by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)
She regarded him strangely. "How much do you think of them," she asked, "and how much of yourself?"
"I know not," he answered. Iron clashed in his tone as he rose. "Nor do I care. I am as I am, and before God, I will never betray myself."
Elizabeth watched him stalk out. Well, she thought, it was what she could expect for having married a whirlwind.
In the following days, Harald rode about the countryside, giving judgment and levying fines and taxes. No one dared speak against him—to his face; even Ulf abated his tongue and retired to his home where Jorunn was with child. But one evening, when Harald and his troops were staying at a large garth, he said to Thjodholf: "Give us a verse. We have too many long faces here." The skald cleared his throat and chanted loudly.
"How one sits or stands
is said by kingly order;
all of his underlings hearken
and after his wishes follow.
But now to his nod the people
do naught but bow as in thralldom,
coming and going like cravens
at kingly behest, wolf-feeder."
Harald looked into his half-frightened eyes. "I am not Magnus," he said, "nor are you Sighvat."
The Icelander bit his lip and returned to his bench. Another skald stood up to give more fulsome praise.
2
A Thing was to be held in Nidharos, where lawsuits would be brought forth, and men streamed into the town from the whole Throndlaw. Merchants opened their booths, displaying goods from many lands: Finnish fur and leather and bows; Greenland pelts and walrus ivory; Danish herring, Icelandic wadmal; English silver; Eastern silks and gold work. A few inns had lately been started by men who had seen such places abroad, and they roared day and night.
Einar Thambaskelfir, with his wife and son, sailed down to Nidharos with a mighty following. It was no secret that the sheriff had begun keeping armed men at home, but now he brought nearly five hundred warrior yeomen in eight ships. Harald stood on the gallery of his house by the river. It was a clear cool day in late summer with a breeze gusting down from the mountains. Beside him were Ulf, Styrkaar, and Thora. They had been watching the colorful stream of folk—tall men in fine clothes, gold-bedecked women, yelling children, dogs and pigs and horses and fluttering sparrows. Now Ulf stiffened and squinted down to the river docks, near the place where the stream entered the fjord. "What kind of fleet is that standing in?" he asked.
Harald shaded his eyes. The warcraft rowed to the docks and were tied up, men took the shields hung at the bulwarks and went ashore, a small army rattled up the street. As it neared, Harald cursed. "Einar!" he spat.
"What the devil does he want with such a band?" asked Styrkaar.
"I think he trusts us but little," said Ulf dryly.
The sheriff came by, almost under the gallery. His stout old body was erect, a helmet gleaming on his gray head, an ax over one broad shoulder. Beside him walked his wife Bergljot, wrapped in a marten-trimmed silken cloak, still good to look on for all the years that lined her face. On the other side was Eindridhi, stepping lightly, his yellow mane aloft. They did not look up as they passed the king, but their mouths locked in coldness; the yeoman behind tramped by with thunderous brows, and the whole party wended its way toward Einar's town house.
Harald's clenched fist beat softly on the vine-carved gallery rail; he shivered from the effort it took not to smash splinters out of the wood. "Best we ready the guardsmen," said Ulf.
Harald nodded. As if to himself, he made a verse:
"Here I see faring the fighting
furrower of the billows,
Einar, with all too many
angry men from the water;
surely he hopes, with his hauling
of hosts, to sit in the king's seat;
fewer the folk that I've seen
to follow a jarl on his travels.
"I think he, who thunders on shield rims,
will throw us out of the country,
unless this Einar kisses
the ax edge ere myself do—
He stopped, daunted by the roads his thoughts were taking. Styrkaar said: "Aye, my lord, what else can it be? No man bent on peace carries five hundred swords."
"Perhaps he is only afraid," said Ulf. "He may fear treachery on our part."
"Yes, that's what he thinks of you!" ripped from Thora. "Can such a man ever be aught but a foe?" She grabbed Harald's arm till the nails dug into his sleeve and the flesh beneath. "Do you mean to let him ring in this house and burn it?"
"He may not intend—" began Harald.
His leman stamped her foot. She was some months with child, but as yet it showed little on her full body. The breeze ruffled her smoke-red hair, the greenish eyes were narrowed, her nostrils flared and blood beat up into the wide strong face. "He will!" she cried. "If not now, then later. Hew him down before it's too late!"
