TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven

by Poul Anderson

  "I think my lord means to marry his daughter to a jarl of England," said Eystein to himself. His heart swelled.

  April was a moody month that year, lowering heavens and scudding squalls and rare sunlight. Old men wise in weather said the whole summer would be one of gales.

  From the rich deep valleys of Throndheim and Gudhbrandsdal, to marshy northern forests and wind-reaved islands and lonesome huts on the flanks of Dofra, the word ran that the king had some great plan afoot and would be calling out a full levy. Certain it was that he had many ships building and spent money for arms with a free hand.

  During the last week of April, a long spell of unbroken cloudiness ended; suddenly the sky flashed out and Oslofjord glittered blue under a dazzling sun. Harald was readying to move up to Nidharos, but broke off his work and ordered a light yacht launched instead. With a small crew, he and Thora embarked for a day's outing on the bay; it was too choppy for Elizabeth, and his sons were gone hunting.

  The wind blew briskly from the north, to catch the sail and strain it taut; rigging sang and waves slapped the hull and the boat danced in a skirt of foam. Behind her and on either side the land lay freshly green, fields and woods rising toward hills where toy farms and hamlets nestled. Fisher craft skipped merrily in the distance. Clouds walked overhead, unbelievably white.

  The dozen crewmen sat idly by the one who steered. The king and his mistress were alone in the bows. Harald sat, knees cramped up almost to his chin, eyes crinkled against the glare. Thora seemed less happy; her tall form sprawled on a cushion and she stared sullenly ahead. The sunlight lost itself in the burnished coils of her hair, seeming to become an inner glow.

  "Well," said Harald, "it's good to leave the house. Too much winter stink indoors."

  Thora's countenance did not turn to his. Her mouth bent downward.

  "What ails you?" he asked. "I thought you'd be glad of a holiday."

  "Oh, yes," she said. "I'm good enough to go boating with."

  He scowled. "I've told you often before, I'll have none of your woman's jealousies."

  "So I must swallow my own vomit?" she flared. "This whole winter you've been making up to that whey-faced—" She stopped. "No. I'll not say it. But cold is the life you've given me."

  "A man's moods shift about," he said, with a mildness that astonished her. He smiled, one-sided. "It seems your turn today."

  "Faithless you ever were," she said, more sadness than venom in her tone.

  "You know well enough how it stands between men and women," he answered. "To a woman, the household is the whole of life ... to a man, only a small part. Ask not to fill all my days and nights, for you cannot." With a barb: "I think perhaps it's only an unfulfilled lust which makes you brood."

  She met his gaze frankly. "Yes," she said.

  "Well," he laughed, "that can be amended." His hand stole over hers and tightened. "I've ever liked you, Thora, for being so easily understood. Greedy and bawdy and quick-tempered and unforgiving—like myself."

  Her lids dropped. "And that is the hold Ellisif has on you," she whispered, "that you never quite fathom her."

  "Say no more."

  She tried to jest: "When you take England, you can keep one of us in each kingdom. May I have England?"

  "Speak not too freely. It's unlucky, nor has anything been decided yet."

  "I know you well, Harald. I know what it will be. Take me along!"

  He looked away, over the water. "A great work," he murmured. "A work fit for gods."

  I know who has given you that idea, thought the woman. For you alone, as for me, the riches and the glory—yes, and the breakneck sport of it—were enough. But that outland queen must try to make it a holy war; oh, yes, my darling Ellisif, we butcher men in God's name, we fight not because we can gain booty and like to fight, but because we build the Holy Norse Empire. . . . God curse you, Ellisif!

  "Knut did the same," she said slyly, "and his realm did not long outlive him."

  "I am not Knut," he told her. "There'll be none left to raise rebellion after me."

  She laughed aloud.

  Thereafter she was merry, and they cruised about for the whole day. At sundown they were still some distance from Oslo; the mast was lowered and the crew took oars, since the wind blew yet from the north.

  Harald and Thora remained in the bows, facing aft. The water ran bloody to the west, dark to the east; night came striding swiftly in pursuit of the sun.

  Thora shivered, and Harald flung his cloak over her shoulders. She nestled against him, and he remembered how they had once sat in just this way, atop the cliffs of Gizki.

  His lips brushed her cheek—the rowers had their backs turned, and the steersman could not see him in the dusk. "Let them make haste," he whispered. "I'd not want you too sleepy by the time we get home and abed."

  She laughed low in her throat. It faded as she looked to the last red clouds. The wind seemed colder than it had been.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I know not. . . ." She pressed more tightly to him. "An evil thought I had . . . blood in the west, and night in the east, like a sign ..."

  They heard a gull cry harshly out in the dark. Waves whooshed around the boat, which took one on the prow and shuddered.

  "That's a common kind of sign," said the king dryly.

  "But . . . Harald, of a sudden I wonder how wise this is. Have we not enough already?"

  "No," he said. The shrill air yanked the words from his mouth. "While I live, never enough."

