While Eystein was getting the wooden forks, the king told off men to gather hay and branches atop the hill. When this was heaped high, he lit the fire, and his warriors took forkfuls of blaze and tossed them downwind to Scarborough's roofs. Much of it fell short, but enough landed in the thatch to set houses aflame, and erelong the English were driven out. They fought for a while, the Norsemen reaped them, and then the rest gave in.
Harald regarded the ruins and said to Tosti: "Your folk are as brave as any I've met; but they seem never to make ready for danger till too late."
"It's our great fault," nodded the earl. "And yet, hurt and unprepared, we've thrown back more than one foe."
Harald gave him a sharp look but said naught.
Still looting as he went, the king sailed on to Holderness. Here he met ships of Earl Morkar, but they were greatly outnumbered and fled. Landing, he found a levy raised to oppose him, and that was not an easy battle; but he broke them and laid the Wolds waste.
In these fights Olaf was beside him and proved a valiant if unskilled warrior. The prince went into a fight as to a task he hated, and did not join the roaring celebrations of victory but slipped off alone to pray forgiveness. Tosti and his followers were good allies, and as the host rolled on, the earl's dark moods lifted until he was merry toward every companion.
After Holderness came the Humber. It was Harald's plan to steer inland, up the River Ouse, and make camp. Belike Morkar would give battle ere they came to York; once he was beaten, that great city must yield, and then Northumbria and Yorkshire would be grasped.
Harald and Eystein stood together by the shore, where the Humber met the sea, and looked east. The weather had turned almost warm of late, mild winds and sunny skies, as if heaven smiled on the conquerors. The sea danced and glittered, rushed to the beach and back again in a huge rattling roar; gulls swooped aloft and their mewing ran out, lonesome, across a restless waste to the world's rim.
Harald drew in a deep lungful. "I wonder when we shall see this again," he said.
"Soon, I hope," replied Eystein. His red hair fluttered in the breeze and his eyes wandered northward.
"Down in the South," Harald told him, "I heard a story of the old Greeks, about a giant who drew his strength from the earth. He could not be overcome until a hero lifted him into the air. Sometimes I think we are like that, save that our life is the sea. No other folk have ever sailed so far; nor have I ever felt myself more alive than when I had a keel beneath me."
He turned. "Enough. Back to the ships and on our way."
He rowed a goodly distance inland before the crying of the waters was lost to him.
Around the Humber and the Ouse, England was low, rolling easily shoreward; the windy heights of Yorkshire were out of sight in the west. Here the hills were old, worn down to forested slopes and broad green valleys. Reeds whispered on the banks of the quietly flowing Ouse, waterfowl rose clamorous from them as the dragons swam by, the sky stooped big overhead. There were many farms in sight, empty now of folk who had fled; the fields were yellow with stubble, and the grass of the meadows dry and sallow, turned to hay by the waning summer, and the trees—oak, ash, elm, thorn—talking to each other of the autumn which had already faded them. An eeriness lay over this landscape; the chunk and splash of oars came unnaturally loud, men dropped their voices without thinking.
That night the fleet lay to in the river. The next day, near sundown, they reached Riccal, nine miles from York. It was a small town whose gates creaked drearily in the breeze, its people run away. "This is a good place," said Harold. "We can camp here and sally forth against York when we will."
The ships were drawn up on the bank, to line it for almost a mile with sharp prows and carved heads: and then the men went ashore. Their camp-fires twinkled as far as one could see in the dusk; woodsmoke and voices drifted under stars that blinked forth; the tramp and iron rattle of watchmen made the night loud. Their chiefs took the houses of Riccall and found goodly stocks of food and drink inside.
"We will lie here for a day or two, and send out scouts, ere faring to York," said Harald. "Tosti, can you get spies into the city itself?"
"I think so," answered the earl. "It will be so full of fugitives that one more new face means naught." He glanced up. "Yet I thought you not such a cautious leader."
Harald smiled and raised a silver goblet. "I've seen battles lost because someone was heedless," he said. "It's best to work carefully when you build an empire."
