Harold rose and went to the bedside. His shadow fell black and misshapen over the king's face. "Lord," he said gently, "make known to us your will. Who shall follow you on the throne?"
Edward moved cold lips, but could get no word out.
"Lord, the land is in sore need," said Harold. "Grant us your counsel."
The white head lifted, just an inch, as if it would rise to see who stood there and to single one out.
Harold gathered his courage. Dark wings were beating close, but he could hear the whimper of wind, as if from a storm across winter seas. And England's crown—he had not bartered half his hopes for less.
"Tell us, my lord, whom you would have," he said, and bent his ear close. His hand brushed Edward's and felt an icy cold.
A voiceless whisper, and then a rattling back in the throat.
Harold stood up. His eyes swept the room, and he said into its silence: "Now I take you here to witness, that the king has given me the kingdom and all power in England."
He went back to his knees and prayed with the rest while the death struggle ebbed out before him. It did not last long.
Epiphany dawned cheerless gray, but the great of the realm had no time for mourning. It was old usage that a king was hallowed on a high feast; this was the last day possible before Easter, and the land could not wait that long for a master. Not only King Edward's burial, but the making of a successor must take place today, in a ripping haste which told how perilous a new year had begun.
After vigil and deathwatch, Harold repaired to the Witanagemot. Edgar Atheling was there, like a wistful little ghost whom folk paid scant heed. Not a voice was raised for him, or Duke William, or Harald Hardrede; as one, the chiefs named Harold Godwinsson, and the people cried yea till walls shivered.
Coiffed, anointed, and crowned, the new king sat at feast that night. It seemed forever since he had slept, but no sleep was on his eyes; before him went a steady march of rememberings, Wulfnoth, Tosti, Edward, Edith Swan-neck. "Have done," he groaned under his breath.' "I could do naught else."
The earls Edwin and Morkar, who had crowned him, had seats of honor. They lifted their beakers to him. "Hail, lord king!" cried Edwin. "Joy to your reign!''
"It will be a troubled one," he answered.
"The more chance for it to be glorious, my lord," said Morkar.
Harold bent his head in thanks. But it was true, he told himself, it was true. Let him only weather this year, and there was nothing he could not do.
Even as he sat, he began thinking of war. The Northumbrians must be reconciled to having Tosti's brother for king. Yes, best he go speedily up to York with the Alfgarssons and win their love. Ship levies would have to lie out, come summer. There must be guard mounted and spies sent into Normandy, Norway . . . Could he look for help from Denmark or Ireland? Rome favored William; Harold must at the least get England's bishops on his side. A mighty task! But his ghosts did not follow him when he went into the maze of it.
IX
How St. Michael Drew His Sword
1
Harald Sigurdharson remained in Oslo the winter after he put down the Upland rebellion, and had trusty men out in foreign parts. Word ran about the land: Edward the Good was in his grave, Harold Godwinsson sat a shaky throne, Tosti Godwinsson gathered English outlaws and Flemish hirelings at St. Omer's, William the Bastard had messengers hurrying over hundreds of miles and gave out he would knock England's crown off Harold's head. . . . Aye, aye, this was a time of uproar, the old men shook their heads and peered through dim eyes into the coals, the young men spoke of riches to be had, the women began to lie awake nights and grow silent by day. The king kept his own counsel, but he was often seen sunk in thought.
Early in spring, he sent to his chief men who had gone elsewhere for the winter, bidding them hasten down to Oslo. Ulf Uspaksson rode down from the Throndlaw with a small following. He was overnighting at a yeoman's house in Sogn—his way south skirted the Uplands, which he did not care to visit again—when Eystein Gorcock came thither.
As the sheriff entered, he was seen to be tired and muddy; his garments were somber, against his known usage, and the handsome face troubled. Ulf did not rise for him, but waved him to a seat next to his own.
"Good evening to you, Eystein," he said. "I thought you'd have been in Oslo erenow."
"I lingered, in hopes I'd meet you, and asked what roads you'd been taking." The sheriff slumped into the seat and stretched long legs out toward the fire. "It seemed well if we could travel together."
