Jarlsblood-Saga First Volume E-Book

Rainer W. Grimm

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Jarlsblood - Saga
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 330

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

In the early years of the 9th century, young Einar lives happily as a fisherman with his twin sister Thordis and his parents on the divided island of Tautra, nestled in the heart of the great fjord of Lade. But when the old warrior Thorstein appears at the fisherman's farm, young Einar's life takes an unexpected turn. The gray-haired Viking reveals the secret of his true origins and demands that he swear an oath to reclaim the castle and legacy of his ancestors. Soon after, the old warrior begins preparing the boy for his quest, teaching him the use of weapons. Einar receives the sword Blood-Eye from Thorstein, a pledge of his clan's independence. But fate intervenes sooner than expected, leading the young lad to the northern island and into the service of Jarl Oyvind. Out of gratitude, Oyvind accepts him as his son. When the Jarl of the southern island presses for the expulsion of his rival Oyvind from Tautra, battle ensues. The stepson of the Jarl of the North Island gains dominion over the small island of Tautra and succeeds Jarl Oyvind. Now a mature young man, as Jarl and leader of many warriors, Einar can finally attempt to fulfill his oath.

Leseprobe

RAINER W. GRIMM was born in 1964 in Gelsenkirchen, North Rhine-Westphalia, as the second son of a coal miner. He still lives with his family and two cats in the Ruhr region. It was not until the age of thirty-five, due to a back injury, that the trained craftsman discovered his love of writing. Since then, he has been publishing historical stories and novels, most of which are about the Vikings, as an independent author.

Table of Contents

1. The Castle of the Wolves

2. The Escape to the north

3. Revenge of Thorstein

4. The sword

5. Clan hatred

6. The judgement

7. The oath of revenge

8. A new home

9. From a kidnapping

10. The battle of Sørhamna

11. About a new jarl and a wedding

12. A nasty surprise

13. Jarl Einar

14. the King of Trøndelag

15. Einars prank against Asbjörn

1. The Castle of Wolves

On the flat crest of a hill, with the river Lipsia meandering at its feet, the palisades of Wulfshigh Castle could be seen above the crowns of the trees. A castle, looming, strong and with solid, stone foundations that had defied the advancing armies for more than a hundred winters. The old bulwark had withstood every attack so far and had provided a safe retreat for Count Wulfbeard and his warriors during the time when Charles the Frank was waging war on the land of the Saxons. Even now, the inhabitants felt well protected behind the walls and palisades, as no enemy had been able to storm Wulfshigh in the past.

Most of the counts of the Saxon lands, those of the Engern, the North-Albingians, the West and Eastphalians, had lost their power in 785 AD and submitted to the king of the Franks after grueling battles. Duke Widukind and the other tribal leaders had bowed their heads before Charles and received baptism in order to become vassals of the Franks. This happened twenty winters ago and made the pagan Saxon land part of the Christian kingdom of the Franks. However, the resistance of the Saxons loyal to the Asians never completely died down.

Since the king, coming from the land of the Franks many winters ago, had advanced north and east with his army and his priests, the land of the Saxon tribes had been converted to faith in the new God at the cost of the sword and the blood of thousands of people loyal to the gods. And the King of the Franks became the Emperor Carolus in 800 AD. But now Carolus was sitting in his palace in Aachen1, and it seemed as if the work of conversion was complete for him. His dukes and counts would take care of the few remaining heathens. The war against the Saxons was long past for him, the great Frank Carolus Magnus was old, and the Saxon land had become Christian. Due to the influx of Frankish settlers and the deportation of many Saxons to the Frankish kingdom, resistance had waned noticeably. There were now plenty of monasteries and abbeys, and the Saxon duke and his counts and bishops, his bailiffs and town hermits, ensured that the few pagans kept quiet.

