by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)
Horns blew, and Eystein unfurled the banner Landwaster; it was as if the raven beat its wings and screamed. Harald steered for the docks and was first ashore, sword aloft and shield raised against the arrow storm.
They rushed up under the walls, losing some men on the way but reaching the riverward gate. "Out axes! Chop our way in!" Splinters flew while the axmen's comrades held shields above them to ward off raining stones.
"We'd not escape this easily if the Danes knew siegecraft," panted Ulf. "Were this the South, we'd be cooked in our mail like lobsters."
Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his men grouped, and now sped to meet the enemy. Shields thudded together, spears thrust provoking grunts at one end and screams at the other, swords blurred and axes belled. The sun went down and the light night of Northern summer spread across the sky, dusk blue, a scattering of pale stars, the river gleamed metallic and the noise of war lost itself under a tall cool stillness. Somewhere a nightingale was singing.
The heavy river gate went down, and Harald drew his lines back to enter it. Townsmen were now at front and rear, hammering out their rage against Norse shields. "Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"
Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. A little flame ran up in the thatch. It was a very small devil, newly hatched from hell, and sputtered and smoked and almost went out in the dew. Then it gained strength, stood up and looked around. Elsewhere its brothers were raising red-and-yellow flags. The flame hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily, and ran to meet its fellows. They formed a host and lifted their heads and roared!
Dismayed, the Heidhaby men broke from the battle. Some fled into the fields and others toward their homes. The Norse hallooed and rushed after. Now the fires were high around them, bellowing against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. A wall went down, crash and boom. Sparks burst heavenward. A woman stumbled away, one baby shrieking in her arms and another clinging to her skirts. An old man stood before his burning house, cursing, shaking his fists at gleeful enemy faces; oh, were he young once more to split their skulls!
Looting a town where flame ran wild was risky work. Some of the Norse died with their arms full of cloth and gold when a roof fell on them. Most of the townsfolk used the chance to escape, though a number were captured and bound and led to the ships. They went dry-eyed, dumbly, not yet understanding what had happened to them, and the dawn shivered across wreckage that had been their homes.
Harald camped outside the town and watched it burn. His men deserved a rest ere they wended homeward. There was not much need for care. Hogs and oxen were slaughtered and ale casks opened; the next evening filled with bawdy songs and rough sport, women went from hand to hand like the drinking horns and men quarreled in their cups or swore maudlin friendship. The town was an ashheap, thin smoke blowing into the sky, a few laggard flames still grazing on charred beams. Campfires twinkled up the riverbank and across the fields.
Restlessly, Harald threw a hooded cloak over his shoulders and went out alone. Clouds were dimming the world, this night was darker than the last. He prowled among his men, hardly noticed. At one spot he paused, standing beneath a shadowing tree and listening to somebody's verse:
"Hastily burned we the whole
of Heidhaby down to the groundworks;
to me that seems a mighty
man's work, that I can tell you.
Svein it will scorch that the flames
have swallowed up all the houses.
Early at dawn ere eight-song
I entered the walls of the stronghold."
Laughter followed. "Aye, Guthorm, you're no ill skald yourself. We should pass those lines around amongst t'others." It was a big-bellied, red-faced yeoman who spoke.
The young fellow nodded, pleased. "God keep good King Harald," he said. "S'long's he can lead me to the likes o' this, I'm his man."
The third warrior, a middle-aged one knotted with a lifetime's fight against grudging soil, shook his gray head doubtfully. "I mislike this hurrahing about. No good'll come of it. What if you'd been the one to lie with your head bashed in, like poor Helgi Eigilsson? What now'll his wife and youngsters do?"
The fat man picked his nose thoughtfully. "Aye, aye, Ingi, I know's a bad business, and I'd liefer've stayed to home myself. A ship's no good place to try sleeping, and each time we go into battle . . . well, I mind not telling you I'm like to wet my breeks, for I'm not the only one."
