The Road to Miklagard

by Henry Treece

  They had forgotten Rajik, who had stood aside while they spoke, smiling softly to himself. Suddenly he came forward and whispered, ‘Who says there is no one to help a sea-rover who wishes to break from his cage? Who says that a man might not get away from this house, if only he had the right friend to help him?’

  Radbard turned and stared at Rajik, who shrugged his shoulders and then continued to walk towards the courtyard. They followed him, for now the song had finished and all was silent in the high prison.

  Rajik said nothing more that morning, but often seemed to fix his eyes on Radbard especially, as though he expected the man to open the conversation again. Harald and Haro watched their companion closely, for he appeared to be moody now, and when they met again in the eating hall, they saw that Radbard had taken a bench near to Rajik and was talking excitedly and in a low tone to him. Rajik was replying quietly, glancing over his shoulder many times as he spoke.

  Haro said to Harald, ‘There is a bird that will fly before long, unless I am mistaken.’

  That evening, Harald put his hand on Radbard’s shoulder and said, ‘Friend, we have been together for a long while. Let us stay together now, for the time may come when we shall find a way towards the north again.’

  Radbard stared at him like a man in a dream and said, ‘Let us stay together, yes. Let us all go north together now.’

  Harald turned away from him and said to Haro, ‘He speaks like a man who has drunk some drug and does not understand.’

  Haro shook his head and said, ‘I fear that Radbard’s mind is clouded, Harald. I have seen Northmen grow like this before when they have been locked up too long. Their senses leave them and they beat their brains out on stone walls, like a bird trying to fight its way out of a cage.’

  They decided that they must keep a watchful eye on their companion from that time onwards, and if possible prevent him from talking too much with Rajik, whose conversation seemed to trouble him.

  Two nights later Harald woke from a frightening dream in which he was chained down in a cave on the seashore. As the green tides flowed higher and higher into the cave, Harald saw a large basking shark which tried to get to him. He shouted at the creature in his dream, telling it to beware for he had his father’s sword by his side – though even as he dreamed these words, he knew that his hands were tied and that he could not defend himself if the tide rose so high that the shark could get to him. It was at this moment, when the breakers were already rolling over his body, that he woke up with a great start and sat up, mopping his forehead with his hand.

  He looked about him, to make sure that he was not in the cave, and then he saw that Radbard was not lying beside him as he usually did. The coverlet was flung back from his pallet of straw and Radbard was not to be seen in the long dormitory room.

  Harald touched Haro lightly on the face and woke him. ‘Our seabird has flown, it seems,’ he said. ‘Come, we must find him before he runs himself into mortal danger.’

  Swiftly the two men rose, passing between the beds of the other slaves and through the open door, where their guard snored at his post, his helmet on the floor beside him, and so out into the long corridor.

  The moonlight glimmered on to them as they passed between the pillars of the cloistered passageway, and at length they ran through the nearest courtyard and so into another passageway, this time shut off from the light.

  Once more they moved silently past a sleeping sentry and as they rounded the next corner, saw a white figure disappearing under an archway.

  ‘That may be Radbard,’ whispered Harald, as they ran.

  ‘It looks more like a woman than a man, for it is dressed in long white robes,’ said Haro. ‘Yet we must make sure.’

  Once as they ran a sentry stretched his arms and yawned, and the two men were compelled to draw aside into a little alcove until the soldier had grunted and settled himself to sleep again. Then they passed on, through the great courtyard where they worked each day, and into a square, high-ceilinged chamber.

  It was there that they almost ran into the figure in white, for it had stopped and was bending over someone who lay on the floor.

  Harald saw immediately that it was Radbard whom they had pursued, though he was dressed Moorish fashion, his face half enshrouded by a hood, his waist encircled by a broad black sash.

  They came beside him and touched him on the shoulder. He turned to them a face contorted with horror, and pointed to the body on the floor. They bent over the man, and saw that it was Clothair. He was dead. A dagger had been driven into his back, between the joints of his body armour. Harald bent and looked at the weapon; it had a long, red-leather hilt.

