HARALD, THE KING

"We'll make fire of our own!" vowed Harald to his men.

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

Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his crew 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 heavy river gate went down and Harald drew his lines back to enter it.

"Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"

Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. The flames hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily. Roaring against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. As Harald watched the flames bellow he felt the thrill of victory and the bitter bile of death—and he knew there would be more to come . . .

THE LAST VIKING

Book 2

THE ROAD OF THE SEA HORSE

POUL ANDERSON

ZEBRA BOOKS KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. 21 East 40th Street New York, N.Y. 10016

Copyright © 1980 by Poul Anderson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

SEA HORSE ROAD

FOREWORD

The Golden Horn told of the earlier years of Harald Sigurdharson, and of what had happened before he was born.

In the year 872 A.D., King Harald Halfdansson, called Fairhair, finished bringing all Norway under himself when he smote his last foemen at the battle of Hafrsfjord. Many chieftains and yeomen disliked his stern rule and left the country. This was especially true in its northern parts, for Harald was from the South, where his Yngling family had been strong since mythic times. Above all, the men of the Throndlaw, the rich land opening on the Throndheimsfjord where the town Nidharos was, often stood fast against the will of Harald and his successors. Those who departed went to the British Isles, to Normandy, though that was mainly a Danish colony, and to the Iceland which Norse seafarers had lately discovered.

Harald was followed by his oldest son Eirik Blood-Ax, who soon grew hated for his harshness and greed. Another son of Harald, Haakon, had been fostered in England, and now came back to claim his right; for any son of a king, legitimate or not, could inherit the power if the folk hailed him at their Things, their shire-meetings. With no backing left him, Eirik must needs flee to England, where he fell in warfare. Meanwhile Haakon reigned so well in Norway that he came to be known as the Good, though he did not succeed in making the country Christian as he had hoped.

The sons of Eirik harassed him for years. After he died fighting against them, they took power in the West under the leadership of Harald Grayfell, who is therefore remembered as King Harald II. However, the North was held by Sigurdh, the jarl of Hladhi, who had been a friend of Haakon. ("Jarl" was the only hereditary title other than "king" in old Scandinavia, though a king could raise a man to that rank. Such a chieftain was often stronger than most who bore the name of king. Those might be numerous at any given time, no matter that their power was generally small and they themselves under the overlordship of the king of the entire country.) The South was held by lesser kings, also descended from Harald Fairhair.

Sigurdh's son and successor, Haakon Jarl the Great, conspired with the king of Denmark and lured Harald Grayfell to his death. Thereafter Haakon Jarl, aided by the Danes, took over most of Norway. He soon renounced his fealty to the Danish king and defeated an expedition sent against him.

Yet in the end he became so oppressive that folk welcomed a new arrival: Olaf Tryggvason, formerly a Viking, later a lord in Dublin, a great-grandson of the first Harald. Overthrowing Haakon, who suffered a miserable death, Olaf made himself master of Norway in 995 and set about Christianizing it—by persuasion when he could, otherwise by fire, sword, and torture. After five years, he fell in a sea fight against a combined force of Danes, Swedes, and Norse, the last under the sons of Haakon Jarl.

The leaders of this force became the strongest men in Norway, though vassals of Denmark, until 1015. At that time still another former Viking of the Yngling line arrived from the West. This was Olaf Haraldsson, nicknamed the Stout, born to one of those Southern shire-kings who had perished at the hands of enemies. The new Olaf, who had been baptized, fought his way to supremacy and undertook the conversion of the people as ruthlessly as his namesake had done.

In time that provoked rebellion among chieftains and yeomen, including many Christians. They found help in the mighty King Knut of Denmark, known in English history as Canute. Olaf escaped to Russia, where Grand Prince Jaroslav gave him refuge.

The Kievan state had gotten its dynasty from Scandinavia and still kept closely in touch with the lands of its forebears. While the gap between Catholic and Orthodox churches was widening, it had not yet become an open breach. Jaroslav had married a Swedish princess, Ingigerdh, to whom Olaf had once been betrothed. By her Jaroslav had had several children, including a girl named Elizabeth.

In 1030, with what forces he could muster, Olaf returned to Norway, hoping to win back his realm. After he landed, some folk rallied to his cause.

These included his half-brother Harald. Following the death of her first husband, Olaf's father, strong-willed Aasta had married a kinsman of his, the shire-king Sigurdh Sow. Harald had been born to them. After Sigurdh also died, Aasta ruled over the great family estate near the Oslofjord. In 1030, at fifteen years of age, Harald was already close to the seven feet of height he would have as a grown man, and wild to join Olaf. Aasta gave him a following of warriors.

The hosts met at Stiklastadh: on the one hand, the king and those who would restore him; on the other, men who felt that they were defending their ancient rights against a tyrant. After a terrible combat, Olaf fell. Harald, wounded, was brought from the field by the Orkneyman Rognvald Brusason, who left him in the care of a dweller in the wilderness.

When he had recovered, Harald went on to Sweden, where Rognvald was waiting. Together they sought out Jaroslav in Russia. He made them welcome. In the following years, Harald rose high in his army, fighting against insurgent Poles and predatory nomads.

Meanwhile, Olaf's body had been carried to Nidharos, where it was said to lie undecayed in a church. The hand of the Danish viceroy was heavy, and folk began to fear that in killing Olaf they had killed a saint. Olaf's bastard son Magnus was also brought to refuge with Jaroslav.

Harald saw that he must bide his time before he could go home. He needed wealth for the hiring of fighters, too; and he wished to see more of the world. Getting leave from Jaroslav, he took a following south to Constantinople.

This was the queen city of Christendom, reigning over an empire that reached from the Balkans to Mesopotamia. Brilliant, rich, corrupt, reeling toward a downfall that nonetheless would take nearly five centuries more, the Byzantines found few whom they could trust. Among those few were the emperor's Varangian Guard, mercenaries from the Northlands. Erelong Harald was the captain of these.

As such, for the next several years he warred against both Saracens and rebels. The great booty that he won he sent back with Russian traders, for Jaroslav to keep for him. He learned much about the ways of lordship. He got two close friends, the Icelanders Halldor Snorrason and Ulf Uspaksson. At last he fell in love with a young lady, an attendant upon the Empress Zoe, Maria Skleraina.

A revolution brought Zoe and her sister to supreme power. When Harald sought her permission to marry Maria, she denied him. After all, he had fought for the former emperor against the uprising. That had simply been his duty; however, his later failure to toady to her and even seek to be among her lovers was still more angering. He swallowed his own rage and went off to campaign for the empire in Italy. Soon after his return, he was imprisoned on a trumped-up charge of embezzlement. His Russian connections had much to do with that, since Jaroslav had lately launched an unsuccessful attack on the empire.

Harald escaped, together with his friends Ulf and

Halldor, and even took Maria along. She, though, went unwillingly, and pleaded with him to let her go, since otherwise her family would be open to Zoe's lethal spite. He loved her too much to refuse this, but never afterward forgot that he had lost her because he was powerless.

Having fared back to Jaroslav in Kiev, he was well received. Not only was wealth waiting for him there, but many things had been happening in the North. After Knut's death, the leading men of Norway had looked for ways to get rid of Danish rule. Foremost among them were Einar Thambaskelfir (the Archer), who had fought in the last battle of Olaf Tryggvason, and the brothers Kalf and Finn Arnason. They had fetched young Magnus, the son of King Olaf Haraldsson the Stout—who was now thought of as St. Olaf—from Russia, and gotten him hailed as the new king. The Danes were soon expelled and Magnus ruled alone. By treaty, he also had a claim on both Denmark and England.

At first he was an overbearing lord, who caused Kalf Arnason to flee westward and brought his people close to revolt. However, his godfather Sighvat, a famous skald (poet), brought him to his senses, and before long he was known as Magnus the Good.

Harald, meanwhile, married Elizabeth, daughter of Jaroslav and Ingigerdh. In the Norse tongue, her name was softened to Ellisif. With what strength the Grand Prince would supply and that he himself could raise, Harald crossed the Baltic Sea to seek his fortune.

After taking over in Denmark, Magnus Olafsson had made Svein Estridhsson his jarl over that country. Svein, on his mother's side, was a scion of its old Skjoldung kings—hence his nickname, for his father had been of lower rank than her. He soon rebelled and proclaimed himself the Danish king. Magnus contested that, and made Svein flee to Sweden, whose own king was not loth to give shelter to an enemy of his Norse rival.

There Harald found Svein. Since Magnus would not agree that his uncle had at least an equal right to head Norway, Harald allied himself with the Dane. During the strife that followed, the first child of Harald and Ellisif was born: a girl, whom the father had christened Maria.

The alliance was uneasy, with bad faith on both sides. Harald negotiated secretly with Magnus. Later Svein sent a man who tried to kill Harald. Thereupon, in 1046 A.D., the Norseman took his crews off to meet with his nephew.

They reached agreement, Harald and Magnus. They would share the kingship of Norway and the riches brought up from Byzantium, though Magnus, as the son of St. Olaf, would always take first place.

For the time being, Harald was content. He was no longer a landless wanderer, unable even to keep the woman he loved. Between them, he and Magnus ought to break Svein and lay Denmark under them. After that, through old treaties, they had a claim on the throne of England.

Full of joy was the faring

on fjords beyond the beaches,

when kingly ships did craftily

catch with sails the breezes.

Hurrying sea horses

hewed with keels the waters;

swiftly went we storming

seaward in the longships

—Sighvat

I

Of Kings in Norway

1

With many ships and men at their beck, King Magnus and King Harald sailed to Jutland. There they made landfall and harried widely. Their foe Svein did not care to meet them, but took his own fleet eastward along Scania, to wait till he heard the Norse had gone home. The Jutes themselves raised a force under a mighty yeoman, Thorkell Geysa, who had named Svein King of Denmark at Viborg Thing; but in a hard battle they were defeated, and Thorkell himself carried prisoner back to Norway.

Thither Magnus and Harald steered in the fall, agreeing that next year they would come with a real army and quell the Danes for good. Magnus went straight to Nidharos, but Harald, who wished to see more of this land he had won, entered the Sognefjord.

In and in his ships went, under tall cliffs helmed with forest through which showed occasionally the slender gleam of a waterfall, a gnarled tree clinging within a cleft, a steading perched, tiny, on the heights. The water was cold and darkly clear; clouds blowing over the steeps made it seem they were endlessly toppling; an eagle hovered far aloft on sun-gold wings.

"So this is your country," said Elizabeth. Her voice was very low, as if crushed by the hugeness around her. "I see now what shaped you."

"My shire is less grand," Harald answered. "But my blood comes from such wellsprings as you see here. The very word 'Viking' means a man of the vik, the inlet."

She shivered a little.

Leaving his vesssels beached under guard, Harald rode off into the mountains at the head of such warriors as there were horses for, mounts either carried aboard or bought from folk of the neighborhood. Through a high wilderness they fared, where rivers brawled down into the tangle-wood of glens, flushed birds rose skyward in thunderous thousands, wolves howled, oftimes the mighty form of elk or aurochs shook horns against heaven. Dwellings were few, far apart, mostly small and poor, in the middle of fields carved out of the forest. A house could give shelter to the king, the queen, maybe two or three more, but the rest of the troop must spread sleeping bags outside. Then in the evening, the guests would likely hear fearsome tales of what haunted the land: elf and drow, were-bear and troll; no housewife failed to set out a bowl of milk for the hearth goblin, and on feast days offerings were made at the howes of long-dead chieftains. Hai, was that a rush of rain and wind in the night, or a ghost thumping his heels on the roof? Some men swore they had seen the Asgardh's Ride, one-eyed Odhinn leading the unhallowed dead on their endless hunt through the air, with screaming horns and baying hounds whose jaws dripped flame.

Beyond those parts, slopes led downward to the great valley called the Gudhbrandsdal. There folk were well off. Thori of Steig made Harald welcome, and the king stayed with him for some time, while letting his strength grow. Besides his picked followers, he drew many young men who had heard of him and thought they might do well in his service. Erelong he had a good-sized court of his own.

Having no settled home as yet, Harald left Elizabeth and Maria with Thori and renewed the olden practice: that a king should visit chief after chief, the cost of his stay with them being reckoned as part of their scot. He heard that Magnus was doing likewise this winter.

Riding through the Uplands, he was always questioning folk, to learn how the realm stood. Money was his worry; much though he already had, it would not last unless he could start gathering in the taxes due him. At one lordly hall, he was told that the harvest had been bad and there was not enough ready money to pay.

"Well," said Harald, "you have broad lands. You can sell some."

"My lord, this is odal land," protested the chief. "By law, it cannot be sold out of the family, and none of my kin would want to buy it of me."

"I know the law," said Harald impatiently. "But I know too you can borrow against your cattle or next year's crop."

The chief swallowed his anger as he saw the armed guardsmen. "If you could but wait a year, my lord . . . The interest is so high."

Harald cocked his brow. "No," he said. "I know your kind; let the king yield a finger, and you'll eat his whole arm. If the scot be not paid by spring, I will seize the land."

As he rode off, one of those who had lately joined him said, "My lord, this is no way to win their friendship. I've heard them talking when you were out of earshot, that good King Magnus would not fare thus against them."

"Magnus is a fool," said Harald bitterly. "He thinks this is a hundred years ago. I say it's not. Unless the king is strong, the kingdom will be weak—a prey for the first wild beast that comes along."

"How much of your fret is for the realm," asked Halldor, "and how much for yourself? Be not too greedy, Harald. He who reaches too far will fall."

"You have the soul of a yeoman," said Ulf.

"I'm following the rest of you," said Halldor. "When have I hung back from trouble? But I will not be a party to this sort of thing much longer."

Harald remained silent; he was used to Halldor's tongue, but he brooded over Magnus. This split rule could lead to no good, and it seemed to him that the younger man was buying the people's love with the people's strength.

At a large garth in the Uplands, he found his nephew also guesting. Magnus greeted him without warmth, and when they found themselves alone, blurted:

"Harald, I've been hearing talk of your doings.

Not thus did I plan to reign."

"You promised me my share of the royal power and income," replied Harald. "I was but taking it."

Magnus looked up the towering height of his uncle, to the lean unsmiling face. "You go too harshly," he said. "Kings have lost their thrones, sometimes their lives, for that."

"Because the chiefs and the commoners would not have change, even when change was needed," snapped Harald. "When I was in the South, I saw how one realm after another went under because it was weakly ruled. The empire was strong because all the power lay in one place, yet it could have been stronger had the emperors taken the reins themselves instead of letting geldings run their affairs."

"I even wonder about the wisdom of our strife with Svein," said Magnus unhappily. "God has given us Norway, and we could keep it peacefully. Trying to grasp more may but lead us to our doom."

"Is this Olaf's son?" mocked Harald.

Magnus reddened. "I and my friends drove out Knut's creature and smote the Wends while you were tumbling about the world to no more good than enriching yourself. Don't call me coward unless you are ready to fight."

Harald turned and left him, not trusting himself to speak further.

Thereafter, when he chanced to meet Magnus again on their travels, there were often hot words between them. A relation of the Haarekssons in Haalogaland, who had never forgiven Magnus, told Harald that his nephew was plotting against him. Harald doubted that—willful and wrong-headed though he thought the young man, he believed him honest—but perhaps someday it would come true; the more likely since Einar Thambaskelfir's friends were always deriding Harald to Magnus.

They were still outwardly friends, though, when they came together at Nidharos.

2

Despite its size, the Throndhelimsfjord had not the grandeur of other inlets, for here a great gash across the mountains formed the broad, wealthy Throndlaw. Where the river Nidh ran into the bay, a town had grown large and become the seat of the king. Harald thought it lay too far from the rest of the world; northward the land lost itself in the wastes of Finnmark and the cold Lofoten fishing grounds, ice and forest, and marsh and bleak hills. Better to have a capital further south, say on the Oslofjord, where Denmark was close and the folk less unruly. But he looked about with interest as he rode into Nidharos.

The wooden houses hemmed him in, galleries along the lofts, gaily painted gables, snow heavy on high-peaked roofs. He saw shops, stables, smithies, shipyards, warehouses; a few thousand people lived here. From an open square, he could see the ground rise steeply above the town, on its slope the half-finished Olaf's church and a stone hall Magnus was building. The dwellers, shaggy men and tall strong-boned women, waddled in many layers of clothing against the chill damp wind, but they all seemed well fed. Harald noticed that most of the men leaned on spear or ax and watched him go by with a silent wariness. The Thronds had broken more than one king who displeased them.

Dismounting at the royal hall, Harald entered with his nearest followers. As was usual even in town, its outbuildings formed a square around a cobbled yard. The hall itself, used for eating and drinking, was spacious: at one end the entryroom and foreroom, the rest taken up with a single great chamber. The shutters were opened on the small high windows, feeble light came through the thin-scraped gut that covered them and through the smoke hole in the roof; but most of the light was from the jumping fires in three long trenches. The pillars and panels were richly carved with vines and snakes and figures; the walls were hung with skins, antlers, weapons, and tapestries; the floor was thickly strewn with rushes. Men sat about on the benches lining the walls, dogs slumbering at their feet. These were the stolid stubborn Norse chiefs and warriors who were Magnus's court. They rose as Harald came in, but no great friendliness lay in the seamed faces.

He stopped. Trouble dwelt in this smoky air; he could almost smell it. The other king was not in sight, so he went up and put himself in the high seat and beckoned to a woman for mead.

"Where is Magnus?" he asked one of the men near him.

"Talking alone with his mother." His tone was insolent, but Harald decided not to quarrel with him. Trying to ease the tautness, he asked aloud: "Is there no skald here who can give us a verse?"

A young man, thick bodied, with blunt freckled features, ruddy hair and beard, stood up. "I am one of the king's skalds," he said. "I'll make a stave for you." He paused a moment, then spoke:

"Well-known king, you clove

with keels the sea horse road,

when duly west to Denmark

dragons plowed the waters.

Sithence Olaf's son

did soon with you share lordship:

kinsmen shared their kindness,

kingship was divided."

"You are an Icelander, I can hear," said Harald. He liked the way of this fellow. Not everyone would have dared thus to remind him of his bargain, or have been so courteous about it. "What is your name?"

"Thjodholf Arnason, my lord."

Harald took a gold coil off his arm, broke it, and gave half to the skald, a good payment. "Take this," he said, "and stand by me."

"I follow Norway's king, my lord," answered Thjodhalf, reaching for the reward. His meaning could be double, but he was at least not scheming behind a man's back.

"Why so many long faces?" asked Harald. "You may as well tell me, I'll know soon enough."

Thjodholf shuffled his feet unhappily. "It's about this Jutish leader, Thorkell Geysa," he said. "You remember he was caught last summer and brought here. King Magnus ordered that he be treated honorably, but now it seems the king's mother Alfhild has given him a ship and crew and let him go."

"So!" Harald stormed furiously to his feet. "It's not enough to let a hostage slip without ransom, but I who caught him am not even told! Where is she?"

"She's with the king her son, and—" Thjodholf broke off in relief. "No, here comes my lord now."

Magnus entered the room with his brows knotted together. He went to the high seat, and Harald loomed over him, barking: "What is this I hear about Thorkell the Jute?"

"He has been freed," said Magnus. "Does it concern you?"

"Aye, it does. If I am half a king, I bear half a danger. That was one of Svein's strongest chiefs."

"The matter has been settled."

"How? What did your mother have in mind?"

"My mother need not enter this," said Magnus shakily. "And now, Harald, if you remember the oaths we swore last spring, that seat is mine."

It was wide enough for two. Harald bit his teeth till the jaws ached, but rose and let him have it. "This is a cold welcome you give me," he said, "so I will not trouble you further. Good day." He walked from the hall and to the dwelling set aside for his own use.

Once there, he thrust back his rage and told the foot boy to get Ulf. The Icelander came in staggering a bit. "Whoof! This Throndish mead is a hearty brew. What a head I'll have tomorrow!"

"If you're not too drunk and too busy chasing women," said Harald, "find out for me why Queen Alfhild let Thorkell Geysa go. If there are plots against me, I want to know about them."

"Oh, that," said Ulf. He belched and leaned against the door post. "I already know that. I was getting rich off one of Magnus's guards, he has no luck with the dice, when your boy came, and we were gossiping. There's naught juicy to tell. Alfhild was merely being forehanded."

"In God's name, what was she after?"

"Oh ... a place of refuge, in case something should happen to Magnus, her son. Naught else. Was that all you wished? Then I'll be off again."

Harald stood alone in the room for a while. So they trusted him no more than that?

It was an acrid knowledge. Perhaps, he told himself, he had given them some cause to dislike him, but surely not so much. He meant to hold by his bargain, if not from love of Magnus then because civil war would be the chiefs' chance to regain their old power, undoing Harald Fairhair's work in all but name. If now and then he flared up when he had to take second place, Magnus need not be so concerned over it. But too many men were working mischief. Magnus they knew; Harald was the unknown, the fearful tomorrow, and they would do all they could to stir up trouble for him.

Well ... If hate was what they wanted, they should have it till it choked them. But he felt very much alone. He wished Ellisif were here, but many wintry miles lay between, and even together they did not understand each other.

He decided to visit Olaf's shrine in St. Clement's church. It was at least something to do, and perhaps the old king would give him a sign. He donned his outer clothes, took an ax, and went by himself down the dusk-filled street. Men stared after his big lonely form till it was lost in the twilight.

At the church, a stone building small beside those he had seen abroad, he left his weapon and hat in the entrance. Inside, the place was dark and cold, with a few candles throwing a dull flame before the altar. There lay the coffin, wrapped in costly furs, a cloth-of-gold canopy above it. The threads shimmered against the gloom.

Harald knelt before it. This was a miracle, they said. The martyr's body was uncorrupted, looking as if he slept. Magnus, his son, had the only key to the shrine, and each twelvemonth, alone, supposedly clipped the hair and nails that were still growing. Harald wondered if he might view the body, but doubted that Magnus would agree. Impious thoughts ran like devils through his head; there were ways to embalm a corpse so it lasted for a while, but here in the North the art was crude and rotting was bound to start sometime.

He muttered an Ave in penance. It turned his mind to Maria, the earthly Maria he had left in Miklagardh. In the dimness, he came near feeling her lips brush his again. ... No, she was behind him, he would not see her in this life and heaven was a bloodless place at best. Hellfire would at least be warm. He shivered and got up to go. There had been no sign.

3

In the entryroom of his hall, Einar Thambaskelfir took off his muddy boots and changed into shoes. Outside, early rain scourged the earth, snow melted and ditches overflowed. He felt his bones creak in the damp; yes, he was getting old.

Bergljot, his wife, gave him a cup of warm ale as he trod into the main room. He drained it with some rebirth of his olden heartiness; he was still Einar Thambaskelfir, Einar the Bowman. She filled it again. She was the only one there just now. Eindridhi, their son, lived nearby with his family, and of course they had plenty of housefolk; but somebody seemed to be huddled elsewhere.

A long booming rattled the door. "The first thunder already," said Einar. "This will be a stormy year."

Bergljot nodded. She was a tall woman, handsome rather than beautiful, her face as stern as his under the thick gray hair. "In more than one way," she answered. "What do they say in Nidharos about the war?" Einar had just returned from a meeting of chiefs.

"The kings are going to raise a great levy—half the fighting men in Norway. That means nigh every ship, you know. It will be hard on fishermen." Einar set the cup down, a massive thing of chased silver, studded with rubies. "I want to get rid of this."

"Why? I thought you had it from Magnus."

"But he got it from Harald." Einar spat. "I'd say nothing if we were going to Denmark on Magnus's behalf, but it galls me to fight for that upstart. These kings are a pest in the land, and no sooner do we get a good one than the old sort raises itself anew."

Bergljot could not resist a little mockery: "Olaf Tryggvason was a harsh king, but you stood by him when the Long Snake was boarded."

"Yes . . . yes . . ." Einar moved slowly toward the high seat. For a moment the strength and the mask of him dropped, and she saw he was aging. "I was young then, we were all young. I remember how I stood shooting and shooting, till the bow snapped in my grip. 'What was that sound?' cried Olaf. That was Norway breaking from your hand, King,' I answered. And then the ship was taken, and Olaf leaped into the sea. It was in the one thousandth year after Christ, and some thought doomsday would come then. To me it was like the end of the world when the waters closed over his head." He sat down, resting his chin on gnarled fingers. Rain was noisy against the roof.

Bergljot joined him. She had heard the story often, in those same words, and replied now much as she had always done. "Well, what's dead is dead. My father Haakon Jarl held Norway before, and Olaf Tryggvason hunted him to his death; yet we two have lived happily together, Einar."

"We share the same blood," answered her husband. "The chiefs of the realm, risen from the folk and speaking for them. It was better in the old days,

I think, when power came from below and no man had too much might. Now the kings have set themselves above us all, above the law. Harald Sigurdharson would be the law." He clenched his fist. "May I never see the day when my life hangs on one man's will."

"The time is another," sighed Bergljot. "Now we are Christians, and Thor is a demon, though he had many a hard fight to win this land for men from the giants. Now there is a king, and a Pope, and I know not what else, gnawing away at our freedom." She shook her head. "I don't understand it. What better and cleaner thing can a woman do than to bear a child? Yet they say that is unclean, and she must remain out of church till—"

"Stay away from holy matters," warned Einar. He glanced up at the rafters, half frightened, as if he would see St. Olaf scowling down at him. "Things could be worse. While Magnus lives, the old law is shielded. And this Harald is so reckless that he may well be killed in battle. If that should happen, I'll give many candles, and even some land to the new Olaf's church."

"How much?" asked Bergljot sharply.

"Well, let it happen first!"

"But if it goes the other way? Suppose Magnus falls. What can we look for then?"

"Trouble," said Einar grimly. "Unrest and killing, till Harald is slain and the red cock crows on his rooftop. From me he shall never have any gift but the edge of an ax."

II

How King Magnus Went to his Weird

1

In spring Elizabeth traveled up to Nidharos with Maria, who was growing swiftly; but she scarce had time to greet Harald and show him how the child was already walking, before he was off again. The host had been raised, and the Norse kings were sailing to conquer Denmark.

Each day the fleet slipped past an immensity of cliffs towering over restless gray waters; at night they would find anchorage, and the men sleep aboard, or there would be a strand wide enough to beach the ships and make camp. Harald was in charge of somewhat less than half the vessels, the southern levies and his own guardsmen, but being smaller his force was more quickly readied. A few days after the voyage had begun, he was up early, had the order called to raise anchors and masts, and got under weigh well ahead of Magnus. When he reached the stopping point agreed for that evening, he rowed his craft inside the little bay to the beach. This was the better spot, for men could go ashore to stretch their legs, and Harald thought it only right

his followers should have the chance this time.

A low sun burned swollen and dull red across the sea when Magnus's ships hove into view. They came sailing past the steeps and into the bay, one long hull after another; in the lead, the great Wisent lifted her horned golden head and shields rattled along her bulwarks. Harald stood up in his own dragon, wondering what Magnus would say to his taking the royal place. The Wisent glided to a stop; faintly he heard men cry out. Then her sail was lowered, the oars went out, a horn blew, and he saw the crews of the king's vessels snatching after their weapons.

"What the devil?" asked Ulf.

Harald showed his teeth mirthlessly. "Unship the hawsers and get our keels out of here! It seems the good Magnus is angered."

"He'd fight his own folk over so little a thing?" said Halldor. "You kings are an eldritch breed."

One by one, Harald's craft were shoved into the water and rowed out toward the sea, where they dropped anchor, while Magnus's came in to the shore. The horizon gulped the sun, and twilight rose like mist from the land. Harald had his gig drawn up, jumped in with a couple of men, and told them to bring it over to Magnus.

When he bumped against the Wisent's strakes, he stepped into her with one long-legged movement and walked up between the benches to the prow, where his nephew stood. The young king was shadowy in the blue dusk, his face could not be read, but he said quietly: "Good evening, Harald. Welcome aboard."

"I thought we were among friends," answered Harald coldly, "but for a moment I was in doubt whether you felt likewise." He lifted his shoulders. "But it's true, the old saying: childhood is hasty; and so I'll not reckon this business today as more than a childish freak."

Magnus's breath whistled inward, and he said in a thick tone, "There you go wrong, for it was the family nature, and not the child's, that broke forth here. I never forget what I have given and what I have kept." After a pause, he added: "Yes, this was a trifling matter that came between us today; but had I given up on that, there would soon have been another. I mean to keep the whole bargain we made, but then I must demand that you also abide by what was agreed."

"There's another old saying, which goes: 'The wisest man yields,' " replied Harald. He went back to his boat and so to his ship.

Aboard her was a wrathful buzzing, as of a wasp's nest disturbed. "Are you going to suffer that slight?" asked Ulf.

"Well," said Harald, "a pledge was made about anchorages."

"I heard that, and my understanding was that Magnus should only have the royal place when you came together—not when he was too lazy to get up in the morning with us. Harald, I misdoubt he plans to break the whole bargain."

"You were still the wisest," said Halldor.

"If a horse must carry double, which is never well," said Ulf, "then at least only one man should have the reins."

Harald lay awake for a long time. It had not been easy for him to give in; only the chance of an open break had been enough to make him do so. Was Magnus really so embittered? He had been known as a generous man erenow. But with Einar Thambaskelfir, kingmaker and kingbreaker, always at his ear, what else could be awaited?

No doubt Einar was honest in his beliefs. But to Harald, they meant ruin, not alone for the Yngling tribe but for the whole realm. What did farmers and carpenters and fishermen know about steering a land? What had they seen of the world, what had they ever thought of save the crops and the petty quarrels of one small shire? Someone's evil dream would dishearten an entire army and send it skulking home; two chiefs would clash head-on and brother smiting brother would trample the country underfoot; once more a crafty outlander would play the factions off against each other and bring the realm beneath himself; none would hold the bishops reined and the Church would swallow gold and acres, until all Norway lay in thrall to Rome. Old greeds and hatreds ringed in the North, the heathen Wends, the German empire, the dangerous Norman duchy, and more; nothing but a powerful king could beat them off . . . for the good of his folk.

Harald grinned at himself. No use throwing a mantle of holiness across his dreams of might and fame. Nonetheless the truth remained, that time went like a gale at sea, and whoever did not sail before it with a strong steersman would be swamped and drowned.

* * *

The Norse fared on, across the Skagerrak and around the Skaw and thence between low, heather-clad hills into the Limfjord. They went ashore near a hamlet burned last year—ashen stumps and a few wicker huts from which squatters fled into the woods. Tents were raised and horses led off the ships, to snort and stamp and roll their eyes at this new ground. Harald sought Magnus's shelter to talk over plans.

The cloth brushed his head as he entered. Magnus, Einar, Eindridhi, and some other chiefs were already seated at the table. Among them was Finn Arnason, who had stood by Olaf at Stiklastadh and whose wife, also named Bergljot, was a daughter of Harald's brother Halfdan. He was a strong man, broad in the shoulders, his hair and beard now gray and his eyes blinking nearsightedly; but power and calm were in him, and he gave the newcomer the best greeting.

"Well, now, we must decide what to do," said Harald, lowering his big frame to the bench. "I understand Svein is in Roskilde on Sealand and will not be eager to meet us."

"Then we must meet him," said Magnus, his eyes alight. "We can clear northern Jutland quickly enough, then sail around to the island. If he hangs back from a sea battle, we'll walk to Roskilde and drag him out."

