The Road to Miklagard

by Henry Treece

  ‘Are these the seacocks from the north?’ he asked the Frank.

  Clothair bowed and nodded. Abu Mazur stood still, fingering his grey beard with long fingers, his surprisingly dark eyes fixed on Harald’s. Harald stared back at him, wondering why this old man should concern himself to look so long into a slave’s face.

  Then Abu Mazur said, ‘You are a bold young man, I can see that. Who is your father? He must be a great warrior.’

  Harald stood up as straight as he could and looked above the Moor’s head.

  ‘My father was Sigurd of the three swords. He was the greatest warrior of his lord’s host. He was the bravest seafarer along the fjords. Now he is gone and his only son is a slave among folk who hold to other gods.’

  Abu Mazur considered him for a whole minute, never taking his dark eyes from the young man’s face. Then, his voice very quiet, he said, ‘And does his only son consider that he is a warrior, too?’

  Harald thought that there was the slightest taunt in the words and he replied with heat, ‘Give me a sword and I will meet any two of your guard here, on the steps, in return for the freedom of my two companions.’

  Abu Mazur smiled and nodded his head. ‘I had heard that you Northfolk were great bargainers, and it seems to be true. Well, I will take your word for it that you are what you say, for I cannot allow my slaves to fight with my guards, who are all valuable and highly-trained soldiers and needed for other things. But I will do one thing for you; I will allow you to do that work in my house which best suits you. Now what task would you prefer, son of Sigurd?’

  Harald’s mouth became a thin hard line. He said abruptly, ‘I am no slave to work in other men’s houses. I am a warrior and a sea-captain. I know nothing of maids’ work.’

  Abu Mazur’s grave face still kept its deep lines of humour, but his dark eyes seemed to shroud at these words, and something harder seemed to come into them. He passed by Harald without saying another word. But he stopped once again before Radbard and said gently, ‘What is in your mind, Northman?’

  Radbard said simply, ‘In my mind there is nothing but the sea and the planting of the barley seed, master.’

  Abu Mazur answered just as simply, ‘I cannot give you the sea, but you shall plant what seed we have.’

  Then he passed on along the line and they lost sight of him as he turned to the other slaves.

  But Marriba stayed behind a moment longer, looking Harald straight in the eye with her own great eyes. She smiled, ever so little, and said softly, ‘You crow loudly, seacock; I wonder if you can peck as well?’

  This made the other slaves laugh, and Harald was angry for an instant. Then he shrugged and looked away from her, afraid that he might say something which he would regret later.

  Later that morning, as the three Vikings sat on the steps, trying to scratch runes on the marble with sharp pebbles, a little hunched man came to them, his head shrouded in a massive turban, his body clothed in a much-patched shirt. He spoke harshly, as one who addresses his inferiors. ‘Come with me,’ he said, ‘the Master has given me command over you. I am the gardener and you are to serve me in the garden of the great courtyard.’

  The vikings halted in their scribbling and then, ignoring him, went on with their scratching. The little man jumped with rage.

  ‘Come, when I command,’ he said, ‘or I will see to it that you are well punished. You will get to know soon enough that I am a person of some power in this house.’

  Haro was nearest to him, sprawling on the white steps and trying to draw a ship with the wind full in the sail. It was the only thing he could draw, and he always took great pains over getting every strake drawn correctly, though without much imagination. So the gardener’s words passed over Haro’s head; he did not even bother to look up.

  But suddenly the little man’s foot came down on Haro’s hand as he drew, harshly and cruelly.

  ‘Let me show you what manner of man I am,’ shouted the gardener.

  Haro stared at his bruised knuckles for a moment, then, rising slowly, reached out and took the man by the neck and the leg. He held him for a moment, then calmly leaned over the balustrade with him. The guards below looked very small and far away. Their words did not reach the top of the stairs though they talked loudly.

  The gardener began to cry hoarsely.

  Haro said, ‘And now let this show you what manner of man I am!’