The night was black like a raven and the sky above the small fortress was completely overcast with gloomy clouds. The god of thunder, Donar, son of the one-eyed father of the gods, Wodan, was swinging his mighty hammer, and accompanied by the dark rumble of his blows, bright flashes of lightning came down from the sky. The rain had been pelting down on the roofs for days, although it was actually the time of year when the sun shone hotly down on the land. The priests wrote the year 806 AD, and the death of Count Wulfbeard had made his son lord of Wulfshigh two winters earlier. And this young Saxon count Wulfram resisted the conversion rage of the Christians, just as his father had done, and refused to become a follower of the Lord Christ.

The young count had spent many moons preparing to fight the henchmen of the Christian counts, seeing people from the burned villages coming to his castle day after day. But the enemy army had been slow to arrive. Now, however, the settlement in front of the castle had gone up in flames and the population sought shelter behind the walls of Count Wulfram's fortress. People had also fled to their lord's fortress from the villages and farms scattered around the castle in the woods. Even the Asier2worshippers faithful from the nearby settlement of Wesele3, who lived among the Christians, had arrived before the enemy warriors had occupied the town and were searching for the heathens.

This time the situation was serious!

No, it had long been hopeless, because for weeks the enemy had been besieging the small castle in the west of the land that the King of the Franks had once seized with a heavy hand.

Protected by the dense forest that surrounded the castle and reached right up to the walls, the Aesir worshippers faithfully believed they were safe from the attackers. The power of the bishops in the newly founded bishoprics of Mimigernaford4 and Minda5 was great, however, and they had now, it seemed, resolved to make up for Charles' failings. For even they themselves could not explain why the pagan Count's castle had been spared for so long. The old lord of Wulfshigh had probably been nothing more than an annoying mosquito for the duke, which he could have crushed whenever he pleased, and thus the arrogance of Duke Ekbert probably protected him. At least that is what the church lords believed.

Now that Wulfram had become Count, the duke in Osnabruggi6 had believed that the young Count would turn to Christianity all by himself.

But now there was one of the counts who wanted to endear himself to the bishops and who turned against the apostate Wulfram out of greed.

"Hail God, Count Dittmar. You sent for me", said the man in the habit of a priest. The man raised his hand and beckoned the man closer. “Come closer, Ulfeus”, demanded the count, who was sitting on a chair upholstered with thick furs at the large table near the fireplace and enjoying a leg of rabbit. "Take a seat and eat something, priest. Weerta, have a plate and a cup brought for our guest." The lord's wife turned and clapped her hands, whereupon a slave girl immediately rushed over.

The priest followed the Frankish nobleman's invitation and gratefully took a seat. “I don't think you called me here to have a meal with me”, the priest smiled kindly at his host.

“So, what can I do for you?”

He plucked up his plate, which was generously filled with parts of the roasted animal, and tucked in.

“I always knew you weren't a stupid man, Ulfeus”, smiled the count. “Yes, you're right, of course, and I don't want to beat about the bush.”

He threw a gnawed bone onto the table.

“Hadn't Emperor Charles ordered all Saxons to renounce their old gods and that sacrifice was forbidden on pain of death?”

Ulfeus nodded in agreement but furrowed his brow as he was a little taken aback by Dittmar's fear of God. The Earl von Halatram7 was not necessarily known as a zealous Christian.

"Isn't it time to finally turn this devil-worshipper Wulfram into an upright Christian? That is why you will go to Mimigernaford as my priest and complain to Ludgerius8 that my neighbor is still sacrificing to Wodan9."

“I am astonished, Count Dittmar.” The priest looked sternly at the lord. "Forgive my doubts, but since when have you been so concerned about your neighbor's salvation? Is it not rather the hope that Wulfram will die and that you will be able to incorporate his Gau that drives you?" Dittmar looked at the priest with narrowed eyes and then began to laugh out loud.

"I can't fool you, Ulfeus. You're right, of course", he turned to his wife, who barely seemed to be following the conversation and was instead stuffing herself with one piece of rabbit after another. You could tell by the fullness of Weerta's body that she was usually very hungry.

"He's not one to be fooled, our priest. He's a clever fox!"

Weerta just nodded with her cheeks full.

"I can't invade my neighbor's land without a reason. I need the help of the church for that. Will you help me, priest? The bishop must ensure that the other counts provide me with warriors. Only in God's name will I be able to act against Wulfram's castle!"