"No," said Harald. "Jutland is the backbone of Denmark. Her kings are named at the Viborg Thing, and there are more men to be had here than in the islands. I say grip this peninsula first, get ourselves hailed at Viborg, raise Jutish levies to help our own, and only then go across the Belts."

"Leaving Svein to work his mischief all summer," said Einar. "No, no, best we go after him to start with."

"And he will retreat to Sweden as he has ever done," answered Harald. "Take the land; with it in our hands, Svein is helpless, and if I know him should soon come to terms."

"Aye," sneered Eindridhi, "you know Svein very well, do you not?"

Harald sprang to his feet with a curse. Finn Arnason rose as well, "Who are we fighting?" he cried. "That was ill spoken, Eindridhi. I think Harald's rede is best."

"Not so," interrupted Magnus. "Svein is the rallying point of the Danes; with him out of the way—"

"I think," said Harald quickly, "you're but opposing my plan because I offered it. That's not a good sign for our success."

"Remember who is first of us two," Magnus told him hotly.

"And remember who has more knowledge of war," said Finn. His squinting eyes peered at Magnus without great love; all knew he missed his brother Kalf. "How many here set the pride of Norway above their own?"

It grew into such a quarrel that Harald finally left. In the morning, when heads had cooled, Magnus agreed sulkily that it would be wisest at least to take Jutland first. But through that whole summer's campaigning, he was at odds with Harald, and the older man often had to fight to keep his temper.

From the beaches of the Skaw, across a vastness of heath, down into the forests and plains of Schleswig, the Norse Army moved. This was not a Byzantine force of lifetime soldiers with their own supplies and years of training; up in the North, each man kept what weapons he willed, and brought them with him when the war arrow was passed from house to house. These were Lofoten fishermen, twisted and bent from their age-long strife with the sea; hunters of Finnmark, shy and skin-clad; rough burly Uplanders; rich yeomen of the valleys, who could even afford coats of mail; traders and artisans from the small young towns—a host of many thousands, fighting on foot, each shire under its own chiefs and banners. They lived off the country, slaughtering cattle and sheep and pigs, looting barns and cribs and homes, plundering and burning with more glee than malice. When the Jutes, little different from themselves, made a stand, they formed a ragged wedge and rolled down hallooing. A few oxcarts carried their badly wounded, but these seldom lived many days.

There was no chance to call a Thing at Viborg, because the Danes fought stoutly there and, when beaten, had to be pursued. Nevertheless, Harald was well pleased at how swiftly the land was overrun and the chiefs made submission. In battle, he took the right wing with the Southern levies, Einar the Northerners on the left, while Magnus had the tip of the wedge: the "swine-fylking" which Odhinn himself had taught to men. There was no denying that the young king fought well and cheerily.

Toward fall, when the heath was a sudden purple glory of bloom, scouts brought word that Svein Estridhsson was raising a host among the islanders. Harald had to agree it was best to go meet him now. The ships had been left with skeleton crews, to round the Skaw and come down the Little Belt; now the Norsemen embarked and sailed for Sealand.

They landed in the South, where the country was rich and green, long ago cleared of forest, and went up through it toward Roskilde. Emptiness met them, folk had fled, the garths and hamlets stood open with a few unlatched doors creaking drearily in the wind. It was ghostly, this walking through miles where only the ravens spoke. Overhead reached Danish sky, dizzily far above that low wet land; smoke of burning farmsteads stained the horizon, and the stone tombs of a forgotten people brooded in murmuring grass.

One night Magnus woke with a small shriek, struggling against the leather of his bag. Einar Thambaskelfir lay nearby, and crept out to see what the matter was. The light nights were past; darkess lay over the world with stars glinting steely in heaven. A damp wind gusted from the marshes and somewhere an owl hooted.

"What's awry, my lord?" Gently, he laid a callused hand on Magnus's forehead and felt sweat.

"I ... a dream." The king shook his head as if to clear it. "I dreamt I saw my father St. Olaf again."

Einar crossed himself. "You've seen that erenow, at Hlyrskog Heath, and there he spaed victory for you."

"Yes, but this time—" Magnus sat up, wildness in his voice. "There was something horrible about it. Yet he spoke in a friendly way, though I thought he was saddened. He asked me if I chose to follow him, or to become the mightiest of kings and have long life but to ... to commit a sin so great that I would late or never atone for it."

Einar shuddered. The night was chill around him. "And what did you choose, my lord?"

"I thought I asked him to choose for me what seemed best. And he said I should follow him. Then I awoke."

"It may be a lucky sign," said Einar. "If he was testing you—"

"I had not thought of death before." Magnus's teeth rattled in his jaws. "It was as if I would live forever. But now it seems that being dead is a lonely thing."

"Lie down, my lord," said Einar. "In the morning this will look better."

Harald heard the story the next day; it was running through the whole army. "It may be that Magnus Olafsson is fey," said Halldor somberly.

"It may be that the night mists got into his head," answered Harald. "Men get dreams and dreams, and most of them mean naught." Nevertheless, he felt a crawling along his nerves, as if something unseen had brushed close.

Toward evening a hard-riding scout brought word that the Danish host was near, headed south, and they could look for battle the next day. Harald made his preparations coolly, but Magnus spent most of the time alone with a priest. That night, the campfires burned high and men sat up late, unable to sleep.

In the morning, after they had broken their fast, horns blew and the army went into war formation. The men spilled from the road and across grain-fields, leaving a giant swath crushed behind them. Harald rode an outsize horse by his banner, raven black against bloody red. A knee-length byrnie dragged at his collarbone, a cuif and helmet bound his hair. Glancing along the lines, he saw endless rows of men, sunburned faces and dully gleaming iron. The host held their spears aloft, axes on their shoulders; their tramping created a sound like low thunder. Ulf was on his right hand, Halldor on his left, faces unsmiling and somehow unhuman behind the nose guards. Through a haze of dust, he could barely spy Magnus, hollow eyed and eerily intent on his own thoughts.

They had not gone far when dust and steel rose ahead of them, and the Danes came into view. Harald shaded his eyes and made out Svein in their van. Wearing a gilt helmet and scarlet cloak, he was astride a high-stepping white horse. Behind his shield-burg was a cluster of brown-robed monks. The sound of their chanting filtered through the windless air and Harald spat. "Ever the priest lover. Those shavepates will help him little today."

Nobody talked of peace. Horns lowed, and arrows darkened the sky. Harald dismounted, hobbling his steed, and lifted the shield up before his face; he grasped a one-handed ax and bore a sword at his waist. Slowly, the two hosts lumbered toward each other. A stone thudded off Harald's shield.

"This is no hastily raised band of farmers," said Ulf. "We'll have work to do."

Ahead and to the left shouts and clangor arose as Magnus engaged Svein's leading men. Harald took the shoulder of the lad carrying his flag. "Hold. Let them come to us, it'll weaken their formation."

Suddenly blue, hating eyes were ranked before him. He whooped, tossed his ax in the air, caught it, and stepped forth. The edge howled down. He felt a wooden shield rim split and the arm beneath it break. The Dane screamed, falling backward. The man behind pushed him forward again. Harald knew a moment of wonder about this fellow he was killing: how many children did he have to weep for him? Then he was down, and a sword was thunderous on the king's own shield.

For a long time there followed the confusion of battle. Both armies held together, but the Danish line was pushed back. Overhead ravens and eagles wheeled, waiting for their feast. Banners fluttered, above the hosts. A wounded man clutched his belly, trying to stuff his guts back inside; a father held his dead son in his arms, stroking hair clotted with blood and brains; a warrior looked at the stump of his arm, not yet understanding what had happened. But those were only chance glimpses. Harald's flickering eyes were concerned to see how the whole battle was going. Meanwhile his ax smote till it shivered and he must draw sword.

There, now! All at once, no one stood before him. This Danish wing was broken and men were fleeing in terror. Harald winded his horn and pointed his standard-bearer left. They flanked Svein and smashed their way toward him.

Svein's banner was down!

Harald saw the white horse being mounted anew. "After him!" He battered at the last few shields that barred his way.

"Look yonder!" shouted Halldor. Harald saw Magnus swing back into the saddle and gallop in pursuit of Svein, his guardsmen strung out behind him as they unhobbled their own steeds. He grinned and threw himself back into the fray.

Before long the last Danes were routed or reduced to submission. Across the reddened ground, the dead and wounded lay strewn as far as one could see. Halldor leaned gasping on his worn-out ax and said wearily: "All this for one flea-bitten crown!"

"For naught, if Svein gets away," said Harald. "But let's set things in order here while we wait."

Not till evening did word come. A hare had bolted across Magnus's path as he followed his enemy; the horse shied, and the king was thrown to the ground. He landed on a rock, blood poured from his mouth and nose, and he slumped senseless. His men drew up around him, and Svein Estridhsson escaped.

Magnus Olafsson rested on his ship; the Norsemen camped ashore. They had won. Denmark lay open before them, but not a man smiled. They sat around their fires, now and then talking in low voices; ever their eyes went blindly toward the Wisent. There had he been borne, a long way while he lay as if dead. . . . Now it was told that he had wakened and received the last rites.

Einar Thambaskelfir knelt by the king's pallet. It was a strangely altered face which looked up at him, cold and white as if already death's angel had sealed it. The guardsmen stood leaning on their weapons, and three priests muttered prayers. Above them arched the buffalo head; in the low sunlight it was a relentless blaze of gold.

Blood bubbled on Magnus's lips, and they heard how the rib-pierced lungs rattled. "I have sinned," he whispered. "God have mercy on my soul. Pray for me, Einar."

"I will, my lord. I'll buy many Masses for you."

"This is . . . my will. There has been too much pride and too much . . . greed . . . yes." Magnus turned his head, feverishly. "I leave Denmark to Svein." He coughed, which twisted his face with pain.

Einar's head bowed. "As you wish, my lord."

"He has been brave and—God, how it hurts!" Magnus plucked at the blanket. "I had not thought . . . This is how wars end, then, and how many men have I left to die? Christ forgive me, deliver me from hell." He clamped his teeth on a shriek. Even with darkness closing over his eyes, he must remember he was a king.

Einar covered his own face and wept with the sobs of a man who has never learned to cry. And when he looked again, Magnus the Good was dead.

"Pax vobiscum" said the priest. "Dominus vobiscum."

"I shall wash him and lay him out," said Magnus's footboy.

"No," said Einar. "That is for me."

After he had cared for his lord and closed the eyes and drawn a blanket over the body, he went ashore and heard Mass for the departed soul. Thereafter he spoke with Magnus's half brother by Alfhild, one Thori, whom the king had told to go to Svein bearing word that Denmark was now his. "Go as he commanded," said Einar, "and take your mother with you. An evil time is coming."

In the morning, Harald arrived from the North where he had been seeing that no further resistance should be raised. When he learned that Magnus was dead, his visage did not move, but he said: "That is a great loss. God rest him well."

Inwardly, he could not make himself feel much grief. Magnus had died in the noontime of youth, but so had many others; Harald was not glad at the news, but did not hide from himself that it could be lucky for him. What must be done now was not to mourn a rival, but to rally the men and secure this land. The army had been warring long past the term of service, and he could not lawfully compel them to remain here; they must be persuaded.

He let the horns summon the men to a Thing.

Looking down from the rock on which he stood, he was surprised at how much sorrow he saw. Had Magnus indeed been so beloved? After a few respectful words, he tried to fire them afresh. He would go to Viborg and be crowned, and then lay Denmark under him. It was his rightful inheritance from King Magnus, he told them, just as Norway was. He asked the host to aid him, and promised that hereafter and in all time to come Norsemen would be overlords of the Danes.

No cheering sounded when he finished. Men shuffled their feet and whispered among themselves. Finally Eindridhi Einarsson mounted the rock and declared: "This is no lawful holding of yours, for before he died, the king said in front of witnesses that he left Denmark to Svein Ulfsson."

A rush of anger made Harald feel dizzy and sick. So even on his deathbed Magnus would betray him? He mastered himself and retorted:

"That has no law behind it, for Magnus and I shared the power. He could not give away what was not his. I fear his mind was wandering in the last moments, and again I ask you to follow me and not to throw away everything our friends have died for."

Eindridhi stood down as Einar Thambaskelfir came heavily up to stand on the rock beside Harald. A light wind ruffled his gray hair and swirled the cloak around his big form. He spoke clearly, loud enough for all to hear:

"I feel myself under a greater duty, to follow my foster son King Magnus to his grave, and bring him home to his father King Olaf, rather than lie out fighting in a foreign land and stealing the realm and goods of another king."

He went on for a little, hard deep-voiced words, and Harald looked over the host and saw men nodding. Einar finished:

"It seems me better to follow King Magnus dead than any other king living!"

Swords were out, flashing in the sharp salt air and clanging on shields. Einar Thambaskelfir stepped down to the ground and went to Magnus's bier. He took the body in his arms and bore it out again onto the Wisent, where he paid it the last respects. His Thronds ignored Harald and started to break camp and load their ships; no few others did likewise. By evening, sitting gloomily in his tent, Harald saw them row off.

Ulf came in and stood for a while leaning on the tent pole. "Well," he said at length, "if you wish to go to Viborg, best you pass the word to such men as have stayed with us."

Harald sighed. He felt beaten, drained of will and strength. "We can scarce do that," he said. "I've decided it were best for me to go home too, and make sure of Norway ere trying to enlarge the realm. It hurts to give up what we've gained, but—"

"Next year we'll settle this war," said Ulf, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Next year!" said Harald. "Always next year. More men to die, more homes to be burned, more treasure to be spent, and all because they cannot get together on one thing at a time. Here I sit, the only king in Norway and Denmark. I have what I wished for through thirty years, and it's naught. Would God I were back dreaming about it!"

"We'll win yet," said Ulf. "You are not one to give up when things go ill."

"No . . . no . . ." Harald rose. "Well, back to Norway, then. Tell the men for me. I'll go to every shire-Thing and have myself hailed; then we shall see what can be done next summer."

"I would you didn't ever fare so wildly about," said Ulf. "Your wife has small cheer from you."

"Or I from her," mumbled Harald. "Go now."

Ulf left, his head drooping.

The next day, Harald's followers embarked, and the Danish church bells pealed thanksgiving.

As for Svein Estridhsson, he made good his escape to the Sound, where he took ship for Scania. Here he stayed a while at an estate of his mother's and was racked by doubt and self-reproach. It seemed he had brought nothing but misfortune on his people, and that it was better they yield to the Norse than fight a war they never won. He finally reached his decision: to give up his claims and go live quietly in Sweden.

It is said that he was mounting his horse for this journey when some of his men came in haste with the news; Magnus Olafsson was fallen, and the enemy had left. For a moment Svein stood without moving, and they saw how a light grew in his face. Then he sprang to the saddle and cried aloud:

"Now I swear by Almighty God, that never again, as long as I live, will I let myself be driven out of Denmark!"

He rode with his warriors down through Scania, where the folk were as always ready to join him, and so to Roskilde. In the course of that winter, he brought the realm back under him, and was proclaimed king throughout the land. In the late fall there came to him Magnus's mother and half brother, with notice of the Norse ruler's last will and a warning that Harald Sigurdharson did not mean to abide by it. They stayed a long time at Svein's court, and he showed them great honor.

III

Of Thora Thorbergsdottir

1

Harald landed in the South, in Viken, and sent most of his men home with the ships. He kept about a hundred by him, warriors he trusted. Among these were his old Varangians, Dalesmen who supported Thori of Steig, and ambitious young fellows from anywhere in the land hoping to rise high in the king's service. Though harvest time was nearing and folk had work to do, he called the Borgar Thing to proclaim him sole ruler of Norway. No one spoke against this, for his right of inheritance was clear and his troop well armed.

Thereafter he rode up through the country, and at one Thingstead after another was lawfully taken as king. Swift travel was necessary to get home before snow should fall, and the horses were gaunt by the time they had come halfway.

As he prepared to leave the Sunnmaer Thingstead, a man came up to him. This was Thorberg Arnason, brother to Finn and Kalf, the sheriff and leader of the meeting; his family, the Arnmodhlings, was old and great, having been kings here before Harald Fairhair. He was a big man, heavily built, with the beginnings of a paunch but with an ox-like strength in his broad red face. His ruddy hair and full beard were stabbed with gray. For all his wealth, he was simply clad, in the rough wadmal breeches and coat of a yeoman, leather leggings, a woolen stocking cap. "I hope you are pleased with what has been done, my lord," he said.

"Very much," answered Harald. "You were good to speak so well of me. In too many places, they only agreed to have me because they could not think what else to do."

"True, you have the name of giving hard redes," said Thorberg, "but it seems to me that we need a strong king." He cocked a small shrewd eye upward. "Do you hasten too much, though? I've seen your horses; they won't stand the pace."

"No, we shall have to lie over for a while."

"Then why not come be my guests? I live at Gizki, off Hjorunga Bay, not far from here, and can promise you some fine ale if naught else."

Harald smiled. He was getting so few welcomes that this one was oddly touching. "We shall be happy to do so."

They remained overnight at the Thingstead, sleeping in the booths, and the next morning Thorberg joined his following to Harald's and led the way. They had a day's ride through steep-walled dales where the first yellowing frost lay wanly across woods. When they came out at the bay, Thorberg took them to a garth he owned where the horses could be left. Three ships rested on the beach, and with these the band rowed out to the island where he lived.

"This is a famous bit of water," he said, pointing to the choppy gray waves. "Here Haakon Jarl the Great smote the Jomsvikings the Danish king had sent against him, a lifetime ago. There've been few such fights as that one. Some say Haakon offered his youngest son to the gods, and only thus had the victory. But then, many evil things are said of him merely because he was a heathen and defied kings."

"He stood for the old ways, and the time was another," replied Harald sharply. "It's not strange he got a bad name."

"Well," drawled Thorberg, "the man who is too far ahead of his time can also look for trouble."

Harald made no answer.

The island rose steeply from the sea, facing into a spouting thunder of surf. When the ships were steered to rest and the men had climbed an upward path, Harald saw a good-sized steading among wind-crippled trees, a dozen timber buildings and a bustle of housefolk. It could easily guest his hundred. "Most of my holdings are on the mainland," said Thorberg, "but I like this place to live. My kin have ever been traders and Vikings, like myself, and I would not sleep well away from the sea noise."

A hollow booming shivered in the rock, endless waters marching mightily from the rim of the world. Gulls mewed in the chill salt air, a snowstorm of wings under hastening lead-gray clouds. It was good to enter the fire-lit warmth of the hall. There the men sat down on the benches, and the carles began setting up the trestle tables. Thorberg gave Harald the seat of honor, and sat across the fire from him.

"Welcome, my lord. We were hoping you would come."

The king turned his head to that husky voice with a hint of laughter. A young woman gave him a beaker of ale.

"Thank you," he said. As he looked closer, squinting through the flickering gloom, he put on the manners of the empire: "I had awaited a noble greeting, but not so fair a greeter."

She met his eyes boldly. She was tall, with a white dress that lay close around the deep curves of breast and thigh; at the throat were raw gold and amber. Her face was wide and snub-nosed like Thorberg's, but good to watch. Her eyes were large and bright between smoky lashes, her hair a heavy deep-red wave down to her waist to show she was a maiden. "I am Thora, the older daughter," she said. "I had scarce hoped to meet the great King Harald Hardrede."

"So that's what they're calling me!" he laughed. "Well, like most nicknames, it rings true." He gestured to the high seat, wide enough for two. "Come join me."

Thora colored. "Thank you, my lord." She mounted the chair in one flowing movement. It was not uncommon for men and women to drink in pairs, though as a rule the whole company would do so together.

Thorberg opened his mouth, but shut it again. After turning the matter over in his mind, he seemed to decide he was pleased.

Harald felt a little light-headed; his weariness dropped from him and he drank thirstily. "This is good," he said. "Elsewhere, men have taken us in, but with small cheer."

"I cannot understand that," said Thora. "Are you not the only rightful king, and a famous warrior to boot?"

Harald stroked his short beard; in the dancing light, it was as if spun of red-gold wire. "Well," he replied. "I am perhaps too much of a king. But enough of that. Have you dwelt on this island your whole life?"

"Yes, my lord, though we often go elsewhere guesting. Still . . ." She sighed. "At times it grows empty here. I would like to see more of the world."

"I'm surprised so fair a maid, and the daughter of a mighty chief, is still unwed."

"I have had suitors." The short nose wrinkled. "They smell of barnyard. Or else they are little, men, traders who may go as far as Finnmark when they're very daring. My father would not marry me off without my own yea, and after all I am but twenty winters old."

Ulf sat gloomily, watching them sideways as they talked ever more eagerly together. He ate little and drank much. But after a while he made the acquaintance of Thora's sister Jorunn, a slim quiet girl with the same red hair, and that lightened his mood somewhat. The third child living here was Eystein, a bright quick lad who watched Harald with dog's eyes.

"And how is it in the South? Is it true that in Miklagardh the streets are paved with gold?"

"No, but there is gold aplenty for him who can take it. I mind one time, we were warring in Syria and came to a walled town which we stormed. That was where I got this scar on my wrist, see it here?"

"That was a bad wound." Thora's blunt soft fingers brushed across it; looking down at her bent neck, Harald saw how the thick hair poured over strong shoulders and wanted to stroke it. "You must have been in great pain."

"No, at such times you pay no heed, there's too much else to think about. Only later do the cuts begin to smart. Well, anyhow, we got inside the town. Some Saracens were making a stand in one house, so I went up on the roof with a number of men, broke through, and came into the upper story. We found many heavy caskets, so we cut a hole in the floor and threw these down on the foe. As they burst open, the floor below was covered with gold and silver monies. Surely that was an honorable death, smashed by a king's ransom! And I've heard that among some of the wild horsemen of the Asian plains, royal blood may not be spilled, so a captured king is put to death by having molten gold poured down his throat."

When he had spoken of such things to Elizabeth, she had flinched and tried to change the discourse. Thora laughed aloud, clapping her hands together. She could describe her own sea journeys, and, with some malice, quarrels and intrigues to which she had been witness—even the hawking which Thorberg like other Vikings had learned abroad. It was surprising how much she knew of Northern affairs, but she admitted shamelessly stretching her ears when men had speech with her father.

The fires were down to coals when the drinking ended. Men laid themselves on the benches or spread their sleeping bags on the juniper-strewn floor. Harald was given a shut bed into which he folded his giant frame, but was long awake.

Weeks had passed since he had bedded a woman, and he had not really spoken freely to one since . . . well, since he had left Maria. Almost, he wished Thorberg were a Dane, so he could bear Thora away. He didn't think she would struggle more than decency required.

2

In the next few days, the king's men sat about taking their ease: drowsing, trading stories, going onto the bay to fish or ashore to hunt. They were content to let time slip past them. But Harald's mind prowled. So much to do! He had Norway to secure, Denmark to win back, perhaps Sweden to fight ... or even England, since the old treaty between Magnus and Hardhaknut gave him some claim to that throne. There were churches to build; only the Church and its learning could bring his wild folk up with the times, and yet it would not do to let Rome become too powerful. It was necessary to nourish trade, bring new arts into the land, catch and hang robbers. And ever he would have most of the stiff-necked chieftains against him. At whatever cost in blood and gold and treachery, they must be whittled down or his son would never sit easy.

His son. He wondered about that. Ellisif had not been well since the birth of Maria, and he knew from Nidharos she had not conceived again. True, he had been too much away to give her a great chance, but many women grew barren after the first child. Even if she gave him a boy, how strong was the lad likely to be?

Almost unawares, he turned to Thora Thorbergsdottir, and spoke much with her. The sheriff and his plump shy wife left them alone, not wishing to cross Harald Hardrede, nor did the island offer a place for unseemliness. The king thought only that he enjoyed her wit and looks.

On the last day before he was to leave, he saw that she was weaving in the maiden's bower and that her face was downcast. Sticking his head through the door, he said: "Leave that for now and come walk with me."

"As my lord wishes," she answered low. Color flooded her cheeks, but he liked the way she paid no heed to the shocked eyes of her women.

She matched his stride; he need not hobble his steps as he did for Ellisif. The sun was bright in a gusty sky, flimmering coppery off her hair and tossing the blue cloak behind her. They strolled out of the garth and into the little patch of woods beyond, saying naught.

"I'll be sorry to go," he said at last.

She did not look up at him. "Must you?" she replied.

The high, noisy wind ripped a handful of yellow leaves from a tree and flung them across the footpath.

"Yes." He looked into sun-flecked shadows. A squirrel chittered and shot up one gray bole. He wondered how squirrels had come to the island. . . . Swum, perhaps?

"I cannot wait longer," he said. "The snow will be here soon, and too many roads impassable. I must get to the Ora Thing in the Throndlaw before then. An old belief is that no king has really been raised till they hail him there; and the Thronds are not friendly to me."

"I cannot see why men should be unfriendly ... to you," she murmured.

"Here in the North, they've made a religion of pride," he said. "Having been where customs are otherwise, I can now see it more clearly than most. A man who is not stubborn and ready to fight has no weight. So I must be harsher than anyone else, though it earn me foes. Better to have peace, but that cannot be."

"Not unless you yield on a few things," she laughed, "and that you will never do." Her lips were wide and red about the white gleam of teeth. He thought they would be soft.

"It isn't in me," he admitted.

They came out of the woods and up a slope where the grass was thick and sere, turned into hay by the summer which was now dying. When they sat down, they caught its dry sweet smell, and Harald thought of the horses he had tended as a boy. They dangled their legs over the edge of a small cliff. Below them, the sea was a swirl of white and green, galloping in to smash hooves against stone. Now and then a mountainous wave spurted its scud up toward them.

A salt taste dwelt on their mouths. Wind shrilled through the pale cold sky, and Thora shivered. Harald spread his cloak around them both. When her body touched his, he felt half drunken.

"I remember a storm once, when we were sailing back from a visit in Raumsdal," she said after a while. Her eyes, deep gold-flecked green, were turned to the horizon. "We came near being swamped. I remember seeing a wave rise over the side, it seemed to hang there forever and I thought it would never break. Then it did, and I was drenched and cold, with water over my ankles. But somehow I was merry, as if I'd drunk much ale. Oh, sheer joy, the wind and the water, darkness, the ship standing on her thwarts; I was never so happy as then."

A gull dipped and soared overhead, riding the wind. Thora's eyes went up to it. "When I get to heaven," she said, "after many years in purgatory, that will be the greatest joy, to fly. I've ever wanted to fly ... up around the moon!"

"And scorch your pinfeathers near the sun," grinned Harald. "That may be a longer trip than you think. I talked with a Saracen once, a very learned man, and he thought the world was round and the stars so far away no one could dream how far. Afterward, at night, I looked up and tried to imagine myself falling up to the Carl's Wain." He paused. "The only time I was really frightened."

Thora crossed herself. "I don't understand that," she said. "It's not good to deal with wizards. I never even liked the old witch-wife near here who spaes with runes and cooks healing brews. God knows she's a harmless creature, but I don't understand what she does."

"It were worth trying to understand," he said. "I would there were more time to think about these matters."

"You would not be afraid," she told him softly. Her face turned to his, and somehow the freckles dusting her nose were sweet to him.

"Nor you." He felt a prickle of sweat along his ribs, but tried to smile. "I'll wager you'd even sail to battle with your husband."

Her eyes glowed. "That were something to live through!"

"The thing's . . . mixed ... at the time. You strike at someone, but seldom know what good it does. Only shouting, and hitting, and your mail hot and heavy. . ." He had a sudden feeling that somewhere, sometime, he had lived through this before. It was eerie, and he crossed himself, until he remembered speaking in much these words to Maria Skleraina. Her image was vague in his mind; instead he saw the sunlight shards against Thora's thick fair brows.

"I've practiced with the box," she was saying, and then, breaking off: "You look so unhappy all at once."

"Oh . . . it's naught." He shook himself, smiling a little stiffly. "I regret having to leave this place. Nothing more."

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved closer against him, and his arm stole around her shoulder. "Will you come, back?" she asked. Her words were hurried, and a pulse fluttered in her throat.

"Yes. Surely. How could I stay away from such, such good company?"

"You have a wife, a Russian princess," rasped from her. "She must be happy."

Harald did not answer. Down below him, the sea worried the island like a dog with a bone.

"I . . ." Thora bent her head away, rubbing her eyes with one fist. "No matter."

"But you're crying!" he said.

"No. Wind in my eyes, it stings."

"The wind is from the side." He tried to make a jesting tone, but his throat was tightened and a hammering went in his temples.

She pulled away from him and sprang to her feet. "I must go now," she said thickly.

"No—" He rose and ran after her. His hands closed on her waist and swung her around to face him. They stared at each other. Her lips moved, but there were no words.

It was hard to say whether he drew her to him or she fell into his arms.

3

Thorberg tugged his beard unhappily. "You are wed, my lord," he said.

"That means nothing," said Harald. "I . . . had hoped—"

"Let's talk frankly," said Harald. "I want your daughter, and she is willing. There's naught shameful about a leman; such have been mothers to no few kings. St. Olaf fathered Magnus on Alfhild, and gave her the rank of queen. I shall do the same for Thora, and add thereto a morning-gift of three estates. And you, of course, will always have my help and friendship."

The chief bit his lip. "She's a headstrong sort. You may have trouble with her."

"I could have as much with a church-wed wife. Thorberg, I hope for your support, but we two will have each other with or without the consent of anyone else."

"Well . . . well ..." The man sat for a while, stroking his beard.

"You shall have great dignities from me, and if you wish I will see that your other daughter makes a good marriage." Harald grinned to himself. The fish was hooked. Already Thorberg was weighing his gain like the hardheaded Viking he was.

"She is young and hot-blooded," said the sheriff at last. "As an honest man, you would not unduly hasten her, nor would the rough journey ahead of you be good for a woman. Shall we say that she comes to you in spring with suitable escort, if she is still of the same mind?"

Harald scowled. But there was truth in Thorberg's words. One thing, though, was certain. He would not again let a chance of happiness slip by, though he had to fight the world for it.

They handseled the bargain, and the next day Harald left. Thora clung to him while they were alone, weeping bitterly, but when she went to see him off a haughty calm was on her face. That pleased him enough to make the parting less of a wrench.

Nevertheless, he drove his men and their steeds hard, wearing himself out enough to be soon asleep every night.

Ulf had said naught to the news, nor did he speak to Harald more than was needful for weeks. Plainly his feeling was that Ellisif was being ill treated. Halldor could not have cared less, he stayed even tempered and cool as ever, but something secret had come over him and often he stood staring westward. It was a lonely trip for Harald.

The first snow lay thin on the frozen, ringing ground when Harald reached Ora and the shire's men met him. Einar Thambaskelfir was there, to give a surly greeting. He should have been the one to lead the Thing, but he let a kinsman do so and give Harald the king's name. Some few cheered, the rest were stony; but on the whole, it had gone more easily than it might have done.

"And now," said Ulf as they rode away toward Nidharos, "we can have a winter's rest." He was losing his grudge here at journey's end, not being one to nurse wrath.

"Haw!" said Halldor. "For you, my lad, a summer at war is rest. Winters, you wear youself out drinking and whoring."

"Well, a man must do something," said Ulf, "and besides, so many men are getting killed these days that it's but my duty to beget more."

