TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse

by Poul Anderson

  Thora pointed a shaking finger at Elizabeth. "This . . . woman . . . struck me."

  "I doubt not the blow was well deserved," Harald said. "The next time you two behave thus, you both go home."

  Elizabeth's knees gave way, she sank to a bench and covered her face. Tightness closed around her womb.

  "You dare not," jeered Thora. "My father—" "Am I so weak that I can't stand without him to prop me up? Today I've sent one good chief out of the realm and another home cursing me. I may as well shed the whole lot."

  Thora bowed her head, until she whispered: "I'm sorry, Harald. I'd not shame you willingly."

  "Well, then, go to your rest."

  She looked at him through her lashes and, swiftly, smiled. "Will you come too?"

  "Not tonight," he said. "Not to either of you."

  "Well . . ." Thora grimaced. "The loss is yours, my love." She took her cloak and went.

  Harald stood awhile gazing down at Elizabeth. "How did the quarrel start?" he asked at length.

  She mastered herself and replied: "I know not. Words led to words. I was sewing, and ..."

  "No matter." His eyes went to the raven banner. "I must be rough with Thora now and again. Otherwise I'd never have peace. You I can trust, but stay away from her as much as you can."

  She raised her face, wishing that tears did not disfigure it. "Thank you," she gulped.

  "Naught to thank for." Harald stroked her head. "I know I'm often unjust, to you as to others." He sighed. "Now, tonight, I wish there could only be the two of us, always. But tomorrow will be another tale. Men are kittle beasts."

  She came to his arms, and he held her tightly. "If you bear a boy," he said, "we'll name him Olaf. Have I told you that? He's a good patron to have."

  She held her face to his breast. "But what if it's a girl?"

  "Why, then," he said gently, "what think you of your mother's name, Ingigerdh? She was ever a friend to my house."

  She could find no words, but clasped him close.

  "Well, well." A small sad laughter bubbled in his throat. "Let's to bed, shall we? Surely a king may break his word now and then."

  2

  A few days later, Harald rode up to Ulf's garth. He had not been there since the christening of the marshal's son, to whom he had stood godfather. That time, he had been surprised that the name given was John, or Jon, as the Norse rendered it. "I scarce thought John in Miklagardh was any comrade of yours," he had said.

  "Well," Ulf had grinned, "the bishop is wroth with me that I'm so indifferent a churchman and turn a blind eye to heathen practices among the people, so I thought best to name the lad after some saint. They tell me John the Holy wrote a saga about the Weird of the Gods, so that seemed a lucky name for a warrior's child."

  Now, entering the courtyard with a stamp of hooves and jingle of iron, Harald found the household busy butchering and smoking. Lady Jorunn was overseeing the work. She seemed happy, and indeed it was astounding how comfortably Ulf had settled down to a married life, hardly looking at another woman except when abroad. Belike he'd had his fill in earlier years.

  The marshal came from the pens in filthy, blood-soaked garments. "Go on in," he said. "I'll need a bath ere I'm fit to cross my wife's fine clean threshold."

  "Is this the same Ulf who ripped taverns apart in Miklagardh?" Harald chuckled.

  "Ah, the same, but a bachelor then. Now I go with a ring in my nose." Ulf shouted to his carles to heat up the sauna, and Harald went indoors with his guardsmen.

  It was some time before they two had a chance to talk under four eyes. That was in a side room, with its own fire and a keg of beer. Ulf sat down, lifted his costly horn of narwhal tusk, and said: "Skaal. What's this I hear about Haakon Ivarsson and Finn Arnason?"

  Harald told him.

  The marshal's battered face drew into lines and folds. "Not good. We'll have all we can do to keep the league of Einar's kin from being formed anew."

  "They can do little without a leader who knows war." Harald sighed and stared into the flames. "This being a king is a thankless task. Of the few able men, most are against me."

  "You've given them scant grounds to love you."

