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Jalr Alfr "Irongrip" af Vendel has an early morning breakfast with King Þorolfr of Denmark.
“...I firmly believe killers are afoot here but we don’t know if the godi and the prince are the ones who have brought them to the blót,” Jarl Alfr informed the king.
“I don’t scare easily. I’m committed to staying alive and punishing anyone who would dare challenge me,” King Þorolfr replied.
“You should know the killers have shown themselves already. There was a man from Årus we found murdered yesterday and I’m looking into it.”
“Why am I just now hearing about this?”
Find out what happens to King Þorolfr, Jarl Alfr, and the others as more is revealed in the next chapter of Lost Seasons of the Danes....
(For those who want more on the plotters and other issues in the Kingdom of Denmark, more details can be found at The Tårn.)
(As is our custom, sharing the suggested soundtrack for Appendix A5 below: "Vetrnátta Blot" by Danheim.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return in two weeks.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A6: The Great Blót of 790 (Plots and Suspects)
Appendix A6 The Great Blót of 790 (Plots and Suspects)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
(Borkvard the Spy creeps along the rooftops near the Temple of Hleiðra, as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
These days, given the mercurial state of the king’s emotions, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel was always careful about giving him bad news. Deciding how much bad news might spiral King Þorolfr into a spell of hard drinking was certainly on Alfr’s mind, but he decided not arming the king with what he knew would make matters worse.
He had gathered up the king just after dawn on the sixth day of the blót and the two had set out with a group of guards to the large kitchen house behind the temple. Alfr wanted the king’s attention away from the prying ears and eyes of Queen Gerðr. Also, he saw no reason to have Gyrið the Concubine clued in on the latest information. Alfr wasn’t sure she could be trusted either.
Both the king and the jarl were bundled in their wolf fur capes and layers, as the temperature was just above freezing and breezy. The two sat under a small grove of trees overlooking the cooking pits that some of the temple’s cooks and attendants were checking for the late afternoon feast. Much of the meat for the day’s feast had actually been put in the ground pits with coals yesterday and covered over with earth. The cooks were using long wooden poles to open up some of the pits and test them. The smell of slow roasted pork and spices wafted through the air as the king and Alfr both spooned a bowl of porridge for breakfast. The king’s guard detail was spread around the king and the jarl in a loose half-circle, some of them also eating a bowl of porridge while standing.
“I’m not going to pour honey on shit and tell you everything is hunky dory,” Alfr said. “My man is back from doing a census of your prisoners, and we know the godi is holding Chief Ulfr of Årus here in Hleiðra.”
“Well, that is certainly bad news indeed,” the king shook his head. “Styrbjörn is going to confront me with another dilemma to embarrass me.”
“No doubt this is the plan that he and Magni have cooked up. Make you look indecisive, and then who knows? Offer themselves as alternatives? Spark a riot like they almost did the other day? Go into open rebellion? The next phases of their plan remain unclear.”
“Kill me so they look like heroes, perhaps?”
“Yes, that’s a possibility. But I don’t want you frightened by that possibility. I firmly believe killers are afoot here but we don’t know if the godi and the prince are the ones who have brought them to the blót.”
“I don’t scare easily. I’m committed to staying alive and punishing anyone who would dare challenge me.”
“You should know the killers have shown themselves already. There was a man from Årus we found murdered yesterday and I’m looking into it.”
“Why am I just now hearing about this?”
The king asked this with an arched eyebrow.
“Too much going on yesterday and not a secure time and place to give you this information.”
“How can you be sure this has anything to do with the plot to kill me? Could be some drunken disagreement. Could just be coincidental.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. The man who was killed was a spy. Yes, it could have been a drunken disagreement, but I have reason to believe otherwise.”
“So he was a spy? For Årus? Or for someone else?”
“That too is hard to say.”
Alfr said this and held up a hand with his porridge spoon.
“He looks like a spy for Årus, but he could have been working for Chief Ingjald of Lapland too, or even for someone else. The man’s true loyalties are unknown and because he’s dead, it will be more difficult to suss out the truth.”
“Do you think the delegation from Årus might be here to break Chief Ulfr out of custody? Could Godi Styrbjörn and Magni be working toward that as the next phase of their plot?”
“Well, anything is possible? But I haven’t seen any indications of that. I don’t have any men in the temple’s holding areas, as you know. I’ve seen no indications that anyone from Årus is assisting the godi and Magni.”
“Could we ask Jarl Sigurd for some help here? Ask him to increase the guard around the prisoners for the blót. You could get one of your spies in with the guards, no?”
“That is an excellent idea, my liege. Wish we had thought of it earlier and it would have saved us some time.”
“And that way we will discover if there are any other surprises in Styrbjörn’s holding cells.”
“My man said Chief Ulfr is the only controversial name on the list of those who left your holding, but yes, that is another way to guarantee no further surprises. However, I have a question regarding Ulfr. Why not just sacrifice him? Where’s the dilemma?”
“Well, I have to confess to you.”
The king said this a bit awkwardly.
“And I hope as someone who never seems to have enough territory, you’ll agree. I have designs on Årus. If Ulfr is sacrificed, then the title will go to one of his toddler children. I’ve been waiting for the right political moment to take the title back.”
“Yes, none of us like when you assert power and take back something that was given. It would certainly be controversial.”
“And now is not the time for that. So I need to keep Ulfr safely in house arrest until the right political moment. I know none of you like this, but I’m still cleaning up my father’s mistakes. He granted Årus to Ulfr and what loyalty has Ulfr shown but spreading slander about me?”
“Yes, Styrbjörn has raised the issue of the justice of that decision to take Ulfr into custody.”
Alfr said this softly.
“There have been instances lately that strengthen his argument.”
“Let’s not get into that subject.”
The king said this with annoyance.
“Alright, my drinking has been excessive a few times. I can handle it though. I’m fit and ready today. And I’ve been watching my step recently. I’m taking your advice.”
“And I appreciate that, so, yes, let’s not debate that subject. One more important point to raise with you, in regards to Borkvard the Spy of Helsingland.”
“I don’t trust that man. He works for the queen, but I get the sense he is not loyal to me in the slightest.”
“Keep that thought. I caught him spying on you last night as you were talking to Margareta.”
The king was now suddenly alarmed.
“What did he hear? What does he know?”
“Well, maybe I should know more about that conversation from the sound of your reaction.”
Alfr said this with some concern.
“Hard to say what he heard exactly. I caught him in the forest.”
“So it was you thrashing about with him?”
“I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
Alfr chuckled a bit.
“So perhaps we should…”
As Alfr was about to launch into more about Borkvard, a guard came trotting over to them.
“Jarl Alfr, you asked to be informed about the search for a weapon,” the guard noted, “if you come with me we can show you what we’ve found.”
“It seems duty calls and I must go.”
Alfr said this as he set his half-eaten bowl of porridge on the ground and using his walking stick got slowly to his feet.
“Thank you my liege. More on that weasel of a spy later.”
“May the Æsir bless you and give you insight.”
The king called this out to his spymaster as he departed with the guard.
Insight was something that the Spymaster of Denmark wished he had in greater abundance. He was feeling sore and weary after his fight with Borkvard and he was wondering if his decision to allow that spy to continue to operate at the blót should be reconsidered. He walked with the guard back to the spot in the field near the forest where Hrörekr’s body had been discovered on the previous day.
Several guards were clustered near the edge of the forest, perhaps a 100 yards further away from the feasting hall of Hleiðra than where the body had been discovered.
“This is where Fritz found the bloody rock,” the guard pointed to the knot of guards as he escorted Alfr to the site.
The guard identified as Fritz held out the rock for Alfr to examine. The rock had a rounded part, easy to fit in the palm of a hand, but then it had jagged and rough edges on the other side. These were coated in dried blood. Alfr turned it over in his hand, then leaned his walking stick against his shoulder so he could examine it with both hands.
“You’ve done well. Thank you for your efforts. Where exactly did you find it?”
Fritz pointed to a low bush at the edge of the forest, just behind the knot of guards. “We had instructions to stay at the spot where we found it. Turned it up when we first started looking today, just an hour after first light,” Fritz explained.
Alfr kept the rock and tucked it into an inner pocket in his cloak. Then he moved behind the knot of guards to look at the bush.
“Was it pushed into the ground? What attracted you to it?”
Fritz turned around and all the guards shifted to watch Jarl Alfr as he circled the bush, which was thick but had lost all of its leaves during the winter. It covered an area of about ten square feet.
“It looked odd to me,” Fritz said. “See there’s grass all around here and no rocks. I saw the edge of it sticking out from underneath. The sunlight just hit it right, otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed.”
The jarl said this as he continued circling the bush. He was growing frustrated. Even he felt these details weren’t leading him any closer to the killer.
“Well, good job, Fritz, well done. Now, please keep at least two men guarding that area over there where we found the body during the day and watch please for any suspicious activity.”
The guards agreed to follow Alfr’s commands and soon the jarl was striding off alone with his walking stick helping him maintain a good pace. He shook his head with disappointment. Hrörekr’s murder had certainly set back his attempts to further safeguard the king, but now he intended to take the initiative rather than staying reactive and investigative in his approach.
He returned briefly to his temporary abode and found Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven. He told Sæmundr what he would need today from Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö and dispatched him to work with Sigurd on the increased and changing security measures, reflecting his conversation this morning with the king. Then he decided to escort his concubine Gyla Gautske to the temple to at least be there for the beginning of the daily animal sacrifices. Gyla tucked her arm in the crook of the jarl’s elbow and helped support him a bit as they walked. She was beaming today in her finest dress. She appreciated the opportunity to be at this gathering representing House af Vendel and supporting Alfr.
But Alfr had other designs as they gathered in front of the temple before the arrival of Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, and the first birds were brought out for the beginning of the sacrifice. As the crowds gathered with anticipation for the beginning of the rituals for the sixth day of the blót, Alfr waited for the joint delegation from Nidaros and Årus, led by Crown Prince Magni. When he saw them approaching, he bid Gyla adieu and told her he had work to do. She shook her head with some disappointment, but she knew this was life with the Spymaster of Denmark. She focused then on the upcoming sacrifices and her access to the front of the crowd, just behind the king, queen, and royal consort.
Alfr threaded his way through the throng, aiming for Gandalfr, the aide to Prince Magni, and once he saw him, he held his arm at the elbow and stopped the man’s progress.
“I think you and I have some business to attend to today.”
The jarl growled at him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Gandalfr protested and tried to wrest his arm away but Alfr’s grip was too strong.
Prince Magni stopped hobbling forward on his crutch and also protested.
“The ceremonies are about to start. Why are you interrupting us?”
“I have some serious questions to pose to this man. But they should only take a few moments, away from the temple.”
Chieftess Kraka, the prince’s mother and the leader of the group from Årus now stopped too and walked back to where Alfr held her son’s aide. She was dressed in her best violet colored dress with a fur robe covering her in the cool temperatures. At 38, she was still a very attractive woman, and many a man’s eye followed her plump but voluptuous form, including Alfr, whose wife was just a year younger.
“I can vouch for this man, Jarl Alfr,” Kraka interceded. “Please do us a favor today, and I will make sure to visit you later and keep company with you. We will find a way to repay your kindness if you can see fit to forget whatever business you have until after the sacrifices.”
“An interesting invitation.”
Alfr softened his tone.
“But with your son right here and my concubine only fifteen feet away? Perhaps another time. This man is coming with me now or I will bring the guards to help.”
Magni threw up one of his hands with annoyance and disgust and hobbled away on his crutch, to take his place in the crowd, surrounded by his own guards and servants, in preparation for the sacrifice.
Kraka said this with some edge to her voice.
“Your mind took that friendly invitation in a lewd direction. As I have been a favorite of a king and others, many men find my polite company worthwhile, even special. Pleasant conversation, even dancing are activities you may find appealing, jarl, and nothing more.”
Alfr shook his head and then displayed his walking stick.
“I don’t dance much these days except with my friend the stick here. I know of your history with kings and others and I suppose I should be honored. No harm was meant. But I need to talk with this man urgently. Perhaps we will rejoin this conversation another day.”
She shook her head.
“But perhaps not. Now, my son needs my help because you have taken his aide away.”
“Not for long, I promise.”
Alfr said this and turned his attention back to Gandalfr.
“Now, you are coming with me.”
Alfr guided Gandalfr as he spun the man around gruffly and held his elbow.
“Don’t make me call the guards for help.”
