The Last Viking

by Poul Anderson

  Besides these, the sons of Godwin were Leofwin, Gyrdh, and eager young Wulfnoth; but they were not present.

  They had come at different times, but the earl had waited till all three were there before unburdening himself. Now he nodded curtly and bade them sit near him. Silver wine cups were brought, and Sweyn gulped deep.

  "Keep your wits, son," rumbled Godwin. "We'll need our cleverness this time."

  "What's amiss?" drawled Tosti. He leaned back with heavy-lidded eyes, like a big sleepy wildcat, and sipped carefully.

  "I heard somewhat concerning the Frenchman Eustace," said Harold. "Is that the matter?"

  "Aye," nodded Godwin. "Now hearken well. You've heard bits of the story, but I'll give you the whole and then we must see what's to be done.

  "You know how the king, or rather his evil counselors, have been giving unlawful power to his Norman friends, and especially placing them high in the churches. Archbishop Robert has refused to consecrate Sparhafoc Bishop of London, and though Sparhafoc is enough a good Englishman to hold his see in defiance of the world, it shows what a pass things have come to.

  "Now the business of Earl Eustace of Boulogne has brought it to a head. He's the king's brother-in-law, remember, so I suppose he has the right to come visiting here, God rot his soul. But Edward gave him the right of purveyance during his stay, and that's saved for the English king alone."

  Harold's first clenched on the arm of his chair. "Bad enough to have a foreigner here at our expense," he exclaimed hotly, "but to have him come riding in and taking what he pleases—"

  "Let me go on," said Godwin. "On his way back through Dover, Earl Eustace's company demanded lodging in the house of an Englishman who refused them. A Frenchman wounded the fellow, who slew him—in self-defense, mind you. Then Eustace's troop set on the householder and killed him in his own home. It led to a pitched battle, in which twenty-odd townsmen and nineteen French fell. What does Eustace do but hurry back to King Edward whining of ill treatment; and the king summons me and bids me go to Dover and punish everybody dwelling there. Bids me kill Englishmen who were defending themselves! So I refused, and we must decide what to do."

  "It's simple," cried Sweyn. "Rise! By God, Father, you could be King of England if you would!"

  "Not so," answered the earl. With a dry look: "Did you think to succeed me? But Leofric and Siward would be on our backs from the north."

  "To say naught of our duty to God's anointed," murmured Tosti. His tone was sardonic.

  "There's nothing for it but to go to the king in London and make peace," said Harold reluctantly. "He'll think twice ere he brings civil war on the land."

  "Go crave the royal milksop's pardon?" sneered Sweyn.

  "Be still," said Godwin. "You've made trouble enough for one lifetime. It was on your account I had to agree to abolish the Thingmen, who are sorely wanted now." These had been Knut's guard, a wondrous band of ax-wielding giants.

  "We've worse to come," said Harold. "I hear tell William the Bastard, the Duke of Normandy, is invited hither. Could it be to talk over Edward's successor? He'll have no children, who keeps his wife in name only—and what a way to treat our sister!"

  Godwin's look was unhappy. "It may well be, son. They say Edward promised England's crown to William while he was living in Normandy."

  "William is a mighty warrior," said Tosti, "but he's hard and greedy. I'd sooner have a wolf on the throne."

  Harold rose. He lifted one fist, and it shook. "That's not the heart of it," he said loudly. "It's a matter of English law. The Witan and the people name a king, and choose whom they will. Is England to be bought and sold, handed from father to son, like a kennel of dogs?"

  The men yelled, through the long dim hall, till it rang in the rafters. These were warriors. Their breed had come here when Rome was dying, to hammer out a new realm; among their fathers were Danes whose dragons had borne steel and fire and freedom; they themselves had tumbled at the throats of the Welsh since they were old enough to draw blade. It was a thundering which stood now and shouted: "No!"

  Earl Godwin calmed them. "This is not our affair yet," he said. "Have your right foot on the ground ere you pick up the left. I will not move on Dover, God witness that, but what's to be done to make our peace with the king?"

