The Crossed Hilt

Chapter 9

Heidaby, Denmark 1018 ADExcited voices and cheering greeted our approach to the Danish stronghold – decidedly not the reception we expected. Our curiosity aroused, we neared the gate into the city with the realisation that the hubbub did not concern the appearance of our armed force.

On horseback, Knut had set a forced pace for the warriors who made up the crews of our longships. He intended the march of a few leagues from the river across the neck of the peninsula to be swift, with a surprise arrival to counter potential opposition.

The absence of guards demonstrated this precaution served no purpose. The amazement was complete when we passed through the gates unchallenged, to behold the reason for the din. A clapping, swearing, shouting crowd – perhaps the entire population of the town – men, women and children jostled, cursed and shoved to gain a better view of the spectacle.

Compelled by curiosity, I drew in among them, momentarily forgetting the purpose of our mission.

“What"s going on?” I asked a tall onlooker, who winced and clenched his fist at each blow received by one of the two combatants.

The oddity of my question caused him to wrench his gaze from the improvised arena. He declared, in an incredulous tone, “You come from some distant land, stranger, if you know not what"s happening.”

“From England… and I"ll not know if you don"t tell me.”

“It"s the festivities in memory of King Harald. Our Danish champion challenged anyone brave enough to take him on, but no-one wanted to risk their skin – except Gytha.”

“Gytha? Isn"t that a woman"s name?”

“Ay. But she"s no ordinary woman. Gytha is a shield-maiden. See, that"s her in the silver helm.”

I felt my excitement and curiosity mount apace as the two fighters matched each other blow for parry and, as a warrior myself, I could see that the woman, dwarfed by the stature of her adversary, nonetheless held her own through consummate skill.

“Gytha will better your hero,” I stated with conviction, to the sardonic merriment of my newfound companion, who bellowed his scorn.

“That proves how stupid you Saxons are! No man can beat Erik Larsson, let alone a woman.”

“Yet I say that Gytha will win the contest.”

“If you are so cocksure, stranger, why not wager with Tove?” he said, beating his broad chest with a clenched fist.

Nobody calls me stupid and lives to vaunt it.

Nobody calls me stupid and lives to vaunt it.“Why not? But the wager must be on my terms.” I chose to smother the vindictiveness that threatened to sour my voice.

“Anything you say. I"m going to win our bet, anyway.”

“Right, if Erik wins, you gain an English silver pound, but if Gytha triumphs, I win your tongue.”

Tove"s eyes bulged, but, credit to him, he spat on his huge hand and stuck it out for me to do the same, to clasp it and seal the deal. His serene confidence in Erik rattled me, but one fewer silver coins did not perturb me in the least.

Our interest in the combat redoubled and, with satisfaction, I noted that Gytha moved with a rare nimbleness allied to noteworthy resistance. I imagined my money lying snugger in its purse.

“How long have they been at this?”

“Since the sun was over yon roof.” Tove pointed to a building to our left. I tore my eyes from the contest and traced the faint yellow disc to its hiding place behind a grey cloud farther to the right.

“As long as that!” I cried incredulously.

“She"s as brave as Freyja, I"ll give her that! Gytha aims at toughness, not at kisses.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Knut bearing down on me.

“Ah, there you are, Godwine! What"s going on?”

It took a hasty explanation for Knut to slap me on the back and agree with Tove that Erik would soon overpower the relatively slight frame of Gytha. Next to another woman, I"ll wager she would seem a giant.

“Erik will win. Do you wish to bet with me, too?” Knut and Tove exchanged knowing grins. All the while, the clash of steel served to remind us of tiring muscles and human frailty. I groaned.

“What can I propose that you do not possess, my King?”

Knut pressed closer and whispered in my ear. I nodded. As custom demanded, he spat into his palm and offered it to me. I did likewise and the accord was settled. It did not placate my vengeful soul, I"m ashamed to admit, but a wager must be respected.

We did not wait long for the outcome. Exactly when I began to despair of Gytha, who appeared to be weakening – was it a ploy? – she lured Erik into a rash lunge, feinted and slashed a wound across his sword arm. This combat, fought to the rule of first blood drawn, made of Gytha the new champion and my bet was won.

Tove stared at me, the fear and horror of what fate awaited his tongue most gratifying.

