TLV - 01 - The Golden Horn (6 page)

Troubled by their mien, Elizabeth rose and threw her arms about her mother. Ingigerdh held her tightly. Harald looked at the child. Her heavy, rich gown did not hide slenderness and grace. Her hair was braided thick, shining brown, her face was large-eyed and heart-shaped. "Well, Ellisif," he said, trying to ease the air, "I am sorry to be so dull, talking in a tongue you do not know. When I've learned your Russian, I will be more courtly to you."

Ingigerdh got to her feet. "Good day, Harald Sigurdharson," she said unevenly. "Thank you. Bless you." Her clothes stirred with the haste of her leave
-
taking. The small princess followed, but glanced back at him more than once.

2

Harald was three years with Jaroslav.

His first summer he spent in Poland, where the folk had rebelled against the Christian-noble order that had been thrust upon them. The trek there, and return in the fall, was harder than any fighting: forest, marsh, river—the whole way, gloomy and fever-haunted. Supply was by boat train and, what seemed better suited to the trolls of this land, camel caravans. Yet Harald learned more about war than any Norse prince had done erenow: this whole matter of provisioning; the training of men until they worked together as one; the use of spies and scouts; the balance a leader must strike, between harshness and mildness; the careful planning of each battle, which

Jaroslav himself carried out.

There was more soul than body in this man. Crippled, each day's travel a long pain, he still led his army, so that he himself might render judgment on the Poles. He was soft of speech and only greedy for books, which he read in many tongues. His dreams went beyond merely grasping land. He was bringing artisans and learned men from Constantinople to teach his people their skills; he was a great builder with a shrewd eye for trade; his aim was to bring all the Russian cities under one rule. For this he had fought his own kin, and the present alliance between him and his brother Mstislav, Prince of Chernigov, was uneasy.

"Too many wild tribes hem us in," he said once to Harald. He had taken a fancy to the brusque, brooding youth. "If we cannot be brought together against them, they will end by overrunning us . . . not to speak of the unholiness which is civil war. Your foeman Knut the Dane is doing the North a service, however little you like it."

Harald pondered long on that.

Rognvald Brusason had him in charge to begin with, but before summer's end he was leading his own company without shame or awkwardness. Though young, he was of king's blood, and greener lads than he had captained armies.

When in the fall the host came back, and every bell in Novgorod pealed for their victory, a thought stabbed through his weariness like lightning: But I am no longer a boy! I am a proven man!

He salved his pride by making Jaroslav gifts which he thought lavish, from his share of the loot and the sale of prisoners. Not yet had he understood how much wealthier they were here than at home. He grudged somewhat the cost, as well as the expense of a house and a staff and the way of living expected of a nobleman. So many thralls, a cook from Khoresmian Asia, a Hungarian groom—how in Loki's name was he to save any money?

Gold and land, without them a man was nothing and no king could claim his birthright. Never did Harald forget that day when he came as a beggar to Novgorod.

Still, if spend he must, at least it was a merry life, once he got used to the custom of sleeping from midday to
mid-afternoon
. His two Circassian lemans had come to him for a high price, but were they not fine to show off and finer in his bed? Until one of them bore him a child which soon died; he himself cared little, but she grieved, and he knew not how to cheer her. Well, she was naught but a woman.

Quick at languages, Harald could soon address the Russians in their own. He found their rite more stately and pleasing than the Latin one; but he was not overly devout, and thought the best thing about the Eastern church was that its clergy gave their kings less trouble than did those of Rome. As a new plan began to grow in him, he had one of the clerks from Constantinople teach him Greek.

This was interrupted by the campaigns of the next two summers. Jaroslav stayed home, for these were merely expeditions against the troublesome Pecheneg tribes. Eastward through darkling forests the men trekked till they came out on a steppe which whispered tawny to the edge of the world. The battles were brief crazy whirls of spears and arrows in dust clouds; their opponents were small dancing slant-eyed devils on horseback. The Russians burned some nomad camps and slaughtered many cattle, returning home with scant booty but much honor—the highest for Harald who was being raised to high military position; "and not because you are a prince," Jaroslav said, "but because you have led men well."