He looked sternly at the man with the red hair cut into a tonsure. “It will not be to your detriment.”

"So! How do you intend to repay me for my help, my dear count?"

"I have something in mind, my friend, that I'm sure you'll like. Scara, come here", the count called to the slave girl, and the young woman approached the table. She was no older than sixteen winters, had a beautiful face, brown, curly hair and was the daughter of a craftsman from the settlement. Her father had given the girl to count Dittmar to pay off his tax debts.

Dittmar took hold of the hem of her dress and lifted it up so that the priest's eyes fell on her shame.

"How about this? I know you're not averse to a young cunt, priest." The count looked at the blushing man of God with a grin. “She'll be your reward and you can mount Scara whenever you feel like it!”

The count grabbed Ulfeus hand and guided it between the young woman's legs against a brief, initial resistance. “Don't resist, priest!” The monk's forehead immediately became moist, and his face began to glow red.

“Fine, I'll do it”, said the priest, clearing his throat and swallowing hard.

“You can go.” Dittmar let go of the frightened slave's dress and she hurriedly disappeared.

“Then we're agreed”, grinned the Franconian. “But remember, I have to lead the campaign.”

Satisfied, the count filled the priest's cup with wine before dismissing him.

The very next day, the count learned of Ulfeus priest's departure, but almost two full moons passed before he returned to the settlement. And he brought good news for the duke.

*

The land of the Westphalian tribe, like that of the many other tribes, up to the Frisian land and far to the east, as far as the border area with the Slavic tribes of the Wends and Obodrites, the Liutices and Pomeranians, had long since merged into one large empire under the command of the Frankish emperor.

However, the Christian faith had not become as firmly established in the minds of the population in the west of the empire as the bishops would have liked, for there were stubborn men and women in the areas of the Christian dioceses who still made pilgrimages to the place where the holy tree of the gods, called Irminsul, had once stood and which, it was said, the Frankish Carolus had felled with his own hands many winters ago. Nobody knew whether this was really the right place, and not even the few priests and Goths still knew the true holy place, for the land had changed in the time of the long war.

But this is where the Asier faithful of the Saxon land came to hold their secret meetings, where they paid homage to their gods and praised the fighters who dared to rise up against the oppressor. Here they prayed for the salvation of the one-eyed father of the gods, who, accompanied by his two wolves, roamed the world of men and ruled the world of the gods. His son Donar10, the god of thunder, the mighty hammer-wielder, as well as the fertility god Ing, the winter bringer Hulda and the spring bringer Ostara, who gave life.

And of course, the other gods. But above all, they asked for salvation from the tribal god Saxnot.

Now, however, the Asen faithful were to be wiped out for good. Count Dittmar's greed for land was to ensure that Wulfram's castle Wulfshigh would fall. This would be an example and a warning to the pagan chieftains of the land and the unchristian haunting of the district, in which many inhabitants of the farms and villages still believed in the salvation of their wise and courageous count and his wife, and who, in memory of their ancestors, upheld their faith in the old gods of the Aesir’s and Vanir’s11 and offered their sacrifices to them, would surely come to an end.

Ulfeus, the priest from Halatram, had done a great job, first going to Minda and speaking to Bishop Erkanbert there. He told him the most gruesome stories about the aseptic count, so that the latter recommended him and he also went to the neighboring districts to persuade the priests there to make representations to the bishops as well. Many of the priests still had to deal with these abominable heathens themselves, and many a time a head fell, but they never quite mastered this plague, and so the priest from Halatram came at just the right time. Some joined Ulfeus when he went to Mimigernaford to demand the destruction of the pagans from Bishop Ludgerius.

“I didn't know things were so bad”, said the bishop as he invited the priests to an audience. "And you say there is a count who openly professes the pagan gods. How is that possible when the emperor has ordered all Saxons to change their faith?" “The ways of the Lord are inscrutable”, the Ulfeus replied humbly.

"And now you are asking me to start a war. Because of a renegade count?" The bishop showed little willingness to act against the pagans.

