that he had forced something out of Dag.
“Oh, it’s more than that for sure.”
Dag sobbed and tried to regain his composure.
“Oh your dark well is far too deep for me to clamber into,” the king shook his head. “I am not the steward, but let me assure you war is our business here. That is how we keep this kingdom afloat. We are poor lands. If we do not raid, if we do not conquer, if we do not make our neighbors bend the knee to us and bow, then no funds and bounty flow to Sjælland. This much I understand but the details are beyond me. If you stop campaign season, this I know, you stop the flow of blood to the heart of the kingdom.”
“We could trade more. Send me to the foreign capitals. I beseech you. The kingdom can be more than a nation of raiders.”
Dag wiped away his tears.
“Sad that you think so little of the lives and service of the warriors who are so essential for our lands. No, your time is past. We could have attempted a reasonable conversation but you squandered that without listening to me. I know you have provided a good service to this kingdom and to my father for decades. But your misguided search for revenge is out of proportion. You cannot punish the kingdom for the wrongs of a man, even if he was king. And now he is gone and you are punching at the wind. The council is no place for your ghostly feud.”
“Please…”
Dag began to plead but the king cut him off.
“I will not punish you further beyond sacking you from your position and I will not further punish your wife, although I could and perhaps should for your insolence. The kingdom is generous to give you both a salary for your services. Your misguided schemes have cost you another chance to serve this realm at the highest levels.”
“I am sorry, my liege.”
Dag said this with sincerely while his sobbing returned for a bit.
“Guards! Escort this man out of my house. I don’t want to lay eyes on him for a very long time.”
Then the king lowered his tone as the guards entered the room.
“I am not sure why I will keep you as the court tutor though. You are slow to learn from your mistakes.”
With Dag now fired as chancellor, the king had only one more person he felt he could turn to for help on his council: his brother, Magni. He thought that if he reached out to his brother, perhaps they could mend their rivalry and end the gulf that separated them. After he was returned to the capital after the Norwegian Independence War, Magni served as the king’s squire. Now, he was the very young Chief of Nidaros at 16. He had left the capital to take formal control of his holding about eight months ago.
King Þorolfr suggested that the two meet formally in Hordaland, which was in Noregr but also had become the king’s property after the death of Chief Froði Kráka. Both agreed this was a neutral spot away from the capital. Gyrið, the former chieftess of Hordaland and the king’s ally, made all the arrangements for the king and prince to meet in a brotherly summit.
Prince Magni and King Þorolfr meet in Hordaland as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Difusion 1.5 image generator with further modifications made using the beta-version of Playground AI’s image editor Canvas.
When the two sat down together, after some initial barbs and awkwardness, Prince Magni took the initiative.
“Maybe we should start with my list of grievances instead of your attempts at small talk.”
“It was suggested I should inquire about the health of your wife before we got down to business.”
The king struggled awkwardly between controlling his own anger toward his brother and trying to find some place to get positive traction in the conversation.
“Oh, is that a veiled joke? Some sort of backhanded way of referencing my wife’s age?”
Magni beat the meeting table between them with his fist.
“No, it was not my intention….”
The king began to say with his hands outstretched pleading for understanding.
When Froði and Godi Þorsteinn of Mære controlled Prince Magni’s affairs, they had betrothed him to Halla, the widow of Valdemar af Aalborg, the infamous former spymaster of Sjælland. Halla was more than twice Magni’s age and five years older than King Þorolfr too, a woman in her mid-30’s. Þorolfr and some of his advisors had speculated they had made such an arrangement to find support in Jutland and favor from those in Ålborg to the cause of Norwegian independence. Halla was the mother of Chief Vagn, who was just a year younger than Magni, and who depended upon a regency to run Ålborg. Even after the Norwegian Independence War, the king was unable to break Magni’s betrothal to Halla, as it was legally binding and beyond the king’s current legal powers.
“I’m not sure you ever speak your true intentions.”
“Look, I have many fine prospective concubines in my jail, or other women at court who could serve you in that role.”
“I don’t need you sticking your nose in the affairs of my bedchamber. We are just fine there. She is a lovely wife and she is showing me what I need to know to fulfill my duties as a husband. This is not a topic where I need the mentorship of someone who still doesn’t have a wife.”
“All in good time. Just remember I offered.”
The king was trying to calm himself after his blunder. He was proud of himself for not rising to take the bait of his half-brother’s insult.
“I wish I had never heard your offer. I am very happy with my wife, thank you.”
Besides her duties as the chieftess of Nidaros, Halla’s experience as a chieftess and dealing with a council were valuable political resources to Magni as he learned the ropes of leadership, without regents and others treating him like a puppet. Her learning and understanding of religious philosophy were so deep, he had appointed her the Seer of Nidaros. Of course, Godi Þorsteinn and his temple were ever-present in that province, and if Magni or Halla needed counsel, he was close at hand. However, there had definitely been a shift away from the godi’s control, and Halla’s appointment was as much a message to him as it was to others.
“Alright, then, let’s….”
The king began after another awkward pause but again Magni cut him off.
“Let’s talk about the succession. I can’t think of anything more important.”
“Wishing me dead, already, despite my youth and vigor.”
“I wish you dead every day, brother.”
“Half-brother.”
Þorolfr spat out the word like it was a foul insult.
“I fear this conversation will get no better if we broach that topic.”
“For me, that is the most important so indulge me before we get to your hidden agendas.”
“No hidden agendas, if you’d let me get out my thoughts.”
“Always controlling everything.”
Magni shook his head now.
“Well, I know it’s difficult for you to understand but the King of Denmark doesn’t control the whole world. He doesn’t even really control as much as he thinks he should in Denmark.”
“Look, the succession is a moot point. Besides, I plan on living a long time, like our grandfather.”
“And there’s always the possibility you’ll end up like father.”
The king’s voice sank to a hissing hoarse whisper.
“That was a coup. And the coup plotters kidnapped you to get their way.”
“Froði and Þorsteinn always told me they had rescued me and were protecting me, besides doing what was right for Noregr.”
“Of course, they were going to tell you that.”
The king gave out a soft sad chuckle.
“That’s what conspirators are going to say to one of their victims. Conspiracies and lies. Those are two new names for Froði and Þorsteinn.”
“It seems rude of you to be speaking so ill of the dead, especially here in his own holding where he slept nightly. I have thought to myself that it seems very convenient that Froði died so suddenly. Should I be posting extra guards at the Temple of Mære? Should I be making a sacrifice to confirm Þorsteinn’s health? Will your spymaster, ‘The Irongrip,’ be adding him to his deadly list for assassination?”
“I’m not sure what you are insinuating there.”
The king looked at Magni innocently.
“From what I have been told, it is clear the Æsir called Froði to dine in Helheim with the Jötunn Hel. One should never make sacrilegious jokes during important religious festivals, that’s the lesson there. You are welcome to ask The Irongrip any time if such a list of death exists, by the way. I assure you he has no such list.”
“Well, tread lightly, half-brother.”
“Am I to take that as a threat?”
“Take it anyway you like, but I am here to make sure you don’t get everything you want in the two kingdoms. My role is to provide balance because we should not trust you to set your own path. And that begins with succession, or for you, ends with it.”
Magni chuckled.
“Your immaturity is showing. This is why you are not ready to be king, even if I was struck down here in Hordaland, just like grandfather.”
“I was too young to remember grandfather. But to my larger point, the council of chiefs disagrees. Maybe you will come around to seeing it my way, and their way.”
Þorolfr had named their uncle, Þrándr Skjöldung, as successor, but the nomination was unpopular with the council of chiefs which ultimately made the decision for the kingdom. Prince Magni remained their favorite.
“You see, you are making my point here. We need someone who remembers and reveres The Old Wartooth. Someone who knows the history of House Skjöldung. Someone with experience.”
“Uncle Þrándr is getting too old now.”
Magni chuckled a bit, knowing his current victory on this matter upset his half-brother.
“Besides, he’s never found favor with the council. And I do know my history of House Skjöldung. I know my history well enough to remember that grandfather had a fist fight with one of his council members over the succession. Even grandfather couldn’t convince the council about Þrándr. That’s something to consider. You are fighting a losing battle there.”
“I think we will have to agree to disagree.”
“If you are lecturing about lessons we should learn…”
Magni now pointed his finger at the king.
“...maybe you should learn about give and take. Compromise. If you want something from me, then show me some respect and give me your vote. I’ve won the contest already. Give me something and maybe you’ll get something in return.”
“I didn’t ask you here to barter over the succession. How would you like a position on the council?”
Magni sat back in his chair and calmed a bit.
“Come work with me on the council. You’ll have a say in how the kingdom runs. I know you have always wanted to be on the council. Here’s your chance. And you’ll be coming to the capital regularly, maybe even once a month depending upon other duties. There’s your compromise.”
Magni was taken aback. He was not expecting an open invitation but rather the pitched verbal battle he had engaged in from the start. After a pause, he said:
“I had heard that you fired Dag. So it’s for the chancellor’s position? Or something else?”
“So your spies have kept you informed.”
The king gritted his teeth a bit.
“How else am I supposed to check up on my brother?”
Magni chuckled.
“Half-brother.”
“Do you want me to take this job or should we go back to arguing?”
Magni asked this with an exasperated sigh.
“Look,” the king said in a serious tone and leaned across the table between them. Magni leaned in to hear him.
“We have many troubles. We need someone with your skills who can solve them. I know you can have a silver tongue when you set your mind to it. I need you working for my cause and the kingdom’s cause. It will mean travel, maybe even outside of the realm. It would be an adventure for you.”
“What is the hidden clause in the contract? Are you trying to distract me with this promise of travel?”
“No distraction. This is a necessary role and you know it. I need a strong diplomat and this conversation notwithstanding, I know you have those skills. There’s nothing hidden here. Work with me on the council. Provide me your insight and give the kingdom balance. This is a way for us to end our rivalry and help the kingdom together.”
The king extended his hand in friendship, but his brother would not respond to meet his reach.
“I want to think about it.”
“I understand.”
“How desperate are you that you would ask?”
Magni questioned. His sour tone was back.
“This is a friendly offer. Look, I need help dealing with plotters. Did you know there are plotters who want to depose me and put our half-brother Eysteinn on the throne?”
Magni was surprised that the king would reveal this to him and he sat back straight in his chair, very alert.
“No, I had not heard that rumor.”
“Look, we have common cause here. These plotters want to trade us both in for someone younger and more pliable. If you are on the council, together we can fight them and make our house stronger. We both will benefit.”
“Alright, I will strongly consider it. And I will give you a firm answer as early as possible tomorrow. But tell me, who is promoting our half-brother?”
“It’s that son of the Jörmungandr, Chief Ulfr of Årus. He wants to throw us both over.”
What Þorolfr didn’t share was that Ulfr’s plan would let Þorolfr keep control of Noregr. He also didn’t share that Chief Froði had promoted Eysteinn as part of his latest plot to make Noregr independent. To the king, those were inconvenient details to put on the table at this moment and besides Froði was no longer a worry or concern. The king relished the fact that he was making these new plans with his half-brother, almost stomping on Froði’s burial mound as they were discussing all this in the place where he had died. His revenge against Froði was almost complete.
The two half-brothers talked on for a while longer as Magni warmed to this unexpected invitation. The king felt certain he could sway him.
(The images included in this chapter that are not from Crusader Kings II are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found at The Tårn.)
Chapter VII Rumors and Mischief
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 788)
King Þorolfr of Denmark meets with some of his vassals in the high council meeting area of his longhouse in Sjælland as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
With the unexpected surrender of Östergötland in the planned tributary war, and an agreement with the independent province of Gudbrandsdalen in Noregr (Norway) to agree to become a vassal state of Denmark, campaigning season in the Year 788 C.E. would be a low-key affair for much of the kingdom. King Þorolfr had ordered his retinue troops to march from their positions near the border with Östergötland to Noregr, to be poised to raid more of the independent lands in that region, still unconquered by the Danes.
So it was in April of that year, back from his successful trip to Hordaland in Noregr that the king held court in the capital of Sjælland. Chief Ingjald Bleik of Lapland had traveled quite a distance by both land and sea, seeking an audience with the king, who had granted the request with some reluctance.
However, Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland had interceded on Ingjald’s behalf and suggested the king hear his request. Jarl Sigurd had conquered Lapland before he was a vassal of Denmark, and he had seen fit to make Ingjald the chief over that vast territory, so there was still a political bond between the two.
As the high council had also met that week, the king asked Jarl Sigurd and his friend Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel to also attend the meeting with Ingjald. In addition, the king requested that Astrid the Lawspeaker be on hand to help interpret anything that might arise, given that the king and the council suspected that Ingjald was spreading treasonous rumors about the king.
Chief Ingjald Bleik of Lapland as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
The portly Chief Ingjald came waddling into the king’s meeting longhouse alone. He had left his attendants and guards outside the longhouse. Ingjald was a graybeard in his early 50’s who stood at about five and half feet in height. Using a long walking stick, he wore a long black cloak with a hood, although the hood was not up over his head that was covered with bushy black and gray hair. He had a long bushy beard too.
The king was seated on his wooden Höfðingastóll that in turn sat on a dais in the main part of the longhouse’s audience room. He was flanked by guards, attendants and his important council members, who all stood. The king did not begin the session with his usual blessing, but he did thank the chief for traveling a long distance to see him and asked him what cause did he have to request this audience.
“I ask that you dismiss all attendants and guards, please. I have sensitive news to share with the king.”
“Before I consider that request, do you see any spirits or mead in these chambers?”
“Drinks? No, I see none.”
Ingjald was a bit startled by the question.
“Why would I see any drinks here?”
“Are you thirsty for a drink? Some cherry wine? Ale perhaps?”
The king asked this as he inched toward the edge of his wooden throne.
“No, my liege, I did not come prepared to drink at this hour.”
Ingjald looked around the room, his eyes flitting between different counselors and attendants, searching for a reason behind this strange offer. As it was mid-morning, no one in the room was expecting alcoholic spirits to be served.
“Can you acknowledge publicly that you saw no drinks and no one drinking during the court sessions of the king?”
“I can.”
Ingjald gulped.
“Say it, please. Say all of it.”
There was an awkward pause in the hushed room.
“I see no drinks and no one drinking in the king’s court.”
Ingjald finally said this slowly and carefully.
“Now, someone bring that man some cherry wine! He must be parched after that beginning.”
The king laughed heartily.
The two jarls in the room and some of the guards did chuckle and snicker at this, but now there was a general nervousness and tension in the air.
The king clapped and pointed at an attendant. “Bring the man some wine, I said,” the king ordered. “Now, guards please do leave. We can do business here with you all posted outside. I trust the jarls here to protect me if needed.”
“Thank you,” Ingjald sighed as there was much commotion and movement he raised his voice, “but I don’t understand all this, my liege? Is this the usual way you conduct court here?”
Þorolfr responded as guards and servants shuffled to leave the room.
“No, this really is a first. But I’m not sure you have passed my test yet.”
Ingjald asked this blankly, as the room emptied and only the king, the jarls, Astrid and Ingjald remained in the large audience room.
“You are playing coy now, Chief Ingjald,”
The king said this with a sly smile. He rubbed the scar on the right side of his face as if to emphasize his toughness.
“You have not heard the foul rumors about me regarding my taste for spirits?”
“Aye, there be rumors about. That is one of the reasons I have asked to see you.”
“Really? What are the rumors you have heard?”
Ingjald gulped nervously.
“Well, everyone knows of the drinking contest you won and some folks call you the King of Mead.”
Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö, Denmark’s field marshal, interrupted the dialogue.
“There be truth to that. No harm in being the drinking champion of the Ulfheðnar. If I may, sire, I need to vouch for Chief Ingjald. Too many rumors swirling about regarding these stories. We have to accept the chief at his word.”
Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, Denmark’s spymaster, joined the conversation.
“Do we really? I have it on good authority that Chief Ingjald is the source of these rumors.”
Just then a servant returned to the room with a cup filled with sweet cherry wine. The room silenced, as he handed the cup to the chief. Then he scurried out quickly, the only sound in the room was his retreating footsteps fading away.
Lawspeaker Astrid broke the silence.
“Shouldn’t we be discussing facts and not rumors?”
“One way or another, I want to get to the bottom of these rumors and have them stamped out. There’s your explanation Chief Ingjald. Having you publicly state your observance is my way of having the truth win out.”
“Jarl Alfr, excuse me, but you are mistaken. I didn’t start any rumors about the king.”
“Now that the servants and guards are gone…”
Alfr walked up closer to Ingjald and pushed his head down to within a foot of the man’s face.
“Let’s not dance around so carefully. I’m a man who likes plain talk. You’re a liar and a spy, and we both know it.”
Alfr stuck a finger in the man’s face.
“And you’re an amateur, mucking about in the business of the kingdom. The next time I come across any of your spies, even if they are part of this kingdom, I will have them hung.”
As Alfr paced away from the chief, Ingjald’s face changed from one of blank puzzlement to menacing glare.
“I will grant you have made one true statement, jarl.”
Ingjald responded as he gripped his walking stick tighter.
“I do have my own network of spies. I admit that. And that too is why I am here today. My spies, my little beetles, crawl all about this kingdom and they learn things that even you, Jarl Alfr, might be surprised to learn.”
“And your little insects have been telling lies about the king.”
Alfr responded as he stopped his retreat from Ingjald and turned to face him again.
“You have no proof of that.”
“Yes, we need to be dealing in proof, my friend.”
Sigurd approached Alfr and gripped him by the shoulder.
“We need to settle whatever is in front of us here with reason.”
“Proof and reason, indeed.”
“My group has come across some of Ingjald’s workers, his insects.”
Alfr said this with some disgust and took Sigurd’s hand off his shoulder.
“I know what they say about the king.”
“No one will tell you I ever had a connection with those rumors.”
Ingjald continued his denials and took a sip from the cup of wine.
“They did not start with me.”
“Shout all you want. I do not know where those rumors started but I know who is spreading them now.”
The king had been watching this all unfold and grown silent. He was not sure whom to believe. But he knew he did not trust Ingjald. He remained suspicious.
“Are you enjoying the wine?”
The king asked this partially to relieve the tension.
“What? This?”
Ingjald swirled the cup and had another sip.
“A bit sweet for my tastes, but it is a welcome change of pace.”
“Well, now you can say you were the first to drink at the king’s court while it was in session. Tell us more about the rumors, from your perspective.”
“It’s Chief Ulfr Mikli of Årus. He’s spreading the rumors.”
“And you know this from more than a thousand miles away? I think you are just out to name your perceived enemies here in Denmark and you want the king and the council to do your dirty business against them, whatever that might be.”
“Yes, what proof do you have beyond your own allegations?”
“There is a servant in his longhouse named Hrörekr who will attest to this, even before the king and council. I have at least half a dozen others in Årus who will testify they have heard these slanders from Chief Ulfr.”
“Or half a dozen people you have bribed.”
“Please friend, let the man speak his peace. As you have noted, he has come more than a thousand miles to make these important statements.”
“This servant Hrörekr likely has been abused by Chief Ulfr in some way and these tales are likely just a convenient revenge. So yes, I agree, allegations and flimsy ones at that.”
“You have no royals who will attest to Ulfr making these slanderous and treasonous statements?”
“No, my liege.”
Ingjald bowed his head and sipped from the cup again.
“And more importantly, if Ulfr is the true source of these rumors he is a fine actor, because he was here denouncing those rumors not too many months ago. More importantly, I need to know more about Årus, now Alfr.”
“And what is that, my liege?”
“You are my spymaster, that is well known, I’m sure, even by Chief Ingjald. I need to know how safe it is there. I have just sent my brother on a diplomatic mission there to calm Ulfr after his firing from our council. Hearing this, I am worried he could seize my brother and hold him hostage if he is belligerent to me and my council.”
“The king concerned for his brother’s welfare. We have entered a different world now.”
“Yes, a different world. There was a time when you were an enemy of this court and kingdom, and look where you are now. We must set aside our differences to find new strength together. Your sniping is not appreciated, field marshal.”
“With apologies.”
Sigurd said this but still kept his wicked smile.
“I will withdraw my comment. It was misplaced and I will reserve it for a better time.”
“Best to reserve it completely, friend.”
“But there is the other matter concerning Ulfr.”
“Do we really want to discuss this here, with someone outside the council.”
Alfr now turned to face Sigurd.
“I already know of what you speak.”
Ingjald offered this with a sly smile.
“I also know that there are royal witnesses who Ulfr has plied in an attempt to draw support for his faction to depose the king and bring his brother Eysteinn to power as the King of Denmark. I will testify to that, myself.”
“What say you now, lawspeaker? With all of these witnesses Chief Ingjald says he can bring forward, do we now have enough to arrest, try, and imprison Chief Ulfr?”
Astrid the Lawspeaker as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator.
“The credibility of all these witnesses is for another day and another discussion. But yes, Chief Ingjald provides royal testimony to these allegations and if he can bring forward his witnesses then there is a case.”
“This would allow us to imprison a plotter.”
“Well, I am in favor of that. Even if I do think the evidence is flimsy. However, far be it for a spy not to use a legal trick when it is offered.”
“That is a debate for another time.”
The king brought his hands forward as if to orchestrate the debate.
“I see the opportunity here. Sigurd, how soon can you have a group of men ready to arrest Ulfr?”
“I can have an over-stuffed karve of 25 ready within a day, my liege.”
“I suggest you double your troops. I don’t want my brother taken as a hostage amidst this mess. You are to arrest Ulfr on charges of slander and treason.”
Sigurd bowed his head a bit to the king.
“And I suggest you leave immediately, as this has been a most productive session. We must thank Chief Ingjald for bringing us this information and the witnesses so we may take action.”
“If I may, my liege, I am not done giving you all of my news.”
“More news about Ulfr?”
“No, but maybe more news that may involve arrests.”
“I think we should let the field marshal focus on the matter at hand. If there are more arrests to make, he can deal with that after he returns from Årus.”
“Very good, my liege.”
Sigurd did not have to hear his cue thrice and he swaggered out of the room, his long wolf pelt cape swinging behind him.
“Alright, you have other allegations of treason or slander?”
“No, my liege, but a member of your council is involved with abhorrent sexual practices, and you should know about this so it doesn’t reflect badly on you, the council or this court.”
“What does this involve? The law has limited scope when it comes to the bedchamber.”
Alfr snickered at this final comment, but both the king and Astrid shot him hard looks and he stopped.
“Well, there are only a few members of the council who were not part of this meeting, so don’t hold us in suspense, please.”
“It has to with Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra and his sexual rituals.”
King Þorolfr of Denmark receives information from Chief Ingjald Bleik of Lapland about Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra and his sexual practices and preferences.
“Do you really have your spies peeking into the godi’s temple and private bedchamber? If anything, that seems almost as criminal as anything else you have shared here today.”
Astrid was concerned about this because her own private affairs had been uncovered by spies in the past and the turn of this conversation made her uncomfortable.
“Good spycraft doesn’t exclude the bedchamber.”
“Are you auditioning for my job? Because if you are, you can have it. There is nothing but pain and sacrifice in my job. But I have to agree, the bedchamber is not off limits.”
“Make what you will of what I bring you today. But I hope it is useful.”
“I have to say I am appalled at the methods you are confessing to here. I think both of you should be ashamed, skulking about people’s bedchambers.”
“But it’s not against the law, is it?”
“Indeed, some practices are beyond the law but they should be bound by communal ethics and values.”
“This is where the law stops and the guidance of religion and the godis begins. It is too bad we cannot get such guidance in this conversation. In my own memory, I cannot think of a Saga or a story of our gods where voyeurism is condoned or practiced, certainly not among the Æsir.”
Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra as pictured by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator, and Playground AI’s digital editor, Canvas.
“But I assure you, people will find what Godi Styrbjörn is doing is far more aberrant than watching someone have intercourse. What my beetles have done is mild in comparison, only a means to the end of exposing these foul behaviors.”
“Tread carefully here, Chief Ingjald. Because I fear you are a mischief maker and the spreader of false tales for who knows what reasons. Godi Styrbjörn is revered here so we don’t need any more slanders getting out of hand.”
“I assure you these are not slanders. My spies will come here and testify if necessary, my liege. Besides, my tales have already proved useful with Chief Ulfr, have they not?”
“Our laws cover incest and rape. Are those involved?”
“And adultery. Don’t the laws cover that too?”
“In some limited cases, yes;”
Astrid admitted this with some unease.
“No but these are abhorrent behaviors. No godi should be practicing these. And if the rumors spread about them, some will think this court believes such behaviors are acceptable and normal.”
Astrid was not the only one squirming a bit with the nature of this conversation. Being inexperienced in the bedchamber, the king too thought this conversation may have gone far enough.
“I will not have this court or my council slandered, even if the allegations are true. But I am not sure if this is lawful behavior, if the realm has any business deciding what is right in someone’s bedchamber.”
The king also had concerns because he had arranged Godi Styrbjörn’s marriage two years ago as part of his pledged service to Freyja. Beyond having the godi’s marriage arranged, he wasn’t sure he needed to know more about what went on in the bedchambers at the temple.
“I for one think we should know all the facts. As you know, I don’t trust godis and their powers. I don’t want to be branded a deviant because we allow one among us. I think we should have all the details, if only for leverage later.”
“The spymaster would say that.”
Astrid said this with some loathing in her voice.
“Do you have no limits?”
“He sticks….”
(For decorum’s sake, the rest of what Chief Ingjald mentioned and other discussion related to those details has been removed from this tale.)
“We didn’t need to hear that.”
The king said this with displeasure.
“I’m not sure how that works.”
Jarl Alfr chuckled a bit.
“That’s certainly an odd way of approaching sex.”
“It was rude that you shared that. I agree with the king.”
“You sir are a trickster! You have brought Loki into my longhouse.”
“It is no trick, my liege. These are the facts my spies have produced.”
“I am starting to wonder again if you aren’t just spinning wild tales up there in the forests of Lapland because there is nothing else to do in the long winter. Could you be skewing information to destabilize this realm?”
“I said as much from the start.”
“But you are using my information to prosecute Chief Ulfr.”
“Shall I run after Jarl Sigurd and stop him?”
“No. We can’t conflate these two cases. But these wild tales about the godi and frankly the stories about me cast doubt on your credibility, Chief Ingjald.”
“The stories of drinking and drunkenness did not start with me. There’s no proof of that.”
Ingjald said this and then quickly gulped down the rest of the wine.
“Aye, no proof. And you’ve conveniently given us a patsy to prove your innocence.”
“I will have to take this information about Godi Styrbjörn under advisement. I will make a decision about it later after more thought and advice.”
“I am innocent. And I advise that you don’t want your council branded as deviants too.”
“Well, I urge you to help us keep that slander from spreading until a decision is made. From what I have heard, the godi is breaking no law.”
“Yes, he is breaking no law, despite what we have heard of his deviant nature.”
“I think we have heard enough from you, Chief Ingjald. Leave the cup on a table on your way out. This meeting is over, but Jarl Alfr, please do stay after.”
“But what about the godi? What will happen?”
“You are a trafficker in gossip, but we will not aid you further. Your information has been a service to us, slimy as it may be. But it is no longer your business what happens. That is now for me and perhaps the council to decide. Begone now. My patience is at an end.”
The king waved his hands as if fanning away a foul smell.
Chief Ingjald shuffled out of the room, followed by Lawspeaker Astrid, who kept a lot of distance between her and the man from Lapland. That left the king and the spymaster alone in the large audience chamber.
“What did you think of his stories?”
The king finally asked this when he was certain no one was left in the audience room who could hear them.
Jarl Alfr came closer to the king’s dais so they could talk in lower tones.
“No doubt there is some truth in those stories, which makes them better as rumors, getting inflated with each telling. But I wish I knew why Ingjald is so engaged in this. We have too many other needs right now for me to send too many spies to Lapland to find out.”
“He is right though. His information has proved useful in helping move to eliminate one of the plotters arrayed against us. He did share a lot of information with us today.”
“Look, if you want to give him my job, you are welcome to do that as I said before. I have other goals and interests, especially during this unplanned campaigning season.”
“That was not meant as an insult to you. If his information stops the rumors about me that are fueling some of the treasonous thoughts in the kingdom, all the better.”
“Perhaps destabilization is his game. If there is enough chaos, he can try to move toward independence.”
We shall have to watch that certainly. And I don’t know why some think they can always do it better on their own. They have not seen how far we have come in less than three years, with promise for more.”
“And to that point…”
Alfr’s voice grew low in tone to make sure the king was listening closely.
“I want to share that I will be looking to seize Skara from Västergötland during this campaigning season. We are already late to launch our attacks on them due to the political fallout of the various changing plans of the realm.”
“Why would you do that? I am Västergötland’s suzerain now and they are an ally.”
“Well, I believe they are weaker after the kingdom’s war on them last year. Also, you will learn, as your father did, that I have an appetite for acquiring new land. I have to plan for the future of my family.”
Alfr had three sons, including a newborn, and his wish was that all should inherit a title, when he finally passed onward to feast in Valhalla or elsewhere in the afterlife.
“Well, I think it is a mistake, besides being messy for our alliances. I think you will find Västergötland to be a stronger foe than you realize.”
“We’ll see.”
Alfr’s voice rose as he backed away from the king.
“Just don’t tell me I didn’t warn you before crossing their borders. And I don’t want to hear any whining from your brother about what extra work this might mean for him in mending fences with them.”
“I just don’t understand why you want to fight, Geats against Geats.”
“It has nothing to do with our tribal origins. It’s because I’m hungry for land and they are weak. Simple. I tell you all this because I will need to spend some time on the front and checking with my forces. It will not be spying full-time like having me up in Hordaland.”
“I expect that you will delegate some of your duties to your network. The realm needs its military intelligence. As you know we are at a vulnerable and critical time.”
The king wondered if this was the opportunity he needed to start to grow his own independent spy operations. This conversation with Chief Ingjald and Jarl Alfr’s need for prioritizing his own projects over the king’s had confirmed for the king that an effort should be made. Besides, Alfr did not help him rid the kingdom of Chief Froði Kráka; ultimately giving the king the prize of Hordaland, as his own province.
