...so it's been awhile, but I managed to get another update and a ton of modding done! Hooray!
Chapter VI - Threads of Past Lives
19th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
Castle Søborg, Sjælland, Kingdom of Denmark
Three ships, each wide and flat, glided into the fishing docks of Kopmannæhafn; their dragon-carved prows gazed across the small community’s huts and shores with an indifferent, lifeless stare. Many passengers departed from the hold, but there was one in particular that stood out as unusual. He was a worn and tired man, no more than twenty years of age, a casual observer might suppose. He had messy brown hair and a dark beard that had grown into a shaggy mane, disguising his true age somewhat. His clothes were ragged, but of decent make.
Hreid Solgerdson wiped the sweat from his brow, happy to be free of the confines of the ship’s hold. The trade ships had gotten him to his destination, but he was overly hot and glad to be free of their restraints. Spying a bucket of fresh water from lastnight’s rains, he took hold of it and dumped it over his head, glad to feel the dirt and grime washed away from him.
“Your bond is complete, Solgerdson. I release you from thralldom as a free man, in recognition of your long service and hard work.”
The youth turned to look at his former master, a grizzled and unpleasant looking man named Kyrre. In spite of his rough appearance, Kyrre was a just man and had kept his word to the letter - his slaves were fed and taken care of, and had served loyally in return. It was not, however, the usual kind of departure for thrall; he had requested that the rest of his saved money go into transport to Sjælland.
“... I just have one question: what are you going to do now?”
The thrall named Solgerdson turned to his former master and frowned deeply. “I am going to find my legacy. I will make it known that I am Hreid Asbjørnson...”
Hreid Solgerdson claimed that his mother had laid with Asbjørn Ulfsen, a powerful warrior and adviser of Skjalm Hvide. He had come to Sjælland to try and reclaim his heritage and to make a reputation a warrior just as his ancestors had.
“This again? You’re the illegitimate son of a farmer’s daughter, former freeman or not. You really believe you’re of some kind of noble blood?”
Hreid continued to frown at him. “Not just any blood, I am the descendant of Thorkell the Tall, son of a great royal-blooded warrior! I will find my father here in Sjælland and prove it to him!”
Kyrre laughed. “Well, I wish you luck in your endeavour, boy, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. We will be setting out for Lybæk in a week’s time...should you fail in your appeal, you are welcome to return and work on my land as a freeman.”
“There’s no need. Thank you for your kindness as a master, but we part ways now and forever. I will never give up.”
The gruff master scoffed and turned back to his ship. “So be it, farewell Solgerdson; may Odin grant you wisdom.”
“And may Thor grant me strength...” Hreid whispered as he left.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
“Hoder is extremely displeased, my lord. He will not take this insult lightly!”
Harald Audensen buried his face in one palm, groaning as the pointless squabbling continued. “I understand that your master wishes my intervention, but the fact is that he has acted fairly in light of his position.”
“Fairly? He killed my master’s younger son in cold blood!”
“You liar! Hoder, your son drew his blade on a woman of the house! My daughter, no less! He might have killed her if she had not been saved by her brother!”
This consternation that had engulfed Harald’s hall was based around the rogue actions of one Bjørn Adulfsen, who had slain Karl Hodersen on the latter’s family farm just two days ago. Normally the local
ting or lagmand would be expected to pass judgment, but Hoder had been displeased with their ruling that it was lawful and had now attempted to take it to the jarl’s court. As the Hertug of Sjælland and chieftain of the ruling Hvide clan, he was now expected to pass judgment on men he did not know and facts he did not know: and all eyes of the court were now watching.
Harald sat forward in his chair. “Enough. We have heard both sides of your story, and I have yet to hear what it is you hope to achieve by bringing your feud to this court.”
“I want justice; I want the right to shed blood in vengeance for my son’s death,” Hoder said.
“I must protest,” Bishop Asger of Rostock protested. “I know this is not my purpose for coming here, but it is decidedly un-Christian to shed the blood of your neighbour over the sins of the sons.”
“Neither man seems capable of agreeing to anything, Hertug. However, perhaps there is a solution,” Old Magnus interjected.
Harald looked to his court’s lagmand with interest, then waved his hand. “I am listening, Magnus. What would the eldest authority in our realm have to say on the matter?”
“The ancient laws perhaps do not appeal to our good Bishop, but for generations our people have been allowed to settle this matter by combat where the ruling of the
lagmand has been deemed unsatisfactory. Allow them to choose a champion each and if Adulf’s family should be victorious, that will be the end of it. Should Hoder’s family triumph, they will be entitled to compensation.”
“Rest assured, God will see us to victory.” Hoder squinted.
“I am in agreement,” Adulf said. “My family welcomes this chance to prove their honour.”