“I have heard of no orders, not even the wish of the emperor or the Holy Father in Rome, to take action in this matter.”

The emperor, who resided in his palace in Aachen, gave no orders to hunt down the pagans in his realm, and a campaign cost money, so the few pagans in hiding were left to their own devices. Every now and then one was forced to be baptized or had his head chopped off as a deterrent, but the war against the Saxons had long since ended and as long as the counts obediently paid their dues, it would stay that way.

But Ulfeus believed he still had a trump card and said: “I have a letter for you here.”

He stepped forward and handed the astonished looking bishop the parchment scrolls with the seal of Bishop Erkanbert. Ludgerius broke the seal, unrolled the message and began to read with interest.

“May I speak to you?”, asked Ulfeus humbly. “In private!”

Ludgerius beckoned the priest forward and he stepped close to the bishop's chair.

"A feud between two counts would certainly not attract the attention of the emperor or the pope. My Count Dittmar would be willing to settle the matter. However, in this case he would have to call on you for help with weapons. Send him some troops to the Lipsia12, and he will see to it that this Wulfram becomes a faithful servant of God or goes to hell!"

The bishop scratched his conspicuously crooked nose thoughtfully. "According to your letter, Erkanbert of Minda is ready to send warriors to Halatram. So, I too will ask my counts for warriors. Tell this to Dittmar and give him my blessing!"

And so it came to pass that the high church lords demanded that the counts put an end to the heretical spook. And they sent their warriors to Count Dittmar's district.

*

1 Aachen – Town in the southwest of Germany

2 Aesir – first lineage of nordic gods

3 Wesele – Wesel, town in North Rhine Westphalia, Germany

4 Mimigernaford – Münster, town in Nort Rhine Westfalia, Germany

5 Minda – Minden, town in North Rhine Westfalia, Germany

6 Osnabruggi – Osnabrück, town in North Rhine Westfalia, Germany

7 Halatram – Haltern, town in North Rhine Westphalia, Germany

8 Ludgerius - Appointed first bishop of Münster in 805 AD

9 Wodan – south Germanic name of Odin 10 Donar – south Germanic name of Thor 11 Vanir – second linage of nordic gods

12 Lipsia – Roman name of the river Lippe in North Rhine Westfalia

2. The Escape to the North

The rulers of the church never tired of urging the counts to baptize the remaining pagan people or to eradicate them for good.

Confess Christ or die!

These were the bishops' orders to their loyal followers, who were to follow Count Dittmar into battle. And so it came to pass that the farms and villages of the chieftains known as pagans in the western districts fell victim to the counts' lancers. The fugitives carried the message of the raids to the only place that promised them protection, and they knew that Count Wulfram would not waver. He was surprised by the attacks on the villages, but his castle gave him security.

He swore to remain steadfast, rallied the warriors and continued to openly profess his allegiance to the old gods of the north.

The first warriors soon arrived in Halatram, and a large camp grew up on a meadow on the banks of the river. Some of the counts from western Saxony had reluctantly complied with the wishes of their bishops and sent their delegations to assist Dittmar in the battle. As a result, the Frankish count's army grew a little each day.

But even in Halatram there were still Aesir loyalists hiding from the Frankish lord, and news soon reached Wulfram's court that an army of Christians was gathering outside Halatram.

The count immediately had the camps in Wulfshigh Castle filled to bursting point. Cattle were brought into the fortress, and every man took care of his weapons. Bundles of arrows were placed on the ramparts, spears with their sharp points were leaned against the palisades and baskets full of headsized stones were dragged in. Messengers from the Counts rode from court to court and called on the men to join their lord in battle.

It was a beautiful day in summer when the warriors of the Christian Counts under the command of Count Dittmar von Halatram set out for the area around the settlement of Wesele and entered the Wulfram district to seek battle.

