TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (25 page)

"Well Eystein." Harald smiled. They said his smiles were rare, and most of those wolf grins, but this one held warmth and made him somehow endearing. "So you are back? What carle is this you have?"

"Gunnar Geiroddsson, my lord, from the north-lands," said the sheriff. "He came hither with the wish to serve you, and I've taken him among my own men. He brings you a gift which some would call of worth."

Gunnar half opened his mouth to say he had naught, nothing but the big useless hands dangling like lead weights at his thighs. He felt heat and cold, chase each other across his face.

"Well, and what is that?" asked the king.

"Myself," answered Eystein calmly. "I'd be raven food this moment were it not for him."

"Ah, so. That is a story we must have." Harald leaned forward, and Eystein told him in a few words what had happened.

The king's brow drew up in a thunderstorm. "Robbers again! By Olaf, we'll finish those vermin if we have to burn every forest in Norway. Beat the bush, drive them forth, and stick them like pigs!" His temper passed; suddenly he laughed. "That was well done, Gunnar," he said, "and I've much to thank you for myself. Be welcome among us, and I'll talk with you later. As for now—" He drained the silver cup in his hand and put it into the youth's astonished grasp. "Take this of me. Little enough reward for saving my guardsman and friend."

Gunnar stumbled to his place in a daze. His soreness quite forgotten, he sat down on a bench among the humbler men-at-arms, but the same hills of food were laid before him as the chiefs. He gaped at the women who served; he was used to the reddened hoarse-voiced fisher wives and never had he seen aught so fair as these, clad all in white and blue and red, with not a callus on the slim fingers!

"Well, fellow, you made a good start," said the man next to him. "And Eystein Gorcock's banner is a lucky one to follow; he's the merriest and most
open-handed
of chiefs. I am Arinbjorn Erlendsson, and the lout on your other side is my brother Vigleik."

"I—I—" Gunnar looked toward the high seat. "Who are those fine men beside the king?"

"More foreigners every day," grumbled Arinbjorn. "They come from all over. Gabble, gabble, honk! How's a man to understand their heathenish tongues? If you must know
..."

The black-robed oldster, grave and bearded, was a Russian priest, come here with some others on a mission for his king. Beside him, the guzzling giant, bearded to the waist, was a noble of Novgorod. The long, thin, gloomy man was an envoy from the Swedes. The fat one hailed from England, a trader; Harald had been questioning him very closely.

Nearby, gorgeous in silks and satins, his dark hair cropped short on top and shaven off below, was a Norman knight, belike a spy; to judge from his sullen look, he had had little gain from the trip. "Oh, yes, our king's a deep one, they'll find out naught he doesn't wish them to know."

"It's a pity the Miklagardh envoys have gone home," said Vigleik. "There was a crowd fairly dripping jewels! The king bespoke them in their own tongue. He served down there himself, if you haven't heard."

"Aye," said Arinbjorn with a wry mouth, "the king speaks many tongues: Greek, Russian, enough French and Latin to get by. They say he even reads and writes, as if he were a bishop."

"And what of it?" challenged Vigleik. "Does it make him less a man? I've seen him cleave a Dane to the shoulders, in one blow, kick in the ribs of another while he was freeing his sword, and take the head off a third, all before you could say an Ave. A ship comes alive when he steers."

"Now he talks of this business of sailing north." Arinbjorn shuddered. "What's north save Jotunheim and the rim of the world? He dares too much." Quickly: "I say naught against him, understand. It's but that I'd not care to go on such atrip."

Gunnar sat back, listening with half an ear. He was still strung so tight that he quivered within, and yet he had a sense of homecoming. A king wise and mighty, yes, such a one could men rally around and die for.

When he had first spoken of leaving, old Geirodd had stood against it and said, "It's not fitting for one man to be another's dog."

But when the master was like this . . . What better than to be his hound, following and fighting, watching while he slept, waiting in hope of one rough hand stroking your hair, and in the end to lie at his feet?

XIV

How Harald Sailed North

1

Ulf the marshal had come to Nidharos to help the king lay plans for next summer's warfare. He was down on an open place near the river, watching a horse fight, when Eystein and Gunnar chanced by. The years had touched him more than Harald; there were white streaks in his coal-swart hair and the ugly pocked face was deeply plowed, but his square stocky form remained erect and the black-furred arms, folded over his breast, still held a bear's strength.

There were two stallions, strong, short-legged, long-headed Northern ponies with tawny-brown hides and flowing manes; one belonged to Styrkaar and one to Thjodholf, and they had wagered which was better. Now each had his at the end of a rope, while a mare in heat was held nearby to madden them, and a flock of warriors crowded recklessly close to watch.

Rearing, the horses struck at each other, hooves lashed against ribs, eyes rolled wild and white. Teeth came out, biting till blood ran. One stallion jerked so fiercely the tether was nigh ripped from
Thjodholf's hands, and men cheered. Ulf stood quietly, his ice-green eyes flickering from horse to horse, stepping back as a kick thundered too near and then in again. Dust swirled up till the fight was almost hidden.

After a while, Thjodholf's beast took the attack in a flail of feet and teeth. Styrkaar's backed up, still striking, and the other screamed victory and rushed. There followed a flurry of blows, then Styrkaar's turned and tried to flee. Its master's feet were dragged off the ground. "Ho, stop, you bastard, stop, you misbegotten son of a sick worm, God curse you!"

Thjodholf's stallion neighed, loud and fierce, and turned to the mare. "Let him," panted the skald. "It's your mare, Styrkaar, but I counsel you let mine start a better breed."

"Not on my stock!" said the guardsman sourly. He flung the stakes to the ground and led his beaten horse off; his carle followed with the mare, while three men hauled Thjodholf's stallion the other way.

