SWANHILDE

CHAPTER ONE: THE SAGA OF HROLF IRONBORN.

CHAPTER ONE: THE SAGA OF HROLF IRONBORN.

Once there was a young girl, but she was vain and foolish, much taken with her own beauty and supposed superiority. Nature had bestowed good family name, a lithe body, golden hair that shone like corn in the sun and features that dazzled and entranced the young males of the coastal village of Trousbjorg. Apart from these assets and her delusions, she had nothing. She was no-one and Fate had nothing in store for her apart from the role of a not very prominent supporting character in the saga of the hero Hrolf Ironborn.

Hrolf was the son of Jarl Harald, who was himself a son of Haakon the Hero and Haakon was the heir of Eric One Eye who came from the line of Olaf Giantsbane and so on and so on ... an unbroken line of heroes who now reigned over Trousbjorg and the surrounding areas.

When his wife was pregnant with their fourth son, Harald had a vision. He dreamt that Odin Allfather had visited him at night and bestowed upon him the gift of a wolfskin. Harald had then bade the Allfather to sit with him and eat of his meat and drink of his drink in the customary manner.

Odin accepted and then told the Jarl he had one more gift for the baby - a name.

'Two names shall he have,' spake Odin. 'This skin symbolizes his nature. The white wolf is ferocious but noble. Name him for the wolf and his deeds shall indeed be great. When your son is old enough to go to battle with you, he will ask three times and on each occasion his mother will beg you to wait a while longer. You must indulge her on the first two occasions but on the third you will relent and allow the boy to fight at your side. Then he will earn his second name.'

When Jarl Harald awoke in the morning he saw a white wolf skin laying among gifts given at the feast the night before and without hesitation he called his warriors to his great hall and presented his son for a naming.

'Let him be known as Hrolf after the noble wolf.' So saying he lifted the dark haired babe up and anointed the small forehead with fine Rhenish wine captured in a past raid.

The boy grew strong and well, agile of body and mind, with an even temperament and a character that none could find fault with. While his other sons always asked when they could go to battle, Hrolf resigned himself to another question.

'Tell me oh father,' he said one day at nine winters. 'When will I be old enough to go reaving with you and my brothers?'

'Not yet,' answered Harald.

When Hrolf asked this question the following year, Harald gave the same answer. He had started to take Sveyn, his eldest and Haakon the second, but his younger boys were still too small, although Sverre never let up asking if he could go.

Two more winters passed and still Harald would answer. 'Not Yet.'

Then another and Hrolf was now thirteen. This year he stood at table in the great hall and spoke his question differently. 'Father, I am of an age where most boys go to battle. May I go reaving with you this year?'

Harald looked over at his wife Elfrida. She had argued with each boy that he was too young and Sverre still had not had his turn.

He now stood. 'If my younger brother goes, then I must too!'

'What does your mother say? Shall Hrolf and Sverre go to battle?'

The Lady of Trousbjorg begged her husband, spare them a little longer.

Harald nodded, remembering the words of Odin. 'You are both too young.'

The next year, fourteen year old Hrolf asked for the second time and this time also, Sverre made his case for and Elfrida begged they be spared a while longer.