Guthrum stood next to Halfdene on the edge of the beach where a few hardy blades of grass created an oasis of packed earth, and they were able to keep sand from getting inside their boots as they waited. The sky was light gray, but they could see sunlight piercing through the southern clouds. Guthrum was tense, having refused any strong drink the night before, and drank only weak ale that morning as well. It was the third day in a row that they had stood on the shores, waiting. One of the peasant fisherman had seen the fleet of ships, but weather blew in quickly and threw them off course.
Shouts from the hills alerted them first, then Guthrum saw the longboats, maneuvering slowly through the rough waters of the northern coast of Danelaw, once known as Northumbria. Guthrum could make out the figures of five men standing at the prow. They were dressed in shining metal, with glamorous helmets which proclaimed their wealthy status, and he knew who they were before they rowed to the shallows where the warriors jumped into the water to carry the boat, and many of Ragnar's men waded into the surf to help them.
The five important men jumped out of the boat and splashed into the shallows as well, but they did not add their shoulders to the task of carrying the boat onto land. Guthrum sized them up as they came ashore. He looked to the eldest man among them and watched his eyes as they walked up the beach and stopped in front of him.
"You are Bork of Roskilde," Guthrum informed the man. "And these fine men must be your sons?"
Two of the men in the company stepped forward, hands on the hilts of their swords and expressions worn severe.
"Asbjorn, Asgrim," Guthrum nodded at the two, who signified their individual identities by nodding in turn to his greetings. "I am Guthrum Ragnarsson, the heir of Danelaw. These are my kinsmen, Halfdene and Rothgar."
When Bork spoke, he growled his words as if he were an angry bear. "These men are my nephews," he said, indicating the other two in his party. "Erp and Gruda. They are good men."
"You are blessed with many male heirs," Guthrum informed him, matching the growling tone. "My father is in battle, or he would have been on the shore to greet you. But come inside, this is my father's hall. It is warm and full of mead."
"I have heard that you also have a brother. Is he in battle with your father as well?"
Guthrum was about to turn toward the hall and lead them up the hill, but Bork's words stopped him, and he looked the man in his eyes. He could see the Bork knew of Ivar's condition, and he was offended by the man's teasing question, but Guthrum smiled at him, and answered graciously. "Alas, Ivar was born with no bones in his legs. Walking presents a challenge, so he awaits us within."
Bork glanced at his sons and nephews, and Guthrum saw the distrust running between their eyes. They were readying themselves for trickery, but Guthrum had no tricks to show them. Stories of Ivar had reached the homeland, and many had often wondered about his ailment. Guthrum had heard that some said his ailment was only a story meant to put visitors off their guard.
Fog rolled in from the sea, and the moist spring air was thick enough to cut with one of their swords as Guthrum led them up the hill, past the assemblage of Ragnar's people, who stood gathered outside the hall. Dressed in their finery, they watched the men walk past them as if they were silent, dead souls. Every man was armed, and they all had their weaponry on high display. Sword hilts glittered in the pale sun, and heavy shadows fell over the dark iron of blunt hammers and sharp axes, which swung from their belts. No one carried a shield, however, as that would have been a clear sign of mistrust, and the entire meeting was already balanced on the edge of a blade.
The men stepped out of the biting wind and into the dim hall. "Fine beasts," Bork barked as they walked through the first room of Ragnar's hall, which held several horses and sheep. The men from the old country stopped to inspect the animals.
"This is bad luck," Bork said. "Your sheep have only two horns."
"Sheep on this island have only two horns," Guthrum told him, walking away from the animals and into the main dining area.
Ivar sat at the high table in the clean-swept hall where the smell of food permeated the air. From his seat, Ivar appeared a normal man, his withered legs hidden beneath the table and behind a decorative cloth.
The crippled man smiled and opened his arms wide. "Welcome, Norsemen!" Ivar gestured for everyone to enter.
"Everything you see here is my inheritance," Guthrum informed his guests as they entered the large main room.
A servant rushed to Guthrum's side, carrying a tray full of shining gems. Guthrum grabbed a handful of the glittering jewels and stuffed them into Bork's hand.
"I have plenty more. Take them."
Asbjorn looked at Asgrim, who nodded solemnly. They agreed that the gift was fitting.
"What about land?" Bork asked. "And trees to build boats? Do you have that?"