Saddles creaked, harness jingled, hooves plopped on the earth as Harald's troop entered Nidharos. An early winter dusk was falling, a few snowflakes drifted across the street, the air was quiet and raw. Harald went to the new house he had had built for himself during the summer—not wishing to stir up the folk by moving into Magnus's home and forcing out the two queens there. It sprawled with its outbuildings next to the half-finished Olaf's church. He and Elizabeth both had a wish for more privacy than the usual dwelling afforded, so he had ordered a chamber made for them in the loft over the foreroom, with an open bed in the foreign style. A fresh smell of wood and paint still clung to the house.

Word had gone before, and as he trod inside, his wife came to meet him with a golden beaker. She had put on some weight and color, her eyes were not so enormous in the heart-shaped face, and she smiled gladly. "Welcome home, Norway's king!" she said.

Harald took the cup. It held wine from the South, and the tables were already laid with a noble feast. Elizabeth was richly dressed, a red silk gown and an embroidered jacket and many jewels. She took his arm with laughter. "I've missed you so much," she said.

"How has it been here at home?" he asked carefully.

"Oh . . . well enough. You must see Maria, she's grown so fat and beautiful. She stumps all over the house, and is making up a speech of her own. I know a few words of it, a brooch is a fass and a hand is trrr and—"

"Yes." He led her to the high seat; almost, she wriggled with pleasure at sitting by him instead of in the women's end of the hall. He looked away, into the fires. "What of the folk? What has been happening?"

"I hear little about that. They buried Magnus by his father in Clement's church, with great mourning. And, oh, yes, Queen Alfhild has left with her son Thori, and—"

"What's this?" He turned on her a glance so sharp that she shrank back. "Go on, tell me the rest."

"I don't know," she whispered. "It's . . . I've never cared for such matters, you know that, Harald."

He thought bleakly that Thora would have learned the whole story at once and taken what measures were needful. Wrath was in his voice as he shouted across the room, demanding the truth. A guardsman who had stayed behind told him. Alfhild and Thori had gone to Svein Estridhsson with the tale of Magnus's will, and were now the guests either of the king or of Thorkell Geysa.

"We'll see about that next summer," said Harald. He remained in a foul temper throughout the evening, and Elizabeth dared not speak to him. That cast a gloom over the feast, and no one was sorry when he ended it early.

A boy carried a torch before the king and queen as they went upstairs to their bedchamber. He lit candles for them and bowed his way out. The room had been festively decked with skins and tapestries and vessels of precious metal, though it remained cold since no one in Norway could build a stove to heat it. Harald bolted the door.

Elizabeth laid a hand on his. There was a glimmer of tears in her gaze, but she smiled. "I would you did not get angered so easily," she said. "But welcome home, my dearest."

He could not bring himself to respond, but stood looking down at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, I suppose not." He unpinned the brooch at his throat. "I've much to do. This summer's work is lost."

"Let me help you." She knelt before him and began unfastening his cross-gaiters. "I've missed you, only God knows how much I missed you. It's lonely here, the highborn ladies are not friendly to us, and . . . No, I'll not pity myself." Her fingers shook on the leggings. "The time was so long, though. This summer was worse than last winter. I was always thinking of you lying hurt, dead somewhere and I never to see you again."

"Ellisif—" He stopped.

"Yes?" She looked up hopefully.

"Here, come stand before me." He reached down and raised her. "Ellisif, it's time we were honest with each other. We're not two people who have been joined, but two houses, and I fear you've not been overly happy with me."

She watched him steadily. "Not at first," she said. "But this summer I could never stop thinking of you. Now, if you should ... if you should die, nothing would remain for me."

He said in a rush: "There is another woman. She is coming here in spring."

Elizabeth stood without moving, but the blood left her face. Finally she said tonelessly: "There have been many other women. That means little."

"This one is different," he answered. "She is Thora Thorbergsdottir from Gizki. I've promised her the name of queen together with you."

His wife shook her head, blindly. "No," she said.

"Yes. You shall not have less honor, I vow. You shall be first woman in the kingdom, and—"

"First!" Suddenly she was weeping, but her voice rose to a wildcat shriek and she stretched out fingers like claws. "First, you say! I'd liefer beg in the ditches than share my house with your trull!"

"But—"

"You cold-blooded scoundrel! You bastard son of a pig!" She faced him in a fury, shuddering and sobbing. "What's a woman to you but a brood mare—and you always rutting! What have you done, what will you ever do, but kill men who've wrought you no harm, and burn homes you're too lazy and stupid to build, and beget a worm's nest of drunken rascals like yourself? It's gold you live for, you sit on your gold like a dragon, eating men. Well, gold you shall have!"

She rushed across the chamber and picked up a heavy gilt candlestick and hurled it at him. He caught it in midair and threw it down to splinter the floor.

"Stop that!" he roared.

"Yes, stop I will, when you've choked on the blood you drink. You heel-biting whoremonger, I see now why they hate you, you're a blight on the land. Would to God you'd been spitted in the South, you gut-rotten dog, and would to God the Saracens had eaten you!"

He strode over and grabbed her by the arms and shook her till her teeth rattled. -

"Now you stop squalling and listen to me," he snarled. "What in Satan's name do you look for? Would you have me lie around while the Wends raid our coasts and the Danes come back to suck us dry? What can you give me, when have you ever given? A corpse in bed and an unspeaking dullness by daylight! I've never dared speak my thoughts to you, because you shrink away from them. . . . You can't understand and you won't try. If you knew how many yawns I've smothered when we sat together . . . God's blood, a man wants a wife, and that you've never been. Now I'll have no more of these woman tantrums. You'll greet Thora as one queen does another, and you'll behave yourself or be sent home!"

Something went out of her. He let her go, and she sat down on the bed and wept for a long time. Harald stood uneasily, wondering what to do, feeling ashamed of himself. Olaf, he'd liefer face the whole Danish Army than endure this.

When she finally raised her face, it was puffed and weary. Her eyes were red, and she hiccuped, but only her fingers moved, twisted together.

"I'm sorry," he said into the stillness. That was a hard thing to say. "I suppose they don't call me Hardrede for nothing."

"Is this your will?" she asked in a thin voice.

"Yes," he said.

"But she isn't coming at once?" "No. Not till the snow melts." Elizabeth stood up and laid cold hands on his shoulders. "Then have me this winter," she said.

"Forgive me, I was hurt. But send me not away."

He pulled her to him. For the first time he saw her unclothed, before they blew out the candles.

"Half of you is still more than all of any other man," she said, and tried to laugh. "Perhaps we can have another child."

In the darkness, he tried to imagine she was Thora.

IV

How Anchors Were Dropped

1

The time of waiting did not go too slowly for Harald, for he found much to do. There was Olaf's church to finish; he got workmen, but it was not completed for another couple of years. There was his royal duty to giving judgment in certain cases; he tried to be fair in an ordinary dispute between men, but hanged thieves and robbers, which caused some ill will. At the midwinter Thing he called for changes in Magnus's law, notably he wanted to raise taxes to support the land defense and build more warships; but here he was defeated, for Einar Thambaskelfir spoke otherwise with little deference, and the folk shouted agreement. A suit he brought, to take a northland estate belonging to a chief known to have had dealings with Svein Estridhsson, was also decided against him.

He throttled his rage, for he could not go too roughly as yet, and showed his displeasure by leaving the town. With a few men, he fared north by sled and ski, a hunting trip which took him far into Haalogaland, to great winter-white forests thronged with deer, elk, bear, wisent, and aurochs.

Elizabeth, who had tried to be more as he wished, bade him farewell so cheerily it was not till later he remembered her hope that he would remain with her. His leaving was even more hard-souled now, when word had lately come of her mother's death. Well, in spring he'd send to Russia for the priests she wanted.

It was a sorrow to her that they did not get another child, but she turned herself more and more to little Maria, who was becoming a bonny girl with big gray eyes and light-brown hair. She said she would not let the lass go to a foster home, as was the practice in great families, and Harald yielded to that.

The first thaw quickened his blood; he returned to Nidharos and prowled hungrily about, wondering when Thora would be here. Nevertheless, she came earlier than he had hoped, not decorously in a wagon but riding a drenched and staggering horse through melting drifts and across mountain slopes where landslides grumbled. It was a chill blustery day when she and her attendants came into the town; wind hooted in the streets and churned ice floes together in the Nidh; out in the fields, crows flattened themselves under its rush, spreading dark wings over the drenched and steaming earth.

She dismounted stiffly before the king's hall. Mud was caked on her skirts and her shoes squelched, but she wore gold and silver. The smoky-red hair tossed about a flushed face, her cloak blew wildly and the dress was thrown tight against the long slim legs.

Elizabeth came up behind Harald, where he stood in the doorway. She paused a moment, looking at the young woman. "I understand," she said finally, in a low voice. Her head lifted, and when Thora came in she smiled and said, "Welcome," through pale lips.

Harald and Thora stood looking at each other, not speaking, for a long time. Then she sneezed and laughed: "That was a wet journey. I'd not have made it for anyone else!"

"Come," he said. His hand trembled a little as he took her arm and led her inside.

That evening he gave his largest feast so far. It lasted for a week, and he was lavish with gifts. But the first night he and Thora went to bed early. As the torches fluttered before them, up the stair and into the royal bedchamber, as if this were in truth a wedding, they heard the guffaws from below which meant that the coarse jokes had begun. Thora laughed as well.

"Shameless," he grinned.

"No, only happy." She leaned against him, he felt the live suppleness of her. "But for you, Harald, yes, I am shameless."

And when they were alone, she came eagerly into his embrace. He fumbled at her clothes, and despite Northern usage she slipped them quickly off and stood before him. "Let the candles burn," she said. "I want to see you." She shivered, crossing her arms above breasts which were full for a maiden. "Come, don't wait, it's cold here."

Even the first time they had each other, she gasped with pleasure. In the next few nights, they got little sleep.

As soon as the roads were clear, Harald sent out word that again there would be a full levy, half the men and ships in the realm. This time, he swore, he would have Denmark if he must hunt Svein Estridhsson up to the Jotuns's home. Nidharos became a caldron of armed men, and the bay filled with dragons.

But one afternoon the king was in his stables, currying his best horse, when Halldor Snorrason sought him out. Looking up as the light from the door was blocked off, Harald saw him standing and went over. "Good day to you, Halldor. What do you seek?"

"I'd have a word with you, my lord." The Icelander was grave.

"Well, then, let's take a walk down to the dock." Harald nodded at his carles, who took over the work; several waiting guardsmen shouldered their axes and followed him as he strolled from the yard.

"Why do you call me lord?" he asked. "I thought we were too old friends for such lickspittle talk."

"You are the lord now," said Halldor. "You have what you've hankered for, the Norse throne, and this Danish business is foolishness."

"Not so," answered Harald, unoffended. "You've seen as well as I, down in the South, what a united empire can mean."

"You'll never have one," said Halldor. "The time's not ripe. It took many hundreds of years to build up the Roman domain. But that's no concern of mine. What I ask now is leave to go home to Iceland."

Harald stopped. Of the street activity around him, swaggering warriors, tramping horses, haggling merchants, plodding oxcarts, Harald was hardly aware. Looking down at the scarred face, he saw wistfulness under its calm.

"Are you not pleased with my service?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. You're no niggard to your friends. But we're scarce getting younger, you and I, and it's time I got me a wife and a home."

"I can arrange a good marriage for you."

"I want to be among my own folk," said Halldor. "I have brothers, sisters, kin I haven't seen for . . . God in Heaven, eighteen years since I left them! Now there's a trader from the West-firths, bound back after spending the winter here, and I can get passage with him. My wealth will buy me a good farm."

"And so you'll bite coals and squabble with your neighbors over cow pastures, the rest of your days," said Harald bitterly.

Halldor resumed walking, down the slanted street toward the docks on the river. "I'll be an important man," he said. "My house shall be famous someday. But that's no matter. It's only that now and then I long so much to go home, and to be done with this warring and scheming, that it's a sickness in me."

"Well," said Harald, "if go you must, I shall not stop you." He tried to smile. "It's but that I have so few friends. I'd thought . . . Well, no matter. Our souls are not alike."

"They were once." Halldor tugged at his mustache. "Do you remember the days of our youth, when we drank Miklagardh dry and set the world on its beam-ends? Hoy, we had some merry times, and there was naught we could not do. Each coin was treasure, each wine a discovery, each woman an adventure. But for us those days are past."

"We still have much to do," said Harald.

"And do you laugh as you work at it? No, it's a task, something you do for the sake of wealth and glory, and because you know not how to stop. As for me, Harald, my bones ache after a day's ride, and in wet weather I'd liefer doze by the fire than be out making war. But more than that, these things have ceased to matter very much. One gold piece is just like another, and not worth the trouble of gaining. A new country is only a reach of ground I've not chanced to see before. Women fall into perhaps a dozen kinds—at most—and I know what each kind will do and say whatever happens."

They came out on the wharf planking, and Harald's eyes went to the haughty curves of a longboat tied nearby. "A ship is a lovely thing," he said. "I don't think men have ever made anything more beautiful."

"But the shapes are all alike," replied Halldor. "They cannot be otherwise, if they're to sail properly. So has everything in life become. Whatever happens, I'm not surprised, and I already know the answer. Nor do I mind this, I am content. In my youth it would have seemed horrible, better die than live in such a dullness, but now ..." His scar-twisted mouth bent upward, a little sadly. "Why, now I am not a youth."

"True," said Harald. He sighed. "How old am I . . . thirty-three? Not a great age, but it does seem that time goes faster than it used to. Once I'd have been unable to wait for this summer's outcome—king of Denmark! These days, though . . ." He shrugged.

Time went, time went, he thought, and even the gods had grown old. Thora was a handsome and lusty wench, with stately manners and a sharp elfin wit, but she was not Maria who had cracked his heart in two. Was it only himself, or had the sun paled since he was a boy?

Well . . .

He clapped Halldor's shoulder. "Go with God," he said. "You shall have worthy gifts from me. And . . . when a man from wherever you settle comes hither, send me word by him, will you?"

3

In the late spring, when the sowing was finished, the Norse fleet met and sailed down to Jutland. They landed with flame and iron, laying waste the northern part as they steered from beach to beach. After a while they entered Godhnarfjord to make a camp from which they could go inland. That was at dawn, a misty gray light stealing into the sky and dew glistening on the planks. A few dogs ashore barked, a cock crowed, but otherwise the garths they could dimly see lay wrapped in shadow and sleep.

Harald chuckled and made half a verse:

"In Godhnarfjord we grip

the ground with claws of anchors

while wives do sing unwakeful

warriors songs of slumber. "

To Thjodholf the skald, he said, "Now do you complete it."

The Icelander stroked his ruddy beard, thought for a moment, and chanted:

"Next summer we'll be sinking

further south the anchors;

oft, I spae, hereafter,

we'll anchor even deeper."

Harald frowned and crossed himself. The lines did not seem to bode well for this faring. But he did not choose to upbraid Thjodholf, who was a plainspoken man but a good and loyal fighter.

The Norsemen took the shoreward crofts without trouble, and Harald struck inland toward a hill overlooking the bay. There, he knew, was the home of Thorkell Geysa.

During the winter, Thorkell’s daughters had made much sport of King Harald's unlucky ventures; they had cut anchors out of cheese, saying these would surely be strong enough to hold his ships. Now, when a man, white-faced, came running to tell them the foe was here, he panted in wrath and sorrow: "You said, you Geysa daughters, that Harald would not come back to Denmark."

"That was yesterday," answered Dotta Thorkelsdottir faintly.

The garth was burned and the girls led to the camp. Somewhat later Thorkell himself appeared; he now stumbled half crazed to Harald. The king set a mighty ransom for his daughters, which was paid a few days later. By that time Harald was already elsewhere and fighting.

The land lay almost open to him, Svein had not come forth and he had only small skirmishes. At first Harald was gleeful, but as the summer wore on he grew more and more enraged. Well enough to harry and load the ships with plunder, but while his wily foeman held back there would be no settling the war. He thought of wintering in Jutland and next year overrunning the islands. However, Ulf said most of the men would not agree to this but would go home when the term of the levy was up.

"Fools, dolts, gutless nidhings!" Harald growled in his throat and smacked one fist into the other hand. "What do they think will happen if we leave? Svein will return, and everything will have to be done over."

Ulf peered at him. "We are no Guthorm's host grabbing a Danelaw. Those were folk who had little or no land at home. Our men have fields which must be harvested or their wives and children starve. They've no wish to sit in a strange country. You'll not take Denmark as the Danes took eastern England, by settling it with your own people."

Harald's mouth grinned back over his teeth. "Then, by God, if Svein won't meet me like an honest man, I'll reave his land till his folk cast him off themselves that they may live!"

"That seems your best hope," said Ulf. "Were the Norse chiefs friendlier to you, they might persuade the army to do as you wish. But as things are . . ."

Harald nodded. He had all too few who stood by him. Orm Eilifsson, jarl in the Uplands, was a trusty follower. So was Finn Arnason, but Finn had gone with some others on a long Viking cruise to the West. Thori of Steig supported Harald, as did Thorberg of Gizki, but still, he could count his powerful friends on his fingers.

"At least," he said, "Einar Thambaskelfir and his son have stayed home. I want none of their service." He sighed; all at once he felt tired. "So be it. Can we not get a foothold, we'll steer back in fall."

This was done. The men were happy, they had won rich booty with small loss and considered this a well-managed war. Harald, standing moodily in the bows of his dragon, thought the season had been hollow. But one thing at a time. Up here, they had not much idea of the nation; a man might join a foreign king, as he himself had done for a while with Svein, and was not thought to have shamed himself. Men went to war because they must and because of the chance to gain wealth, but they did not see that war could be a means to a larger end. A small-minded folk! Why the devil had he ever come home?

He straightened and looked ahead, to the rising cliffs of Norway. If he must build a state, then he would; if he must fight Svein for twenty years, he would. His son was going to have a throne which no one dared contest.

4

Svein Ulfsson rode through northern Jutland, up near the Skaw. It was a cold gray winter day, the land lay white around him and a few listless flakes drifted from a sullen sky. Not far off he heard the sea, endlessly hurling itself against the land, a heavy underground gnawing. His hooded cloak seemed too thin for the still, relentless frost in the air.

Beside him rode the English priest William, whom he had made bishop of Roskilde: a strong-willed, fleshy man who often clashed with the king but was still his dearest friend and counselor. Behind him came the royal guard. Their spears were lowered wearily, and they hunched on plodding horses whose heads drooped.

"Ruin," whispered Svein. "Death and ruin. There were clean-picked bones in that ditch we passed."

"An ill thing," said William. The beads clicked between his fingers.

Svein lifted his fist. The long-nosed face was drawn tight with unshed tears. "Sancta Maria, how long must we suffer? I have sinned like any man, but is God so angry that He must wreck my whole kingdom?"

"His will be done," said the bishop.

They topped a steep rise. On the farther side lay a burned homestead, a few blackened timbers thrusting above the snow. Some half-dozen people, women and children and an old carle, were huddled in a rude shelter of boughs. They came out in their rags and looked sunken-eyed at the strangers. Hunger had caved in their cheeks.

"I am ashamed of my full belly," said Svein. He reached in his purse and brought out a fistful of coins. "Here, take these from your king."

"So you are the king." A woman looked dully at him through a straw-colored mat of hair. "Where were you when they hacked down my husband? Where were you when my milk dried and my baby starved to death? Run your sword through me now and finish your work; you're good enough to fight women!"

"Let me be, for Christ's sake!" shrieked Svein. He spurred his horse into a shambling trot and left them behind.

"Be of good heart, my lord," said William. "Worse for the land were it if it took an unlawful king. That would indeed bring down the curse of heaven."

"No doubt." Svein's hands clenched on the saddlebow.

"You gain naught by viewing this desolation," went on the bishop. "Best we return to Roskilde. Your good wife tried to make me keep you there, she says you catch cold too easily." Svein was married to Gunnhild, a granddaughter of Haakon Jarl.

The king said in a jeering tone: "Is that all you think me fit for, to sit by the fire and write Latin letters to foreign priests?"

"Your friend Hildebrand down in the southlands is worth writing to," said William quietly. "I'd not be surprised if that young man became Pope someday. . . . But I wander. No, my Lord, you would be happier in a more polished age than ours, but I did not mean you cannot master these times."

"Next year," said Svein, "I will not hang back. I thought this year we'd only lose our last hope, if we went against Harald; but now that I've seen what that hellhound has done—" He clamped his lips together, and was silent for a while, then: "We shall not do less in Norway."

"My lord," said the bishop, "best for both lands for all Christendom, would be if you sent a message to King Harald challenging him to meet you at a certain place and fight until your differences were settled. He will not refuse that."

"Before God, I will!" burst out Svein. "And when it's finished, I'll come home with that wolf's head mounted on my prow!"

"That were a heathen thing to do," said William, shocked.

"Forgive me. I am too hasty." Svein shuddered. The wet raw air seemed to be seeping through his flesh, winter mists lay dank between his ribs. "No, not that. How . . . how do I know Harald will not have the chance to do thus to me?"

V

How Harald Reigned

1

The Norse fleet broke up on the way back, as ship after ship turned off when her home coast rose to starboard. Harald approached Nidharos, with less than half his following, and they were not the gallant vessels which had left in spring. Paint was chipped and dull, decks were scuffed, sails faded and sea-streaked, here and there waves had torn out a piece of bulwark or bitten off figurehead and sternpost. The men rowed slowly, a dirty, gaunt, shaggy, sun-blackened crew in ragged clothes, driven by no more than the animal wish to go home. Though casks and bundles of loot were aboard, though hundreds of prisoners awaited ransom or thralldom, there was no victory.

Harald had the steering oar when Throndheimsfjord hove into sight, hills reaching green but already dimmed by the first gusts of autumn. Wind shrilled across a dark roar of sea, the dragon pitched and wallowed. Low above her, clouds were whipped along like smoke, and spindrift stung the faces of men at the oars. Harald braced his legs wide apart and bent to the unsteady roll, hair and cloak flying wildly, eyes squinted against the blast. Ulf sprawled at his feet, brown troll's face turned upward and hairy arms folded across the knees.

"So we come back once more with naught to show," said the king.

"Enough booty for the men to feel it's worth the trouble," reminded Ulf.

"Oh, yes . . . but my foes will see as well as I that we really failed, and be heartened." Harald stared at Ulf. "Few are they whom I can trust. Do you also plan to return to Iceland?"

"God forbid," said Ulf. "This playing chess with kingdoms becomes a habit."

Harald smiled. "That's well, my friend. You shall see that I'm not stingy when men stand by me. When we get home, you shall be my marshal. No man is better fitted to have the guardsmen in charge or to lead the army in my absence."

"I thank you. But, a man with that rank has certain duties; he himself can't grip gold too tightly."

"I think," said Harald, "that we have been such near friends so long, in spite of that adder's tongue of yours, because at bottom we are the same. You're as greedy as I, Ulf; you only lack a plan in your life. Well, I need a trustworthy chief in the Throndlaw, so you shall also have the rights of a sheriff, and I'll give to you a fief carved from the estates Magnus took for himself. That should make a good income, some twelve marks I imagine. And thereto I'll lay half a shire in the Throndlaw."

The green eyes blurred. "From me and my sons you shall ever have friendship!"

"Ah, yes, your sons. It's long past time you were wed, Ulf, if only to build up your own power with a good alliance. What say you to Jorunn Thorbergsdottir, sister of Queen Thora?"

Ulf scratched his black thatch. "She's not a bad-looking wench, and spoke kindly to me the time we guested at Gizki. But how do you know she will—?"

"Go a-wooing this winter and find out," laughed Harald. "I'll give you an escort of guardsmen and send gifts. Thorberg will not refuse if I know him."

Something oddly like pain crossed Ulf's face. "Well," he said tonelessly, "if wed I must, she's as good as any, I suppose." He sat for a while without speaking, the wind loud around him, and then said, "Harald, I would you were kinder to Queen Ellisif. She—"

"That's enough!" rapped the King. "Heed your own affairs and I'll tend to mine."

"I thank you for your gifts," said Ulf coldly. He got up and went toward the bows.

The ships steered into the fjord and lay to at Nidharos that evening. A crowd had come down to see them arrive. There were cheers, arms embracing as women and children sought their men. A few women searched through the disembarking crews, halted someone to cry a question, then hid their faces and walked slowly back.

Harald noticed a big, richly clad man with a guard of warriors strange to him. This one strode up and bowed. "Greetings, my lord," he said with a burred accent. "I had hoped you would come back ere I must return home."

"I've not met you before," said Harald.

"No, my lord, but none could fail to know you by your height alone. I am Thorfinn Sigurdharson, jarl of the Orkney and Shetland Islands, come hither to offer my submission."

Harald stood rock still, staring at the ugly, sharp-featured man; under the sallow skin lay strength. Thorfinn was known for a mighty chief. At the death of St. Olaf, he had taken his independence of Norway in all but name. Magnus had sent Rognvald Brusason thither to claim a third of the lands, and Thorfinn had fought him for a long time; at last Rognvald had fallen. It was also known that he was a close friend of the exiled Kalf Arnason and had given that stubborn lord goodly fiefs. Harald had thought something must be done about Thorfinn Jarl . . . and here the man himself had entered the bear's den.

"Is there any reason why we should be friends?" asked the king. His intent was to gall Thorfinn by thus speaking to him before the whole town; see what came of that, and how real the jarl's offer was.

Thorfinn opened his mouth angrily, but mastered himself. "You are my rightful sovereign."

"Well, then, come with me to the hall. I suppose you are already guesting there?" Harald led the way, the two bands of guardsmen tramping after. Dusk was soaking into the streets, and lanterns guttered in the high wind.

"My lord," said Thorfinn, "best I tell you at once why I have come to do homage, then you'll know that no treachery is planned."

The tale was simple enough; Harald could have fitted it together himself from accounts brought by men who had been in the West. Thorfinn's friend and ally, Macbeth, lord of Moray, had refused to acknowledge Duncan, the new king of Scotland. Together Thorfinn and Macbeth overthrew and slew him, and now Macbeth was king of the Scots. Folk said he was a good ruler, but he was being threatened by Duncan's son Malcolm, who was supported by the powerful English earl Siward. Open war could not be many years delayed, and Thorfinn did not wish to risk having Harald on his back while Malcolm and Siward attacked from the South.

The submission was the more valuable because Thorfinn had lately brought the Hebrides under him. Harald did not long weigh his thoughts. It would have been more valiant, perhaps, to avenge his old counselor Rognvald, but Rognvald had fallen in fair battle, and here was dominion gained without loosing an arrow. The summer's gloom lifted from Harald, and he said gladly; "This must be considered, of course, but I can tell you now, Thorfinn, that we shall receive your offer well and send you home with honors."

Come, now, he told himself, it was not so little he had: the Orkney realm and the Faeroes, besides the sprawl of Norway herself. Iceland and Greenland did not acknowledge his overlordship, but they were friendly and might in time come to him—even this mysterious Vinland the Good, with its dark-skinned Skraelings and limitless forests. Yes, surely St. Olaf watched over Norway, and Denmark would soon drop from the bough if he shook that tree enough. There remained Sweden, England, Ireland, Scotland ... An empire of all the strong young Northern folk? The thought was dizzying, but as weariness fell off him he was sure he had strength for the task.

Then let the Wends rage and the Germans brawl and the Byzantines rattle dry bones in their golden cuirass; his sons, his kind of people and way of living, would have this earth at their feet!

With a high and joyous leaping in his breast, he entered the king's hall.

His two queens stood side by side to greet him. He scarcely saw Elizabeth; his eyes were for Thora. Tall and proud she stood, with a smile like flame on the wide full lips, eyes aglow and hair in a thick coppery coil. A costly dress of green silk was tight around her breasts, cut so shamelessly low that the great ruby in her massive necklace smoldered over the cleft; her round strong arms were weighted with gold, and an ermine stole was draped about the wide shoulders. The skirt was cut full enough that he did not at first notice the swelling of her. She came forward with the bold stride that was dear to him and said aloud, "Welcome, King Harald!"

He took her hands and the fingers strained against his. Then, reaching up, she pulled his face down and kissed him heartily in the sight of all. This was not a mannerly thing to do, but as he felt how she had grown he forgot it. "Thora," he cried, "are you with child?"

"Yes, already!" she laughed. "The next king of the North."

"Oh, my darling—" he whispered; then, catching himself, he turned to Elizabeth and said courteously, "Greeting, my lady. I hope you are well?"

"Yes," she replied. Her slight form was clad in plain bluish gray, with scant ornament; she had grown pale again, and lost weight; the eyes seemed to fill her thin childish face. By one hand she led her daughter, who was shooting up, fat and healthy though shy of Harald. He lifted the girl and she shrank away and burst into tears.

"There, now," he said with as much tenderness as he could raise. "It's but your old father, home from the wars." He gave her back to Elizabeth.

"You should let the little one get more used to you," said his wife quietly.

"Indeed," jeered Thora. "He should stay home all his days and bounce her on his knee." Elizabeth's lips tightened. Clearly squabbling had been common between the women.

"Enough," snapped Harald. "We have hungry men to feed, besides our noble guest Jarl Thorfinn."

To cover his embarrassment, he spent the whole evening talking with the Orkneyman or listening to the skalds chant of the summer's work. Not till he was alone in the bedchamber with Thora did he let his longing slip. No word was spoken between them for some time, until they lay in darkness resting.

She ruffled his hair and said huskily, "How I've missed you, my beloved! It's been one great hunger, these many weeks."

"How have things gone otherwise?" he asked.

"Oh, not badly, I suppose, though the highborn ladies are not overly polite to me. They know I'm your favorite, so now they turn to Ellisif." Thora snorted her scorn. "Let them! Am I a crofter's wife to gossip about what somebody said to somebody else?"

"There has been trouble between you two?" he asked slowly.

"Well, two women could never live under one roof. Each will ever have her own way of doing things. And it rasps me the way she must put on airs because she's a Russian princess. My folk were kings when hers were landless Swedish Vikings."

"No more of that," said Harald. "I've too much to do already, without being plagued by women's fits."

"Oh, well, let Ellisif mope about with her heathenish icons and those priests you got for her. I have you." Thora's arms stole about his neck.

He felt a dim guilt, almost as if he were letting a murdered friend lie unavenged; but the urgent warmth of her, pressing against him, drove it from his mind.

2

Between harvest and the first snowfall, Harald summoned a Thing of the Throndheim men to lay before them his proposals. This proved to be a great assembly, swarming over the field: a racket of voices, a whirlpool of faces, a little town of gaily decked booths, the shaggy presence of many horses. It was held with both old and new ceremonies; Mass was heard and the lawmen recited the laws; a full day passed before business could start.

Harald mounted the platform when they were ready and addressed the gathering. He wished to announce the honors he had given Ulf Uspaksson and the submission of the Orkneys; he meant to go back to Denmark next year with a force as large as he had had this time; he planned a stone minster in Nidharos, dedicated to Our Lady, as a new shrine for Olaf's holy remains; a town was needed on the Oslofjord; to do all this, and much more, he wanted increased taxes, but every sensible man could see it was for the good of the whole country.

