Huginn's Yule

My son's eyes contradicted his smile, and that cold calculation puzzled me a little, for Thorstein was a man who did not convey the image of a cold and calculating ruler to his men, but Hengist obviously thought he could provoke him into drawing, and his mocking smile said as much.

"Challenge you, puppy?" Hengist spat on the floor of packed clay, his face working, and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. "What need have I to challenge you, for all here know me as a seasoned warrior and a leader of warriors, a Jarl, one who has raided the Wends across the sea, the Franks and the Saxons, and even the Rome-folk far to the south, and the Old Wolf was my great-uncle through my mother's lineage, and I am a Jarl and as entitled to the throne as you, so step you down and leave with your life, slink from here as the black-haired mongrel cur you are, together with her who stands behind you, the Old Wolf's bitch, black-haired as a Finn witch, her and her other whelps, before I hew your head from your shoulders and cast your corpse into the midden."

Behind him, Hengist's house-carls sat, poised and alert, hands ready to axe or sword but not yet drawn, for this was the Yuletide Peace, and he who first drew sword or other weapon was foresworn. Around the Great Hall, Thorstein's housecarls reached for their swords and their axes and their spears, for loyal to Thorstein they were, having followed him into battle, having fought at his side, and no few of them owed their lives to his battle-skill, and at the Thingmoot, they had acclaimed him as King on the death of his father, my husband and my true love, King Harald Wolfs-Fang, the Old Wolf, only weeks ago, and Harald's barrow lay fresh and brown on the headland, with the horse head standards and the sacrifices to Wōdan still there, hanging from the great poles, a ghastly sight, starkly shrouded in the winter snow.

"Thorstein," I said, now standing at my son's back, my hand on my son's shoulder, and I know not what my words would have been, for they were cut off by this would-be usurper. He whose dragon-ship lay safely now in one of our boathouses, having nosed its way in uninvited, making its entrance through the ice this very morning, laden with his warriors, and the dragon's head lay within, not mounted on the bow, and the shields had been stowed, signaling he had come in peace, asking for the hand of my oldest daughter in marriage.

Subterfuge.

I knew that, and I trusted Hengist not, but my son might not break the Yuletide Peace to slay him out of hand, as he otherwise might have done, for he was the King, and in this I must needs gainsay his temper, for he was still young, if not a youth, and he had led our men in battle many times, and was a proven war-leader. I knew the mind of our people well, long having been the confidant of my husband, who had been King for many a year before Thorstein, and my temper was not as Thorstein's, who at times still had the impetuousness of youth, despite he was nine and twenty and in his prime.

"Yes, Mother?" my son said, his smile mocking Hengist. "Give me your words of wisdom before I lay judgement on this fool who stands before me."

"Thorstein King..." I began, but my words were cut off, as being from one who is of no account.

"Silence, Witch Woman," Hengist roared, making the sign of the hammer, his voice almost shaking the rafters in his anger and his fear and his hate and his desire for vengeance for his father's death, and, no doubt, desire to possess the King's seat. His outburst silenced all conversation in that Hall, and I know not what else I would have said to my son, for my anger boiled up within me at that old slur of my dead husband's enemies, and at the very back of the Hall, the old one-eyed man stood, staff in hand, shrouded in his cloak, and he was smiling.

Witch woman?

Those were words that not a warrior here would have dared utter when my husband had yet lived, for treasured I was by King Harald Wolfs-Fang, ever first among his wives, although he had taken younger women, but those I had never begrudged him. First among his wives I had been, from the day he laid eyes on me, and treasured I had been by him to his last breath, and was I not now Mother of the new King, and mother also of many sons and daughters, and did not some of those younger women, the most pleasing to the eye, the ones who were not of great families or with kinfolk to speak up for them, lie with him now, within the barrow.

Not, I hasten to mention, by any request of mine, but by acclaim of the folk, and they had drunk the funeral mead and gone to their doom in a stupor, and this was the custom of my husband's folk, and naught could I do to prevent this, filled with horror though I was, for it was the will of the folk in honor of the King. Even though I was King Harald's wife, I was not of the folk and I could not gainsay that evil practice, and had I not experienced that horror myself in my youth? Luck had been with me then, as it was not with those women who went to the grave with my husband, there to serve him in the life after death.