"There, there, my poor lad." Daringly, the skald stroked the raging beast. "It's not my fault Styrkaar loses so vilely. Come, now, come away, you shall have a bucket of ale tonight."

The crowd broke up in chattering swirls. As he turned, Ulf saw Eystein. "Good day to you." He nodded. "I've not seen you since spring. How goes the fever?"

"Oh, it got well long ago." The sheriff was, as ever, the most colorfully clad there; it had earned him his nickname. "I heard you too have been somewhat ill of late."

"Now and again," Ulf shrugged. "I've offered candles at the church, and paid a witch to cast healing spells, but little help comes from either."

Eystein laughed. "Perhaps, in trying everything, you've offended both powers. Well, I'll say prayers for you, Ulf, since we can scarce do without you. This is my new man Gunnar Geiroddsson, who saved my life a while back. A doughty wight—he's already wrestled every guardsman that tried him, to a fall."

Ulf gave Gunnar his hand. The marshal's manner was uncouth for so great a man, but he had not the overwhelming haughtiness shown by too many of Harald's new chiefs. "A fisherman, were you not?" he asked shrewdly.

"Has someone told you?" wondered Gunnar.

"No. But I see three old scars on your hands, such as are left by carelessly used fishhooks."

"Have a care with that wisdom, Ulf, or they'll think you a warlock," smiled Eystein.

"I got the habit from King Harald," said the marshal, "though he's most often silent about that which he sees. What's this tale of Gunnar rescuing you?"

Eystein told him as they strolled back toward the hall. Something in the story amused Ulf, and he shook with soundless laughter—an unnerving habit into which he had lately fallen. "Well," he said, "you'll have chance enough for that kind of work next summer, Gunnar. A full levy is being called, and a challenge sent to King Svein. He must take it this time, or see his kingdom left in ruin."

"What's the truth about this year's raiding?" asked Eystein. "I heard mention of some clever trick, but have had no chance to learn what really happened."

"It's a good tale," said Ulf. "We steered for Jutland and harried there, but everywhere folk were out in greater numbers than our own to battle us. It's taken him years, but Svein has finally begun learning the arts of war . . . which I suppose is why Harald wants a last big fight soon, ere the Danes land on our own shores. Anyhow, our force was too small to do much. When we entered the Lim-fjord, we plundered on both sides. However, the Jutes came up on either bank in overwhelming numbers, so we camped on a small unpeopled island in the fjord. Our water butts were empty, we'd hoped to fill them at the streams but too many spears lay there now. Whoof, I'd given much to have someone flap a horn of ale under my nose!

"King Harald told us to find some earthworms. It was an odd sort of booty, but we did. He baked them thirsty by a fire, tied threads to their tails, and let them go again. The threads unwound from the clews as the worms crawled off, so we could follow them till they burrowed into the earth. There King Harald bade us dig, and we found enough water for all our needs." Again Ulf bent over, laughing without noise. Eystein chuckled, and Gunnar's guffaw boomed out.

"Well, then," went on the marshal, "that same evening our scouts came back to tell us Svein was entering the fjord with a fleet big enough to finish us. It took time, though, the inlet being so narrow, and meanwhile we rowed to the end of the bay, where only a thin neck of land blocks off the sea. There, in the night, we unloaded our ships, dragged them across the land, loaded them again, and were sailing north along the coast by dawn. While our foes lay behind, dislodging the lice in their hair as they wondered where we could be, the countryside was open to us, and we got good plunder on the way home. It was about St. John's Eve, but we lit their balefires for them!"

Gunnar slapped his thigh. "A wise king we have!" he exclaimed.

"Aye, so. Have you seen the new ship Harald is having built? The keel is already laid. It's to be a buss, the same size as the
Long Snake
—thirty-five rowers' benches, seventy oars, mind you, besides I know not how many other men. So fair a sight will never have been seen erenow."

"But what's this gossip that the king plans to sail to Jotunheim this very month?" asked Eystein. "It's a fearsome thought, and yet I could like having a place on board."

"Speak to him of that," urged Ulf, "for he can get few men to go with him."

They had entered the courtyard and now found a bench. House folk moved about at their work while several guardsmen yawned and made small talk and played games. When Ulf saw dice clattering between some of them, his eyes glittered and he half rose to join; but at that moment King Harald came from the hall.

Beside him was his oldest daughter, Maria. Gun-nar's eyes widened, for she now was in her sixteenth year and very fair—tall, slender, with flowing hair of lustrous brown, her mother's frail looks and dreaming gray eyes, but with something of her father's strength in the straight nose and on the full lips. She was simply clad, and they said she was a shy quiet sort, but she walked with easy grace.

The king went over to the three men, who rose. He waved them back and seated himself. Maria hovered near; when Eystein's eyes crossed hers in frank admiration, too frank for a man with wife and children, she blushed deeply and looked away. A veil of thought dropped across her; where now was she wandering?

The sheriff sighed and glanced back at Harald. "I hear you plan to sail north, my lord," he said.

Harald nodded. "Yes, three ships are already loaded. I wait but for full crews and a favoring wind. We'll return ere the fall storms, I trust."

"But why?" asked Eystein. "There's naught out there save the edge of the world. You might sail off it and down into hell."

Harald snorted. "So they all think. But one of those Miklagardh men who were here last year reminded me of the old Greek stories—a land beyond the northern ice, a fair and happy realm. I'm fain to see if it's true."

"Well—" Eystein looked unsure. Then his eyes flickered to Maria, and he cleared his throat and said: "I'd like to go with you."

"Good!" said Harald at once. "Make yourself ready to leave whenever I give the word. You shall have no small reward."

Maria smiled, which brought a foolish grin to
Eystein's face.