Einar Thambaskelfir trod weightily forth. As the mightiest of the Throndlaw sheriffs and the chosen spokesman of the people, he was a man to listen to with respect, and Harald noticed more silence for him than there had been before. Gray and strong, his seamed face bitten into angry lines, he took the word:

"My lord, you bring fine news about the islands, though no surprise to most of us. Some might say that a lucky turn of Western affairs brought this about, but I shall not dispute your statecraft in the matter. As for the power given your henchman Ulf Uspaksson, this is your right and we have many other chiefs of no small power. The Lady Church is doubtless a holy work, even if some feel that Nidharos has enough churches already. However, my lord, when the Throndheim folk must pay scot to benefit the Southerners, with this town of yours, and when again our land must be emptied to make war in a foreign country, it is well to stop for thought.

"There is no threat to us from outside which we cannot meet with a levy when needed, and indeed many folk mislike paying to support your standing forces at their present size. There are no few suits to be brought at this Thing against royal guardsmen who stayed behind this year. Most of them are from other shires, and they have proved an overbearing lot. Some feel that the king has already too much power, and goes too recklessly forward. Eirik Blood-ax was driven from the land, Haakon the Good was forced to acknowledge our old laws and freehold rights, the Eirikssons had scant help in their time of need because they had been too haughty, and Haakon Jarl was abandoned for Olaf Tryggvason because he also found power a heady drink.

"Rather than that the realm again suffer such troubles, I feel it wiser that we abide by ancient usage. Let not the king claim more than is lawfully his; let him not keep a guard so large that folk groan to support it; let him not engage in adventures which may increase his own domains but cost his people blood and gold. Let him ride the land like a good horseman, not so furiously that the steed must either throw him or burst its heart.

"It is the will of the chiefs and, I think, all sound men, that the king abide by the laws and give himself more to building up his own realm than tearing down someone else's. I thank you, my Lord."

Those who were nearby saw Harald pale and bite his lip; but he answered mildly, "How can the kingdom be strong if the king is weak? How can we build up the realm when no one is willing to work at it, when shire is selfishly divided against shire and it is more to be a Thrond than a Norseman? How can we have the respect which is necessary to peace if we womanishly give up our rightful claims? God has made me king, and I must serve as a king." His voice roughened: "This is my will, and let those go against it who dare!"

The dispute was long that he waged with Einar. Had he been less wrathful, he might have enjoyed the duel, words meeting words, one tricky point of law after another. But the chief was better versed in the rules, and said openly that the yeoman would endure no breach of them. Harald had to yield on some points; he got the agreement to do what he wished, but the taxes would not be raised enough for it and he must dip into his own hoard.

Leaving the Thing in a rage, Harald rode swiftly back to Nidharos. Coolness came after a while. Plain to see, Einar and Eindridhi would block him as long as they lived. They were the backbone of the resistance to him. They stood for the old ways, and clever though they were, their yeoman's wisdom could not see that those ways were doomed and a kingdom which abided by them would become a stagnant backwater and finally someone else's province.

He said as much to Ulf, and the Icelander nodded. "I wonder if we can even trust them to be loyal. It's happened erenow that Norse chiefs dickered with foreign kings."

"That I can find out, at least," said Harald.

He went among his Danish prisoners and sought out two young men of good birth who were well known to be able and honest. In private, he told them that if they would do something for him he would set them free without ransom. "So it be not against Christian law and the interests of my lord King Svein, I will," said one, and the other added his yea.

"Good," said Harald. "I want only that you go to Einar Thambaskelfir, pretending to be Svein's agents, and offering him great riches and honors if he will help the Danes against me."

He sent them off with a carefully planned story, and had them back a few nights later. "Well?"

"My lord, these were Einar's words: 'Although I am not King Harald's friend, I will do all in my power to defend Norway against your ruler. Now you must leave at dawn, and if I see you again it will be the worse for you.' "

"Good," said Harald absently. "You may go; I have a boat and provisions waiting at the dock. Give my greetings to your king and say I hope to be his guest next summer."

"We will build a good hot fire for you, my lord," said the Dane boldly, and walked out with his comrade.

Harald slumped in his seat, brooding. Matters would be easy if Einar were an outright traitor. Ring his house in with spearmen and set it ablaze! But, as it was, at best, Einar would be a wall in his path; at worst, he would lead a rebellion in the

name of Norway. Well . . .

He sighed and went to seek Thora.

The fall came, high bright skies and geese winging south, the hills a dry flame. Ulf rode down to Gizki with a large following and came back to say Thorberg had agreed and would sail with his other daughter to Nidharos at Yuletide. "She's a quiet sort, but I like her," he added, "and maybe I'm getting too old to tumble a different wench each night. That's a sad thing; you never come to know a woman, she's naught but a body."

He seemed more wistful than glad, so Harald asked him, "Was there someone you'd liefer have had? I might have arranged that for you."

"No," said Ulf, down in his throat, "you couldn't have done that. . . . Brrr, what a bleak day. Good to be a Christian and await a hell where they keep the fires going."

A short while afterward, Elizabeth sought Harald. They had not seen much of each other. She kept to the building where she had her quarters and servants, amusing herself with games, needlework, riding abroad, and little Maria. Harald was alone in the hall, burnishing a sword, when she entered. Dusty sunlight streamed behind her, making the brown hair a halo at the edge of her cap.

"Good day," he said, startled. "What brings you here?"

"I saw this chance to speak to you in private." Her voice was taut, but she faced him unwavering. "Well, then, sit down. What's wrong?"

"Nothing for me, Harald; nothing that can be healed; but for you." He sighed. "Well?"

"I have, at last, become friends with some of the ladies hereabouts, and even my maids speak freely." Elizabeth smiled. "I know not why, but they come to tell me their troubles, and I am an outlander. So I've seen how discontent is waxing. The land grows restless, Harald."

"Bah! What do women know of such matters?"

"More than you think. Husbands often talk to their wives, whether you believe it or not. They speak of law flouted, and unjust decisions, and grinding taxes. ..."

"They should have been down in the empire." He laughed. "Then they'd not complain of me."

"But they do. They even mutter—"

"Of war?" He leaned forward. "Have no fear of that. I know what I'm doing. True, when a case has two sides, and most do, I give judgment in favor of the men I think most true to me. Isn't it better to keep them thus than try buying a weak friendship? And I am careful in how I clamp my will on the yeomanry. No one thing is worth fighting over. A fine here, a tax there, a threat of outlawry if anger speaks too loud—little else—but bit by bit, the strength of my enemies is whittled down."

She reached out to him, then withdrew the hand. "Why would you not liefer have the love of the people? That's a horrible name they've fastened on you, Hardrede. I hoped, when first we came here, I hoped you would be called Harald the Good."

"The Weakling, the Unready, the Milksop." He snorted. "Can't you see I have a kingdom to forge? Hammer blows are needful."

She looked at him for a while, then nodded, as if to herself. "You are only half a man," she said. "The rest is a storm wind. I must believe God sends the gales."

He made no answer. She could still surprise him.

Rising, she smiled, a closed curve of lips, and brushed her fingers across his hair. "When a woman cares for a man, she must take him as he is," she said, and left.

He half rose to follow, but sat back down. He knew not what he could tell her.

3

At midwinter, Ulf's wedding stood in the cathedral. Harald was there and at the new home, some hours' ride from Nidharos, with both his queens and large gifts; this was a time for gorging and drinking and making merry. Jorunn Thorbergsdottir had filled out somewhat, though she was still pale and slim. She met every gaze boldly. Already the first morning, she and her sister were laughing and whispering together. None could doubt what they told, and Elizabeth threw them a look of scorn.

Afterward Harald took a few men on another long hunting trip. Nidharos was dreary in the cold months unless you cared for an endless round of feasts and threadbare thoughts; and his leman Thora was too near her time to be much comfort at night. They had good luck and got far north, up among the Finns. Those were thought to be great wizards, and Harald's followers crossed themselves as they bought lucky charms. Several weeks passed before they turned home again.

As he rode into town, Harald thought eagerly that Thora's child would soon be born. He hoped the new church he was building would assure it was a boy, and healthy. And he turned a blind eye to one of his men who cut runes that the elves might be appeased.

She was waiting for him at the hall, and they went into the little house that was her own to be by themselves. "You were long gone," she said. "I'd begun to think the child would be born without you here."

"He wouldn't dare," grinned Harald. "I am the king."

Her mouth drooped. "It was lonely, though. I care not for sleeping by myself."

"I fear you must often do so, till these wars are finished."

"Take me with you," she begged. "You said you would."

"You'll have a baby to look after," he reminded her.

"Yes, so it goes," she answered sullenly. "Sometimes I wish I had been a man."

He supposed it was only the humor of her condition, and tried to turn it by laughing. "I mind a Jew down in Miklagardh who told me one of their prayers—for the men—goes: 'I thank the Lord I was not born a woman.' " Thoughtfully: "I'd like to get some Jewish merchants here. They're an able folk, they'd liven this thick Northern blood."

"Yes, thank your God and weave your schemes!" She burst out angrily. "And leave me behind to wipe the baby's butt while you go whoring in Denmark!"

It was the first time she had thrown a real fit of temper at him. He found he could not bellow her down, and ended with the promise of a golden bracelet. That quieted her and brought her purring to his arms, but he was not overly pleased. Ellisif, he thought, would not have gotten into a rage for no good cause, and once angered would not be bought off by anything less than a better reason.

Still, this was a lovely and lively woman he had here, and failing Maria ... He wondered, for the ten thousandth time, how Maria was faring.

He had not returned too soon. The next midday Thora's pains began. She and the midwife went into the hall's bedchamber, while Harald sent a messenger off to Ulf to bid him come and be godfather.

Meanwhile there was nothing he could do. The bishop himself was on hand to baptize the infant at once should it seem weakly, but Harald was no great friend of Bishop Grimkell in spite of giving largesse to the Church. The guardsmen sat about, talking in low voices, now and then speaking to the king but none as a brother; there was none to whom he could open his heart.

He looked out at the gloomy winter day and thought of his daughter's birth, how he and Ulf had waited in shared pain. Why did things past always seem brighter? Then he had been little more than a roving sea king, houseless, nigh friendless, sitting in a strange land, but . . . God grant him a son!

"You will wish to have a baptism feast, my lord?" asked his steward.

"Yes . . . no . . . Wait till we see if . . . No, by Thor, we'll surely have a feast, tell the housefolk to start readying."

The short day drew to its close, torches were lit and shadows leaped through the hall. Harald wondered why Elizabeth was not here, then realized that no one must have told her. Ulf would not arrive till tomorrow and . . . Was that a wailing he heard?

He sprang to his feet. The midwife came down the stairs with the child in a blanket. Harald choked, but stood his ground, folding arms and letting the woman lay the bundle before him.

"A boy, my lord," she said gleefully. "A fine big boy, and for a first birth it was very quick and easy."

A boy. Stooping, he picked up the baby and held the tiny wrinkled face to his own. A sudden huge love rose in him, the creature was so small and soft and helpless, and yet shouted outraged defiances to the world. "Like a Viking landing on a strange beach," he whispered. "A wide new beach, and it shall all be yours."

Bishop Grimkell moved up, stately in robe and mitre. "God be praised, my lord," he said, his old face breaking into a rare smile. "What will you call the prince?"

"Magnus," said Harald.

He had decided this months ago. It would please the people, and he who slept in Clement's church had borne it honorably.

"Then if you wish to bear him to the cathedral—"

"No," said Harald. "The night is cold, nor has the godfather arrived."

"But the child may die before—"

"He won't," said Harald shortly. "The christening will be tomorrow." Ignoring the bishop's shock, he turned and went up the stairs.

Thora's maids had just spread the bed with clean linen. She was pale, but smiled sleepily at him. He bent and kissed her. "Well done," he said, laying the boy in her arms.

"My own Magnus ..." Her eyes drooped, and he left her to rest.

As he came down again, he felt a strange emptiness. He was glad, but had no one to share his joy. It wasn't the kind of pleasure that called for carousing, it was ... He knew not what.

"Be merry," he said to the men. "Drink your prince's health. But I must go elsewhere."

The night bit at him as he stepped outside. He felt the ground crunch underfoot, and the stars were keen above him; seldom had he seen so many. Down in the streets, houses lay dark, here and there shone a red torch gleam; the bay glimmered like steel. He shivered and rapped on the door of Elizabeth's bower; the cold wood barked his knuckles.

She opened it herself, a yellow warmth of candlelight behind her. "Oh. I was about to go to bed."

"I wanted you to know," he said. 'Thora has borne a boy."

"But that is wonderful!" She drew him inside and shut the door. He saw how the room was simply furnished but how gold flung back the light from lean strange icons on the walls. "You must be very happy," she said breathlessly.

"Yes. Yes, of course I am." He wandered over to Maria's crib and stood regarding the girl's face. "How has she been?" he asked.

"Christ be thanked, well. She's a sweet child." Elizabeth took his arm. "And the boy?"

"Strong and loud and very wrathful." He tilted up her chin till their eyes met. "Ellisif, would you not have wanted Maria to be a boy?"

"I did, at first. Now I'd not change her. We have it well together, and she will give me grandchildren someday."

"I've never understood you," he said awkwardly. "I fear you've suffered much from me."

"This is a night to be glad," she said, though tears lay in her eyes. "It is enough that you came here, to tell me yourself; that makes me happy."

He pulled her to him without thinking, and her lips sought his blindly. Laughing and weeping at once, she drew him toward the bed.

4

Harald was watching the foundation being dug for his new minster when Bishop Grimkell found him. They stood together for a while, saying naught. The sound of picks and spades was loud in the chill calm air.

"A great work, my lord," said the bishop at last.

"It goes well." Harald nodded. "May it bring luck to the land."

"I wished to talk over a Church matter. Shall we seek my house?"

Harald fell into step with him. "What is it?"

"Word has just come that the bishop in Vingulmark is dead, God rest his soul. We must agree on a candidate for his successor and send him down to Hamburg with letters urging he be consecrated."

"That's a long journey," said Harald. "I know of some ships making a voyage to England in spring. Let our man—and I know who it will be, the priest Thorgils Grimsson is friendly to me—let him go to Canterbury instead to take his vows."

"My lord!" Grimkell stopped dead. "You jest!"

"No, your reverence. Why should I?"

"But . . . Norway belongs to the Archdiocese of Bremen and Hamburg!"

"Yes," said Harald coldly, "and Archbishop Adalbert of Bremen, like the German emperor, is too good a friend of Svein Estridhsson. As for me, I shall cleave to our old allies, the Saxon dukes, in worldly matters, and in the ghostly—"

"The Holy Father has appointed—"

"Then I shall appoint otherwise," said Harald. "I do not intend this kingdom shall be ruled in any way from outside, and I will not have Svein's creatures turning the Church of my own land against me. Our bishops will be ordained in Rome, England, France—anywhere I choose—and I will select them myself."

Grimkell set his jaws together. He might be in holy orders, but warriors had been among his fathers. "You've dared God's wrath erenow, my lord," he said. "Those bearded priests with their heathenish Russian chants who keep the queen's chapel are bad enough. Would you now bring the ban down on yourself, perhaps on the whole country?"

"I have thought this through, your reverence," said Harald, "and you cannot turn my will."

"The Pope himself shall hear of it."

"Write if you wish, but save your breath for the Mass."

Grimkell swallowed hard. Harald laughed and took his arm. "Come, Your Reverence, we need not be at sword's point over a difference of opinion. It has ever seemed to me that God is greater than any of these narrow creeds in which men seek to pen Him. Now, to show we are friends, will you hear my confession?"

"That is for your own chaplain," said Grimkell thinly; he knew what a fat, lazy, tolerant priest Harald had named to that task. He stood a moment, then said, "My lord, it may well be that dogma is too small to encompass God. . . . Yes, it must be, since God is infinite. Nevertheless, the canon law is His holy will for our behavior, and no good fortune comes to those who rebel. I would show you a mystery, that you may better appreciate the power of Our Father."

Harald followed him into Clement's church, where the king took off his fur cap and signed himself. They were alone in the weaponhouse, the entryroom where men left their arms, and the building stood silent.

Grimkell brought forth some keys on a chain. "These open up the shrine of holy Olaf," he said. "You have not yet tended the saint as Magnus did. Dare you look on him now and keep your hard heart?"

Harald felt a stumbling in his breast; sweat was on his palms, but he answered steadily, "Let us go in."

They said an Ave and a Paternoster before the high altar and then, reverently, the bishop drew aside the fur coverings and unlocked the great casket. Harald helped him raise the lid, heavy as death.

There he lay, Olaf the Stout, who had been more a man than any other in his age and was now a saint. Harald had seen a few miracles himself; he knew it was no tale. One man had been stricken blind ten years ago, when his farm was ruined by blights and murrains; for a decade he had lived helpless with his brother, and then he had been led here, had shambled up to the altar and laid uncertain hands on the casket . . . and he saw.

Olaf the Stout, Olaf the Holy, God's trusty warrior in heaven, ruled Norway more now he was dead than ever in his reckless life. Harald met him afresh after almost twenty years.

He lay altogether still; strange to see him quiet who had been so strong and hasty; but the stillness was of a mountain, a mighty peace had come over him, and he slept with a world under his head. He wore rich clothes, spurs on his feet, a sword at his side, but the hands were folded over a crucifix. In the dim light of a few narrow windows, his face seemed little changed, drawn gaunt but with color in it; the hands had shrunk, skin pulling back from bluish nails, but the combed hair and beard still flowed thickly.

Harald shivered and crossed himself. A faint odor wafted from the coffin: spices, herbs, like some old forgotten summer. . . . Yes, embalming, and color put on the dead skin, but it was nonetheless a wonder that the relic had endured.

"Pater noster, qui est in coelis ..."

When they were again outside, they walked in silence for a while. Then the bishop said quietly: "Well, my lord?"

"I have seen bodies as well kept," answered Harald. In haste: "I mean no impiety. Remember that I fought on Olaf's side at Stiklastadh, and have ever thought of him as my patron. But the fact that he is a saint seems to me to have little to do with the question of our archbishopric."

"Beware, my lord," said Grimkell. "Hellfire waits for the proud of heart."

"Olaf was a proud man," said Harald. "I've never known one with more sense of his own worth—and rightly so, to be sure. Yet if I were sinning as grievously as you think, would he not have smitten me erenow? I've heard of his striking men deaf, blind, lame, dead for lesser things. No, you have shown me a miracle, but not given me a reason."

"God help you," said the bishop. "You go out of your way to make enemies. How long do you think it can last?"

He left the king with long strides. Harald watched him, feeling a little daunted. Then, grimly, he straightened his shoulders and went his own way.

VI

How Svein Was Clever

1

In spring Harald knew that both his queens were again with child and the house he owned would be too small before many years had passed, the more so when his court was growing in size and splendor. He ordered a new place built near the river, below the Lady Church, and told his steward to spare no cost.

This dwelling was to be one of the finest yet seen in the North. Its buildings lay around a courtyard which was paved but in which two ancient oaks were let stand. At the north side, above the foreroom, was the hall, with a chamber overlooking the street that led to the river docks. From this a landing led to the downward stairs; and from this landing one could walk onto a gallery above yard and street, under a steep, shingled roof and past dragon-headed beams. The hall was flanked by two lesser houses, one for each of the queens, and those beyond held servants, horses, and treasure. The main entrance to the courtyard was on the south side. Some hundreds of folk could find shelter here.

In those months Harald felt himself lucky: a son, perhaps two more boys on the way, his women happy, and the challenge to a final combat which Svein had sent.

There was grumbling through the land when half its men were again called out. Yeoman plowed their fields wondering if they would ever come back to harvest them; men looked at hillsides and forests with a sharp knowledge that this might be their last springtime on earth. Still, the fleet was readied and gathered, and early in summer it steered by Konungahella.

Harald stood on the foredeck of his dragon when they reached the meeting place. A light rain blurred the world; now and then the sun flung bright spears down between the clouds to glisten on wet planks. Where the Gota River met the sea, lay a cluster of fishermen's huts, dark-wooded, raindrops caught glittering in their thatch. A few people gaped from the beaches.

"Svein is late," said Thjodholf the skald.

Harald frowned. After the eagerness of his southward voyage, this was an empty feeling, like a puffed-up bladder pricked and hissing itself small. Harshly, he told off a few men to go ashore and find out what had happened to the Danish king.

The ships rocked at anchor, one broad reach of hulls around the curving strand. The air held a sour smell of rain-soaked wool and a belly rumble of sullen voices. Harald sprawled on a bench, rose to pace the crowded deck, flung himself back to his seat. A long time passed before his men returned in the boat.

"Well?" he barked.

"We found some carles, my lord, who said they had heard the Danes were lying to south of Sealand."

"And not coming here?"

"They'd heard no talk of that, my lord, and surely if King Svein meant to steer hither he'd have sent folk ahead to arrange for provisions and—"

Harald turned his back with a snarl. His voice came thickly: "Summon the chiefs. We must decide what to do."

The captains were rowed to his dragon and came aboard: sheriffs, great landowners, Jarl Orm Eilifsson, Eindridhi Einarsson. They filled the benches together with Harald's best guardsmen; the rest of his crew he had sent ashore to make room. He stood in the bow, under the gilt snake head, and glowered at them.

"Well," he said, "after his fine words to us, Svein Estridhsson has once more shown himself a coward. He's skulking with his levy around the islands, and the question is whether we should try to find him or go take his land while he is away."

Eindridhi stood up. "Neither, my lord," he answered. "We came here to fight an honest war, not to play Viking. Svein cannot be fought if he does not wish to be, his rowers are as good as ours; and if we seize Denmark as was done last year, the upshot will be the same."

Harald shook his fists in the air. "It's like trying to grasp water!" he burst out. "Boneless, strengthless, but it will not be caught. The only way is to dam it at the source. ... I mean we should overrun Denmark though we take three years, and hold it."

"That's no part of a man's duty, my lord," said Eindridhi. "There have been too many great levies; the land is being bled dry and with naught to show save the plunder of some wretched crofts. I, for one, am not going to follow further."

"So you fear the Danish axes?" taunted Harald.

"Let no man call me craven," replied Eindridhi. "But I'm fit for something besides warring."

Harald crammed his wrath back down his throat and looked coldly at Einar Thambaskelfir's son. No mistaking his insolence; he must have a goodly host loyal to him if he dared risk an open break with the king. And in that case, what was not being plotted in his father's hall?

Splitting the fleet in a war of Norseman against Norseman would be a godlike gift to Svein. Slowly, mastering himself with an effort that brought sweat to his forehead, Harald said:

"Later, Eindridhi, we can settle who has the final word. But as for now, let me hear what the other chiefs think."

If think they can, his mind added.

One by one they spoke, the slow heavy words of men who had pondered at great length. Some were in favor of going on, but most were against it, saying that their crews would liefest sail home and know their first peaceful summer in years.

"No." Harald shook his head. "It shall never be told that I slunk back without loosing one shaft. Svein shall regret his treachery; all Denmark will scream because of his cowardice." He swallowed hard. "Let most of you go home, then. I will keep the guardsmen, and such others as are my friends.

And the sheriffs shall repay their rich incomes by coming with me, and we will keep the men from those districts nearest the Danish border. They have raids to avenge."

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.

A groan went up when the order was cried from ship to ship. "I worked hard for that," mourned Eystein. " I could have bought a half interest in a trading ship with it." But spears were blinking less than a mile behind.

The laden billets drifted lazily, bobbing as the Danish craft neared. Harald grinned when he saw how those stopped and how boathooks reached out. Easier to take what was floating free than to board the Norse and fight for it. But he was not out of sight when a splendid longship which must be Svein's drew up, and he could well think how the king upbraided his men. The Danes got moving again, and once more narrowed the gap.

Harald sighed. "There's no help," he said, "we must lighten ship. Overboard with malt, wheat, bacon; knock out the bungs of the beer kegs and let the stuff run out."

Ulf shuddered. "A thirsty voyage home!"

"What counts," said Harald bleakly, "is getting home at all."

With scant provisions, his vessels went faster, but he could still not outpace the foe. Still the gap closed until a few arrows were falling in his wake. Harald smote a fist into his palm. "We'll have to let most of our captives go," he said. "Bind them to empty casks, rip out the bulwark screens if we haven't wood enough, and throw them overboard."

Thjodholf panted angrily from his oar: "And what the devil will we gain from the summer's work, if we don't bring home so much as a thrall?"

"Your lives," said Harald. "We can hope for better luck next year."

"Always next year," grumbled Thjodholf.

The prisoners, men and women, were linked with ropes to whatever would float and tossed into the sea. There they clung to their bits of jetsam, crying for help as the currents scattered them. Harald nodded when he saw the Danes approach and back water. "They'll be a time fishing their friends out," he said.

"Now row!" bawled Styrkaar. "Row for your worthless lives!"

The fleeing ships sprang ahead, though it seemed like forever before the enemy dwindled out of sight. By that time dusk was closing in, and Harald breathed easier. "We've gotten free," he said. "They'll not follow when they can't see what way we fared."

He found it hard to keep a cheerful mien. This had been a useless season, and he would have to pay the men something to make up for the lost booty. He could not hope for another test of strength; a full levy next year would snap the land's patience. Svein had won; the water had gone through the fishnet and was tumbling merrily seaward. No, before God! That scoundrel would get no rest, not while Harald Hardrede walked the earth.

God and St. Olaf willing, he would be out every summer. He could always find men who would come for the sake of plunder or just to break the sameness of their lives. There would be such a reaving up and down the coasts of Denmark that folk had never seen the like. Landwaster's raven would croak from Scania to the Skaw, and where it had flown only wolves would house. Sooner or later, with his country burning about his ears, Svein Estridhsson would have to master his fears and face Harald Hardrede in open battle; and then this day would be revenged, and Magnus Haraldsson grip the crown of Denmark for a plaything!

The thoughts were venom within him. Had he had men who would follow him, had he had chiefs who saw him as a king and not a foe to be blocked and outwitted, he would not be fleeing like a whipped dog; two realms would be his, and he could be storming into a third. But while Einar Thambaskelfir and Eindridhi Einarsson lived, the Northern empire remained a ghost and Norway's king felt the throne tremble beneath him.

It must not be. Thora would not be driven into exile, Ellisif would not be led bound to the enemy's seat, Magnus and Maria would not have their brains dashed out against a burning wall. And Harald himself, could be set on and slain, or again have to go begging a foreign king for shelter . . . No!

"They have named me Hardrede," he said between his teeth. "They shall find how true it is."

As for Svein, when he saw that the Norse had gotten away he was near weeping with rage. Turning homeward, he came in under Hlesey and saw seven knarrs anchored in a small bay, as if they would hide. When he steered close, he saw that the crews were Norsemen. Fear leaped in their simple red faces, and they held out empty hands as the dragon neared.

"Who are you?" shouted Svein across the water.

"Please, Your Highness, we're King Harald's men; our boats were crippled in the gale and we couldn't flee. We yield t' you."

Svein drew his lips back. "And why should I spare you? You had little ruth at Heidhaby."

The fat man who spoke pointed to a graybeard beside him. "Ask Ingi here, ask young Guthorm, ask any of us. We're common folk, we know naught o' these dealings between kings. The levy were called, so off we went, with no say in the matter. Liefest we'd stayed to home, I swear, my lord. Now give us peace and we'll pay as much ransom as poor men can scrape up."

The king said, with a whiteness about his nostrils: "Bad enough to let Denmark's blight get free, now I must sell even this little victory. Hang them on their own yardarms!"

And then, as his men took weapons: "No . . . wait . . . give them their lives. Let them pay as they offered."

Someday, he thought with fear curdling his innards, he must also be called to judgment.

VII

Of Einar Thambaskelfir

1

When Harald got back to Nidharos, he was still in a black mood that neither the praise of the skalds nor the magnificence of his new home could lift. Finn Arnason, who had returned that summer from his long Viking cruise, waited on the king and invited him to his house, which lay at the mouth of Throndheimsfjord; but he got a surly answer and went off till things should look more hopeful.

Elizabeth was getting heavy with child; she moved slowly and was often sick as she had been the first time, but happiness glowed from her. When they were alone, she ruffled her man's hair and said: "Why do you take it so hard, that fortune should have gone awry this once? You've had more luck than most, and will have it again."

"Have I now?" muttered Harald. He glowered so fiercely that the three-year old Maria dropped her toy boat and ran to cling to her mother's skirts. "Since coming home, I've fought more battles than I can readily count, and have gained nothing. It's the chiefs' fault; while they stand against me I'll never bring home a real victory."

"Perhaps," she said timidly, "if you sought to win their love . . . They were ready to fight for Magnus, were they not?"

"Too late," he said. "It was always too late. I am not Magnus, I've no gift for yielding on one point even to gain another. Now everything I do is wrong in their eyes: were I suddenly to return to Magnus's ways, they'd but think it a trick or a weakness. And even if they believed me, it would— Look you, any king's son has as much right to succeed as any other; the youngest bastard can overthrow the oldest born in wedlock if he can but raise an army. Can you not see the chiefs and the bishops playing one off against another, till civil war Has ruined the land and it lies bleeding and headless? The kingship must be strong or the kingdom is lost. Svein Estridhsson, God rot his soul, knows that much; it's the reason he can come back, again and again, because no Dane has might enough to save himself by dealing with me. But Norway has been too riven. The work of binding her into one is left for me. If I fail, I dread what may happen to our children and grandchildren.

She regarded him strangely. "How much do you think of them," she asked, "and how much of yourself?"

"I know not," he answered. Iron clashed in his tone as he rose. "Nor do I care. I am as I am, and before God, I will never betray myself."

Elizabeth watched him stalk out. Well, she thought, it was what she could expect for having married a whirlwind.

In the following days, Harald rode about the countryside, giving judgment and levying fines and taxes. No one dared speak against him—to his face; even Ulf abated his tongue and retired to his home where Jorunn was with child. But one evening, when Harald and his troops were staying at a large garth, he said to Thjodholf: "Give us a verse. We have too many long faces here." The skald cleared his throat and chanted loudly.

"How one sits or stands

is said by kingly order;

all of his underlings hearken

and after his wishes follow.

But now to his nod the people

do naught but bow as in thralldom,

coming and going like cravens

at kingly behest, wolf-feeder."

Harald looked into his half-frightened eyes. "I am not Magnus," he said, "nor are you Sighvat."

The Icelander bit his lip and returned to his bench. Another skald stood up to give more fulsome praise.

2

A Thing was to be held in Nidharos, where lawsuits would be brought forth, and men streamed into the town from the whole Throndlaw. Merchants opened their booths, displaying goods from many lands: Finnish fur and leather and bows; Greenland pelts and walrus ivory; Danish herring, Icelandic wadmal; English silver; Eastern silks and gold work. A few inns had lately been started by men who had seen such places abroad, and they roared day and night.

Einar Thambaskelfir, with his wife and son, sailed down to Nidharos with a mighty following. It was no secret that the sheriff had begun keeping armed men at home, but now he brought nearly five hundred warrior yeomen in eight ships. Harald stood on the gallery of his house by the river. It was a clear cool day in late summer with a breeze gusting down from the mountains. Beside him were Ulf, Styrkaar, and Thora. They had been watching the colorful stream of folk—tall men in fine clothes, gold-bedecked women, yelling children, dogs and pigs and horses and fluttering sparrows. Now Ulf stiffened and squinted down to the river docks, near the place where the stream entered the fjord. "What kind of fleet is that standing in?" he asked.

Harald shaded his eyes. The warcraft rowed to the docks and were tied up, men took the shields hung at the bulwarks and went ashore, a small army rattled up the street. As it neared, Harald cursed. "Einar!" he spat.

"What the devil does he want with such a band?" asked Styrkaar.