Dittmar set up camp in a large meadow and, as darkness fell, the glow of the campfires lit up the night sky The news of the enemy's arrival forced the pagan count to act. Count Wulfram had also gathered his warriors and bravely confronted the approaching army. In order to keep the enemy away from his castle, he marched towards them and set up his camp not far from the enemy. They pitched their tents in the shade of a narrow, long belt of forest, behind which there was first a grassy hollow and then the meadow with the enemy's camp.

A messenger from Count Dittmar, who called Wulfram to a meeting, was rejected by the Ace-loyal leader, and so the next morning the armies met for the first time in the sparsely wooded lowlands and the first battle took place.

The courage and determination of the pagan warriors demanded great respect from the attackers and quickly diminished the fighting spirit of the foreign warriors under the command of Count Dittmar. They had thought they had overrun the enemy, but now they had to realize that this campaign would by no means be a walk in the park. After the first day, they retreated back to their camp, licked their wounds and hoped to be able to collect the fallen warriors from the battlefield in the darkness.

On the second day, the armies returned to the battlefield and another merciless battle broke out, but now the superior numbers of the warriors of Count Dittmar and the bishops made themselves felt. Wulfram had to realize that he would soon be defeated in an open field battle.

“We must leave here”, he said to his captains, "because we will lose the battle here. There are too many of them for us to stand up to them for long in open battle."

So, he decided to use the protective ramparts of his castle.

“They're gone”, the warrior shouted as he stormed into the count's tent. He had been one of the scouts sent to keep an eye on Count Wulfram's encampment and when he had taken up his post at dawn, he had noticed. It was the silence that drew him closer to the enemy's camp, and so he realized that it was deserted.

“Who's gone?”, Dittmar barked at the man who had entered his tent so County in the morning. On a wide bed, between pillows and blankets, the Count lay unclothed with a young slave girl. “Go on, get out”, he ordered the woman, and she got out of bed, wrapped her nakedness in a blanket and left the tent.

“Now talk, man!”

Now the hordes of Dittmar and the other counts were at the gates of the last pagan castle in Saxony, ready to bring the recalcitrant Count Wulfram to his knees. There was no way to escape, for the enemy lay in front of the gate and behind the castle a steep slope fell down into the waters of the river.

Walburga had jumped up with a shriek when she saw the man standing in front of her sleeping camp. Wulfram had also been startled, but more because of his wife's shrill cry.

“Lord, you should come to the tower.”

Wulfram's body slave had entered the chamber where the Saxon count and his wife lay sleeping on the bed. Wulfram stroked his wife's arm.

“Calm yourself, Walburga”, then he rose slowly.

“What do you say?”

"The time has come! The enemy is approaching!"

"Good, I'm coming! Wake Thorstein and sound the alarm", the count ordered, and the body slave nodded. “The Northman is already on the tower, my lord.”

Wulfram rose and began to dress, girded his harness with his sword and left the chamber.

As he climbed the ladder to the defense tower, he recognized the bright glow of many fires in the darkness of the night, which bathed the edge of the forest in a red light.

“They are setting up camp”, Thorstein said as Wulfram stepped up next to the old northman.

“Do you think they will attack?” "Not yet! Maybe tomorrow, at sunrise, but that Frankish dog shit will dare." Thorstein spats snidely over the weir.

“Then let's be ready and waiting for him.”

Wulfram shouted his orders and went back to his chamber.

Just as the gray-bearded Thorstein had expected, the enemy attack began at dawn. However, there was only one way for the attackers to approach the gate with the two defensive towers. The winding path led up to the castle and offered little room for the attacks of an advancing army. But there was only one way, as the slopes of the hill surrounding the castle were steep and almost impossible to climb.

The muffled sound of horns rang out; orders were shouted and soon Dittmar's archers could be seen taking up position from the tower. But no arrows flew yet, instead a man on a white horse approached. He rode slowly up the steep path and reined in his horse.

“Count Wulfram”, he shouted loudly, and it seemed as if he knew exactly that the summoned man had heard him. “I will be merciful and promise to spare you and your wife if you hand over your castle to me now and swear to leave here!”

Then the summoned man stepped up to the palisade above the gate. "You are completely out of your mind, Dittmar!

Take your army and leave while you still can!"

