Swords From the North

by Henry Treece

  Then he turned to the table with Eystein Baardson for the servants had just run in with great wooden troughs full of hot sausages and barley bread. But the Englishman took him by the shoulder and swung him round again. He said, ‘With this hand I once felled Earl Godwin, and what I could do to him I could do to you. Before I came to Miklagard I was a blacksmith and in my time I shod many war horses and they stood still while I did it.’

  Wulf and Haldor came closer but Harald waved them back and said gently, ‘Gyric of Lichfield, I have felt the weight of your hand and I can believe that you were indeed a blacksmith. But be a good lad now and go back to your ale-cup, for I can see that you are about to meddle in something that is not learned at the anvil.’

  He smiled in the most friendly fashion as he spoke and did not loose his thumbs from his belt once. Then Gyric of Lichfield suddenly struck out at him with clenched fist, but Harald moved a little to the right and slid the blow off his shoulder. Then with the edge of his open hand he struck the Englishman twice on the neck and stepped back so that he could fall without hindrance.

  And when Gyric was able to sit up again and was shaking some sense back into his head, Harald Sigurdson bent over him and said, ‘That is a blow we call Thor’s Kiss. It is useful when a man has left his axe at home. One day when you have the time I will teach you how it is done for I can tell that you are the sort of man who might need to know such a trick.’

  Three men lifted Gyric to his feet but he still could not stand without help, so they put him on the bench near to the sausage troughs where he had only to reach out a little way to help himself. Then Gyric said to Harald, ‘Norseman, you are a better man than Earl Godwin ever was. When you go to England for the crown I would like to ride with you if you will have me.’ Harald Sigurdson picked up a dark blood-sausage and stuffed it into the man’s mouth to silence him. Then he said, ‘That you shall, Gyric of Mercia, but I cannot promise too many earldoms yet awhile. Maybe you will have to be contented with a blacksmith’s shop in Lichfield, if that will do.’

  From that moment Harald had no closer friend in Miklagard than the Englishman, who was famous among all the taverns and gaming-houses in the city as a fierce man to face. And because Gyric was Harald’s friend now, all the other English Varangers swore to stand by the Norseman too. Indeed, if he had known it at that time, with those two blows on the blacksmith’s neck he had gained himself an army.

  5. The Axe Game

  But not all meetings were so fortunate. Every morning the Varangers were required to escort the emperor to Hagia Sophia, past aqueducts and cisterns and along vast colonnades of white marble. There it was his custom to deliver a sermon or to read from some theological work and then, as he left, to offer to the Patriarch a bag of gold in token of which the tall crown of the Basileus was returned to him.

  Then, on most afternoons when the sun was blazing down outside, it was his habit to sit on his enormous throne that was decorated with gold plane and pomegranate trees on the boughs of which gold birds sat and sang by clockwork. This was usually done to impress visiting envoys from Germany, or Persia, or even India; and at a certain secret signal from the emperor this throne was raised by water-pressure in hidden ducts so that it seemed to float in the air high above the heads of the kneeling visitors, who were always amazed or pretended to be so.

  After the new Varangers had seen this happen a dozen times, and had become weary of the foolish performance, they would spend the time between morning and afternoon duties in an open space behind the Hippodrome where there were set a hundred thick ash stakes to which wild beasts were often tethered before one of the bigger shows. And here the northern Varangers invented their own axe game on which they gambled to pass the horns away. One man would wet his forefinger and mark a point on a stake, then stand away; his opponent would sight that mark, take his stance, close his eyes and sweep out with the two-handed axe that they all carried. If it was a good blow, then the stake fell, shorn off at the exact mark, and the axe-man won his bet. But if it was a poor stroke then the axe bit only half-way through, or missed the mark entirely.

