The Last Viking

by Poul Anderson

  "Like myself," she said, low but unexpectedly.

  He recovered with a grin. "High time you did otherwise."

  A flush stained her cheeks. She turned back to her sewing. "That is as God wills."

  "Would you not like to, though?"

  "My lord," she said with a trace of anger, "even I have seen men dwelling like beasts and heard enough about bloodshed and cruelty to suffice."

  "There is more," said Harald. Bees hummed in the roses, white clouds drifted through pouring sunlight. "Merriment, and work well done, and, if I may say it, love."

  She raised her head again, but looked past him. "Once when I was quite little," she said, more to herself than to anyone else, "my brothers took me along on a hunting trip. That was in autumn. The woods seemed afire. A maple leaf fluttered into my lap, I have never seen anything so red—like a shout of joy. I kept it till it crumbled away."

  "May I take you hunting again, my lady?"

  The maids gasped. "It would not be proper," said Elizabeth in haste.

  "In Norway it would," he told her. "You've too much of the Empire here."

  She glanced around, helplessly. Her maids grew very busy with their own sewing. All at once, in a high uncertain voice, she said to them, "You may go. I'll join you in my bower."

  "Highness!"

  "Go, I said!"

  When they were away, she took a long breath. "My lord," she said shakily, "this is scandalous, but you've driven me to it."

  "I?" asked Harald, thoroughly taken aback.

  "You were going headlong toward something— something private. Were you not?"

  He came to a decision and said bluntly, "Yes. Not that I meant to speak it this very day. But I wish to marry you."

  She flushed deeply and stared down at her clenched hands. "My lord—"

  "I have spoken to your father, of course. No pledges have yet been given on either side, but he is not unwilling."

  "This is so swift," she whispered.

  "You forced me, my lady."

  "I did not mean to." She passed a thin hand over her eyes. "Or did I? I know not what to think."

  Harald took the other hand. "Ellisif," he said, his Norse tongue softening her name, "your sisters have wed kings. Would you not do the same?"

  She tensed. "How many warriors will there be in my dowry?"

  Again at a loss, he let her hand go, stood up and scowled at the grass. "I am a fighter," he said. "If you think me a rough sort, well, God knows that's right. Nor is my own land as fine as this. But we could live happily together."

  "Until you took our sons to war," she said.

  "Why . . . what else? They will be princes!"

  "This is no age for mothers," she said with an inward bitterness. "We wrap our new-born child in swaddling clothes, and he's scarce grown before we wrap him in a shroud. Because some king wanted more land!"

  "Were matters ever otherwise?" he said, holding himself on a tight rein. "You can be a queen, sit honored in the high seat, speak freely, go where you please, loosed from the bonds they lay on you here. In God's name, what more do you wish?"

  She shrank into herself. Her eyes misted over with tears. "Forgive me, my lord," she stammered. "You . . . you have honored me and—oh, indeed I forgot myself—I had best go." She sprang to her feet and almost ran toward the palace.

  3

  The next time they met, and most times thereafter, Elizabeth was grave and gracious. Ingigerdh urged the marriage strongly on husband and daughter. When agreement was reached, she sought Harald alone to tell him she was gladdened.

  "My own Elizabeth," she murmured. "It seems so short a while ago she was a baby just learning to smile. Now overnight she's a woman grown, with Olaf's kinsman for husband."

  "I hope ..." Harald fumbled after words. "I hope she is happy."

  "Oh, yes. . . . Bewildered, perhaps. I do not really know. She was ever quiet. Not even I have altogether fathomed her." Ingigerdh stared into a guttering lamp. "I think she is a little afraid of you. Yet still she longs for that freedom she never knew, save in words I let drop about my own girlhood. Be gentle to her, Harald."

  Oddly, Ulf said much the same thing at the feast which celebrated the betrothal. He had drunk heavily, and drew Harald into a corner with an owlish air.

  "Very good for you," he said. "Very good marriage. My best wishes and so forth. It's a fine alliance."

  "I think so too," said Harald, not without smugness.

  "Fine alliance." Ulf's dark shock-head wagged. "But so young a girl."

