by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)
"Heathendom again," muttered Gyrdh. "That outlander! He's in pact with the Devil, you mark my words."
The priest's face did not stir; it was hard to say if he had heard or not. He seemed indeed to have stepped from the gaunt strangeness of a southern icon.
"There's enough," growled Gunnar. "Too much have you spoke against our good king and his ways. Better you keep still." He lifted a fist the size of a young ham, and Gyrdh withdrew sullenly.
"Always the ravens to croak at us," went on Gunnar. "And us with a kingdom to overrun." He scratched after a flea, caught it, and chuckled. "Hoy, little one, thought you to come along and sit you on some sweet English maiden? That's my own task, so go to Valhall and pump Thor." He cracked it between his teeth. "And now I've won that battle, I thirst. How's for some beer, lads?"
"If you have any in your chest," said Thjodholf. "The ship's beer goes out only at the king's word."
"Oh, aye. My chest holds ax, armor, a lucky charm, and a change of garments. The rest is beer jugs."
Thjodholf whistled. "There speaks a man! But what if your ax should break?"
"Why," said Gunnar, "I'll snatch me a new one. They say those English Housecarles bear axes of right size."
He opened his box, got out a crock, and passed it around. When it came back to him, he drained it.
"Ah! That goes good. What about a verse, Thjodholf—a merrier one than those we've been hearing of late?"
The skald cleared his throat. Gunnar had not the means to give him a reward, so he said: "Perhaps you'd like to hear one I made for the king awhile back. It treats of his warfare down in the south.
"I heard that mighty Harald
held full eighteen battles.
All were bloody—often
urged the chieftain peace-breach.
Eagles' claws you colored,
king, ere wending homeward;
and the wolves were eating
everywhere you tarried."
"A fine verse!" roared Gunnar. "A noble verse! Skall!”
2
They had not sailed long when the wind stiffened into a gale and the waters crashed and boomed and climbed over the gunwales. Across a crazed salt waste, under a low-flying wrack, Harald saw his fleet scattered. Far off, through the spindrift, Eystein's ship could be seen; now she was borne into the sky, now she was pitched hell ward, a chip in a maelstrom, until the darkness ate her. That long did Maria cling to the bulwark and stare after the sliver which impaled her hopes: her mantle was ripped, her dress and hair sodden, ere she went down to join her mother and sister in the cabin.
Harald took the steering oar himself, bracing his feet and bending his thews. Down in the hull, the rowers fought to hold the Fafnir steady, while the rest bailed. A wave marched by, overtopping the ship like a wrinkled cliff; men craned their necks back to see its white mane. They slid below it, writhed across its roots, and dug nose into another. Spray sheeted at the bows. The wind skirled and chanted till their heads rang.
Hoo-ah! The ship stood on her beam-ends, shook herself so the crew rattled about, and the sky whirled as she canted over to the other side. Two lesser waves picked her up at bow and stern, Harald heard the keel yammer between, then they dropped her and the sea fountained to starboard and larboard.
A billow washed across the decks. Suddenly the horse pen was smashed. The beasts had been securely bound, but the tall black stallion broke free. Screaming, he went to his knees, staggered up, and lashed with his forefeet at Thor. "Get him tied!" shouted Harald. "Get him tied ere he brains someone!" The wind snatched his voice and shredded it.
Olaf dropped his bailing bucket and leaped toward the horse. A roll threw him beneath the creature's legs. He grabbed a thwart and pulled himself to his feet while maddened hoofs flailed around him. Lunging, he got the bridle and fell with it.
The stallion jerked and bit at the boy. Gunnar Geiroddsson let go his oar and jumped to give aid. He got hold of the hind legs and yanked them out from under. Down came the horse. Gunnar fell on top and wrestled him while Olaf got him tied.
Rising, Gunnar cut the ropes that held the chicken coop and lifted it with its squawking cargo and threw it overboard. Then he found another oar and gave himself again to the ship.
