The Sign of the Raven Read online

  He blew his horn again. Attack them!

  It was as if his hours of shooting had gone in a blink when Harald saw he was almost at Svein's ship. Roaring his glee, he dropped the bow and took up a two-handed ax. As the Fafnir sprang forward, he leaned over and slashed the ropes holding Svein's larboard side fast

  "Now—Olaf guard the right!"

  Shields and whetted metal stood before him as he met the enemy craft. His ax lifted, a spear shaft cracked beneath it, he raised it again and felt it bite on a shield rim. A sword hummed, he took the blade on his iron-bound haft and smashed down a storm of blows.

  Framework splintered, and he broke bone the next time. The Dane fell back, crying out. Harald jumped through the gap, whirled about and got another man's neck from behind. It was getting light now; he could just see the struggle at the side and the Danish oarsmen snatching up their arms.

  "Svein! Svein Estridhsson, where are you?"

  Roar and clangor boomed to the paling stars as the Norsemen snapped the Danish line and leaped aboard. Harald stood gigantic on a bench, waving to his standard-bearer. The boy took up the raven flag and came at a run. They held the prow of Svein's warship; let them now advance into the rest.

  Harald strode forth, his ax awhirl. Two men stood on the lengthwise walk, and the spaces at either side bristled with weapons. The king came at those two in a rush, ignoring the men who stabbed at him from below. His weapon blazed. The shock tumbled one Dane off the plank. The other smote with a sword, Harald felt the shock on his heavy byrnie and struck in his turn. His ax split the wooden shield and stuck fast. Pushing on its shaft, he got the enemy off balance and sent him falling too. He whipped out his own sword and killed the man from above.

  Battle roiled between and across the benches. Blades flickered, axes crunched, war hammers clanked on helmets. Harald ran down the plank to Svein's banner, slashed the cords, and flung it on the heads of the Danes.

  "Estridhsson!" he shouted. "Svein Estridhsson, I'm looking for you!"

  When the foe saw their flag gone, terror smote them. The Norse went aft and scythed them down. Harald's sword caught the dawn light in a runneling of red. With one last howl, he cried his pack on to the kill.

  Such of the Danes as still lived sprang overboard. The sea gulped all but a few, who managed to reach the loose boats that drifted about. Harald stood at the tail of Svein's ship and looked across the waters.

  The scene was frightful. Even in this part of the lines, full seventy ships floated manless. Blood dripped from the planks and stained the sea; a horde of gulls was already swooping down to feast. Harald scarcely noticed any of that. What he saw was the Danish fleet broken, fleeing in disorder, finished!

  War boiled in his veins. "Back to the Fafnir!’ he cried. "Back, cut the cables, after them!"

  As he entered his flagship and the nearer vessels began rallying about, he saw Thora. She had put a helmet over her red locks and bore a shield, as if she were a young Valkyrie. "Did you not stay where I told you?" he asked.

  "No—how could I? When you were like Odhinn come back to earth!" She leaped up to kiss him. Blood was on her mouth when she stood aside.

  He had no time for her then. It was hard work getting out past the wreckage which littered the water. He cursed his crews and egged them on to toil faster. It was as if he bellowed so loudly to drown out the forbidden thought: that he had not seen Svein, not anywhere.

  III

  How a War Was Lost

  1

  Haakon Ivarsson knelt in the forward part of his ship, between the first bench and the deck across the prow. Sunrise colored the sky pink and gold, from shadowed hills came the first drowsy noise of birds, and waters gleamed like dull metal. Ships wallowed about him, their crews staring sightlessly into heaven, blood clotted over the grinning lips of death wounds. He could make no headway in that clutter, and had not joined Harald's pursuit of the Danes.

  The jarl had taken off his battered helm and byrnie. A light wind ruffled his hair. Sweat, soaking his garments, made him shiver in the chill; there were gashes in his arms and legs, and he felt a drag of weariness. But his hands were gentle as a woman's, binding the hurt of the man who lay beside him.

  "Steady, there, Leif," he said. Splintered bone stood out of the fellow's left arm. He took the limb and brought it together. The grating sound gave him a queasiness in the groin, but nothing showed on his face. The warrior's sweat-studded features grew death white, his eyes rolled up and he slumped.

