Hrolf the Horseman had two grandsons. One is cursed. As the boys grow into warrior so the power of the curse grows. Both are warriors and both fight the enemies of the clan. When the brothers clash then the conquest of the Bretons and the defeat of the Saxons becomes irrelevant as Rollo is lost to his grandfather and becomes a warrior in the north of Norway. There he has to begin again. He starts with nothing. By strength and courage, he achieves a reputation and he leads his new clan to glory. Culminating in a battle at sea this is a fast-moving novel which takes the reader from Brittany to Denmark; from Norway to Scotland and from England to Ireland. It is another step on the journey which will see Rollo as the first Duke of Normandy.
We are now at the stage where the 1st Duke of Normandy makes an appearance. Rollo (aka Göngu-Hrólfr) becomes separated from the clan and has to make his own way in the world. His brother, Ragnvald Ragnvaldsson, tries to kill him. The attempt merely makes him stronger.
Excerpt
The settlement was laid out before us. There was one long hut and twenty smaller ones. There was a large fire in the middle but I could see the glow of smaller fires through the doors of the others. The jarl slid his sword out. He was about to raise when there was a shout from the north. His brother led his men to attack. They were early. It did not matter overmuch as we were all in position but I knew that Sven would be unhappy. I drew my sword and we raced down the bank. I did not bother with my shield. That was still covering my back.
The Picts grabbed their weapons and ran at us. We must have been a terrifying sight for the Picts just fought in breeks. When they went to war, they limed their hair and relied on raw courage to defeat their enemies. They had not been expecting an attack and so they had small shields and short swords and spears. They charged us.
My long legs took me ahead of the rest. I held my sword in two hands and slightly behind me. My experience of riding came to the fore. My grandfather had had me practice swinging a sword as I galloped. It was much easier just running. A warrior ran towards me and I veered slightly to my left. He might have thought I was afraid of him. I swung my sword. The tip struck his small shield but the mighty blade chopped his body in two. I allowed my sword to swing around and then I raised it above my head. Two warriors stood to block my path. I made a figure of eight with the blade and brought it down horizontally. One held up his shield and my sword turned it into kindling and ripped through his arm and side. The other saw his chance and he darted forward to stab at me with his short sword. The tip slid off one of my metal studs and then the side gouged a line across the leather. He was so close to me that I could smell the fish he had eaten. The hilt of my sword struck him in the side of the head and he was knocked to the ground. Bergil stabbed him.
When I looked around I saw that it was over. The rest of the warband had had as much success as I had and the warriors were all slain. The women surprised me. They were not screaming. They were not cowering. They stoically stood with their children around them. The children were afraid. The older boys had all been slain and I could not see any boy older than six summers.
Sven Blue Arm shouted out his orders. “Separate the old. Put them in one hut. Put the mothers and the children in the large hall. Have the girls who are not mothers in another.” He turned to Bjorn Eysteinsson, “Lord, have your men search for treasure.” He could not criticise the jarl’s brother but he was unhappy with the shout which had alerted our foes.
