In Afjord on the coast of the Norwegian Sea is the Long Hall of the mighty Chieftain Halfdan the Black, acclaimed Son of Odin. It is a proper hall for a powerful Chieftain, full thirty feet wide by seventy long, and the great thatched roof, sloping to both sides of a massive central beam carved from a single pine, stands nine feet high from the outside but twelve feet high within as the floor is dug 3 feet into the hill on which it stands.
On feasting nights two hundred men can sit the benches of this great hall warmed by the central fire pit and all in good view of the raised bench of Halfdan himself where he holds forth with his Lesser Chiefs, subject warlords from a dozen nearby towns. In all one hundred fighting men or more can Halfdan call from among his own people and another six hundred from the lesser villages subject to his rule. And he rules well.
Rich are the people of Halfdan the Black and rich his subject Chiefs for Halfdan is a great fighter and a wise but fearless leader, he leads as well in peace as he does in raiding and in war, he values the wisdom of his Story Tellers and the hard slogging work of his farmers almost as much as he does his doughty warriors. He treats all his people with a generosity he can well afford due to the success of many seasons raiding along the coasts of Germany, France and England.
On this night of feasting one of Halfdan’s Lesser Chiefs stands well away from Halfdan’s bench and even the benches of his own honor guard, near the fire pit he props and gazes with calm brown eyes into the depths of the raging fire. He is young this raider and leader of fierce warriors, younger than any other chieftain at the bench of his lord, his beard still sparse and straggling and yet he has earned a place among this company and plans to earn yet greater position in this seasons raiding. His name is Aslak.
Aslak’s people are the Lead-Foot greatly famed for their speed in attack or retreat, greatly valued by Halfdan their overlord. It is said of this people that they have other than just Norse blood in their lineage, and true it is that Aslak the Young is dark haired and brown eyed unlike the blond and blue eyed majority of the Norsemen, but Aslak’s folk accept this legend equably for they are loyal Norsemen for all their look and care not for any other blood in their distant past.
Aslak differs also from many of his peers in that he stands but five feet and nine inches tall among the average six foot and more of more common Norse stock but in his intense dedication to his lord, his people and their warrior tradition he stands tall in this gathering and many of the older Chiefs choose to treat him with a wary respect awaiting the test of time on their newest fellow.
Aslak has been a fighter for all the years of his manhood, as a boy he learnt carpentry and shipbuilding from his father and uncles but all who saw the look in his eye as he watched the ships of the raiders with their carved prows sail off in spring and back in autumn knew the sword could not long be kept from his hand. His father was no Chieftain nor his Grandfather before and his Great Grandfather had led a minor war-band of this warrior folk when they had come to this land, but the Fates had chosen Aslak and his first 3 years at raiding had quickly earned him the respect of his fellows.
The Chieftainship of the Lead-Foot people had come to him almost by accident following the unexpected death of the former Chieftain, Ragnar the Cruel, unexpected even by Aslak although it was his hand had done the deed.
Ragnar had ruled for 7 years, an able warrior who’s father was Chieftain before him, but Ragnar’s nature was in the end his downfall for he earned his name of Cruel with great devotion. He was malicious, vengeful and vindictive and showed his own folk little more mercy than he was wont to show his enemies.
He was greedy too but had had the sense to keep the warriors of his guard well paid, given the best land, the best food at his bench and the best of the slaves brought back in the raiding and so for all his pure evil he had held his place as Chief until lust had ushered in his downfall.
Last season Ragnar had ordered his ships to raid much farther, south then east into the Mediterranean Sea and the coast of Africa, hearing from other Norse Raiders of rich lands with wealth and slaves for the taking, and so it turned out to be. On greatly unprotected coasts the ship Aslak commanded had found easy pickings.
Steering clear of any larger settlements he had attacked several small coastal towns stealing gold, silver and precious jewels from local minor nobility and from temples and at the last stealing slaves much needed for Ragnar’s planned extension of his lands and rule.
Among the dozen frightened young folk bound and cowering on the planked deck of his Long Ship Aslak found a greater prize than any expected as he gazed into the scared but proud eyes of a beautiful eastern woman of noble birth who, after promise of decent treatment and mercy for all her fellow captives, named herself as Saleela, eldest daughter of a local lord.
Aslak was smitten with desire. Never could his befuddled mind recall laying eyes on such beauty, in the eternal depths of her eyes he could clearly read the strength of a warrior born and the grace of a true lady born to rule. Aslak knew, all of a moment, that nothing less would satisfy him but that he should take this proud woman as his wife.
