Origins (Varangian Book 3)

Book summary

"Origins" follows the riveting tale of Harald Hardrada, a seasoned warrior returning to Norway to claim the crown. Escaping Byzantine Empress Zoe, Harald reminisces his life's journey marked by adventure, tragedy, and war. As a former Varangian Guard, his combat prowess is tested against the looming threat of the empress's revenge.

Excerpt from Origins (Varangian Book 3)

The northernmost tip of the Byzantine Empire, 1042

In a small glade by the side of the River Dneiper, the Varangians rested; many huddled around camp fires, warming their damp clothes, sending up great trails of steam. Watching the river flow past, Hardrada stood, lost in thoughts of home, of what he had left behind, of what might face him. Sarah, the playing piece in a game of twisted desires and forgotten hopes, had returned to Constantinople without a word. Not a hint of regret for the moment of passion they had shared. Eyes like bottomless pools, bereft of life. How could she have changed so completely? And the Empress too. Once, all of them, so giving, so willing, now ... He breathed hard, looked beyond the gently bobbing longship to the distant shore opposite and wondered if life would always play out this way. In the far north, a princess waited, and with her the promise of a new chapter in a life already full. To be king, his destiny fulfilled. Beside him a woman of grace, passion and beauty. A woman to bear him children. To ensure his line: King of the Norse. Father of greatness.

Something moved at his shoulder and he turned to see Ulf gnawing on a piece of coarse brown bread. “You should eat something,” Hardrada’s faithful companion said between mouthsful.

“I don’t feel much like eating.”

“Why not? Everything is well. We have all the treasure. Byzantium is far behind us. What troubles you?”

Hardrada shrugged, turning again to the grey, cold river. “I’m feeling morose, that’s all, wondering if I have made a mistake.”

“How so?” Ulf finished his bread, wiped his hands on his jerkin, and sighed. “Listen, we did what we could for the Greeks. We’ve done well. You’ve done well. You have enough money now to buy up the Kievian Rus and ensure your journey to the throne of Norway. You can’t regret any of it, Harald. Everything you’ve done has been for this moment. Seize it. Take what is yours. By right, not by force.” He gripped Hardrada’s arm. “No regrets, old friend. This isn’t like you and it troubles me to see you this way. So, come on, share some wine and let’s put Byzantium behind us – literally.”

“You’re right,” said Hardrada, sounding heavy and resigned. “I thought ... I don’t know, I thought that perhaps I could find happiness.”

“Happiness? Dear Christ, what the hell is that? We’re Vikings. We find happiness in the bottom of a wine jug and at the point of our swords. Nowhere else, old friend.”

A footstep behind them, followed by a low voice, “Except home.”

Both turned as Haldor approached. Regaining some his former strength, the eldest of the three companions still walked with a slight limp, one hand forever clamped to his side. He stepped up alongside the others and breathed in the fresh salty air. “The smell of the north,” he said. “I never dared believe we would turn our faces home. I wished it, of course, but I didn’t want to tempt fate by saying so. You two,” he grinned, without turning in their direction, “you seemed so hell-bent on adventure and money, but for me it was nothing more than an interval, a pause before I went back. And now that we are, I feel somewhat melancholy.”

“You sound like a fucking philosopher,” spat Ulf.

“Oh, and you don’t? I heard what you said, all that about having no regrets. But we do, don’t we? All three of us. And I am wondering if, when we return home, more regrets will follow.”

“You truly think that?” asked Hardrada.

“Perhaps. We have been away for a long time. You were seventeen when you left Norway, Harald. Much has changed.”

“I didn’t leave. I fled. As well you know. Fled.” He blew out a breath before closing his eyes, allowing the smell of the river to waft over him. Haldor’s words spelled out the truth. The water promised dreams of the north, for at its end stood Kiev, and the next phase of the adventure. “You think the people will judge my actions as that of a coward?”

Ulf snorted, “Christ, Harald. A coward? You had no choice. Death, or escape. Yaroslav took you in, and he schooled you, and now you go back to help him. Debts paid. No one will judge you, you can depend on it.”

“Regrets you said,” Hardrada held Haldor’s gaze. “You most of all, old friend. You have never held back from telling me the truth. So tell me now. Do I make a mistake in going back? Will the people accept me, or will they forever eye me with suspicion and fear?”

“The people will accept a king who treats them with fairness, who defends them against enemies, and fills their bellies with food. Nothing much else matters.”

