However, no few stayed camped by the river. Hopes of reward, plunder, revenge, and fame lured them. The wondrous ending of the battle here heartened them. True, Hadding gave out frankly that there could be no more such rescues. Hence-forward they would win whatever they won by their own hands. But they thought he must be well worth following.
His right foot splinted and bound, he mounted his horse and led them northward. He would go the whole way to Uppsala and seize the overlordship of Svithjod and Geatland. Thus would he quell the threat, harvest wealth for those who had been faithful to him, strengthen his Skjoldung house beyond overthrow ever again, and for himself win a name that would live till the end of the world.
Meanwhile Hunding brought Asmund’s body home. He laid it to rest with kingly grave-goods and great offerings to the gods. He also buried his mother, Gunnhild. She chose not to outlive her husband, but fell on his sword. Their son set her down at his side.
Meanwhile, too, his older brother, Uffi, was at work. He did not make the rounds of the shire-Things and get himself hailed king. That could wait until later. He took for given that he was his father’s heir. Nobody cared to say otherwise.
Instead, he fared about raising fresh warriors. Everywhere he harangued the folk, telling them what grief would be theirs unless they did what they must at once In this wise he hammered together a strong troop and led it down to the sea.
Hadding moved north with fire and sword. Seldom did men stand against him. When they did, he overran them easily. But then word reached him, borne by riders who had flogged horse after horse to death. The Swedes were harrying the islands of Denmark, striking inland before they rowed on to the next spot, slaying, looting, burning. Hadding was very newly the Dane-king. If he let this go on, belike his folk would cast him from them.
He could only take his warriors back. As they came down through Scania, Uffi heard. He laughed that he had given enough of a lesson for now, and set course for the Skerrygarth. The Danish host returned to the same havoc they had been wreaking and set about rebuilding.
By then Hadding’s foot was healed. The leech had been unable to set it altogether aright. Ever afterward the king walked with a limp. That did not hamper him much. Sometimes it made him hark back to his foster father’s warning. But he never dwelt long on those words.
XIV
At his hall near Haven, King Skjold had let build a storehouse for his treasures. It stood somewhat apart from the surrounding buildings, close by the stockade. Stoutly timbered, it offered a small but good home in its front half for the hoardkeeper. The treasure room was at the rear, windowless, its only door on the inside, warded by a heavy lock and never opened except at the king’s behest.
When Hadding came back from Svithjod, he brought little booty to lay aside. Rather, he would withdraw gold and goods. He must make gifts with a free hand as he fared about the kingdom, so that men would willingly follow him to the war he meant to renew next year.
He went to fetch the wealth on a summer’s day. Half a score of his housecarles came along to carry and guard it. Through the open gate of the stronghold they saw young grain ripple in the wind, cows graze red in green paddocks, a fen where storks were stalking frogs. Beyond lifted a wood, bright in its rustling crowns, shadowy below. A hawk hovered far aloft. It hurtled downward at a prey just as Hadding reached the storehouse.
His hoardkeeper met him at the outer door, a man once burly but now swag-bellied, nose thrusting bluish-ruddy from above white whiskers, garb none too clean. “Hail, lord,” he greeted a little thickly.
“Hail to you, Glum,” answered the king. “How fare you?” The oldster had served Svipdag before him, but Hadding kept him on because he had served Gram before then, and there seemed no grounds for distrusting him.
“Well enough, well enough, since the weather got warmer,” said Glum. “Come in, my lord. I’ve a jug of mead here, not the best in Denmark but the best a poor gaffer can pour for his lord.” He hiccoughed.
Hadding frowned. He had heard something about how often Glum was drunk. Hitherto he had lacked time to look into it. “No, I’ll only take what I came after,” he said curtly and brushed past the other into a front room. For a bit he was nearly blind in its murkiness, after the light outside. Then he saw how dirty and tumbled things were. “Have you no one to keep house here?” he asked. “This is unfitting for the treasures.”
“The wench has not come for some while,” Glum told him. “I, uh, did not want to trouble my lord about so small a thing.”
“I know why,” snapped a guard. “Thorid, who had the task, told me; we’re kin. She’s no thrall, she’s a freeman’s daughter, and would not have this old guzzler pawing her anymore.”
Glum tried to draw himself straight. “Have a care,” he said. “I’m a well-born man, I’ve been a warrior, I keep a post of honor. Have a care how you speak of me.”
“He did,” Hadding broke in. “Too much care. Why did you not let me know, Einar?”
The chief guardsman bit his lip. “Maybe I should have, lord. But we all had much else on our minds, no? I thought