Aslak undertook to make good on his promise of good treatment. He caused the slaves to be unbound and given blankets, stolen a viking, to keep them warm on the long voyage home. He fed them, from stolen stores, as well as his own men fed and would not see them beaten unless they grew surly, which Saleela herself soon assured they would not. As the voyage progressed so there grew a mutual respect between these two and an understanding that Saleela especially encouraged, realizing that this young warrior would be her only hope of any life but that of a slave and chattel.
Unknown even to Aslak himself there grew also in his mind the thought that this woman was born for no less than to be a leader of people and that, to be worthy of her in her eyes and in his own heart, he would have to earn a position commensurate with this fate. His chance to begin came sooner than he could ever have suspected.
Great was his glory on his return to his village, laying before Ragnar’s feet a wealth in gold, silver and jewels unequaled by any of Ragnar’s other three ships in this or the last five seasons. The eager avarice glowed in Ragnar’s eyes as he viewed the wealth set before him. Wealth that would raise him high at the bench of his overlord Halfdan the Black. He considered then and there giving Halfdan his true tribute of a third of this treasure, rather than holding back as he had in other years, knowing that the elevation he would receive in Halfdan’s eyes would be worth even more when Ragnar moved to encroach upon the lands of his nearest neighbour.
One treasure, however, would not go to Halfdan, or to any other, and it was with the hot light of lust burning in his eyes that he leered at the beautiful Saleela standing proud amongst the thirty strong young slaves his captains had brought him. Seeing the gaze that Ragnar leveled upon the lovely Saleela, Aslak stepped forward quickly in hopes of forestalling his Chieftain’s desires.
" Great Chieftain," said he in a voice young but sure, " I ask of you but one boon in return for all I have presented here at your feet, I claim one reward only for myself relinquishing all other claim to share in this treasure, I would take to me this woman as wife whom I, by my own hand, have captured and brought back in bondage to your hall."
By law one tenth part of all the treasure belonged to Aslak, Captain of the ship that had captured it, and in relinquishing this claim he made Ragnar’s wealth that much more. Also it would then become Aslak’s responsibility to pay his crew their share from his own pocket and Ragnar knew that this expense would keep this young hero poor and well under Ragnar’s own thumb for at least the next year. This was valuable, as success such as Aslak’s meant, in the faithless and corrupt mind of one such as Ragnar, danger to his own rule.
But the woman Saleela was a great beauty, and already through Ragnar’s depraved thought’s ran visions of the pleasures she would render up to him upon the warmed skins of his bed and desire for the uses that he could make of her luscious, supple young body grew within him.
Aslak could read Ragnar’s thoughts in his face and knew, both from whispered rumor and blatant bragging, the uses to which Ragnar was wont to put his women. Ragnar had had two wives in his years as Chieftain and had broken them both. When neither gave him sons to be his heirs he had the first burned on a pyre as a witch and the second died as a result of what Ragnar had called a kitchen accident with a knife, but all knew she had cut her own throat to escape further cruelty at the hands of her depraved and barbarous husband.
" I will decide the distribution of shares," spoke Ragnar, " During tonight’s feasting, as is traditional, and you, young warrior," spoke he further to Aslak the Young, " Will await my decision as is your duty!"
And that, Aslak knew, would be the end of the matter until the feast was in full swing, as even his success could not give him the right to demand decision before the traditional time. He stepped amongst the slaves and taking Saleela’s hands bound them tightly with a cord and turned to a friend of his amongst the other Captain’s of Ragnar’s ships.
" Mikhail my friend," said Aslak boldly, " take, if you will, this slave to your home and the care of your wife to be made ready for presentation during tonight’s feast." This being not an unusual request Mikhail, a powerfully built giant amongst his fellows, strode forward and led Saleela away to temporary safety, as was the canny young Aslak’s intent.
Ragnar the Cruel was unusually quiet during that nights revelries. In the great hall the ship captains and their most trusted crew and Ragnar’s personal guard ate and drank of the best of the captured stores and the produce of his lands and listened to a telling by Bragi the story-teller of all the salient heroics of that seasons voyages. The rest of the village feasted around great bon-fires and listened to older tales.
Bragi had told the tale of his people and sailed with their raiding ships and fought their enemies since even Ragnar was a child and could read an audience like an open book but strive as he would, drawing great applause from the rest, he could not catch more than half the ear of his lord all through the tale. Ragnar obviously had other things on his mind and his gaze strayed always to Saleela, standing amongst the serving women and helping tend the fire.
