# The Black Jarl/Chapter 3

Argosy 01 Dec. 1923, pp. 167-172

### CHAPTER III.
#### A FEAST AND A COMBAT.

THROUGHOUT the long day, thralls worked at unloading the ship. Huge casks were carried to the storehouse of Svend the Bloody, and bundles of wares. The sailors and men-at-arms frolicked ashore. All made ready for the feast.
Inside the great house, Edvard Haakonsson was given an apartment of his own, where he refreshed himself after the voyage. And then he walked forth into the great hall again, to find Svend and Magnus and Rolf eating at the big board. He joined them, but he did not eat as they ate. Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover, had fastidious manners. Svend eyed him for a time in silence, while Magnus grinned into his grease soaked beard. And finally the Bloody one saw fit to speak.
"Our customs and manners are different from yours, Edvard," he said. "It is proper that you dress and conduct yourself here as we of the Norse do."
"That is agreed," Edvard said.
"You should dress as a man-at-arms, and on your bare arm wear the bracelets of your rank. Such dress as you now wear is fit only for women."
"I can change to armor, kinsman!"
"Do so before the feast," Svend said. "We grow rough here at times when there is feasting."
"And you would do well to watch those about you," Magnus put in. "Some may entice you to combat, to try your strength."
Edvard turned to look full at him. "I shall be ready," he said.
Magnus grunted and returned to his eating. The fact that there would be a feast that night did not prevent him eating his fill now. Svend the Bloody put aside a picked bone and leaned back against the wall.
"It is well, Edvard, that you know something of the times here among the Norse," he said.
"I am eager to learn," Edvard declared. His manner was somewhat puzzling. He acted like a man who knew more than he betrayed. Svend frowned, but continued his speech.
"Olaf Trygvesson, our king, is a good man in many ways, yet peculiar," Svend said. "The Christians have won him over, and he would win the remainder of us from Odin and Thor. He is building him a city at Trondhjem, and he has commanded that all jarls await upon him there. We have been waiting but for your arrival before setting out.
"There may be grave trouble," Svend continued. "There are jarls who have adopted this new religion, hoping thus to get favor from Olaf. Harald the Just may the curse of Odin be upon him!—is one such."
"And where lies his estate?" Edvard asked.
"Adjoining mine—that is to say but a night's march away," Svend replied. "We have been at warfare for countless moons. Our thralls fight when they meet in the woods. And here and there a dead warrior is found in the brush, with none to tell the manner of his death. Between the establishment of Harald the Just and mine there can be naught but enmity! It is well that you, my kinsman, should know this thing."
"I shall remember it," Edvard replied.
"We go to Trondhjem to see Olaf, but we go prepared. I shall take men-at-arms with me, and thralls, and pitch a camp outside the city. Olaf is giving a fair. But his real intention is to urge us to peace. 'Twould not surprise me if it be a bloody fair. Olaf may turn against the gods and cling to this new cross, but, by the hammer of Thor, he cannot turn all the jarls with him! Only a few week-kneed ones, who curry favor at the foot of the throne! Olaf perchance will not live to see his beard grow gray. This is the year 998, as the new religionists count it from the birth of their Christ. For three years has Olaf reigned, and for two wears has he been building his city. He is constructing what he calls a church, for this new worship. 'Twould serve him better if he constructed means of defense."
Svend the Bloody spoke bitterly, but he was watching Edvard closely meanwhile. And this kinsman who had come out of the south did not betray anything but polite interest.
"To-night we feast. Then a rest, and then we go to Trondhjem," Svend declared. "We go to the fair—and what happens! Jarl, you are a man of proper years, yet you are not wed. Have you put eye on maiden?"
"Not to any purpose," Edvard replied.
"It were well you did so. The estates of your father are on the other side of mine, but years ago I combined them. It would be a difficult thing to separate them now. It is in my mind that we allow them to remain as they are, and at my death you shall be jarl over all. I have no son."
"The thought pleases me," Edvard said. "The estates are in good hands."