“Running a kingdom or a jarldom or a province, there are always critical times. But you will continue to get the benefits of my network of ears around the kingdom, that will be for certain.”
“What do you think I should do about Godi Styrbjörn?”
“If it were up to me, I’d arrest all the godis. They have never been good at explaining the real forces of nature we must deal with in our lives.”
“That’s nearly sacrilege.”
“Well, go ahead share that with them. I’m not afraid that they will come after me in the night. I’ve dealt with a lot worse in my time. But if you move against him, just be prepared for the political consequences. Plus, don’t we have other plotters to deal with already? Do you really want to add more if his arrest proves too controversial?”
“I worry about how some will see me if I do arrest a godi. Won’t I be seen as insulting the Æsir?”
“You know I am the wrong person to ask about that. You are close to at least one other godi. Go ask him. But don’t we have the court physician and also Þordiss of Medelpad plotting against us too, besides Årus? Perhaps the list of problems is long enough already. Why add more?”
“Thanks for your advice.”
The king said this as he rose from his throne.
“You are welcome.”
Alfr called over his shoulder as he began striding out of the room quickly.
“Wish me luck on the battlefield.”
“It’s a mistake. Don’t do it.”
As Alfr was nearing the exit, he called out in reply:
“If you weren’t the king, I’d tell you where to stick that comment.”
(The images included in this chapter that are not from Crusader Kings II are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
Chapter VIII A Royal Wedding
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 788)
(An illustration of Gerðr the Jötun and one of her attendants by W.G. Collingwood circa 1908; the image is in the public domain.)
Some believed that the parents of Gerðr Refr had played a joke on her when they gave her a name, or, in another interpretation, her naming showed they had high expectations.
She was named after Gerðr of the Jötnar, a supernatural being so beautiful that Freyr, the Norse god of fertility fell in love with her at first sight. Her beauty was said to rival that of Frigg, the wife of Odin, and some believed that Odin had tried (successfully or unsuccessfully, depending upon the story and story-teller) to have an illicit affair with her. Gerðr's sparkling heavenliness was so great that many believed she is what caused the sky to have such beauty on days without storms. As a member of the Jötnar, the implication is that she was very tall. Also, her existence dispelled some of the notions that a tröllkona must be ugly, as she was the exact opposite.
But Gerðr Refr was not tall and beautiful. Neither was she ugly, however. She was plain: simple, slender and short, under five feet two inches in height. Looking at her you might think she was a timid mouse, until she opened her mouth and dispelled those impressions with her prickly observations. She spoke her mind and in modern times she might be branded as unfiltered in her communication methods. At 16, she wore her blonde hair in two long pigtails, framing a face full of freckles and acne.
She could not remember a time when she was not the chieftess of Helsingland (now known as Hälsingland), the province that was the center of the area for all the tribes that considered themselves of the Helsing people along the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia, different than the Geats of the south and certainly different from the Danes. She liked to impress others by telling them she ruled the Helsing people although she had never done so. However, she was about to be thrust into that role, having just come of age. She had ruled in name only since she was an infant, when her father was slain in a duel (a holmgang) by Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö. Her father, Ragnar Refr was the last male member of House Refr. Ragnar had managed to change the inheritance laws in his province before his death, and thus Chieftess Gerðr inherited the title from a man she didn’t remember. The responsibility for ruling Helsingland had fallen to Eilif the Steward of Helsingland for more than 15 years, but those days were numbered now. And Gerðr’s forthcoming wedding to King Þorolfr would mark the long, slow death of House Refr.
She was the last of her house.
Gerðr wasn’t an orphan but she was raised like one. As regent, Eilif the Steward had sent her mother packing once she was finished nursing Gerðr. Eilif didn’t want competition in ruling Helsingland from the former chieftess, Katarina, who was not of a royal bloodline. Chief Geirr Holming of Nerike (now known as Närke in Sweden) was in need of a wife and Katarina was sent there to bear children to Geirr. (Chief Geirr would later serve as Denmark’s chancellor for both King Hrœrekr II and for King Þorolfr. But as a favor to the powerful Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð, Þorolfr made Chief Geirr the vassal of Jarl Alfr. Little did Þorolfr realize that by satisfying Alfr’s constant quest for new lands and new vassals, that this would kick off the council issues the king had faced with three chancellors serving in the past year. His chancellors had included: the now imprisoned Chief Ulfr Mikli of Årus; the twice-disgraced Dag the Tutor; and now the king’s brother and rival, Prince Magni Skjöldung, the Chief of Nidaros.) Eilif took charge of Gerðr’s education at a young age but he soon passed those duties to Hroðgar the Peasant (so named because he was a known rabble-rouser among Helsingland’s peasantry and Hroðgar believed royal rule should be eliminated with the people finding other more representative forms of government). Eilif had picked Hroðgar to become Gerðr’s tutor because he had natural leadership skills, even if his ideas about government were out of step with the realities of the 8th Century. As a young girl, Gerðr also developed a crush on Borkvard the Spy, the spymaster of Helsingland. She imagined herself on exotic adventures with Borkvard, traveling about not just Helsingland but all of Svíþjóð and perhaps beyond.
Raised in a world of gruff men, her mother never coming north for a visit, Gerðr developed her own habits of communicating and demanding what she wanted. But she was learning, even with a royal title, she was not in control of her destiny. So it was when she was 12 years old, that King Hrœrekr II – eyeing the territory of Helsingland for his son – arranged with Eilif for her betrothal to Þorolfr. For the first time, Gerðr traveled outside of Helsingland. She was very excited to see Sjælland and meet the Danes, the people who had become the overlords of Svíþjóð when she was seven years old. She met the king and prince at a short and humble betrothal ceremony in the capital.
She would not return to Helsingland for the next four years.
Although he was not very religious, King Hrœrekr wanted a match for his son who the king realized was extremely zealous and grounded in the Germanic religion. Hrœrekr arranged for Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra to become Gerðr’s tutor. (At the time, the godi also served as the tutor to the king’s son, Prince Raudúlfr.) The king’s hope was that centering her learning at one of the three great Germanic temples in the realm would open Gerðr’s eyes not just to the wondrous tales of the Norse gods and the oral tradition of the Sagas, but also expose her to the philosophy that underpinned the religion. In the final year of her schooling at the temple, Godi Styrbjörn had even taken Gerðr on some of his proselytizing tours of Satakunda – now known as Satakunta – in Finland. Styrbjörn’s mission there was an attempt to convert the populace from following the traditions of the Suomenusko faith to become believers in the Germanic religion. Although she was thrilled to be undertaking the travels she had dreamed about as a girl, Gerðr found the godi’s work in Finland to be boring and she was unimpressed with the Finns. She felt the Helsing people were far superior to the Finns. (Of course, she also favored her people over the Geats, the Danes, and the Norwegians too.)
As King Þorolfr was a frequent visitor to the Temple of Hleiðra (now known as Lejre) he would sometimes see his betrothed from afar. But the king did not consider it appropriate to visit with the young teenager to get to know her well before the royal nuptials. When he visited the temple, he was focused on building his relationship with Godi Styrbjörn, giving offerings, or other spiritual matters. Frankly, his up-coming marriage was usually not something on the king’s mind, at all.
That was, until the summer of C.E. 788.
In Denmark, no king in living memory had celebrated a new marriage while he reigned. Þorolfr’s father had wed his second wife, Queen Irmgard before he ascended to the throne and before the formal creation of the Kingdom of Denmark. Likewise, the king’s grandfather and great-grandfather had all been wed before they ruled. So this royal wedding was to be a major event and those connected to planning it realized their responsibility to the kingdom and Þorolfr’s legacy, perhaps more than the bride and groom.
The Temple of Hleiðra would not only be the site of the royal wedding and initial wedding reception, but it would serve as neutral ground for the king’s party to negotiate with Gerðr’s representatives, months before the event.
(The Temple of Hleiðra and part of its surrounding village as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
The king and his party sat in the huge feasting hall at Hleiðra, not far from the impressive four-story temple. The king sat in the middle of a table facing the entrance where guards were posted. On one side, he was flanked by his brother Magni, the chancellor of the realm, and on the other by Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr, the king’s chief advisor. Chief Tryggve was also the court skald of Denmark. The king had agreed when Tryggve suggested he should come on that year’s raids in Noregr, because Tryggve wanted material for his latest poetry. During those raids, the two men had grown very close as Þorolfr realized Tryggve was a font of knowledge about the gods and had memorized hundreds of poems, songs, lays, and Sagas. The king was looking for another close friend whose spirit reveled in the Germanic religion, after he had received a message during campaigning season that his friend Godi Sigburt had died in Saxony from an infection. The portly Tryggve, in his mid-50’s, would seem to fit the bill for the father figure Þorolfr craved.
Godi Styrbjörn sat at the head of the table. Even though he was part of the king’s high council, he would officiate the wedding, and chair the pre-wedding negotiations. Also, he was the ultimate arbiter of the protocol and ceremony necessary for an event unlike any other in Denmark during most of this century.
A guard came through the doorway of the dining hall and announced, “Chieftess Gerðr Refr and her party have arrived from Helsingland.”
(Chieftess Gerðr as imagined by Playground AI & its Canvas editor.)
The king and his men at the table stood up. Into the room strode Chieftess Gerðr, followed by Eilif the Steward, Helsingland’s Chancellor Ingófr, and Helsingland’s Seer Birger.
“Welcome, chieftess,” Godi Styrbjörn said, “and to your party as well!”
“Yes, welcome, chieftess,” the King Þorolfr added, “May the Æsir bless you and your party.”
“Aye, hail to you, my king and to you Godi Styrbjörn.”
However, before any of the formal meeting protocol could proceed, she turned to her regent, Eilif, and said loudly:
“He’s not as tall as I remember, and his scar is deeper and redder too.”
Involuntarily, the king rubbed the large dueling scar that ran across his nose and down the right side of his face. For now her comments bounced off of his ego. He knew at 30 years old he was considered a desirable man: six feet tall and full of hardened muscle; his rock hard jaw line made his face like a chiseled Roman bust, and his long blonde, braided hair gave him an appearance that he was younger than his years. If he was standing next to Gerðr, he would tower above her.
“Chieftess, we talked about this,” Eilif said. “There are protocols and formalities to follow. You will see that in the next few months. Let me do the talking.”
“You always want to do all the talking. When I am totally in charge we will see how you like it when I don’t let you talk at all.”
She clenched her fists. She was dressed in a light, long summer dress and she had the body of a pre-pubescent teenager, all straight lines and no curves. She had a wreath of flowers that sat atop her blonde braided hair, giving her even more of a childlike appearance. To the king, she didn’t look old enough to marry. She barely looked like she was a teenager.
“Please take a seat, I know you have all traveled much farther than we have.”
“I didn’t travel at all. These men came to get me at the godi’s school.”
“Please let us start the meeting with some order. Chieftess we have talked about the importance of ceremony and order.”
She strode to the table quickly, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite of the king, stewing, huffing, and muttering to herself.
“Maybe this was not a good idea.”
Eilif could see the king frowning. Eilif wanted this deal to go through so he could keep running Helsingland as he had done for the past 15 years. With the king set to inherit those lands as part of the marriage pact, Eilif imagined the chieftess would rule as a caretaker, and spend most of her time in the capital. The order of what he had established would not be upset. Yet, the king could still rescind the agreement his father had made.
“You may be right. I would like us to at least get to the introductions though before there are any second thoughts.”
“The king has no second thoughts,” Tryggve, the king’s close friend and advisor, jumped into the conversational mix even though he could clearly read the king’s face just like Eilif had.
The king was contemplating what it would be like to be married to a girl, just out of schooling, not a mature woman. Duty and service to kingdom were his primary thoughts keeping him from speaking up and joining the free for all of this meeting.
“What if I have second thoughts? He’s not what I remembered.”
She pointed at the king.
Magni, the king’s brother, only a year older than Gerðr snickered and tried to choke back a full on laugh. The king shot him a look with daggers, attempting to get him in his place.
“Does she have the right to say that? Such rudeness toward the king shouldn’t be tolerated.”
“She has the right to ask questions and make stipulations, I think,” Helsingland’s Chancellor Ingófr said.
“She doesn’t have the right to reject the contract,” Seer Birger said. “She is not of age.”
“Whose side are you on?”
Gerðr glared at Birger.
“You’re not of age. I’m the regent. It is my decision. Your parents trusted me to make the best decision for you and for Helsingland.”
Gerðr threw her hands up over her head and then pounded the table with her fists for effect.
“Who are those people?”
“Godi, you know I despise a meeting that is out of control. Can you help us get some control here?”
“I have a stipulation! A demand!”
Gerðr shouted to be heard as some of her advisors started to murmur amongst themselves.
“I only want to come to Sjælland three times a year. My place is with my people in Helsingland! I miss Helsingland!”
“Can she say that? Is she allowed to say that?”
Tryggve looked around the table confused and at a loss for where the conversation was headed.
“Doesn’t a queen rule from the capital?”
“It is a request we will consider in the negotiations.” Prince Magni, the Chancellor of Denmark piped up.
“Really?”
The king blurted out his question with surprise.
“Let’s show her and them some leeway to at least start the discussion.”
Magni smiled at the only other teenager in the room and she smiled back.
“She is allowed to make a stipulation.”
“I am so sorry for how this has started, my liege.”
Eilif apologized and turned to look directly at the king.
“Godi, again I implore you.”
“Alright.”
Godi Styrbjörn glared at the chieftess.
“I’ve had enough of your ways, queen to be or not. Guards, please escort Gerðr back to the school.”
Guards from the doorway came and pulled Gerðr from her chair, holding her tightly by the elbows and shoulders. She struggled a bit but came with them.
“If you pinch me too hard I will bite you!”
She threatened the guards as she was escorted out.
“Again, I apologize.”
Eilif said this with some embarrassment.
“Not your fault.”
“I’m sorry, my liege, but given the circumstances, it is best that these parties now proceed without you. We don’t want questions later about the unbalanced nature of these negotiations. We don’t want them questioned or challenged in the future by those who believe they have claims on Helsingland.”
“Understood.”
The king got up, relieved a bit that he would not be left to clean up the pieces of that meeting.
“Let me come with you for a bit, please?”
Tryggve asked and got up to escort the king.
“Please wait to resume until I return.”
He called this over his shoulder.
The king exited the dining hall and his security guards fell in behind him and Tryggve.
“Are you going back to the capital?”
“No, it’s a half-day’s ride, and I don’t feel up to that right now. I am going to the temple and ask the gods for guidance. Do Freyr and Frigg want me sowing my seed with a girl? I need to know.”
“I too have concerns, Þorolfr. But you need an heir. You will not get a better match that comes with land. That land flanks the Geatish lands and will strengthen you in the other parts of Svíþjóð.”
“She will have a lot to learn about how to project herself at court. Can she learn that? And are we ready to unleash that tempest on the court?”
“Navigating the court and the council is always a tricky business. She will have to show some growth, aye. Perhaps there is reason to negotiate and accept part of her stipulation.”
“Make sure my half-brother doesn’t give away too much.”
“I will make sure. Just remember, there is always hope she can grow into her role.”
“I certainly wasn’t ready to be at court when I was 16.”
“Nor I, but to your brother’s credit, he can be mature usually, when necessary. Maybe she can follow his lead, because she will need further tutelage. Styrbjörn confessed to me he had failed with her. He said he didn’t see that she had any great traits. Her pride masks her lack of talent and intelligence.”
“Let us hope for the realm’s sake, she finds some of both in the coming years.”
They parted at the entryway to the temple. Tryggve trundled back to the first round of the negotiations.
Eventually, Prince Magni and Tryggve negotiated the dowry (or the mundr as the Norse called it) and other conditions of the marriage contract. The new queen would be required to visit the capital four times each year for at least a week each trip: at the end of each winter, twice more during campaigning season, and then at least one more time before the winter began. Each trip would mean a sea voyage of 500 miles or so, a much faster method than going by horse or wagon.
So it was that in October of 788 C.E., Godi Styrbjörn, the Seer of Denmark, officiated the grand ceremony marrying King Þorolfr to Chieftess Gerðr at the Temple of Hleiðra. Both wore simple carved wooden crowns during the ceremony.
(Godi Styrbjörn, the Seer of Denmark, officiates at the wedding of Chieftess Gerðr Refr of Helsingland to King Þorolfr of Denmark at the Temple of Hleiðra as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
After the ceremonies, the wedding reception was a rowdy affair, which began traditionally with a series of toasts. As before this day the newly crowned queen, Gerðr, had never had an alcoholic beverage and hadn’t even been kissed before by a man, she was in for more than a few surprises.
Before the official toasts, attendants rolled a large barrel of mead into the hall and up to the head table where Gerðr, Þorolfr, and others stood with Godi Styrbjörn. A table full of members of the Ulfheðnar, the berserker warriors of the wolf clan, began chanting, “The King of Mead! The King of Mead!” Soon half the dining hall was chanting and those who weren’t chanting were smiling and stomping on the floorboards.
“What is this all about? This wasn’t part of what we practiced for the ceremony.”
Gerðr looked at the king with confusion.
“Don’t worry. That’s a nickname they use for me.”
The king said this and beamed while he clapped to the chanting.
“If you didn’t know it, you have married one of the most famous mead drinkers in all the land. You’ll learn a few things from the king.”
Godi Styrbjörn now led the king and queen through a series of prayers and speeches to consecrate the mead that had been poured into a golden wedding kåsa designed specifically for this royal wedding.
(The double-handled, golden wedding kåsa as imagined by Playground AI & the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator.)
The king gave his short speech, a toast and handed the kåsa to Gerðr after drinking about half the mead. After Gerðr finished her short speech and toast, she began sipping from the kåsa.
“To the queen! The queen!” the crowd of hundreds in the feasting hall cheered. Soon the Ulfheðnar began their own new chant, “Drink! Queen! Drink!” And the crowd joined them.
Gerðr waved at the crowd, and for the first time on this day her usual scowl was replaced with a smile. She liked the taste of the honey-based, effervescent mead, which bubbled and tingled on the tongue. The king handed the kåsa back to the attendants who filled it again and they handed it back to the new queen. The shouts and cheers of “Drink! Queen! Drink!” continued until she placed her hands on both handles of the golden cup and drank a large gulp of the mead. Slowly she drank it all down. Drummers had been playing in the hall ever since the king and queen had entered and they now increased their pace as the crowd chanted. When Gerðr had finished the crowd burst into applause.
“More!”
“Don’t get her drunk.”
“She may need it for what comes after.”
“I’ll have another.”
Gerðr agreed, although she was already a bit woozy.
“Well, you know what is best then but I’m not sure this waif can take more than two cups.”
Tryggve said this as he left them to plop himself into a chair at the head table.
“Now, everyone drink and dance as you may!”
The king made this pronouncement to much cheering. Attendants opened more barrels of mead, and the drinking party swung into full gear as some at the head table seated themselves and others lined up for a horn or a cup of mead. Much drinking and dancing would commence as the crowd waited for the food to finish cooking from the cow that had been sacrificed to begin the day’s rituals. Other foods, some prepared since early in the morning of this festive wedding day, were also still being prepared by Godi Styrbjörn’s cooks and attendants.
To Gerðr the room was starting to swirl, as a large group of people were dancing in the center of the feasting hall, and the musicians picked up the pace of their dancing tune. The whole room seemed to be in motion: dancing, singing, drinking, clapping or shouting with delight.
Now, many who were seated at the head table began seating themselves, including: the godi and his wife; Tryggve’s family, the members of House Flod; and members of Helsingland’s council. The king’s Uncle Þrándr and his immediate family rounded out most of the rest of the table. Þrándr had a place of honor at the head table because the king favored him as the current heir, although the council of chiefs currently supported the king’s half-brother Magni as the crown prince of the realm.
Of course, the House af Munsö also secured prominent seating near the head table because Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö was not only the most powerful vassal in the realm but also because he sat on the king’s high council. Jarl Sigurd was dressed as he usually was, with his full, long wolf’s pelt as his cape, but with the wolf’s head sitting atop his own, like a cap. At six foot three, and sporting his various tattoos, including facial tattoos, he was an intimidating, solid slab of a man swaggering his way to the head table.
“How are you, Tryggve? Still licking the king’s ass, I see from your position up here.”
Sigurd called out over the music and the din of the wedding reception party to the chief of Burgundaholmr, one of his former vassals.
“Still a man grinding his teeth and his axe, over the prosperousness of others, Jarl Sigurd, I see.”
“I am not here to perform a flyting with you, my old foe,”
Sigurd laughed heartily.
“I am here to congratulate the royal couple and to make sure they know who has purchased the mead not only for this fine gathering but also for them to enjoy during their honeymoon in the capital. A month’s worth of mead for the King of Mead.”
“I hope you have laid in many barrels. Thank you kindly for your generosity, Jarl Sigurd.”
The king bowed his head slightly and smiled.
“The finest mead for the King of Mead.”
Sigurd held up his own drinking horn and took a draught.
“It’s him!”
Gerðr shouted. She had noticed when the king held her during the wedding ceremony that he had a sheaf and a knife hidden in his cloak. She had pressed up against it. Now, she lunged for it with intent to use it. But in her partially addled state, she was too slow and the king grabbed her wrist before she could fumble the knife out of his clothing.
“Now, dear Gerðr, I don’t know what you are up to there, but that is my private instrument and the jarl is our guest.”
The king said this in a lecturing tone.
“He’s the one!”
She shouted while trying to wrest her wrist away from the king. Sigurd was now laughing loudly at this display of anger.
“He killed my father.”
“And so I did!”
Sigurd confirmed this between laughs.
“All a perfectly legal holmgang. Just be glad I didn’t cut off his head and save it as a wedding gift.”
“Here, give me the knife, my liege. I’ll kill him as my wedding gift to you both and the realm too.”
As the king’s best friend, of course, Tryggve knew the king always had a knife hidden away as he had been taught to do to fend off assassins, if needed. Given the tragic history of House Skjöldung this was a necessary precaution.
“What a jokester, you are Tryggve.”
Sigurd continued laughing.
“You’d never lay a mark on me before I’d have slashed your throat and left you drowning in your own blood. And now, my king, looks like you have a feisty one there for a new wife. Like a little dragon, she is. Best teach her the real ways of the world though before someone slays your spitfire. Enjoy the mead!”
Sigurd turned on his heel, still laughing and went back to his table, scooping up one of his teenage concubines to join in the dancing.
“Are you going to let him insult me like that on my wedding day?”
Gerðr pouted as the king released her wrist.
“I hate that man. You best learn my ways. You don’t want me hating you like I hate him and his house.”
“Your skin is too thin.”
The king cautioned her.
“You will need a thicker hide for court. You’re enjoying his mead, let bygones be.”
“I will never forget who killed my father and those who took advantage of it.”
The new queen vowed as she massaged her wrist.
“Listen to your husband, here.”
Tryggve suggested this while talking past Godi Styrbjörn who had watched the entire exchange silently, with widened eyes.
“The mead is excellent.”
Tryggve said this while he too sipped from a cup that had been brought to him.
“You’ll find the mead helps wash away the troubles of the day.”
The king advised his new wife. He then motioned to an attendant to bring more mead for the queen.
Hours passed with much singing, dancing, joking, and conversation. The king was pleased that from his perspective this would be remembered as truly one of the events of the century for the Kingdom of Denmark. Perhaps Court Skald Tryggve would write a poem or a song about some of what he observed, leaving out the part about Jarl Sigurd, though, the king hoped. Although it is great to be remembered in the Sagas and lays as a fine warrior, just as well to be remembered as a king who brought merriment to his people, he thought.
After the hours passed, the attendants – the staff and slaves of both the king and Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra – moved on from trying to keep cups and horns of mead filled to beginning the food service for the feast. The wedding reception day would be the best of all the feasts, but guests would stay on in Hleiðra for six more days of feasting after this, while the new royal couple made their way back to the capital to enjoy their honeymoon away from the guests.
(A musician playing an instrument similar to a Viking lyre as depicted in a French manuscript from the 14th Century. The illustration is by Belgian illustrator Jehan de Grise from the collections at the University of Cambridge. The image is in the public domain.)
During the wedding reception meal, the musicians played light songs on the Viking lyre and Queen Gerðr never made it past the main course. Passing out next to her plate, she barely missed planting her face in her slab of roasted beef.
As the attendants began lighting torches and the dining room’s central fire pit, others began clearing the plates and bowls. Like the queen, some guests at the reception had passed out at their tables, while others had left the hall to relieve themselves of too much good drink and rich food. The room was clearing a bit but soon there would be new rounds of drinking and dancing as the sun was at twilight. The musicians too were taking a short break before the drums would begin beating again to summon those with any energy, or too many spirits, to again begin dancing.
Unlike the queen, the king had not imbibed too much mead, although as usual, he had gorged himself on the sumptuous dinner, and he felt overly filled, like a sausage about to burst. That more than the mead made him also, just a bit sleepy, which he felt was good to calm his nerves for what lay ahead.
The king turned to the godi and the skald and asked:
“Is it time, before the evening gets too late?”
“It is almost dark, so yes, it is time.”
“Let me get a torch.”
“Help me with the queen, please.”
The king turned to Godi Styrbjörn’s wife and they both nudged Gerðr into a groggy, semi-awake state. The king motioned to an attendant to bring along two cups of mead. As the royal couple arose, the musicians noticed and the drummers hurriedly began beating out a marching rhythm. The throat singers rasped a low rumble. The flute players joined in with a melancholy tune.
“Wha… What is happening?”
“Not to worry, we will have more mead for you after we leave.”
“All will be alright. Just try to walk with us. Gather your dress,” the godi’s wife instructed.
Tryggve returned with a torch which he handed to the godi, and the procession out of the feasting hall began. Now, there was cheering and clapping of the diminished crowd of well wishers.
Godi Styrbjörn led the way with the torch held high. He was followed by the king and Tryggve, who were both guiding and somewhat lifting the queen. The godi’s wife had let Tryggve take one of the queen’s elbows so she could make sure the queen’s dress and veil did not catch on the floorboards or once they were outside clearing the dress and veil of any rocks or other obstacles. Uncle Þrándr followed them. Bringing up the rear of the procession were two representatives of the council of Helsingland, Eilif the Steward, and Borkvard the Spy. The council members from Helsingland carried the cups of mead.
Lawspeaker Astrid met the group just outside the exit of the grand feasting hall.
“Do we have all the witnesses?”
She asked this formally.
She was not happy that the king had declined her request to be part of the group.
“I don’t trust you to act as a witness on my behalf.”
The king had told her this when they had spoken about the arrangement weeks ago.
“I will have the regent and my chosen heir there in the party and that is sufficient.”
Astrid had suggested that another woman in the group besides the godi’s wife might be appreciated by the new queen but the king rejected her recommendation. He told her she could fulfill her legal duties by making sure the witnesses were assembled properly and she could talk with each after they had escorted the royal couple through their next task. The king had various personal reasons why he had placed these restrictions on Astrid.
“Aye, the witnesses are properly assembled.”
Godi Styrbjörn responded to Astrid.
Now the group of nine set off in the dimming light toward one of the many small houses the godi maintained near the temple for pilgrims and guests. Candles were already lit inside the cozy one-room guest house as the group entered, with Astrid posting herself outside the door with the torch.
(For decorum’s sake, many of the details of what followed have been removed from this tale.)
“And thankfully we will no longer be in need of an audience!”
The king sighed.
“Please report to Lawspeaker Astrid that the royal couple have fulfilled their duties and the witnesses can attest that the marriage was officially consummated. The law has been obeyed. Now, everyone please leave.”
The king got up off the bed and waved the official witnessing party out of the room.
The king didn’t learn to become a better lover on his honeymoon. What he learned was that the honey in the mead he consumed daily smoothed the edges of his ragged thoughts during that month and the drink brought him comfort where his wife and his duties could not.
And as for Queen Gerðr, she never forgave her husband for how she felt she was mistreated during her wedding. Traditions and society held no purpose for her, she thought, if they excused and even celebrated such mistreatment. She vowed to cut her own path forward, even if her views were not accepted, and society seemed constructed to smooth over the flaws of kings.
(The images included in this chapter that are not from Crusader Kings II, or in the public domain, are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
Chapter IX New Plotters and Old
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 789)
(A metallic representation of the guards at King Þorolfr’s court in Sjælland as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
When King Þorolfr was crowned, he made a sacred promise to Freyja that he would commit to making the arrangement of marriages an important part of his oversight of the realm, as a means of boosting the prosperity of the kingdom. Now that he was married, the king hoped that this commitment would result in his fruitful coupling with Queen Gerðr, who had gone back to Helsingland and was not due to return to the capital in Sjælland until April. No word had come from her regarding pregnancy after their month-long honeymoon.
In the winter of 789, the king had ruled for more than three years, and although he was married, here he was during the cold, dark days, spending much time alone in his bed and in his private meeting room. That was the outcome of the arrangement he had agreed to before he wed so the queen could take up the ruling of her province, as was her preference.
So it was on this cold February day, with a blanket wrapped around him like a robe, the king sat in his private meeting room, awaiting Kristina, the wife of Þrándr Skjöldung, his uncle. Kristina was a willow of a woman: tall, slender, beautiful, and blonde. She wore her hair in long braids that she wrapped on her head in a variety of designs depending upon the day and her mood. She was only a year or two older than the king. A commoner, she had married Þrándr as his second wife and had borne him a daughter, although Kristina was almost half of Þrándr’s age. Uncle Þrándr was now almost 60 years old. She also had a studious and meticulous personality, sometimes filled with mirth and an eclectic nature. As she was married to an important member of House Skjöldung, many people saw past some of her quirks and the oddities that she favored.
(Kristina, Þrándr’s wife as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.)