Alfr added this as they made their way through the crowd, walking away from the temple toward the viewing stands and gibbet.
“I don’t know why you are pestering me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Gandalfr said this as they walked.
Alfr just huffed and puffed as they walked quickly, rather than responding. Finally, when they were more than 200 yards away from the crowds at the temple, Alfr stopped.
“Look, I’m doing you a favor. I could have embarrassed you in front of the prince. But now out here in the meadow, we can have a decent chat. So tell me what you know about the murder of Hrörekr of Årus.”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Gandalfr shook his head and gesticulated.
“I just met the man less than a week ago. I’m sorry to hear he was killed.”
Like Prince Magni, Gandalfr shaved his head as he had lost most of his hair already at the age of 39. He had a thick, full brown beard though that he had fashioned into a single braided strand that hung down his neck. He was barely five and a half feet tall and Alfr stared down at him with a withering gaze.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you and the prince have been cooking up something and you seem a likely suspect for killing Hrörekr.”
“I swear.”
Gandalfr continued to shake his head negatively.
“I had nothing to do with it. I’m with the prince constantly. Have to help him walk and keep up with his diplomatic duties. You’ve got me all wrong, Jarl Alfr.”
Alfr fished the bloody rock out of his pocket.
“Sure you haven’t seen this before?”
He shook the rock in front of Gandalfr’s face.
“This is what killed Hrörekr.”
“I’ve never seen that before.”
Gandalfr said this with a pleading tone in his voice.
“I’m not a violent man. The prince and I are men of words. We don’t resort to violence.”
“Yes, now that he’s maimed, the prince has fewer choices doesn’t he.”
Alfr growled as he put the rock back into his cloak’s pocket.
“If I find out you’re lying. I’ll be bashing your head with that rock or something similar, understand?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Even if I believed that, I want you to give a message to the prince for me. Tell him I’m watching. I don’t know yet exactly how the two of you were part of what went on with Godi Styrbjörn and the pardon the other day, but I am on the alert for conspiracies and plotters. And you look like a plotter to me. Tell him if there are any problems today that I’m coming for both of you. The guards won’t care if he’s the prince. You tell him.”
“I’ll tell him. But you have us all wrong. We aren’t killers.”
“That is yet to be determined. Now, get back to the blót. I promised the prince and Chieftess Kraka I wouldn’t detain you too long.”
“Reconsider your judgments.”
Gandalfr called this out as he scurried back to where the crowd was watching Godi Styrbjörn, as he performed the first blood ritual of the day, offering up a chicken to the gods.
Alfr decided to give the temple and the sacrifices a wide berth now. He had only gone to those events today to shake up Gandalfr and take the initiative, but he was less pleased with the results of his quick conversation with the man. He felt sending a threatening message to the prince was probably the best result of that discussion, and the threat might hold off whatever the prince, the godi, and Gandalfr were plotting, especially as it regarded the incarcerated Chief Ulfr Mikli of Årus, at least for another day.
But Alfr was less certain about accusing Gandalfr of murder. In his mind, Alfr was turning over what he knew, and he discarded Gandalfr as a suspect, feeling the man was too weak to be the killer. He had been shaking slightly as Alfr questioned him. The jarl felt the evidence pointed to someone who knew Hrörekr and, that meant someone from Årus or another spy who had tangled with him before. Borkvard the Spy was still his top suspect, and now Alfr set off for the temple’s kitchens again, to see if he could find his top lieutenants and organize them for the day. Finding Borkvard and keeping him within sight seemed like, again, the best course, for the moment. He was disappointed as he felt no closer to finding Hrörekr’s killer or discovering more information about those who might be at the blót to kill the king.
(This piece of art represents the cooks and attendants at the Temple of Hleiðra preparing the feasts for the Great Blót of 790, as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator, and Playground AI’s Canvas digital editor.)
While Jarl Alfr had been confronting Gandalfr, Sæmundr the Champion had been meeting with Halsten the Spy and Hrolfr of Årus near the same grove of trees where Alfr and the king had talked during their breakfast. They were joined by Þorgil, the official royal taster. While Halsten had been dispatched to the king’s settlement the day before to review who had been taken from the king’s holding cells, Sæmundr had taken up Halsten’s duties overseeing the spies on the cooking and serving staff, along with Þorgil. Hrolfr had come to visit Sæmundr the previous day, asking if he could help with supervising any of the security in the kitchen or the dining hall or if he could help with the investigation into the murder of Hrörekr.
Unlike Alfr, Sæmundr was no longer interested in Hrolfr helping them, even if Alf’s spy network and security operations were stretched to their limits by the blót. He wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone from Årus at the moment, especially after Alfr had shared the king’s suspicions that perhaps the delegation from Årus was working with others to break Chief Ulfr Mikli of Årus out of the holding cells near the temple.
“I noticed Jarl Sigurd deploying more men around the temple and the temple holding cells today,” Hrolfr said. “Is that because you’re worried about another incident like on the day of the pardon with the rock throwing?’
“Jarl Sigurd and Jarl Alfr have their reasons,” Sæmundr offered. “Jarl Alfr should be here soon and you can ask him yourself.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful. Jarl Alfr did suggest yesterday that I could be of help to your group. He said you were short-handed.”
“That he did.”
“You are welcome to help me back here by the kitchen with Þorgil, but I have to say it is rather boring,” Halsten offered.
But Sæmundr shot Halsten a hard look and he didn’t follow through with more.
“I have the best job,” Þorgil said. “All the best food and drink comes my way. I’m practically the best fed man here.”
“Shouldn’t you be guarding Chieftess Kraka, or at the sacrifices?”
“Oh, the chieftess knows I’m working with you and Alfr. She’s very interested in finding out more regarding Hrörekr’s killing.”
“I’ve been smelling that pork cooking all morning and can’t wait to have some.”
“Don’t be a glutton. You’ve had breakfast early today with the king’s visit and you’ll just have to wait.”
“Oh, so the king visited the kitchens today?”
Sæmundr shot Halsten another hard look.
“Yes, he was here.”
Sæmundr confirmed this while stifling a sigh.
“Now before you ask any more questions, I see Jarl Alfr. He will get us straightened away.”
Soon, Alfr was there offering pleasantries to the group.
“Good to see you, Hrolfr. Glad you took me up on my offer.”
“I was offering to help back here in the kitchen.”
“This is the second day he’s been back here.”
“You don’t say.”
Alfr picked up some reserved tension in Sæmundr’s response.
“Well, as we agreed yesterday, the murder of your friend Hrörekr should be one of our main priorities. You can help us with a suspect.”
“Oh, you have a suspect?”
Hrolfr asked this with some enthusiasm.
“Yes, you’ve met him. That weasel-faced spy from Helsingland. Borkvard.”
“Oh, him. I thought he was most helpful yesterday.”
“Well, every day, I respect his skills more, but I believe him less. And now I’ve lost track of him. Should never have assigned such a job to myself. What say you help us roust him up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Go down to the village, please and find out where the delegation from Helsingland is staying. See if you can spot him and trail him. Keep him sighted. That would give us the most help.”
“But watch out too. He gave me this broken arm when I got too close.”
“You have some rough work.”
“Alright, I’ll go as soon as this group finishes organizing for the day. Would like to hear more about the security here in the kitchens and down at the temple.”
“There’s really no need for that. Just take your assignment and be on your way. Make sure to check in with me or the jarl later.”
“Alright, I understand.”
He said this as he headed off toward the village.
The group was quiet after he left until they could be sure he couldn’t hear them over the noise of the kitchen.
Then Sæmundr said:
“That man asks too many questions. He bothered me yesterday and he bothers me more today.”
“That’s an interesting point of view. Þorgil, best leave us alone now, as we have some sensitive matters to discuss.
“Oh, I understand.”
Þorgil said this as he walked over to a table closer to the kitchen workers to sit down, leaving the trio under the tree in the cool, light breeze.
The wind rippled the wolf fur capes that Alfr and Sæmundr wore. Alfr spoke up after Þorgil had moved off:
“It’s good advice Sæ. We will keep an eye on Hrolfr too. With the king’s recommendation, the security situation is different today and we have to be on the lookout for an escape attempt along with all of the other concerns. Now, everyone from Årus should be looked at carefully.”
“Do you think someone from Årus killed Hrörekr and not Borkvard?”
“Let’s be careful not to conflate concerns. Hrörekr wanted to talk to me about an attempt on the king’s life. It wasn’t about gaining freedom for Chief Ulfr.”
“Well, that’s good, because otherwise, we might have set up two suspects to be chasing each other.”
“Well, if that were true, it might not be so bad.”
Alfr chuckled.
“I’ve got bruises and Halsten has broken bones after dealing with Borkvard.”
“I suppose that means it’s my turn. Just let him try anything with me.”
“Well, I trust you, my champion, but even for you there should be care taken. So I asked Jarl Sigurd if his son Ragnar might help us too.”
“That’s trustworthy help and I welcome it. I’m no spy, my jarl, just a warrior. That young man, Ragnar, there are many tales already about his adventures.”
“Indeed, including with my daughter, may she rest in Helheim.”
Alf sighed and shook his head. After a pause he said:
“I realize neither of you are spies, but maybe warriors are overdue to put Borkvard in his place.”
“I like that idea.”
“Aye, Halsten, it might have been you on my flank helping and learning tonight. I wish you had not taken that bad tumble with Borkvard, but we will avenge you tonight, if we get the chance.”
“Thank you.”
Halsten nodded his head, a bit embarrassed.
“Alright, we have our assignments, best for us to rejoin the day.”
Alfr said this with a commanding tone.
“Sæ, please stay with me until we hear again from Hrolfr. We will see where Borkvard turns up today.”
Instead of joining the royals on the viewing platform, on this day, Alfr decided he wanted to be closer to the commoners. So he and Sæmundr headed over to where the drummers set up at the base of the viewing stand. He wasn’t sure if this was the best vantage point, but the guard on the viewing stand was doubled already compared to previous days, and there were more guards in the stands and on the field, especially around the gibbet. This was due not only to the doomed and unsuccessful escape attempt by General Gunnarr the previous day, but concerns about a more coordinated escape attempt if Chief Ulfr was brought to the gibbet. Both Alfr and Jarl Sigurd were also concerned that if another pardon were issued that there should be enough warriors to thwart any potential violence.
(Extra guards are deployed at the Great Blót of 790 and in the village of Hleiðra, as imagined by the DALL·E image generator provided via Bing.)
But the day’s sacrifice at the gibbet came off again without any hitches or surprises. Godi Styrbjörn offered up Þora, a Geatish woman taken prisoner three years ago during Denmark’s tributary war with Västergötland. For his part, Alfr was glad to see someone offered up from King Bersi’s lands as he was still waging a long drawn out war with Västergötland to take the province of Skara. The king had no issue with this offering and agreed she should be sacrificed to Odin.
With the sacrifices over for this day, most people departed for the feasting hall in a cheery mood. Another afternoon of drinking and dancing uncorked with many crowding the dance floor. Late in the afternoon, the temple’s cooks and attendants served up two main courses: slow pit-roasted pork with a side dish of roasted parsnips and kohlrabi; and the second dish was a rolled pork roast spiced with thyme, rosemary, and dried summer savory.
On this night, Sæmundr was now seated next to Queen Gerðr, because Gyla had asked to be seated as far from her as possible at the head table. As Chief Sæmundr was almost a foot and half taller than the queen, she told him:
“Please don’t talk to me while I eat. I’ll strain my neck looking up at you all night.”
So he ignored her and kept his conversation with Jarl Alfr.
But as the feast wore on, both Alfr and Sæmundr began to worry. They had not heard from Hrolfr and no one had seen Borkvard in the feasting hall either. Just as they were finishing their plates, Hrolfr hurriedly entered the feasting hall and made his way to the head table. He got the attention of both Alfr and Sæmundr and motioned for them to meet away from the head table in the corner of the feasting hall.
“We were starting to worry.”
Alfr said this as the trio gathered in a tight knot.
“Apologies, but I stopped at the temple kitchen to grab some food. I wasn’t sure if there’d be any left here. But I never found Borkvard. I even asked some of my other men to help me search this afternoon, but we turned up nothing.”
“You stopped to eat before coming to deliver the bad news?”
Sæmundr asked this with an edge in his voice.
“Well, I wanted to say hello to Halsten and Þorgil too. I really like working with your men.”
“Well, I’m not sure what to make of this failure.”
Jarl Alfr shook his head.
“Who knows what mischief that weasel has been up to all day?”
