There they sat, the power and pride of Norway, the warriors whose fame was like thunder. Firelight glittered off golden rings, threw heavy cloth and costly furs into a moving shadow, splashed stern faces and gleamed in hooded eyes; axes hanging on the walls seemed to run with blood, and the sound of rain on the roof was as of horses galloping.
King Harald Hardrede was in the high seat, leaning back at ease, legs crossed and fingers bridged: an overwhelming giant, scarce a sign of his fifty-one years in tawny mane or beard. His weathered countenance was lined, the nose thrust out in a crag, the eyes seemed too brilliant for a mortal man. At his feet sprawled a wolfhound whom few dared go too near; its collar was studded with rubies.
On his right was Prince Magnus, shifting restlessly, a tall and goodly youth; Olaf on his left was nearly as large as a man at sixteen years of age, calm and quiet, but the blunt-fingered hands held a bear's strength. To the latter's left was the skald Thjodholf, whose gaze had looked on many stricken fields and whose voice had chanted of battles where he himself wielded not the least sword. At Magnus' right was Eystein Gorcock, whose clothes were a shout of color, who had a secret smile on his lips; but Eystein's brand had cloven shields.
Opposite the king was his marshal Ulf, bristle bearded and hideous, cold craftiness in his thick skull. On his right he had Thori of Steig, a weighty man, slow spoken and sage; on his left Styrkaar, dark and gloomy, chill of eye and hoarse of voice, whose hands had wrought much evil but whose bravery was boundless.
And there were many others, sheriffs and guardsmen, down to the young giant Gunnar Geiroddsson whose doglike gaze seldom left Harald. These men had driven armies before them and gladdened ravens; now they sat to hear the word of Osric.
The Englishman cleared his throat and faced the king. His speech was outlandish in Norway, but not so different that it could not be understood. "Your majesty and my lords," he began. "I have come hither on behalf of my master, Earl Tosti Godwinsson, whom you know to be unjustly outlawed, and whom you must also know to be among the wisest and most valiant of men. He seeks your help in a war which must not only bring greater riches than folk ever dreamed erenow, but also a fame which will endure while the world remains."
He went on at length, telling how matters stood in England and how Tosti had gotten no few ships and warriors of his own. It was his plan to come back, overthrow his brother, and seize the crown; but for the Norse help he offered to become Harald's man. Harald should be king of England and Tosti his earl in charge of half the realm.
The ruler tilted his left eyebrow upward. "I've heard that this offer was first made to my enemy Svein Estridhsson," he said.
"It was, my lord," answered Osric unabashed. "For after all, King Svein is Tosti's near relative. And these were the Dane's words: 'So little can I measure myself against my kinsman King Knut, that I can scarce defend my own land from the Norsemen. Old Knut got Denmark in heritage, and England he conquered with slash and blow, and yet for a time it seemed he must lose his very life over there. Norway he won without battle; but I have learned to be content, and to remain by my own holdings however small, rather than seek a might such as that my kinsman King Knut gained.'
"And these, sire, were my words in answer: 'When so great a man as you can bid us no more help, now when we need it the most, I understand that my journey hither will not bring what I had hoped. Therefore I must needs seek friendship where it is less to be expected; and yet it could happen that I found there a chieftain who owns more courage than you, king, to go under the eyes of danger and not shy away from a great deed.'
"And so," Finished Osric with a grin, "we parted, not just the best of friends."
The Norsemen laughed.
Harald said slowly: "We are not much for going in Viking to England, if our folk must have an English chief over them. It's thought hereabouts that the English are not to be trusted."
Osric met his stare and replied boldly: "My lord, what is the truth of that story I heard in England, that your kinsman King Magnus sent a message to King Edward claiming the English throne by reason of the agreement sworn to by Hardhaknut and himself?"
Harald countered with a question of his own. "Why did he not take it, if he owned it?"
"Yes, my lord, and why do you not have Denmark, as King Magnus had it before your time?"
Harald paled and said harshly: "The Danes have naught to brag of where we Norse are concerned; often enough have we scorched the pelts of your dear kinsmen in Denmark."
Osric folded his arms, more than ever the sparrow defying the hawk, and said: "Will you not answer my question, lord, then I shall answer it for you. King Magnus got Denmark because the Danish chieftains were on his side; you won it not, because the folk of that land were against you. And when Magnus did not attack England, it was because he knew the whole people stood together behind King Edward. But if you now wish to be the overlord of England, my master Earl Tosti shall so contrive it that the greater part of the English chiefs give you friendship and help.
