The Sign of the Raven Page 9

  "You—!"

  "He is my friend. I myself will pay the weregild and whatever fine you levy-."

  Harald seized the boy's coat in both hands and shook him till his teeth rattled. "I want no monies, you cub! I want that rascal's life. Are you too in rebellion against me?"

  Magnus wrenched free and clapped a hand on his sword hilt; rage darkened his cheeks and drove out fear. "Have a care, father," he said shakily. "I'm not one of your dogs."

  "No—a dog keeps faith!" Harald lifted his arm and shouted through the winter dusk: "Hoy guardsmen! Come bind this puppy for judgment."

  Magnus looked around; his crew, young men like himself, mustered heart and bristled behind him. "If anyone lays hands on me," said the prince, "he is a dead man."

  "Then see if you dare fall on your own father!" Harald's blade whined out. Ulf and Eystein arrived. The marshal thrust his own body between the two. "What witch has been working here?" he cried. "Are you mad, that you make war on your own flesh?"

  Magnus stuttered in his wrath; Harald cuffed at Ulf. "Stand aside or it'll be the worse for you. I am the king."

  "Horse shit!" spat the marshal. "Take those tin swords, both of you, and cram them where they'll do the most good. Else I'll turn you brats over my knee and send you hungry to bed!"

  Eystein spoke more soothingly, but his voice was not heard until the anger of father and son had bent toward Ulf. Meanwhile, Thjodholf threatened Styrkaar, who was ready to fall single-handed on Magnus' crew: "Hold back, you ruffian, or I'll spit you myself and eat you raw." The skald's sword was poised at the warrior's neck,

  "Have done," begged Eystein. "In Christ's holy name, have done. Truly there must be witchcraft here; this quarrel can please none but our foes."

  "Well . . ." Harald's blade drooped. "If we can lay hands on the murderer ... if you will help in that task, Magnus ..."

  "That I will not," said the prince, "but I offer again to pay the fines, also one for any insult I may have shown you. A man stands behind his friends."

  "You call yourself a man?" growled Harald. He clashed his sword back into the sheath. "Well, then, so be it, if you give me self-doom. I warn you the fines will be heavy."

  "I can afford that." Magnus drew breath and grinned with stiff lips. "A warrior grows wealthy following you."

  Harald's mouth twitched, ever so faintly. He set the penalties, and they were high, but men noted that his humor was good that evening and that he looked on his son with pride.

  2

  Svein Estridhsson was holding court at Roskilde when word came that a shipful of Swedes had landed and were on their way to see him. The Danish king wondered at this, but had a feast readied.

  It was late the next day when the party reached him. Svein sat at his ease in the high seat. The hard-won peace had lifted care from him, he could sleep of nights and was putting on flesh; but there were thin gray streaks in his hair, and sometimes he woke up whimpering. He was richly clad, in scarlet Southland hose, a silken Eastern blouse, a broidered Russian coat trimmed in ermine, velvet shoes, and gold on his arms and at his throat. The great men who sat below him were scarcely less colorful.

  Firelight splashed red and yellow on the man who entered. He was a tall and strongly built warrior, with curly yellow hair and a well-trimmed mustache, a tilted nose and forthright gray eyes. Behind him came a young woman of exceeding fairness, four children about her skirts, and after her the Swedish crew. All were weary and sea-stained.

  "So." King Svein tugged his short beard. "We meet again, Haakon Ivarsson."

  "Aye, my lord." The jarl strode boldly up, but bowed as courtesy required. "It seems I must claim your friendship."

  "Well . . . you saved my life and kingdom," said Svein. "Is this your wife and family? Come, sit beside me and we'll talk of it."

  Haakon sighed and gulped down the cup of wine handed him. "Know you what has happened, my lord?"

  "I heard somewhat of a battle between you and King Harald."

  "Aye." Haakon's tone was acrid; the youthful gaiety had left him; it was a tired grim man who sat by the Dane-king. "He put us to flight. I urged King Steinkell to make war on him for such an invasion, but Steinkell dared not." Haakon sneered his scorn. "Now I seek the only lord who ever had courage to stand against Harold Hardrede and beat him."

