Poul Anderson

by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)

  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 think 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.

  Chapter 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 her 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!"

  Thora pointed a shaking finger at Elizabeth. "This . . . woman . . . struck me."

  "I doubt not the blow was well deserved," Harald said. "The next time you two behave thus, you both go home."

  Elizabeth's knees gave way, she sank to a bench and covered her face. Tightness closed around her womb.

  "You dare not," jeered Thora. "My father—"

  "Am I so weak that I can't stand without him to prop me up? Today I've sent one good chief out of the realm and another home cursing me. I may as well shed the whole lot."

  Thora bowed her head, until she whispered: "I'm sorry, Harald. I'd not shame you willingly."

  "Well, then, go to your rest."

  She looked at him through her lashes and, swiftly, smiled. "Will you come too?"

  "Not tonight," he said. "Not to either of you."

  "Well . . ." Thora grimaced. "The loss is yours, my love." She took her cloak and went.

  Harald stood awhile gazing down at Elizabeth. "How did the quarrel start?" he asked at length.

  She mastered herself and replied: "I know not. Words led to words. I was sewing, and ..."

  "No matter." His eyes went to the raven banner. "I must be rough with Thora now and again. Otherwise I'd never have peace. You I can trust, but stay away from her as much as you can."

  She raised her face, wishing that tears did not disfigure it. "Thank you," she gulped.

  "Naught to thank for." Harald stroked her head. "I know I'm often unjust, to you as to others." He sighed. "Now, tonight, I wish there could only be the two of us, always. But tomorrow will be another tale. Men are kittle beasts."

  She came to his arms, and he held her tightly. "If you bear a boy," he said, "we'll name him Olaf. Have I told you that? He's a good patron to have."

  She held her face to his breast. "But what if it's a girl?"

  "Why, then," he said gently, "what think you of your mother's name, Ingigerdh? She was ever a friend to my house."

  She could find no words, but clasped him close.

  "Well, well." A small sad laughter bubbled in his throat. "Let's to bed, shall we? Surely a king may break his word now and then."

  2

  A few days later, Harald rode up to Ulf's garth. He had not been there since the christening of the marshal's son, to whom he had stood godfather. That time, he had been surprised that the name given was John, or Jon, as the Norse rendered it. "I scarce thought John in Miklagardh was any comrade of yours," he had said.

  "Well," Ulf had grinned, "the bishop is wroth with me that I'm so indifferent a churchman and turn a blind eye to heathen practices among the people, so I thought best to name the lad after some saint. They tell me John the Holy wrote a saga about the Weird of the Gods, so that seemed a lucky name for a warrior's child."

  Now, entering the courtyard with a stamp of hooves and jingle of iron, Harald found the household busy butchering and smoking. Lady Jorunn was overseeing the work. She seemed happy, and indeed it was astounding how comfortably Ulf had settled down to a married life, hardly looking at another woman except when abroad. Belike he'd had his fill in earlier years.

  The marshal came from the pens in filthy, blood-soaked garments. "Go on in," he said. "I'll need a bath ere I'm fit to cross my wife's fine clean threshold."

  "Is this the same Ulf who ripped taverns apart in Miklagardh?" Harald chuckled.

  "Ah, the same, but a bachelor then. Now I go with a ring in my nose." Ulf shouted to his carles to heat up the sauna, and Harald went indoors with his guardsmen.

  It was some time before they two had a chance to talk under four eyes. That was in a side room, with its own fire and a keg of beer. Ulf sat down, lifted his costly horn of narwhal tusk, and said: "Skaal. What's this I hear about Haakon Ivarsson and Finn Arnason?"

  Harald told him.

  The marshal's battered face drew into lines and folds. "Not good. We'll have all we can do to keep the league of Einar's kin from being formed anew."

  "They can do little without a leader who knows war." Harald sighed and stared into the flames. "This being a king is a thankless task. Of the few able men, most are against me."

  "You've given them scant grounds to love you."

  "I mean to keep my word," Harold barked. "Kalf Arnason may return when he wishes. Though I fear he'll soon be at work to overthrow me. He fought against Olaf; Magnus exiled him." He stroked his beard. "I think I'll take him to battle with me. Then he can't plot at home. And he might die a hero's death."

  Ulf finished his beer and got up to tap another hornful. "You're an eldritch man," he said. "Why is one kingdom too little for you?"

  "Two kings are one too many."

  Ulf put the horn to his lips. When he had drunk, he sat down again. His words came slowly:

  "You've told me this dream often, a Northern empire with strength to beat off any foe. Your daring the Church's wrath is another kind of war to the same end. But have you ever thought how you destroy the very thing you seek to save?"

  "By weakening us?" asked Harald. "There'll always be more warriors."

  "No, that's not my notion. I've turn
ed it about in my head. Look you." Ulf leaned forward and tapped Harald's knee. "I've seen a bit of the world, enough to know that here in the North is something unlike aught else. It's not just that we had our own gods ... at times I miss old Thor, but St. Olaf will do in his place. It's a whole way of living. It's odal property, which must remain in the family. It's ancient law, which even the wildest Viking respects; nowhere else have I seen so much haggling over the letter of the law. It's the common man bearing arms and ready to defend his rights. Where else can a woman divorce her husband, whatever the Church may say, if he strikes her? Where else is the family so close-knit that men will die to avenge their brothers?"

  Harald stirred restlessly, but Ulf went on.

  "You'd make us into another Miklagardh — another Germany or Normandy at the least. By taking power away from the chiefs, you turn them into the king's dogs. By saying that law stems from you, you take away the yeoman's shield. By raising the taxes, you drain the freeholder dry. Oh, I know such is not your intent, but thus it happens."

  "And would you have us molder in an outworn round, till those who've had the wit to go forward come trampling across us?" demanded Harald.

  "No, no, I suppose it must be." Ulf made a wry face. "But glad I am I'll not live to see the end of it. I only wished to say your foes have some justice with them."

  "That boots me not. Were I to niggle over rights and wrongs, I'd still be sitting on the farm in Hringariki."

  "No doubt. Well, how goes it at home? Is Queen Ellisif in good health?"

  "Good enough." Harald gave him an edged look. "You were ever a friend to her, were you not?"