Svend smiled for the first time. "Then it is proper that you take a maid to wife," he continued. "Let not yourself be found in the years of age without male issue. There is in my household the maid for you. She is a distant kinswoman, Brynhild by name, a shield maiden."
"Brynhild!" Edvard said.
"A glorious woman, jarl! Big and strong. She can swim the fiord. She has slain a bear with her hands alone. She is tall and straight, with fair hair that hangs below her knees. She would bear you strong sons."
"But this woman perchance would not wish to wed me," Edvard said.
"Not wed a jarl? When she has nothing but good birth, no fortune of her own? Not wed you—if I commanded?"
"But perchance I would not wish to wed her," Edvard said again. "If my heart did not warm toward her—"
Svend the Bloody stopped him with a roar of anger. "Heart!" he cried. "You speak of this thing men call love? What has that to do with bringing forth sons? What you want is a woman of skill and strength, a worthy mother of jarls! No more of this now. You shall see her to-night as she sits among her maidens."
Edvard Haakonsson said nothing to that. He pretended to eat the meat before him. But his mind was working swiftly. He foresaw that he would have to handle this kinsman of his with velvet gloves. Svend the Bloody was a man used to having his own way and brooking interference from none.
He might have been enlightened had he glanced at Magnus at the moment, but he did not. For the brow of Magnus was black with wrath, and he darted venomous glances at both Edvard and Svend. Magnus long before had marked Brynhild, the shield maiden, for his own.
The remainder of the day passed without event and the dusk came. Out in the clearing great fires had been lighted. Inside the big hall torches were fastened to the walls, and things had been prepared for the feast.
Oxen, sheep, and swine had been roasted. Wine casks from the land to the south had been broached. Men-at-arms thronged the big hall, and thralls scurried here and there attending to their labors. Hounds barked and snarled and fought.
Edvard Haakonsson came from his own apartment dressed as befitted the country. He looked more the Norse now, save for his dark hair and skin. He took his place at the table beside Svend, with Magnus on the other side of him. Rolf sat at Svend's other elbow, as was his right.
Never had Edvard seen such a feast as this! Huge chunks of meat were devoured, wine was guzzled. Intoxicated men grew rough in speech and manner. Thralls were cuffed, dogs kicked.
The shield maidens had a table of their own, and Brynhild sat at the head of it. Edvard had looked upon her. She was tall and strong and fair, yet the fact that she was a shield maiden did not prevent her being woman also. Perhaps Svend had whispered certain things to her. The space between her and Edvard Haakonsson was clear, and she looked continually across it.
"There is a maiden for you," Svend whispered. "Mark her well, kinsman. Wed her, and have her bring forth sons. Then, when I am gone, you shall inherit from me also."
"If he outlives you," Magnus snarled.
"I grow old, and Edvard has youth in his veins," said Svend.
"Yet youth has been slain."
"Brynhild will make him a fair wife. See how she looks at the youth even now."
Magnus saw, and growled low down in his throat. Brynhild was not the one to pass by a jarl and accept a jarl's lieutenant. Her eyes burned with ambition more than love. In her heart she despised the black jarl for his small stature, yet she gladly would wed with him.
The feast went on. Warriors were teasing the shield maidens now, and scuffling with them. Shrieks of merriment rang out in the great hall. Dogs fought at the sides of the tables, and thralls scrambled with them for bits of food.
Svend the Bloody lurched to his feet, a huge wine goblet in his hand.
"Drink!" he cried out above the din. "Drink the silent toast!"
Instantly all was still. Not a man or woman there but knew what he meant. And so the toast was drunk, and the names of Odin and Thor came in whispers from lips.
Svend sat down again, half a smile upon his lips. "Olaf may be a great man, but he cannot change every heart," he muttered. "We march to Trondhjem before the sun twice more has sunk beneath the western sea! And before we return perhaps we shall know more of the might of Thor!"
Men and women were leaving the tables now and wandering about the great hall. One by one the shield maidens stopped before the dais and bowed before Svend the Bloody. Brynhild was the last.