"He has . . . not given an open cause . . . yet," said Harald.
"Is this the king who conquered the South and chivvied Svein like a fox?" she asked scornfully. "No, you left your heart behind in Denmark this year, like everything else."
"Have done!" he roared.
Styrkaar tugged at his mustache; the cold pale eyes were thoughtful. "Your lady speaks truth, my lord," he said. "If you cut down I know not how many Saracens and Danes, will you boggle at one Norseman?"
Harald passed a hand over his face. "But he is a Norseman," he groaned. "No . . . say no more. Have the guards ready for trouble, but while Einar keeps the peace there will be no killing from our side."
"As you will, my lord," said Styrkaar. Thora caught his eye, and she nodded. "But I'll sound out the guards and find whom we can trust if it should be needful." He shambled off, bearlike.
Thora took Harald's arm. "Come," she said. "The time grows near to eat."
At eventide, as they went to bed, she stopped by Magnus's crib. The prince was growing fast, handsome gold-curled lad outrageously spoiled by every servant and guardsman. Thora bent over and kissed his sleeping eyes. "There, now, my pretty," she said. "Einar Thambaskelfir shall not harm you while I live."
"Nor while I do," said Harald; his face was pale.
"A she-bear will attack if anyone so much as comes near her cubs," said Thora with a jeering note. "But the he-bear cares naught."
"Enough!" snapped Harald. "Let's to sleep."
She yielded to his embrace, but coldly, and in the next few days lost no chance to goad him.
The Thing met in the market square, men massed together before the great stone block on which the king and the lawmen had their bench. It was mainly a meeting to settle disputes between folk, quarrels over boundaries and shares, weregild for woundings and slayings. Einar and Eindridhi were present, but stood aside among their men.
They happened to be away, however, on the third morning, when a thief was brought up for judgment. He was a brisk young fellow, who met the king's eye boldly though his hands were tied behind him. Ulf announced the charge: Thorolf Vigleiksson had been seen with a purse of money which the merchant Gudhbrand the Fat had had stolen from him in a crowd; the king's men had laid hands on him at Gudhbrand's word, and now here he stood.
Harald leaned forward. "You must take the oath and say if you are guilty or not," he said; "and a lie will send your soul to hell."
Thorolf smiled. "No need to swear, my lord," he said. "I took the money. I am a poor man, and this Gudhbrand seemed rich, to judge from his well-lined belly; so I thought for once in my life I'd enjoy some honest eating and drinking."
"Then know that a thief is hanged," said Harald.
Thorolf whitened. "A man's life for a few coins?"
"A man's life for the safety of honest folk. However, since this seems to be your first crime, I will set mercy before justice and condemn you to exile."
"My lord, I have a wife and children. Only I can keep the croft which feeds them ..."
"Let your kin look after them, or take them with you. Now be done, ere I
change my mind," snapped Harald. Something about a man who stole by stealth prickled his flesh, he knew not why.
Another man trod forth; Harald recognized him as one of Einar's stewards. "My lord," he said, "this Thorolf served long and well at my master's house ere he got his own small farm, and I know my master has ever been his friend. Our house will make restitution to Gudhbrand, and pay whatever fine you set, if you will pardon Thorolf."
"So now Thambaskelfir is the brother of thieves!" growled Harald. "It scarcely surprises me, but I'll surely not let this nidhing go to wreak more ill. Hold him here today for all to see, then keep him locked away until a ship can be found that will take him." He rose, it was time for his midday meal, and went from the square with his guards. Behind him, he heard men mutter.
Thora stood in the hall as he entered. "Well," she asked, "did Einar give you leave to come home and eat?"
"Be still," he snarled. Stamping over to the table, he sat down with the warriors and a maidservant laid before him a round of flatbread heaped with salt cod.
"What's this?" he said. "It's no fast day."
Thora's lip lifted. "Get used to such fare, my lord," she counseled. "That's the best we'll have when the yeomen drive us from the land."
Harald's fist crashed on the board. "Be still or home you go!" he shouted.
"Better cleave to what friends you own," she told him with frost on her words.
