Njord’s frown deepened. “If this is how you would repay the best advice you will hear the whole length of this river, then give me my part of the reward now and I will be gone from your sight.”
“No,” said the king firmly, “you will stay. The ships are here, little thanks to you. Now it is for you to earn your silver and get them safely across the cataract, for that is what you agreed to do. Fail in this and you will have the reward you deserve.”
Emboldened by these words, the slight pilot stirred himself from his indolence and began ordering the preparation of the boats. “Stand you aside,” he said, “and watch well what I shall do.”
As before, the ships were emptied. Then Njord began to display the acumen for which he was acclaimed, but of which we had heretofore seen so little demonstration. He ordered the oars to be removed and the masts struck. He commanded tall fir trees to be cut from the forest and trimmed of all branches; other trees were cut to use as levers. Then the empty hulls were pulled from the river and dragged with ropes over the bank on the round logs.
It must be said that, once begun, Njord warmed to his task and acquitted himself well. He seemed always to know just the right place where a lever would be needed, and could foresee difficulties before they arose and took steps to overcome them, or at least mitigate their severity. By day’s end we had one ship beyond the rapids and another half way along.
That night we camped on the bank and commenced again the next morning in a chill rain which began at daybreak. The rain made the task more difficult, for the paths grew muddy and the men’s feet slipped, and the wet poles were difficult to grip. However, the remaining vessels were smaller than the king’s longship, and could be moved more quickly and with somewhat less effort. Night found us with the last two ships more than half way along the dry course. At dawn the Patzinaks attacked.
King Harald was the first to perceive the danger, and it was his bull roar which roused the work-weary Danemen from their sleep. If not for this, I have no doubt we would have been slaughtered where we lay. Up we rose as one man, spears in hand—for raiding Sea Wolves always sleep with a weapon ready, especially when on land.
The Patzinaks were small and dark and shrewd, striking with quick, furious thrusts of their wide-bladed spears and axes before darting away again. All the dodging and feinting made them hard to hit. This frustrated the Sea Wolves, who much preferred a foe to stand his ground and trade blow for blow. The Patzinaks had encountered Danemen before, however, and had learned best how to deal with a more powerful opponent.
Harald saw how they meant to wear down his men, or perhaps through frustration to draw them into a fatal blunder, so he signalled his men to retreat to the ships and make their stand on the riverbank. There, with backs to the solid oak hulls, they stood to face the feisty Patzinaks.
When the foemen saw that the Sea Wolves would no longer be drawn into the open, they soon lost interest in pursuing the fight further. But, far from discouraged, they simply changed their stratagem; retreating a short way off, they held council and elected an envoy to proceed under the sign of the willow branch.
As the envoy approached, the king motioned me to him. “We will speak to them, you and I,” he said. “Though I think we will hear little to our liking.”
When the Patzinak party had come within fifty paces, they halted and waited for us. The king, ten of his house karlar, and myself went out to meet them. The king, frowning mightily, scanned the ranks of foemen, sharp disdain furrowing his brow and making his lip curl.
Up spoke the envoy’s leader, uttering an unintelligible stream of gibberish. When this produced no effect, he tried another tongue, which was, if anything, even more incomprehensible than the first. Seeing that neither of us understood him, he abandoned this speech and tried yet a third: “I give you good greeting, men,” he said in sorry Latin.
This I understood well enough and replied in kind, telling Harald what he said.
“We see that you are not afraid to fight,” the envoy continued smoothly. “Therefore, it has pleased our lord to allow you to pass through our lands unmolested.”
I repeated his words to King Harald, whose response was ready. “Your lord has a most peculiar way of expressing his pleasure,” the king grumbled. “Yet, I have been worse hindered. Fortunate for your lord and for all who follow him that I have lost no men, for we would certainly be having a very different manner of discussion at this moment.”
