Thorson jumped up, his hands swiftly flying to the axe that lay next to the straw where he had fallen asleep.
Someone was slamming at the door.
“Thorson, are you awake?”
He sighed and drew a cold breath of relief.
It was Torstein.
His calloused hands quickly brushed across his face before he flinched as his wounded palms seared in pain.
“I am joining you, Torstein,” he said.
Dawn had come too fast.
He had spent almost the whole night waiting for the murderers to return.
None had.
Eventually, sleep had claimed him.
He couldn’t have slept that long.
It felt almost like he had just closed his eyes.
Grabbing his axe once more, he quickly scanned the house.
His mind was clear.
He knew what he had to do.
Right on the wall lay the master’s round shield.
Thorson grabbed it without hesitation and slung it across his shoulders.
He gave the longhouse one last look.
Very soon he would join the rest of the murdered occupants.
But if the gods willed it, he would bring the murderer with him as well.
And then it would be up to Odin to render judgment.
For tonight, Thorson would drink mead in Valhalla with his mother and the rest of the slain.
Then this cursed winter land would cease to be his problem.
“Make haste, boy!” Torstein called, slamming at the door again.
Thorson broke out of his reverie and grabbed the sack he had prepared the previous night.
He had packed the few grains that had remained in the household.
With the prolonged winter, supplies had been dwindling.
But the greedy Earl Haraldson would still not waive taxes.
They were required to bring a portion of their scant supplies to the man.
Maybe the Earl knew there was no way out of this.
His scheme perhaps was to die as the last person.
But die he must.
The path was the same for all of them.
Starvation.
Throwing the sack across his shoulder, he threw the door open and stepped outside into the biting cold.
Four more men and three boys, one of whom Thorson knew to be Torstein’s son, were waiting close to where they had dug the grave the previous night.
Torstein gave him one look and frowned at the shield slung across his shoulder.
“Have you made up your mind?
Will you raise the matter with the Earl?”
“Aye,” Thorson said curtly.
The older man breathed uneasily.
“I’m warning you.
If you accuse Agsken of murder at the Thing, you have to back it with proof, else…”
“Else what?” Thorson asked, although he had a good guess what Torstein was concerned about.
“You are old enough, yet not stronger than Agsken.
It would be better if you said it was a raid.”
“Thank you, Torstein.
I know the price I must pay.”
Without glancing back, Thorson stepped ahead of the group.
It took them the best part of the morning to reach Earl Haraldson’s compound.
The group was surprised to see the place already crowded.
Having begun their journey at dawn, Thorson had expected they would be among the earliest to arrive.
But as they observed the gathering more closely, they realized some had not, in fact, arrived that day.
Most looked as though they had already settled there.
Small camps had been erected around the compound.
Small fireplaces seemed to have burned through the night.
People had slept there, and from the looks of things, they were not in a hurry to leave.
Thorson, Torstein, and the rest of the group were immediately ushered into the Earl’s Great Hall.
Thorson immediately felt a pang of anger upon seeing the piled sacks of grain, skins, and fealties stacked in front of the high table where the Earl and his wife were seated.
The man was covered in a woollen overcoat, with a jug of mead and a bowl of steaming meat before him.
Thorson felt his stomach grumble.
He hadn’t had enough time to prepare food the previous night, especially because he had missed his hunt.
“Torstein, welcome.
Seems your friend Ragnar came ahead of you.”
Torstein smiled as he offered his sack of grain.
“This is the little I have, Earl.
May it please you.”
The rest of the group followed suit and laid their sacks before the Earl.
The man stared at the light sacks before him and shrugged contemptuously.
“Winter is hard, I understand,” he said, grabbing a steak from the bowl and tearing through it as if mocking them.
“But you are not being stingy with me, Torstein, are you?”
For a flash, Thorson saw anger cross the man’s face.
But it was gone the next second.
“Not at all, Earl.
It’s the last my family and I could spare, as did these men.”
“Very well, then,” Earl Haraldson said.
“You are dismissed.”
Torstein turned to leave, but Thorson stayed where he was until Torstein reached over and grabbed him.
“Not now, boy.
If you must raise your claim, then you have to wait until the Earl invites people to raise any other matter.”
It took the best part of the day before the man did so.
Thorson sat in the hall, listening to them debate mundane matters.
People pleaded with Haraldson to waive their taxes until winter was over, argued over who was to receive a piece of land where someone had died, discussed whether they should organize a sacrifice for the gods to lighten the winter for them, or where they would raid after the winter had passed.
All of this sounded almost like childish squabbling to Thorson.
There was no amount of sacrifice that was going to drive this winter away.
This winter was here to stay.
And no matter who received what piece of land, it was useless.
They would all die if they did not move.
Thorson was patient as they all made their thoughts known until there seemed to be nothing more to say.
Then he stepped forward.
“This land has changed, Earl.
We should raid for better lands.
If we don’t raid, we will starve to death.”
The hall suddenly fell silent.
Every face turned towards him, and Torstein almost pulled him back, except the man seemed to realize it was already too late.
Agsken spat as he got up.
“So thralls are now free to speak in the sacred gathering of free men?”
Thorson turned towards him, and all his reservation disappeared.
“I am not a thrall.
I was born here amongst the Vikings and of a Viking master.
Viking law granted me my freedom.
I am as free as you or anyone else here.”
Agsken spat contemptuously.
“You are still as much a thrall as your mother was.”
Torstein finally grabbed the boy as he reached towards his axe.
“Are you mad?” Torstein said.
“You will draw your axe at the Thing?
Do you want everyone here to turn against you?”
“Enough!” Haraldson suddenly banged the table.
He wanted this to be over and the men to clear off his compound.
He wanted to retreat to his bedchamber and bury himself in the warmth between his wife’s legs.
But the longer this squabbling went on, the longer he had to wait.
“Let the boy speak.
They are only words after all.”
He then slowly, and with clear spite, turned towards Thorson.
“Tell me, boy, how old are you?”
“Sixteen winters old, Earl.”
Several men burst into laughter at the revelation.
“And at sixteen you would have us raid where exactly?”
Thorson was silent for a while.
“I don’t know…
anywhere but here,” Thorson declared, his voice rising now that he had their attention.
“If we stay here, we don’t stand…”
“Silence!”
The Earl banged the table once, and Thorson stopped his tirade.
“What do you know about raids?
Tell me.
Have you ever been on a raid before?”
“No, Earl,” Thorson mumbled.
“Then you should know.
Vikings don’t raid in winter.
That’s our tradition, and your master should have told you this much,” Haraldson said, staring at Torstein behind him.
Thorson knew now was his best chance.
“Torstein is not my master.
My master was murdered yesterday in his own house.”
The Earl stared at him as if he were ready to wave it off and continue with his plans.
But that was not the way of the Vikings, and they could not begin to break tradition, especially now that fear was gripping his subjects.
“Speak then, and let the gods bear you witness.”
A hush fell among the gathered men as the boy stepped forward with a determined look.
Behind him, Torstein cursed silently.
“My master and his household, including my mother, were murdered yesterday.
I was off hunting, and by the time I returned, I found them dead.
It was not a raid, Earl, for nothing was stolen.
To this I am a witness as are many others.
before the gods and you, I demand justice.”
Haraldson’s face was creased with apparent frustration.
Now he knew he could not walk away from this.
He had to render a judgment.
“Murdered, you say?
Do you have someone to accuse?”
Torstein suddenly stared at Thorson.
“Don’t say it, boy,” he muttered beneath his breath.
But Thorson knew the moment had come.
“I do, Earl.
It was him.”
He pointed at Agsken.
“And I demand he answer for the crimes he committed.”