"I think he trusts us but little," said Ulf dryly.

The sheriff came by, almost under the gallery. His stout old body was erect, a helmet gleaming on his gray head, an ax over one broad shoulder. Beside him walked his wife Bergljot, wrapped in a marten-trimmed silken cloak, still good to look on for all the years that lined her face. On the other side was Eindridhi, stepping lightly, his yellow mane aloft. They did not look up as they passed the king, but their mouths locked in coldness; the yeoman behind tramped by with thunderous brows, and the whole party wended its way toward Einar's town house.

Harald's clenched fist beat softly on the vine-carved gallery rail; he shivered from the effort it took not to smash splinters out of the wood. "Best we ready the guardsmen," said Ulf.

Harald nodded. As if to himself, he made a verse:

"Here I see faring the fighting

furrower of the billows,

Einar, with all too many

angry men from the water;

surely he hopes, with his hauling

of hosts, to sit in the king's seat;

fewer the folk that I've seen

to follow a jarl on his travels.

"I think he, who thunders on shield rims,

will throw us out of the country,

unless this Einar kisses

the ax edge ere myself do—

He stopped, daunted by the roads his thoughts were taking. Styrkaar said: "Aye, my lord, what else can it be? No man bent on peace carries five hundred swords."

"Perhaps he is only afraid," said Ulf. "He may fear treachery on our part."

"Yes, that's what he thinks of you!" ripped from Thora. "Can such a man ever be aught but a foe?" She grabbed Harald's arm till the nails dug into his sleeve and the flesh beneath. "Do you mean to let him ring in this house and burn it?"

"He may not intend—" began Harald.

His leman stamped her foot. She was some months with child, but as yet it showed little on her full body. The breeze ruffled her smoke-red hair, the greenish eyes were narrowed, her nostrils flared and blood beat up into the wide strong face. "He will!" she cried. "If not now, then later. Hew him down before it's too late!"

He has . . . not given an open cause . . . yet," said Harald.

"Is this the king who conquered the South and chivvied Svein like a fox?" she asked scornfully. "No, you left your heart behind in Denmark this year, like everything else."

"Have done!" he roared.

Styrkaar tugged at his mustache; the cold pale eyes were thoughtful. "Your lady speaks truth, my lord," he said. "If you cut down I know not how many Saracens and Danes, will you boggle at one Norseman?"

Harald passed a hand over his face. "But he is a Norseman," he groaned. "No . . . say no more. Have the guards ready for trouble, but while Einar keeps the peace there will be no killing from our side."

"As you will, my lord," said Styrkaar. Thora caught his eye, and she nodded. "But I'll sound out the guards and find whom we can trust if it should be needful." He shambled off, bearlike.

Thora took Harald's arm. "Come," she said. "The time grows near to eat."

At eventide, as they went to bed, she stopped by Magnus's crib. The prince was growing fast, handsome gold-curled lad outrageously spoiled by every servant and guardsman. Thora bent over and kissed his sleeping eyes. "There, now, my pretty," she said. "Einar Thambaskelfir shall not harm you while I live."

"Nor while I do," said Harald; his face was pale.

"A she-bear will attack if anyone so much as comes near her cubs," said Thora with a jeering note. "But the he-bear cares naught."

"Enough!" snapped Harald. "Let's to sleep."

She yielded to his embrace, but coldly, and in the next few days lost no chance to goad him.

The Thing met in the market square, men massed together before the great stone block on which the king and the lawmen had their bench. It was mainly a meeting to settle disputes between folk, quarrels over boundaries and shares, weregild for woundings and slayings. Einar and Eindridhi were present, but stood aside among their men.

They happened to be away, however, on the third morning, when a thief was brought up for judgment. He was a brisk young fellow, who met the king's eye boldly though his hands were tied behind him. Ulf announced the charge: Thorolf Vigleiksson had been seen with a purse of money which the merchant Gudhbrand the Fat had had stolen from him in a crowd; the king's men had laid hands on him at Gudhbrand's word, and now here he stood.

Harald leaned forward. "You must take the oath and say if you are guilty or not," he said; "and a lie will send your soul to hell."

Thorolf smiled. "No need to swear, my lord," he said. "I took the money. I am a poor man, and this Gudhbrand seemed rich, to judge from his well-lined belly; so I thought for once in my life I'd enjoy some honest eating and drinking."

"Then know that a thief is hanged," said Harald.

Thorolf whitened. "A man's life for a few coins?"

"A man's life for the safety of honest folk. However, since this seems to be your first crime, I will set mercy before justice and condemn you to exile."

"My lord, I have a wife and children. Only I can keep the croft which feeds them ..."

"Let your kin look after them, or take them with you. Now be done, ere I change my mind," snapped Harald. Something about a man who stole by stealth prickled his flesh, he knew not why.

Another man trod forth; Harald recognized him as one of Einar's stewards. "My lord," he said, "this Thorolf served long and well at my master's house ere he got his own small farm, and I know my master has ever been his friend. Our house will make restitution to Gudhbrand, and pay whatever fine you set, if you will pardon Thorolf."

"So now Thambaskelfir is the brother of thieves!" growled Harald. "It scarcely surprises me, but I'll surely not let this nidhing go to wreak more ill. Hold him here today for all to see, then keep him locked away until a ship can be found that will take him." He rose, it was time for his midday meal, and went from the square with his guards. Behind him, he heard men mutter.

Thora stood in the hall as he entered. "Well," she asked, "did Einar give you leave to come home and eat?"

"Be still," he snarled. Stamping over to the table, he sat down with the warriors and a maidservant laid before him a round of flatbread heaped with salt cod.

"What's this?" he said. "It's no fast day."

Thora's lip lifted. "Get used to such fare, my lord," she counseled. "That's the best we'll have when the yeomen drive us from the land."

Harald's fist crashed on the board. "Be still or home you go!" he shouted.

"Better cleave to what friends you own," she told him with frost on her words.

The guardsmen shifted uneasily, down the long benches, and stared at their food and ate in silence. Eyes went sideways, to nettle against Harald's skin.

They had not finished the meal when a carle burst in. He slipped on the rushes and went down in a welter of dogs. "What's wrong now?" cried Harald, leaping to his feet.

"My lord ... my lord ..." The carle got up, shaking. "It's the sheriff—that thief you judged today—"

"Yes?" Harald came to him in three strides, picked him up by the coat, and shook him as a hound shakes a hare. "What would you say? Tell me before I knock your teeth in!"

"The sheriff ... his son ... my lord, they brought armed men to the Thingstead and freed the thief and took him away with them!"

Harald dropped him on the floor and looked around, into silence. Thora's breast heaved.

"That's an end of this." The king's voice came thin and far away. "Now he has broken the peace himself. Gather the guard, Ulf."

The marshal's ugly face twisted. "The custom was ever to try healing a breach before swords came out," he mumbled.

"Yes, my lord," said Thjodholf, starting forward. "He may yield. I'll go myself and speak to him."

Harald shook his head. The blue eyes were glazed. "Never again can peace be between us. If I let him defy me thus, he'll go on to something worse."

"He stood on the Long Snake when Olaf Tryggvason was sore beset," said Ulf. "He broke the Knytlings for you."

"As he will break you, my lord, if you let him," said Styrkaar.

Eystein's beardless face was bent toward the floor. "He is my own kinsman," he whispered. "I'll stand by you, my lord, if worst comes to worst, but God grant it be not so."

"A battle would rip the town open," said Ulf. "If we must fight him, let it be somewhere outside."

Harald swung on Thjodholf, furiously. "Well, go, then!" he shouted. "Go and bid him come hither. But take men with you if you want to come back on your feet."

The skald went out, buckling on his sword belt; Ulf, Eystein, and several others followed. The hall grew very quiet.

3

"And this is what the king's word is worth," said Thora at last.

"I asked not for woman chatter," said Harald dully. He stood with head lowered, hands clasped behind his back, and the dogs cringed away.

"Send me home!" she said. "I care not to stay with a braggart. Keep the boy; with such a father, he's worth naught." She wheeled and left the room.

Styrkaar got his ax. "This is more than Einar being true to a friend," he declared. "It's a locking of horns. The whole land will think it can do as it pleases, if you let him go free."

"I am not one to murder a man," said Harald.

"It can scarce be called murder when his following is as great as yours, or greater." Styrkaar took his helmet from a peg on the wall. "In any case, my lord, I'll do it; you need not bloody your hands."

"Have done," said Harald. "I can do my own killing."

He went up to the high seat and sat there, resting his chin on his fist. None cared to risk speaking. After a long time Thjodholf and the others returned.

"Well?" asked Harald tonelessly.

"He and Eindridhi will come, my lord, to talk over the matter."

"Is he ready to give up the thief?"

Thjodholf looked at the floor. "He said he would not desert a man who had served him well, but would make payment as his steward offered at the Thing."

"And what of his lawbreaking by using force there?"

"He said nothing about that, my lord."

"Well ..." Harald sighed, shook himself, and rose. He spoke softly. "We'd have come to swords in the end. Let it be now."

Styrkaar grinned and slapped his thigh. "Well done, King!"

Ulf's face went blank. "So be it," he said. "The guards are ready."

Eystein nodded, as if his skull had grown too heavy for him. The other warriors looked up eagerly, waiting their orders.

Harald walked about, commanding them to their places. Most he posted around the courtyard leading to the hall, a ring of armed and armored men in Ulf's charge. He himself went into the entryroom with half a dozen. He told them to close the shutter of the only window, up in the loft, so that little light could reach them; then, in a thick gloom, he waited.

"Take the banner, Eystein," he said.

"Yes, my lord." The boy's hand shook, but he gripped the staff.

Presently Einar and Eindridhi arrived. With a stamping across flagstones, the yeomen followed, the whole five hundred bearing shield and helmet, packed together inside the wall of the king's men. Spears bristled out of their mass, the afternoon sunlight ran off the whetted heads.

Einar turned to his son and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is a risky business," he said. His eyes looked out of their crow's-feet with a deep warmth. "Were it not a matter of our very manhood, I'd not go in."

"I too—" began Eindridhi.

"No, wait out here with our folk." Einar looked at the outnumbered guardsmen, and dropped a big hand to his sword hilt. "Then I'll be in no danger. He hasn't that much courage."

His broad form blocked out the light within as he stepped across the threshold. "Dark is the king's room," he said.

Harald's blade hissed free of the scabbard, but it was Styrkaar who rushed forth, ax swinging. The dull meaty sound came of steel going into flesh. Einar roared, stumbling back, and the guardsmen were over him in an iron storm.

Eindridhi heard the noise, yanked out his sword, and plunged after his father. Harald saw his shadowy figure go down, and cursed. "That was my task!" he cried.

Outside, Ulf yelled an order, and some of the guards sprang in front of the door. The yeomen stood agape, hardly knowing as yet what had happened. Then someone shouted: "Einar is dead! The king has murdered him!"

"Kill him!"

The front rank lurched, half pushed from behind toward the line of guards. Ulf brandished his sword and a fence of spears snapped down around the court. The yeomen swore, milling about and egging each other on, but none would be the first to die.

There came a clash and clank from the doorway, and King Harald stood there, looming over them, helm and byrnie shimmering like gray ice. Beside him, the raven banner unfurled and caught the breeze. For a moment he stared at the crowd, and nobody met his eyes. Then the few guardsmen behind him fell into battle formation, and he led them forward. No one spoke a word; like cattle, the yeomen scrambled aside and the king went past them and into the street.

When he had come some way, Harald heard the shouting break loose. The strong force he had left under Ulf could defend the hall, his family should be safer there than anywhere else, but by sunset revolt would be aboil throughout the town. "What now shall we do, my lord?" asked Styrkaar. He hefted his ax, which still dripped blood. "Let them rise against us and put them down?"

"Not unless we must," said Harald. He looked straight before him, and his face was wooden. "Two murders are enough for one day. We'll take ship out to Austratt, Finn Arnason's garth, and ask his help. The folk will listen to him."

"Good," agreed Styrkaar. "If you're gone a few days, tempers should cool."

"Yes, the rabble have not brain enough even to carry a grudge. What we must do is forestall any who might seek to lead them. Come, down to the docks." The guards tramped behind him, and folk were quick to make way.

Bergljot Haakonsdottir was at her husband's town house when a man came running in. She looked up from her weaving and asked: "What is that uproar I hear in the streets?" Sharply: "And why do you weep?"

"The king has murdered my master and his son."

Bergljot sat very quiet. Briefly, her eyes closed. Then she rose and went out. The house keys rattled at her waist as she walked swiftly to the royal hall. Scores of folk surged about, under the wary eyes of guardsmen who ringed in the buildings, but some recognized her and forced a way through.

Ulf had had Einar and Eindridhi laid honorably in the courtyard. Bergljot stooped over them. Her hands brushed the son's red-matted hair and went across his husband's gashed forehead; she closed their eyes. "Then farewell, my dearest," she whispered, "and thank you."

Rising, she swept the armed yeomen with a gaze like dry flame. Her voice lifted. "Are you waiting there yet? Are you not men enough to avenge him who ever stood by you? What do you mope here for when a murderer and tyrant walks the earth?"

"My lady ..." One of them pointed to the guards who leaned on their weapons and waited.

"And you with twice their numbers!" she shrieked. "God cast you down to hell! A dog would fight if its master were slain, but you, you crawling slime-gutted spew of a sick codfish, you stand and let him spit on you and lick it off and thank him. When did he geld you? Coal-biting cowards, spineless brainless gutless muck worms, Satan fry you so you sizzle! Give me a sword! I, old and alone, am more a man than any hundred of you! Cut them down, I tell you! Burn the house! Feed Harald your spears, trample his pack of hirelings in the mud, throw his whores off a cliff, dash his brats' brains out! If you let this hell spawn of an Yngling house live, you'll have collars about your necks and whips on your backs. God curse you now if you betray your friends. Blood, blood on my hands here, blood on the defiled earth, all Norway is one swamp of blood while that wolf runs loose. Follow me and kill him!"

Her gaze fell on the harbor and she saw the king's dragon putting out of the river and into the fjord. Something went from her, she slumped as if under a sudden weight of years and said through unsteady lips: "Now we sorely miss my kinsman Haakon Ivarsson; for never would Eindridhi's murderer be rowing down the river if he were on the bank."

As she stood, gray head lowered, one of her housefolk drove up with a wagon. Silently, the men laid the two bodies in it, and Bergljot mounted up beside the driver. She looked over the yeomen and said quietly: "There will be no more freedom for you, but that is as you deserve. . . . Drive slowly. We will be home soon enough."

Einar Thambaskelfir and Eindridhi his son were buried beside King Magnus the Good.

VIII

How Haakon Ivarsson Went Wooing

1

Finn Arnason had prospered with the years. He was the king's sheriff in his district, out where the fjord opened to the sea; his youthful second wife, also named Bergljot, was a daughter of Harald's brother Half dan; he owned broad acres, and his West-Viking cruise had yielded a huge booty. When the royal longship, with her crew of a few guardsmen and some hastily rallied carles, docked at his garth, he came down himself to bid his lord welcome. Peering and round-shouldered from his nearsightedness, gray of hair and wrinkled of face, he still cut a powerful figure, and sensed quickly that something had gone awry. So he took the king alone into a small loft room, set two big English goblets of mead on the table, and said: "Now, then, if there is aught in which I can help you, let me hear."

Harald drank deep, wiped his mustache with the back of one sinewed hand, and in a few blunt words, told what had happened and how the whole Throndlaw would soon be in an uproar against him.

Finn's hairy cheeks changed color, and he burst out: "Indeed you do ill in all things! Everywhere you wreak mischief, and afterward you're so frightened you know not what to do!"

The king laughed bleakly. "I think I had scant choice in this matter. And this I do know: that you, kinsman, are now going into the town to make my peace with the yeomen, and if that fails, you must journey to the Uplands and see that Eindridhi's folk don't rise to make an end of me."

Finn stroked his beard with nervous fingers. "The man to beware of is Haakon Ivarsson," he muttered. "He's the son of the sheriff Ivar the White, away in the Uplands, and a daughter's son of Haakon Jarl the Great. I got to know him well when we were together in the Westlands—a young man, hardly more than twenty winters old, but brisk, valiant, clever, and haughty as Satan. Surely Einar's widow will send to him to avenge her husband. This is an evil business; I would it had never happened."

"I too," said Harald. "I'd not make it worse by bearing a shield against my own folk."

"Yes, better to swallow one bitter mouthful than spew up everything in our bellies. But what will you give me if I venture on this mission for you?" Finn blinked and squinted, as if trying to read the blurred bony face across from him. "For we know this much, that both the Thronds and the Uplanders will be such foes to you that no messenger of yours will dare near them if he be not one who'd be spared for his own sake."

"Go you, kinsman," said Harald. "If anyone can soothe them, you are the man. Afterward you may ask of me whatever you wish."

Finn paused. A wistfulness crossed his heavy countenance. "Well, then," he said at length, "if you will give me your word, I shall name my reward: that my brother Kalf be allowed to come home in peace and safety, and get not only his property back, but the same honors and powers he had ere being exiled."

Harald made no answer at once. He had heard enough of Kalf Arnason to realize the man would be no friend to any king, even one who pardoned him. Had he, Harald Hardrede, cut down one Einar Thambaskelfir, at God knew what cost each night he sought sleep, only to raise another?

But . . .

"Yes," he said. "You shall have that reward."

"We will get witnesses and handsel the bargain," said Finn. It hurt Harald a little that the chief trusted him no more than that, but he nodded. Finn cleared his throat. "But what shall I offer Haakon to get him to swear peace with you? For his yea or nay will decide the matter."

"First hear what he wants," said Harald. "Then press my case as best you are able, and in the end deny him nothing short of the kingdom."

The same day Finn gathered his men and went into Nidharos, while Harald proceeded southward to Mori. There he got help from Thorberg Arnason and other chiefs, until he had a goodly host again at his back.

Haakon Ivarsson lived in Raumariki, a short two days' ride from the Oslofjord; here the Uplands rose steeply, and his garth sat on the flank of a hill plunging down toward thick forest. It was a cold, gusty day in early fall when he received his guests; the woods and meadows were sallow, the sloping fields stubbled dry gold under a wan sky and a bright heatless sun. Cloud shadows hurried across the land; storks and geese and lesser birds were southbound by the clamorous thousands. The steading, long timber buildings around three sides of a paved courtyard, huddled dark on the hillside. Smoke whipped from the roofs. The housefolk were at work, men threshing in the barn, women weaving, salting, smoking, and cooking. One of them saw a large party wend up the road and shouted. The men dropped their work to pick up weapons, but Haakon went into the main house and donned good clothes. He had been expecting this visit, since a messenger arrived a few days ago.

He came out as the troop rode into the courtyard and lowered his spear when he recognized them. He was a tall young man, lithely built, with high cheekbones and an uptilted nose. Curly light hair blew around his long skull, but save for a wheaten-colored mustache the face was clean shaven and the chin jutted stubbornly. His eyes were big and gray, set wide apart between lashes a woman might envy. He wore rich dress: a white shirt, a velvet doublet from England, blue breeches of fine linen, a flame-red silken cloak clasped with a golden brooch; but the hand holding his spear was muscular.

"Good day to you, kinsmen, and welcome," he said.

Finn Arnason reined in his horse and dismounted heavily. Orm Eilifsson, the Upland jarl and Finn's son-in-law, joined him, a grave and stately man nearing middle age. They were followed by almost a hundred warriors, as befitted their dignity, but were not themselves armored.

"It's good to see you again, Haakon," said Finn. "I'd hoped that a happier occasion might have brought about this meeting."

Haakon frowned, but led them inside with due courtesy. They drank together and talked of small things. Yet their minds were not on it, and Haakon soon broke out roughly:

"I know you're here on an errand. Shall we settle that at once, before the evening meal?"

"Yes, perhaps we'd best do so." Orm nodded.

Haakon took them into the foreroom where they could talk privately and waved them into chairs. He himself sat at the edge of his, turning his beaker between ring-bedecked fingers.

"Well, now," said Finn, "I suppose you've guessed we are here to make peace between you and the king."

"That will be hard work," replied Haakon in a mumble.

"I am not one to take up a cause lightly," went on Finn, "but in this I've toiled, for it seems on the whole good. I went into Nidharos and addressed the townfolk, asking them to weigh what they did ere rising against their lord. I reminded them of what they suffered when they behaved thus toward holy King Olaf, and I laid before them Harald's offer of full weregild for this killing, as determined by men of wisdom. They finally agreed to let the matter rest until Bergljot's messengers to you had returned."

"Aye," said Haakon, "those men are still here. I was about to send them back with war word when your message came; but I only waited out of respect for you two."

' 'What I said to the Thronds could also be said to you," Finn told him. "Einar and Eindridhi were not altogether foully murdered. They had given some cause when they broke the peace at the Thing and set the law aside for one man. Now the king offers you atonement."

Haakon sprang to his feet and paced. A lynx light flared in his eyes, and he said thickly: "I care not for haggling over rights and wrongs. It's enough that the wrong is mostly Harald Hardrede's—not only this slaying of an old and honored man and the man's son, but all the harshness and greed we've had to take from him." He stopped, fists clenched at his side. "Before God, Einar and Eindridhi were my own kin. Eindridhi was my dear friend. Their ghosts would shriek were I to take money for their blood."

"And would you tear the land asunder?" asked Orm.

"It need not be so." Haakon clipped his words off, one by one. "You know the Thronds and the Uplanders will be with me if I but lead them. Harald can be fed to the fish. That devil needs no better grave."

"Still," said Orm, "the Southern shires will aid him. And it would be strange if Svein Estridhsson took not the chance to avenge himself on us while we lay at each other's throats."

"There are worse men than Svein," said Haakon. "From what I hear, he reigns as well as one could expect."

"If the Danes are to come back, they must cross my body first," swore Finn. "Who else could be king if Harald fell? His brothers are worthy men, but unfitted for such a task. They'd refuse the honor were it offered them. The only other Yngling left is a baby, Magnus Haraldsson."

"If we must have him, we can name some chief as regent."

"And when he grows up? That's a revengeful breed, Haakon."

"Then wipe out the whole accursed nest of them!" spat the younger man.

Orm crossed himself. "An evil thought, killing a helpless child. No luck would come of such a deed. And a land without a king of the God-appointed house will lie under heaven's wrath."

"They do well in Iceland," said Haakon.

"But Iceland is walled in by sea. And even there, it's one family feud after another, till someday they wreck themselves. We've hungry neighbors."

Haakon stood unhappily, his eyes on the floor.

Finn got up and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Think well, my friend," he said. "You know I'm no bootlicker, nor is Orm Jarl; we only seek that which is best for the land. Any man can work crime in a hasty moment, and Christ has told us to forgive those who use us ill."

"When I wish to hear such talk, I'll go to a priest," said Haakon.

"Well, then, think what is best for yourself and your own family. Harald has made a fair offer of atonement; you can well-nigh set the terms yourself. Surely you'd be wiser to take what honor you wish from the king, without battle, than venture into strife with your lawful lord—a strife in which the chances say you would buckle under. If you lose, you forfeit peace and all you own, belike your very life; and if you should win, for the rest of your days you'd have the name of one who betrayed his rightful king."

"Yes," rumbled Orm. "Finn speaks truth. We are here more as your friends, Haakon, than as Harald's."

"Bethink what you want of him," urged Finn. "No man can say you deserted your cause, if you get proper amends."

"By thus strengthening yourself," added Orm, "you'll be able to shield your folk from greater trouble; but in open war, their homes would lie defenseless."

Haakon did not speak for a while, then: "I'll think on it. Say no more now."

He took them back into the main chamber, where they again talked of indifferent matters until evening. The drinking that night was not cheerful, and everybody soon went to bed.

In the morning, Haakon's eyes were dark rimmed; he had not slept much. But he went firmly to Orm and Finn, and bade them come into the foreroom.

The sheriff's gnarled hands gripped his knees as he sat down. "Well?" he asked. "What is your word?"

Haakon stared at them unblinking. His voice was flat. "I'll make peace with King Harald if he'll give me his kinswoman Ragnhild, the daughter of Magnus the Good, in marriage, with a suitable dowry which she herself shall name."

"The girl's but a child," said Orm.

Haakon gestured impatiently. "I know. The wedding can wait awhile, so the betrothal be sworn now. You said yesterday, you two, that I'd be wisest to strengthen my house, and I can see no better way than by marrying into the royal family and gaining the lands she'll bring with her."

Finn gusted a great sigh, and smiled happily. "I can promise you as much on the king's behalf," he said.

Now they rode together with witnesses to the nearest church, where they swore to the agreement on holy relics. Afterward Haakon gave a feast to which he invited the entire district; it lasted some days, and the only guests not merry were the messengers of the widow Bergljot.

3

A short time afterward, Haakon rode with a troop of men north to Nidharos, where the king had returned after peace was made. That was a long journey, wet and cold, the first snow hissing about their ears and a wolf of a wind screaming as they crossed the Dofra Fell; but Haakon thought little of any weather and was eager to see his promised bride. When they reached the royal hall, the steward hastened to tell his master, and Harald came out to meet them.

Haakon looked hard at the king, as if to see Cain's mark on his brow. But while the man who towered above others was not handsome, he was not ill-favored either. His hair was thick and dark yellow, combed to the shoulders. He wore his beard cropped close under a heavy mustache above which sat his long straight nose. The eyes were big and ice blue. The high left brow gave him a slightly mocking appearance; however, his face was set in grave lines and his greeting was mild. "Come, be my guests for as long as you choose, you and your followers."

Haakon made a pleasant answer and dismounted. When he had used the bathhouse and changed his muddy clothes, a house carle led him into the hall, where he strode up to the high seat. Harald looked down at him and gestured to the place of honor at his right. "Do you sit here, Haakon Ivarsson," he said. "And take this of me as token of my regard." He gave him a sword with gold-inlaid hilt and scabbard, a sable-trimmed cloak, and a diamond finger ring. "The ring I bore from Syria," he added, "and I think it must have a long story behind it."

"I thank you, my lord," said Haakon, trying not to bristle.

"It's naught. I wished but to show friendship.

For my part, I shall hold to the bargain Finn Arnason made on my behalf."

"That is . . . well done," said Haakon.

Harald cocked his brow; the firelight threw the wrinkles which appeared across his forehead into gullies of shadow. "However," he went on, "though I support your case, you must yourself talk to Ragnhild Magnusdottir and win her consent. She's a spirited lass, I hear, and it would not be well for you or anyone else to get Ragnhild against her will."

Haakon swallowed. "My lord . . ."

Harald grinned ruefully. "First they call me tyrant for compelling folk to do this or that; now must I be called cheat for giving them their freedom? Come, Haakon, you're a rich and good-looking man, surely you can do your own courting! I've sent word to Ragnhild of the bargain, and urged her to agree."

"Well, then," muttered Haakon, "we shall see how it goes."

Harald turned the talk elsewhere. He got on to the matter of foreign lands and began telling of his own adventures abroad. Despite his resolve, Haakon found himself listening till Miklagardh the Golden almost stood before his eyes.

Till far into the night, Harald spun tales, and Haakon went to the shut bed lent him with his head awhirl. It was hard to remember that he hated this man. . . . No, wait, they were reconciled now, were they not? Half sitting in the short, lightless space, the straw rustling beneath him from his restlessness, he tried to find sleep.

The next day he dressed carefully and rode with a few attendants bearing gifts, through wintry streets to the home of Ragnhild's foster parents. They were wealthy tradespeople and landowners, of good birth, and their town house was big and brightly painted. The man greeted Haakon well and led him inside, where the princess waited.

She was about twelve years old now. Her father had not been much older when he begot her; a yeoman's handsome young daughter, a few sweet wild weeks, and then Magnus had gone storming elsewhere and the mother had wed a rich oldster and finally died. Ragnhild was tall for her age; womanhood was just beginning to bloom in her. She had a slim coltish look, half awkward and half endearing grace, which Haakon liked. Long brown hair was garlanded over a pert face. Her blue eyes were set under arched brows, her nose was thin with winged nostrils and below it her red lips bowed outward, supported by a strong chin. She greeted him haughtily.

"I have come to speak of betrothal, my lady," said Haakon. He felt his uncouth manners. His life had been passed in lonely garths and outland warring with no chance to learn polished airs. There was a hotness in his cheeks, his temples pounded, as he went on: "Your royal kinsman has told you of my wishes, and you know I am a wealthy and honorable man."

He signaled to his carles, who brought forth his gifts: rings, clothing, gold, jewels. She hardly looked at them. Her foster father coughed.

Haakon's shirt seemed tight at the neck, but he went on doggedly: "My kin were ever friends of your father, and you can be sure we will gladly give you the dignity you deserve. King Harald has offered you any dowry you may name, and my morning gift shall not be niggardly. And ... I think we would be happy together, my lady."

The girl flushed, but her voice was cold and even, bespeaking rehearsal, as she replied, "I have often to feel that my father, King Magnus, is dead, and never more than now, if I must be forced to marry a yeoman"—with a gentler note—"even if you are a handsome man and seem to be more able than most. Had King Magnus lived, he would not have wed me to anyone less than a king, and even now it can't be awaited that I'll pledge myself to a man of no rank above sheriff."

Haakon stood quiet, feeling anger in his throat. The older man started some nervous chatter about childish whims, but Ragnhild's gaze was defiant. Haakon cut him off sharply: "As you will, my lady. I shall talk to the king about that."

The girl smiled. "You have the soul of a jarl," she said; "now become one, and you shall have a better answer from me."

Haakon took his leave and rode at a reckless pace back to the king's hall. He could not find it in his heart to blame Ragnhild. By Olaf, what a mother she would be, what a brood of warriors she would raise! Jarl in Norway! The thought made him dizzy.

As he came into the hall, he saw that Finn Arnason sat by Harald, with several of his men. The sheriff peered at the newcomer, who was wiping snow off his boots. "Is it you, Haakon?" he asked. "The king sent me word you were here, and I came to bid you welcome."

Almost, Haakon swaggered as he went to the high seat. This time he must sit on the bench below, but that was nothing. A woman hurried to bring him a horn of warm, spiced ale, and Finn raised his own drink to pledge him.

"Well?" drawled Harald. "How went your wooing, friend?"

Haakon searched his words carefully. "My lord," he said, "you swore that the princess could name her own dowry. These men here are witnesses to that oath."

"Yes, yes." Harald sounded impatient, but his face was wooden. "If the gift is mine to give, she shall have it."

"Well, then ... my lord, she said she would not marry a man without rank or title." Haakon blurted his words, running to meet fate as if it were an armed foeman. "That was well spoken of her, one can see what house she comes from, and in truth it were ill to wed her to a mere yeoman when her father was a king. Now if she'll not marry a man without rank, I can think of no other way than that you give me the name and power of jarl. I've high enough birth, and more."

A hush fell. Finn retreated into the same blankness that sat on the king. The other men, down the benches, did not stir. The serving maids crept back into the corners. The fires alone spoke, dancing and crackling through the chill gloom of the hall.

Harald spoke at last, looking straight ahead of him. "When my brother King Olaf and his son King Magnus steered the realm, they were content to have one jarl at a time in this land; the same have I done since I became king, and I don't now intend to rob Orm Jarl of the dignity I've given him."

Haakon could make no reply. He felt suddenly lamed, and the blood drained from his face and hands.

Finn spoke: "Bethink you, King. You swore to do what you could."

