“Be welcome back, Gangleri,” the lordling greeted. “Who is this you bring along?”
“A man for you,” the old one told him. “Hadding, meet Lysir Eyvindsson, chieftain in Bralund, who has gathered this fleet, and leads it.”
Lysir frowned. “We’ve crew enough, without an untried youth,” he said.
“Your name will outlive you if you take him,” Gangleri answered. “Men will never forget that it was you with whom he first sailed. Here is Hadding, son of the Dane-king Gram.”
Amazed oaths crashed from lips. “Mighty tidings, if true,” Lysir blurted. Gangleri gave him a look and he went on hastily, “Of course it’s so when you’ve said it. But I thought the child must have died long ago. How many even remember he ever lived?”
Hadding overcame what shyness he had felt and stepped forward. “Mine is a strange tale, yes,” he owned. “But I’ve been told I’m much like my father in both soul and skin. Who among you knew him?”
“I fared with him to war, year after year,” said an aging man shakily. “I was there when he fell before Svipdag’s Norse and Saxons. Yes, now it’s as though he stood again before me, young.”
“I saw Queen Signy on a trading voyage I made,” said another man. “She had wedded the king of Dynaborg in Gardariki. A kinsman of his later overthrew him, and I hear she killed herself rather than give up her standing as she had done aforetime or go in the bed of her husband’s slayer as Queen Gro did. It seems me that something of her shows in you.”
“Be welcome, then!” roared Lysir “Ale! We’ll drink to the Skjoldung!”
Men heard and came over. Soon the whole viking host was aseethe. A great feasting began, horns hoisted freely. By leaping firelight, which touched smoke with a hue of blood, Hadding stood forth against the dark and told what had befallen him. Waves rushed and beat under his words.
“This is no small thing,” said Lysir at the end. “King Svipdag will not be glad when he hears of it.”
Gangleri’s eye gleamed from below his hat as the old one stood offside among shadows, leaning on his spear. “Do you fear his anger?” he asked.
Lysir shook his head fiercely. “Thor thunder me if I do! Too long has he laid too heavy a scot on us Danes, and meanwhile our farms and fisheries give niggard yields—maybe worst here in Scania, where we’re closer to him in his Uppsala.”
“More folk than Danes bear him ill will,” said a skipper. Swedes and Geats had come to this meeting place too. “But he’s a mighty lord, as Jarl Gudorm learned.”
“Either you crawl before him and cast Hadding out,” Gangleri told them sternly, “or you plight yourselves to the son of Gram.”
Lysir nodded. “We’ll talk about that in the morning,” he said. “First, let’s drink once more to the gods. May they send us wisdom—and luck, which is better.”
Men woke late and agreed they should let their heads clear before they decided. Thus the fleet stayed aground through that day and night. In the afternoon the vikings gathered. Not all were eager to risk King Svipdag’s wrath. However, none wanted to go home at once. Nor need they swear any oath, except that they would take Hadding as one of themselves while on this voyage.
Lysir went further. Not only did he give the young man a full outfit of clothes and gear, he swore brotherhood with him. They two gashed their arms and each let his blood fall into the footprints of the other.
This laid a bond on the men from the chieftain’s household. No few of the vikings then cried that they too would take up weapons for Hadding, should he ever call on them. If he won, great honor and riches would be theirs. If he lost, belike they would die, but so everybody must. All that lasts is the fame a man leaves behind him.
Gangleri stood tall and watchful. Only afterward did it come to them that when he promised Lysir a name that would outlive him, he had not said that the chieftain himself would be much longer on earth.
At eventide Lysir told Hadding what they were after. Eastward over sea were the low shores of Kurland. It was a land of woods, fens, and deep river dales, broken by the farms and thorps of its Wendish dwellers. Man for man the Kurs were tough, but they had less skill in smithcraft and warcraft than did speakers of the Northern tongue. Hence vikings were wont to raid them for thralls, or else wring from them a scot of the furs that were their only other wealth.
Lately, though, a king had arisen among them, hight Loker, who by war and wiles brought many of their clans under his sway. Thus he could raise a host to reckon with. He had also hired a band of warriors from across the water. These Danes, Swedes, and Geats were not merely his bodyguard, they led and stiffened the Kurland levies in battle. More than one viking crew had since come to grief.
“My brother died there three years ago,” Lysir said. “To avenge him I’ve gone widely about, getting men to join me here in a bigger fleet than erstwhile” He grinned. “When we’ve broken Loker we’ll sack his burgh. I hear he has stored up a hoard ‘ of gold like a dragon’s.”
Hadding thought that with his share of the loot he could begin gathering men for his own revenge.
At dawn the sailors busked themselves to go. While, wading and shouting, they launched their ships, Hadding bade Gangleri farewell and thanked him for his help. “We will meet again before long,” said the old one “By then you will