  He made to swing the gardener out into space, above the dark blue sea. Harald and Radbard sat looking at this, smiling all the time, the pebbles still in their hands.

  Then suddenly Haro swung the little man back on to the steps and let him fall roughly on the marble. He lay there for a while, his hand clasped to his heart, as though he expected it to fail at any moment, his brown eyes wide with terror still at the memory of that long sheer drop.

  Then Haro knelt gently beside him and said, ‘If a Northman had trodden on my sword hand as you did a moment ago, he would now lie dead, with such wounds on his body as would frighten a dragon to dream of! Are you not lucky, O little gardener-man?’

  The man tried to speak, but could not get his breath.

  Haro went on, ‘Know then, little gardener-man, that from now on you are graced by the company of great warriors, who will deal harshly with you if you so much as raise your voice to them again!’

  He waited for a moment, until the man had regained his breath.

  ‘Now, good little gardener-man, lead on and we will follow; but see that you set us gentle work to do, or by Odin, I will drag you from your bed one night and finish the journey I was about to send you on today. Come on, get up and we will follow you!’

  The man needed no second bidding, but did as Haro had said. So the Vikings became gardeners in the house at Jebel Tarik, all because Radbard had had a desire to plant the barley along the fjord, as he had always done since his father, Radbard the Horse’s Face, had passed away to Valhalla.

  10. What Happened in the Great Courtyard

  The great courtyard was a most magnificent place. It stood in the utmost centre of the vast house of Abu Mazur and was the joy of his heart, next to his beautiful daughter, Marriba.

  Its broad floor was paved with porcelain tiles of many colours, laid out in the coiling arabesques of a Persian rug. In the centre of the tiled space was a fountain, made of alabaster and edged with beaten silver, in the shape of a snake coiling round a pomegranate, the sparkling water issuing from the snake’s upturned mouth.

  On all four sides of the tiled space were arcades, formed by arches of terra cotta, supported by veined marble pillars of such slenderness that one stood amazed that these delicate stalks should carry such weight.

  Within each arch was a garden box of black marble, its sides overflowing with the luxuriantly flowering plants – red, yellow, blue, purple, orange and violet, so that the cool air was always filled with the scent of blossom.

  This courtyard was not open to the sky, but had a double canopy, the upper sheet of which was of thick samite, striped with red and gold; and the lower sheet of which was of a delicate thin-spun silk, almost transparently woven. This allowed the light to come down from above, while keeping off the strongest blows of the sun at midday. It also had this purpose, that it allowed one to observe the colours and the flights of the many captive birds which were kept there, within the two sheets – whose voices, mingling with the voice of the fountain and of the small aeolian harps set on the roof, gave to this courtyard an air of Paradise.

  When Radbard first entered the place, he shrank back almost in fear and gasped, ‘No, not yet! I have not died yet – or have I?’

  After Harald had assured him that he was still flesh and blood, Radbard said, ‘But it is impossible. When I said I wanted to plant seeds, I meant on a wind-swept upland, with the salt in my face, strong hairy barley seed that doesn’t mind if a bullock tramples on it; not this sort of garden, where the flowers are like delicate princesses who would shrink from the touch of such rough hands as mine!’ />
  Haro said, ‘We shall get used to it, friend! It is like fighting in a battle; the first time one sweats and can hardly hold one’s sword still. But after that, one talks to one’s side-fellow as one advances, discussing the weather, the crops, the next feast, and so on.’

  Harald said, ‘You both talk like old women; I am all for doing something useful. Come, the water is cool and our feet are hot; let us wash them, that makes good sense.’

  So the three Vikings took off their heavy goatskin shoes and bathed their tired feet in the rich fountain, while the little hunched man who was their master wrung his hands in fear lest Abu Mazur should pass through the courtyard while they were about their ablutions. But the Vikings ignored him, and Abu Mazur did not pass through the courtyard so all went well.

  Nevertheless, Marriba, who was watching them through the grille of an upper window saw it all, and told her father, who smiled and said, ‘They are three devils, my daughter, and I do not know what I shall do with them. Perhaps I shall come to like them one day – and perhaps I shall have to turn them over to the executioner. Who knows?’