"I had in mind estates, gold ... a dowry for the woman, not power for the man." Harald swung his head from one to the other; it was clear he was angry. "Orm Eilifsson was ever my friend. How shall I keep any friends if they cannot trust me?"

Finn's hand smacked down on the arm of his seat. His face a mask of wrath, he roared: "Who the devil can trust you, Harald Hardrede? Was this fair speaking naught but another of your treacherous schemes? You got the league against you broken, and now when you feel safe again you will not keep your pledged word!"

"Bait me not," snapped Harald. "I'll suffer much from those who've helped me, but there are bounds." He dropped his tone, saying urgently: "Perhaps the maiden will reconsider. I can press your suit, Haakon, and show her how it's no disgrace to wed an honest chieftain. Or perhaps, failing that, you would like something else of me—gold, land, a high place in the guard. ..."

Haakon found voice, though a fire leaped in his breast and misted his eyes. "I'll be no man's kept hound!" he yelled. He jumped from his seat to the floor. "Least of all will I serve a king who breaks his own oaths!"

"I've not done that," said Harald in a rage, "and unless you crave my pardon for saying so, it will go ill with you. These words of yours show how little you and your sort can be trusted . . . and I should raise you to the second rank in the land? Wealth and honor you shall have, as I promised, but I'm not fool enough to give you strength you'll use to my undoing. Now, then, shall we talk this over like honest men, or admit you are my foe?"

"We may as well admit it," said Haakon through his teeth, "for you have no honor, Harald Hardrede." He turned on his heel and stormed from the hall.

Finn Arnason got up as well. "I wonder if you do this from pure love of mischief or whether a devil possesses you," he said.

Harald was white. He sat where he was, gripping the arms of the seat till his knuckles were near bursting through the skin. "I am the king," he said. "The saints witness that I mean to stay king, not to betray my friends and arm my foes."

"You will have few friends left after this day's work," said Finn. He walked out of the hall, and his men followed.

Haakon was waiting in the street for his own warriors to gather their belongings and join him. He and Finn stared at each other.

"Well," said Haakon, "think you we will be murdered now as Eindridhi was?"

"No." Finn still trembled, but coolness was on the way back to him. "Not even Harald Hardrede would lay hands on a guest. Perhaps we were too hasty, Haakon."

"I'll not go in again and ask his pardon. Norway would split with laughter if I did."

"Well . . . then you shall have to leave Norway. I'll give you one of my ships. Harald will scarce strike at me, but you are now his avowed enemy and—"

"I'll seek out King Svein," said Haakon. "Any foe of Harald's is a friend of mine. And his wife is close kin to me."

"Well, then . . . yes, that's the best you can do. I wish we were not so proud a folk, here in the North. . . . But I grow old. Go with God, Haakon. Be less hasty and more wise in future. I'll do what I can to help your case here at home."

The Upland men were streaming from the guest lodges. They joined Haakon in a babble of questions, and he told them curtly how matters stood. Those who will now sail to Denmark with me shall have good pay," he finished. "The rest may go home and tell our folk to keep their weapons sharp. Someday we'll hold a reckoning."

They walked down the muddy street, between snow-roofed houses and under a lead-gray sky, to the dock. Beyond the river, wind crumpled a steely fjord. Not many people were there to see the warriors embark.

IX

How Anger Spoke

1

The king was gone for some time, off with a few guardsmen on one of the long rides he took when his temper needed wearing down. Meanwhile the royal household buzzed and whispered.

Elizabeth had put Maria to bed. She was hard put to keep a merry face before the child, and her hands shook as she left the house that was hers. Sleep, she knew, would be slow acoming, and she bethought herself of the work she had in the ladies' bower. Sewing by a few dim tapers gave her a headache, but might tire her as she wished.

The early night had fallen. Light gleamed here and there in the courtyard, through shuttered windows. Flagstones rang underfoot. A thin dry snow fell. A pair of carles went by, muttering their unease to each other.

When she opened the bower door, murk leaped out at her. She fumbled her way in. The one candle she bore threw tremendous moving shadows. . . . Was that a mouse she heard scuttle, or were hell's powers abroad? She crossed herself and said a prayer while she kindled other lights. Even through her woolen clothes, the cold bit. Kiev, where they had stoves and lamps, was like an old dream.

The unborn child stirred. "Guard him, gracious Lady Mary, good saints." He was so little and lonely, wrapped in darkness where he lay. And would he ever be less alone, when he walked the earth as a man?

He, she . . . God give her a boy this time. Harald wanted sons. He was ever stooped above Magnus's crib, or tossing him in the air with a shout, but hardly seemed to know poor Maria lived.

Elizabeth settled herself before the frame on which she had stretched his banner. Each year it came home faded, strained, ripped, and she would let no one else mend it. She blew on her numbed fingers and took up needle and thread. The seam was hard to make out; her eyes were not as good as they had been.

However, she could do little else for him. Sometimes he slept with her, and he spoke kindly in his fashion. But he and Thora went hawking together, and laughed at secret jokes.

The door swung open. Elizabeth turned with a quick breath. The tall red-haired woman paused on the threshold.

"Well," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"My work." Elizabeth clamped her lips together. The queens avoided each other as much as might be.

The King's leman took off her cloak and shook the snow loose, but did not trouble to close the door. "I saw your light and thought one of the maids . . . They're a thievish lot."

Elizabeth stiffened. "I know nothing about that. I never troubled to count my spools and dust rags."

"The worse for you." Thora laughed. "What think you of the latest news?"

"About Haakon Ivarsson? I'm sorry. And I liked old Finn, but I suppose he'll not come here often after today."

"Peacemaker again?" Thora began to pace the floor, like a man, with her wildcat gait. "My dear, that's why Harald—Let me tell you, you do him no service with such talk. His need is to break anyone he can't tame. My part is to egg him on."

Elizabeth laid down her needle. "How much of the evil in this land is your doing?"

Thora flung her cloak onto a bench and wheeled to confront the other woman. "Small wonder that you bore a daughter and I a son."

Elizabeth stood up. She felt the cold no longer. "Speak not ill of the princess," she said.

"Oh, I daresay she'll do for what she is. What will the next girl be named? My son will be called Olaf."

"Get out of here," said Elizabeth through her anger, "and close the door behind you." "I've as much right here as you." "A whore's right?"

Thora stalked near. The strewn juniper branches crackled under her feet. "Whore, you call me, because you happened to sell yourself first? What have you ever given him? When have you stood by him, you that cringe from the very name of battle? Oh, and I've often seen you speak with Ulf Uspaksson—warm then, laughing and listening to his brags! If he hasn't bedded you it's because he has no taste for dead fish."

Elizabeth's hand swung out. The slap came loud. A faint part of her resented that she should weep, but she couldn't stop. "Ulf is the best friend anyone could have, and i-i-it's an ill repayment to wed him to your filthy tribe. Now go before I kill you!"

Thora touched her cheek, where the finger marks bloomed red. "You'll not hear the end of this," she said.

The candles guttered and one went out. King Harald loomed in the doorway.

Snow mantled his shoulders and clung to his hat brim. His boots were heavy with it, the spurs caught a wet shimmer of light and the ring on his arm gleamed dull. He shut the door behind him and came toward them.

"A man does not have enough trouble, his women must disgrace him by squabbling like two fishwives with all the household to listen," he said. "Now be still!"

Thora pointed a shaking finger at Elizabeth. "This . . . woman . . . struck me."

"I doubt not the blow was well deserved," Harald said. "The next time you two behave thus, you both go home."

Elizabeth's knees gave way, she sank to a bench and covered her face. Tightness closed around her womb.

"You dare not," jeered Thora. "My father—" "Am I so weak that I can't stand without him to prop me up? Today I've sent one good chief out of the realm and another home cursing me. I may as well shed the whole lot."

Thora bowed her head, until she whispered: "I'm sorry, Harald. I'd not shame you willingly."

"Well, then, go to your rest."

She looked at him through her lashes and, swiftly, smiled. "Will you come too?"

"Not tonight," he said. "Not to either of you."

"Well . . ." Thora grimaced. "The loss is yours, my love." She took her cloak and went.

Harald stood awhile gazing down at Elizabeth. "How did the quarrel start?" he asked at length.

She mastered herself and replied: "I know not. Words led to words. I was sewing, and ..."

"No matter." His eyes went to the raven banner. "I must be rough with Thora now and again. Otherwise I'd never have peace. You I can trust, but stay away from her as much as you can."

She raised her face, wishing that tears did not disfigure it. "Thank you," she gulped.

"Naught to thank for." Harald stroked her head. "I know I'm often unjust, to you as to others." He sighed. "Now, tonight, I wish there could only be the two of us, always. But tomorrow will be another tale. Men are kittle beasts."

She came to his arms, and he held her tightly. "If you bear a boy," he said, "we'll name him Olaf. Have I told you that? He's a good patron to have."

She held her face to his breast. "But what if it's a girl?"

"Why, then," he said gently, "what think you of your mother's name, Ingigerdh? She was ever a friend to my house."

She could find no words, but clasped him close.

"Well, well." A small sad laughter bubbled in his throat. "Let's to bed, shall we? Surely a king may break his word now and then."

2

A few days later, Harald rode up to Ulf's garth. He had not been there since the christening of the marshal's son, to whom he had stood godfather. That time, he had been surprised that the name given was John, or Jon, as the Norse rendered it. "I scarce thought John in Miklagardh was any comrade of yours," he had said.

"Well," Ulf had grinned, "the bishop is wroth with me that I'm so indifferent a churchman and turn a blind eye to heathen practices among the people, so I thought best to name the lad after some saint. They tell me John the Holy wrote a saga about the Weird of the Gods, so that seemed a lucky name for a warrior's child."

Now, entering the courtyard with a stamp of hooves and jingle of iron, Harald found the household busy butchering and smoking. Lady Jorunn was overseeing the work. She seemed happy, and indeed it was astounding how comfortably Ulf had settled down to a married life, hardly looking at another woman except when abroad. Belike he'd had his fill in earlier years.

The marshal came from the pens in filthy, blood-soaked garments. "Go on in," he said. "I'll need a bath ere I'm fit to cross my wife's fine clean threshold."

"Is this the same Ulf who ripped taverns apart in Miklagardh?" Harald chuckled.

"Ah, the same, but a bachelor then. Now I go with a ring in my nose." Ulf shouted to his carles to heat up the sauna, and Harald went indoors with his guardsmen.

It was some time before they two had a chance to talk under four eyes. That was in a side room, with its own fire and a keg of beer. Ulf sat down, lifted his costly horn of narwhal tusk, and said: "Skaal. What's this I hear about Haakon Ivarsson and Finn Arnason?"

Harald told him.

The marshal's battered face drew into lines and folds. "Not good. We'll have all we can do to keep the league of Einar's kin from being formed anew."

"They can do little without a leader who knows war." Harald sighed and stared into the flames. "This being a king is a thankless task. Of the few able men, most are against me."

"You've given them scant grounds to love you."

"I mean to keep my word," Harold barked. "Kalf Arnason may return when he wishes. Though I fear he'll soon be at work to overthrow me. He fought against Olaf; Magnus exiled him." He stroked his beard. "I think I'll take him to battle with me. Then he can't plot at home. And he might die a hero's death."

Ulf finished his beer and got up to tap another hornful. "You're an eldritch man," he said. "Why is one kingdom too little for you?"

"Two kings are one too many."

Ulf put the horn to his lips. When he had drunk, he sat down again. His words came slowly:

"You've told me this dream often, a Northern empire with strength to beat off any foe. Your daring the Church's wrath is another kind of war to the same end. But have you ever thought how you destroy the very thing you seek to save?"

"By weakening us?" asked Harald. "There'll always be more warriors."

"No, that's not my notion. I've turned it about in my head. Look you." Ulf leaned forward and tapped Harald's knee. "I've seen a bit of the world, enough to know that here in the North is something unlike aught else. It's not just that we had our own gods ... at times I miss old Thor, but St. Olaf will do in his place. It's a whole way of living. It's odal property, which must remain in the family. It's ancient law, which even the wildest Viking respects; nowhere else have I seen so much haggling over the letter of the law. It's the common man bearing arms and ready to defend his rights. Where else can a woman divorce her husband, whatever the Church may say, if he strikes her? Where else is the family so close-knit that men will die to avenge their brothers?"

Harald stirred restlessly, but Ulf went on.

"You'd make us into another Miklagardh— another Germany or Normandy at the least. By taking power away from the chiefs, you turn them into the king's dogs. By saying that law stems from you, you take away the yeoman's shield. By raising the taxes, you drain the freeholder dry. Oh, I know such is not your intent, but thus it happens."

"And would you have us molder in an outworn round, till those who've had the wit to go forward come trampling across us?" demanded Harald.

"No, no, I suppose it must be." Ulf made a wry face. "But glad I am I'll not live to see the end of it. I only wished to say your foes have some justice with them."

"That boots me not. Were I to niggle over rights and wrongs, I'd still be sitting on the farm in Hringariki."

"No doubt. Well, how goes it at home? Is Queen Ellisif in good health?"

"Good enough." Harald gave him an edged look. "You were ever a friend to her, were you not?"

"Yes, she's a sweet lass, and braver than most will believe." The green eyes turned downward. "I'd not meddle in your affairs, but—No. Let's think about next summer's raiding."

3

When Harald returned to Nidharos, he learned from a crew of spies he had sent out that Haakon Ivarsson had been well received by Svein in Roskilde. Not only the Norsemen plagued Denmark; wild Wends and Kurlanders were apt to come harrying until many strands lay deserted for miles inland. Haakon had spent most of his times aboard in West-Viking, where he won a high name as a captain. So Svein put him in charge of the coast defenses. Among the Southern islands he was not likely to meet Harald's men, his own blood. But by thus bulwarking the realm, he made it stronger on every front.

Harald traveled much about that winter, by horse and sled and ski. He hunted down each story of plots against him, which were not few. Several chieftains were haled to Nidharos and asked to swear faith to him on Olaf's shrine. Some refused, and Harald let them go home, but afterward they were set on and killed. This was not his own work. Every powerful man had enemies, and Harald, like Magnus before him, simply gave the foes of his foes to understand they could take private revenge without having to answer to him.

Thus he broke the back of rebellion. Meanwhile he had men of his own, like the well-spoken Thjodholf, travel about and put his case wherever they guested. Had he not raised the chieftains of the Southern shires to equal dignity with the Thronds? At the same time, would not the whole land gain by an end to bickering and feuds between the great men? Had he not won back the Orkney realm, and encouraged foreign trade, and kept out the bishops from Bremen who would be creatures of the Danish king, and himself built churches and planned a town on the Oslofjord? The smallholders had nothing to fear from Harald Hardrede; he was their friend, who gave them peace and justice, humbled overlords that once rode roughshod over them, brought in wealth and seemly new customs, opened a gate on the outside world.

By such means, slowly, he won more and more folk to him, especially the young.

Also during that winter, Elizabeth was brought to bed of a child, which proved to be a girl and was named Ingigerdh as Harald had promised. A couple of months afterward, Thora bore Olaf. When the boy was laid in her arms, she had the look of victory.

X

How Kalf Was Rewarded

1

In spring Finn Arnason sent a ship to Orkney with word; but his brother Kalf did not return until fall. King Harald had spent that summer harrying in Denmark with a small fleet; he was now down on the Oslofjord getting work started in earnest on his new town.

On a cold morning, when the wind tasted of salt and stung tears from men's eyes, four ships came in to the dock at Finn's garth. First ashore was a burly man who sprang to clasp the sheriff's hand. "Welcome home!" cried Finn, less steadily than was his wont.

Hands went to shoulders and the brothers regarded each other awhile. They were much alike in looks, though Kalf seemed younger than his years. His beard bristled brownish-red, his eyes were small and light, their coldness now abated.

"Glad I am to see you," he said. Finn had visited him on the West-Viking trip, but that was many months ago and they had parted thinking they would never meet again. He looked around and snuffed the keen air. "And good to be home. I've much to thank you for, Finn."

The sheriff scowled. "Perhaps I did you an ill turn. There's scant friendship between me and the king these days."

"So I hear and what of it? I've been sick for my own land. That Hebrides fief was naught but sea grass and turf huts. Also ..." Kalf paused. "But we can talk of that later. Let's get the ships unloaded. I have gifts to give."

Bergljot Halfdanardottir bustled about preparing a noon meal while the cargo was fetched ashore. Afterward Kalf had to tell them somewhat of his travels. "... And do the Scots really dress like women?" The girls giggled, and children squealed with laughter.

"Yes, they go in long, colored cloths which reach over the shoulder and wrap around the loins. But they fight like men, I can swear. King Macbeth is a mighty warrior; I only hope he may keep his throne."

It was late afternoon before Kalf said he wanted to walk off the meat he had stuffed into himself. He and Finn took spears and strolled down along the shore. The sea ramped at their feet, wind hissed through sparse grass and trees, knotted and bent; gulls flew up in mewing clouds. Finn's cloak flapped wildly from his neck; he pulled it back about him and walked in silence for a while.

"Well," said Kalf, "I hope Harald keeps his oath to you and restores my rights."

"Oh . . . surely he'll do that. I got him to swear before witnesses, and worded the oath carefully. He's a slippery rascal; his breach with Haakon Ivarsson depended on what was meant by a dowry. But he should keep to the letter of his promise, at least." Finn blinked, and his mouth twisted. "Bitter, not to be able to trust your own lord."

"There have been too many kings," said Kalf roughly. "Maybe now you're sorry you fought for King Olaf."

"I fought by a saint!" said Finn.

"Well, no doubt, but he was no saint in this life. Let's not rake up old scores, brother; we were all too wroth with each other after Stiklastadh. Best we go on from where we now stand."

"And where would you go?"

"Toward freedom."

Finn trudged on. The low sun blazed in his eyes, red across a flying waste of waters. He said at length: "The king will demand you swear to serve him as you did Magnus."

"Gladly will I, in those words." Kalf grinned. "For how did I serve Magnus? He drove me from my own hearth."

Finn clenched his spear shaft hard. "I fear no good can come of working against Harald Hardrede. Give him his due, he's bold and wise, more like to to outwit you than you him."

"Worse to kneel at his feet," growled Kalf. "Oh, fear not, I shan't leap at him. I'll bide my time. I'll be very friendly to his bawd Thora, though it eats me that kin of ours should bed with him. But think, Finn, how a strong chief, who knew whom to trust and what hour to pick, could raise a rebel banner and folk would swarm to him."

Finn hunched his shoulders and peered around as if spies might crouch among the rocks. "I fear otherwise," he said. "Too many has he broken. And the rest . . . Well, he's gained the love of more than you think. Remember, each man cut down was a gain to someone else. And his great works and great dreams, yes, even himself. I too have felt it a little."

"You grow old," said Kalf with an odd tenderness.

"Yes, I do. It happens to all men. I can't see so well any more, and a day's work tires me, and sometimes what is years gone is more real to me than what lies before my grasp." Finn lifted his hand and saw it was shrunken and spotted. "The young men serve the king, the ruthless young who crowd us into our graves to make room for themselves. I can't understand much of their talk. Boys had more respect for their elders in my day."

"Your day isn't past, old Finn." Kalf laid an arm about his brother's shoulders. "You and I can still show those whelps what manhood is." He stopped and said fiercely, "Have you ever thought that if Harald Fairhair had not been victorious, the Arnmodhlings might be kings of Norway?"

Finn gaped at him, half frightened. "What do you mean?"

"Our house is as old as theirs. It's brought forth as many strong men."

"But, Kalf, the throne is odal property! God Himself has given the Ynglings that right."

"Or Harald Fairhair's sword? I've never heard tell he was aught but a heathen. . . . Well, we'll say no more of this for now. But remember my words, and think on them."

The king came back to Nidharos in late fall. His mood was good, the summer's raiding had gone well and Oslo town was growing at the end of the fjord where only a few fisher hamlets had lain before. When he found Kalf Arnason waiting for him, he bade the chief welcome, and after taking oaths restored to him his lands and titles. Thereto he added the gift of a ship, and said: "Those who remain true to me shall never know want while I live; but my foes have reason to call me Hardrede. Do not forget that, Kalf. And now, God be with you, and we'll go to war together next year."

He walked about the town, and whenever he saw a new building he stopped and asked how the owner fared. "Fine, it's well that there should be trade." He grinned. "The more taxes for me! But I'll favor any man who brings in foreign goods."

At the Lady Church, he watched the stonemasons at their work. He had told them how that was done abroad, and now he went carefully over the rising walls. When he saw poorly laid courses, he ordered them ripped out and done over. Men said that so stout a work had never been known in the North erenow.

It happened that a merchant from Iceland was in Nidharos who was an old friend of Thjodholf's. His name was Brand Vemundsson, and they called him the Openhanded because of his generosity. The skald had been singing his praises to the king ever since he arrived, urging that he be guested in the royal house. Now, as Harald returned home for the noon meal, he said: 'Thjodholf, you've told me so much about this fellow that I'm fain to test him. Go and ask him if he'll give me his cloak."

The Icelander looked surprised, but bowed and left. He found Brand in a room of the house where he had taken lodgings, measuring out linen to sell. The trader was not a large man, but bore himself well and was nobly clad in a scarlet kirtle and a cowled cloak of the same hue. As he sheared off the cloak, he gripped a small gold-inlaid ax under one arm.

"Good day, Thjodholf," he said. "What brings you here?"

The skald cleared his throat. "I'm sent by the king," he replied awkwardly. "He wants your mantle."

Wordlessly, Brand gave it over and went on with his work. Thjodholf trudged back to the hall and up to the king, on whose lap he laid the cloak. Harald felt of the cloth. "Well," he asked, "how did your errand go?"

"He spoke no word, my lord. I think he was displeased, as ... as well he might be."

Harald lifted his brows. "Tell me about him. What other gear has he?" When Thjodholf had described that, the king said: "He must indeed be a proud man, and a powerful one, if he did not even feel the need of words. Go back and tell him that I'll accept his golden ax."

Thjodholf flushed angrily. "My lord, I'd liefer not. I know not how he'll take that."

"You began this talk about Brand and how wonderful he is. Go now and say I want his ax. I'll not think him so generous unless he gives it."

Thjodholf went slowly out. Queen Elizabeth trod forward and said anxiously, "What do you mean to do? The man's never given you any offense, has he?"

Harald chuckled. "No. I'm only curious about him. These Icelanders are such a stiff-necked breed."

She summoned up courage and asked: "How shall men serve one who robs them?"

Harald shrugged and returned to the bone he was gnawing. Some little while passed before Thjodholf came back with the ax. "He said naught this time either, my lord," the skald related. "He only handed me the ax and went on with his task."

"Hm,- so." The king licked his fingers and washed them in the bowl of water that was passed around. "Indeed he seems more openhanded than most, which is well for me. Go back and tell him I'll accept that robe he wears."

Thjodholf burst out in hurt and bewilderment: "Lord, the man is my friend. It's not right I should go again."

"Nevertheless, go you shall," said Harald, and toyed with the ax.

Thjodholf went back, on fire with his shame. Brand was still at work. The skald said bitterly: "The king will accept your kirtle."

Brand said nothing, but doffed it and clipped off one sleeve before casting it aside. Thjodholf could find no words, but picked the garment up and brought it to Harald.

The king lifted it and broke into a roar of laughter. When he had sobered, he said: "This man is wise as well as generous. I see why he cut off that sleeve; it must seem I have only one hand, which grasps and never gives. Go back now and fetch him here."

Thjodholf went gladly this time, and Harald gave Brand an honorable welcome and many rich gifts.

Styrkaar scratched his bullhead and muttered plaintively, "Too deep a jest for me."

"The king has ever liked such games," said Eystein Gorcock. Since Einar's fall, he had been treated coolly by most of his kin, and had no place other than as Harald's sworn hand. "Don't you recall that other Icelander, Stuf Thordharson, and how much he got from answering boldly and in witty riddles?"

"I wonder how far a Norseman might ride that horse. Well, not for me to worry. Do his bidding and drink his ale, eh? Skaal!"

3

Winter came again, and spring again. One rainy day grew clear toward evening, and Harald left the dampness of his hall for the courtyard. In the west, across a tall sky, tattered clouds were turning warm; light streamed on the river and the fjord beyond and filled the air with its haze; each lungful was like a breath of the Northern sun. Timbers glowed darkly; had they drunk the light down to their innermost grain and now gave it back? Rays shivered on the puddles between the flagstones.

Somewhere a starling sang, and swallows shot above the roofs.

A few carles and guardsmen idled on benches outside the main storehouse, trading banter with a couple of maids who stood, hands on hips, tossing their yellow hair with a haughtiness that broke down to giggles. Their voices were loud in the stillness, but somehow far away. Yet more distantly came the thunk of oars and a weary hail as some coastwise boat put into the river. On another side of the courtyard, the king saw four small figures under the eye of an old woman thrall. He strolled there and loomed above his children.

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.

Harald pursued, striking and shooting at their backs, till he was sure they were a broken force. Then he returned to the beach.

Among sweating, panting, wildly cheering warriors he saw no few bitter faces. Kalf's ship lay canted, and the chief was there, stretched along a bench. Someone had closed his eyes and folded his hands, but flies clouded the thickening blood.

Ulf walked stiff-legged up to Harald. The lines from nose to mouth were drawn tight, gashes across his face, and he breathed heavily. "You sent Kalf to his death!" he stormed.

"All men are born fey," said Harald. "And we whipped the enemy; that's what we came hither for."

"In God's name, why? He was your friend!"

"That he was not," said Harald, "and I'll give you no yea or nay if you accuse me, but say merely that I'm not ill content."

He looked into the sky, up to the wan daylight moon, and made a verse:

"Thirteen men I've had murdered,

manslaughters unforgotten;

honor drove me to evil:

with evil is evil rewarded.

Ever 'twas hard to answer

with aught but betrayal a traitor;

lies bear each other's likeness;

leechcraft uses a sickness."

Ulf turned wrathfully away, and it was some time before he yielded his friendship again. But Styrkaar guffawed and repeated the verse for others.

With Fyen helpless before them, the Norse thrust inland, fighting and burning and taking home a mighty booty. Afterward Harald returned to Oslo to oversee the work there, and got news that Jarl Orm Eilifsson had died.

5

Finn Arnason had sat home during the summer, busying himself with small affairs that swarmed like ants to fill a man's days. Toward the end of the season, he ordered butchering and brewing and other preparations made for a great feast, with which he meant to welcome Kalf back.

It was a day of fine, misty rain when one of the thralls cried that ships were standing in. The sheriff flung a cloak over his shoulders and stumped eagerly out. Through the drizzling air, he could just spy the three dragons which neared his dock, shadow ships in a shadow world. About him, the planks thundered with feet, housefolk getting in each other's way, shouting importantly to fetch hawsers. One little boy leaned too far in his excitement and went into the water; hoo, hoy, a turmoil and a dozen boathooks and a spanking for him! Finn smiled, trying to forget the ache in his bones.

The nearest vessel drew in her larboard oars, men grabbed flung ropes and pulled, sea-battered strakes thumped against bollards. Her skipper sprang to the dock. "Where's Finn Arnason?" he cried.

"Here I am." The sheriff groped forward. Raindrops sat in his gray beard. He blinked at the captain. "Who are you? Oh, yes, to be sure, Gautrek Highbreeks; I remember you now. Did you have a good voyage? Where's my brother?"

The seaman looked away. "Kalf is dead," he answered slowly.

Finn stood very quiet, leaning on his spear.

"He died in Fyen," went on Gautrek. "We found a churchyard and buried him there. Our chaplain said Mass for him. . . . The king would not let us go home before he did himself."

Finn shook his head, as if he had taken a blow.

"He died bravely," said Gautrek in a clumsy voice. "He fell against heavy odds. Few of us were left after that battle, only enough to man three ships. We burned the rest."

"Well—" Finn stopped.

Men were making the other craft fast and stretching sails to shield the cargo; they spoke little, and in hushed tones. The thin rain hid the other shore; water dripped from the boathouse eaves like tears.

"Well," said Finn, "come up to the hall. We'll have food in a short while."

"There was never a more valiant man than Kalf Arnason," said Gautrek, matching his slow pace. "All mourn him. It's like, well, an old tree which has stood all your life, and then suddenly lightning strikes it. The sky looks empty afterward."

"One by one," said Finn. He nodded, the careful nod of an aging man. "One by one."

Gautrek looked around, then brought his mouth close to the sheriff's ear. "If you want revenge on that wolf we call king, then I'm your man."

"Eh?" Finn halted. The soaked mantle dripped at his feet; soon he stood in a puddle. "What mean you?"

"Know you not? Harald Hardrede slew him, as surely as if he'd wielded the blade himself. He sent us to meet an overwhelming force of Danes, and held back his own men till we were beaten and Kalf dead."

"I cannot believe it," whispered Finn.

Gautrek spat. "You must be simpleminded indeed, if ever you thought the king would make peace with Kalf."

Finn stared at the gray blur which was his world. "And I summoned him home," he said.

Abruptly he straightened, lifting the spear, and shouted forth: "Now God be my witness, from this moment I'm Harald's foe! Here and now, before you all, I curse Harald Hardrede. I swear to do him no less ill than he's done me. Christ above, I ask You, where is Your honor, that You have not already cast him into hell?"

Gautrek shuddered and crossed himself. "Speak not so—" he began, but Finn did not hear. He raved for minutes before silence returned to him. Then he stood shaking as if with an ague.

When finally he spoke again, it was in a dulled voice. "Come with me to the hall, friends. We've much to talk about." He led the way and himself told Bergljot the news.

In the next few days he worked calmly, setting his affairs in order and gathering ships and men. With no small following, he bade Norway farewell and sailed off for Denmark.

There he sought out Svein, who gave him a friendly welcome and spoke long with him in private. It ended with Finn and his family swearing troth to the Danish king, who made him jarl in Holland. Here he steered the defenses against his countrymen, the Norse Vikings, and was often in battle with them.

He had thought to meet Haakon Ivarsson and lay plans for a return under the rebel banner. But this was not to be.

XI

How Haakon Ivarsson Came Home

1

There was a man named Asmund, son of King Svein's lately dead brother Björn. As a boy he was handsome, brave, and gallant, so that all adored him, not least the king his uncle. When his beard started to grow, he was taken into the royal guard and shown every honor. He was now a big, thick-shouldered youth, with good-looking features, dark hair, and sulky lips, and was rich enough to keep a following of his own. But these were a raffish, murderous crew, and their wildness soon entered Asmund's blood until he was guilty of no few manslayings himself.

After upbraiding him vainly for some months, Svein discharged him from the guard, but gave him a fief to support him with his men and mistresses. Scarcely had Asmund moved there, when he began gathering more companions of the same sort, until his lawful income could not be stretched to feed them. So he laid hands on much more of the king's goods than was his right.

When Svein heard of this, he summoned Asmund to him and said: "For the sake of our kinship and the love I ever bore you and your father, as well as because Christ tells us to forgive those who work harm, I will still be patient with you. Give up your fief and your evil friends, come back to the guards, and this shall be forgotten. Otherwise it will go ill for you, my friend."

The youngster agreed gloomily, and behaved himself for a time. Then one night he could endure it no longer, so he fled, and sought out his old comrades. They lived in northern Sealand for a while like robbers, stealing and killing and raping among the folk. Finally Svein rode thither with a troop, surrounded Asmund's house, and had him brought back in chains to Roskilde. There he was locked away for a while, it being the king's hope that this would make him repent.