“Sorry that I came up empty handed.”
“Let’s do this now.”
Alfr said this with seriousness in his tone.
“We’ll keep you informed of our progress regarding the murder of Hrörekr. But your help is no longer needed. We’ll handle it from here.”
“Have it your way.”
Hrolfr waved his hand in the air, not looking too worried. He made his way to one of the nearby tables where Chieftess Kraka and others from Årus and Nidaros sat drinking at the end of the meal, awaiting the dancing and music to begin again.
Alfr and Sæmundr eyed each other and both shook their heads in disappointment. Sæmundr arched an eyebrow.
“A thought, my liege.”
“Please, we need one of your ingenious plans.”
“That woman you asked me about last night. I made some inquiries and asked some of our network here if anyone knew her. Turns out she’s Chieftess Alvör Bleik of Lapland. Maybe she knows what Borkvard is doing or where he might be.”
“That’s better than any ideas I have at the moment, certainly. But have you seen her tonight?”
“It’s a big hall. But Ragnar and I can search and we can ask our spies among the servants to help us too.”
“So curious. Ingjald Bleik skips the blót but he sends his wife instead to mix with the commoners and dine with Borkvard. And Hrörekr too had a connection to Chief Ingjald. What are you to make of that?”
“Who knows what motivates spies and plotters. That’s your expertise.”
While Alfr and Sæmundr were wondering where Borkvard might be, he was settling into his position for the evening, hoping to set up a secluded spot for himself, almost like a hunting blind. All day he had eluded Hrolfr. Once he realized that Hrolfr was looking for him, he remembered Jarl Aflr’s suggestion that perhaps Hrolfr join up with his group. Borkvard decided the best idea was to return to the small house where Chieftess Alvör was staying in the village of Hleiðra. If he stayed there until sunset, it would be easy to elude Hrolfr and anyone else that the Spymaster of Denmark had sent to harass him. Alvör would be at the sacrifices and the feast, and unbothered by his presence regardless.
At sunset, Borkvard headed out toward the temporary housing near the temple where many of the more prominent members of the king’s council had lodging along with their families and entourages. Here the buildings were packed together in their own sort of mini-village, but of course, almost all of the occupants were away at the feasting hall. Only the various guards for the abodes of important council members and patrols were Borkvard’s concern now.
He found a barrel and quickly rolled it up to the corner of one of these lodging houses for pilgrims and worshipers. With agility, he jumped on top of the barrel, and then shimmied up the side of a house, grabbing the thatch on the roof to help pull himself upward. The waning moon and light breeze on a cloudless night still gave him plenty of light but also meant he needed to crouch and crawl across the thatch, so he wasn’t noticed from below. He watched carefully for guards and patrols as he made his way to the edge of the thatched roof. Seeing no one, when he was nearing the edge, he jumped up, ran and leapt across to the next roof. The housing was so densely packed in this area that such a leap between houses was possible, if he planned his route properly.
He oriented himself and looked around. Then he repeated his hopping to another house. And another. Slowly and methodically, he made his way closer to the house where the king was staying. The guards were clustered at the main entrance to the house, but Borkvard was approaching from the back corners. He waited until all patrols had passed on the walkways below. There were more guards out on this night than any previous night of the blót. When he saw his chance, he hopped across the walkway and on to the roof of the king’s temporary quarters. He slowly crept across the top of the roof, trying to approximate the spot where the king might be sleeping that night when he returned from the feasting hall. Then as quietly as he could, he took out a knife and cut into the thatch, that was a foot thick in most spots. As best he could, he scooped and cleared out a square about the size of his palm in the thatch and then he sprinkled some of the thatch in a thin layer over the hole he had made so the opening could not be easily seen from below.
Now, he was ready for the king’s return.
(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.)
At this point, so many suspects what's poor Alfr to do? It will take Jarl Alfr another few chapters though to sort out which ones are the most problematic. Like any Crusader Kings play-through, at times the question is who isn't plotting?
You trust Gyrið and I trust Gyrið. The king trusts Gyrið, and, yes, she always has the king's best interests in mind. But Jarl Alfr doesn't trust her. I wish I could say that the more he gets to know her the better he will like her. But I know that isn't true. Over time, Alfr's suspicions about her are only going to worsen. Some readers might recall that Alfr has long harbored suspicions about the untimely death of Froði Kráka. Those suspicions are just going to fester.
Thanks Jarl Alfr and King Þorolfr. More coming soon....
The next chapter will see the (possibly controversial) introduction of Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö to the storyline. This was mentioned in an offhand manner in the last chapter. Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven of Gudbrandsdalen will team with Ragnar to hunt for Chieftess Alvör Bleik of Lapland. (At least one reader wanted to know more about Chieftess Alvör, so the next chapter features her return to the storyline.) Once they catch up with Alvör, Chief Sæmundr has little patience for the spy.
“Let’s talk about what is necessary, please," Sæmundr demanded.
“I forgot your friend gets anxious. An odd condition for such a mountain of a man,” Alvör almost purred.
She said this and struck a comely pose.
“Don’t even start, woman....”
Find out what happens to Chief Sæmundr, Chieftess Alvör, and the others as more is revealed in the next chapter of Lost Seasons of the Danes....
(For those who want more on the plotters and other issues in the Kingdom of Denmark, more details can be found at The Tårn.)
(As is our custom, sharing the suggested soundtrack for Appendix A6 below: "Hefja Blót" by Danheim.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return in two weeks.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A7: The Great Blót of 790 (Of Bonds and Loyalties)
Appendix A7 The Great Blót of 790 (Of Bonds and Loyalties)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven of Gudbrandsdalen and Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö search Hleiðra for Borkvard the Spy, as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
In the feasting hall in Hleiðra, the drummers started a steady beat and soon the Viking lyres and tagelharpas swung into a lively dancing tune, as Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel and his men began searching the hall that easily contained at least 400 people. It would take them a while before they made any progress or met success.
This sixth evening of the blót proved to be the liveliest yet, as if the crowds had practiced for almost a week to dance, sing, and revel. They almost felt as if there were no tomorrow as they flung themselves into the festive atmosphere. Many thought this must be what it was like to feast in Fólkvangr or Valhalla.
As Jarl Alfr attended to his mission, King Þorolfr and Queen Gerðr made an early exit with their escorts. The king had only imbibed a few cups of sweet wine all day. He and his concubine, Gyrið, had agreed that if the queen was in an accommodating mood, perhaps they could have the temporary royal quarters to themselves for a few hours. Gyrið agreed, and as the king and queen did not prefer to dance, she found herself making lively time with Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr in the dancing area. Chief Tryggve’s wife Þora said she was too tired to dance this evening and that she might retire early, but Tryggve was taken by the dancing spirits.
Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven had rounded up Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö and they were moving methodically through the feasting hall, concentrating on the areas where the commoners sat. However, many folks had abandoned their tables and conversation for dancing. Almost half the hall was packed tightly, dancing and twirling themselves to the music on the dance floor.
Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator.
“Maybe we should be looking on the dance floor,” Ragnar suggested to Sæmundr.
“Good luck making out who is who in that writhing group,” Sæmundr said, pitching his voice so he could be heard over the din of the lively dancing party. “Besides, you’re not dressed for dancing. You didn’t wear your fancy pants.”
Sæmundr laughed at his own attempt at a joke.
Ragnar asked this and scowled a bit.
Sæmundr chuckled and clapped his hand on Ragnar’s back:
“With a nickname like yours, best get used to it. Have a sense of humor if you can.”
Ragnar was known to go into battle wearing shaggy wool breeches. These pants were so unique among Viking warriors and Ragnar’s bravery on the battlefield so notable that already there were songs sung about his exploits and the wooly pants that were supposedly blessed by the gods to protect him. (In Old Norse, “loðbrok” meant “hairy pants.”). Ragnar had distinguished himself during the king’s raid on Käkisalmi the previous summer, leading the vanguard to storm the settlement and end the siege. Sæmundr was aware of the stories told about how Ragnar had won the hand of Alfsol, the daughter of Jarl Alfr by killing a huge snake while he was dressed in his wooly battle pants.
“You know those songs and stories take great license with the truth.”
Ragnar shouted this at Sæmundr.
“I can always ask Jarl Alfr to check.”
Sæmundr laughed.
“But I heard one story where the snake you killed was as big as a dragon.”
“Exaggerations! The jarl asked me to help him with a pit of vipers near his settlement and I obliged. And you don’t think Jarl Alfr’s friendship with my father had anything to do with my marriage, rather than killing some snakes?”
“Like I said, it’s good fun. The stories are good to make people fear you before you walk in the room or show up for battle.”
“I doubt if those stories are going to help us tonight.”
Ragnar said this with some annoyance.
Ragnar was always saddened when the story of the snake came up because he felt his marriage to Alfsol was unfulfilled. She had died from a bad case of the flu, just two years after they were wed and their marriage had produced no children. Ragnar had loved Alfsol, and he was still acquainting himself with Iliana, whose marriage the king and the Society of Freyja had arranged for him.
Many women lusted after Ragnar, as he was known as the handsomest man in Denmark, a detail the skalds and songwriters usually included in their creations. But as he grieved for Alfsol, he had declined many potential liaisons and marriage requests. After four years of grieving, his father convinced him to take the advice of the king and the Society of Freyja and marry again.
Ragnar had inherited his height and shape from his father, Jarl Sigurd “Ring” af Munsö: Ragnar stood at six foot, three inches with a brawny, muscled build, although still shorter by several inches when compared to Sæmundr, who was an intimidating mountain of a man. Ragnar had always admired his father who he felt was the epitome of a warrior-ruler. But as the Sagas say, Ragnar had inherited his striking facial features from his mother Alfhildr av Alfheim who had died of food poisoning when Ragnar was just six years old. Like his mother, Ragnar had a cleft chin and chiseled facial features. Ever since he was 16, Ragnar had devoted his time to learning military strategy and battlefield tactics from his father, Jarl Sigurd, who was renowned as the greatest military commander of his era and the hero of the Danish victories in the last Noregr War. Although he was less than half the general his father was now, Ragnar strived for his father’s approval. It was never easy being the son of a famous and feared warrior-ruler like Jarl Sigurd. Little did Ragnar know, but Jarl Sigurd realized this too. Although he pushed his son to greater achievements, Sigurd did not share that he had paid the skalds and songwriters to create the image of Ragnar, building up his son in the public’s mind so he would be accepted as his heir.
Jarl Sigurd had also seen fit, when Ragnar was still a child to send him to Lapland, to be the squire of Chief Ingjald Bleik. Ingjald had tutored Ragnar to understand how to manage a settlement in the harsh climate of Lapland and to be aware of the importance of military intelligence and spying. Sæmundr and Jarl Alfr were unaware, but Ragnar’s connections to Lapland would be to their advantage this evening.
Soon it was Ragnar who spotted Chieftess Alvör Bleik. She was in a dark corner of the feasting hall, enjoying sweet apple wine with a group of commoners from Hleiðra. She was dressed in a thick and drab brown peasant dress with a woolen wrap over the dress for warmth. Despite the baggy and simple nature of her dress, her curvaceous form was easy to see for any man who cared to notice. In her early 30’s, she was quite appealing even after bearing two children for Chief Ingjald. Her long blonde braids were swinging as she laughed and joked with those she had shared the feast with tonight. Ragnar had to admit he had a crush on her for a short time when he was a young teenager but that was almost a decade ago.
“Chieftess Alvör! Chieftess Alvör!”
Ragnar called this out as he made his way to her in the crowded feasting hall.
Chieftess Alvör was startled to hear her name and then see two large warriors advancing down the aisle between tables toward her. Her dinner companions also seemed surprised, not just by this but that she was being referenced as someone with a title. Alvör looked hard at the advancing warriors, and then she recognized Ragnar.
“Ragnar! Of all people!” Alvör exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in years.”
“You should have come up to the head table and introduced yourself.”
Ragnar came as close as he could, bent down and gave her a hug.
“Not sure why you are hiding yourself away.”
As Ragnar said that Sæmundr came up and loomed over his shoulder, looking down on the chieftess with a menacing glare.
“Oh, you know, I like to be with the common folk. No reason to put on airs when I come to visit near the capital.”
Alvör said this while suppressing the surprised tone in her voice.
With the two menacing and famous warriors hovering over her, some of Alvör’s fellow diners were now finding an excuse to head to the dance floor or to make their exits, either out of the feast or to other nearby tables. Many folks at nearby tables were now watching this interaction to see what would come of it. For the common folk of Sjælland it was rare for those from the head table to come into their dark corner of the feasting hall.