  "Why, she's seen full twenty winters."

  "Too long a fine lady." Ulf shook his head again. "Never milked a cow, never bound a wound, never laid out a slain man. Naught hard about her. And you're a hard man. Be kind to her. She's very sweet." He shoved his friend. "Go on, get back there, talk to her, for God's sake!"

  Harald obeyed, wending his way past musicians, among lordly-clad nobles with silver mugs in their hands, under walls that shimmered in the lamplight with weapons and ikons. When he sat down in the seat which he and Elizabeth shared, she gave him a curious slow smile.

  "I can scarce wait for the marriage," he said foolishly.

  "Why should we be so fine with each other?" she answered. Her tone was steady and not untender, but blurred so that he knew she was a trifle drunk. "We must live together too long to begin with lies."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "What I said. That slave girl who shares your nights. Oh, I hear things, we maidens are not so blind and deaf as men believe. No, no!" Her hand fell on his. She laughed the least bit. "Of course I would not wish to wed an unmanly man. I should not have spoken of her. What I, I wanted to say was . . . you need not pretend with me, Harald dear. I know you're marrying me to get my father's strength behind you. We are not prince and princess in some old story. We are here and alive and . . . real," she finished awkwardly.

  "Why, you are very fair," he said.

  "Not as fair as that one in the South. I have heard those tales too." At the look he gave her, she broke off. "Forgive me. I pray your pardon. We will never speak of that again. I only wanted to say, let us be good enough friends to be honest with each other."

  "I would not force you," he said huffily.

  "Why, no," she replied. "There is no force. My mother came weeping to her wedding, and yet it has been a good marriage. I go gladly to mine. I ask nothing but to be a wife, not a slave or a leman but a wife at your side."

  He regarded the gray eyes for a silent while. "You surprise me," he said. "Even with wine in you, I had not looked for you ever to speak thus."

  "I dare not speak otherwise," she said, then, with a leap into mirth. "Best I keep a few surprises to use on you when needful."

  He chuckled.

  During fall and early winter, Harald was busy gathering men. Some were Norse, come here to trade and willing to return with him for a chance at wealth; some were Russian adventurers. His ships would number about two score, large and small, with over a thousand men aboard.

  Word from the North was that Magnus Olafsson sat firmly in Norway but that Denmark was restless under him. The Danish pretender, Svein, was now in Sweden with no few followers. He told Harald's messenger he would be glad to consider an alliance.

  When Elizabeth heard this, the first time they were alone, she said strickenly, "I had not thought you would begin by making war on your own blood."

  "If I must, then I must," said Harald.

  "Is the kingship worth that much to you?"

  "Yes. I've eaten exile's bread too long. My right is as great as Magnus'. I've sworn never again to be any man's underling." Thrusting a smile to his lips, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's for our children too, Ellisif."

  "I would not give them a heritage stained with brother's blood," she said.

  "Then, renounce your own rank!" he snapped. "How do you think your father won his crown? He fought his brothers for it!"

  She wept and fled him. Several days passed before they sp
oke freely again.

  Winter came with the snowstorms that galloped out of the steppes to howl around houses and shake roof-trees. It grew cold; breathing was painful to the nostrils and beards were full of ice. Sometimes on a still night, under frosty stars, one could hear the crack of trees burst open.

  Yuletide broke that lonely gloom. Two months later a still bigger feast was held, when Jaroslav gave away his daughter. The nobles of Russia came by sleigh from afar; the halls thronged with color and tumult. Harald got few chances to see his bride.

  On a pale frosty sunlit morning the bells of Kiev rang out, folk swarmed in the streets, the cathedral was filled with the smoke of incense and the sound of chanting. As he stood facing the congregation with the veiled girl, their hands tied together, Harald could not keep his mind on what was happening. It was unreal, unimportant, too much else to think about: Maria and a dozen years lost somewhere, so damned much to do before the ice broke, curse it, where could he find enough good tackle for his ships? His shoes were too tight. Ulf was drunk as a god, let's hope Halldor could keep him behaving. That fellow Svein of Denmark, they said he was not a man to trust. . . . Hospodne pomiluie.

