Page 29 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“I accept your service, which I know is given in good faith. May you be an example to all men, in your allegiance to your jarl.”
Gunnolf called Eirik forth and placed his own drinking cup in his hands but there was a tenseness to his jaw. I didn’t wish to see the day Gunnolf believed Eirik’s loyalty to be in question.
* * *
We lifted down trestle tables from the rafters of the great hall, for a midday repast of smoked ham and cheeses, fruits and flatbread. The ale flowed and there was no man or woman whose belly was not full and whose spirit lacked contentment, for those hours at least.
I went to help in carrying jugs of mead but Eirik beckoned me to sit beside him. “There are others to serve,” he assured me. “Today, everyone should see the regard I have for you and know you’re mine.”
Never before had he accorded me such public recognition; I was his consort, rather than his wife.
“You’re worthy of their respect.” Eirik placed his hand about my waist.
We fell to discussing the wrestling and I commended him on his performance, for it was as much that as a show of physical prowess.
“Aye, I won’t deny it.” He shared his smile with me. “There’s little need for me to prove myself among my own men. They know my strength already.”
“And what of Gunnolf’s strength?” I sliced an apple. Its tang went well with the goats’ cheeses before us. “Does he fear it would be his face pushed in the dirt, were he to take part?”
Eirik looked at me askance.
“Bold talk for such a little mouse under the jarl’s roof.” He took a piece of apple from my plate. “We’re different, he and I, but no man had a truer brother. He would give his life for me, as I would for him.”
I lowered my eyes, choosing not to answer. It seemed clear to me that Gunnolf might well be jealous of Eirik’s popularity and his prowess. As jarl, he had authority but I doubted he had the men’s love as his younger brother did.
The meal being taken, horses were brought, Gunnolf mounting an elegant, dappled grey, that shook its white mane as he took his seat. Eirik’s was a golden roan, solid of leg and girth, with a deep barrel. There were perhaps twenty in all and Eirik led a mare for me to climb, chestnut in colour with a blaze upon its nose. It was Asta’s, though I’d never seen her on its back, her condition preventing her from taking such exercise.
“You’d like to come?” he asked. “Join our hawking?”
It had been many months since I’d ridden and even longer since I’d joined in falconry, but I took my seat without difficulty. I looked back, to see Lady Asta waving. She’d want to hear all the excitement, later, and I’d no wish to disappoint her.
Of course, Helka was among the riders.
“The men will race on, in pursuit of the birds,” she told me. “Stay close. Though the best hunting will be in the fields south of the forest, our ride may take us near the clifftops, where there are fissures hidden in the grass. A wrong footstep and your sweet mare would break its leg or fall. Some chasms are large—enough to take a horse whole, and the unfortunate rider.”
I shuddered at the thought.
“You’ll be safe with me,” she promised. “Keep by my side.”
Gunnolf took his falcon with the air of one who knows he is master, unhooding it and settling the bird. Its claws clutched the leather of his cuffed arm.
“Are you ready, brother?” he called, looking to Eirik, his eyes as wild and unfathomable as those of the dark-plumed peregrine.
“Aye, always,” came Eirik’s returning shout, taking his own bird, brought to him tethered on its leash. “Your hunter may be more powerful but mine has been with me since she was a chick.” He stroked its soft, speckled breast and cocked his head to look into the hawk’s amber gaze. “She’s the better trained, I’ll wager.”
“And what do you wager?” Gunnolf called in return.
“Whatever you wish.” Eirik grinned. “All that’s mine is yours, after all. I can deny you nothing.”
Gunnolf threw back his head and laughed to hear it. “Spoken well, brother. I shall think on it…”
With that, he let fly his peregrine and Eirik kissed the sleek head of his pretty hawk, before casting her to the wind. The jarl gave his mount a swift kick and set off toward the woods, leaving the rest of us to follow.
With the wind in our faces, we skirted the trees then dropped down toward the open meadows and the straw-blown fields.
The birds flew high, hovering to scan the ground then soaring and chasing one another. The peregrine darted so close, at times, I thought it would wing Eirik’s hawk, but they flew on, swift and agile.
Gunnolf’s bird was the first to catch sight of its prey, and he cried his delight to see it dive, talons outstretched at the final moment. The peregrine sat upon its prize, tearing fur and flesh with its razor-beak before Gunnolf’s sharp whistle summoned its return.
