Styrbiorn the Strong

To my brother Colin
I dedicate this book

Note

When Biorn came out over the sea, he went south to Denmark, and then south further to Jomsburg, and in those days was Palnatoki captain of the Jomsburg vikings. Biorn entered into covenant with them, and was called a champion there. He was in Jomsburg when Styrbiorn the Strong won it and he went to Sweden when they of Jomsburg gave aid to Styrbiorn, and was withal at the battle at Fyrisfield where Styrbiorn fell, and fled thence to the woods with the other Jomsburg vikings. (Eyrbyggja Saga, transl. William Morris and Eirikr Magnússon: Ch. XXIX.)

Then Harald Gormson laid Norway to his own realm and revenue, and yet we deemed King Harald Gormson as of lesser might than the Upsala kings, inasmuch as Styrbiorn, our kinsman, cowed him, so that Harald became his man; but Eric the Victorious, my father, strode over the head of Styrbiorn when they tried it out between them. (Heimskringla, same transl.: Vol. 2, Ch. LXXI: speech of Olaf the Swede-King to Hialti Skeggison.)

In the old Northern tongue ei is pronounced as in the English “rein”: v like the English w: and j like the English y: g is always hard. The final i in proper names (e.g. Helgi) is short. Moldi is pronounced “mouldy”: Jomsburg, “Yõmsburg.” The y in Fyrisfield and in Thyri is short as in “syrup.”

I

On King Olaf’s Howe

Eric the Victorious was in that time King in Upsala, the son of Biorn the Old, the son of Eric, the son of Emund, and had dominion over the Up-Swedes and over the folk of Nether-realm and Southmanland and East and West Gautland and over all countries and kingdoms eastaway from the Elf to the main sea. King Eric was as now in his old years, and was held for a man of mickle might and worship, sitting in that state and stead whereas his forefathers aforetime sat from the days of Ragnar Hairy-breeks; and in their veins was the blood of the kin of the Ynglings, even from that far time when the Gods came first from Asgarth of ancient days, and Yngvi-Frey dwelt among mankind in kingdom in Upsala.

Now when King Biorn the Old was come to die, he left his two sons Eric and Olaf joint Kings in Sweden, and forty years they reigned together in good brotherly love and friendship. King Olaf Biornson had to wife Ingibiorg, daughter of Earl Thrand of Sula. Their children were Thora and Thurid and Asdis and Aud. Ungainly it seemed to King Olaf that he should get none but girl-children. Howso, in the end it befell that Queen Ingibiorg was brought to bed of a man-child, and he was sprinkled with water and named Biorn after his father’s father. But the Queen lived not long, but died the third year after this; and when the lad was but five winters old, then was King Olaf his father fallen down dead of a sudden, where he sat at ale-drinking in his hall. And it was the talk of men that there was venom in the cup, and that that was the bane of King Olaf. So he was laid in howe at Upsala. Thereafter was Eric taken for sole King in Sweden, and he brought up the lad and put him to fostering with Earl Wolf, his mother’s brother. No children of King Eric born in wedlock were as then alive, and his wife now ten years dead. Dearly he loved his brother’s son, and tendered him as he had been his own bairn. And the lad waxed up the goodliest to look on and strongest and likeliest of lads, tall and great-sinewed beyond his years. And because the lad was somewhat grim and stubborn of will and hasty and sudden of anger and very fierce and proud, even now in his tender youth, King Eric let lengthen his name and let call him Styrbiorn.

Against the coming of winter, when Styrbiorn was now fifteen winters old, Eric the King made great blood-offering in the temple at Upsala for the goodness of the year, as was his wont and the wont of his fathers before him from time immemorial. Thither were come together lords and great men of account from up and down the land, and there was great drinking toward. But Styrbiorn came not to meat that day, and came not to the King’s hall. So the King sent men to seek for Styrbiorn. In a while they returned, and a man of the King’s bodyguard said, “So it is, Lord, that we found him sitting on his father’s howe, King Olaf Biornson’s.”

The King’s brow darkened. He said to Earl Wolf, “Must this thing be, every autumn feast of sacrifice? Well, ’tis now the third time and the last; and yet it goeth nigh to anger me. Or will he not swallow my plighted word, that I will give him all, but not until he be sixteen year old?”

“I looked not for this again, King,” said the Earl. “And truly I’m sorry for it.”

The King made them go again to bid him to the drinking. But back they came empty-handed. “Did he answer you naught?” asked the King.

At that, they were silent, looking one at the other. Then answered one for them all and said, “Naught, Lord, save this: that he would waste no breath on the King’s thralls.”

“Like as his father was,” said the King, “so is this young whelp. Go thou, Earl, if that might fetch him.”

Earl Wolf stood up and went betwixt the benches and the fires and forth of the main door into the King’s garth, and forth of the garth past the houses of men and the Thing-stead and the temple till he was come to the open field. It was murk and wild weather, and evening drawing in. Like a high house in bigness, Olaf’s howe reared against the fading light. It was all overgrown with rank grass, and the tufts and tussocks of the grass ducked and paled and rose and ducked again, slapped this way and that by the blustering squalls that charged and paused and swept again about the howe, ceaselessly as the ceaseless rush of vapours in the iron-gray windy lift of the sky overhead.

