The Sign of the Raven

by Poul Anderson

  Gunnar stared at the floor. "We was drinking," he said miserably. "The tale came from a drunk lad's mouth."

  "In vino Veritas," said Harald. It was eerie to hear so much venom in priest language.

  "It may be a lie, a brag," said Eystein. "Who knows?"

  Harald spoke grimly. "Would one of Haakon's own men slander him, even when drunk? We know Svein escaped, and with all the traffic there was on the water, all the men watching for any Dane they might clap hands on for ransom, how else could he win free but by help of a Norse traitor? And who else in our host had any love for Svein? To what other man would he even have turned for help? Oh, yes, there's but one answer, and we are fools for not having seen it erenow."

  "At least hear him out," begged Eystein. "Let him defend himself."

  "He may do so . . . with a sword," snarled Harald.

  "But . . ."

  "With whom do you stand, Eystein?"

  The sheriff doubled his fists. "I stand with you," he said at last.

  "Good!" Harald went to the door. "Up, every man! Busk yourselves! We ride tonight!"

  3

  At the head of a dozen score warriors, the king stormed northward over roads of darkness. Each man had been ordered to take an extra horse, and use the mounts in turn, for they would not halt and were bound into hill country. No word passed Harald's lips the whole way and none dared speak to him.

  When morning came, they were on a narrow, slippery upward track. Ahead of them, the land climbed for the clouds. Men chewed hastily snatched bread and cheese, passed jugs from hand to hand, and forced their tired bodies to stay in the saddle. The horses went with drooping heads and eyes that pleaded for rest.

  Several oxcarts came creaking the other way, bound to Oslo market with meal and malt. The yeomen stared fearfully at the mailed men who rattled by them, and muttered to each other.

  One of the troopers drew rein and squinted at a farmer who rode a horse. "Is it you, Skafti?" he asked.

  "Aye . . . and you are Gamall Eiriksson," nodded the yeoman, who had been his neighbor of old. "Whither fare you?"

  Gamall looked around. The guardsmen were going past at a walk, and no one paid him any heed. He laid his mouth near Skafti's ear and whispered: "I've a boon to ask of you. It's a matter of life and death."

  "So? Tell me and I'll think on it."

  "I'll reward you well, if you'll ride as fast as your horse can take you, by the shortest bypaths you know, straight to Haakon Jarl. Tell him the king is out after his life, because he's now learned it was the jarl who helped King Svein ashore at the Niss."

  Skafti's eyes snapped wide. He crossed himself. "That's a dangerous errand," he said.

  "Not so loud, man! I told you I'd pay for the help."

  "What the jarl's life to you?" asked Skafti shrewdly.

  "Jesu Kristi! Who else can stand up for the folk's right against this overweening king we have? Now quickly, be off!"

  Skafti rubbed his chin. "How much did you say you'd give?"

  "Half a mark in silver. Here, I have it in my pouch."

  "Silver's no use to a dead man, and that's what I'll be if ever the king hears of this. I should be a true soul and tell him what you just said, but for old times' sake ..."

  "A full mark!" groaned Gamall.

  "Two marks, and I'm your man."

  "One and a half. I'm not rich, you dog."

  "Calling me a dog will cost you another half mark, Gamall."

  "Well, then, two and a half. You shall have it. . . . Here's my pouch, I'll give you the rest in Oslo and hope you fry in hell. Be quick!" Gamall wheeled his horse and clattered back into the troop.

  Skafti sighed. "It's a chancy life," he said to the boy on his lead oxcart. "Sell our loads as best you can without me, but not a copper less than half a mark." He steered his mount off the road, found a trail that cut into the forest, and settled down to urge speed out of the nag.

  The early dusk was turning to night when Skafti came to Haakon's hall. He dismounted stiffly and rapped his ax on the door. The steward opened it.

  "I've word for the jarl," said the yeoman. "Do you rub down my horse and give him some water, but not enough to founder him."

  "And who are you to speak so bold?" asked the steward.

  "Well," said Skafti, "if you want to be hanged from the same tree as your master when the king comes, I'll go home."

  He was hastily led inside. Haakon and Ragnhild were not yet abed, but sat drinking by a low fire. The jarl nodded pleasantly. "What brings you here, fellow, and what's your name?"

