“I fought because there was an easy fight to win.” Thor’s pitch lifted in excitement, his expression animated at the mention of a fight. He belched, then continued, “But most importantly, I got the measure of Frodi’s strength, and he got to see how the men of Agder rule the battlefield.” Thor looked to his men, who thumped the sand and growled their approval. Thor beamed at their affirmation. “Frodi is still a good war leader. He organized the defense well, kept the high ground. His archers drove the enemy onto our spears. But he failed to control the battle. When the enemy fled, his men took up the chase and would not heed him. They ran into a trap of archers. If the enemy had more strength, more discipline, they could have turned on Frodi and torn him apart. He won because the enemy was weak and afraid-and they should have been, for the Bear of Agder was among them!”
The men hollered, startling Ulfrik and drawing curious stares from the other campfires. He was surprised how much Thor knew about the battle, given that the big man had appeared delirious throughout. “How did you fight so ferociously but keep such a careful eye on the battle?”
“Do it enough and you learn how,” Thor answered with a chuckle. “When the bear god is in me, I am full of his power. It makes me crazed, but my men know what to do. We drill and train, drill and train. No one so much as breathes out of step with what we have trained. So in battle, I only have to consider myself. After the bear god leaves me, I am spent, but the men tell me what happened.” He passed around another skin.
This time, the mead began to improve Ulfrik’s mood and he forgot his worries, or at least put them aside. Laughter erupted again as they were joined by more men from the other campfires.
“This man has the whitest teeth of any man I have ever seen,” one of them said, gesturing to Yngvar. “Did you paint them?” He guffawed, spraying spittle that glistened as it arced through the firelight.
“They call me Yngvar Bright Tooth.” As much as Ulfrik knew he hated the name, Yngvar displayed his smile for all to see.
“You could blind an enemy in combat with those teeth,” Thor agreed, laughing. “Always fight facing the sun, Yngvar. And what of your lord here?” He gestured to Ulfrik. “Should we call him Ulfrik Long Face?”
“Please no,” Ulfrik said, holding up his hands but realizing he had earned the name. “Call me anything but that!”
“I’ll have to come up with something better,” Thor said. He leaned forward. “Now here’s something, do you know what they call Frodi’s son, Bard?” He looked at them expectantly, stalled laughter puffing out his cheeks. “Bard the Blue Face. He gets seasick just looking at a boat.”
Thor rollicked back on his log, clapping his hands. Everyone else snorted and shook their heads. But the mention of Bard’s name ruined Ulfrik’s rising mood. “How did Bard fare in combat?”
“Like a boy. Always in the way,” Thor said. “Bard is Frodi’s weakest and his youngest. I swear he still sucks his mother’s tit. He hid behind his shield and his father’s strong arm. Honestly, Frodi should just give up trying to make a warrior of the whelp. But he must think Bard is capable of becoming what he wants him to be. He’ll have to succeed, because Frodi’s other sons are dead. He just doesn’t know about the second one yet.”
Ulfrik and Yngvar shared a look.
“Frodi doesn’t know one of his sons is dead, but you do?” Ulfrik asked.
Thor nodded as he reached for more mead, which seemed to be in endless supply. Upending the skin, Thor let the sweet drink stream down his beard before swallowing and answered, “Yes, but I won’t be the bearer of that news. With Harald making noise on the border, I need a strong, focused man to deal with him. If Frodi learns his heir is dead, his spirit might break. Can’t have that now.”
“How do you know he’s dead?” Yngvar asked.
Thor wiped his mouth on his arm and belched several times, blowing foul air over them. “It’s my business to hear things. Travelers are welcome in my hall. Frodi keeps his doors shut to everyone, thinking they come only to steal, so he doesn’t hear what I hear. The boy was wintering in Anglia until the next raiding season. But he won’t be coming home after all. Thrown from a horse, I heard. Broke his neck. That’s why I’ll never ride a horse to battle.” Thor jammed a finger into his mouth to pick food from his teeth. Flicking his findings into the fire, he called an end to the night. “We set out at dawn. I want to be sleeping in my hall tomorrow. Ulfrik, you look like you’re not going to sleep anyway, so take the watch. Someone will relieve you later.”
The groups separated and drifted off to their duties. Men pulled blankets up to the fires and prepared for sleep. Ulfrik stood, and Yngvar rose after him. “It is a great offer, Ulfrik. Many men make their fortunes this way, and you already have a core of loyal men. Be glad for that, at least.”
Ulfrik gazed out at the black, moonless sea. Waves purred in the background, and the sea breeze lifted his hair. Where Fate had taken, it had also given. His thread had not yet been spun to the finish.
“I do have much to be glad for,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to Yngvar. “But I just don’t feel it yet. Maybe I will tomorrow.”
He left Yngvar to his rest and went to stand by the ships. Even if someone came to relieve him, he would not sleep that night.
Twenty-five
Ulfrik leaned on Wave Spear’s rudder, guiding it through the waters, toward home. A dense fog obscured the sea, but local crewmembers helped him navigate the rocks and currents. The ship skipped over the waves as the men rowed, a bracing wind at their backs. Their daring first raid in winter had been a great success.
Yngvar had broken into song and the crew followed along. Snorri, rowing next to him, sang louder and stronger than anyone else. Ulfrik usually joined them, but today his mind was on threading the fjord safely.
The harsh winter was nearly over, and four months had passed since Ulfrik had given Thor his oath. The Wave Spear had been completed and Thor had awarded it to Ulfrik, and after feverishly constructing homes, a hall, and a storage house, Ulfrik and his men left to test themselves on a raid. Their first target had been Grenner, but finding the route full of ships carrying spearmen and bowmen to escort the knarr merchant vessels, Ulfrik had turned away, pressing further east. There, they fell upon Svear lands, raiding farms but finding little more than livestock and common items. By trading his spoils, Ulfrik learned where the local jarls made their halls.
Striking at night on a hall that hardly knew danger, Ulfrik and his men made away with silver, iron, weapons, and a mail coat, and received few injuries in the bargain. He had refused to take slaves, his mind on Runa.
“Victors should have women,” Johan-barely fifteen summers old but stubborn as unworked iron-had grumbled. Although the youngest man on the crew, he had been brave, often foolhardy, in their skirmishes. “What are these Svear to us? We should take some of these barbarian women for ourselves.”
“I expected barbarians,” Ulfrik admitted, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But these are not them. Are they so different from us? They even speak the same language.”
Johan grunted. “With that accent? Can’t understand a word of it. If they came to our lands, you would see barbarians.”
“Maybe. But I will not make slaves of their people, no matter what they would do to us.”
He continued to press his attacks along the coast until the local leaders united against him. By then the men had already filled the hold with treasure and could return home satisfied. The entire raid took just weeks. And even the journey home had been fortuitous; however, days ago he’d had to outpace another dragon-headed longship that had pursued the Wave Spear for a time.
A viridian tree line emerged from the fog on the right, and Ulfrik could make out a fishing boat bobbing on the fjord waters. It was Troke, Ulfrik recognized-a fisherman who had lived here since long before Thor had even been born. The fisherman waved and Ulfrik lifted a hand in reply. Further inland, long houses squatted in the field he and his men had cleared of trees. Fog clung low to the ground, and Ulfrik imagined he saw smoke curling from the hearths. He guided the ship to the shallow waters and some of the men jumped off to tug it ashore. Ulfrik pulled up the rudder and gave a shout of triumph to his crew. Smiling and laughing, they dragged the ship up the sand, but it was heavy with spoils and hard to beach.