“Give me a bow, I'll send this bastard to his god!” The Northman had stepped up beside his friend and master and looked down grimly at the rider.

“In the name of Bishops Ludgerius and Erkanbert, I command you to give up and submit”, shouted Dittmar.

“That's enough”, rebelled Count Wulfram. “Get off my land or die!”

“You have made up your mind, Count Wulfram, now let the weapons speak!” Grinning cunningly, the Franconian pulled on the reins and rode off.

As far as the eye could see, the torches and fires of the enemy lit up the foot of the densely wooded hill on which the castle was enthroned. Soon it will happen!

The enemy would dare to attack that very night and, given the size of their army, it would mean the end of Count Wulfram's reign.

The lord of the castle, who had not even lived through thirty winters, stood behind the keep's rampart and looked down at the fires that shone through the leaves of the trees. A warm, penetrating wind blew strongly, playing with his long, blond hair.

Apprehension showed in the gaze of the leader of this tribe as he looked down from the weir and suspiciously spied the goings-on of the besiegers. He also saw his own warriors and the people of his tribe who had sought shelter from the attackers in the castle. With their combined strength, whether man or woman, child or old man, they carried the stones to the slingshots. They boiled the pitch in the large cauldrons or sharpened the warriors' swords and axes.

“They are brave”, he said quietly and full of respect for his entourage.

“And yet they will all enter the Hall of the Gods today!”

The dark voice made the count jump.

“Thorstein, old warrior”, Wulfram spoke with delight at the sight of the old man, who came from Trøndelag high in the icy north and had been part of his entourage for as long as he could remember. Thorstein had already served the earl's father faithfully and had played a large part in the young Wulfram's upbringing. The leader's expression quickly darkened again, for the situation was too serious to indulge in reminiscences now. But it gave him security to know that the old Trøndner was at his side. He looked sadly at the gray-bearded man. "That's the way it will be old friend! Still, I wonder why they suddenly dared to do it?" Thorstein hunched his shoulders. “It seems the hordes of that wretched troll shit Dittmar will now have to do without the help of his iron riders, or do you want to dare a lunge?” "No, my friend! Let them cool their heels on our defenses first", grinned Wulfram.

The enemy's war horns echoed through the valley and the first incendiary projectiles flew over the walls of Castle Wulfshigh. The thatched roofs of the huts quickly caught fire, as did the roof truss of the castle's main and residential building. Those who were not fit to fight were now running around the castle square with buckets trying to put out the fires.

The first enemies had already reached the castle's large gate.

But the rain of arrows that rained down on them caused the attackers to retreat for the time being.

“It seems to me that Dittmar is trying to unleash a dragon”, laughed Wulfram bitterly, looking at the flames blazing from his house.

Then, however, the main force of the furiously attacking army gathered in front of the fortress walls. Storm ladders were set up, and the warriors attempted to scale the wooden palisade on the walls. The defenders rained head-sized stones down on the enemy's warriors, and overly daring climbers fell to their deaths. But for one who fell, two others stepped up to the storm ladders to conquer the walls.

Spurred on by their captains, the warriors climbed the ladders again and again, and many of the attackers soon managed to conquer the weir. A merciless battle now broke out on the battlements of Wulfram's castle. Swords and axes demanded the blood of the fighters, and they got plenty.

The hot pitch, which the defenders poured over the weir and down the pitch nose between the gate towers onto the warriors rushing against the gate, caused the enemies who had been hit to scream and retreat. "They want fire? So, let's give them a taste of their own medicine!" Thorstein shouted angrily down over the weir. But the supplies of hot, black broth were soon used up.

At the same time as the walls were stormed, the great gate burst under the force of a mighty battering ram, and the soldiers and warriors under the command of Count Dittmar rushed into the castle.

“Well, sir, so be it”, said Thorstein, drawing his sword from the hanger. “Let us hope that the father of the gods receives us joyfully in his halls!”

The blond clan leader, who had been watching over the battlements of the keep as the enemy stormed his castle, turned to the Northman. He laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, while his wife Walburga joined the men with a crying child in her arms.