“That is indeed true, Your Greatness. For this, you can thank my lord, who ever extends his hands in brotherhood to those who desire his friendship.” The envoy, a slight dark man who was missing most of his right ear, paused, smiled affably, and added, “Of course, such friendship is best established with due and proper consideration.” He rubbed the palm of his right hand with the fingertips of the left.
“It seems to me,” replied Harald, once I had conveyed the envoy’s words to him, “that your lord extends his hands for a more tangible reward than brotherhood alone.”
The envoy smiled and shrugged. “The demands of friendship are many, and not without obligations of their own. A man of your undoubted eminence must certainly find this to be so.”
King Harald shook his head when he heard this. “They are cheerful thieves,” he told me. “Ask them how much silver it will take to establish this bond of friendship between us.”
I asked, and the envoy answered: “It is not for me to say, Gracious King. Rather look at your men and ships and weigh their worth in your sight. As you are a man of obvious rank, I am certain you will behave accordingly.”
Harald considered this and summoned one of his karlar who hastened back to the longship, returning on the run with a small leather bag. Reaching into the bag, the king drew out a silver armband.
“This is for friendship,” he said, placing the silver in the Patzinak envoy’s outstretched hand. “And this,” Harald continued, reaching in again, “is for the friendship of my men.” He placed a smooth-polished yellow gem in the envoy’s hand. “And this,” he said, reaching into the bag a third time, “is for the future good will between our peoples should we happen to pass this way again.” He placed a green gem beside the yellow one, then closed the bag and passed it back to his man.
“I would have thought,” said the envoy, peering disappointedly at the objects in his hand, “that a man of your estimable worth would have placed a much higher value on the friendship between our peoples.”
“I desire only the merest acquaintance,” was Harald’s retort. “I do not wish to marry your lord or any of his people, agreeable though they may be.”
The Patzinak envoy did not like this. He sighed and pulled on his chin, gazing at the loot in his hands and shaking his head sadly from side to side as if he were contemplating a tragic mistake. “I am loath to believe,” he said at last, dropping the treasure into the bag at his side, “that your new friends hold so little value in your eyes. I fear it is most distressing. No doubt when my lord hears of the small esteem in which you hold him, he will require additional blandishments.”
“How foolish of me,” replied Harald upon my relation of these words, “I have forgotten to mention that in addition to the silver and gems which you have so swiftly hidden from sight, I am also giving you and your wealth-lusting lord the gift of your lives.” The Sea Wolf king paused to await the effect his words would have; and when the envoy raised protest against this line of reasoning, Harald said, “What? Do you place so little value on your own heads?”
With that, he drew his axe and prepared to signal his men to renew the fight. The Patzinak envoy gaped at him and said, “Now that I understand you better, I am amply persuaded of your earnest desire for our friendship. Therefore, I will endeavour to present your generous offer to our lord. Still, I would remind you that you must pass this way again when you return home. And I would beg you to consider well what manner of welcome you wish to receive upon your return.”
“Let us find what we find,” growled Harald, growin
g tired of the game.
“Then go your way,” the Patzinak envoy said. “I will tell my lord to prepare the welcome you deserve.”
“That is my fondest wish,” replied Harald, drawing his thumb along the edge of his axe.
“So be it.” With that, the envoy signalled to his men and they withdrew at once.
“That was well done, jarl,” said one of Harald’s men. “Will they attack again do you think?”
“I think not,” replied Harald. “We have purchased safe conduct this time. But we are forewarned: next time it will be more costly.”
Returning to the ships, we prepared to continue on our way. By day’s end all four ships were once again in the water and drifting peacefully downriver. As the moon was bright enough to steer by, we did not rest, but continued on through the night. Daybreak found us far away from the Patzinak lands, and well beyond the last of the obstacles standing between King Harald Bull-Roar and the City of Gold.
PART TWO
May the Everlasting Christ
Go before you all your days,
And take you in his loving clasp,
Whether braving storm-torn Western seas,
Or treading death-dark streets in
The Golden Cities of the East.
