Harald Fairhair

At the bottom of the table, and farthest away from the king, sat the skald. Ulv lifted his mug and uttered the words that custom required, without enthusiasm. A sharp elbow poked him in the ribs. Ulv looked up to meet Geir’s bulging eyes. The old warrior, in charge of the king’s berserks, grinned at him.

‘Come on, skald, it’s about time you prove that you can hold your beer! Even though we are at the end of the table, we can still enjoy the hospitality!’

‘It is more important to be able to speak than to drink,’ replied Ulv, forcing a smile, ‘at least for a skald.’

‘Hah, pup! After all these years, you still don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not much of a man if you cannot hold your drink.’

House thralls and servants milled about, filling mugs and horns. When it was Ulv’s turn to get a refill, the maid did not fill the cup. Ulv did not mind. There would be many toasts before this was over. Nevertheless, he wondered what the reason might be. Had she noticed that Ulv was less than enthusiastic? No, that could not be the case. The woman went on to fill Geir’s horn. As she was about to move on, the old wolfskin’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

‘Fill it to the brim, woman! You do not honour your master by being stingy with his beer.’

‘Forgive me, warrior,’ said the woman. She glanced at an elderly servant while pouring more beer.

Svein, a big brute of a man, stared at Geir from across the table.

‘Skål to Frøy!’ said Hårek, raising his horn once more.

‘Years and peace!’ replied the assembly. Ulv emptied the mug once more.

Usually, Njord’s skål would follow Odin’s, but Ulv had no intention of pointing that out.

‘Hårek, you must not forget Njord’s skål!’ cried Geir. He was not one for letting a single chance to fill his horn go to waste.

Hårek nodded and faked a smile at Geir. The mugs were refilled. Ulv’s cup was barely more than half full, while Geir’s horn was filled to the brim.

Hårek raised his horn for Njord. Then Brage, and finally for the guest – King Halvdan.

Geir emptied his horn and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grimaced and leaned towards Ulv.

‘Is this beer getting thinner and thinner, or am I getting younger and younger?’

Ulv wondered why he had leaned over because he spoke loud enough for everyone around the table to hear.

‘Shut up, Greybones!’ said Svein, staring at Geir.

Ulv held his breath.

Geir did not seem to heed the comment. He lifted his empty horn for another refill. Once again, the maid and the older man exchanged glances. The old servant nodded, and the woman came over and filled the horn. Geir put it to his lips and took a sip. In the next moment, the beer sprayed over the table. The mixture of beer and saliva hit Svein in the middle of his face.

‘What is this piss you serve the king’s men?’ Geir shouted and turned the horn to splash the rest of the drink over the table.

Suddenly, all was quiet in the longhouse.

Svein got to his feet, leaned over the table and threw a punch at Geir. With a slight movement, Geir tilted his head, causing the fist to hit nothing but air. Then, he grabbed Svein by the hair and pressed his face into the table and the spilt beer.

Ulv looked around. Men on either side of the table sat tense with clenched fists. Fighting threatened to break out at any moment between two scores of warriors, full of beer and anger. A handful of men from both sides were already on their feet, and the torchlight gleamed in polished metal.

Ulv met Halvdan’s eyes and understood that it was up to him to find a way out of the mess before the feast ended in a bloodbath.

Ulv took a deep breath and jumped atop the table.