Styrbiorn sat on the top of the howe, unmoved as it, face to the wind. The Earl came up to him, fain to steady himself with a hand at whiles, what with the sudden squalls and the slippery grass. When he was up, “This is ill doing,” he said, shouting in his ear.

Styrbiorn moved not at all. He was muffled in a close-woven mantle of woollen stuff dyed purple and worked with black threads at the border in rich designs. Close as he held it about him, it puffed and flapped like a ship’s sail in a storm when the rudder is broken. His head was bare, and the thick short curled yellow hair on it leapt to the wind’s piping like the grass on the howe. He wore a heavy collar of pure gold, soft and bent to lie about his throat where neck and shoulder join, and worked by the goldsmith’s art with rich enchasements, and a dragon’s head at either end. He sat with his chin in his hands, frowning upwind so that his eyes watered.

The Earl sat down and put an arm about him. “The King withholdeth not thine inheritance, Styrbiorn. He hath promised, and he will give it thee, as well thou knowest. But time is not yet. Thou art yet but fifteen winters old.”

Styrbiorn shook him rudely off. “Little men’s redes, foster-father, shall not serve my turn. ’Tis not in my blood.” He spoke, as was ever the way of him, with a little stuttering here and there, as if the great and eager spirit of him in its haste tripped and stumbled over the slowness of his speech.

“No jot less of that blood,” answered the Earl, shouting in his ear for the wind sake, “runneth in thine uncle’s veins. He loveth thee. Wilt thou bite the hand that feeds thee? Go in with me. Or why neededst thou put that shaming on free men, to put the name of thrall upon them?”

Styrbiorn leapt up a-laughing. “Did Aki’s nose swell at that?” he cried. “Of age, saidst thou! Come off, and back me.”

“Hold,” said the Earl. But the lad was away: three bounds down the steep to the rough pasture, and away toward the King’s hall. Earl Wolf was a handy man, but he scarce overtook him in the great hall door.

Lamps were kindled in the hall, and the ruddy firelight mingling with their colder beams pulsed and flickered, betwixt rush-strewn floor and the uncertain darkness of the roof-timbers, on bench and board and the many-coloured raiment of that great company and worshipful that there were set. Eric the King sat in his high seat on the upper bench. That other on the lower bench over against him was empty. He wore a Greek cloak of scarlet silken stuff and a blue kirtle done about with needlework. Gold rings that weighed twelve ounces each were on his arms above the elbows, and a crown of fine gold was on his head. King Eric was of all men the fairest to look on; and for all he was well nigh threescore winters old he was neither bent nor wrinkled, but fresh-looking and stark and stalwart as any man in his prime age, and his hair and beard most fair and thick, albeit something dashed with gray, and the voice of him deep and strong and pleasant to hear, and his eyes of a gray colour and speckled, and very bright.

Styrbiorn came and stood before the King betwixt the fire and the board. The King pointed to the high seat over against him, and said, “Take thy place, kinsman.”

Styrbiorn eyed him squarely, then answered and said in his hasty stuttering way, “That was in my mind, King, that I should be no more a burden unto you nor a kept person, now that I am come to man’s estate. In token whereof, I would not come to your board today, but abode by my father’s howe.”

“ ’Tis wearisome,” said the King, “if this old mummery must be acted anew each year. Imagine my part spoke: so, ’tis done. And now, no more on’t.”

Styrbiorn said, “If, King, you will do me right now. Render up to me my father’s heritage: that share of the lordship of the Swedes which belonged to the King my father. Then I will sit in yonder seat. But not otherwise. Not as your guest, King.”

“Kinsman,” said the King, “thou art, of all folk I ever did know, man or woman, the most thrawart and stubborn of will. I say unto thee, as last year I said and the year before last: when thou shalt be sixteen winters old I will give thee thine inheritance.”

“Waxed is the bairn, but not the breeks,” said Styrbiorn, and his face was red as blood.

“When thou shalt be sixteen winters old,” said the King. “Till then, be quiet. For stubborn-set as thou art, I am as stubborn; and I, not thou, will rule in this matter, as is but just and right.”

“Seldom recovers Kings their dominions,” said Styrbiorn fiercely, “but with hewing of swords.” But when he had spoken those words he looked up at the King his uncle and met his gaze; and there was that in the King’s countenance that stayed his violent mood, as a draught of cool water in the mouth stays the burning of an over-hot mouthful of meat. There was fallen a sudden silence in the hall, for all that men were well feasted and much game and jesting was toward. And Styrbiorn, that had been red with anger, flushed yet darker even to his brow and neck; and he stood shamefaced before the King. He said in a low voice, “Some devil drew the tongue out of my mouth to speak an ill word. And now I will sit at your board, as well it befitteth I should do. But if it please you, King, I will come and talk more hereof tomorrow.”