The Sign of the Raven

by Poul Anderson

  "Best I go in," said Magnus frostily. "The king is talking privately with the Danes, but he may have need of me." He walked off stiff legged.

  Elizabeth's lips twitched, and she was surprised to see the same smile hover on Olaf. "Know you how the talk fares?" she asked.

  "No," said Olaf, "no man knows that."

  "I hoped . . ." Elizabeth sighed. "No matter. Let him decide; none else can do it."

  "My mother ..." Olaf stopped, reddening.

  "Yes?" said Elizabeth gently.

  "My mother counsels war to the end," he blurted. "She should remember it's not an affair for women. ... I meant no offense, my lady."

  "None taken, Olaf. It's truth you speak."

  He mumbled some excuse and followed Magnus.

  Elizabeth looked after him. "When that lad grows up, he will be a wise man," she said. "I think already he knows how much may be done simply by waiting."

  "As Svein Estridhsson has waited?" said Ingigerdh.

  "Yes." The queen dismissed her servants and began to walk the courtyard. Her daughters accompanied her on either side. Snow scrunched beneath their feet, otherwise the court lay frozen into silence.

  "I wonder if King Svein does not have tomorrow with him," she went on after a moment. "He uses his head."

  "Father is a man of deep mind," said Ingigerdh staunchly.

  "Yes . . . deeper, perhaps, than anyone knows, even himself. Who can tell what he means to do, or how much he has already done? It's a lonely work he has—the last and greatest of the Vikings, seeking the end of the Viking age. I know not, I know not. . . ." Her voice faded away. A few snowflakes swirled down to lie on her cowl.

  "If we get peace with Denmark," said Maria, "then Thora will be ill pleased." More than a little malice was in her tone.

  Elizabeth flushed. "Peace would be best," she said, "but peace or war, none of us is to say a word against it. A woman who can wait—a lifetime if she must—and stand by her man in good and ill, wisdom and madness—which Thora cannot—such a woman has hope."

  "Waiting!" said Maria bitterly.

  Elizabeth gave her a glance of compassion. "Yes, it is the hardest part," she said. "To wait, and not to wish death on anyone else, but to accept God's will—it is no easy thing to be a Christian."

  The girl looked away. "Think you father will end the war?" she asked in a hurried slur.

  Elizabeth's hands writhed together. "I know not. Never a word will I say if he chooses to fight, but—Christ give it be peace!"

  3

  In spring, Harald and Svein called out goodly fleets and made a stormy passage to the Gota border between their kingdoms. Men knew the meeting would be to discuss terms, but none could say it would not end in battle.

  Tents spread over the shores, the banners of mighty owners flapping red and blue, green and gold before them. Ships crowded the river and warriors the banks, sunbeams glared off arms and helmets, the woods and fields spilled boisterous men.

  As the Fafnir moved inward, Harald stood at the prow, looking before him through cold eyes. "This meeting was called long ago," he said.

  Thjodholf answered soothingly: "That was for another purpose, my lord. Now we seek to clear our decks for greater things."

  Harald made no reply to that. The dragon dropped anchor, and he went silently to his boat and was rowed ashore.

  King Svein had come down to greet him. They regarded each other closely; it was many years since they had stood face to face. Harald saw lines furrowed deeply into the Dane's countenance and a darkness under the eyes, and he thought harshly that this much, at least, he had gained.

  "In God's name, welcome, King Harald," said Svein; his hand went forth a little, but when no move was made to take it, withdrew carelessly.

  The Norseman said in a chill tone: "Let us at once take oaths concerning the truce, and then talk. I would not remain here longer than I must."

  "As you will," said Svein. It was hard to tell whether his mask decked fear or joy. Belike he felt both. That which he had striven for during half his life trembled within his hands, and the giant might dash it away again.

  Harald refused Svein's invitation to feast, but ate in his own tent as soon as it was set up. Thereafter he led the great men of his court to the meeting place. This was in a yeoman's house, and strange it was to see that much power and finery under its smoky rafters.