"I beg you, Thorstein, take the boy away from here!

Go to the icy north and take my son to the land of the northmen. He will be safe there!"

The rough-hewn warrior looked at his liege lord in horror.

“You, like your father, refuse to let me die a hero's death at your side, young Wulfram?”, he asked angrily.

“Instead, you make me the wet nurse of your child!”

The Northman's anger was great. Walburga stepped in front of the old warrior and placed the boy in his arms. The child's crying and whimpering stopped immediately. Wulfram's wife looked at the old man with a pleading gaze, and the Northman nervously stroked his gray beard with his hand.

The lord of Wulfshigh, Count Wulfram, began to grin.

“You see, my old friend, he has chosen you to take him away from here!”

Thorstein looked at the small bundle in his arms and his anger melted away. “Hm”, he grumbled into his gray beard.

“So, it shall be done!”

“Come, Walburga”, commanded the lord of the castle, “it's time for you to go!”

The woman looked at her husband in horror. “I'm not leaving Wulfshigh”, she said defiantly. "If it pleases the father of the gods, I will die here and now! At my husband's side!"

“You go with Thorstein”, Wulfram ordered sternly.

Walburga took her husband's face in her delicate hands.

"You cannot order me to go. It is my destiny to fight and die at my beloved husband's side. Slaughtered by the henchmen of our enemy!" Full of pride and with a trembling chest, she spoke the words. "Oh no, my Wulfram! I will stay by your side!"

The count looked at his wife and a tear flowed down his cheek, then he nodded. “Come!”

The count led his wife and the Northman into the hall of his house to behind the highchair. “Come, help me”, he said to Thorstein and began to remove the wooden boarding from the wall. After several boards had been removed, a door was revealed. Wulfram opened the iron-bound gate, and they stepped into a room that even Thorstein did not know. “This is my inheritance, which I leave to my son”, said Wulfram.

Gold, silver and jewelry lay inside, but Thorstein stepped up to a large stone table. A sword lay embedded in the cold stone.

At first glance, the weapon did not appear to be very valuable, but it was well and finely crafted from Frankish steel by skilled artisan hands.

The old Viking picked up the weapon and showed it to the count. “This is your son's inheritance!”

Astonished, Wulfram looked at the old man, whom he had known since the day he was born. “This old sword?”, he looked around. “There is a treasure here and all you want for my child is an old sword?” Thorstein couldn't help but wonder. “How am I supposed to carry all this treasure, my friend?”, asked Thorstein in a reproachful voice. "But this old sword will give him the strength to win the treasure for himself one day! Your father snatched this sword from a Frankish king many winters ago and it has been in the possession of your clan ever since. It is of the finest workmanship and forged so hard that hardly any other blade can withstand it. It is the sword of a king", Thorstein explained calmly. "But your father has determined that it lies down here in the cold walls. Well protected from greedy hands that want to get their hands on it!"

Thorstein looked at the count with a petrified expression.

"This sword really has great power. It can protect you and the clan. But not in the way you think!"

"How could it? It's just one sword, my friend. I would need thousands of them", Wulfram shook his head.

"You don't know the real story? Wulfbeard never told you? So great was his shame that he told it to you and no one else, thought the old Trøndner13.

“Perhaps it will protect your son's life, for this blade is the pledge that will never let the clan of Wulfshigh perish.” The nordic retainer looked proudly at his count.

“He will one day become lord of the Wulfshigh with this sword”, Thorstein mumbled quietly into his beard.

“What are you saying?”, Wulfram had not understood the old man's words.

“Enough talk”, Walburga intervened. “It's time to go”, she picked up a large pouch, which jingled profusely as she tied it to the Northman's belt. On the opposite side, behind a curtain, was another door through which they left the room and came outside. They were now standing on a very narrow path that led steeply down the hill, on the side of the castle facing the riverbank. They followed this until they reached a wooden jetty where a small boat was moored.

Thorstein immediately went on board with the child.

“My good friend, I thank you”, said Wulfram with tears in his eyes. “May we meet again one day at the table of the father of the gods!” He then extended his hand to the old northman once more.

