The Road of the Sea Horse

by Poul Anderson

  To cover his embarrassment, he spent the whole evening talking with the Orkneyman or listening to the skalds chant of the summer's work. Not till he was alone in the bedchamber with Thora did he let his longing slip. No word was spoken between them for some time, until they lay in darkness resting.

  She ruffled his hair and said huskily, "How I've missed you, my beloved! It's been one great hunger, these many weeks."

  "How have things gone otherwise?" he asked.

  "Oh, not badly, I suppose, though the highborn ladies are not overly polite to me. They know I'm your favorite, so now they turn to Ellisif." Thora snorted her scorn. "Let them! Am I a crofter's wife to gossip about what somebody said to somebody else?"

  "There has been trouble between you two?" he asked slowly.

  "Well, two women could never live under one roof. Each will ever have her own way of doing things. And it rasps me the way she must put on airs because she's a Russian princess. My folk were kings when hers were landless Swedish Vikings."

  "No more of that," said Harald. "I've too much to do already, without being plagued by women's fits."

  "Oh, well, let Ellisif mope about with her heathenish icons and those priests you got for her. I have you." Thora's arms stole about his neck.

  He felt a dim guilt, almost as if he were letting a murdered friend lie unavenged; but the urgent warmth of her, pressing against him, drove it from his mind.

  2

  Between harvest and the first snowfall, Harald summoned a Thing of the Throndheim men to lay before them his proposals. This proved to be a great assembly, swarming over the field: a racket of voices, a whirlpool of faces, a little town of gaily decked booths, the shaggy presence of many horses. It was held with both old and new ceremonies; Mass was heard and the lawmen recited the laws; a full day passed before business could start.

  Harald mounted the platform when they were ready and addressed the gathering. He wished to announce the honors he had given Ulf Uspaksson and the submission of the Orkneys; he meant to go back to Denmark next year with a force as large as he had had this time; he planned a stone minster in Nidharos, dedicated to Our Lady, as a new shrine for Olaf's holy remains; a town was needed on the Oslofjord; to do all this, and much more, he wanted increased taxes, but every sensible man could see it was for the good of the whole country.

  Einar Thambaskelfir trod weightily forth. As the mightiest of the Throndlaw sheriffs and the chosen spokesman of the people, he was a man to listen to with respect, and Harald noticed more silence for him than there had been before. Gray and strong, his seamed face bitten into angry lines, he took the word:

  "My lord, you bring fine news about the islands, though no surprise to most of us. Some might say that a lucky turn of Western affairs brought this about, but I shall not dispute your statecraft in the matter. As for the power given your henchman Ulf Uspaksson, this is your right and we have many other chiefs of no small power. The Lady Church is doubtless a holy work, even if some feel that Nidharos has enough churches already. However, my lord, when the Throndheim folk must pay scot to benefit the Southerners, with this town of yours, and when again our land must be emptied to make war in a foreign country, it is well to stop for thought.

  "There is no threat to us from outside which we cannot meet with a levy when needed, and indeed many folk mislike paying to support your standing forces at their present size. There are no few suits to be brought at this Thing against royal guardsmen who stayed behind this year. Most of them are from other shires, and they have proved an overbearing lot. Some feel that the king has already too much power, and goes too recklessly forward. Eirik Blood-ax was driven from the land, Haakon the Good was forced to acknowledge our old laws and freehold rights, the Eirikssons had scant help in their time of need because they had been too haughty, and Haakon Jarl was abandoned for Olaf Tryggvason because he also found power a heady drink.

  "Rather than that the realm again suffer such troubles, I feel it wiser that we abide by ancient usage. Let not the king claim more than is lawfully his; let him not keep a guard so large that folk groan to support it; let him not engage in adventures which may increase his own domains but cost his people blood and gold. Let him ride the land like a good horseman, not so furiously that the steed must either throw him or burst its heart.

  "It is the will of the chiefs and, I think, all sound men, that the king abide by the laws and give himself more to building up his own realm than tearing down someone else's. I thank you, my Lord."

