TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven Read online

  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."

  "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 th e war, you must let that dodder ing 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 Osl o fjord 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.

  Elizabeth had hastened to the dock as soon as word was cried. She had known her husband would return to Oslo, and had driven down with her household. Behind her came the guards, their waterslick helmets and drenched cloaks the only color under heaven. Her daughters and young Olaf were beside her.

  She seemed too small and slight to bear the thick woolen mantle she had. Under its cowl, her features were drawn and pale, but the gray eyes kindled as Harald neared. Heedlessly, she ran to take his hands.

  "You live," she said. "You weren't hurt. . . God is good to us."

  "That's as may be." He looked down at her, and a one-sided smile creased his face. "We had the victory at Niss River—"

  "Yes, so I heard from those who came back early." She laughed aloud. "And now you have your wish—king of Denmark!"

  "No," he said. "Somehow Svein escaped us and raised too great an army at home. We're no farther along than we've ever been."

  She stood quiet. The rain beat in her face and pulled one brown lock across the finely lined forehead. Then her lips opened, as if she had been struck.

  "Oh my darling," she whispered.

  She took his arm and led him away, toward the hall. "It's nothing," she said. "Next year you will win."

  "I know not if I'm man enough to fight a curse," he said.

  "Oh, but you're home, my dearest, and you won a mighty battle." She was glad the raindrops running down her cheeks hid the tears.

  Olaf stared after them. "It's a bootless war," he muttered. "Best to make peace ere we lose all."

  "So you would say!" jeered Magnus.

  Thora's eyes left Elizabeth's back. They held anger. "Come," she said in a strained tone. "Let's get out of this damp."

  Eystein was being greeted by his wife. He responded absently, scarce able to withhold his gaze from Maria Haraldsdottir. When he looked at her, war and fame seemed child's toys.

  It is to be told of Finn Arnason that the Hallanders received him well, he having been a kindly and valiant lord. But he fell sick during the winter and died. His family went to King Svein, who saw to their welfare.

  The Danish ruler made great offerings in thanks for his life, and steered his realm as before, keeping a rich and learned court. Though ready to fight or flee again if he must, he was beginning to think that the saints were with him, and was immensely cheered thereby.

  Early in winter, he sent men to Halland to bring back Carl and his wife. When they arrived, nervous in their faded finery, Svein took the yeoman alone into a side room and asked: "Well, friend, do you know me, or think you've seen me before?"

  Carl fumbled his hat in stumpy fingers and answered awkwardly, "Yes, my lord, I know you now. I knew you when first I saw you. God be praised that what small help I could give you was of use."

  Svein's words were solemn. "I have you to thank for every day I live hereafter. So I shall reward you thus: with a fine garth on Sealand, which you may choose yourself; and if you show yourself to be a man of good understanding, I will make you powerful."

  "I thank you, my lord," said Carl. "I looked not for reward; 'twas enough to serve my king." Svein, who knew his yeomen, had certain doubts of this, but remained silent. "Yet if I may, my lord, I've one more thing to ask of you." "And what may that be?"

  "If, well, if I may take my old woman with me."

  Svein's face colored a bit, and he grinned. "No, that I will not allow," he said, "for I've chosen another wife for you, who is far better and wiser. Let the one you now have keep your old steading in Halland; she can manage that, and get her living from it."

  Carl wrestled with his conscience, but not for long. Good acres were hardly to be refused, nor his wife's stringy flesh to be kept in favor of a bouncing broad-hipped young wench. He thanked the king mightily. In later years, he became a great man in Denmark.

  IV

  Of Haakon Ivarsson

  1

  Haakon went home at once to his Upland garth, and stayed there through the winter; but Oslo buzzed with talk about him for his part in the Niss battle. Harald, who was dwelling in the town, heard much of this, and liked it little. Granted, the jarl had done well, but there had been other men in the fight, and who had taken the Danish flagship?

  Such thoughts led him on to the uselessness of the whole affair. Fame and plunder had been gained, naught else. All the booty in Denmark could not buy him back the years he had lost.

