HARALD, THE VICTOR

Battle roiled between and across the benches. Blades flickered, axes crunched, war hammers clanked on helmets. Roar and clangor boomed to the paling stars as the Norsemen snapped the Danish line and leaped aboard. Harald strode forth, his sword awhirl.

The two men stood on the lengthwise walk, and the spaces at either side bristled with weapons. Harald came at those two in a rush, ignoring the men who stabbed at him from below. His weapon blazed. Pushing on its shaft, he got the enemy off balance, sending him to the ground.

Harald stood at the tail of the ship and looked across the waters. The scene was frightful. A full seventy ships floated manless. Blood dripped from the planks and stained the sea; a horde of gulls was already swooping down to feast. But Harald scarcely noticed any of that. What he saw was the Danish fleet broken, fleeing in disorder, finished! And all he could think of was victory . . .

THE LAST VIKING

BOOK 3

THE SIGN OF THE RAVEN

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

This trilogy is dedicated to the memory of my father Anton William Anderson

FOREWORD

The Golden Horn told of the early life of Harald Sigurdharson. Born in Norway in 1015 A.D., he was an Yngling, a scion of the house of Harald Fairhair, who had fought his way to kingship over the whole country a century and a half before. The father of this later Harald, Sigurdh Sow, bore the name of king himself, but was in fact only a chieftain in the South. Since 1000, when its strong King Olaf Tryggvason fell in battle, most of Norway had lain under lords of lower rank.

In the year of Harald's birth, a new Olaf arrived from the West. This was the son of another Norse under-king, also called Harald. After the death of the latter, his wife Aasta married Sigurdh Sow. Thus Olaf Haraldsson, nicknamed the Stout, and Harald Sigurdharson were half brothers. Olaf had been a Viking abroad until he became a zealous Christian. Now he returned to claim the throne. Any man born to the royal house could do that, if he could get enough support; this situation had led to civil war in the past and would again in the future. Many of the regional Things (folk-moots) hailed Olaf king; those leaders who stood against him, he overthrew, until he reigned alone.

He proved an overbearing master, especially in the ways he set about converting the heathen left in Norway. At last a goodly number of chieftains and yeomen, Christian as well as pagan, rebelled. In this they had the help of the mighty King Knut of Denmark and England (known to English history as Canute), who planned thus to make Norway a fief of his own.

Olaf must needs flee. He found refuge in Novgorod with Grand Prince Jaroslav the Wise. The rulers of the Kievan state were of Scandinavian origin and had kept in touch with the ancestral lands. Jaroslav himself had married a Swedish princess, Ingigerdh, who was fond of Olaf and pleaded his cause.

A year later, in 1030, Olaf came back with what forces he could gather to try to regain his kingdom. Other Norsemen rallied to him. Among them was young Harald Sigurdharson.

The royal host met the rebels at Stiklastadh. After a hard battle, Olaf fell and his army broke. Harald, wounded, was brought to a hiding place by a friend.

When he had recovered, he went first to Sweden and thence to Novgorod. Jaroslav received him, too, kindly, as he had already received Olaf s bastard son, a small boy named Magnus. In the next few years, Harald got his full growth, to seven feet of height. He fought well in Jaroslav's wars and rose to a high position. He also learned something about civilization, which in Russia was far more developed than among his own folk.

Meanwhile a Danish viceroy ruled Norway so oppressively that Olaf came to be thought of by the people as a saint.

Restless, ambitious, aware he would do best to gain wealth before attempting anything else, Harald presently left Novgorod for Constantinople. The capital of the Byzantine Empire was still the largest, richest, most cultivated and brilliant city in Christendom. Harald enlisted in the emperor's Varangian Guard, crack troops recruited from men of the northern lands. Waging war, taking enormous booty that he shipped to Jaroslav for safekeeping, he soon won a name for himself, and then the captaincy of the guard. Likewise he won the lifelong friendship of an Icelandic warrior called Ulf Uspaksson—and, at last, the love of a young noblewoman, Maria Skleraina.

He lost her forever, when conflicts and intrigues at court forced him to escape from the empire with some followers. He reached Jaroslav, now resident in Kiev, in 1045, and was royally received; but he never got over his bitterness, and vowed he would never again be powerless. During the next months, he used his wealth and fame to draw men to him. He also made a strong alliance when he married Elizabeth, a daughter of Jaroslav and Ingigerdh. His Norsemen softened her name to Ellisif.

After Knut's death, the chieftains of Norway had plotted to overthrow Danish rule in their country. Foremost among them were Einar Thambaskelfir (the Archer), his son Eindridhi, and the brothers Finn and Kalf Arnason. Of the latter, Finn had fought with Olaf at Stiklastadh, Kalf against him; but they had never lost family feeling. An expedition crossed the Baltic Sea and fetched back young Magnus Olafsson to be the king of a free Norway.

Joyful, the folk flocked about him. The Danes, under Knut's weak son Hardhaknut, gave way rather easily. Magnus and Hardhaknut made peace by a treaty which provided that, if either should die without an heir, the other would succeed him.

At first Magnus proceeded as harshly at home as his father had done. Among others, Kalf Arnason had to flee overseas. Rebelliousness seethed. Then Magnus' godfather, the skald (poet) Sighvat, brought him to his senses. Thereafter the king reigned so well that he became known as Magnus the Good.

