TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse

by Poul Anderson

  In the morning, Haakon's eyes were dark rimmed; he had not slept much. But he went firmly to Orm and Finn, and bade them come into the foreroom.

  The sheriff's gnarled hands gripped his knees as he sat down. "Well?" he asked. "What is your word?"

  Haakon stared at them unblinking. His voice was flat. "I'll make peace with King Harald if he'll give me his kinswoman Ragnhild, the daughter of Magnus the Good, in marriage, with a suitable dowry which she herself shall name."

  "The girl's but a child," said Orm.

  Haakon gestured impatiently. "I know. The wedding can wait awhile, so the betrothal be sworn now. You said yesterday, you two, that I'd be wisest to strengthen my house, and I can see no better way than by marrying into the royal family and gaining the lands she'll bring with her."

  Finn gusted a great sigh, and smiled happily. "I can promise you as much on the king's behalf," he said.

  Now they rode together with witnesses to the nearest church, where they swore to the agreement on holy relics. Afterward Haakon gave a feast to which he invited the entire district; it lasted some days, and the only guests not merry were the messengers of the widow Bergljot.

  3

  A short time afterward, Haakon rode with a troop of men north to Nidharos, where the king had returned after peace was made. That was a long journey, wet and cold, the first snow hissing about their ears and a wolf of a wind screaming as they crossed the Dofra Fell; but Haakon thought little of any weather and was eager to see his promised bride. When they reached the royal hall, the steward hastened to tell his master, and Harald came out to meet them.

  Haakon looked hard at the king, as if to see Cain's mark on his brow. But while the man who towered above others was not handsome, he was not ill-favored either. His hair was thick and dark yellow, combed to the shoulders. He wore his beard cropped close under a heavy mustache above which sat his long straight nose. The eyes were big and ice blue. The high left brow gave him a slightly mocking appearance; however, his face was set in grave lines and his greeting was mild. "Come, be my guests for as long as you choose, you and your followers."

  Haakon made a pleasant answer and dismounted. When he had used the bathhouse and changed his muddy clothes, a house carle led him into the hall, where he strode up to the high seat. Harald looked down at him and gestured to the place of honor at his right. "Do you sit here, Haakon Ivarsson," he said. "And take this of me as token of my regard." He gave him a sword with gold-inlaid hilt and scabbard, a sable-trimmed cloak, and a diamond finger ring. "The ring I bore from Syria," he added, "and I think it must have a long story behind it."

  "I thank you, my lord," said Haakon, trying not to bristle.

  "It's naught. I wished but to show friendship.

  For my part, I shall hold to the bargain Finn Arnason made on my behalf."

  "That is . . . well done," said Haakon.

  Harald cocked his brow; the firelight threw the wrinkles which appeared across his forehead into gullies of shadow. "However," he went on, "though I support your case, you must yourself talk to Ragnhild Magnusdottir and win her consent. She's a spirited lass, I hear, and it would not be well for you or anyone else to get Ragnhild against her will."

  Haakon swallowed. "My lord . . ."

  Harald grinned ruefully. "First they call me tyrant for compelling folk to do this or that; now must I be called cheat for giving them their freedom? Come, Haakon, you're a rich and good-looking man, surely you can do your own courting! I've sent word to Ragnhild of the bargain, and urged her to agree."

  "Well, then," muttered Haakon, "we shall see how it goes."

  Harald turned the talk elsewhere. He got on to the matter of foreign lands and began telling of his own adventures abroad. Despite his resolve, Haakon found himself listening till Miklagardh the Golden almost stood before his eyes.

  Till far into the night, Harald spun tales, and Haakon went to the shut bed lent him with his head awhirl. It was hard to remember that he hated this man. . . . No, wait, they were reconciled now, were they not? Half sitting in the short, lightless space, the straw rustling beneath him from his restlessness, he tried to find sleep.