“Maybe she should head outside with us?”
Sæmundr suggested this gruffly.
“We would like to have a conversation with you. Maybe it would be best if there were not so many folks watching us. Besides, I get the feeling my new partner here gets anxious when people stare. I don’t think we want to see him when he gets too anxious.”
“I understand.”
The chieftess said this quickly as she sobered a bit, although she was far from drunk. The mood of frivolity she had earlier was completely gone. She wasn’t sure what this surprise visit was all about but she sensed already she wasn’t going to like it.
She got up from the table and took an additional long thin wrap off of the chair and placed it around herself to brace against the cold outside. Then the three moved down the table toward the exit of the hall.
Outside it was a cool night, lit by the waning gibbous moon. Alvör looked over her shoulder at the two warriors with some trepidation as they exited the feasting hall, and walked to the edge of the light thrown by the torches at the entrance.
“It is good to see you Ragnar. My how you’ve grown. I remember when I was taller than you.”
She said this while looking up at Ragnar from her height of barely five and a half feet.
“Yes, those are good memories from bygone days, but I don’t miss the cold in Lapland. These are moderate climes here and more to my liking.”
“No need to chit chat about the weather.”
Sæmundr said this with some annoyance.
“Let’s talk about what is necessary, please.”
“I forgot your friend gets anxious. An odd condition for such a mountain of a man.”
She said this and struck a comely pose.
“Well, you have to excuse his impatience, it’s not really anxiousness. I’m sorry to say we don’t have time to renew acquaintances, but I do hope you will carry my greetings and message of good cheer to your husband, Chief Ingjald.”
“I will certainly remember to tell him everything about tonight.”
“We’re looking for a spy named Borkvard from Helsingland. Please tell us where he might be and if you know what he might be doing.”
“Well, I see your friend is not moved by my charms.”
Alvör said this with some disappointment.
“And if I had not seen you grow up and be tutored by my husband, I might play games with you and keep you spinning for hours, if not days. But because you and your father are friends of the family I will break with my usual course of business. If you must know, I came to the blót to work on some projects for Ingjald. That is why I did not visit with you or your father at the head table. As you know, in our business, it is best to stay in the shadows. Not many know me here in the capital. Pity though I was recognized. I’ve learned that such an event attracts too many people from all over the kingdom. But it was my first time, so it was my error.”
“Understandable. Thanks for being honest.”
“I heard a lot of words saying not much. We all know you are a spy. Now, tell us about Borkvard.”
“I really shouldn’t say anything, but in deference to Ragnar and his father, I will admit to you that Borkvard is helping us with something.”
“I think we are going to need more than that, chieftess.”
Ragnar said this with a serious tone.
“Yes, the original question hasn’t been answered yet. Where is Borkvard and what is he doing?”
Alvör sighed and paused.
“Don’t think the worst of us, but you know, Ragnar what we do is gather information and we try to put it to good use. So tonight Borkvard is watching the king.”
“All he’s doing is watching?”
“That’s what he was doing last night too, spying on the king.”
Sæmundr said this with his anger rising.
“I don’t understand this. I thought Borkvard worked for the queen?”
“Well, sometimes he does.”
Alvör said this with her eyes twinkling.
“And sometimes he doesn’t."
“We’ve got to warn the king!”
“Just promise me before I take my leave, that you won’t hurt Borkvard. I’d feel guilty about that.”
“Well, I can make that promise, but I can’t vouch for my new partner.”
“Try to be gentle with him.”
Alvör said this and then she turned to go back into the feasting hall.
“I’ve got some apple wine to finish and other projects to pursue.”
“I’m not sure we should let her just go back in there.”
Sæmundr said this with some urgency to Ragnar.
Ragnar responded once the chieftess was back in the feasting hall:
“Well, you are right. She’s probably up to no good, but what’s our priority? Plus we can find her later.”
Both of the men began striding with purpose toward the lodging houses near the temple.
“How fast can you run? I’m not sure if the king is in danger but we shouldn’t wait to find out.”
With a sly grin, Ragnar looked at Sæmundr and said:
“Let’s race. I look forward to beating the Champion of Svíþjóð!”
And with that both men broke into a run as they took off to warn the king.
(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.)
Glad you liked this chapter @HistoryDude . Thanks for your continued support.
Glad you liked what we did with Ragnar. As Ragnar is one of the most recognizable Norse heroes (or villains depending upon your viewpoint) these days and because he has a current imprint in popular culture, I wanted to ground him back with what is written about him from older sources. And because we tend to follow a practical tack, I wanted to explain how the outsized and mythological version of Ragnar may have come about. The additional challenge is connecting in-game events to the narrative. The history of Ragnar's wives differs from what we have in the debatable historic record because those are the wives he gets in my play-through.
Ragnar is going to remain a minor and peripheral character for a while, but he will become a major figure eventually.
Borkvard is the queen's most trusted aide and he is loyal to her. But as we can glean from this chapter, he isn't above taking freelance work that might sometimes mean he is spying on his patron too. Ultimately, spy work is all about moving information. As long as he keeps protecting the queen and not passing along anything that might hurt her, then he is still working in her favor, even as he might be out to undermine the king.
Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven of Gudbrandsdalen and Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö race toward the pilgrim houses to warn the king. As they approached with much racket from their swords and other armaments clattering, the guards at the front of the king’s abode braced themselves and drew their arms.
“Hold! I say hold!” Sæmundr called out. “I am Sæmundr Kven!”
The leader of the guard platoon motioned with his hand at the other warriors and called out, “I think I recognize him.”
“Jarl Alfr has sent me. The king must be warned. He is in danger.”
Sæmundr puffed a bit during his short explanation.
“That’s Ragnar ‘Loðbrok,’ I think,” another guard said, pointing at Sæmundr’s partner. “Jarl Sigurd’s son.”
“Yes,” Ragnar acknowledged and looked annoyed. “No time for introductions. Half of you come with me and we will search the perimeter.”
“The others, you’re with me. Search the interior for spies. I’ll find the king.”
Find out what happens to Chief Sæmundr, Ragnar, and the others as more is revealed in the next chapter of Lost Seasons of the Danes....
(For those who want more on the plotters and other issues in the Kingdom of Denmark, more details can be found at The Tårn.)
(As is our custom, sharing the suggested soundtrack for Appendix A7 below: "Trøllabundin" by Eivor Palsdottir.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return next week.)
ᛚᛟᛋᛏ ᛋᛖᚨᛋᛟᚾᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᚨᚾᛖᛋ
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Appendix A8: The Great Blót of 790 (Spy Hunt) (Parts may be NSFW)
Appendix A8 The Great Blót of 790 (Spy Hunt)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
Guards gather at the entrance to King Þorolfr’s temporary abode near the Temple of Hleiðra during the Great Blót of 790 as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator, and Playground AI’s digital editor, Canvas.
Portions of this post may not be NSFW in some countries, be advised.
Borkvard the Spy sat resting quietly on the thatched roof, looking at the stars and moon. He was calm and appreciating the breeze, but he was also listening intently for the approach of the king and queen. On this quiet night, he could make out the conversation of the guard detail at the front of the building. They were telling ribald jokes and gossiping about some of the royals they had observed at the blót.
Borkvard did not have time to rest and reflect very long before he heard in the distance the king’s baritone. He wasn’t sure he could make out the words exactly but he gathered the king was talking about the fine dinner he had just consumed as he walked with his guards and the queen back to his temporary abode. That was Borkvard’s cue to get back to work.
He untethered a long carved wooden tube he kept tied to his belt. A casual observer might think this was a flute as it was about 18 inches long and had openings on both ends. He now took the leather strap that had secured it to his belt and tied that around his wrist so that if he dropped the tube he wouldn’t lose it. The circumference of the openings were matched to the size of Borkvard’s eye. This was not a spyglass as those would not be invented for centuries, but it worked on a similar concept. Borkvard had worked this into many a hole in houses over the years, especially holes he had widened or created altogether. But this tool was not only good for watching but also for listening. Borkvard could easily put his ear to the tube and it helped collect and magnify sounds from the other end.
He could now hear the king greeting the guards at the entrance to the house. With that, he brushed away some of the straw at the hole he had made and slowly lowered the tube into the house, so he could listen above the royal bedchamber.
For a good five minutes, Borkvard lay prone patiently on his side waiting. All the tube was picking up were murmurs elsewhere in the house. He could tell the king and queen were talking but he couldn’t make out the content of their discussion. He hoped they would move toward the bedchamber, and he wondered if he had made a mistake by picking this spot. However, he was eventually rewarded for his patience.
“…and I don’t know how many times I’ve told you I don’t like kissing you,” Queen Gerðr said as she entered the bedroom, and Borkvard’s listening tube began to pick up the details of the conversation.
“Gyrið has suggested that if we just take five to ten minutes to kiss then our bodies will be less tense and enjoy the coupling,” King Þorolfr responded as he followed Gerðr into the bedchamber.
“I don’t know why you are so set on doing this tonight. And I don’t like having to listen to Gyrið’s advice whether she is here or not. She’s not the queen, remember. I am.”
“How could I forget? But look, I don’t want to fight. I have made a commitment at this blót to improve myself and to look at improving how I approach my duties. Working together with you is part of that commitment.”
“Well, that sounds all well and good. But that first night is hard for me to forget. I find the entire process loathsome and it makes me sore.”
Borkvard drew in a sharp breath when he heard this. He too had stark memories of the first night of the royal couple’s honeymoon and he didn’t like his remembrance of seeing the queen in pain.
“Well, I asked the servants to leave us some cherry wine to enjoy…”
The king began to say this but the queen cut him off.
“That is your answer to everything. Just have a drink and forget about it. It took me two days to get rid of that headache from the start of the blót. I don’t want that again. No, thank you.”
“Well, I admit….”
The king then lowered his voice and Borkvard could not hear all of what he said.
“…but that means I’m drinking less and paying attention to my duties more.”
“This is one duty I’d wish you’d forget.”
The queen said this with distaste.
“We have to live for the moment, Gerðr. Who knows if we will see another blót again? Who knows if we will see tomorrow?”
The queen thought about that for a second and there was stillness.
“Alright, you can mount me. But do it quickly and get it over with. The quicker it goes, the easier it will be to forget, and the less painful.”
“Oh, I’ve got something for the pain.”
“Don’t tell me to take more strong drink again.”
“No, it’s something different.”
The king said this and Borkvard could hear him fumbling with some pottery or cups.
“It’s cod oil.”
The queen said this with revulsion. Borkvard could imagine the sour look she was giving the king.
“Always the remedy when I was sick as a child. Hate the taste of it. No, I won’t drink it.”
“Well, it’s not to drink, but I’m a bit surprised. I mix it in with my porridge daily. Keeps me fit and healthy.”
“Why am I not surprised you would like it so much?”
“Well, you are missing the point. Gyrið showed me how you can apply it to your loins and there is little to no pain.”
“Why do I feel there’s a third person in this bedchamber with us? That woman hasn’t improved anything that I’ve seen since you brought her into our marriage. And now 18 months later, she says this jar is the solution to our troubles? And that solution just sounds disgusting.”
“You are only in the capital a month out of the year. The rest of the time, she takes care of, well, everything. I depend on her.”
“I’ll remind you that I spend at least a month out of the year traveling back and forth. And depending upon the weather that can stretch to six weeks or more. And this blót is extra time added on to the usual visits. It’s a lot.”
“Arguing isn’t what I came here to do.”
The king said this in soothing tones.
“I don’t want to have the same old argument. I just want us to take advantage of this extra time. Once there is an heir, we can cut back on this, maybe even stop.”
“Do you mean that? Do you promise?”
The queen asked this excitedly.
“I promise, if you let me put this lotion on your loins.”
Just at that point, although he was concentrating on the conversation below, Borkvard heard the sound of some commotion out on the pathways near the pilgrim houses. As a precaution, he began withdrawing his hearing tube slowly and carefully from the hole in the roof.
The sounds Borkvard heard were Chief Sæmundr “the Champion” Kven and Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö arriving at the king’s temporary abode. By running as fast as they could, the two warriors collapsed what would have been a more than 20 minute walk into less than five minutes. As they approached with much racket of their swords and other armaments clattering, the guards at the front of the king’s abode braced themselves and drew their arms.