Guthorm grinned cockily. "You're both getting old. What's for me to home save shoveling up after the cows? There're eight of us lads, how much inheritance for me? Today I had three girls and gripped twenty bolts o' fine linen what'll fetch a good price, and me with scarce a foreign louse in my hair yet."
The oldest man sighed. "I saw you taking one o' them wenches into the bushes. I kept thinking, what if she was my own daughter? She looked like she'd never cry again, having lost her lifetime's tears. I wonder if her father or husband was killed, or if maybe she had a youngster got caught in the fire. And maybe for the price o' that cloth you took, somebody was going to build a new wing on his house because a baby was on the way. No, 'tis a bad thing, and the worst is that I've no say about it, but must go like a ridden horse. I get an arrow in my eye, and who gains save the king?"
The fat man belched and reached toward a nearby ale cask. "Well," he said, "having no choice, we may's well get what we can, eh? Which for now is another drink."
Harald went quietly away.
3
Though this had been a short summer's campaign, the king decided to turn home. He could do little but wreak more havoc, and he was worried about the Thambaskelfir faction. Rowing back up the Slie and dragging the ships overland, he gained the western sea and steered north along the ruined coast.
A few days later, crossing the Limfjord mouth and passing by Thjodha, he saw an army. It was a great force, nearly twice the size of his own, sunlight fierce off its steel; squinting across the sea blink, he made out Svein's banner.
"So now our friend is ready to fight," he murmured. "Steer in closer, but be wary of shots."
The Danish king rode down to the beach, his standard-bearer lifting a white shield in sign of truce. Harald's ship lay in the shallows, keel grating on sand, so close that he could see his enemy's face and how drawn and bitter it had grown. For a moment his hand stole toward Eystein's bow; surely he could put an arrow through the man. But no, that were a treacherous deed; and also, the Danish archers were ready too, they might even wade out and get to the ship before it could break loose.
"Harald Hardrede!" Svein cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted.
"Yes, here I am." Harald's giant form leaned over the bulwark. "And where were you when I reached the Gota mouth? Where were you when I laid Heidhaby in ashes?"
"That was an evil thing to do. God curse you for it! Now will you land and fight me to settle the war, here and now, or are you too cowardly?"
"I am no coward, as well you should know, nor am I fool enough to engage twice my own host. But will you, Svein the Craven, do single combat with me?"
"I am no fool myself," cried the Dane.
"So you doubt God is with you? Well, then, perhaps we can meet in another place, in spite of your blustering challenges which come to nothing. I'll drink to that at home, in wine I got at Heidhaby." Harald turned to his crew. "Out oars and away. This spot has a bad smell."
As he rejoined his fleet and continued north, Harald saw Svein wheel back to his army and the whole force go rapidly inland.
The Norse rounded the Skaw, but here they met a stiff east wind; green waters boomed against the bows, the figurehead was smothered in foam and the deck streaming. Oars reached out, losing stroke as the sea shifted away from them; men gasped, clutching the shafts with chilled blue hands, setting their teeth and throwing themselves backward but with little hea
dway to show for it. Seven craft were swamped and sprang bad leaks. "We must wait the gale out," said Ulf, and Harald nodded.
They dropped anchor near the green slopes of Hlesey, where the island broke the wind, unstepped the masts and cooked a hasty evening meal and stretched sails across the hulls. At night the wind dropped, to a dead calm, but the air remained chill and fog rolled thickly. By dawn, when Harald awoke, the world was a dripping gray stillness.
He was crouched on a thwart, ripping off chunks of bread and cheese with his teeth, when Styrkaar came out of the mists and said urgently: "My lord, there's something aft of us, I can just see it . . . like fire running over the water."
Harald went to the stern and saw the gleam himself. It waxed even as he looked, and he felt a coldness grab his heart. Whirling, he roared: "Strike the awnings and take to the oars, the Danes are coming on us! The fog's lifted where they lie, it's the sun shining off their gilded dragon heads!"