  "Best for you, I suppose." Haakon took splints carved from a broken oar, laid them on, and began lashing them fast with strips torn off his shirt. "You'll have little use of this arm, my friend, but if it doesn't inflame you ought to live." He stroked the fainted man's forehead. "You fought well, Leif; you shall lack for naught while I have my land."

  A boat which had been feeling its way between the wrecks now struck the longship. A tall man who rowed it called: "Where is the jarl?"

  Haakon finished his work before going to the side and leaning over. "Here I am," he said. "Who are you?"

  The man edged his boat closer. "I am Vandraadh," he said in a tired, slumping voice. "Speak with me, jarl."

  As he stood up, Haakon saw that he wore good clothes under a plain gray cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. But rust spots marked his coat, and a red line across the forehead told where a helmet had been. For weapon he had only a nicked, worn ax.

  The jarl bent over to peer closely. He saw tangled brown hair and a short beard, eyes crowding a hook nose, full lips adroop. Breath hissed between Haakon's teeth, and a coldness ran down his back.

  Vandraadh gave him a bloodshot stare. The jarl thought of a dog which has been kicked and starved. "I've come to take my life from your hand, if you will give it," said Vandraadh.

  Haakon's fingers tightened on the bulwark. He looked down, bit his lip, remembered oaths, but remembered too that he had never betrayed a friend. Vandraadh—he who cannot decide for himself— waited with a dead man's patience.

  "Well—" Haakon shook himself. Turning, he called on two of his folk whom he believed trustworthy. When they came to him, he said in a hurried murmur, "Get into this boat and take my friend Vandraadh ashore and up to Carl the yeoman. Tell him, as token of who sent you, that he shall let Vandraadh have the horse I gave him two days ago, as well as his own saddle and his son to guide him whither he wishes."

  The man in the boat bowed his head. "I shall not forget this," he said.

  "Nor I," said Haakon gloomily. "We may both hear more of it." He nodded curtly to his men, who gave him a strange look but climbed down into the boat and took the oars. Vandraadh steered, sitting hunched over.

  Much traffic was on the water, ships and boats moving about as men sought their friends or took the wounded ashore or gloated over the booty. Vandraadh went where there were the fewest. Now and again a Norseman hailed him, but Haakon's men said who they were and met no trouble. They rowed till a jut of tree-covered land hid them from the fleet, then Vandraadh grounded the boat and took a long way around to Carl's house.

  The yeoman, a burly gray fellow, was just dressing to go to work when they entered. The room was small, soot blackened, crowded with tools and chests; a hen pecked idly at the dirt floor; stalls for the beasts filled one end; a fire danced on the open hearth, pale against the young sunlight that streamed through the doorway. Haakon's men gave him the jarl's word. When Carl looked closely at Vandraadh, fright flickered in his eyes, but at once he clapped down the commoner's earthy mask.

  "Well, let it be so," he said. "But you must break your fast." He took a kettle off the fire and poured warm water into some bowls. "Here, wash yourselves."

  His wife came in from the stalls, carrying a bucket of milk. She was a lean and wrinkled woman, who gave the strangers a sharp good morning. "This has been a weird night!" she went on. "We could get no sleep for all the racket."

  "Know you not that the kings held battle tonight?" asked Carl.

  The woman shrugged. To her i
t meant little what the great folk did, so she was left in peace. "Who won?" she muttered as she poured the milk into a crock.

  "The Norsemen did," said Carl after looking out the door at the ships.

  His wife showed snag teeth in a sneer. "Then our king has fled," she decided and gave a stir to oatmeal she had boiling.

  Carl answered carefully: "Whether he has fallen or fled, that is something no one knows."

  The woman banged her spoon down on a shelf. Her lips set tightly. "God better that king we have," she snapped. "He's both lame and craven."

  Vandraadh winced. "The king is no coward," he said in a low voice, "but he is not a lucky man."

  Carl coughed. "Wash your hands, friends, the meal will soon be ready," he said loudly.