26
The Black Sea, so far as I could tell, was no darker than any other I had seen, and when the sun shone the surface of the water gleamed like polished jade. But the sun was a rare visitor, for the days were often grey and the dawn mist which lay thick on the water now remained well past midday. Still, the air was warmer than I would have imagined; and if it grew chill at night, when the sun shone it grew almost pleasant.
By what I could see from the longship’s rail, I reckoned we had come to a land of tight-clustered hills. The hills, rising dull brown beyond the cragged shore were not high, but they were dense with small, shrubby trees and thorny bushes. Sometimes I glimpsed bony sheep picking their way among the prickly branches, searching for food, but I did not see any people.
Harald, considering his fleet more than a match for any foe, proceeded boldly, sailing by day and coving at night. One evening the wood gatherers returned to camp with some of the peculiar sheep: tall, rangy, thin-haunched, long-necked, with mottled fleeces of brown and grey—more goat than sheep, to look at them. We slaughtered the beasts and put them to roast on spits over the campfires. The meat was strong and tough, and the burning tallow made our eyes water. None of the men could stomach the fare. Even Hrothgar gave up after a while, saying his belt would be more tender, and would no doubt taste better. After that miserable meal, no one troubled the sheep any more.
The experience put me in mind of Christ’s parable. It could be no easy task to separate those sheep from goats; it would take a shepherd who knew his flock and could call them by name. Sure, it would take a good shepherd.
Several times, early in the morning, we saw fishing boats; small craft, carrying only two or three men who plied the water with long oars, they presented no interest to the Sea Wolves, who sailed by without molesting them. When, after sailing three days, we came in sight of our first settlement, Harald gave orders that no one should turn aside to plunder. With the prospect of unlimited wealth now almost within reach, he did not care to waste his efforts on such small pickings.
“They can have nothing worth taking,” he said, frowning with disdain. “Besides, we can always sack them on the way home.”
Over the next days, the settlements grew more numerous. Feeling that we must be getting near to Miklagård, the king exercised greater caution in his approach. Accordingly, we sheltered in coves during the day, emerging at dusk to sail the misty waters until dawn. I took my place beside Thorkel at the tiller, watching the sky. Though the sea lay deep-misted and obscure beneath a mantle white and dense as wool, the sky shone bright with stars beyond measure.
All night long we watched the dazzling sky, ablaze with unfamiliar stars. Contemplating this wonder, Dugal’s words came back to me: the very stars in the sky are strange.
Oh, Dugal, if you could only see them, I thought. I would give anything for you to stand on this deck beside me with your eyes straining heavenward and the starlight on your handsome face.
“We are near,” Thorkel said, pointing out over the rail to the west.
I looked and saw the lights of a fair-sized settlement, the glow of hearthfire, candle, and rushlight from a hundred or more dwellings—some huddled low, near the shore, and others scattered higher in the hills.
I did not see why this should mean that we were any nearer our destination. “Do you know this place?” I wondered.
No, Thorkel said; he had never seen it before. So, I asked him how it was that he thought a settlement on the sea betokened nearness to Miklagård.
“For a Sea Wolf, you have much to learn,” Thorkel replied. “People do not build a settlement on the water unless they are secure behind the defences of a wall.”
Squinting my eyes, I searched the shoreline, stark in the silver of bright starlight. “You are mistaken, Thorkel. I see no wall.”
The tall pilot smiled. “Miklagård,” he said, “is their wall.”
He spoke the truth, for the next night we passed between two close headlands and entered a narrow steep-sided strait. As daylight broke in a milky haze in the east, the great city itself stood revealed. We all gathered at the rail to gaze upon this awesome sight. I looked out across the dawn-misted sea to a settlement of vast extent, flung upon the humped backs of seven hills: great domes of palaces pushing head and shoulders over tight-clustered white dwellings—like the rounded crests of mountains soaring above the clouds—all gleaming in the dawnlight like stars sown upon the earthly firmament.
