"More foreigners every day," grumbled Arinbjorn. "They come from all over. Gabble, gabble, honk! How's a man to understand their heathenish tongues? If you must know ..."
The black-robed oldster, grave and bearded, was a Russian priest, come here with some others on a mission for his king. Beside him, the guzzling giant, bearded to the waist, was a noble of Novgorod. The long, thin, gloomy man was an envoy from the Swedes. The fat one hailed from England, a trader; Harald had been questioning him very closely.
Nearby, gorgeous in silks and satins, his dark hair cropped short on top and shaven off below, was a Norman knight, belike a spy; to judge from his sullen look, he had had little gain from the trip. "Oh, yes, our king's a deep one, they'll find out naught he doesn't wish them to know."
"It's a pity the Miklagardh envoys have gone home," said Vigleik. "There was a crowd fairly dripping jewels! The king bespoke them in their own tongue. He served down there himself, if you haven't heard."
"Aye," said Arinbjorn with a wry mouth, "the king speaks many tongues: Greek, Russian, enough French and Latin to get by. They say he even reads and writes, as if he were a bishop."
"And what of it?" challenged Vigleik. "Does it make him less a man? I've seen him cleave a Dane to the shoulders, in one blow, kick in the ribs of another while he was freeing his sword, and take the head off a third, all before you could say an Ave. A ship comes alive when he steers."
"Now he talks of this business of sailing north." Arinbjorn shuddered. "What's north save Jotunheim and the rim of the world? He dares too much." Quickly: "I say naught against him, understand. It's but that I'd not care to go on such a trip."
Gunnar sat back, listening with half an ear. He was still strung so tight that he quivered within, and yet he had a sense of homecoming. A king wise and mighty, yes, such a one could men rally around and die for.
When he had first spoken of leaving, old Geirodd had stood against it and said, "It's not fitting for one man to be another's dog."
But when the master was like this . . . What better than to be his hound, following and fighting, watching while he slept, waiting in hope of one rough hand stroking your hair, and in the end to lie at his feet?
Chapter XIV:
How Harald Sailed North
1
Ulf the marshal had come to Nidharos to help the king lay plans for next summer's warfare. He was down on an open place near the river, watching a horse fight, when Eystein and Gunnar chanced by. The years had touched him more than Harald; there were white streaks in his coal-swart hair and the ugly pocked face was deeply plowed, but his square stocky form remained erect and the black-furred arms, folded over his breast, still held a bear's strength.
There were two stallions, strong, short-legged, long-headed Northern ponies with tawny-brown hides and flowing manes; one belonged to Styrkaar and one to Thjodholf, and they had wagered which was better. Now each had his at the end of a rope, while a mare in heat was held nearby to madden them, and a flock of warriors crowded recklessly close to watch.
Rearing, the horses struck at each other, hooves lashed against ribs, eyes rolled wild and white. Teeth came out, biting till blood ran. One stallion jerked so fiercely the tether was nigh ripped from Thjodholf's hands, and men cheered. Ulf stood quietly, his ice-green eyes flickering from horse to horse, stepping back as a kick thundered too near and then in again. Dust swirled up till the fight was almost hidden.
After a while, Thjodholf's beast took the attack in a flail of feet and teeth. Styrkaar's backed up, still striking, and the other screamed victory and rushed. There followed a flurry of blows, then Styrkaar's turned and tried to flee. Its master's feet were dragged off the ground. "Ho, stop, you bastard, stop, you misbegotten son of a sick worm, God curse you!"
Thjodholf's stallion neighed, loud and fierce, and turned to the mare. "Let him," panted the skald. "It's your mare, Styrkaar, but I counsel you let mine start a better breed."
"Not on my stock!" said the guardsman sourly. He flung the stakes to the ground and led his beaten horse off; his carle followed with the mare, while three men hauled Thjodholf's stallion the other way.
"There, there, my poor lad." Daringly, the skald stroked the raging beast. "It's not my fault Styrkaar loses so vilely. Come, now, come away, you shall have a bucket of ale tonight."