The guardsmen shifted uneasily, down the long benches, and stared at their food and ate in silence. Eyes went sideways, to nettle against Harald's skin.
They had not finished the meal when a carle burst in. He slipped on the rushes and went down in a welter of dogs. "What's wrong now?" cried Harald, leaping to his feet.
"My lord ... my lord ..." The carle got up, shaking. "It's the sheriff—that thief you judged today—"
"Yes?" Harald came to him in three strides, picked him up by the coat, and shook him as a hound shakes a hare. "What would you say? Tell me before I knock your teeth in!"
"The sheriff ... his son ... my lord, they brought armed men to the Thingstead and freed the thief and took him away with them!"
Harald dropped him on the floor and looked around, into silence. Thora's breast heaved.
"That's an end of this." The king's voice came thin and far away. "Now he has broken the peace himself. Gather the guard, Ulf."
The marshal's ugly face twisted. "The custom was ever to try healing a breach before swords came out," he mumbled.
"Yes, my lord," said Thjodholf, starting forward. "He may yield. I'll go myself and speak to him."
Harald shook his head. The blue eyes were glazed. "Never again can peace be between us. If I let him defy me thus, he'll go on to something worse."
"He stood on the Long Snake when Olaf Tryggvason was sore beset," said Ulf. "He broke the Knytlings for you."
"As he will break you, my lord, if you let him," said Styrkaar.
Eystein's beardless face was bent toward the floor. "He is my own kinsman," he whispered. "I'll stand by you, my lord, if worst comes to worst, but God grant it be not so."
"A battle would rip the town open," said Ulf. "If we must fight him, let it be somewhere outside."
Harald swung on Thjodholf, furiously. "Well, go, then!" he shouted. "Go and bid him come hither. But take men with you if you want to come back on your feet."
The skald went out, buckling on his sword belt; Ulf, Eystein, and several others followed. The hall grew very quiet.
3
"And this is what the king's word is worth," said Thora at last.
"I asked not for woman chatter," said Harald dully. He stood with head lowered, hands clasped behind his back, and the dogs cringed away.
"Send me home!" she said. "I care not to stay with a braggart. Keep the boy; with such a father, he's worth naught." She wheeled and left the room.
Styrkaar got his ax. "This is more than Einar being true to a friend," he declared. "It's a locking of horns. The whole land will think it can do as it pleases, if you let him go free."
"I am not one to murder a man," said Harald.
"It can scarce be called murder when his following is as great as yours, or greater." Styrkaar took his helmet from a peg on the wall. "In any case, my lord, I'll do it; you need not bloody your hands."
"Have done," said Harald. "I can do my own killing."
He went up to the high seat and sat there, resting his chin on his fist. None cared to risk speaking. After a long time Thjodholf and the others returned.
"Well?" asked Harald tonelessly.
"He and Eindridhi will come, my lord, to talk over the matter."
"Is he ready to give up the thief?"
Thjodholf looked at the floor. "He said he would not desert a man who had served him well, but would make payment as his steward offered at the Thing."
"And what of his lawbreaking by using force there?"
"He said nothing about that, my lord."
"Well ..." Harald sighed, shook himself, and rose. He spoke softly. "We'd have come to swords in the end. Let it be now."
Styrkaar grinned and slapped his thigh. "Well done, King!"
Ulf's face went blank. "So be it," he said. "The guards are ready."
Eystein nodded, as if his skull had grown too heavy for him. The other warriors looked up eagerly, waiting their orders.
Harald walked about, commanding them to their places. Most he posted around the courtyard leading to the hall, a ring of armed and armored men in Ulf's charge. He himself went into the entryroom with half a dozen. He told them to close the shutter of the only window, up in the loft, so that little light could reach them; then, in a thick gloom, he waited.
"Take the banner, Eystein," he said.
"Yes, my lord." The boy's hand shook, but he gripped the staff.
Presently Einar and Eindridhi arrived. With a stamping across flagstones, the yeomen followed, the whole five hundred bearing shield and helmet, packed together inside the wall of the king's men. Spears bristled out of their mass, the afternoon sunlight ran off the whetted heads.
