The Road to Miklagard

by Henry Treece

  ‘Away where the seal plays,

  In the light of the dying sun,

  Where the wave rocks forever

  The white bones of the great sailors,

  And the ghosts of all longships

  Swing on the tides,

  There have I been.

  I have been where

  The halls of the sunset

  Echo with song, echo with voices

  Of all the great army

  Of those who have left us,

  Left us to roam.’

  As he stood there, in the flickering firelight, a strange look came over his face. He seemed to be asleep, or voyaging in a dream among the islands of his song. And the folk in the hall gazed at him raptly, sharing his vision.

  Then suddenly the door was flung open and a great gust of cold air scattered the ashes of the fire, and brought everyone back to the world they knew, with its harsh chill.

  ‘Who has opened the door?’ shouted old Thorn angrily, grabbing his stick to lay it about the shoulders of the man who had been so careless.

  But then men gasped. Standing in the doorway were two strange and frightening figures. They were bigger men than anyone at that feast had seen before, bigger even than Aun Doorback himself had been. Their long black hair was knotted up with bone pins, and about their bodies they wore thick corselets of horsehide. Each carried a long, leaf-bladed sword of bronze and the firelight glistened on the broad streaks of blue which stretched across their dark cheeks. They smiled grimly to see the fear they had roused among the villagers.

  Then one of them spoke. ‘I opened the door, old man,’ he said. ‘Will you beat me with your little stick, then?’

  Old Thorn was a brave man, despite his age and his rheumatism. He began to rise, saying, ‘Aye, that I will, whoever you may be!’

  But Harald pulled him back on to his seat. ‘Take care, Thorn,’ he said. ‘These are lawless Irishmen; I see that from their coloured breeches, which are such as their inland tribes still wear. Do not anger them.’

  When their first shock was over, many men cursed themselves for obeying the old feast laws, which decreed that they must leave their weapons at home; while the women wished they had their ladles or rolling pins.

  One woman, Thora, the niece of Thorn, a strong-armed creature with a great reputation for keeping her husband in order, rose and called out, ‘If only I had my skinning-knife, you rascals, I’d make you skip back to Ireland, and glad to go! That I would!’

  Then the other Irishman spoke, coldly and viciously, ‘If we had the time, woman, we would teach you the lesson your husband should have taught you by now. But we are not concerned with you folk. Our man stands there. We have followed him half over the world and shall not let him go for the threats of a roomful of midden-churls and their women.’

  He pointed with his sword at Arkil the Dane, who still stood by the fire, the sagaman’s drum by his side on the table.

  Arkil shrugged his shoulders, ‘You have come a long way to find me. Now let us go outside and settle this quarrel properly, as men should, without disturbing the feast.’

  The Irishmen smiled grimly and shook their heads.

  ‘What we have to do shall be done here, without delay,’ said the first one. ‘We cannot risk losing you in the darkness again.’

  They saw that Arkil was trapped, with his back against the table, and they saw also that he carried no sword or axe. They moved across the space towards him, their blades raised to strike. The horrified men and women about the tables saw that the Dane still smiled, and made no attempt to run from the threatened blows.

  Yet as the first great Irishman struck downwards with his sword, the Dane flung the sagaman’s drum at him with all his force. The earthen jar shattered to pieces with the impact, and the Irishman staggered backwards, with a cry of pain, his hands to his face.

  Then there was a great shout from the head of the table and Harald leapt forward, scattering dishes before him in his haste. He could not reach the second Irishman in time to grapple with him, but did something even more terrible. As he passed the fireplace, he snatched up a flaming log and flung it at the barbaric figure. The Irishman swung round, trying to ward off the brand with his sword, and in that moment, Arkil leapt upon his back, bearing him down.

  Men rushed from the nearest end of the table now, anxious to attack the first Irishman, who had recovered from the blow he had received from the drum; but they were too late. Harald had kicked the half-blinded man’s feet from under him and was sitting astride his back, his fingers deep in the man’s black hair, banging his head rhythmically on the hard earthen floor.

