4
Harald was watching the foundation being dug for his new minster when Bishop Grimkell found him. They stood together for a while, saying naught. The sound of picks and spades was loud in the chill calm air.
"A great work, my lord," said the bishop at last.
"It goes well." Harald nodded. "May it bring luck to the land."
"I wished to talk over a Church matter. Shall we seek my house?"
Harald fell into step with him. "What is it?"
"Word has just come that the bishop in Vingulmark is dead, God rest his soul. We must agree on a candidate for his successor and send him down to Hamburg with letters urging he be consecrated."
"That's a long journey," said Harald. "I know of some ships making a voyage to England in spring. Let our man—and I know who it will be, the priest Thorgils Grimsson is friendly to me—let him go to Canterbury instead to take his vows."
"My lord!" Grimkell stopped dead. "You jest!"
"No, your reverence. Why should I?"
"But . . . Norway belongs to the Archdiocese of Bremen and Hamburg!"
"Yes," said Harald coldly, "and Archbishop Adalbert of Bremen, like the German emperor, is too good a friend of Svein Estridhsson. As for me, I shall cleave to our old allies, the Saxon dukes, in worldly matters, and in the ghostly—"
"The Holy Father has appointed—"
"Then I shall appoint otherwise," said Harald. "I do not intend this kingdom shall be ruled in any way from outside, and I will not have Svein's creatures turning the Church of my own land against me. Our bishops will be ordained in Rome, England, France—anywhere I choose—and I will select them myself."
Grimkell set his jaws together. He might be in holy orders, but warriors had been among his fathers. "You've dared God's wrath erenow, my lord," he said. "Those bearded priests with their heathenish Russian chants who keep the queen's chapel are bad enough. Would you now bring the ban down on yourself, perhaps on the whole country?"
"I have thought this through, your reverence," said Harald, "and you cannot turn my will."
"The Pope himself shall hear of it."
"Write if you wish, but save your breath for the Mass."
Grimkell swallowed hard. Harald laughed and took his arm. "Come, Your Reverence, we need not be at sword's point over a difference of opinion. It has ever seemed to me that God is greater than any of these narrow creeds in which men seek to pen Him. Now, to show we are friends, will you hear my confession?"
"That is for your own chaplain," said Grimkell thinly; he knew what a fat, lazy, tolerant priest Harald had named to that task. He stood a moment, then said, "My lord, it may well be that dogma is too small to encompass God. . . . Yes, it must be, since God is infinite. Nevertheless, the canon law is His holy will for our behavior, and no good fortune comes to those who rebel. I would show you a mystery, that you may better appreciate the power of Our Father."
Harald followed him into Clement's church, where the king took off his fur cap and signed himself. They were alone in the weaponhouse, the entryroom where men left their arms, and the building stood silent.
Grimkell brought forth some keys on a chain. "These open up the shrine of holy Olaf," he said. "You have not yet tended the saint as Magnus did. Dare you look on him now and keep your hard heart?"
Harald felt a stumbling in his breast; sweat was on his palms, but he answered steadily, "Let us go in."
They said an Ave and a Paternoster before the high altar and then, reverently, the bishop drew aside the fur coverings and unlocked the great casket. Harald helped him raise the lid, heavy as death.
There he lay, Olaf the Stout, who had been more a man than any other in his age and was now a saint. Harald had seen a few miracles himself; he knew it was no tale. One man had been stricken blind ten years ago, when his farm was ruined by blights and murrains; for a decade he had lived helpless with his brother, and then he had been led here, had shambled up to the altar and laid uncertain hands on the casket . . . and he saw.
Olaf the Stout, Olaf the Holy, God's trusty warrior in heaven, ruled Norway more now he was dead than ever in his reckless life. Harald met him afresh after almost twenty years.