  The Wessex party went to London to talk with their lord and the Witan. Godwin demanded hostages, so that he could be sure of coming and going safely, but this was denied him. Welsh spies had vented old hatred by reporting to Edward he plotted treason. Siward and Leofric were there with armed men, gleefully working against their rival. The upshot was that Godwin and his sons were outlawed. This was late in the fall, Anno Domini 1051.

  They went, all but Harold and Leofwin, across the narrow seas to Bruges, where Count Baldwin of Flanders bade them welcome. Tosti was married to the count's daughter Judith, hence the friendship between the two houses. The shock seemed to turn Sweyn's unsteady mind; he brooded on his sins and at last started for Jerusalem on a pilgrimage of atonement. Godwin lay waiting over the winter, gathering his strength and whatever news was to be had from England.

  As for Harold and Leofwin, they were pursued by the king's men but got aboard ship with a crew during too wild a gale for any to dare follow. Harold steered for Ireland. Often waves broke over the gunwale, often the ship wallowed on her beam-ends and oarsmen slid across the benches to tangle with the rowers opposite; wind cracked a whip of rain across the sea, timbers shrieked, the ship stuck her nose into the water and tried to burrow down. Leofwin's lips moved with a steady flow of prayers. But Harold stood fighting the steering oar, and at length the skies cleared and Ireland hove before them.

  2

  Dublin was a busy town, blended of all the world, it seemed: tall fierce-eyed Norsemen, Irish with tunics flapping about their knees, stolid English traders and outlaws, now and then a Frenchman, German, Spaniard, even a Saracen merchant adventurer in robe and turban. Harold led his half-drowned crew boldly through the streets to King Eachmagarch Mac Rognvald's hall, where he-found good greeting.

  "And now what do we do?" asked Leofwin.

  "We wait," said Harold grimly. "We gather ships and men, but we wait."

  This was not at first hard, for there was much to see and do, many beakers of ale to drain, many horses to ride on long hunts, many men to wrestle and talk to, many women to sport with. Harold was not behindhand with any of this, for he had been brought up in a wealthy house. Few were the steeds he could not mount, few the men he could not throw or drink under the board. Folk loved him, and no small company of warriors vowed to follow him home when the time came. He began to shape the best of these into a corps like Knut's Thingmen; he called them his Housecarles, and the homely name became one of pride.

  But on a heavy winter day he sought out Leofwin. The younger man was playing chess when Harold beckoned to him. "I'll come back and checkmate you as soon as I can," he boasted, and got up. Harold led him to a private chamber. A fire on its hearth did little to beat off the gloom. Outside, a thick sad snow fell to deaden the streets and turn the land bloodless.

  Leofwin shivered and held his hands to the flames. "What is it, brother?" he asked.

  "A ship has just come with an evil cargo," Harold told him. "News from England."

  "Well, then?"

  Harold's strong square-hewn face brooded, half in shadow and half in fretful yellow light. "It's ill," he said. "King Edward has now set our sister Edith aside—" At Leofwin's curse: "No, not divorce, but he's taken her lands and gold, and sent her almost a prisoner to his own sister at Wherwell. And there's more. Duke William the Bastard has been guesting, receiving many honors; nor has the king troubled to deny rumors he's promised William the crown after him. They're near kinsmen, you know, and— More, though. Bishop Sparhafoc is driven from London and a Norman given the see. Our father's earldom is handed out to others; Alfgar Leofricsson has mine."

  "And here we sit!" raged Leofwin, springing to his feet.

  Harold smiled w
ryly. "It seems you stand, brother," he murmured.

  "But what's to be done?"

  "Fight . . . when the time is ready."

  "Could not our kinsman, King Svein in Denmark, help us?"

  "He has his own troubles, with King Harald Hardrede. No, we must see . . ." Harold rested his chin on one thick brown hand. "Think not I like this dawdling about. I have friends at home, yes, more than friends."

  Leofwin remained silent, for he knew his brother thought of Edith Swan-neck, his fair mistress, and mother of his children. They were dear to each other, those two.

