The King

CHAPTER 25

“There are the men of Rolof,” said one of the Otungs.

Other figures, booted, similarly fur-clad, in jackets and cloaks, armed, were seen among the trees.

This had been after a trek of some two hours through the forest, from the giant’s small encampment, the fire from which had attracted the attention of the men of Ulrich, for that was the name of the leader of the Otungs, those with whom the giant was now in company.

Some quarter of an hour later another such group, consisting of some nineteen men, was detected, it, too, moving through the forest.

“Those are the men owing faith to the house of Valdemar,” said one of the Otungs with the giant.

As time passed, more and more of these groups were observed.

Interestingly, to the giant, these groups, though apparently all Otungs, neither hailed one another, nor marched together.

There were now several such groups, some almost side by side, several within at least yards of one another, who made their way through the snow.

Similar groups, though this was at that time not known to the giant, were converging on a given point from other directions.

At last, through the trees, better than a hundred yards ahead, a long, low feature could be seen. It would have been quite natural, initially, at the distance, and particularly in the light, to have mistaken it for a natural feature, an eccentricity of terrain. It seemed, on the whole, like an extended hillock, or mound.

“We will stop here,” said Ulrich.

“Why?” asked the giant, drawing up to him.

“We must wait for admittance,” said Ulrich.

“Admittance?”

“To the hall,” said Ulrich.

“Ah,” said the giant.

Such halls, or, perhaps better, lest a misleading conception be conveyed, common shelters, are encountered more frequently farther to the north. About the structure of wood, formed of stout timbers, or of great logs, if they may be found, dirt is heaped, and then packed. The hall, or shelter, is oriented north to south, that neither of its main surfaces will be exposed to the northern winds. The entrance, or back of the hall, in a sense, surely that area away from the high seats, faces north, and the front of the hall, where are found the high seats, backs against the southern wall. This particular hall was a large one, for its type, being some seventy-five yards on its long axis; twenty-five yards in width, the roof supported by the walls and two rows of timber columns, in the manner of a three-aisle house; and some four or five yards raised above the surrounding level of the forest. Within the hall itself, of course, whose floor was cut down into the forest floor, it was better than eight or ten yards from the floor, of dirt, to the rafters of the roof. The hall then is half sunken into, or half dug into, the floor of the forest. One descends to the interior floor by means of stone steps. The dirt is heaped some two thirds, or better, of the way up the walls. It does not cover the full height of the exterior walls, or the roof. In the roof, and high on the walls, there are smoke holes. Given the width of the structural timbers it is difficult, unless the holes were to be considerably enlarged, to fire arrows into the hall from the roof, or from ladders, in any martially efficient manner. The dirt packing provides some protection against fire, but, on the whole, given that the gate cannot be forced, the common weapon for reducing such a hall is indeed fire. If one wishes to keep the hall, then one must make do with forcing the gate, or cutting through the walls, at some point or another.

Such structures, it might be noted, in passing, are not designed for defense, but for housing and warmth. They do provide some security, in the sense that they are isolated, in remote areas, and that it is dangerous to approach them. Otungs, and many of the forest peoples, withdraw to, and fight from the stealth, the silence and darkness of the forest itself. Indeed, long ago, imperial cohorts perished, pursuing them in such environments. Hill forts, on the other hand, are known west of the Lothar, among the Basungs. Indeed, it was such forts that hugely stopped the advance of the Heruls into the western forests, long ago, in the winter of 1103, in the chronology of the imperial claiming stone, from the placing of which time, or, at least, history, from the viewpoint of the imperial records, began on Tangara.

The giant could see smoke, in pale wisps, emerging from smoke holes. And through some of these, and chinks in the logs, high in the walls, he could detect some flickering, as of a lighting within.

“So you have come to the hall,” said the giant, “and there is no rejoicing?”

One would suppose, of course, that the coming to the hall, from the outside, at such a time, from the dark night and the winter, when one is hungry and cold, would constitute a joyous occasion, one that would be eagerly looked forward to, and retained long afterward in the warmth of memory.

“Among the Otungs, for many years,” said Ulrich, “there has been little rejoicing.”

“I shall change that,” said the giant.

“Let us kill the stranger,” said one of the men, angrily.

“Let us clear a space in the snow,” said the giant. “We will then consider the matter.”

The fellow looked at the mighty stature of the giant, and the great blade upon his shoulder, like a flat, sheathed bolt of sleeping lightning, and looked away.

“These are important times for the Otungs,” said the leader of the Otungs. “Strangers are seldom welcome in the forests, but, at this time, in particular, we do not welcome them.”

“At this time,” said another, “it is common to kill them.”

“Perhaps I am not a stranger,” said the giant.

“This is the time of the claiming of the hero’s portion,” said an Otung.

“And the naming of the king,” said another.

“I know,” said the giant.

“At such a time, you come amongst us?”

“Yes,” said the giant.

“Why?” asked a man.

“I would speak with he who is first amongst you,” said the giant.

“I do not understand what you are doing here,” said one of the men.

“Perhaps I am coming home,” said the giant.