After his coronation, the king had turned to Kristina to help him find somewhere he could send Irmgard, the former queen, after the assassination of the king’s father. Through sending messengers and representatives throughout the kingdom, Kristina was the one who had discovered Chief Guðröðr of Åland was in need of a wife. So the arrangement was made and Irmgard was sent to Åland, although she had done her best to undo her marriage by taking up a brazen affair with Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland. The king’s push to kill Froði was as much punishment to him for any involvement he might have had with his father’s assassination as it was vengeance against the former queen, for any part she might have played. To the king and his spymaster, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, the former queen remained among the suspects for that regicide.
Despite the poor outcome of that pairing, the king felt Kristina had shown great acumen at matchmaking. To support the future endeavors to create a stronger kingdom through better fertility and to keep his pledge to Freyja, the king had asked Kristina to form something he called the Society of Freyja. This society would have the king’s monetary support to make stronger matches throughout the kingdom and beyond. Kristina was to lead their efforts in researching family trees and discovering what houses needed better matches, while of course also aiding House Skjöldung in keeping track of the web of politics created by making such marital bonds.
On this day, Kristina had come to make some recommendations and consult with the king about his ideas and preferences. She came into the room with her pet owl perched on her shoulder. The owl was about eight inches high and plump with grayish-brown feathers, spotted and streaked with white, and a very flat head. It was the type of owl known to be revered and respected by the Greeks. It’s big eyes were closed, and it appeared to be napping.
After the king had given his usual blessing of the meeting and they had both settled into chairs, Kristina dispatched with the pleasantries and dove right into the topics she wished to discuss.
“My liege, you need to take a concubine.”
“Why this recommendation? What is the need?” the king asked.
When he began as king, he had found it a lonely affair. But now, he had settled into a rhythm of life. He had built friendships, and even adopted one of his father’s best friends as his own. Where was there time for a concubine when he had Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr, the court skald, to keep him entertained?
“First, you would have someone to warm your bed in the winter.”
Kristina said this while noticing the draftiness of the king’s quarters. She shivered a bit and wished she could have a blanket over her, just like the king.
“Aye, that would be appreciated.”
The king said this and pulled his blanket a bit tighter.
“Also, there is still no word that the queen is with child. Although your brother is the crown prince, you too should be concerned about fathering an heir.”
“Half-brother. Magni, is my half-brother. You of all people know that.”
“Yes, of course. If you add a concubine to your household, she can act as a second to the queen. As you know, the queen must only come to the capital a month out of the year as a whole. She will be traveling quite a bit. We don’t believe this is good for the queen’s humors. You will you have more opportunity to father a child with a concubine, who won’t be traveling and her humors will be in good order. Also, that concubine can escort you during all the ceremonial functions you must attend, and she can help your steward in the planning of them, beyond running the affairs of your household.”
“Many good reasons, but don’t give the queen short-shrift. She is a teenager and still growing. Her humors will adjust, I’m sure.”
The king said this without much confidence though, as the ways of women were a mystery to him and the actual condition of someone’s humors, in his mind, should be left to the court physician, who he currently did not trust.
“You will need to have faith in me on this. As the leader of the Society of Freyja, this is my recommendation.”
“Alright, I see. You are the expert in matchmaking. I certainly approve of your plan. And I have some grander requests for you to consider now on my behalf.”
“How can I be of service, my liege?”
“Well, as you know, Dag the Tutor passed away in his sleep this week….”
“Yes, he had 57 years, and most of them in service to your house.”
“Well, inconsistent service, but service nevertheless, yes. His death gives us certain opportunities to make some changes. I see various loudmouths, know-it-alls, back-biters, and schemers at court who may now be shuffled out as we move responsibilities. I hope you will help me with this necessary change. Call it a housecleaning if you will. Perfect for us to have completed by April or so."
The king and Kristina talked for at least a half-hour longer about the king’s ideas and how the Society of Freyja might be useful in carrying them out. He also suggested that Kristina enlist the aid of his brother Prince Magni and any additional diplomatic services that might be necessary in executing the plans. Their practical planning chat was interrupted only once when Kristina’s owl spotted a mouse trying to run across the king’s serving table. The owl sprung off Kristina’s shoulder and caught the mouse in mid-run, using the king’s table to feast on its prey. When the conversation was over and the owl was still dining, Kristina plucked the carcass up and put it in her hand. The owl hopped on to the sleeve of her dress and continued to dine, as they made their exit.
“We will take some lessons from your owl, and have the mice that are a pestilence in court running for their lives and the shadows!”
Kristina said this and left.
Another Visit with Spymaster Alfr
Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð had made his way to the capital in February, ahead of the regular council session, with important news. Again, he was spending part of his winter in Noregr (Norway), now spying on the court’s physician, Knut Hammer of Rygjafylki and also traveling to see his troops in Västergötland where his war against King Bersi Ulfing had bogged down in Alfr’s attempts to seize the province of Skara.
“I’m spread too thin these days and not as young as I once was,” Alfr complained as he stomped his feet to warm up in the king’s chilly personal meeting room.
The king had already given his usual blessing to the conversation as the jarl entered, dressed in various layers, his puffy wolf fur cape draped along his shoulders.
“You may recall, I advised you not to get into that fight in Skara.”
“Yes, I cannot deny it, but you didn’t have to remind me.”
The king said this with satisfaction.
“Usually, I would want to banter with you about this….”
“I do miss your banter. It is indeed a cold day when we don’t.”
The king said this and got up. He went to the door and called out for a guard.
“Bring us some mulled cherry wine to warm us.”
“Drinking before the mid-day? Well, if it will warm us.”
Actually, the king had been drinking more and more since his honeymoon. During that period he and his new wife could only agree on one item: drinking more mead. Made with honey, the mead is what got them through with their shared distaste for coupling in the bedroom. The king had consumed so much during that period, he wasn’t sure what he remembered of the honeymoon, even with his capacity for strong drink. He knew he had attempted to have intercourse with his wife a handful of times during that month, but he couldn’t remember some of the attempts. Indeed, on some of those nights, the king actually passed out thinking he had bedded his wife and instead both of them just fell asleep after taking too much drink. Now, the king found he had the habit of wanting drink at all times of the day, especially during the winter, when a mulled cherry or apple wine helped to warm the body.
“My thoughts exactly. This meeting room is very drafty this winter.”
“I have important news, but I will wait on it until the wine comes. I don’t want this information shared widely.”
Jarl Alfr said this and folded his arms over his stomach.
“Hmmm, this sounds ominous.”
The king responded with a worried look.
“Ominous is the word, indeed.”
The room fell silent with the two men eyeing each other awkwardly until a servant came escorted by a guard and brought a pot of mulled cherry wine and two cups. The king and the jarl moved to the serving table and helped themselves to the wine as the guard and servant left.
“Shall we drink?”
“Actually, let me smell this first.”
Alfr stuck his nose deeply into the cup, not detecting anything sour or out of sorts.
“You’re being dramatic now.”
Alfr said this as he took a sip.
“But no toasting.”
“You are acting strangely, jarl.”
“Aye, but I have some experience with poisons and I came to tell you there is a credible threat against your life, my liege.”
“Really? Are you certain? But the wine is alright?”
“Yes, you are safe to drink.”
Alfr said this and sipped his wine again for emphasis.
“I want to station some of my people in your kitchen. All of your food will be checked. All of your drinks too. We are going to double your guards. I will work with your staff to see to that before I leave.”
“You are obviously serious.”
The king said this with his eyes widening.
“I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Well, frankly, if your father had taken these precautions there might have been a different outcome for him. You will always have at least two squads of guards with you at all times.”
“So who is after me now? Is it Knut Hammer? You’ve been in Rygjafylki a lot, so he’s a suspect, is he not?”
“You are going to be disappointed. I’m going to tell you what you don’t want to hear.”
“So you have no suspects? Or you have no proof?”
“I have proof something is about, but the suspects slipped through my fingers, otherwise, I would know more. What I know is enough to take precautions. I know it is not just idle chat or complaints or rumors. I know they mean to kill you.”
“So your top suspect? Is it Knut, or is it that bitch chieftess in Medelpad?”
“Could be either, both, or neither,”
The jarl shrugged his shoulders.
“Could be that new young pup, Chief Emund av Alfheim in Vingulsmark too.”
“Emund? But he was my loyal squire.”
“Not anymore.”
Alfr held up his hands with the palms up.
“I have questions about him too. But he wants to put your brother Eysteinn on the throne.”
“More supporters of Eysteinn.”
The king hissed.
“I thought we had stamped out those cults.”
“Did you stamp them out?”
Alfr raised an eyebrow.
“I thought one of those plotters died in his sleep.”
The king gathered his thoughts and hoped he had not given away too much about the killing of Froði Kráka.
“Emund and Eysteinn became fast friends as squires together. I’m sure this is just boyish foolishness and falsely placed loyalty. The lad doesn’t know what he’s supporting.”
“I agree with that assessment. And I don’t think Knut is our man either. He’s well placed to not need other plotters to help him. You’re following my advice there, yes.”
The king chuckled, breaking some of the tension in the room.
“Yes, I’m staying healthy. Keeping my court physician away is the right medicine. Best not to see Knut.”
“That leaves Chieftess Þordiss of Medelpad.” Of the three she is the most serious possibility, I think, for striking against you by hiring killers. But there are other possibilities.”
“More plotters and schemers that you have uncovered?”
“Well, I haven’t uncovered enough of them, unfortunately.”
Alfr said this with a note of disappointment in his voice.
“When you complain about my failings, there is some truth there. It could be the wider plot to kill your father now has you as its target. As we have never conclusively found the killers, that is one possibility that I raise here.”
“At one time, you thought Froði Kráka was the mastermind. Have you changed your mind about that?”
“Well, a conspiracy between Froði and the Godi of Mære always made sense, but I’ve found no proof of it, and since Froði’s death there is more information about the competition between those men. Now that your brother runs Nidaros, what does the godi gain in your death? That theory worked more for the killing of your father than it does for you.”
“Half-brother, Magni is my half-brother. So you say your theory is he wants to kill me now? He has the most to gain, certainly. He will get everything.”
“That is another possibility, I grant you. I know you have tried to heal the differences with him. So it might not be him directly but those who promote his cause, except I know of no such plots now, only those supporting Eysteinn. And the other possibility, is it is someone with an axe to grind against House Skjöldung who killed your father and now wants your hide too, someone who was not our top suspect before but has returned for more.”
“Well, one of those suspects just passed this week.”
“Yes, Dag the Tutor. I never considered him a leading suspect but a suspect nevertheless. Some years ago, there was an incident when I was in Miklagard that gives me pause now…”
Alfr’s voice trailed away a bit and the king cut in.
“Someone in Miklagard wants me dead?”
The king was confused and a bit startled by this revelation.
“Why am I only hearing about it now?”
“I should know better than to think out loud with you.”
Alfr shook his head.
“I should never have mentioned it except to say something odd happened there and whoever our suspect is, that person needed to have the means to have agents of fortune that far away.”
“That certainly eliminates Dag.”
“My point, exactly. I will only say, there was a spy in Miklagard, and I strongly suspect there were ties between him and the death of your father. But that trail ran cold.”
“Maybe you should return there.”
“Perhaps. More likely I will send someone else. That trip is arduous. I am a gray-beard now and getting older by the moment. Plus I have a war to oversee in Västergötland.”
“Well, if it helps us solve my father’s murder and pinpoints our enemies further, please do send a spy. The theory that his murder and those plotting against me are tied together has me even more chilled.”
The king said this as he finally sipped on his wine, only to find it was now tepid.
“Dealing with your security here is first on my list and I will talk to Jarl Sigurd about that too. But yes, I agree, my network will make Miklagard a priority too.”
“Good. I want you to know, I think there are spies at court. I am tired of spies, plotters, social climbers, and gossipers. I want them expunged from the realm.”
“My liege, if we did that there would be no one left in the kingdom.”
“You may be right.”
The king chuckled weakly.
“That is just my mood these days. And independent of your news, I was poised to take action. Now, if there are spies and murderers about, I think it best for me to clean out the whole lot of them who might be aiding those who want me dead.”
The king then related to Alfr much of his conversation with Kristina of the Society of Freyja and his plans for reshaping the court in Sjælland. Both men agreed the king’s thoughts were sound and would help with building a stronger security net to prevent attempts on the king’s life. Unbeknownst to Alfr, the king also had thoughts about how this reorganization might help with the further growth of his own independent spying operation. He was grateful that Alfr had sniffed out signs of this plot on his life, but he was also concerned that too many holes remained in what was brought to him. He remained disappointed that all of the plotters who killed his father had not been brought to justice yet, despite his victory with the successful killing of Froði Kráka. As the men then shifted their conversation to thoughts about raiding in the east during campaign season, the king was ever more resolved to have his vengeance on the plotters against him and his father.
(King Þorolfr of Denmark shares the dais in his longhouse audience chamber with Emir Sami Umayyad, the Grand Vizier of the Umayyad Sultanate, in this woodcut, as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing and Microsoft’s Designer digital editor.)
Holding Court, April 779
Gyrið was excited and nervous to be coming to the king’s public court session. She had arrived by karve in a group of ships that had left Noregr for the capital as the king rearranged the caretaker staff he had on hand in Hordaland.
The king maintained holdings in three provinces. He oversaw the administration of Sjælland directly as he spent the most time in that province. He had retainers help him with his holding in the province of Lolland, as it was just a ferry ride away from the island of Sjælland. Some of those duties also fell to the Steward of Denmark, Chief Eirikr “the Just” Borg of Blekinge. But depending upon the weather and the sailing conditions, Hordaland in Noregr was days away by ship, if not more than a week. The king needed someone he could trust in the land he called “the frontier.”
Until recently, that had been Gyrið. She had met her replacement before leaving and briefed him on what he needed to know. She was surprised when he arrived: a boy of only 16, although he called himself a man. But he also had the dwarfism trait, as did his mother, and that made him seem all the more immature to Gyrið. She did what she could to brief him and gather her things. She realized the king had made a sly political move by appointing him as he was Þorsteinn Ytra, the son of the near legendary Hrafn Ytra. A member of House Ytra had not ruled in Hordaland in 15 years since King Hrœrekr II had seized the land, and now Þorsteinn had returned to Noregr to represent the king.
She was unsure if Þorsteinn was up to the task but that was no longer her responsibility. She was happy the king had fulfilled his promise of a year earlier and finally called her to the capital. Upon her arrival, she stayed in the large home of Þrándr Skjöldung and Þrándr’s wife Kristina saw to all of her needs to make her comfortable. Kristina doted on Gyrið’s two-year-old daughter Aslaug and made her feel comfortable. The day after Gyrið’s arrival, Kristina asked that Gyrið wear her best dress and that they both go to the king’s open court session.
There was a line to see the king and many, many guards. Kristina explained that new security rules meant only about fifty people could be on hand in the open court session and there was easily a guard for every person who had come to witness the king’s session in the huge longhouse where the king held court.
A diplomatic delegation from the Kingdom of Wessex in the English Isles was leaving as Gyrið and Kristina entered on this brisk April morning. Gyrið could see men with odd insignia on their clothing and some wearing partial armor, carrying banners with unfamiliar sigils.
“Oh, we’ve missed all the excitement with the exotic diplomats,” Gyrið whispered to Kristina as they began filing into the audience chamber.
“No, I think there is more to come. Don’t be disappointed.”
“Why were those strangers here? Why did they come? Do you know?”
“As the wife of Þrándr Skjöldung and the head of the Society of Freyja, I am privy to much, yes.”
Gyrið asked as they pushed forward.
Kristina drew her aside and they stood in the back of the audience hall as others passed them with the changing of people for the next session. Kristina did not want to block the exchange of people as she answered to Gyrið’s curiosity.
“There is no time to explain in detail now. That must wait. And I do not want to upset you. But the king publicly announced today the betrothal of Margareta, Froði’s former concubine to Wigberht Wiglafing the steward of Wihtwara. He is the heir to the earldom of Derby in Wessex. That delegation was from Earl Æthelwald of Wihtwara. They are taking her to the English Isles.”
“But I didn’t see Margareta.”
“I’m sure she was here.”
Kristina said this with some haste.
“Perhaps guards escorted her out and we did not see. One way or another, she is going with the English. But no more questions for now. I will answer all your questions later, I promise.”
She grabbed Gyrið’s elbow and they steered themselves back into the crowd. Kristina motioned to a guard and the man came to their aid to guide them past other onlookers. They were brought to the first ring of observers, standing to watch the session in the middle of the audience hall as if it was a play.
Gyrið had so many questions, most importantly: why was she on the agenda today too? She had been friendly to Margareta but she had not seen the woman in a year and they had never been close other than they had successfully figured out ways to share the household tasks and the bedchamber assignments in their service to Chief Froði Kráka in Hordaland. Now, Margareta was being sent a world away, somewhere that Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians rarely ventured. What would happen to her daughter? And did the same fate await Gyrið and Aslaug, despite the king’s promises? In her gut, Gyrið began to worry.
King Þorolfr was seated on his ornately carved wooden Höfðingastóll on his dais. Flanked on both sides of the throne, stood three armed guards with battleaxes. Gyrið wondered if there was always a platoon of men guarding the king so closely. Security certainly was not like this when he came to Hordaland.
On this day, standing closest to the dais was the king’s brother, Magni, still a teenager, but widely respected and in Noregr still called the Boy King. Both the king and his brother were decked out in their finest cloaks on this day too, both wearing fur capes. The king wore his wolf fur, to show his connection to the Ulfheðnar. Magni wore fox pelts and a cap of fox fur also adorned his bald head.
Two other members of the king’s high council were also present: Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð and the king’s chief advisor and court skald, Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr. A squad of heavily armed guards stood behind those council members. Guards were also posted at the entrances to the longhouse and around the huge central open air fireplace that added dusky charcoal smells and smoke to the room.
Gyrið and Kristina now stood in the first row of observers who circled two-thirds of the area around the king’s dais and throne. Of course, guards would not permit anyone in the open space behind the dais. Then two other looping rings of observers stood behind the first ring where Gyrið was posted. Guards also lined an area making a walkway aisle of armed men in a path toward the dais, so special guests could be escorted to the inner circle.
The next group of exotic diplomats now emerged from the crowd and walked down that gauntlet of guards to approach the inner circle in front of the king’s dais.
A guard at the front of the gauntlet nearest the dais called out: “Announcing, Emir Sami Umayyad, the Grand Vizier of the Umayyad Sultanate and Caliphate, Ruler of Toledo and Castille, and his entourage.”
Emir Sami swaggered up the gauntlet with his armed escorts and other retainers following him. He was a seventeen year old royal, but tall and older looking for his age with a long, fine, trimmed and tailored beard. He wore a billowing turban of white, streaked with patterns of gray and gold. A long veil trailed from behind the turban. His vestments included an ornate collar with gold embroidery that buttoned up and hid his entire long neck. Gyrið found him to be an attractive man, but from another world entirely. She hoped in her heart she was not going to be called forward only to be sent off to Western Europe where the Umayyads held sway.
“As the Chancellor, I welcome Emir Sami to the Kingdom of Denmark,” Prince Magni Skjöldung said in the few words of Arabic he had learned for this meeting. Emir Sami smiled at Magni’s efforts. Then Magni repeated his greeting in Norse, for those assembled in the audience chamber.
Emir Sami motioned, and his official translator stepped forward. Now the translator, Magni, and Sami stood tightly packed addressing the king, with their backs to the crowd.
The translator spoke an excellent, hardly accented Norse: “The Grand Vizier of the Umayyads has come with a petition for King Þorolfr.”
“Before we begin, please bring a chair forward. If I heard correctly, this is no mere diplomat, but one of the rulers from the House of Umayyad. We are honored by his presence. I invite him to sit next to me, here.”
The king motioned to a place flanking him on the dais. There was a pause as a guard hurried up to the dais carrying a heavy wooden chair to flank the king’s throne. The translator explained to the emir that the king was granting him a special honor. Emir Sami smiled profusely as he mounted the dais and settled into the chair, while surveying the more than a hundred people in the room, most of them armed guards. Prince Magni now also mounted the dais and stood on the other side of the king’s throne, so business could be conducted closer and Magni could still hold the gaze of the emir and his translator. The translator now also stood on the dais, next to the emir’s chair.
“Why have you come to petition King Þorolfr and the realm of Denmark?”
Magni asked this, although he knew full well the answer. He had negotiated all of these proceedings prior to the audience day but this was the show that had to be displayed so there was a general feeling that the king was governing with an open hand to his vassals and his people.
After conferring with the emir, the translator responded: “The Grand Vizier, Emir Sami is here in service to his grandfather, Sultan Abd-al-Rahman ‘the Lion’ of the Umayyads and Ruler of Realms in Europe and Africa. Our great sultan, The Lion, seeks a wife for his fourth son and the emir’s uncle, Prince al-Qasim Umayyad. May your kingdom be of aid to the great caliphate and its needs?”
“We have a candidate for you, yes.”
“Bring forth Astrid the Lawspeaker.”
Gyrið sighed with relief as Astrid was escorted forward by three armed guards. Astrid now went up the gauntlet and into the area below the dais; she stood near the council members, with the guards still stationed around her.
“Why does this woman qualify to be part of the royal court of the Lion of the Umayyads? She is not of royal blood.”
“Please list her qualifications.”
“No, she is not of royal blood but her service to two kings in our realm is well known. She is intelligent, gifted and fertile. She has borne seven children, including one to my father King Hrœrekr II, may his name always be honored in what was his royal house. She has served as lawspeaker to this realm and was mistress to a king. She has many good years of service ahead and she is likely to bear your prince fine children. We know and respect your culture’s different views on marriage and we know with her diplomatic skills she will maintain a fine household for your prince.”
After telling the emir what had been said, the translator gave the emir’s response.
“The emir says that although she is almost twice his age, that her appearance is pleasing and that she no doubt has fertile loins. She will make a good match for his uncle.”
Astrid called out.
The king frowned.
“I will allow it, in recognition of your service to this court and to my father. However, I will brook no insolence or disrespect for our visitors. Hold your tongue if you cannot add positively to these proceedings. You have been warned.”
“Thank you, my liege for acknowledging my right to speak. I know I am without husband or sponsor, so it is your right to decide my future. Thank you for acknowledging my service to the realm. I hope you and this court will remember that I aided your father in the construction of this kingdom. I will miss this land of Denmark and my children dearly as I will be in service to a new realm, where I have much to learn.”
After a pause for translation, the translator said: “The emir has found her speech to be pleasing. She has shown the proper respect and displayed her intelligence. She will make a fine addition to the court of The Lion.”
“Let’s congratulate Lawspeaker Astrid on her royal betrothal in the House of Umayyad.”
The king said this and clapped.
“Thank you, Emir Sami. It was so good to meet you and dine with you yesterday.”
“Thank you, King Þorolfr for your hospitality and for the prize of Astrid the Lawspeaker.”
“May you all travel home in peace and safety, and may your god and our gods, the great Æsir, bless you.”
Emir Sami frowned when he heard this translated but he made his exit nonetheless without adding to what was being said. The delegation from the Umayyad Sultanate filed out back down the gauntlet with Emir Sami leading the way, and the guards surrounding Astrid following behind them.
“We should also thank and acknowledge the work of Kristina, leader of the Society of Freyja in arranging these royal marriages today, and promoting the concubines of our great kingdom to the leaders of the world.”
Magni called this out out over the commotion of the exit of the Umayyad delegation.
Kristina stepped forward and bowed, as there was a general sound of approval in the crowd.
Various discussions went on especially near the king among his advisors as the room shifted for the next part of the king’s audience.
Eventually, Chief Tryggve stepped up near the dais, where the guards had removed the emir’s chair. He gave the captain of the guards at the head of the gauntlet a look and the man clapped and announced, “Now Chief Tryggve Flod of Burgundaholmr, the Chief Advisor to King Þorolfr will guide the audience session.” The room hushed and people stopped shuffling to watch what would happen next.
“Please proceed, Chief Tryggve.”
“I now call on Kristina, the leader of the Society of Freyja to step forward along with Gyrið, servant to the king.”
Kristina sought out and squeezed Gyrið’s hand as the two women stepped forward into the semi-circle in front of the king’s dais. Gyrið looked around nervously to see if another diplomatic delegation would appear and she wondered where this was heading.
“The king wishes to acknowledge the fine service of Gyrið in overseeing the king’s holding in Hordaland in the lands of Noregr during the past year, a place where she had once served as chieftess. Please, a cheer for Gyrið!”
Tryggve proclaimed this excitedly and clapped.
The room applauded as Gyrið blushed. Both Kristina and the king were beaming.
Once the cheering had settled, Tryggve again took command of the audience.
“This court has been without a tutor during the past two months due to the passing of Dag, the former husband of Astrid. The king wishes to know if you will serve him going forward here in Sjælland in the position of court tutor. What say you?”
Gyrið had been a chieftess, a spy, and a concubine to a petty king, but she had never seen herself in the role of teacher, especially not to a court of royal children. She stepped forward, her nervousness only increasing. This was not the posting she had expected but certainly better than the position the king had mentioned of servant or cook in his off-hand way a year earlier. After a pause, she responded.
“I am looking forward to being part of this court. I will serve this king in whatever way I can. I am honored by his invitation to the capital.
“But if I may, your liege, a question, please?”
“Yes, please ask. The floor is yours.”
“I was most pleased to host you last year during your trip to Hordaland. I thank you for acknowledging my service there. We spoke of many items during your trip. Will there be other duties for me here in the capital besides as tutor to the court?”
Gyrið hoped the king would understand that even in this very public setting she was speaking to him in a bit of code.
“Yes, there will be many other duties, as assigned by me, as necessary.”
The king’s response was also intended as a bit of vague code. Gyrið smiled and blushed at that. She looked down. She wondered now if all of the dreams she had from that trip to Saxony some 18 months ago were about to come true.
“Actually, your intelligence is now on display for this court, so the jobs I have assigned to you are already shown to be a good match. And your questions precede other appointments. Kristina who represents the goddess Freyja in her role to this court is here with more to announce.”
The king waved his hand toward Kristina as if to give her a stage cue.
“I am here to announce, King Þorolfr has chosen you to be his royal consort, second only to Queen Gerðr in his life and the manager of his household in Sjælland. A cheer of congratulations for Gyrið!”
Gyrið gasped with surprise. This certainly wasn’t anything she had expected or wanted, although the king had always shown her kindness and courtesy. She wondered why he had never found a way to broach this before the public announcement or why Kristina had not warned her. There was so much about her situation now that she didn’t understand. Her head was spinning with this unexpected news and the major shift her life had just taken. She thought all this as the crowd cheered and Kristina raised Gyrið’s hand above their heads in a salute to everyone in the audience room. She looked to the king for a sign and he happily nodded his head and smiled at her. She blushed and smiled. Even as an experienced, middle aged woman, she found the moment to be awkward, understanding what was ahead. It was as if she had been kissed, engaged, married, and swept off to bed, all in the same instant.
“Kristina and her society will prepare Gyrið for her time with the king! Today’s audience is now officially over.”
“May the Æsir bless you all in your journeys home, and Gyrið, I look forward to us praying together soon.”
There was much excitement and commotion as people began conversing immediately about what they had witnessed during the audience. The king watched as people filed out of the audience hall. He watched Gyrið leave with Kristina, hoping and wondering if Gyrið could teach him something about the ways of the bedchamber. But he had picked her, he realized, not for her sex appeal, or her experience, or intelligence, or her brash confidence as a spy and assassin. Most of those traits, Kristina had agreed would make her a wonderful match to bear children for the king. Þorolfr had not shared Gyrið’s role in the murder of Froði Kráka with Kristina. That was a secret matter that was the foundation of the bond he had with Gyrið. No, Þorolfr realized for the first time on this day that her choice was his final revenge on Froði for whatever his role had been in the killing of the king’s father. Froði had attempted to take almost everything from the king’s father, Hrœrekr, and now Þorolfr had reversed that. King Þorolfr had been the catalyst that pushed Gyrið to end Froði’s life. With that event, the king now possessed all of Froði’s property. Hordaland was now the king’s land. Froði’s concubine had been the king’s servant, and not trusting Margareta, seeing her as a potential spy and gossiper, the king had sent her into a kind of exile in Wessex. Likewise, Froði’s former lover, Astrid, had been sent off to the land of the Umayyads. And now Froði’s former wife, Gyrið, would be the king’s to do with as he pleased. He knew going forward that every time he took Gyrið to bed it would be as if he was defiling Froði’s property. His vengeance over Froði was now complete.
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
Epilogue Chapter IX The Suspect Board
(The Ongoing Investigation into the Murder of King Hrœrekr II)
Godi Þorsteinn of Mære
One of the Prime Suspects
Disposition: Insufficient proof to link him to the crime, despite his obvious organization of the movement for Noregr’s independence (Norway’s independence) after the king’s murder. Keeping a low-key presence now that Crown Prince Magni has returned to rule the province of Nidaros. Still in charge of the Temple of Mære.
Chief Froði Kráka of Hordaland
One of the Prime Suspects
Disposition: Died suspiciously on New Year’s Eve night, as 787 CE became 788 CE. As he had no male heir, his land and titles were transferred to King Þorolfr, Hrœrekr’s heir. He had been a leader in Noregr’s independence movement and was still plotting for an independent Noregr when he died. Likely still one of the leaders at the heart of the assassination but his death eliminates him from causing further problems. After waiting more than two years, King Þorolfr finally gets vengeance/justice.
Chieftess Irmgard of Åland
(formerly the Queen of Denmark, King Hrœrekr II’s second wife)
One of the Prime Suspects
Disposition: Revealed to be one of the mistresses of Froði Kráka. Living in disgrace in Åland where she is known to have cheated on the chieftain. No definitive proof of her involvement in the murder. King Þorolfr’s revenge so far is to have had her lover killed. Like others, is she unaware Froði was murdered on the orders of the king?
Astrid the Lawspeaker
(formerly the acknowledged mistress of King Hrœrekr II)
Suspect, Possible Collaborator, or Dupe?