So the night went. Toward morning the wind fell, but the seas still ran heavy. Day brought thick overcast and smoky clouds racing beneath it; men gaped at each other in a kind of dull-eyed wonder that they yet lived.
Harald gave the helm to Thjodholf and went forward. His hands were cramped together, he could not at once uncurl the blistered fingers, and he ached and his belly growled; but there was a strange lightness in him. The storm had blown away his forebodings and he felt almost young again.
"Ease up," he cried. "We'll stay afloat now. Hjalti, see if you can make some kind of breakfast. . . . Olaf! Are you well, boy?"
"Yes." The lad slumped on a thwart, his drenched hair hiding a bent head. He shivered in the keen wind. "I'm tired but otherwise naught ails me."
"I thought you a dead man when you lay there under Kolfaxi's hooves." Harald gripped his son's shoulder. "That was bravely done. I never thought you a man before."
Olaf lifted weary eyes. "Must one kill to be a man?" he asked.
Harald did not reply, but turned to Gunnar. "You did well also," he said, "and I'll not forget it."
"Aa . . . 'twas naught, my lord." The giant blushed and looked at his feet. Water still gurgled around them. All the crew were soaked to the bone, their hands were puffy with waterlogging.
"But why did you throw the hens overboard? We'll have no eggs or fowl till we see England."
"Why, my lord, when Ran is hungry, she must be fed. Else she'd have eaten us."
Harald grinned. "Still a heathen at heart!"
"No, my lord," cried Gunnar, shocked. "It can't be heathendom, because priest says the heathen get no good from their sacrifices, and we was saved."
Harald lifted his shoulders, spread his hands, and looked to heaven.
He found Hallvardh Flatnose, a gray old Viking who had made several voyages west, and asked him: "Know you where we are or which way we're bound?"
Hallvardh scratched his head. "I'm not sure, my lord. I think the wind's shifted more southerly. Had we any sun, I could tell more or less how far north we are, but the clouds are too thick for even a sunstone to help. I'd say we are bound almost due west, like to fetch up around Shetland, but could take no oath on it."
"Well ..." The king looked outward. He saw many ships, widely scattered, but more than half his fleet was not in sight. "Let's bring together what craft we can find and run before the wind. The rest know where to meet, and I think few if any went down."
While food was readied, he went among the crew, cheering them and calming their fears. "What, this gale a bad sign? Nonsense! Not a man of us was hurt, and we've hardly even sprung a leak. I take it to be the best of signs, a token that we'll overcome whatever seeks to stop us." They had rarely seen him in so friendly a mood.
Elizabeth and the girls emerged, to huddle together with teeth chattering. Maria looked hollow-eyed, and Harald chucked her under the chin and laughed: "There, there, fear not for your betrothed, he's the best of sailors. You'll meet him at Orkney, where we'll rest a bit ere leaving you to await our victory."
She tried to smile.
Ingigerdh snuffled and sneezed. "The worst will be going back to that dripping cabin while the men change their garments," she complained. Olaf grinned, and she grew aware of what she had said and turned fire-red. "No, no ... I meant not ... I meant to say that . . .oh, stop it, you big lout!"
Harald whooped laughter.
They had rallied the ships and were running on reefed sail before Elizabeth sought out her husband. He stood soothing his mount while the pen was repaired. Some of the other horses had broken legs and were killed and thrown overboard; no few men remembered heathen feasts and looked dreamily at that forbidden meat. "There, you," murmured the king. "There, my handsome one, there, Kolfax
i, think of bearing me in triumph through London. Think of green English pastures and sleek English fillies." His hands were gentle on the blue-black hide.
The queen was pale from seasickness, she shivered inside her heavy cloak and crept near her husband. Harald regarded her with compassion. "You should have had a keel under you more often," he said. "Even the best sailors are apt to turn their stomachs the first day or two. But I seem to have done you an ill turn by asking you along."
"I'd not have stayed behind," she whispered.
He smiled and, making it seem by chance, lowered his head and brushed his lips across her cheek.
"You've changed," she said. "You were so gloomy when we left Nidharos; but now you're like a young boy."