My husband, the Old Wolf, Harald Wolfs-Fang, the King before Thorstein. Thorstein's father.

It was that Kingship that Hengist had come here to claim, the leadership and rule of the folk, and it was that Kingship he would not have, for that slur had given me all the excuse I needed, in the eyes of our folk at least, and it was they whose eyes counted in this matter, and I? I cared not one whit for their Yuletide Peace, and I had not sworn to keep that peace, for I was a woman and not a warrior such as the folk counted warriors.

I had not sworn, as I had not sworn on the Yuletide eve on which Hengist's father, Horsa, had died, and this insult would be accepted by my son's folk as an excuse for what I would do, for all our people knew me. They knew me as this get of Horsa's did not.

"Witch Woman?" I hissed, somersaulting through the air over my Thorstein's head, feet brushing the table as I propelled myself towards this Hengist, and I was as fast as I had been as a girl of fifteen, faster perhaps, for I had trained and practiced all my life, and my life had been a hard school indeed. My sword whispered from its sheath in that blindingly fast draw of the Iaijutso school of Yamoto that my childhood instructor had drilled down to my very bones so long ago, and that I had practiced almost every day of my life since, again and again.

I cut as my kiai shattered the very air of the Great Hall, even before my feet touched the floor. So fast was I that Hengist had barely blinked and begun to draw his sword from its sheath, so that later all would agree that he had indeed been the first warrior to break the Yuletide Peace. All also had later agreed that I had not sworn to the Yuletide Peace, being a woman, and so was not bound by an oath I had not sworn, to refrain from responding to such an insult.

My own blade sliced through his neck and his spine, cleanly through, from one side to the other, faster than the eye could follow. My treasured blade of Yamoto steel, older than I, far older, an heirloom of my family for two generations, gifted from the hands of the ruler of Yamoto himself to my grandfather, for my grandfather had led an embassy to the Court of the ruler of Yamoto, gifted to me by my father on the morning of the day I departed from Northern Wei forever. My sword, it was sharper than a razor, stronger than an axe, and it was as if I cut through silk, and Hengist's head sat, standing as he stood, unmoving, still on his shoulders, but a thin line welled in a ruby necklace of the bright red ravens-drink. His eyes blinked but the once, slowly, as if it was difficult to move them, and perhaps it was, but only he could tell, and he would not be speaking now.

"Silence yourself, kin-slayer," I said, into that sudden silence, for all knew that Hengist had slain his own brother, my husband's cousin, and that he was such a swordsman as should be feared, for many were the men he had killed in hólmganga, and my voice was clear as all watched in sudden silence, and only I and my son, and perhaps Hengist, knew that he was already dead as he stood there, hand on hilt, sword half-drawn, and perhaps his men expected that hand to draw that sword, but I did not.

My sword, my treasured sword, carried from my far of homeland of Northern Wei so many years before, gifted to me by my father's hand on that morning of my departure, that sword was red with his blood, as it had been red with blood so many times before. The red of ravens-drink, the red of the raven-feeder, the red of the Yuletide flames that flickered down the length of my son's great hall. The bright red of blood, and at the rear of the Hall, the old one-eyed man was standing, watching, his staff in his hand, and the shadows made it look as if a raven sat on his shoulder.

"I make for you a ravens-sacrifice as your Yuletide Gift from your mother, King Thorstein," I said, and my foot lashed out as I spun in the Shaolin style, kicking high in a sudden blur of motion, and Hengist's head flew from his shoulders, the red ravens-drink now released and fountaining high as his head flew through the air, arcing blood in a long trail, and his eyes blinked once more, slowly, before his head disappeared into the flames, and no doubt his last sighting before those flames melted his eyeballs was of my smile.

"Praise the All-Father, 'tis a fine yuletide gift you have given me, Lady Fan, my mother, and indeed you are a fattener of the battle-starlings, just as my Father, King Harald Wolfs-Fang, oft told me, and as all in this Hall may now see for themselves," Thorstein said, his lips quirking in a smile in that long moment of silence that followed, broken by the pop of Hengist's skull bursting open to release the boiling brains from within, and the smell of burning hair and roast pork filled the air, but it was such pork as men would not eat.

