by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)
Styrkaar drew rein. "Will you sell me that coat, fellow?" he asked.
The Englander squinted uneasily into the murk. "Not to you," he said as last. "You must be a Northman; I can hear that in your speech."
"Well," said Styrkaar, "if that be so, what would you do with me?"
"I'd kill you," spat the yeoman, "but as ill luck would have it, I've no weapon."
Styrkaar laughed. "If you can't kill me, friend," he said, "it might be I could do away with you." And before the stranger could say aught else, he lay in the road and Styrkaar was donning his coat.
The marshal rode on. As he neared the River Ouse, mists streamed and he heard an owl hoot. Fires glared at Riccall. Olaf came running when he entered the gates.
"What is it?" cried the prince. "What happened?"
"Dead," answered Styrkaar harshly. "Scarce a man of us left. Best we get away while we can." He almost fell from the saddle.
Olaf stood a moment, his face in shadow. Men heard him draw a shaky breath, and saw his fists clench.
"Heed the marshal, my lord!" said Paul Thorfinnsson. "All of us are done unless we flee."
"No." Olaf shook his head, very slowly.
"But . . ."
"No!" The youth shouted it this time. "There must be many who broke away. I'll not leave them behind. Ready what men we have and stand guard till dawn."
He stalked off alone between the empty houses.
By morning a number of Norse had reached the camp, each with the same tale of doom. Olaf waited for those who had gone to Aldby. His fleet was not yet clear to sail when spears flashed to landward and warships from the wharf came rowing up the Ouse. Olaf regarded them in dry-eyed calm. "It's as well," he said to Erlend. "I liked not the thought of leaving our wounded and captured folk."
He yielded to the English chiefs on condition his warriors might keep their weapons, and rode to York among the former to meet King Harold. Styrkaar and the Thorfinnssons went along. At the town they were brought into the earl's hall, a big and splendidly outfitted house. In the high seat was the king. He looked weary, and his hurts were bandaged, but he sat straight. Olaf regarded him with wonder. This man was not much to see, but he had conquered Harald Hardrede.
The youth bent the knee before the king, who said mildly: "Rise and come sit by me. I bear you no ill will."
Olaf joined him, and took a beaker of wine. It tasted ashen in his mouth. "Know you how my father died?" he asked.
"By an arrow, I hear," said Harold. "He must have passed quickly ... in the vanguard of his battle line, as he himself would have chosen." His face twisted. "God have mercy on us both that we could not have been friends. I would have given much to have him by my side when the Normans come."
"Well . . ." Olaf stirred, awkwardly. "We must ask peace of you, my lord."
"It is granted," said Harold with a smile, "and these are the terms: that you swear peace and friendship with my folk, now and forever hence."
Olaf waited. There was a thrumming within him. "And what else?"
"I shall want hostages, of course. But naught else. No ransom, save for the ships and arms you will not be needing. You may take your men home, also those who are our prisoners."
"I fought on the wrong side," said Olaf thickly. "Never from this day shall Englishmen lack friends in Norway."
He remained for a couple of days, and then sailed. He took only twenty-four ships. Tosti's sons, Skuli and Ketill, followed Olaf and afterward became great men in the North.
On Michaelmas, Duke William landed in England. Harold Godwinsson heard the news and went south with what was left of his Housecarles, to meet the Normans on the heights above Hastings.
2
It was a slow, rough passage north, and Olaf had to lie over for a while at Ravensere in the Humber mouth. Not till fall did he reach Orkney, on a day of leaden skies and whistling wind, when the sea beat heavily on rocks and tide rips in Pentland Firth snarled around the strakes.
Olaf let Paul Thorfinnsson guide the Fafnir into Scapa Flow, but was the first to go ashore where the Stromness folk had gathered upon seeing the vessels near. There they stood mute and shivering as sunset smoldered behind their land.
Elizabeth and Ingigerdh stood foremost. The queen held a black mantle close to her against the wind. Her face had hollowed and paled; the gray eyes which sought Olaf's were huge. Her lips found a whisper: "Are you all that is left?"
The prince nodded. His head was bare, the yellow locks aflutter, and his reply could scarce be heard above the deep noise of waves: "Yes. King Harald fell at Stamford Bridge, and nigh all our men beside him."
"Oh God ..." The queen's fingers strained against each other.
"I was not there," said Olaf. "Would I had been, but— He fell in battle; it was a quick death."
Ingigerdh wept, but her mother seemed too far from the world. She said tonelessly: "Ever I knew it would end thus. Someday he would leave me and not come back. But I knew not how hollow our lives would be afterward."
She stood another moment. "Did Eystein Thorbergsson fall?" she asked.
"Yes," said Olaf.
"God's ways are strange," said Elizabeth. "Maria is dead too." Olaf stood numbly.