In those years he got his growth, which was huge. When fully a man, he was seven feet tall and no one could stand before him in battle or sport. Folk did not know quite what to make of him, maybe because of the one brow that was ever cocked upward as if in mockery. His manner was often curt and haughty, though he knew how to win to him those whom he liked. He had small taste for bookish learning, but was reckoned a good skald; and he could never hear enough of far lands. So wide a world, so short a span to wander it!

The restlessness swelled. One winter's evening of his third year at Novgorod, he broached his wish to Rognvald. They two sat drinking after everyone else was abed. The stove roared, but they heard the house timbers creak with deepening chill.

"Jaroslav's wars have become skirmishes," Harald complained. "How can wealth be gotten on our pay alone? Unless by trade, for which I'm ill suited."

"I'm doing well enough," shrugged Rognvald.

"Well, I'm not."

"Bide your time," said Rognvald, who questioned every trader from the North. "Knut's yoke lies heavy at home. Erelong, I'm sure, the chiefs will send for a king of the Yngling race."

"Yes, Magnus!" Harald gibed. "They'll think they can steer a boy more easily than me."

"They'll find otherwise. That's a stiff-necked little fellow." Rognvald tossed off the wine in his Byzantine goblet. Its jewels caught the candle gleam as fiercely as Harald's eyes.

"Which boots me naught. No, I've a while to wait yet, and can best spend it hoarding up treasure. Now, then," Harald stabbed with a forefinger, "where's that to be found? Where's the richest place on earth? Miklagardh!"

"The king there does take foreigners into his service," said Rognvald doubtfully.

"And pays them well. And fights the Saracens, whose cities bulge with gold. I've talked with men who were in the Varangian Guard. They came home well-heeled, and they were only commoners."

"Do you want me to fare south? Thank you, no. I've a good place here, and Eilif is growing up a chief's son."

"Stay, then," said Harald with a touch of bitterness. "But I am going."

Jaroslav was not surprised when his guest asked leave to depart. He stroked his beard, nodded and said the idea had its merits, especially if Harald could bring back knowledge of Constantinople's defenses. In exchange, he agreed to take charge of whatever the prince might send hither for safekeeping.

Ingigerdh smiled wearily when Harald told her. "So it goes," she said, "with all you Ynglings, all you Northmen."

"I'll come back," laughed Harald. He could hardly sleep of nights for the eagerness in him. "And I'll wed your daughter and make myself king of Norway and live happily the rest of my days."

"I pray that may be," said Ingigerdh.

Each spring, trading fleets went south, chiefly from Kiev but some from further north. Harald easily arranged his passage with the Novgorod merchants. True, he would trouble them by having five hundred men in his train, mostly exiled foes of Knut, some Russian adventurers, eager for gold and glory; he did not mean, ever again, to arrive anywhere as a strengthless wanderer. But Mstislav, dour in Chernigov, had been making traders go by way of the Don and the Azov Sea. He could not well refuse a king's son the older, shorter Dnieper path. Thus the chapmen were glad of the Norse prince's company and he bargained the cost of passage far down.

He said his farewells awkwardly, for here were good friends, Rognvald, Eilif, Jaroslav, Ingigerdh, the Russian nobles. To Magnus he vowed:
“I’ll
see you in a few years, kinsman."

"Then you must come to Norway," said the boy.

"I shall," said Harald.

The troop rode past broad Lake Ilmen, over land which was still brown and wet but had the first dim green of springtime breathed across it, until they came to the meeting place on the Dnieper. The river ran wide and muddy, swirling around brush-covered islands, smelling of dampness and reeds. The ships were not unlike the Norse, long and of shallow draught, wallowing under their load of furs, amber, hides, tallow, beeswax. A fresh wind and the calling of homebound geese resounded through human shout and clatter.

