The Yngling

12.

While a man was chief of the Svear, his home village would be known as Hovdingeby, the Chief's Village. During the chieftainship of Axel Stornave, Hovdingeby was in perhaps the greatest farm clearing in Svealann, called Kornmark for the barley that once was grown there. Now barley could not be relied on to mature its grain, and it was rye that filled the bins after harvest.

Kornmark covered a somewhat irregular area of about two by five kilometers, broken here and there by birch groves, swales, and heaps of stones that had been picked from the fields. There were three villages in Kornmark, one near each end and one near the center, each covering a few hectares. Each was a rough broken circle of log buildings-the homes, barns and outbuildings of the farmers-surrounding a common ground. In the middle of the common was the longhouse, which contained a feasting hall, guest lodgings, and the communal steam bath.

It was late May, when the daylight lasts for more than eighteen hours. Normally in that season cattle would have been in the fields, fattening on new grass, and the air would have been pungent with smoke as the boys and women burned off last year's dead grass in the surrounding pasture woods. But this year the fields were still soft brown mud, while along the leeward sides of the stone fences there still lay broad, low drifts of granular snow.

A thin, cold rain drove out of the west against the backs of two warriors who were walking across the clearing on the cart road. Their leather breeches were dark with rain, and the fur of their jackets was wet and draggled. In the forest, where spruce and pine shaded the trails, they had run on skis. Now each carried his skis on one wide shoulder, with his boots slung over the other, and the deep tracks of their tough bare feet filled at once with icy water.

Big flakes of snow began to come with the rain.

Near the east end of the clearing, above the high bank of a river, was Hovdingeby, which also was called Vargby because it was the original home of the Wolf Clan and its major village. The long-house there measured thirty meters, and many men could sleep in its steep-roofed loft. Its logs had been squared with broad ax and adze so that they fitted almost perfectly, and even the stones of its smoking chimneys had been squared. At each end the ridgepole thrust out three meters beyond the overhanging roof, curving upward, scrolled and bearing the carven likeness of a wolf. Hides covered its windows, scraped thin to pass more light, but on the westward side the shutters were closed against the rain.

The two warriors walked up its split-log steps and scraped their muddy feet on the stoop. One rapped sharply on the plank door with the hilt of his knife, and a stout thrall woman let them in. It was cold and gloomy in the entry room. Though Svear, the two warriors were not of the Wolf Clan, so they waited there with the silence of men who had nothing new to say to each other and were disinclined to talk for the sake of breaking silence. Shortly a tall old man, Axel Stornave himself, came out to them wearing a loose cloak of white hare skins. "You are the last to arrive," he said. "I'm sorry my messenger took so long to find you." The hands that gripped could have crushed necks.

"We are often gone from our homes," one answered. "Reindeer are not cattle. The herds must range far for forage."

The old man ushered them into the hall. "We have dry clothes for you," he said. "I'll have food warmed, and the stones are hot in the bath house. When you have bathed and eaten, I suggest you rest. We will meet together at the evening meal, and it may be late before the talking ends."

The men at the evening meal were the chiefs of the three tribes, with their counselors, and the clan chieftains of the Svear, each with his lieutenant. They ate roast pig, that most savory of flesh, smoked salmon, and blood pudding thickened with barley and sweetened with honey that had found its way there from southern Jotmark. And there was fermented milk, and ale, but no brannvin, for these men were sometimes enemies who had put aside their feuds to meet together. Axel Stornave did not want the blood to run too warm in their veins.

When the platters were taken away, Stornave rose, the oldest man of them, and they all listened, for warriors and raid leaders did not live as long as he had without skill and luck and cunning.

"Some in my clan," he said, "and in all the clans of the Svear, have talked in recent years of leaving our land. They have heard of lands where the summers are longer and warmer. And I have heard it is the same among the Jotar and Norskar." He turned toward the bull-like form of Tjur Blodyxa, chief of the Jotar. "I have heard that in Jotmark the Sea Eagle Clan began last summer to build large boats, ships in which to send strong war parties to find a better land. It was also told at the last ting of the Svear"-here he turned grimly to Jaavklo of the Gluttons-"that our own northern clans whisper of breaking the bans and trying to take away land from the clans to the south, unless we willingly make room for them.