“On your knees,” I ordered the pallid Dane, who obeyed, while I turned to Knut. “I need your aid, Sire.”

“You won your wager fair and square,” my monarch acknowledged.

“Will you grasp this fellow"s hair while he pays his dues?”

I drew my knife, ignoring Tove"s frenzied pleading and commanded, “Put out your tongue!”

Enjoying the moment, I held the sharp blade before the poor fellow"s tear-filled eyes. By now, most of the excited onlookers had dispersed, but a considerable group had gathered to witness this new attraction. Playing to my audience, in a loud voice, I said, “As you know, Tove, a man must honour his wager and your tongue is mine to do with as I will. A fine tongue it is, too. Pity you used it to insult a Saxon.”

At these words arose an angry murmuring from the gathering. It was just as well that I had other plans for Tove.

“I will not exercise my right to cut out your tongue, my friend, but the offence must be paid for. Will you fight by my side in battle?”

The relieved man nodded his head fit to shake it off.

“Then we"ll seal the pact in blood.”

I drew the blade across my palm, then in a flash, lightly across Tove"s tongue. I placed my bloodied hand on his bleeding organ and, looking him in the eye, said, “So, who"s stupid now?”

His wound was superficial but enough to make speech indistinct. Whatever he said, it was enough to make the relieved onlookers roar with laughter and disperse in good-natured companionship to set about their daily business.

“You can put your tongue away now, Tove. I think a beaker of salted water might help it heal.”

Knut hoisted him to his feet saying, “Remember your accord with Ealdorman Godwine. I am your King and expect you to fight for my cause, good fellow.”

If his tongue had not been wounded, he would have lost it anyway, judging by how he gaped at Knut before sinking in homage to his knees.

“Sire,” I said, “you did not win your bet, but Tove ought to know what would have happened if you had won. I agreed not to punish you, Tove, for your insult if Erik won and you took my silver pound. To some extent, I honoured the King"s wish even in victory. Know you, without the King"s intervention, I"d have sliced out your tongue and thrown it to the dogs.”

My cruel glare made him bow his head, but a woman"s voice made me spin round.

“Then you"d have needed to fight me, Ealdorman Godwine.”

No longer wearing her silver helm, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, Gytha, pink-complexioned following her exertions, smiled at me.

She thrust out her hand for me to clasp but I looked at my bloodied palm.

“Come, Lord Godwine, do you take me for a mere weaver? Do you think a little blood bothers me?”

After what I had seen, I was certain it did not.

I stuck out my hand and felt it taken in an iron grip. If I had to indicate a moment when I fell in love with Gytha, that would be it.

“I wished to meet you, Ealdorman Godwine, when they told me you wagered on my overcoming Erik Larsson. I dare say you were the only one to show faith in me.” Still, she did not relinquish my hand and stared deep into my eyes. “Even so, I would not have appreciated being the cause of this man losing his tongue. You did well not to cut it out, else I"d have been forced to fight you.” Her cold, pale blue eyes did not waver from mine so I knew she meant what she said.

“Lady, if ever we tangle, I hope it will be in a more pleasurable way.”

Knut roared with laughter and Tove looked anxious. Well he might, because Gytha"s face reddened and her hand released mine to grasp her sword hilt.

Heeding the gesture, I hastened to repair the injury by soothing her.

“My Lady, I meant no rudeness. The opposite, in fact, such is my respect for your prowess.”

She tossed her head like a thoroughbred war steed and nodded, unconvinced, before turning away to march toward the King"s hall.

Knut"s irritating laugh annoyed me again.

“Bested by a woman! A wise apology, my Lord Godwine.”

“Sire, I am afraid of no man, not even of Gytha.”

“But she is no man! Hence you do fear her!”

doKnut roared at his own joke and Tove smiled for the first time, before wincing for his trouble.

“Do you know who Gytha is?” Knut asked.

Scowling, I shook my head.

“No? She is the sister of Ulf and Eilaf Thorgilsson. Ulf married my younger sister, Estrid, six Yuletides past.”

“So, she is your sister"s husband"s sister…”

“My, my, you surely have a way with words, Godwine!”

“… as well as a mighty shield-maiden.”

“As well as the woman you love!”

I protested indignantly, but Knut is as shrewd as a… a… what is it in the Bible? … as a serpent? Anyway, I would not have the courage to say that to his face, but I could not deny he was right.