  "There is no more war between us two," said Svein carefully. "We are both sworn to keep the peace."

  "I know. It was too much to hope for. . . ." Haakon's head lowered. He was worn out by the seething within him. "Yet I'd liefer serve you, my lord, than any living man."

  Svein made a lengthy business of drinking from a fresh beaker. His eyes were kind. "I think I understand you, Haakon," he said, "and you shall not find me ungrateful. The feeling over Asmund's death has died down; I can pay the weregild and threaten his kin with my displeasure if they carry on the feud. As for you—" He paused. "I have no jarl in Halland since Finn Arnason died, and a good man is needed. He must ward the shire against Wends and Norse alike."

  He regarded Haakon narrowly. "Yet homesickness has smitten you erenow."

  "Norway is not my home," sighed the other. "Not while Harald and his cursed brood reign. I've no wish to see it again in chains."

  "Then we will take oaths tomorrow, and you shall be my jarl." Svein smiled and slapped Haakon on the back and signaled for more wine. "Come, friend, here's an end to your wanderings. I too have known landlessness and been tossed in many storms; but the storms pass, and a reed lives where an oak has been uprooted. Let your folk strike root in Denmark and flourish!"

  Haakon smiled back; it cost him an effort. "I thank you, my lord," he said. "To a fresh beginning—skaal!"

  Svein clinked beakers with him. "A new beginning for us all," he said.

  Thereafter Haakon Ivarsson dwelt in Halland. He steered it well, guarded it bravely, and lived long years as jarl. But his kindred marked that he was not the glad warrior he had been.

  3

  After his journey into Varmland, Harald came back to Oslo, but waited there only to raise a new host. He levied it from the Dale and nearby shires—men who had no deep love for the Laplanders—and took it into Raumariki the same winter.

  Folk in steadings and hamlets woke to find their homes ringed in by spears. They were haled forth, and the king himself towered there to accuse them.

  They had not known he had so many spies; some thought in the thunder of their brains that he must have used witchcraft to learn so closely what each yeoman had done and said. He ripped forth judgment: death for some, hands or feet lopped off for others, everything they owned taken from most. Women and children stumbled weeping into the snow as their homes were fired.

  The word ran through the mountains, and folk fled where they could; more and more empty houses met the royal troop. These were looted and burned like any enemy's, kine were slaughtered and left to the crows, cribs set ablaze. Hunger would stalk the Uplands that year.

  A few tried to make a stand. They were quickly beaten down, and those who did not escape were hanged.

  Smoke rose on the slopes, and ravens grew fat. As he rode along in the van of the army, Thjodholf made a verse:

  "The deep-minded tamer of Denmark

  drives with tightened reins now

  (striking with his stalwarts)

  straight the Upland yeomen.

  'Brands they'll get for bread!'

  So bade the king. The leaping

  balefires brought the people

  back unto their senses."

  "That was well spoken," said Styrkaar. He slapped a muscled thigh. "Ha, I thought we'd have men to meet, but it's a war against mice!"

  Harald said nothing. He was short spoken on this trip.

  Thjodholf dropped a ways back to ride beside Eystein. The sheriff looked pained. "I never thought you a bootlicker," he said.

  "I see you here among the rest of us," answered the skald sharply.

  "Aye, being the king's sworn man; yet I've not hidden from him that this w
ork turns my guts."

  Thjodholf shrugged. "I could not do it at all, did I not tell myself this is a needful thing."

  The creak of saddles and plop of hoofs were loud in the winter quiet. "In truth," said Eystein, "the realm must have a strong king if it's to endure; yet would God that were not so!"

  They saw Ulf, ahead of them, raise a flask to his lips. The marshal was often drunk these days.

  The snows melted, and spring bloomed while the long-drawn strife went on. It was slow, seeking out every nest of stubborn folk in this huge and tilted land. When Raumariki was broken, the host went on through Heidhmork and down again through Hadhaland and the king's own birth shire Hringariki, where his brothers were cold to him though they had not rebelled. Desolation lay in his track. Most of the warriors were well pleased; the fighting was easy and the plunder good.

