Rulf and the others waited in the longhouse for the jarls and chieftains to arrive. They came in one by one, each bringing only their eldest son and most trusted warrior with them.
The hall was full of tension as they finally took their places, all looking around suspiciously, sitting at tables that surrounded the high table where Bjorn sat. A wineskin was placed on each table with wooden tankards for the men to help themselves as the thralls were also sent to the mountains for this secretive meeting.
Bjorn sat between Serne and Rulf as the talks began. The others fought and argued, bringing up old feuds until Bjorn stood and shouted at them all to be silent.
“Enough! All of us know we never made these choices ourselves!” Bjorn shouted to gain their attention. “We have all fought for different kings, fought one another and killed one another. All done for kings who have done nothing but drag us to more war, year after year. Do we even know why we fight each other anymore before we raise our arms for Horvik? For Ragnar? And for Tovis?”
Silence greeted him, some looking to one another in quiet reflection.
“They keep us divided, keep us fighting amongst ourselves,” Bjorn declared passionately. “We pledge to them our coffers, our armies, and our sons all in the name of what? This proposal will bring about peace to the northern Jutland and beyond. Only if we unite will we be stronger than any king in the south.”
“I have lost too many men in service to Ragnar in foreign lands,” a chieftain muttered irately. “I will make the pledge for peace, Jarl Bjorn. I will agree to the contest to declare our own king if the gods allow.”
Many others followed suit until at last they had a majority. Once that was decided, the drink began to flow. The men, once bitter enemies, became friends once more, laughing and jesting as if years of strife hadn’t stood between them.
“I told you that words were more powerful than swords,” Rulf said quietly at Bjorn’s side, receiving a dark look from Serne.
“These very same men would break such a pledge without a thought, Rulf,” Serne whispered harshly, his pale eyes filled with fierce anger. “You know nothing of our ways!”
“I know your ways don’t work,” Rulf observed with shake of his dark head. “Only if you are all united will you stand against these kings in the south. And you have the advantage because none of them see it coming. They think they have you all where they want you, too busy fighting one another to stand in their way. You are twice their number if you but unite your forces.”
Bjorn glared at his oldest son. “You see only the past, Serne. If you be jarl here one day you have to look to the future for the good of all.”
“I lost two brothers to that man there,” Serne pointed to an aged jarl sitting near them drinking and jesting with his men. “You expect me to forget that? I would kill him gladly if I had a dagger in my hand.” He shook his auburn head angrily and stood up and stalked out of the longhouse without another word.
“Serne might wish to come around or there are those who will challenge him here,” Rulf predicted quietly. “I have heard the talk among your men. They don’t respect Serne to lead them when you are gone. They don’t trust your other son Terig. The other two boys are too young. What will you do?”
Bjorn shrugged tiredly and sipped his wine. “My son will lose such a challenge one day on his own. But I will not be here to see it. His brothers will either leave here to join the other houses or pledge fealty to the new jarl. It is our way. I think Serne believes this is his by right of birth and not a privilege to be won. The people will decide it when I’m gone. My sons have failed to learn what I tried to teach. I’m now too old and tired to repeat myself.”
Rulf smiled sadly as he sat back in his chair. “If I am married to your daughter, what do ask me to do if that happens? Do I support Serne or whoever takes such a challenge?”
Bjorn gazed at him with a knowing look. “You will be the one to challenge Serne. As soon as I am dead, he will break the peace and go after our former enemies. You cannot let that happen. You must give me your oath you will do this for me, even if it means you must kill my son one day.”
Rulf regarded him gravely. “You don’t know what you ask of me.”
The older man sighed into his cup. “I know exactly what I ask you. You are the only one who can maintain this pledge among them all. They will all disband should Serne take my place. All would be for nothing.”
Rulf said nothing, looking around the room where so many enemies sat drinking, laughing, and talking as if they had not been making war on one another for years. Bjorn was right. This peace would disappear if Serne was made jarl when his father was gone.
“What of your daughter? What of Grunhilde? What would she expect of me?”
