Bothvar Beorcolsson
Before we get ready to head out to the All-Clan Meeting, my father calls a meeting with the steersman and Skippers, or captains as we’ve come to call them, including myself and Thormar since I will be the captain of my father’s ship. They’ve managed to convince me to take up the position of Captain.
Thormar and I head into the hall while Bodvar heads off to his room, grumbling all the way. Several of the ship captains and steersmen are here already. Koll Alriksson with his second wife, my aunt Ingithora. Einar Alriksson with his second in command, his son Vog Einarson, Brynhild Svarkollrdottir, a woman with blond hair who fights like an eagle and is now a captain along with her son Thorvir, Rodmar Asulfsson who was Throst’s second in command and is now a captain as well. Lastly, Throst Thorhallson with his new second in command, Gamal Ornolfsson. They talk with my father and all nod as Thormar and I enter.
I take the seat to my father’s left and Thormar stands behind me.
Einar sighs. “My nephew has requested to join me this raiding season.”
“I see no problem with that,” my father says.
“He is weak. The boy can’t even stomach the sight of blood without fainting. He is no Viking, that is for sure,” Einar says with clear disdain.
“Oh, come on, Brother. Give the boy a chance. He is our sister’s son after all. May she feast with Fridgerd. He just needs to get his sword wet,” Koll says.
“Then you take him on your ship,” Einar says.
“I barely have enough room for my own children,” Koll says.
Ingithora sighs. “That’s the truth.”
“Sure… You just don’t want to carry dead weight. Trandil is utterly useless. He should’ve died in the womb to save our sister from death. She was a warrior. He’s just an utter coward,” Einar says. I know it must be hard for him to accept the boy seeing how he blames him for his sister’s death, but he doesn’t seem to give the boy a chance. Thormar seems to tense up, gritting his teeth.
“I think you should at least give him a chance. Who knows, maybe he will be the one thing you need in a moment you don’t expect. But you never know if you don’t give him a chance to prove himself. Besides, it is partially your own fault for his weakness. You didn’t even bring him to the mountains to train,” I say.
That did not make Einar happy, but it is true. My father interjects. “My son is right. Bring the boy. If he dies, he dies, but at least he has the choice and the opportunity.”
“Fine,” Einar says, grumbling under his breath. Koll and Einar may be twins, but they are nothing alike. Koll is always calm and collected, while Einar is always angry. Einar is more like a grease fire with water poured on top, while Koll is like a hot but simmering coal fire.
More Steersmen and Captains enter. Among them are Kodran Tjorvisson, Sibbi Hreitharrsson, Vebrand Haraldsson, and Thrain Haklangsson with Grom. To my surprise, Grom takes a seat next to Thrain. His eyes burn as they see me, but he holds his tongue.
Slowly, the rest of the Steersman and Skippers trickle in and my father begins the meeting. “I’ll try to keep things brief seeing how we all have much to do before the All-Clan meeting and we go off raiding. If no one objects, we shall maintain the same raid plans as last raiding season.”
“I object,” Thrain says.
My father clenches his jaw. “And what exactly do you object to?”
He stands up. “My crew and I, along with the rest of our raiding party, are sick and tired of getting the leftovers of those you favor. It is bad enough you let your son get to take the best route even though he has no experience being a captain. We will not stand any longer. We will not accept scraps.”
Father leans in and meets Thrain’s eyes. “Why do you think you deserve any more than I’ve given you?”
Thrain spits and sputters, but no words come out. Father smirks and looks around at the others. “Shall we vote?”
The others nod, and the vote begins as the others get up and place their votes. It’s overwhelmingly for keeping the raid plans the same as last cycle. “Then let it be. The raiding shall remain the same. Is there anything else?”
The silence in the room is answer enough. “Then the meeting is adjourned. Meet with your raid parties and crew, prepare your ships, and head out when you feel ready after the All-Clan Meeting. You’re all dismissed.”
The men and the few women trickle out, with only my father, my brother, and I behind.