  The next day he dressed carefully and rode with a few attendants bearing gifts, through wintry streets to the home of Ragnhild's foster parents. They were wealthy tradespeople and landowners, of good birth, and their town house was big and brightly painted. The man greeted Haakon well and led him inside, where the princess waited.

  She was about twelve years old now. Her father had not been much older when he begot her; a yeoman's handsome young daughter, a few sweet wild weeks, and then Magnus had gone storming elsewhere and the mother had wed a rich oldster and finally died. Ragnhild was tall for her age; womanhood was just beginning to bloom in her. She had a slim coltish look, half awkward and half endearing grace, which Haakon liked. Long brown hair was garlanded over a pert face. Her blue eyes were set under arched brows, her nose was thin with winged nostrils and below it her red lips bowed outward, supported by a strong chin. She greeted him haughtily.

  "I have come to speak of betrothal, my lady," said Haakon. He felt his uncouth manners. His life had been passed in lonely garths and outland warring with no chance to learn polished airs. There was a hotness in his cheeks, his temples pounded, as he went on: "Your royal kinsman has told you of my wishes, and you know I am a wealthy and honorable man."

  He signaled to his carles, who brought forth his gifts: rings, clothing, gold, jewels. She hardly looked at them. Her foster father coughed.

  Haakon's shirt seemed tight at the neck, but he went on doggedly: "My kin were ever friends of your father, and you can be sure we will gladly give you the dignity you deserve. King Harald has offered you any dowry you may name, and my morning gift shall not be niggardly. And ... I think we would be happy together, my lady."

  The girl flushed, but her voice was cold and even, bespeaking rehearsal, as she replied, "I have often to feel that my father, King Magnus, is dead, and never more than now, if I must be forced to marry a yeoman"—with a gentler note—"even if you are a handsome man and seem to be more able than most. Had King Magnus lived, he would not have wed me to anyone less than a king, and even now it can't be awaited that I'll pledge myself to a man of no rank above sheriff."

  Haakon stood quiet, feeling anger in his throat. The older man started some nervous chatter about childish whims, but Ragnhild's gaze was defiant. Haakon cut him off sharply: "As you will, my lady. I shall talk to the king about that."

  The girl smiled. "You have the soul of a jarl," she said; "now become one, and you shall have a better answer from me."

  Haakon took his leave and rode at a reckless pace back to the king's hall. He could not find it in his heart to blame Ragnhild. By Olaf, what a mother she would be, what a brood of warriors she would raise! Jarl in Norway! The thought made him dizzy.

  As he came into the hall, he saw that Finn Arnason sat by Harald, with several of his men. The sheriff peered at the newcomer, who was wiping snow off his boots. "Is it you, Haakon?" he asked. "The king sent me word you were here, and I came to bid you welcome."

  Almost, Haakon swaggered as he went to the high seat. This time he must sit on the bench below, but that was nothing. A woman hurried to bring him a horn of warm, spiced ale, and Finn raised his own drink to pledge him.

  "Well?" drawled Harald. "How went your wooing, friend?"

  Haakon searched his words carefully. "My lord," he said, "you swore that the princess could name her own dowry. These men here are witnesses to that oath."

  "Yes, yes." Harald sounded impatient, but his face was wooden. "If the gift is mine to give, she shall have it."

  "Well, then ... my lord, she said she would not marry a man without rank or title." Haakon blurted his words, running to meet fate as if it were an armed foeman. "That was well spoken of her, one can see what house she comes from, and in truth it were ill to wed her to a mere yeoman when her father was a king. Now if she'll not marry a man without rank, I can thin
k of no other way than that you give me the name and power of jarl. I've high enough birth, and more."

  A hush fell. Finn retreated into the same blankness that sat on the king. The other men, down the benches, did not stir. The serving maids crept back into the corners. The fires alone spoke, dancing and crackling through the chill gloom of the hall.

  Harald spoke at last, looking straight ahead of him. "When my brother King Olaf and his son King Magnus steered the realm, they were content to have one jarl at a time in this land; the same have I done since I became king, and I don't now intend to rob Orm Jarl of the dignity I've given him."