As the tale ended Ragnar rose and, half-heartedly, drank to the bravery and well embroidered exploits of his Captains and crews, and then stood a moment as the uproar died and his people set an ear to hear the traditional distribution of the treasure.
Young Aslak stood in the darkness of one far corner of the hall lit only by one guttering torch, a place generally taken by lesser crew or the people of visiting chieftains, Aslak and his people had been directed there by one of Ragnar’s snickering toadies and Aslak had made no fuss, guessing the reason for this disrespect and saving his anger for a greater need.
As relative silence fell in the great hall Ragnar, listing somewhat from his morose consumption of captured wine, gave a great belch and launched upon his theme.
" Do you hear, my people, of the bravery and good fortune of my Captains! A tenth part of all treasure shall go to each Captain and Crew of that which they did win, this is tradition. And their choice of weapons won shall go to each Captain for their own, this is Ragnar’s generosity. But I, Ragnar, your Chieftain, do reserve the right to say what use shall be made of the slaves captured this season for soon we shall rise against the arrogance of our enemies, the people of the Iron-Hand, who have long threatened our borders and new workers will be needed to work the lands we shall most assuredly win!"
Thus spake Ragnar the Cruel and thus did Aslak hear and know that Ragnar had chosen to take the beautiful Saleela to his own bed this night and this young Aslak would not allow.
" No!!", rang forth the voice of Aslak, strong and clear. " This is not as tradition would have it. Always has it been the law of our people that a successful Captain shall have first choice not only of weapons but of slaves too. Thus it was with Rorik the Old before you and thus before him as our story-tellers will remember well."
" Have care boy," returned the angered Ragnar, " It is your Chieftain says that this season tradition must change, for the good of our people, how is it that you would question me?"
Aslak was young and his blood was up but he was no fool.
" I question your decisions with good reason "Oh Mighty Chieftain" ." said he, in a surly tone that left no-one present in any doubt of the sarcasm and contempt it conveyed, " These three years my heart has questioned but I have recalled the warrior you were and remembered the respect owed a Chieftain and so have held my tongue."
" Hear me my people! Rorik the Old was well named thus for he had seen forty summers before he failed to sail in spring, and none could begrudge his rest for he had earned all honor, but here is Ragnar, with his arse astride his bed and bench all spring and Bragi will recall but thirty and three summers passed since Ragnar’s birth."
Cries of rage were wrung from the throats of Ragnar and his cronies at this blatant insult and several looked to their weapons, racked behind their benches, but for two reasons no move was made. The first was the hulking form of Mikhail who had surreptitiously placed himself between these thugs and their weapons, the second was the voice of Bragi. With but three words the practiced voice of the hale old tale teller drew a shroud of quiet once more upon the hall.
"He speaks truth." said Bragi, and left his place at the benches to stand beside the young Captain, Aslak.
Long had Bragi waited, too old to want the Chieftainship for himself, for a bold hero to stand against the malevolent Ragnar and now he cast his lot in with the youth as had Mikhail before him.
" I remember in years long past," Aslak spoke on. " A swordsman of some small repute, who, on the strength of his fathers name and some small luck at raiding, took a Chieftains honors but it seems in recent years he has forgotten all honor and now is content to rest his weak and derelict frame while others do the fighting for him. My people, is this such a man as you would want to lead us? Here is Ragnar the Cruel, let us now call him Ragnar the Coward and know of him where he dares hold back what is owing to a true warrior!"
" I choose this woman, Saleela of the East, to be my wife and rule my house. If Ragnar the Lazy has any objection let him lay his sword to it here and now, within the circle of his people, or if he be too tired and drunk let him face me in the morning but at least let him stand to battle for what honor he has left or let it be known hereafter that the Lead-Foot have a craven for their Lord."
The youth had spoken well, drawing from the hearts of his people, into the open forum of the feast, doubts that many now recognized had long been their own. Even Ragnar’s cronies made no more move to rise against Aslak’s accusations but instead looked hard upon the visage of their leader awaiting his reaction.
For no Norse-man, no true warrior a-Viking, could hear such a challenge and not desire to see the blood of the challenger awash at his feet.
Aslak could not have put the challenge better. Not against the position of Chief of his people did Aslak direct his challenge but at Ragnar the man and in such a manner as no warrior of his people could ignore without total loss of reputation. Ragnar was part way drunk but could not now, because of Aslak’s last words, use this excuse to delay the settling of this matter, he knew he was well fenced in and could do nothing but rise to battle if he would keep his place as Chief.