  It made him harsh of tongue and judgment. Only Ulf could have softened his words, and the marshal was wintering on his Throndheim estate. Elizabeth was mute under her husband's quick anger, hoping the mood would go away in time. Thora gave him as good as she got, and this brought many quarrels between them.


  On a leaden day shortly after the new year had come, Harald went to look at his hoard. He kept most of it in a locked outbuilding, under trustworthy guard, and liked to go in and tell it over once in a while.

  This time he left the door ajar for the sake of light. A damp, quiet was cold in the air; his skin prickled beneath its furs and his fingers were numb. He rubbed them together, looking thoughtfully at the chests and casks. There were not as many as there had been. He had given much away, as a king must, or sold it to pay for his wars. But it was still a mighty trove, and it should have cheered him.

  Today it would not. He opened a chest. Coins glistened dustily—Byzantine, Arabic, English, Irish, German, Northern. Atop them lay a string of pearls, a gold-hilted scimitar, and a velvet robe trimmed with ermine. He saw that moths had been eating the robe.

  Even thus, even thus ... his years were being nibbled away, and what had he to show for them? A backward kingdom and a famous name spoken in hatred as often as not. He had cut down hostile chiefs, but had not broken chiefship itself; he had slain foemen, but their sons would grow up to bear an unforgiving spear; he had defied the Pope, but the Church would outlive him. He remained a giant, but he could no longer go days on end without sleep while fighting a battle, bedding a woman, and joining a drinking bout. The veins in his big scarred hands stood forth like ropes, his hair grew dull and his eyes farsighted. He had begotten two princes, and one of them was ever at odds with him while the other was a stranger.

  He thought, briefly, of trying to get more sons with some new woman. His wife and leman seemed both to have become barren. But no, two healthy boys were enough. A third might easily start a war for the throne.

  Did he really think that, or—a tired smile dragged at his mouth—did he simply not wish to face the thunders and lightnings which Thora would pour on him?

  The room was darkened, and he looked about to see Elizabeth in the doorway. "Oh," she said in a nearly frightened voice. "I saw the door was open and no guards about, and thought—"

  She started to go. "Come in if you wish," said Harald. "Am I such a dragon?"

  She entered quickly. "No, surely not." He could barely hear her.

  Looking into a chest, she smiled and went on: "I remember the time you first showed me this, long ago in Kiev. I was a silly little goose then; it seemed to me there was blood on it."

  "There is, on most," said Harald. "But whoever lives with me grows used to blood."

  "Do not reproach yourself," she said. "I've learned that all men fight, unless they are thralls or monks, and even those bear, arms sometimes. Learning to take the world as it is—I think that is what growing up means."

  "Still . . ." He lifted the pearl necklace. "Would you like this?"

  "Oh ..." Her eyes widened, childlike, and one hand came timidly out to touch the miracle.

  He wondered why he had made the gift; now he would have to give Thora something of equal value, to keep peace in the home. "Well, take it," he said gruffly.

  She glanced about, saw no one looking in, and stood on tiptoe. Even so, he had to stoop to be kissed. Her lips were cool, but there was a hunger on them. His hands moved up and down her back, feeling its slenderness. It made his blood pulse thickly, he wanted to—No, not here.

  She reached up and ran fingers through his hair. "You are a strange man," she said in a shaky voice. "I wonder why I love you so."

  He regarded her closely. "I've not really understood you either," he said. "At first, I thought you meek and colorless, but—" He shrugged. "I may have told you before that I think you're the only person alive who can still surprise me."

  "You should be old and wise enough not to tell that to a woman," she laughed.

  "If things had been otherwise ..."

  "They could not have been," she said gravely. "You are one who goes his own way, and naught but the will of God will ever stop you."

  "You should have been queen of Denmark by now." He felt the cold strike into his flesh, and drew away from her and pulled his cloak about him.

  "Do you think I care about that?"

  He shook his head. "No. I know you don't. But I do, and there lies part of the gulf between us."

  "Thora does," said Elizabeth. She did not look at him.

