The Voyage of the Iron Dragon

by Robert Kroese

  “Please,” Sergius said, with a nod, and Harald took a seat.

  “What is this matter that was too important to mention until now?” Hrólfr asked. He’d clearly been enjoying being the primary recipient of the Pope’s attention.

  “Before we proceed,” Sergius said, “I would request that the secretaries and advisors leave the room. This is a matter of some delicacy. You may of course retain any men you feel are necessary for your own security.”

  “My cousin and I are growing older,” Harald said, “but we are not yet so feeble that we cannot defend ourselves from a single bishop.” He waved his hand. “Leave us.”

  “Good. Then I shall dismiss my guards as well,” Sergius said. “Ignatius, please take your men outside.”

  Ignatius raised an eyebrow at him. “Your Holiness, perhaps it is not wise—”

  “Harald and Hrólfr are good Christian men and stewards of Christendom, ordained by the Lord Himself,” Sergius said. “I have nothing to fear from them.”

  Ignatius, chastened, gave a bow and followed his men out of the room.

  “Tell us, Your Holiness,” Harald said, “what is this matter that is so private that we must dismiss our advisors? I understand you’ve already suggested replacing your bodyguards—a proposal that I don’t imagine will go over well with our friend the Count.”

  Sergius frowned at the mention of Theo. “Theophylact’s concerns are of little importance,” he said, although even now he was doing the man’s bidding. “I wish to speak to you of the defense of Christendom.”

  “The Saracen threat is well in hand, as we’ve discussed,” Hrólfr said. “We can perhaps spare a few more ships, but—”

  “I do not speak of the Saracens,” Sergius said. He reached into a small leather purse he had hidden inside his gown and set it on the table. Opening the purse, he produced a small gold coin. “Our Lord has said, ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s,” he said, holding the coin between his thumb and forefinger. “To whom does this coin belong?”

  “It’s a Byzantine solidus,” Hrólfr said.

  “Is it?” Sergius asked, looking at Harald. Harald’s face remained expressionless.

  “It matters little whose face is on the coin,” Hrólfr said. “What matters is who holds it.”

  “That is true,” Sergius said. “Before it was in my possession, it was held by a woman named Theodora, the wife of the Count. She has informed me that this is not, in fact, a Byzantine solidus, but rather a very cunning counterfeit.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s a matter for the Byzantine authorities,” Hrólfr said. “Why do you trouble us with such things?”

  “Theodora is a clever woman,” Sergius said. “She first came across one of these coins several years ago. Since then, she has conducted an investigation to determine their source. I am informed that most, if not all of the counterfeit coins currently in circulation passed at one time through the treasury of the King of Norway.”

  Harald shrugged. “I can hardly be expected to inspect every coin that passes through my kingdom. It certainly looks genuine.”

  “Indeed it does. It is curious, though, that they seem to originate in your treasury. And from there, I am told, a great many of them then passed through Normandy. This would be expected, of course, if the counterfeiters were paying you for some service.”

  “Do you intend to accuse my cousin of something?” Hrólfr asked.

  “I make no accusations,” Sergius said, “I merely note that if Harald were in league with some power that is hostile to Christendom, that would endanger his very soul, to say nothing of his standing as a divinely appointed ruler.”

  Harald stared at Sergius. “You know nothing of any such power,” Hrólfr said.

  “I know more than you might imagine,” Sergius said. “There is a creature imprisoned at the Vatican. Some might call it a demon. It has told me of a secret stronghold in the north, the nexus of a conspiracy to dominate Europe. For many years I lacked enough information to act, but recently I received a report from a man who saw the place with his own eyes. I suppose, though, that you have seen it yourself.” He met Harald’s eyes, daring the king to lie to him.

  “Not for many years,” Harald said, after a moment of thought. “It was part of our agreement.” Hrólfr remained silent, deferring to the king.

  “Of course,” said Sergius. “They wouldn’t want you to know how far they’ve come.”

  Harald sat back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. “Many years ago, when I was just one jarl among many, a ship crashed in Norway. A ship that came from the sky. Aboard it were people from an unknown land, who possessed weapons of unimaginable power. I attempted to capture them, but they eluded me.”

