TLV - 01 - The Golden Horn (26 page)

Sighvat returned home to Iceland soon after, where he died; but the Free-speaking Verses were never forgotten in Norway.

3

In 1039 Harald Harefoot, King of England, died, and was succeeded by his brother Hardhaknut, who lived only two years more. Both had been worthless, and in any case no other sons of Knut the Great were left. So the English made Edward Aethelredsson king. He was a pious weakling known as the Confessor.

His treaty with Hardhaknut gave Magnus the right to the Danish throne. He was now, in 1042, eighteen years old, handsome, mild and merry, but strong in battle and council. The aging Einar Thambaskelfir remained his dearest friend and first redesman. They sailed to Denmark with seventy long ships to claim the land. Magnus was well received and hailed king at the Viborg Thing.

That fall he returned to Norway, lying over for a while in the Gota mouth. There Svein Ulfsson came to greet him. He was a son of Knut's half-sister Estridh and Knut's one-time jarl and governor of Denmark, a man whom the Danes called Ulf but who had actually been an Englishman named Wulfsige. Knut had quarreled with this man and had him slain, but afterward repented, bestowed great wealth on widowed Estridh and raised the boy Svein as one of his own. Because Svein's mother was of higher rank than his father, his enemies scornfully called him Svein Estridharson.

He was some four years older than Magnus, a witty and polished man who soon won the king's friendship. Presently Magnus announced that he was making Svein jarl of Denmark, to govern and ward it for him.

"Too great a jarl," said Einar Thambaskelfir. "Too great a jarl, foster son!"

Magnus' quick temper flared, he turned on the old chief and snapped: '"You think ill of my judgment. You seem to mean that some are too great to become jarls, while others will never become men!"

He rose, fastened a sword at Svein's belt, hung a shield at his shoulder, set a helmet on his head, and proclaimed him jarl in Denmark with the same rights his father Wulfsige had had. A priest bore forth a casket with holy relics, and on this Svein swore troth to his overlord.

But that same winter, having gotten many followers, Svein gave himself the name of king.

The next spring Magnus sailed to Jomsborg in eastern Wendland, a nest of vikings who had refused him allegiance. He took and burned it, made havoc in the countryside and came to Jutland to spend the winter. Before settling in, he sent many of his folk home.

Svein had withdrawn to Sweden when he heard Magnus was coming. But now he returned to Danish Scania with a large force. Crossing the Sound, he brought all the islands under his control, then sailed to Rugen to attack Magnus from the east.

Magnus was caught between Svein and the Wends, who were then pillaging their way up through Schleswig. Ordulf, son of the Duke of Saxony, who had married St. Olaf's daughter Ulfhild, brought a troop to join the Norse king. Even so, when they spied the Wendish men on Hlyrskog Heath, the allies saw they were outnumbered. But they went valiantly forth in the morning, Magnus himself in the van, hewing and shouting. The heathen invaders were slaughtered.

At once Magnus turned against his unruly jarl, and trounced him at Rugen. Again Svein fled to his kinsman, King Emund of Sweden. Magnus returned to Jutland to winter as he had first intended.

Svein rallied his supporters in Scania and the islands. As Yule neared he rowed into the Limfjord, where many yeomen acknowledged him king. Magnus sailed to meet him. In a sea battle off Aarhus, the smaller Norse band won, but again the slippery jarl escaped.

Magnus pursued with fire and iron, ravaging first Sealand and then Scania until the Dane submitted. In spring the Norse king went home, leaving some men to hold Denmark for him.

That was enough for Svein; he rode straight down from his Swedish refuge, raised a fresh army, and again overran the islands. Magnus sailed to quell him, again there was a sea fight, again Svein fled, this time from a ship cleared of men, with such remnants as lived. Magnus chased him through Scania, burning the houses wherever he went to show the folk who their rightful lord was, but Svein got away to Sweden. Magnus spent the rest of the summer subduing Denmark, and rested there in peace throughout the winter. The next year he busked himself to return to Norway.