Disposition: Also revealed to be one of the mistresses of Froði Kráka. How many of his children did she bear, if any? What was her involvement in the murder? When did she really take up with Froði? So many questions remain unresolved. Just like Froði’s former concubine, the king has her shipped off to be married in a foreign land. Now, she lives in the Umayyad Sultanate. King Þorolfr’s revenge upon her is not just killing her lover, but also stripping her of important titles, such as regent and eventually her title as lawspeaker too. This type of unofficial exile means she will never see her six living children again.
Dag the Tutor
(cuckolded and fired from the council by King Hrœrekr II)
Minor Suspect
Disposition: Fired from the council twice, although Dag had many motives to kill King Hrœrekr II, he likely did not have the means or the opportunity to construct and pay for a complex plot like the one that successfully assassinated the king. Considered but discarded as a suspect by both King Þorolfr and the Spymaster of Denmark, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel. Dag’s death by natural causes, allows the king to take the next steps in his plan of vengeance against Froði and other suspected plotters.
Þrándr Skjöldung
Formerly the Chief of Slesvig & Hordaland
Suspect or Possible Collaborator?
Disposition: As Hrœrekr’s rival, Þrándr remains on the suspects’ list, however he was not knowledgeable of the king’s security arrangements and he was not close to the king. He did not have the means to pull off a complex plot by himself and it is questionable just what he may have added to any plot with the mix of other suspects on this list. He remains on the list primarily because of his rivalry with King Hrœrekr II. No new information links him to the crime. However, it is possible King Þorolfr and Spymaster Alfr have disregarded him too soon. Neither is aware that Þrándr was caught plotting to assassinate Hrœrekr during Þrándr’s brief stint as a chieftain completely independent from Sjælland and his brother’s control. Could Þrándr have returned to his ideas to slay his brother? And if he did, what would he gain beyond revenge?
Loki
Trickster of the Jötnar
Suspect? Collaborator?
Disposition: No doubt Loki would enjoy the fact, if he was involved with the crime, that no one suspected him in the Kingdom of Denmark in the 8th Century. (Perceptive readers in the 21st Century may feel otherwise.) One way or another, he certainly would enjoy that a rumor circulated among the common folk that Thor had killed the king with a mighty bolt of lightning.
And now there are new plotters to consider, along with the credible information that King Þorolfr’s life may be threatened too by an assassination plot. Is the new assassination being brewed up by those on this list, or the new plotters? Or someone unrevealed? Is it wrong to conflate King Hrœrekr II’s murder with the assassination plot against King Þorolfr? All these questions certainly make King Þorolfr’s head spin.
With King Þorolfr now reigning for more than three and a half years, will this mystery ever be solved? Is it a hopeless quest? Jarl Alfr has his doubts and has shelved much of the investigation. But will this new assassination plot revive his interest in solving the mystery as he works through his own distractions?
The death of Hrœrekr II continues to haunt and vex King Þorolfr. What will the king do next to solve this mystery himself and take further vengeance? This list of suspects is still important to King Þorolfr.
(Beyond the graphics provided by Crusader Kings II, some of these images are from @Chac1’s Playground AI account where he holds the copyright. Additional digital editing provided via LunaPic. The image of Loki is from an 18th Century manuscript now in an archive in Iceland and is in the public domain.)
(This is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about plots and assassinations attempts in the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there at The Tårn.)
Chapter X The Holmgang of 789
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 789)
Two Norse battle axes, as depicted by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
The messenger arrived while King Þorolfr of Denmark was sipping sweet cherry wine in a tent overlooking his siege at the main settlement in Käkisalmi, an independent Finnish province. The king had decided to send his forces east this year to loot and raid, with an eye on returning later perhaps to conquer the lands held by Chief Ahma Itkonen and seize his holding (a settlement near current-day Vyborg, Russia).
“Your brother has decided that as he is turning 18 years of age, that he will challenge you to a holmgang,” the messenger announced, startling the king, who had felt like napping amid the hot early July midday temperatures.
“Well, that is surprising and dispiriting news,” the king rolled his eyes a bit. “Was there any more to the message?”
“Yes,” the messenger replied, “he said if you accept, you are to meet him in mid-July on neutral ground on the island of Fyn. He added that if you decline your honor will be stained and he will have a stronger claim on the kingdoms of both Denmark and Noregr.”
“Of course, he said that,” the king shook his head, “the troubled immature fool. What has he gotten us into now?”
“Is there any return message, my liege?” the messenger asked and bowed a bit.
“Yes, return to Noregr and let him know to expect me in Fyn,” the king said with some resignation in his tone.
So it was that the king found himself on the island of Fyn (now called Funen) in mid-July, stripped to the waist and ready to do battle against his half-brother.
At 31, King Þorolfr looked like the quintessential Viking warrior-king. He was heavily muscled. These days, he sparred as much as he drank and prayed. His face was already scarred from a duel he had when he was a teenager, the jagged scar careening down the right side of his face from the bridge of his nose. Although he had experience dueling as a teenager, his primary experience now with weapons came from his annual raiding expeditions or occasionally leading troops into battle. As usual, his long blonde hair flowed down one side of his head, the other was cut a bit tighter, with a braided tail to gather it and keep it out of his face. At six feet of toned muscle and about 210 pounds, he dwarfed his half-brother.
The 18-year-old Prince Magni, the Chief of Nidaros and the Chancellor of Denmark, was prematurely bald and someone who spent his days in diplomatic discourse and travel. By comparison to his half-brother, he had few muscles to show. He stood at 5 feet, 8 inches, and was at least 40 pounds lighter than his half-brother. He had no dueling experience, although like almost all men of that era, part of his education was how to use weapons.
The two half-brothers stood on a field that had been marked off with large rocks to designate the area for their duel, what the Norse called a holmgang. The dueling zone inside the rocks was a square, approximately 20 feet by 20 feet in length and width. The area had been marked off at the instruction of Hemming the Spy, the spymaster and regent of Fyn, who would officiate at the holmgang. The island of Fyn was its own administrative province in Denmark, and Rauðúlfr Skjöldung, half-brother to both Þorolfr and Magni, held the title. However, as he was just 11-years-old, Hemming would hold the regency until he was of age. The fight needed to stay contained inside the area marked off for the holmgang, and any man who voluntarily left the combat zone would not only forfeit the match but be marked as a coward, bringing great dishonor to himself.
Rauðúlfr Skjöldung as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator.
Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, was also in attendance, accompanied by Rauðúlfr. As Rauðúlfr’s land was being used for the duel, he had requested to witness the event. Rauðúlfr served as the godi’s squire and he attended the godi’s school, the same school that educated Queen Gerðr.
Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator and the Canvas digital editor.
Þorolfr and Magni’s best friends would serve as their seconds and aids for the duel. For the king, that would be Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr, the king’s chief advisor and court skald. For Magni, that would be Baldr, the steward of Nidaros. Each of the aids had two additional shields near them, a sword, and a knife. The wooden shields used during the holmgang were light and flimsy, not designed as much protection, so spares were necessary as were additional weapons.
Shirtless, the two half-brothers faced each other from about six feet apart in the square of stones. Although it was mid-morning the summer air was hot with only a light breeze. Sweat was already dripping down Magni’s scraggly beard. The king also wiped some sweat off of his own chin as the men prepared themselves mentally for what would follow. Each man held a light wooden shield and a light Danish fighting axe.
“Any final words before we begin? And remember this is a holmgang, not a flyting,” Hemming stated.
“I want to declare that I wish we were not here today,” the king said, “Magni, I know not why you have trapped us both with your challenge. I thought we were walking down a road of peace, working together on the council. I know not what has changed but I will do my duty to defend myself and the honor of our great house.”
“Here’s your answer, brother,” Magni spat on the ground. “I am out of patience. Your titles and thrones will be mine after today. This is the best way to resolve the issues between us.”
“My liege, I warned you this is not a flyting, so no insults, please.”
The king was taken aback, and he gripped his axe tighter. There was an awkward silence. Magni bared his teeth and tried to look like a warrior.
“Now, after hearing Prince Magni’s statement, am I to take this that the holmgang is to the death?”
“That is my preference!”
“No, it cannot be to the death. I suggest it be for first blood.”
“Your seconds should have worked this out with you both before we got this far. What say you Tryggve and Baldr?”
“May I suggest a compromise,” Godi Styrbjörn inserted himself in the discussion. “There is a middle ground. Make it until one of them yields.”
“You’re going to regret saying that, among this entirely regrettable circumstance.”
“Hearing no agreement, we will go with the godi’s suggestion. First man to yield loses. And are the stakes really the titles to the kingdom?”
“Let it be so. I am not going to lose.”
“You’re going to die today, brother.”
“Half-brother, that’s half-brother.”
“I don’t want them to fight!”
Rauðúlfr called out while he tugged on the godi’s cloak.
“Now, learn to be a man, son.”
Hemming said this with disappointment in his voice.
“Watch and you may learn something important about being a warrior and understanding our warrior culture.”
“So yes, may Tyr, Freyja, and Odin look down and watch these proceedings. May they bless us with hopes no one is headed to Valhalla or Fólkvangr today.”
“I will send him to Valhalla!”
“Alright, enough words. Time for combat!”
Both Tryggve and Baldr now stood with the spare shields ready, one in their hands and another at their feet. The combatants tensed.
“Fight now! Fight now until someone yields!”
Magni gave out a loud war cry and charged at the king with his shield extended like a battering ram, hoping to knock Þorolfr off of his feet. The king used his own shield to parry Magni’s advance, giving ground and sliding away from Magni’s bull-rush tactic. The king swung his axe up and over several times, hacking around his own shield and landing blows on Magni’s shield. Wood splintered and flew. Soon a third of Magni’s shield was gone.
“Do you want a spare shield?” Baldr called out.
“Not yet!”
Magni grunted. He backed away from his engagement with the king who hunkered down into a defensive stance.
Magni charged the king again with his shield extended, swinging his axe awkwardly at the side of the shield. This time, the king decided instead of meeting him, he would side-step entirely, hoping Magni’s momentum would cause him to lose balance. As the king pivoted away, Magni saw his move, dropped his axe, and using both hands hurled the partially broken shield toward the king’s knees, hoping to hurt him that way or at least knock him off balance. The king did not expect such an unorthodox maneuver, and, as he spun away from Magni’s charge, the tossed shield clipped him on his shinbone. The king rolled to the ground, his left ankle and shin throbbing. Desperately, Magni searched at his own feet for his axe, found it and began swinging it wildly as he advanced on the king’s prone position. The king left his own shield on the ground, and rolled painfully back to his feet, still gripping his axe. But Magni was on top of his position quickly, making wild arcing swings. The king ducked and twisted rather than parrying with his own axe.
“You cannot escape me!”
Magni exclaimed as he swung, aiming at the king’s head.
The king again tried to retreat from the blow but not enough. The tip of the axe grazed the point of his chin, cutting him and drawing blood.
“First blood is drawn! Give him what for Prince Magni.”
“This is one great fight already, but the king will come back, no doubt,” Tryggve said. “One way or another I see a superb poem in all of this.”
The king backed away from Magni quickly, keeping his footing, despite his sore leg. He wiped the blood away from his chin with one hand and then put both hands on his axe.
“I’m coming to kill you, brother.”
Magni said this as he advanced.
“Once and for all, you aren’t my brother! It’s half-brother!”
After shouting this, the king charged. He swung but Magni parried his stroke. Their axe handles were now what separated the two, with both using two hands to keep their handles engaged and pushing for leverage. Suddenly, the king took a calculated step backward and let loose his axe with one hand. Magni was not prepared and he lost his balance a bit, falling forward because there was no longer the king’s axe handle stopping his momentum. With one hand, the king realigned and caught his own axe as it was falling and then swung upward with an uppercut motion. The blade caught Magni’s cheek and opened a gash in his face lacing backward toward his ear. Magni screamed and then gurgled as blood filled his mouth. The king then pushed him backward using the butt of the axe handle. Weakly, Magni tried swinging his axe with one hand as he lost the grip with his second hand. The king then brought his axe downward in another swipe, and Magni weakly parried the blow, but the force knocked the axe from his hand. Magni’s eyes went wide and he backed away, unarmed. The king swung his axe again, meaning to graze Magni’s face. The axe added another bloody cut across Magni’s nose and down toward the other gash.
Then the king backed away, his bloody axe at his side, panting from his efforts and exertion.
The king growled at the prince.
“Come get your sword!”
Baldr shouted this from one of the boundaries where he stood next to Tryggve. Baldr was holding the sword out to Prince Magni with the hilt forward.
“Blood and scars, what a fight!”
Magni, his face bloody and ruined, could not see Baldr, as blood was now in his eyes. He brought his hands to his face.
“Finish this!”
Hemming demanded from the boundary across from Baldr and Tryggve.
“Make him yield!”
The king panted.
Rauðúlfr shouted from the boundary between Hemming and the two seconds.
“Only the Æsir can intervene now.”
Godi Styrbjörn looked down at Rauðúlfr who stood next to him and shook his head.
“I will not yield!”
Magni called out but he was half-blinded by the blood in his eyes and cascading down from the grievous wounds on his face. He twirled around in a circle, as the king now moved closer to him.
“Yield, I say!”
The king raised his axe ready to swing as he took careful measured steps.
“Nooooo!”
Magni screamed and bolted for the only boundary without spectators.
“You fool!”
The king yelled as he chased after his half-brother and then Þorolfr took a wild swing to keep Magni from leaving the combat zone.
The wild swing grazed Magni’s buttocks, enough to cut the pants he was wearing and barely cut his skin. But the blow also caused him to lose balance before he reached the boundary line. He fell face forward, his hands outstretched just short of the boundary.
“You can’t leave the square!”
The king screamed as he towered above Magni who was both crying out in pain and trying to struggle to his feet again.
“You will bring dishonor to our entire house! You are such a fool!”
Then the the king brought his axe down hard on the back of Magni’s right calf, cutting deeply into his leg, severing his Achilles’ tendon. Magni couldn’t get up now by himself if he wanted. Magni screamed again in agonizing pain.
“Stop and yield! Stop and yield I say!”
The king shouted as he brought the axe down twice more on the same leg, eliciting horrible cries each time from Magni.
“Stop, my liege! Stop! He is done. You need not deliver more blows!”
But Þorolfr had lost his temper somewhere in the fight and he was finding it hard to let reason struggle back to his consciousness.
“Say you will yield, or I will give you more of what you deserve!”
Þorolfr demanded this with the axe held high and ready to demolish Magni’s leg more.
Both Godi Styrbjörn and Hemming now ran to the boundary where the combatants were in the final throes of this holmgang. Rauðúlfr trailed after them yelling:
“Make them stop! Stop them!”
With his head start, Hemming arrived first and he told the king:
“He must yield or you should finish him.”
“How is that honorable? I don’t see how this is honorable any longer!”
The godi pointed at the king.
“Do not kill him. You will be branded a tyrant! Your temper has already proved your dishonor today. You did not need to mangle his leg!”
“Shut up or get in this deadly box with me and I will show you what honor is all about.”
The king growled at the godi, as blood dripped from his axe and he panted to regain some composure.
The godi was startled by the king’s response and he stood up straight with shock.
“Yield, you son of a bitch, or I will start on your next leg!”
The godi pleaded, looking at Hemming for a ruling, while Magni wailed and thrashed on the ground. Meanwhile the seconds had now slowly approached, still carrying the extra shields.
“The king is within the rules and in my mind has shown great restraint.”
“Will you yield, or must I deal you another blow?”
The king asked again, while Magni screamed.
“Prince, I think you should yield.”
Baldr said this with a weak and wavering voice.
“Gaaaahhhh! I hate you!”
Magni choked this out through the blood cascading down his throat.
“I yield!”
“Thank the gods!”
The godi gasped.
“Thank the Æsir!”
The king tossed his axe to the ground in disgust.
“Everyone should note that I showed mercy here today to the man who wanted to kill me and take my kingdoms away.”
He said this as he walked out of the combat box slowly and deliberately, his ankle and shin aching.
Tryggve ran up and hugged the king.
“It’s over now. You’ve added another stanza to your song.”
“No, it’s not over, friend. I’m afraid this fraternal feud will never be mended now.”
Baldr and Hemming managed to prop Magni up, putting his arms around each of their shoulders and necks. They dragged him away from the field to where all of their horses awaited to get him back to the main holding in Fyn and medical attention.
After nursing his own injuries for a few days back in Sjælland, the king would return to his siege in Finland before its completion. Magni was not so lucky. To save his life, they cut off his right leg just below the knee. He would use a crutch to walk for the rest of his life.
Prince Magni Skjöldung, the Chief of Nidaros is pictured prominently (second row, left), which also shows his injuries after the holmgang. Also pictured are: King Þorolfr (top row); Magni’s wife, Halla, the seeress of Nidaros (second row, right); the heir apparent to Nidaros, Þrándr Skjöldung (third row); Magni’s mother Chieftess Kraka of Årus (fourth row); and Magni’s daughter with Halla, Aleta (fifth row).
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but a few are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
Chapter XI Stumbling Forward
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 789)
King Þorolfr’s Council in November of 789, showing Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, the Spymaster of Denmark, allied with the king and Godi Styrbjörn, the Seer of Denmark, allied with Crown Prince Magni, the Chancellor.
No one knows King Þorolfr’s reasoning behind his decision to make one key change to how he handled the regular meeting of his high council in October of 789. Perhaps it was because council meetings in winter were not always with full attendance and the king wanted to celebrate the year before the sparser sessions, some surmised. But many others had darker theories: the king was now four years into his reign and perhaps the stress had accumulated to a type of breaking point for him.
Queen Gerðr had just completed her fourth required visit of the year. There was no sign of warmth between the king and queen. Their attempts at coupling were still the fumblings of the inexperienced with neither having much passion: both saw their time together as a chore of service to the kingdom. The king’s attempts to learn more about the bedchamber had also been a frustrating affair for both him and his concubine, Gyrið. The king did not show much interest in learning, and most nights he passed out from fatigue or the aftereffects of his heavy drinking or both.
Some say the king must have been suffering from a guilty conscience after maiming his brother in the holmgang. Others speculated that all the changes the king had put forth at court and in his household had not solved his problems but only vexed the king more. Some even speculated that the unsolved murder of his father continually dug at the king and he didn't know what to do with his need to find answers and vengeance.
Whatever the reasons, the king had asked that his stock of Saxon wine be shared at the council session. After the death of Godi Sigburt “The Blushing” of Hamburg, a shipment of many barrels of fine Saxon wine arrived in Sjælland, shipped to the king from the Temple of Hamburg, as the king’s inheritance from his good friend. The king was unaccustomed to wine made from grapes, usually favoring the sweet wine from cherries, or occasionally apples. The Saxon wine was a more complex affair, with a smooth crisp taste at first, and then sweetness on the taste buds later. This was a richer and more alcoholically potent wine than the king usually drank.
Barrels of fine Saxon white wine in King Þorolfr’s holding in Sjælland as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
The king had already been drinking before the meeting began. Three pitchers of golden Saxon wine sat on the table, along with plates of thin, barley biscuits, something to snack on during the session. About ten guards stood outside the council area in the longhouse, and a servant woman hovered in the doorway, in case the king or others wanted more wine or more biscuits.
The servant woman had poured cups of wine for all the council members except Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra who had declined.
“It is not even midday yet. Too early for strong drink and that Saxon drink is too rich for me,” the godi said.
“Personally, I think this is a fine change,” said Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö as he waved his cup in the air after taking a hearty gulp. “This is excellent drink. Makes me think we need to acquire some Saxon lands where they grow the grape. I want to thank the King of Mead for his generosity.” The jarl tipped his cup to the king who toasted him from afar and took a gulp from his own cup.
“Aye, the more these boring council sessions can be like a gathering of the Ulfheðnar, that is more to my taste,” Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel agreed.
“Now that the three most powerful men of the kingdom are in agreement,” Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr cut in. “May we commence with the agenda?” As the chief advisor to the king, one of Tryggve’s tasks was to keep these meetings moving.
“Please proceed,” the king said with a merry lilt in his voice, spurred on by the wine.
“Campaigning season is always my primary interest. Will we be raiding or warring?”
“I believe I have prepared the way with my siege to raid Käkisalmi this summer.”
“Oh Moaner, stop moaning about my war against Västergötland.”
Alfr growled and gulped down some wine quickly.
“You know that’s a sore point.”
“As I have noted to you many times, Alfr.”
Alfr sighed.
“Now, don’t you two gang up on me. King Bersi’s men are proving to be tougher than a gang of lice on a hairy man. I can’t seem to finally rid myself of the pests.”
“Even after I have weakened them this year, we will need your troops and Bersi’s army of lice too if we are to overcome the Finns in Käkisalmi.”
The king burped and then giggled at his own burping, finding it funny how he had over-accented that Finnish name. A few council members gave worried glances to each other.
“The winter is no time to win a war. I hope to have this finished soon, as it is dragging into a second winter. But I can make no promises.”
“Instead of looking eastward, what about westward?” Prince Magni spoke up. “As the chief of Nidaros, I see several independent lands in Noregr that still could be conquered.”
“Aye, I heard that Sygnafylki is still rebuilding after the king’s raids there two years ago.”
“What of my ideas about…”
The king started and then burped a few times. There was an awkward silence as the council waited for him to gather his thoughts.
“…about sending offers to make the independent Norwegian lands vassals?”
“Yes, those Norwegians are so afraid of us now, they will bow to us without us ever having to send a ship to threaten them.”
“I am not opposed to that.”
Magni said as he rubbed his bald head.
“Perhaps diplomacy can be the hero in conquering all of Noregr.”
“It starts with the sword, boy. It always starts with the sword. I taught your Norwegians a few lessons, if you don’t recall.”
“You don’t have to always remind me.”
Magni said this morosely. The prince rubbed the huge scars on the ruined right side of his face. The horrible wounds of the summer’s holmgang had healed but marked him with an angry, ugly red “x” on his right profile.
“So is there agreement? We campaign in the east next year to take Käkisalmi and Prince Magni works to get the independent lands in Noregr to come to heel peaceably. Is there agreement?”
No one spoke up and there were general murmurs of consent.
“Alright, what is next?”
“Maybe we should talk about assassination.”
The king said this and then slurped down more wine.
“Who else at this table wants to kill me besides my half-brother?”
“Give me credit for at least challenging you to your face.”
“No need to repeat the holmgang a second time. Accept the outcome of the challenge, and move onward. Honor was maintained.”
“Some would say otherwise.”
“If you have a complaint…”
The king raised his voice angrily and pointed at the godi.
“...you know where to take it and how to bring it forward with honor. Your sniping is not appreciated nor welcome during this meeting.”
“Please, these arguments should have been left on the field of the holmgang. I was not there but all reports say mercy was given. So please grant us mercy now. And pardon me, my liege, but with the guards present and servants too, this is really not the place to discuss such plots.”
“Then we’ll dismiss them.”
The king said this and emptied his cup of wine.
“I fear no one here. I can protect myself.”
“Not if you keep swigging down this rich Saxon elixir. You’ll be in your cups soon.”
“I’m the King of Mead.”
The king boasted and gulped down yet more wine.
“I can out-drink any man at this table.”
“That is undisputed. I don’t think it is a good idea to dismiss the guards though. However, Alfr and I are two of your best warrior-generals…”
“Speak for yourself. That was me in my youth. I’m a gray-beard now. Have you seen me at the battlefront lately?”
“Well, then Eirikr, our silent steward can lift his sword. He was once a fine general until we pushed him to take care of coin and property.”
“Aye,” Chief Eirikr “the Just” Borg of Blekinge shook his head positively. “I still spar. I will defend the king. I swear it.”
“Alright, it is against my better judgment, but we will dismiss them.”
He stood up and motioned for the guards and servant at the entrance to leave.
“Station yourselves just outside the longhouse, please.”
After the guards and the lone servant were out of earshot, the king asked:
“What news is there regarding those who want to kill me?”
“Well, as I told you earlier this year, my liege…”
Alfr said this as he sat back down at the council table.
“I don’t think we should be discussing that information widely.”
“My friend…”
Sigurd chuckled.
“...who cannot guess what is afoot these past months with so much security for the king? At least half this council knows, and the other half has the wits to figure it out.”
“Well, I for one am glad this council is discussing it openly. The council works best when there are no secrets.”
“Don’t be naive, Tryggve. There are always secrets.”
“That’s certainly what keeps you in a job, spymaster.”
Prince Magni was the only one on the council who did not know before this meeting about the reason behind the extra security. In his wide travels this year before his grievous injuries at the holmgang, he had not had time to deduce the meaning of the extra security. When he had appeared at court there were always foreigners represented and he had thought that was the reason. He would have made this comment but thought to hold his tongue about being left out, lest it open him to criticism and suspicion.
“Human nature is what keeps me in my job.”
Alfr directed his growl now across the table at Magni.
“And secrets aren’t part of a diplomat’s purse, you young pup of a prince?”
“Call me what you will, old man, but I am not a pup any longer. I have the scars and wounds to prove it.”
“No need to get testy. Take some more of this fine wine, prince. That will calm your pains and sorrows.”
Tryggve took a sip from his cup.
“That is my brother’s solution.”
“Half-brother! Alright, enough bickering. What news have you Jarl Alfr about assassinations and plots?”
One of the spies working for Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
“Well, we have ferreted out some spies, but even torture would not loosen their tongues. We don’t know if they were connected to any plotters, yet, but we know they were suspicious and building a network, perhaps to kill you, my liege.”
“A lot of qualifications in that statement. So vague and yet it justifies torture.”
“Spies have no honor. Torture is justified.”
“Hold the mirror to thine own face.”
“I would expect a godi to bandy about such ideas. I don’t do this job for honor. I’m a dirty fighter. I do this job for survival and to protect the king and kingdom. What are the godis contributing to that?”
“Please, again, may we push forward positively. Again, I suggest taking some wine to smooth the edges.”
Tryggve sipped again from his cup.
“You forget, I am not partaking.”
The godi said with a bit of a sanctimonious tone.
“Well, you are missing out on some of the hedonistic pleasures of life.”
Alfr said this while raising his cup as if to toast the holy man, and then he gulped down some of the fine wine.
“Here’s what I came ready to impart, aside from assassination attempts…. I continue to spy on Chief Knut, the court physician, to make sure others are not joining his plot to reduce the king’s powers….”
“Maybe the king’s powers should be reduced, if we are going to have these unwieldy drunken sessions.”
“You are edging on treason and slander!”
The king banged his cup on the table, sloshing out some of the wine.
“I am in control of my faculties.”
He reached for a pitcher and poured the wine shakily into his cup, spilling some as he went.
“Words are not slander if they reveal the truth. Your wasting of your precious drink just now gives credence to my statement.”
The king said this, and then he gulped down a mouthful of wine.
“Stop interrupting The Irongrip.”
“Thank you, my liege. Prince Magni has also had no luck in his private conversations and many trips to see Chief Knut, unless he wants to report something differently here.”
Alfr paused to take a sip of wine, as Magni shook his head negatively.
“But Knut has found no footing and allies in his quest to reduce the king’s powers, the godi’s statements notwithstanding.”
“I made my statements here and publicly, as grievances should be aired. I am no skulking plotter.”
“Well, I’ll be watching to make sure, won’t I?”
Alfr glared at the godi.
“Your threats don’t scare me.”
“That is not a threat. It is a statement that I do my job.”
“May we please press onward? Let us let the jarl finish his report.”
“Thank you, Tryggve. There is also a mild threat from that pup who runs Vingulsmark, Emund.”
“The squire.”
The king interjected and then burped.
“Well, my old squire anyway. He is no match for me.”
The king took another long pull of wine from his cup.
“Yes, we are in agreement. He’s a minor threat looking to put Prince Eysteinn on the throne, but not likely someone hiring killers.”
“But he does have connections with people at court, does he not?”
“Less so, these days, after the king rearranged the staff.”
“A threat, but minor, as I said. That brings us to Chieftess Þordiss of Medelpad, who craves independence. She is most likely the one looking to hire killers.”
“Is there any proof of these allegations?”
“Do I hear the echo of Astrid the Lawspeaker, even as we mention those departed from these quarters?”
The king laughed.
“When does Alfr ever bring us proof? We are just always acting on suspicions!”
“You’ll have the proof when I find it!”
“That does raise a good point. Who will be the new lawspeaker? That post has been empty for all of campaigning season.”
“I do not miss her comments and efforts to control our proceedings. I am the state. I am the kingdom. It is best for me to dictate the law.”
“Seems we are back to Chief Knut’s argument.”
“That woman had a feminine view of how a kingdom should work. No longer. And I advise you to tread lightly, Styrbjörn.”
“There was once a time when you honored the word of the godis and respected us.”
“It is not that I have changed perhaps.”
The king pointed his finger across the table at the godi.
“I think you are the one who has drifted and decided to deviate. Power has changed you.”
“Yes, I am your regent, and I think you should be taking my advice more because it is sound. I have to question your path and adherence to the ways of the gods. For instance, why did you call that group of women you have empowered the Society of Freyja? It should be the Society of Frigg!”
“Do we really need to get into such arguments of religious philosophy here? In this instance, perhaps the godi is splitting hairs? It is the king’s prerogative to give names to institutions that he creates whatever he likes. Jarl Alfr, please save us from this tangent.”
The king fumed without a response but again went to his cup for relief.
“Thank you again, Tryggve. Let me just conclude by saying no one supports Chieftess Þordiss’ movement for independence, and her province is the only one with feelings about breaking away from the kingdom, at least for what we know at this time.”
“Send me to Medelpad and I’ll have our problems solved before Jul.”
“Once there is proof, no doubt this council will approve that plan.”
The king agreed and sipped from his cup again.
“If Alfr is done, I would like to discuss my progress in spreading the word of our great Germanic religion to the under-developed peoples of Finland and my work in the province of Sjundeå.”
“I for one am always glad to see us focused on the east of the kingdom. I like to see us discussing Finland and I thank the godi for his work there.”
“With that encouragement, please proceed, Styrbjörn.”
Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, proselytizing about the Germanic faith in Sjundeå, Finland as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
At that, the godi went into a detailed ten-minute recitation of what progress he was making in the weeks and months he stayed away from his temple and Sjælland in his conversion efforts. Alfr took out his favorite hunting knife and twiddled with it while he sipped the wine. Others at the table also sipped. Being happy and sometimes sleepy when he drank too much, like the king, Chief Eirikr the Steward of Denmark fell asleep and started to snore until Prince Magni, who was seated next to him, nudged him awake.
“Thank you for that fiiiiiiihhhn report.”
The king interrupted just as the godi was wrapping up his tale of his exploits.
“Because we are talking religious activity, I would like to discuss a blót for this winter.”
“A blót? Are you really in the proper religious state of mind to ask for that?”
“It’s my pre… prerog… pre….”
The king stuttered and couldn’t get out the word.
“It’s his prerogative. It is.”
“That you, I mean, thank you my friend, Tryg… Trygg… Tryggve, curse the tripping of my tongue, your name escapes me today.”
The king giggled.
“This council is in no position to discuss this while the king is inebriated.”
“I am not that word you just said.”
The king giggled again.
“I’m the King of Mead. Drunkenness is beyond me. I am imp…. im….”
“Impervious?”
The king pointed, got out of his chair, wobbled a bit, then sat back down.
“Well, I think as Seer of Denmark, and regent, I should have been consulted before this was brought to the council. I should not have been caught unaware. Can we even afford such a ceremony so soon after the royal wedding?”
There was a pause as Magni again elbowed Chief Eirikr who was snoring softly.
“Oh, what? Are we still talking about Finland? If the godi needs more funds for his trips we have them.”
Eirikr said this groggily, a bit puzzled and befuddled as he awoke.
“Take those funds and apply them to the blót.”
“A blót? We’re discussing a blót?”
Eirikr said this, still not completely awake and woozy from the wine he had consumed.
“Yes, a blót. How much will it cost?”
“Do you really want me to say, right now?”
Eirikr said this, unprepared for this question and still not with his full mental capacity.
“I’m guessing we have the funds or can sell some of this summer’s plunder to acquire what is needed.”
“How do you know?”
“Yes, how do you know?”
“It is my business to know many things, and I know what is in the royal accounts, even if you have forgotten.”
Alfr said this with some amusement.
“The king has sufficient funds for his request and a jail brimming with prisoners for the sacrifice. And those he doesn’t sacrifice can be ransomed. The funds are available.”
“Inform the royal cup bearer, and the dro… the dros… the dró…”
“The dróttsetti*?”
“That’s it. That word.”
The king said this while slurring his words.
“Have them start the planning and if the godi wants to poke his nose in then he can help too.”
“We are all here at this table. We understand. If you have forgotten, I’m the royal cupbearer.”
“You!?! I’m the cup bearer!”
“You both are. For some reason when the kingdoms combined after the Noregr War, these titles were not consolidated.”
“Another black mark on the performance of the lawspeaker!”
“So, yes, Eirikr, you are the cupbearer of Denmark, and I am the cupbearer of Noregr.”
“Oh!”
Eirikr was still a bit befuddled.
“But I thought you were a Geatish man from Svíþjóð?”
“Trust us, it all works out. And I’m the dróttsetti.”
“If this meeting is any example, the kingdom will need at least three cupbearers.”
Several people chortled at the table, including Godi Styrbjörn. But the king and Tryggve, his chief advisor and best friend, did not.
“I think we have accomplished all we can for today. There is a group to start planning the blót, and we can discuss the logistics of war in the east at the next session.”
“May the Æsir bless you all on your travels. Thank you for sharing the wine with me today.”
The king made this announcement and wobbled out of his chair.
“Let me help you, my liege.”
Tryggve tried to steady him.
“No, I am quite fine.”
The king said this and pushed him away.
“I need some time to think, alone, after this meeting.”
That is what he said but he was actually thinking of a nap in his private meeting room.
All seven in the room had different reactions to the end of this council meeting that had been fueled by the fine Saxon wine. Eirikr stayed at the council table and actually poured another cup of wine to contemplate the meeting or perhaps what he might have missed while snoring through parts of it. Jarl Sigurd went to talk to Prince Magni, both to discuss matters on his mind but to help him with his crutch and to walk out with the maimed prince. For his part, Magni didn’t want any help from Sigurd, but he did appreciate being able to talk privately to one of the three most important men in the realm, hoping to learn something, even a bit of intelligence from the older man. Alfr was glad the meeting was over. He patted Tryggve on the back and suggested because they had already started drinking perhaps they should retire to an alehouse. Tryggve said he wasn’t sure such a place would be open so early, and besides he did not recommend drinking beer after having so much wine. Alfr countered with a question about who made up such silly rules for drinking and that any true Viking had only one question when it came to strong drinks: how much will you have today?
Meanwhile, the king was zig-zagging haphazardly across the large audience room adjacent to the alcove where the council met. Godi Styrbjörn was carefully pursuing him but with deliberate care and distance as the king was now flailing his arms about. The godi did not want to be hit accidentally. The king tripped on the dais in the middle of the room, barking his shin. That caused him to spin in two careening pirouettes but then he righted his course and his balance as he headed out of the audience room, around the corner and toward his private meeting room. Styrbjörn kept carefully in pursuit.
The godi called out:
“My liege, I think we need to talk about the blót. I think you should reconsider.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
The king called back over his shoulder.
“I need some time alone. Too much thinking this morning. My head is starting to ache.”
“That’s the wine talking. We shouldn’t put off this important matter.”
As the king rounded the corner to the corridor he decided to pick up speed, hoping to close the door of his private meeting room before the godi caught up to him, but he misjudged his speed and his balance. He went careening down the hallway, eventually smashing his skull into the doorframe of his private meeting room. He collapsed to the floor with a thud. Blood began trickling down his face from his forehead. Now the king’s head was throbbing horribly. He could taste the blood. He suddenly had no energy. He felt he could not move. A small pool of blood formed near his cheek.
Styrbjörn gasped. He had stopped at the opening of the corridor. He was unsure about the condition of the king. For a moment, given the great crash he had witnessed, he wondered if the king had killed himself, until there was a slow stirring. The king’s hands were moving slightly. He could tell the king was bleeding. Still he stayed frozen about 15 feet away, watching and waiting.
“Help!”
The king croaked this out finally, very weakly.
Still the godi did not move. He wondered if he turned around and left what would happen to the king. The thought crossed his mind that if he let the king be grievously wounded from this accident, or worse, intervened with ill intent, then he would be the one making the decisions. Godi Styrbjörn would be the ruler of all of Denmark, and then he would decide about a blót and other matters.
The king could make out a figure hovering not far away, but his eyes were not focused. In his perception, the corridor spun as his head throbbed. He felt himself on the edge of consciousness. He thought that was the godi but he could not be sure.
“Help! Why won’t you help me?”
He moaned out softly again.
Still the godi waited and watched, unmoving and silent.
“I’m bleeding. I need help. Please.”
The king groaned lowly.
At that point, Jarl Sigurd raced past the godi, crouching down to assess the king’s injuries. Something had set off Sigurd’s senses as he was making his way to the exit with Prince Magni. Whatever it was, he turned his head to see the godi standing at the exit of the audience room, staring down the corridor. Something about the godi’s posture did not look right. Sigurd had turned on his heel and sprinted across the audience room. Magni, curious, began a slow and steady progress in pursuit on his crutch.
Sigurd called in his best command voice.
“I need guards! The king is hurt!”
“He wouldn’t help me. Why wouldn’t he help me?”
Now, the godi chose to move and he towered above both the king and Sigurd.
“I didn’t help you because you don’t deserve help!”
Styrbjörn’s excited recriminations rang out.
Magni could hear Sigurd's calls and shouts from the godi, and he increased his pace so he could see what was going on, but his progress with the crutch was still slow, despite his increase in speed.
“You should be ashamed! You call yourself a king? You are a drunken lout. What would your father say?”
“The man who couldn’t keep his c**k out of any half-willing woman?”
The king said this as Sigurd hauled him to his feet and balanced him on his strong shoulders.
“I am still cleaning up his messes.”
Now that he was on his feet, his drunkenness was fading for the moment and all he felt was the pain, as blood still flowed down his face and stained his robe.
Magni hopped up behind the godi, just as the exchange finished but he had heard many of the angry words before he arrived.
“This is not the time for an argument. Godis are good for leveling charges of shame that’s for certain, but not so good for offering medical attention. Guards! I need help!”
“But this king needs to be shamed to change his ways.”
Styrbjörn could not contain his anger.
“Look at what this man has done to his own brother. And he claims to be a leader while tossing down cup after cup of wine! No! He has jailed Chief Ulfr for telling tales of his drunkenness! Someone has to call him to account. Ulfr should be freed! He was telling the truth, not slander. I think the Æsir just tried to bash some sense into this king’s brain and now I am their conduit so he can hear their accusations.”
“You should leave now, godi, before I throttle you myself.”
Sigurd said this threateningly, flexing his muscles and seemingly growing larger than his six-foot-three frame as he glared down at the godi.
“Thank you for taking up my cause.”
Magni gripped the godi’s shoulder.
“But Sigurd is right. This is not the time.”
Several guards now rushed down the corridor.
“Help me get him into his room to lay down.”
Sigurd ordered as the guards pushed the door open and helped the jarl move the king into his private meeting room.
“I won’t forget this, Styrbjörn! I expect an apology!”
“You won’t be getting one.”
“Please, it’s time to leave. Please accompany me out. I may need your help and now there is much to discuss.”
The godi shuffled off with the prince, down the corridor and back into the audience room.
“Shall we send a message to the court physician?” one of the guards asked, as they laid the king out on his prayer mat in his meeting room.
“No, not him.”
“The king is right. Go and fetch his concubine. She will be a help here. And now my liege, you need to rest and let someone tend to your head. For once, you have had too much to drink.”
*In the Kingdom of Denmark at that time, the dróttsetti served as a ceremonial steward for special events. Different realms in Scandinavia used that term for different functions and sometimes it was applied to the full-time steward of the realm or the king’s chief advisor.
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
Appendix A1 The Great Blót of 790 (Ritual)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
A godi gathers a crowd before a statue of Thor to make a sacrificial offering, perhaps as part of a blót, in this painting from the 19th Century Danish artist J. L. Lund. This image is in the public domain.
The Great Blót of 790 was a complex affair, complicated further because King Þorolfr had stopped communicating directly with the Seer of Denmark, Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra. After the disastrous meeting in October, what few council sessions that had been held since rarely featured a full list of members, and when the king and godi did manage to show up together, they used others as their proxies, never directly holding a conversation. The king still journeyed weekly to the Temple of Hleiðra but he never sought out the godi and the godi did not come to see him if attendants mentioned the king’s presence. Styrbjörn was planning an extended stay in Finland, once the thaw came. His plans were designed to stay away from the king.
Although a group of council members were the ones who organized and planned the blót, once the nine days of feasting began, the ceremonies were really a shared affair between the king and the seer. So there were bound to be surprises and perhaps logistical failures along the way.
Traditionally, blóts were held in the winter months from November through February. To allow for the most planning, the king had set the days of celebration for the final nine days of February. But this was well before the thaw, so many in the realm might find travel arduous. That is why Prince Magni traveled from Noregr (Norway) to Sjælland not with his wife but his assistant Gandalfr. Magni’s wife Halla had given birth to a daughter, Aleta Skjöldung in August of the previous year and she was still nursing the child. Neither could have made a challenging sea voyage at this time of year. Others faced similar challenges. So the blót was really, principally for the people of Sjælland, plus the hardy and rich few who could make such a winter journey. However, the prince was looking forward to seeing his mother during the blót, someone who was rarely in the capital when he came to visit as she was the chieftess of Årus. Actually, he had not seen her since he was scarred and lost his leg in the holmgang, so he approached the reunion with mixed emotions.
The great rituals of the Germanic religion often had similar rhythms, so each day of the blót began, much like the royal wedding had, with a sacrifice outside in front of the temple. However, a blót was a grander and bloodier event. Animals were led from the barns of the temple’s village; animals that had been gathered for this purpose over the preceding months, primarily from the king and seer’s holdings, but also from wealthy donors who wished to be favored by the gods. Each day eleven animals would be sacrificed until by the end of the blót, 99 animals would have been given up in this blood sacrifice. Each day, one animal each from this list would meet its bloody fate: chickens; geese; cats; dogs; pigs; sheep; goats; cows (and sometimes instead a bull or two); oxen; donkeys; and horses. After the ritual, the meat of all the sacrifices, except the cats and dogs, would be prepared for the evening’s feast.
Since October of the previous year, when the blót had been ordered by the king, in the large open field between the temple and Hleiðra’s huge feasting hall, the godi’s assistants and others had worked to construct a large wooden gibbet on one side of the field. This was set facing a huge viewing platform and some temporary scaffolding flanking the viewing platform to serve as stands for some. The king’s entourage and high council members would be seated on the viewing platform with vassals and others of importance in the stands, and with the commoners and those of low rank who could not find seats on the wooden risers left to view from the snowy field near the gibbet.
Godi Styrbjörn led the procession to this area now, still holding the bowl for the blood sacrifices and occasionally extending his arms over his head and headdress to show the bowl to all who followed. The godi set a careful, slow pace over the crunching few inches of snow, so as not to slip. He headed directly for the gibbet and stood beside it with the bowl. Next to the gibbet, a sleigh pulled by draft horses was parked, and a hooded figure sat inside the sleigh. As the procession line approached this viewing area, different groups broke off to find their appropriate places: the king, his entourage and high council heading to the viewing platform; and others to the temporary wooden stands; with commoners and others of low rank milling about on the snow in the field, creating a packed down glaze.
The temple workers and attendants had adorned the king’s viewing platform with banners, animal skins, tarpaulins, and other ways to cut the slight breeze of the day and create a windbreak for those sitting on the platform. That area was like a stage, with chairs in rows and groupings, again reflecting the power of those who were in attendance, with the king and his household seated front and center. Guards stood along the back of this stage-like platform and also at all of the stairway entrance points. Guards also formed a loose line behind the platform and on its flanks so no one could enter that area without their approval. Guards were also dispersed throughout the stands and gathering space to provide security as needed. Finally, warriors were also posted at the gibbet and next to the sleigh.
The king’s viewing platform easily seated more than 50 people, with the king, queen, and consort seated together in the front row, Þorolfr in the center, flanked on his right by Queen Gerðr and on his left by Gyrið, the royal consort. Immediately behind Queen Gerðr sat Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr and his family: his wife Þora, the seeress of Burgundaholmr; the teen Ofeig Flod, first born of Tryggve’s six children; and Ofeig’s new teenage wife Freyja.
Behind Gyrið the Concubine sat Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, the Spymaster of Denmark, clutching a long walking stick to steady himself. He had slipped on some ice during one of his spying trips to Noregr (Norway) to keep the Court Physician Knut Hammer under surveillance and he needed the walking stick for balance. His back was still aching and sore. “I’m such a graybeard now,” he had said when he returned home to Vestmannaland to his wife Saga.
Saga who was pregnant with Alfr’s sixth living child told him, “You are still quite the lively adventurer for a man of 60 years.” Saga would not be coming to the blót, as she would stay in Vestmannaland to tend to the jarl’s children, and she was in no condition for arduous winter travels. But she decided to dispatch the teenager Gyla Gautske, one of the jarl’s three concubines to tend to him.
Also, thinking about what might confront him regarding security challenges at the blót, Alfr had ordered his assistant Halsten, a man in his late 20’s to come along. But Halsten the Spy was not posted on the royal viewing platform, instead he was Alfr’s chief connection for his men inside the cooking areas in the temple and feasting house. Alfr and Halsten had men posted among the attendants to both supervise the food and drink but also as additional guards, if the situation called for that.
Jarl Alfr was also accompanied on the viewing platform by Sæmundr the Champion, although that tall and broad-shouldered warrior no longer served as the champion of Vestmannaland. After many years of service, Jarl Alfr had awarded Sæmundr with a province to run and lifted him into royalty so he was now more properly called Chief Sæmundr. He was the founder of House Kven and the ruler of Gudbrandsdalen.
Chief Sæmundr and Gyla flanked Jarl Alfr in the second row on the royal platform. Next to Jarl Alfr’s group sat Gunnhildr, the wife of Godi Styrbjörn, and her attendants, along with Rauðúlfr Skjöldung, the king’s half-brother who served as squire to Godi Styrbjörn.
On the far end of the second row, flanking House Flod, sat Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland. Sitting on the king’s right flank, Jarl Sigurd could be easily seen and recognized, as he was the most honored warrior-general of this generation. Jarl Sigurd was joined by his oldest son Ragnar “Loðbrok,” and his new wife Iliana, who had served for a time in the king’s household.
Behind the delegation of House af Munsö sat a large group representing House Borg, headed by the Steward of Denmark, Chief Eirikr “the Just” of Blekinge.
In the middle of the third row, the joint delegations from Nidaros and Årus sat together: Prince Magni Skjöldung, the Chief of Nidaros and the Chancellor of Denmark was joined by his assistant Gandalfr; Chieftess Kraka, Magni’s mother sat next to her son; and she was joined by various members of the council of Årus and their attendants.
Next to Magni’s group sat the family of Þrándr Skjöldung, the king’s uncle, who was not in attendance because he had taken ill. Þrándr’s wife, Kristina, the head of the Society of Freyja was there, along with two of Þrándr’s teenage children, Harald and Margareta. Rounding out that row in the back corner sat the Court Dwarf of Denmark Þorsteinn Ytra (who was also a promising young general and warrior, despite his teenage youth) and the official delegation representing Hordaland and the lands Denmark controlled in Noregr. Of course, in this position, Þorsteinn had a very difficult time seeing so he often got up and stood in the back corner of the platform, joined by the various guards and attendants who lined the back and sides of the stage-like platform.
The king had ordered an attendant to have some mulled cherry wine, one of his favorite spirits ready for him, and as soon as the group had settled, a man came with a bucket of the warm wine and cups for the royal trio. Queen Gerðr declined the cup that was offered.
“No mead for us today?” the queen asked with a cold and haughty tone.
“You know, I had not thought of that, perhaps for next time, my queen,” the king offered and then took a long sip of the warm spirits. “This is definitely necessary today. This is so exciting. The last time I was at one of these I was a teenager.”
“Please don’t act like one today. Please watch how much you imbibe,” Gyrið, his concubine advised him with a bit of a motherly tone in her voice.
“Will there be any of those warm spirits for the second row?” Tryggve asked from over the king’s shoulder.
“Yes, something to keep us warm would be appreciated,” Alfr agreed from over his other shoulder.
The king motioned to an attendant standing at the side of the platform.
“Bring buckets of wine for all the council members, please.”
After the king issued his orders the man ran off quickly to fetch what the king had ordered.
“I will share my wine with my fellows, Gyrið, not to worry.”
“If I have to, I will ask them not to goad you onward to imbibe more.”
“Oh, let us be. Some of us may be too old to attend one of these the next time it comes around.”
This is a reproduction of “Midvinter Blot” a 20th Century representation of a Norse blót by Swedish painter Carl Larsson. This image is in the public domain.
Much other talking and conversation flowed as people settled into their seats, found a place on the viewing stands, or stamped their boots in the snow to stay warm. Eventually, the drummers from the temple relocated to a spot at the base of the royal viewing stand where the musicians could see Godi Styrbjörn and take his cues. After a bit, they established a marching drumbeat. A group of attendants from the feasting hall arrived on the viewing platform just as the drummers began, distributing wine to the council members and their entourages.
Once the drummers had established their cadence, attendants from the temple now went to the sleigh near the gibbet and took out the hooded figure, walking that person to the base of the gibbet to meet the godi. Another assistant threw a rope with a noose over the gibbet’s wooden arm. Godi Styrbjörn handed the bloody bowl to one of his assistants and then took his bloody ceremonial knife out of his belt. The assistants took the hood off the figure to reveal a red-headed middle aged woman. She was dressed in a plain brown woolen dress, the light wind of the day blowing back the tresses of her hair. Her arms were tied behind her back with rope. The crowd hushed as the drum beat slowed to a crawl.
“I give you Katarina,” the godi called out. “She is the mother of Chief Bo af Raumsdalr, the ruler of the enemy realm of Sygnafylki in Noregr. What say you, King Þorolfr?”
As the godi awaited an answer, Katarina started shaking. A small yellow pool of liquid formed in the snow at her feet. She had been captured by the king in his raids in Noregr and she had been in house arrest in the king’s settlement for more than a year and a half because Sygnafylki was too poor to produce the ransom the king demanded for her.
The king slowly got to his feet on the viewing stand and he walked to the edge of the platform so the godi could easily hear and see him. Traditionally, for a blót, the godi selected the prisoners from the king’s jail and other areas of imprisonment to be considered as sacrifices. If the king and his seer had been on better terms, perhaps this exchange would be a mere formality, but Þorolfr did not know who the godi had selected until this very moment. The king was unsure that Chief Bo would ever be able to come up with the gold that the king had demanded. Þorolfr didn’t like that his hand was being forced by the godi, but he thought the choice was a necessary one. He held up his hand in a thumbs down position.
“She will be a great sacrifice for Odin!”
A great cheer thundered out from the crowd, accepting the king’s judgment. The drums beat on, quickening their timing slightly.
The attendants held Katarina’s arms and steadied her. They placed the noose around her neck but kept it loose. One attendant held the bloody bowl under her neck. Facing the crowd, Godi Styrbjörn now held his knife over his head and called out.
“May the All-Father, Odin, accept our sacrifice!”
The godi then turned and came close to Katarina, whose eyes were glazed over and looking to the heavens. In a quick motion, he took the knife and punched it forward, hoping to hit the artery in her neck. Katarina gasped and would have collapsed if not for the attendants holding her up. Blood gushed out of her neck and into the bowl. Once the godi thought there was sufficient blood gathered, he nodded and one of the attendants tightened the noose, while the man with the bowl pulled away. Then several men on the temple’s staff pulled on the rope that hung over the gibbet’s arm and led down to the noose. Katarina’s body slowly jerked upward, her legs kicking. The crowd exclaimed in awe, and then there was more cheering as the body reached a sufficient height and the temple attendants tied off the rope.
“Odin has accepted our sacrifice! May the Æsir bless us all!”
He and his attendants took the bowl of blood and marched back to the temple. There they would sprinkle the blood on the walls inside and outside the temple. They would also sprinkle it on the statue of Odin. Once the crowd had cleared away, they would come back to retrieve Katarina’s body. They would bring the body to a large oak tree nearby the temple and hang it from that tree to be displayed for all the remaining days of the blót.
There was much clapping and cheering at the godi’s proclamation.
“Wait until they hear about this in Noregr!” Jarl Sigurd shouted. “They’ll be quaking in their boots and ready to surrender to us.”
“Let us hope so, friend!” Jarl Alfr called out to Sigurd.
“It is all over with so quickly.”
The king said this as he returned to his seat. Those on the royal platform would wait for the commoners and those in the stands to leave before they made their way to the feasting hall.
“But will you feel the same way eight days from now?”
The queen asked this with sarcasm.
Gyrið rolled her eyes at the queen’s remark. Gunnhildr, the godi’s wife was making her way toward the royal trio when she heard what the queen said. “What have I told you about the importance of ceremony, my queen?”
“I am your queen. I will not be lectured.”
Like other Germanic ceremonies, drinking was part of the ritual and would mark the end of today’s sacrifices as those gathered awaited the feast. Once Godi Styrbjörn was finished with sprinkling Katarina’s blood at the temple, he arrived at the feasting hall carrying a metal bowl filled with grilled beef. Although the godi’s cooks and attendants were not finished preparing the feast, this meat would symbolize their efforts in the next part of the ritual. Once the godi arrived at the feasting hall, the drummers began pounding out a long slow beat. The packed hall hushed, and the king got up from the long head table facing the hall to join the godi at the hall’s large central fire pit.
“The product of our sacrifices is here. Odin and Freyr have blessed this gathering.”
The godi announced this loudly to the crowd. He held the bowl above his head and then brought it down and set it on the edge of the fireplace. Then he picked up a cup of mulled apple wine that his attendants had provided for him.
“Before the official toasts, a special toast to the king. Please stand.”
The crowd now stood, poised to drink from their own cups and horns, with attendants at the ready to provide refills. The drummers picked up their cadence but still kept the beat long and slow, as not to drown out the godi.
“Again, I ask the Æsir to bless this gathering. May they give the king foresight and power in the years ahead until we gather again for the next blót. May the Æsir keep dark forces away from the kingdom!”
Styrbjörn shouted this, while giving the king a stern look. The godi then drained his cup.
“Always with the dark forces these days.”
The king muttered this to himself and took a noticeable pull from his cup but did not drink it all.
There were cheers around the room and much positive commotion, as many knew this would mean the party would soon be fueled by more alcohol. Almost everyone drained their cups and horns. The drummers picked up their beat as the attendants refilled many drinking receptacles.
The king and the godi then traded prayers and toasts as the two traditional toasts were offered.
The king and the godi drained their metal cups at the end of the round of toasting. And then as the cheering echoed around the room, an attendant held up the bowl with the grilled meat and both the king and the godi tore off a piece, held it high for the crowd to see and then dropped it in their mouths to chew. The drummers began again in earnest now, with an increased pace.
“Enjoy yourselves until the feast arrives!”
The king shouted this loudly, as best he could above the din in the room. He began slowly making his way across the feasting hall back to the head table, but he stopped at many other tables along the way to greet vassals, meet people, and converse. Two guards who had been posted near the fireplace, trailed the king as discreetly as they could in the now crowded and bustling feasting hall.
Sometime in the 15th Century a record for the Kingdom of Denmark is created based upon transcribing oral histories, and the Great Blót of 790 is officially recorded.
The pre-feast party was loudly proceeding, catalyzed by the three toasts. A full retinue of musicians now joined the drummers in playing dancing music. Besides the lively beat of the drummers, the musicians included those playing Viking lyres, flutes, and tagelharpas. Some people got up to dance in the space around the central fire pit.
Back at the head table, there was now a dispute over protocol and seating places. Godi Styrbjörn and his wife Gunnhildr had chosen not to sit at the head table as was customary. Instead, they took Prince Rauðúlfr Skjöldung, the godi’s squire, to feast with the table headed by Rauðúlfr’s half-brother, Prince Magni, the Chancellor of Denmark. Magni’s mother, Chieftess Kraka and her entourage from Årus also found seats at Magni’s table. With the godi not stationed at the head table, it now featured a dozen places, facing the huge feasting hall with only enough room between the wall of the hall and the table for servers and attendants to squeeze behind. The agreed upon groups at the head table besides the royal trio represented House Flod, House af Vendel and House af Munsö. However, once the king had left the table, and after the toasts, the queen requested that House af Vendel give up one of its seats next to her to make room for one of her council members from Helsingland, the man known as Borkvard.
Jarl Alfr didn’t like the queen’s request for a variety of reasons.
“I am not shuffling down the table so you can sit next to a commoner, and one who looks mighty shifty to boot.”
Alfr said this as he stood against the wall, confronting the queen’s trusted aide Borkvard. Everyone else at the head table was seated, drinking, and conversing. Some were thinking of dancing. But this loud disagreement now had their attention.
“Your concubine can find another place. Isn’t she a commoner too?”
The queen said this from her seated position looking at the men and shooting daggers with her eyes at Alfr.
“I am the queen and I order it so.”
“Perhaps the king has not instructed you properly on the powers of jarls and the proper etiquette for royal functions. My concubine is of a royal house. She has standing. This man does not, even if he is your aide and councilor.”
Alfr now looked down his long angular nose at Borkvard.
Even though, at 60, Alfr had stooped shoulders and hunched a bit, like many a warrior-general, he was intimidating, standing just a bit over six feet in height. For this formal occasion, he wore his wolfskin cape draped across his shoulders, designating he was a former berserker and member of the Ulfheðnar wolf clan. He had a long, mostly gray beard. He wore his hair long too and it was a mix of gray, white, and black, tied into a ponytail, with one long braid hanging down the right side of his face. Because he was in his finest, Alfr also wore gold wrist cuffs and a gold belt made of uniquely designed links, all of which he had picked up in his various travels around the realm and beyond. A leather vest over an indigo shirt and dark gray billowy pants, with knee-high soft leather lace-up boots completed his look on this day. Now, he was taking his long wooden walking stick and shaking it up and down in the face of Borkvard.
“Shall I leave, my queen?” Borkvard asked.
In contrast to the jarl, Borkvard did not seem intimidating at all, and although he was in his early 50’s, he looked older. He stood at just over five and a half feet, with a slender build and slightly wizened skin but a largely unremarkable face. He had a long dark gray robe on with a hood that was down around his shoulders. Borkvard was good at his job because he did not look threatening and most people found him completely forgettable.
“Even if she says, yes, you are leaving.”
“Why is it so important that this man be at the head table?”
“I do not have to give a reason. I am the queen and my wishes are obeyed.”
Gerðr said this as her young face began to blush red with anger.
“Maybe that’s how it works in Helsingland, but not here.”
“I’m part of the queen’s security guards.”
“You are her security guard?”
Now, Alfr chuckled heartily.
Borkvard hissed at the jarl. He quickly drew a knife he had hidden in a sheath on his arm, covered by his long flowing robe and pushed it toward the jarl’s neck, not meaning to hit him but merely to show he had more bite than was imagined.
But now Sæmundr the Champion was moving from two seats down, lunging like a lion at his prey. All six feet, six inches of the broad shouldered warrior hit Borkvard, with Sæmundr’s shoulder carrying Borkvard forward past the jarl and pinning his back up against the wooden wall. Sæmundr’s hand latched on to Borkvard’s wrist on his knife hand and banged that too up against the wall. Borkvard’s knife went clattering to the floor. Sæmundr’s other hand gripped Borkvard’s throat. The Champion now dropped his shoulder and pushed Borkvard up the wall so his feet were dangling above the floor.
“We are the queen’s security, and security for this entire event.”
Alfr said this loudly, pushing his face into Borkvard’s as the smaller man struggled, pinned against the wall like a fly.