  Then he looked at the empty scabbard that swung from the black sash at Radbard’s waist. ‘Did you kill Clothair?’ asked Harald, striving to keep the horrified disgust from his voice.

  But Radbard only shook his head, helplessly. ‘He was dead when I stumbled over his body a moment ago. I had no dagger. This robe and scabbard were left for me by Rajik, who showed me how I could escape this night when all the guards were drugged.’

  Haro said grimly, ‘Then friend Rajik has tricked you, Radbard. For now suspicion will fall on you and if they catch you, your end is certain.’

  Radbard said simply, ‘Rajik always hated Clothair, he even told me so. Well, what shall be, shall be; there is nothing more to say.’

  He stood in the glimmer of moonlight like a man in a drugged sleep, hardly able to care for himself.

  It was then that Harald’s sharp ears caught the sound of shuffling footsteps along a far passageway. He signed to the others to be still and said, ‘There are men at the end of that passageway. Where does it lead?’

  Radbard said, ‘That is the way to the treasure chamber. Rajik showed it to me only yesterday.’

  ‘Then that is where we shall find him, and take our vengeance on him,’ said Harald, suddenly angry with a cold and fearsome anger.

  12. The Vengeance of Abu Mazur

  At the corner of the passageway, the three Vikings halted. Before them, in the semi-darkness, a group of figures moved slowly and quietly, as though they were engaged in some arduous task. Harald’s keen eyes picked out five figures, dressed after the manner of the house-guards, and led, it seemed by a small crooked man – Rajik the gardener.

  ‘They are armed,’ he whispered to Haro, ‘for I see the glint of sword blades.’

  ‘One of us carries a weapon, too,’ said Haro ironically, holding out his hand. Harald saw that he had taken the red-hilted dagger which had killed their friend, Clothair.

  It was then that they heard Rajik’s unmistakable voice.

  ‘Go quietly, my comrades,’ he said, ‘for soon we shall come out into the great chamber, and then we may need to have our wits about us!’

  Almost as by instinct, Harald leapt forward, crying, ‘Your wits will not save you now, Rajik the serpent! You have murdered Clothair and tricked our brother, Radbard! Now you would rob your master!’

  There was a frightened cry in the gloom of the passageway, then muffled oaths and words of anger, as the robbers realized that they were assailed not by the guards of the house, but by three slaves.

  There was the sound of boxes being flung to the ground hurriedly, then the Vikings were among the robbers, grappling with them before they could bring their swords into action.

  In the half-darkness, it was impossible for the Vikings to fight with the skill which was theirs by day, but they gave a good account of themselves. Radbard was the first to speak, after the battle had started. His comrades heard him say, ‘And that is for you, Snake Rajik, and for Clothair who was a good friend to us in his way!’

  They heard Rajik’s high voice call out for mercy, and then a groan took the place of his crying and he fell.

  Haro was fighting like a berserk now, holding two men at bay with his long-bladed dagger, and driving them back down the passageway, towards the treasure chamber.

  Harald had grappled his opponent round the wais
t and was slowly bending him back, when he felt a sharp pain in his side and then knew that he had been wounded and could exert his great strength no longer. ‘To me, Radbard,’ he called hoarsely. ‘I am hurt and cannot hold this one much longer!’

  A great blackness, blacker than the night itself, swept over Harald’s eyes, and as he heard Radbard’s feet shuffling towards him, he fell, unable to hold the enemy at bay any further.

  Radbard reached forward and took Harald’s opponent by the hair of his head and dragged him forward, and even as Radbard struck the man at the nape of the neck with his hard clenched fist, a great light shone on them from the high chamber, and Abu Mazur stood there, surrounded by a dozen guards, the torchlight glinting on their helmets and poised javelins.

  The fight in the passageway ceased, suddenly, as a thunderstorm when the sun breaks out again and the air is still.

  Then, in the great hall, Abu Mazur sat in judgement, the fighters standing or lying before his gilded chair, the guards standing in a circle about them, fierce in the flaring torchlight.