He nodded. "Aye. There were evil tokens, I'd almost a mind to stop the whole faring. But since we wrestled that gale to its knees ..."
He squinted out across the hurrying sea. "The heart of man is a strange thing," he murmured. "I had many doubts. . . . You, my dear, planted no few of them. And yet . . . look you, Ellisif. All these years, since I won the throne, I've done naught. I tried, I battered my head against a mountain. ... No, say rather I went around and around in a scummy pool, while the river flowed past me and I grew old. I could not bend the folk, I could not win Denmark, you know not what a bitterness that was."
"Did it matter greatly?" she asked. "Your soul is worth more than any earthly gain."
"It mattered," he said. "I am so made. But today there's an end of doubt. I'll not leave England till it's mine—ours—or till I'm dead. There's no more questioning about whether it can be done, or whether it's righteous, or . . . anything save the doing. A great venture and a last spending of strength, it's what I wanted and all I wanted."
"You are a strong man," she said in pity, "and yet you flee from your own thoughts."
He shrugged. "That's as may be, Ellisif. But riddle me this: now when I go to war against men who never offended me, there's no more hatred in me, not for anyone. I see that Svein Estridhsson is a wise and valiant man. . . . Only now do I see what courage it took to fight a losing war for twenty years, and never give up, and live by hope alone. And Haakon Jarl, there's another good warrior; and my namesake in England. . . . Oh, I'd fight them yet, but they'd be almost friends even as we crossed blades."
He sighed happily. "Yes, much to do. I was wrong to war endlessly for Denmark when a whole world waited. After we have England . . . another voyage to Jotunheim, in a real fleet? Or seeking out this fair Vinland they seem to have lost again? Or—I know not. I know only that my heart has returned to me."
3
The Fafnir and her following reached Shetland after a quick passage, saw moorland rise steep from a smother of surf, and made landing at Lorwick to rest and refurbish for a day or two. The folk here were mostly Norse, smallholders who greeted their king well, but Harald did not wish to tarry. Erelong he steered south to the Orkneys, and in Scapa Row he found the rest of his fleet anchored with the Thorfinnssons' ships. It was a mighty array, the water seemed floored with strakes and Stromness was ringed by camp fires.
Harald went ashore at the little town. Here for the first time he saw Scots, rangy kilted men who spoke a strange tongue; but again, the Orkney people had come mostly from Norway and their dialect was not much different from his.
Paul and Erlend, tall weather-bitten youths, received him at their hall and gave him the high seat. They had good news: the English ship-fyrd had disbanded on the Nativity of St. Mary, and no few vessels were lost in the gales on their way home; likewise the land levies which Harold Godwinsson had kept out during summer were gone home; Earl Tosti would meet the Norse at Tynemouth with such English and Flemings as he had, to do homage and give help; the Normans were still weatherbound, and it was said desertion was melting William's army away. King Harold lay in the south, and it would be long ere he could reach north to help the Alfgarssons.
Harold Hardrede drained the jarls of their knowledge. He had questioned so many, so closely, that it seemed he had already been in England; he knew where every Northumbrian river ran, and where the strongpoints were, and what to expect at each. There would be hard fighting, but he was certain his army could quickly take the northern shires; then, if the Normans should land, the southern English would look on him as a rescuer, and aid him. "But if need be," he said, "we'll break both nations. We'll hold England by spring."
Under the walls of the town, Eystein and Maria found each other. They stood for long, only looking, until she gave a small cry, forgot the folk around and threw herself into his arms.
He held her close, and did not let go her hands when she stepped back. "Each day you grow more fair," he said.
"I was afraid for you," said the girl. "When I thought we were going to sink, I prayed God to take me rather than you ... or if He must take you, to have pity and bring me along."
"No," smiled Eystein, "you should not ask that. Whatever happens to me, I hope you will live to gladden the earth for many years."
Her small fine head shook. "It will always be my prayer," she said, "that we go together."
"Once this war is over, we will," he vowed, purposely misunderstanding her.
"It will be hard to wait, and harder still not to know."
