Twin Passions(46)

"I now present the man I spoke of earlier," Haarek announced, gesturing toward the merchant. "He is Tryggve Graafeld, a Danish merchant, but nonetheless loyal to our cause. He arrived in Trondheim two weeks past with news from the court of Harald Gormsson Bluetooth, the king of Denmark and overking of much of our land. You have been summoned to hear this news!" He turned to the merchant, who was now standing in front of the assembly just to the right of the high seat, and motioned for him to speak.

Tryggve Graafeld bowed his head first to Haarek Jarl, then to the gathered chieftains. "My lords, I stand before you with grim tidings," he stated steadily, his voice carrying out over the hall so all could hear. "Several months past I traded for goods in the town of York, England, in the heart of the region known as the Danelaw. While there, I heard much talk of a powerful prince, Wulfgar Ragnarson, who plans to sail on Norge in the spring with a fleet of warships that is rumored to rival any fleet ever seen before!"

This announcement elicited loud, angry rumblings and vehement curses from the chieftains, until Haarek Jarl once again raised his hand for order.

"Let him speak!" he commanded fiercely. The hall finally grew silent, all eyes turned to the merchant.

Tryggve cleared his throat, then continued. "It seems this prince's betrothed, a young woman of legendary beauty, and her sister were captured by Viking marauders and abducted from their homeland on the eve of the marriage. Wulfgar Ragnarson has sworn blood vengeance against these captors, and believes them to be Norse. He has gained the assistance of Edgar, the king of England, who will supply him with ships and supplies. I learned that King Edgar had arranged the marriage to foster unity between the Danes and the Anglo-Saxons within his own country, and that he has taken the abduction of these women as a personal affront."

"But what is this to us?" a Viking chieftain shouted out. "Surely we have forces enough to stave off an attack from this Danish prince, with or without the aid from his English king!"

Tryggve shook his head gravely. "Wulfgar Ragnarson has also received a promise of aid from his cousin, none other than Harald Gormsson, the king of Denmark!"

Haarek Jarl jumped up from the high seat, his face livid with rage. "Now do you see?" he thundered heatedly, his words resounding throughout the hall. "'Tis the perfect excuse, the one for which Harald has long awaited. He will try to win back the control that we have wrested from him inch by inch! Though he is yet overlord of the eastern half of our country, he is not content with that. Nay, he now seeks once again to bring all of Norge under his rule! And he will have the forces to accomplish it, once his are combined with that of this prince of the Danelaw!" He lowered his voice, his dark eyes focusing on the hushed warriors. "Those two women must be found and returned to this Wulfgar Ragnarson before he sails upon our land!"

"Yea, 'tis true!" Tryggve replied. "I have just come from Harald's court, where I went to confirm this news under the guise of trading. He shall join his forces with Wulfgar Ragnarson's, and together they will sail upon Norge's western shores in the spring!"

The great hall once again erupted in angry cries. Hakon leaned over to Olav. "At least we are safe from Haarek's wrath, my friend. 'Twas a woman and her brother found aboard my ship . . . and not two wenches!"

Olav nodded, though his face was grim. "But 'tis strange, my lord. We were in England at nearly the same time. Could it be possible—"

"Nay, Olav, 'tis a coincidence and nothing more," Hakon interrupted, shaking his head. He could have laughed out loud. "Do you think I could be so deceived, my friend? 'Tis not possible! I know a wench when I see one!"

Olav chuckled. "Yea, my lord. 'Twas only a passing thought," he said, sitting back in his chair. Truly, with Lord Hakon's eye for beautiful women . . . He shrugged. Hakon settled back in his chair. Yea, the situation was indeed a serious one, he thought, sobering. He had no love for Haarek Jarl, though he was his liege lord, for he had heard much of how the man had earned his position through avarice and unscrupulous deceit. Yet he could not help but admire him for keeping the Danes at bay all these years. Truly, he would rather have Haarek Jarl as his overlord than be ruled by a Danish king!