  Haakon could make no reply. He felt suddenly lamed, and the blood drained from his face and hands.

  Finn spoke: "Bethink you, King. You swore to do what you could."

  "I had in mind estates, gold ... a dowry for the woman, not power for the man." Harald swung his head from one to the other; it was clear he was angry. "Orm Eilifsson was ever my friend. How shall I keep any friends if they cannot trust me?"

  Finn's hand smacked down on the arm of his seat. His face a mask of wrath, he roared: "Who the devil can trust you, Harald Hardrede? Was this fair speaking naught but another of your treacherous schemes? You got the league against you broken, and now when you feel safe again you will not keep your pledged word!"

  "Bait me not," snapped Harald. "I'll suffer much from those who've helped me, but there are bounds." He dropped his tone, saying urgently: "Perhaps the maiden will reconsider. I can press your suit, Haakon, and show her how it's no disgrace to wed an honest chieftain. Or perhaps, failing that, you would like something else of me—gold, land, a high place in the guard. ..."

  Haakon found voice, though a fire leaped in his breast and misted his eyes. "I'll be no man's kept hound!" he yelled. He jumped from his seat to the floor. "Least of all will I serve a king who breaks his own oaths!"

  "I've not done that," said Harald in a rage, "and unless you crave my pardon for saying so, it will go ill with you. These words of yours show how little you and your sort can be trusted . . . and I should raise you to the second rank in the land? Wealth and honor you shall have, as I promised, but I'm not fool enough to give you strength you'll use to my undoing. Now, then, shall we talk this over like honest men, or admit you are my foe?"

  "We may as well admit it," said Haakon through his teeth, "for you have no honor, Harald Hardrede." He turned on his heel and stormed from the hall.

  Finn Arnason got up as well. "I wonder if you do this from pure love of mischief or whether a devil possesses you," he said.

  Harald was white. He sat where he was, gripping the arms of the seat till his knuckles were near bursting through the skin. "I am the king," he said. "The saints witness that I mean to stay king, not to betray my friends and arm my foes."

  "You will have few friends left after this day's work," said Finn. He walked out of the hall, and his men followed.

  Haakon was waiting in the street for his own warriors to gather their belongings and join him. He and Finn stared at each other.

  "Well," said Haakon, "think you we will be murdered now as Eindridhi was?"

  "No." Finn still trembled, but coolness was on the way back to him. "Not even Harald Hardrede would lay hands on a guest. Perhaps we were too hasty, Haakon."

  "I'll not go in again and ask his pardon. Norway would split with laughter if I did."

  "Well . . . then you shall have to leave Norway. I'll give you one of my ships. Harald will scarce strike at me, but you are now his avowed enemy and—"

  "I'll seek out King Svein," said Haakon. "Any foe of Harald's is a friend of mine. And his wife is close kin to me."

  "Well, then . . . yes, that's the best you can do. I wish we were not so proud a folk, here in the North. . . . But I grow old. Go with God, Haakon. Be less hasty and more wise in future. I'll do what I can to help your case here at home."

  The Upland men were streaming from the guest lodges. They joined Haakon in a babble of questions, and he told them curtly how matters stood. Those who will now sail to Denmark with me shall have good pay," he finished. "The rest may go home and tell our folk to keep their weapons sharp. Someday we'll hold a reckoning."

  They walked down the muddy street, between snow-roofed houses and under a lead-gray sky, to the dock. Beyond the river, wind crumpled a steely fjord. Not many people were there to see the warriors embark.

  IX

  How Anger Spoke

  1

  The king was gone for some time, off with a few guardsmen on one of the long rides he took when his temper needed wearing down. Meanwhile the royal household buzzed and whispered.

  Elizabeth had put Maria to bed. She was hard put to keep a merry face before the child, and her hands shook as she left the house that was hers. Sleep, she knew, would be slow acoming, and she bethought herself of the work she had in the ladies' bower. Sewing by a few dim tapers gave her a headache, but might tire her as she wished.