  Soon Arkil rose, smiling strangely, the sword of his opponent in his hand. He said simply, ‘That one will not spoil a feast again. Now let me take his brother outside, Harald, my friend. He shall have better treatment than he would have allowed me. He shall take his sword with him into the darkness.’

  No man, not even Thorn, could deny Arkil his right in this matter. And shortly the Dane came back into the hall, carrying two swords this time, and smiling as one who could now get on with his supper without fear of interruption.

  But first he flung the two swords on to the sheepskins beside the walls, saying, ‘The village boys will play happily with these. They are of no worth. I doubt whether a man could cut himself with them if he tried!’

  And to the sagaman he said, ‘One day, my friend, I will repay you a golden harp for that drum, for it saved my life this night’.

  Then he stood near Harald and took him by both hands. ‘May the seas have me and the crows eat my heart if I am ever false to you, my friend,’ he said, in the time-honoured oath.

  And when he sat down again, he put his hand inside his tunic and drew out two things; a long package and a round one. When he had unwrapped the deerskin from the long package, the villagers saw that it was a knife of gold, its hilt carved and moulded so beautifully that all the women gasped with envy; its blade chased from end to end with fine runes, which glistened in the torchlight.

  The round package, he opened more carefully, and then let fall a glittering cascade of coloured stones on to the table, where they lay, glinting beautifully as the light from the wall-torches touched them. Now all men rose to their feet in astonishment, and Arkil smiled and gathered his treasure once more into the bag.

  To Thorn he said, ‘You were right, headman, I was pursued; but I am pursued no longer. Those who came after me to regain their giant’s treasure are no more.’

  Thorn said, ‘You have stolen a giant’s treasure, have you! And an Irish giant at that! Well, and what do you mean to do now, Arkil the Prince?’

  The Dane smiled and said, ‘I propose to gather a shipful of fighting-cocks about me and to go back and steal the rest of his treasure, for this is but a tiny drop in the ocean.’

  Thorn’s eyes gleamed as red and green as the jewels themselves with greed. He said, ‘My stepbrother, Alaf, who farms higher up the fjord, has a good ship, which he is a little too old to sail in now. I have no doubt that I could persuade him to sell it to you for that bag of pretty stones.’

  The Dane smiled slowly and then said, ‘This bag of pretty stones, as you call them, would buy a ship made of gold with sails of silk, old man. Nay, nay, I will buy your stepbrother’s ship with three of my pretty stones at the most – not a grain of dust more!’

  Thorn’s face showed his annoyance and for a moment it looked as though he might quarrel with Arkil the Prince; but he saw the reason in what the Dane said, for after all, this man had risked his life to gain those precious stones, and the boat was worth no more than Arkil said.

  But Thorn was not a man to be beaten in a bargain.

  ‘Look you, Prince,’ he said at last, ‘buy my stepbrother’s ship, and I will provide her with a stout crew from the men of my village.’

  The Dane screwed up his eyes, amused now. Then he nodded.

  ‘That seems a good plan, headman,’ he said, ‘for I have seen that your village breeds good m
en. But what price must I pay for their service? I cannot imagine that you offer them for the love of it.’

  Thorn’s long forefinger drew a little pattern on the oaken tabletop as he spoke. ‘I shall ask two-thirds of whatever treasure you shall bring back, to be given to the village. For after all, it has not done badly by you in your need.’

  Arkil clapped the old man on the shoulder.

  ‘By Odin,’ he said, ‘when I next go to market to buy a cow, I shall take you with me, old man. There is not a better bargainer in the northern lands than you. Well, I agree to what you ask, for if we find the treasure I have mentioned, one third of it will satisfy me – and will keep me in comfort for the rest of my days.’

  So they shook hands on the bargain, and the next day Arkil and Harald went with Thorn to Alaf’s steading, higher up the fjord. Alaf accepted the price the Dane offered without any argument, for he was not a shrewd haggler as Thorn was.

  Alaf’s longship lay in the cow-byre, where it had been dragged when he gave up voyaging five years before. It was a well-built boat, but a bit heavy, the Dane said, for the rivers it would sail up in Ireland. He would have preferred a ship broader in the belly and sitting lower in the water.