Olaf spoke suddenly: "No man can think of everything. In the last, it's only God who gives victory."
"And our own sword arms," laughed Eystein. "Fear not, we have St. Olaf with us."
Harold shivered, remembering. "It grows cold," he said. "Stoke the fire."
He took his ease the next day, sharpening his weapons himself and oiling the knee-length byrnie he called Emma; so heavy was that coat that no other man could bear it for long, and it had never been pierced. Meanwhile his scouts ranged afar. Gunnar Geiroddsson came back with a shapely little English girl perched on his shoulder and clinging to his hair; she giggled and seemed not to mind the raw whoops which lifted around her.
Word was that Earl Edwin had brought the Mercian levies to join Morkar in York, and that they would go forth the following day. King Harald laid his sword down, its blade shimmering in the torch-gleam, and nodded. "Good," he said. "We shall meet them."
3
Wednesday, the eve of St. Matthew's Mass, dawned fair. The Norse host was early afoot, men by the thousands spilling off the road and into the fields; a dust cloud hung over them and their steel flashed through it. They had the Ouse at their left and York ahead of them. Harald rode the black Spanish stallion, his chiefs mounted near him and Landwaster streaming in the van. He bore a gilt helmet, sword at his waist and ax at the saddlebow. He felt utterly glad and whistled as he rode.
"A good day for fighting," said Eystein. "Cool enough to make men brisk, and not so cold as to sap them."
"It is a good day to be alive," muttered Olaf, "but many will not be at sunset."
"What did you say?" asked his father.
"Naught you would think important," said Olaf.
After several miles, the host reached low ground. On their right flank, a ditch cut past a deep marsh. Water shone between reeds and thick green of lily pads, and a flight of wild swans rose impossibly white. The sun, a ways toward the west, turned the river into one blinding sheet.
Up ahead came another pillar of dust, and Harald saw an army moving to meet him. Those were the northern levies, half-Danish men as big as his own tramping stolidly forward with axes at shoulder; they were well equipped and seemed in good training. The king waved Tosti over to him and asked: "Where are we now?"
"This must be near Gate Fulford, about two miles from York," said the earl. "We could see the city beyond that ridge there." His face gleamed with sweat under the helmet and his lips were drawn back tightly. "Yes . . . those are the banners of Edwin and Morkar. I have much to avenge on them."
Harald's mind whirred as he studied the land. "Do you take our right wing, on the marsh's edge," he said. "There I'll have the Irish Vikings, the Orkney levies, and others least to be trusted." As Tosti's brows drew down: "No, no, it's a post of great value. You must give battle but let yourself be driven back. Thus we'll turn their line and I, on the left wing, can flank them."
"Are you already making a pawn of me?" burst out the earl.
"Be still!" roared Harald. He clapped hand to his sword hilt. "Remember who your king is . . . now."
Tosti jerked his head but rode off to obey.
Harold cantered up and down his line, shouting orders. It was an unwieldy host; he had a brief wistfulness about the well-drilled troops of Byzantium. But his yeomen found their places, step by maddening step as the English neared, and the array was formed.
At its center flew the banners of Harald's best chiefs, Eystein, Styrkaar, Gudhrodh of Iceland, and others; to the right stood Tosti and the Thorfin
nssons; on the left rose Landwaster, and there the spears crowded thickest. Harald dismounted, tethered his horse, and walked over to stand by Fridhrek and the flag. His sword rasped out and he fitted his left hand more snugly to the iron-rimmed shield. Its wood had grown in Viken and its leather had once bellowed in Haalogaland; let the North ward her own!
Olaf bit his lip. Sweat runneled down the dust on his face, and he shivered. "Are you ill, son?" asked Harald.
"No. It's the . . . the waiting. . . ."
Harald clapped him on the back. "Well I know it. That goes away when you start fighting."
"And what is worse comes afterward," said Olaf to himself.
The ground rose a little toward the Norse ranks. Harald saw the English host pause just out of bowshot. They were a big force, not as great as his but nearly so; this might not be the first time valiant men had overthrown a larger army. But . . .