  The months dragged by, summer came where fields lay fallow; it was not till near fall that the yeomen finally gave up. They sent a group of haggard half-starved men to speak for them, laying their whole case in the king's hand. It was two years since they had first raised themselves against him—some reckoned it as three, counting from the time Haakon began the trouble by letting Svein go—and it would be many years more before the Uplands were healed.

  Harald named certain leaders who must be given over to him for execution, and laid heavy fines on the rest. "But terms may be set for paying these off," he added. "It is not our will to ruin you, though you betrayed and sought to ruin us."

  When the work was finished, he disbanded his army and led the Viken men down to Oslo. A cloud was off his soul, he was merry again; it was as if a thunderstorm had washed his skies clean, and a new day waited.

  Bells rang when he entered the town, and folk came out to see, albeit few cheered. He spurred his horse to a swift trot, banners flew and harness jingled as his warriors went to the royal hall.

  Elizabeth was not there to greet him; Thora gave such a glad welcome that he scarce noticed that at first. It was not till the next day that he wondered where his wife and daughters had been.

  He crossed the courtyard to her house. Sunlight streamed from heaven, the fjord danced and glittered, the dying summer welled forth in a last passion of green. Harald whistled as he walked, and rapped loudly on the door.

  A serving woman opened it. "Is the queen here?" he asked.

  "Yes, my lord." She gave him a frightened look. "I will tell her."

  "I will myself," he said. "Let the housefolk take themselves elsewhere."

  They scuttled from him like ants as he went into the main room. Elizabeth sat with her daughters, spinning yarn. The girls started when he loomed in the doorway, but their mother hardly stirred. When she looked around, he saw how thin she was. Her face had blanched and darkness lay in her eyes.

  Fear struck him. "Are you ill?" he said.

  "Maria, Ingigerdh, leave us," she murmured. He stood puzzled while they did so. Elizabeth set down her spindle.

  Harald stooped over her and stroked the faintly-lined forehead. "There seems to be no fever," he said.

  Her voice became weary. "Do not touch me. You've too much blood on your hands,"

  He dropped them. "So you liked not what I did this year?" he asked slowly.

  "I never thought you would murder helpless folk."

  Through a thickness in his gullet, he answered: "What would you have me do? If those shires had gone scot-free, how long do you think it would be till the whole land rose against us?"

  "The land should." Still no tone was in her words. Her hands rested in her lap; he saw the Fine blue tracery of veins. "A king who makes himself hated is not worthy to be king."

  Harald kicked a stool over and sat down before her. He took her hands in his, where they lay cold and unstirring.

  "Ellisif," he said, "it was not my wish to fare thus. Think you I like to see a man jerk out his life on a rope's end? Think you it pleasures me when women and children and grandsires are left in the snow without a roof?"

  She raised blind wild eyes. "Then why did you do it?" she cried.

  "For the kingdom, for . . . my sons and daughters, and those who'll come after them. It is said in Holy Writ: 'If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.' "

  She spoke with chill: "I liked you better as a simple warrior, a plain lusty Viking who could kill men in honest hate and greed. It ill becomes you to talk like a priest."

  He sat quiet for a while. Then, heavily: "I sought but to give you the reasons, Ellisif. I'll not deny I was wrathful, and that I liked trading sword strokes. God has so made me that I cannot be second man to anyone. If a man flouts me, one of us must die."

  "And did babes in arms raise a flag against you?" she asked bitterly. "I think of children whose bellies are swollen by hunger, who freeze to death. ..."

  "I've heard of none such." He tried to laugh. "Oh, no doubt a few were unlucky, but that is war. You were ready enough to let me hack and burn in Denmark."

  "And now I am ready to go home," she said. He sat dead still.

  "If you have any honor left, you'll give me a ship to Russia," she went on. "Once I've taken the veil there, I can perhaps forget."

  He felt lame.

  "You have your bawd Thora to keep you warm of nights," she said. For the first time, he caught a wavering in her voice.

  "I looked not for this," he mumbled.

  "No . . . not for someone who thinks justice and mercy better than power." Fright was in her eyes as she looked at him. "It seems as if already I see the fires of hell around you. Satan's wings seem to flap near this house of nights. ..."

  He rose. Pain twisted within him. "I am no saint," he said harshly. "God knows I've sinned, and wrought evil, and the worst of it is that I feel no remorse. They say pride is deadly to the soul, yet when I look about me, the king of Norway who was once a hunted outlaw, and hear the skalds chant of deeds which will long be remembered, and see my children and horses and ships. . . . Before God, who would not be proud? Is it so little I've wrought? And what have I done that a hundred kings erenow, your own father and brothers among them, have not done? Nothing, save bring more heart and strength to the task. Nothing, save goad a backward folk along the road that willy-nilly they must follow, hoping that their children might be rulers instead of thralls. Olaf the Stout had less ruth than I, yet he is a saint. The strong may not look for love."

  She twisted her fingers together, staring at them. "Have done," she said. "You've cracked my heart too often before."

  Harald paused, watchfully. He had meant what he said. Yet whatever the truth might be, he must find the right words—

  "I told you I was no saint, Ellisif," he spoke slowly. "I am a man, naught else, and men do wrong unless they have God's grace. Since He has never vouchsafed me that, I must make my own way as best I can.

  "Think you, my beloved—" He saw her start, "—what I have sought. It was to be one realm, this North, drawn together under one king; no more spilling of our blood in senseless fights of brother against brother, no more weakness before heathen Wend and plundering German and cruel Norman. Yes, I have lusted after power for myself—that wish was born in me—but think you the work so evil?

  "Now the hope of gaining Denmark is gone, and so in time to come there will surely be war between Dane and Norseman, a river of blood will sunder the two folk. Haakon Jarl broke that dream, and he was too dangerous to go unpunished. The Uplanders followed him, forgetting that this Norway is one land with one king or else is nothing. I was harsh with them—but think you Knut's rule, after he had played the chiefs off against each other, was mild?

  "I do not mean to rest. I will not live to take Denmark, but it may be I can outflank her and leave her for my sons. This world is full of spears, and I am of this world. If someday it knows peace, all folk under one king, they'll remember who hammered their fathers together. Is it such an unworthy work?"

  He was watching her closely. When her face sank into her hands, he gave a long sigh. "Well, Ellisif, if you cannot end
ure it, you may surely leave. It was never my wish to torment you. Will you say a few prayers for me?"

  "I will not leave," she cried. "I will not leave."

  He raised her head and held her to his breast while she wept. Above her shoulder, he grinned, but there was a thawing in his soul.

  VIII

  Of Harold Godwinsson and Tosti

  1

  In the year of grace 1064, Earl Harold Godwinsson and his brother Earl Tosti went into Wales, by sea and land, with a strong force. They battled mightily, driving their foes before them, reaving and burning in the hills, until the Welsh saw no hope but to yield. Their king, Griffin, was a proud man who would not hear of surrender. Finally, to save themselves, his men slew him and brought his head as earnest of submission. Harold took the grisly thing back to King Edward, as well as the figurehead and rigging of Griffin's ship. The Confessor whitened and was near being sick, but the English hailed Harold as conqueror.

  Tosti was a haughty and grasping man, more fond of the court at London, Winchester, or Canterbury than his own seat in York. While he caroused in the South, his reeve and bailiffs went harshly forward in Northumbria, laying heavy dues on the people and slaying those who murmured. The folk thereabouts, being largely of Danish blood and used to freedom, muttered all the more, and began to sharpen weapons which had once gone behind Earl Siward against Macbeth.

  In the fall, Harold gave out that he had business in Wales and sailed from Bosham with two ships. A gale arose to thrust them south. The other vessel finally limped back to port, but Harold and his brother Wulfnoth were wrecked on the French coast near Ponthieu, where Count Guy took them prisoner. He was going to demand ransom, but then his overlord Duke William came hastening at the head of a large troop.

  The count smiled sourly. "It were better that you stayed here, Earl," he said. "I would only ask money to set you free."

  Harold was angry at the treatment he had received. "The duke is no bandit," he replied.