XIII
That year the fields throughout Denmark bore overflowingly, kine grew fat, and fishermen filled their nets. The Danes thought this was because they had a rightful king again. They flocked about Hadding wherever he went, wanting him to set everything else to rights for them also. Nevertheless he must make sure of their chieftains, some of whom had fared well under Svipdag and might not be overly glad to have a Skjoldung back. He must reward men who had staunchly stood by him, and give to the most trustworthy such power as he believed they could handle. At the same time, he should not do injustice to those of whom he felt wary, if they had not yet done him any harm. In all these matters and more, he strove to learn the skills of kingcraft, from good counsel and from his own watchfulness.
Thus he had no time even to think about taking a wife, but merely bedded whomever was offered him—ofttimes by herself—as he fared around the land. Nor could he give heed to what went on abroad. He knew only that Svipdag’s son Asmund was now king in Uppsala and had vowed revenge. It was hardly a surprise. The question was merely how real the threat might be.
The answer to that came toward spring, as Hadding sat in the great hall near Haven that his grandfather had built. Up from the nearby Sound came a band of men on horses they had brought across, into the stronghold, and so to the king’s house. It was a gloomy day, skies heavy above croplands still bare and trees still leafless.
But when the newcomers came indoors, warmth, light, and cheer met them. Fires crackled high, hardwood sweetened with herbs. Lamps laid their glow to the leaping brightness and to whatever straggled in through the gutskins stretched across the windows. Shadows made the gods, heroes, and beasts graven on the pillars or woven into the hangings seem to breathe and stir. Well-born women kept filled the drinking horns of the men who sat on the platform benches along either wall. Well-trained hounds lolled at the men’s feet. The king’s guests and his household warriors were clad in brocaded, fur-trimmed tunics, breeks dyed with woad or weld or madder, belts and footgear of the finest leather and workmanship. Hadding in his high seat was more splendid yet, a silver brooch set with a garnet at his throat, gold rings on his fingers and coiling up his arms. His hair and close-trimmed beard shone the same yellow. His eyes gleamed sea blue in the jutting Skjoldung face.
A skald stood before him, saying forth a stave in his praise., When it ended, the king smiled. “Men will long remember that,” he said. “Then let them remember too how much I liked it.” He broke off half of an arm-ring and handed it to the man, a generous reward. Folk cheered. The skald said a verse of thanks and took his own seat. Friends thumped him on the back, tendered their best wishes, and bade him wet his throat.
After this it was seemly for the newcomers to tread forth. Hadding spoke first. “Why, Eyjolf!” he cried happily. “Welcome! Why didn’t you let us know you were bound here, so we could have a feast worthy of you?”
“There was little time to spare, lord,” said Lysir’s son. “Nor is there now “
Indrawn breath rustled through the hall. Hadding’s lips tightened. Yet he said calmly, “Come sit at my side and drink with me before we touch on anything worse.”
The news soon came out. Having fastened his rule on Svithjod, Asmund was quick to make ready for war. They had lately heard tales in Scania of how he was calling up both Swedes and Geats. It seemed clear that he meant to cross the marches. between the kingdoms. Such a host could lay much waste before men returned home for the springtime farm work.
Hadding tugged his chin and stared into the dusk that gathered under the roof. “Belike he means to leave as many warriors as he can behind, to hold his winnings and make further trouble,” he said low. “Once the crops are in, he’ll raise the great levy anew, and this time strike across the Sound. Anyhow, thus would I work. So let us forestall him.”
An older warrior frowned. “Lord, can we get enough men ourselves, ferry them over, and keep them fed? This is short warning.”
The king lifted his head. “I think we can raise as much strength as I’ll need,” he answered for all to hear. “Asmund shall not be free to waste my lands and harry my folk.”
Eyjolf’s eyes flashed. “When I helped you, I did well,” he said.
Now Hadding became once more roaringly busy. He lacked time for the war-arrow to go around the whole of Denmark, but Zealand and the islands south of it bore many thriving farms, which had bred strong sons. Word went likewise through Scania, bidding warriors meet at set places. Mean-while Hadding gathered ships and stores, with wains and horses to bear the needful stuff along. Hard though he worked, the trees were budding and a mist of green overlay the earth before he could start forth/ The leaves were out, small and tender, the grass growing well, and wanderbirds flocking homeward through heaven, when he met his foe.
This was in the north of Scania. The Swedes and Geats had not yet come far. Only a few farmsteads stained the blue with their burning. Otherwise that afternoon was sunny. Breezes went mild, full of birdsong and breaths of soil and growth. Hadding’s troops were passing through a broad bottomland flanked by low, wooded hills. On their left flowed and glittered the rivet Elsewhere spread open meadow with scattered groves of beech or ash. The yeomen hereabouts had herded their grazing kine away as they fled. The field lay open for battle.
When
