TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (19 page)

Ingigerdh and Olaf, who had just begun to walk, stood hand in hand watching the other two. Their light, curly heads were haloed against long shadows; the boy had his thumb in his mouth, the girl clutched a doll to her breast. Magnus sat with chubby legs asprawl, sailing chips of wood on a puddle and crooning to himself. Maria stood aside, staring between the houses to the waters, and did not at first see Harald. She was shooting up, thin and long shanked, with her mother's frail face, gray eyes, light brown hair, her father's straight nose and strong big-knuckled hands. A pretty child she was, but ever a lonely one, quick to learn yet slipping frequently over the borders into some land known only to herself. On her embroidered frock gleamed a silver Russian cross, hung from the neck.

"Hoy, there," said Harald. He leaned over to look at Magnus's fleet. "That's no line of battle. The foe could cut in between your ships."

"Wading sip," answered his son. Harald decided this meant trading ships, and laughed.

"Even so," he said, "you'd best be ready for an onslaught. Where are you bound?"

"Bimmelim."

"Ah, yes, Bimmelim. Then you must surely be careful. I hear tell the folk there are wild, half man and half horse, though they've small butterfly wings. They're still heathen, because the Pope has not decided whether they have souls. Their god is a cook, and they think the world a great soup kettle in which the lands float like pieces of dumpling."

"Bimmelim issa lanna rassolagiva," declared Magnus stubbornly.

"Well, if you say so. You've been there and I haven't. Nonetheless, those ships do not sail well. Let me make you a better." Harald took out his knife and chose a long flat sliver from the puddle. A slice trimmed off the edge became a mast, stepped in a hole he gouged, and a young leaf off a nearby tree made a sail. The boat wobbled off before his puff.

"Now, isn't that a lovely ship the king made for you?" said the nurse.

Harald ignored her, for he grew aware that Maria had been watching him the whole time, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I've never made you a toy, have I?" he murmured. "Well, let's amend that. You, Fasti, go fetch me a small chunk of pine."

The carle sped off. Harald seated himself by the nurse and regarded Maria merrily. "What were you thinking of?" he asked.

She dug her toes at the ground. "Nothing," she whispered.

"I wish you could teach me how to think of nothing. So many worries crowd my head. No light matter to be a king." Or a princess, he thought, and wondered what was her fate, who would wed her and what children she would bear and how much the world's anguish would be her portion ere she went down into dust.

"Perhaps you wondered about the Western lands?" he went on. "I'd like to see England myself. And Rome, Spain, France, India . . . Once I swore I'd tread every land on earth, but that was long ago. Know you the tale of Thor's voyage to Jotunheim?"

"No." she said.

"Then you must hear it, or you'll never understand the skalds. It happened once that Utgardh-Loki, the king of the giants, had given offense to the gods. . . ."

He spun the story out, relishing its rough mirth himself. Maria listened wide-eyed. Sometimes a faint exclamation broke from her. It was as likely to be in Russian as Norse. Her mother and the Orthodox priests had shaped her more than Harald had known. The carle Fasti returned with a block of soft pine, and the king began to whittle out the form of a hammer-bearing man. "This will be Thor, and you can make him some fine clothes.
.
...
So Utgardh-Loki said, 'Little have your friends done, and it seems the gods are small fry indeed. But perhaps you can redeem their honor. First see if you drain this horn of ale. . . .' "

Day died bloody in the west and twilight smoked upward. A few stars twinkled forth. Church bells pealed in the town. Now bats were abroad, swooping down the sky like small damned souls blackened by hellfire. Harald stood up. "Come inside where I can see, and we'll finish carving our friend and carry on with the tale." The girl's hand stole into his.

A guardsman trod forth to meet them. His face, vaguely seen, was anxious. Harald let go of Maria. A warmth lingered in his palm. "What is it, Bui?"

"A man's come here, my lord, from Kalf Arnason's garth, and says he must have speech with you at once."

"Kalf Arnason—the devil!" Harald pushed roughly inside. "Where is this fellow? Oh, there. Who are you and what will you?"

The man was short, his sleazy garments bemired. Lank black hair and beard rimmed a wide, flat-nosed face which told of Finnish blood. He ducked his head. "My lord the king, I've fared hither to warn ye o' trouble afoot."

"Come with me." Harald took a torch from a sconce and led the way to an upper room. It was dark there; the sputtering fire in his hand threw weird lights against murk. He closed the door. "Say your name and errand."

"I hight Gauk, my lord, and I'm a thrall on Kalf Arnason's steading. My life I've risked to run away hither. Some'd say 'twas betraying my master, but I say ye're the king and—"

Harald seized his coat and shook him. "Be done with your chatter. What is it you have to tell?"

Gauk's slanting eyes rolled in fright till the whites gleamed. He wiped his nose with one work-twisted hand and snuffled. "My lord, I've been serving in the house there o' late, till it should be plowing time, and oft I've heard my master speak with other men what guested there. They talk of uprisings, my lord; they e'en talk o' making my master king. Methought if I warned ye, ye'd give me freedom and your shielding.
..."

Harald's hand dropped. "Is this the truth?" he asked slowly. "For God save you if it's not."

"I'd think ye can find out for yourself, lord, now I've told ye what to look for. Spies, no? Or asking out o' some men I can name." Gauk's teeth jittered together and sweat stood forth on his skin. "Hell take me if I speak not truth."

Harald stood still a long while. Wrath rose in him, tasting of vomit. He cast the torch to the floor and stamped it dead.

"God's belly!" he snarled into the sudden darkness. "If treachery is what that dog wants, treachery he shall have till he chokes on it!"

At the same time, part of him wove plans, busily as a spider. This must be kept hidden . . . some story made up to account for Gauk's fleeing hither, the thrall bought from Kalf.