  One hot afternoon while the emperor was being hoisted in his throne to impress an ambassador from Baghdad, Harald was sitting in the dust of the Hippodrome corral watching his crewmen playing the axe game and cheering or laughing at what he saw, when suddenly from behind him he saw a sharp black shadow cast upon the dry ground and heard a high voice shout out, ‘Stand to your feet, you Norse scum, when your captain deigns to come among you.;

  Harald turned his head and saw that the general, Georgios Maniakes, was standing five paces away from him, his helmet crest fluttering in the light breeze, his scarlet cloak whipping out behind him, and his pale face lined with fury.

  All the Varangers looked towards Harald, who said quietly, ‘General, we are doing what we are paid for - practising with our weapons to guard the emperor.’

  Maniakes’ dark eyes flashed. He said, ‘You are paid to be at hand where the Basileus Rhomaion himself is. You are not paid to sit in the dust amusing yourselves while His Most Serene Majesty might at this very moment be falling under the knife of a murderer.’

  Harald yawned in the sunshine and then said slowly, ‘If such a thing happened, it would not speak well for the emperor’s general, whose place it is to be at his post, watching that magic chair jigging up and down.’

  The new Varangers began to laugh at this but those who had seen some service quietened them abruptly. Georgios Maniakes shuddered inside his gilt armour at the laughter; the sweat sprang from his pale face in little pearls and ran down to his oiled beard. He was a man about to fall dead with some terrible sudden emotion.

  Then all at once his black shadow flashed over the grey dust towards Harald, moving like an arrow or a pent-up spring, and the Northmen saw with horror that he held a sword in each hand. At the same time they heard his hoarse scream of fury.

  Harald did not rise or draw his own sword. Instead he moved again to his right and swept out his left leg like a great scythe in the corn. Where his head had been, the two swords of Maniakes still shuddered, deeply embedded in the ash stake against which Harald had been leaning. And the general was rolling in the dust, his helmet spinning from him, his scarlet cloak wrapped about his body, holding his arms like a pinion.

  The silence over the Hippodrome lay heavy now, and all the Northmen stood still as though they waited for the gods’ thunder to roar out.

  Then General Maniakes got to his feet and picked up his helmet with its dirtied plume. He did not speak for the tears streamed down his white face and he could not trust his voice to obey him. Instead, he held up his right hand in a signal and a score of Bulgars ran forward, their lances at the ready. They ringed Harald as though he was a dangerous beast, pushing their spear-points into his face. He looked up at them for a while, then said, ‘There are some who would say that you Bulgars are a cautious folk. How many of you does it take to catch a rabbit?’

  Then they took his sword and axe from him and hauled him to his feet. Wulf and Haldor began to run forward but Eystein and Gyric dragged them back.

  The Bulgars pushed Harald before them with their lances while another Company ran from cover and prodded back the Northmen. One of the Bulgar lieutenants shouted out, ‘If you stir to help this wild boar his eyes will be put out. It is as simple as that. He will be blind.’

  Eystein whispered grimly, ‘That is likely to happen to him in any case, at having humbled this Maniakes so.’

  They drove Harald on until they came to an alley that led from the Forum of Constantine. Here there was a row of stone pens, thick-doored and windowless, into which fierce cattle were put to await the butcher. Into the lowest and darkest of these pens they drove Harald, pushing their iron at him savagely.

  Before they closed the door on him and shut all sunlight out, he turned and called, ‘Where is the little soldier Maniakes? Tell him to brush his cloak down before he goes on parade tomorrow. It ill becomes a general to look so sorry f
or himself.’

  One of the Bulgars drove his lance butt on to Harald’s neck and he fell forward into the darkness.

  6. Harald’s Song

  It was not the best night that Harald had ever spent. The air of the cell was thick and foul and there was a fly buzzing about in the darkness. Worst of all the place was so small that he had to lie hunched up, unable to stretch his very long legs.

  He rubbed the back of his neck from time to time and wished he had had a chance to see which Bulgar had struck him from behind. Then the thought came to him that he might never see anyone again. He had often heard, in his weeks at Miklagard, of this blinding of theirs. It was usually done in the Hippodrome before great crowds with a white-hot iron held very close to the eyes but not touching them, for it was a part of the Greek belief that a man must be whole in body if he is to rise again at the Day of Judgement.