"There is more forest in my kingdom than in all of the old country," Guthrum bragged. "And it is filled with beasts and berries. The land here is fertile, even in winter, and the crops are strong. And all of it is mine."
Guthrum made a show of staring Bork down, letting the old man turn away before he blinked. Bork looked at his sons, and Asbjorn stepped forward.
"I am the finest with a sword in all my village," Asbjorn announced. "You are known to be a warrior. Fight me."
Guthrum snarled at the boy, who was no more than sixteen.
"We are close to the same age," Guthrum appraised him. "And we may be well-matched with blades, but I would not wish to kill the son of my guest. I would rather introduce you to the finest wine in Danelaw, and we shall see if you are as good a drinker as a swordsman."
The servants brought jeweled drinking horns, forged of silver and inscribed with Norse runes. The attention of the men was quickly diverted and Guthrum led them to the table where food was on display, and Rothgar began telling a loud and raunchy tale. The common soldiers sat at the lower tables, and on benches against the wall, drinking from less ornate horns than the men at the high table. And the peasants sat on the ground and drank from wooden mugs while every person in the hall listened to the stories.
Bork sat next to Guthrum at the high table and listened and drank, and after a few stories he started to laugh. Guthrum breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in his chair. He took a deep swallow of his wine and checked again to be sure that his guests seemed content. He would have to begin the negotiations before Bork became too drunk.
"I understand that you are taking your sons to the North Sea?" Guthrum said over the laughter and music going on around them.
"That I am. We hear there is a land there that no one has ever farmed, but it is green."
"Good luck with that. I will stay here and fight the peasants for every tract of this island. But it is brave, your voyage. How long will you look for the green land?"
"Until it is found, or until we have depleted half our supplies, then we will come back here and enjoy more of your fine hospitality." Bork raised his horn and drops of ruby liquid sloshed out. "To the men of the hall of Ragnar Lothbrok!" Bork slurred, shouting to be heard over the din. "And to his son, the heir of the hall, Guthrum, who knows how to make a very fine drink."
The men laughed, cheered and saluted Guthrum and his wine as they tore into the meat and bread that the servants brought them.
"My happiness in Danelaw is complete," Guthrum informed Bork. "For I have all that a lord could ever want in a kingdom. Everything but an heir to give it all to after my death. If I had an heir, I would truly have everything."
"I have heard that you are not yet married," Bork said, setting his drinking horn clumsily into its stand on the table. "I do not understand why that is."
Guthrum sat back in his chair, feeling confident that he had broached the subject tactfully. "I have lived on this island since I was a boy. I have heard so many men talk of the beautiful jewels of Nordic women they have known, but we have no such beauty here. The women we have are hardy, or they are peasant slaves of the conquered people. I will not marry until I have found a jewel from my homeland."
Bork sat back in his chair, a look of contemplation on his face, even though they all knew why the journey had been made. "I respect a man with high standards," he said. "And your wine and fine hall are evidence of your taste. I, too, looked for the finest in a wife. I plucked her ripe and early from the vine and she has grown more beautiful over the years. The children that she gave me are strong." He indicated his sons. "And her daughter is beautiful, too."
They had finally gotten down to the point. Guthrum chose his next words carefully, because any unintended innuendo could cause one of Bork's sons to leap out of his chair with a blade in hand.
Guthrum cleared his throat. "That kind of beauty would be most welcome here. That kind of lady would be most valuable."
Bork watched Guthrum, waiting for something to sound insulting. He was still for a moment, then he nodded his head. "And how valuable do you think she would be?"
Guthrum congratulated himself. "You are going on a voyage. You need wood and supplies. I have sail cloth and more weapons than my soldiers can carry. To show you how serious I am, I can give you this gift."
Guthrum stood up and motioned to Kollskagg, who barked a command and two slaves picked up a chest, laboring under the weight of it, and carried it to the center of the room where they lifted the lid and presented Bork with jewels and gold, which glittered in the dim light, and Bork's sons gasped at the splendor before them.
"A king's ransom," Guthrum said, keeping his face frozen in a stern expression. "That is what I would pay for the finest beauty of my homeland. This is a token, which I present to you, Bork of Roskilde, if I may be introduced to your family."