“Do you understand that now?”
“Let him go! I demand it!”
The queen shouted this and she got to her feet, tugging on Sæmundr’s elbow to no avail. Seeing that there was indeed an incident happening, people in the surrounding tables quieted, although the music and dancing continued. Guards began rushing to the head table.
“What is this man’s name?”
“I am Borkvard, and I have been the queen’s aide since she was a baby. I wasn’t going to hurt you. Just showing you I’m serious.”
Borkvard said this in a pained tone as he was still pinned up against the wall.
“Who’s serious now?” Sæmundr grunted.
“Oh, I’ve heard of you. Borkvard the Spy, right? Okay, Sæ, let him down.”
Alfr now turned to the guards who had come to the head table. The music was stopping, and most of the feasting hall was staring at the head table, wondering about the commotion.
“Nothing to see here. We have the situation in hand.”
He waved the guards away.
“It’s a party! Have more to drink! Just a dispute over territory, as always!”
Now the king was making a beeline to the head table as the musicians began playing again and some of the dancers began celebrating on the dance floor after everything had ceased momentarily.
Loosed from his position pinned against the wall, Borkvard slid down and stumbled a bit as his feet hit the ground.
“Yes, same dirty business as you, jarl. But I do my business without a lot of commotion, usually.”
“Well, if you and the queen would have consulted with me, there never would have been any ruckus. If you need to watch her, in the future, wrangle a space at one of these other tables. We are sitting right next to her and you should entrust us to protect her and everyone else within reach.”
“What’s going on? What did I miss?”
The king came up to the head table but stayed on the side across from Alfr, Borkvard, Sæmundr, and the queen with the table between him and that group.
“This man was not listening to me.”
Queen Gerðr whined in her high-pitched voice, sounding more like a child than a 17-year-old. She pointed at Alfr.
“A dispute over seating, my liege. It’s handled. This interloper should have known he wasn’t welcome at a table of royals.”
Alfr now pointed at Borkvard.
“We disarmed him as that was necessary.”
“Your knife.”
Sæmundr handed the weapon back to Borkvard, handle first.
The spy snatched it up and put it back in the sheath, on his forearm, hidden by his robes.
“And as usual, you aren’t going to do anything about this and me being insulted!”
The queen raised her voice, her freckled and acne covered face, growing even redder if that were possible. She clenched both fists.
“When will I start to be treated like a queen here?!”
“When you start acting like one.”
Gyrið the Concubine leaned over and inserted herself into the dust up.
“My darling, you know all of these arrangements of seating were made weeks ago, cleared and arranged through Steward Eirikr, Godi Styrbjörn, and others.”
The king explained this while holding out his hands as if he could orchestrate the volume level of the queen’s pouting and whining.
“Let’s have something to drink and soon this will all be forgotten.”
The king said this, knowing that the rumor mill and slander-mongers of the kingdom would soon be spinning tales connected to this minor altercation. The king motioned for attendants to fill everyone’s cups at the head table.
“Yes, the answer is always something more to drink, isn’t it!”
The queen said and sat down in a huff.
“There are worse alternatives.”
Alfr laughed, and then he put his hand on Borkvard’s shoulder.
“Don’t be getting in our way again and don’t be mucking about. If you want to be a help, then be one.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about me. Next time though, you won’t even see me coming and you won’t have your goon to help you either.”
Borkvard said this as he pushed past the jarl and Sæmundr to leave.
“We aren’t scared by you or your threats.”
“No honor among spies, is there?”
“Here, switch places with Gyla so we can chat more.”
Alfr set his walking stick up against the wall as they settled into their spots and Gyla shuffled down a chair toward House af Munsö, as the king returned to his seat in the middle of the table. The king began a light conversation with Gyrið and the queen was left to stew, no one speaking to her as she sipped on her new cup of mulled apple wine.
Alfr began reminiscing with Sæmundr about their trip down the Volga four years ago and their adventures in Constantinople (or as the Norse called it, Miklagard). He wanted the queen bored and not listening to him before he would broach anything of importance.
One of the plates of slow-roasted pork, marinated in beer stock, served as part of the feast on the first day of the blót as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.
More than an hour later, servants began serving the feast. The main dishes were roast pork, marinated in a beer stock, and slow-roasted beef, covered in a plum preserve sauce. Of course, for a crowd this large, some of this cooking had begun the day before and did not include all of the day’s sacrifices. The cooks and attendants at the temple would be figuring out a menu with different groupings each day, and judging how soon some of the sacrificial meat must be cooked. There would be eight more evenings of such feasting before the blót was finished.
The queen started to nod a bit into her food after the toasting and a fourth cup of wine. Alfr saw his advantage and then nudged Sæmundr. He ducked below his trusted lieutenant’s head and whispered to him.
“Let Halsten know we need to watch that weasel, Borkvard. My gut tells me something is afoot with him. I don’t have good feelings about this blót.”
“Are you sure it isn’t your old stomach acting up?”
Sæmundr chuckled.
“Old I may be now, my champion, but it’s not my stomach that’s out of sorts. Maybe it’s my nose. I smell something foul here and I’m going to find out the origin of that stench, I promise you that.”
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return soon.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A2: The Great Blót of 790 (Listening in the Darkness)
Appendix A2 The Great Blót of 790 - Listening in the Darkness
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
(This metallic plate from the 8th Century shows Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark leading the rituals at the Great Blót of 790 as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
The second day of the blót, followed the same general script as the first, with, of course, a few key differences. However, after the first day of such drinking and feasting that had carried on into the night, it seemed like almost everyone had just a bit less energy on the second day. Some were suffering from headaches due to hangovers, and others had eaten too much rich food and imbibed too much sweet fruit wine; they were paying for that in other physical ways. So the crowd was somewhat diminished and a bit reserved as again Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, led them through the bloody sacrifices and ritual.
What also dampened the mood somewhat was the snow had started melting as soon as the sun came up with temperatures noticeably warmer, leaving the paths and field near the viewing stands and royal platform a slippery over-saturated mess, that soon would become muddy as hundreds of people slogged through the mire.
At 17, Queen Gerðr already had a history of not faring well at these major ritual events, the spectacle was sometimes overwhelming. But what overwhelmed her short, slight body even more was the amount of alcohol intake expected. On this day, King Þorolfr and Gyrið the Concubine flanked her so they could help her through the mud and melting snow, the king and concubine keeping their arms hooked under the queen’s elbows. She had a horrible headache and sometimes she groaned and moaned as they moved through the ceremonies.
After the sacrifice and prayers at the temple, the king and his concubine managed to assist the queen up into the royal viewing stand without incident, except for a bit of mud and water on the hem of the queen’s dress.
“I’ve got a surprise for you today!” the king said with some glee as they settled into their chairs.
Immediately attendants brought up a bucket filled with warm golden mead and cups for them all.
“Because you asked for mead yesterday, we have it today!”
“Oooh, will that help my head?” the queen groaned.
“What she needs is water,” Gyrið said dismissively.
“When these headaches occur after a party, I always find an early drink is the answer,” the king said, helping himself to the mead.
“Yes, I strongly endorse that as a cure,” Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr piped up from behind the queen.
“I’ll take the drink. Anything to get this to stop.”
The queen moaned.
“Please get her some water.”
Gyrið gave this order to one of the attendants.
“If she’s going to drink, she should at least drink both.”
“We all must drink and toast on these days.”
The king said this before gulping down some of the warm mead.
“Duty calls us to this. I find it warming and enjoyable.”
“As you do daily, my liege.”
Gyrið gave out a sigh.
“Maybe we should ask the court physician to examine her. I’m sure he is about somewhere.”
“Noooo!” came a chorus from the king, Tryggve, and Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel who was seated behind Gyrið.
“I will explain to you later, my dear Gyrið. I should really have explained already.”
The king stammered a bit.
“But there are some issues with the court physician. Until those are resolved, best not have him visiting our household.”
Gyrið wasn’t sure what to make of that odd note, as she accepted a cup of the warm mead. It was mellow and pleasant on this mild day that promised a permanent early thaw for the season. The queen was sipping hers slowly too, with her eyes closed, sunk back in her wooden chair, not really watching much of what was happening now at the blót.
“Thank you for the mead, my liege. An unexpected pleasure.”
“Always, good to be drinking with the King of Mead.”
Alfr said this and the king smiled at that comment.
Those on the royal viewing platform enjoyed the warm mead until Godi Styrbjörn was ready at the gibbet. He took away from the hood of the person who was guarded and secured at the base of the gibbet.
“This is Gerlach, a German Catholic mercenary, caught fighting for Västergötland against us,” the godi shouted to be heard, as the crowd was a bit unsettled on this day. “What is your decision King Þorolfr?”
“He will be a great sacrifice for Odin! May he feel the power of the All-Father and the Æsir, today, the gods of the one true religion!”
The king shouted as he held his hand outward with his thumb pointing down. The crowd cheered.
Unlike the day before, Gerlach struggled a bit, but the attendants kept him under control. The godi, though, had to poke Gerlach’s neck twice to find his artery. Soon, Gerlach’s body was hanging limply from the gibbet and the crowd’s cheers and jeers were fading. People began slowly filing toward the dining hall for more toasts, drinking, dancing, and feasting, but yet still feeling the effects of the day before.
After the ceremonial toasts, with the musicians playing lively songs, some people found their dancing spirits and the day’s festivities began to have more zest. Of course, some of this was spurred on by the alcoholic toasting, although today, the godi and the king stuck to the more traditional two toasts to conclude the consecration of the food, marking the official end to the ceremonies, and the beginning of the feasting.
(People dancing and enjoying the second day of the Great Blót of 790 as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
The head table had no repeat of the incident from the day previous. All were fine with their places and there was much convivial conversation.
Late in the afternoon, servants had brought out another sumptuous spread: the day’s main courses were roasted mutton (spiced with thyme and marjoram, then baked on coals under clay) and a goat stew (made with a garlic and onion base). Although Jarl Alfr especially liked goat, he found his appetite was gone today. He had also feigned drinking and toasting the best he could after taking some of the warm mead on the royal platform. He wanted his mind sharp, although he had not seen or heard of any real suspicious activity. His worries alternated between if he had provided enough security for the event to wondering if he was just getting paranoid in his old age.
In the lull, as people were finishing dinner and the musicians had taken a break to get their own food before the evening’s festivities, a man Alfr did not know wandered over from Crown Prince Magni of Nidaros’ table, one of the tables of honor near the head table. The man was just under six feet in height, in his late 40’s, with an almost completely bald head, but a long gray and black beard that had been braided on one side. Alfr could tell he was a commoner, as his clothes, although the man’s best, were drab and had signs of mending where they had been worn through.
“I am Hrörekr,” the man introduced himself as he came up to the head table and faced Alfr from across the table. “I am with the delegation from Årus.”
“And why are you interrupting my dinner?”
Alfr growled at him, with low gravelly tones.
“You do know who I am and what I do?”
“Aye, Jarl Alfr, I know of you and pardon my intrusion.”
“That scum from Lapland. He didn’t even bother to come to the blót. Are you one of his people?”
“No, but as I said…” Hrörekr tried again to explain himself.
Alfr reached out and put one of the man’s hands on the table, covering it with his own. He did this swiftly and gently and although Hrörekr was surprised he did not resist and followed the jarl’s lead.
“Later. Meet me outside later after the feast.”
Alfr whispered this quickly.
Then he drew both their hands up and clapped them down on the table loudly.
Aflr shouted.
“Can’t I eat in peace without someone asking for introductions and political favors?!”
As heads turned to watch and some stopped talking, Hrörekr was surprised and put his head down, slinking back to the table of Prince Magni and the delegations from Årus and Nidaros. But then people’s attention was directed away as the musicians picked up their instruments, the drums began and the evening’s dancing came alive with couples kicking up their heels near the hall’s grand fireplace. Alfr was hoping no one overheard what had really transpired. On one side of the spymaster, Queen Gerðr was already asleep next to her plate, a position she often found herself in at these events, when she had consumed too much of the alcoholic spirits offered.
Chief Sæmundr, Alfr’s former champion, leaned into the jarl from his seat on the jarl’s other flank.
“Was that man really bothering you?” Sæmundr asked. “Do I need to go talk to him?”
“Well, he was bothering me, but it’s handled for the moment. Gather him up though at the end of the feast. We have some business to conduct, I think.”
Hours later, as the evening wound down and the hall was less than a third filled, Alfr made his way out before the delegation from Årus had left. Sæmundr stayed at the head table which many had left. Those from House af Munsö remained, as did Gyla Gautske, Alfr’s concubine, who Sæmundr would escort back to Alfr’s temporary lodging. At the other end of the table, Ofeig Flod, Tryggve’s son and his new wife still drank and laughed in between trips to the dance floor. Sæmundr looked like he was engaged in a conversation with Gyla and Jarl Sigurd af Munsö, but he was really watching Prince Magni’s table.
As those from Årus began gathering to leave, Sæmundr made his way over to Hrörekr and bumped into him as if he was tipsy.
“Watch yourself there, chief.”
Hrörekr said this with some surprise, bracing the much taller man briefly but finding it was almost like Sæmundr was dancing with him – there really wasn’t anything there to catch and the big man showed deft dexterity as he caught his own feigned fall.
“At the royal platform…”
Sæmundr said this lowly as their heads moved together briefly.
“Meet at the platform.”
Then Sæmundr again faked his drunkenness, and said loudly:
“Apologies. Apologies. What a fine feast this was.”
He then plopped down at Prince Magni’s table just as those remaining there were all leaving.
“Think I will sit here awhile.”
He said this while slurring his words.
“You do that, chief.”
Hrörekr said this as he left with his delegation.
More than an hour later, Hrörekr was climbing slowly up the wooden stairs to the royal viewing platform, the banners, the woven tapestries, and tarpaulins blowing gently in the night breeze. The full moon helped him find his way.
“Yes, I’m up here waiting for you.”
Jarl Alfr hissed at the man. He was seated near the stairway with his walking stick propped against a nearby chair. As usual when he was bored, he was playing with the large hunting knife he always had with him.
“It was difficult to get away and not be followed.”
Hrörekr came forward and saw the jarl’s seated form.
“Pull up a chair.”
Alfr kicked at the foot of a nearby chair and Hrörekr pulled it forward, scraping the platform. Then he plopped into it.
“Thank you for seeing me. But I came up to you as a favor to you and the king, so you should be thanking me.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Alfr said this while squinting to make out the man’s features in the moonlight.
“So you work for that scum Ingjald? Are you one of his spies?”
“I don’t work for him.”
Hrörekr shook his head.
“I was trying to tell you that in the feasting hall.”
“Not the place for either of us to be having this type of conversation. If you don’t work for Ingjald, then you better start at the beginning. Give me the basics.”
“Well, even though Ingjald isn’t here, he is here, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I understand what you are trying to say. But be straight. Be basic. We can talk here. Let’s start with: who are you?”
“Well, as you may already have figured out, I’m from Årus. I work as an assistant for Hrolfr. Whatever he needs done, I do it. I help him watch and protect the chieftess. Sometimes, I work as her servant when we are traveling. Like I said, whatever needs doing.”
“So this is a big time for you here at the blót. Don’t get to dine elbow to elbow with the royals very often.”
Alfr said this with a condescending tone.
“I know about Hrolfr. Don’t know him personally but I know he’s Chieftess Kraka’s spy. So we’re all spies here, yes?”
“Yes. That’s how I know Ingjald too. I’ve done some work for Ingjald. I can introduce you to his people here.”
“I don’t need to know who works with that scum. I have my own people. You must know that. If Ingjald’s insects give me trouble, we smash them.”
Alfr’s voice now slipped into annoyance.
“Does Hrolfr know you did some work with Ingjald’s people?”
“No, but he may suspect.”
Hrörekr shook his head.
“It’s my information that got Chief Ulfr locked up.”
“Oh yes, now I remember.”
Alfr sat up straight. He was recalling dimly the conversation from almost two years ago when Chief Ingjald Bleik of Lapland had come before the king to discuss Chief Ulfr Mikli’s treasonous slander. Alfr now knew this meeting with Hrörekr was a more important conversation than he had expected.
“So are you looking to work with me now, not Ingjald?”
“In a fashion. Did you know the king’s life is in danger?”
Alfr chuckled a bit.
“Why do you think there are so many guards about? Why do you think I’m working so late tonight? We are always working and watching.”
“I can get you information about the killers. They’re here at the blót.”
“Why not tell Hrolfr? Even better, are the killers with Ingjald?”
“Chief Ingjald doesn’t ask so many inconvenient questions, no matter what you think of him. And he paid. He paid well.”
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere.”
Alfr sighed.
“You know I could just have the guards seize you and we could work the information out of you the hard way.”
“You won’t risk that.”
Hrörekr growled a bit at the jarl.
“And maybe I misjudged you. But you’d be surprised at my tolerance for pain.”
“We won’t need to test it.”
Alfr sighed again.
“What’s it going to cost?”
“A pound of gold.”
“Nothing a bit lighter?”
“Don’t be cheap with the king’s life at stake.”
“Don’t lecture me, commoner.”
Alfr said this with annoyance.
“I will tell you I will pay. But I don’t carry such valuables around with me. Can you assure me the killers won’t act in the next day or two?”
“I’m not sure.”
Hrörekr shook his head.
“I can promise you that if I see them moving I can warn you or get a warning to you. That I can promise. How soon can you get me the gold?”
“What I will promise you is if you get the gold and your information doesn’t check out then your life is forfeit. But I can have the gold two nights from now. We can meet here, again, an hour after the dancing is over, just like tonight.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be doing business with you if there are threats attached. People don’t react well to threats. I don’t.”
“Just giving you a clear idea of the contract we’re negotiating here.”
Alfr grabbed his walking stick and brought himself to a standing position.
“I may look old, but I’m not a pushover. Give us a warning if the threat comes before I can pay. Until then, no need to talk. And please wait a few moments before leaving. Give me some time to get down the path.”
“Understood.”
Hrörekr said this as he got up and he bowed a bit. Alfr turned and hobbled off.
Although Alfr was the Spymaster of Denmark, he wasn’t the only one in his spy network who was putting in late hours on the second night of the blót. Alfr’s assistant Halsten had been watching Borkvard the Spy from Helsingland most of the day. At the same time that Alfr was meeting with Hrörekr, Halsten had spotted Borkvard headed into a small house in the village of Hleiðra. This house was the temporary lodging for Prince Magni while he was at the blót.
As Halsten came up to the house, he could hear muffled voices inside but he couldn’t make out who was in the house or what was being said. He knew Jarl Alfr would find his lack of information wanting, so he made a careful outside review of the building. He was looking for any cracks of light that might shine through the boards from the candlelight within. Finally, he found a board that had lost some caulking in the back, far away from the entrance. He took out his knife and tried as quietly as he could to widen the hole, slowly working the implement up and down in the hole. He hoped that if someone heard it would sound like a mouse or other vermin scratching on the wood. That was his hope.
With his knife out and at the ready, once he had increased the small opening, he lay prone in the mud at the back of the house to see who Borkvard had come to visit. He saw a group of men gathered at a small table in the room. One man had his back to him, and he could not make out any of his features from the rear. But he could clearly see Prince Magni in profile at the table and across from him Borkvard. Halsten had the best view of Godi Styrbjörn who faced the back of the one-room house.
Halsten heard Borkvard say:
“She wants access. She can be of help to you.”
“What does my former pupil have to offer us? The crown prince and I already sit at the highest level, and I am the regent. We are poised to take power. What does she have to offer besides her lonely little province that she barely controls?”
“She can make his life very difficult. She can be your ally inside Sjælland.”
“She’s hardly there. She’d have to increase her presence at the very least. Is she willing?”
“That I will need to check.”
“I don’t understand what her help or her alliance gives us,” Prince Magni said. “He’s already destabilized. He’s drunk more than half the time these days.”
“Our own plan is already in motion. I don’t see what she adds to that. We will apply pressure in a few key spots and then be ready to pick up the pieces.”
“If you share your plan, perhaps we can see where our interests intersect.”
The man whose back was to Halsten now said something that was muffled and the spy could not hear him. He did hear laughter from some at the table.
“You have a singular wit, Gandalfr.”
Magni chuckled.
“Yes, Borkvard, you are an excellent and loyal agent for your chieftess. But we aren’t going to share anything with you or her until we really know where her loyalties lie.”
“None of us has had enough to drink tonight to just embrace her offer. If she wants access to the high table then she needs to bring something to that table that’s worthy. We’ll keep our doors open to hearing from her. Thank her for reaching out. However, the hour is late, and I have much to do, so I must go. The blót needs to be my focus.”
As the godi stood up, Halsten knew that was his cue. He slowly got up from his prone position and backed away from the house. He had decided he had trailed Borkvard enough for one day. He would need to make an early call on Jarl Alfr. There was much news to relay.
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(This chapter is an adapted and abridged version of Lost Seasons of the Danes in its other form. A longer discussion about the plots, rumors, and espionage swirling about the Kingdom of Denmark can be found there, at The Tårn.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return soon.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A3: The Great Blót of 790 (Hidden Alliances)
Appendix A3 The Great Blót of 790 (Hidden Alliances)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
(Alvör meets with Borkvard the Spy of Helsingland as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
“Slow down. Slow down. Slow down,” Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel ordered. “My brain doesn’t start working so early after a late night. I’m a graybeard now.”
Halsten had come knocking just before dawn at the jarl’s temporary quarters near the Temple of Hleiðra on the morning of the third day of the blót. The young spy was quite excited by what he had to report. The jarl sent his concubine Gyla Gautske down to the village to fetch some porridge or other food for breakfast. Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven who shared the small house with the jarl and Gyla also was eager to hear what Alfr’s assistant had come to share.
“Alright, I will go slower,” Halsten promised, although he was still quite excited, and breathing hard as if he had run for miles before coming to see Jarl Alfr, the Spymaster of Denmark. “Prince Magni and Godi Styrbjörn are plotting against the king, and the queen wants to join their plot. I followed the queen’s aide Borkvard, as you instructed, and I heard part of their conversation.”
“Good man. This is good information, and first hand.”
The three sat around a table in the small house, not far from the bedding. Both the jarl and the chief had thrown on pants and a loose shirt while Halsten was dressed in dark pants and a short black hooded robe with the hood down.
“So what are the prince and the godi plotting exactly?” Sæmundr asked.
“Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t know,” Halsten frowned. “They wouldn’t tell Borkvard. Said they didn’t trust him or the queen.”
“I wouldn’t trust that weasel either. So they didn’t talk about killing the king?”
“No, not directly. They just said their plot was in motion. The godi did mention the power that he and the prince have on the council currently.”
“Well, some of that aligns with new information I received last night from a different source.”
Alfr said this, and then he took the next few minutes to relate to them both what had transpired with Hrörekr of Årus.
“I didn’t want to bother you with all this last night, Sæ, as it was late. But I’m going to need you to go to the king’s holding today and get a pound of gold for us to pay Hrörekr. I think he’s the missing piece we need to get some real answers.”
“And they’ll just give me a pound of gold from the king’s stores?”
“Go find Chief Eirikr Borg before the blót starts today. See if one of his concubines will come with you. She should be able to vouch for you. It’s essential I have that gold by tomorrow night.”
“Redirect some of our men to directly spy on the prince and the godi. Perhaps they will slip up and we will see what they have planned.”
“That will mean pulling some men out of the kitchen or from the servants.”
“We can’t help that.”
“We have to flex to what the threat is that we know about.”
“So should I switch off from watching Borkvard?”
“No. We need our best people dealing with that weasel. Following him has already brought us this far. Let’s see how much he leads us to in our chase to the truth.”
“Do we need someone watching the queen? Borkvard promised that she could wreck the king’s life.”
“My good sir….”
Alfr began laughing.
“She’s already doing that without trying. Why do you think he drinks so much lately?”
“I don’t understand. What does she have to gain by helping kill the king?”
“Nothing. Except a messy divorce. It diminishes her power.”
“Borkvard said she wants to be at the decision-making table.”
“A teenager who is barely a woman! May the gods help us truly.”
“Well, the prince is a teenager too.”
“But a wiser, clever, and more cunning one, for sure. He has the most to gain in all this plotting. The only thing she gets is complete control of her province and the freedom to marry again.”
“That may be enough.”
Alfr sighed.
Alfr decided that he would skip the ritual part of the blót and rejoin the day’s activities once they had shifted to the feasting hall. He would send Gyla as the lone representative of House af Vendel to the rituals, with plans to meet up with her in the feasting hall. Meanwhile, Sæmundr would be taking the half-day ride by horse to the king’s holding, where he would likely spend the night.
(A godi sprinkles blood on worshipers at a blót from this drawing “Dísablót” from 19th Century Swedish artist August Malmström. The image is in the public domain.)
As on the previous days, Godi Styrbjörn would lead the sacrifices and rituals, although he had noticeably less energy on this day, as did the crowds, which were in lesser numbers, some skipping the rituals of the blót after two hardy days of feasting and drinking.
The weather was warmer still than the previous day, although windy enough for people to need several layers. Many thought the day was a good omen toward the permanent thaw. Yet mud was still an issue with people slipping on the ground especially on the field and walkways. Godi Styrbjörn’s assistants had put down some wooden planks and boards over the worst spots but they were not sufficient as all the snow had melted in the past two days.
On this day, the godi offered up Dorota, a Slavic slave woman captured during one of the king’s raids in Noregr (Norway). The king and the special guests on his viewing platform were again treated to mulled mead.
During the feast, the head table, as usual, had a variety of petitioners, those looking to use the feast as an opportunity to politick or ask for favors. On this night, Chief Knut Hammer of Rygjafylki, the Court Physician of Denmark, was chief among them. The physician was adamant that the king talk to him in private. The king, thinking it best not to be alone with Chief Knut as he had been advised, asked for Alfr and Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr to accompany him. The group left the feasting hall not too long after sunset and headed for Knut’s temporary lodging in the village of Hleiðra where they were unlikely to be disturbed. On the walk to the small house, Knut apologized to the king that he had missed the first two days of the blót because he had been in the king’s holding, treating his uncle, Þrándr Skjöldung. The king hadn’t really noticed, but, of course, he accepted the apology and made small talk as they walked, Tryggve leading the way with a torch.
Once they had all settled around a table in Knut’s temporary house, and the physician felt they were indeed away from prying eyes and ears, he let them know of his concerns.
“Þrándr has an incurable disease and I’m not sure how long he has to live,” Knut said bluntly.
“Well, that is certainly concerning. I am concerned,” King Þorolfr stressed. “But before we go on too long, might you have something to drink here? Some sweet wine, perhaps?”
Knut said this with a frown.
“I didn’t think about stocking any spirits.”
“Bad news always goes down better with some sweet wine, that’s for certain,” Tryggve agreed.
“Well, that is the news. There’s not much to do for him except make him as comfortable as possible.”
“And what exactly is it that will likely kill Þrándr? A cancer like his brother had, perhaps?”
“What he has is cancerous, that is for sure, but not cancer really.”
“Please no puzzles. Do you know what it is?”
“Yes, he has the pox. He has the great pox.”
“May the Æsir help us, and may our prayers beseech Eir to save him.”
The king was taken aback by this news as his mother had died of the great pox and he had seen her wither away.
“Well, this will not be well received. That disease comes with a certain shame.”
“Of course, there will be great speculation of how he caught it too. That is the way of such venereal diseases.”
“My liege, this will cast some doubt upon his wife too. Your project the Society of Freyja may be affected, along with any general negative opinion about Þrándr and how he caught this affliction.”
The king only half-heard what his advisors were saying. His mind was thinking of other solutions.
“I have heard stories in the past, that if we dedicate a blót to Eir, she can cure the illness.”
“I have not heard that before, but this is not a common illness. It is rare and deadly. Your uncle could be dead within a few short months, or live on for years, slowly wasting away.”
“You don’t have to lecture me about it. I’ve seen it first hand.”
“His mother. It was his mother he lost that way.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not know.”
“I wonder if it’s too late to dedicate the blót to Eir?”
“That is far beyond my expertise.”
“Well, I’m not one for consulting godis, but this would be a question for one, except we are all not on the best of terms with Godi Styrbjörn these days.”
“Did something happen here that I missed? Something in the first two days, right?”
“Well, let’s just leave that story without an ending. No need for additional gossip. We’ve already discussed the potential of that regarding Þrándr’s illness.”
“Alright.”
Knut said this, but he still felt like a part of the conversation had sailed over his head.
“There’s also the succession then. We can’t keep Þrándr as the king’s preference as his heir.”
“Just plays into Magni’s hands.”
“What was that you said about my half-brother?”
The king asked this and arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing really, just thinking aloud as I do. Bad habit for a graybeard like me.”
Alfr tried to act nonchalant. He was not ready to share his intelligence with the king, especially not with a suspected plotter like Chief Knut as part of the conversation.
“I was just saying this is a handsome blessing for Prince Magni. There really aren’t many other candidates to consider as heir.”
“None really.”
“Seems I’m backed into a corner here. Well, Magni will enjoy having the last laugh. He’s been pestering me about this for almost two years. He and the council of chiefs have me.”
As the room was filled with members of the council of chiefs, although Alfr and Tryggve supported the king’s choice, there was an awkward silence.
Finally, with most everyone looking at the table instead of each other, the king asked this:
“Is there anything more to report, Chief Knut?”
“Not at this time.”
“Then I think I will be off to find some sweet wine for a night cap.”
The king said this as he got up.
“Best if Tryggve and I escort you.”
“Aye, we’ve had enough bad news for one night.”
The king said this as the group left the court physician.
Meanwhile, Halsten the Spy was in the feasting hall, working as an attendant and keeping tabs on Borkvard.
“Where will you lead me tonight, old man?”
Halsten muttered this to himself as he served mulled apple wine after the feast. After taking their post-dinner break, the musicians were playing more lively dancing songs, and the dance floor was crowded with couples twirling. The energy that had been missing most of the day during the blót had finally arrived.