  Not until he was seated again by Elizabeth in the palace did he grow well aware of her. She looked pale and tired but held herself proudly. So now he was a wedded man. It felt no different.

  He lifted his beaker. "To you," he said. "The queen of the North."

  "No." She raised her own cup. "To us. Oh, Harald, may it always be us!"

  He shrugged uneasily. He did not wish to be unkind, but he could not have a woman forever about his neck.

  "I think ..." She glanced around, saw no one was listening, and leaned close. "I think I can care for you . . . very much."

  "Thank you," he mumbled.

  "If you will let me," she said.

  Then a noble from Polotsk came up to speak with them.

  The day passed in feasting and drinking. Night fell early, time for the bridal couple to retire. Harald and Elizabeth paused on the landing with their candle bearers. The hall below seethed with men; eyes, mouths, hands and eyes turned upward in a roar of good nights and good wishes. Elizabeth could see her father on his high seat, but her mother was hidden in the throng. She waved blindly and went on upstairs with Harald.

  When they were alone in their bedchamber, he sighed and dropped the latch. "Yonder merrymaking should last for days," he said. "Your father does not do things in a niggardly way."

  "No." She stood stiffly near the bed. "No, he doesn't."

  Harald walked across the floor and took her in his aims. "Ellisif," he said. "I have never so much as kissed you."

  Her lips were cold under his. He felt how she shivered.

  "I will . . ." He stopped and sought words. "I hope I can be good to you."

  He would not have had to say anything to Maria, he thought.

  Elizabeth could not bring herself to look at him. She went around the room and blew out the lamps, one by one.

  Chapter XIV:

  Of Magnus the Good and Svein Estridharson

  1

  After Olaf the Stout had fallen, Norway was ruled by a viceroy for the Danish king. He was a bastard son of Knut the Great. Folk soon came to hate him for his greed and injustice. They agreed that Olaf had been a saint and longed to be steered by one of his blood.

  Einar Thambaskelfir, first among the Norse chiefs, was especially offended by the viceroy because he had not received the title of jarl as he had expected. He, Kalf Arnason and some other powerful men decided to make their peace with Magnus Olafsson and to recognize him as king. With a great following, they came to Novgorod in the fall of Anno Domini 1034. Here they agreed to support Magnus; in return, Magnus must pardon everyone who had fought against Olaf, and would become the foster son of Kalf. Magnus being only ten years old, the chiefs thought this a good bargain since it would leave the real power in their hands.

  In spring they went to Sweden, where Magnus' stepmother Astridh, Olaf's widow, received him gladly. Many Swedes came under his banner, and he crossed over, into Norway, where he was hailed king. With none to help him, the Danish viceroy fled the land. Knut had died a short time before, and the Danish empire had fallen apart. Now one son, Harald Harefoot, ruled England, while another, Hardhaknut, had Denmark.

  In 1036 the Norse chiefs, in Magnus' name, ordered out a levy and sailed against the Danes, whom they met near the Gota River. But neither land was eager to fight, so peace was made. Magnus and Hardhaknut swore that they should remain at peace while they lived, and if either died sonless, the other would succeed to both thrones.

  The situation looked promising for Norway until Magnus began to show whose child he was. Thori Hound had already died on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Then Haarek of Thjottu, who had been another leader against Olaf, was murdered with the complicity of Magnus.

  Asmund Grankelsson, an enemy of Haarek, stood on the gallery of the king's house in Nidharos, Magnus beside him, when Haarek went by in the street. "Now," said Asmund, "I will repay his killing of my father." He hefted his small ax in his hand and started to go.

  "Take my ax instead," Magnus offered, holding out the stout weapon he bore. "There are hard bones in that old fellow, Asmund."

  Asmund went down and split Haarek's skull. When he came back, despite the blood, Magnus saw that the edge of the ax had turned. Grinning, he asked: "What use would you have had of that thin thing of yours? It seems that even the one you carry has been damaged!"

  Asmund was not fined or punished for his breach of the peace. Indeed, Magnus gave him a fief and an office in Haalogaland shire, where he was continually at odds with Haarek's sons.