  ‘But beggars cannot be choosers,’ said Thorn, ‘and I am setting you up with a crew straightaway; you will have no seeking to do.’

  The Dane looked at him through narrowed lids.

  ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘with my knowledge of the treasure, and my reputation in my own land, I could fit out fifty little ships like this, at one whistle.’

  Then, seeing Thorn’s crestfallen expression, he touched him on the arm and went on, ‘But I should find no better men than those of yours if I went whistling along every fjord in the northland.’

  So they paid for the longship, which Arkil named Seeker, and the next day twenty men dragged her on rollers down to the village.

  3. The Sailing

  Arkil found no difficulty in getting together his crew. The real difficulty lay in picking twenty out of the hundred men who jostled round the table, anxious to sail with him. Harald sat with Arkil at the table, for the boy was named shipmaster without any argument, while Arkil held himself merely to be the leader once they were ashore in Ireland.

  So, just as Thorkell Fairhair had done, five years before on that very spot, Harald gave the new crew the knucklebones, as symbols that they were signed on as crew members in the Seeker. And each man, as he took the bones, gave his solemn promise to obey orders and to fight for his comrades, whatever the odds.

  Many good men came up to the table that day, laying their weapons before their new masters and naming them as they took the oath. There was Haro Once-only, with his sword, Alas; Sven Hawknose, with his axe, Sweetheart; Elf Elfson, with his axe, Trouble-me-no-more; Kran the Lark, a great singer, with his dagger, Forget-me-not; Jago Longarm, with his axe, Wife’s Lament; Skirr Barrel, a great drinker, with his mace, Thunderstone; and many more. Harald had his long sword, which had belonged to his father once. It was called Sigurd’s Darling, and had a curiously carved hilt of walrus ivory which was the envy of all who saw it. As for Arkil, his only weapon was the golden knife, which he called Heart’s Desire. He refused to accept any offer of a weapon, for, as he said, when he needed a weapon, one always seemed to come to hand, whether it was a drum or a log out of the fire. And such weapons did not need cleaning and oiling as swords did!

  There was only one mishap before they sailed. It happened when they were stepping the mast. A sudden gust of wind swung the loose pole sideways, pinning Skirr Barrel against the gunwales and breaking his arm. But he took the event with all good humour, and said that in any case he had three casks of heather ale to finish up before it went off, so he did not mind, provided that they took his cousin, Radbard Crookleg, with them in his place.

  Arkil the Prince did not care for the look of this Radbard, whose red beard gave him a shifty expression, and whose badly set leg caused him to walk with a slight limp.

  But Harald accepted Radbard gladly, for he knew the man to be a true sailor and a brave warrior. As it happened, this Radbard was a lucky choice, and when he looked back on the affair, Harald was compelled to think that the gods who had sent the sudden puff of wind to pin Skirr Barrel down had acted well.

  So, when she was laden with dried meats, barley flour, five kegs of water and three of heather ale, all stowed beneath the deck, Seeker pulled away from the village, and at last came into the open sea.

  The men soon settled down to their new life and the voyage was an uneventful one, save for the occasion when they tried to board a tall ship, which wallowed clumsily off the Anglian coast.

  Then, to their cost, the Vikings found that the vessel was full of archers on their way to Frankland. Elf Elfson and three others were lost in that affair, though they took more than their own number with them to Valhalla.

  After that, both Harald and Arkil took a turn at the oars. And on the fifth day out, just when their water was finished, they sighted the port of Murdea, which Arkil told them was the nearest point to the kingdom they were making for.

  It was a squalid-looking harbour, with wooden houses seeming to hang above the water, supported on piles which were gradually rotting, to let their loads heel slowly over into the dark and rubbish-littered tide. Over the township, which was set on a low hill, a heavy cloud of smoke hung perpetually, as the grey seabirds flew in and out of it, crying discordantly.

  Kran the Lark blew his nose lustily and said aloud, ‘Even a blind man would know when he had reached Murdea!’