  Marriba pouted and said, ‘But father, do not let us dispose of them until they have entertained us a little more. They are droll, these bears of the north! We have never had such funny ones before.’

  Her father had given her a wry look and then turned back to his accounts, which were long and tedious, since he was so wealthy and involved in business. He was not the sort of man who leaves all his affairs to a secretary; for, as Abu Mazur knew well enough, in such matters no secretary is ever as trustworthy as one is oneself.

  So life went on quite smoothly for the three sea-rovers, at their work or their rough play in the great courtyard. Their work was very light and consisted mainly in watering the many plants and in sweeping and keeping clean the bright tiles of the place. Sometimes this became tiresome to the Vikings and then the master gardener was teased without mercy and more than once was held, head downwards, over the fountain, when he had spoken too irritably to one or other of his slaves.

  Once Haro said, ‘I pity that little gardener-man. If I were such a man, I think I would swallow that prickly cactus and so put an end to my worries!’

  ‘I cannot understand why he does not report us to Clothair and get us whipped or put on to a heavier task,’ said Harald. ‘There is something strange in our being allowed to stay here after the things we do.’

  Radbard said, ‘There is nothing strange in it. If he were to tell Clothair, then he would be punished or his position taken from him, for not keeping better order. That is all.’

  Nevertheless, the antics of the Vikings had been observed by one pair of sharp eyes, and Abu Mazur’s mind had been troubled to think that there was any sort of disobedience among his slaves. The result was that one day the three Vikings came to work in their courtyard to find three well-armed guards lolling against the pillars, seemingly resting from more arduous duties outside.

  Haro went up to their leader and said insolently, ‘Good day, General. You appear to be fatigued, my friend. Would you care for a dip in the fountain? It is most refreshing, I do assure you.’

  The guard, who was a massive man, stared down at Haro from beneath his heavily-lidded eyes, then, showing his white teeth as he spoke, said, ‘I am not Rajik, the little gardener, my friend. I am a warrior and I do not make a habit of letting rug-headed barbarians up-end me over fountains. Go back to your tasks, or you may feel the butt end of my lance in a place where you would not find it welcome!’

  Haro stepped back a pace and said gently, with a slow smile on his face, ‘Now I am nearer to you, I notice that you smell, dear Captain. Let me repeat that a wash would do you no harm.’

  Harald ran forward now and tried to drag Haro away, but he set his feet resolutely and would not budge, not even for his friend.

  The guard still lolled against his pillar, but with a slight movement of his hip swung his heavy dagger round to a position where he could reach it easily.

  ‘Go back to your tasks, slave, and do not meddle with affairs which might bring your stay here to an abrupt conclusion,’ he said. Now Harald was greatly worried for he saw that Haro’s face had begun to twitch and that he was tugging at the short plaits which hung beside his ears, things which always happened when the man was about to run berserk.

  He stepped forward to grasp Haro, but even as he did so, the Viking launched himself at the great soldier, taking him off his balance and tumbling him on to the gay tiles of the courtyard.

  Haro was about to leap on to him, but Harald saw that, if he did, he would be jumping to his death for the soldier had drawn his dagger and was holding it upwards so that the Viking would fall upon it.

  Then behind them there was a scuffling of feet and Harald turned to see the other guards running across the courtyard.

  At the same time, Radbard thrust a sweeping broom into Harald’s hand, and offered another to Haro, who stood breathing fiercely, willing to grasp any weapon which might aid him against the guard.

  And at that point, Marriba, opening her window to find out what the noise meant, saw the three great Vikings, standing in a triangle, and warding off the blows rained on them by the guards, whose weapons were long narrow-bladed axes, set with sharp spikes.

  ‘Quickly, quickly, father,’ she called. ‘Here is a sight one does not see every day!’