  "I mean to keep my word," Harold barked. "Kalf Arnason may return when he wishes. Though I fear he'll soon be at work to overthrow me. He fought against Olaf; Magnus exiled him." He stroked his beard. "I think I'll take him to battle with me. Then he can't plot at home. And he might die a hero's death."

  Ulf finished his beer and got up to tap another hornful. "You're an eldritch man," he said. "Why is one kingdom too little for you?"

  "Two kings are one too many."

  Ulf put the horn to his lips. When he had drunk, he sat down again. His words came slowly:

  "You've told me this dream often, a Northern empire with strength to beat off any foe. Your daring the Church's wrath is another kind of war to the same end. But have you ever thought how you destroy the very thing you seek to save?"

  "By weakening us?" asked Harald. "There'll always be more warriors."

  "No, that's not my notion. I've turned it about in my head. Look you." Ulf leaned forward and tapped Harald's knee. "I've seen a bit of the world, enough to know that here in the North is something unlike aught else. It's not just that we had our own gods ... at times I miss old Thor, but St. Olaf will do in his place. It's a whole way of living. It's odal property, which must remain in the family. It's ancient law, which even the wildest Viking respects; nowhere else have I seen so much haggling over the letter of the law. It's the common man bearing arms and ready to defend his rights. Where else can a woman divorce her husband, whatever the Church may say, if he strikes her? Where else is the family so close-knit that men will die to avenge their brothers?"

  Harald stirred restlessly, but Ulf went on.

  "You'd make us into another Miklagardh— another Germany or Normandy at the least. By taking power away from the chiefs, you turn them into the king's dogs. By saying that law stems from you, you take away the yeoman's shield. By raising the taxes, you drain the freeholder dry. Oh, I know such is not your intent, but thus it happens."

  "And would you have us molder in an outworn round, till those who've had the wit to go forward come trampling across us?" demanded Harald.

  "No, no, I suppose it must be." Ulf made a wry face. "But glad I am I'll not live to see the end of it. I only wished to say your foes have some justice with them."

  "That boots me not. Were I to niggle over rights and wrongs, I'd still be sitting on the farm in Hringariki."

  "No doubt. Well, how goes it at home? Is Queen Ellisif in good health?"

  "Good enough." Harald gave him an edged look. "You were ever a friend to her, were you not?"

  "Yes, she's a sweet lass, and braver than most will believe." The green eyes turned downward. "I'd not meddle in your affairs, but—No. Let's think about next summer's raiding."

  3

  When Harald returned to Nidharos, he learned from a crew of spies he had sent out that Haakon Ivarsson had been well received by Svein in Roskilde. Not only the Norsemen plagued Denmark; wild Wends and Kurlanders were apt to come harrying until many strands lay deserted for miles inland. Haakon had spent most of his times aboard in West-Viking, where he won a high name as a captain. So Svein put him in charge of the coast defenses. Among the Southern islands he was not likely to meet Harald's men, his own blood. But by thus bulwarking the realm, he made it stronger on every front.

  Harald traveled much about that winter, by horse and sled and ski. He hunted down each story of plots against him, which were not few. Several chieftains were haled to Nidharos and asked to swear faith to him on Olaf's shrine. Some refused, and Harald let them go home, but afterward they were set on and killed. This was not his own work. Every powerful man had enemies, and Harald, like Magnus before him, simply gave the foes of his foes to understand they could take private revenge without having to answer to him.

  Thus he broke the back of rebellion. Meanwhile he had men
of his own, like the well-spoken Thjodholf, travel about and put his case wherever they guested. Had he not raised the chieftains of the Southern shires to equal dignity with the Thronds? At the same time, would not the whole land gain by an end to bickering and feuds between the great men? Had he not won back the Orkney realm, and encouraged foreign trade, and kept out the bishops from Bremen who would be creatures of the Danish king, and himself built churches and planned a town on the Oslofjord? The smallholders had nothing to fear from Harald Hardrede; he was their friend, who gave them peace and justice, humbled overlords that once rode roughshod over them, brought in wealth and seemly new customs, opened a gate on the outside world.