But no sooner was Asmund released than he broke every promise he had given and left. He gathered men and goods to outfit a longship, and in this he went as Viking both abroad and at home, sparing naught that came under his sword.

Haakon Ivarsson had lain out summer and winter with his ships. When he heard of heathen raiders, he attacked and slew those he could catch, and sometimes sought their own lands to punish them with fire and iron. But most of the time it was only a dreary lying at anchor, in rain and snow and paint-blistering sun, and his soul chafed. When he visited the king, he was always shown honor and given fine gifts, but it still seemed to him he was making little headway in the world; and often the image of Ragnhild Magnusdottir drifted through his thoughts.

In the same summer that Harald Hardrede plundered across Fyen, Asmund Bjarnarson's ship came to Lolland, where he sacked and burned no few thorps. The yeoman and fishers looked at ash which had been their homes, buried stripped and bloody things which had been dear to them, and sent men to put their grievance before the king.

Svein was in a black temper, the news from Fyen was a knife at his soul. . . . Dear God, how long must the land hold out? When could he lay his weary bones to rest? He looked at the hairy, rough-handed men who stood half afright to plead with him, and snapped:

"Why do you come to me? Why go you not to Haakon Ivarsson? He's my chief of defenses down there, and it's his task to give you cotters peace and block off the Vikings." His lip lifted. "I've heard tell that Haakon is a valiant man; but now it seems he's fain to keep away from such places as danger may visit."

When the commoners had gone, Svein sat for a while with his face buried in his hands. Thereafter he called for his chaplain, for it seemed he must have sinned in laying his own faults at another man's door.

But his words were carried, with additions, to Haakon. The Norseman sat quiet during his meal, then said frostily: "Busk yourselves, my boys, we've got work to do."

His ships slipped from the harbor, out into choppy seas under a long slant of rain. At Lolland he made inquiries and learned that Asmund had last been seen going northeast, toward Mon. The wind was strong and favoring; he crammed on sail recklessly and steered thither while his crews bailed out what waves broke over the sides.

Erelong the chalk cliffs of Mon Island lifted before him. Haakon ran close to them, ignoring the chance of shipwreck. Several days' rain ended as he sailed, a dirty wrack of clouds whipped over the sky, and the pale hurrying sun slipped westward. There was still daylight when he descried a dragon lying to under the steeps.

He waved his steersman to edge nearer, and stood up. The drenched cloak hung soggily about his rust-spattered byrnie, one splash of red in a world all gray and white; even at war, Haakon was careful about his dress. "Hoy, there!" he bawled. "Halloo, this is the king's coastal defense. Who are you?"

A man's voice returned through the din of surf: "This is the ship of Asmund Bjarnarson, the king's kinsman. Go your way. We have this anchorage already."

"Strike the masts," cried Haakon to his little fleet, "and ready for battle."

His own longship rowed ahead of the others, up toward Asmund's where the Vikings were donning mail and snatching shields. Haakon took a bow and shot at them. The string hummed and sang without rest. Arrows and spears made answer, until the two ships grated together and grappling hooks bit into bulwarks. Then Haakon took his sword and led the boarding party.

A richly clad youth in the bows shouted: "You'll hang for this! I'm the king's nephew!" Haakon was too busy to reply.

Another ship lay alongside. Now the Vikings were outnumbered; and still more guardsmen poured in, crossing decks to do so. The Vikings fought hard, Asmund not the worst, but their luck was over. Erelong Haakon's folk had cleared the hull and won up to the raider captain and his last men.

Haakon himself encountered the youth. Ever his skill laid shield in the path of enemy sword. And his own blade carved. Asmund began crying, less in fear than in rage. He lunged forward, blind with the blood running into his eyes. Haakon chopped at his leg and the Viking toppled. The last thing Asmund saw was the Norseman stooping above to cut off his head.

Haakon ordered the few prisoners killed and every Viking body cast overboard; but he kept Asmund's head. Next morning, with his own dead honorably wrapped, he ordered a course for Hafn.

Two days later King Svein was at meat when hoofbeats clattered outside. His mood was better than formerly, since he had just been sent a Book of Hours from Italy. It lay on the table beside him; he would not touch the lovely binding with greased fingers, but his eyes caressed it.

"What's that?" he asked absently when the noise resounded. Turning to Bishop William, his guest, he went on: "This makes the two hundred and fourth book I have. Not so ill for a once landless outlaw, think you? I hope to have a thousand before I die."

"Beware the sin of pride, my lord," said the bishop.

"But who could not be proud of this? Wait till I show it to you, Your Reverence. Never have I seen such work with gold leaf, and the little figures are almost alive; ho, ho, an elfin kingdom for my own!"

Haakon Ivarsson entered. The travel-stained cloak swirled from his shoulders, and his face was trenched with wrathful lines. "Greeting, my lord," he said. The sword rattled at his waist as he held forth something bundled in cloth. "I have a gift for you."

"Well," smiled Svein, "let me see."

"Do you know this?" asked Haakon. He drew the cloth aside and threw Asmund's head on the table. It rolled to a halt by the royal place and gaped sightlessly up at the king.

Svein's face flamed, but he spoke not a word. Haakon bowed, wheeled, and left again.

A few days later the Norseman got a message from the king that he had best take himself elsewhere. "I will do you no harm, but I cannot answer for our relatives."

2

Haakon gathered those of his countrymen who had followed him and told them how matters stood. "We are ill repaid wherever we go," he said, "and the question is who shall next have the chance to kick us."

"We could try England," said one warrior. "The great earls are known to be open-handed."

"Or Thorfinn Jarl in Orkney would make us welcome," added another.

"But do you wish to be homeless all your lives?" countered Haakon. "It's been long since we saw kith and kin, or slept in-our own halls, or walked the hills we know. What say you we go back to Norway?"

"King Harald is no near friend of yours," remarked someone.

"No. But perhaps we can be reconciled. I may have been somewhat hasty, my temper was always overly quick." Haakon's fair head lifted. "Or if we must, we can fight. Better to bear shield for our own hearth fires than for a stranger whose quarrels mean naught to us."

That seemed a rash venture, but Haakon urged it with all the charm and cunning he could muster, and in the end they agreed. The next day they loaded a ship and embarked.

Haakon sailed through the nights as well as the days. His longing gripped him; however far he fared, his heart was always anchored. When he stood at the steering oar, his crew hidden by darkness and sleep, joy dwelt in him.

The ship rocked and surged, her timbers creaked, waves struck the hull and boomed far out across a shadowy horizon. Down the length of the vessel was a cargo of night; the sail rose above in a murmurous wall, ropes sang as the cold dew tautened them, the wind lulled in the sky. Up there flashed uncounted stars, gleaming and glittering in a chill crystal black: the mighty sprawl of Carl's Wain, six misty glimmers from Freyja's Spindle, the Milky Way spilling and foaming across heaven, and always and always the far keen blink of the North Star. Somehow Haakon did not feel alone. Up ahead lay the dear lost dales of Norway. An eagle would be flying over Hardanger Falls and Dofra's gaunt peaks storming the moon; he was home-bound.

When they entered Oslofjord and stopped overnight at one of the fisher thorps, they learned that King Harald was at his new town. Haakon's men look alarmed, but the chief's jaws clicked together and he said: "As well have it out now as later."

"Should we not seek your garth first and raise some men?"

"Then would indeed be war. I'll go by myself to him, if the rest of you are frightened."

After those words, they must needs all follow, as he had known when he spoke. Inwardly, he grinned.

Nonetheless, there was a thickening in his throat when the ship tied up at Oslo dock. He looked at the folk bustling about, the skeleton frames of more buildings than he could tell; he listened to hammer clack and saw rip, and thought this might be his last day to sense the world. And a lovely world it was, broad and fair, where the fjord sparkled blue and the hills smoldered with early autumn. When he donned helmet and shut the wind's hand off from his hair, it was like closing a coffin.

Armed and armored, the sixty men of his longship tramped from the harbor and up a muddy new street toward the king's half-finished hall. They met stares, whispers, a few daring cheers. The crowd drifted in their wake, to the courtyard where a guardsman slanted his spear across their path.

The chief wet his lips and said: 'Tell the king that Haakon Ivarsson has come back in peace and wishes audience with him."

The warrior gaped. He gave the word to another, who stumbled over his own feet as he ran to bring the message. Haakon waited for what seemed a long time.

The man came back, panting. "King Harald will see Haakon alone. He pledges safe-conduct whatever may be said."

"How much are his promises worth?" muttered one of the crew. "Best we go back to the ship before—"

"No. Wait here." Haakon stepped briskly inside.

He found Harald sitting on a balk of timber while workmen scrambled above him. A few guards stood near, but their blades remained sheathed. Haakon bent the knee and then faced the king boldly.

"Well." Harald stroked his beard. "You have come back."

He looked tired, the skin was burned brown and stretched tight over the big bones, his eyes seemed unnaturally large and alive. But even seated, it was as if he filled the place, leaving scant room for others.

"Yes, my lord."

"So I'm your lord again? What brought you home?"

Haakon had prepared a speech, but now he forgot it and blurted: "Lord, my mouth grew weary of foreign bread. I thought better to come home and be a lesser man in Norway than—" His voice ran to a halt, he could find nothing else to say under those eyes.

"They relate you served Svein Estridhsson well." Harald's tone was mild, and Haakon wondered what he was thinking.

"Aye, so I did," he answered defiantly. "I'd serve you no worse, if you let me."

"You'd swear troth to me, and let me pass judgment?"

Haakon checked a rush of anger. "My lord," he protested, "I see naught to judge."

"You spoke slanders about me, and went to my foe," said Harald coldly. "Think not you can creep back and begin afresh as if nothing had happened. If you'll swear before witnesses, on sacred relics, to obey me in all things and nevermore work against me, I shall tell you what penalties I have in mind. Otherwise, you have safe-conduct back to your ship and out of the bay, but thereafter you'll be hunted to your death."

Haakon stood with thunderous heart, unable to speak. This was the man whom the Danes called the Lightning of the North, and Denmark's Woe; Danish mothers frightened their children to obedience by threatening that Harald Hardrede would come eat them. This was the man who had felled mighty Einar Thambaskelfir, broken Norway's chiefs across his knee, and sent God knew how many souls shrieking on hell road. His judgment could be death, blinding, ruinous fines; as well give yourself into the hands of Satan.

And yet . . . how the North Star had flashed above the bows!

"Well?" asked Harald.

Haakon bent his head. "I yield me, lord."

"Good. Come, then."

Silently, Harald led the way out into the street. His guardsmen fell in around the two; Haakon's men and the townsfolk trailed, whispering and wondering. Nothing was said until they came to a small wooden church which had been there before the town was aught but a hamlet. Here was buried Hallvardh Vebjarnarson, a cousin of Harald's slain some nine years ago. He had been a pious man, and was now reckoned a saint; the king's intention was to bury him afresh in Oslo cathedral when that should be built.

On the grave of holy Hallvardh, in the sight of staring throngs, Haakon swore fealty. Then he stood waiting for he knew not what.

"This is my judgment," said Harald slowly. "Know that Orm Jarl died this summer, so that the reason I formerly had for angering you is gone. I command that in future you be less quick to set your own greed above your lord's wisdom. But since you are a brave and able man, you shall have the Jarldom now."

Dizziness rushed on Haakon. He went to his knees and kissed the king's hand. Harald raised him and said: "No, no, I ask not such. Only remain true."

He was invested that night, and they feasted at a house Harald had taken. The next day the king gave him horses and leave to ride home.

Two weeks later, Haakon arrived at Nidharos and sought out Ragnhild's foster parents. He came into her presence with the gait of pride, but there he was struck dumb, for the Ynglings grew up fast and two years had given her more loveliness than was right.

She regarded him gravely. "So you are here again, Haakon Ivarsson," she said.

"Yes." The words rattled in his throat. "With the same wish. But now I have the rank of jarl."

She rose and came to him. "I wish you had not told me that so soon," she said. "It was not needful."

3

When Harald returned to Throndheim late in fall, he learned that Finn Arnason had left the country. A small cold jag went through him. Gain one good man, lose another, and how would his new jarl take those tidings? He rode into Nidharos with his spirit heavy.

Elizabeth was on hand to greet him as he reached the hall. Tenderness lay on her mouth as she whispered: "Welcome home. I've been lonely without you. I always am."

He nodded absently, his head too full to pay her much heed. It was Thora he wanted, honest lust and swift forgetfulness. But she was not to be seen.

"How have things fared here?" he asked.

"As before," said Elizabeth. "I suppose you know about Finn."

"Yes. Will you too hold that against me?"

Her fingers stole out to close around his. "Harald, I've ceased trying to understand or condemn. It's not for me, who am only hurt by it. Enough to stand with you, my dearest."

"Whatever comes," he answered, surprised.

"To the rim of hell, and beyond," she told him. Color rose in the pale cheeks. He wished he could feel some deep response, but he had only a mumbled thanks.

The feast was spread and the warriors caroused. Harald drained many horns, but they did not ease him. Finally, as Elizabeth gave him a fresh drink, he could no longer block off the question: "Where is Thora?"

"Don't ask me that." The queen looked frightened.

"But I do ask." His hand caught at her wrist till she winced. "Is she sick?"

"No . . . not bodily. But she took the . . . matter of Kalf and Finn much to heart."

And would not even greet me, he thought. Belike she would go home soon. He wanted to seek her out, but pride forbade. If her troth was so lightly given, let her go.

His breast felt ashen. He got up and left the hall, waving back the men who would follow.

Out in the courtyard, he met a frosty night. The moon was nearing full, a thin wash over flagstones and roofs, a shuddering bridge across the fjord. The stars watched with unpitying eyes. Harald clasped his hands behind his back and trod the paving to and fro, his shadow flowing over the hoarfrost. Breath smoked from his nostrils, dim under the moon. His shoes creaked on the rime.

Better to face an army than the spite of his own soul. He wondered why he should be so oppressed. He had wrought well and mightily: the kingdom his beyond shaking, two sons and two daughters to bear his blood through time, his foes dead or brought to heel, his wars going well, his buildings stout and his new town already flourishing. No man had done more. He need but go on, and he had half a lifetime left, time to pluck up the world by the roots and plant it anew where he wished. Surely this was no moment to scorn himself.

Einar Thambaskelfir, Eindridhi Einarsson, the sons of Arni, and how many unknown waiting among the humble dead? God curse it, a man failed, a man wrought evil and gave pain, no one was free of that. Did it not suffice to be a man, and stumble and fall in the dust, but always rise again? What more could God want?

A low sound of waters bore through the dark, running tides and restless waves. He had thought once to sail every sea, to fare beyond the edge of the known and farther, his keel to scrape Vinland's beaches. . . . Well, well, time went and a man learned he was but mortal, and the learning was a small death in him.

"Thora," he said, and started when he realized he had spoken aloud.

She came to him from her dwelling, almost as if she had heard, and the cold colorless moonlight made her a thing of eerie beauty. It might have been the Elf Queen who stood before him, save that tears glimmered in her eyes.

He stood with his hands empty at his sides, looking down at her but not stirring. "So you are wroth with me now," he said at last.

"That was an evil thing you did this summer," she told him. Her voice shivered. "You'll burn in hell for it."

"Kalf meant to betray me," he answered. His eyes watched the white moonlight sliding across her. "I have no power over Finn's thoughts."

"Few of my blood are left," she said. "You've reaped them heavily."

"And many more." He nodded. "Go if you wish, Thora. Hate me if you must."

She looked away. His shadow fell huge across the rime. When he moved a little his head blocked out the moon.

"What will you do to atone for your sins?" she asked.

"Nothing. I cannot believe that they are sins, though tonight . . . No matter. There's work to be done, I thank God for that much."

She regarded him a long time. When she spoke, the words were a jest they had once shared, but her tone another. "Is it lonely up there?"

He shrugged. "Bait me not. Farewell."

Suddenly she came to him. He stood where he was, laying arms about her, not knowing what she meant. The moon lifted higher, into a chill swarm of stars, the night crackled with deepening cold.

"Thora," he said wonderingly.

She nuzzled against his breast, her shoulders trembled beneath her cloak. "Thief, murderer, tyrant," she gulped. "I should kill you. I should raise the whole world to war on you. There are so many ghosts—"

She lifted her face toward his, eyes blind with tears. "God forgive me, I love you," she said. "I cannot do aught but love you."

His heart jumped. He could find no words, but they were not needed.

Standing there, he thought he could almost hear the remote beat of surf, great white waves dashing against the land out beyond the fjord's mouth, swirling and roaring to the world's rim. Sea horse road, the skalds called it, highway to forever, and tonight it shouted and laughed and galloped under the moon, wild with storm, drunk with wandering; a wind whistled out there and inwardly he answered.

Tomorrow, next year, someday—wait for me! He took Thora's hand and they walked back inside together.

XII

Of Earl Godwin and His Sons

1

After the Knytlings were gone, the Witan of England sought a king from the old royal Wessex line. They remembered Alfred the Great and Edmund Ironside; it was ill luck that they did not also remember Aethelred the Redeless, for it was his son they chose.

This Edward was then about forty, though his hair was already white and his eyes blurred by overmuch reading. He was wise in his fashion, brave in his fashion; some called it a pity that his fashion was not of this time. Most of his life had been spent abroad, in Normandy, while Knut and the Knutssons ruled England; he did not speak English well, but liefer French, and his dearest friends were Normans. Rather had he been an abbot than a king, for his thoughts were ever on God and his conduct of great holiness. Men called him Edward the Pious, or the Confessor.

His reign might have gone well under happier stars. Knut had been a strong and wise king, who gave England peace and raked wealth to her from half the world. In few other places under heaven were such splendor, riches, and content. From the thriving seaports, Dover and Hastings, up to Hadrian's Wall and the Scottish hills; from ancient and holy Canterbury to the wild Welsh marches; from sprawling brawling London to a charcoal burner's lonely hut lost in Sherwood, the land lay strong and calm, a sleeping giant.

But the giant had evil dreams.

Rather, a four-cornered strife threatened to rip the realm asunder. At London were Edward and the Norman knights and bishops who swarmed to him in ever greater hordes. In Mercia was Earl Leofric, almost a king in his own right. Siward was Earl of Northumbria, strong enough to fight private wars with Scotland. And Godwin had Wessex, from whose soil the royal family had itself sprung.

Now and then, all could agree. When Magnus Olafsson felt himself secure on Norway's throne, he wrote to King Edward reminding him of the old treaty with Hardhaknut, claiming England by right of it, and speaking of battle were the crown not yielded. Edward sent back so firm an answer that Magnus resolved to say no more about that; most men thought one or another of the earls had written this reply, since it accorded ill with the holy weakling.

Earl Godwin had risen from commoner to kingmaker through serving Knut with distinction. He married Gydha, aunt of the Danish king Svein Estridhsson, and by her had many children. After Knut's death, Godwin supported the Dane's sons, betraying Alfred the Atheling to a shameful death at Harald Harefoot's hands. But when the Knytlings had perished, Godwin accepted the return of an English king, and even married his daughter Edith to Edward the Confessor. Yet there was little friendship between those two men, and ever Godwin strove against the rising Norman power in England.

Thus matters stood when the earl called his sons to a council in a hall he owned at Beverstone.

Danelike, he sat in the high seat to welcome them, a big gray man with stern heavy face. They saw that none but his trustiest followers were on hand, and that these bore weapons and had shields and helmets close by.

Sweyn Godwinsson was a handsome man, but with broken veins purpling his cheeks and nose from hard drinking, and a defiant swagger to his gait. He was an evildoer. Among other things he had raped an abbess and murdered his own brother; Godwin had yielded much to have his outlawry removed. A younger brother was Tosti, lithe and haughty, clad in great splendor, with flowing chestnut hair and a pale face of almost womanish beauty. Between them in years was Harold. He was of middling height, but broad shouldered and stubborn chinned, his brown hair, worn long in the Danish style, was carefully combed, his skin weathered, his eyes gray and bright. All were clean shaven, save for mustaches, in the English manner.

Besides these, the sons of Godwin were Leofwin, Gyrdh, and eager young Wulfnoth; but they were not present.

They had come at different times, but the earl had waited till all three were there before unburdening himself. Now he nodded curtly and bade them sit near him. Silver wine cups were brought, and Sweyn gulped deep.

"Keep your wits, son," rumbled Godwin. "We'll need our cleverness this time."

"What's amiss?" drawled Tosti. He leaned back with heavy-lidded eyes, like a big sleepy wildcat, and sipped carefully.

"I heard somewhat concerning the Frenchman Eustace," said Harold. "Is that the matter?"

"Aye," nodded Godwin. "Now hearken well. You've heard bits of the story, but I'll give you the whole and then we must see what's to be done.

"You know how the king, or rather his evil counselors, have been giving unlawful power to his Norman friends, and especially placing them high in the churches. Archbishop Robert has refused to consecrate Sparhafoc Bishop of London, and though Sparhafoc is enough a good Englishman to hold his see in defiance of the world, it shows what a pass things have come to.

"Now the business of Earl Eustace of Boulogne has brought it to a head. He's the king's brother-in-law, remember, so I suppose he has the right to come visiting here, God rot his soul. But Edward gave him the right of purveyance during his stay, and that's saved for the English king alone."

Harold's first clenched on the arm of his chair. "Bad enough to have a foreigner here at our expense," he exclaimed hotly, "but to have him come riding in and taking what he pleases—"

"Let me go on," said Godwin. "On his way back through Dover, Earl Eustace's company demanded lodging in the house of an Englishman who refused them. A Frenchman wounded the fellow, who slew him—in self-defense, mind you. Then Eustace's troop set on the householder and killed him in his own home. It led to a pitched battle, in which twenty-odd townsmen and nineteen French fell. What does Eustace do but hurry back to King Edward whining of ill treatment; and the king summons me and bids me go to Dover and punish everybody dwelling there. Bids me kill Englishmen who were defending themselves! So I refused, and we must decide what to do."

"It's simple," cried Sweyn. "Rise! By God, Father, you could be King of England if you would!"

"Not so," answered the earl. With a dry look: "Did you think to succeed me? But Leofric and Siward would be on our backs from the north."

"To say naught of our duty to God's anointed," murmured Tosti. His tone was sardonic.

"There's nothing for it but to go to the king in London and make peace," said Harold reluctantly. "He'll think twice ere he brings civil war on the land."

"Go crave the royal milksop's pardon?" sneered Sweyn.

"Be still," said Godwin. "You've made trouble enough for one lifetime. It was on your account I had to agree to abolish the Thingmen, who are sorely wanted now." These had been Knut's guard, a wondrous band of ax-wielding giants.

"We've worse to come," said Harold. "I hear tell William the Bastard, the Duke of Normandy, is invited hither. Could it be to talk over Edward's successor? He'll have no children, who keeps his wife in name only—and what a way to treat our sister!"

Godwin's look was unhappy. "It may well be, son. They say Edward promised England's crown to William while he was living in Normandy."

"William is a mighty warrior," said Tosti, "but he's hard and greedy. I'd sooner have a wolf on the throne."

Harold rose. He lifted one fist, and it shook. "That's not the heart of it," he said loudly. "It's a matter of English law. The Witan and the people name a king, and choose whom they will. Is England to be bought and sold, handed from father to son, like a kennel of dogs?"

The men yelled, through the long dim hall, till it rang in the rafters. These were warriors. Their breed had come here when Rome was dying, to hammer out a new realm; among their fathers were Danes whose dragons had borne steel and fire and freedom; they themselves had tumbled at the throats of the Welsh since they were old enough to draw blade. It was a thundering which stood now and shouted: "No!"

Earl Godwin calmed them. "This is not our affair yet," he said. "Have your right foot on the ground ere you pick up the left. I will not move on Dover, God witness that, but what's to be done to make our peace with the king?"

The Wessex party went to London to talk with their lord and the Witan. Godwin demanded hostages, so that he could be sure of coming and going safely, but this was denied him. Welsh spies had vented old hatred by reporting to Edward he plotted treason. Siward and Leofric were there with armed men, gleefully working against their rival. The upshot was that Godwin and his sons were outlawed. This was late in the fall, Anno Domini 1051.

They went, all but Harold and Leofwin, across the narrow seas to Bruges, where Count Baldwin of Flanders bade them welcome. Tosti was married to the count's daughter Judith, hence the friendship between the two houses. The shock seemed to turn Sweyn's unsteady mind; he brooded on his sins and at last started for Jerusalem on a pilgrimage of atonement. Godwin lay waiting over the winter, gathering his strength and whatever news was to be had from England.

As for Harold and Leofwin, they were pursued by the king's men but got aboard ship with a crew during too wild a gale for any to dare follow. Harold steered for Ireland. Often waves broke over the gunwale, often the ship wallowed on her beam-ends and oarsmen slid across the benches to tangle with the rowers opposite; wind cracked a whip of rain across the sea, timbers shrieked, the ship stuck her nose into the water and tried to burrow down. Leofwin's lips moved with a steady flow of prayers. But Harold stood fighting the steering oar, and at length the skies cleared and Ireland hove before them.

Dublin was a busy town, blended of all the world, it seemed: tall fierce-eyed Norsemen, Irish with tunics flapping about their knees, stolid English traders and outlaws, now and then a Frenchman, German, Spaniard, even a Saracen merchant adventurer in robe and turban. Harold led his half-drowned crew boldly through the streets to King Eachmagarch Mac Rognvald's hall, where he-found good greeting.

"And now what do we do?" asked Leofwin.

"We wait," said Harold grimly. "We gather ships and men, but we wait."

This was not at first hard, for there was much to see and do, many beakers of ale to drain, many horses to ride on long hunts, many men to wrestle and talk to, many women to sport with. Harold was not behindhand with any of this, for he had been brought up in a wealthy house. Few were the steeds he could not mount, few the men he could not throw or drink under the board. Folk loved him, and no small company of warriors vowed to follow him home when the time came. He began to shape the best of these into a corps like Knut's Thingmen; he called them his Housecarles, and the homely name became one of pride.

But on a heavy winter day he sought out Leofwin. The younger man was playing chess when Harold beckoned to him. "I'll come back and checkmate you as soon as I can," he boasted, and got up. Harold led him to a private chamber. A fire on its hearth did little to beat off the gloom. Outside, a thick sad snow fell to deaden the streets and turn the land bloodless.

Leofwin shivered and held his hands to the flames. "What is it, brother?" he asked.

"A ship has just come with an evil cargo," Harold told him. "News from England."

"Well, then?"

Harold's strong square-hewn face brooded, half in shadow and half in fretful yellow light. "It's ill," he said. "King Edward has now set our sister Edith aside—" At Leofwin's curse: "No, not divorce, but he's taken her lands and gold, and sent her almost a prisoner to his own sister at Wherwell. And there's more. Duke William the Bastard has been guesting, receiving many honors; nor has the king troubled to deny rumors he's promised William the crown after him. They're near kinsmen, you know, and— More, though. Bishop Sparhafoc is driven from London and a Norman given the see. Our father's earldom is handed out to others; Alfgar Leofricsson has mine."

"And here we sit!" raged Leofwin, springing to his feet.

Harold smiled wryly. "It seems you stand, brother," he murmured.

"But what's to be done?"

"Fight . . . when the time is ready."

"Could not our kinsman, King Svein in Denmark, help us?"

"He has his own troubles, with King Harald Hardrede. No, we must see . . ." Harold rested his chin on one thick brown hand. "Think not I like this dawdling about. I have friends at home, yes, more than friends."

Leofwin remained silent, for he knew his brother thought of Edith Swan-neck, his fair mistress, and mother of his children. They were dear to each other, those two.

"These are evil times," said Harold after a while. "Often am I fain to think doomsday must be near, so much of the world is already going down in wreck. If ever England needed a strong chief, this is the moment, when wild beasts ring her in. The Normans lick their chops as they look across the channel; the Norse giant has some claim of his own, and who knows what vaunting dreams he bears? God's truth, it's bitter to sit here helpless!"

"England's king ..." Something glowed in Leofwin's eyes as he watched the other. "Harold, never was a man better fitted for it than you. Alfred's line gutters out, but we . . ."

"Enough!" Harold spoke harshly, almost afraid of the thought.

"Let's first win home."

In spring, ships went between Dublin and Bruges with messages. Harold was hot to begin the work, but the crafty earl ordered him to wait a while yet, and to meet him at the Isle of Wight early in September. In the latter part of summer, Harold and Leofwin busked themselves; by now they had a sizable fleet, and with it they sailed to England. Around the Severn mouth they harried and plundered, defeating the king's forces; more than thirty great thanes fell at their hands, as well as many yeomen.

The king's fleet lay at Sandwich, on guard against Earl Godwin, but he eluded them and made a secret landing. There the men of Kent, Sussex, and Surrey swarmed to him, crying that they would die before their old Landfather, their shield, should again lose his rights. The royal ships came toward Godwin, but could not find him; they returned to Sandwich and then, the forty-day term of the levy being up, went home. After this, Godwin and Harold sought each other, and that was a joyful meeting.

They ranged about getting support, and it was with a mighty force both on land and water that they steered up the Thames one blustery fall day. When they reached Southwark, the king's craft fled before them, and the guards on London Bridge let them pass without battle. From both the London and Southwark banks, folk stood cheering as Godwin and Harold rowed up the stream. Spears and helmets and naked swords flashed an answer from the hulls.

Archbishop Robert escaped to the coast, where he found a leaky old scow of a ship and crossed to Normandy; this tale brought laughter through all of England. Meanwhile, the earls and the Witan met with the rebels. Godwin knelt before King Edward, swearing he had ever been true and wanted only the good of the realm. Tears wavered on the Confessor's lids, he could scarcely speak, when he agreed that Godwin and the Godwinssons should be inlawed and honored.

It was decreed that Wessex return to its earl, while Harold got East Anglia from Alfgar: mostly

Danish settlements, where he felt right well at home, being half Danish himself. Edward was to restore his queen; his Norman favorites were banished; Bishop Stigand, Knut's old chancellor, was made Archbishop of Canterbury, the highest prelate of the kingdom. It was all Edward could do not to weep before his shouting people.

Harold said with a cold joy to his father: "Now, before God, we are again Englishmen!"

"Christ grant we remain so," answered Godwin.

3

The earl did not long enjoy his triumph. He heard that his son Sweyn had died in the South. Shortly afterward, during the Easter season in the following year, he himself was stricken; he lay speechless and strengthless for three days, the breath laboring in and out of him. Harold thought it strange and saddening that this man his father, who had been the strongest and wisest and boldest of them all, who had himself been England, should lie with chilled hands and a mute pleading in his eyes. When he died, Harold bent his head and wept.

Thereafter King Edward made him Earl of Wessex, and handed East Anglia to Alfgar Leofricsson. Harold liked this ill, but since Alfgar had supported him during his return, and the balance of the kingdom still teetered above civil war, agreed. Tosti, though, was in a rage. "I looked to have some reward," he said between his teeth. "I lay out and fought with the rest of you, and what have I to show for it but scars?"

"Be patient," said Harold. "I could do naught else."

Tosti snarled some answer and turned away. The evil blood which had doomed Sweyn leaped up in him at times.