“Hold! I say hold!” Sæmundr called out, just a step or so behind Ragnar. “I am Sæmundr Kven!”
The leader of the guard platoon motioned with his hand at the other warriors and called out, “I think I recognize him.”
Sæmundr and Ragnar stopped their momentum about six feet in front of the guards at the entrance and panted after their run.
“Jarl Alfr has sent me. The king must be warned. He is in danger.”
Sæmundr puffed a bit during his short explanation.
“That’s Ragnar ‘Loðbrok,’ I think,” another guard said, pointing at Sæmundr’s partner. “Jarl Sigurd’s son.”
“Yes,” Ragnar acknowledged and looked annoyed. “No time for introductions. Half of you come with me and we will search the perimeter.”
“The others, you’re with me. Search the interior for spies. I’ll find the king.”
The groups divided quickly and trotted either into the house or followed Ragnar in his search around the house’s exterior.
The king thundered from inside the bedchamber at the far end of the house.
“I thought I gave orders that everyone should be out of the house!”
“Look for spies hiding here!”
Sæmundr commanded the guards and then he bolted toward the partially walled off bedchamber at the far end of this large house.
He burst into the room just as the king was yelling out:
Sæmundr was surprised by the scene in front of him as he entered the room. The room was lit by candles. The queen was on all fours on the bed; her knees just on the edge of the foot of the bed. Her dress was flung up over her back and partially covered her head, but her face was turned toward the doorway, with her mouth gaping open in a silent wail, and her face reddening at the embarrassment of having her nude backside exposed. Her legs were dripping with fish oil that the king had over-applied and some had spilled on her buttocks and dripped down her cheeks. Further, startled by the sounds of scrambling guards who had come running into the house, the king had dropped the ceramic jar that held the oil and it was in shards with a puddle of oil just behind her.
For his part, the king had covered himself with his robes, which he had never discarded and he had unsheathed his knife from the inside of his breast pocket which he wielded toward Sæmundr until he recognized Jarl Alfr’s trusted assistant and the chieftain of Gudbrandsdalen.
“Cover yourself!”
The king now turned to Queen Gerðr and commanded.
“That disgusting oil will ruin my dress! Make him leave!”
“You heard her, Sæmundr.”
The king lowered his voice and the knife while pointing toward the doorway.
“My liege, there is a spy here. We have that on good authority. I can’t leave until I know you and the queen are safe.”
“Please go and get a cloth from the cooking area then. I can protect the queen. I need something to clean up this mess. And please don’t let any of the guards back here. We are fine and need some privacy until this is cleaned up.”
Sæmundr turned on his heel and headed out the doorway in search of a cloth, shooing away a few guards who had come back to see what was going on in the king’s bedchamber.
“Leave them be.”
Sæmundr ordered the guards while chuckling a bit.
“There’s no spy back there.”
“There better be a spy here like he said or there will be punishments all around!”
The queen shouted this as the king tried to console her while they waited on a cloth to clean up the oil that was dripping down her legs.
Meanwhile, outside the house, Ragnar and the guards had circled the entire structure and found nothing. He sent two of the guards to search the perimeters of other houses nearby, and he and a few others were headed back to the entryway when Ragnar heard a muffled thump behind him.
“The roof!”
His eyes lit up as he realized what he had heard.
“Boost me up!”
He ordered this and two guards helped him, as he had commanded. He clambered up on the roof of the building and looked around, but he saw nothing. Then he turned from the edge and faced away, and that’s when he saw Borkvard, running atop the roof of the building next door, silhouetted in the light of the waning gibbous moon.
Ragnar “Loðbrok” af Munsö chases Borkvard the Spy across the rooftop of a building near the Temple of Hleiðra as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator, and Playground AI’s Canvas digital editor.
Ragnar ran the length of the building to the corner and then leapt across the pathway to the next building, in pursuit.
“He’s headed this way! Follow me across the buildings!”
Ragnar shouted this to the guards below, and soon he detected the light of their torches tracking behind him.
Borkvard was lithe and agile, running and jumping across the rooftops like a gazelle. But a man in his 50’s, no matter how skilled, was no match for the already legendary Ragnar “Loðbrok,” who pursued him like a cheetah. Ragnar began closing the gap and eventually both men were running across the same thatched roof. When he was close enough, Ragnar launched himself, springing forward and grabbing Borkvard around the waist and upper thighs. Borkvard lost his balance and he rolled underneath Ragnar’s flying tackle until they were at the edge of a rooftop. They balanced there for a slight second, Borkvard’s eyes growing larger as his upper torso wasn’t supported by anything other than Ragnar’s weight pinning him down, and his spine was bending at an odd angle. He used his arms to push himself up but that momentum caused them both to slide off the roof. They landed with a thud on a dirt pathway between the houses, Borkvard taking the crushing weight of the fall.
Ragnar leapt up quickly, as if he had fallen only a few inches. He reached down and grabbed Borkvard’s cloak, hoisting the spy to his feet. Borkvard’s head was spinning and he found it hard to find his balance.
“And I promised Chieftess Alvör I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Ragnar said this with some mock disappointment in his tone.
“If you hadn’t grabbed at the end, we’d still be up on that roof and you’d be in better shape.”
Borkvard just groaned and wobbled in place, still trying to regain all of his senses.
Ragnar noticed, down the pathway, the glare of torchlight, as a group of guards led by Sæmundr came running toward him. Soon they were on top of the pair.
“I have to say, I like working with you, Ragnar ‘Loðbrok!’ Well done!”
“I couldn’t let this rabbit get back in his hole.”
Ragnar chuckled as he handled Borkvard’s cloak roughly pushing and pulling the spy back and forth.
“You are fleet of foot, no doubt.”
Sæmundr said this with a bit of laughter in his voice too. Then he looked down and pulled his face close to Borkvard’s bobbing head.
“What do you have to say for yourself, spy?”
“I was just guarding the queen. I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Borkvard said, feigning innocence.
“If that is so, why run away from me? Why not work with the guards?”
“You might as well let me go now. She’ll chew both of you up and the king too, if you don’t.”
Suddenly, one of Sæmundr’s fists crashed into Borkvard’s nose, making a sick, crunching sound. The spy fell back again to the pathway, out cold from the brutal punch.
“I’ve been wanting to shut that weasel’s trap since the first time I met him.”
Sæmundr said this with some satisfaction.
“I’ve heard enough of his lies and excuses.”
Sæmundr ordered the guards to gather up Borkvard’s prone form and take him to the small house he and Alfr were sharing not too far away from where they were gathered. Chief Sæmundr also sent a guard as a messenger to gather up Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel, the Spymaster of Denmark from the feasting hall so they could all question Borkvard once he regained consciousness.
About an hour later, Alfr, Sæmundr, and Ragnar were all gathered around a small table, with Borkvard as their unwilling guest. Borkvard’s hands were now bound behind him with chains.
“I think your goon here broke my nose.”
Borkvard made this complaint while still a bit woozy from his fall and Sæmundr’s knockout punch.
“I’m disappointed,” Jarl Alfr said sarcastically. “I was hoping he might break a few more things.”
“And this other one threw me off a roof.”
Borkvard nodded toward Ragnar.
“You did that to yourself. If you had stayed still you would have fewer bruises.”
“Tisk, tisk. All repayment for you tussling with me in the woods the other night.”
Alfr clucked at Borkvard.
“The queen is going to hear about this.”
“Always using the queen as a shield.”
“Bring her up one more time and I’ll drop you again.”
Sæmundr leaned across the table menacingly.
“I have a remedy. You’re going to disappear, Borkvard. Or rather, we’re going to have you disappeared.”
“You do that and you’ll really pay. I’m the queen’s closest advisor. She’ll find out and have revenge.”
“Oh, don’t fret. You’re letting your imagination go, although where it went would be tempting. No, Ragnar here is going to take you back to the king’s holding and put you in a cell there. I warned you there’d be punishment if you got in our way. So you’ll have a little time off there until after the blót. And eventually we’ll let you go. Maybe sooner if you cooperate.”
“What sort of cooperation?”
“Tell us why you were on the roof.”
“Guarding the queen. I told your men this is all a misunderstanding.”
“What a liar!”
Sæmundr said this while raising his voice.
“Maybe I should have Sæmundr take you back to that cell and keep you company? Maybe we might get more answers that way?”
Borkvard said this, and he shook his head.
“What work are you doing with Chieftess Alvör?”
“I don’t know what you mean? Not sure I’ve met her.”
Borkvard lied to the jarl without any hesitation.
“Don’t lie to us. She gave you up, spy.”
“That’s how we found you.”
“Maybe I don’t remember because my skull’s cracked.”
“I could crack it some more.”
“Alright, maybe this is a different topic…”
Alfr pivoted the questioning, hoping to get some answers on the variety of issues swirling about the blót.
“Did you kill Hrörekr of Årus?”
Borkvard chuckled.
“You are really throwing out the wide net. Sorry, but I know as little about that as you do. And you think if I did, I would tell you?”
Alfr sighed.
“Hoping to get lucky, I suppose.”
“And my respect was just starting to grow for you.”
Borkvard said this sarcastically.
Sæmundr growled.
“Don’t make fun of the jarl.”
“Don’t worry, Sæ. I had that coming.”
Alfr shook his head.
“What about the plot Prince Magni and Godi Styrbjörn are hatching? Tell us what you know.”
“Don’t know what you are discussing there. No idea,”
“Come on. We know you have tried to meet with them secretly.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell, chief. But again, my memories are soft right now.”
Borkvard flashed a sly grin at Sæmundr.
Quickly, Sæmundr reached across the table, put his hand on the top of Borkvard’s head and slammed his face into the table. Borkvard groaned and his nose began bleeding profusely.
“I warned you. See if your sharp tongue provides any relief for your headaches now.”
“Alright, I see patience is exhausted here. Last question. What do you know about attempts on the king’s life?”
Borkvard moaned and his head moved back and forth a bit as he tried to regain his focus and composure.
“Nothing. Not a thing. The queen wouldn’t want that. That question is ludicrous.”
“Well, manners dictate that I should thank you for a productive conversation, but we both know you gave us nothing but lies. However, I suppose you got the lumps you had coming so this wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
The jarl got up from the table, and asked the squad of guards outside to escort Borkvard to a wagon so that Ragnar and an armed escort could take him back to the king’s holding immediately, despite the late hour.
He came back into the house and sat back at the table once Borkvard was escorted out.
“Well, that’s it, men. Thanks for your great efforts tonight. I think locking up Borkvard improves safety for all of us, although there are still too many unanswered questions.”
Alfr said this and leaned back in his chair.
“Sæ, do you mind going back to the feasting hall and gathering up Gyla? I think it’s going to be another long day tomorrow and I’d like her here soon so we can all get some sleep.”
“Let me walk you out before I take the trip with Borkvard.”
“Thanks, again, Ragnar. We would not have met success tonight without you.”
“You are welcome, Jarl Alfr.”
Ragnar responded as he and Sæmundr headed out the door.
Once the two warriors were outside, Ragnar came close to Sæmundr.
“It was an honor working with the Champion of Svíþjóð tonight, but I want to remind you who won our little foot race.”
Ragnar said this with a glimmer in his eye.
“I got to punch Borkvard in the face and see the queen’s bony ass. That’s prize enough.”
Sæmundr chuckled.
“Seeing the queen’s ass is a prize?”
Ragnar asked this with a puzzled tone.
“Anything that makes the day an adventure means life is worth living. And the next time the queen gives me any lip, I’ll be sure to remind her she showed me her bony ass.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a debt to lay away.”
Ragnar laughed, as the men parted company.
(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.)
Thanks @HistoryDude for dropping around to read the latest, even though you are technically on a hiatus from the forum. That means a lot. (Thanks to the other readers too. I know there are some who are working through earlier chapters.)
Well, sometimes I never know what the queen really knows or appreciates. I think her political acumen will start to grow, although at 17, it is still quite inconsistent. At this stage, she is still centered on her province and ruling there. Dealing with the king and her duties to the kingdom, she sees all that as a chore.
Borkvard's freelance assignment didn't work out so well and because of that, the king's plans were ruined too. Perhaps Borkvard has learned his lesson not to let his missions regarding the king stray so far afield that they include the queen too. However, the queen and her spy remain fairly unknown and unpredictable characters at this point. We will see what they learn and how they change (if at all) as the story progresses.
(Yes, some surprises along the way might be a good development.)
And with that from Jarl Alfr, we take our leave, but more will be posted soon....
