855AD

  “Bjorn, Bjorn!” The annoying voice of his little brodir shouted, rousing him from his dreams. He felt shaking as little hands pulled at his arms.

  “It is too early to play, Halfdan,” he grumbled, throwing off the hand and turning over in his furs. “Can you not see that I am sleeping?”

  “But, Bjorn,” the child moaned in that pleading way of his. “Father’s ship has returned; it is sailing through the fjord right now.”

  Bjorn’s eyes snapped open, suddenly he was awake and the bright summer sun which leaked through the wooden beams blinded him as he threw the furs off himself and bounced out of bed.

  “You could have started with that,” he said, thumping his knuckles on the top of Halfdan’s head as he threw his legs over the side and grabbed at his tunic which laid in a pile on the floor.

  “That hurt,” Halfdan moaned, his lower lip sticking out, eyes holding the tear-glisten, and Bjorn sighed loudly, placing his hands on his hips.

  “Drengir do not cry little brodir,” he said matter-of-factly. “If one tiny little tap from me is enough to make you bawl then I am afraid that there is simply no hope of you reaching the great hall one day.”

  Halfdan’s jaw dropped like it always did, then he was rubbing his eyes and standing up straighter. Eight winters had not yet made a man out of him, he had barely left the longhouse. He clung to Bjorn’s heel like a pup and Bjorn had become quite adept at training dogs. After all, Father used to take a whole pack of them on their hunting trips. He would always say that a good pack of dogs could save your life in the forests because their barking kept the galkn away.

  “Are you two coming or not?” Ivar said, hanging onto the door frame as he swung himself half into Bjorn’s chambers. “Ubba and Sigurd have already left and I have a duty to be the first of father’s sons to greet him. I am his heir, after all.”

  “A fact you never fail to mention, brodir,” Bjorn teased, and then the three boys were racing out of the longhouse and through the streets of Lejre.

  Jovial cries followed them as they jumped, ran, and vaulted their way through market stalls and muddy streets, laughing the whole way. The townspeople were always kind to them, a sign of respect for their father, and they were greeted with smiles and hejas as they arrived at the dock. Pushing through the crowd of freedmen and women, the three boys squeezed through to the front where their mother waited with Eirek, Agnar, Ubba and Sigurd, who held tightly to her hand, barely half the size and age of Bjorn.

  “Where have you been?” She asked, gazing sternly down at them. “I thought you were going to miss him.”

  “I would have been on time if it was not for these two layabouts, Mother,” Ivar said, pouting as he looked at Bjorn who gazed back impassively, Halfdan sticking his tongue out at Ivar from behind Bjorn’s back.

  “Well it does not matter now,” she sighed. “The boat will be docking at any moment.”

  Bjorn gazed out over the glistening fjord, bright blue waters to match the famed Ragnarsson irises. The sun glinted off the surface, light sparkling and dancing like Valkyries as gentle waves lapped at the wooden beams which held the dock in place.

  The water’s beauty was great, but it was not that which had captured Bjorn’s gaze. Gliding majestically through the water, a knife through butter, was his father’s longship. The beautiful sea-stallion with its painted shields hanging on the top rail, its raven decorated sail and a host of hardened warriors pulling its oars. And above them all, taking pride of place at the back of the boat as he hung easily onto the rear post, his father.

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  “Oars!” He heard shouted across the fjord, Ragnar’s voice carrying, probably for leagues and leagues, as his drengir pulled their oars in and the longship drifted next to the dock. Then armour clad, hulking drengir were leaping from the deck, dragging ropes with bulging muscles as they tied them off onto the posts and his father stepped regally off the top rail, his boots landing on the dock with a satisfying thud.

  “Ah,” he sighed. “My arse hasn’t been this numb in an age. Three weeks on the return trip, what a pain.” Then he pulled Bjorn’s mother in towards him, pressing his furry lips to hers and then she was jumping, wrapping her legs around him and Bjorn was worried the two would give him another brodir right then and there.

  “Father,” Ivar said, clearing his throat loudly. “I trust that your journey was a fruitful one?”

  “The only fruitful one I see is you, Ivar,” Ragnar laughed, disentangling himself from Aslaug. “Who taught you to speak like that? You sound like a diplomat.”