"And now we have had this winter unlike any before, and our people wonder if we can make a crop. We have had to kill many cattle, poor in flesh, because the hay barns were becoming empty, and it's better to kill some than lose all. But we have butchered the seed, so calves will be few. And we cannot live on wild flesh, for there are too many of us." He paused and looked around at the faces turned toward him. "So I believe the Sea Eagles have the right idea," he went on. "The time has come to leave.

"But the lands to the south are peopled already. We have all heard wanderers who have been to some of them. A wanderer of your Otter Clan"-he turned again to Tjur Blodyxa-"has told us stories in this very longhouse of the Daneland where he had lived, where the clearings are greater than the forests, and the warriors have high stone walls to protect them. And when I questioned him he said that in the Daneland, too, people complained that the winters were growing longer and harder.

"And from your Seal Clan"-he turned to Isbjorn Hjelteson, chief of the Norskar-"a wanderer told us of the Frisland, south across the sea, where the people speak a tongue he could not understand, where there are few trees, and the pastures and haylands are so wide a man can't see across them. There they complain that each year they must build their haystacks bigger and haul more wood from the distant forests.

"Is the whole world freezing? Or are there really lands where the summers are long and warm? We all have heard rumors of them. But how does one come to such lands? There is one man of the Wolf Clan who may be the greatest traveler of all. Last fall he returned from four years of absence, telling tales of the lands he had visited. He is Sten Vannaren; you can talk to him later and ask him questions. He brought with him what you see on this wall." The old chief turned and pulled a bearskin from the pegs on which it had hung, exposing a map of Europe. "This is a map the craft of whose makers far exceeds ours. It is said to be a copy of a map of the ancients and is made on a stuff called linen. North is at the top, as on the maps we make ourselves. Here"-his big finger circled-"are the lands of the tribes. The blue is the sea."

Axel Stornave looked around the table. All eyes were on the marvel before them, so he continued talking and pointing. "Sten journeyed across several lands and finally came to this southern sea. And he found that what we had believed is actually true: that as you continue southward the sun gets nearer and higher and the climate warmer. The lands around that sea are never cold except high in the mountains, and even in the heart of winter the snows lie on the ground for only a few days at a time, or a few weeks at worst.

"It is a land where the clans could be happy.

"There are two ways to reach that land. One is by sea." He traced a route from the Skagerrak across the North Sea, southward along the Atlantic coast and through Gibraltar. Grim eyes watched. "Although perhaps we would not have to go that far. This might serve as well." He pointed to the coast along the Bay of Biscay. "But if every fishing boat left filled with warriors, they still would be too few. By the time the boats could make a second trip, those few would be dead at the hands of the tribes who live there now.

"The second way is across the land, after boats have made the short trip here." He ran his finger along the shores south of the Baltic. "The tribes of each land we entered would fight, of course, and their people are very numerous, so there are many of them for each one of us. In some of those lands the chiefs hire foreigners in their armies, so Sten never went hungry for food or fight. And their warriors, which they call knights, are less skilled with weapons than we. Also, their warriors do not care to go on foot. If they must go into battle on foot, they prefer to delay. He even found some who would hardly be able to fight after a day's march. Do not be mistaken. They have fierce men, men not afraid to die"-here the old chief paused for effect, then spoke slowly and clearly-"but never did he find any knight who was a match for one of our warriors.

"Even so, if the Sea Eagle Clan landed here"-he pointed to northern Poland-"at the nearest place to their homeland, and started south, the knights of that district would attack them on horseback and kill many. And the chief of that land would gather a strong army, of many hundreds, and attack until no man of the Sea Eagles was left alive, they would be so outnumbered. And what then of their women and children and the spirits of their dead?

