The Road to Miklagard

by Henry Treece

  Arkil went up to him and said softly, ‘Patience, friend Haro. I too am of the same turn of mind. My own shirt will seldom stay on my body once I feel the little hairs prickling at the top of my neck. But patience, we must wait. One day we will burn this rat’s nest out, and then our two will be avenged.’

  Now they had no ship and no food, and a hostile township before them. Arkil turned away from the harbour suddenly and strode towards the biggest house he could see. The others followed him. It was the house of a rich merchant, it turned out, and soon the Vikings had broken open two sacks of meal and had filled their flasks with clear grape wine.

  ‘At least we shall not starve for two days,’ said Arkil, ‘and that is all we need if I can find my way through the bogs again.’

  As they left the silent house, a shower of arrows came at them from the other side of the street. No one was hurt, but Harald felt one shaft pass between his arm and his body, and afterwards saw it still quivering in the door he had just passed through.

  ‘That is a good omen,’ said Arkil, ‘and, it seems to me, we shall need all the luck we can get.’

  Then, led by Kran, whose voice sounded out over the town like a great bell, the Vikings sang their war-song as they marched up the narrow winding street to the top of the town. No further harm came to them, though they often saw men run round corners, or draw back from windows as they passed, and not one of the crew but expected to feel an arrow shaft in his back a moment later.

  At the top of the hill stood a little white church, with a small square tower. Haro was all for going inside and sacking it, but Harald took him by the arm and said, ‘But for one of those men who follow the Christ, I should not be here today. If you lay a hand on the Christ-man’s belongings, you will have me for an enemy, my friend. And I should not like that, Haro.’

  Haro grinned and punched Harald in the chest. ‘No, nor should I,’ he said. And so they passed over the hill without burning that church.

  As for the Vikings, they were not so happy after an hour’s walking, for the memory of their lost comrades had come back to them, and made them wonder whether the treasure they had come to seek was not guarded by ill-fortune. Besides, they had now begun to strike the marshy land, where habitations were few and far between and the roads had almost ceased to exist.

  But Arkil strode on purposefully, giving no hint of the doubt that had already come into his own mind.

  4. Dun-An-Oir

  On the third day after their retreat from Murdea, the Vikings lay down, exhausted, in a little green gully that gave them some slight shelter from the night wind. Their clothes hung in shreds and each man was filthy with mud from the waist down.

  Now their minds were filled with nothing but the thought of that everlastingly green countryside, where the ground gave suddenly beneath one’s feet, to leave one floundering in the choking slime.

  ‘We cannot go on much farther, Arkil,’ said Harald himself. ‘I have known many hardships, but this is the worst; yes, even worse than the flogging-post at Leire’s Dun.’

  Arkil licked his dry lips. ‘Have courage, Harald boy,’ he said. ‘We have not much farther to go, if my reckoning is right. There is a great blue hill, shaped like a cow’s back, with hawthorns growing the length of it. And on the other side of that lies Dun-an-oir, the Fort of Gold. That is our journey’s end.’

  Haro Once-only said sharply, ‘You should not use such words, Arkil the Prince. Odin might make it your journey’s end in all faith.’

  Arkil said, ‘I am weary, Haro my friend. Do not tease me or I might hit you with my fist, and then you would fall into such a dreamland that even you would not care what Odin thought!’

  Haro shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘I wish you would, for I am dying slowly of hunger and thirst. Two cupfuls of porridge is no food for a grown man like me to live on for three days.’

  Arkil said, ‘Tomorrow you will feast on sweet sheep-meat and the crispest of rye bread. Have patience.’

  Then, to keep the men’s minds from hunger and thirst and cold, Arkil said, ‘There is not a poet among you all, save myself. Listen, I will tell you a verse I have just made:

  ‘The white shears cut the green,

  But the shears are not of iron

  Nor the green of grass.’

  Sven Hawknose said, ‘That is an easy one. I have known children make better riddles. That is a seagull skimming over the sea.’

  Arkil said, ‘You are right, Sven. But can you make one which I could not guess?’