Ulf's shaggy brows went up, but he said nothing. Eystein was shocked at how much the marshal had aged in a few months. His skin hung in gray folds over the heavy bones, his eyes were deep sunken, and eld lay like rime frost in the coarse black hair.
"God grant you have not been sick."
"Oh . . . somewhat. My heart plays me traitor." Ulf smiled sourly. "Now and then I feel like the clay giant Mokkurkalf. . . . You remember he had a mare's heart, which made him such a coward that when he saw Thor coming he wet his breeks and flooded the countryside. But how have you fared?"
"Not well. My wife died this winter."
Ulf turned his haggard face to Eystein's. "That was a hard blow, my friend."
"Yes. Our children had one by one died before her, as you know, and then she took the coughing sickness and I saw it gnaw her hollow from within." Eystein crossed himself. "God rest her, she was a good woman."
"Aye." Ulf's bony hand rested lightly for a moment on Eystein's arm. "May you build your house again."
They went early to bed without speaking more of it.
The next morning their joined troops rode forth, the two leaders well ahead of them. It was a cold, clear day, the wind swept from the hills with a smell of ice, the sky arched blue, and white clouds wandered. The road was muddy, here and there water streamed black across it or raised hackles under the wind; a few crusted snowbanks were left in the stubble fields, rooks cawed from naked forests, and an eagle mounted guard beneath the sun.
Ulf threw back his head and snuffed the wet air into his lungs. "Hard going today," he said, "but I like this season. It was what I missed most down in the South, our wild tricky Northern springtime."
"A time of hope," said Eystein. His coppery hair fluttered under the hat, and his cloak flapped like wings. "Or a time of sorrow. To me there's ever been a sadness in spring, I know not why."
Ulf shifted his weight, the saddle creaked and his mare blew out her lips in a long sigh. "Be not so glum," he advised. "It's an ill thing to lose a wife, but . . ."
Eystein looked at his mount's neck. His hands doubled over the reins. "I sought your company for a reason, Ulf," he said.
"I thought as much." The marshal laughed noiselessly.
Eystein gave him a look of misery. "Has my breast been so open to sight?" he asked.
"Mmm . . . perhaps not. But I, at least, know a hankering when I see one. Speak as freely as you wish. I've no sense of shame."
"It's not easy." Eystein's winter-pale cheeks reddened. "I've prayed, and made offerings, and . . . there's still a thought I can't drive from my soul."
"If you must dance around like a courting grouse, then I'll say it for you. Maria Haraldsdottir."
Eystein's head drooped. "God help me," he mumbled. "Thordis was a good and true wife who ever sought to make me happy. Even when our children died, it was she who comforted me. Will you understand, knowing how easy it is to make some pretext for divorce, will you understand how I could never find it in me to turn her out? But I lay with one woman after the next. ..."
"What of it? I think God, or the gods, or whatever shaped man meant him to wallow in the she-sex, like a stallion or a bull seal." Ulf chuckled dreamily. "Is aught better than a nice round ticklish young wench, high in the prow and bluff in the stern?"
Eystein's hand lifted. "Have done," he said unhappily. "This is no jesting matter. Thordis was good, I say, and kind, and even on her deathbed made no plaint . . . and you know how that sic
kness often turns folk mean. Yet we were wedded because her father was a powerful chief and her dowry large, and she wearied me. Christ alone knows how she wearied me! And when she was dying, I strove to speak gently to her, but all I could think of was how ugly she had grown, and how she stank, and how I was cooped up with death. . . ." He covered his eyes. "God have mercy, when she died I was glad! In my inmost heart I rejoiced."
"Well," said Ulf, "her suffering was past."
"I was glad for myself!" said Eystein in a haunted voice.
"It's my thought that Christendom is making liars of us," said the marshal. "Better it was in the old days, when a man felt no need to cloak honest wickedness."
Eystein startled. "Be careful!" he whispered. "You speak blasphemy."
Ulf shrugged. "So the priests have told us. As for me, I believe what I see with my own eyes, and doubt any man's bare word."
"But the miracles! I myself have seen a man who lay lame for ten years brought to Olaf's shrine and walk away."
