The Road to Miklagard

by Henry Treece

  Harald gasped at the old man’s confidence. ‘A longship’, he said. ‘How do you know of a longship so far away?’

  The old man closed his eyes and rocked beside the fire with amusement at the Viking’s tone of wonder.

  ‘With fast riders like mine, I can keep in touch with most things which happen on the Plains, my friend. There is nothing magic about it. The villagers at the Great Portage are already waiting for Haakon Baconfat to come trading with them before the winter starts. He will take you home, I have no doubt, if you tell him I say he must.’

  Harald sat down on the ground with sheer shock then. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘I have known Haakon Baconfat since I was a lad of twelve. He used to make wooden swords for me and teach me to track bears.’

  The old man nodded and said, ‘Yes, he is a good man with children. It was his sister I married, you know. So in a way, we are relatives.’

  Thereafter, Harald felt that nothing in the world would surprise him. He lay back on the cushions beside the cow-dung fire and ate the good meal which a Khazar woman brought for them. Then he drank deeply of the strong barley beer which the old King poured out of a bulging skin bottle. And then he fell fast asleep, too tired and well-fed to bother about anything – even about losing the treasure.

  And in the morning, he and Grummoch sat astride two sturdy Khazar ponies, wearing sheepskin jackets and high fur hats, just like their escort. The old King came to the doorway of his black tent and waved them on their journey, saying, ‘Go lightly and easily, and come back in the Spring – if you ever want to see the contents of your treasure sack again!’

  Grummoch, whose feet hung down to the ground, made such a wry grimace at the old man’s words, that all the horsemen shouted with laughter. Then, as the autumnal sun struck across the broad grassland to their right hands, the party set off northwards, skirting Kiev lest they might be ambushed.

  25. A Surprise by the Fjord

  Old thorn, the headman of the village by the fjord, sat outside his wooden house in the early winter sunshine, wrapped in his thickest cloak and staring across the cold green water. His old dog, Thorri, snuggled beside him, turning up grateful eyes to his master, who scratched the dog’s ear thoughtfully.

  Thorn was thinking about the shipload of men who had sailed away from the village over a year and a half before.

  ‘Rascals, the whole lot of them!’ he said bad-temperedly to the dog. ‘Enjoying themselves in Ireland, no doubt. Living off the fat of the land while we of the village scrape to make ends meet, and winter coming on as well.’

  The dog seemed to understand what Thorn was saying, for he put on a sorrowful expression, and lay down with a sigh at the old headman’s feet.

  ‘Never mention Harald Sigurdson to me again,’ said Thorn, as though addressing the dog. Thorri the dog looked up with wide old eyes as though he meant to say that he would never mention that wicked Harald again.

  Thorn’s youngest daughter, Little Asa, called him in to eat his breakfast. The old man grumbled and began to rise from his bench, clutching his blackthorn stick tightly.

  Just then two men came down the hill above the village, one a man of a normal size, the other as big as a man and half a man. Both were heavily bearded and wore tall fur caps.

  Old Thorn stared up at them in surprise, wondering who they might be. Then he called into the room, ‘Keep an eye on the pigs at the back of the house, Little Asa. Two strangers come; they may be thieves.’

  But the two men did not turn aside to snatch up a pig from behind the little house. Instead they came up to Thorn and the smaller of the men took the headman by the hand and said, ‘Greetings, old man! How are you these days?’

  Thorn was about to make some sharp reply when he saw the face of the man who spoke, and recognized it, despite the high fur cap and the thick golden beard.

  ‘Why, Harald Sigurdson!’ he said. ‘Where have you been, you rogue? Where are the others? Where is the good ship we gave you? And who is this great hulking giant?’

  Harald laughed at the spate of questions and answered, ‘All in good time, Thorn.’ Then he called inside the house, ‘Little Asa, lay a good meal for us. We have walked for three days through the forest and are hungry! If we hadn’t found berries to eat, we should surely have starved to death!’

  Little Asa came out and almost fell back in a faint to see the giant Grummoch, who looked an amazingly hairy fellow what with his beard and his thick sheepskin coat and fur cap. But she soon recovered and led them inside, laughing and crying at the same time.

  So, over a good meal and a draught of mead, Harald told his story – some of it sad, some of it happy. Until he came to the old King of the Marshland.

  At this part of the tale, Thorn rose from his seat and thumped his hand on the oak table-top. ‘What!’ he stormed, ‘after all that, to lose the treasure to that old heathen! I will have you whipped, both of you, for foolish fellows, wastrels and rogues! I will call the villagers together right now and have it done!’

  But Harald shouted to him to sit down, and then, from an inner pocket in his sheepskin jacket, he took out a deerskin bag, bulging so tightly that it was almost round. Slowly he untied the hide thong about the neck of the bag and then let fall on to the table a stream of precious stones, of all colours and sizes, until they rolled about the oaken board and even on to the floor. Thorn’s eyes almost came out of his head.

  ‘But you said you had lost the treasure!’ he said. ‘Why, there is enough wealth here for every man of this village to live a life of ease, with ships a-plenty!’

  Harald grinned up at him and said, ‘When one is among crafty folk, one must stay awake all night. That is what I did, one night, and with my knife prised the stones out of all the gold and silver goblets in the treasure sack. The old King of the Marshland has not nearly so good a bargain as he thought!’

  Thorn sat back in his seat, gasping with amazement.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this is a gift from Odin himself! We must divide this treasure up, so that every man of this village may have his deserts.’

  Harald said quietly, ‘And we must set one share aside for Haro, who is certain to turn up again, like a bad coin, you can be bound!’

  It was at this point that Little Asa said shyly, ‘I do not think so, Harald. A seafaring man passed this way a week ago with a wonderful tale of a Viking who had gone to Jebel Tarik and married there a princess called Marriba. I did not dare tell father at the time. I think that Haro has his treasure safely enough where he is.’ And no one disagreed with her.

  Then suddenly Little Asa said with a smile, ‘But what are we to do with this great giant here? He will surely eat us out of house and home! Why on earth did you bring such a one back here with you, Harald?’

  Harald laughed aloud at the expression on Grummoch’s broad face. He looked like a little boy who has suddenly been scolded for something which he thought was long forgotten.

  But Harald came to his rescue and said, ‘Have no fear, Little Asa; he will be worth his weight, which is considerable, in gold. You will see that I am right. He is the most wonderful nurse for small babies that ever you saw. Aren’t you, Grummoch?’

  The giant hung his head and mumbled shamefacedly.

  Little Asa rose and patted him on the shoulder as she made her way to the door.

  ‘That is great news,’ she said with a smile, ‘for all the mothers of our village are beside themselves with extra work in this season, for as you know it is the time when we salt the meat for winter storing. They will be delighted to have such a playmate for their little ones.’

  Then she leaned out of the door and began to call, ‘Little Sven! Gnorre! Haakon! Knud! Elsa! Come, all of you, quickly! I have a lovely giant for you to play with! Come quickly before he magics himself away with fright! Come on, all of you!’

  Grummoch twisted his great hands and said, ‘Now I wish I had stayed in Miklagard. At least I had a sword to defend myself with there.’

  But Harald said gently,
‘Do not worry, friend, our children are kind ones. They will not hurt you.’

  Then they all laughed. And such was the manner of the homecoming of Harald Sigurdson.