"A pity that Svein Estridharson lives," remarked Einar Thambaskelfir. '"Strong though King Emund is, it might be worth a war with him to lay hands on that wolf's head."

"Not yet, anyhow," sighed Magnus. He wrinkled his brow, puzzled. "But I don't understand the Danes. I meant to be a good and lawful king over them. Why should they lay down their lives and see their lands wasted, for the sake of yonder scoundrel?"

"Does Olaf's son ask me that?" Einar retorted. "He is of the Skjoldung house,
their
kingly blood. A land without its rightful lord would be unlucky."

"But that is me! I got the right by holy oaths!"

"Of course, of course, foster son. 'Tis but that many Danes see the matter otherwise. Then, too, many follow Svein in hope of reward, or because they are afraid not to."

"They did follow him, you mean," Magnus said. "Now his hope lies dead by our hand."

"God willing," said Einar, "though surely He loves you."

Indeed this seemed the case. Magnus was the well-regarded king of Norway, the master of Denmark, the tamer of Wends and Jomsvikings. His claim to England's throne by virtue of the treaty with Hardhaknut had been refused, but he brooded little about that, having enough to do nearer home.

Though not married, by a leman he had one child, a fair girl named Ragnhild; she was being fostered by a wealthy family in Nidharos, and gladdened him when he saw her. The cost of his Danish wars had left him poor himself, but he felt that at last he could look forward to a gainful peace.

XV

How Harald Came Home

1

In the spring of 1045, Harald Sigurdharson sailed from Ladoga with Elizabeth and his men. They had a gusty passage across the Baltic, and the woman was miserably seasick. She lay under the foredeck of his dragon, shivering in her blankets, now and then heaving from an empty stomach when the ship rolled. Chill green waves spattered their scud over her, her hair was crusted with salt, and she looked up at him out of dark-rimmed eyes.

"There, now," he said, stooping over her. "It's not so bad, is it? No one ever died of seasickness."

"No," she whispered. Her pale lips twitched into a smile. "They only wish they could."

Harald left her again; the crowded hull was no place to give kisses and comfort. He felt a dim anger, that she should disgrace him thus—not her fault, God knew, but still she was no pretty sight. Nor had she been much of a companion to him, too shy and withdrawn. He had had better bedmates, too. Or was it his fault? Ever rushing about with his men, ever thinking and talking of a kingdom she had never seen? He didn't know. She had made him a splendid
banner, gold-bordered red with Norway's raven black across it, and had flushed and wrung her hands when he praised it. She had set herself to learn Norse, and now spoke only in that tongue though often forced to search for words. He had perhaps given her too little kindness . . . but body of Christ, how much occasion had she given, and where was a man to find time for cooing at his wife?

Ulf Uspaksson stood under the tense, creaking sail, his ugly dark face turned to the dragonhead prow. Spray sheeted as the ship pitched into a wave, wind shrilled, the water, gray and green, ran thunderously to the cloudy horizon. "A swift passage," he said. "We should raise Sweden ere nightfall."

Harald nodded, glancing aft where his other ships labored to match their-speed. "My wife will be glad of that," he said.

Ulf's green eyes went to her where she lay, then jerked back as if from something dangerous. "She's not meant for this sort of thing," he said with unwonted seriousness. "We should have left her behind and summoned her after we—"

"Enough!" said Harald sharply, and left him. His giant form made a slow way between the benches, arms outspread to keep balance as the deck wallowed beneath him. Halldor Snorrason had the steering oar; under the wide-brimmed hat tied to his head, the long fair hair fluttered wildly about the scarred face.

"How goes it? If you are getting weary, I can have someone relieve you."

"I can steer your ships anywhere you choose to go," replied Halldor, his body bent to the rolling.

Harald stroked the drenched beard close-cropped under his jaws. "I know not why I stand for such insolence," he chuckled. "Had you not been a trusty friend of mine all these years, I wouldn't."