He lay altogether still; strange to see him quiet who had been so strong and hasty; but the stillness was of a mountain, a mighty peace had come over him, and he slept with a world under his head. He wore rich clothes, spurs on his feet, a sword at his side, but the hands were folded over a crucifix. In the dim light of a few narrow windows, his face seemed little changed, drawn gaunt but with color in it; the hands had shrunk, skin pulling back from bluish nails, but the combed hair and beard still flowed thickly.
Harald shivered and crossed himself. A faint odor wafted from the coffin: spices, herbs, like some old forgotten summer. . . . Yes, embalming, and color put on the dead skin, but it was nonetheless a wonder that the relic had endured.
"Pater noster, qui est in coelis ..."
When they were again outside, they walked in silence for a while. Then the bishop said quietly: "Well, my lord?"
"I have seen bodies as well kept," answered Harald. In haste: "I mean no impiety. Remember that I fought on Olaf's side at Stiklastadh, and have ever thought of him as my patron. But the fact that he is a saint seems to me to have little to do with the question of our archbishopric."
"Beware, my lord," said Grimkell. "Hellfire waits for the proud of heart."
"Olaf was a proud man," said Harald. "I've never known one with more sense of his own worth—and rightly so, to be sure. Yet if I were sinning as grievously as you think, would he not have smitten me erenow? I've heard of his striking men deaf, blind, lame, dead for lesser things. No, you have shown me a miracle, but not given me a reason."
"God help you," said the bishop. "You go out of your way to make enemies. How long do you think it can last?"
He left the king with long strides. Harald watched him, feeling a little daunted. Then, grimly, he straightened his shoulders and went his own way.
VI
How Svein Was Clever
1
In spring Harald knew that both his queens were again with child and the house he owned would be too small before many years had passed, the more so when his court was growing in size and splendor. He ordered a new place built near the river, below the Lady Church, and told his steward to spare no cost.
This dwelling was to be one of the finest yet seen in the North. Its buildings lay around a courtyard which was paved but in which two ancient oaks were let stand. At the north side, above the foreroom, was the hall, with a chamber overlooking the street that led to the river docks. From this a landing led to the downward stairs; and from this landing one could walk onto a gallery above yard and street, under a steep, shingled roof and past dragon-headed beams. The hall was flanked by two lesser houses, one for each of the queens, and those beyond held servants, horses, and treasure. The main entrance to the courtyard was on the south side. Some hundreds of folk could find shelter here.
In those months Harald felt himself lucky: a son, perhaps two more boys on the way, his women happy, and the challenge to a final combat which Svein had sent.
There was grumbling through the land when half its men were again called out. Yeoman plowed their fields wondering if they would ever come back to harvest them; men looked at hillsides and forests with a sharp knowledge that this might be their last springtime on earth. Still, the fleet was readied and gathered, and early in summer it steered by Konungahella.
Harald stood on the foredeck of his dragon when they reached the meeting place. A light rain blurred the world; now and then the sun flung bright spears down between the clouds to glisten on wet planks. Where the Gota River met the sea, lay a cluster of fishermen's huts, dark-wooded, raindrops caught glittering in their thatch. A few people gaped from the beaches.
"Svein is late," said Thjodholf the skald.
Harald frowned. After the eagerness of his southward voyage, this was an empty feeling, like a puffed-up bl
adder pricked and hissing itself small. Harshly, he told off a few men to go ashore and find out what had happened to the Danish king.
The ships rocked at anchor, one broad reach of hulls around the curving strand. The air held a sour smell of rain-soaked wool and a belly rumble of sullen voices. Harald sprawled on a bench, rose to pace the crowded deck, flung himself back to his seat. A long time passed before his men returned in the boat.
"Well?" he barked.
"We found some carles, my lord, who said they had heard the Danes were lying to south of Sealand."
"And not coming here?"
"They'd heard no talk of that, my lord, and surely if King Svein meant to steer hither he'd have sent folk ahead to arrange for provisions and—"
Harald turned his back with a snarl. His voice came thickly: "Summon the chiefs. We must decide what to do."