  By such means, slowly, he won more and more folk to him, especially the young.

  Also during that winter, Elizabeth was brought to bed of a child, which proved to be a girl and was named Ingigerdh as Harald had promised. A couple of months afterward, Thora bore Olaf. When the boy was laid in her arms, she had the look of victory.

  X

  How Kalf Was Rewarded

  1

  In spring Finn Arnason sent a ship to Orkney with word; but his brother Kalf did not return until fall. King Harald had spent that summer harrying in Denmark with a small fleet; he was now down on the Oslofjord getting work started in earnest on his new town.

  On a cold morning, when the wind tasted of salt and stung tears from men's eyes, four ships came in to the dock at Finn's garth. First ashore was a burly man who sprang to clasp the sheriff's hand. "Welcome home!" cried Finn, less steadily than was his wont.

  Hands went to shoulders and the brothers regarded each other awhile. They were much alike in looks, though Kalf seemed younger than his years. His beard bristled brownish-red, his eyes were small and light, their coldness now abated.

  "Glad I am to see you," he said. Finn had visited him on the West-Viking trip, but that was many months ago and they had parted thinking they would never meet again. He looked around and snuffed the keen air. "And good to be home. I've much to thank you for, Finn."

  The sheriff scowled. "Perhaps I did you an ill turn. There's scant friendship between me and the king these days."

  "So I hear and what of it? I've been sick for my own land. That Hebrides fief was naught but sea grass and turf huts. Also ..." Kalf paused. "But we can talk of that later. Let's get the ships unloaded. I have gifts to give."

  Bergljot Halfdanardottir bustled about preparing a noon meal while the cargo was fetched ashore. Afterward Kalf had to tell them somewhat of his travels. "... And do the Scots really dress like women?" The girls giggled, and children squealed with laughter.

  "Yes, they go in long, colored cloths which reach over the shoulder and wrap around the loins. But they fight like men, I can swear. King Macbeth is a mighty warrior; I only hope he may keep his throne."

  It was late afternoon before Kalf said he wanted to walk off the meat he had stuffed into himself. He and Finn took spears and strolled down along the shore. The sea ramped at their feet, wind hissed through sparse grass and trees, knotted and bent; gulls flew up in mewing clouds. Finn's cloak flapped wildly from his neck; he pulled it back about him and walked in silence for a while.

  "Well," said Kalf, "I hope Harald keeps his oath to you and restores my rights."

  "Oh . . . surely he'll do that. I got him to swear before witnesses, and worded the oath carefully. He's a slippery rascal; his breach with Haakon Ivarsson depended on what was meant by a dowry. But he should keep to the letter of his promise, at least." Finn blinked, and his mouth twisted. "Bitter, not to be able to trust your own lord."

  "There have been too many kings," said Kalf roughly. "Maybe now you're sorry you fought for King Olaf."

  "I fought by a saint!" said Finn.

  "Well, no doubt, but he was no saint in this life. Let's not rake up old scores, brother; we were all too wroth with each other after Stiklastadh. Best we go on from where we now stand."

  "And where would you go?"

  "Toward freedom."

  Finn trudged on. The low sun blazed in his eyes, red across a flying waste of waters. He said at length: "The king will demand you swear to serve him as you did Magnus."

  "Gladly will I, in those words." Kalf grinned. "For how did I serve Magnus? He drove me from my own hearth."

  Finn clenched his spear shaft hard. "I fear no good can come of working against Harald Hardrede. Give him his due, he's bold and wise, more like to to outwit you than you him."