  Sven said, ‘Yes, I give you this one:

  ‘This shining snake has no home

  And so must make one in the white rock;

  But it is chased away by the red river

  And can rest nowhere.’

  Arkil said, ‘You are clever, but not clever enough, old friend. That is a sword making a wound.’

  Then Harald said, ‘You both rhyme like young girls in the bower. Let me tell you one, and if you guess this, I will let each one of you give me a kick:

  ‘When we have you not

  We want you;

  But when we have you

  We do not know.’

  The Vikings sat and scratched their heads, making many guesses, but not one of them right. Then, when they had given up, Harald said, ‘It is sleep; and that is what I am going to have now.’

  So without another word he wrapped his tattered cloak about him and, snuggling close against the side of the gully, he fell into a doze, which at least kept his mind from thoughts of food and drink. The others followed suit, tired by their long march, and when the sun rose again, they set off towards the west and, after much floundering in the marshland, rested once more on the peak of a little hill.

  It was then that Goff Goffling ran back to Arkil, saying that he had seen two wonderful things; to the west he had suddenly glimpsed the hill shaped like a cow’s back; and below the hill they were on, he had seen a herd of horses, with only one man to guard them.

  This news cheered the wanderers immensely, and Arkil and Harald crept quietly to their hill’s edge to test Goff’s words. True enough, in the morning haze they saw the great hill shaped like a cow’s back, beyond which lay the Fort of Gold, their destination; and below them, a great herd of horses grazed, guarded by a tired-looking horseman, his black hair held up by pins, his legs encased in coloured breeches. Arkil noted that the man carried a long bronze sword and a cruel-looking lance.

  ‘The important thing is not to give him time to use them,’ said Harald, ‘for he looks like a warrior who would sell his life dearly to protect such fine beasts.’

  Arkil nodded and whispered, ‘Is there anyone among us who can throw a stone, young friend?’

  Harald nodded and said, ‘Radbard Crookleg can hit a sparrow with an acorn at twenty paces.’

  So they signalled back to Radbard, who found himself three good-sized stones and then began to creep down the hillside towards the horseman. The Vikings watched him go, holding their breath with anxiety.

  The horseman’s back was towards them, and men soon began to chuckle as Radbard drew nearer and nearer. Then something happened which put their hearts in their mouths, for suddenly the great black stallion on which the man sat raised his fierce head and gave a high warning neigh. Immediately the herd swung round, stopping their grazing, snorting and whinnying. Radbard stood up then and threw with all his might. But the stallion had seen him and reared in anger. The stone missed the rudely awakened rider, but struck the horse on the neck.

  With a high bound, the startled animal swung round, flinging its rider down, and for an instant all was panic among the great herd.

  Then Arkil was on his feet. ‘Run, run,’ he shouted, ‘before the man is up again!’

  And like a ragged army, the sixteen wanderers streamed down the hill towards the swirling horses, each man grasping the mane of the creature nearest to him.

  The guard had been kicked on the shoulder and sat ruefully rubbing his arm as Harald came up with him. He gl
ared ferociously at the boy, but brightened up when he saw Arkil, who knelt down beside him and shook him by the hand. ‘Why, Saidhe, old friend,’ he said, ‘and to think that I did not recognize you!’

  The Irishman grinned painfully and said, ‘Arkil the Prince, and to think that you dare come back here after what giant Grummoch vowed to do to you! But it is good to see you again, and I can tell you that King MacMiorog will not turn you away this time, especially as you bring such fine men to fight for him.’

  Arkil said, ‘That is as may be, Saidhe! But our quest is for our own good, not King MacMiorog’s. Where is giant Grummoch at the moment, my friend?’

  Saidhe rose from the ground and whistled his black horse back to him; the half-savage creature snorted violently at the nearness of the Vikings, but his master whispered something to him, and he became calm once more.

  Then Saidhe replied, ‘You are in luck. Giant Grummoch is away in the north, at the court of the High King, asking the hand of his beautiful daughter. So you will be able to talk to King MacMiorog without interruption for a while.’