  Vandraadh was the last to do so. When the good-wife handed him the towel, he dried himself in the middle of it. She snatched it back and cried shrilly: "You've not been brought up well; thorp-dwellers don't get the whole cloth wet at one time!"

  Vandraadh smiled wearily. "Perhaps that day will come again when I can dry myself on the middle of a towel," he said.

  Carl's children appeared, to lay out the trestle table and set it. Vandraadh placed himself between yeoman and goodwife, and ate with scant appetite. After he was finished, Carl gave him the horse and put his oldest son on another for guide. They rode briskly inland, bending southward, while Haakon's men returned to their ship.

  2

  Harald and his following came back toward evening, having given up the chase after the Danes; those had too long a head start. The king was still in good humor, though. His muscles ached, but he felt too happy to want sleep.

  As they entered Lofufjord, they saw that Haakon had taken charge and gotten the ships into some kind of order. Campfires smoked on the beach, the hale sat about them resting and the wounded lay under tents. Harald went boisterously ashore, and the host cheered him. Thora was by his side, flushed with joy, and Magnus was not far off.

  Styrkaar shambled forth. "I have a gift for you, my lord," he said. "The traitor Finn Arnason would not flee, so we took him and his crew prisoner, and here they are."

  He waved a hairy hand, and several warriors led out the jarl of Halland. Harald felt a little shocked at sight of the man. He had grown very old in eleven years. He shuffled along, bent over, trembling faintly with age; his hair and beard were white, the once massive face shrunken inward, the eyes rheumy and almost blind. They had tied his hands behind his back.

  He stopped before Harald and looked up. He could no longer make out faces, but only one man had that height. The king laughed and said:

  "Well, Finn, so we meet again, whose last meeting was in Norway. The Danes did not stand very firmly by you, did they? Now the Norse will have a troublesome task, dragging you about and keeping you alive, blind as you are."

  Finn's voice had become a near whisper, but he answered stoutly: "The Norse must put hands to many foul tasks; but worst of all are those you set them to."

  It seemed wrong to Harald that this proud man should stand with ropes on his arms. He asked more gently: "Will you accept mercy, little though you deserve it?"

  Finn spat. "Not from you, you dog!"

  The king had expected no other reply. It seemed to him he had wronged Finn's house enough, without putting a helpless captive to death. "Well," he asked, "will you take peace from your kinsman Magnus?"

  Finn peered around, as if trying to find the prince; he looked like a turtle. "Shall such a whelp yield peace to a man?" he snapped.

  Harald laughed. "But Thora, your niece," he said. "Will you take mercy from her?"

  Finn squinted and seemed to draw into himself. "Is she here?"

  "That she is," said Harald.

  Once more the jarl spat. He said shakily: "It's no wonder you bit so hard last night, if the mare was with you!"

  Thora stepped back, her face whitened and she raised a hand to strike him. Harald caught her wrist. "Let him live," he said. "Keep watch over him, but take those cords off."

  Styrkaar looked puzzled, but obeyed, and led Finn back to the tent he had raised. Thora swung furiously on Harald. She hissed: "Are you going to spare him after what he said about me?"

  He gave her a wondering glance. "Your own uncle," he replied at last, slowly. Turning his back on her, he went toward the tent where Haakon's banner flew.

  He thought his jarl had an uneasy air, but they got to work together at once. Much needed to be done. The chaplains of the fleet paid the Norse fallen the last honors; the Danish dead were brought ashore and the Halland yeomen told to bury them as best they could. There were many wounded to be cared for and prisoners to be guarded—held for ransom or sold as thralls. There was the booty to be divided, ships and weapons and whatever else of value could be found; this alone took a couple of days.

  Slain men had been heaped on the Danish flagship. Harald looked at each corpse himself, and was disquieted not to find Svein's among them. But surely his enemy had fallen, perhaps gone overboard and been sunk by his mail. This had been one trap the fox could not have escaped.

  He felt no great need of haste. Leaderless, Denmark lay open to him. Svein had many sons, but the oldest was still a boy, and the best of the Danish chiefs who might have supported him were killed. Some fighting would remain, though, so he let his men rest, sent the badly hurt home with the captured ships, kept anvils ringing with weapons to be mended. Meanwhile, a few craft under Ulf went down to Sealand as scouts.