  Ivar’s face brightened, turning the colour of a ripe tomato, and Bjorn struggled to hide the laughter that his lips fought to hold back.

  “I have been teaching him the way of the word, Husband,” Aslaug said. “Your first-born heir needs to be able to treat with all sorts of folk.”

  “Gods, woman,” Ragnar sighed, brushing his fingers through his sea-salted hair. “I leave for a few winters and come home to find me son has had all the Viking sucked out of him.” He laughed, making light of the situation, but something in his hardened eyes made Bjorn think that he was being serious. “It is good fortune that I bring great warriors with me. Styrbjorn?”

  At Ragnar’s call, a hulking man exited the longship, causing the hull to dip as his massive foot stood on the top rail. The wooden boards of the docks creaked as he disembarked the ship, standing at least two heads higher than Ragnar, and twice as wide.

  “This is Styrbjorn,” Ragnar said. “He is the leader of those famed Jomsvikings over the waters.”

  “The drengir for hire?” Aslaug asked, her lips curling in a deep frown.

  “The very same,” Ragnar replied, smiling like he always did. “Styrbjorn has agreed to train some of you for me,” he said, looking at each of his sons in turn. “Ivar, it seems you need it most…” he stopped speaking for a moment as he looked over the boys. “Ubba, you will go too. Can you manage both?” he asked, turning back to Styrbjorn who nodded. “Good, thank you my friend.”

  “Bjorn,” Halfdan said. “That man is bigger than Thor!”

  “And Ivar is slighter than Loki,” Bjorn replied, laughing at his joke. “That giant is going to crush you brodir.”

  “Laugh all you want,” Ivar said, turning his head upwards. “But when I return, I will be the greatest warrior you have ever seen. I will have so many names the skalds will need to sing an entire verse just to introduce me.”

  “Oh, Ivar,” Ragnar said. “Styrbjorn has a son about your age, I think you are going to like him. He is named Horick. Eirek and Agnar, King Eystein of Sweeden has agreed to take the two of you under his wing.”

  “We will be trained by a king?” Agnar asked, blue-washed eyes going wide, glistening like the shallows of the fjord.

  “Ragnar,” Aslaug said sternly. “I thought that we were not on such good terms with Eystein? Is this really a good-clever move? I do not want my sons placed in danger simply to serve your moon-touched ambitions.”

  “Relax woman. Besides after sending our sons to learn from him, we will be the best of friends. Who could look at their chubby faces and even begin to dream of harming them?” Ragnar replied flippantly, then continued on quickly before his wife could argue further. “The rest of you are going to spend the winter with Tovi, then in the summer she will teach you to sail.”

  Bjorn nodded, eyes glistening as he looked at the ship. He wanted to sail it so badly, for as long as he could remember. Then his eyes wandered over to Sigurd, who was holding Aslaug’s hand, his snake-eye wandering as usual. However, it was not his wandering eye that caught Bjorn’s attention, rather the look of pain on his face as Aslaug squeezed his hand tighter.

  “Really Ragnar?” She said, frowning at him. “You are back for less than the time it takes to chug an ale and you are already talking about shipping my bairns off to her.” His mother’s voice turned to a snarl and Bjorn took an involuntary step back. “After everything that has happened?”

  “Calm down, woman,” Ragnar said jovially. “This is about the boys’ training and Tovi is a fine teacher, a strong warrior.”

  “I know how highly you think of her, and her sister Lagertha,” Aslaug spat, then glanced down at Sigurd and her stare hardened further. “I do not want that brood-tik anywhere near my sons, especially not Sigurd. I am serious Ragnar.”

  Bjorn’s father sighed, rubbing his hand over weary eyes. “I am sorry my love, but it is already done and a Lodbrok never goes back on his word. You know that.”

  “You are a pathetic excuse for a man,” she said, then she was scooping Sigurd up into her arms and marching back towards the longhouse, freedmen and woman moving quickly aside to make room for her.

  Ragnar sighed, shaking his head. When he lifted it, he was looking at the remaining boys before him, all startled, shocked expressions on their faces.

  “Well then lads,” he said, his demeanour changing immediately. “Who wants to go fishing?”