"All know, king, that never in the North has there been born a man who could measure up to you as a warrior; therefore it seems me strange that you could fight so many years to conquer Denmark, but now will not travel to get England which lies open for you."
He finished and stood waiting. The Norse stirred; a few hands dropped to where sword hilts would have been.
Harald laid his chin in his palm. "I think those are less your words than your master's," he said; "so you shall be forgiven this insolence. But do not try our temper further. Now you may go."
Osric bowed cockily and went out.
There was a moment's silence. The wind hooted around the hall, somewhere a loose shutter banged; rain hammered the roof, flooding off eaves, gurgling between flagstones; early thunder boomed in the Viken hills: the trolls were playing ball!
"Well," said Harald, "what think you?"
Magnus leaped to his feet. "God's name, it's a deed which would never be forgotten!" he cried.
"Slow," smiled his father. "This is not something to be jumped blindly into. I want everyone here to think long and well; and meanwhile I shall have spies out, that we may know the truth. Let no word of this escape your mouths."
"And why so, my lord?" asked Styrkaar. "The thought is one to fire men's hearts."
"My namesake will be looking for aid. Svein in Denmark or King Dermot in Ireland might well come to his help. But if they know not whom we prepare a war against—perhaps themselves—they will stay at home."
"It's William the Bastard who means to go traveling this year," said Thori. He had lately spoken to a trader from France. "And that is a man to reckon with."
"Who is he?" snorted Harald. "A little brawling bandit. The English king has fought better than he. And as for myself, I have waged fifty battles—I count not skirmishes—" he caught Ulf's ironic eye,"—nor riots with city rabble . . . fifty battles, and in each of them have carried the victory."
"It's apt to be a three-cornered war," said Eystein. "We could reach England only to find William there before us."
"That would suit me well," answered Harald, grinning. "Indeed, my thought is to sail late in summer or early in fall. Belike William will have tried a landing first. If the English king wins, the Normans will still have whittled down his strength; if the duke should win, then his own army will be less than it was, and we can come as deliverers, the whole English folk rising to welcome us."
The wind cried out in the streets.
"Then you are already bound to embark on this venture?" asked Ulf.
"I've taken no vows," said Harald. "I wish your counsel, all of you; and surely we must know more ere beginning the war. Yet it seems a good thought to me. My claim to England is better than Harold Godwinsson's, far better than William Bastard's; and as for you, and the whole Norse folk, it's a land as rich as Miklagardh and fair as Paradise, where those who are now sheriffs could become jarls, and where we might forge one unbreakable kingdom of the North."
Ulf sho
ok his head doubtfully.
"I was in England two years ago," said one of the chiefs, a former Viking whose judgment was respected. "A mighty realm, my lord, so swarming with people that all the Norse could be lost among them, wealthy cities behind stout walls, strong and stubborn yeomen. I saw Harold Godwinsson, he was jarl then, go by with his household troops. Lord, they are giants, every one of them, no worse than Knut's old Thingmen. One of them, I fear, would be a match for any two of us."
"That's no way for a Norseman to talk," said Eystein angrily.
Ulf's faded eyes looked into the corner; rain drummed under his tones as he made a verse:
"If each single ax
of England's guards counts double
(surely I'll not shy
from shining plunder elsewise),
I will not be eager
England-ward to travel;
once in youth, oh woman,
was I bolder hearted. "
Harald leaned from his chair. "What mean you, Ulf?" he asked. "Would you stay behind when most needed?"
"No ... I suppose not." The marshal sighed. "I but spoke aloud to myself."
"Think you, then, we should sit by the fire at home for the rest of our days, farting at the mouth of how great we used to be?"
Ulf smiled wearily. "That will never be your doom, Harald," he said. "Yet 1 counsel you against this war. It's too much for us, we're too like to leave our bones to English crows."
That is what it means to grow old, thought Harald, but bit the words back. Ulf meant him well.
He wondered what woman his friend had been thinking of.
3
Eystein Gorcock was sent to Orkney to bid the Thorfinnssons, Pall and Erlend, who held the jarldom after their father, have men and ships rallied at full strength in Scapa Flow by hay harvest. They were not to be told why. The king had as yet not decided finally what he would do, but his orders could be countermanded if need be; meanwhile it was well to make everything ready, for this would be the mightest work any Norseman had undertaken.
The sheriff was loath to leave Maria even for a few weeks, but consoled himself. The betrothal feast would be held on his return, and the wedding was set for early next year.
"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."
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.
The Last Viking Page 50