He leaned on his sword, smiling, and felt a cold peace in his breast. His heart pumped slowly and steadily, and a small part of his mind dwelt on years to come. Those were good carles down there, brave strong men; Norse and English together could mount the world.
Trumpets screamed. The enemy broke into a lumbering trot. Stones, spears, arrows thickened the air, whht, whht, whht, a thunk and a howl. Harald saw one of his men fall, clawing at the iron in his face. But two Englanders rolled over and were trampled by their onrushing comrades. And now the Norse spears snapped down, a wall with teeth, and the ranks shocked together.
Harald lifted his sword. A strange face snarled at him under a steel cap. His blade whistled, the force of its landing hammered in his own shoulders. Blood spurted and a head rolled at the king's feet. He shouted, caught a falling ax on his shield, returned the blow and drove the wielder back.
Up and down, up and down, slash, cut, and slew the edge about! Iron roared along the ranks. Through a blur of iron, Harald saw the banner of Earl Edwin flying above the helmets. For a wild moment he wanted to cut his way to it—but wait, hold fast and wait.
Where he stood, men planted their feet in the reddened grass and gave blow for blow. Above their heads to the right, Harald saw Tosti's standard go back and Morkar's press forward. But the line held, the line held.
He turned to hew at those before him. Time was lost in the rage of weapons. It was with a start that he heard the triumphant shouting of the Yorkshire-men and Northumbrians. A spear clawed after his throat as he faced about to see. Fridhrek held the flagstaff in his left hand; his right had a sword that cut the spearshaft in twain.
Tosti was drawing his whole wing back, swiftly but with a skill that could only be measured from afar. Harald thought that the man against whom the outlaw fought was Morkar himself. The English on that side rushed forward, and it was no easy thing to retreat; the Norse right wavered raggedly, about to break.
Harald stuck his sword in the ground and lifted the horn slung at his hip. He set it to his mouth and blew till he felt his eardrums bulge. Forward, king's men!
Snatching up his brand afresh, he leaped at the nearest Englander. The long blade shrieked in his hands. It met a shield rim and crashed through; he felt bone give way before him.
"Forward!" he yelled. "Swing them around!"
Gunnar's ax whirled and thundered. He knocked one man to earth, took a leg off the one beside, and caught a third with the hammer on the backswing. Harald's sword whined down from the sky, he pushed the boss of his shield into men's faces and sent them stumbling. Olaf fought doggedly, smiting without regard for himself. For a moment the lines wobbled, then Harald felt a quiver as if in his own body and the foe were giving ground.
He called aloud to his men, who drove the English till they were running backward. Eystein made a shorter arc, and Tosti stood firm. In a few bloody minutes, the lines had been turned, and the enemy had their backs to the marsh and its ditch.
Land waster flamed against them. Harald cut his way to Edwin's banner, slew the standard-bearer, and cast it down. The Mercian ranks thinned before him. It was hand to hand, man to man, grunting and gasping and slipping on the grass. Gudhrddh and Styrkaar added their strength to Tosti's weak line, and sheer weight of numbers pushed the English into the ditch and the fen beyond.
They fought well until the ground began to suck their feet; then terror seized them and they broke. Many drowned there. The Norse waded after, slaying them until the marsh was so full of dead that men could walk dry-shod across.
Fulford was won and the North was broken.
Through his wildly jubilant host strode Harald. No time to lose. . . . "Stop that! Form ranks! Onward ere they can rally!" It was a good hour before he had them back in order and was leading them toward York.
After dark, the town a dim hulk before him, he arrived and encamped his host. Their fires ringed in the city, and men on the walls heard once again the terrible Viking songs mocking them.
Harald went to bed as soon as his tent was raised and slept better than he had done in a long time.
At dawn he was afoot, gazing toward the beleaguered city. York was a large and wealthy burgh; the man who held her owned the North. The walls were not merely earthern, but stone, the warm yellow sandstone of this district, and he saw the spires of a cathedral over them. Armed men looked down on him, but no arrows were fired.
Tosti sought the king. "I think they can be made to yield, my lord," he said. "They've no hope of beating off a storm."