Einar turned to his son and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is a risky business," he said. His eyes looked out of their crow's-feet with a deep warmth. "Were it not a matter of our very manhood, I'd not go in."
"I too—" began Eindridhi.
"No, wait out here with our folk." Einar looked at the outnumbered guardsmen, and dropped a big hand to his sword hilt. "Then I'll be in no danger. He hasn't that much courage."
His broad form blocked out the light within as he stepped across the threshold. "Dark is the king's room," he said.
Harald's blade hissed free of the scabbard, but it was Styrkaar who rushed forth, ax swinging. The dull meaty sound came of steel going into flesh. Einar roared, stumbling back, and the guardsmen were over him in an iron storm.
Eindridhi heard the noise, yanked out his sword, and plunged after his father. Harald saw his shadowy figure go down, and cursed. "That was my task!" he cried.
Outside, Ulf yelled an order, and some of the guards sprang in front of the door. The yeomen stood agape, hardly knowing as yet what had happened. Then someone shouted: "Einar is dead! The king has murdered him!"
"Kill him!"
The front rank lurched, half pushed from behind toward the line of guards. Ulf brandished his sword and a fence of spears snapped down around the court. The yeomen swore, milling about and egging each other on, but none would be the first to die.
There came a clash and clank from the doorway, and King Harald stood there, looming over them, helm and byrnie shimmering like gray ice. Beside him, the raven banner unfurled and caught the breeze. For a moment he stared at the crowd, and nobody met his eyes. Then the few guardsmen behind him fell into battle formation, and he led them forward. No one spoke a word; like cattle, the yeomen scrambled aside and the king went past them and into the street.
When he had come some way, Harald heard the shouting break loose. The strong force he had left under Ulf coul
d defend the hall, his family should be safer there than anywhere else, but by sunset revolt would be aboil throughout the town. "What now shall we do, my lord?" asked Styrkaar. He hefted his ax, which still dripped blood. "Let them rise against us and put them down?"
"Not unless we must," said Harald. He looked straight before him, and his face was wooden. "Two murders are enough for one day. We'll take ship out to Austratt, Finn Arnason's garth, and ask his help. The folk will listen to him."
"Good," agreed Styrkaar. "If you're gone a few days, tempers should cool."
"Yes, the rabble have not brain enough even to carry a grudge. What we must do is forestall any who might seek to lead them. Come, down to the docks." The guards tramped behind him, and folk were quick to make way.
Bergljot Haakonsdottir was at her husband's town house when a man came running in. She looked up from her weaving and asked: "What is that uproar I hear in the streets?" Sharply: "And why do you weep?"
"The king has murdered my master and his son."
Bergljot sat very quiet. Briefly, her eyes closed. Then she rose and went out. The house keys rattled at her waist as she walked swiftly to the royal hall. Scores of folk surged about, under the wary eyes of guardsmen who ringed in the buildings, but some recognized her and forced a way through.
Ulf had had Einar and Eindridhi laid honorably in the courtyard. Bergljot stooped over them. Her hands brushed the son's red-matted hair and went across his husband's gashed forehead; she closed their eyes. "Then farewell, my dearest," she whispered, "and thank you."
Rising, she swept the armed yeomen with a gaze like dry flame. Her voice lifted. "Are you waiting there yet? Are you not men enough to avenge him who ever stood by you? What do you mope here for when a murderer and tyrant walks the earth?"
"My lady ..." One of them pointed to the guards who leaned on their weapons and waited.
"And you with twice their numbers!" she shrieked. "God cast you down to hell! A dog would fight if its master were slain, but you, you crawling slime-gutted spew of a sick codfish, you stand and let him spit on you and lick it off and thank him. When did he geld you? Coal-biting cowards, spineless brainless gutless muck worms, Satan fry you so you sizzle! Give me a sword! I, old and alone, am more a man than any hundred of you! Cut them down, I tell you! Burn the house! Feed Harald your spears, trample his pack of hirelings in the mud, throw his whores off a cliff, dash his brats' brains out! If you let this hell spawn of an Yngling house live, you'll have collars about your necks and whips on your backs. God curse you now if you betray your friends. Blood, blood on my hands here, blood on the defiled earth, all Norway is one swamp of blood while that wolf runs loose. Follow me and kill him!"