The gray-bearded man untied the rope and set the small sail.

The ship slowly moved away from the shore, and the old man could still hear Walburga's loud sobs in his ears for a long time.

The attacks of the enemy neighbors failed because of the steep path, the walls and the high, wooden palisade of the Wulfshigh, and so they decided to starve out Wulfram and his entourage by besieging the castle.

After more than three full moons, the Christian count had still not succeeded in taking Wulfram's castle. And after countless failed attempts by the defenders to break out of the castle, the granaries and larders were already alarmingly empty. But the warriors were still willing to defend themselves against the numerous attackers. Although Wulfram was one of the counts who knew how to rally the chieftains of the tribes in his district behind him, as most of them had sworn allegiance to their lord, the growing hunger and the threat of their villages and farms going up in flames caused many to waver.

*

He had sailed north for a few days following the great river, knowing that he could not sail across the North Sea in this nutshell, and so Thorstein searched for a town on the coast.

In a village in Friesland, he found a ship owner who was of Nordic origin and was willing to take the old man and the child to the north. The pouch of gold coins that Walburga had given Thorstein should quickly convince the norse sailor.

But his intentions were less than honorable, and so he tried to rob Thorstein on the open sea.

The waves were crashing high against the stem of the ship, and they had certainly covered half the distance when the skipper, his helmsman and another warrior approached the grey-haired old man.

With a grim look on his face, he said: “Perhaps we should renegotiate the price of the crossing!”

“I don't think so”, Thorstein replied and had already put his hand on the shaft of the axe leaning against the side of the ship next to him. This didn't seem to worry the three men, however, as the old man ended up holding the child in his left arm.

"I want your money! All of it! Or we'll throw you and the brat into the sea", one of the guys threatened with a grin.

Thorstein, the old Trøndner, knew exactly what would happen. It didn't matter whether he handed over the bag or not, he would be thrown overboard.

So, the decision on what to do was quickly made!

The old man's fingers closed around the wood of the shaft and the axe whirled upwards, right between the legs of the guy closest to Thorstein. He cried out and fell to the side, writhing on the planks of the ship, screaming. And while the eyes of the skipper and his companion were on the tortured fellow, Thorstein jumped up. With the child in his arms, he whirled the axe, and only a moment later the skipper's right hand was on the planks. Another swift blow with the old Viking's axe cracked the Norwegian shipowner's skull like an overripe apple that had been thrown against a wall. With a powerful kick, the old man threw the sailor over the railing, and as the man's body sank into the icy waters, the ship's helmsman swore obedience to the Northman Thorstein.

They soon reached the coast of Trøndelag, and the sailor found the mouth of the large fjord into which Thorstein sailed the ship.

“Follow the arm of the fjord to the south, and when the water widens, turn to the east”, he said to the helmsman.

"Steer the ship towards the city of Lade, which lies to your right, but before you reach it, head north-east again into the large fjord. Then we will soon have reached our destination."

Off the large peninsula of the Fylke14 Frosta lay a small island called Tautra. This was the home of the old warrior Thorstein!

Along the sandy beaches of the mountain-free, flat island, the helmsman sailed the ship into a large, open bay. And from far away they could see the jetty and the houses of the settlement. This is where the old man and the child went ashore.

On the coast, the island was mostly covered in green meadows, but the further inland you went, the more forested the landscape became.

There were two large bays that reached far inland. This one is in the south of the island and one in the north. The inhabitants of the island lived in two settlements on these two bays. Rough people, accustomed to the hard, deprived life high up in the north. Most of them were born here, and only a few came here from the Norwegian mainland to find a new home.

It was late summer and the leaves were slowly beginning to change color. Fierce winds swept across the island and rain lashed painfully against the skin.

Thorstein knew it was time to reach his destination if he didn't want to run the risk of the boy falling ill. So, he bought a horse in the settlement to make faster progress. He also didn't want to stay too long in the village, because the Jarl, if he was still alive, was not on Thorstein's good side and he didn't want word of his presence to get around.