Part 7 – Holmgang
A stunned silence hung in the air. Then scattered murmuring. Farl scoffed and raised his whip again.
“STOP!” the jarl bellowed. Farl froze at the force of command in the older man’s voice. “A challenge has been issued.”
“You can’t take this seriously!” Farl exclaimed. “He has no right to issue Holmgag.” Several warriors grunted in agreement.
“Our laws dictate that any man, of any social status, can issue Holmgag,” Bjorn said. “The lore makes no mention of barring thralls.”
The jarl rubbed his chin in thought. “This matter requires discussion,” he said. “But not here. In any case the lad is in no condition to make good on his challenge. Take them down and bind them fast to the poles. I convene a moot of all the men in the Great Lodge. We will discuss this matter there.” The jarl turned and left. Farl threw his whip to the ground in a rage and stormed off after him.
Bjorn went to Roderick and released him from his bonds. Roderick stood there abashed.
“Why did you not ask me if you wanted the smith thrall?” he said. “Have I been cruel or unreasonable with you?”
“…no” Roderick stammered. “I was going to ask permission. I really was. But Farl… We didn’t steal the chalice. I swear it!”
“I know,” Bjorn said. “Farl must have done it and planted it. It’s clear this was his aim.” Bjorn guided Roderick to his kness, pressing his back against the post. He gently took his thrall’s hands and brought them behind, where he skillfully bound them with leather thongs.
“Please, sir,” Roderick said. “What is ‘Holmgang?’”
Bjorn began looping rope around Roderick’s chest, securing him to the pole. “It is one of our sacred traditions,” he said. “Any man, regardless of status, can challenge another to combat as a means of addressing a grievance. They set terms and battle.”
Roderick gasped as the ropes tightened around him.
“The fights are to the death. Usually. Sometimes they are declared nonlethal, but traditionally the loser is slain in the battle.”
“What if the challenged refuses?”
“He cannot,” Bjorn said as he released the unconscious Thomas and gently lowered him to his knees. “To do so brings great shame. A man who refuses, even if challenged by a clearly superior foe, is declared outlaw and shunned. A fate worse than death in battle. If he falls to an enemy sword he is welcomed to Valhalla. An outlaw gets no such honor.”
Bjorn began to bind Thomas the way he did Roderick. “They are discussing whether the challenge is valid or not,” Bjorn said as he secured Thomas’s wrists. “It is unclear if thralls can issue the challenge or not. That is what is being discussed. But I think in this case, at least, it will be accepted. Thomas is popular in the town and many have noted Farl’s unusual fixation with him. They respect the boy for his mettle and fortitude. Many have lamented that he was not born one of us. His challenge will be accepted.”
Roderick lifted his head.
“But don’t get your hopes up,” Bjorn said, placing his hand on Roderick’s cheek. “Farl is undefeated in battle. He has slain knights and men-at-arms. He will make short work of the lad. Still, the skalds will sing of this one’s courage long after he is gone.” Bjorn gave Roderick a sad look and left for the Great Lodge.
Thomas awoke nearly an hour later and the moot was showing no signs of ending. The debate must have been heated. Thomas blinked his eyes a few times and glanced at Roderick. Seeing the unscarred back pressed against the post, he smiled.
“What have you done?” Roderick shouted. “That man is a killer! I can endure a whipping or two but I cannot endure losing you. Bjorn said…”
“Damn Bjorn to Hell!” Thomas barked. “This is no life. Serving at the beck and call of another and living in servitude. Was my life any different at your father’s castle? If I win, I get glory. If I lose… then at least I am free.”
“You’re beginning to sound like them,” Roderick said.
Two hours later, three warriors emerged from the Great Lodge. Without speaking, they went to Thomas and released the ropes that held him to the post. They rebound his hands behind his back and brought him to his feet. “Come with us,” one grunted. With one last look at Roderick, Thomas followed them inside.
The men filed out a while later. Farl was first and he was in a fouler mood than Roderick had ever seen. He went directly to his lodge and slammed the door. Thomas came out, still bound and accompanied by the smith, and was taken straight back to the forge.
Bjorn came to Roderick. “It is done,” he said, and began to remove the bindings. “His challenge was accepted, but just barely.”
“What were the terms?” Roderick asked as the ropes fell away.
“It will be to the death,” Bjorn said. “It would not have been accepted otherwise. Many feared other thralls would take up his example and issue challenges to their masters wantonly. If the price of failure is death, it will dissuade them. Other than that, it is not my place to discuss such things with you. You will know when the battle is done.”
Bjorn helped Roderick up and escorted him back to the lodge.