On this night, dressed in a long black hooded robe, Borkvard was staying far afield from the head table and those powerful families connected to Denmark’s high council. He was mixing with the commoners, almost as far away from the head table as possible. Several hours after sunset, but well before all the drinking and dancing were finished for the night, Borkvard made his exit into the dark without a torch.
Halsten went up to one of his contacts among the servants and let him know he would be leaving early and before the clean-up. Some of the other servants gave him a hard look but the serving supervisor was an agent working for Jarl Alfr’s spy network and of course he approved of Halsten’s departure. Halsten had come and gone from this working crew all through the blót and the other servants thought he was a slave who had been brought in from the Geatish lands to help during all the extended work of these hard days for the servants and the cooks.
Halsten scurried out of the feasting hall looking in a variety of directions. With the help of the full moon, he spotted a figure in the distance that might match Borkvard. Halsten started cursing himself that Jarl Alfr would lay into him with withering criticism if he had indeed lost the spy from Helsingland. Halsten was dressed in a drab-brown cloth robe of poor quality on this night, so he could blend in with the servants. He was armed with his hunting knife that was in a sheath wrapped around one leg under his robe. He was thankful for the weather that felt more like it was from after the thaw as he had no cloak or cape. Moving quickly, but without breaking into a run to draw attention, he closed in on the form of what he hoped was Borkvard. The figure was headed not toward the lodgings that Godi Styrbjörn kept for pilgrims – housing that was now filled almost to bursting with all those who had poured into the area for the blót. Neither was the figure headed toward the village of Hleiðra on the other side of the temple. Instead the figure was headed toward the woods that bordered the temple and the settlement, in the opposite direction of the village.
(Borkvard the Spy walks in the forest as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
As the figure made its way into the forest, Halsten cursed again to himself. This was going to be much more difficult tracing Borkvard in a forest. Halsten broke into a fast trot, hoping not to make too much noise as he closed the ground to where the figure had entered the forest. He stopped at that spot and stood there for a long minute, listening. All he could make out was the breeze in the trees. When he began again, he moved slowly and deliberately so as not to crunch old leaves or underbrush. He was looking for tell-tale signs: broken branches, perhaps a footprint in the mud. His tracking instincts went into action, although the lack of light was making his progress mostly guess work. He proceeded slowly and methodically, often stopping to listen. About a hundred yards inside the treeline, he started to think to himself that he had totally lost Borkvard’s trail, but then he spotted a footprint, barely noticeable in the fractured moonlight hitting the forest’s floor. Halsten slowly brought his robe up and took out his knife. He had a sense he might need it if he got too close to Borkvard on this night.
He began walking in the direction where the muddy footprint had pointed him. He went about 20 more yards forward when he sensed something moving on his flank. He started a deliberate turn with his knife moving forward in a wide arc. But Borkvard was already on top of him, with a well-placed hold on his knife hand. Borkvard threw his body at Halsten, clipping the back of his thighs with his legs and kicking at Halsten’s knee joint. Halsten’s knife went clattering away into the forest’s underbrush. Borkvard used Halsten to break his own fall and then rolled with the momentum of his lunge. Halsten ended up on his stomach, Borkvard’s knee in the small of his back, with his knife hand twisted up far behind his own back.
“You’ve been watching me all day and this is going to end right now,” Borkvard barked at him.
“Go ahead,” Halsten grunted. “Do what you will. But the man I work for will make you pay.”
“And who would that be?”
Borkvard jerked Halsten’s pinned arm upward, increasing his pain.
“You think I’m going to tell you?”
Halsten asked this with much exertion through his pain.
“Well, I had to ask. I have a pretty good idea already. Just tell the jarl this wasn’t personal.”
“You mean….”
Halsten began to say but he ended screaming out in pain.
Borkvard had readjusted his knee, pinning Halsten’s arm to his back and then he yanked on the arm just the right way. The crunch of the bones in Halsten’s forearm were what punctuated Halsten’s scream of pain. Then Borkvard backed away from Halsten who was squirming in pain due to his injured arm. Borkvard gave him a well placed kick to the head to end his struggles.
Borkvard made his way out of the forest quickly, heading back toward the feasting hall, and then past the temple, into the village of Hleiðra. He found the house where he had been instructed to go. He knocked twice and waited. Then he knocked twice again and waited. Finally, he knocked once. The door swung open and a woman in her early 30’s with long blonde braided hair and a plump, pleasing face with high cheek bones was there to eye him over in the moonlight and light that was cast from the candles she had in the small house. Borkvard was in his black robe, this time with the hood up, to make spotting him all that much more difficult.
“Come in. You had the knock right,” she said and ushered him to a table with mugs of ale. “You must be Borkvard of Helsingland.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He said this while taking down his hood so the woman could see his face.
“Did you have any trouble finding me?”
“Someone was tailing me. But he won’t be doing that again, at least not for a long time.”
Borkvard chuckled.
“Chief Ingjald said he was sending his best to meet me. But no name was relayed to me.”
“Well, pleased to meet you, Borkvard.”
The woman nodded and smiled. She picked up a mug and sipped some ale.
“I am Alvör of Lapland. Some call me Alvör the Spy. Some call me Chieftess Alvör. Now, let’s get down to business….”
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return soon.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A4: The Great Blót of 790 (Surprises and Confusion)
Appendix A4 The Great Blót of 790 (Surprises and Confusion)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
(Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, leads a procession during the Great Blót of 790, as remembered in a Norse tapestry and as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
Halsten the Spy regained consciousness sometime in the dark of night and struggled to his feet without putting any weight on his ruined arm. He gained his bearings and headed out of the forest in search of Jarl Alfr’s temporary abode near the Temple of Hleiðra. Soon Halsten was awakening Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel for the second day in a row, but Halsten shuddered to think of what the jarl might say to him in dressing him down. Surprisingly, although the jarl grumped, as did his concubine Gyla Gautske, about the early hour, his immediate response was simple.
“Let’s go awaken some others,” Alfr said as he got his walking stick. “I hate to be the only one up in the middle of the night.”
“And what about me?” Gyla asked.
“You can go back to bed and find some sleep, my dear. Halsten and I have to tend to his arm.”
Alfr said this, then he gave her a peck on the cheek, and the men left.
Alfr gave Halsten a cape to brace him against the before-dawn wind, as the weather was well above freezing but breezy. Soon they were in the village of Hleiðra knocking on the door of Chief Knut Hammer of Rygjafylki, the Court Physician of Denmark.
Knut was a bald man in his early 50’s with a long black beard. He had served as a loyal attendant to King Hrœrekr II who had lifted him up into royalty and given him oversight of Rygjafylki in Noregr (Norway) for his service. He was known for his learned ways including studies of plants and potions. Although Alfr had uncovered information that he was plotting against the king, as the court physician, Knut was the best person for this job. He came to the door in a simple white bedchamber gown. Behind him, his wife, Elisabet, the seeress of Rygjafylki was also up and around also in a simple white bedchamber gown. She was a woman in her early 30’s with short blonde hair and a wide pleasant face.
Without much chit-chat or pleasantries, Knut went about setting the bones in Halsten’s arm, assisted by his wife. Alfr had gone out to find a guard who could bring them some wood for splints, and Knut put Halsten’s arm in the right position, secured with a sling. For his part, Halsten grimaced and gritted his teeth through the process, with nary a cry except for some low groans and grunts.
“Seems you had quite an adventure last night,” Knut observed.
“Got lost in the woods,” Halsten only half lied. “Lost my balance and this is what happened.”
“Odd angle for a break from a fall.”
Knut said this with puzzlement.
“Well, my assistant is a bit clumsy sometimes. We are sorry for the intrusion, Chief Knut.”
“That is alright.”
Knut waved his hand in the air.
“We are both used to being called upon at all hours. It is the service we do.”
“I will find a way to repay you if I can.”
“Repay me by keeping this man out of trouble.”
Knut said this while pointing at Halsten.
“I hope you will give him light duty for the next few weeks as he heals.”
“He will definitely be reassigned, no doubt.”
Alfr said this with a bit of edge in his voice. There were more pleasantries and thanks from both Alfr and Halsten as they made their exit.
Once the door was closed, Knut and Elisabet climbed back into bed. Before Knut extinguished the last candle, Elisabet said, “I don’t trust that old man. I think I’ve seen him in Rygjafylki.”
“Well, I hope not, because if that is true that is bad news for us.”
Knut said this with some concern.
“Of course, you can’t trust the Spymaster of Denmark.”
As Knut began talking with his wife more about his worries and just what he was plotting regarding the king, Jarl Alfr and Halsten were talking as the dawn was coming up and they plodded back to Alfr’s temporary abode.
“I’m sorry about all this.”
“Well, that weasel-faced Borkvard is proving more adept than I imagined. We both made a mistake by underestimating him.”
“So what will you have me do?”
“There are still needs in the kitchen and with the cooks. You won’t be able to blend in with the servants but if you stay back there and watch that will be fine. You can supervise the tasters. I want to make sure everything is tasted. Everything. Sweet wine. Mead. Every scrap of food. Nothing goes to the king, or the queen, or the royal consort, without it being tasted. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
Halsten said this morosely but he was thankful Alfr had not dressed him down.
“Who will watch Borkvard?”
“I suppose that job will now fall to me. Perhaps we can get Borkvard to underestimate us.”
They headed back to Alfr’s temporary lodging, with more than enough time to get ready for the day ahead.
Although not as warm as the previous day, the fourth day of the blót was well above freezing and breezy, still with a chill in the air, so layers were required. Most of the mud that made walking so difficult previously had dried and the crowds had an easier time navigating the pathways and the field near the gibbet. Those who were gathered seemed to have a renewed energy and spirit on this day, as if they were adjusting now to the marathon of a religious ritual, along with all the drinking, dancing, and enjoyment of rich food.
Of course, Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, led all the processions, sacrifices, rituals, and prayers as he had done since the beginning of the blót. After the snow started melting a few days previously, the godi’s attendants had swapped out the sleigh by the gibbet that held the human sacrifice. Instead, now they were using a wagon, with that day’s sacrifice hooded and trussed in the bed of the wagon, awaiting their fate.
As always, the crowd hushed in anticipation as the attendants brought that person forward to the gibbet, and the drummers provided their usual cadence, raising anticipation for what would come.
Godi Styrbjörn strode up to the captive with purpose. He took off the hood and revealed a petite woman in her early 30’s with flowing red locks down past her shoulders. She had piercing blue eyes. She was dressed in the usual plain brown woolen dress commonly given to the women who were prisoners, but it was hard not to miss the beauty she radiated, despite her circumstance.
“I give you Chieftess Tuuli of Käkisalmi,” the godi called out. “She is the wife of Chief Ahma Itkonen, the ruler of an enemy realm in Finland. What say you, King Þorolfr?”
Today, the godi raised his hands above his head as he awaited an answer. His bloody knife dripped down on his garments, which already had much blood on them from the earlier sacrifices and rituals.
On the royal viewing platform, the king was caught mid-gulp of some mulled mead when this announcement was made and he spit out his drink with surprise. He was not expecting this important prisoner to show up at the blót. The chieftess was one of several hostages the king had taken during his raids eastward this past summer.
Before the king could react further, Chief Eirikr “the Just” Borg of Blekinge, sitting two rows behind the king and on his right flank stood up and shouted:
“My liege, stop this at once! You can’t let this happen. That woman is worth her weight in gold!”
Indeed, it was true.* Chief Eirikr and Crown Prince Magni, the Chief of Nidaros and the Chancellor of Denmark had been negotiating for months to work out the return of Chieftess Tuuli to Käkisalmi. They were expecting a positive response from Chief Ahma soon after the blót. But given winter travel and the weeks it took to exchange messengers, the ransom negotiations had stretched on for many months. Now, deciding about Chieftess Tuuli’s life, the zealous king would be forced to choose gold or gaining piety and status among those gathered for the blót.
The king got up from his chair and instead of looking out to the godi and the crowd as usual, he turned his back and at first looked at Chief Eirikr, who was furiously trying to extricate himself from where he was sitting and make his way to the front of the platform to plead his case. Next the king looked back at the middle of the last row of the platform to see his half-brother, Crown Prince Magni, smiling and holding back laughter, his horrible facial scar glowing a bright red and visible even below the prince’s scraggly, thin, unkempt beard.
The king now paused and thought hard. He had barely been drinking yet today so his mind was still very clear, but he felt like he had been standing on a frozen lake and the ice had just given out from below his feet. He knew it would be best to stay calm but his natural reaction was to thrash about. He was trying hard to maintain his composure.
“I say kill her!” Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö of Finland shouted from his spot in the second row on the platform.
“Show those independent Finns we mean business. Send them a message!”
“Yes, kill her! Kill her!” shouted Gunnhildr, the godi’s wife, from the opposite side of Sigurd’s row.
Then, Jarl Alfr stood up in the middle of that same row.
“Let’s have some calm here! Let the king think for a moment.”
He said this in a raised voice as he realized this must be the beginning of the plan that he had heard about yesterday. He wasn’t sure how the plotters would be coming at the king but he shot Sigurd a hard look and then he turned like the king to face the back of the platform.
“Guards, let’s form around the king! Now!”
He shouted this.
Ten warriors bolted forward from the back of the platform, rushing to the front to flank on all sides of the king.
“The Æsir await your answer, King Þorolfr!”
Godi Styrbjörn called this out from his place near the gibbet.
Now, the crowd was growing uneasy and talking loudly as they looked and pointed at the royal platform with the guards rushing forward. They weren’t sure what to make of this display. Several of the guards grabbed Chief Eirikr and would not let him get close to the king. Eirikr kicked and struggled.
“You’ve got to stop this! That woman is financing the blót!”
Indeed, that was true too. The ransom of Chieftess Tuuli was intended to offset many of the costs incurred by the kingdom for throwing such a lavish ritual celebration.
The king too was confused by all the commotion. He wasn’t sure why Alfr had called the guards, but he trusted Alfr’s instincts. Jarl Sigurd now stood up and joined the guards, giving Alfr an odd look.
“If the king is at threat, then perhaps we should pause the blót.”
He called this out to Alfr as he drew his sword.
“Guards will follow my commands in protecting the king.”
As Sigurd said this, now the king was all but ringed by armed men. Two guards still held Chief Eirikr from advancing further.
(Confusion on the royal viewing stand as Chief Eirikr “the Just” Borg of Blekinge implores King Þorolfr to issue a pardon during the Great Blót of 790, as imagined in a painting many years later and by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator and Playground AI’s Canvas digital image editor.)
Then, Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr stood up near Alfr. He looked at the king to get his attention.
“We can’t afford to have a council meeting about this right now. We are all losing respect by the second. Indecision is hurting us all here. Make a choice, my liege.”
“Kill her!” shouted Gunnhildr again.
Several people in the crowd in the stands and on the field also shouted, “Kill her! Kill her!”
The drums had never stopped and they were like a slow metronome ticking off the tense moments, as the king stood gathering his thoughts and looking around in confusion.
“Kill her!” shouted Queen Gerðr unexpectedly.
This startled the king and focused his attention.
“Do what is best for the kingdom, my liege.”
Tryggve urged the king onward with some edge in his voice.
“Think about the real sacrifice if she is killed!”
Eirikr shouted this.
“You are safe, my liege. Choose quickly.”
Alfr suggested this loudly and with an edge in his voice.
The king now turned and pushed his way past the guards on either side of him. He gave Jarl Sigurd a look to stand down. Then he went to the edge of the royal platform and held his hands over his head, matching the godi’s pose.
“She is pardoned!” the king shouted out and immediately the drums stopped.
“Send her back to my holding and her confinement!” the king shouted.
At that, booing erupted in the crowd. Many people began shouting “Kill her! Kill her!” There was commotion in the stands near the royal platform and on the field.
“Thank the Æsir!”
Chief Eirikr shouted this as he wrested himself away from the guards.
Sigurd looked hard at the king who did not see his gaze.
“We are not standing down!”
He shouted this. He motioned to his son.
“Ragnar, alert the guards, take control.”
Ragnar stood up and then ran for the exit calling for other warriors in the back of the platform to join him as they surged down and outward from the platform.
Now, a few rocks hit the royal platform, hurled from the field below. Chants of “Kill her!” and some boos continued but soon trailed off. Guards had already come forward and put Chieftess Tuuli back in the wagon and surrounded the wagon in a defensive position. Godi Styrbjörn stood by with his attendants watching and smiling. There were a few fights breaking out between guards and members of the crowd, but in general, the loud dissatisfaction with the king’s decision was over.
Sigurd went over to where the king was seemingly frozen at the edge of the stage. He draped his arm across the king’s shoulders.
“This part is over.”
He said this to him softly. Then he called out loudly:
“Let’s have some order. Order, I say! Make your way to the feasting hall peacefully or my men will intervene!”
An hour later, the king and the godi were side by side in the middle of the feasting hall, shooting daggers at each other with their eyes, but completing the traditional toasts and consecration of the food.
“…and may Freyr grant us peace when we wish it, when we are not taking up arms in the name of the All-Father! To prosperity!”
The king finished the second toast and drained his cup, as did many around the room.
Then the king and the godi shared the grilled meat, as was the tradition, with this night featuring grilled horsemeat.
When they were finished and there was much cheering and drinking, the king caught the godi’s arm momentarily until the godi wrested it away quickly.
“Don’t lay your hands on me!”
“What was that stunt out there today?”
The king hissed at the godi.
“Explain yourself!”
“I don’t have to answer to you! And I don’t have to talk to you if I do not wish to do so.”
The godi turned on his heel and walked away from the king quickly.
King Þorolfr was flummoxed by the events of the day. He wasn’t sure if he had surfaced yet from under the ice. His feelings were frayed and confused. He thought more warm mead would fix his attitude, even after downing two full cups just moments ago. But before he was done he made a beeline to Jarl Alfr at the head table. He asked the jarl to step down and confer with him to the side of the table as the music and dancing had begun. To the king, the drums underlying the music seemed to resonate through him. He wasn’t sure if he was tipsy already or having a spiritual moment. But he knew his anger at the godi and how this day had gone was unresolved.
(Drummers entertain as part of the Great Blót of 790, as remembered in a Norse tapestry and imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
“Was it really necessary to summon the guards today?”
“I’m still thinking through that decision too, my liege. But with rocks whizzing about, I think it was for the best.”
“I’m thinking over-reaction. Yes, over-reaction. That is my thought right now.”
The king said this and nodded his head.
“Let me handle your security.”
“And let me handle the politics. That confusion today was embarrassing. We can’t have that again.”
“The security arrangements didn’t cause the confusion.”
“Meet with me and Tryggve after the dining, as we have much to discuss.”
“But my liege, there are important….”
Alfr began to disagree, but the king cut him off.
“I’ve had enough dissension today. Now is not the time.”
The king held up his hand and then made his way back to his seat in the middle of the head table.
Several hours of drinking and dancing now unwound as they had on all the previous nights. There was much gossip and discussion of the king’s pardon throughout the feasting hall. Some people said the king was obviously drunk and confused. Others said that they wished they could see the high council in action more often, because they didn’t know warriors and guards were part of the interactions and debate.
Late in the afternoon, the attendants brought forth the featured main courses of the night: horsemeat stew with onions and garlic; and a choice of horse or donkey steaks, with a side dish of creamy barley, accented with dried mushrooms and bacon. Of course, for the steaks, for those who desired it, there was also horseradish available as a condiment.
Alfr again asked that Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven of Gudbrandsdalen sit next to him so they could talk, always aware that Queen Gerðr was just on his other side, and could likely hear some of what was discussed, even with the din of conversation in the room and the light playing of Viking lyres during dinner.
“So you had no troubles acquiring that package in the king’s holding?”
“No problems. I have guards with it now,” Sæmundr responded.
“Look, the king wants to confer with me after we are done eating. You will need to meet with our friend instead of me.”
“Will that spook him? He barely knows me and probably thinks I’m a drunk.”
“We’ll have to take that chance. Just don’t let him wiggle out of the deal. Get all that you can get from him.”
“Understood, my liege.”
“And isn’t this horse stew marvelous!”
Alfr said a bit too loudly.
“Look, my queen, you haven’t even touched your food!”
The spymaster now tried to make some conversation with the queen who wasn’t touching her horsemeat steak, and just picking at the creamy barley with her spoon.
“Horses are for riding and petting, not eating.”
She pouted and then turned away from Alfr.
Alfr sighed with resignation. He wasn’t sure if the queen was now part of Godi Styrbjörn and Prince Magni’s plan or if she was just being her usual obstinate and unpleasant self. What he still felt in his bones was that her spy, Borkvard, was up to no good. And then he began to wonder if the godi and the prince’s plan didn’t involve killing the king but something very different. And if they weren’t trying to kill him, then who was behind all this intelligence about a death plot? He worried too that he had no one to watch Borkvard tonight and the spy would definitely be up to no good. Alfr washed down his thoughts and some of his steak with a gulp of mead. However, again, he had feigned toasting and drinking most of the day to stay as sharp as possible. He knew today’s incident on the royal viewing platform was just the start of what was brewing at the blót.
Soon, Tryggve’s hand on his shoulder shook him out of his deep thoughts. The king and his two council members headed out of the feasting hall as the musicians started their post-dinner break and there was the usual lull before the evening’s drinking and dancing began again in earnest.
On this visit to the Temple of Hleiðra, the king was treated to rather opulent quarters. In the house where he was staying, there were two partially walled off areas for sleeping at either end, a central firepit and full cooking and dining area, plus a third area that was partially walled off with its own meeting table. All the partial rooms had large hanging weavings to create partitions and muffle sounds. Nevertheless, the king dismissed all the servants stationed there and asked the guards to stay outside as the three men gathered in the private meeting area at the table.
(King Þorolfr drinks with Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr and Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel of Svíþjóð in a Norse painting made long after the blót and as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.)
“That was a true embarrassment today. A true embarrassment.”
The king repeated himself as he was now working on at least his eighth cup of warm mead. A bucket of mulled mead sat on the table but the king was the only one drinking and using his cup.
“We cannot afford to have that happen again. People were ready to riot. I can’t believe it. I was shocked. Just shocked. Shocking, that’s what it was.”
“Just calm yourself, my liege, we got through it and we will be ready in the future. We will be ready. Won’t we?”
“We can certainly try. We can also surmise that Godi Styrbjörn and Prince Magni are working together to sabotage the king where they can.”
“Can we surmise that? Well, Magni was laughing at me today. That’s true.”
“I have come across some information lately that leads me to believe they are working in tandem, perhaps with others, and certainly with foul intent. And their intent could be lethal.”
“Why am I just hearing this now?”
The king’s voice escalated into a whine.
“I am always the last to know. I hate these surprises. Why are you always bringing me surprises, Alfr?”
“Sometimes surprises are just part of life, Þorolfr. Grow up. Drink less. You’ll be surprised less. And don’t blame those who tell you about the surprises. We are just relaying the news, not laying the traps.”
“Ah, the banter like the old days. Just remember I am older and wiser now.”
“And drunker.”
Alfr said this with an edge in his voice.
“I’m going to advise you to drink less during the rest of this blót. That decision may be the one that keeps you alive.”
“That is good advice.”
“Spoiling all the fun.”
The king chuckled.
“Alright, I promise to do better.”
He said this and then gulped down more mead. Both of his advisors shot each other a look.
“You may be angry about me calling the guards today, but we have not had a chance to update you on the security situation due to the blót. There is credible evidence to believe there are killers here after you and any sort of commotion like today could be used as a distraction for a real attempt on your life. Best to over-react and be wrong.”
“Still, not our finest hour.”
“I need you to go to my holding and let me know who is still jailed there.”
The king made this demand and then shot Alfr a hard look.
“I am not leaving the blót. That’s what our enemies want. I can send a man. I have just the candidate. Trustworthy to the core.”
“How do we know that the godi hasn’t transported more prisoners than he wants to sacrifice?”
“That too is possible.”
“Just send one of your spies into the temple to find out.”
“I wish it were so, but my spies are not with the godi’s spiritual attendants. All of my people, or at least most of them are with the kitchen and serving staff.”
“An oversight. Another mistake.”
“I had no idea that the godi was actively plotting against you until yesterday. If I had known the extent of his enmity, I would have planned accordingly.”
“You should have known after he refused to help me when I hit my head after the council meeting.”
The king said this and pointed his finger at Alfr.
“I’m a spy, but I don’t have the foresight of Odin.”
“Yes, be reasonable, my liege. Jarl Alfr is doing his best.”
The king poured himself another cup and took a gulp.
“More drinking until I have confidence. Might as well, because at this rate, I’ll be dead by the end of the blót.”
“If you keep thinking that way, you’ll end up that way.”
Alfr said this with scorn in his voice.
“What happened to our brave warrior-king? This is as much a fight as any battle.”
“Just get me the names of who is likely to be sacrificed in the coming days.”
The king ordered this and had another gulp of mead.
“If we have that then we can be prepared for what comes and what surprises head our way. And yes, I will trust that you, Alfr, and Jarl Sigurd have the security, my security, our security, the kingdom’s security, in hand.”
“Now, I need to go.”
Alfr tried to excuse himself.
“There’s an important meeting I’ve likely already missed and it is directly related to the security situation.”
“No.”
The king shook his head.
“I insist. No meeting is more important than a meeting with your king. Stay. Tryggve will entertain us with some poems and the telling of a Saga or two. Won’t you Tryggve?”
“Well, if the jarl….”
Tryggve began to speak but the king cut him off.
“I am ordering you two to stay. Protect me. Entertain me. Better than those I share a house with right now.”
Jarl Alfr rolled his eyes then he too took a cup of mead.
“Might as well make myself comfortable. I have a feeling it is going to be a long night.”
“Have you heard my new poem about the king’s adventures in Noregr? It starts out like this….”
And the men talked and listened to Tryggve’s stories and poems for several more hours until the king was sleepy and well past the return of both the queen and Gyrið the Concubine. Meanwhile, plots and killers were moving forward, whether the king and his advisors liked it or not, and for now they were powerless to stop them.
*The Danish had negotiated a ransom of ten pounds of gold for Chieftess Tuuli, an amount equal to about 120 modern pounds, and actually more than the chieftess weighed, especially after months of house arrest.
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return soon.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A5: The Great Blót of 790 (Spies with a Corpse)
Appendix A5 The Great Blót of 790 (Spies with a Corpse)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
(A guard searches the woods near the Temple of Hleiðra as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
The fourth day of the blót blended almost seamlessly into the fifth for Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel. And that was not to his benefit.
He regretted staying up late with the king, holding King Þorolfr’s hand like a baby really, he thought. As he walked back to his temporary abode past midnight, he was unnerved. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven. Actually, he trusted Sæmundr more than he trusted himself. He was just anxious about what information they were buying from Hrörekr of Årus, and if they were being deceived.
Sæmundr had stayed up, waiting for the jarl. As soon as Alfr returned, he suggested they duck outside, as Gyla Gautske, the jarl’s concubine, was already asleep inside the small house and Sæmundr did not want to wake her. Sæmundr pulled on a warm fur cloak, as the temperature had dropped to almost freezing, and they headed out, walking down a pathway near the house to stay warm. Alfr was plodding along with his walking stick, while Sæmundr slowed his gait to match the jarl.
“He never showed up,” Sæmundr said when they were a few strides past the house and down the path.
“What do you mean?” Alfr asked, eyes widening.
“I waited for several hours. Nothing. I got there early. After waiting, I rounded up some guards and asked them to search the grounds near the royal viewing stand. Nothing. No sign or trace of him.”
“Do we know where the delegation from Årus is staying?”
“No, but I’m sure we can find out quickly. Likely near wherever Prince Magni is staying.”
“I think Halsten must know as he was at the prince’s place earlier. Get that information from him or find it, first thing in the morning. And I want you to send Halsten into the king’s holding. We need an accounting of who the king has jailed there and detained in house arrest too. The king needs to know if there are any more surprises coming from Godi Styrbjörn.”
“Even if we send him out at first light, he won’t be back by the time everyone gathers in the stands and on the royal platform.”
“Well, we will just have to be flexible and think on our feet for another day. Unless, that is, you have a way to get us into the godi’s holding cells.”
“Well, you and I have been through tougher assignments, my liege. There is always a way, but is there time to find that way? And what will be the sacrifice?”
“Anything else for us to discuss?”
“No, my liege, but it has been a long disappointing day.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Just be glad you did not see that travesty regarding the pardon.”
“Everyone’s talking about it. I’ve heard it described a dozen times.”
“I’m sure you have. That was a trap set by Godi Styrbjörn and Prince Magni. And I’m sure that is just the first part. So we need to be watchful. But now let’s go back and get some sleep. We will need to have all our focus on the morrow.”
“Yes, I couldn’t agree more.”
When they returned to the small house, Alfr crawled into bed with Gyla and Sæmundr found his bedding on the floor on some straw with a blanket.
They both fell asleep quickly but less than five hours later, well before dawn, a banging on the door aroused them.
“Not another early morning call!” Gyla exclaimed. “Is there no peace here in Hleiðra?”
“I’m the old man here.”
Alfr got out of bed in his bed clothes and went to the door.
“I should be the grumpiest one here, not you, my dear.”
Sæmundr soon joined him at the door, as Gyla hunted for candles to light from the fireplace.
“I’m Kjartan, the captain of the night guards,” a warrior announced when Jarl Alfr had opened the door. Kjartan had two other guards with him. One of those men had a torch.
“Our guards found a body on our sweep. We had instructions to inform you if there was anything suspicious.”
“Very well, give us a moment to put on our clothes, and we’ll be off with you.”
Soon, Jarl Alfr and Chief Sæmundr were following Kjartan and the other guards, in the predawn dark past the feasting hall and toward the treeline of the nearby forest. In a field, on the edge of the forest, there was a clump of guards with torches surrounding the body. As Alfr and Sæmundr approached, they could see more than guards in the group waiting for them. There in his dark gray robe, the same one he wore on the first day of the blót, was Borkvard the Spy, with the hood of his robe down so he could be recognized. He was standing next to another man in a dark black robe who Alfr did not recognize.