On the seventh day of the blót, again, Jarl Alfr “Irongrip” af Vendel went down to the temple early before the sacrifices so he could watch groups as they gathered. Soon he saw Prince Magni of Nidaros, the Chancellor of Denmark, and his entourage and he fell in with them, taking up a position flanking Gandalfr, the prince’s assistant.
“I hope you delivered my message,” Alfr said to Gandalfr as they walked toward the temple.
Before Gandalfr could respond, Prince Magni made his feelings known as he hobbled with his crutch on the pathway:
“I’m walking the best that I can right here. Just because I only have one leg doesn’t mean I can’t hear. You don’t need to pass messages to me.”
Then the prince’s mother, Chieftess Kraka of Årus who was on the prince’s other flank piped up.
“Please stop harassing us Jarl Alfr. Do you really want to make a scene before the godi comes to begin today’s sacred events?”
Chieftess Kraka put a hand on her son’s elbow and both stopped, turning to face Alfr who had advanced a bit with Gandalfr before he too stooped and turned back. Taking his cues from the prince, Gandalfr also stopped and turned. The four created a tight knot in the growing crowd as their entourage stopped and some around the entourage stopped too to see what was going on among some of the top royals.
“You are wise and clever, chieftess.”
Alfr bowed a bit to her.
“I will take that as acknowledgement that my message was delivered to more than the prince.”
“Your message was delivered but it wasn’t appreciated. Your suspicions are unfounded,” Prince Magni said.
Is Jarl Alfr any closer to solving a murder or keeping the king safe from the assassins at the blót? Did he make the right decision to lock up Borkvard the Spy? So many questions to answer in the next installment of Lost Seasons of the Danes....
(For those who want more on the plotters and other issues in the Kingdom of Denmark, more details can be found at The Tårn.)
(As is our custom, sharing the suggested soundtrack for Appendix A8 below: "Hoar Frost" by A Tergo Lupi.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return in two weeks.)
It’s been a long catch up, but as you will have seen from the reactions I’ve been making steady progress and am now all caught up again. You’ve really done something different with this tale, in terms of both subject and presentation. The dialogue is always really well handled. Good to see Mr Woolly Pants in the story too. Is he there in-game, or added as some narrative spice (and eye candy)?
It’s been a long catch up, but as you will have seen from the reactions I’ve been making steady progress and am now all caught up again. You’ve really done something different with this tale, in terms of both subject and presentation. The dialogue is always really well handled.
Thanks for climbing back into this story, @Bullfilter . I know you've had a lot going on these past several months and it is not easy to get around AARLand to all the spots (beyond your own posting efforts). I appreciate the effort and the support, as you have been with this one from the start.
Thank you for the compliments and comments. This AAR certainly has evolved into something very different from where it started. As my first one, I see where I could have made changes now, but instead of starting and stopping and starting again, I had hoped the audience would hang in with the twists and turns, especially the narrative shift that happens at the end of Chapter III.
Mr. Woolly Pants/Fancy Pants/Magic Pants really does show up in my play-through. Everything that is related here in these past two chapters really does happen to him in-game. He really did get his tutoring in Lapland. So the challenge was to merge the game information with the historic or semi-historic information (because Ragnar remains quite a debate). I suppose I have been less careful with his father, Jarl Sigurd, because Sigurd "Ring" isn't the pop culture icon that Ragnar has become (or was recently).
Ragnar does add narrative spice and eye candy! What amazes me is that he's been doing that for more than a millennium. TheSögubrot af nokkrum fornkonungum really does say: "He was the biggest and fairest of men that human eyes have seen, and he was like his mother in appearance and took after her kin."
(Despite his good looks, Ragnar appears to be a humble soul, although there's no guarantee he's going to stay that way!)
Thanks again for reading. More coming soon after a bit....
Appendix A9 The Great Blót of 790 (Revelations)
(King Þorolfr’s Partial Reign 790)
Chieftess Kraka of Årus, sometimes known as Kraka the Concubine, as she dressed on the seventh day of the Great Blót of 790. This image of Kraka is how she is imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion 1.5 image generator, and Playground AI’s Canvas digital editor.
>>> WARNING: This post includes descriptions of graphic violence. Please be advised before reading further. <<<
Gyla Gautske, Jarl Alfr’s concubine, couldn’t believe it, but the seventh day of the blót began with no predawn awakenings. This was the first morning in five days that Jarl Alfr’s household was not jarred awake in the dark.
“Thank the gods, there’s finally peace in Hleiðra,” Gyla proclaimed as she stretched, thinking about what dress she should wear to the sacrifices and ceremonies.
“Thank you, jarl,” Sæmundr “the Champion” said humbly from his temporary bedding on the straw across from the more formal bed in the cozy house they shared. “Sometimes it takes a few good warriors to deal with the problems presented by spies.”
“Does that mean you both will be escorting me today, instead of working?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but the price of vigilance is steep.”
Alfr shook the cobwebs out of his head and yawned again.
“One more day to see if we have set our problems to rest for the blót and then I promise at least one of us will be on your arm for the final days.”
“Oh, alright.”
Gyla groaned with genuine disappointment. Having one of the most powerful men in the realm escorting her, or having the arm of the renowned Champion of Svíþjóð elevated Gyla’s status at the blót, and that was part of her enjoyment. At this event she didn’t need to share Alfr with his wife, Saga, or the jarl’s other two concubines. She had him all to herself, if only his work would abate.
“I’m going to follow my strategy from yesterday and hopefully get out in front of this security mess.”
Alfr intended to watch the gathering for the sacrifices, somewhat as he had on the previous day, and if he saw the opportunity, make pre-emptive threats if he thought they’d be useful. He would have Sæmundr posted with the guards on the royal viewing stand. Alfr knew from personal experience on the battlefield that there was no better bodyguard than Chief Sæmundr Kven of Gudbrandsdalen. Alfr’s assistant, Halsten, although injured, would continue to oversee security operations based with the kitchen staff and servants. After the sacrifices, Alfr intended to roam and ruminate, thinking not just about plots against the king but also the murder of Hrörekr of Årus.
Instead of escorting Gyla, as he had done on the previous day, Alfr staked out a spot on the main pathway to the Temple of Hleiðra. He was dressed in his best, similar to what he had worn on the first day of the blót and many days since. He leaned on his walking stick as he observed the crowds gathering. He was watching and nodding to those he knew. It was almost as if Alfr had become part of the temple’s staff on this day, unofficially greeting many in the crowd, even beaming an uncommon smile at times. At that moment, he was still worrying over whether he had made the right decisions about delaying the capture and imprisonment of Borkvard the Spy, but having that agent of chaos contained made him feel lighter and more accomplished this morning.
Alfr said this to Gandalfr as they walked toward the temple.
Before Gandalfr could respond, Prince Magni made his feelings known as he hobbled with his crutch on the pathway:
“I’m walking the best that I can right here. Just because I only have one leg doesn’t mean I can’t hear. You don’t need to pass messages to me.”
Then the prince’s mother, Chieftess Kraka of Årus who was on the prince’s other flank piped up.
“Please stop harassing us Jarl Alfr. Do you really want to make a scene before the godi comes to begin today’s sacred events?”
Chieftess Kraka put a hand on her son’s elbow and both stopped, turning to face Alfr who had advanced a bit with Gandalfr before he too stopped and turned back. Taking his cues from the prince, Gandalfr also stopped and turned. The four created a tight knot in the growing crowd as their entourage halted and some around the entourage waited too to see what was going on among some of the top royals.
“You are wise and clever, chieftess.”
Alfr bowed a bit to her.
“I will take that as acknowledgement that my message was delivered to more than the prince.”
“Your message was delivered but it wasn’t appreciated. Your suspicions are unfounded.”
Prince Magni said this and he too was dressed in his finest on this day. Like many, the prince had only brought a few different clothing items besides his traveling clothes, and on this seventh day of the blót many had taken out their very best again.
“I’m not going to haul Gandalfr away again today, you have my promise, unless he gives me reason.”
Alfr said this and gave the prince’s assistant a hard look.
“Perhaps if I am on my good behavior, the chieftess will keep company with me at the feast?”
The spymaster asked this and gave Kraka an innocent look.
Kraka was especially radiant on this day, her big blue eyes sparkling in the sun. With temperatures well above freezing and a light breeze, she had dressed without so many layers in a stunning embroidered white and gold dress with a scooped neckline that showed some of her ample cleavage. Her blonde hair was coiffed in tresses past her shoulders to accent the roundness of her middle-aged face and distract from some of the wrinkles and age lines that had started to form. She had an elaborate wreath of dried lily of the valley flowers ringing her head, held at the top with a jeweled hair comb.
“I think that invitation has expired.”
She said this haughtily.
“Your behavior today shall not be rewarded. I see through your act. I know you came not to flirt and make eyes at my bosom, but to harass us instead.”
“Apologies. Transparency was not my aim. I’m sorry you are offended, chieftess.”
Alfr said this with a hint of sarcasm in his tone and he gave her a sly wink as he bowed a bit again to her.
“How can anyone take the actions of a spy at face value?” she asked.
“Maybe he is here to flirt. Either way your actions, spymaster, are despicable.”
“You and I will never agree on my methods, prince. I will take my leave now that I see all of my messages have been delivered.”
He bowed and turned to make his way against the flow of the crowd.
“Don’t trouble us a third time!”
Kraka called to him.
“Have some respect for this sacred event.”
As the prince, the chieftess, and their entourage moved forward to take up their places for the sacrifices at the temple, Alfr moved slowly through the crowd in the opposite direction, headed for Sæmundr who was with the guards at the royal viewing stand near the gibbet. At first, as Alfr thought about the exchange with the prince and his mother, he was rather pleased with what had transpired. He thought about how his proactive strategy might hold off further embarrassment or security challenges coming from the prince and his allies. But there was something nagging him about that meeting too. Something was not right, he began to feel, but he couldn’t put his finger on just what. His light mood of the morning was starting to dissipate with these worries.
Soon he was with Sæmundr and they went over their checklist for the day for the third time that morning. They wanted to make sure the guards were coordinated properly with Jarl Sigurd “Ring” of Finland, the Field Marshal of Denmark, and that all the spies Alfr had with the kitchen staff and servants were properly in place.
“Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”
“You know me too well, my champion.”
Alfr said this listlessly.
“And you were in such a good mood after we caught Borkvard.”
Sæmundr shook his head.
“What changed?”
“I wish I could tell you. Something is off. I can’t put my finger on it. I had a chat with Prince Magni and his mother and something has unnerved me about that.”
“Well, then let’s change the subject. Maybe that will help. On my visit to the kitchens this morning I see they are preparing goat. I know that’s one of your favorites.”
“That’s good.”
Alfr nodded, still stubbornly worrying over what he was missing.
“I hardly ate any the other day when it was served. It’ll be good to dig into it.”
“If you can get your mind off other things and get your appetite back.”
“Do you remember that grilled spicy goat we had in Constantinople?”
Alfr asked about one of their adventures from a few years back.
“Oh, that was the best. But I doubt we have the spices here. What was the name of that spice they rubbed on the goat?”
“Was it cardamom, I think?”
“Maybe. Could be. Very exotic taste.”
Alfr snapped his fingers and his eyes widened.
“That’s it. It’s about something missing.”
“Missing spices?”
“Gather yourself up, we are going to the kitchens.”
Alfr said this with some agitation.
Sæmundr left the last instructions with the guards on the royal platform to be on the lookout for his return and the return of the jarl and then the two men were off as fast as Alfr’s walking stick would allow to the huge kitchens behind the temple.
“I’m glad your mind is in gear now, but what am I missing?”
“It’s hard to solve a riddle when you are presented with a lot of details but the solution is in what is missing. Thinking about not having that spice available for cooking gave me the right nudge.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any clearer to me.”
Sæmundr said this as they strode along, at a very good clip for the jarl, but still far below The Champion’s fast walking speed.
“What’s missing today is Hrolfr of Årus. Where is he? He’s not working with us so he should be with Chieftess Kraka. He’s her spy. But he wasn’t there this morning. We need to find out why.”
“And the kitchens will help us?”
“Remember, he told us he likes to hang out with Halsten and Þorgil. I just have a hunch we need to run down.”
Cooks and servants from the kitchens at the Temple of Hleiðra use turf-covered in-ground ovens to slow cook some of the meat for one of the many feasts at the Great Blót of 790 C.E. as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
After a brisk ten-minute walk, they arrived in the area behind the main kitchen where the cooks were using beds of coals partially covered by turf in an earthen oven to slow cook the goat for the evening’s feast. This was the same area where Alfr had met with the king for breakfast on the previous day.