We wait as my father gives word to send for my crew.
Before long, they all trickle in. It’s hard to believe I am now the Captain of Thorkel’s ship. After Arngunn and my son died I thought I’d never sail out to sea again, but my father was right. I have to in order to make sure our people do not starve in winter. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make sure our people are safe and provided for. Especially my family and the people I care about. As Amalasontha taught me, duty is the most important thing. My duty to my family and my people must come above all else. Through duty and service, I will earn my honor, and, hopefully, I will earn my place in Valholl next to Thorkel and be reunited with my wife and son.
I meet my crew with my father and Thormar as they all come in and take a seat. They all seem to treat Thormar like a little brother, joking with him and acknowledging him. He takes it rather well, but still fights smiling. Most seem to either ignore me or steal glances in my direction. I remain seated next to my father with Thormar taking the seat to my right. Skardi, Griotgard, and Solmund trade nods with me. I get along with the crew rather well. They all see me as one of their own and we all went through the worst of it together, but I feel like I have yet to prove myself, especially now as a Captain. I also feel as if I abandoned them after Thorkel’s death even though most don’t see it that way. Either way, they’re all respectable men and women.
“Bothvar, why don’t you lead this meeting? You are the Skipper now,” father says. I nod.
“Oh, finally decided to join us, huh?” Thialfi asks with a flat face.
“Thialfi, shut your trap or I’ll shut it for you,” Gunnstein says.
“He’s right. I’m sure many of you feel like I abandoned you…” I say, meeting their eyes.
“We understand. Losing Thorkel hit us all, and then to lose your wife and son on top of it. It’s more than any man can take,” Rognvald says with an empathetic nod.
I place my hands on the table and stand up before them. “It’s no excuse. I took leave of my duty to you, my family and our people, and for that, I am sorry.”
The crew exchange looks and all nod. Gunnstein meets my eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, thanks to you, we’re all much stronger and without you, those giants would’ve killed off most of us. Not only that. But you saved many of our lives and our loved ones when you came back from the mountains with those mushrooms. We all owe you. You deserved a few cycles to yourself, besides, we all understand. You did it for Thorkel. A man we all owe our lives to. Along with Varin Hialtisson, and the brothers Styrkar and Saksis Hreinsson. Without their sacrifice, the elves would’ve taken many more of our crew.”
Gunnstein turns to the rest of the crew, specifically his younger brother Thialfi. “If any of you lot have a problem with that, then you can take it up with me.”
I give Gunnstein a nod of appreciation. My father clears his throat. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s discuss the raiding, shall we?”
The crew all nod and relax a bit.
I clear my own throat and sit back down. “Well, as was talked about in the other meeting with the captains, we are to head down the same course as the last few times. We’ll head south along the Western coastline of the elves with Koll, Throst, and Einar’s ships, not straying too close, and take on any merchant ships we find. Any questions?”
“Blunt and to the point, Bothvar. Some things never change!” Griotgard laughs. The others join in.
“What’s wrong with that?” Gudleif asks. He’s a tall brute of a man with a bald, shiny head and a graying goatee and mustache. “Wish all bastards were as blunt as him. I hate when people speak without saying anything. Just get to the damn point.”
“I agree. Never trust anyone who talks too much or speaks in riddles,” Gizor says, combing his bright red beard. He’s just as tall as Gudleif. Most of the crew have started to get that graying skin from the mushrooms and ore water, and all seem to have gained a sizable bulk of strength.
“Men,” Audbjorg, Gudlief’s wife and Gizor’s sister, says with a sigh. “If you knew how to use your words properly, we wouldn’t have half the wars in history.”
“What’s wrong with war?” her husband asks. “A good war weeds out the weak.”
“Da, seriously?” his daughter, Turid, asks. She has her mother’s red hair but is every bit as blunt as her father. She’s also as much of a warrior as both of them. “War isn’t something to seek.”
“What’s wrong with a good fight?” Gizor asks as he focuses on his hair now.