Eight years before, when Haarek Sigurdson had taken refuge in Denmark after losing his lands to his father's murderers, he had fought on the side of King Harald during the conquest of Norge. Yet after the victory, Haarek had shrewdly devised a way to regain his lands along the western coast. He persuaded the Danish king to allow him to rule a large part of the vanquished country in his stead as a faithful vassal. Since he could not aspire to kingship in Norge or Denmark, being of no direct lineage to either throne, he convinced Harald that there was no danger of his ever becoming a rival. An agreement was struck between the two men, with Haarek promising to pay the Danish king a tax amounting to half of the incomes from the lands which he received.

Yet once back in Norge, Haarek had gradually reduced this tax to the nominal sum of twenty falcons a year, and had eventually declared himself and his territories in the west independent of Denmark. King Harald had made several attempts to reconquer these lands, but so far he had been unsuccessful, always lacking the numbers of men needed to regain control. But now, with this new development, it seemed the tides were turning against the wily Jarl . . . unless he could quickly prevent it.

Hakon's thoughts were interrupted by Haarek Jarl's thin, raspy voice. "Two mere women are not worth the loss of our independence!" he shouted angrily, standing before his high seat. His eyes moved about the room, burning like two glowing coals. "I have sent messengers out to the rulers in Haalogaland in the far north, to Viken near the Foldenfjord, and even to the regions ruled still by Harald Gormsson, seeking news of the whereabouts of these two women." He raised his arm suddenly, pointing one by one at the gathered chieftains, who were now all standing.

"Send out messengers within your own lands! The women must be found!" he admonished fiercely. "If the one is as beautiful as they say, surely there must be those who would remember such a face. And if you find them, or learn any news of their fate, send word to me at once! Now begone, all of you! Sail this very day! And may Odin grant you safe passage as you return to your lands!" He paused, his barrel chest heaving, then warned, "Meanwhile, my lords, until you hear otherwise, prepare for war!"

The Viking chieftains quickly opened a wide path for Haarek Jarl and his retinue as he strode among them toward the massive doors at the entrance to the great hall. His pale face was grim, his mouth a tight line as he acknowledged their clenched fists raised in homage, while other warriors pounded their brightly painted shields with their spears. His glittering eyes searched every face that lined the path, and he paused occasionally to mutter a greeting to a favored chieftain. He had almost reached the doors when he spied Hakon standing back from the others with Olav at his side. He stopped abruptly.

"You must be Hakon, Jarl of Sogn," he stated loudly. The chieftains in front of Hakon quickly moved aside.

"Yea, my lord," Hakon said, stepping forward. He met the smaller man's penetrating gaze evenly.

"I much admired your elder brother, Eirik," Haarek said simply. "You greatly resemble him, though I believe you are taller and of broader build than he." He paused for a moment, then murmured, "I am greatly comforted that 'tis you who shall carry on as Jarl in his stead . . . and no other." Hakon bowed his head, not missing Haarek's unspoken reference to Rhoar Bloodaxe. "You have my oath of allegiance, my lord."

"Of that I had no doubt," Haarek replied, his gaze never wavering from Hakon's face. A fleeting smile touched his stern features, then was gone as he turned on his heel. The great doors swung open, immediately silencing the loud din in the anteroom as the Jarl swept through.

Gwendolyn leaped to her feet to avoid being crushed by the mob of Viking guards that surrounded the small, stocky man with the blazing eyes. She watched in fascination as he passed by her. So this was the great Haarek Jarl! She had heard much about him from Ansgar, who had taught her some of the history of the Norse people. He had said the man was as feared as he was respected, and though he was of small stature, he ruled his vast holdings with a will of iron.

Her eyes scanned the faces of the Viking chieftains who were now pouring from the great hall, but she did not see Hakon. It was several moments before he finally walked through the doors, at least a full head taller than those around him. She felt a thrill of excitement course through her body at the sight of him. Aye, he was by far the most splendid warrior of them all!

"Lord Hakon!" Gwendolyn called out, for the crush of the crowd was so great she could not break through to get to his side. She watched as he easily made his way over to the timbered wall where she stood. Without a word, he took her arm and led her through the surging crowd. Olav followed not far behind.

"Where do we go from here, my lord?" she asked, shouting over the swell of raised voices. "Will there be a feast?" She hoped so. Her stomach was growling hungrily.

"Nay, lad. You will have to settle for salted fish. We must sail at once," he replied, the bronzed planes of his face inscrutable.