  And so it was that the Vikings rode over the hill shaped like a cow’s back and saw for the first time Dun-an-oir, the Fort of Gold.

  To many of them, this was the most splendid place they had ever seen, and they began to say that neither Kiev nor Miklagard itself could be as wonderful, though of course they had not seen either.

  Dun-an-oir lay golden in the morning sunshine, surrounded by a high stockade, a place of many fine houses, with the woodsmoke curling up blue above the thatched roofs.

  Goff Goffling groaned and pointed to the many heads which nodded on tall pikes the length of the stockade wall.

  ‘You treat your visitors badly,’ he said to Saidhe.

  Saidhe grinned and said, ‘There is not a Viking head among them all, my friend. King MacMiorog is a good Christian and would not decorate his city with the heads of heathens.’

  Harald was less concerned with the heads than with the vast herds of black cattle which grazed quietly here and there across the broad plain.

  ‘Indeed, King MacMiorog must be the richest king in Ireland,’ he said enviously.

  But Saidhe once more shook his black head until the bone pins in his hair began to jingle.

  ‘Nay, nay, young friend,’ he said. ‘He might be if Giant Grummoch were not here. MacMiorog owns only that which Grummoch will let him own; for he is like a carrion crow who feeds on the best meat himself and leaves little enough behind for the lesser birds to pick.’

  Harald said, ‘Why does your king allow this giant to go on living off him? Could he not arrange for the giant to join his fathers in whatever heaven giants go to?’

  Saidhe shrugged his shoulders, though it seemed to hurt him to do so after his fall, and said, ‘MacMiorog was born a coward. He is a strong fighter when his opponent is afraid; but his courage fails him when he meets opposition. The warriors of Dun-an-oir hold him in some contempt and will not attack Grummoch for such a king. So Grummoch rules the roost and makes a good thing out of it, while MacMiorog sits biting his fingernails in his palace, dreaming of the day when the gods will snatch Grummoch away.’ He paused a while and then added, ‘But so far the gods seem to prefer Grummoch to remain down here on earth with MacMiorog. His reputation seems to have gone before him to heaven!’

  At last they came to the stockade gates, which opened to them after Saidhe had blown three blasts on the horn which hung beside the lintel.

  The herd of horses galloped first through the stockade and turned off into a protected paddock within the city, led by the black stallion. Haro Once-only turned longing eyes after them.

  ‘Alas,’ he said, ‘we might have done well to keep a firm hold on those beasts, for we may need them sooner than we think.’

  Saidhe said grimly, ‘If things go well with you, the King will give you horses to ride on. But if they go badly, you will not need horses again.’

  While the men were wondering about this, Saidhe led them to a long house of timber and thatch, the broad door of which was adorned with seven white skulls, nailed to the timbers with iron spikes. He pointed at the skull in the centre and said, ‘This one came from Orkney to put an end to Grummoch, but the crows had him within five days.’

  Then they passed by the guard, who lolled against the doorpost, leaning on his spear, and so into the great hall itself, where the King sat on a painted throne, made more comfortable by coverings of sheepskin.

  MacMiorog stared at them through the smoke of his hall and spoke to a little man, dressed in black, who sat on the floor beside him.

  The Vikings heard him say, ‘Here, Cormac, are the men you promised me in your dream, the Lochlannoch, men of the waters. Mayhap they will put a swift end to our troubles, then we shall sleep soft o’ nights once more.’

  The King was a bent and wizened creature, a young man grown old before his time. His thin black beard and moustaches gave an air of weakness to his pale face, and even his narrow crown of beaten Irish gold sat crookedly and comically upon his head. He flung back his shawl of red and green wool and beckoned to Arkil, who had stepped up before the throne.

  ‘I am glad to see you again, Prince Arkil,’ he said, in a soft and womanish voice. ‘We thought your head might have come back sooner than your body, for Grummoch sent the two fierce brothers after you. Did you not meet them on your way?’

  Arkil bowed a little and said equally softly, ‘Yes, King MacMiorog, I met them, and drew their teeth for them. Their bodies have long since fed the fishes of the fjord.’