  Finn Arnason brooded alone; he was sunk into sullenness, and those who spoke to him got a short answer. Thora and Magnus began to yawn and urge Harald to start again. Out in the fields, the hamlet's folk went about their work, caring little that they had changed overlords; only Carl was absent, having discovered an errand which required he take his whole family elsewhere.

  The fleet was busking itself to sail when Ulf returned. It was a day of gusty winds and sallow light; the sea tossed noisy and anchor cables creaked. Harald hastened to the strand when he saw Ulf's ship grounding.

  "Well?" he cried. "Have you learned aught?"

  The Icelander walked slowly up to meet him. His face was a block of dark, scored wood. "I have ill tidings," he said.

  Harald waited. A cold dampness sprang forth on his palms.

  "The Devil guards his own," said Ulf. "Somehow

  Svein Estridhsson has gotten back to Sealand. He has rallied not only the broken fleet, but men who're swarming to him from the whole realm. Everyone told us his host was already grown huge, and we saw troops of armed men hastening along the shore roads."

  There was a crackling in Harald's head. Tatters of darkness wavered before his eyes.

  "You're mistaken," he croaked. "They lied to you."

  "No. I sent in spies who came from the Ranriki border and so could pass themselves off as Hallanders. Everywhere the war arrows were passing, and word that King Svein was back."

  "Don't call him king."

  "We've not enough strength to fare against him now." Ulf took his lord's arm and steered him toward his tent. "Next year ..."

  "Perhaps we should call him king after all." Harald gave a rattle of laughter.

  They entered the tent. No one else was there. Harald sat down on the bench and dropped his face into his hands.

  "How can it be?" he asked wildly. "Is it possible to lose every single fight and still win a war?"

  Ulf put an arm around his shoulders. "It's no mean foe you have," he said. "The man bends easily, but there's good steel in him and he springs back. Never erenow have two such kings met."

  "Many are they who have cursed me," mumbled Harald. "So many prayers for vengeance, so much witchcraft brewed in lonely places."

  "Are you one to heed old wives' chatter?" snorted Ulf.

  "God is patient," said Harald. "He can as well torment a man with a lifetime's failure as strike him dead."

  "No man escapes his weird," said Ulf, "but who knows what his fate may be? We'll try it again next year."

&nbs
p; "And the year after that, and the year after that . . . How long can we whirl about in this stinking pool?" Harald groaned.

  "Well, yes, we may find better work for our hands," agreed Ulf. "Denmark is not the whole Midhgardh."

  Harald looked up. "Once I thought to engulf the world," he said. "Now it seems I cannot even take a few bogs and heaths."

  "It will look better tomorrow," said Ulf. "Let's drink ourselves to sleep tonight, and leave thinking for some other time."

  "Yes . . . yes, your rede is good. There will be other days." Harald got to his feet, head brushing the tent roof. "Best we call the chiefs now and tell them, then break out the beer."

  3

  Before sailing home, he summoned Finn Arnason. When he had met the jarl's gaze for a while, he said, "I can see, Finn, that you no longer wish the friendship of me or your kinfolk. So I give you leave now to return to your king, Svein in Denmark."

  "I thank you for that," said the old man scornfully, "and will be the more grateful, the sooner I can get away."

  Harald nodded to the guardsmen, who took Finn out and released him. Thora snapped, "It's not enough to give up the war, you must let that doddering scoundrel go free."

  "Be still," said the king. His leman dared not speak further, so black had his mood been since Ulf's news; but her lips drew into a thin line.

  The fleet sailed back. Harald turned off at Oslofjord with the crews from those parts. The men were cheerful. They had fought a battle which would be famous and laid hands on much plunder; that was full measure for them. But both the king and Jarl Haakon were evil tempered.

  It was raining when the Fafnir lay to at Oslo harbor, a thick windless rain as if summer bled to death. The streets chuckled with muddy water, roofs shimmered wet, the hills were lost to sight. Harald stepped to the wharf shivering. Yes, men grew old. He was not the hell's carle he had been.