The next year, 1054, was a hard one for many. Horror rode the sky, a new star so bright it was seen by day ere it sank back into darkness. Tidings came that Christendom was split asunder, the Eastern Church had finally thrown off all allegiance to Rome and anathemas flew like poisoned arrows. Pope Leo died about that time, and Hildebrand, though as yet only a cardinal, sought to rebuild the Catholic Church from the ground up; he was a powerful man with a ruthlessly great vision. Jaroslav the Wise died, and Russia was divided among his sons. The French king tried to invade the troublesome Duchy of Normandy, and William the Bastard sent him reeling back. Up in the North, Earl Siward and Malcolm Canmore overthrew King Macbeth at Dunsinane, and in this battle, the earl lost his own son. There was a murrain among the cattle, and Harold Godwinsson fell sick and was many months abed.

In 1055 Siward followed his boy into death. Then came Tosti to King Edward and asked for the earldom of Northumbria. His manner was so smooth, his looks so dazzling, he made such free use of his unwitting brother Harold's name, that this was granted him. Alfgar, who had been expecting to receive it, flew into such a temper, deftly goaded by Tosti, that he was outlawed for the things he said. He fled to the Welsh king, and they attacked together.

Harold went briskly to work, defeating them in battle and then reaving and burning till the marches were a wasteland. This brought peace, and Alfgar was forgiven, but it left many smoldering fires in Welsh breasts. Now and again, at night in a circle of stones, rites were performed as they had been for ages before even the Romans came, to wish bad luck on Harold Godwinsson.

The Wessex earl was a gallant and dashing man. When he rode in gilt helmet and burnished armor, his long hair and scarlet cloak floating behind him, his horse high-stepping and the Housecarles tramping in his wake with axes agleam, folk said openly he looked more a king than the crowned dotard. He himself would not say yea or nay to such talk, only brusquely that he had work to do and was sworn to his sovereign.

King Edward brought a namesake, Edward the Atheling, from Hungary, where he had long ago fled to escape Knut; but this son of Edmund Ironside took sick and died, leaving but his small child Edgar. Indeed Alfred's house was falling. This happened while Harold was on pilgrimage to Rome, where he won the enmity of Hildebrand by refusing to take England as a fief of the Pope.

On his return, Harold found trouble brewed afresh by Tosti, who had again trapped Alfgar into words worth outlawry. A Norse Viking fleet had come, secretly ordered by Harald Hardrede to probe England's defenses; Alfgar and his Welsh allies had joined them. Harold sent peace offers to the Englishman, who accepted them and came home again; then Harold must lead ships against the Vikings, who were plundering along the southern coast. He drove them back with losses, and now for a time his land had stillness. This was in 1058.

When the Vikings returned to Nidharos, they sought out Harald Hardrede. "Well," he said, "how went it?"

"We got good booty, my lord," answered their chief, "but could make no headway otherwise. Your namesake, Harold Godwinsson, is a doughty fighter; whoever has dared his anger has come to grief, and the folk love him."

"It was worth a trial." King Harald stroked his mustache. "In no case would it do to fall on England with Svein Estridhsson at our backs." He had, indeed, sent friendly messages to Edward some years ago. "But still ..." His great form raised itself and began pacing the hall. "Think you, Erling, think you. England totters, with her lords quarreling and a palsied hand at the steering oar. Yet she's the richest land in the North. Jutes, Saxons, Danes, Norse: ever has England been our dream, and they who hold her might well hold the world later on."

"Harold Godwinsson seems to grasp her tightly enough," said Erling dryly.

"Hm, yes, perhaps. One man! Well, think on it."

XIII

How Gunnar Geiroddsson Fared to Nidharos

1

The man was called Geirodd. His folks stemmed from the Dale; but his father had had troubles and moved far up into Haalogaland, on the edge of Finnmark, where he built a hut by the sea. Geirodd was a fisherman and spent most of his summers off the Lofoten Islands, a hard and toilsome life. His home was so lonely, snowed in for almost half the year and otherwise cut off by marsh and wolf-haunted forest, that he seldom had guests. Indeed, folks thereabouts lived in a rude ancient manner, with scant knowledge of the outside world.

Geirodd's oldest son was Gunnar, who in spite of being poor and overworked had grown to mighty stature. The lad could see small hope in repeating his father's life, and early in the spring of Anno Domini 1061, when he had just turned twenty years old, left home to join the guards of the rich King Harald men told about.

It was a long walk; rain and slush became full spring, and summer struck roots while Gunnar made his way. All he owned, he carried: patched wadmal clothes, shoes gaping at toe, a fisherman's knife and a purseful of hooks; for other needs, he bore a cap of auroch's leather, a bow and some arrows, and a huge old ax. When he came on a stream, he bathed and washed his garments; when he was hungry, he caught a fish or shot a deer ... or, just as often, drew his belt tighter. He was in no great hurry, the footloose life suited him; he slept when he was tired and walked as long as he wished. When he was guest at some farm, he would stay for days if it pleased him. Folk were glad of his company, for he was a cheerful sort with a wondrous stock of brags, willing to help and showing three men's strength as he did.

He was a big, heavy-muscled carle, with a round freckled face, small lively blue eyes, unkempt yellow hair, not much beard, but with another proof of manhood that still had old crones sighing and chuckling half a century later. Men liked him too, for he was a simple and friendly soul.

On a bright morning when he was approaching Nidharos, he found himself in a thick wood of spruce and fir that cut through the settled valley. Past the deep-green boughs, he saw patches of sky, the bluest sky he had ever known; sunlight spattered the soft brown earth, a squirrel ran up the bole before him, a thrush whistled. His feet scuffed little dust clouds from the narrow, rutted road. He walked slowly, a bit tired; the night before, he had stayed with a jolly yeoman whose beer was good.

Of a sudden he paused. Up ahead came noise; the branches muffled it but he thought the clash of steel drifted to him. He shook his mane back and cupped a hand to one ear. Yes . . . did a horse whinny?

And now it neighed, high and frightened.

Gunnar scratched his head. "I'm a peaceful man," he said aloud, "and whatever trouble's afoot is no affair of mine. But still and all, I'd be a fine king's man if I left this road just because some were so uncouth as to use it for their fights."

Anyhow, it would be worth watching. He broke into a jog trot, and erelong the bend of the path took him into sight of the battle.

There had been four men in it, but one of them sat groaning and trying to staunch his wounds. Two others, as ragged and unclipped as he, were making at the fourth. Nearby a horse lay dying, speared through the breast.

Gunnar leaned on his ax, thinking it through. The horse was a sleek dun mare, with gilt bridle and tooled-leather saddle, so it must belong to the lone man, he being well clad. Belike the three robbers or whatever they were had set on him as he came riding, stabbed his beast, and were now out to murder him.

The question was, should he, Gunnar Geiroddsson, join the fight . . . and if so, on whose side?

The rich fellow bore rings and clothes and weapons that would be good loot. On the other hand, it must be divided among the footpads. Yet those would have naught to be stripped of, and there were more of them.

Their opponent was a slim-waisted, broad-shouldered man, perhaps thirty winters old, who bore red hair and mustache, a handsome snub-nosed face wide across the cheekbones, and grayish green eyes. He was lithe as a lynx, and defending himself fiercely. Gunnar was awed by the splendor of his dress: a scarlet coat worked with gold thread, a blue mantle trimmed in sable, tight red breeks, soft leather boots, gilt spurs, heavy gold rings on his arms. . . . Yes, he must be very rich, and own a fine house.

"And I need lodging for tonight," said Gunnar.

He took the bow off his shoulder and laid it down. He was not marksman enough to hit anyone jumping about so feverishly. Then he walked forward swinging his ax.

One of the enemy saw him and whirled with a curse. Gunnar braced his feet and waited. The robber dashed at him, ax aloft and then down. Gunnar had had little practice, but he met the blow with his own helve, mightily enough to knock the other's weapon loose. The footpad drew a knife and lunged. Gunnar had only time to hit him with the flat of his ax, but that broke his neck.

"Well, done!" roared the wealthy man. "Well done, by Olaf!" He fell on the remaining bandit. As Gunnar neared, the highwayman turned and fled.

Gunnar waved his friend back. "No need to run," he said mildly. He lifted his ax and hurled it to catch the man between the shoulders. There it stuck.

Panting, the stranger leaned on his sword and regarded Gunnar. Sweat runneled down his face. "That . . . was a good . . . cast," he said between breaths. "Thor could . . . have thrown ... no better."

Gunnar blushed, walked up to the last robber, and took the ax back. The fellow stirred and screamed. "Sleep well," said Gunnar, and removed his head.

"Not a bad edge on this, eh?" he remarked. The stranger had cut two throats: his horse's gently, the wounded outlaw's with a certain glee. Now the living looked at each other.

"You came in good time," said the rich man finally. "I owe you my life, it seems."

"Kittle you had no followers."

"Well ... I was going on a private business . . . concerned a woman, d'you see, and I hardly wanted a dozen carles lolloping after me. I thought the woods here were safe, robbers cleaned out long ago, but belike these slipped down from the hills. They set on me and—no matter. I'm Eystein Thorbergsson, called Gorcock, sheriff and royal guardsman."

"I . . . indeed?" Gunnar could scarce find tongue. "It . . . it's mickle honor to know you. I hight Gunnar Geiroddsson, from up near Lengjuvik, and, uh, um . . ."

"I thought you a North-country man. Well, God keep you, Gunnar! If you're bound for Nidharos, that's my road too, and glad I would be to guest you at my house there."

The youth could only nod. They took the saddle and harness and started south again. "At the first steading," said Eystein, "we'll get horses. Though one will have to be big to carry you, my friend."

Side by side next day, they rode toward Throndheimsfjord. The land lay rich and quiet around them, drowsy with bees, a smell of ripening hay in the air. High over the east lifted a wall of cloud, and summer thunder talked from eagle to hill troll.

Gunnar had somewhat overcome his shyness, and now he blurted to Eystein his wish to become a king's man. The sheriff's mouth twitched, but he answered soberly:

"That's not so easy. Have you wealth of your own?"

"No. I've seen coined money but thrice in my life. I thought the king paid his men, and was glad of a good stout warrior."

"Well, that you are, I trow. But you see, Gunnar, we live in state. A guardsman is high in the realm, he has his own following, he must give gifts and keep a house or two like any chief. Moreover, it's not the king alone who may take up a man, but all his court decides." Eystein rubbed his chin and looked sideways at Gunnar. The boy was close to tears.

Eystein clapped him on the shoulder. "No matter, friend. You shall be one of my men, and fare with me and have good pay and gifts. Also, I'll vouch for you to the king and others, so that when your wealth has grown . . . Well, we shall see!"

Gunnar brightened at once. "Is Harald so mighty a king as they tell?" he asked.

"Aye, we've never had a ruler like Harald Hardrede." Something burned in Eystein's eyes; Gunnar thought of the half-wild dogs he had known who had nothing but love for one man and teeth for the rest of the world. "I stand well with him; my sister is his leman and has borne his sons . . . but even were it not so, I'd not go at the heel of any other. We've had valiant kings erenow, and Olaf was a saint, but I've never heard of one bolder or more deep in counsel than Harald."

"Is he at Nidharos now?"

"Yes. It's luck for you. Most of his time he spends down in Oslo but this winter he'll be here. He came back from raiding Denmark a little while ago, as he's done every summer for many years. Oh, the booty is grand. I could not go this year, curse the luck, I fell sick . . . But the tale is that next summer he'll raise a full levy and go down to settle this war once for all. Then I'll fare with him though they have to carry me aboard."

"And I!" cried Gunnar.

"Have you ever been in war?" asked Eystein.

"Well . . . no . . . not really. I was too young for the great levies years ago, see you, and sithence it's been small forces, not so? We had a few squabbles at home, I bloodied a blade three years back, but otherwise—"

"No matter," said Eystein. "War is like any other trade, best learned by working at it."

He looked ahead, down a long slope to the fjord-gleam. "It gnaws the king's soul that he's made no real headway against Svein. That's a cunning one, the Dane King. He must hope to wear down our patience by skulking and striking and running off again. But it's only his own land he's worn away."

"Why did the king, King Harald I mean, why did he not call up the Norsemen and go there in full force and kill this Svein man?"

"Easier said than done." Eystein scowled. "It was tried a time or two, years back, but the levies wanted to return home and their chiefs opposed the king. He's had his woes—the old families mostly at odds with him, now and then some shires close to rebellion. One by one, though, he's slain his foes, or driven them from the land, or brought them to heel. Now even Haakon Ivarsson is his good obedient jarl, though troublesome at times to this day."

Gunnar shook his head. It bewildered him that so mighty a warrior as Harald Hardrede did not simply bash in the skulls of any who said him nay; but there must be a good reason. Perhaps only that statecraft was knotty enough to cause headaches.

"Well," he ventured, "if it stands as you say, we'll end all that next year. St. Thor send us victory."

Eystein burst out laughing. "I see you've not had overmany priests in your district," he said. "But the king is not one to worry about men's beliefs, if they but stay true to him. Indeed, the Church has long been at strife with him."

"It has?" Gunnar's voice squeaked. "But I thought—I mean, they say the Church is—"

"The feud began over who should name bishops and where they should take their oaths," Eystein told him. "Harald would not yield himself to the archbishop in Hamburg, who is Svein Estridhsson's friend, and claimed the right for himself. It grew worse when the Eastern Church split off from Rome, for Harald's wife is a Russian and he keeps an Orthodox chapel for her and welcomes envoys from Russia and Miklagardh. At last the Pope sent men to reproach our king and threaten him with the ban. To this he replied only: 'I know of no archbishop in Norway save myself.' There the matter rests, I suppose because Rome is in too much of a boil just now."

Gunnar whistled. He had not understood very well, but awe smote him—that this king should dare defy the wizards of Romaborg! Could he be a warlock himself?

"Truly they call him Hardrede," he murmured.

"Well, that nickname is somewhat unjust," said Eystein. "I've thought otherwise myself in the past, when some of my own kinsmen fell before him. But he has done mighty work for Norway, not only building things like churches and a whole new town, but building the strength of the country, its wealth, its outland trade, and, aye, in spite of that little brush you and I had on the road, its inner peace and safety.

"You'll hear him called a niggard with meat, and true, one does not eat as well at his board as one might. But this is simply because he eats lightly and fast, then leaves at once, having so much on his mind; and of course everybody else must stop when he does. Else, though, he is open-handed to his friends. Why, when they had a great famine in Iceland, he sent four ships there loaded with meal, and set the price low; and he let such poor folk as could find provisions for the voyage move here to Norway.

"Icelanders . . . yes, I mind how one named Audhun came by. He was on his way to Denmark with a white Greenland bear he meant to give King Svein. He would neither sell nor give the bear to Harald, who wanted it; yet the king let him go as he would, though Svein was his foe, and Audhun was less well treated in Denmark. He did get a ring from Svein, which he bore to Rome; there he fell on evil times, and it was as a poor man that he finally wandered back to Norway. Harald gave him gentle greeting, I suppose because he could tell of outland travels, and Audhun gave him the ring. Then Harald made him such gifts that he went home to Iceland a prosperous man.

"No, no, speak no ill of our king. He's hard, aye, but there isn't another like him in the world."

3

Toward evening, houses thickened and Eystein said they were in Nidharos. Gunnar felt glad of it: his horse was near foundering under his weight, and he himself, unused to the saddle, wondered if he would ever sit down again.

Nonetheless, he forgot his aches as he looked around. Never had he seen so many buildings or folk. The houses stood tall about him, their beams and gallery rails carved, their planks gaudy with paint. The streets were a muddy swarm of warriors, women, children, workers and tradesmen, barking dogs and rooting pigs, shaggy brown horses, and big calm-eyed oxen drawing laden wagons. A sound of church bells hung sweet on the sunset air.

When they had passed the great stone minster of Our Lady, the king's hall and its lesser buildings were before them, spread around four sides of a paved courtyard. It was toward the river that Gunnar's glance first went, taking in the docks, warehouses, shipyards, and the craft, more than he had dreamed of tied to the bollards or anchored in the stream. Beyond, the fjord blazed with low light.

"Here we are," said Eystein. He drew rein, and his horse snorted wearily. Gunnar dismounted, rubbing his backside, and followed the sheriff. At the stables, a carle took their beasts and Eystein started across the courtyard. It was milling with folk, chiefly men, waiting for the evening's drinking. They were a lusty gang, big and boisterous, skin brown and seamed, hair and beards often bleached nearly white. Gunnar overtopped most of them, but felt his shabbiness and huddled near Eystein.

"Hoy, there, Gorcock! Who's this you bring?"

It was a bulky, dark-haired man who spoke; he had the coldest eyes Gunnar had ever seen. Eystein replied evenly: "Good day to you, Styrkaar. He saved my life, if you must know, and now he's a man of mine. Think not to get him away."

"Well, well, I'll keep hands off," laughed Styrkaar. "But beware of dicing with our marshal Ulf for his services."

A ruddy-haired, freckle-nosed fellow, perhaps forty years of age or a bit under, came forward eagerly. "A fight, was it?" he asked. "And I not there to see! Tell us about it."

"This is Thjodholf Arnason from Iceland, our leading skald," said Eystein. "We've here one Gunnar Geiroddsson of Lengjuvik. Would you make a lay about him? He fought well, I can tell you."

Thjodholf cocked a shrewd eye at the newcomer. "You're hardly in a case to reward me . . . yet," he answered. "But tell me the story, and I'll clothe it in words anyhow."

"Gunnar needs clothing of his own," said Eystein. "Come along, lad, I know a carle about your size who'll lend you a fair outfit."

By the time Gunnar was dressed, dusk was on them and they hurried into the hall. Fires sprang down its length, throwing light at shields and weapons, skins and tapestries, hung on the walls. Juniper boughs crackled underfoot, their bruised smell blended with the roiling smoke, and great hounds lolled about on them. The carving on pillars and panels seemed to move against weaving darkness; here St. Olaf swung his ax, there Sigurdh Fafnir's-bane locked with the writhing dragon. A surf of voices, talking, laughing, clashing horns together, roared along the trestle tables and broke on Gunnar's ears.

"This way and meet your king," said Eystein. Gunnar followed him, wetting suddenly dry lips.

Harald Hardrede loomed in the high seat, so tall that Gunnar thought his head must brush the ceiling. He wore scarlet tunic and hose, as if wreathed in flame, and a great gold chain hung from his neck. His face was lean and high boned with a jutting crag of nose, thin lips under the heavy mustache; the short beard and the long hair were still thick and yellow, though Eystein had declared him to be forty-six years old. His eyes were set well apart, large and a strangely bright blue; the left brow sat higher than the right, which gave him an odd watchful look. Gunnar shivered and wondered what one did before a king: bow, kneel, or only stand shaking?

"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.

"May I come, my lord?" asked Gunnar shyly. "I know somewhat of the sea."

Harald gave him a sharp stare. "I want none who'll be frightened at thought of unknown terrors."

"Not with you there, my lord," mumbled Gunnar.

Harald smiled. "Then come," he said softly. "I'll bring a few men we can trust," said Ulf. "No," said the king. "You must stay behind." "What? But we've ever fared together, Harald—"

"I know, and glad would I be to have you. But think, now— It could be that trolls or monsters or Ran herself will sink us. I sail this year, because it's not sure I will live past next summer; that's going to be a fierce battle. But if I should not come back, there must be a strong hand on the kingdom. We've not yet quenched revolt, it still smolders in men's hearts, and Magnus is but a boy as yet."

Ulf's brow darkened. "Now see here—" he began.

"No. You stay behind." It was the cold voice of command.

Ulf bit his lip. Suddenly he cramped over, grasping at his chest. Blood drained from his face, and his breath gasped. He slid from the bench to the ground.

Harald leaped up and stooped above him. "Ulf!" It was a croak in the king's mouth. "Ulf, what's wrong?"

The marshal clamped his teeth together and looked up with blank soulless eyes.

"Before God!" roared Harald as the men crowded around. "Stand back! Let him breathe!" He himself tried to raise his friend.

The spasm passed. Ulf sat up, breathing heavily. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.

"What is it?" whispered Harald. His hands shook on the marshal's shoulders. "What happened, Ulf?"

"A . . .a pain in my breast ... my heart stops and ... I get it now and then, cannot draw breath or . . ." The Icelander spoke faintly. "It's horrible, the fear which catches me."

Some of the guards and carles shuddered away, thinking they looked on a man under a curse.

Harald raised him. "Here, lean on me," he said. There was a woman's gentleness in his tone. "Come into the hall. Take his other arm, Maria."

Ulf shook himself, jerkily. "It's past now. Give me a stoup of wine and I'll have my strength back.''

"Aye, that you shall have, and the best leech-wife in Nidharos. Come, now. We'll put you to bed, and Queen Ellisif shall attend you."

"Ellisif." There was an uncertain smile on Ulf's bearded lips. "Yes, that would be well."

"The best we have," said Harald. His voice caught. "The best I can give you, old wolf."

They went slowly from the courtyard.

Elizabeth seemed to have faded somewhat as the years passed; she grew ever more still and withdrawn. But she remained in health, steered her household well, could be merry with her husband, and was much beloved by the folk.

Thora had put on some weight, not too much since she was often out hawking or hunting, and there were fine lines about the gold-green eyes. Yet she was vividly fair, with hair like smoky flame, lustful in the dark though sharp-tongued by day. Her wealth had grown with shrewd management, and she wore gold and silks daily.

Neither queen had borne more children, though Harald had given many nights to both. But those they had grew strongly, and the weeks and years had fallen into a steady pattern of rising in the morning, breaking fast, working or sporting or going to Mass, and then when all at once it was night again, to sleep. Between the two women there was a chill courtesy.

This evening Harald bedded with Thora. It seemed to him she was quieter of late, and he wondered if her father's death still weighed on her. Elizabeth had gone off to weep alone when she heard Jaroslav the Wise was no more, but Thora had mourned Thorberg with shameless openness. Still, that was some time back, and . . .

Thora sat down and loosened her hair before the mirror Harald had bought from an outland merchant. The candlelight was warm over her smooth bare shoulders, it gleamed in the ruddy tresses and embraced the full, supple body; but her strong wide face was coldly shut.

Harald began unlacing his leg thongs. "What ails you?" he asked.

"Better wonder what sickness you have," she snapped. "Are you bewitched, that you want to sail into nowhere?"

"Oh, is that the trouble?" He laughed. "You've ever plagued me to be taken along on some voyage. Well, come on this."

"God save me, no!" She crossed herself, then picked up a comb and stroked it through her hair. She could stretch and purr like a cat under such treatment, but tonight she sat stiff. "Nor will you take Magnus. I know he's been pleading to come, but—"

"No, I shan't risk him." Harald sighed. His oldest boy was a gallant lad, so stiff-necked that he often clashed with his father; yet Harald thought more of him than of Olaf who was too quiet and peaceful for a king's son.

Thora turned half around to face him. "What's to gain?" she demanded. "What's to be had up there save death and damnation?"

"That's what I mean to find out," replied Harald evenly. "If it should prove a realm of gold, you'll not be sorry."

"Giants, trolls, dragons, ghosts, witches . . . endless ice and the seas thundering off the world's rim!" she cried. Fear was alive in her face. It struck Harald oddly that she, who was otherwise so bold, should be daunted by thought of this. Elizabeth had said merely, "Well, if go you must, then God and my prayers be with you. I think not any troll is great enough to master you."

Now he got up, the floor cold under his bare feet, and went over to lay a hand on Thora's neck. "You must understand," he said earnestly. "This is an old dream. I've heard it said the world is round, a learned Saracen told me that long ago."

"So you've told me, and I say it's heathenish nonsense."

"Perhaps. Yet if the world is a ball, I could sail over the top and be in Vinland or Cathay. But let it go. The Greeks thought there was a Hyperborea, a land of ageless springtime, beyond the north wind. It may be that Ydhun's apples grow there, or the well whose waters make men young again. It may be that unicorns run through green meadow where the flowers are stars. It may be ... I know not, and that's a hunger in me."

"Are you so hungry for death?" she asked, and the edge was dulled in her voice.

"No. No, I'm in no haste to die. There's so much undone." Harald looked bitterly at the wall. "God has spared me weakness thus far, and yet the years are heaped on my back, and all I once longed for has shrunk to a sameness of days. What has become of this empire of the North I meant to shape? A half-score years of petty raids, Svein still alive to jeer me, while elsewhere all the world is shaking with a new birth. I grasp at Denmark, and it slips like water through my fingers. I think of England, and while I sit thinking Norman William readies to leap on her. I look to Sweden, and see a wall of armed men I cannot hope to spring over. And here in Norway, what is it? A fight of words, a fight with shadows, a step here and a step there while the land lies sullen and does not understand."

He straightened. "Live or die, this much I will do. It will be enough to sail beyond the North."

Thora drew a long breath. "I cannot swerve you," she whispered. "I know that by now. But my dearest—did you mean what you said about taking me along?"

"No," he answered quickly.

"I thought not. So I must stay behind again, and wonder how you fare—each day a year, each night a century, while I think of your gashed corpse brought home. You sail and fight, and I stay behind to pray!"

The last word was a shriek.

Harald's hand slipped downward, over her breasts, and he bent close to her. That near, her face blurred; he could no longer see well at less than arm's length, though otherwise his might was scarcely diminished. His lips sought her cheek.

"Enough," he murmured. "You shall be with me next year, you and Magnus both."

"I'll hold you to that vow," she shakily, "if next year comes."

His arms tightened around her.

3

Three longships lay where men had never sailed before.

It was a dead calm, with murky fog, and a still, relentless cold gnawed past furs and leather, down through flesh and the marrow of bones. The crews shivered, slapping numbed hands together, stamping booted feet on the ice-slippery decks. From afar came a distant, booming voice of thunder and judgment.

Harald looked down the dragon's hull. Mist swirled to blur the huddled crew and the small cheerless fire on the cooking hearth. There was ice crusted on the bulwarks, icicles hanging from the rigging, the sail was a stiffened sheet. Over the side, he could discern blackened waters. A man who fell into them might be dead of cold ere they hauled him back.

The remote crashing came louder on a brief bloodless wind, rumbling and banging, roaring and growling. A break in the fog showed the sun low and heatless, a wan disc of ice. Its light flashed off a drifting berg, transforming it to a dwarf's hoard of red and green and sapphire blue, mocking him with its jeweled glitter.

"How far have we come?" Eystein's voice seemed muffled. His breath blended with the streaming fog.

"God knows," said Thjodholf. "Farther than is right, I think."

"That noise!" Gunnar's jaws clapped. "Can it be the sea falling over the world's edge?"

The wind dropped again, and fog rolled in more thickly. Soon Harald could not see the other craft, or the sternpost of his own.

"It may be," said Thjodholf. He crossed himself. "Or it may be the quern Grotti, the giantesses Fenja and Menja swinging it and grinding salt into the sea."

Harald snorted. "Those are ice floes striking together," he told them.

"And if so, pack ice is the last thing to try sailing through," declared Vigleik Erlendsson.

"Be still!" shouted the king.

"There was ice in my beard this morning," said Thjodholf, "and the days grow shorter more swiftly than they ought."

Somewhere to starboard, they heard a sucking and smacking sound, something huge and black broached the sea and waters ran monstrously off its flanks.

"The Snake!" yelled someone out of the fog. "The Midhgardh Snake!"

"A whale," bawled Harald. "A whale, God damn you for a sniveling coward!"

"We're none of us craven," said Thjodholf quietly. "And yet are we mad? Half our provisions are eaten up, and we had strong favoring winds when we left. If we must row back, there'll be hunger and thirst aboard ere we win to land."

Harald slumped on a bench. The fog thickened. Men cried out across the noise of moving mountains, oars splashed, and the ships drew close for comfort.

Gunnar tugged at Eystein's sleeve. "I've seen many fogs," he whispered, "but never one like to this. What are those shapes in it?"

"Thicker banks. Not ghosts, but only thicker patches." Eystein's tone sounded unsure. He could not take his eyes from one gray shadow; it was like a troll crouched to spring on him.

Louder rolled the thunders, as if marching down on them.

Harald's lips opened. If there was to be no wind, then down mast and out oars. But he closed his mouth again.

The fog gathered, smoking in the hull and dripping from the cordage. He heard the iceberg groan, was it calving? The whale threshed the sea, somewhere out in sightlessness.

Blind, he thought, blind and alone, three little chips of wood huddled under the cliffs of Giant Land.

Gunnar squatted down by Eystein. "I thought I saw a boat yonder," he muttered.

"There are none save ours," the sheriff told him thinly.

"No man's craft, nay . . . but him the drow sails far. In half a boat, with his bones shining and seaweed hanging from them, and those what see him is dead men ere morning."

"Be still," snapped Eystein. "Were all the men who ever drowned to come against us, I'd stand by the king."

A whisper went down the benches, and Eystein wished he had not spoken. He himself thought he could almost see the unhallowed corpse clambering over the side. Water rushed between the barnacled ribs, weed grew on the naked skull, the flesh was puffed and gray and eaten ragged by fish. An eel wriggled where his heart had been, and the eyes were a dreadful hollowness.

A breath of deeper cold flowed from the larboard. Harald could just make out the shimmering flanks of the iceberg, it was drifting toward them. Loud and hoarse, the floes coughed in the north, shifting and grinding.

Even Thor had gone home beaten when he fared hither.

Harald's eyes sought his chest. There lay rusting sword and ax and mail, wrapped in the raven flag. He had thought to plant Landwaster on the shores of Hyperborea. But there was only the sea, and the fog, and the ice, and the cold.

Perhaps that was all which lay north of him. The chill struck to his heart. Perhaps it was only eternal winter, roaring bergs and whistling winds across an emptiness of snow. He could leave his bones here, and Norway would crumble behind him.

And yet. . .

Jotunheim the gloomy, or land of youth and springtime and all bright hopes, or the great curve of the world across to the fabled lands of the East, who knew? What did any man know? It had been his hope to come back with a tale that would lift men's souls, but he lay freezing and becalmed while the ice bellowed its laughter.

Had it not been for his war with Svein, had he taken Denmark as was his right and been king of the North, he could have sailed with a hundred ships and a year's provisions. Always it was Svein, Svein the supple, Svein the crafty, Svein with the spider's patience, who lay between him and his longing. Satan snatch Svein Estridhsson down to hell!

The thunders crashed and banged; it was as if he heard a voice in them, the grim chanting of Fenja and Menja as they turned the quern of the sea. Here was the home of winter, death and despair, sunlessness and howling winds, glaciers spilling south to grind down mountains and all the hopes of men. Here lay the wreck of the world. It was too great for him, he had dared too much.

He lifted his head. Rime frost crusted his beard, and his cheeks were numb. The huge hollow booming of the ice, or the quern, or the waters pouring down to foam among the nether stars, rolled in his skull.

"God's teeth," he whispered, "you've beaten me, but it will not be forever. Someday men of my blood will come back."

There was a sudden rage in his breast. He wanted to kill, he wanted his banner to fly over burning homes and wasted fields, he wanted to cut Svein Estridhsson down like a dog and leave him for ravens to eat. This journey had ended in nothing, it would scarce make a tale. No skalds would weave it in verse, no saga would carry its remembrance; the most he could hope for was a few parched lines in some monkish chronicle. The taste of failure was acrid in his mouth, and he wanted to wipe it out with blood.

He rose. Men's eyes turned frightened to his tall form, they crowded toward him. He wondered if an order to go further would bring their swords out against him.

"We've tried," he said without tone. "You've done bravely, lads, and I shall not forget those who came with me on this. But now it seems best we return home."