“So what I did? Running away?”

Ulf slammed down his fist. “Harald, you’ve got to stop thinking like this and—”

Hardrada cut off Ulf’s words with a raised hand. “Haldor? Tell me, in truth. Will the people follow me?”

“You fled because the alternative was certain death. And many who lived then are now dead. They will see you as the returning star, to lead them forward. The great Viking age may have passed, but you Harald, you will restore it. Of that I have no doubt.”

The silence stretched out, Haldor’s words drifting out across the glade, to mingle with the encroaching trees and settle within the leaves, whilst all three men stood and allowed their own thoughts to cloud and become distilled.

When at last Hardrada’s shoulders dropped and he turned to go, Ulf caught him by the arm. “Harald,” he said, “I’ve followed you for many years, since we were both young. We have lived and fought as brothers and I will follow you to the ends of the earth if need be. Whatever you decide to do, I will be here.”

“My good friend,” said Hardada quietly, then nodded at Haldor. “Both of you. I would never have achieved any of it without you.”

Haldor looked grim. “Harald. I too, as Ulf, have followed you, but ...” He shook his head. “I’ve thought long and hard since we spoke in the hospital in Constantinople. And you, you have tried so hard to dissuade me, but I am old, old and weary. I cannot go to Kiev.”

“I thought you might have changed your mind,” muttered Hardada, not daring to hold Haldor’s eyes.

“No. Decisions. Like we said.”

 For a moment, it was as if the world had ground to a halt. Not a breath of wind, not a bird’s song. Only the stillness of that place, and Haldor’s words burning deep.

“You can’t leave us, Hal,” said Ulf at last. “You’re one of us. You cannot turn away now, not when Harald needs you so much!”

“No, Ulf,” said Hardrada. He smiled. “Hal, I always hoped, once your wounds healed, you might stand alongside me again, but ... I understand and accept your wishes.”

“Do you?”

“Aye. I do. You wish to return home, as we too wish. But your home is not with us, and to ensure your safe journey, I give you as much as needed, to send you home with all speed.”

Haldor’s voice quaked, raw with emotion, “Are you sure, my friend? I would not ask for much.”

“Aye.” Hardada nodded. “With Zoe returning the rest of my booty, I have more than enough to lay my claim to the throne of Norway. I will give you as much as you need to sail to Iceland and go home. It is the least I can do.”

Haldor reeled backwards, eyes filling up, the tears threatening to fall. “Harald, I cannot ask you to—”

“I know you would never ask, old friend. It is my gift to you. When we reach the far north, you take a ship, and a crew, and make your way back to your island home.” His smile grew broader. “I knew this day would come. Your wounds have healed well enough, but your heart and soul, Hal, they are no longer bound with mine. I release you.” He reached out his hand and took Haldor’s, gripped it firmly. “Go with God, Haldor, and with all my blessings.”

They embraced then and Ulf looked on, agog. Hardrada saw it in his friend’s face, his incomprehension and when he stepped back, it was to Ulf that he now spoke. “But you, you will stay by my side and together we will make Norway the greatest kingdom in all the world. I have dreams, Ulf, dreams of greatness. We have such deeds to perform, such adventures. We will become legends, Ulf. Men will tell the stories of what we do for centuries to come. They will write poems and sing songs and for as long as the sun rises, the world will remember.”

“They already sing songs,” said Haldor. “Your exploits, the legend that is Harald Hardrada, the whole world knows who you are and what you have done.”

“I have done much, it is true. I would have been nothing if it were not for both of you.”

“We are minor players,” said Haldor. “Arriving as you did, in Constantinople, a young man, still stinging from the wounds you bore. It was you who recovered and made yourself into someone great.”

“I do not know it all,” said Ulf. “Before we met, Harald, who you were, what brought you to Byzantium? It is a story of myth and legend, but neither of us knows the truth of it. Not the whole truth.”

Hardrada nodded. “Well, whilst we wait here and the men dry themselves, and we eat and drink, I will tell you.”

“All of it? How you came to be here?”

“Aye,” said Hardrada. “It is a tale I have never spoken of, but now,” he smiled at Haldor, “now perhaps is the best time to tell it, before you go your separate way, old friend.”

With that, he put his arms around the shoulders of his two companions and guided them towards the camp fires of the Varangians and told them the story of who he was, what his roots were and how he became known as Harald Hardrada.