  Skafti kept to the shadow. "My name's of no moment, but my news is." He told the story in a few words. "The way the men was riding, they should be here ere midnight."

  Haakon sprang to his feet. "Christ have mercy!" he said in a shattered voice. "Is the man a warlock that he knows?"

  Ragnhild came to him. "The tale is true?" she whispered.

  "Yes. . . ." Haakon bent his face into his hands. "I could not refuse him when he stood there, alone and friendless—he who had only sought to keep what was his lawful right. But now I've lost all for both of us,"

  "No," she said softly. "Not while we live." Pride rang in her tone. "I'd not have had my man do otherwise."

  Haakon clutched her to him, and it was as if he drew strength from the slim body. When he stepped from her, he was the chief who had conquered at Niss River.

  "Thorkell, Sverting, Sigurdh, Hallvardh, Saeming—up, every man and woman, if you want to see dawn again! Lights! Here, to me, and break open the weapon chests!"

  The garth burst into a roar. Folk hurried about, stowing, packing, provisioning, while Haakon moved among them giving orders. Some were to take the monies and movable goods into the forest and hide them, some were to arm themselves and follow him, there must not be a living soul to meet Harald Hardrede when he came.

  The jarl had wife and children on horseback before Ragnhild asked him where he meant to go.

  He grinned, as if this were only a boy's prank.

  "Why not to Sweden?" he asked. "King Steinkell will make us welcome, he has no love for our lord. And we'll still be near home."

  She watched him for a while. "So you mean to come back?"

  "Aye. There's no freedom for our folk while Harald lives." Haakon shook his banner, furled around its staff. "This belonged to your father, Ragnhild, King Magnus the Good. It has a bear on it. Good willing, someday the bear is going to eat the raven."

  With a score of armed carles, the jarl and his family spurred horses and were soon lost in the moonlit woods.

  Skafti the yeoman sighed. He'd not had a chance to speak of reward for his tidings. These great folk were a mean lot.

  Well. . . best not be found here when the king arrived. Skafti mounted his horse and rode slowly the other way.

  V

  How Peace Was Made

  1

  Early in summer, Harald moved his court up to Nidharos. He had scant reason for it, but in his mood Oslo seemed a cage. A few days after arriving thither, he rode out to visit Ulf.

  It was a windy afternoon when he and his troop clattered into the garth; cloud shadows swept the rolling land and the trees roared. The marshal did not bid him welcome, but merely nodded. He was busy. Two strong men held the arms of a thrall seated before him, in front of the main house; Ulf himself gripped a blacksmith's tongs.

  "What has this fellow done?" asked Harald.

  "Sinned, I suppose, like anyone else," chuckled Ulf. "God has seen fit to punish him with toothache. Now, Gest, open your mouth." He stuck the tongs in, caught fast, and gave a yank. The tooth came out with a cracking sound, and the thrall whined.

  "Hm." Ulf looked at the bloody thing. "It seems healthy enough. Open again." He peered into the gaping jaws. "Aye, I got the wrong one. Well, we'll try afresh." Snap! "There, now. Go get a stoup of ale. . . . No, you may have wine, as weregild for your good tooth." The marshal clapped him on the shoulder and turned laughing to his king. "So let evil ever be uprooted."

/>   "And the good with it?" wondered Harald. He dismounted. A carle took his horse.

  Ulf led him inside his small private lodge. Jorunn came quietly to set out mead for them, and closed the door as she left. They raised beakers and drank in silence.

  "Well," asked the Icelander finally, "came you to speak of somewhat, or is it only a guesting?"

  Harald ran a hand through his hair. "I know not. These days I seem to go in a fog."

  Ulf nodded. Kindness stood on the dented face. "Hard it is to find one's road. I've heard tell of your trouble with Haakon Ivarsson."

  "Did I do well there?" Harald rubbed his eyes, wearily. "It's not good having a powerful man in the kingdom who cannot be trusted."

  "Haakon could be, if you two saw the world the same way."

  "But that's the trouble." Harald sat up straight, anger in his voice. "Who is lord in this realm, Haakon Jarl or myself? No, let me but catch that traitor, and he'll ride Odhinn's horse."