  Those who were nearby saw Harald pale and bite his lip; but he answered mildly, "How can the kingdom be strong if the king is weak? How can we build up the realm when no one is willing to work at it, when shire is selfishly divided against shire and it is more to be a Thrond than a Norseman? How can we have the respect which is necessary to peace if we womanishly give up our rightful claims? God has made me king, and I must serve as a king." His voice roughened: "This is my will, and let those go against it who dare!"

  The dispute was long that he waged with Einar. Had he been less wrathful, he might have enjoyed the duel, words meeting words, one tricky point of law after another. But the chief was better versed in the rules, and said openly that the yeoman would endure no breach of them. Harald had to yield on some points; he got the agreement to do what he wished, but the taxes would not be raised enough for it and he must dip into his own hoard.

  Leaving the Thing in a rage, Harald rode swiftly back to Nidharos. Coolness came after a while. Plain to see, Einar and Eindridhi would block him as long as they lived. They were the backbone of the resistance to him. They stood for the old ways, and clever though they were, their yeoman's wisdom could not see that those ways were doomed and a kingdom which abided by them would become a stagnant backwater and finally someone else's province.

  He said as much to Ulf, and the Icelander nodded. "I wonder if we can even trust them to be loyal. It's happened erenow that Norse chiefs dickered with foreign kings."

  "That I can find out, at least," said Harald.

  He went among his Danish prisoners and sought out two young men of good birth who were well known to be able and honest. In private, he told them that if they would do something for him he would set them free without ransom. "So it be not against Christian law and the interests of my lord King Svein, I will," said one, and the other added his yea.

  "Good," said Harald. "I want only that you go to Einar Thambaskelfir, pretending to be Svein's agents, and offering him great riches and honors if he will help the Danes against me."

  He sent them off with a carefully planned story, and had them back a few nights later. "Well?"

  "My lord, these were Einar's words: 'Although I am not King Harald's friend, I will do all in my power to defend Norway against your ruler. Now you must leave at dawn, and if I see you again it will be the worse for you.' "

  "Good," said Harald absently. "You may go; I have a boat and provisions waiting at the dock. Give my greetings to your king and say I hope to be his guest next summer."

  "We will build a good hot fire for you, my lord," said the Dane boldly, and walked out with his comrade.

  Harald slumped in his seat, brooding. Matters would be easy if Einar were an outright traitor. Ring his house in with spearmen and set it ablaze! But, as it was, at best, Einar would be a wall in his path; at worst, he would lead a rebellion in the

  name of Norway. Well . . .

  He sighed and went to seek Thora.

  The fall came, high bright skies and geese winging south, the hills a dry flame. Ulf rode down to Gizki with a large following and came back to say Thorberg had agreed and would sail with his other daughter to Nidharos at Yuletide. "She's a quiet sort, but I like her," he added, "and maybe I'm getting too old to tumble a different wench each night. That's a sad thing; you never come to know a woman, she's naught but a body."

  He seemed more wistful than glad, so Harald asked him, "Was there someone you'd liefer have had? I might have arranged that for you."

 
"No," said Ulf, down in his throat, "you couldn't have done that. . . . Brrr, what a bleak day. Good to be a Christian and await a hell where they keep the fires going."

  A short while afterward, Elizabeth sought Harald. They had not seen much of each other. She kept to the building where she had her quarters and servants, amusing herself with games, needlework, riding abroad, and little Maria. Harald was alone in the hall, burnishing a sword, when she entered. Dusty sunlight streamed behind her, making the brown hair a halo at the edge of her cap.

  "Good day," he said, startled. "What brings you here?"

  "I saw this chance to speak to you in private." Her voice was taut, but she faced him unwavering. "Well, then, sit down. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing for me, Harald; nothing that can be healed; but for you." He sighed. "Well?"

  "I have, at last, become friends with some of the ladies hereabouts, and even my maids speak freely." Elizabeth smiled. "I know not why, but they come to tell me their troubles, and I am an outlander. So I've seen how discontent is waxing. The land grows restless, Harald."