  "I could not endure it if aught happened to you," she murmured.

  "No man escapes his doom." Then she knew dully that all urging him against this war would only drive him toward it. "We die when God wills, neither sooner nor later, and best it is to die striving mightily."

  She was silent, but her arm went tight about his waist. The night thickened; stars began to twinkle forth, high and frosty above the world.

  Harald started. "What's that?" he snapped. "See, toward the south—something waxing, a glow."

  Thora looked aft. The hull was a well of darkness, the fjord like cold metal. She saw the wash of light, far off beyond the hidden horizon.

  The crew's voices lifted, and they lost the stroke. "Bend to it, you bastards!" said Harald sharply. "Soonest home, soonest safe."

  He stood up as the boat surged forward under new speed. One hand gripped an ax; Thora clung to the other.

  "It's like the earth afire at the Weird of the Gods," she said through dry lips. "But never have I seen a light so cold."

  It rose and brightened while they wallowed harborward. The wind carried to them the sound of Oslo's church bells clamoring in panic.

  "A new star," said Harald. "I've seen the sun darken once, but this ..."

  It burned with a chill radiance across the sky, its head was clotted silver and three tails streamed thence like great leaping flames. They saw the fjord catch its baleful light and shudder.

  "Almighty Christ," gasped Thora. "Blessed Virgin Mary ..."

  Harald stiffened his will. "I've heard of these things," he said. "They appear of a sudden, and go away again, and they portend mighty happenings."

  "It's like a sword," she said through clattering teeth. Her hand was cold and wet where it grasped his. "A three-bladed sword."

  "Aye." His own soul shook, but he cried aloud: "Aye, see it there, a sign of war! The Archangel Michael has drawn his sword, lads, and there'll be wrath on the world this year."

  "God help us sinners," groaned a man down in the hull.

  "I tell you, it's a token of luck," shouted Harald. "See how its blades stream easterly. St. Michael has drawn his burning brand for us."

  "Against us," shivered Thora. "It points against us from the west."

  The token was seen till the last night of April, that night called Walpurgis in some lands, when the powers of hell run loose and Asgardh's Ride howls through the sky. Men trembled before it, and the church bells rang throughout the dark hours.

  Then
it was gone, and the hosting went apace in the kingdoms of earth.

  X

  How Ulf Uspaksson Fared Alone

  1

  The May Queen had gone garlanded through the land, in a wagon heaped with flowers, while the folk danced and sang about her, ere Eystein Gorcock returned. He steered into Throndheimsfjord, where he knew the king would be now, cursing his men that their near-broken backs could not pull the oars faster; as his ship came toward the dock, he made a leap from her, landed on the wharf, and sped afoot to the royal hall.

  A guardsman tried to have him enter in seemly fashion. Eystein sent the fellow sprawling and burst inside. Harald was at meat, with Ulf who had come guesting. The sheriff's eyes went to the women's end of the hall, and Maria stood there, and she took a step forward while joy flashed between them..

  "Well!" boomed Harald. "So you're home already. Come eat, and then we'll talk of what you've found out. . . . Yes, yes, your betrothed is in good health."

  Eystein's face burned and he seated himself decently. "Everything looks hopeful, my lord," he mumbled.

  Harald's face remained wooden; he picked up his bone again and cracked it open and sucked the marrow noisily. Then he spoke of weather and crops and a dog which had lately encountered a hedgehog, as if naught of greater moment were at hand. Not till the meal was past and the hand-washing bowls had gone around did he rise and beckon Ulf and Eystein to follow.

  They went into the foreroom, closed the door, and found chairs. The king sprawled his legs halfway across the floor as he loosened his belt. "Now, then," he said. "Tell us how matters have gone."

  Eystein cleared his throat. "Well, I came to Orkney," he began.

  "Strange," murmured Ulf. "I thought you bound for Wendland."

  Eystein grinned and felt his muscles ease. "The Thorfinnssons promised to get the levies ready when you send word," he told them. "They will also raise as many warriors as they can from the Norsemen in Scotland and Ireland. Thereafter I went south along the coast, to learn what was happening. That was not little.

  "Tosti came across the sea and ravaged the Isle of Wight and the coast as far as Sandwich, till his brother King Harold raised a force against him. Then he took some of the Kentish boatmen along, willingly or otherwise, and went up to the Humber. I hear he had sixty ships. There he harried about Lindsey, till the earls Edwin and Morkar drove him out. Now he has gone to the Scottish king, Malcolm Duncansson, who has received him well and is helping him with provisions; but the story is that he brought only twelve ships thither."

  "Hm," said Ulf. "Those English can fight."

  "His man Osric is carrying back word that we are interested in his offer," said Harald. "There will be many crossings of the North Sea this year. But what of my namesake?"

  "He lies out with his whole ship levy, around the Isle of Wight," said Eystein. "He seems more to fear the Normans than us."

