The Viking Saga

by Henry Treece

  But the Khazars did not seem to notice them, and at the end of the day they came to a small village of skin huts, set in a little hollow. Dogs ran at them, barking, but an old man with long white hair rose from beside a fire and called the animals away. Then he came forward to meet the two, holding his hand to his forehead as a sign of peace. Grummoch, who had picked up more than a smattering of Bulgar and Khazar dialects when he had been a slave among them, spoke to him, asking for shelter and food. The old man led them courteously to his skin tent and gave them bread and meat and mare’s milk. In the morning as they left, he refused to accept any payment for his hospitality, and even sent two of his sons to guide the travellers northwards for some miles, so that they should not lose their way in the marshes which spread out on either side of the great river, from place to place.

  These young men said little, but smiled a great deal, and when they had parted, Harald said, ‘I do not trust men who smile as much as that, friend Grummoch. I suspect that they may well ride to tell the Khazars where we are. What do you think?’

  Grummoch said, ‘It would be no unusual thing if they did, I suppose. Perhaps it would be wise if we were to move away from the river, and try to find ourselves horses somewhere. Great herds of them graze on the plains a little farther to the north.’

  They left the river then and for three days looked for a horse. But it seemed that these creatures had moved to other grazing grounds, for the travellers saw very few of them, and those few were so sensitive of sight and hearing that it was impossible to get near enough to them to catch one. So when the food which they had brought away from the skin village was exhausted, the two men decided that they must go back to the river, where at least they might be fortunate enough to kill wild fowl and so keep themselves from starving.

  One morning, Harald sat down on the river bank and began to laugh. Grummoch stared at him in concern, wondering whether he had lost his reason with hunger. But Harald shook his head and said, ‘No, my friend, I am not mad – only very sane, so sane that I think what fools we are to strike off into this empty land with no more provisions than a bag of treasure! What if we throw the treasure into the river and turn our steps southwards again? We should travel lighter and might even be lucky enough to get a ship to take us back to Miklagard. Perhaps things are better there now. At least, there is food to eat there.’

  Grummoch was about to agree with him, when round the bend of the river came a long, heavily-laden rowing boat, propelled by six oars. At first the two men thought of running away, but then Harald said, ‘Let us wait and see if they mean well; we can always run when we have decided that.’

  When the boat drew level with them, a man in a bright steel helmet called to them, ‘We are Bulgars, trading in Kiev. We are short of two oarsmen. Will you come with us, friends?’

  Grummoch said, ‘I have often heard of Kiev. It seems to be a growing town and I would much like to see it. Shall we go with them?’

  Harald nodded and said, ‘I would go almost anywhere, rather than walk another day across this empty land. It fills my dreams every night. I feel that I shall never see a town again! Let us go with them, by all means.’

  They waded out and were picked up. As they boarded the boat, they were careful not to let their treasure sack rattle this time. They were also careful not to let its weight be seen by the rowers who helped them into the boat, but pretended that the sack contained their cloaks and heavy winter jackets.

  So they became oarsmen in the Bulgar boat, sitting next to each other on the same bench. The merchant, who had hailed them, was a kindly man, and made no secret of the fact that he was glad to have two such strong fellows in his boat. He fed them well and offered them a place at the oars on the return trip, but Grummoch smilingly refused, saying, ‘I have news that my grandmother in Orkney is anxious to talk to me. You see, she sent me on an errand to a neighbour in Ireland ten years ago, to borrow a dozen eggs that she needed, to make a pudding for my uncle, who is in bed with a bad Caledonian cold. I am afraid I was a bad lad, and forgot about the pudding, and now my uncle is getting restive. So I must go back and tell my grandmother, in Iceland, that her neighbour in Ireland had stopped keeping hens.’

  The merchant stared at Grummoch, whose face was deadly serious.

  ‘I do not understand,’ he said. ‘You said your grandmother was in Orkney, and now you say that she is in Iceland.’