"It was a ... I know not what. A sudden fever, where she lay calling on Eystein, and in two days she was gone." Elizabeth bowed her head. "Thy will be done."
"Come," said Olaf. "Let us to the hall."
"Have you your father's body with you?" asked the queen.
"No." Olaf stood with his hands empty at his sides. "The English king gave him Christian burial, and I thought ..."
"We must fetch it when we can," said Elizabeth. "He would want to lie in Norway."
She shook her head, dazedly. "I still cannot believe it. There was too much life in him for this."
The wind howled out over the sea.
Olaf and his folk remained in Orkney during the winter, where the Thorbergssons guested them well. The prince grew in size and strength; it was said there had never been so handsome a chief. He was mild of manner, short-spoken in daily life and at the Things, though cheerful among close friends. His intention was to build peaceable trade at home, and not to embark on foreign wars. Folk called him Olaf the Yeoman, or the Quiet, but did not lack respect for him.
Late in the year came word that Harold Godwinsson was dead and the Normans ruled England. In the spring Queen Elizabeth sent ships down to greet King William and ask for Harald Sigurdharson's bones. This was readily granted, and the Fafnir bore back the coffin. The queen watched over it for the first night, alone.
Thereafter the Norse steered home, to land at Nidharos where Magnus met them. Thora Thorbergsdottir was not present, and when her sons sat privately in a small room, by a sputtering birch-log fire, Olaf asked about her.
Magnus shook his head gloomily. "It is not well with our mother," he said. "When no word came for so long, she grew more and more wild, and at last sent a ship through winter seas to find what had happened. It was not heard from again, and she sent another, wasting her wealth to hire sailors. They brought the news, and since then she has been grieving and drinking overly much."
"I'll seek her out," said Olaf.
Magnus regarded his brother for a while, then asked: "What are your plans?"
"I want to share the kingship with you," said Olaf calmly.
The older youth jerked in his chair. "Are you mad?" he cried. "Father had me named king when ..."
"I know you too well, Magnus," said Olaf. "You have too much of our father in you. Stripped and poor our land is, after this last faring; but you would plunge us into war and finish us. You need another hand on the reins, and I . . . have followers."
"We will talk of this later," said Magnus harshly.
Olaf left him and went to see Thora. The tall red woman sat listlessly weaving in the ladies' bower. She dismissed the servant maids and bade him sit. Her face was haggard, and a half-empty wine flask stood beside her.
"Long is it since we met," said t
he prince.
"Yes, I know I should have greeted you," answered Thora dully. "But naught seems worth doing anymore."
"You're not old," he said. "Forty winters . . . you have half your life before you."
"A barren life," she said. Her hands curved into claws. "Had I been there! I would have torn out Godwinsson's eyes and flung them to the ravens."
"He was a valiant and gentle man."
"Aye, you men are free to praise each other and drink in good fellowship after a battle. But what of the women whose men never come back? What of them?"
"Ellisif takes this more bravely than you," said Olaf, hoping to sting his mother into quiet.
She nodded bitterly. "I would have known it. She has her God and her one fat daughter left. But you two are grown from me, and I have naught." She turned her face away. "Go. Let me be."
3
Olaf was hailed king with Magnus at the fall Thing. They ruled together, bickering less than might have been expected.
Great was the glee of Svein Estridhsson when he learned his old ogre was dead. He said the peace between Norway and Denmark was over, since it had been sworn only for so long as both he and King Harald were alive; and in both lands a great host was called up the following year. Magnus was eager to fight, but Olaf thought the realm could hardly stand it and sent messengers to Denmark urging peace. His word was that the Norsemen did not wish war, but were it forced on them they would teach their foes sorrow. The end was that Svein met the young kings in a friendly way and swore to a renewal of the treaty. This was confirmed by Olaf's taking in marriage Ingiridh Sveinsdottir, a clever and good-looking maiden.
In 1069 three of Svein's sons brought a large fleet to England, where Edgar Atheling, Earl Waltheof, and others met them. The Northumbrian folk welcomed them joyously, rising against the hard Norman rule, and they captured York. But William came up, drove them away, and made such havoc in the shires that northern England was empty of people for many years. Svein decided ruefully that God had not meant for him to be a warrior, and thereafter sat quiet at home.
The same year Magnus Haraldsson took sick and died. He had been a well-loved king, and was mourned by the folk. Thereafter Olaf reigned alone. About this time, Ingigerdh Haraldsdottir wed the Danish prince Olaf Sveinsson, who became king years later.
Queen Elizabeth remained in the North only long enough to be sure her daughter had made a good marriage and to see her first grandchild. Then she returned to Kiev, where despite the troubles in the land her kin received her well. She took the veil, and rose to be abbess of the cloister Jaroslav had built in the city.