As Alfr had thought, Hrolfr was back in this area too, leaning against an outside wall of the kitchens and chatting with Halsten and Þorgil. Þorgil was drinking from a wooden cup as they talked. Hrolfr’s eyes widened as he saw Alfr and Sæmundr striding toward them with purpose.
“Come have some of this wine, Jarl Alfr,” Þorgil beckoned them over to their group huddled just outside the back entrance to the temple’s kitchens.
“A bit early to be imbibing, even for a blót.”
Sæmundr called back to Þorgil, as he and the jarl strode toward the men.
“Just doing my job.”
Þorgil provided this explanation with a merry tone in his voice.
“Hrolfr brought this special wine as a gift from Chieftess Kraka.”
Þorgil pointed to two large leather wineskins sitting on the ground near the group of men.
“Did she now?”
Alfr questioned this as they were still striding forward. He immediately began calculating what this unexpected variable meant to the equation of espionage already swirling about at the blót.
“She thought it would be a kind gesture,” Hrolfr said as he looked back and forth nervously between the wineskins and Jarl Alfr.
“You know, such gifts should be reported to the jarl.”
Sæmundr said this as they stopped on the other side of the wineskins, about ten feet from the group.
“There’s no problem. Everything is in hand,” Halsten assured them. “We know Hrolfr and of course we had Þorgil taste the wine first. He liked it so much he asked if he could have a second cup.”
Þorgil stepped forward brandishing his cup and stood over the wineskins.
“You should have some jarl. The king’s favorite. Cherry wine.”
As Þorgil was saying this, Hrolfr looked around nervously again, and edged a bit behind Halsten.
“And so all of the wine is still here, besides what Þorgil has already drunk?”
Alfr asked this and gestured toward the wineskins.
“No, a servant has already taken a bucket of the wine out for the king. He likely passed you on the way between the viewing stands and here.”
“Nothing to worry about, jarl. I’m still standing and I’ve had two cups. Try some.”
Þorgil urged the jarl to have a taste, gesturing with his cup.
That’s when it all connected for Alfr and he blurted out loudly:
Sæmundr looked at Alfr quizzically while asking:
“What is that, my jarl? What flowers?”
>>> WARNING: descriptions of graphic violence and suicide follow. Please be advised before reading further. <<<
Sæmundr’s look away and the jarl’s eureka moment were Hrolfr’s cue. He quickly pulled out a dagger from his belt and jabbed Halsten with the blade several times in his lower back.
Hrolfr’s bloody dagger as imagined by Playground AI and the Stable Diffusion XL image generator.
Alfr shouted:
“Take him alive!”
Now, Sæmundr wheeled into action. But surprised by all the commotion, Þorgil tripped on the wineskins and blocked Sæmundr’s charge, falling in front of the warrior and hitting him in the shins. Sæmundr stumbled backwards trying hard to regain his balance and not fall to the ground.
Hrolfr saw his opportunity and reached down quickly, pulling with one hand on Þorgil’s chin, and with his other, he punched the dagger into the food taster’s carotid artery. This happened as Halsten fell back against the wall of the kitchen, his eyes widening, leaving a bloody stain as he tried to reach back with his one good arm to brace himself. Hrolfr now wheeled around and plunged the dagger into Halsten’s abdomen several times before his body slumped to the ground. Halsten had let out a scream as Hrolfr made these new wounds but it quickly faded into a gasp.
When Hrolfr turned around, he saw Sæmundr had recovered, drawn a throwing axe from his belt and was advancing slowly around Þorgil’s dead body. Alfr had drawn out his trusty hunting knife and was carefully moving in from the other flank while still holding his walking stick.
“You’re trapped, Hrolfr. Just throw down your weapon. There’s no way to escape.”
Alfr stated this calmly but sternly.
“It’s over. You’re too late.”
Hrolfr said this with a nervous grin.
“It’s all over!”
Before either Alfr or Sæmundr could advance farther, Hrolfr quickly took the dagger and punched it with great force into his own neck. Before the two men could catch him and brace his arms, he even managed to push in the dagger a second time. Blood gurgled out of his neck as both men let his body sink to the ground.
Alfr quickly assessed the situation while standing in the bloody aftermath, as Sæmundr went to check on Halsten who was groaning lowly.
“He’s still alive!”
Sæmundr shouted this.
“I rarely thank the gods but I will thank them now.”
Alfr said this with a sigh.
“Sæ get some of our people on the cooking staff to guard these wineskins. At least he didn’t destroy them. And have one of them go to hunt up the court physician. Maybe he can save Halsten. Now, I’m for the king!”
“Good luck!”
Sæmundr responded as he held Halsten’s hand and comforted him for a moment before he too would need to be in motion.
With that, Alfr stepped carefully out of the bloody pool that had formed around the bodies and he picked up his walking stick, clutching it to his side. He started a painful trot and tried to break into a run as best he could to close the distance to the royal viewing stand. But not far beyond the temple’s kitchen, he ran head on into the throngs coming out of the temple and making their way to the gibbet for the final part of the day’s sacrifices.
At a certain point, Alfr was unable to run through the crowd, dodging people as he might. His body thanked him for slowing down and he started to use his stick and his stature to wade through the crowd.
“Important business for the king. Please let me pass.”
Finally, he happened across a knot of guards in the crowd and he drafted them for his cause.
“Clear the way and get me to the royal viewing stand. The king’s life is in danger.”
The guards unslung their shields from their backs and formed a wedge. They methodically fast walked into the crowd, moving forward at a pace that the jarl could not keep with his walking stick so he painfully trotted slowly behind them. He called out occasionally:
“Out of the way. Official business for the king. Move!”
Soon they were at the stairs for the royal platform and Alfr mounted those two at a time with haste, pain shooting through his legs from his lower back. His fall before the blót and his tussling with Borkvard in the forest were all catching up to him now. His heart was pounding and he hoped he had made it in time.
As he reached the platform and stumbled a bit, his escorts came up behind him, which alerted the many other guards at the back of the platform that something was amiss. They tensed and drew their weapons.
“He’s here just in time!” King Þorolfr proclaimed as he looked back at the entry staircase and raised a cup of sweet cherry wine over his head and in the direction of Alfr.
“Jarl Alfr, come and drink with us.”
“Put the cup down, my king. Do not put that to your lips.”
He said this and advanced as quickly as he could toward the king. His new escorts followed closely behind him, not sure what was unfolding.
“No lectures about drinking today, jarl. This is only my first cup and you know I’ve been cutting down.”
The king brought the cup down, level with his lips.
“I said stop!”
Alfr shouted this and he took his right hand and batted the cup, knocking it out of the king’s hands. The cup dropped to the ground splashing wine on the queen’s dress as it bounced and rolled a bit on the platform.
“It’s poison! Listen to me! It’s poison!”
“What? Poison?”
The king was shocked.
“How? It was tasted? Wasn’t it?”
The guards at the front of the viewing stand tensed when they heard this news. They began looking both at Alfr, and Jarl Sigurd, who was seated in the second row flanking the king, for further signs or instructions.
“You have spilled wine on my dress!”
The queen shouted.
With the shouting on the viewing stand, the crowds that had been awaiting the final sacrifice on the field in front of the gibbet now turned to watch the royal viewing stand as if they were watching a play. That part of the crowd hushed and those flanking the royal platform in the temporary wooden stands began murmuring about what was going on. Some could see the guards forming up on the viewing stand and they wondered if there would be a verbal spat again like the day the king had made the controversial pardon.
Alfr turned momentarily to the queen and said sternly:
“Where is your head you girl queen? Your husband was almost murdered here and you are worried about a stained dress.”
“So much disrespect from you, Jarl Alfr.”
The queen huffed.
“I just don’t understand.”
The king shook his head.
The queen’s complaints had changed Alfr’s relief at saving the king and turned it to anger and immediate action. He looked back at the middle of the last row of the viewing platform. He pointed at Chieftess Kraka of Årus, and shouted angrily:
“Arrest that woman! Take Chieftess Kraka into custody. And if anyone defends her, arrest that person too.”
The line of guards standing immediately behind the joint delegations from Årus and Nidaros immediately pounced, pulling Kraka up from her seat roughly. Prince Magni took his crutch and from a seated position, swung it, hitting one of the guards full in the face and dropping him to the floor.
“That’s my mother! Keep your hands off of her!”
He yelled this.
Magni’s assistant, Gandalfr stood up and punched one of the guards in the face. This incited more of the warriors to jump into the fracas in the back row. Many in the entourage for Årus and Nidaros were punched, pushed, shoved, or dumped out of their chairs in the fighting that ensued, but only Magni, Gandalfr, and Kraka resisted. Her fine dress was torn as part of the fight.
“Arrest the prince too if he’s going to fight!”
“You can’t arrest my half-brother too! You are making this a spectacle. Is all this really necessary?”
“I just saved your life.”
Alfr said this tersely.
“Let me handle this. It’s too bad it’s a show but it is not of my making.”
As Alfr was saying this, Gyrið the Concubine and Chief Tryggve “The Moaner” Flod of Burgundaholmr who had both been holding cups of wine doled out from the king’s wine bucket discreetly poured the contents back where they had originated.
Alfr turned to the guards behind him and pointed at the bucket, after noticing what Gyrið and Tryggve had done.
“Secure that bucket. Bring it back to the kitchens. Don’t spill a drop. And if you drink any, even the gods will not be able to help you.”
Two of the guards broke off and followed the jarl’s instructions.
“Are you overreacting again like you did the other day?”
The king wondered this loudly.
“I don’t think so. Leave it be, my liege.”
Alfr said this with annoyance. He motioned to the guards who were restraining Kraka.
“Bring her up here! And take the resistors including the prince to my house by the temple. I want twenty guards around that house. No one goes in or out without my approval or approval from Jarl Sigurd.”
The guards carried away Prince Magni, Gandalfr and another man from Årus who had tried to avoid getting involved but who had pushed back when some of the guards had mistakenly hit him.
Two beefy guards pushed Kraka forward to the front of the platform by the king and Jarl Alfr. They stood holding her by the elbows. Her face was red from exerting herself in trying to fight off her capture. But she held her head high with pride.
“You are lying, spymaster.”
She spat at Alfr but missed him.
“You are going to regret this. You have no proof for your charges.”
“The proof?”
Alfr growled at her.
“The proof is sitting right on your head!”
Alfr reached up and pulled the jeweled hair comb out of her blonde hair, as he lifted the wreath of dried lily of the valley flowers attached to the comb.
“These are poison flowers.”
He said this as he showed the wreath to the king whose jaw was dropping.
“This wreath is almost a signal that today would be the day to send you the poisoned wine.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
Kraka struggled a bit with the guards again.
“This is all falsehood.”
“Can you prove it?”
The king asked this meekly.
“I hope you can prove it.”
“Prove it we shall. I have some thoughts on that. Now, take her away. She has done enough damage on this day.”
“I still don’t understand.”
The king shook his head as the guards took Kraka away.
“How did the poison get past your taster?”
Alfr held the wreath of flowers out in front of the king’s face.
“These flowers contain a slow-acting poison. It could take a day or two to take effect. First you get sick and then you die slowly.”
The king exclaimed.
“Thank you. I hope you can prove this, especially now that you have detained my half-brother. What did he know?”
“My liege….”
Alfr said this with annoyance.
“This is not the time or the place for that discussion.”
Alfr was then surprised as his friend, Jarl Sigurd stood up and shouted.
“Cheers for my good friend, Alfr! He’s just saved the king’s life.”
“No, please! No accolades here, please!”
The crowd on the viewing stand broke into applause, except for those who remained from Årus. Even some in the crowd below who could see and hear some of the action cheered a bit. However, there was more murmuring as much of the crowd did not know what had just happened beyond several people being hauled off by the guards. Immediately some began whispering about the arrest of Prince Magni. He was easily recognized with his crutch.
Gyla jumped up from her seat behind Gyrið and rushed up to Alfr.
“I am so proud of you.”
She squealed and pressed herself against him, giving him a squeeze and a hug.
“You have shown everyone your worth to the kingdom today!”
“Not you too. I don’t need all this recognition. It’s not my way.”
“Just accept it and enjoy the rest of this day.”
“Unfortunately, there’s more work to do, my dear Gyla.”
Alfr sighed.