The crowd broke up in chattering swirls. As he turned, Ulf saw Eystein. "Good day to you." He nodded. "I've not seen you since spring. How goes the fever?"
"Oh, it got well long ago." The sheriff was, as ever, the most colorfully clad there; it had earned him his nickname. "I heard you too have been somewhat ill of late."
"Now and again," Ulf shrugged. "I've offered candles at the church, and paid a witch to cast healing spells, but little help comes from either."
Eystein laughed. "Perhaps, in trying everything, you've offended both powers. Well, I'll say prayers for you, Ulf, since we can scarce do without you. This is my new man Gunnar Geiroddsson, who saved my life a while back. A doughty wight—he's already wrestled every guardsman that tried him, to a fall."
Ulf gave Gunnar his hand. The marshal's manner was uncouth for so great a man, but he had not the overwhelming haughtiness shown by too many of Harald's new chiefs. "A fisherman, were you not?" he asked shrewdly.
"Has someone told you?" wondered Gunnar.
"No. But I see three old scars on your hands, such as are left by carelessly used fishhooks."
"Have a care with that wisdom, Ulf, or they'll think you a warlock," smiled Eystein.
"I got the habit from King Harald," said the marshal, "though he's most often silent about that which he sees. What's this tale of Gunnar rescuing you?"
Eystein told him as they strolled back toward the hall. Something in the story amused Ulf, and he shook with soundless laughter—an unnerving habit into which he had lately fallen. "Well," he said, "you'll have chance enough for that kind of work next summer, Gunnar. A full levy is being called, and a challenge sent to King Svein. He must take it this time, or see his kingdom left in ruin."
"What's the truth about this year's raiding?" asked Eystein. "I heard mention of some clever trick, but have had no chance to learn what really happened."
"It's a good tale," said Ulf. "We steered for Jutland and harried there, but everywhere folk were out in greater numbers than our own to battle us. It's taken him years, but Svein has finally begun learning the arts of war . . . which I suppose is why Harald wants a last big fight soon, ere the Danes land on our own shores. Anyhow, our force was too small to do much. When we entered the Limfjord, we plundered on both sides. However, the Jutes came up on either bank in overwhelming numbers, so we camped on a small unpeopled island in the fjord. Our water butts were empty, we'd hoped to fill them at the streams but too many spears lay there now. Whoof, I'd given much to have someone flap a horn of ale under my nose!
"King Harald told us to find some earthworms. It was an odd sort of booty, but we did. He baked them thirsty by a fire, tied threads to their tails, and let them go again. The threads unwound from the clews as the worms crawled off, so we could follow them till they burrowed into the earth. There King Harald bade us dig, and we found enough water for all our needs." Again Ulf bent over, laughing without noise. Eystein chuckled, and Gunnar's guffaw boomed out.
"Well, then," went on the marshal, "that same evening our scouts came back to tell us Svein was entering the fjord with a fleet big enough to finish us. It took time, though, the inlet being so narrow, and meanwhile we rowed to the end of the bay, where only a thin neck of land blocks off the sea. There, in the night, we unloaded our ships, dragged them across the land, loaded them again, and were sailing north along the coast by dawn. While our foes lay behind, dislodging the lice in their hair as they wondered where we could be, the countryside was open to us, and we got good plunder on the way home. It was about St. John's Eve, but we lit their balefires for them!"
Gunnar slapped his thigh. "A wise king we have!" he exclaimed.
"A
ye, so. Have you seen the new ship Harald is having built? The keel is already laid. It's to be a buss, the same size as the Long Snake—thirty-five rowers' benches, seventy oars, mind you, besides I know not how many other men. So fair a sight will never have been seen erenow."
"But what's this gossip that the king plans to sail to Jotunheim this very month?" asked Eystein. "It's a fearsome thought, and yet I could like having a place on board."
"Speak to him of that," urged Ulf, "for he can get few men to go with him."
They had entered the courtyard and now found a bench. House folk moved about at their work while several guardsmen yawned and made small talk and played games. When Ulf saw dice clattering between some of them, his eyes glittered and he half rose to join; but at that moment King Harald came from the hall.