The captains were rowed to his dragon and came aboard: sheriffs, great landowners, Jarl Orm Eilifsson, Eindridhi Einarsson. They filled the benches together with Harald's best guardsmen; the rest of his crew he had sent ashore to make room. He stood in the bow, under the gilt snake head, and glowered at them.
"Well," he said, "after his fine words to us, Svein Estridhsson has once more shown himself a coward. He's skulking with his levy around the islands, and the question is whether we should try to find him or go take his land while he is away."
Eindridhi stood up. "Neither, my lord," he answered. "We came here to fight an honest war, not to play Viking. Svein cannot be fought if he does not wish to be, his rowers are as good as ours; and if we seize Denmark as was done last year, the upshot will be the same."
Harald shook his fists in the air. "It's like trying to grasp water!" he burst out. "Boneless, strengthless, but it will not be caught. The only way is to dam it at the source. ... I mean we should overrun Denmark though we take three years, and hold it."
"That's no part of a man's duty, my lord," said Eindridhi. "There have been too many great levies; the land is being bled dry and with naught to show save the plunder of some wretched crofts. I, for one, am not going to follow further."
"So you fear the Danish axes?" taunted Harald.
"Let no man call me craven," replied Eindridhi. "But I'm fit for something besides warring."
Harald crammed his wrath back down his throat and looked coldly at Einar Thambaskelfir's son. No mistaking his insolence; he must have a goodly host loyal to him if he dared risk an open break with the king. And in that case, what was not being plotted in his father's hall?
Splitting the fleet in a war of Norseman against Norseman would be a godlike gift to Svein. Slowly, mastering himself with an effort that brought sweat to his forehead, Harald said:
"Later, Eindridhi, we can settle who has the final word. But as for now, let me hear what the other chiefs think."
If think they can, his mind added.
One by one they spoke, the slow heavy words of men who had pondered at great length. Some were in favor of going on, but most were against it, saying that their crews would liefest sail home and know their first peaceful summer in years.
"No." Harald shook his head. "It shall never be told that I slunk back without loosing one shaft. Svein shall regret his treachery; all Denmark will scream because of his cowardice." He swallowed hard. "Let most of you go home, then. I will keep the guardsmen, and such others as are my friends.
And the sheriffs shall repay their rich incomes by coming with me, and we will keep the men from those districts nearest the Danish border. They have raids to avenge."
That was agreed to, though some of the sheriffs looked unhappy. In the morning, Eindridhi led the bulk of the fleet home, while Harald fared south with sixty ships.
2
Rounding the Skaw, they went down Jutland's west coast, and wherever they saw sign of man, Harald landed to sack and burn. His rage seethed in him, he could not sleep till he had worn himself out with sword swinging. As far down as the border they traveled, where the old Dane work, the wall built across the peninsula nearly two hundred years ago, reared grass-grown earthen steeps. Here they took the ships inland to the She, harrying as they went, and rowed toward the rich merchant town Heidhaby.
Its walls, of timber and hard-packed dirt, lifted from rolling hills, with high roofs peering above. The harbor was full of ships, a bustling trade, now stilled as word came of the nearing foe. Helmets and byrnies flashed on the ramparts, arrows thunked into the Norse vessels.
Harald smiled with scant mirth. "It's long since we took a burg of any size," he remarked. "Do you remember Messina, Ulf?"
"I could scarce forget," said the Icelander. "But this time we don't have those engines or the Greek fire."
"We'll make fire of our own," vowed Harald.
He looked down the length of his ship. Her crew was the pick of his guards, young men hot for wealth and fame, their hearts given to him alone. Ulf the marshal, scarred, stubborn, crafty, sharp-tongued; Thjodholf the skald, ready of word, valiant, not afraid to speak plainly to his king; big hairy Styrkaar, more ruthless than most but a wise leader; Thora's brother Eystein Gorcock, newly received into the guard, a handsome red-haired stripling who seldom lacked a jest—and others, many of them, the old men, might resent this ruler who went so swiftly forward but Norway's youth saw him returning home with an eastern sunrise about his shoulders and tomorrow in his hands.