  She jumped with excitement, like a little girl, when Harald suddenly bent his head to let an axe sweep over him, and then, with a lightning movement, brought up the end of his broom into his opponent’s body. The man staggered back and fell into the fountain, winded.

  At this Haro gave a great laugh and brought down his broom-handle fair and square on the right shoulder of his guard, causing the man to drop his weapon, and fall back, groaning with pain.

  Radbard had seen these things and, anxious not to be outdone by his companions, was driving his opponent before him, as a dog might drive a rabbit.

  Haro and Harald were laughing and shouting now, forgetful of their situation, when suddenly the voice of Abu Mazur came down to them, commanding and hard.

  ‘Stop, this instant, all of you,’ he said. ‘The next man to strike a blow will row out the rest of his life in my prison galley!’

  The men all looked up at the window where their master stood, his lean face working with anger. The guards picked up their weapons and stood sheepishly beside the Vikings, their heads bowed in shame.

  Harald stared back at Abu Mazur, defiantly, but now even Harald felt the great strength of the other’s eyes and looked down, to see Marriba smile suddenly, a small and impertinent smile, as though she was saying that her father held no terrors for her, and that she would see that all went well.

  Later, standing before Abu Mazur in his small room, the Vikings heard him say, ‘My house is a place of peace and industry. You men of the north have spoiled that peace, and seem to have no industry in you. I could pass such a sentence on you, my friends, that you would never raise a finger against authority again – but I shall not do that, for I understand a little of what passes through your minds, having been a soldier myself once in my long lifetime, and having known what it is to suffer imprisonment. This time I shall not punish you; but be assured that should you ever give me cause to raise my voice against you again, you will find me to be such a man as will bring terror to your minds whenever you think of me again.’

  As the Vikings went from the room of Abu Mazur, they saw Marriba playing with her pet leopard in a little alcove. She smiled at them and said softly, ‘You are fortunate that I did not tell my father I hated you. If I had done that, who knows what would have happened to you?’

  Then she went on playing with the leopard, pulling his tail and tickling his furry ears. The Vikings passed by, prodded on by the spear-butts of the guard who escorted them.

  When they were again in their quarters, eating rye bread and drinking barley broth, Haro said, ‘For that young woman, I would lay down my life. She is the most b
eautiful creature I have seen.’

  Harald said, ‘Yes, she is beautiful, but I think she is perhaps cruel too. Did you see how she teased the leopard cub?’

  Haro said, ‘I would gladly become a leopard cub and be teased by such a princess.’

  But Harald only struck him on the back, making him splutter, for his mouth was full of rye bread, and said, ‘Take care that Loki is not listening behind the curtains, or you may wake to find yourself a leopard cub in all truth one day!’

  11. The Empty Bed

  For three weeks after the fight in the courtyard, the Vikings went on quietly and obediently with their work. And then something happened which led to even stranger things.

  They were being marched to their work in the garden one day, by their master, Rajik, when they passed by the prison room in which new slaves were sometimes put until they grew more accustomed to the idea of servitude. From the high barred window floated a man’s voice, young and strong and full of an infinite yearning. The vikings stopped dead and listened, for it was a voice which spoke their own tongue. And the song it sang was this:

  ‘I have sailed in the northern seas,

  Taking the Whale’s Way,

  Over the Gannet’s Bath,

  Among the ice-capped breakers;

  Song-drunk and drifting,

  Over the lift and the drop of green waters,

  Into the sun’s eye, into the West.’

  Radbard’s eyes filled with tears and his lips trembled when he spoke. ‘That is a Northman,’ he said. ‘A sea-rover – a seabird whose long wings are clipped.’

  Haro bit his lip thoughtfully and said, ‘He is young and will feel the pain of imprisonment. But perhaps in a day or two he will see sense. He will see that a man could be in worse places than this.’

  Radbard Crookleg clenched his fists and shut his eyes. ‘For some of us,’ he said, ‘death itself would be better than slavery.’ Harald said slowly, ‘I am as true a sea-rover as any man, but what good does it do a man to pour out his soul like that, into the foreign air where there is no one to help him?’