  "These are evil times," said Harold after a while. "Often am I fain to think doomsday must be near, so much of the world is already going down in wreck. If ever England needed a strong chief, this is the moment, when wild beasts ring her in. The Normans lick their chops as they look across the channel; the Norse giant has some claim of his own, and who knows what vaunting dreams he bears? God's truth, it's bitter to sit here helpless!"

  "England's king ..." Something glowed in Leofwin's eyes as he watched the other. "Harold, never was a man better fitted for it than you. Alfred's line gutters out, but we . . ."

  "Enough!" Harold spoke harshly, almost afraid of the thought.

  "Let's first win home."

  In spring, ships went between Dublin and Bruges with messages. Harold was hot to begin the work, but the crafty earl ordered him to wait a while yet, and to meet him at the Isle of Wight early in September. In the latter part of summer, Harold and Leofwin busked themselves; by now they had a sizable fleet, and with it they sailed to England. Around the Severn mouth they harried and plundered, defeating the king's forces; more than thirty great thanes fell at their hands, as well as many yeomen.

  The king's fleet lay at Sandwich, on guard against Earl Godwin, but he eluded them and made a secret landing. There the men of Kent, Sussex, and Surrey swarmed to him, crying that they would die before their old Landfather, their shield, should again lose his rights. The royal ships came toward Godwin, but could not find him; they returned to Sandwich and then, the forty-day term of the levy being up, went home. After this, Godwin and Harold sought each other, and that was a joyful meeting.

  They ranged about getting support, and it was with a mighty force both on land and water that they steered up the Thames one blustery fall day. When they reached Southwark, the king's craft fled before them, and the guards on London Bridge let them pass without battle. From both the London and Southwark banks, folk stood cheering as Godwin and Harold rowed up the stream. Spears and helmets and naked swords flashed an answer from the hulls.

  Archbishop Robert escaped to the coast, where he found a leaky old scow of a ship and crossed to Normandy; this tale brought laughter through all of England. Meanwhile, the earls and the Witan met with the rebels. Godwin knelt before King Edward, swearing he had ever been true and wanted only the good of the realm. Tears wavered on the Confessor's lids, he could scarcely speak, when he agreed that Godwin and the Godwinssons should be inlawed and honored.

  It was decreed that Wessex return to its earl, while Harold got East Anglia from Alfgar: mostly Danish settlements, where he felt right well at home, being half Danish himself. Edward was to restore his queen; his Norman favorites were banished; Bishop Stigand, Knut's old chancellor, was made Archbishop of Canterbury, the highest prelate of the kingdom. It was all Edward could do not to weep before his shouting people.

  Harold said with a cold joy to his father: "Now, before God, we are again Englishmen!"

  "Christ grant we remain so," answered Godwin.

  3

  The earl did not long enjoy his triumph. He heard that his son Sweyn had died in the South. Shortly afterward, during the Easter season in the following year, he himself was stricken; he lay speechless and strengthless for three days, the breath laboring in and out of him. Harold thought it strange and saddening that this man his father, who had been the strongest and wisest and boldest of them all, who had himself been England, should lie with chilled hands and a mute pleading in his eyes. When he died, Harold bent his head and wept.

  Thereafter King Edward made him Earl of Wessex, and handed East Anglia to Alfgar Leofricsson. Harold liked this ill, but since Alfgar had supported him during his return, and the balance of the kingdom still teetered above civil war, agreed. Tosti, though, was in a rage. "I looked to have some reward," he said between his teeth. "I lay out and fought with the rest of you, and what have I to show for it but scars?"

  "Be patient," said Harold. "I could do naught else."

  Tosti snarled some answer and turned away. The evil blood which had doomed Sweyn leaped up in him at times.

  The next year, 1054, was a hard one for many. Horror rode the sky, a new star so bright it was seen by day ere it sank back into darkness. Tidings came that Christendom was split asunder, the Eastern Church had finally thrown off all allegiance to Rome and anathemas flew like poisoned arrows. Pope Leo died about that time, and Hildebrand, though as yet only a cardinal, sought to rebuild the Catholic Church from the ground up; he was a powerful man with a ruthlessly great vision. Jaroslav the Wise died, and Russia was divided among his sons. The French king tried to invade the troublesome Duchy of Normandy, and William the Bastard sent him reeling back. Up in the North, Earl Siward and Malcolm Canmore overthrew King Macbeth at Dunsinane, and in this battle, the earl lost his own son. There was a murrain among the cattle, and Harold Godwinsson fell sick and was many months abed.