Bjorn laughed loudly and clapped him on the back heartily. “If she were able, she would challenge Serne herself to be jarl in my stead. She knows my mind in this very well. We talked before she left here. Have no worry of her not supporting my decision. She knows things must change.”
Rulf absorbed Bjorn’s words thoughtfully, knowing he was wading into treacherous waters the longer he lingered here. The temptation to leave was strong, but only because he knew himself to be the cause of the dissent between Bjorn’s sons and his men.
He also knew if he left now and Bjorn died suddenly, one of his warriors was likely to challenge his sons for the jarldom. It was ripe for the taking. The man would probably marry Grunhilde to appease her kinsmen but not before all of Bjorn’s sons were killed or driven out.
Serne was a growing problem, hotheaded and unwilling to yield, clinging to the old ways. His brother Terig was no better. The two younger sons, Gunnar and Helmet were mere boys yet and not a threat to who would seek to claim Bjorn’s power.
Thinking of how he didn’t want to see such happen made Rulf consider the old man’s offer. He was practically giving him his title and stronghold, for doing nothing but expressing an idea.
Rulf looked around the longhouse depressively, wondering if he desired such power for himself. He never aspired for more than his father’s role as a chieftain. After his father was killed, he and his brother Harald wandered, never remaining anywhere too long.
Harald refused to go north with him, telling him he was a fool to think to unite the northern tribes. He was content to stay in Hedeby wenching and drinking, letting his older brother be the messenger.
Harald would be envious to know that not only had he succeeded, but beyond his wildest dreams. In a few short weeks, he had a beautiful wife promised to him, a foothold in a position of power, and he had not even swung his sword.
Rulf smiled and sipped his wine. It was a very good day. With Thor’s own luck, he would win the contest.
~ ~ ~
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Rowan mocked in derision as he lay on the cot facing him. “Rulf united the tribes in the north and not one drop of blood was spilled? You are speaking to me, not Aldan or Jasyk.”
Helmet grinned at his friend’s growing disbelief. “I was there. I was only a lad of five summers but I can assure you the contests commenced after that one meeting. All of the houses had their own competition to select the best warrior to represent them. There were eighteen warriors. Do you let me finish or not? I haven’t gotten to the best part.”
Rowan rolled his eyes in disgust. “If Jarl Bjorn trusted Rulf more than his own sons, why didn’t he just make him jarl then and there and be done with it? It is not so unusual.”
“My father wanted none of us to say it wasn’t fair,” Helmet replied with a lopsided grin. “He knew Serne wasn’t fit to lead us. He knew another would inevitably challenge him and our family would have been killed or driven out. He was quite clever in selecting Rulf for the task. I think he was looking for an alternative to my brother before Rulf showed up at our longhouse. I will always believe that.”
“Just finish the tale, will you?” Rowan flopped back down on the cot. “Now where were you? Oh yes, the eighteen warriors all met to compete in the practice fields. Rulf was given only a spear to fight a man with a crossbow.” He guffawed and shook his head in disbelief. “This tale gets longer by the minute.”
Helmet fumed in outrage. “It’s all very true. I was there. He had only a spear and beat the archer.”
“Alright, continue with your ridiculous tale,” Rowan mocked and lay back to listen. “I promise not to snore when you finally get this battle won.”
~ ~ ~
Bjorn appeared worried as he arrived back at his tent, eyeing Rulf and his sons worriedly as he flung back the flap and strode inside. “Jarl Gorm has changed the rules to make it more difficult. The others all agreed with him.”
Rulf was flexing his sword arm within, unmindful of what Bjorn said.
“The men who fight don’t choose their own weapons in the contests,” he explained angrily. “Each leader is allowed to choose the man’s weapon and likewise.”
“What are the choices?” Rulf raised a dark eyebrow, his only reaction.
“The weapons they selected are a spear, a dagger, a sword, an ax, and a crossbow. You won’t know what you will be handed until you get into the ring to fight. They refused the right of first blood to herald the victor. They wish it to be a fight to the death.”