She moved deliberately before him, and once more her eyes sought the face of Edvard Haakonsson. And then she would have walked on, but Svend raised a hand and stopped her.
"Fairest of the shield maidens!" he proclaimed. "Our kinsman would greet you!"
Edvard got slowly to his feet. Svend had said it, and Svend was to be obeyed. He, too was a jarl, but Svend the head of the family by weight of years.
Down from the dais Edvard stepped, and went forward. Brynhild bowed low before him, though in her status of shield maiden she was not compelled so to do. By this added courtesy she showed the state of her mind, and big Magnus growled again into his beard.
And now Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover, did a peculiar thing. He reached forward and took one of Brynhild's hands in his own. He lifted it slowly, while men and women wondered, and gently he bent his head and kissed the shield maiden's hand.
There was a murmur of surprise, delight, horror. Brynhild flushed with pleasure. Edvard Haakonsson stepped back, and again he bowed, and then he spoke.
"Greeting!" he said. "My uncle has wonderful maids about him!"
That was all. He went back to the dais and his seat. The shield maiden walked on.
"Is she not a proper maid?" Svend asked, when Edvard had regained his seat.
"All are proper maids," Edvard replied.
Magnus leaned toward him. In his heart was hatred, but he knew that he must conduct himself carefully. This man was kinsman of Svend, and so was entitled to some consideration. Yet not even Svend could prohibit the outcome of a quarrel. This was Norseland, where all men, be they jarls or thralls, stood by themselves.
"She is a wonderful maid," Magnus said in his beard. "She could pick you up, black jarl, and toss you over her shoulder."
"Possibly," Edvard said.
"When she weds, it should be to a man of might. By the hammer of Thor, she is for no weakling!"
All those at the table heard the words. Svend's face grew black, but he said nothing. Edvard turned his head and regarded Magnus as he might have a curiosity.
"Do I understand you to mean that I am a weakling?" he asked.
"You have not the size of a warrior, scarce!" Magnus sneered.
"Nor the strength?"
"Nor the strength!" said Magnus.
"Men have made mistakes before to-night," Edvard observed.
Magnus lurched toward him, and again he snarled. "Jarl," he said, "you have not your father's great body, and I doubt your strength. You have inherited more from your mother, a woman of that land to the south where women—"
My mother is not to be mentioned by your lips!" Edvard warned.
"What is this? A man may not mention a woman? Are women, then, gods to be treated so?"
"They are to be treated with love and respect," Edvard said.
"Love? Respect for women? Jarl, your body speaks for itself. I doubt your strength. And now, after your words, I doubt the quality of your brain. Has your head been touched and weakened by the southern sun?"
Edvard faced him squarely. "Do you, by any chance, doubt my courage also?" he asked.
There was a moment of silence. Every eye in the great hall was upon those on the dais. Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover, had put the question, and Magnus could do naught but answer. An expression of glee came into the face of Magnus. Whatever happened after this, Svend the Bloody could not hold him to account. A man of rank had the right to protect his honor.
"Yes, jarl, I doubt your courage, also!" Magnus said.
Rolf, the shipmaster, gave an exclamation of surprise. Svend swore roundly. Edvard Haakonsson got slowly to his feet. A wine goblet was in his hand. A moment he hesitated, and then he flung the dregs of the wine into Magnus's face.
The uproar came instantly. Men sprang back against the walls. Shield maidens hurried aside, their eyes glowing. Thralls scattered out of the way.
Magnus roared like an angry bull as he wiped the wine from his eyes. He glanced once at Svend, who gave no sign. This thing was between men, and Svend could not take a hand in favoring one or the other. His new-found kinsman, he supposed, would soon be new-lost. In such event, the estates—
"We fight!" Magnus cried.
He sprang down from the dais and waited. Edvard wiped the wine from his hands carefully. He was not smiling now. His face was grim. He walked down to the level of the earth floor, and stood there with his hands at his sides.
"You are my uncle's valued man," Edvard said. "In such case, I have no wish to harm you."
"To harm me?" Magnus shrieked. "You shall die, jarl, by my hands!"