  Sergius turned to Hrólfr. “You know of these people from the sky as well, I assume?”

  Hrólfr, receiving a nod from Harald, continued the story: “The foreigners fled with a group of Norsemen to Normandy, where my men had been raiding along the coast and up the Seine for several years. Not knowing who they were, I allowed them to set up camp along the Seine. When Harald learned of their presence, he launched an attack on their fort, with my blessing. They fled to Iceland.”

  “By the time I had tracked them to Höfn,” Harald said, “I had tired of fighting. They were far fewer in number, but their weapons and cunning gave them an advantage. I had lost hundreds of men to them already, and I judged that it would be better for both of us if I were to leave them in peace, on the condition that they would pay a yearly tribute in gold or silver. I did not know their intentions, but they were no immediate threat to me, and I had many other enemies to deal with. The foreigners seemed to be able to produce precious metals as if by alchemy, and I was happy to take a share in exchange for giving them my blessing for their endeavors. I enlisted the aid of many of my family and allies throughout the Norse lands and Europe, although most of them knew little or nothing of the foreigners. Hrólfr is the only one besides myself who knew of their location.”

  “At the time, we had little choice,” Hrólfr said. “My hold on Normandy, and Harald’s on Norway, were tenuous. Without that gold, we would likely not have survived until today, and we certainly would not be meeting with the Pope.”

  “Have they spoken to you of their intentions?” Sergius asked.

  “They have not,” Harald said. “But the foreigners now have hundreds of ships, and perhaps thousands of men. I shudder to think of that many men bearing the sorts of weapons I saw. Devices capable of hurling a lead projectile three hundred yards or more. I fear we have allowed a monster to grow among us. They have done all they could to remain unseen, but already they are the cause of much speculation. They are thought to be capable of magic. People call them Dvergar. Dwarves.”

  “You are right to be afraid,” Sergius said. “The priest who escaped from their stronghold reported that plans of these ‘Dvergar’ are about to come to fruition. I believe they intend to conquer all of Christendom. It may already be too late to stop them.”

  “I did not get the sense they intended conquest,” Harald said.

  “Whatever their intentions,” Hrólfr said, “we have an agreement with them.”

  “You would sacrifice Christendom in the interest of honoring an agreement with these heathens?” Sergius asked.

  “My concern is Norway,” said Harald, “not Christendom.”

  “You hope the bear will eat you last.”

  “I had hoped for many more years of tribute.”

  “You won’t get it,” Sergius said. “When the Dvergar make their intentions known, the payments will stop. You may get another year or two, at most. Would it not be better to raid their treasury now?”

  “Perhaps,” said Hrólfr. “But if what you say is true, we will need many thousands of men to defeat them. I cannot spare the men while maintaining peace in Normandy. The Franks have been endeavoring to encroach on my territory.”

  “Many of the Danes in Northumberland could be ent
iced to join the campaign if they weren’t in danger of losing their lands to Edward’s forces,” Harald said.

  “I can send word to the bishops to preach a cessation of hostilities in Normandy and Frankia, and I have reason to believe Edward will be amenable to a truce as well. I will dispatch an emissary to speak with him.”

  “Eric will not be pleased,” Harald said. Harald’s son, Eric, had been endeavoring for some time to take back Northumberland from Edward. Eric did not represent Harald in any official capacity, but it was well-known that Harald had some influence with Eric. Some said that Harald used his son to keep his own enemies in disarray.

  “It is only a temporary delay,” Sergius said. “Eric can renew his campaign when we’ve ensured that Christendom will not fall into heathen hands.”

  “Eric is stubborn, but he may be amenable to that,” Harald said. “If you can guarantee the security of our holdings, I believe we can raise an army capable of defeating the Dvergar. But you will have to be content with the salvation of Christendom. The spoils will be split among the Norsemen.”

  “You may keep any treasure or weapons you find,” Sergius said. “But books and machines will be the property of the Church. Additionally, any prisoners must be brought to Rome.”