  "Hanging is no end for a brave man," protested Ulf. "By such deeds you drive the folk to rebellion."

  "Would the folk but obey their rightful master, there'd be no need of such deeds!"

  Ulf shrugged. "Be not wrathful at me," he said.

  "It's too late to change anything . . . and had you been otherwise, old friend, I'd scarce have followed you these many years. Best we take the world as it stands and see what can be wrought."

  Harald regarded him at length. "I may have stiffened," he said after a while, "but you have changed."

  "A man grows old," said Ulf. "It no longer seems of great moment who shall have what." "Is it your sickness?"

  "Perhaps. It plagues me oftener as time goes by. A leech-wife counseled me to live more easily, but the Devil take that. A life spent drowsing by the fire were not worth keeping. One old witch makes me a brew of toad skins that seems to help a little." Ulf made a face. "It should, so foul it tastes!"

  "St. Olaf has healed many at his shrine."

  "Aye, there I've been, but belike am not pious enough to win his favor; and I'm too set in my ways and have too much sport baiting the priest." Ulf's grin faded. "It hardly matters, Harald. In these late years, everything we have done seems one halloo, with naught to show for it and the world much the same whether we won or lost." His grizzled head nodded, slowly and carefully.

  Harald felt an eeriness at the sight, and would not endure the thought. "We must weigh what's to be done," he said briskly. "It were madness to attack Denmark this year, with Haakon ready to pounce. Yet it galls me to have Svein go free."

  "I know." Ulf's quick mood shifted, he was again the rasp-tongued troll. "You've gotten into the habit of looting Denmark, and that's not an easy one to break."

  "There's been much talk of making peace with Svein," said Harald tonelessly. "Do you join in it?"

  "Well . . . I've never been a peacemaker, but you might think on it. What would you gain from winning that crown? A sullen folk, even more troublesome than your Norsemen; a lifetime of border wars against Wendish raiders; your strength and wealth spent on holding a little frog pond. . . . There are better things to do."

  "And all the years of trying to go for naught?" cried Harald.

  "Before I taught myself to, hm, better my luck with the dice, I would get streaks where they ran against me. At such time I had wisdom enough not to throw away more money seeking to regain what was lost. Moreover, you've won great booty there, and wealth to outfit a mighty host."

  "Against whom? The Swedes? It were worth going in there, if only to uproot Haakon Ivarsson. And the Swedish land is broad and good."

  Ulf picked his bent nose. "Aye. But think you, Harald, the Swedes are still more stubborn than Norse or Danes . . . and more backward. You have no claim whatsoever to that throne, so you could scarce raise a man of them to fight for you."

  "And most of them are heathen," agreed Harald. "Even if I got the kingdom, I would have to give my life to making them Christian or face the Church's ban in truth. It's a worthy work, but not one for which I feel a calling." He laughed sadly. "I thought, once, that kingship was pure power and glory, and naught could stay the king's hand save open defeat in war! Bitter is the wisdom I've gained."

  "You'll not settle down to hold what you have," said Ulf. "It's not in you. Well, then . . . you have Haakon to reckon with, but if you can break him we must look for something else. Now, where else have you a claim?"

  Harald's eyes looked far off. "England," he murmured.

  "It's a mighty task," said Ulf. "Yet you have a certain right there, through Magnus Olafsson's treaty with Hardhaknut. You have the Orkneys and other western islands. You'd have Norsemen to help from Ireland and Scotland. Edward the Good dodders toward his deathbed, with no likely successor but Harold Godwinsson and he a mere earl."

  "The crown of the North," said Harald, as if to himself. "He who held England would have riches and might beyond reckoning. He—or his son—could make short work of Denmark."

  "The time is not ripe," said Ulf hastily. "It may never be."

  Harald clamped his fists together. "It remains to be seen whether a man can shape the time or must be shaped by it."

  Ulf's hardy soul shivered, ever so faintly, as he stared at the giant before him.

  2

  As soon as Haakon Ivarsson learned that King Harald was gone north, he returned to the Uplands. There he traveled widely about, spoke to many men and won them over to his cause. In fall, when his foe turned horse toward Oslo, Haakon went back to

  Sweden. King Steinkell gave him a fief in Varmland, on the Raumariki border; this he steered well through the winter, so that both peoples of the kingdom, Swedes and Goths, also came to love him.

