MidgardBrómber
Chapter Ten
The bell rang. The tasks of the morning had come and gone. Twelve people stood around the ring muttering eagerly before the fight. Brómber could feel the sun on his back and his chest through his linen shirt. Ulf had made him take off his tunic. Arvid arrived without a shirt and with two boys behind him, one who could be mistaken for the man in thick fog. The air was clear. They stood at opposite corners of the square, each holding a wooden sword carved from oak. There was a small cross guard a span up to mark where the handle ended and the dull blade began.
Arvid looked at the boys and yelled, "Hjalti, Leif. Look now. You will see why they call your pabbi the bryti."
Brómber swallowed down the air in his throat then coughed. "Arvid," he yelled. His voice shook his chest more than he expected. "Care to make a bet?"
"Oh but of course," the robust Dane replied. "What wager you?"
"If you beat me I will let you eat my supper and drink my ale tonight."
"I am not certain you could survive without it, boy," he chortled. "What is it that you want from me if you win?"
"Tomorrow you will carry the water from the river as I did today."
Arvid looked over at the boy. "I accept," he said, turning to his sons and adding with a wink, "You can have his supper, I will keep the ale." His sons looked up at him, the taller one with his hand on his stomach.
"Fine then!" Ulf barked. "Then we will begin. If Arvid wins he eats Brómber's food and drinks his ale..." he trailed off and looked Arvid in the eyes, "when Brómber wins Arvid will carry the water for him." The crowd cheered. "It was Brómber who challenged Arvi so Arvi will strike first. If either man steps out from the ring, falls to both knees or onto his back, lets blood onto the earth, or yields he loses." Ulf turned his gaze to Brómber. "No strikes to the head, no strikes to the groin. You may not bite your foe or spit in his face. If he yields you must stop. Have you any questions?"
Brómber shook his head. Ulf smiled.
"Good then. I will count to five. When I do, you may leave your corners."
Brómber steadied his breath and stared down his nose at Arvid. He was shorter than Brómber but his shoulders were just as wide and his chest was far fuller under them. He breathed in.
"Einn!"
Then out. He thought of Daniel who drew too slow. In.
"Tveir!"
Out. He thought of the brother who fell past him. In.
"Thrir!"
Out. He thought of the two boys standing behind Arvid. In.
"Fjorir!"
Out. He thought of Godric up on the hill. In.
"Fimm!"
Out. He thought of Arvid calling him slow and stepped forward into the ring.
Arvid stepped forward, matching his pace step for step. He circled to the right, Brómber matched his turn. The Dane held the sword with both hands, up and over his left shoulder. Brómber kept his left hand at his side as he stepped toward the man. They both paused, barely more than a sword and an arm's length apart. Brómber stepped in and to the left. Arvid swung.
Brómber brought his right hand down as he slid toward the man. Sword cracked against sword. Arvid missed with his strike, hitting the earth where Brómber had stood a moment before. Brómber lifted his sword and pivoted around the Dane's back. He took his left hand and pushed it into his opponent's elbow, lodging the bryti's sword into the earth before him. Arvid grunted then yelped in pain as Brómber's sword slapped against the back of his knee. He fell onto his right knee. Another yelp pierced the air as Brómber grabbed the man's left hand and twisted his arm back, forcing his other knee into the ground beneath them. It had only lasted a few seconds longer than it took Ulf to count for the match to be over. Brómber looked back over his shoulder. Ulf stood with his hands on each of Arvid's sons' backs with a smile, telling them something Brómber could not hear. The crowd erupted into shouts and jeers. Brómber turned his head back to Arvid and saw the Dane looking up at him. The light shone off the blue of his eyes. He smiled.
Brómber pulled Arvid up by his hand and walked him over to his sons, the man grunting in pain as they made their way across the square. "Worry not," Ulf said. "I promised your sons some extra bread tonight. You fought well."
"You were right about his eyes," Arvid said, panting. His sons took him and carried him back to one of the houses across from the longhouse, the taller looking back at Brómber with wide eyes.
"You fight like a king," Ulf said. "No, a god. How move you so fast?"
"I do not enjoy losing," Brómber replied. "So I do not lose."
