Chapter 5: Count Odo (2)

Yngvar craned his neck back and stared at the structures. By chance, the trio was approaching the base of the hill where the buildings perched. They seemed too grand for habitation. Yet no smoke drifted from their chimneys nor any animal tracks disturbed the snow-covered dirt around them. Whatever dwellers lived there remained unseen.

"I don't know much about architecture," Bjorn said. "What are those?"

Thorfast shook his head. "No idea. Someone should ask someone else. We've got bigger problems anyway."

Bjorn nodded agreement. "Let's go get some answers. What do you say, lads?"

They all agreed and headed off in search of shelter. As they walked downhill, Yngvar asked, "Why didn't anyone come to meet us last night? Did everyone just sleep inside?"

"There were warriors camped outside," Brandr answered. "A lot more men arrived during the night. More than I would have expected. Most slept in tents beside the road, though one large tent remains empty. Probably belongs to King Hakon. That's what they call him, anyway. All these new arrivals will want to talk to him. Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough."

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, leading into evening. Their guide led them down the main thoroughfare through the center of the small town. Though called a town, it was really little more than a collection of huts lining either side of the path. Many of the dwellings had been built directly against each other, forming a wall of packed earth and wood. Others stood separate from the street, nestled into the woods behind their neighbors. None of them possessed roofs, as the thatched straw of their ancestors had rotted over generations. Only the largest hut boasted a roof made from split logs. It sat atop a mound of cleared land surrounded by smaller houses. Even the larger building lacked windows, only narrow slits cut high above the doorways. The doors themselves were wide enough for four adults to walk abreast, yet most were covered with planks rather than iron bars. No guard waited outside to challenge travelers. No dogs barked or children played in front of the homes. Instead, silence filled the streets. The quietude unnerved Yngvar. Despite being greeted warmly by strangers every step of the way, he felt exposed. Like an intruder among friends.

Yet the guide assured them that all was well in Hrolf Kraki's kingdom.

"Hakon rules here," he said. "You won't be bothered while you're under my care."

As twilight fell, they approached the largest house. A square wooden platform supported its peaked roof. Smoke billowed from the central hole, which meant the hearth fire must still burn within.

Their guide knocked loudly on the plank covering the doorway until a graybeard opened it. His face looked like a walnut shell, wrinkling so deeply that the whites showed beneath his brown skin. He wore a fur cap pulled low over his brows and a heavy wool cloak draped across his shoulders. He squinted at them, then beckoned them closer.

"Come in," he said. "My name is Einar Magnusson. This is my home. Welcome to Skane."

He ushered them past the threshold, closing the door behind them. Darkness swallowed the interior. Yngvar heard the others shuffle after him into the gloom.

Einar turned to lead the way deeper into his dwelling. Two torches guttered in brackets set onto the left wall. They gave enough light to see where they stepped, but not enough to illuminate anything beyond. After several steps, two women appeared before them. One was old, her hair white and thinning. She held a spear in hand and watched them with wary eyes. Her companion was younger, perhaps sixteen years at best. She carried a knife tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Both wore furs despite the cold weather.

"This is Kari Thorkelson," Einar said. "She can help you if you need it. But she doesn't speak your language. So please keep what you say short."

Both women bowed respectfully. Yngvar returned the gesture as best as he could without drawing attention to himself. He hoped both women understood him.

"Where did you learn our tongue?" Yngvar asked.

"From traders who came through this area many times," Einar said. "But there are few of them now."

Yngvar paused. "Are we safe here?"

"Safe as anywhere," Einar said. "We welcome any visitors, especially since we haven't seen another group pass through in months. Now I understand why you needed guides."

"It seems strange to me," Bjorn said. "If no one comes through here, how does anyone live? Do people move between villages?"

Kari smiled, revealing yellow teeth. "Some do, lord. And those who don't tend to travel along trade routes. We've always lived here."

"I'm sure your lives aren't easy living alone," Einar said. "So when strangers come through, everyone welcomes them. In fact, if you'd prefer to stay elsewhere, I can send someone back to fetch you tomorrow morning. There's plenty of room here."

Bjorn shook his head. "No offense taken. Besides, we have nowhere else to go. These lands belong to Hakon. If he finds us, he'll kill us."

Einar nodded seriously. "That may very well happen. You should know we're allies of King Harald Bluetooth and thus enemies of Hakon. Forgive my bluntness, but I would advise you leave right away."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Alasdair said. "And forgive our ignorance. We will depart straightaway. Please tell us where to find water and food."

The woman named Kari led them out of the main hall. At first they followed her down a long corridor lined with animal bones hung upon the walls. The smell of smoke clung to everything. When they reached a small chamber off the hallway, Kari gestured for them to sit around a table carved from wood.

They sat cross-legged, and Yngvar wished he had brought more clothes besides the rags wrapped about his legs. Once settled, the three men examined their surroundings. Einar remained standing beside the hearth fire. It burned cheerfully in an iron bowl atop a tripod.

"Please share the meal with us," Yngvar said, trying to imitate the manners he saw other Norsemen use.

His companions chuckled. Even though Einar seemed concerned by their lack of clothing, he shared the loaf of bread and some cheese that he kept hidden inside his thick robe. Despite having little meat, the meal tasted delicious. While all ate sparingly, Bjorn wolfed down the food, even gnawing on the crusts. Only Einar took time to savor each bite. He spoke less than usual, keeping mostly quiet as he chewed.

When they were done eating, Einar fetched four cups and filled them with ale. He handed these to them and waited expectantly. Their host still stood near the fireplace, warming his hands against its heat. As soon as he finished pouring the drink, he walked over to join them.

"Your journey must be hard," he said. "You look like warriors, yet I fear you've endured much hardship."

"Indeed," Yngvar said. "Our ship was sunk in stormy waters. Our crew drowned or perished at sea. My brother died during the voyage. We barely escaped ourselves. Yet we survived."

"Ah yes, your father mentioned something of the sort," Einar said. "It pains me to think such evil has visited your family. Would you mind sharing the story?"

"Of course," Yngvar said. "Though I am not certain what good telling it will accomplish."

He recounted everything to Einar: how Erik Bloodaxe had captured him; how Gorm laid waste to Jellinge; how they fled to Denmark and then Norway.