  Grummoch nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is so. My family move about so quickly that it does not do to be too long away from them. That is why I am anxious to get back as soon as I can. Otherwise, who knows, grandmother might have run all the way to Miklagard with her rheumatics to look for me.’

  The merchant shook his head and walked away from Grummoch. After that, he did not invite them to sail with him on the return trip.

  But they did not see Kiev. On the eighth day of rowing against the sluggish stream, the merchant allowed them to pull in to the shore to rest and to light fires, for a cold wind had sprung up across the great plains and chilled the oarsmen to the bone.

  Some of the men sat about on the shore, while others wandered here and there, looking for anything that would burn. Grummoch and Harald, carrying their sack, as they always did, walked away from the others, to a stretch of low and stunted scrub which they thought they might uproot for fuel. But the work was hard and after a while they sat down, rubbing their chafed hands and wondering whether it was worth while risking the edges of their swords in trying to cut the tough branches.

  It was when they were talking of this that they heard sudden shrill cries from the direction of the river. At first they paid little attention to these shouts, thinking that some of the men were playing a game to keep themselves warm. But when they heard the merchant’s voice hallooing, they stood up, to look over the scrub and to see what was the matter. They saw two sights which gave them a start; first, they saw that the boat was pulling out as fast as it could go into midstream, and secondly they saw that the hillside above them was lined with men on ponies, men wearing high skin caps and carrying long lances.

  Grummoch spread his chafed hands out and said, ‘What will be, will be! So that was why they were shouting – they wanted us to get back into the boat.’

  But Harald did not answer. He felt too disheartened now to speak. The two men put their swords back into their scabbards, realizing that they could not fight against such odds, and waited for the horsemen to come down the slope and capture them. But for a while nothing happened, and at last Harald said, ‘Come on, let us walk along the river again. Perhaps they mean us no harm.’

  Grummoch merely grunted and shouldered the sack once more. Then they set off walking and, as they did so, the men on horses kicked their mounts forward and rode alongside them, along the crown of the ridge. When the two friends stopped, so did the Khazars; when they walked on quickly, the Khazars spurred on their ponies to a faster speed.

  Grummoch said, ‘They are playing with us, shepherding us to their village. I wish I felt strong enough to leap into the river and try swimming across.’

  Harald answered, ‘That would do no good. Their horses can no doubt swim better than we can, besides, we should be weighed down by the treasure.’

  At last they topped a hill and saw below them a sprawling settlement of skin tents, wagons, and thorn fences. Many fires burned there and horses, cows, and dogs seemed to wander wherever they wished, undisturbed by the swarms of children. From the village came up a babble of voices, shouting, laughter, singing, which was made more confusing by the barking of dogs, the lowing of oxen, and the high whinnying of horses.

  Harald drew his hand across his brows and said, ‘I am not going down there, into that hullabaloo!’ He sat down, but did not stay long on the ground, for a horseman suddenly rode up behind him and urged him forward with the butt end of his long lance. Harald rose again ruefully and went down the slope with Grummoch, between the hordes of shouting children and the grazing cattle.

  Now the silent ho
rsemen began to shout and laugh, swinging their ponies up and round, and then suddenly galloping off furiously to make a circuit of the settlement, throwing their long lances into the air and catching them as they rode. The children shouted out their applause and the dogs barked as though everything was immensely exciting.

  Then the leader of the horsemen prodded the two friends forward towards a big tent of goats’ hair and when they were before the open door, jumped from his pony and pushed them inside.

  An old man sat on a pile of cushions and sheepskins in the centre of the tent, warming his hands by a smouldering cow-dung fire. He was surrounded by small children and dogs, which rolled about on the carpeted floor of the tent happily together, pretending to fight each other, nibbling, wrestling, while the old man surveyed them gently, quietly amused at their antics.