  The kings sat opposite each other. Harald was flanked by Ulf and Thori of Steig, while Svein had Bishop William on his right hand. Dane and Norse looked across the fire trench through hooded eyes. Outside, their men mingled cheerily, and the tide rocked both their fleets. Beyond the anchorage, the sea heaved restless, empty to the earth's rim.

  Bishop William took the word. "We are met to further God's will, which is ever for peace among Christians," he said pompously. "Long and cruel has the strife been, little gain to either side and much wrong done both." Harald listened with half an ear as he went on, ending in a prayer for divine guidance. Then the Norse king spoke:

  "It is less by our own will than by the wish of our folk that we are here. Ill fares the land which has not its rightful king, and for our part we do not agree that Svein is entitled to the Danish crown. He is no son or grandson of Knut the Great; and by a treaty sworn long ago between Hardhaknut and Magnus, the Norse king is also ruler of Denmark. Moreover, Svein himself gave oaths of fealty to Magnus Olafsson, which he later broke. All men know our belief in this matter; but for the sake of mercy, we are willing to consider coming to terms."

  Svein sprang up, red-faced. His tone was shaky as he replied: "As for my own birth, it is not lowly, and I am the nearest living kin of Knut Sveinsson. By ancient law and right, the Danish crown descends according to degrees of kinship, and is given only by the Danish folk. Any treaty which says otherwise is unlawful. Long ago did Holy Church absolve me of any oaths I might have had to yield, and since then I have been forced to fight, and my people to suffer under, the attacks of lawless greed. The Church, which binds and looses on earth as in heaven, has been well pleased with my reign, while taking ill the heathenish insolence of certain other kings who would set themselves above Christ's vicar. Speak not of law to me."

  Harald smiled starkly. "We wished but to make our stand clear," he said. "We came not hither to bandy insults like a fishwife. The Danes have sent messages that they desire peace. Let them set forward such terms as they have in mind, and we will consider them. But let no man think we yield aught in weakness or fear."

  Svein stroked his beard; calm had again come over him, and he spoke with the craftiness of many years' royal dealings. "The border between our realms must be agreed on," he said, "and furthermore we must remember the destruction which this war has wrought. Perhaps some of my jarls can speak of that."

  "Aye." A white-bearded Dane, wrapped in costly furs, stood up. "My lords, I say naught of my own two sons slain, dear though they were to me, nor of ships lost and warriors crippled and killed, for this could happen in any war. But in my fief are homeless folk, wasted fields, burned houses, slaughtered kine that rotted where they fell, goods and monies stolen, harmless people murdered and raped and carried off to thralldom. For these evil deeds there must be some atonement."

  "What!" bellowed Ulf. "When have men paid weregild to their sworn foes? If you choose a king too weak to defend you, you must bear the outcome."

  "It is not only a reaving of Denmark," said Svein quickly, "but of all Christendom. Each year the heathen Wends come sailing to rob and kill, until few men dare live in sight of the coast. Denmark stands as a bulwark against them, and so do the bodies of Danish men, while you harry us from the north. Beware of weakening Denmark too much. If we fall, your coasts will burn next."

  Harald snorted. "Ever must you wear the pious cloak, Svein Estridhsson," he said. "But sooner will I be slain than rob the brave lads who followed me of that which they earned with blood."

  Both kings were standing now, and glaring at each other. An uproar lifted through the hall, men sho
uting into men's mouths, fists aloft and oaths on lips.

  "Think not I ask peace because I fear you, Harald Hardrede," cried Svein. "It is for the sake of my people. But I've thwarted your greed for nigh twenty years, and will fight you for twenty more rather than that they have an evildoer such as you for king."

  "If you are not too great a coward, we can put the matter to test this day," growled Harald. "Or are you afraid no traitor this time will help you run away?"

  "My lords!" exclaimed Bishop William. "My lords, think where you are! In God's name, keep peace during the truce, at least!"