Bork glared at Guthrum for a long moment, sizing him up anew. "Guthrum of Danelaw, I will postpone my voyage to the green land, and instead my sons and I will sail back to the old country and retrieve my daughter, who is more beautiful than any story you have heard from these old men." He motioned around the hall and laughed heartily as he reached again for his horn. "You will meet my daughter and see that she is the finest jewel of our homeland."
Guthrum smiled and waved at his man to take the treasure and hand it over to Bork's servants. They drank themselves into stupors as Guthrum called for more food and more wine. The visitors remained for a month, receiving gifts of jewels, food, drink and sail cloth from Guthrum, who lavished it on them constantly throughout the stay, all of which they loaded onto their longboats and took with them when they sailed back East, and Guthrum sent word to his father that a deal had been struck.
Guthrum met his father at the entrance of the hall as the old Norseman walked in and shook the rain from his cloak. Servants rushed forth with fresh clothes and blankets, and a horn of ale, which Ragnar carried with him into the main room. The hall was filled with men who had gathered to wait for their chief's return, and they raised their horns and cheered loud when Ragnar entered. Ragnar's crew followed them and dumped shining treasures all over the floor for everyone to admire. The cheers grew louder, and shouts of individual approval filled the room.
"Ragnar was wise when he led us so far from our homeland!" Rothgar yelled out to them. "We raid and we plunder, but this land shows no sign of growing poor. There is always more. So much that we need not risk the sea raids that we once relied upon. We have planned to sail across the channel and raid the holy houses there, but now there is no need."
The men cheered for Ragnar's brilliant leadership, and one of the shouts of approval came from the high table, where Ivar was seated and had a good view of the spilled treasure. He smiled at his father and Ragnar came to his chair to lean down and hug him and pat him on the back. Ivar would never know the joy of raiding, Guthrum considered, as he followed his father to the high table and witnessed the tender reunion. He could not remember his father ever hugging him, but he was gentle and endearing with Ivar often since his legs stopped growing.
"How are you, my son?" Ragnar asked him, in a low and private tone.
"I am well, Father," Ivar responded. "And greatly pleased to see you return."
"Are you growing a beard?" Ragnar tugged at a small hair on the young man's chin, and Ivar blushed in reply.
Guthrum was relieved when his father took a seat, and he no longer felt like an intruder in their private moment. He sat down on the other side of Ragnar than his crippled brother and accepted a horn of mead as he surveyed the room. Loud calls for tales of the plundering were being shouted from several corners, and everyone turned to Rothgar for the telling, and the whole of the hall settled down to drink, eat, and shout throughout the tale.
Ragnar was wrapped up in the stories and pulled a slave girl into his lap as he drained his horn. Guthrum waited until he thought it was the right time to bring up a problem. He looked around the girl that sat in his father's lap, and Ragnar caught his eye.
"Guthrum," Ragnar acknowledged him.
Guthrum took a deep breath. "We must speak of an important matter."
"I received your message," Ragnar grinned. "Do you know how famous your bride-to-be is? I have heard great tales of her beauty, as well as her kindness. Her mother is known also as a great beauty."
"I am pleased with the bargain that I have struck." Guthrum was more than pleased with himself, he was secretly gloating that he had made the deal on his own and going out of his way not to mention that his father had shirked a duty by not speaking to Bork himself. "But I want to talk to you about my cousin."
Skewers of meat were presented to them, and Ragnar took one and shooed the slave girl away.
"What problem do you have with my nephew?" Ragnar asked.
"He has his mind set on marrying a whore, and I want you to talk him out of it."
Ragnar laughed. "What concern of it is yours or mine who Halfdene marries?"
"Do you not care about your nephew's future?"
"You want me to speak to him?"
"Yes! Please, speak with him!"
Ragnar got up, held out his horn to have it refilled, and made his way into the sea of people offering their admiration for his latest excursion. He found Halfdene among them and embraced the young man. From his vantage at the head table, Guthrum could see everyone and everything in the hall.
"Do you think father will talk him out of it?" Ivar asked.
Guthrum grumbled and waited for Ragnar to return. Food was served, songs were song, and the ale flowed freely. Ragnar forgot to go back to the head table, and ended up there only out of habit, several hours after he had walked away with so much purpose in his stride.
"What did he say?" Guthrum asked.
"They said they have to go to the cellar and get another barrel," Ragnar informed him, remembering the last thing that had been said to him.
"You are drunk." Guthrum glared at him. "What did Halfdene say about the marriage?"