  When the two friends stood before him, however, he waved the children away to the back of the tent, and shooed the dogs after them. Only then did he raise his heavy-lidded eyes and look up at Harald and Grummoch. They saw that his face was incredibly wrinkled and old-looking. His long white moustaches reached almost to his chest and he wore great gold rings in his ears. Beneath his sleeveless jacket of white sheepskin he had on a long robe of heavy red silk stained down the front with wine spots and grease. His fingers, though laden with dull-glinting gold rings, were dirty and their nails cracked and horny.

  He surveyed them in silence for a while, smiling mysteriously, and then he said in perfect Norse, ‘I began to think that my men had lost you. They rode the length of the great river again and again after they had heard about you from the two sons of old Kazan. But sooner or later in this land one finds what one seeks. So they found you at last. And now you can put your treasure sack on the floor. It seems a very heavy burden and there is no need for you to carry it any farther. I shall look after it for you.’

  Grummoch put the sack down, staring wide-eyed at this strange old man. Harald said, ‘How is it, old one, that you speak like a man of the fjords?’

  The old man said, ‘First, I must ask you not to call me “old one” in front of the children, for here it is a rude term of address. I do not want them to pick up bad habits, for they are my grandchildren and must grow up to address me properly. You must call me “King of the Marshland”. As for your question, Viking, it is very easy to answer. I have been in many strange parts in my time, and once spent five years in the north myself, seeking my fortune with the men of Sven Red-eye. But that is all past; I brought back a wife from your folk and she taught me much of your tongue, before, alas, she died. Then later I was lucky enough to buy a slave from some Wends who came this way, trying to get to Miklagard overland. He was a Christian priest and helped me a great deal in the writing of runes, among other things. He died only last year, from overeating when we had our Spring festival. I was sorry to lose him, for he had a most amusing store of tales to tell.’

  Harald said, ‘You are a courteous man, King of the Marshland; why then do you take our treasure – for I will not try to deceive you as to the contents of that sack?’

  The old King nodded slyly and said, ‘It would be better not to try to deceive me about anything at all, for I have long ears and sharp eyes, in spite of my age. But I will answer you: I take your treasure sack to keep it safely for you until you return. You see, I mean you no harm. I intend to send you back to your own land, and I ask in return that you should bring a hundred or two of the men from the fjords down here next year, when the rivers have thrown off their winter ice. When you do that, I shall return your treasure to you – but only then. Is that understood?’

  Grummoch said, ‘What do you want Vikings for, King of the Marshland? Haven’t you men of your own?’

  The old man nodded and said, ‘Yes, I have many men, but they are not good as foot soldiers. Take their ponies from them and they are useless – why, they can hardly walk, my friend, and the task I wish to accomplish needs men who can fight on foot or on horseback.’

  Harald said, ‘What do you wish to do, King of the Marshland?’

  The old man felt inside his red robe and took out a small ivory ball from an inner pocket. This he flung into the air, without watching where it went, and caught it at the side, behind his back, above his head, anywhere, all the time staring into Harald’s eyes. At last, when he was tired of playing with the ball, he said, ‘I intend to capture the city of Kiev and to become the greatest King that the plains have ever known. And afterwards, I intend to make war on the Franks first, and on the Roman Emperor second. When I have done that, I shall go perhaps to Spain and rule over our Muslim brothers there.’

  Harald gasped at the old man’s dream of power, but he found wit enough to ask ironically, ‘And the north? Will you not conquer the north while you are about it?’

  The old man’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile and he answered the Viking in the same tone which Harald had used.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I shall spare the north, provided that you come back in the Spring with two hundred berserks and help me on the first stage of my journey.’

  Harald bowed before him, with sarcasm, then, and said, ‘Very well, King of the Marshland. What will be, will be. We will leave our treasure because we must, and we will go home to the north.’

  The old man smiled and said, ‘You are a sensible young fellow for a Viking, I must say. I shall send you north on good horses, with a strong escort. We shall have to see to that very soon, for in a month the rivers will be ice-bound. So I shall see that you are taken beyond the great portage, and put on a longship there.’

  Harald gasped at the old man’s confidence. ‘A longship’, he said. ‘How do you know of a longship so far away?’