His eyes met mine, he smiled, and in that smile, and in his eyes, I saw that my son had calculated this outcome all along, and mine own returned smile of dawning appreciation met his, and I bowed my head to my son, for his thoughts and plans had been far ahead of mine, and he knew me as I knew myself, and he had used me to meet his ends, as a King uses his warriors, and I smiled, for surely my father's blood ran true.

His smile grew, for he knew that I knew, and that knowledge passed between us without words, but his next words drew laughter from my lips as Hengist's skull crackled and cracked in the white heat of the blazing flames, and his brains hissed and boiled and charred as they poured out and onto the blazing wood.

"But, alas, mother. I cannot now make a drinking cup from Hengist's skull, and saddened am I, for Hengist was such a man as whose skull I would treasure for the memory of this gifting with every draught I drew, and with the cup you had made for my father, 'twould have been a matching pair."

"Ah, my son. I have ever been impetuous," but I too was smiling, and the memory of that drinking cup made from Horsa's skull warmed my heart, for my son yet held that cup in his hand, a gift also from his father, and perhaps Hengist had known, and that knowledge made his death all the sweeter.

"Witch-woman!" A carl of Hengist's burst from his bench, sword in hand, ending that silence and my laughter, and others of his warriors, Hengist's followers, house-carls skilled in war, they rose in uproar at the sudden death of their Lord, for no doubt they knew their Lord's intent, but his end was perhaps not what they had expected, and my own son's warriors boiled up of their benches, the lust for battle as ever in their veins, for my husband's folk were a warlike people, and wouldst my father had been served by warriors such as these, for then Northern Wei would not have fallen.

That carl flew at me, sword raised, his scream of rage the last sound he made, for a twang from behind me sounded, a battle-adder quivered from his eye, and he fell, and behind me the laughter of my oldest daughter sounded clear, followed by her voice.

"I make you a Yuletide Gift in turn, Mother," Wealhtheow called, and another twang and another followed, for every one of my daughters was skilled with the bow, for I had taught them myself, as I had taught them to make the bows of my people, and I smiled as my sword cut down the next of Hengist's house-carls, for they had not been Shaolin-trained, as had I, and I had not their massive strength, but fast I was, and dexterous, and still I practiced every day, as I had as a novice at the Shaolin Temple in my youth, and under Sergeant Wen during those long years of riding across the steppe, and my sword was of the steel of Yamoto, sharp beyond belief, and that carl died in a sudden welling flood of the ravens-drink.

"Stand you back, Lady Fan," a carl of my son's called, moving to stand before me.

Him I would afterwards remember and praise before all, gifting him with an arm-ring of my own, for such loyalty should always be praised and rewarded, as is fitting, and his shield was meeting the axe that swung down, and his blade stabbed, a groan rewarding his blow, and my son Thorstein was there in the forefront of battle, his battle-cry bellowed out, "Wōdan owns you all!" and his carls took up his cry as they fought, and my son, he was leading his warriors as a young King of these north-folk must, even when his reputation is on a sound footing, for a King of these people must lead from the front ranks.

His younger brothers and his guards were beside him, axes swinging, bright swords clashing, battle cries filling the Great Hall as more and more of his men boiled into the battle, and house-carls now ringed me with their shields, but through them, I saw the old one-eyed man, standing, watching, smiling, and I wondered at his courage in not fleeing the hall, for he was weaponless but for that wooden staff he held.

All Thorstein's housecarls attacked, and even some of the thralls who were unarmed, and those thralls who did so, I took note of for the morrow, for they went into battle on their Lord's behalf, swinging only a great wooden cup or a meat-knife or a wooden bench, for such was their loyalty to their King that they did not hesitate or flinch from battle, and they fought beside the housecarls with great courage, and the men of Hengist died quickly, all but a few who retreated until their backs were pressed against the log walls, and all knew their doom was upon them.

"Hold," Thorstein's voice roared over the battle-din. "Hold your swords and spears, for I wouldst talk with these warriors of Hengist's before they redden Huginn's claws further."