A strange feeling of recognition came over me as I stared out across the water. Dull dread began pulsing through me with the quickening beat of my heart.
Turning to Thorkel, I said, “This is never Miklagård.”
“How not?” he replied. “There are not two such cities in all the world.”
“But I know this place,” I insisted, the recognition strong in me now.
“That could be,” the pilot allowed sagely, “for it goes by many names.” He lifted a hand to the city-spread hills. “This is the renowned City of Gold, Constan’s City—”
“Constantinople,” I said, growing numb from crown to sole.
“Heya,” Thorkel agreed amiably.
“Byzantium.” The word was a whisper of disbelief on my fear-numbed lips.
“That is a word I do not know,” the helmsman said. “For the Danes it is always Miklagård.”
I passed a trembling hand over my face. I was a doomed man, sure; and a stupid man also. Thinking I had escaped the dire consequence of my dream, I had instead sailed straight to it.
But there was no time for ruing my fate. Harald, seeing the nearness of his prize, ordered the warriors to ready the attack. His bull voice bawled a dizzy stream of commands which were repeated on the other ships. Within moments, barbarians were dashing about the decks of all four ships pulling on armour and dressing themselves for battle. The clatter of the commotion was horrendous.
I saw Gunnar darting amidst the confusion and called to him. “Aeddan!” he cried. “Today we fill our troves with treasure, heya!”
Yes, and today I die, I thought. Death awaits me in Byzantium. To Gunnar, I said, “But the king cannot expect to attack the city now. Would it not be better to wait until dark?”
“Nay,” he answered, jerking tight the lacings of his mail shirt. “We would get lost in a city so big after dark. How would we find the treasure houses? Better to attack now while the city still sleeps.”
“But the guards will see us.” My voice sounded shrill and frantic in my ears.
“And the sight of us will frighten them so they will throw wide the gates of the city.”
“At the sight of you, Gunnar Warhammer,” said a nearby barbarian, “they will certainly bring out the treasure by the wagon load.”
&nb
sp; The warriors fell to arguing about who would carry away the most plunder in the day’s looting, who was the bravest and who the most timid, who would achieve renown and who earn disgrace, and which weighed more, an iron battlehelm or a sceptre of gold. This banter was accompanied by loud shouts and outrageous boasting. They were, I noticed, growing more and more excited all the while; and it came to me that they were rousing themselves to battle heat. By the time we reached the shore, they would be slavering Sea Wolves.
I retreated to my place by the mast and hunkered down. I did not know what else to do. Of course, I would not fight, nor take part in the looting. If I had any thought at all it was to stay aboard the ship and keep out of sight. Perhaps if I did not set foot on Byzantine soil, I would not die.
Even that bare hope was taken from me, however, when King Harald, magnificent in his battledress, emerged from his tented platform and saw me crouching at the mast. “You!” he shouted. “Aeddan! Come here.”
I rose and went to him. Oh, the king was splendid: his hair was bound beneath a leather cap; iron bands encircled his arms, and his shirt was fine-ringed mail; on his hip he wore both a sword and a long knife; from his belt hung an iron war axe; he carried a short, thrusting spear in one hand, and a warhelm in the other.
“I want you beside me,” he said gruffly. “For when I seize the ruler of Miklagård, I will need you to translate his surrender for me.”
My heart sank in the sick feeling spreading through me. Not only would I set foot in Byzantium, I would be in the first rank. What is more, alone of all the attackers, I would have no weapons and no shield with which to defend myself.
This is how I will be killed, I thought. I will be cut down in the forefront of the attack. When the spears and arrows of the defenders began whistling around our heads, I would be among the first to fall.
Harald glanced at the sky. “It is a fine day for a fight,” he announced, placing the warhelm upon his head. “Come men,” he cried, stepping to the mast. “To oars! To oars! Let the weak tremble in their beds and curse their day of birth! Let the strong make ready their graves! Let all men fear the Sea Wolves’ cry!”
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