Folk at Haven knew nothing of this. They were holding a feast that would be long remembered, when Hadding’s son Frodi wedded Viborg, daughter of King Hunding in Svithjod. Whole herds had plodded across Zealand to feed the guests, whole wagon trains brought ale, mead, and outland wine to slake them. Houses bulged with sleepers, tents and booths crowded acres. Fires brawled, racket rang to the sky, skalds chanted their verses, mummers played their pranks, everybody talked, sang, told tales, dickered, seldom quarreled and never too badly, spoke of what was to come, sported, japed, and after dark begot no few children.
When the torchbearers had led the young man and woman to their bridal bower, while raw good wishes were shouted forth to frighten off evil beings and help bring fruitfulness, the fathers withdrew for a while They strolled out through the fields under stars and a sickle moon. The air rested cool. The noise of merrymaking grew faint behind them.
“Well,” said Hadding low, “now it’s done. May they find gladness.”
Hunding chuckled. “From what I’ve heard of Frodi and know of you, my Viborg will never feel slighted.”
“It’s not easy, being man and wife, and more may hang on this wedlock than on most.”
“You’re thoughtful. Why now?”
Hadding smiled wryly. “A man grows older.”
“But we can only make the best of our lives, no? What our offspring may do with theirs lies beyond us.”
“Still, I watch them as they grow up, and wonder.”
“Keeping track of that many must keep you busy.” Suddenly Hunding caught hold of the Dane’s arm. “Fear not, good friend. You’ll stay above ground a long while yet. You may outlive me, and I’m not worrying.”
Hadding looked at him. “You’re younger.”
“No man may flee his weird. But while you’re alive, I’ll be happy, and peace will abide between our kingdoms.” Hunding shrugged. “Come, this is getting too grave. Let’s go back and drain some more beakers.”
As they walked, he saw how Hadding limped more heavily than erstwhile.
The feast ended, the guests trekked home, quietness fell over the trampled earth. Then out of a rainy day came horsemen galloping.
Ships had grounded on Lolland, they cried. The crews seemed to be mingled Jutes and Saxons. They were harrying about as no vikings had dared in Denmark for many years. Though they numbered only two or three hundred, they were too much for the neighhorhood’s men. From things overheard it was known that one Tosti was at their head.
“We have heard of him before,” said Hadding between set teeth. “Soon the world will hear no more.” He sent for his housecarles and by dawn they were riding south.
Down Zealand they sped, gave themselves and their horses a short sleep in the light night, then ferried across to the island Falster. This they laid behind them in hours, reached another strait, and ferried again. Above the green fields and daisy-studded meadows of Lolland, smoke stained heaven. It pointed the way more surely than did the folk who stumbled past, fleeing with whatever they had been able to take.
High woodland walled in the last part of the path to that strand. Hoofbeats broke its stillness. The light of late afternoon streamed through leaves and struck spearheads, helmets, byrnies so that it was as if a flickering fire raced through the shadows. With a shout, the Danes beheld seawater at the end.
They burst into a trap.
From right and left, warriors swarmed out of the woods. Swords, axes, spears sank into flesh, first of all horseflesh. Before Hadding’s troopers could dismount to fight, they were in a maelstrom of screaming, rearing beasts and hewing men. Horses threw their riders, or fell with broken legs or splitted bellies down upon them. Arrows whined from boughs overhead. No Dane could stand by a shieldmate, even if he got safely to the ground. Each for himself, they hacked about them blindly in the ruck and died.
Some broke free and got off into the brush. Hadding, at the forefront, leaped from his saddle and cut his way to the strand. As it opened to his sight, he spied ships up and down the length of it. They were many more than he had been told of.
One sturdy young guardsman had won through beside him. For this scrap of time, nobody was coming at them. The crash and uproar was all from beneath the trees. “Come,” groaned Hadding, and bore off easterly. “Before they find us.”
The man could not help asking, “Why?” in a harsh breath.
“My guess is that the firstcomers landed yonder. Now, fast!”
They hastened on alongside waters shining with eventide. Blood dripped into their footprints, but neither was badly hurt. It was sweat that soaked their underpadding and filled their nostrils with rankness. Their mouths went kiln-dry. After a while Hadding began to drag his bad foot. The other man gave him an arm and they pushed onward.
The sun trudged lower. A breeze awoke. A flight of rooks passed by.
The two climbed a ridge that sloped down across the strand. Standing on top, they saw a cove where half a dozen ships lay drawn up. “Yes,” panted Hadding, “these must be the ones we heard about.”
“What of that?” asked the housecarle.
Hadding grinned without mirth. “Why, see you, that Tosti fooled us neatly. He came first with no more than some viking skippers might get together. And so they behaved, like plunderers who’d skip off as soon as any real strength showed itself. My main hope was that we could catch them before they got away. But meanwhile his full fleet crossed from Saxland. They set about burning to draw us straight to them, before we could learn the truth. Oh, he’s wilier than I knew, him Tosti.”
“Then his head will look well on a pole,” growled the warrior.
“For that, we must first save ourselves.” Hadding limped down the ridge.
The foe had left merely three men to watch over these craft,
