A month later, Åsne was carrying buckets of washwater to the butcher shed when Ornery Olav Brekke rode into the farmyard at Åe.

"Where are your menfolk?" he asked as he drew in his lathered horse.

She nodded at the shed. "Butchering the pig. They can't break off in the middle, now. Will you lend a hand, or just watch?"

Shaking his head, he swung down and strode ahead of her. "No time to dally. I've got far to ride, carrying the budstikk, spreading the news." He planted himself in the doorway of the shed. "We're at war," he announced to Aslak and his two sons.

"Rumors again," Aslak grunted. "Watch it, Tall Såmund – you nearly sliced my thumb!"

"No rumor!" Ornery Olav brandished a tattered newspaper. "Our King Frederik just proclaimed alliance with Napoleon, and for good cause. Listen to what those arrogant Brits did! When Frederik refused to align with Great Britain, the admiral of the fleet beseiging Copenhagen commandeered all the ships in port. 'Seventeen large warships,'" he read, "'seventeen frigates, sixteen smaller warships, twenty-six cannon boats, and nearly a hundred transport ships loaded with all kinds of war supplies.' He manned them with his own sailors and sailed off with them to England's shores. The Rape of the Fleet, they're calling it in Kristiania."

Aslak stepped into the light streaming through the doorway and took the paper, leaving bloody fingerprints. Såmund came up beside him, his butcher knife still in hand.

"Frederik is committing his Danish troops," Aslak said, glancing over the column. "No mention of Norse."

"It's coming, you can be sure of that," Ornery Olav said with a fierce glint in his eyes. He took back the newspaper. "I've spread the word all up The Dales. Heading to Høydalsmo now, seeing who I can rally together. You want to join us?" he asked Tall Såmund.

"Haven't finished this battle yet." The twenty-one-year-old flicked his blade, drops of pig blood hitting the ground in dark splotches between the first snowflakes of the season. The autumn butchering was enough bloodshed for him. He shook his head and brought his gaze back to Olav. "Nei, I'm not running off to drill. Not until the king sends out a call. That'll be soon enough for me."

Åsne's shoulders sagged in relief.

With a look of disgust, Ornery Olav turned on his heel. "Can't be bothered to drill. Lazy!" he snarled as he remounted. "And spineless. A coward thinks he will live forever, if only he can shun warfare," he barked, misquoting an old saying. He set spurs to his horse and galloped out of the farmyard.

Aslak growled low in his chest while Åsne planted hands on hips and glared after the brash young man. "It's an evil-minded man who meets all with mockery," she said, drawing on another maxim, then she turned to Tall Såmund with a third quote. "And you, my son, are as thoughtful  as a prince's son. Pay him no mind."

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BEHIND THE SCENES

A budstikk, in the old days, was a message carved on a length of wood and sent by messenger to summon the fighting men of an area to battle. (Metaphorical use here, since he's carrying printed paper rather than carved wood.)

The Second Battle of Copenhagen played out 16 August – 5 September 1807.

Dozens of old sayings from the Viking Age survive in the "Hávamál: the Words of Odin the High One," recorded in the 13th century Poetic Edda. Check them out on my website! https://joyceholt.com/h.html