32: DUEL!
As a travelling poet, Halfdan spent many winters travelling around Norway by ski, by horse-drawn sled and occasionally (when it could not be avoided) by ship. He visited dozens of Norse kingdoms, many of them tiny and poor.
At each kingdom, Halfdan would first ask the king's permission to stay there and practice his art. As winter-time was boring, most kings were eager to have a famous fighter and war-chief hanging around to provide entertainment. Halfdan would sleep in the hall with the fighters, sharing their feasts and endless booze-fests, collecting and saving the scraps of silver that were tossed at him after a good poem. (Bones and garbage were tossed whenever a poem was bad, or when Halfdan was too drunk to remember the words.) All went well in his new career -- with family and hard work every summer, and winters filled with art and friendships and being drunk -- until, one winter, Halfdan travelled south to Oslo for the first time.
Far to the south-east of Eid, Oslo was a small kingdom, but under its famous King Haakon it was quickly rising in power and wealth. When Halfdan arrived by horse-drawn sled, shortly after Yule-time, he was surprised to see that Oslo's king-hall was not rectangular in shape, as was normal, but circular.
There were other odd customs in the south-lands of Norway -- only women wore face-paint, not men; and folk did not hang dead sheep outside their doors to please the gods; and human sacrifices here were not drowned in a swamp, as was done in most other Norse lands, but were tossed into a hole in the ground full of poisonous vipers.
King Haakon was grey-bearded and somewhat fat, but still a fierce fighter and active sportsman. He spent much of his time playing a game with sticks and a wooden ball on the ice of a lake, and despite his age, he was often the player who scored the most goals for his team. He reminded Halfdan of King Lambi in some ways, and Halfdan immediately liked him. King Haakon seemed to think highly of Halfdan too.
But one of King Haakon's powerful followers, an officer in the Oslo army, was Egil -- yes, the son of King Njal, who had helped his father to terrorize Eid and who had run away, hurt and defeated, from the battle of the frozen river.
As soon as Halfdan had walked into King Haakon's hall for the first time, Egil had recognized him. With a group of other Oslo-fighters, Egil had angrily approached Halfdan. Halfdan had pulled out his sword. They had circled Halfdan, ready to attack him from all sides, when King Haakon from his feasting-platform in the center of the hall called out, "Stop! This man came here as a guest! Anyone who harms my guest without permission will be thrown to the snakes!"
"But my lord," Egil whined, "this black-faced troll here killed my brother Bjaaland. And he stole my kingdom. And worst of all, he desecrated my father's burial-mound. I have no choice but to take revenge."
King Haakon roared, "Then take it outside my kingdom! Here he is safe!"
Egil whined, "He might be a spy for King Atli!"
"King Atli is a good man," King Haakon said. "And, besides, there are many kingdoms and much distance separating his from mine." To Halfdan, King Haakon said, "What brings you here, and why do you look so dark in the face?"
Halfdan briefly explained his parentage, then his reason for travelling to Oslo.
"A poet? They're always nice to have around in the winter. Are you any good? Let me hear something before I decide on letting you stay here."
"Of course. What subject would you like?"
"Tell me a poem about why Egil hates you so much."
Surrounded by tables full of feasting Oslo-fighters, the darkness of winter-night exiled by the light of the fire-place and the torches on the walls, Halfdan stepped in front of King Haakon's platform and said:
Oslo-king asks me to sing
A poem about -- him?
Halfdan glanced, with a sneer and one eyebrow raised, at grim-faced Egil. Halfdan loudly went on with:
There's much to praise in brave men
But little to mention in liars
I like to chant of heroes
Like the manly King Lambi
And my berserk friend, Haki
Not waste my words on turds
I've nothing nice to say
Of him, this weakling bitch
So hear of his career
Of cowardice and crime
Bad King Njal and this brat
Schemed betrayal of my lord
Breaking vows of peace, they struck
Burning a sacred hall
By luck or by fate, I lived
To tell all of you of
My king, my blood-brothers
My queen, trapped in the blaze
Imagine! How they awoke
To choke on smoke and weep
As walls and roof danced red
Flames stroking my queen's hair
Sizzling skin! Boiling blood!
Flaming wood-beams falling down!
Hear the screams, smell the steam
Of dreams stolen by swirling flame!
Good Oslo-folk, see these tears
As I tell of my grief and guilt
And anger at the gods
Night after night of nightmares
So I sought revenge, of course
As any good man should
I vowed to kill the killers
And did, except for -- him
Revenge! At the battle
Of the beacon, it began
Foes groaned, wolves and crows fed
And the cowards fled from Eid
Back in Sogn, bad King Njal
Felt sickly from a tooth
Not his own, but a better man's
The bite of King Lambi's skull
Sweet luck! King Njal sank fast
With well-earned sufferings
Until, oops, his leg fell off
And demons dragged him to Hel
As he died, my army skied
Across the border-glacier
Our force's fury hotter than
An iron-melting forge
At Sogn we fought a battle
That'll never be forgotten
Shield-walls met with fiercest rage
On the frozen river
The clangs of cold iron!
The steam of blood-slick ice!
Storm of arrows and spears!
Bones broke, flesh tore, men roared!
Haki's heavy ax-head fell
Shields and shoulders shattered
My sword danced and sang
As I painted foe-shields red
A famous victory
For Fjordane and revenge
Dead men lay in falling snow
Wives in Sogn were widows
The red-beaked ravens stood
Over men and boys of Sogn
Bjaaland too (his brother)
Were left for laughing birds
But what of him, in the battle?
Has he not told this tale?
How did this bold-tongued babbler
Show himself in battle?
A kitten, a sheep, a rat
This wretch ran from my rage
His brother's body forgotten
Fast-footing to the forest
Ha! What a funny sight
Full of fright, weapons dropped
Sprinting with girlish gasps
A spear stuck in his ass!
Pull down your pants, coward
And show all Oslo the scar
No? Then I will go on, with
A verse on your cursed dad
I dug in Njal's great grave
And dragged out something gruesome
Rotting flesh was fed to hogs
Bones shoved down a shit-hole
King Haakon, lord of Oslo
I've told you of the feud
You have heard how and why
I hate him, he hates me
The king and most of the fighters thought very highly of the poem. The applause was loud and long, except at the table where Egil sat. Egil, humiliated, seethed with fury at the new-comer, but dared to do nothing.
"Welcome, Halfdan the Poet!" the king cried. "You are welcome to stay all winter, if you like!"
King Haakon left his chair to shake hands with Halfdan.
Halfdan spent every night in the hall, chanting poetry and feasting. To prevent a sneak-killing by Egil, Halfdan made sure to never leave the hall except with King Haakon or some trustworthy Oslo-fighters.
King Haakon had a daughter, Solvi, who was Halfdan's age and very beautiful. She was married, but her husband's mind had been damaged by a horse-kick, and now she did as she pleased. She decided that she wanted Halfdan as her lover.
So, during a night of feasting and boozing, she came into the hall and asked to speak privately to Halfdan. They went to a quieter part of the hall and sat together on a bench.
"Yes, Solvi?" he said.
"You are very strange-looking," she said, "but almost handsome. And your poetry is lovely."
"Thank you."
"I hear that, before you devoted yourself to your art, you were a famous fighter and war-chief."
"That is true."
"I see that you still carry a fearsome-looking sword."
Halfdan glanced at the weapon hanging from his belt, nodded.
"May I see it? Its blade?"