  The King pulled at his beard and forced a smile. ‘That is good,’ he said. ‘For if they had brought your head, it would have been no use to me. There is no space on my door for another one, you see. But coming with your whole body, and with such a goodly company of sea-rovers, you may well be of use to me.’

  Arkil said, ‘You wish us to put an end to giant Grummoch, is that not it?’

  The King nodded, his thin lips smiling cruelly.

  ‘You are still as keen-sighted as ever, Arkil,’ he said. ‘Let us pray that Grummoch does not draw the shades of night over those eyes.’

  Haro Once-only was becoming tired of this talk, for he was a direct man, and he said suddenly, ‘The giant who can do that has yet to be born.’

  The King turned his gaze on Haro, as though he had never seen such a creature before, but Haro was not a man to be frightened by a look and he stared back, until King MacMiorog had to give him best and look away.

  ‘Every cock can crow loudly enough in the daylight on his own dunghill,’ said the little man in black who sat by the throne, ‘but how many cocks dare crow at night, when the fox sniffs under the perch?’

  Haro stepped forward then and flung his sword, Alas!, at the feet of MacMiorog.

  ‘Before Odin, I will take that giant’s head if it is the last thing I do, just to show you that this cock has spurs as well as a singing voice!’

  The King pushed the sword away with his foot as though it were a distasteful thing to him, and said, ‘Prince Arkil, a true captain keeps his hounds on the leash. See that this dog is muzzled before you bring him before me again.

  At this the Vikings in the hall began to shout out, and some of them even drew their swords and daggers, so that the guards at the door prepared for battle there and then, and were not at all happy about their prospects. But Arkil held up his hand for silence and then he said, ‘King MacMiorog, we have an old saying in the north. It is this: the wolf whose foot is caught in a trap cannot afford to snarl at the hunter. Think on that saying, King, and we will come before you tomorrow and listen to you then.’

  He turned to go, but King MacMiorog called him back, smiling now, and said, ‘I was only trying to test your mettle, my friend. Now I know that you are men of good heart and so I give you my trust.’

  Then he clapped his hands and slave women came forward with horns of mead and platters of sheep-meat and good barley bread. The Vikings sat on the rush-covered floor and at
e their fill, and when they had finished, the King spoke once more, saying, ‘My friends, you shall live to call me a generous master.’

  Sven Hawknose called out, his mouth full of meat, ‘We have no masters but Arkil and Harald!’

  MacMiorog smiled bitterly at him and went on, ‘That is so, I used the word merely as a term of friendship towards you. But I will proceed. This land is ravaged by a giant, as you know. I cannot turn my own men against him, for they fear him; and besides that, I must confess that they do not love me enough to risk their lives for me. So it will fall on you to rid the land of this plague. And in return, you shall take away with you as much of the giant’s treasure as you can carry, each man a sackful.’

  Arkil stood up before the king and said, ‘If we kill Grummoch, we shall take all his treasure, my friend, have no fear.’

  King MacMiorog bit his lip and then said, ‘Very well, that is as may be; you have a name for being harsh bargainers, you men of the far north. Let it be at that.’

  But Harald was not satisfied, for he did not trust this black-haired king with the crooked crown. He rose and went forward, saying, ‘Take my hands, King, and swear by your God that you will give us leave to take all the giant’s treasure.’

  King MacMiorog glowered at Harald, who was only a boy in his eyes, and said, ‘I will swear to Prince Arkil, but not to you.’

  But Arkil said stoutly, ‘Swear to Harald or not at all, for he and I are as two brothers in this matter.’

  So King MacMiorog took the oath, holding Harald’s hands, and then he promised that he would show them where the treasure lay, so that there might be no error when the time of trial came.

  5. The Island Treasure House

  Three days after their arrival at Dun-an-oir, the Vikings lolled before the cave entrance on the little island in the lake, below the hill shaped like a cow’s back. They had made their home there since the night King MacMiorog had shown where the giant’s treasure lay, and each day some of them rowed back to Dun-an-oir to fetch food and drink for the company.