  Harald wheeled and stalked from the hall. His men followed.

  That night Danes and Norse camped apart, guards out and weapons beside every sleeper. It did not escape Harald how much gloom there was among his folk; they had little stomach for a war which gutted two kingdoms for no clear gain. The knowledge struck him anew, shatteringly, that even if he wiped out the whole Danish army and court, the land would not be his.

  Well—time went, dreams crumbled and blew away. He wondered if he had will and courage enough to start afresh. It was eighteen years since he had been hailed king with Magnus, and he had come no farther who once meant to shape the empire of the North.

  A verse went among the camps, none knew who had made it, but men said it to each other:

  "Many folk their mouths use,

  at meeting, in each army;

  haughtiness breeds hatred

  in hosts of Dane and Norseman.

  None will wish to nod

  his neck unto another;

  and the kings are angry,

  egging on the trouble.

  * * *

  "Warlike royal wills

  give warning of ill tidings;

  men who'd act as makepeace

  measure into scalepans.

  Fearlessly and freely,

  folk should say their wishes:

  evil is this hour

  if enemies go homeward."

  It was like a groan out of the darkened earth.

  Perhaps King Svein heard it too. Men went between the rulers: Ulf, Thori, Thjodholf, Eystein from the Norse; William and Harald Sveinsson from the Danes. Days of wrangling followed, but the lords who looked out the door to see the armies mingled, talking and drinking and gaming like old friends, felt something of a shudder. Here they sat, in gold and marten furs, masters of men and broad lands, still building up their power; was it possible that someday they would give an order and no one would obey? Svein wondered a little about that. . . God might in time bring all things to pass. Harald was only concerned, bleakly, with getting what he could.

  And peace was made. Each king would reign over his own, to the border which had been laid down dim ages ago; neither would pay aught to the other, but each man must bear his own gain or loss as best he could. This peace was to remain between the realms for as long as both kings lived; and it was sworn to with mighty oaths on holy relics, and confirmed by exchange of hostages.

  When the news was spread about, the warriors broke into shameless cheering, dancing around and clashing sword on shield and falling into the arms of erstwhile foes, until the forest birds fled upward in a startled cloud. When he came home, Harald thought, bells would ring as they had never rung for a victory.

  He felt more alone than ever before in his life.

  Svein sought him. The Dane bore a warmth in his eyes which few had seen erenow.

  "You fought bravely," he said. "No man has had a more valiant foe than I, and if we gained naught else we have honor and names which will not be forgotten. I bear you no ill will, Harald Sigurdharson. Shall we not be friends?"

  The Norse king looked down at him. "We have sworn peace," he said. "See that you keep this one vow."

  He turned and walked slowly away.

  VI

  How They Fought in Sweden

  1

  That summer King Harald again dwelt in Oslo, busying himself with everday matters; but he sent many spies into the Uplands and questioned closely all men who came back from foreign voyages. It was to be seen that he was often in a dark humor, but these fits slowly lifted and became less common, as if he had found some new hope. No man was told what this might be, and talk of it ranged everywhere from another journey toward Jotunheim to a conquest of England.

  In midseason, the royal bailiffs went forth to gather taxes, and the Upland yeomen refused them afresh. When this was told the king, he nodded. "I expected naught else," he said evenly. "They have had two chances now; there shall not be a third."

  The bailiffs felt a freezing, as if the quiet words had held winter cold.

  Still Harald dawdled, while harvest time approached. Elizabeth often sang at her work, but Thora grew more and more sullen. Finally she could hold herself in no longer.

  It was on an evening of rain and mist, the first bite of frost in the air as days shortened, that her man went in to her. He had been sleeping more with his wife of late, which whetted his leman's temper. She was seated before a mirror, tending her hair, when he walked into the bedchamber of her house.

  His great height filled the doorway as he dropped the bolt behind him. She turned the face of a foe and regarded him.

  "Well," she said, "did you want a change? Now that summer is past, you seem less fond of icicles."

  "I order my own affairs," he answered shortly.