"I'll send messengers." Eystein smiled. "Come now, my darling, this is no time for tears. We've a good three days ere I sail again."
"I would I could live only for the hour."
"What else does man have?" Eystein's head lifted, and he laughed. "No more of such sorrow. I go to win a jarldom for our sons. Meanwhile we have each other, and I want naught but your nearness."
She blinked back the tears and laughed with him; for she was a king's daughter.
On the last evening before the fleet went south, Harald and Elizabeth walked out alone. They did not reckon the guardsmen who followed several yards behind. "Shall we go along the shore?" asked Harald.
"No," said the queen. "Inland, if you will. I hate the sea."
"Oh, you've earth underfoot."
"It, the sea, has taken too many men."
Harald shrugged, but obeyed her wish. They left the town behind and followed an upward road. When they reached a height, they stopped and sat down on a rock.
Heath and the little farms gnawed from it lay at their backs; the ling was blooming in purple, and gulls flew into the low red sun. Beneath them bustled the town, and Scapa Flow brawled with ships and men, but here they were alone where only the wind and the gulls had voice.
"And so you sail," murmured Elizabeth after a while. "How long will you be gone?"
"I know not. It shouldn't be too long. As soon as we hold Northumbria and Yorkshire firmly, I'll send for you."
"May it be soon."
Harald leaned back on his elbow. He saw her face graven across a hugeness of sky. Beyond, clouds were turning gold, as if to make a crown for her.
"I've done you much harm," he said gently. "And I fear I always will."
"It is naught," she answered, laying a hand in his. "You have done me more good, simply by being."
"A strange life we've had," he mused. "What began as a wedding of two houses has become one of two humans."
"Three," she replied.
"Well . . ."
"I hold no more grudge against Thora. She gives you something I cannot. Let that be to her honor."
"You are the first," he told her. "At times I think you were ever the first, and I too blind to know it."
Elizabeth smiled and looked down at him. "What should I say?" she asked. "Should I tell you to keep your feet warm, and not to fare forth without a mail coat? Or should I ask you to deal justly with your foes and remember God? I can give you no counsel . . . only wait."
"It should not be for long. We'll have a merry winter, you and I."
"I pray it be so." Something tore her voice. "If it is not . . ."
"All men must die. If I should fall, Ellisif, do you look after our daughters, and lend Olaf your wisdom. He heeds you."
The gray eyes blurred. "I would not be able to keep living without you," she said.
He sat up and laid an arm about her waist. "Indeed you would. You've more strength than you know of. More than I, in some ways. How else could you have endured me?" He laughed.
"Come, now," he said when she remained silent, "we've still an evening and a night together. I'd sail more gladly if I knew your soul was not too heavy."
Elizabeth drew breath. This much she could give him, she thought, mirth and courage and a highhearted farewell: a lie. It was not such an overwhelmingly great gift in return for the years she had had.
"Why, I meant it not thus," she said with a smile. "I was but asking you to take care, and surely you will. Ever have you carried victory, and it will be something new when you hail me Queen of England." Her eyes shone at him. "Yet it was always enough to be wife of Harald Sigurdharson." They walked back to the hall hand in hand.
Chapter XIII:
Of Kings in England
1
The wind shifted until it blew almost due south, and the Norse fleet went swiftly along the coast of Scotland. Looking on hills purple with ling and yellow with gorse, tumbling steeply down to the waters, Harald felt a stirring. This was his kind of land; he understood suddenly the fierce quick pride of its folk and almost he wanted to stop here and seek them out and league with them. But England the green lay ahead.
The Highlands fell away as his ships galloped south. Now there were wooded hills bearing wan hues of summer; garths and crofts were to be seen, and men driving their cattle inland as the fleet hove into view. Houses and outbuildings were made differently from those in Norway, lower and more plain but with a solidness that bespoke wealth. The further south he came, the more thickly settled the country was.
When they passed the Tweed mouth, Hallvardh Flatnose told him: "This is more or less where Scotland ends, my lord. Henceforth we're going by England."