“Enough, banter. Let us get back to the topic at hand,” I say with a sigh. “Does anyone have anything to add?”
“I hope we get a merchant ship with that wine those Southerners make. It’s delicious,” Thialfi says, licking his lips. “I’m definitely taking a barrel for myself.”
“If you do, you’re sharing it with the rest of us,” Thialfi’s older brother Skarf says.
“Like hell I am,” Thialfi says. “Get your own barrel.”
“Is there anything more on the raid itself?” I ask.
“When do we head out?” Rognvald asks.
“As dawn arrives on the second day after we get back from the All-Clan Meeting. We’ll sail out tomorrow for the meeting, remain there for the night, and come back in the morning like usual. You’ll have the rest of the day and another full day to get your shit together, then we sail out the morning after,” I say. The men all nod.
“So, you’re saying we get a full day to recover from the festivities?” Thialfi says as he runs his hand through his short, blond hair with a turd-eating grin. Thialfi often comes off as a drunken, gambling fool who puts too much effort into getting out of work. But he’s a good fighter and smarter than he looks. I also trust him with my life. Even though he goes overboard in underachieving, when push comes to shove, he always comes through. And for most of the clans, the All-Clan Meeting is just one giant drunken celebration where they get to dance with the other clans. For my family and I, we have to suffer through a long, boring meeting where my father and the Wolf leader bicker the entire time.
“You better be recovered by the time you sail out. You don’t want to be the reason why you all die of thirst because you were too hungover to remember to store enough freshwater on board,” my father says.
The crew goes as silent as the dark of midnight in the mountains on a windless night. I would give my strength to the gods in order to do that. When he speaks, people not only listen, they obey. It doesn’t matter how strong I get; the crew will always see me as Bothvar Beorcolsson. No matter how many titles I obtain I will always be Beorcol’s son. As much as it disappoints me in some way, I also cherish it. While others see me as a giant slayer, some even laugh at that title. Not that I blame them. The crew… They’ll always see me as Beorcol’s son or Thorkel’s younger brother. I cherish this because when all else changes, as it always will, at least this will stay the same. They are not only the crew of my father and brothers, they are my friends.
“Are there any questions?” I ask.
Thialfi raises his hand. I let out a sigh and nod. “Aside from the barrel of wine I claim for myself, can we have one for the crew on the sail back?”
“Are there any important questions that can’t be answered while we’re at sea?” I ask. They all look at each other and shrug. I stand up. “Then go off and prepare yourselves.”
“And get a good fuck in with your wives,” Thialfi says with a grin and a wink. “I sure know I am.”
“It’s hard to believe you’re married,” Gunnstein says with a flat look. “I can’t imagine why Sigrid would want to marry a knutter like you?”
“Don’t worry about it, brother, some women just have good taste,” he says with a smile as he wraps an arm around his older brother. Gunnstein pushes him off.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Joreid asks, who is Gunnstein’s wife. She crosses her arms and puffs a string of long, brown hair out of her face. Her amber, almond eyes bear into Thialfi.
He goes stiff as a board with eyes the size of gold coins. The big ones. Then he tries to act casual. “Nothing, nothing at all.”
She only narrows her eyes even further, becoming as thin as a stitch needle to sew up clothes. Are they even open?
“What my son meant when he ended the meeting is get out of my hall and go home. I’m hungry. I want to eat, and I want to get some sleep,” my father says, interrupting their conversation with a rather annoyed look as he impatiently taps a finger against the table. The crew is out of the hall faster than my father can fill a mug up with ale, leaving a smirk on the old man’s face. “That went well enough, but you need to be more assertive. Do not let your friends disobey orders. You can let them have their fun, but disobeying orders can mean death at the hands of the enemy. Understand?”
He doesn’t even look at me as he fills a plate up with food as if he was talking about the weather. But his tone would make a Jotnar stand still. “I understand, father.” And I do. I’ve learned my lessons about death. Many times, over.
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