In the part of the Norse-law north of the Thames, there is a saying: "The luck of the Viktorssons". It refers to a branch of the Ynglings descended from Viktor Jonsson, who in his own time - around 1430, during the first part of the Diaspora - formed a well-deserved reputation for always falling on his feet. "He fought at Tewkesbury Field," the tale goes, "where the Norse corpses lay in rows like scythed wheat, and the Breton cavalry had blood splashed to the withers; but Viktor took an arrow to the leg, and survived to be ransomed. He lost his estates in the peace of Brømsebro" - heads shake, at this point; to lose your land is counted the most terrible of misfortunes in the Norse-law, far worse than mere death, for a dead man will pass his land on to his sons - "and his brother would not pay the ransom. But he charmed his captor's daughter, and was set free to marry her. He looked for a berth on a ship, and none would take him but a leaky old hulk called the Red Swan, which had never had a lucky voyage - and that was the ship that brought the first loads of ivory from the Breton conquest of Africa, and the officers' shares were a hundred for one. Never was there such a man for finding gold in a heap of muck! The influenza ran rampant through the district, and both his brothers-in-law died - and Viktor's son Ragnar became heir to the broad acres of Cranston Manor. The Germans overran Norway; Viktor had got ahead of the crowd and became rich from relieving the refugees of their jewelry and gold, in exchange for places on his ships going to the colonies."
Only in one thing was Viktor ever unlucky, and that was in his brother Torstein. That they did not get along was one thing; such is the unhappiness of many a family, which still manages to stay polite at festivals and out of each others' way the rest of the year. That they should court the same woman, and exchange harsh words over her virtue, was altogether worse. Still, as Viktor had made a new life in England, while Torstein kept the family farm in Norway, it might not have amounted to more than estrangement, and they both might have been reasonably happy. But when Torstein likewise fled to England ahead of the German army - surely, then, it was some malignant god, determined to finally make up for Viktor's luck in other matters, that caused Torstein to buy land in Grewsbury and become squire there, only a few miles north of Cranston.
So began the feud of Viktorson and Torsteinson; for the sons inherited the enmity of the fathers when Harald Torsteinson broke a leg during a football game, and blamed his cousin Ragnar for it. It is not, as such things go, a very bloody struggle; the King's peace runs through the land. But cattle has disappeared from fenced fields; border stones have been moved; and heads have been broken when the villages met - for the tenants of both squires support their landlords, and no man of either Grewsbury or Cranston rides alone to market or Ting.
A hundred years later, the feud continues unabated, each new generation finding fresh fuel for the fire. If a Torsteinson courts a lady, you may be sure that a Viktorson scion will decide she is his heart's desire; and often he will get her too, for the luck of the Viktorsons extends to affairs of the heart, and especially to their feuds. The Viktorsons go out at night and return home with twenty cows they 'found'; if a Torsteinson does the same, you may be sure that those are the only diseased cows in the whole district, and half a herd will have to be slaughtered. Torsteinsons join the army and are made officers of the artillery, with a good chance of blowing themselves up; Viktorsons join the navy and make a fortune in prize money hunting pirates in the colonies. Torsteinsons become priests and spend twenty years in Scots backwaters; Viktorsons are ordained on the day that a vicarage in sunny Yorkshire opens up.
The rivalry extends to politics; since 1464 no year has passed without both families sending a representative to York for their respective districts, and there is no issue on which they agree. If a Torsteinson voted funds to build a new ship, there is no need to check the rolls: The Viktorson supported expanding the army instead. If there are frictions in the colonies, and the Torsteinson supports the settlers, then the Viktorson will give a speech on justice for the noble Creek. And so down the list it goes: To seek support from Georgia or Brittany; to reconcile with Germany or demand the return of Norway; to support trade or send settlers to the American plains.
Such, in this year 1568, is the martial inheritance of the Yngling race. Geir Jonsson would laugh, and spit; Anja Sigridsdatter would not give even so much warning before she carved a bloody path through the whole squabbling lot and took the survivors as slaves, "thereby", as she would say, "improving the average quality of both master and servant classes". But there is peace in the land. And perhaps it is not only the Viktorsons who should be considered lucky.
Only in one thing was Viktor ever unlucky, and that was in his brother Torstein. That they did not get along was one thing; such is the unhappiness of many a family, which still manages to stay polite at festivals and out of each others' way the rest of the year. That they should court the same woman, and exchange harsh words over her virtue, was altogether worse. Still, as Viktor had made a new life in England, while Torstein kept the family farm in Norway, it might not have amounted to more than estrangement, and they both might have been reasonably happy. But when Torstein likewise fled to England ahead of the German army - surely, then, it was some malignant god, determined to finally make up for Viktor's luck in other matters, that caused Torstein to buy land in Grewsbury and become squire there, only a few miles north of Cranston.
So began the feud of Viktorson and Torsteinson; for the sons inherited the enmity of the fathers when Harald Torsteinson broke a leg during a football game, and blamed his cousin Ragnar for it. It is not, as such things go, a very bloody struggle; the King's peace runs through the land. But cattle has disappeared from fenced fields; border stones have been moved; and heads have been broken when the villages met - for the tenants of both squires support their landlords, and no man of either Grewsbury or Cranston rides alone to market or Ting.
A hundred years later, the feud continues unabated, each new generation finding fresh fuel for the fire. If a Torsteinson courts a lady, you may be sure that a Viktorson scion will decide she is his heart's desire; and often he will get her too, for the luck of the Viktorsons extends to affairs of the heart, and especially to their feuds. The Viktorsons go out at night and return home with twenty cows they 'found'; if a Torsteinson does the same, you may be sure that those are the only diseased cows in the whole district, and half a herd will have to be slaughtered. Torsteinsons join the army and are made officers of the artillery, with a good chance of blowing themselves up; Viktorsons join the navy and make a fortune in prize money hunting pirates in the colonies. Torsteinsons become priests and spend twenty years in Scots backwaters; Viktorsons are ordained on the day that a vicarage in sunny Yorkshire opens up.
The rivalry extends to politics; since 1464 no year has passed without both families sending a representative to York for their respective districts, and there is no issue on which they agree. If a Torsteinson voted funds to build a new ship, there is no need to check the rolls: The Viktorson supported expanding the army instead. If there are frictions in the colonies, and the Torsteinson supports the settlers, then the Viktorson will give a speech on justice for the noble Creek. And so down the list it goes: To seek support from Georgia or Brittany; to reconcile with Germany or demand the return of Norway; to support trade or send settlers to the American plains.
Such, in this year 1568, is the martial inheritance of the Yngling race. Geir Jonsson would laugh, and spit; Anja Sigridsdatter would not give even so much warning before she carved a bloody path through the whole squabbling lot and took the survivors as slaves, "thereby", as she would say, "improving the average quality of both master and servant classes". But there is peace in the land. And perhaps it is not only the Viktorsons who should be considered lucky.
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