  "Aye. In that, she and I are one." A hollowness was in him, as if he had used up whatever strength and joy he could muster during one day. He wished he had not halted with a kiss, but desire had gone.

  "Nobody shares my every wish," he said, and tried a grin. "As well for the world!" The wry mirth faded. "None up here."

  Elizabeth fingered her pearls. "Then there is someone elsewhere," she answered.

  "I know not. It has been many years. The Miklagardh envoys could not tell me."

  The queen stared at the floor. "And all this time, locked away in your heart—" she whispered.

  "Have done!" A pale, senseless anger licked up in him. "I don't wish to hear more of this."

  He slammed the door full open and strode out. Elizabeth stared after him till he was gone. Then she sat down on a box and looked at the pearls. She shook her head and rubbed an eye with her knuckles. A queen should not weep where anyone might see her.

  Harald walked from the courtyard and down a street of frozen mud, under a low gray sky. Half a dozen guardsmen followed, not venturing to speak. Folk bowed carefully, but he did not hail them.

  His mind shied from some thoughts and returned to worry over what he had lost at the Niss. Only a madman would bend a whole life toward one dream; and yet—What had he done, that God had raised Svein Estridhsson against him?

  He was dimly glad to see Styrkaar, Thjodholf, and some lesser men of the court standing in talk before an alehouse. He went over to them and gave greeting. "What are you about?" he asked.

  "We were but swapping stories, my lord," said Styrkaar, "and thinking we might go into this place for a drop of beer."

  "The landlord is a highwayman," said Thjodholf. "What he wants for a crock of slimy green troll t ears would raise your hair."

  Harald glanced at the inn. It was newly and hastily built, with a sunken main room, and he could see firelight dance beyond the sagging door. The voices of several men within came loud.

  "Aye, I were in the Upland ships, I were, and saw 't myself. The jarl laid his ship between two Dane craft, and his crew stormed 'em both at once and cleared 'em."

  "No surprise to me, though I was with Eystein, the sheriff. Haakon Jarl, I owe him my life, I do. We'd ha' been plain broken if he'd not come to save us."

  "Speak no ill o' Eystein Gorcock; he's a gallant man."

  "Aye, but he's no Haakon Ivarsson. Christ witness, I've seen a many good warriors, but none like him, Haakon. It's like it says in the saga, when he fights ye'd think he had three swords in his hand."

  "Bravest fellow I ever saw. But then, luck loves him."

  "He's not o' these snotty king's men, neither. I stayed at his house one night last year, whilst traveling hitherward, and he was as soft-spoke to me like I'd been high-born myself."

  "A wise king we got, to take Haakon Ivarsson back and make him jarl. Haakon's repaid him . . .nay, put the debt on t' other side ... by winning the battle at Niss."

  Harald's face darkened. He stalked over to open the alehouse door and lean in.

  "Every man here would gladly be called Haakon!" he spat.

  Thereafter he left the place, speaking to no one.

  2

  When the snow melted and the first thin green shivered on the birches, Eystein Gorcock rode down from the North with a score of his men. It was given out that he was going to Oslo to buy shares in some England-bound merchant ships, and that was what he also tried to tell himself. The miry roads taxed the horses, and when he came to Haakon's steading the jarl bade him lie over for a day. Eystein was fond of his host, both of them had the same love of good horses and dogs and clothes and wine; both had the same sense of mirth, so he accepted happily.

  While those two conversed, the men sat at their ease
in one of the lodges, to drink and trade gossip. The door stood open to a high, fluffy-clouded heaven and a drenched land—a bright lazy day which stirred old yearnings and then contented them with dreams. The warriors sat on the benches, getting drunker and more comradely for each hour that passed.

  Gunnar Geiroddsson tilted a horn with the best, but a man his size is not easily befuddled by drink. He felt only a warm buzzing, as of bees in a summer meadow, while the rest shouted into each other's mouths.

  Talk turned back to the combat at Niss River. Gunnar had wielded a frightful broadax under Eystein's banner, and had enjoyed himself hugely even during the most desperate moments. Now, when men began to praise Haakon Jarl and say he had saved the day, the young warrior frowned and spoke slowly: