Man With a Sword

by Henry Treece

  Hardrada said, ‘Better the Norman than the son of Godwine. I have spoken with William before and know that, at least, he is a man - and not a sneaking hedge-thief. We will put an end to the Godwine, and then, mayhap, if the dice fall right, I will divide England between Tostig and Duke William, with myself as overlord.’

  Hereward said quietly, ‘Better destroy them all, and put on the throne the lad who has most right to be king - Edgar the Atheling, the grandson of old Edmund Ironside - and the true heir to the throne. He is said to be a comely youth, and with good advisers might bring peace to England.’

  But Hardrada was not listening. He was already planning to cross the sea back to Norway and begin his preparations.

  10. Earl Tostig

  The crossing to Norway was a rough one. On that voyage many of the carles who called themselves Christians openly fell to their knees and asked the aid of Odin; and King Harald did nothing to stop them.

  Euphemia was with little Cnut in the after-part of the longship, where the King had placed a striped awning to give her privacy. She looked up with her great dark eyes and said to Hereward, ‘Husband, God has been good to us, bringing us together and giving us a son. Now there is talk of war, and I know well enough that in war men are killed and do not return to their homes. I count myself lucky to have found you, by God’s help; would it not be wickedness to place yourself in such danger that Cnut and I might lose you?’

  Hereward bit his lip and answered, ‘Euphemia, lovely one, I am a sworn carle and must serve my master, the King. Harald made me into a man again when I was only a thrall in a steading where the rain dripped through the rotten thatch. He gave me rings and byrnie, sword and shield. In a way, guided by God no doubt, he even gave me you. So there is a debt I must pay him. If Harald wishes to become great in the north and to hold part of England, it is my duty to follow him.’

  Euphemia bowed her head, obedient after the manner of the women who had known Eastern teaching. All the same, she whispered, ‘Have you no duty to your son and your wife who adores you, Hereward? Would it not be wiser to leave the service of the King and set up as a peaceful farmer in Norway? You are rich enough now, surely. And we could live simply and do no harm to anyone. You could put your sword away and forget that your hand ever guided it.’

  Hereward was so troubled by her words that he strode about the little space and punched his hands together. At last he said, ‘There is something else, Euphemia. Years ago the Godwines hurt me by treachery. They took away from me my senses for a while, made me an old man before my time. In the deeps of my heart, I do not care if King Harald of Norway holds this kingdom or that - but I do care that the Godwine brood should know I have come for my payment, my revenge.’

  Cnut was frightened by his father’s shouting and began to cry, so Hereward held him, bobbing him up and down and singing songs to him.

  Euphemia said, ‘Husband, you talk like a savage. Revenge is empty; it eats a man’s heart away and leaves him a husk. Let us forget revenge; let us go anywhere to be away from it, I beg you.’

  Hereward said slowly, ‘My love, my only love, you are asking me to forget my nature. Can you ask a seal to grow wings and fly through the air; or a snake to put on legs and walk? You are asking me to say that it is not dark at night, or light by day. You cannot turn the sun into the moon by asking, my dear.’

  Euphemia began to cry then, and Cnut joined with her. Hereward felt the old wound beginning to throb in his head. He put the boy down beside Euphemia on the bed and said, ‘Wherever a carle goes in this world he will find wars to be fought, if he is a man. In Denmark the young boys have prepared for war since they can remember. In Flanders a man would be torn many ways - whether to fight for this one or that. In Normandy the proud duke dreams of conquering the world. In Ireland Northmen squabble with all others. Even distant Iceland is full of outlaws and robber-men, who will knife each other for the price of a sheep. The world is like a boiling-pot, Euphemia. And it will not stop bubbling until the fire beneath it is quenched. Now if Hardrada can gain power in England and destroy the Godwines, some of the fire might well be doused. Let us say that Hardrada might share England with Duke William; why, then there would be peace in that land, and we might find ourselves a place to live quietly. Or say that we do not choose to live there - well, once I have helped the King and helped to destroy my enemies, then you and I, with the bounty I shall gain, could sail down the big rivers again and live in Kiev or even in Miklagard. There would be room for us there.’

  Euphemia saw that it was no good arguing with her husband. So she gathered her son to her and curled up. Hereward thought they were asleep, so kissed them both and went forward to where Hardrada stood at the bucking prow.

  Hardrada said, ‘So that is settled. I could hear your words through the awning, above the splash of the salt sea. A linen awning is not like a wooden wall, carle.’

  Hereward felt a little ashamed, but could not say anything. Hardrada said, ‘Women get in the way, even the most lovely of them. It has been my habit to marry them, then leave them behind in some place where they could not disturb my thoughts. It is good to visit them from time to time, to get news of one’s sons; but not to carry such bickerings with one into battle. A fighting man needs all his thought for the enemy. Perhaps I did wrong in taking you down to Miklagard to taste a melon. It would have paid me to send a trader on the journey for a load of the things; then your mind would not have been divided.’

  He smiled, the spray lashing his red face, turning it redder. A white gull swept low over the ship and squawked out as though it was laughing at these men who rocked on the grey seas in a wooden shell and thought they could rule the world.

  Hereward said at last, ‘Harald, a man can only go to meet his fate; whether it is murder or melons, swords or sweetmeats. I go now with you to meet my fate, to meet Tostig. But after the meeting is over, after this battle is done, I shall give my heart and mind to my wife and my son. I shall ask you to release me from my oath and to let me be as my own man again, to build my own house and arrange my own life. Is that agreed?’

  Harald Hardrada nodded, his mouth tightened into a grim smile. ‘It is agreed,’ he said. ‘This is what I have known all my life. Men have knelt before me, have traded blows alongside me - and then they have left me. Only I have gone on, and on, half-way across the world. I have a dream. My dream is to rule the north - I alone, with no popes or priests, or counsellors to tell me how it should be done. This is my great chance. If I aid Tostig now, all could be mine - from Iceland to Brittany. All of it! No Northman has ever held such a dice in his hand - and all for one throw.’

  He glanced at Hereward then and said with a strange smile, ‘And all who come with me on this journey to power will be remembered. And all who stand against me will be known. They will not escape, though they set sail for Greenland or Egypt. There will be no corner in the earth small enough to hide them.’

  The gull wheeled about the ship once more, laughing. And Hardrada said, ‘For you, Hereward, there will be a prince’s domain. Think of that. Once this affair is done, you can place your sword-point on any part of the map, from Orkney to Novgorod, and I will see that there is a throne for you to sit on, and lands for you to rule. Is that enough?’

  Hereward bowed his head and said, ‘It is enough, lord. I will come with you this once - and may Odin give us victory.’

  Then he went back to the awning, because little Cnut was crying once more.

  They landed quietly in Uppsala the next day, and went as traders across the hills, their swords and byrnies wrapped in cow-hides. They came to Hardrada’s hall a week later.

  Here Hereward first met Tostig Godwinson. He was a great barrel-chested man, with a black beard that crept up his cheeks to his eyelids. He was very merry and laughed whenever he spoke. No man would have taken him for a son of old Earl Godwine. He even spoke with a Norman accent and not an English one, and all the men took to him straightaway.

  When Hereward stood befor
e him, Tostig said, ‘You are the man my kinsfolk quarrelled with. I have heard the tale up and down the land. Well, you are still alive - which is more than might be expected. It is not often that my brothers make that sort of mistake. Now you can stand before brother Harold once more and tell him what you think of him.’

  Hereward stared Tostig in the eye and said, ‘When I stand before him, I shall not speak to him. Only this sword will speak, and Harold Godwinson will not care to hear the words it will say.’

  Tostig pulled at his beard and said quietly, ‘I admire a man with a purpose in life; but let me warn you, do not stand too close to brother Harold to deliver your message. He, too, has been known to make the sword-edge deliver a message of some wit.’

  Then he began to laugh again and to pat Cnut on the cheek and to admire the beauty of Euphemia for all to hear. Euphemia blushed with pleasure, and Hardrada stood behind her, his bearlike paw upon her shoulder. Hereward felt proud that such great ones should treat his wife and son with honour.

  That night, in their room, he said to her, ‘I have heard all manner of evil spoken about Tostig Godwinson; but it seems to me that he is a man I could follow.’

  Euphemia said, ‘In Miklagard, such a man would stand beside the Emperor himself. Husband, it seems to me that he and Hardrada are truly great men, the greatest in the north.’ Hereward pretended to be annoyed and said, ‘And what of your own husband, Saracen woman?’

  Euphemia said with a smile, ‘Very well, then you should stand behind the Emperor. And perhaps Duke William of Normandy might have a place beside you. Then there would be five great men in the world. Will that do?’

  Hereward nodded. ‘That will do,’ he said. ‘As long as you do not add Harold Godwinson to the company. There is not room for us and him in the world.’

  Before dawn the next day they were wakened by the galloping of horses. A thrall came in and said, ‘Tostig has gone, master. He and our king have made their vows to each other, and will meet with all their forces, either in Scotland, or by the Tyne, or by the Humber. They will take York first, and then bring back the old Northern rule in England. One day, mayhap, we shall all feast in London.’

  Hereward said, ‘You hear too much for a thrall. Be off with you, man, and say these words to no one else.’

  The thrall said, ‘I only speak to kings and captains, lord.’ Hereward laughed, but Euphemia’s face was troubled.

  ‘What will happen to us, husband, while you are away?’ she said.

  Hereward smothered her puzzled brow with kisses. ‘Dearest,’ he replied, ‘you and the little warrior, Cnut, will sit here snug by the fire until I send for you. Then, in York or Lincoln or London - it matters not where - we shall have a great rejoicing. You shall wear a robe of silk and a little gold crown upon your head. My son, my blessed little mouse here, shall have Harold Godwinson’s dagger to play with!’

  Euphemia began to laugh. ‘You are still a fool,’ she said. ‘What would Cnut want with a dagger!’

  11. Stamfordbridge

  I t was a bright sunny day; and though it was September it might have been high summer, for the sun beat down so much upon the meadows that the Northmen took off their helmets and byrnies, even their wool vests and trousers and, leaving their swords and shields in a pile, stretched out like boys and let their tired bodies drink it in, as a cloth drinks water.

  Half of their army rested on the other side of the lazy, narrow River Derwent, listening to the water lapping and the late birds singing, giving praise to God that they had so easily landed on English soil and had been allowed the good fortune to capture the city of York.

  Hereward sat with Harald Hardrada, and near them lay men of many sorts; Northmen from Ireland, berserks of Sognefiord where they had all sailed from, Flemings sent by Baldwin of Flanders - anxious to be on the winning side - and even Scots who had come down at the command of their King, Malcolm Bighead, who was said to know all things - even the language of frogs.

  ‘He needs to,’ had whispered one old carle from Bergen. ‘Most of his subjects are frogs. Frogs and heath-adders!’

  On the far side of the river lay Tostig and some of Harald’s foragers, including many men from Shetland and Orkney. They had come with seventeen ships and three good battle-leaders - Copsi who had once been Earl of Northumbria, and the Earls Paul and Erling. These men of the far north had given a good account of themselves near York, at Fulford, against the English forces. Earl Erling carried more wounds than a hedgehog had quills, men said, and none of them serious, by the grace of God! Nothing that would not have healed by the time he sailed back to the north and put his arms about his new young wife who waited for him there, in the windblown dust.

  What amused Erling most was that Earl Paul, who had been biting the shield-rim and foaming at the lips all the way down to Yorkshire, boasting how many heads he would take and how much trophy from the churches in York, had been left behind at Riccall on the Ouse, to guard Hardrada’s three hundred ships; but really to guard Hardrada’s son, the Prince Olaf, who was with him there. A wise woman had foretold that Prince Olaf should not meet the English leaders, the Earls Edwin and Morcar, in battle. So Hardrada had commanded his son to stay ten miles away by road from York.

  In the meadow by the river Hereward leaned on his elbow and nibbled at a blade of grass. Hardrada said, smiling, ‘What is it, captain? You were shouting loud enough in the arrow-hail yesterday, and singing like a lark among the spears the day before. And, don’t you recall, as we rode into York you vowed to take Morcar’s palace from him and set up there with your dear wife, Euphemia, and your son?’