  Snow fell, the land lay white and mute, folk huddled into the half sleep of winter. Haakon did not sit idle. After Yule he called up a host and went briefly through the Eidha Forest into Raumariki, where he gathered the taxes that were due him as Upland jarl; thereafter he withdrew to his fief.

  When King Harald sent men into the shire to collect scot, the Raumariki yeomen answered that they had already paid to Haakon, and would pay to no one else while he lived and had not forfeited life and honors. Harald's men told them that this he had done, but the Uplanders' spokesman replied that the judgment of outlawry was unlawful, not having been passed by a Thing. They were many more than the royal troop, and well armed, so the bailiffs departed.

  They expected fire and fury, and were the more frightened when the king did not move. Only his face changed, growing very white, and he said between his teeth: "This matter will not be let rest."

  For days afterward he was not good to speak with.

  Some time later, messengers came from Denmark to talk of peace. Harald heard them out, and sent back a cold answer. However, it was not a flat refusal, and Svein got enough hope from it to return another embassy. In the meantime, the best of the Norse court—Ulf, Eystein, Thjodholf, Thori of Steig, and others—urged an end to the war. "Our folk are weary, too many women are in mourning, surely God has shown He will not give us victory."

  The king listened moodily, but when the Danish envoys came afresh he gave them a courteous welcome.

  There was a day of darkling skies, the town gray and white, a few small snowflakes drifting windlessly earthward. Magnus and Olaf, who had become somewhat better friends as they grew up, were out for a breath of air and walked to and fro the courtyard. A pair of thralls were carting dung from the stables, otherwise no one was about; a single crow perched sadly on the storehouse rooftree.

  Magnus stooped, made a ball of the crusted snow, and threw it at the bird. At fifteen, he was getting his growth, a slim long-legged boy with flowing hair and bright restless eyes. He laughed to see the crow flap off. Breath smoked from his mouth.

  "Why did you so?" asked Olaf. A year younger, he was becoming big and heavy boned, still much given to silence; men said that in spite of being overly peaceful, he was wise beyond his years. "What harm had the bird done you?"

  "What mat
ters that?" answered Magnus. "He sat there waiting to have something thrown at him. Let him fight me, or bring suit at the Thing, if he feels it an injustice."

  "Can you not bear justice within yourself?"

  "You talk like a priest. Would you be a monk?"

  "No," said Olaf gravely. "The world is too fair. But I'd not go seeking fights."

  "Small wonder that father yells at you so often. He does at me, too, but it's a different anger."

  Magnus wiped wrist across nose and tossed back his thick locks of hair. "When I am king, you'll see some real warfare!" "What boots it?"

  "Why . . . wealth, strength, fame!"

  "Wealth is better built than stolen; strength better kept for use when really needed; and there is more than one kind of fame. What has father gained in all his years of striving?"

  Magnus' eyes widened, and he looked around him almost in fright. "Let him not hear you say that!"

  "I say what I will," replied Olaf steadily, "though most times I find it best to keep my own counsel."

  Magnus scratched his head. "You're an odd one."

  They paced for a while, talking of other matters. Magnus tried to speak of the battle at the Niss like an old warrior, and of the girl he had lately bedded as if she were the hundredth rather than the first, but had an uneasy feeling that his brother held back a grin.

  A door opened in the ladies' bower, and Elizabeth came out with her daughters and a couple of servant women. She smiled shyly at the boys. "Good day," she said.

  Magnus nodded stiffly, he had long ago taken his mother's side, but Olaf showed her the same aloof courtesy he gave all the world. Ingigerdh said: "We were weaving in there, but it got too dark. Hoo, it's cold today!" She rubbed her hands: a plump apple-cheeked girl of fourteen, neither fair nor ugly, the one who was always only half remembered.

  Maria outshone her too much. In eighteen years she had reached the full bloom of her youth, tall and slender, white skinned and high-breasted, with lustrous sorrel tresses and a face carved thin and lovely. There seemed a sadness on her, though she did not speak of it.