Ulf grabbed his hand and laughed, saying, "I see that. You will have to prove it again. Toki wants to fight you."
"Toki?"
"Toki." Ulf gestured at a tall youth on the other side of the ring. "He is not like Arvid. He can fight. You will have a few moments to rest and then you will fight."
"Now?"
"Now."
The two men smiled at each other. Brómber repeated the word back to Ulf.
"Now. No waiting. Now."
Brómber was back in his corner before his opponent. "A silver penny," Toki's voice cracked when he spoke, "and if I win you do all my work for a week."
"How about a comb instead," Brómber's voice was steady, "if you have one."
"I have." His foe smiled.
Toki was tall, a head and a half above Brómber, but not big. Like Brómber he kept his linen shirt on him. His brown hair was short, as was his beard. He gave his foe a toothy smile as Ulf counted down. Brómber again matched his breath to the count.
"Einn! Tveir! Thrir! Fjorir! Fimm!"
The boy ran at Brómber before he could take a step. Brómber jumped out of the way as Toki's sword came falling down toward him. Toki laughed and swung wildly behind his back as he stopped just short of the edge of the square. Brómber deflected it and took two steps back. Toki stood straight as he turned to face Brómber then charged at him again. Toki's arms were longer than the swords and caught Brómber's swing as he stepped out of the path of the charge. Toki cried out in pain then laughed as his boots dug into the ground. Brómber walked backward toward the nearest corner of the square, the sun at Toki's back. Toki's grin turned into a snarl.
"I am no fool," his voice croaked. "I know you are trying to draw me out of the bounds." Brómber grinned back and squinted at Toki.
"I am sorry, I took you for one when you struck at me out of turn."
"Well, it will not work," Toki panted with a furrowed brow. "Come back toward the middle of the ring so we can fight like men."
Brómber did as Toki asked and walked in half paces toward him. Each step came with a breath. Three in, three out. Finally the boy lunged at him. Brómber dropped the wooden sword onto the earth and grabbed Toki's wrist then turned. He pulled the boy up and over him, sending Toki over his shoulder and onto the ground with a thud. He stood over the boy and grinned, feeling his beard before he spoke.
"I hope your comb is nice."
Toki groaned in pain. Brómber looked up at Ulf in the crowd. "Another?" he said.
Ulf smiled back. "Yes. A break first though, some ale and some rest."
Brómber sat and combed his beard before the next bout, stopping to admire the comb as he went. It was from "across the sea, far to the north," Toki had explained, begging to keep it. Brómber had ignored him, running his finger across the yellow metal pins that held together several plates of bone on the front, with runes splayed across them spilling over to the back and onto the edges of a frozen field rendered in thin cut outlines, each segment fitted flat against the next so keenly the sequence seemed nearly seamless underneath a herd of carved deer with great antlers that grew up into the spines, interlocking calves between their legs dug more shallow than their kin. The case bore many ravens in a chain that came down over the herd, protecting the teeth of the comb when the flock landed onto the icy earth at the bottom. "It cost my father a fortune," Toki had pleaded. It cost Brómber nothing. He smiled as he returned the comb to the case and stood, ready to fight again.
Two more men challenged him and two fell, each forced onto his knees in only a few moments. The first, a slim man with strong arms, lost a silver ring. The second, an older man missing two fingers on his left hand, bet a chunk of wood carved into the shape of a bear. After each fight Ulf embraced Brómber with glee, forcing him to take a moment's rest before the next. The breaks waned in length each time, beat back by Brómber's boldness. Folk wandered over from around the camp to see what was happening, excited by the cheers and taunts calling out from behind the longhouse.
Brómber sat on a wooden stump to the west of the square, waiting for the next challenger.
"Fear you this man?" Ulf yelled into the audience. "Is there not one man among you willing to fight him?" The young among them cheered while the men stood in awkward quiet. "Come on now! What of you, Bjorn, surely a bear could best a man!" A fat man with dark hair stood with his arms crossed, a sheepish grin pulling back his lips.
"Is this a camp full of cowards!" Ulf called out. He turned back to say something to Brómber when a voice came from the crowd.
"I will fight." It was the scarred man from the ford.