  "Bah! What do women know of such matters?"

  "More than you think. Husbands often talk to their wives, whether you believe it or not. They speak of law flouted, and unjust decisions, and grinding taxes. ..."

  "They should have been down in the empire." He laughed. "Then they'd not complain of me."

  "But they do. They even mutter—"

  "Of war?" He leaned forward. "Have no fear of that. I know what I'm doing. True, when a case has two sides, and most do, I give judgment in favor of the men I think most true to me. Isn't it better to keep them thus than try buying a weak friendship? And I am careful in how I clamp my will on the yeomanry. No one thing is worth fighting over. A fine here, a tax there, a threat of outlawry if anger speaks too loud—little else—but bit by bit, the strength of my enemies is whittled down."

  She reached out to him, then withdrew the hand. "Why would you not liefer have the love of the people? That's a horrible name they've fastened on you, Hardrede. I hoped, when first we came here, I hoped you would be called Harald the Good."

  "The Weakling, the Unready, the Milksop." He snorted. "Can't you see I have a kingdom to forge? Hammer blows are needful."

  She looked at him for a while, then nodded, as if to herself. "You are only half a man," she said. "The rest is a storm wind. I must believe God sends the gales."

  He made no answer. She could still surprise him.

  Rising, she smiled, a closed curve of lips, and brushed her fingers across his hair. "When a woman cares for a man, she must take him as he is," she said, and left.

  He half rose to follow, but sat back down. He knew not what he could tell her.

  3

  At midwinter, Ulf's wedding stood in the cathedral. Harald was there and at the new home, some hours' ride from Nidharos, with both his queens and large gifts; this was a time for gorging and drinking and making merry. Jorunn Thorbergsdottir had filled out somewhat, though she was still pale and slim. She met every gaze boldly. Already the first morning, she and her sister were laughing and whispering together. None could doubt what they told, and Elizabeth threw them a look of scorn.

  Afterward Harald took a few men on another long hunting trip. Nidharos was dreary in the cold months unless you cared for an endless round of feasts and threadbare thoughts; and his leman Thora was too near her time to be much comfort at night. They had good luck and got far north, up among the Finns. Those were thought to be great wizards, and Harald's followers crossed themselves as they bought lucky charms. Several weeks passed before they turned home again.

  As he rode into town, Harald thought eagerly that Thora's child would soon be born. He hoped the new church he was building would assure it was a boy, and healthy. And he turned a blind eye to one of his men who cut runes that the elves might be appeased.

  She was waiting for him at the hall, and they went into the little house that was her own to be by themselves. "You were long gone," she said. "I'd begun to think the child would be born without you here."

  "He wouldn't dare," grinned Harald. "I am the king."

  Her mouth drooped. "It was lonely, though. I care not for sleeping by myself."

  "I fear you must often do so, till these wars are finished."

  "Take me with you," she begged. "You said you would."

  "You'll have a baby to look after," he reminded her.

  "Yes, so it goes," she answered sullenly. "Sometimes I wish I had been a man."

  He supposed it was only the humor of her condition, and tried to turn it by laughing. "I mind a Jew down in Miklagardh who told me one of their prayers—for the men—goes: 'I thank the Lord I was not born a woman.' " Thoughtfully: "I'd like to get some Jewish merchants here. They're an able folk, they'd liven this thick Northern blood."

  "Yes, thank your God and weave your schemes!" She burst out angrily. "And leave me behind to wipe the baby's butt while you go whoring in Denmark!"

  It was the first time she had thrown a real fit of temper at him. He found he could not bellow her down, and ended with the promise of a golden bracelet. That quieted her and brought her purring to his arms, but he was not overly pleased. Ellisif, he thought, would not have gotten into a rage for no good cause, and once angered would not be bought off by anything less than a better reason.

  Still, this was a lovely and lively woman he had here, and failing Maria ... He wondered, for the ten thousandth time, how Maria was faring.

  He had not returned too soon. The next midday Thora's pains began. She and the midwife went into the hall's bedchamber, while Harald sent a messenger off to Ulf to bid him come and be godfather.