  ‘What has any man to say before I speak?’ the master asked, turning his eagle’s eyes upon them all in turn.

  Rajik, still shaken by the great blow which Radbard had dealt him, flung himself before the gilded chair and held out his hands in supplication.

  ‘Listen to me, master,’ he said. ‘I am your good servant and have always served you faithfully. Tonight I heard strange sounds and came here to find these three Vikings dragging your treasure from its resting-place.’

  Abu Mazur nodded and said, ‘Who are these men who were fighting with the Vikings? I have not seen them before.’

  Rajik said, ‘They are good true men of the town, of Jebel Tarik, old friends of mine. They were drinking with me, as friends do, in my little room that you let me have, in your graciousness of heart.’

  ‘And who killed Clothair?’ asked Abu Mazur, gently, for he had always trusted the Frank and was sad to see him lying dead before him.

  Rajik pointed an accusing finger at Radbard. ‘That one did it. He struck him down with the dagger which lies before you now.’

  Abu regarded him steadily for a moment and then said, ‘The thing which lies before me is called Rajik – for Rajik killed Clothair, and Rajik brought in these murderers to steal his master’s treasure.’

  The gardener began to protest, but Abu Mazur waved him to silence.

  ‘Have no doubts, Rajik, I was well aware that you were plotting against me. After all, I must keep my spies like any other rich merchant in these troubled times. And I know these friends of yours. That one is Rajam the sheep stealer – his father was hanged last year in Africa; that is Bela Tok, who killed a shepherd outside Granada three weeks ago; and the others, who are dead or unconscious, I do not care which, are also known to me.’

  Rajik gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘But, master, you said you had never seen them before.’

  Abu Mazur passed a weary hand over his forehead and said, ‘No, I have not seen them, but my spies bring me accurate descriptions, you dullard. I have eyes in my mind, too, friend Rajik, which is something you have not – nor will you live to have now.’

  At this, Haro, although wounded deeply in the neck, gave a great shout of laughter and clapped the wretched Rajik on the back, almost knocking him flying. ‘There,’ he said, ‘but it takes a big wolf to catch a little wolf! Friend Rajik, you are nicely in the trap now. Let us see you wriggle clear this time!’

  At this the guards would have silenced Haro, but Abu held up his hand, ordering them to let the Viking be.

  Then he addressed them, saying, ‘My rough northern friends, for now I believe you are my friends, I am grateful to you. You shall not find me a forgetful master, and from this time your lives may perhaps be sweeter. Your chieftain, who lies wounded before me, shall have Clothair’s place in my household and you shall help him in his task. Who knows, perhaps one day you may become my guards.’

  Then he gave orders that Harald should be carried carefully to the physician, Malabar el Arrash, who lived in the house, to be treated for the sword-cut which had pierced deeply into his right side.

  As the Vikings rose and followed the guards who carried their friend, they heard the voice of Abu Mazur once more speaking to Rajik and the robbers who had tried to steal the treasure.

  ‘As for you,’ it said, ‘your traitorous eyes shall not see another dawn. You shall die where you stand now, and your fate shall be a lasting warning to any others who think to gain easily by night what I have spent many hard days in getting.’

  Radbard said, ‘He deserves his fate, for he would have brought it upon me, but for your friendship, my brother.’

  After that, they did not mention Rajik, the little gardener-man, again. Nor did they ever walk through that echoing hall where the sentence had been passed.

  13. To Sea Again

  Haro’s neck soon healed, but spring had turned to summer before Harald was well, nor would he have walked again had not the great skill of Malabar el Arrash been devoted to its full on his behalf.

  But now, as the first heavy heat of the summer sun began to beat down, already almost unbearably, on the city of Jebel Tarik, the three Vikings sat once more on the white terrace overlooking the steaming harbour.

  The two others were teasing Harald, for he was wearing his helmet and armour for the first time since he had been appointed to fill Clothair’s position.

  ‘Why did you not let them cut your hair, King Harald?’ asked Radbard, mischievously, for he had now regained something of his old spirits. ‘Your helmet does not fit properly. It was made for a man with short hair.’