They went south for many days, between timbered banks that became increasingly verdant as they fared farther, and through marshlands whose skies were clamorous with birds. At Kiev they halted to join the fleet assembling there. This was a still larger and wealthier town than Novgorod, showing more of Constantinople in its buildings, and Harald was well entertained; but his head was too full of Miklagardh the Golden for him to be much impressed.

When they set forth again, the river was nigh . decked with ships, loud with creaking oars and men's voices, bright from sun blinking on metal. At night, when the travelers camped ashore, their fires twinkled along the banks as far as Harald could see.

Slowly, the forest thinned out until the river lazed through rippling hugenesses of grassland. It grew warmer by the day, sweat gleamed on sunburned faces and helmets were dipped overboard for a drink.

When they had come yet farther, the land climbed and the water rang aloud, green and swift under steep bluffs. At the rapids they must unload, carry the cargoes around, tow the empty ships or, at the wildest reaches, get them overland on rollers.

Reloaded, they went on south, day by day, camping ashore at night, until Harald thought the voyage would have no end. Yet at last they came out on the Black Sea. It was, in truth, of a deep blue, the foam dazzling white upon waves that chuckled against hulls. Sunlight poured from an enormous bowl of sky, to spatter off the waters in knife-sharp shards.

Currents here were dangerous. The ships must hug the western shore and crawl forward on oars. The high coast to starboard became only so many miles to
pass, while Harald sat and chewed on his soured eagerness.

But the days ran out, and they
neared the Bosporus, and their goal opened before them.

Green hills, jeweled with towns and villas, rolled from the surfless strand. A war fleet kept the narrows: long dromonds, with rams on the sheer prows and shields hung along the gunwales, twin lateen-rigged masts and double banks of oars; these ships of the line were attended by smaller but swifter chelands. Upon their decks Harald saw tubes for spouting the dreaded Greek fire. He went aboard the flagship with the trading captains to get a pass from the commander.

The Byzantines were short and stocky, dark-skinned, big-nosed, curly-haired; more blood of Anatolia than of Hellas flowed through this empire which called itself Roman. Their officials were clad in robes and gold-buttoned copes. Two classes of soldiers were on hand. The archers wore knee-length tunics, light scale-mail shirts, and hobnailed boots. The
scutati
had longer and thicker coats of mail that ended in breeches, skirts also to the knee, helmets, greaves and brassards. Every man wore his hair cut short, and those who were not clean-shaven trimmed their beards closely. Harald had to admire the way their officers could blend courtesy and arrogance.

After much paperwork, the Russians got leave to proceed under escort. The water grew dark and littered, stinking from earth's mightiest harbor, but Harald hardly noticed. Miklagardh, Constantinople, New Rome lay before him! To larboard the city walls rose like fjord cliffs, overtopped by a multiplicity of towers and domes that blazed with gold. A mist hung over the city, smoke and dust; the grumble and growl of wheels, hoofs, feet sounded far over the strait. To starboard, beyond the ships lured here from half the world, Galata and its suburbs covered the land. Ahead was the Golden Horn.

There the traders tied up at great stone piers, among Grecian galleys, Saracen dhows, and vessels stranger yet. The crews debarked in a rush, chattering of pleasures they would soon seek. "Are we leaving none to guard?" asked Harald.

"The harbor watch does that for us, highness, better than we could," answered the skipper of his craft. Harald frowned, somewhat daunted by such a token of the Emperor's might.

City guards conducted them to the suburb of St. Mamo, where Russian merchants had quarters by treaty. Harald and his closest followers were guested at the villa of one such. It stood in a walled garden that bloomed with a sunburst of flowers. The king's son wandered about admiring the airy lightness of it, the intricate decoration, the sensuousness of silk and velvet rarely seen in the North. For the first time, he looked through windows of glass. He barked his Greek at the household slaves and wondered if they laughed at him behind his back; already he was discovering a smoothness of manner here that was like trying to grasp water, a subtlety on which anger could find no hold. The Norsemen drank deep and talked loudly among themselves to hide a certain feeling of lostness.