"Are you quite sure someone was not making magic?" leered Ulf. "I've never heard of the saint growing a new leg on a cut-off stump; those healed are ever folk who have limbs or eyes but have somehow lost the use of them."
"I'll hear no more!" cried Eystein.
Ulf rocked with laughter, though no sound came from his lips. "Very well," he said. "Yet I horrified you out of your grief, no?"
"I . . . well . . ." The sheriff stroked his red mustache with shaky fingers. "Indeed it turned my mind—but even speaking of such things is perilous."
"It served the purpose. Let me bide alone with what I really believe; that's no man's affair." Ulf glanced behind. The warriors riding there were too far off to hear him through the wind. "Let's talk of your woes. You've hankered after Maria for some time, and had reason to think she felt kindly toward you. Now you're knotting up your courage to ask her hand."
"It scarce seems decent, with Thordis not cold in her grave."
"Bah! There's no marriage in heaven, so grab what years you have on earth." Ulf's scorn faded, and he went on very softly while looking at something known but to himself: "Happy the man who gets the woman he cares about. Life can be strangely empty without her. Maria is much like her mother, and I could wish her to have the man who would make her happy, rather than one who might only make her a queen. Eystein, you're a good sort who can drink most men under the table, and I'll support you before the king. All I ask in return is that you forget what's past and look to tomorrow."
He himself stared across the hills for a while, till Eystein should have gotten his face in order. He did not think it right to see a man's soul.
King Harald received them well, with a cheer which had not been in him for years. He said he was assembling the court to hear a messenger from Flanders. Ulf nodded, unsurprised, and turned the talk until it reached Eystein's suit.
The king raised his brows. "I've not been altogether blind," he said. "Maria has refused three offers already, and I'd not compel her. Come, you two, follow me, and I'll have the girl sent for,"
Eystein's heart leaped in his breast. He had not felt thus since he was a youth.
The three men sat alone in the foreroom of the hall. It was chill and gloomy. Eystein could not take his eyes from the door. When it opened, sunlight and springtime streamed in.
Maria entered. She wore a cowled mantle of gray which gave her a look almost of holiness in the sheriff's mind . . . but as she came toward him, with the gracious stride that had walked through his nights, he thought of Freyja.
She turned her head, the big gray eyes half blinded by sudden murk. "You wished me here, father?"
"Yes." King Harald chuckled. "I thought you'd like to welcome our guest. We shall have Gorcock for supper."
She stopped, unmoving save that a small hand lifted to her lips, as if by its own will. "Oh," she said faintly. "I see you now . . . Well met, Eystein."
"The sheriff has, hm," Harald cleared his throat savoring the moment. "He has brought us somewhat of a surprise."
Maria made no answer.
"He has asked for your hand in marriage," went on the king. "I wondered if you would think of . . ."
His voice trailed off when he saw them looking at each other. They would not have heard him.
2
Osric Cynewulfsson was a short man, rather ugly, who bore a glib and fearless tongue. He admitted freely that Harold Godwinsson had outlawed him for a murder done in England, and that he had gone to Flanders to save his neck; but he spoke well of Tosti. He had come to Norway by ship, and Harald guested him and his crew with no more hospitality than custom demanded.
After his chiefs were gathered, the king brought them into a lesser hall used for audiences. It was on a day when rain scurried before the wind. He bade them not speak to anyone else of what would be said, but to think well on the matter and give him their best redes. Then he told Osric to stand forth and declare his errand.
The Englishman - rose and walked out onto the floor. His eyes went around the seats and benches; he seemed a gray sparrow in a mew of blooded hawks.
There they sat, the power and pride of Norway, the warriors whose fame was like thunder. Firelight glittered off golden rings, threw heavy cloth and costly furs into a moving shadow, splashed stern faces and gleamed in hooded eyes; axes hanging on the walls seemed to run with blood, and the sound of rain on the roof was as of horses galloping.