The Icelander shrugged. "You'll need men," he said. "Not bootlickers. It would be better for you were you not always so set on having your own way."

Harald sat down and looked over the bulwarks. After all the blue Mediterranean years, it was good to see Northern water again, white-maned horses stamping across a windy world. This was his, he thought, and these blue-eyed, red-faced, blunt-minded lads were his own folk. He had fought Saracens and Bulgars without hate, you had to be close to a man, share his soul, to get really angry with him. If Constantinople grew slothful and corrupt, it was naught to Harald Sigurdharson; but the Northern people would be drawn under one rule no matter how many thick skulls he must knock together.

Toward sunset, a dull blue streak lifted in the west, and as day smoldered redly into darkness, he saw the hills of Sweden. They lay bare and brown, mottled with the last dirty-white snow, water rushing down their flanks. Already a ghostly green was breathed over them and across the slender birches, and overhead a flock of geese cried out their far and lonely wander song.

The ships were drawn up near a garth, and Harald gave Elizabeth his arm as they walked toward the house. Her feet stumbled. "The ground is rocking," she said in a thin voice.

"It will seem so for a little while," he told her. "But we'll get you to bed now, and some hot food inside you."

"I'm . . . sorry to be so much trouble," she said. The wind roared through a dark stand of firs, drowning her words, and her face was a white blur in the dusk.

"It's nothing," he answered. Her cold fingers squeezed his arm gratefully. He was going to say more, but the yeoman and his carles broke their defensive line when they saw this was a peaceful visit. Harald arranged that he, with his wife and chiefs, would stay in the house overnight, while the men camped on the beach; he bought some cattle to be slaughtered for their evening meal, and soon the fires were blazing high.

The next day, guided by their host's words, they rowed north toward Sigtuna. It was calmer, and Elizabeth stood in the bows with her elfin face alight. "So this is your realm," she said.

"Well, not yet," smiled Harald. "This is Sweden. I'm to meet Svein Estridhsson here."

Her gaze was troubled. "Are you going to make alliance with him against your own kinsman Magnus, without even talking to Magnus first?"

"No. It's but that Svein is closer. If Magnus knows the Danes will be behind me, should he refuse me my share of Norway, he ought to be reasonable."

She shook her head. "I like it not."

"It's not your affair," he said coldly, and left her. Why the Devil must she always say the wrong thing?

At the harbor they docked their ships, leaving most of the men as guards, while Harald rode with a following to the rebel's hall. Sigtuna, a bit inland, was a thriving merchant town, composed of a sprawl of wooden buildings between muddy streets that bustled with folk readying to sail in the eastern trade. Pigs rooted in the offal thrown from the houses; dogs yapped and must be kicked away lest they bite; children played their ageless games; women and warriors, fishermen and tradesfolk, yeomen and artisans all swirled together in one merry throng. There was even a Christian priest to be seen, lonesome in this land still mostly heathen.

Harald entered the hall, moving with careful arrogance. He had dressed richly for the meeting: fur-trimmed, gold-embroidered red coat, silken shirt, blue linen breeches with leggings of white leather, a good sword at his belt, golden rings on his wrists. Once only had he come to Jaroslav's court as a penniless beggar. That was fourteen years ago, when he was barely sixteen, but he had vowed it should never happen again.

Svein Estridhsson rose to meet him. The Dane was tall, though well below Harald's seven feet, and rather thin. His long brown hair was carefully combed, but his short beard was scanty. He was still in his mid-twenties. His small blue eyes were set close by a big hooked nose, and his lips were full and red; but he was not bad-looking, nor did he seem unmanly. Indeed, he was known as a mighty drinker and lecher. He smiled with
an astonishing charm and said:
'Welcome, Harald Sigurdharson! I have been eager for you to arrive. Perhaps my luck has turned, with so great an ally." He used the Northern tongue with a curious accent, a blend of the Danish, Swedish and English forms but clipped precisely, as if his books and monkish friends had taught him to speak with care.