"Yes!" Ulf cried, "Uffa!" jumping in the air and spinning behind the challenger.
Brómber stood and looked at the man, their eyes level with one another. "What wager you?" He was beaming.
"Nothing. I want only to fight."
Ulf ran up and swung his arm around Brómber's shoulders yelling, "This will be a good one," before leaning in and whispering, "Uffa is a strong fighter. Treat him not as you did the others, watch his hands and be careful," before walking away into the crowd.
"In your corners," he cried, "and ready yourselves to fight."
Uffa stood across from him with his tunic and belt still on. His left hand lay flat against his leg. Brómber looked in Uffa's eyes. They darted into the audience. Brómber breathed in.
"Einn!"
Out. Brómber's eyes followed Uffa's gaze to Wynflæd in the crowd. In.
"Tveir!"
Out. Brómber's eyes returned to Uffa. The Dane's brow raised. In.
"Thrir!"
Out. His eyes fell to Uffa's feet, the right lay in front of the left. In.
"Fjorir!"
Out. He thought he heard Smjor huff behind him. In.
"Fimm!"
Brómber coughed.
Both stood still in their corners. The crowd stood with them. Brómber took a step forward and was mirrored by his opponent. He stole two more, Uffa only one. He lunged, striking at Uffa's arm just beneath the elbow. The Dane fell back with flared nostrils, the strike glancing off the cross guard as he twisted his sword up to deflect the blow. Uffa sprang back into position then made his move, his shoulder pulled toward Brómber, his hips stayed still, his sword ready to fall. Brómber ignored the feint, breathing in then pouncing. Brómber struck at Uffa's left ankle, forcing the Dane to pivot his left foot back. Brómber followed, circling back to find Uffa's shoulder rammed into his chest. The air left him a beat early. One step then another, Brómber dug his heels in soon enough to stave off a third, swinging the wooden sword up and to the left to knock away Uffa's strike but finding a soft pain in his wrist just in time with the smack of wood against wood. Brómber pulled the air back into his lungs and Uffa followed, forcing the unfelled man back until he felt the hazel peg on the back of his boot. He kept his breath where it was and Uffa stayed with it.
Eighty eyes followed Brómber and two watched Uffa. His lips moved slightly but Brómber did not hear words. He watched the man's hands. A third charge brought Brómber toward his foe, stopped by a feint to the right, out of the way of his opponent's sword and into the center of the ring. In. He brought the sword down onto Uffa's knuckles. The crack was almost wet. Uffa bent away with the pain and Brómber slid past his sword side, bouncing back toward the center as swift as he had left it. Out. Uffa's left hand was behind his back. In. Brómber's eyes dropped and saw Uffa's right boot in front of the left. Out. Uffa's eyes went to the crowd again. In. Brómber's did not follow. Out. Brómber swung again, now at the left shoulder. In. Uffa gave ground. Out. The hazels behind him. In. Uffa moved to strike, left foot behind right. Out. Brómber stayed close, not dodging the feint. In. A thud, not a crack. Uffa's wrist. Out. Uffa's grip slipped from the hilt. In. Brómber snatched at the blade, pulling it and Uffa's hand to the center of the pitch. Out. Each hand held a sword. In. The sun, the hall, Uffa, Brómber, and the crowd made a line.
Uffa's left arm crept into the back of his belt, his fingers grasping around a small wooden handle curved like the half moon. Brómber dove and dropped both swords, falling around his foe then up. Uffa stumbled as Brómber ran to his back, his right hand gripping Uffa's wrist and his left grabbing his left shoulder. He pushed his opponent forward, sticking his right knee between the man's legs and wrapping his ankle out and to the right. He jerked Uffa's hand up out of the belt. A short knife gleamed up at him. In. Brómber pushed the man's hand down slowly and spoke in his ear.
"Not like that."
He squeezed his wrist and Uffa let go of the knife in his belt. Out. Brómber let go of him and he walked to the edge of the square and turned.
"I am sorry," Uffa said, "I had to know for sure."
"I know."
Uffa stepped backward, past the hazel pegs. Murmurs from the crowd, none understanding, filled the pitch in his absence. Brómber turned to where Wynflæd had been standing but did not see her. His eyes could not find Ulf either.