  In 1055 Siward followed his boy into death. Then came Tosti to King Edward and asked for the earldom of Northumbria. His manner was so smooth, his looks so dazzling, he made such free use of his unwitting brother Harold's name, that this was granted him. Alfgar, who had been expecting to receive it, flew into such a temper, deftly goaded by Tosti, that he was outlawed for the things he said. He fled to the Welsh king, and they attacked together.

  Harold went briskly to work, defeating them in battle and then reaving and burning till the marches were a wasteland. This brought peace, and Alfgar was forgiven, but it left many smoldering fires in Welsh breasts. Now and again, at night in a circle of stones, rites were performed as they had been for ages before even the Romans came, to wish bad luck on Harold Godwinsson.

  The Wessex earl was a gallant and dashing man. When he rode in gilt helmet and burnished armor, his long hair and scarlet cloak floating behind him, his horse high-stepping and the Housecarles tramping in his wake with axes agleam, folk said openly he looked more a king than the crowned dotard. He himself would not say yea or nay to such talk, only brusquely that he had work to do and was sworn to his sovereign.

  King Edward brought a namesake, Edward the Atheling, from Hungary, where he had long ago fled to escape Knut; but this son of Edmund Ironside took sick and died, leaving but his small child Edgar. Indeed Alfred's house was falling. This happened while Harold was on pilgrimage to Rome, where he won the enmity of Hildebrand by refusing to take England as a fief of the Pope.

  On his return, Harold found trouble brewed afresh by Tosti, who had again trapped Alfgar into words worth outlawry. A Norse Viking fleet had come, secretly ordered by Harald Hardrede to probe England's defenses; Alfgar and his Welsh allies had joined them. Harold sent peace offers to the Englishman, who accepted them and came home again; then Harold must lead ships against the Vikings, who were plundering along the southern coast. He drove them back with losses, and now for a time his land had stillness. This was in 1058.

  When the Vikings returned to Nidharos, they sought out Harald Hardrede. "Well," he said, "how went it?"

  "We got good booty, my lord," answered their chief, "but could make no headway otherwise. Your namesake, Harold Godwinsson, is a doughty fighter; whoever has dared his anger has come to grief, and the folk love him."

  "It was worth a trial." King Harald stroked his mustache. "In no case would it do to fall on England with Svein Estridhsson at our backs." He had, indeed, sent friendly messages to Edward some years ago. "But still ..." His great form raised its
elf and began pacing the hall. "Think you, Erling, think you. England totters, with her lords quarreling and a palsied hand at the steering oar. Yet she's the richest land in the North. Jutes, Saxons, Danes, Norse: ever has England been our dream, and they who hold her might well hold the world later on."

  "Harold Godwinsson seems to grasp her tightly enough," said Erling dryly.

  "Hm, yes, perhaps. One man! Well, think on it."

  Chapter XIII:

  How Gunnar Geiroddsson Fared to Nidharos

  1

  The man was called Geirodd. His folks stemmed from the Dale; but his father had had troubles and moved far up into Haalogaland, on the edge of Finnmark, where he built a hut by the sea. Geirodd was a fisherman and spent most of his summers off the Lofoten Islands, a hard and toilsome life. His home was so lonely, snowed in for almost half the year and otherwise cut off by marsh and wolf-haunted forest, that he seldom had guests. Indeed, folks thereabouts lived in a rude ancient manner, with scant knowledge of the outside world.

  Geirodd's oldest son was Gunnar, who in spite of being poor and overworked had grown to mighty stature. The lad could see small hope in repeating his father's life, and early in the spring of Anno Domini 1061, when he had just turned twenty years old, left home to join the guards of the rich King Harald men told about.