"Let them come talk to us about it," answered Harald. "And Tosti, what of those chiefs you said would come to our side?"
"They must be sought out, my lord. I'll send men off at once."
Bells rang in the town, a long sweet chiming across the misty land. It would be a sorrowful Mat-thewsmas in there.
Harald bade his own chiefs join him in breaking fast. He was merry at the board, holding them a long time with his accounts of great battles in strange lands. "And yet this one we fought yesterday means more than all of them," he added. "Not only that we won a huge victory with few losses . . . but we fought for ourselves."
"So did the English," said Thjodholf mildly.
"Indeed," nodded Harald. "Still ... I wish not to pretend holiness, but it seems me we fought for them as well. In after years they'll thank us for having come, their brethren, and not the Normans who'd make thralls of them."
Trumpets sounded from York, and a man called down to ask if the king would parley. Harald agreed, and at noontide he awaited Edwin and Morkar with a feast.
They came haggardly into his tent. Edwin's head was bandaged, and Morkar limped. Harald looked closely at the second. "The tale was you had fallen," he said.
"We escaped, through God's mercy, my lord," mumbled the earl.
"That's good. My wish was never to slay brave men. Be seated."
Edwin glared at Tosti, who was on a bench to the rear of the tent. "Not with that traitor," he said thickly.
"And I should sit with two thieves?" cried Tosti, leaping to his feet.
"Have done, the lot of you!" Harald's fist crashed on the table. "We came here to talk, not bandy ill-bred insults."
Morkar said gloomily: "No affront was meant to you, my lord. You fought us well and beat us fairly. Belike you would be a better king than your namesake, lounging down in London ... as worthless as the rest of his family."
Tosti pulled out a dagger. "One more such word," he said through clenched jaws, "and ..."
"Be still, or I'll knock all your heads together," growled Harald. He looked keenly at the brothers. "Have you had no word from your king?"
"He said he was on his way, and not to give battle until he came," answered Edwin. "But it would take him many days to get here, and what use is a worn-out troop?"
Harald sat with an unreadable face. "Have you thought," he asked slowly, "that Harold meant for you to be crushed by us? Ever have you been his rivals."
Edwin whitened. Morkar said in haste: "No, my lord, I can't believe it. He wed our sister, and . . ."
Harald let it go, content to
have planted the thought. They dined together, and he strove to show the brothers friendliness. Tosti sat back in some awe. He had thought this Harald Hardrede only a Viking, a living sword; but first had come the shrewdness at Gate Fulford, and today sat a man who could charm the Devil out of his hole.
No agreement was reached then; the earls felt it their duty to hold York to the last. However, they consented to carry on the talks next day. Meanwhile Harald had parts of the host out to subdue the countryside, which was done without much trouble; and Tosti's friends began to arrive, some of them powerful chiefs who pledged to bring goodly followings in a week or two.
For three days Harald bargained with the earls. It was finally agreed that York should be yielded to him, but would be spared sack; nor would the Norse garrison it at once, but wait till they had settled with Harold Godwinsson. Tosti would have the earldom of Northumbria back, but Edwin and Morkar should be granted fiefs and honors. Hostages were to be given, first from the city and then from the whole shire; and the northern levies would go under
Harald's flag and help him against the remaining English.
On Sunday, the twenty-fourth day of September, Harald Hardrede entered York. Shuttered windows and empty streets greeted him, but the cathedral bells rang and there he heard Mass and made thank offerings. Surely Olaf the Holy watched him!
Afterward he summoned the townsfolk to a Thing. Before all of them, Edwin and Morkar knelt and gave homage, and the terms of surrender were spoken aloud. No few of the English must have felt bitterness on learning they would be gathered to conquer their own land. Yet this was old Danish country, there had never been much love for the southern districts up here, so many looked on the Norse spears and thought it best to follow a victorious flag.
Tosti pointed out the foremost chief men of York, whose children Harald took as guarantees. Tomorrow, he said, the hostages for all the shire must be given; and at Tosti's suggestion, Stamford Bridge, a few miles east on the Derwent, was made the meeting place.
The Sign of the Raven Page 17