"But here is a place of low sand hills along the coast, covered with forest, and only a few fishermen live there." He pointed to a stretch of Polish coast. "And behind the sand hills are marshes, where knights cannot cross on their horses. If the Sea Eagles landed there, it is likely that they would not be strongly attacked so long as they stayed there.

"And what if the Otter Clan followed, and the Bears, and then others? This district behind the coast," he continued, his big finger circling inland, "also has large forests. If enough warriors landed on the coast, they might march in strength and defend and hold some of the forest while still more of the people landed-freeholders, women, children and thralls. If all the clans landed there, I believe they could then cross the lands to the south, regardless of the armies raised against them, and take and hold a land near the southern sea."

The old chief looked around the split log table for a moment without speaking, and a small smile began to play around the corners of his wide mouth. "I see that Jaavklo of the Gluttons wants me to sit so that he may speak. He wants to ask me how I propose to move the tribes across the sea in a few score fishing boats that cannot take more than a dozen men each, besides the oarsmen.

"I led the Wolf Clan before I was chosen chief of the Svear, and I have talked about this to the warrior who now is chieftain of the Wolves, Ulf Vargson. He in turn held council with his warriors and freeholders. And it is agreed. The Wolf Clan will send out half a dozen fishing boats of warriors with Sten Vannaren to guide them. They will find this place I spoke of," he pointed, "land the warriors and come back for more.

"But on the second trip, all our boats will go, and most of them will go here"-he pointed to a harbor on the Polish coast-"where there are ships large enough to carry a hundred men besides the oarsmen. And they will seize such of those ships as they can, returning here with them."

Strong yellow teeth began to show in the torchlight around the table.

"The Wolf Clan would go alone if they had to, but I know they won't have to. I know the other clans too well, from many raids and fights. And the Sea Eagles had decided to go before we did. If all the clans unite, our combined strength can bring us to the southern sea.

"Look!" Axel Stornave knelt for a moment and picked up a bundle of pine branches that had lain on the floor behind his seat. He held one branch up and snapped it in his hands. "By itself it has little strength," he said. "But now"-he took as many together as he could wrap his huge hands around, with a great effort strove to break them, then held them overhead unbroken.

"Which of you will go back to your people and join them with us?"

Every man around the table stood, most of them shouting approval. Axel still stood, with one hand in the air, and in a few moments the others settled to the benches again, aware that he was not done.

"I knew it," he said. "And when you take this matter to your people, they will agree to it, for this winter has caused every man to think. But we can't delay. If we can make no crop this summer except of hay, and if next winter is at all like this one has been, we will be weak and hungry in another year. We must all be gone before winter comes again. Nor can we winter across the sea except in force, for we must be able to take what we need by force from the people there.

"Our harbor is free of ice now, at last. Our people already have been killing the rest of the cattle and drying the meat over fires. We will send the first boats on the day after tomorrow, the weather willing. After our first war parties have landed, two boats will go here." He pointed to the island of Bornholm, between the Swedish and Polish coasts. "One will wait to guide the first boats of the Jotar to the landing place." He looked down the table at one old enemy, Tjur Blodyxa, and then in the other direction at another, Isbjorn Hjelteson. "The other will guide the first boats of the Norskar." The old man grinned. "Maybe you can get the Danes to 'loan' you some ships."

A scowl had begun to grow on Tjur Blodyxa's surly face, and he stood without leave. "And who will lead this expedition?" he asked.

Axel Stornave said nothing for a moment, savoring the surprise he had for the Jota chief. "Not me," he said. "I'm too old. That leadership is what we must decide next."

It was past midnight. They had agreed that the tribes would act independently in moving their own people, except that the Wolf Clan of the Svear would pick the place. But the war leader of those who had landed would also be of the Svear. Then the clan chieftains of the Svear elected Bjorn Arrbuk as war leader. He was the tribe's most famous fighter and its most famous living raid leader. Afterward, they questioned Sten Vannaren about the place they would land and the country where they hoped to go.

Now they were going to bed. Axel Stornave stepped out the door to look at the night and found new snow ankle-deep on the ground.