  "That suits me well," said Harald. "Spies I've sent to France tell me that William is gathering men from a dozen lands, any he can get, and is promising them vast English holdings—for he has not the means to pay them otherwise." He stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "The term of a levy in England is forty days; Harold can extend that somewhat if he must, but he cannot stretch their provisions . . . and the men will worry about their harvest and begin deserting after a while. William also has an army to feed, which will grow restless if he keeps them waiting too long. But as for us, our folk can stay well fed at home till we are ready to sail."

  "There is one other thing," said Eystein uneasily. "I heard talk of it even in Scotland. Pope Alexander has blessed William's cause and proclaimed him rightful king of England."

  Harald snorted.

  "It were not well to wage an unholy war," said the sheriff.

  "Who steers Rome?" asked Harald. "Not the Pope, but Hildebrand; that much even I know. Take heart, Eystein. ..." He clapped his man on the shoulder. "You'd not want Maria to marry beneath her?"

  "No." The sheriff twisted his mustache.

  Harald's fist smote his palm. "We've a host fit to storm hell itself," he said.

  Ulf sighed. He looked tired and shrunken. "I wonder why you asked the court's advice," he said. "I knew from the beginning you'd not hang back."

  "The venture looks more hopeful each day," replied Harald. "You're not the man you were, Ulf."

  "Belike not. I draw near the end of my days. It seems better to sit and think what has been done, and try to make peace with the Powers, than play at being still a youth."

  "Nonsense! You'll outlive us all, old wolf. You'll bore your grandchildren with tales of what you wrought in England."

  "I would I might see my grandchildren," said Ulf. "It would be good to have babies around the house again. Well . . ." He rose. "Best I start back. It's a lengthy ride home; I can scarce reach my steading before dark."

  "I thought you'd help me with the household troops," said Harald in a flash of anger. "It's your task as marshal."

  "Let Styrkaar do it. He knows them better than I. Too many strange young faces . . . Where is the queen? I'd fain say good-bye to her."

  "Which one?" asked Harald coldly.

  Ulf's tone frosted over. "There is only one queen in this land."

  Harald turned his back. The marshal sighed again and shuffled out.

  Elizabeth was directing her servants as they scrubbed her dwelling when Ulf found her. She stood in the courtyard before the little house, facing the open door. The light breeze played with her hair and ruffled the simple white gown she had on.

  "Oh. ..." She saw him and smiled. Calm dwelt on the finely cut features and peace on the brow; she stood straight, even at forty-two years of age as slim as a young girl. "Are you leaving already, Ulf?"

  "Yes." The marshal fumbled with his sword belt. A carle brought out his horse, and his few men busked themselves. He blinked in the bright, spilling sunlight. "You seem busy, my lady."

  "Ever there's work to do. I was unused to it at first, and shocked at the thought a queen should have to steer her own household, but now I like it. Time passes quickly."

  "So it does." Ulf stood for a moment, squat and dark and gnarled, his face wrinkled by a smile. It died, and he asked in a low voice: "Are you in such haste to end your days that you must find means to shorten them?"

  "Why . . . no." Elizabeth flushed. "No, I have been ... I am happy. Of course I am."

  "I wish I knew that to be the truth," said Ulf.

  She regarded him wide-eyed. "You've been odd of late. Is aught wrong?"

  "Not for me—but for you. You see," said Ulf earnestly, "your, well, your house has ever been a good friend to us of Norway, and I would gladly serve you if I might. If you lack something ..."

  She dropped her own voice. "No need to walk around your thought, Ulf. I know what you mean. And I swear to you, there has been unhappiness in my life as there must be in all, but now I know the way I wish to fare and how to. . . . No, there is little I need."-

  "Those are good tidings," said Ulf. He took her hand; it felt small and warm in his. "Then farewell, my lady, and God keep you."

  She watched him, puzzled, as he rode from the hall.

  2

  Twice on the way home, Ulf reined in and almost fell from the saddle. His man Thorbrand held him till the fit was past. Stars were out when they reached the marshal's hall.

  There he paused, looking up to the light Northern night. Stars glimmered pale in dark blue; his eyes followed the great sprawl of Carl's Wain toward the North Star. It seemed to wink at him, as one old friend at another. The woods rustled, a nightingale sang, a rill tumbled over rocks. He breathed the smell of forest mold and young leaves.

  "This is a fair world, Thorbrand," he said. "Let not the priests tell you otherwise."

  "Yes. . . ." The warrior's tongue stumbled.

  Ulf leaned heavily on him as they went into the hall. Fires were guttering low, but Jorunn sat waiting for him. "You're late," she said. "I had begun to think you would stay in Nidharos."
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  He lowered himself to the bench beside her and rested elbows on knees. "It was a troublous road homeward," he replied.

  Thorbrand bade good night and went to join the other unwed men in their lodge. Ulf and Jorunn were alone.

  Her eyes were anxious. "You sound tired," she said.

  "Yes, I am, somewhat." Ulf looked into the waning red coals.

  "Jorunn . . ." he began after a while.

  She raised her brows; he could just see the movement in the dimness which was her face.