  “The wealth of the Dvergar is primarily in their knowledge,” Harald said. “You’d be getting the better end of the deal, no matter how much gold we find at Svartalfheim.”

  “Books will do you no good without men of learning to read them, and machines will rust and break if there is no one to operate them. I hope to establish a facility in Rome where the Dvergar’s knowledge can be analyzed and digested. I am open to sharing that knowledge with you, assuming our partnership continues to be mutually beneficial.”

  “With apologies, Your Holiness,” Hrólfr said, “these plans sound more like the machinations of the Count of Tusculum.”

  “I will deal with the Count,” Sergius said. “Your concern is taking the Dvergar stronghold.”

  “Fair enough,” Hrólfr said. “It seems a reasonable proposal to me. We knew we would have to deal with the Dvergar eventually, and it is better to do it now, while they are off guard and we are united.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Harald nodded. “If our arrangement with the Dvergar is to end, then I will be the one to end it.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Tharres, Bruno and the others were escorted to the natives’ village, where they were introduced to the chief of the tribe, a man named Keskoospak. Keskoospak marveled at Tharres’s appearance, but he didn’t evince the abject awe shown by the men at the beach. He was cordial but did not bow to him or Bruno.

  After treating the newcomers to a feast of shellfish, maize and pumpkins, Keskoospak invited Tharres and Bruno to confer in private with him and his son, Kweechanni. It soon became apparent that Keskoospak and the other Indians were not as credulous as they had at first appeared. They seemed to view Tharres as a representative of a race of man they had not yet encountered, different in appearance but just as human as the white men who had come from a land across the sea. Keskoospak had clearly seen white men before; he even spoke a few words of Frankish.

  By capitalizing on the words they had in common and using gestures and drawings in the dirt, Keskoospak and Tharres came to an understanding. These people, Tharres learned, were Mi’kmaq, a group of people who lived throughout Nova Scotia. When Keskoospak was a young man, a tribe of Mi’kmaq to the north of this village was visited by strangers from across the sea. These people brought with them powerful weapons and strange tools, and with the help of a Mi’kmaq chief named Makkapitew, they built a great fort where they cut lumber and built ships like the one the strangers had arrived in. When these ships were finished, they would be sent across the sea to the strangers’ homeland. The Mi’kmaq did not understand why the strangers needed so many ships, but many of their number assisted the strangers in exchange for clothing, tools, and other items.

  Before the strangers arrived, it was widely believed among the Mi’kmaq that Keskoospak would one day sit at the head of the Great Council of all the Mi’kmaq chiefs in the region, but the arrival of the strangers gave unexpected wealth and prestige to Makkapitew. Makkapitew was now the most powerful chief in the area—so powerful that the Great Council rarely met anymore, except to take orders from Makkapitew. Many of the Mi’kmaq came to resent Makkapitew and those who worked for the strangers.

  The strangers provided many goods the people needed, but they also stripped the forests bare of trees, taking away the hiding places for deer and other animals that the Mi’kmaq hunted for food and skins. Worse, the strangers hoarded their weapons and knowledge, trusting only a favored few with steel axes and rifles. The strangers also brought with them plagues, which killed many of the Mi’kmaq, while the strangers and the Mi’kmaq who worked closely with them remained healthy.

  Some of the chiefs met in secret to discuss overthrowing the strangers and taking their fort and weapons, but the strangers and their Mi’kmaq allies were too powerful. Recently, though, Keskoospak received word that Makkapitew had fallen ill and was not expected to recover. Meanwhile, Makkapitew’s only son was away on an expedition far to the south with another group of strangers. Keskoospak had sent men to speak with some of the Mi’kmaq who worked with the strangers cutting trees, and he believed that many of them could be convinced to join an uprising against the strangers. Keskoospak had been waiting for Makkapitew to die or some other omen that would tell him the time was right to attack. His men had taken the arrival of Tharres and Bruno as that omen: he knew that the strangers at the fort had enemies across the sea, and they had thought that some of those enemies had arrived to attack the fort. Keskoospak was disappointed to see that there were so few of them, and that they did not carry guns, as the strangers at the fort did.