A shout went up. Men dropped their breakfasts and leaped to their work, cuffing the prisoners out of their way. In moments, all but the seven disabled ships were rowing. Harald, staring bleakly aft, saw as the mists broke that a fleet more than twice as great as his was in pursuit.
Ulf joined him and grinned without overly much mirth. "That Svein has a head on his shoulders," he said. "Belike he planned this last winter: the challenge to draw you down here, then his own failure to come which sent most of our strength home again, and now he's had ships waiting off the east coast to overwhelm us. He must have gone straight to them with that army of his."
"We'll have to outrun them," said Harald. "Should we fall into Svein's hands, we'd get short shrift."
"He has much to avenge." Ulf nodded.
"Row, you bastards!" howled Styrkaar from the steering oar. "You'll never drink beer again if your throats are slit!"
As the sun mounted and the heat grew, Harald sent men around to the rowers with horns of water. When any showed signs of flagging, he was relieved. The sea was quiet, only a few small waves crossed it, there was little noise save the creak and splash of the oars, the gasping and cursing of men, and Styrkaar's blasphemous shouts.
But the foe was gaining. The Norse ships were heavy-laden, and weeks at sea had waterlogged their strakes. Harald, whose dragon went last in the fleet, saw the pursuers creep closer, inch by inch, hour by hour until he could make out the bearded faces aboard and see sunlight glint in their eyeballs. "We'll not escape," he said finally. "Not without giving up somewhat." He bade the men not rowing gather bundles of clothing and other treasures looted from the Danes, lash them to billets of firewood, and throw these overboard.
A groan went up when the order was cried from ship to ship. "I worked hard for that," mourned Eystein. " I could have bought a half interest in a trading ship with it." But spears were blinking less than a mile behind.
The laden billets drifted lazily, bobbing as the Danish craft neared. Harald grinned when he saw how those stopped and how boathooks reached out. Easier to take what was floating free than to board the Norse and fight for it. But he was not out of sight when a splendid longship which must be Svein's drew up, and he could well think how the king upbraided his men. The Danes got moving again, and once more narrowed the gap.
Harald sighed. "There's no help," he said, "we must lighten ship. Overboard with malt, wheat, bacon; knock out the bungs of the beer kegs and let the stuff run out."
Ulf shuddered. "A thirsty voyage home!"
"What counts," said Harald bleakly, "is getting home at all."
With scant provisions, his vessels went faster, but he could still not outpace the foe. Still the gap closed until a few arrows were falling in his wake. Harald smote a fist into his palm. "We'll have to let most of our captives go," he said. "Bind them to empty casks, rip out the bulwark screens if we haven't wood enough, and throw them overboard."
Thjodholf panted angrily from his oar: "And what the devil will we gain from the summer's work, if we don't bring home so much as a thrall?"
"Your lives," said Harald. "We can hope for better luck next year."
"Always next year," grumbled Thjodholf.
The prisoners, men and women, were linked with ropes to whatever would float and tossed into the sea. There they clung to their bits of jetsam, crying for help as the currents scattered them. Harald nodded when he saw the Danes approach and back water. "They'll be a time fishing their friends out," he said.
"Now row!" bawled Styrkaar. "Row for your worthless lives!"
The fleeing ships sprang ahead, though it seemed like forever before the enemy dwindled out of sight. By that time dusk was closing in, and Harald breathed easier. "We've gotten free," he said. "They'll not follow when they can't see what way we fared."
He found it hard to keep a cheerful mien. This had been a useless season, and he would have to pay the men something to make up for the lost booty. He could not hope for another test of strength; a full levy next year would snap the land's patience. Svein had won; the water had gone through the fishnet and was tumbling merrily seaward. No, before God! That scoundrel would get no rest, not while Harald Hardrede walked the earth.
God and St. Olaf willing, he would be out every summer. He could always find men who would come for the sake of plunder or just to break the sameness of their lives. There would be such a reaving up and down the coasts of Denmark that folk had never seen the like. Landwaster's raven would croak from Scania to the Skaw, and where it had flown only wolves would house. Sooner or later, with his country burning about his ears, Svein Estridhsson would have to master his fears and face Harald Hardrede in open battle; and then this day would be revenged, and Magnus Haraldsson grip the crown of Denmark for a plaything!