Beside him was his oldest daughter, Maria. Gunnar's eyes widened, for she now was in her sixteenth year and very fair—tall, slender, with flowing hair of lustrous brown, her mother's frail looks and dreaming gray eyes, but with something of her father's strength in the straight nose and on the full lips. She was simply clad, and they said she was a shy quiet sort, but she walked with easy grace.
The king went over to the three men, who rose. He waved them back and seated himself. Maria hovered near; when Eystein's eyes crossed hers in frank admiration, too frank for a man with wife and children, she blushed deeply and looked away. A veil of thought dropped across her; where now was she wandering?
The sheriff sighed and glanced back at Harald. "I hear you plan to sail north, my lord," he said.
Harald nodded. "Yes, three ships are already loaded. I wait but for full crews and a favoring wind. We'll return ere the fall storms, I trust."
"But why?" asked Eystein. "There's naught out there save the edge of the world. You might sail off it and down into hell."
Harald snorted. "So they all think. But one of those Miklagardh men who were here last year reminded me of the old Greek stories—a land beyond the northern ice, a fair and happy realm. I'm fain to see if it's true."
"Well—" Eystein looked unsure. Then his eyes flickered to Maria, and he cleared his throat and said: "I'd like to go with you."
"Good!" said Harald at once. "Make yourself ready to leave whenever I give the word. You shall have no small reward."
Maria smiled, which brought a foolish grin to Eystein's face.
"May I come, my lord?" asked Gunnar shyly. "I know somewhat of the sea."
Harald gave him a sharp stare. "I want none who'll be frightened at thought of unknown terrors."
"Not with you there, my lord," mumbled Gunnar.
Harald smiled. "Then come," he said softly.
"I'll bring a few men we can trust," said Ulf.
"No," said the king. "You must stay behind."
"What? But we've ever fared together, Harald—"
"I know, and glad would I be to have you. But think, now— It could be that trolls or monsters or Ran herself will sink us. I sail this year, because it's not sure I will live past next summer; that's going to be a fierce battle. But if I should not come back, there must be a strong hand on the kingdom. We've not yet quenched revolt, it still smolders in men's hearts, and Magnus is but a boy as yet."
Ulf's brow darkened. "Now see here —" he began.
"No. You stay behind." It was the cold voice of command.
Ulf bit his lip. Suddenly he cramped over, grasping at his chest. Blood drained from his face, and his breath gasped. He slid from the bench to the ground.
Harald leaped up and stooped above him. "Ulf!" It was a croak in the king's mouth. "Ulf, what's wrong?"
The marshal clamped his teeth together and looked up with blank soulless eyes.
"Before God!" roared Harald as the men crowded around. "Stand back! Let him breathe!" He himself tried to raise his friend.
The spasm passed. Ulf sat up, breathing heavily. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.
"What is it?" whispered Harald. His hands shook on the marshal's shoulders. "What happened, Ulf?"
"A . . .a pain in my breast ... my heart stops and ... I get it now and then, cannot draw breath or . . ." The Icelander spoke faintly. "It's horrible, the fear which catches me."
Some of the guards and carles shuddered away, thinking they looked on a man under a curse.
Harald raised him. "Here, lean on me," he said. There was a woman's gentleness in his tone. "Come into the hall. Take his other arm, Maria."
Ulf shook himself, jerkily. "It's past now. Give me a stoup of wine and I'll have my strength back.''
"Aye, that you shall have, and the best leech-wife in Nidharos. Come, now. We'll put you to bed, and Queen Ellisif shall attend you."
"Ellisif." There was an uncertain smile on Ulf's bearded lips. "Yes, that would be well."
"The best we have," said Harald. His voice caught. "The best I can give you, old wolf."
They went slowly from the courtyard.
2
Elizabeth seemed to have faded somewhat as the years passed; she grew ever more still and withdrawn. But she remained in health, steered her household well, could be merry with her husband, and was much beloved by the folk.
Thora had put on some weight, not too much since she was often out hawking or hunting, and there were fine lines about the gold-green eyes. Yet she was vividly fair, with hair like smoky flame, lustful in the dark though sharp-tongued by day. Her wealth had grown with shrewd management, and she wore gold and silks daily.