Horns blew, and Eystein unfurled the banner Landwaster; it was as if the raven beat its wings and screamed. Harald steered for the docks and was first ashore, sword aloft and shield raised against the arrow storm.
They rushed up under the walls, losing some men on the way but reaching the riverward gate. "Out axes! Chop our way in!" Splinters flew while the axmen's comrades held shields above them to ward off raining stones.
"We'd not escape this easily if the Danes knew siegecraft," panted Ulf. "Were this the South, we'd be cooked in our mail like lobsters."
Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his men grouped, and now sped to meet the enemy. Shields thudded together, spears thrust provoking grunts at one end and screams at the other, swords blurred and axes belled. The sun went down and the light night of Northern summer spread across the sky, dusk blue, a scattering of pale stars, the river gleamed metallic and the noise of war lost itself under a tall cool stillness. Somewhere a nightingale was singing.
The heavy river gate went down, and Harald drew his lines back to enter it. Townsmen were now at front and rear, hammering out their rage against Norse shields. "Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"
Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. A little flame ran up in the thatch. It was a very small devil, newly hatched from hell, and sputtered and smoked and almost went out in the dew. Then it gained strength, stood up and looked around. Elsewhere its brothers were raising red-and-yellow flags. The flame hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily, and ran to meet its fellows. They formed a host and lifted their heads and roared!
Dismayed, the Heidhaby men broke from the battle. Some fled into the fields and others toward their homes. The Norse hallooed and rushed after. Now the fires were high around them, bellowing against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. A wall went down, crash and boom. Sparks burst heavenward. A woman stumbled away, one baby shrieking in her arms and another clinging to her skirts. An old man stood before his burning house, cursing, shaking his fists at gleeful enemy faces; oh, were he young once more to split their skulls!
Looting a town where flame ran wild was risky work. Some of the Norse died with their arms full of cloth and gold when a roof fell on them. Most of the townsfolk used the chance to escape, though a number were captured and bound and led to the ships. They went dry-eyed, dumbly, not yet understanding what had happened to them, and the dawn shivered across wreckage that had been their homes.
Harald camped outside the tow
n and watched it burn. His men deserved a rest ere they wended homeward. There was not much need for care. Hogs and oxen were slaughtered and ale casks opened; the next evening filled with bawdy songs and rough sport, women went from hand to hand like the drinking horns and men quarreled in their cups or swore maudlin friendship. The town was an ashheap, thin smoke blowing into the sky, a few laggard flames still grazing on charred beams. Campfires twinkled up the riverbank and across the fields.
Restlessly, Harald threw a hooded cloak over his shoulders and went out alone. Clouds were dimming the world, this night was darker than the last. He prowled among his men, hardly noticed. At one spot he paused, standing beneath a shadowing tree and listening to somebody's verse:
"Hastily burned we the whole
of Heidhaby down to the groundworks;
to me that seems a mighty
man's work, that I can tell you.
Svein it will scorch that the flames
have swallowed up all the houses.
Early at dawn ere eight-song
I entered the walls of the stronghold."
Laughter followed. "Aye, Guthorm, you're no ill skald yourself. We should pass those lines around amongst t'others." It was a big-bellied, red-faced yeoman who spoke.
The young fellow nodded, pleased. "God keep good King Harald," he said. "S'long's he can lead me to the likes o' this, I'm his man."
The third warrior, a middle-aged one knotted with a lifetime's fight against grudging soil, shook his gray head doubtfully. "I mislike this hurrahing about. No good'll come of it. What if you'd been the one to lie with your head bashed in, like poor Helgi Eigilsson? What now'll his wife and youngsters do?"
The fat man picked his nose thoughtfully. "Aye, aye, Ingi, I know's a bad business, and I'd liefer've stayed to home myself. A ship's no good place to try sleeping, and each time we go into battle . . . well, I mind not telling you I'm like to wet my breeks, for I'm not the only one."
The Road of the Sea Horse Page 8