  The old man closed his eyes and rocked beside the fire with amusement at the Viking’s tone of wonder.

  ‘With fast riders like mine, I can keep in touch with most things which happen on the Plains, my friend. There is nothing magic about it. The villagers at the Great Portage are already waiting for Haakon Baconfat to come trading with them before the winter starts. He will take you home, I have no doubt, if you tell him I say he must.’

  Harald sat down on the ground with sheer shock then. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘I have known Haakon Baconfat since I was a lad of twelve. He used to make wooden swords for me and teach me to track bears.’

  The old man nodded and said, ‘Yes, he is a good man with children. It was his sister I married, you know. So in a way, we are relatives.’

  Thereafter, Harald felt that nothing in the world would surprise him. He lay back on the cushions beside the cow-dung fire and ate the good meal which a Khazar woman brought for them. Then he drank deeply of the strong barley beer which the old King poured out of a bulging skin bottle. And then he fell fast asleep, too tired and well-fed to bother about anything – even about losing the treasure.

  And in the morning, he and Grummoch sat astride two sturdy Khazar ponies, wearing sheepskin jackets and high fur hats, just like their escort. The old King came to the doorway of his black tent and waved them on their journey, saying, ‘Go lightly and easily, and come back in the Spring – if you ever want to see the contents of your treasure sack again!’

  Grummoch, whose feet hung down to the ground, made such a wry grimace at the old man’s words, that all the horsemen shouted with laughter. Then, as the autumnal sun struck across the broad grassland to their right hands, the party set off northwards, skirting Kiev lest they might be ambushed.

  25. A Surprise by the Fjord

  Old thorn, the headman of the village by the fjord, sat outside his wooden house in the early winter sunshine, wrapped in his thickest cloak and staring across the cold green water. His old dog, Thorri, snuggled beside him, turning up grateful eyes to his master, who scratched the dog’s ear thoughtfully.

  Thorn was thinking about the shipload of men who had sailed away from the village over a year and a half before.

  ‘Rascals, the whole lot of them!’ he said bad-temperedly to the dog. ‘Enjoying themselve
s in Ireland, no doubt. Living off the fat of the land while we of the village scrape to make ends meet, and winter coming on as well.’

  The dog seemed to understand what Thorn was saying, for he put on a sorrowful expression, and lay down with a sigh at the old headman’s feet.

  ‘Never mention Harald Sigurdson to me again,’ said Thorn, as though addressing the dog. Thorri the dog looked up with wide old eyes as though he meant to say that he would never mention that wicked Harald again.

  Thorn’s youngest daughter, Little Asa, called him in to eat his breakfast. The old man grumbled and began to rise from his bench, clutching his blackthorn stick tightly.

  Just then two men came down the hill above the village, one a man of a normal size, the other as big as a man and half a man. Both were heavily bearded and wore tall fur caps.

  Old Thorn stared up at them in surprise, wondering who they might be. Then he called into the room, ‘Keep an eye on the pigs at the back of the house, Little Asa. Two strangers come; they may be thieves.’

  But the two men did not turn aside to snatch up a pig from behind the little house. Instead they came up to Thorn and the smaller of the men took the headman by the hand and said, ‘Greetings, old man! How are you these days?’

  Thorn was about to make some sharp reply when he saw the face of the man who spoke, and recognized it, despite the high fur cap and the thick golden beard.

  ‘Why, Harald Sigurdson!’ he said. ‘Where have you been, you rogue? Where are the others? Where is the good ship we gave you? And who is this great hulking giant?’

  Harald laughed at the spate of questions and answered, ‘All in good time, Thorn.’ Then he called inside the house, ‘Little Asa, lay a good meal for us. We have walked for three days through the forest and are hungry! If we hadn’t found berries to eat, we should surely have starved to death!’

  Little Asa came out and almost fell back in a faint to see the giant Grummoch, who looked an amazingly hairy fellow what with his beard and his thick sheepskin coat and fur cap. But she soon recovered and led them inside, laughing and crying at the same time.