The clashing of sword against sword, sword against shield, it died away as Thorstein's men fell back, swords and axes and spears at the ready, battle-lust in those savage eyes of icy-blue, chests heaving, golden hair and golden beards streaked with red, and Thorstein and his brothers stood at the forefront of the host, and Thorstein's visage was grim and foreboding, for these men had attempted to kill the King in his own Great Hall, and his father, the Old Wolf, was of the Skjöldung lineage, and the Skjöldungs were not well-noted for their willingness to forgive.

"You are Hengist's men," my son said, and he was the King now, standing erect and proud, his shield on his shield-arm, his sword held in hand, swinging slowly, dripping blood, as did my sword, and the bodies lay before us for I was beside him now.

Behind us, on the dais, my daughters, the King's younger sisters, every one of them, even the youngest of but ten years, stood with arrow nocked to bowstring, and many were the bodies on the floor with eye and throat pierced by the battle-adders that had been aimed truly, and few had missed their mark, for my daughters could put an arrow through the eye of a bird in flight, and this I had taught them.

"You are Hengist's men," my son said again, "and Hengist offered insult to my mother, and my mother, the Lady Fan, is known to all as a sword-maiden equal to any man, as all here have seen this night."

Thorstein smiled, and his smile was one that did not welcome debate on this matter.

"Now, you who once followed Hengist as his housecarls, you have slain men of mine, and I do not fault you in this, for you fought for your Jarl and were loyal to your salt, kinslayer and oathbreaker though your Jarl was, and such loyalty is to be respected."

He held up his hand, silencing the murmur. "I do not begrudge the death-geld of my men, and this I will pay in full myself, in honor of Hengist's courage, for he may have been kinslayer and oathbreaker, and also he was foolish to challenge me and insult my mother, the Lady Fan, as all here have seen and heard, but he was no coward who was afraid to come into the Young Wolf's den, fall though he did at my mother's hand, and related to me by blood he was, although distant, but still, I acknowledge him as kin, and therefore as kin I take upon myself the death-geld for the deaths this night."

And his smile was that wolf's smile, hungry for the kill, ravenous for blood, accepting no rival. The smile of his father, and all in this Great Hall saw, and all knew that the Old Wolf's blood ran true.

His father's blood, my husband's blood, the Old Wolf's blood.

My son's younger brothers, they stood with their older brother, a serried rank, bloodied swords and axes in iron-muscled hands, and not one of those swords or axe blades did not drip the red ravens-drink, shields on steel-thewed arms, fierce of visage, whilst my daughters, the king's younger sisters, they stood with arrow and bow, even the youngest, cowering not from blood and battle, and all who saw them knew that these cubs were of their father's and of their mother's lineage, young wolves every one of them, lusting for battle, lusting to feed the ravens, lusting to draw the red ravens-drink.

A wolf pack, and his brothers stood at their older brother's shoulders, for this I had taught them well, as had their father. Bare indeed is brother-less back in this cold and desolate northland of my husband's, and no back of any child of mine would be bare in the way that mine had been on my departure from Northern Wei.

"No," Thorstein continued. "Jarl Hengist was a great warrior, though ill-tempered and quarrelsome, but no man can say he turned from battle, and he is now in Valhalla, where he has long belonged, and tonight we will drink the death-ale in his memory, and in memory of those who have this night joined him, and nor do I begrudge payment of the death-geld for those of your companions who have died this night, and this to I will pay willingly to their families, for all who died here tonight were brave men, and while tonight we feast here, they will feast in Valhalla as warriors who have died bravely in battle should, and their courage, and the courage of my own men gives me great honor."

One of Hengist's men stepped forward now, and even bloodied, he stood with his head high, a man of pride and honor, a warrior. "I hight Guðlaf, Orms-son, King Thorstein, and our Jarl is dead now, and defeated are we, his men, in your own Hall. Most Kings would have killed all who attempted such a feat as we, and yet, we who stand here still live."

"Yet, you still live," Thorstein said. "And by your own words, you acknowledge me as King. And indeed, most Kings would take offense at your actions on this night, for tonight is the Yuletide Eve, and the Yuletide Peace has been sworn, and yet it was broken and blood has been shed. But now Hengist is dead, and he died at my mother's hand, as did his Father before him, and all should now know that it is not good luck to stand against myself, or the sons and daughters of the Old Wolf, or against the Old Wolf's wife and my mother, the Lady Fan, and ill is the fate of those who try, as all now here have seen. Is it not so?"