"He said congratulations."
"No! I mean what did he say when you asked him about himself and marrying the whore?"
"He is quite taken with her," Ragnar slurred, peering out at the world through sleepy, drunken eyes.
"And you told him not to marry her, did you not?"
"Why would I say such a thing? He says he loves the girl. I gave him my blessing."
"What? You were supposed to convince him NOT to marry her," Guthrum fumed.
"It is what he wants, and she is carrying his child." Ragnar shrugged his shoulders. "She is pretty, too, for a Saxon whore."
"Nobody cares about that!"
"Nobody else is angry about the match." Ragnar sat back and eyed his son. "Did you lay with her, too?"
"EVERYONE has laid with her!" Guthrum made a face to show his displeasure. "If you think that I love her, or speak out of jealousy, no. He is the son of Hagar, a fearless warrior. And Rayna, a good, brave woman. He could marry a woman of noble birth. He is wasting his life."
"It is not yours to decide how Halfdene spends his life."
Guthrum was angered more by his father's cool demeanor than by the fact that he was losing the argument. He could not make anyone see reason. He stood up and huffed at his father, who smiled in return. Maddened, Guthrum turned and went to look for his cousin, to beg him one last time to reconsider.
Halfdene looked up to see his cousin approach and offered him a drinking horn and a broad smile of friendship. Halfdene had kind, gray eyes, and a face that was prone to laughter. The blonde hair of his childhood had darkened to light brown, and he was growing tall and lanky. He was smiling until he saw the pained expression on Guthrum's face.
"What is the matter?" Halfdene asked.
Guthrum took a deep breath. "My father says that he has given his blessing for you to be married."
"Yes, the chief has given permission," Halfdene smiled. "We should have a celebration for that soon enough."
"I would mourn, instead of celebrate," Guthrum told him. "If you were to marry her."
Halfdene glanced across the mead hall, and his intended smiled back at him from across the room, raising her cup in a salute. Halfdene loved her, and the mere sight of her across the room made his heart leap.
"I could never love anyone else as I love her," Halfdene said. "I am sorry that you would mourn, and at the same time ask me to rejoice at your own wedding, coming this spring."
"Just look how hard I searched to find my bride," Guthrum tried to convince him. "I think that you should seek the best possible woman before you make such a decision."
"And I think that you should KNOW your woman before you pay a chest of gold for her. What if he never returns? What if he and the treasure are swallowed by the sea serpent? You will have nothing for all your searching and paying. And tonight, I will have a warm bed with a soft woman to comfort me."
"Any woman who would let you know her before marriage is not worth marrying," Guthrum told him. "Especially if she has known countless others before you."
"That is a lie," Halfdene lowered his voice to a quietly outraged register.
"It is not a lie," Guthrum insisted. "I paid her a penny myself and put my …"
Halfdene punched him in the nose. Guthrum's size was an advantage, and Halfdene was not as quick as he had been when they were boys. In an instant, Guthrum shook off the tears that came to his eyes from taking a knuckle to the nose, and he grabbed Halfdene by the front of his shirt and punched him across the jaw.
The men around them started yelling, but no one broke up the fight. Ragnar was there in the front of the crowd, screaming out with spittle flying from his lips and settling on his beard. Guthrum could feel the pulse of the room, as if everyone's heartbeat had lined up together and struck as one, louder than the beating of a drum. He punched Halfdene over and over, knocking him to floor and assailing his ribs.
A screech like the deafening voices of the valkyries grew behind him as Halfdene's woman exploded from the crowd with a heavy metal object in her hand and struck Guthrum in the back of his head. The world flashed red, then everything went white.
The fight was over, and Guthrum woke up several hours later to find Halfdene sitting next to him, naked from the waist up and covered in purple bruises. Halfdene turned toward him when he stirred.
"Ung," Guthrum held his head, pained at his own slight movement. "I will kill that bitch if I ever see her again."
Halfdene scoffed. "She could have killed you already."
Guthrum glared at him, but he knew that it was true.
"Are you ready to give your blessing for my marriage?" Halfdene asked. "The wedding will be this Friday."
Guthrum groaned again. Halfdene smiled at him, and even with a busted lip, a bruised, swollen jaw, and a black eye, he looked truly happy. Guthrum attended the ceremony the following Friday, and he made an uneasy peace with his cousin's wife.