TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (12 page)

That was agreed to, though some of the sheriffs looked unhappy. In the morning, Eindridhi led the bulk of the fleet home, while Harald fared south with sixty ships.

2

Rounding the Skaw, they went down Jutland's west coast, and wherever they saw sign of man, Harald landed to sack and burn. His rage seethed in him, he could not sleep till he had worn himself out with sword swinging. As far down as the border they traveled, where the old Dane work, the wall built across the peninsula nearly two hundred years ago, reared grass-grown earthen steeps. Here they took the ships inland to the She, harrying as they went, and rowed toward the rich merchant town Heidhaby.

Its walls, of timber and hard-packed dirt, lifted from rolling hills, with high roofs peering above. The harbor was full of ships, a bustling trade, now stilled as word came of the nearing foe. Helmets and byrnies flashed on the ramparts, arrows thunked into the Norse vessels.

Harald smiled with scant mirth. "It's long since we took a burg of any size," he remarked. "Do you remember Messina, Ulf?"

"I could scarce forget," said the Icelander. "But this time we don't have those engines or the Greek fire."

"We'll make fire of our own," vowed Harald.

He looked down the length of his ship. Her crew was the pick of his guards, young men hot for wealth and fame, their hearts given to him alone. Ulf the marshal, scarred, stubborn, crafty, sharp-tongued; Thjodholf the skald, ready of word, valiant, not afraid to speak plainly to his king; big hairy Styrkaar, more ruthless than most but a wise leader; Thora's brother Eystein Gorcock, newly received into the guard, a handsome red-haired stripling who seldom lacked a jest—and others, many of them, the old men, might resent this ruler who went so swiftly forward but Norway's youth saw him returning home with an eastern sunrise about his shoulders and tomorrow in his hands.

Horns blew, and Eystein unfurled the banner Landwaster; it was as if the raven beat its wings and screamed. Harald steered for the docks and was first ashore, sword aloft and shield raised against the arrow storm.

They rushed up under the walls, losing some men on the way but reaching the riverward gate. "Out axes! Chop our way in!" Splinters flew while the axmen's comrades held shields above them to ward off raining stones.

"We'd not escape this easily if the Danes knew siegecraft," panted Ulf. "Were this the South, we'd be cooked in our mail like lobsters."

Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his men grouped, and now sped to meet the enemy. Shields thudded together, spears thrust provoking grunts at one end and screams at the other, swords blurred and axes belled. The sun went down and the light night of Northern summer spread across the sky, dusk blue, a scattering of pale stars, the river gleamed metallic and the noise of war lost itself under a tall cool stillness. Somewhere a nightingale was singing.

The heavy river gate went down, and Harald drew his lines back to enter it. Townsmen were now at front and rear, hammering out their rage against Norse shields. "Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"

Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. A little flame ran up in the thatch. It was a very small devil, newly hatched from hell, and sputtered and smoked and almost went out in the dew. Then it gained strength, stood up and looked around. Elsewhere its brothers were raising red-and-yellow flags. The flame hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily, and ran to meet its fellows. They formed a host and lifted their heads and roared!

Dismayed, the Heidhaby men broke from the battle. Some fled into the fields and others toward their homes. The Norse hallooed and rushed after. Now the fires were high around them, bellowing against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. A wall went down, crash and boom. Sparks burst heavenward. A woman stumbled away, one baby shrieking in her arms and another clinging to her skirts. An old man stood before his burning house, cursing, shaking his fists at gleeful enemy faces; oh, were he young once more to split their skulls!

Looting a town where flame ran wild was risky work. Some of the Norse died with their arms full of cloth and gold when a roof fell on them. Most of the townsfolk used the chance to escape, though a number were captured and bound and led to the ships. They went dry-eyed, dumbly, not yet understanding what had happened to them, and the dawn shivered across wreckage that had been their homes.

Harald camped outside the town and watched it burn. His men deserved a rest ere they wended homeward. There was not much need for care. Hogs and oxen were slaughtered and ale casks opened; the next evening filled with bawdy songs and rough sport, women went from hand to hand like the drinking horns and men quarreled in their cups or swore maudlin friendship. The town was an ashheap, thin smoke blowing into the sky, a few laggard flames still grazing on charred beams. Campfires twinkled up the riverbank and across the fields.

Restlessly, Harald threw a hooded cloak over his shoulders and went out alone. Clouds were dimming the world, this night was darker than the last. He prowled among his men, hardly noticed. At one spot he paused, standing beneath a shadowing tree and listening to somebody's verse:

"Hastily burned we the whole

of Heidhaby down to the groundworks;

to me that seems a mighty

man's work, that I can tell you.

Svein it will scorch that the flames

have swallowed up all the houses.

Early at dawn ere eight-song

I entered the walls of the stronghold."

Laughter followed. "Aye, Guthorm, you're no ill skald yourself. We should pass those lines around amongst t'others." It was a big-bellied, red-faced yeoman who spoke.

The young fellow nodded, pleased. "God keep good King Harald," he said. "S'long's he can lead me to the likes o' this, I'm his man."

The third warrior, a middle-aged one knotted with a lifetime's fight against grudging soil, shook his gray head doubtfully. "I mislike this hurrahing about. No good'll come of it. What if you'd been the one to lie with your head bashed in, like poor Helgi Eigilsson? What now'll his wife and youngsters do?"

The fat man picked his nose thoughtfully. "Aye, aye, Ingi, I know's a bad business, and I'd liefer've stayed to home myself. A ship's no good place to try sleeping, and each time we go into battle . . . well, I mind not telling you I'm like to wet my breeks, for I'm not the only one."

