Iron Wolf - The Saga of Harald Fairhair by Revan Alessandro

Author:Revan, Alessandro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Olympia Publishers
Published: 2023-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

In line with our tradition, Asa had been taken away by her father before the start of the celebrations, to keep her secluded with other maidens attending to her for the preparations.

If for most of men this wouldn’t mean much, it did to me. The girl had hung around my bed as a mussel on its shelter since my victory at the Jaws of Death, with all consequences. Soon, I started to miss her warmth as a drunken man would miss his ale.

A way or another, I had to deal with it. Despite my royal title, I couldn’t spit on such old traditions, because that would have been like spitting in Frigg’s face before the wedding, and bring ill-luck.

At least I was glad I didn’t need to see the father’s bride for some days, and I assumed Hakon had the same feeling for me.

In any case, there were other annoying activities I had to attend for the preparations, most of which I delegated to my mother, her thralls, and my closest hirdmen, when possible. This solemn, fancy events bored me so much that sometimes I was tempted to take my dragon ship and set off opening throats and spilling blood with Steinar, Vidar and Guthrum and all the others on the whale road, and be back just to put the ring on Asa’s finger.

The ring was the hardest part indeed, because it was certain as the sun raises east that the jewel had to be up to the expectations. It had to be a jewel for a princess, for a queen.

Guthrum told me we could go hacking off King Eirik’s man and rob one from his daughter, who no doubt owned so many rings and jewels to make Freya herself screaming her envy. There was no doubt Uncle was taunting me so to test my reaction. It was no secret I’d always had a weakness for Gyda, although I was about to marry another maiden.

Furthermore, the sword.

During the ceremony I had to pass the sword of one of my deceased forebears to the bride. It had to be the family sword, as symbol of strength and protection passed from generation to generation.

As my father used to say, a sword is the warrior’s soul – or an axe for an axeman, as Steinar would have put it. Regardless, there is no doubt nothing is more precious for a battle-tempered man than his blood spiller, which often gets a name too, as ships.

Unfortunately, my family’s sword was rusting from years at the bottom of Lake Rond, which had claimed my father’s life and all his war gear, blade included, with all its gold and silver metalwork on the pommel.

I wondered what old Halfdan the Black would have thought of my marriage. Despite he had been a man more at ease with the blood fray and the war song than with the warmth of his family’s hearth, he had proved to be a good husband to my mother, so that she never had to run her mouth off complaining of him.

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