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Thomas was given time to recover from his whipping. Farl protested, but he was overruled. It would be no honorable contest if the lad couldn’t even stand. Thomas still had to work in the forge while he healed, but the smith gave him light duty. The contest was all the village talked about in the following days and Roderick listened to their gossip as he ran about doing Bjorn’s errands. The people seemed rather evenly divided. Half felt that Thomas had earned the honor of combat and thought Farl was taking his obsession with the slave too far. Half felt that their traditions were being mocked and that the gods would smite them for letting a thrall make such a challenge.
Roderick dared not go into the forge himself. Bjorn had forbidden it, but beyond that he knew it would look bad for Thomas. People still whispered about them and Roderick sought to stifle that. He did make sure that Thomas saw him pass by, however. He would sneak a wave and a blown kiss when he was sure they were unobserved. Roderick kept up a brave face, but his heart was in knots. He would never beat Farl. Roderick knew it, but Thomas kept up his bravado as was expected. Many stopped to revile him, and he took it with strength and stoicism, but equally as many came to encourage him.
The day before the battle was to be held, Thomas was in high spirits. He seemed to have regained his full strength, although his back would be forever marked by Farl’s whip. He seemed to pay it no heed as the others in the village viewed scars as a sign of honor. Roderick did his usual pass by the forge and Thomas saw him and smiled. Roderick winked, then quickly averted his eyes and hurried off, dropping a small wrapped package on the ground outside.
The street was barren, so Thomas put down his hammer and retrieved the package. Opening it, he found a few pieces of honeyed bread that Roderick had been making for Bjorn and a folded white cloth. Upon the cloth was a card, written in Latin so the Norsemen could not read it, that said “A token for my knight to carry into battle.” Thomas smiled and stowed the package in his bunk.
The next morning at sunrise the whole village gathered in the square. The fire pit had been moved and the ground had been flattened. Four posts marked the corners of the battle arena. If any man willingly went beyond these borders, he would forfeit in shame. Bjorn and the other veteran warriors had seats of honor in front near the jarl, and their slaves stood with them to attend their needs. Roderick did not want to go, but Bjorn insisted. “It would not be seemly for you not to be there,” he warned. “And I think this is something you need to see.”
Farl stood in one corner. He was clad in his usual leather and furs and carried a wooden shield and his handaxe. Several warriors stood near him. Thomas stood alone on the other side. Each man was allowed to only use their own weapons and armor, but since Thomas had none he was permitted to use the smith’s. The armor was ill-fitted and old. His shield was in fine shape, though, as was his longsword. Thomas had no skill with axe-fighting so he would be wielding a knight’s sword that the smith had plundered from a raid in his youth and maintained over the years.
As the terms were being re-stated for the crowd, Farl let his gaze wander. His eyes fell on Roderick, standing near Bjorn at the edge of the fighting area and he narrowed his gaze. “Jarl,” he said. “I have a request.”
The jarl turned to him. “What is it?” he asked.
Farl pointed at Roderick with his axe. “I do not trust that one. These two could be plotting escape and using our sacred rites as a smokescreen. Or else he could throw sand in my eyes should I come near him. He does not know our ways and should not be here to see this.”
The jarl considered this for a second, but Bjorn stood up. “He will not interfere,” Bjorn said, “upon penalty of death. But if you are still concerned, Farl, I will bind him.”
“Do it,” Farl sneered. “And gag him tightly, too. I don’t want to hear his woman’s cries as I dispatch his lover.”
Bjorn reeled from Farl’s words. They were as much an insult to him as to Roderick. “It will be done,” Bjorn said. “But know this, Farl, if such disrespect to me continues, you might find yourself with another opponent in the Holmgang soon enough.” The crowd fell silent at the tension as the two Norsemen stared at each other. Farl looked away first.
With the tension broken, Bjorn took Roderick’s hands and positioned them behind his back. The leather thongs went back and forth, up and down, over and under, securing the thrall’s hands with no chance of loosening. Roderick noted that the bonds were not uncomfortably tight, just thorough and secure. With a wink that none but the two of them saw, Bjorn called for more ropes. He bound Roderick’s knees and ankles with the same expert knots that held his hands. He took even more and wove an elaborate harness around Roderick’s chest and arms. He was completely immobile, unable to do more than feebly wiggle.
Some of the crowd began to laugh. “But I am not done!” Bjorn bellowed. He took three thick cloths in hand. One he smashed up into a tight ball, which he shoved deep into Roderick’s mouth. His thick fingers made sure that none of the cloth stuck out. He rolled the second cloth into a long strip and tied a knot in the middle. He placed the knot behind Roderick’s teeth and tied it off behind his head. The laughter increased as Bjorn took the third cloth and folded it into a wide band, which he used to cover the entire lower half of Roderick’s face – from nose to chin.
Finally, Bjorn laid Roderick down on his stomach with his head facing the arena. He used the last length of rope to secure Roderick’s ankles to his chest harness and pulled it tight, so Roderick was bent in an awkward bow position. Finished with tying his prisoner, Bjorn turned to Farl. “I hope he is restrained to your satisfaction,” he said. “Rest assured that he can no longer threaten you. You are very wise to demand such precaution with this dangerous individual. Fear not, you are safe from him.”
Farl reeled at the obvious attack on his manhood and the crowd howled with laughter. From behind his thick gag, Roderick laughed as well, even though only a muffled grunting could be heard. “Let’s just have it done,” Farl said.
Roderick squirmed in the ropes and looked over at Thomas, who was concentrating and steeling his courage. When their gazes met, Thomas took the cloth Roderick had secretly given him and tied it over his head in the manner that he customarily wore in the forge. The two looked at each other for a moment, then the jarl called the fighters to their places.
After the customary invocations to the heathen Norse gods, asking for valorous combat and for the loser’s soul to be welcomed in Valhalla, the jarl began the combat. Farl immediately tore into Thomas with all his might. He swung his axe with a ferocity that would cleave a man in two. Thomas raised his shield at the last moment and the axe blade embedded in the wood. Thomas took the opening and slashed with his sword, catching Farl in the leg for a superficial cut. “First blood goes to me, my friend,” Thomas mocked, knowing that being called “friend” by a slave would further enrage Farl.
With a mighty heave, Farl pulled the axe from its wooden prison and charged Thomas, bashing him with his own shield. Thomas flew onto his back from the blow and Farl brought his axe down hard. Roderick screamed through his gag and tried to turn away, but Bjorn’s hand grabbed his neck and forced him to watch. He saw Thomas roll out of the way in the nick of time and kick out at Farl’s legs, sending the giant crashing down to the sand.
The two fighters’ weapons had flown out of their hands and laid scattered around the arena, but that didn’t stop them. They lept at each other and continued the fight with their bare hands. It was brutal. Kicks, gouches, punches, headbutts… Roderick winced each time Thomas was struck and cheered through his gag with each blow he landed. There and there, one of the fighters would grab his weapon and go for a killing blow, but their target always rolled or parried. Roderick’s excitement was so raised, he did not even feel the discomfort of his tight hogtie anymore.
“How does it feel, Farl,” Thomas taunted, after grabbing Farl in a chokehold. “To be bested by a slave? You are the SECOND best fighter in the village. But Bjorn has little to fear from the likes of you!”
Farl’s face contorted with rage as he broke Thomas’s grip. He babbled and shouted incoherently, unable to form words.
“Careful, boy,” Bjorn whispered, quietly enough that only Roderick could hear him. “That’s the way to keep him off-balance, put push too far and he’ll enter the Red Rage. Then you’ll have no chance.” A cold shiver came over Roderick.
Farl threw Thomas across the ring and rose to his feet. His skin was bright red and his face was a cruel mockery, more animal than man. Thomas got up and both men grabbed their weapons. Farl charged and Thomas met him head-on. “You, who let jealousy of a superior fighter make you scheme like a woman!” Thomas said, dodging and blocking Farl’s more and more erratic swings. “You, who disgraced yourself by obsessing over a slave! You, who stole from your ‘brother.’”
Farl howled like a beast. There was little man left in him now. He dove on Thomas and the two tussled like Titans, rolling this way and that in a flurry of kicks and punches. “They said you are a mighty warrior,” Thomas said between strikes, “but even now you cannot defeat a bastard blacksmith thrall who never even picked up a sword until a month ago.” Farl reached for Thomas’ throat, but the smith rolled away before the man’s fingers reached him. His sword lay inches from him.
Across the sand, Farl rose to his feet. His breathing was ragged and his chest rose and fell. He was weary, so weary. Thomas stood up, holding the sword in his hand. “And above all else, you dishonored your people,” he said. “When Bjorn took Roderick, it was for ransom. When the women were taken from that village it was to be for wives. The men showed cowardice and surrendered without resistance. They deserved the dishonor or thralldom. You let a man strike you and you spared his life. You showed me MERCY instead of killing me like I deserved! YOU ARE NO MAN!!!!”
And something in Farl broke. His mind switched off. All he saw was red and all he desired was blood. He charged at Thomas, frothing and screaming.
“No!” Bjorn gasped. “He’s done it. He pushed him too far.” Tears welled up in Roderick’s eyes as he saw Thomas’s brutal death running at him at fantastic speed. Thomas stood calm, sword in hand.
As Farl came within half an inch of his throat, Thomas ducked and sidestepped. He summoned all the strength he had gained from years at the anvil and swung his sword in a high arc. Farl collapsed in the sand, his fingers still clenching and unclenching for nearly half a minute after his head rolled away, settling to rest at the jarl’s feet.
“I will not make that same mistake, Farl,” Thomas said.
Coming Soon - Conclusion