  "And never have you thought that someone else might have rights in the matter." Thora slammed her brush down on the table. "Indeed you are Harald Hardrede. Yet already, as you near the half century mark, you become a coal biter."

  He raised his left brow. "So now you would wear breeches and steer the kingdom," he murmured.

  Thora got up and came toward him, her fists doubled at her flanks. He thought anew what a fair and lively woman she was, and felt an old wish. It was saddening how all in life, power and friends, horses and ships and love, could become simple habit.

  Yes, he thought, it was past time that we ended the war against Svein and sought something new. "I do not wish to," said Thora, "but someone must be king, and it seems you've no more heart for the task."

  That stung, but he held himself on tight rein. "There is more to ruling than you know," he said. "Have you ever had a thought in your life?"

  "So now you must reproach me," she flared. "I must bear the blame of your life's failures."

  "In what way think you I have failed? Luck was not always mine, but we still hold Norway's throne."

  "And what else? Svein Estridhsson rubbed your nose in the dirt for nearly two decades, and you slunk home a whipped dog. Haakon Jarl sits in Sweden and laughs at you. The Upland ground grubbers make mock of your rule. And you piddle about in Oslo! You've not even the courage to go hunting anymore—are you afraid some big bad fawn will trample you?"

  The unbound hair caught the candlelight in a fiery gleam. Her mouth was drawn back, teeth flashing wetly, her nostrils widened and the long green-gold eyes defied him.

  "You'll not even keep this muckheap of a town if you let your own folk flout you," she cried. "What have you ever done but rush around like a landless Viking, stealing when no one was there to defend and turning tail when men appeared?"

  Anger beat in his temples. "We whipped twice our own number at the Niss," he said loudly. "That much you saw for yourself."

  "Who won over them?" She laughed on a shrill note. "Haakon Ivarsson! He gave you victory at that battle, and took the war away from you, and today he yaps across the border knowing you dare not seek him out! Before God, I should go throw myself on my back before Haakon and hope to have sons by a man!"

  "Now you've said too much," he rumbled. One hand leaped forth to grip her shoulder. She set teeth against a shriek at its force.

  "Make war on women!" she yelled. "Little else are you fit for!"

  He pushed her from him, and she staggered back. "Hear me," he said. "I've wrought what will endure when our wars are a page in a dusty book: strengthened the throne, built this town, brought
in outland goods and ways. But you do not even try to understand. I bear plans you've not the power to dream of. If I choose not to tell them to a blabber-tongued wench whom it were better to turn across my knee, that's my affair. Naught ails you save greed. My work has never meant a thing to you but more gold, more silks, more thralls to serve your laziness. I've not heard one new word from you in all the years we've lived together. You've taken with both hands and given naught save nagging, like any crofter's carline."

  "I gave you two sons," she answered. She stood half crouched, as if to leap upon him with claws. "That's more than Ellisif has done, for all her bookreading."

  "Speak no word against her," he said out of a tightening throat. "Sometimes I rue the day I met you. When things have gone well, you were ready enough to reap the good of them; but in an evil moment, you stand by my foes."

  She stiffened, and then something went from her and she flung herself onto a chair and wept. His wrath sputtered and sparked, suddenly drenched.

  "So you would try tears," he said at last, but his mockery was unsure.

  She raised a wet face and he saw the hunger on it.

  "No," she gulped. "It's that I've wished so much for you ... for us . . . and there has been so little "

  He bent over and laid an awkward hand on her head. "We've had luck in the small things," he said, "but somehow have never gained the great. It may be we never shall; that the times are indeed unready, and no man can ripen a field before harvest season. Yet I mean to try, Thora. This winter I mean to seek out Haakon and destroy him; I wait till then lest the whole Swedish levy be brought against us. And afterward— Mighty deeds remain to do. Our sons shall have a greater inheritance than any Norse king ever gained, if God and St. Olaf aid. Perhaps I forget you're younger than I and time goes more slowly for you."