  The early night had fallen. Light gleamed here and there in the courtyard, through shuttered windows. Flagstones rang underfoot. A thin dry snow fell. A pair of carles went by, muttering their unease to each other.

  When she opened the bower door, murk leaped out at her. She fumbled her way in. The one candle she bore threw tremendous moving shadows. . . . Was that a mouse she heard scuttle, or were hell's powers abroad? She crossed herself and said a prayer while she kindled other lights. Even through her woolen clothes, the cold bit. Kiev, where they had stoves and lamps, was like an old dream.

  The unborn child stirred. "Guard him, gracious Lady Mary, good saints." He was so little and lonely, wrapped in darkness where he lay. And would he ever be less alone, when he walked the earth as a man?

  He, she . . . God give her a boy this time. Harald wanted sons. He was ever stooped above Magnus's crib, or tossing him in the air with a shout, but hardly seemed to know poor Maria lived.

  Elizabeth settled herself before the frame on which she had stretched his banner. Each year it came home faded, strained, ripped, and she would let no one else mend it. She blew on her numbed fingers and took up needle and thread. The seam was hard to make out; her eyes were not as good as they had been.

  However, she could do little else for him. Sometimes he slept with her, and he spoke kindly in his fashion. But he and Thora went hawking together, and laughed at secret jokes.

  The door swung open. Elizabeth turned with a quick breath. The tall red-haired woman paused on the threshold.

  "Well," she said. "What are you doing here?"

  "My work." Elizabeth clamped her lips together. The queens avoided each other as much as might be.

  The King's leman took off her cloak and shook the snow loose, but did not trouble to close the door. "I saw your light and thought one of the maids . . . They're a thievish lot."

  Elizabeth stiffened. "I know nothing about that. I never troubled to count my spools and dust rags."

  "The worse for you." Thora laughed. "What think you of the latest news?"

  "About Haakon Ivarsson? I'm sorry. And I liked old Finn, but I suppose he'll not come here often after today."

  "Peacemaker again?" Thora began to pace the floor, like a man, with her wildcat gait. "My dear, that's why Harald—Let me tell you, you do him no service with such talk. His need is to break anyone he can't tame. My part is to egg him on."

  Elizabeth laid down her needle. "How much of the evil in this land is your doing?"

  Thora flung her cloak onto a bench and wheeled to confront the other woman. "Small wonder that you bore a daughter and I a son."

  Elizabeth stood up. She felt the cold no longer. "Speak not ill of the princess," she said.

  "Oh, I daresay she'll do for what she is. What will the next girl be named? My son will be called Olaf."

  "Get out of here," said Elizabeth through her anger, "and close the door behind you." "I've as much right here as you." "A whore's right?"

  Thora stalked near. The strewn juniper branches crackled under he
r feet. "Whore, you call me, because you happened to sell yourself first? What have you ever given him? When have you stood by him, you that cringe from the very name of battle? Oh, and I've often seen you speak with Ulf Uspaksson—warm then, laughing and listening to his brags! If he hasn't bedded you it's because he has no taste for dead fish."

  Elizabeth's hand swung out. The slap came loud. A faint part of her resented that she should weep, but she couldn't stop. "Ulf is the best friend anyone could have, and i-i-it's an ill repayment to wed him to your filthy tribe. Now go before I kill you!"

  Thora touched her cheek, where the finger marks bloomed red. "You'll not hear the end of this," she said.

  The candles guttered and one went out. King Harald loomed in the doorway.

  Snow mantled his shoulders and clung to his hat brim. His boots were heavy with it, the spurs caught a wet shimmer of light and the ring on his arm gleamed dull. He shut the door behind him and came toward them.

  "A man does not have enough trouble, his women must disgrace him by squabbling like two fishwives with all the household to listen," he said. "Now be still!"