  Hereward smiled and said, ‘It is of them I am thinking. I hope Euphemia keeps warm while we are away. The sea-fret that sweeps into Bergen is bad for the chest, and she, being from the south, takes cold easily, as you know.’

  Hardrada said, ‘No thought for little Cnut, then?’

  Hereward threw the grass-stalk away and said, ‘I think of him every moment. Even when the arrows comb my hair and the swords tickle my throat. I hope that Euphemia can find cow’s milk for him in Bergen; that goat’s milk turns the lad’s stomach.’

  A Scot, whose face was painted with streaks of blue dye, said to another, ‘Hear that? These terrible Vikings talk about goat’s milk when they should be shouting of blood and plunder! Our churchmen have told us wrong about them!’

  Both Hereward and Hardrada turned to gaze at the man. After a moment, he could stand their cold eyes no longer and moved away.

  Hereward said, ‘It is just as well. In another minute his head would have floated down the river.’

  Hardrada nodded. ‘I should have done it if you had not, friend. I wonder if we were wise to bring these Scots with us,’ he said quietly. ‘They quickly forget the plan of attack, and think only of what they can seize before they run away again. That is no way to conduct a war, especially when the throne of England is our goal.’

  Hereward thought for a while, then said, ‘All goes well. When the Earls Edwin and Morcar have surrendered hostages to us and a fair share of treasure from York, then we can turn south and take London. King Harold Godwinson, curse his name, must be shivering in his shoes now, holding his sister’s hand in the new Minster there, and wondering which of us will strike first - Hardrada or Duke William of Normandy!’

  But Hardrada had stopped listening. He was saying, ‘That is a strange omen, friend. A country with three queens in it. Or as good as queens! There is Godwinson’s mother, Gytha; there is his first wife, Edith Swansneck; and there is Ealdgytha, his second wife, sister of Earl Edwin. In Norway this would make a king afraid - three queens living. We say that there are only three queens allowed by Odin when a king has to be carried away in a death-barge, like the old British king, Arthur.’

  Hereward nodded and chose another stalk of grass to chew. ‘I do not think Godwinson need fear that,’ he said. ‘His wife, Edith Swansneck, was never married to him in church. They just shook hands before their friends and said they would be ma
n and wife. She is not even called queen. Nor is his mother, Gytha. She only acts like a queen!’

  Hardrada, who never liked to be bested in an argument, said, ‘Very well, then, there is one who cannot be denied - and I had forgotten her. There is Harold’s own sister, the widow of Edward the Confessor. That makes three queens. Now do you agree?’

  Hereward grinned and said, ‘You best me, Harald. So perhaps there are three queens in England. Let us hope that they are getting the black barge painted and ready on the Thames at this moment. I am tired of voyaging and exchanging sword-blows. The sooner they row Godwinson away with muffled oars, the better for me. Then I can settle down and see what it is like to grow barley and milk my own cows.’

  But Hardrada was gazing away from him, not listening, his eyes fixed on a grassy ridge less than a quarter of a mile away. Hereward followed his lord’s stare and saw men coming over the ridge. They were carrying spears, and the sun glinted on their helmets and mesh-shirts. In their midst fluttered two banners - one bearing the figure of the great dragon of Wessex, the other embroidered with a warrior holding a two-handed sword.

  Hardrada let out a great cry. ‘By Odin,’ he said, ‘we are betrayed! This is not Edwin and Morcar, come to surrender our spoils. This is Godwinson himself. I have heard of that new banner of his; his mother stitched it with her own hands. It is called the Fighting Man. How can the man have come up from London in so short a time? The devil must be in his heels!’

  Now all the men were dragging on their byrnies and helmets, trying to sort out their swords from the pile on the river bank.

  The men on the ridge were coming on fast now, shouting like madmen. Hardrada, who could not get his neckplate fastened, turned with a curse and flung it into the river. It fell with a splash so quiet that it was hardly heard. He swung round to Hereward and said, ‘This is poor play. There is only one way over this stream, and the water is too deep for a man to walk across. They will trap us by the bridge, where there is no space to swing a dagger, much less a sword.’