Still Ragnar was no fool either. He was neither as weak as Aslak claimed nor had he earned repute as swordsman dishonestly, he remained a cunning and powerful fighter. " Young dog!" he yelled and throwing his full tankard of wine fair in the face of his enemy wrenched his sword from its scabbard behind him, leapt the very bench before and landing well upon his feet launched such a blow at Aslak as he hoped would end the fight before it had even started.
But if Aslak the Young was nothing else, and in truth he was much, he was, as all his people, fast on his feet. As Ragnar’s sword swept down with Aslak’s bloody doom writ bold upon it’s blade, half blinded as he was, yet our hero was no longer there. Ragnar’s sword cut only air as Aslak danced aside with a speed that only apprehension of a certain death can lend the feet of men.
Ragnar swung his sword in his good right arm and Aslak felt the wind of its passing as he dodged to the left almost crashing into the benches of his fellows in his desperation, but strong hands caught him and launched him back into the fire lit circle to face his foe and the deft fingers of Bragi it was that placed in Aslak’s open palm the hilts of the youths own favourite short-sword with which to defend himself.
Again did Ragnar’s steel hunt taste of Aslak’s potent blood only to resound in the music of battle from Aslak’s own blade in desperate parry yet still did Ragnar rule the fight, control yet his as he did lift a great and richly booted foot in aim at Aslak’s groin.
Only Aslak’s gut did Ragnar’s fine boot find as lithe young muscles and life’s desperation heaved the young captain’s torso in avoidance and Aslak found himself seated abruptly on the hard-packed dirt floor with barely air enough left to roll his body rapidly right and steal from the gods the time to recover.
Ragnar’s laughter rang loud across the hall raising raucous reply from his cronies and rapid rage from the fiery, proud heart of his enemy and in all the Hall one ear alone was wise enough, one ancient warrior ripe with a hard earned perception heard in that laughter the downfall of his Chieftain, a man too arrogant, too self-assured and too lazy to land the killing blow when the chance arose.
Strong arms of friends and crewmen lifted Aslak to his feet, true friend Mikhail did heave full tankard of clear water at Aslak’s bearded face to wash clean the last of the wine from his eyes, hearts dearest new-learned friend Saleela of the flashing eyes, proud eastern beauty, did meet young Aslak’s own enraged gaze in a glance replete with love’s trust, all this did pass as Ragnar crowed the fool and thus was Aslak well prepared to meet the next attack.
Full swing again let fly great oaken arms of vicious Ragnar, a hammers blow to cleave Aslak from shoulder nigh to hip but lost was Ragnar’s grip upon the battle and ready Aslak did with ease avoid disasters aim and rip, with all true honor’s potency, his battle hardened steel across Ragnar’s exposed gut.
Then silence fell across the hall entire, one sound alone did tell the quiet tale of cruel Ragnar’s life draining free across the torch-lit ground, and even Ragnar’s dying scream was stopped before commence by the smack of Aslak’s final, merciful blow as he did bury his true blade deep in his former chieftain’s skull.
" Chieftain he was," cried Aslak the Young, " and I would not see him die a peasant’s death of bleeding slow."
"Chieftain true," rang now the voice of wise Bragi, who alone had heard destruction in a laugh, "But no longer worthy of that honor, he has seen a better death than he deserved at a hand more merciful than mine. But here is worth in truth, my people, set before us in victory, shall any other but young Captain Aslak lead us hence to wealth and glory in true Norse fashion."
" Hear now the words of Bragi, Tale-Teller, hear from Bragi the old, the wise and true, I will have Aslak for Chieftain here and now or have no chief at all."
These words did the Lead-Foot people hear and mark and so did fate decide the future of Aslak the Young, true lover of Saleela, proud eastern beauty, and so was this same Aslak to be found brooding in the feasting hall of Halfdan the Black.
Too young was he to yet have earned the full respect of Overlord or peers and so did he brood apart. Imagining future glories ranked to prove his worth even unto Valhalla’s halls say you? Nay, one dream alone does captivate this brave young captain’s thoughts, one face alone does he perceive within the roiling fire’s flames, a face bewitching him with eyes beside which even this bonfire would pale, that of his proud wife, Saleela at home in the village of the Lead-Foot people.
Bio:"My name is Martin Harvey but most people call me Fred so I tend to write under the name Fred Harvey. I live in Perth, Western Australia, I am 40 years old, happily married with two daughters and write mostly for the amusement of my immediate circle of friends."
E-mail: Aelfred_@excite.com.au
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