"Nor have I any wish to die at the moment," Edvard told him.
Svend towered to his feet. "What mean those words?" he cried. "Do you, of the blood of Haakon, my brother, turn from the face of a foe?"
"I turn from no man," Edvard replied. "It is but a test of strength and courage this man of yours demands, and I am willing to grant him that. It is not necessary that we fight each other with death-dealing weapons."
"Then what would you?"
"I can throw him!"
Another moment of silence, and then a roar of laughter, in which even the shield maidens joined.
"Throw him?" Svend shouted.
"Throw me?" Magnus shrieked. "I can crush your ribs with my arms. Far better you try the ax or javelin."
"I have chosen," Edvard replied. "The right is mine. The first insult came from you."
"You would wrestle me? In armor?"
"As we now stand."
Magnus scarcely could conceal his delight. This man would be a baby in his arms. He would crush the ribs of the black jarl, and toss him aside to die. Then he would claim the fair Brynhild for his own.
"Make your peace with the gods!" Magnus cried.
Then he rushed. But Edvard Haakonsson merely stepped aside and let him charge by. Magnus turned, growling his curses, and once more he rushed. And this time Edvard Haakonsson did not seek to evade him.
They clashed, their arms entwined, their legs mingled. There was a moment of quiet straining. And then the great body of Magnus whirled swiftly to one side, and he crashed to the ground. Edvard stood over him, hands against hips, breathing no heavier at all.
Silence for the space of a heartbeat, and then shouts of surprise. Magnus struggled to his feet, his face purple with wrath.
"It was a trick!" he roared. "I slipped in wine—"
Once more he rushed. His rage now was a terrible thing. That the black jarl had thrown him once was bad enough. And deep down in his heart Magnus knew that it had been no accident. The black jarl had a method of wrestling that was new.
Once more they clashed, and again there came that moment of silent straining. And then the body of Magnus was whirled aside again to crash against the floor.
Cheers rang up against the beams of the thatch. Svend the Bloody roared his laughter.
"Enough!" he cried. "Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover, you have methods of which we know nothing."
"A trick!" Magnus shouted again, but they laughed him down.
Rolf, the shipmaster, leaned toward the man at his side. "The black jarl has many such tricks," he whispered.
Edvard Haakonsson had stepped back, and again placed his hands lightly against his thighs. He was laughing lightly. Magnus lurched toward him.
"There are things besides wrestling," he said. "Some day we may clash again, and with weapons."
"When the day comes, you will find me waiting," Edvard said.
Magnus turned away, shouting for wine. His face was still purple with wrath. Men were laughing at him behind his back, he knew. Even the maidens had witnessed his downfall—and Brynhild with them!
Edvard walked aside. For a space he leaned against one of the walls, watching the scene. Men and women walked before him, eyed him. His status had changed somewhat, but still they doubted his quality. Brynhild stopped beside him.
"You are strong, jarl," she said, softly.
"Magnus was right. It was but a clever trick."
"But it served," she said. "I am glad that I have found favor in your eyes. Your kiss still burns my hand."
Edvard looked at her quickly, laughed nervously.
"'Twas nothing," he said.
"Such a kiss nothing, before guests and thralls?" she said. "By it you elevated me to your station, jarl. I am your bride when you wish to claim me!"
"But I meant nothing by it," he explained. "In the land from which I come, it is but proper courtesy to greet a woman so."
She raised her head quickly, and her eyes flashed as she regarded him.
"Then I am no more to you than any one of the other maidens?" she asked.
"How could that be, since I saw none of you until to-day?" he replied.
"You do not want me, then?"
Edvard shook his head. "I am sorry!" he said. "I would be your friend—"
"There can be no friendship between us, jarl, after this!"
A moment she looked at him, and then she turned her back upon him and walked rapidly away. Edvard Haakonsson had made another enemy, and a vindictive one. For Brynhild sought out Magnus, and whispered in his ear.
"Kill me this black jarl when you have the opportunity," she said, hotly. "And then ask Svend the Bloody for my hand. It will be waiting to clasp yours!"