The thoughts were venom within him. Had he had men who would follow him, had he had chiefs who saw him as a king and not a foe to be blocked and outwitted, he would not be fleeing like a whipped dog; two realms would be his, and he could be storming into a third. But while Einar Thambaskelfir and Eindridhi Einarsson lived, the Northern empire remained a ghost and Norway's king felt the throne tremble beneath him.
It must not be. Thora would not be driven into exile, Ellisif would not be led bound to the enemy's seat, Magnus and Maria would not have their brains dashed out against a burning wall. And Harald himself, could be set on and slain, or again have to go begging a foreign king for shelter . . . No!
"They have named me Hardrede," he said between his teeth. "They shall find how true it is."
As for Svein, when he saw that the Norse had gotten away he was near weeping with rage. Turning homeward, he came in under Hlesey and saw seven knarrs anchored in a small bay, as if they would hide. When he steered close, he saw that the crews were Norsemen. Fear leaped in their simple red faces, and they held out empty hands as the dragon neared.
"Who are you?" shouted Svein across the water.
"Please, Your Highness, we're King Harald's men; our boats were crippled in the gale and we couldn't flee. We yield t' you."
Svein drew his lips back. "And why should I spare you? You had little ruth at Heidhaby."
The fat man who spoke pointed to a graybeard beside him. "Ask Ingi here, ask young Guthorm, ask any of us. We're common folk, we know naught o' these dealings between kings. The levy were called, so off we went, with no say in the matter. Liefest we'd stayed to home, I swear, my lord. Now give us peace and we'll pay as much ransom as poor men can scrape up."
The king said, with a whiteness about his nostrils: "Bad enough to let Denmark's blight get free, now I must sell even this little victory. Hang them on their own yardarms!"
And then, as his men took weapons: "No . . . wait . . . give them their lives. Let them pay as they offered."
Someday, he thought with fear curdling his innards, he must also be called to judgment.
Chapter VII:
Of Einar Thambaskelfir
1
When Harald got back to Nidharos, he was still in a black mood that neither the praise of the skalds nor
the magnificence of his new home could lift. Finn Arnason, who had returned that summer from his long Viking cruise, waited on the king and invited him to his house, which lay at the mouth of Throndheimsfjord; but he got a surly answer and went off till things should look more hopeful.
Elizabeth was getting heavy with child; she moved slowly and was often sick as she had been the first time, but happiness glowed from her. When they were alone, she ruffled her man's hair and said: "Why do you take it so hard, that fortune should have gone awry this once? You've had more luck than most, and will have it again."
"Have I now?" muttered Harald. He glowered so fiercely that the three-year old Maria dropped her toy boat and ran to cling to her mother's skirts. "Since coming home, I've fought more battles than I can readily count, and have gained nothing. It's the chiefs' fault; while they stand against me I'll never bring home a real victory."
"Perhaps," she said timidly, "if you sought to win their love . . . They were ready to fight for Magnus, were they not?"
"Too late," he said. "It was always too late. I am not Magnus, I've no gift for yielding on one point even to gain another. Now everything I do is wrong in their eyes: were I suddenly to return to Magnus's ways, they'd but think it a trick or a weakness. And even if they believed me, it would— Look you, any king's son has as much right to succeed as any other; the youngest bastard can overthrow the oldest born in wedlock if he can but raise an army. Can you not see the chiefs and the bishops playing one off against another, till civil war has ruined the land and it lies bleeding and headless? The kingship must be strong or the kingdom is lost. Svein Estridhsson, God rot his soul, knows that much; it's the reason he can come back, again and again, because no Dane has might enough to save himself by dealing with me. But Norway has been too riven. The work of binding her into one is left for me. If I fail, I dread what may happen to our children and grandchildren.