  Sven Hawknose tugged at his long yellow moustaches and said quietly, ‘Could a blind man find his way back home from Murdea, think you, Kran?’

  Then there was silence on board Seeker, for they had all heard of the cruelties practised on Vikings who were unfortunate enough to get themselves captured in the townships they sacked.

  But Arkil cheered them up by saying, ‘You need have no fear here, my seacocks! I know the headman of Murdea as well as I know most of you – better, if the truth be told!’

  ‘That isn’t saying much,’ said Haro Once-only, grinning, ‘for we are a simple lot. We must be, or we shouldn’t be here now!’

  When they had furled the sail and rowed to their anchorage, they climbed ashore, up the dangling rope ladder, leaving Jago Longarm and another Viking to guard Seeker till they returned.

  ‘Have no dealings with the townsfolk,’ warned Arkil as they left. ‘Give them no offence and they will not harm you.’

  Jago grinned up at him and touched his sword-hilt lightly.

  ‘Have no fear, chieftain,’ he said. ‘The ship will be here when you want it again.’

  The Vikings walked in a body up the winding street, followed by a group of hangers-on and children, who admired their helmets and their various weapons, noisily and with many gestures.

  Sven Hawknose flung a coin to one of the raggedest of their followers. He picked it up and then spat on it, before flinging it back at Sven’s feet.

  ‘Now you know,’ said Harald, laughing, ‘Keep your money in your pouch, Sven; it is a bad bargain to throw it into the gutter without even getting thanks for it.’

  Sven muttered angrily and said that if he could lay his hands on that ragged rogue, he would cut his hair for him – with an axe.

  The headman of Murdea greeted them at his tumbledown door, but the look on his face was one of annoyance rather than pleasure. And when they were all inside, he said hurriedly, ‘My friends, things are not now as they once were here. The Vikings have made a bad name for themselves, and the folk of the town say they will stand it no longer. I who am half a Viking, my father having been a Dane, think that it is stupidity, but my wife, who is Irish, sides with them and says that the Northmen are a curse from God for our misdeeds in the past. Whatever is the truth, I do not know; but all I can tell you is to go away from Murdea with the next tide.’

  Arkil thanked him for his advice and then bought wine from him. They all sat toge
ther on the floor and drank from the few cups that the headman possessed, passing the vessels from one to the other.

  Harald noticed that the headman himself refused the wine, saying that he was suffering from a chill on the stomach and could not appreciate it. Harald spoke about this to Arkil, saying, ‘It is a bad sign when a man will not drink his own wine. I have heard of travellers being poisoned by that trick before now. The headman must drink his own wine, then we shall be sure that he has dealt with us in good faith.’

  So Radbard held the man still while Harald poured a cup of the tart wine down his throat. The man protested and spluttered a great deal, but did not fall dead; and so the Vikings were satisfied.

  Then suddenly the guard they had put on the street door, Goff Goffling, ran in and shouted out, ‘Come quickly, my masters, there is such a light shining down at the harbour as can mean only one thing!’

  The Vikings raced down the rough street, Harald and Arkil in the lead, full of foreboding. Their fears were realized, when they turned a corner and saw the Seeker a mass of fire, down to the water-line, and already foundering.

  They found Jago Longarm lying with his head dangling over the edge of the harbour jetty, a great wound in his back. He smiled up at them as they lifted him up and said, ‘Four of them will greet their gods tonight, master. But I am sorry about the ship.’

  Then he died without speaking again. As the Seeker slowly settled down in the water, the body of the other Viking guard floated up to the surface for a moment. All men saw the colour of his tunic and recognized it. Then he went down in the suction of the sinking ship.

  Haro Once-only turned towards the town, pulling at his moustaches and cursing horribly. He was a notorious berserk and had to be kept under control when any trouble started, or he was inclined to rip off his shirt and run screaming at the enemy, dealing dreadful slaughter. It was a madness that ran in his family, for his six brothers had also been berserks, though they had not lasted as long as Haro, who had never received a wound in more than fifty affrays and five voyages.