“What is this man doing here?”
Alfr began pointing at Borkvard as soon as they were close enough to be heard by the guards around the body.
“We told you the other day to stay out of our way and stop mucking about. Or do you need to get the message again?”
“I do the queen’s business, as you know,” Borkvard growled, “and she’ll be as concerned about this as the king.”
“Need I remind you that I work for both the king and queen.”
Alfr walked right up to Borkvard, stopping and bending down until their noses almost touched.
“I am the Spymaster of the Kingdom of Denmark! All of these men work for me and we don’t need someone from the Helsing lands in our business.”
“I keep the queen apprised of what she needs to know. I have a right to be here too. And when was the last time you briefed the queen about security?”
“When she grows up, I’ll put it on my agenda.”
“How is it you are here before us?”
Sæmundr asked this with an angry tone in his voice.
“Skill, maybe?”
Borkvard turned to look at Sæmundr while Jarl Alfr still stared down at him closely.
“If you are going to stay here, then you are going to show us due respect or I’ll have the guards lock you up.”
“He was passing by and stopped to check with us.”
“On my early morning walk.”
Borkvard chuckled.
“More invigorating this morning than usual.”
Alfr wondered to himself if that comment referenced how Alfr had left Borkvard alone the night before. No one in his network had reported about seeing the spy yet today, and Alfr knew in his bones that Borkvard had been up to no good. Perhaps this body was his doing, Alfr wondered.
“We hear you are getting too much exercise at night.”
Sæmundr said this and stepped forward, towering over Borkvard by at least a foot.
“Rumors tell us you’re not enjoying the blót and you need to find your own strange entertainment walking about at all hours.”
“Alright, let’s just all stop for a moment.”
Alfr said this while dialing back his own anger. He could order Borkvard be put into custody by the guards. He needed no formal charges as the leader of security operations for the blót. However, he reasoned Borkvard was more valuable loose, perhaps leading him to other plotters.
“You’ve been warned, Borkvard. Any more of your snark and you’ll be enjoying the rest of the blót in chains.”
“Well, yes, a truce for the moment.”
Borkvard nodded.
“But I always have the queen to get me out of trouble.”
“This isn’t Helsingland.”
Sæmundr reminded him ominously while making fists with his hands.
“And who might you be?”
Alfr pivoted away to address the man in the black robe.
“I’m Hrolfr of Årus,” the man bowed a bit, “I handle security for Chieftess Kraka.”
“Oh, another security expert from the provinces?”
Alfr asked this with a tone of annoyance.
“I am not here to step on toes, Jarl Alfr, I assure you.”
Hrolfr said this with an apologetic tone.
“I too just arrived. Borkvard noticed that this man was wearing a sigil from Årus and he had the guards roust me.”
“So this man...”
Jarl Alfr now pointed down at the body for the first time and the men stopped arguing with one another and addressed the issue that had summoned them to this spot in the dark of the predawn hours.
“He’s one of yours?”
Then as Alfr looked down he gasped a bit.
There looking up at Alfr from the ground were the dead staring eyes of Hrörekr of Årus, with the torchlight flickering off of those unblinking orbs.
(A group of guards and others gather around the body of Hrörekr of Årus as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.)
“Yes, he’s one of my attendants, a servant really for Chieftess Kraka. Do you know him?”
“No, not really.”
Alfr said this as he shook his head as if to clear it.
“I ran into him briefly at the blót though.”
“I had to wonder, given your reaction.”
“Yes, I’ve seen too many bodies in my time.”
Alfr said this as he chuckled nervously.
“So you talked? At the blót?”
Hrolfr asked this with a seriousness creeping into his tone.
“Of course, lots of people come to talk at the blót.”
Alfr now waved his hand feigning nonchalance.
“Lots of people asking for favors. He was among them.”
Then the jarl pivoted.
“Now, Captain Kjartan has anyone moved the body?”
“No, not yet.”
Kjartan said this, taken aback by an unexpected question.
"Why does it matter?”
“That’s good. That’s good. Please everyone step away from the body then.”
As everyone complied, the jarl began circling the body and muttering to himself.
“He’s just been staring up at the stars all night awaiting our arrival?”
“Or awaiting the Æsir to take him to Helheim.”
“One never knows.”
The jarl was now getting quizzical looks from some of the guards and Hrolfr too.
“Does anyone see a wound or a mark on him?”
“No, no wounds that we have seen, yet, but we haven’t moved him, as I said.”
“Well, to completely answer the question, part of figuring out who may have killed this man starts with the body. The body is the best witness. Actually, I think someone has moved this body. Look at the dirt and small rocks on his face and his forehead. I also noticed some marks of dragging in the dirt near him.”
Alfr was now pointing at marks in the dirt.
Everyone was following his gaze and his pointing in the flickering torchlight.
He gave his walking stick to Sæmundr, and then went back to the body, bending down and reaching under one shoulder. Then he heaved and pushed Hrörekr’s body over so it was laying down on its face.
“Bring one of those torches over here, please.”
A guard came over with a torch and stood directly over the body.
The light from the torch revealed that the dirt underneath the body had been soaked in blood. It was clear someone had bashed open the back of Hrörekr skull with a rock or a war hammer, as parts of his scalp were missing and his brains were exposed.
“For some reason, the killer sought to hide his act by covering up the blood with the body. Very strange. Very strange indeed.”
“I don’t understand how any of that is important. My man is dead and we are just standing around chatting about it.”
“I tell you, it’s time well spent. This body is talking to us. If you’ve ever hunted or tracked you know these skills.”
Alfr got up from his crouched position. His back hurt, but he was pleased with himself.
“I think whoever killed our friend here surprised him with a blow to the back of the head in the dark, and then that person moved the body. This indicates to me, the killer knew this man and felt the need to cover up some of what was done here. Captain Kjartan, once it is light, have a few guards see if they can find a bloody rock nearby, or another weapon.”
“Of course, Jarl Alfr.”
“Is all that necessary? Seems like a waste of time.”
“We will see. We will see. These details will serve us well later, though, I believe.”
Borkvard had been silent for a long time but intently watching. Now he spoke up.
“Very impressive with your use of hunting skills, Jarl Alfr. My compliments.”
“Thank you, but coming from you, I’m not sure what that really means.”
“It was sincerely offered.”
“If you say so.”
Alfr said this dismissively and then he had another thought.
“Captain, now that I’ve had a good look around, please do have your men get a wagon so we can dispose of this body. We don’t need to upset anyone who may walk past. Keep a few men stationed here during the day and please do a complete search once there is better light. As for you, Hrolfr, if you have questions I will see you at any time. We will find out who did this.”
“I’d like to work with you and your men if possible. I have skills that can help too.”
“We could certainly use the extra help, couldn’t we, Jarl Alfr?”
“We are spread too thin. Thanks for offering.”
Alfr said this, while thinking to himself that he made a mistake by not having someone tracking Borkvard the previous night.
“And as for you, Borkvard, thank you for the compliment, but do try not to get in our way. I meant what I said the other day. If you want to be helpful, I’m sure you know how.”
“Well, I have my own methods and approaches. I’ll have to give your advice and warnings some thought.”
At that Borkvard turned on his heel and walked off into the dark without a torch. He appeared to be headed back toward the village.
“Now, Chief Sæmundr and I are going to take our leave to find some breakfast. Track us down if there are any new developments, please. Hrolfr, we will be in touch soon about your offer to help.”
Like Borkvard, Alfr and Sæmundr walked back toward the village on a well worn path and without a torch. Dawn would be upon them in the next quarter of an hour or so and the blackness of night was starting to slowly lift.
Once they had walked some ways down the path, Sæmundr said:
“Rare that I’ve seen you put on a performance like that one.”
“Well, half of that was for show. I feel certain the killer was back there. My wager for now is on Borkvard, but it could even be one of the guards, paid to kill our man, Hrörekr.”
“Why not just detain Borkvard now?”
“I think our killer is going to trip up, and I’m giving Borkvard leave to do that. I think he will lead us to some unexpected revelations.”
“Let’s hope there are no more nasty surprises.”
“We’ve seen worse, haven’t we?”
Alfr chuckled.
“Indeed, we have.”
Sæmundr said this as he put a bracing arm around the jarl’s shoulders as they toddled down the path at Alfr’s pace with his walking stick. Over breakfast, both men decided they would skip all the day’s religious rituals and rejoin the blót in the feasting hall. Until then they had spies and a corpse to consider and ponder.
(In the foreground of this drawing to the right, Odin watches a blót in a temple with a musician playing a harp in “Dísablót” from 19th Century Swedish artist August Malmström. The image is in the public domain.)
This day would prove to be the coldest day since the snow melted, with temperatures hovering just over freezing most of the time and with a strong breeze. Many people donned the furs and layers they had worn at the beginning of the blót.
Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, again led all of the religious rites, as he had done from the beginning. He made note in some of his prayers that today marked the mid-way point of the blót and there were still many more prayers to recite and sacrifices to make to please the Æsir.
When it came to the human sacrifice, there was no controversy near the gibbet. It was as if the previous day had not happened. There was no sign of dissent in the stands or on the field near the sacrifice. The godi offered up General Gunnarr from Vestfold, a warrior-general who had murdered his wife. King Þorolfr quickly endorsed the godi’s selection, agreeing that he would be a welcome sacrifice to Odin. The only drama was that the general wriggled away from the guards briefly and tried to run away with his arms tied behind his back. But he tripped and fell face first into the hard ground. A group of eight guards subdued him and brought him back before the godi, who dutifully punched a hole in his neck with his sacred knife so some of his blood could be drained before he was hanged.
Later, in the feasting hall, as the toasts proceeded, both the king and godi followed their parts with no interaction one way or another about what had been said and done the day before. Again it was as if nothing had happened, except both men eyed the other warily.
King Þorolfr had been low key all day, not saying much on the viewing platform and even asking to have the drinks for the day changed away from the more expensive mead to his favorite cherry spirits. He was still feeling the aftereffects of his late night with Jarl Alfr and Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr. But he had been silently reflecting on his thoughts regarding how he had been trapped by the godi and his half-brother and what he might do to prevent that going forward.
The mood of the crowd was lively on this day, despite the cold. Many had adjusted to the marathon of the blót’s rhythms and they understood that there would be no other event like this one at least for another nine years. So they threw themselves with gusto into the many hours of afternoon drinking and dancing that preceded the feast. As the king was usually not one to dance, he often took this time to toast, drink and politick with many he came across at the blót. Today, he purposely aimed to find his cousin, Margareta Þrándrsdottir Skjöldung, who was seated at one of the tables of honor near the head table.
(Margareta Þrándrsdottir Skjöldung as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator and Playground AI’s Canvas digital editor.)
Margareta was his Uncle Þrándr’s eldest child. She had never known her mother, one of Þrándr’s concubines who died of food poisoning when Margareta was only a few months old. For years, she had lived primarily in Slesvig, where she was tutored by Chief Starkaðr Auster, the former court physician of Denmark. The king was not close to his cousin, but Þorolfr recalled an event from five years ago, before he had become king, and Chief Starkaðr was making one of his regular extended visits to Sjælland to treat King Hrœrekr II’s cancer. Margareta had come with Starkaðr for the stay. Þorolfr had come across Margareta when he was on his way to get his horse for a ride to the Temple of Hleiðra and he had just come into the royal stables in Sjælland. He had surprised Margareta on that day, because Margareta thought she and her young teenage girlfriend – one of the young servants – were the only ones in the stable, besides the horses. When Þorolfr came across them they were passionately kissing in a stall, relaxing on the hay. Þorolfr watched them for several minutes, intrigued by their young love, before finally they noticed him. The servant girl ran off but Margareta stayed and implored her cousin not to tell anyone what he had seen. And he never had.
Now, she was 18 years old, with a round pleasant face, still marked with the freckles of youth. She had dark brown hair, cut just above her shoulders, and stylishly coiffed with combs and hairpins holding it together in an elevated style. She was dressed in a simple, dark brown dress, with red embroidery highlighting the sleeves and hem.
When the king sidled up to her table, she assumed he wanted to speak to her step-mother, Kristina, the head of the Society of Freyja. So Margareta was a bit startled when he addressed her instead. After they got past the pleasantries and the king also acknowledged Kristina and remarked on how well dressed they both were this afternoon, the king gave other well wishes.
“I hope you both are in good health,” the king said. “I am so sad to hear about the condition of Uncle Þrándr. He is in my prayers daily.”
Both Kristina and Margareta thanked him for his concern, then pivoting to Margareta the king put forth an invitation.
“Turning to less concerning topics, I have important matters and opportunities on my mind, Margareta. I hope you will join me for a walk after the feasting is finished to discuss them.”
“I would be honored, cousin, truly,” Margareta responded.
“And you won’t be missing the music and the dancing too much then?”
“There are many more nights of celebrations. Rare for me to get an invitation to walk with the king. Missing one night of dancing will not matter. Besides, I am not much for dancing.”
“Good, then I will come to gather you up, after we dine. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“Thank you for offering.”
Margareta said this and bowed a bit as the king went back to the head table for the feast.
Soon the temple’s attendants and servers brought out the meal, late in the afternoon, a bit more than an hour before sunset. Today’s main courses included a hearty beef stew with broad beans and grilled beef steaks, including oxen steaks. Instead of the mead and sweet wines of previous feasts during the blót, this meal came accompanied by ale, although the king asked that he be served his favorite sweet cherry wine instead.
During the meal, Gyrið the Concubine could not rouse the king from his pensive thoughts and she carried on a conversation instead with Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr. Jarl Alfr had asked his concubine to sit next to Queen Gerðr so he could have some space away from her to confer with Chief Sæmundr a bit farther away from the queen’s prying ears and eyes. Remembering the ruckus of the first night of the blót, the queen refused to speak to Gyla so both women ate in silence, listening to the light Viking lyre music the musicians were playing during the dinner.
“I’ve been watching that weasel, Borkvard,.”
Alfr said this to Sæmundr.
“Today, he’s with some woman I don’t recognize. Get an eye on him and see if someone recognizes her. Find out if she’s from Helsingland too, or elsewhere.”
“It will be done, my liege.”
“And see if that fellow, Hrolfr from Årus, might help us a bit. With Halsten on other duties and injured, we can always use some extra help. As for me, I’ll be waiting to see what the weasel gets into tonight.”
“Hrolfr dropped by the kitchen earlier today while I was covering for Halsten, but I’m not sure about that.”
“Give him a chance. And wish me luck with Borkvard.”
“Be careful, my liege, he’s a wily one.”
(On the left, some of the king’s guards with torches ready to escort the king and Margareta Skjöldung as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator and Playground AI’s Canvas digital editor.)
Soon after he was finished with his steak dinner, the king excused himself to both the queen and his consort. He motioned to his guards and they escorted him out of the feasting hall, accompanied by his cousin, Margareta. The king asked for some private space, so there was a vanguard of three warriors ahead of him and Margareta on the path by about 20 yards, and then two guards trailing them, again 20 yards or so behind. The king had instructed them to walk away from the village and towards the woods. One guard in the vanguard and one in the trailing pair had a torch that was helpful as the sun had set and it was already quite dark. The group stayed on the path until it ended near the forest, very close to where Hrörekr’s body had been discovered earlier. They stayed on an open field that bordered the forest. The king and Margareta exchanged some initial pleasantries about the weather and what Margareta thought of the blót, as it was the first one held since she was four, and, of course, she did not attend that one.
Finally, the king brought out his agenda.
“Have you ever thought about being a gydja or a seeress? Then you could be in charge of the blót.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. I was trained in the ways of potions and plants. My tutor was a deep thinker. He talked not just of medicine but also the learned ways of the Greeks and even the ancient ones in Egypt. For a while, I thought I would be a healer, maybe even the court physician, but that is not what I see at the moment.”
“I’m sorry that I don’t know, but what are you doing at court?”
“I mostly help Kristina with chores related to the Society of Freyja, and stay out of the way.”
Margareta chuckled.
“I don’t think I’ve found my way yet. Besides, I fully expect my father and Kristina to find a match for me and then my husband will be deciding my future.”
“Is that what you want?”
“One doesn’t get to decide do we? Especially if you are a woman. Especially if you are from an important house like ours.”
The king pondered that answer.
“Service to the realm underscores the mission of our house.”
“It is our responsibility as descendants of Odin, as I have always been taught.”
“And what do you know of the Sagas and the Æsir?”
“I would never pretend that I know as much as you, cousin. You are known for your zealous ways.”
“Thank you. Look, what if I offered for you to come with me to the temple on a more regular basis? Would you have an interest in coming to pray with me and discussing the Sagas and the Æsir?”
“Is this the opportunity you spoke about? Don’t you have the queen or your concubine for that?”
“Well, it’s more than that really.”
The king responded vaguely and paused for a moment.
“Look, remember that day in the stables?”
Margareta stopped walking and the king had to double back because he was not expecting that and he had walked a few feet farther in the direction where they were headed. The group of guards in the back stopped but the guards in front kept moving for another 15 yards before they noticed and stopped.
“I have always appreciated that you did not mention that to anyone.”
Margareta was shaking a bit as she addressed the king.
“I am so thankful. My father would never understand. And others too. But why are you bringing it up now?”
“Trust.”
The king said this with purpose and paused. After a beat or two, he resumed.
“I must admit I find it hard to trust anyone these days. My trust in others is broken and shattered with few exceptions. So can I trust that you keep this conversation in confidence the same way I have kept that day hidden away?”
“You have my pledge.”
Margareta said this weakly. She was troubled by the turn the conversation had taken.
“Thank you. I need someone in our house to trust. I’m sorry to say but with your training you know your father may not have long to live, and he has been that person for me in the past.”
“Aye, it is a true concern.”
Margareta said this and bowed her head.
“Perhaps you could be that person I trust.”
“Again, is that not the role of your wife or your concubine?”
“Well, I do trust my concubine, to an extent. But there are other areas where I don’t see her being a help. I need someone of our blood, of our lineage, of our commitment to Odin.”
Just then, there was a commotion in the forest. Margareta was standing only about a foot or so from the treeline, and the king was facing her, another three feet from the forest. It sounded like wild animals thrashing in the underbrush, not far from Margareta. Fearing that a wild beast would burst out of the underbrush and attack them, the king drew out his knife.
“Get behind me.”
He put forth that order and Margareta moved quickly.
“Guards! We need a torch over here!”
A guard from behind them unsheathed his sword and trotted down to the king who held his knife out and at the ready.
“Take a look in there.”
The king pointed at the forest.
“I don’t want a wild boar or something else coming out to attack us.”
Dutifully, the guard went to the forest’s edge and moved the torch around, looking for wildlife. The guards in front of the group now started walking back toward the king and Margareta. The only sound that could be heard was the guard moving around at the edge of the forest and the sound of the flames licking the torch the guard had as he moved it around and it caught the breeze.
“I don’t see anything, my liege,” the man reported.
“It sounded big like a boar or a hart perhaps. Alright, thank you for checking. Let’s turn around now.”
The group now turned back toward the feasting hall, and one of the guards ran up from behind to join the new vanguard.
After they had walked a few feet, Margareta said shakily:
“Are you asking me to be your heir? I thought that would always be Prince Magni.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think the laws of the kingdom allow a woman in that role, although I would certainly consider you. But as I have learned, the council of chiefs decides this, no matter my nomination. They favor Magni, even above your father. I wish you could compete with Magni but that is not possible.”
“Then why this invitation?”
“I need someone, as I was trying to explain.”
The king stammered a bit.
“I need someone of our house who I can trust. Who can help guide me perhaps. Lately, I fear I have lost my way…”
“Is this about the pardon from yesterday?”
“Partially, yes. I should never have been asked to make that decision in public.”
“So back to my earlier question in a way.”
The king said this with some emotion.
“Could you train yourself so one day you could be the Seer of Denmark?”
Margareta gasped.
“May the Æsir bless us! What a responsibility!”
“I think that’s the beginning of the right answer.”
The king smiled tentatively.
“I want you to think about it, and you can share your thoughts with me after the blót. Maybe you and I can start some regular trips to the temple together. We need to close the gap between us, cousin, and get to know one another.”
“I don’t know what to think right now. It’s a bit overwhelming.”
The king and Margareta continued chatting on this and a variety of other topics until they were back in the lodging area near the temple and they went their separate ways. The king resolved not to drink himself to sleep on this night. He had a new set of plans to unveil that had been inspired by this blót and he didn’t want his relatively new found drinking habits getting in the way.
Earlier, at the feasting hall, Jarl Alfr had been keeping a trained eye on Borkvard the Spy, paralleling his movements or just tracking him from the head table. As the king and his escorts, plus Margareta made their exit, Borkvard started gathering himself, and he headed out the door of the feasting hall, casually but purposefully just a few moments behind them. The king and his group would be easy to follow, even at a distance as their progress down the pathway and into the fields near the feasting hall would be easy to mark with the torches.
Just as Borkvard had done, Jarl Alfr tried to make his way casually to the exit. A few people tried to stop him and offer pleasantries, but he then picked up his speed.
“Have to find the privy. Too much rich food tonight. Sorry.”
He said this to several people who wanted to meet or chat with him on his way to the exit.
Still, once he came outside it was easy to see what he would need to do. At twilight, Borkvard was difficult to see, dressed in his dark gray hooded robe. But the spy was moving quickly and his movement is what the jarl kept focused upon. The jarl could see the king’s escorts with their torches, and Borkvard trailing about 100 yards behind them. Borkvard was not following them exactly. He used a crisscross pattern so if the trailing guards looked over their shoulders they might see him once but not a second time. He was also not following their exact heading. Instead, he was tracking them about 15 to 20 degrees off of their pathway, and he was headed directly for the forest.
Once Alfr had established Borkvard’s true course, he set out, as fast as he could go with the assistance of his walking stick. Until Borkvard got to the forest, the stick was actually to the jarl’s benefit. It would help him keep up, but keep him from trotting or breaking into a run. Not that Alfr couldn’t summon that stamina in short bursts, but hanging back was the key for him to trail Borkvard the Spy.
Borkvard was focused on attempting to stay undetected by the king’s rear guards until he could get to the forest. Then his plan was to catch up to the king. The king’s decision to take a walk with Margareta was completely unexpected by Borkvard, who had thought the king would retire to his temporary lodging near the temple, but only after several more hours of drinking. This unexpected decision is what caused Borkvard to alter his original plan for the evening.
For a variety of reasons, Borkvard had spent some considerable time in this forest during the past few evenings. He was thankful to get to the treeline and then he could increase his pace, walking briskly and avoiding undergrowth and branches. His eyes were keen and adjusted to the night. Borkvard was proud that he was known to do his best work at night, and his confidence actually built the darker it got.
However, the king’s escorts, like the king, were walking near the edge of the forest. The refracted light from their torches was helping Borkvard navigate. Eventually, he caught up with the rear guards, and paralleled their slow walking pace, staying about 30 to 40 yards away from them, but mirroring their course, and crouching when needed so he could not be seen. The guards’ focus was on the king and Margareta, not to the forest on their flank.
Eventually, the entire group came to a halt. This is when Borkvard decided he was being given an opportunity. He picked his way carefully and quickly closer to the edge of the forest, again guided by the light of the torches. The last ten to fifteen yards, he moved to a low crouch and walked very carefully putting his weight down with each foot touching the ground lightly. Eventually he was just a few feet away from Margareta, with just bushes between himself and her. He could hear her say something about taking a pledge, but her back was turned so what she said was difficult to make out. He was more focused on the king who he could clearly see just past Margareta’s form and most of the king’s words reached him directly.
“…I’m sorry to say but with your training you know your father may not have long to live, and he has been that person for me in the past.”
The spy’s eyes grew large. Here was a tidbit of important news for the queen: the king’s preferred heir now had some sort of lethal illness.
Margareta’s response was muffled, but he thought he interpreted what she said was that she was concerned about her father’s health.
That’s when Borkvard heard the twigs snapping behind him. He wasn’t sure how far away, but whatever or whoever it was had flanked him and was perhaps 30 yards away. Quickly, he backed away from the edge of the forest, carefully stepping and moving like a deer. He bounded not toward the sounds, but cutting a diagonal path, away from both the sounds and the lights of the torches. He realized, now, anyone trailing behind him could use those torchlights to make out his movements in silhouette.
Alfr was glad the king’s party had stopped. It had allowed him not only to catch up but also to position himself to watch Borkvard. He couldn’t really hear what was being discussed as both the guards were talking lowly and so was the king with Margareta. All he could hear were murmurs. He was glad to have a fix on Borkvard, who he could make out dimly in the torchlight, crouching behind a bush. Alfr had taken up a position behind a large stump of a dead tree that had collapsed in a storm. The jagged stump stood about four feet high, and proved to be good cover for him to stand behind. Alfr settled his feet in a wide stance to get comfortable and ducked behind the dead tree while keeping his eyes fixed on Borkvard.
But one moment, Borkvard was crouching and the next something had spooked him and he was moving swiftly into the forest, away from both the jarl and the king’s group. Now, Alfr realized that if Borkvard looked his way he might see his eyes reflecting off the torchlight. He crouched down farther behind the old rotten stump, but in doing so lost track of Borkvard. Alfr cursed quietly to himself. He also had to admit that Borkvard was astoundingly light on his feet.
“He must be quite a dancer,” Alfr thought and he made a note to see if Borkvard ever danced at the blót, as he poked his head out from around the tree to begin scanning to see if he could pick up any of Borkvard’s movements.
(Borkvard the Spy struggles and fights with Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.)
Just as he began scanning and registered the thought about Borkvard’s potential as a dancer, he was hit from the side with a flying tackle. He felt a hand grabbing for his hunting knife as he rolled downward. He didn’t fight the grasp or the fall, instead he gripped his walking stick with both hands tightly. With one hand he twisted and pulled on the top of the walking stick as he was falling. The top came off the stick and the hidden end revealed a long, slim, sharp knife that was underneath and part of the upper handle. The top of the stick released when twisted just the right way to separate the hidden knife from the rest of the walking stick. Alfr tumbled and fell as the tackler tried to gain the upper hand, but the jarl used the momentum of the fall to continue rolling until he had rolled on to the tackler’s chest. He pressed the blade right up to the man’s chin.
“I’ll gut you like a fish unless you stop struggling.”
Alfr hissed this in a whisper.
“I’ve got your knife and I’ll stick you with it.”
Borkvard hissed back at the jarl.
“Not before you’re dead.”
Alfr pressed and the knife was already drawing some blood from Borkvard’s neck.
“Now, be quiet lest those guards see us both.”
Both men heard one of the guards approaching the treeline, about 30 yards from where they lie on the floor of the forest, now covered in dead leaves and old vines from their tumble together. They could see the flash of the torchlight, and then the guard reported he could not see anything.
After the king’s party had moved on, Alfr finally released the knife from Borkvard’s neck. The jarl found the main part of his walking stick and struggled to his feet. Borkvard shimmied out from under the jarl and got to his feet too.
“I would have had you if not for your trick with the hidden knife.”
Borkvard said this while rubbing his neck where the jarl had cut him superficially.
“That’s my motto: always have an unexpected trick.”
Alfr was sore and he could tell he had bruises from the fall, but he was proud he had not forgotten how to fall, tumble and take control. He reattached the knife back as the top to the walking stick and twisted the handle to secure it back into place.
“Maybe I should keep this knife, it’s a fine hunting blade.”
“No, I’ll take that back, or I’ll see you locked up.”
Alfr said this while holding out his hand. Borkvard slapped the hilt of the knife into the jarl’s palm.
“What’s your business with the king?”
“Don’t you worry about me and the king. If I wanted to attack him, he’d have been dead long before the guards got to me.”
“I don’t doubt it. I saw how quick and light you run. Still don’t like you, but I have to respect your skills. But again, I need an answer, or I am going to have you locked up.”
“I have the same answer as always. It’s the queen’s business. I’m the only one keeping her informed of what is going on around her. And I know you can make it difficult for me. But eventually, we both know the queen would get me sprung loose, one way or another.”
Alfr sighed.
“But this is your last warning from me. I don’t want to see or hear of you stalking the king again. I’ll lock you up or worse. I think you learned tonight there’s more of me than what you expected. And personally, I don’t like what you did to my man Halsten either.”
“I could have killed him easily too. I did him a favor. He’ll take more care next time. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t sic the guards on me tonight.”
“I’m not sure what you interrupted tonight, but the king has better things to do than sort out why I was wrestling with you in the woods. Frankly, I have better things to do than wrestle with you in the woods, but it seems to be the game we are playing.”
“Well, you could stop wasting your time with me. Declare victory and leave me alone.”
“Definitely.”
“Since we are having such a good heart to heart…” Alfr said sarcastically.
“...do me a favor, please. The next time you see the queen, remind her that she would do well to help keep the king alive. He’s the way for her to gain power, not by playing with all the folks who have devious plans against the kingdom or to grab power for themselves. If he goes, she’ll be swept out with the next day’s trash. Talk some sense into her tiny teenaged brain.”
“Oh yes, I have a lot to tell her about tonight, that’s for sure.”
Borkvard said this as he brushed himself off.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have some other discreet discussions to take part in tonight.”
Borkvard began walking back to the treeline and out of the forest.
“Just don’t forget you’ve been warned.”
“I’ll keep my distance. I’ll certainly try to keep my distance from you.”
Alfr shook his head and began hobbling out of the forest slowly behind Borkvard. He wasn’t sure what to make of all that had transpired today or just how to parse Borkvard’s behavior. All he knew is he still had a murder to solve, a king to protect, and thousands of unanswered questions stirring about his mind. He realized just how sore he was as he walked along with his walking stick. He spat out some phlegm as he thought about Borkvard. He muttered to himself:
“Lying maggot-filled weasel!”
(The images included in this chapter are all from accounts linked to @Chac1 where he holds the copyright. They are primarily from Playground AI, but some are from Bing, including the Lost Seasons of the Danes logo. In addition, the LunaPic image editor was used to alter some images.)
Best Character Writer of the Week - Feb. 5, 2024 for the portrayal of King Þorolfr of Denmark