  Nor had Magnus ever forgiven the regent, Kalf Arnason, for his part at Stiklastadh. To Einar Thambaskelfir, Kalf's rival, who had not been in that battle, Magnus showed the greatest friendship. Not long after Haarek's assassination, these three were guesting at a farm near the battleground. Magnus said to Einar: "We two will ride to Stiklastadh today, and you can show me just how it was then."

  "I can tell you naught," said Einar maliciously; "but let your foster father Kalf go with you. He knows all about it."

  When they had eaten, the king said to Kalf, "Get your horse and ride to Staklastadh with me."

  "This is no affair of mine," mumbled the chief.

  The king's voice broke, boyishly, but wrath was in it: "Go you shall, Kalf!" He left the room.

  Kalf realized that he must obey the king, boy or no. As he donned his riding clothes with unsteady hands, he said to his footboy: "Gallop straight to my garth and tell the carles to get all my goods aboard ship ere sunset."

  Then Magnus and Kalf rode to Stiklastadh, where they dismounted. The day was clear and cool, wan sunlight spilling over the grass, the wind noisy in the trees. "Where is the spot where the king fell?" Magnus asked.

  Kalf pointed with his spearshaft to a tall rock nearby. "There he lay when he had fallen."

  "And where were you, Kalf?"

  "Here where I now am standing."

  Magnus' face reddened. "Then your ax could have reached him!"

  "My ax did not come near him," said Kalf. He jumped on his horse and rode swiftly off to his home. That night his ship went down the fjord. He was in viking in the western lands for a long time.

  Magnus went harshly to work. He took Kalf's farm for his own, plus many more farms that belonged to men who had fallen on the yeomen's side at Stiklastadh. Heavy fines were laid on others, or they were driven into exile or their cattle were slaughtered for his own use. In addition to these pressures he exerted on the yeomen, Magnus did not change the unjust laws of the Danish viceroy.

  Anger went through the land as the yeomen saw their freehold rights again attacked. In Sogn shire men armed themselves, swearing that they would hew down the king if he ventured thither. Magnus gathered a host of his own to move against them. It seemed as if once more the land must suffer war.

  2

  Sighvat Thordharson, skald to Olaf the
Stout, was in Rome when his master died. Hearing what had happened on his return, he mourned greatly and went to stay with the widowed Queen Astridh in Sweden. When Magnus came back, Sighvat joined him and served him well. He even helped lessen the strife between Astridh and Magnus' mother Alfhild, Olaf's one-time leman, and that was no easy task.

  Now when the king's men saw battle threaten in Sogn, they were unhappy, and twelve of them met to decide what was to be done. They drew lots to determine who should go tell Magnus how ill content the folk were, and the lot fell on Sighvat. He ordered his affairs, confessed his sins and in the evening went to the hall where Magnus was.

  As he trod in, the long fires leaping smoky down its length showed him the men on the benches along the walls, the women at the far end, drinking and talking. Those near the mid-wall high seat, where Magnus was, were great chiefs. The light splashed their grave bearded faces, fur and linen garments, the gold rings on their arms. Splendid among them sat the boy king. His downy face was sullen. Sighvat stepped up before him.

  "Good evening," said Magnus in an ill-humored tone. "What brings you here?"

  Sighvat cleared his throat. His black hair was graying, but he bore himself erect as any youth. "I have a word for you from the people of Norway, my lord," he said. He was awkward in ordinary speech, but verses could stream from him.

  "Let me hear, then," said Magnus.

  Sighvat folded his arms and began reciting:

  " 'Tis said, I hear, that Sighvat

  seeks to turn his master

  from strife against the Sognmen.

  Myself I'll hie to battle:

  gladly belt my glaive on,

  go beneath your banner. . . .

  But lawlessness in the land,

  how long must we endure it?"

  Women gasped and men sucked in their breath to hear the king thus spoken to. The chieftains leaned forward, folding bulky hands into fists. Magnus sat blankly as Sighvat's verses related what former kings had done, how Haakon the Good had obeyed ancient law and the two Olafs had sought to bring the whole realm under one lawful rule. Only the crackle of the fires was heard as Sighvat continued: