VIKING: The Plains of Althing (Norse Adventure Series Book 1) by Aiken Ritter Katie

Author:Aiken Ritter, Katie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Kel Coesson reached the dueling ground as the final holmgang preparations were readied. A thick square of ox-hide, three strides to each side, lay fastened to the ground. Around it, three square borders, each one making the battleground bigger by one pace. As Kel approached, he saw the last detail taking place: hazel-wood stakes pounded in at each corner, to sanctify the dueling ground to the will of the gods.

Holmgang. The poor-man’s court, they called it, for those unable to afford court fees and law-arguers, a way to end blood-quarrels, avenge slights to one’s honor, and settle disputes—and the one place at Althing where weapons were permitted.

Kel looked over the faces, some of them regulars. Sure enough, old Ora Eettison was there. Always bickering with one neighbor or another, she had induced yet another of her grandsons into battle over some imagined insult.

On one side of the dueling ground stood groups of accusers and challengers, and on the other, the defenders. Kel looked first among the challengers for what he wanted. He soon saw a well-known holmgang-berserker; a professional fighter, the type who called a duel against a farmer not for a grudge, but simply to try and win a property with a few strokes of the sword. There’s an example where our laws could improve, Kel thought. Such a stupid idea. Maybe not at first, with the law council overwhelmed by cases and holmgang had offered another means of settling arguments. Since the loser forfeited all property to the victor, only the most bitter, protracted disagreements had once ended up on the dueling square. But recently, professional fighters had seized upon holmgang as a way to get property for free.

Kel walked among those who were defendants, listening to the conversations.

That group, there. A pitiful excuse of a sword, held in dirt-stained hands of a farmer, and a worried wife twisting at her apron. A too-young son, pleading with his father to serve as shield-bearer. Kel stepped up to them.

“You’re accused?” Kel asked. “Of what?”

The beleaguered man had too much on his mind to wonder why a well-groomed stranger had inquired. He groaned, “No accusation. I’m only a land-challenge.” He pointed to the professional fighter Kel had noticed. “For rights to our farm and our two daughters.”

There were always plenty of girls weeping at holmgang. “Which are yours?”

The farmer pointed to a pair of attractive young women, their faces twisted in worry.

“What’s your farm worth?” Kel asked, and the farmer mumbled a small amount of silver.

Kel kept his voice stern. “You don’t stand a chance against your accuser. He is going to take your land and your daughters. Why fight a man you can’t win against? No shame in walking away.”

For the first time, the farmer looked Kel straight in the eyes.

“If I don’t fight him, he’ll take them for sure. I can stand losing the land, but not my daughters. At least they’ll know I loved them enough to try. I won’t live out my years ashamed of my cowardice.

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