  Harald said, ‘No man shall cut my hair, friend Bald-head! I would rather have my own hair than any helmet!’

  This annoyed Radbard, who was going very thin on top, and he immediately began to grapple with Harald, trying to roll him on the ground.

  Then suddenly Haro began to whistle, warning them that someone was coming, but it was too late. Marriba stood behind them, smiling, her leopard cub on a golden chain at her side.

  ‘What a pretty picture, Captain Harald,’ she said, ‘to see a great warrior rolling on the floor like a little boy.’

  Harald looked up sheepishly and then, unable to say anything, took an apple from his leather pouch and flung it into the air. The girl watched it go, wondering, and then saw Harald rise to his feet, pull out his sword with one swift motion, and, as the apple came down at arm’s height, cut it through downwards and then, almost with the same movement, across, so that the fruit fell in four even parts at her feet.

  The look of amazement on the girl’s face was such that the three Vikings burst into a roar of laughter.

  Haro said, ‘He is a show-off, is this Harald, Princess. Look, if he will give me his sword, I will show you one even better than that.’

  Marriba said slyly, ‘You are still a slave, Haro Roughneck. You are not allowed to have a sword, like Harald.’

  Harald said, ‘I am the Captain here, my lady, not you. If I give him a sword, that is my affair.’

  But although he spoke abruptly, it was not through anger, but to cover his embarrassment that a girl should have seen him wrestling like a little boy on the ground. Then he handed his sword to Haro, who took three figs from his pocket and, having disposed them evenly in his left hand, flung them all into the air at once. As they came down in the sunlight, he struck at each one, neatly and quickly, with blows like those which a cat gives to a rolling ball of wool. The three figs lay on the white marble pavement, equally divided. Haro tossed the sword back to Harald, who caught it.

  ‘Not a bad sword,’ said Haro, carelessly, ‘though I like one a little heavier in the blade. That is a lady’s toy.’

  Laughing, the girl turned to Radbard and said, ‘After that is there anything you dare do, Crookleg?’

  Radbard scratched his nose for a while and then said slyly, ‘Yes, but it has nothing to do with swords, my lady.’

  ‘So much the better,
’ said the girl, ‘for this cutting and carving becomes tedious after a time. Well, what can you show me?’

  Radbard simply said, ‘This, and no more!’

  He turned suddenly and snatched up a handful of pebbles from the edge of the steps. A large black carrion crow was sitting on the red roof, at the edge of the platform. Swiftly Radbard threw at the bird, which seemed to expect something of the sort and was ready to fly away. The first pebble struck the bird on the body and toppled it down the roof, but it rose again and was almost away when the Viking threw again. This stone brought the bird back to the eaves, fluttering. Radbard raised his hand to throw the third pebble, but Marriba held his arm.

  ‘That is enough, barbarian,’ she said. ‘I do not love those birds, but I will not have you kill one just to show me your skill at throwing pebbles.’

  Radbard shrugged his shoulders, and the bird, glad of the respite, gathered itself and flew away over the house, crying hoarsely.

  ‘All the same,’ said Marriba, when it had gone, ‘I have never seen such marksmanship before in my life. A man like you does not need a sword, Radbard Crookleg, when there are stones about to throw!’

  With that she went away, and Haro watched her go, sighing and holding his hand to his heart. The other two then rolled him on the ground, telling him that he was a dolt and a love-sick clown.

  That afternoon a messenger came to fetch them into the presence of Abu Mazur, who met them with a grave face.

  Radbard whispered, ‘I know what it is, she has reported me for throwing at that bird, and now we are all to be punished.’

  But it was not that at all.

  Abu Mazur allowed them to sit down, a privilege which amazed them, and then said to them slowly, ‘My friends, my dear daughter, Marriba, is not well. Her delicate constitution was not intended by nature for the heavy heat of this city and I am afraid that if she stays with me in the house here through the summer, she may come to harm. My good doctor, Malabar el Arrash, of whose skill you already know a little, tells me that my daughter must go to a more northerly climate, away from this heat, if she is to retain her health and happiness.’