  Meanwhile there was nothing he could do. The bishop himself was on hand to baptize the infant at once should it seem weakly, but Harald was no great friend of Bishop Grimkell in spite of giving largesse to the Church. The guardsmen sat about, talking in low voices, now and then speaking to the king but none as a brother; there was none to whom he could open his heart.

  He looked out at the gloomy winter day and thought of his daughter's birth, how he and Ulf had waited in shared pain. Why did things past always seem brighter? Then he had been little more than a roving sea king, houseless, nigh friendless, sitting in a strange land, but . . . God grant him a son!

  "You will wish to have a baptism feast, my lord?" asked his steward.

  "Yes . . . no . . . Wait till we see if . . . No, by Thor, we'll surely have a feast, tell the housefolk to start readying."

  The short day drew to its close, torches were lit and shadows leaped through the hall. Harald wondered why Elizabeth was not here, then realized that no one must have told her. Ulf would not arrive till tomorrow and . . . Was that a wailing he heard?

  He sprang to his feet. The midwife came down the stairs with the child in a blanket. Harald choked, but stood his ground, folding arms and letting the woman lay the bundle before him.

  "A boy, my lord," she said gleefully. "A fine big boy, and for a first birth it was very quick and easy."

  A boy. Stooping, he picked up the baby and held the tiny wrinkled face to his own. A sudden huge love rose in him, the creature was so small and soft and helpless, and yet shouted outraged defiances to the world. "Like a Viking landing on a strange beach," he whispered. "A wide new beach, and it shall all be yours."

  Bishop Grimkell moved up, stately in robe and mitre. "God be praised, my lord," he said, his old face breaking into a rare smile. "What will you call the prince?"

  "Magnus," said Harald.

  He had decided this months ago. It would please the people, and he who slept in Clement's church had borne it honorably.

  "Then if you wish to bear him to the cathedral—"

  "No," said Harald. "The night is cold, nor has the godfather arrived."

  "But the child may die before—"

  "He won't," said Harald shortly. "The christening will be tomorrow." Ignoring the bishop's shock, he turned and went up the stairs.

  Th
ora's maids had just spread the bed with clean linen. She was pale, but smiled sleepily at him. He bent and kissed her. "Well done," he said, laying the boy in her arms.

  "My own Magnus ..." Her eyes drooped, and he left her to rest.

  As he came down again, he felt a strange emptiness. He was glad, but had no one to share his joy. It wasn't the kind of pleasure that called for carousing, it was ... He knew not what.

  "Be merry," he said to the men. "Drink your prince's health. But I must go elsewhere."

  The night bit at him as he stepped outside. He felt the ground crunch underfoot, and the stars were keen above him; seldom had he seen so many. Down in the streets, houses lay dark, here and there shone a red torch gleam; the bay glimmered like steel. He shivered and rapped on the door of Elizabeth's bower; the cold wood barked his knuckles.

  She opened it herself, a yellow warmth of candlelight behind her. "Oh. I was about to go to bed."

  "I wanted you to know," he said. 'Thora has borne a boy."

  "But that is wonderful!" She drew him inside and shut the door. He saw how the room was simply furnished but how gold flung back the light from lean strange icons on the walls. "You must be very happy," she said breathlessly.

  "Yes. Yes, of course I am." He wandered over to Maria's crib and stood regarding the girl's face. "How has she been?" he asked.

  "Christ be thanked, well. She's a sweet child." Elizabeth took his arm. "And the boy?"

  "Strong and loud and very wrathful." He tilted up her chin till their eyes met. "Ellisif, would you not have wanted Maria to be a boy?"

  "I did, at first. Now I'd not change her. We have it well together, and she will give me grandchildren someday."

  "I've never understood you," he said awkwardly. "I fear you've suffered much from me."

  "This is a night to be glad," she said, though tears lay in her eyes. "It is enough that you came here, to tell me yourself; that makes me happy."

  He pulled her to him without thinking, and her lips sought his blindly. Laughing and weeping at once, she drew him toward the bed.