  Harald thought for a while what strange folk these Byzantines were. They seemed to live in a little smothered world of their own - and yet they all thought they were so very important and that their way of doing things was the only right way. He wondered how many Greeks there were. There couldn’t be many, or they wouldn’t make up their army from the men of Italy and France and England and Denmark and Norway and Sweden - and even Turkland.

  His mind strayed to the various places he had visited. He pictured King Jaroslav and young Elizabeth with her golden hair and the talking-bird on her finger. Then he pictured Wulf and Haldor and even his new friends Eystein and Gyric. Then his thoughts darted back to his great half-brother Olaf who had looked after him so gently until that terrible battle at Stiklestad. And suddenly Olaf seemed to be in that stifling cell with him filling the place with bright light and saying, ‘Why are you moping about things, little brother? You never used to mope when we were together. Pluck up your courage, Harald, for things are never as bad as they seem. You were always a brisk lad at making rhymes and songs, set your mind at making a song now. It will help to pass the time away.’

  Then the brightness faded in the cell and Olaf was gone.

  Harald rubbed his eyes and said, ‘Aye, that I will, brother. Thank you for reminding me.’ And so he set about making a song. It was not the best song he had ever made but it served its purpose. And this is what it was:

  The black bears dance in Novgorod

  And cocks crow in Kiev,

  While I lie starved in Miklagard

  Waiting for my death.

  The moon shines bright on Marmara,

  The stars glint on the Dome;

  Ere glows the dawn down the Golden Horn

  I’ll be sailing home.

  It’s a clear run up the Bosphorus,

  Clearer through the Black Sea;

  But set me on the Dnieper -

  That’s the run for me!

  Set me on the Dnieper

  With tall prow pointing north,

  And I vow I’ll never come meddling again

  To this part of the earth!

  He tried this song over a few times and thought that the rhymes could have been better. He knew a scald named Stuv up near Bergen who would have helped him with those rhymes for the price of a horn of barley beer, and have been glad to. But Bergen was a long way off and perhaps old Stuv was dead now. It was a sad thought to think of scalds dying. It was not so bad with warriors, because, in their trade they had to go sooner or later. But poets and singers ought to last for ever. Then again it was just as sad to think of good horses going or of good swords wearing out or getting broken. It was worse to think of good ships getting stove in and foundering in lonely places, up distant fiords, or on sea-swept skerries away beyond Orkney with only the gulls left to mourn them and the green weed growing over them at last. It was even worse on the Greenland run. It was so lonely.

  Harald felt the tears starting to come out of his eyes at the thought of wrecked ships, so he stopped thinking about them and tried to make a little tune that he could sing his song to.

  This was even harder than making the words. He wanted it to be a merry tune, but the only things he could think were mournful sounds like those that seals make off rocky coasts at night, or that gannets make before they fall from high rock columns, or that cormorants make when there seems to be no fish for supper.

  Harald was telling himself that he was not the best scald in the north, even for a king, when the door of the little cell was flung open violently and a voice shouted out, ‘Come forth, Hardrada! Come forth!’

  Harald thought: Well, at least this puts an end to all this worrying about rhymes and tunes.

  So he turned round and crawled forwards out of the cell, his eyes blinded by the bright morning sun. He saw men’s feet all about him at last and thought: Well, it ill becomes a man to die on his hands and knees. I had better try getting up.

  And this he did. Then he saw that Wulf and Haldor were there laughing with Eystein and Gyric beside them. And all along the alley, stretching thickly as far as the Forum of Constantine, stood the Varangers with their axes in their hands, all laughing and cheering. Some of them were English, some Danes, some Franks, and some even Italians.

  Wulf said proudly, ‘You see, brother, we have come for you.’

  Harald nodded. He said, ‘You might have come earlier, then my legs wouldn’t be so stiff.’ He made his voice as gruff as he could.

  Eystein said, ‘Why should you worry about your stiff legs when you have five hundred men to carry you?’

