Hrolf Kraki's Saga by Poul Anderson Page B

must travel a lot, building up the land as he wished. Yearly he made a round of the shire-Things, and also heard men out alone at great length. He went to see for himself how matters stood here or there. He sailed abroad, under the white shield, though oftener he guested outlanders in one of his own halls and listened closely to what they told.
    Before men could do good work, they must know that what they wrought would not merely become bait for the greedy and ruthless. To this end, Hroar took the field himself every now and then. Mostly, though, he left war to a willing Helgi.
    Each summer the younger king sought battle. Sometimes these were plundering cruises, to keep his guardsmen content and make yeomen eager to join him between sowing and harvest. But mainly he stayed around Denmark. In the earlier years he tracked down robbers, he ransacked viking lairs, he overawed whoever might have thought of troubling the peace.
    Outlanders stayed all too likely to do this, especially if egged on by Svithjodh or Saxland. When he and Hroar felt themselves firm-seated at home, Helgi began to make them sorry for their mischief. Would they not yield on being asked, take his sword in their hands, plight faith and pay scot to the lords of Leidhra, they were apt to wake one morning and see dragons on the water, or inland a host in the swine-array of battle, a red shield and a raven banner.
    These little chieftains could never match Danish strength. Nor did they often league together; the brothers soon learned how to bring their quarrels to a boil.Armed clashes gladdened the wolves and carrion birds. Helgi gained scars, and a few times lay at the head of hell-road. Always he healed, and always he snatched victory.
    In the course of those years, he overran Fyn and every lesser island. He bragged he had brought nearly as many kings under him as he had women.
    “And when will you marry?” Hroar would ask.
    “When I’m ready,” Helgi would shrug. “No haste. The one time I did go wooing, it went not well.” He could joke about that fading memory. “I know how you dangle the idea of a tie with me before great men, to get what you want from them. Why not keep the lure useable?”
    “When you and I are dead—”
    “Then you’ve already a son. You fear by-blows of mine may challenge him? Unlikely. My bastards come cheap, they’re so many. Indeed, Hroar, best for the Skjoldungs may be that I do
not
ever take a queen, whose children may think they have a claim. Now do pull together that long face of yours and let’s fill another horn of mead.”
    The brothers no longer saw each other daily, even in winter, and thus their meetings called for merriment as much as for council. Hroar had gone from Leidhra.
    He did not leave in anger. The understanding between those two was such that once, when he came back and Helgi gave a feast for him, Hroar could say:
    “You look like the greater of us, in that you keep the olden seat of the Dane-Kings; and this I’ll freely give to you, and to any heirs you may have. In return I want the ring you hold—for I have as much right to that as you do.”
    Men who overheard caught their breath. They knew Hroar could only be speaking of one ring. It was not a plain gold coil, off which pieces might be broken to reward a skald for making a lay or someone else for some other service. No, this was a thick band in the form of a snake which twisted about and about itself until it bit its own tail, there where its garnet eyes glittered baleful. Astory says it was first among the riches which Fenja and Menja ground for King Frodhi the Peace-Good. In any case, it had long been the pride of the Skjoldungs.
    Helgi merely smiled and answered: “Nothing would be more seemly, kinsman, than that you got that ring.”
    Nonetheless, Hroar had sound reasons for moving away. Two royal households in the same town, each holding its troop of mettlesome young men, spelled fights that might become deadly. Not always could a feud