Guthorm grinned cockily. "You're both getting old. What's for me to home save shoveling up after the cows? There're eight of us lads, how much inheritance for me? Today I had three girls and gripped twenty bolts o' fine linen what'11 fetch a good price, and me with scarce a foreign louse in my hair yet."

The oldest man sighed. "I saw you taking one o' them wenches into the bushes. I kept thinking, what if she was my own daughter? She looked like she'd never cry again, having lost her lifetime's tears. I wonder if her father or husband was killed, or if maybe she had a youngster got caught in the fire. And maybe for the price o' that cloth you took, somebody was going to build a new wing on his house because a baby was on the way. No, 'tis a bad thing, and the worst is that I've no say about it, but must go like a ridden horse. I get an arrow in my eye, and who gains save the king?"

The fat man belched and reached toward a nearby ale cask. "Well," he said, "having no choice, we may's well get what we can, eh? Which for now is another drink."

Harald went quietly away.

3

Though this had been a short summer's campaign, the king decided to turn home. He could do little but wreak more havoc, and he was worried about the Thambaskelfir faction. Rowing back up the Slie and dragging the ships overland, he gained the western sea and steered north along the ruined coast.

A few days later, crossing the Limfjord mouth and passing by Thjodha, he saw an army. It was a great force, nearly twice the size of his own, sunlight fierce off its steel; squinting across the sea blink, he made out Svein's banner.

"So now our friend is ready to fight," he murmured. "Steer in closer, but be wary of shots."

The Danish king rode down to the beach, his standard-bearer lifting a white shield in sign of truce. Harald's ship lay in the shallows, keel grating on sand, so close that he could see his enemy's face and how drawn and bitter it had grown. For a moment his hand stole toward Eystein's bow; surely he could put an arrow through the man. But no, that were a treacherous deed; and also, the Danish archers were ready too, they might even wade out and get to the ship before it could break loose.

"Harald Hardrede!" Svein cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted.

"Yes, here I am." Harald's giant form leaned over the bulwark. "And where were you when I reached the Gota mouth? Where were you when I laid Heidhaby in ashes?"

"That was an evil thing to do. God curse you for it! Now will you land and fight me to settle the war, here and now, or are you too cowardly?"

"I am no coward, as well you should know, nor am I fool enough to engage twice my own host. But will you, Svein the Craven, do single combat with me?"

"I am no fool myself," cried the Dane.

"So you doubt God is with you? Well, then, perhaps we can meet in another place, in spite of your blustering challenges which come to nothing. I'll drink to that at home, in wine I got at Heidhaby." Harald turned to his crew. "Out oars and away. This spot has a bad smell."

As he rejoined his fleet and continued north, Harald saw Svein wheel back to his army and the whole force go rapidly inland.

The Norse rounded the Skaw, but here they met a stiff east wind; green waters boomed against the bows, the figurehead was smothered in foam and the deck streaming. Oars reached out, losing stroke as the sea shifted away from them; men gasped, clutching the shafts with chilled blue hands, setting their teeth and throwing themselves backward but with little headway to show for it. Seven craft were swamped and sprang bad leaks. "We must wait the gale out," said Ulf, and Harald nodded.

They dropped anchor near the green slopes of Hlesey, where the island broke the wind, unstepped the masts and cooked a hasty evening meal and stretched sails across the hulls. At night the wind dropped, to a dead calm, but the air remained chill and fog rolled thickly. By dawn, when Harald awoke, the world was a dripping gray stillness.

He was crouched on a thwart, ripping off chunks of bread and cheese with his teeth, when Styrkaar came out of the mists and said urgently: "My lord, there's something aft of us, I can just see it . . . like fire running over the water."

Harald went to the stern and saw the gleam himself. It waxed even as he looked, and he felt a coldness grab his heart. Whirling, he roared: "Strike the awnings and take to the oars, the Danes are coming on us! The fog's lifted where they lie, it's the sun shining off their gilded dragon heads!"

A shout went up. Men dropped their breakfasts and leaped to their work, cuffing the prisoners out of their way. In moments, all but the seven disabled ships were rowing. Harald, staring bleakly aft, saw as the mists broke that a fleet more than twice as great as his was in pursuit.

Ulf joined him and grinned without overly much mirth. "That Svein has a head on his shoulders," he said. "Belike he planned this last winter: the challenge to draw you down here, then his own failure to come which sent most of our strength home again, and now he's had ships waiting off the east coast to overwhelm us. He must have gone straight to them with that army of his."

"We'll have to outrun them," said Harald. "Should we fall into Svein's hands, we'd get short shrift."

"He has much to avenge." Ulf nodded.

"Row, you bastards!" howled Styrkaar from the steering oar. "You'll never drink beer again if your throats are slit!"

As the sun mounted and the heat grew, Harald sent men around to the rowers with horns of water. When any showed signs of flagging, he was relieved. The sea was quiet, only a few small waves crossed it, there was little noise save the creak and splash of the oars, the gasping and cursing of men, and Styrkaar's blasphemous shouts.

But the foe was gaining. The Norse ships were heavy-laden, and weeks at sea had waterlogged their strakes. Harald, whose dragon went last in the fleet, saw the pursuers creep closer, inch by inch, hour by hour until he could make out the bearded faces aboard and see sunlight glint in their eyeballs. "We'll not escape," he said finally. "Not without giving up somewhat." He bade the men not rowing gather bundles of clothing and other treasures looted from the Danes, lash them to billets of firewood, and throw these overboard.