4

In summer Harald ordered out a fair-sized levy and sailed down to Denmark. Kalf Arnason followed him with a goodly band, and though the king's manner was chill they often held counsel together. Kalf was learned in war, his redes were cunning and he fought bravely wherever they landed.

As usual, Jutland was the first to suffer. The Norse sailed south along its eastern coast, going inland to plunder and burn. But the pickings had gotten lean here, and when they reached the Little Belt, Harald steered across to Fyen. On that island they sacked a large thorp, and then the king ordered a few days' rest.

"Is that wise?" asked Ulf. "Svein will have time to bring his army here."

"Let him," said Harald curtly. He looked out of his tent, down the grassy slope to his ships lying beached and his men loafing about their fires. "We'll have a reckoning, perhaps."

"This force of ours is too small to stand before a real host," said Kalf.

Harald gave
him a sneer. "So you fear them?"

The chief reddened. "I've never been called craven, my lord," he answered, "but neither has any called me fool."

"Have they ever given you the name of traitor?" asked the king.

"I was ever true when I'd given my oath," said Kalf steadfastly.

"As to St. Olaf?"

"Here, now, who are we fighting this year?" cried Ulf. His dark, pocked face looked anxious. "Kalf but offered his advice. And I think he is right."

"I have the only right here, unless you plan to rebel," replied Harald.

Ulf traded a look with Kalf. The chief tugged his bushy beard and said nothing, but his look was resentful. Presently they both excused themselves and walked from the tent.

"You must learn to forgive King Harald," said Ulf. "He has these black fits, and then it's best to shorten sail and run before the wind."

"I'm not one to swallow insults," mumbled the other.

"Then show him you're trustworthy. He's not a man I'd care to have for an enemy, but he's the best of friends to his friends."

Kalf snorted and left him.

When the men were beginning to grumble with boredom, Harald struck camp and embarked them again. They rowed slowly along the Fyenish coast, seeking another place to raid. But after two days they caught the dusty flash of armor. Harald shouted a command to lie to, and stood peering at the host which neared.

It was larger than his own, many hundreds of men coming over the fields with swaying spears and clattering shields. Those who stood near the king saw a wolf's smile cross his lips.

"Blow the signal to make ready for a landing," he told Styrkaar. "But first summon Ulf and Kalf here to lay plans."

There were still some four miles to the Danish Army when marshal and chief boarded the royal dragon. Ulf's eyes flared with excitement. "So you think we can overcome them?" he asked at once.

"I know so, if we but work shrewdly, and then the whole island lies open to us." Harald's gaze locked with Kalf's. "Do you go ashore first with your men and assail their right wing. That will swing their line about, and I'll come after with the main host and flank them."

The chief frowned. "It's a rash scheme," he said. "What if you come too late?"

Harald freighted his tongue with scorn. "So you're afraid after all, Kalf? I think you must not be even a bull calf, but a heifer."

The Arnmodhling's tone shook. "I see why men hate you," he said thickly. "Well, then, go I shall, and do you fight as well as I if you dare!"

His shoes boomed on the planks as he stalked to his boat. Ulf gave Harald a troubled look.

"Hold back until I lead the second wave," ordered the king. "Whatever happens, wait for me to move first." He went to his chest, opened it and took out his mail.

Kalf's ships scraped bottom, his men leaped out to pull them higher and then, shield in hand, formed ranks behind his banner. They trotted heavily toward the Danes. Harald donned his quilted underpadding and cap, slipped byrnie and hauberk and gilt helmet over these, and hung sword at waist and shield at shoulder. Down the length of the ship, his men also became inhuman iron-skulled creatures. They sat about watching Kalf's advance, grinning as jokes went among them: the royal guards, heavy-boned, leather-tough, flea-bitten ruffians whose weapons had smoked on a score of stricken fields, who looted a house with the glee of small boys raiding a bird's nest, who bragged monstrously and with filthy oaths about war and women, then went on to boast of the godlings they had for children at home; think of it, the lad is already making his own rabbit traps!

A dip in the land swallowed up both Norsemen and Danes. Across the miles, drifted faint clangor, shouts, the dull hooting of horns.

"Are we not to go yet?" Eystein shivered at the bulwark. "The fighting's begun, my lord!"

"Let it go on for a little," said Harald.

"But—"

"Be still. I command this host."

The men stirred restlessly, puzzled and anxious. It was strange that they should sit here on a glassy sea, under a blazing sky, slapping at flies while war burned two miles away.

No word was spoken for some time. Harald sat brooding in the bows, leaned against the snake neck. Dust rose from the hollow, earth torn up under reeling feet.

Then men came into sight, scattered and running beachward. "That's our folk!" Eystein's voice cracked. "They've been beaten!"

"Ashore, then, to avenge them," said Harald coolly.

His keels furrowed the grass growing down to the water's edge, and his men hurried to rank themselves. Kalf's band was nearing, with the Danes close after in a whooping tide. Harald nodded to himself. He was sorry that their banner was not Svein's—some powerful chief's, to judge by its rich weave as it bobbed closer. But their pursuit had made their front ragged and unready.

Swiftly, now, he snapped his orders and led the way. The Danes halted as they grew aware of him, horns lowed, they scrambled to re-form the wedge.

Arrows hissed through the air, a flung spear trembled in Harald's path. Forward!

That was a hard-fought battle, yelling blades and thundering axes, cloven shields and smashed helmets and men gasping out their lives on red and slippery grass. Back and back the Danes were driven, across the swale where Kalf and his folk lay dead, and there Harald chopped down their leader himself and flung their standard to the ground. The Fyen men wavered, the Norse shouted and pressed in; suddenly there were only the fallen and the fleeing.