  Then his four close friends hoisted him up on to their shoulders and carried him into the Forum with all the Varangers crowding round and shouting as though it was a feast day. And as they went towards the great mass of the the imperial palace people in the streets joined the crowd and sang their own sorts of songs.

  Some of them, the girls mostly, even began to fling red flowers towards Harald. But the Varangers told them to be off about their kitchen duties and not to meddle in men’s affairs.

  And when they reached the main gates of the palace the Bulgar Guard lowered their spear-points and let them pass through.

  Harald said, ‘There has been a sudden change. Maniakes will not like this.’

  Wulf said, ‘Then he can lump it. He is in disgrace with Zoe for taunting you. They say she even threatened to have him whipped in public. These Greek whippings are no joke, it seems.’

  Harald said, ‘Nay, nay, that is no proper way to treat a soldier. He was only doing his duty. After all I taunted him as much as he taunted me, so that’s fair. I bear him no grudge.’

  Haldor said, ‘Then tell Zoe that, for she has sent for you. Now let us wash your face and comb your hair and beard before you go before her.’

  But Harald said, ‘That I’ll not allow. I’ll stand before her as I am or not at all.’

  So they had to give in and let him stride into her chamber just as he was, with his hair all tangled and his beard matted and the dust upon his arms and legs.

  7. The New Emperor

  He stood in the doorway like a shaggy northern god with the pale amber sun behind him and the great sword swinging at his side. The Empress Zoe came forward out of the dimness of the chamber with her hands outstretched. He noticed that she had on three more bracelets than when he last saw her and all were of heavy dull gold. He thought: These would buy a longship in Hedeby, and two longships in Dublin where the men work for a lower wage.

  He said, ‘It is a fine morning, Zoe.’

  She stiffened and answered, ‘I sent for you, Varanger.’

  He walked past her into the chamber and sat down on her throne chair. Then after a while he said, ‘I should have come whether or not. When a king-to-be is thrown into gaol like a common pick-purse he expects to discuss it, even if it is only with a woman.’

  For a long time the Empress of the Whole World struggled to keep her temper in. At last she said calmly, ‘You are sitting in my chair, Varanger.’

  Harald looked down as though he noticed it for the first time. Then he said smiling, ‘It is a mighty uncomfort
able chair, to tell the truth. For all its pretty carvings it is harder than many a cowherd’s stool I have sat on up in Snowland.’ Then he got up and gave the chair a kick to show her what he thought of it and of Miklagard.

  She sat down then and regarded him with fixed wide-open eyes. ‘You are a man,’ she said at last. ‘You are a fool also; but first of all you are a man. There are not too many men in the world. So I sent for your release from the slaughter-pen.’

  Harald turned his back on her and walked towards the nearest alcove. Bending suddenly he twitched the heavy curtain open. No one was there.

  He turned and smiled. ‘This is different from last time, woman,’ he said.

  She bowed her head and answered, ‘Yes, it is different, Varanger. For now I trust you. Indeed I have to trust you since I have offended General Maniakes on your behalf.’

  Harald began to laugh. ‘Come, come, woman,’ he said, ‘Maniakes and Harald Sigurdson - they are not the only two men in Byzantium. You have your emperor to trust still. That little man with the gold tower on his bent head. You have him, Romanus.’

  The empress rose slowly from her chair and said gravely, ‘Romanus is dead, Harald.’

  Harald looked at her in wonder. ;I escorted him yesterday to Hagia Sophia,’ he said. ‘He was in great spirits and laughing all the way at some joke or another he made to his Chamberlain.’

  Zoe answered, ‘He was not laughing when I saw him last, in the small hours of this morning while you lay in the pen. No, he was doing everything, but not laughing.’

  Harald came closer to. her and said sternly, ‘And what else was he doing, woman?’

  She lowered her eyes and said, ‘He was doing what men do when they have drunk poison, captain. He was crying out and praying and making horrible sounds besides.’

  Harald said, ‘It is not a death I know much about. He must have sorely wished to be rid of his life to take poison. Why do you call me captain, woman?’