Serne had no cause for concern, for he had failed to win back at their settlement, losing to Rulf in the end. He took it hard at first but the clouting he received from Rulf must have cleared his head, for he and the man were now the best of friends.
Rulf appeared unworried at the list of weapons used during the contest. Terig eyed his future brother-in-law in concern and launched into all of the reasons why he should back out of the contest.
“No, we fight by their rules or they will all leave here and we have done all for nothing,” Rulf said coolly and silenced Terig with a hard look. “I am not afraid of these rules.”
Bjorn appeared relieved, clapping him on the back stoutly. “You will fight in the third bout. I will come get you when it is time.”
Serne waited until his father left to pounce. “Why do you do this? You know they do this to cheat!”
Rulf grinned at the note of concern for him in Grunhilde’s brother’s voice. “If the opposing leader gives me a spear, your father with give their man a spear as well. What difference does it make?”
Serne cursed under his breath. “They choose last, that is why. My father will not know what weapon they would choose before he must give you his pick. Jarl Gorm demanded his man Ulrich be first, knowing his man can’t lose and he will choose last every time. Now do you see?”
Rulf frowned at that. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Jarl Gorm’s man has beaten many men to fight for him today,” Serne announced worriedly. “Ulrich is said to be unbeatable at all the weapons. It does not matter what he is given.”
Rulf laugh heartily. “Perhaps you both should go sit with your sister and mother when the contest starts. I am not worried about Jarl Gorm’s man. I can hold my own.”
When both young men left the tent, Rulf let out a pensive breath. While it was true he was adept at all the weapons mentioned he had little chance against an ax if he was given a spear, likewise a sword if his opponent was given a crossbow.
He could only hope for luck and skill when all was said and done. Jarl Gorm was determined to be made king this day by making this more difficult. Out of all of the leaders, he was the most vocal about not doing this. Now he saw the way of it and furthered the odds for his own man, a hulking Viking by the name of Ulrich.
Ulrich was said to be unbeatable in battle, a veritable mountain of a man with piercing pale eyes and long golden red hair. His sheer muscle and size gave every man in the contest pause. It was said he was a berserker in Sweden before he joined Jarl Gorm’s service.
Rulf knew well that the larger the man, the easier they were felled. It was skill that would bring him to the end of this contest and nothing else, and likely face to face with the indomitable Ulrich.
~ ~ ~
Rowan’s eyes widened and he sat forward on the cot with a grimace, rubbing his bandaged shoulder. “You are telling me our Ulrich is this man you speak of?”
Helmet grinned in relish. “That was years ago. But yes, they are one and the same. Can I finish please?”
Rowan nodded, listening with rapt attention as Helmet once more began the tale.
~ ~ ~
The afternoon was long and labored as men fought bravely to win the battle for the crown of the north. There were six men left in the contest. Rulf was seated away from the crowd, breathing heavily from his exertions after felling a man with a dagger who was armed with a broadsword.
Rulf managed to dance away and avoid the lunges and slices of his opponent’s sword, but that tired him rapidly. It was only by sheer force of wills that he managed to out maneuver the man, weakening him first to send his dagger into his neck and then his chest, ending the bout with him deemed the victor.
Ulrich was now fighting a man who was given a spear and him an ax. He grimaced moments later to hear the man’s agonized cries in the direction of the fighting circle, wishing for more time to rest before he would fight again.
Rulf drank deeply from a water skin and splashed his sweaty face. He stood up and stretched his limbs, conscious of eyes upon him. He turned and saw Grunhilde sitting with her mother on the crowded hillside, pale and wide-eyed.
He wanted to smile at her to alleviate her worry for him, but he rather liked her worry for him. He made no expression to soothe her frayed nerves.
Each victor from every bout moved forward to fight the next man, giving the previous victor a much-needed reprieve. At this pace, he would find himself face to face with the mighty Ulrich by the end of the tournament.
Rulf had only two more men to battle before he would square off against Jarl Gorm’s giant.
The day wore on, Rulf cutting down two more opponents in rapid succession, Ulrich the same. Rulf was resting before the final bout when Grunhilde left her mother and came to him, her pretty face blanched with worry.