“But I promise to spend some time with you at the feast after all this is put to rest.”
“I will hold you to that promise, my jarl.”
Gyla said this with excitement in her voice.
While Gyla was telling the jarl of her admiration, Tryggve had stood up and consulted briefly with the king. Tryggve now walked to the center of the platform all the way to the edge and called out to the crowds:
“We are sorry to announce that the final sacrifice will be postponed for a while. Please have patience.”
This was as much of an announcement to the crowd as it was a signal to Godi Styrbjörn of Hleiðra, the Seer of Denmark, that the human sacrifice could not commence because the king was not ready to pass final judgment on anyone brought before him at this time.
As the crowd waited with a mix of disappointment, confusion, and keen anticipation, Alfr asked some of the guards to escort him back to the kitchens of the temple. He was starting to limp a bit even with the aid of his walking stick. The exertions of the day were hitting him and it wasn’t even mid-day yet.
Once he was at the kitchens, Alfr met again with Sæmundr, who like the jarl, was a bit more subdued than usual due to the day’s events.
“Court Physician Knut asked me to pass along his disappointment that you didn’t put Halsten on light duty as he requested.”
“So he’s still alive?”
“Barely. He may not make it.”
Sæmundr paused then said:
“You never explained to me about the flowers. That caught me off guard.”
Alfr now recounted much of what he had explained on the royal platform during the arrest of Chieftess Kraka regarding the toxicity of lily of the valley flowers and how their slow-acting nature was a way to get the poison past poor Þorgil, the now deceased royal taster.
“The gods showed their favor for the king today. We got lucky. Any other day he would have had a cup of wine the moment he sat down. His resolve to cut back on his drinking is the only thing that saved him.”
“Well, your investigations too.”
“Our investigations. And there’s more to do.”
He pointed at the wineskins and the bucket of sweet wine, now guarded by a handful of warriors.
“One of those wineskins is mostly empty. No doubt, that’s the wine that went to the royal platform and is now in the bucket.”
“Alright, have Jarl Sigurd or the temple staff round up a stray dog or cat. A dog would be better. A dog will eat or drink anything. Give him the wine and guard him until we see the results. This will be the proof that will tie Hrolfr and Kraka to the attempt to poison the king.”
“And what about Hrolfr? Do you think he’s the one that killed Hrörekr of Årus?”
“It’s looking a lot like that now. Likely Hrörekr knew of these plans. He was Hrolfr’s helper. And they shut him up before he could sell them out.”
“And Borkvard?”
“Who knows how that weasel is connected, if at all.”
Alfr shook his head.
“But we are going to keep him locked up for a while. At least until the end of the blót and likely longer, until the queen starts whining about it. We don’t need him making trouble for us.”
“Good. I don’t like that troublemaker either.”
Alfr and Sæmundr would work for several more hours on tying up the loose ends of their work and proving the case against Chieftess Kraka and any of her potential co-conspirators. Plus, Alfr was still concerned about overall security. So one of his first tasks was to draft a new taster from among his spies to serve at least temporarily through the rest of the blót. Alfr was careful enough to realize although he may have neutralized one plot, he might not have stopped them all.
Back at the royal viewing platform, the king had agreed to a delay of about 90 minutes or so. The crowd was growing restless as it was one of the warmer days of the blót but still breezy and cool.
Godi Styrbjörn revealed the day’s sacrifice to be Miloslava, a slave woman from Pomerania, who the king’s forces had kidnapped during the king’s raids on Noregr more than 18 months ago. The king had quickly approved her sacrifice.
Like Alfr and Sæmundr, the king was feeling very subdued after the excitement of earlier in the day. One might even say he was sullen as he had talked very little to the queen or the royal consort since Alfr had come to knock the wine out of his hand. He was contemplating the odd turns of life. He had been so focused on who had killed his father and how he could avenge that death that he failed to take seriously that he too had enemies who wanted to deal him a lethal blow. He wondered too how involved his half-brother might have been in this plot.
During the break, before the sacrifice, he had ordered water be brought to the royals on the platform, and he swore he would not be taking any spirits on this day, seeing that liquor had almost been what masked the plot’s poison. Not having any alcohol actually put the king further out of sorts, as drinking spirits was now his daily habit.
Soon the king was trudging to the feasting hall without much pep, his thoughts still swirling about how close he had come to death. Something like dodging an arrow in battle without a shield, he thought.
His listlessness continued through the prayers and toasts of the pre-feast consecration. He delivered his parts in a low monotone. His performance displeased Godi Styrbjörn so much that the Seer had shot him several hard stares. But to no avail.
Gyrið, the king’s consort, did not love the king, but she cared for him, and now she was concerned for him. When he came back to the head table after the consecration of the sacrifices, she asked him to step away from others into the corner of the feasting hall.
“You are letting the plotters win,” Gyrið chided him. “Don’t give them any victory. You were the victor today. Embrace the life you have.”
“Thank you, Gyrið.”
The king said this softly.
“Your care for me is true. I know. But I feel wounded nonetheless. Now, I realize how some people truly hate me.”
“Don’t wallow in your despair. Come dance with me. I know you don’t like dancing, but I will ask the musicians to play some slow ballads and that will be easy, no?”
“Alright. In a bit.”
With a bit of joy, Gyrið marched off to talk to the musicians, even as they were striking into a new set of lively dancing songs before the feasting began.
The crowd was enjoying the dancing and drinking today, perhaps even more than any other day of the blót so far. People seemed energized by the drama on the royal viewing stand, and there was much lively talk and gossip about what people had seen and the stories they were already extrapolating from today’s arrests. People threw themselves into the dancing, also wanting to forget their own mortality on a day that featured so much death and sacrifice.
King Þorolfr dances with Gyrið the Concubine during the celebrations on the seventh day of the Great Blót of 790 as imagined by Playground AI, the Stable Diffusion XL image generator, and Playground AI’s digital editor, Canvas.
Eventually, at the royal consort’s request, the musicians did play some slower ballads, without lyrics and the king joined her in the dancing area. This too was a signal to many and the dance floor became packed with couples hugging and slowly swaying to the slow minor key songs. This inspired much kissing among the many couples dancing. Gyrið pulled the king’s head down to her level and kissed him gently on the cheek as he swayed sadly with her.
“Dance your troubles away, my king.”
She said this softly in his ear.
“This is not so bad now, is it?”
“Thank you for being so tender with me.”
He replied and they swayed together slowly through several more slow numbers.
The feast that night featured three main courses: pit-baked, slowly cooked goat, seasoned with thyme and garlic, with a side of flatbread; chicken stew flavored with bacon and a side of broad beans; and roasted goose with a side of baked apples.
The feast picked up the king’s spirits, so much so that he asked for both the goose and the goat to be served to him.
Jarl Aflr and Chief Sæmundr arrived at the feasting hall just as the food was beginning to be served. Alfr made sure that everything on the way to the head table was thoroughly checked, not just the food for the royal trio.
When Jarl Sigurd saw his friend enter the huge feasting hall he began chanting and banging his cup on the head table to make some noise. Soon many others were chanting, stomping and banging their cups too. “Alfr! Alfr! Alfr!” they chanted.
The spymaster walked slowly and purposely toward the head table. Behind him, Sæmundr was beaming with pride but Jarl Alfr was keeping his head down. When he reached the head table the room hushed and the king stood up to speak.
Now, he was speaking passionately and loudly to the crowd.
“We should recognize the service of Jarl Alfr af Vendel to the realm, today. He is truly the Hero of the Great Blót of 790. Without him, I would not be alive. Thank you for what you have done for me and the kingdom today. Please now give us a few words, Jarl Alfr.”
There was much applause before Alfr lifted his voice to speak, and his voice wavered a bit at the beginning but then it hit the proper commanding tones:
“Thank you, my liege. Thank you King Þorolfr for that recognition. But those of us who work providing security to the king and the realm believe we should neither be seen or heard. I appreciate the applause. I do. But enjoy the feast. Enjoy the blót. No need to do anything more for this old graybeard who was just doing his job. Thank you all.”
There was much applause and some who called to hear more from Alfr but he promptly sat down.
Jarl Sigurd then stood up and Alfr shot him a hard look but he proceeded anyway.
“Let us all now drink to the Hero of the Blót, my good friend Jarl Alfr! To the health of Jarl Alfr! Skol!”
Sigurd drained his cup of ale and many others in the hall downed their cups or horns of spirits in honor of Alfr.
“Now eat and enjoy life like there may be no tomorrow!”
The king declared this and then he sat down to dig into his many dishes. True to his promise to himself, the king continued to drink water throughout the feast.
(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.)
The next segment of our story will be something a little different. We will leave the blót, for now, and go backward more than two years. We will revisit some of the happenings related to Chapter V, especially the important events centered around the Jul celebrations of that year. Time to fill in some context in the next installment of Lost Seasons of the Danes....
(For those who want more on the plotters and other issues in the Kingdom of Denmark, more details can be found at The Tårn.)
(As is our custom, sharing the suggested soundtrack for Appendix A9 below: "Kvervandi by Ivar Bjørnson & Einar Selvik.)
(Lost Seasons of the Danes will return later this week.)
Of course the queen didn't feel like comforting the King after he almost died. Was she in on Kraka's plot?
Poisoned flowers, huh? That's a fascinating scheme. It does explain why she was mentioned as wearing them and why this wasn't caught earlier... so nice foreshadowing.
What will happen to Prince Magni and Chieftess Kraka? Will they be executed? Will we finally have a reason to make the Norwegians find another patsy?
Alfr manages to scramble a tactical win this time, but there are so many plots, twists, grey areas and mixed or doubtful loyalties here. There is usually another plot or two on the boil even as one is doused. And proof here may not be as straightforward as hoped. Magni may either know nothing of the specifics, even if done by his mother on his behalf. Or may have enough plausible deniability to slip out of it again. But one can’t help but think the only solution is banishment or the headsman’s axe!
Thanks @HistoryDude & @Bullfilter for reading and for your support. (Thanks to our silent readers too. I know some of you are out there from other communication.)
Alfr manages to scramble a tactical win this time, but there are so many plots, twists, grey areas and mixed or doubtful loyalties here. There is usually another plot or two on the boil even as one is doused. And proof here may not be as straightforward as hoped. Magni may either know nothing of the specifics, even if done by his mother on his behalf. Or may have enough plausible deniability to slip out of it again. But one can’t help but think the only solution is banishment or the headsman’s axe!
Glad that you both have tumbled to the fact that the plots are thick in this one. Have to admit, this part of this play-through was about as thick with plots as I've seen in the game. Not sure why, although it may have to do with both the king and queen having stats hovering right around the useful range regarding intrigue. And the AI has decided the queen's intrigue is just going to grow.
There are no indications the queen was part of the assassination plot. As you pointed out earlier, @HistoryDude , at some point the queen has to realize her greater power flows through the king. As the king struggles with his many faults, that's just going to give her more openings in the future though. No doubt, she will become the political player she wants to be, but she's still mostly on the sidelines at the age of 17.
As you can see, the queen's limited attention span right now just won't let her focus on dark manipulations but that is certainly ahead of us.
As we have established though, the queen and king do not have a loving relationship. If the king is going to get comfort, that comes from his concubine Gyrið. And although the king and his concubine say they are not in love with each other (and the game says they are not in love with each other too) there is a growing bond between them that will make that point debatable at some point.
But back to the question of what will befall Prince Magni and his mother, Chieftess Kraka: unfortunately, in the next chapter we are headed backward, not forward. And as @Bullfilter predicts, it might not be as straightforward as it seems. We will have to wait until the new year to get some answers.
Yes, the relationship between the Norwegians and the Danes will continue to be an issue for a very long time. And yes, their embrace of Magni might not be as permanent as the young prince would prefer. (But all that is for down the road a bit. Hope you have patience in the inevitable waiting to find out.)
Poisoned flowers, huh? That's a fascinating scheme. It does explain why she was mentioned as wearing them and why this wasn't caught earlier... so nice foreshadowing.
More on poisonous flowers in the next installment. When taking up this story that is joined to the game play, there was no expectation of dealing with poisonous flowers. But due to the various plots, the necessary research has meant I've learned a lot about poisonous flowers along with the debates of what actually fueled Norse berserkers. One of these days, I may share another of the stories developed around Jarl Alfr that has both poisonous flowers and special mushrooms baked into its plot. That story will be alluded to in a chapter early in the new year, but we won't get into the weeds... oh no... poor phrasing there... I meant we won't get into the details in that one.