  Tharres positioned himself as a shaman and adviser to Bruno, whom he’d built up as the son of a great king in a land called Frankia. He assured Keskoospak that despite their lack of guns, they would have no trouble taking the strangers’ fort if they worked together. They would take the strangers’ wealth and guns. Tharres, who could read the books and papers in which the pale men recorded their secrets, would share with Keskoospak’s people knowledge of the strangers’ medicine, weapons, and other tools. Together, they would unite the Mi’kmaq people into a great nation that was the envy of all the peoples in the land.

  *****

  Fritjof stood at the stern of the knar, leading his crew in a chant as they rowed the ship into the bay. The wind had died just after noon the day before, forcing them to row the last miles. The crew was exhausted and would be greatly relieved to have a few days to rest at Camp Orville before returning to Höfn with a load of lumber and pitch.

  The sun was getting low in the west, and the glare at first blinded Fritjof to the approach of a dozen canoes. Fritjof tensed and ordered his men to stay alert, but the Indians came alongside without firing a single arrow. Evidently Aengus had finally convinced them to drop the theatrics. The man in the lead canoe, whom Fritjof didn’t recognize, gave him a wave, and Aengus waved back. The canoe went ahead and Fritjof ordered his men to follow. They hardly needed the instruction: most of them had made this voyage several times in the past.

  By the time the knar slid onto the beach, the sun had disappeared behind the trees. It was mid-October, and the days were getting short in Nova Scotia. The shadows brought with them a chill, and Fritjof was glad to be the last man out of the boat. Those near the prow had leapt off while they were still some distance from shore, and many were drenched with cold seawater up to their waists.

  Fritjof climbed over the prow onto the sand and began to walk up the path toward the lodge. Aengus would want to know they had arrived; they’d unload the knar in the morning.

  “Stop!” shouted a man behind him.

  Aengus stopped and turned. His men had begun to follow him toward the trailhead; they were flanked on either side by Indians. The man who had
spoken was walking toward him, a stern expression on his face. In his right hand was a tomahawk.

  “I appreciate that you take your job seriously,” Fritjof said, “but this is my eighth trip to Orville. How many knars crewed by Norsemen do you think are—” He broke off as he caught sight of another Indian running toward them from further up the shore, to Fritjof’s left—the direction of the Camp Wilbur, the shipyard. Fritjof knew this man: he was Yangchee, a nephew of Chief Makkapitew. He was running fast, with a look of terror on his face. As he opened his mouth to speak, an arrow pierced his throat.

  Fritjof’s men had drawn their swords before the man’s knees hit the sand. “What in Odin’s name…?” he demanded, trying to determine who had shot the arrow. Several men held bows and were nocking arrows. The others had produced tomahawks. Fritjof’s men numbered twenty-four, but he saw now that they were badly outnumbered. Without a sound, the Indians ran at them. Fritjof ran two of them through before a tomahawk struck the back of his skull and everything went black.

  *****

  The knar’s arrival could not have been timed better, from the Tharres’s perspective. In the dim light of dusk, it was difficult to tell one man from another. Bruno and his men, along with eight of the Mi’kmaq and Tharres himself, donned the Norsemen’s garb and made their way up the trail. No alarm had yet been sounded; the Norsemen’s cries as they were fell upon by the Indians would not reach the lodge. With the exception of Yangchee’s attempted warning, everything had gone smoothly. They’d had weeks to prepare. Keskoospak had arranged for an accident to befall the man who had been assigned to handle security of the bay in Chegaoo’s absence; his replacement was loyal to Keskoospak, and he had made sure all of the men at the bay were loyal as well.

  As soon as the knar had been spotted at the mouth of the bay, a runner was sent up the trail with a message to the men at several of the lumbering operations nearby. Carrying a carved wooden whistle, the man ran to a ridge within earshot of the woodcutters and blew the whistle several times at a predetermined interval. The Indians loyal to Keskoospak turned on their Norse foremen and their Mi’kmaq allies, seizing their guns and swords. Meanwhile, Tharres and the others marched to the fort, where a friendly Mi’kmaq waited at the gate for them. The rebellion had begun.