  "Worse to kneel at his feet," growled Kalf. "Oh, fear not, I shan't leap at him. I'll bide my time. I'll be very friendly to his bawd Thora, though it eats me that kin of ours should bed with him. But think, Finn, how a strong chief, who knew whom to trust and what hour to pick, could raise a rebel banner and folk would swarm to him."

  Finn hunched his shoulders and peered around as if spies might crouch among the rocks. "I fear otherwise," he said. "Too many has he broken. And the rest . . . Well, he's gained the love of more than you think. Remember, each man cut down was a gain to someone else. And his great works and great dreams, yes, even himself. I too have felt it a little."

  "You grow old," said Kalf with an odd tenderness.

  "Yes, I do. It happens to all men. I can't see so well any more, and a day's work tires me, and sometimes what is years gone is more real to me than what lies before my grasp." Finn lifted his hand and saw it was shrunken and spotted. "The young men serve the king, the ruthless young who crowd us into our graves to make room for themselves. I can't understand much of their talk. Boys had more respect for their elders in my day."

  "Your day isn't past, old Finn." Kalf laid an arm about his brother's shoulders. "You and I can still show those whelps what manhood is." He stopped and said fiercely, "Have you ever thought that if Harald Fairhair had not been victorious, the Arnmodhlings might be kings of Norway?"

  Finn gaped at him, half frightened. "What do you mean?"

  "Our house is as old as theirs. It's brought forth as many strong men."

  "But, Kalf, the throne is odal property! God Himself has given the Ynglings that right."

  "Or Harald Fairhair's sword? I've never heard tell he was aught but a heathen. . . . Well, we'll say no more of this for now. But remember my words, and think on them."

  The king came back to Nidharos in late fall. His mood was good, the summer's raiding had gone well and Oslo town was growing at the end of the fjord where only a few fisher hamlets had lain before. When he found Kalf Arnason waiting for him, he bade the chief welcome, and after taking oaths restored to him his lands and titles. Thereto he added the gift of a ship, and said: "Those who remain true to me shall never know want while I live; but my foes have reason to call me Hardrede. Do not forget that, Kalf. And now, God be with you, and we'll go to war together next year."

  He walked about the town, and whenever he saw a new building he stopped and asked how the owner fared. "Fine, it's well that there should be trade." He grinned. "The more taxes for me! But I'll favor any man who brings in foreign goods."

  At the Lady Church, he watched the stonemasons at their work. He had told them how that was done abroad, and now he went carefully over the rising walls. When he saw poorly laid courses, he ordered them ripped out and done over. Men said that so stout a work had never been known in the North erenow.

  It happened that a merchant from Iceland was in Nidharos who was an old friend of Thjodholf's. His name was Brand Vemundsson, and they called him the Openhanded because of his generosity. The skald had been singing his praises to the king ever since he arrived, urging that he be guested in the royal house. Now, as Harald returned home for the noon meal, he said: 'Thjodholf, you've told me so much about this fellow that I'm fain to test him. Go and ask him if he'll give me his cloak."

  The Icelander looked surprised, but bowed and left. He found Brand in a room of the house where he had taken lodgings, measuring out linen to sell. The trader was not a large man, but bore himself well and was nobly clad in a scarlet kirtle and a cowled cloak of t
he same hue. As he sheared off the cloak, he gripped a small gold-inlaid ax under one arm.

  "Good day, Thjodholf," he said. "What brings you here?"

  The skald cleared his throat. "I'm sent by the king," he replied awkwardly. "He wants your mantle."

  Wordlessly, Brand gave it over and went on with his work. Thjodholf trudged back to the hall and up to the king, on whose lap he laid the cloak. Harald felt of the cloth. "Well," he asked, "how did your errand go?"

  "He spoke no word, my lord. I think he was displeased, as ... as well he might be."

  Harald lifted his brows. "Tell me about him. What other gear has he?" When Thjodholf had described that, the king said: "He must indeed be a proud man, and a powerful one, if he did not even feel the need of words. Go back and tell him that I'll accept his golden ax."