Harald waved his hand. “Then let it be done, as Magnus wills, so is the will of Sjælland. You are dismissed.”
The Holmgang, an ancient form of viking duel, stretches back centuries into the dawn of time. Heavily ritualized and seeped with belief in the Old Gods, it was decidedly unchristian and a point of contention between the traditionalists of Scandinavia and the growing power of the church.
The two men bowed, turned and left the hall with quiet dignity. Harald let out a sigh of relief; he was fortunate Magnus felt inclined to intervene, for not even a Hertug or King would dare go against the word of the Lagmand. This had alleviated him of any potential blame for the outcome of their feud, and thus cleared his mind of fears.
Harald saw no more business for the day and stood slowly, careful not to hurt his wound as he did so. “Well, I believe we have nothing else to discuss for the day. If Magnus is happy with it, then this court may be adjourned.”
“Actually, there is one more thing, Hertug.”
He turned to the voice: Mattias Fylki, one of his personal huskarls and gate guard for the hall. How had he missed his entrance into the hall during the conversation?
“Go on, Mattias,” Harald said.
“Well Chief, there’s a man who has arrived in Søborg on business, fresh off a trade ship from Skåne. He claims to be the bastard son of Asbjørn Ulfsen, and seeks shelter at our court.”
“Asbjørn Ulfsen...the Sprakalegg clan died out in my father’s day and there are no surviving members to ratify any women he may have known. Does he have evidence of his lineage?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He’s a strapping lad though, and has some resemblance of your uncle’s marshal,” Mattias said.
“Tell me truthfully, Mattias. You served with my father and uncle in the wars, and knew Asbjørn yourself. Do you think he is his son?”
Mattias hesitated at Harald’s question, before finally speaking. “I cannot fairly tell. It’s definitely possible, but I wouldn’t be able to say for certain.”
Harald frowned, a little disappointed at having to turn the boy away. “I see...I’m afraid there’s not much room in this court for an unproven boy with no noble blood. You know what to do, Mattias.”
The huskarl brought his fist to his breast in salute to the Chief, then left unceremoniously. Harald had barely taken a step before several of his courtiers were upon him, congratulating him for his firm judgment and wisdom. Their faces and words blurred in his memory, and as their words droned into his ears, Harald once again faced an inescapable truth: he hated politics.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Hreid leapt to his feet as the grey-bearded Mattias Fylki emerged from Søborg’s hall once more. The somber look on Mattias’ face made it plainly evident that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, and the young man swallowed hard at the thought of rejection.
“Well?”
“I’m sorry, Hreid, I have some bad news for you.” Mattias removed his helmet and sat down on the steps of the hall with a grunt.
“My father will not recognise me?” Hreid paled even further.
“More like he cannot. Asbjørn Ulfsen has been dead for some time, and has no family who can verify your claim. Thorkell’s blood may well run through your veins, Hreid, but there is nothing we can do for you. It would not be seen as proper to take on a man who has no trace of noble blood nor experience working with our lord’s court.”
Mattias watched the boy slump to the ground, crestfallen at this revelation. He had hoped to accomplish something - anything at all, beyond this.
“Don’t get so down, boy. You’re still young and fit, and Søborg has plenty of work for a fit man. The Chief would not have me turn down one who might be of the blood of Sprakalegg so easily.” Asbjørn grinned.
“You mean it? Does this mean I could join Hvide’s huskarls, at least?”
“I’m afraid not, unless you’re a much wealthier man than you claim to be. Each huskarl must pay for and maintain their own equipment and training, which I assure you will be too expensive for a freed thrall. Still, what skills did you learn?”
“Skills? Well...” Hreid thought. “I suppose I mostly worked as a farmhand. I know how to build things, to sow crops, to tend to animals of all sorts. I got in a fair few fights with the other thralls as well, I know how to handle my fists...”
“Have you ever swung a sword? Are you literate or at least numerate?”
“I, well...no, not really. But I can learn, I promise! Hreid looked at Mattias hopefully.
Mattias sighed deeply. “I have a few connections in town that might be able to help you, Hreid, if you are truly so eager to stay. It will be hard work, and it may not pay well, but it will give you a living. Wait for me outside the castle, I will be off duty just before sunset. We’ll find you some food and a dry place to sleep.”
Hreid nodded dutifully and left the huskarl to his duties. As he retreated from the courtyard of Castle Søborg, a lone figure in the shadows watched with quiet interest and a private grin.
”The last son of Asbjørn the Mighty, hm? I wonder if there is proof to be found of his bloodline...and if there really is no place in Hvide's huskarls for him.”
Across all of Northern Europe, Hvide's huskarls were amongst the most well-equipped, well-trained and experienced professional fighting forces. Unlike many clans, the Hvide have become more flexible and less stringent about the financial and bloodline requirements of their recruitment due to the demands of the Baltic Crusade.