King Harald Hardrede was in the high seat, leaning back at ease, legs crossed and fingers bridged: an overwhelming giant, scarce a sign of his fifty-one years in tawny mane or beard. His weathered countenance was lined, the nose thrust out in a crag, the eyes seemed too brilliant for a mortal man. At his feet sprawled a wolfhound whom few dared go too near; its collar was studded with rubies.
On his right was Prince Magnus, shifting restlessly, a tall and goodly youth; Olaf on his left was nearly as large as a man at sixteen years of age, calm and quiet, but the blunt-fingered hands held a bear's strength. To the latter's left was the skald Thjodholf, whose gaze had looked on many stricken fields and whose voice had chanted of battles where he himself wielded not the least sword. At Magnus' right was Eystein Gorcock, whose clothes were a shout of color, who had a secret smile on his lips; but Eystein's brand had cloven shields.
Opposite the king was his marshal Ulf, bristle bearded and hideous, cold craftiness in his thick skull. On his right he had Thori of Steig, a weighty man, slow spoken and sage; on his left Styrkaar, dark and gloomy, chill of eye and hoarse of voice, whose hands had wrought much evil but whose bravery was boundless.
And there were many others, sheriffs and guardsmen, down to the young giant Gunnar Geiroddsson whose doglike gaze seldom left Harald. These men had driven armies before them and gladdened ravens; now they sat to hear the word of Osric.
The Englishman cleared his throat and faced the king. His speech was outlandish in Norway, but not so different that it could not be understood. "Your majesty and my lords," he began. "I have come hither on behalf of my master, Earl Tosti Godwinsson, whom you know to be unjustly outlawed, and whom you must also know to be among the wisest and most valiant of men. He seeks your help in a war which must not only bring greater riches than folk ever dreamed erenow, but also a fame which will endure while the world remains."
He went on at length, telling how matters stood in England and how Tosti had gotten no few ships and warriors of his own. It was his plan to come back, overthrow his brother, and seize the crown; but for the Norse help he offered to become Harald's man. Harald should be king of England and Tosti his earl in charge of half the realm.
The ruler tilted his left eyebrow upward. "I've heard that this offer was first made to my enemy Svein Estridhsson," he said.
"It was, my lord," answered Osric unabashed. "For after all, King Svein is Tosti's near relative. And these were the Dane's words: 'So little can I measure myself against my kinsman King Knut, that I can scarce defend my own land from the Norsemen. Old Knut got Denmark in heritage
, and England he conquered with slash and blow, and yet for a time it seemed he must lose his very life over there. Norway he won without battle; but I have learned to be content, and to remain by my own holdings however small, rather than seek a might such as that my kinsman King Knut gained.'
"And these, sire, were my words in answer: 'When so great a man as you can bid us no more help, now when we need it the most, I understand that my journey hither will not bring what I had hoped. Therefore I must needs seek friendship where it is less to be expected; and yet it could happen that I found there a chieftain who owns more courage than you, king, to go under the eyes of danger and not shy away from a great deed.'
"And so," Finished Osric with a grin, "we parted, not just the best of friends."
The Norsemen laughed.
Harald said slowly: "We are not much for going in Viking to England, if our folk must have an English chief over them. It's thought hereabouts that the English are not to be trusted."
Osric met his stare and replied boldly: "My lord, what is the truth of that story I heard in England, that your kinsman King Magnus sent a message to King Edward claiming the English throne by reason of the agreement sworn to by Hardhaknut and himself?"
Harald countered with a question of his own. "Why did he not take it, if he owned it?"
"Yes, my lord, and why do you not have Denmark, as King Magnus had it before your time?"
Harald paled and said harshly: "The Danes have naught to brag of where we Norse are concerned; often enough have we scorched the pelts of your dear kinsmen in Denmark."
Osric folded his arms, more than ever the sparrow defying the hawk, and said: "Will you not answer my question, lord, then I shall answer it for you. King Magnus got Denmark because the Danish chieftains were on his side; you won it not, because the folk of that land were against you. And when Magnus did not attack England, it was because he knew the whole people stood together behind King Edward. But if you now wish to be the overlord of England, my master Earl Tosti shall so contrive it that the greater part of the English chiefs give you friendship and help.
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