“He is weakened after fighting so many,” she began, trying to make the coming fight sound easier. “You must wear him down as long as you can.”
Rulf grinned down at her and leaned down to kiss her lips fleetingly. “The man is neither tired nor has he been weakened, sweetling, but my thanks for your advice. I shall think of that for certain if he is given a sword and me a spear.”
Grunhilde glared up at him, her green eyes filled with anger. “I am trying to help you! The man is a monster!”
“But not infallible,” Rulf pointed out teasingly. “No man is unbeatable, Grunhilde. The gods either smile on me this day or not.”
Grunhilde removed something from her apron pocket and handed it to him. It was a fine silver bracelet twisted and wrought by the ironsmith back at the settlement, a gift she saved for their wedding day. He smiled as he slid it on his wrist and admired it proudly.
“I was saving it but you appear to need all of the luck you can get here today, Rulf.”
Rulf chuckled at her lack of faith in his beating Ulrich. “You have no sweet words for me at a time like this, woman?”
Grunhilde failed to hide her tears, looking up at him beseechingly. “You must win, Rulf Llewelynsson. You must win. Do not make me a widow before I’m made a wife.”
Rulf smiled and took her small hand in his. “I look forward to making you a wife. And with that in mind, it is time. Go back to your mother and fear not for me.”
Rulf watched Grunhilde grudgingly return to sit with her mother, feeling a sense of elation within him as he looked down at her gift to him. The weeks since her father announced she would wed him had been turbulent ones. She raged down the longhouse for days on end. This emotional display told him he already won his bride, even before he was given a trial by her father to win her hand outright.
Rulf approached the fighting circle, stepping into the middle of it to face Ulrich. The giant met his look with an indifferent scowl. Jarl Bjorn stood up and walked to the circle. He brandished his own sword and handed it to Rulf, who was grateful for it.
Jarl Gorm then entered the ring handing his own man a large lethal-looking battle ax. The crowd booed and many raised their hands, thumbs down in protest at the man’s underhanded dealings all day.
Sixteen men were dead or mortally wounded.
Rulf avoided looking at them on litters as they were carried away by their kinsmen, not wanting to feel anything but relief when it was over. Bjorn and Gorm sent one another cold looks as they left the arena.
Rulf was relieved he would fight with his father’s sword this day, whether he lived or died. The result was the same. The north would have a king to challenge Tovis when all was done. He regarded his impending death for the greater good.
Ulrich grinned menacingly as he swung the ax for the crowd’s entertainment, making many gasp and look away. Rulf ignored the giant’s efforts to be a showman as he took his stance, his blue eyes narrowed as he watched the man play to the crowd.
After killing or maiming eight men in rapid succession, Rulf merely wanted this over quickly. He could either die in Grunhilde’s arms or lure her away from her mother’s watchful gaze and taste victory at her lips.
Ulrich waited for the horn to sound. The match began. He stalked Rulf around the circle, feigning a lunge here and there to draw him out.
Rulf took no chances with the man’s skills with the ax. In truth, the giant was more comfortable with the ax than any other weapon. Jarl Gorm chose well.
Rulf was able to parry off several well-aimed slices from the large battle ax, his arms aching under the man’s brutish strength as he was pushed back into the crowd of men who circled the ring.
Rulf righted himself and noted the giant had a bleeding gaping wound from the last bout. It bled profusely from his right shoulder. He ignored the wound not allowing Gorm’s women to bandage it, so prideful was he in his own abilities.
The effects of the blood loss would be felt if Rulf could hold him at bay long enough. Already Ulrich showed the signs, making him sluggish. His powerful blows were weakening as Rulf side-stepped each swipe from the ax blade.
Ulrich staggered slightly, a sign he was growing lightheaded. He shook his head to restore his vision, his pale eyes menacing as they met his.
Rulf now had the advantage but found he had little desire to kill the man, regarding him from narrowed eyes as he saw him continue to falter and swing the ax wildly. He heard the crowd jeering and shouting as from a distance, focused only upon his opponent who again shook his head to clear his fogged vision.