Neither queen had borne more children, though Harald had given many nights to both. But those they had grew strongly, and the weeks and years had fallen into a steady pattern of rising in the morning, breaking fast, working or sporting or going to Mass, and then when all at once it was night again, to sleep. Between the two women there was a chill courtesy.
This evening Harald bedded with Thora. It seemed to him she was quieter of late, and he wondered if her father's death still weighed on her. Elizabeth had gone off to weep alone when she heard Jaroslav the Wise was no more, but Thora had mourned Thorberg with shameless openness. Still, that was some time back, and . . .
Thora sat down and loosened her hair before the mirror Harald had bought from an outland merchant. The candlelight was warm over her smooth bare shoulders, it gleamed in the ruddy tresses and embraced the full, supple body; but her strong wide face was coldly shut.
Harald began unlacing his leg thongs. "What ails you?" he asked.
"Better wonder what sickness you have," she snapped. "Are you bewitched, that you want to sail into nowhere?"
"Oh, is that the trouble?" He laughed. "You've ever plagued me to be taken along on some voyage. Well, come on this."
"God save me, no!" She crossed herself, then picked up a comb and stroked it through her hair. She could stretch and purr like a cat under such treatment, but tonight she sat stiff. "Nor will you take Magnus. I know he's been pleading to come, but—"
"No, I shan't risk him." Harald sighed. His oldest boy was a gallant lad, so stiff-necked that he often clashed with his father; yet Harald thought more of him than of Olaf who was too quiet and peaceful for a king's son.
Thora turned half around to face him. "What's to gain?" she demanded. "What's to be had up there save death and damnation?"
"That's what I mean to find out," replied Harald evenly. "If it should prove a realm of gold, you'll not be sorry."
"Giants, trolls, dragons, ghosts, witches . . . endless ice and the seas thundering off the world's rim!" she cried. Fear was alive in her face. It struck Harald oddly that she, who was otherwise so bold, should be daunted by thought of this. Elizabeth had said merely, "Well, if go you must, then God and my prayers be with you. I think not any troll is great enough to master you."
Now he got up, the floor cold under his bare feet, and went over to lay a hand on Thora's neck. "You must understand," he said earnestly. "This is an old dream. I've heard it said the world is round, a learned Saracen told me that long ago."
"So you've told me, and I sa
y it's heathenish nonsense."
"Perhaps. Yet if the world is a ball, I could sail over the top and be in Vinland or Cathay. But let it go. The Greeks thought there was a Hyperborea, a land of ageless springtime, beyond the north wind. It may be that Ydhun's apples grow there, or the well whose waters make men young again. It may be that unicorns run through green meadow where the flowers are stars. It may be ... I know not, and that's a hunger in me."
"Are you so hungry for death?" she asked, and the edge was dulled in her voice.
"No. No, I'm in no haste to die. There's so much undone." Harald looked bitterly at the wall. "God has spared me weakness thus far, and yet the years are heaped on my back, and all I once longed for has shrunk to a sameness of days. What has become of this empire of the North I meant to shape? A half-score years of petty raids, Svein still alive to jeer me, while elsewhere all the world is shaking with a new birth. I grasp at Denmark, and it slips like water through my fingers. I think of England, and while I sit thinking Norman William readies to leap on her. I look to Sweden, and see a wall of armed men I cannot hope to spring over. And here in Norway, what is it? A fight of words, a fight with shadows, a step here and a step there while the land lies sullen and does not understand."
He straightened. "Live or die, this much I will do. It will be enough to sail beyond the North."
Thora drew a long breath. "I cannot swerve you," she whispered. "I know that by now. But my dearest—did you mean what you said about taking me along?"
"No," he answered quickly.
"I thought not. So I must stay behind again, and wonder how you fare—each day a year, each night a century, while I think of your gashed corpse brought home. You sail and fight, and I stay behind to pray!"
The last word was a shriek.
Harald's hand slipped downward, over her breasts, and he bent close to her. That near, her face blurred; he could no longer see well at less than arm's length, though otherwise his might was scarcely diminished. His lips sought her cheek.
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