* * *
One day in the summer, anno Domini 1088, a troop of men came riding through the streets of Kiev to Russia's lone convent. They drew rein before the walls, and their leader dismounted. In broken Russian he asked if he might see the abbess, and after some scurrying this was granted him. They were not overly strict about the rules here, Christendom being new and the sisters helping with a hospital and other charitable works.
He walked through the courtyard, a tall stout man of weather-roughened countenance and dark reddish beard; in the crook of his arm he bore a helmet, but had left his ax outside. Folk looked timidly at him, not only the nuns but the poor who had found refuge among them. Into the main building he came, and bowed clumsily before the woman who sat there. She was old and thin, but her back was straight and her lined face still good to watch.
"God bless you," she said. "What would you with me?"
"I . . ." The man cleared his throat and said in Norse: "I hight Jon Ulfsson, my lady, from Throndheim. I came hither on a trading voyage, and having heard that Queen Ellisif lived here, thought to greet her."
The abbess leaned forward. Her frail hands tightened on the arms of the chair. "Not the son of Ulf Marshal?" she asked. The Northern language came slowly from her tongue, unused for many years.
"The same, my lady."
"Then do be seated. . . No, no, come, let us walk in the garden." The nuns had never seen their superior thus shaken; and by an outland heretic at that!
Roses bloomed in neat rows between ivied walls. A sleepy hum of bees filled the sunlight. Man and woman went side by side down graveled paths.
"It's peaceful," said Jon.
"Yes. This has not been an ill life, helping and healing where we could, guiding as well as we are able, and ..." Elizabeth looked at the ground. "It was my thought that such prayers as I offer might carry more weight."
"I came through Denmark, reverend lady," said Jon. "Your daughter fares well."
The coiffed head nodded. "Thanks be to God. I get letters from her now and then. But how goes it with you?"
"Not badly. I have lands and children and gold enough. These are good times, easy times."
"As if after a storm," said Elizabeth. "The world is never so still as when wind and lightning have passed by. . . But tell me of others I once knew. I heard that King Svein died some years ago. But what of Thora Thorbergsdottir, who was queen with me?"
Jon gave her a sharp look, but could find no malice; it seemed the friendliest of tones. Surely this woman had made her peace with the whole world.
"She married a sheriff in Sogn, one Hallkell Bjarnarson," he said. "A man much younger than she. From what I hear, she leads him a devilish life."
Elizabeth bowed her head. "God help her," she murmured. "It cannot be easy for her, who once had the greatest of men."
After a moment: "And how fares the land itself? Often have I remembered Norway."
Jon shook his head, puzzled. "I cannot understand everything that is happening," he said. "King Olaf steers well, and is a merry man with his friends and concubines; but he brings in much that is strange."
"How so?"
"Oh . . . well, he founded a town at Bergen, you may have heard, and all the towns have waxed greatly. Now the tradesfolk are forming guilds and becoming a power in their own right. The halls must be spread with rushes both summer and winter; and the high seat is at one end instead of in the middle; and they build hearths with chimneys rather than fire pits down on the floor; and the rich folk must have glass in their windows. The king's court is twice as big as ever erenow, and their dress runs wild—tight hose, long puffy sleeves, high-heeled shoes. Priests swarm over the land, and churches rise on every side. ..." Jon coughed. "I meant no disrespect, my lady. But I was brought up in the old ways, and these outland customs jar me."
Elizabeth smiled. "I think it is not the looks of your country that disturb," she answered. "It is another spirit."
"Aye," said Jon eagerly. "You make it clear for me. Time was when the North was herself. Now we become like all the rest. I like it not."
"God sends much which none of us like," Elizabeth told him. "The old North died at Stamford Bridge. Would you have your sons live in dead men's ways?"
They walked mutely for a while. The sky stood huge over the low green land.
Jon looked at the woman beside him. She seemed as remote and inhumanly serene as one of her mosaic saints. He found it hard to believe his father had cared for her.
But who could know what the dead had thought? They were down in dust, mold in their mouths and darkness on their eyes; they would not speak again.
"Can I do aught for you, my lady?" he asked. "I could bring you whatever you need."
"No. I thank you, Jon, but unless you wish to give to the poor we have enough here." Elizabeth met his eyes. "You bear somewhat of Ulf in you," she said. "Your folk will be strong, in this or any age."
Somehow that made him flush like a boy.
"God has been good to me," said Elizabeth. "He gave me what shall not be forgotten; and then He spared me throughout these later years, to do what a mortal can for my love's salvation."
Briefly, the calm broke in her, and Jon looked away. "But if he had lived!" she whispered.
After a silence, the Norseman said awkwardly: "Best I go, reverend lady. My men await me."
"Yes. You were good to come. God ble
ss you."
Jon was unsure of the proper usage, but kissed her hand. She smiled after him as he left, and stood listening till the hoofbeats faded into stillness.