Ulrich let out a whooping war cry and barreled forward, intent on cutting him down. Rulf leapt out of the way, hardly winded as he continued to wear down the giant and avoid each blow from the ax as it sliced downward.
Gorm fought his way forward, glaring from the sidelines. “Finish this, Ulrich! Finish him or you are dead to me! You are no man at all if you fail! Your bones will rot to dust upon the ground where you fall like a coward!”
Rulf regarded Gorm in contempt for humiliating his warrior before the raucous crowd. His attempt to threaten the man with not receiving entry into Valhalla had their effect. Ulrich lunged towards Rulf swinging his ax in wide arcs to take him down.
Rulf could see Ulrich was losing his balance, stumbling when his ax missed its mark, sending him careening sideways. Rulf didn’t hesitate, driving his sword through the man’s massive upper thigh, forcing him to his knees, the ax falling from his large hands.
The men all shouted for him to finish off Ulrich. Rulf kicked the ax away and held him at sword point at the throat, his blue eyes meeting the giant’s with admiration.
“Do you pledge fealty in exchange for your life?”
The crowd gasped in surprise at his loud words. Gorm stuttered and raged at that.
“You cannot do that! You must kill him!” Gorm looked to the other leaders for support. Most agreed that killing was not necessary to win a match if an opponent yielded and made an oath to the victor.
Rulf looked down at the man on the ground. “Believe me, my large friend. You will live to fight another day. Make your choice now.”
Ulrich wiped his long, sweaty hair from his eyes, staring up at Rulf with a humorless smile. “You ask me to swear my fealty to you, Rulf Llewelynsson?”
Rulf shrugged and grinned down at him and looked over at a fuming Gorm. “You have sworn to worse men. I would rather have you at my back than at my my throat. What say you?”
Ulrich considered his offer for a time, hearing Gorm shouting furiously at him off to the side. He smiled slightly and offered Rulf his large hand. Rulf helped him up and the crowd cheered wildly.
Ulrich looked down at Rulf and promptly dropped to one knee. Rulf held his sword over his head. All heard the giant’s pledge of fealty as the crowd hushed, surrounding the victor and the fallen man. Bjorn watched all proudly before coming forward to congratulate his champion.
The ceremony that crowned the new king was brief as all prayed to the gods for bringing this day about. A silver crown embedded with fine jewels was brought forward to name the king of the north and placed upon Bjorn’s head.
King Bjorn accepted oaths of fealty from each and every leader. He received well-wishes from all as he joined his wife and children near the carts to take them home. Rulf lingered behind to see Ulrich frowning darkly as he watched Gorm and his own kinsmen jeer and mock him before they left him there.
Rulf felt for the man, knowing he was prideful. In sparing his life, he opened him up to the mockery of his whole tribe. Ulrich grinned as he turned away from the sight, staggering slightly from blood loss, barely standing by now.
“I will get Hedji and the women to care for you,” Rulf promised and smiled as the towering man at his side followed him. “Do you have a woman at Gorm’s longhouse? I can send a man to fetch her for you.”
Ulrich smiled wickedly down at him and winked boldly. “I have many women there. There is no cart big enough for all of them. And all want the same thing from me. Leaving there will be a blessing, by the gods. Lead on, Rulf Llewelynsson. I have a mind to drink before the women come at me with their foul remedies.”
Rulf chuckled at his brash words. “You will grow to respect Bjorn. He is a fair and just man.”
Ulrich frowned down at him. “I do not pledge my fealty to Bjorn, but to you. I will take your word he is a fair and just man, but it is you and your sons who command me now, not he.”
Rulf was overwhelmed and humbled at the man’s words as he joined Grunhilde who waited for him near the cart. It was comical to see the look on the giant’s face when Grunhilde was presented to him.
The giant was rendered speechless when she promptly scolded him harshly for nearly killing her intended. Then she demanded he let her tend his wounds in the back of the wagon on the long ride back to the longhouse. Rulf grinned at Ulrich’s look of pleading before he laughed and mounted his horse.