When Hardhaknut did, indeed, die sonless, the Norse were ready to help Magnus make his claim on Denmark. They subdued that country, or so they thought. Magnus appointed Svein Estridhsson his jarl over it. ("Jarl" was a title of nobility which could be inherited or bestowed; it implied great power, and some jarls had been stronger in fact than kings.) This man's mother Estridh had been of higher rank than his father, hence his nickname. However, he was descended from the Skjoldungs, the royal house of Denmark. When Magnus went home, Svein proclaimed himself the Danish king. His folk upheld him.

Magnus fared back to put down his unruly jarl. Thus matters stood when Harald came north. Since Magnus would not agree that his uncle had an equal right to rule over Norway, Harald joined Svein. That became an uneasy alliance, with bad faith on both sides, and finally broke apart. Harald, who had been secretly negotiating with Magnus, now sought his nephew out. With him were Elizabeth and the daughter she had borne to him that winter, whom he had had christened Maria.

Harald and Magnus met in friendlier wise than before (1046). They decided that they would share both the kingship of Norway and the riches brought from the South. It seemed that together they could soon overcome Svein . . . and then perhaps go on to England, since Magnus had a claim on the throne of that country as well, through his old treaty with Hardhaknut.

Sea Horse Road took up the story from there. Harald and Magnus ravaged widely in Denmark but could not catch Svein. They vowed they would return next year with a greater host and make an end of him. Meanwhile they sailed home.

Traveling about the kingdom he had won, dealing with its folk, Harald added men to his following, among them the Icelandic skald Thjodholf. However, he made enemies, for he was impatient with the loose government and backward ways of the people, and often rode roughshod over them. This, as well as the clash of their two overweening prides, brought him more and more into conflict with Magnus.

Nonetheless, the kinsmen sailed together against Denmark the following year. They were victorious in a pitched battle, but Magnus was mortally injured. Repentant of the harm he had done, he said as he lay dying that Svein should rule in Denmark. Harald swore Magnus had had no right to give that claim away; it was his too. But many of the Norse had never cared for this war, and had only waged it for love of Magnus. Under the leadership of Einar Thambaskelfir, they went home. Thereafter, Harald could do nothing else. He must return fast and get the shire-Things to hail him king before anyone could rise to challenge him.

Riding about the country, he met the sheriff Thorberg Arnason, a brother of Kalf and Finn. ("Sheriff stands for an Old Norse word meaning a man whom the king appointed to keep order and otherwise represent him in a district, but who might well become a leader of opposition to him.) Thorberg was friendly and kept Harald as his guest for some time. Harald and Thorberg's daughter Thora fell in love. She was willing to become his mistress, but neither she nor her father wished to see her a mere bedfellow. Harald promised that, when she came to him in the spring, she would get the name of queen, equal to Elizabeth's title. This enraged the daughter of Jaroslav; however, she soon yielded, if only because she loved her husband. The two women seldom quarrelled openly in later years, but they were always hostile to each other.

Harald soon made a warlike return to Denmark, but could not force a decision. Under the law, he could summon men to fight for but a limited time in any year; then they must be free to go home and tend their farms. His guard, full-time warriors, over whom he made Ulf Uspaksson marshal, were not enough to keep the field by themselves. Svein would flee or avoid battle, but always came back afterward. The Dane was no fool—rather, a gifted and learned man, who had among his correspondents that Hildebrand in Rome who was to become one of the greatest of the Popes.

Despite his lack of success with Svein something did fall to Harald. Thorfinn, jarl of the Norse settlers in the Orkney Islands, made submission to him. This was because Thorfinn was an ally of Macbeth, who had seized the throne of Scotland. War with the former King Duncan's son Malcolm, and with the powerful Anglo-Danish Earl Siward, looked likely, and Thorfinn could not risk an attack from Norway.

After the campaign Harald rewarded his trusty man Ulf by marrying the Icelander to Jorunn, Thora's sister. It proved a reasonably happy union, though Ulf was, chastely, in the company of Elizabeth as often as possible. Thora bore Harald a son, whom the father named Magnus in the hopes of pleasing the people.

This needed to be done, for there was more and more strife between king and folk. Einar Thambaskelfir was foremost among those who felt their freedom threatened. For his part, while Harald frankly sought power for himself and his house— being, after all, an Yngling—he also remembered what he had seen abroad and heard from men learned in history. In the world as it was, a land without a strong king soon became prey.

He would not even bow to the Church. More and more, as the breach between Catholic and Orthodox widened, his Russian connections and the Russian clergy he kept for Elizabeth brought reproaches which went unheeded. Much worse was his insistence on appointing bishops in Norway himself, particularly since the archdiocese that included Scandinavia was headed by a friend of Svein. The Papacy threatened him with the interdict but, weak at this time, did not carry it out. After all, Harald was building churches as well as commissioning secular works, and honored the late King Olaf; who was now considered a saint everywhere in his country, albeit not yet formally canonized.

Harald fared back against Denmark. His force was not as large as he had hoped, because of the un-cooperativeness of Einar, Eindridhi Einarsson, and other chieftains, but it might still win his war for him. Among those newly in his train, as regular guardsmen, were Thora's brother Eystein, called Gorcock, and sullen but dogged Styrkaar. Many Norsemen, especially younger sons who had no other prospects, were glad to follow the king.

In this campaign, he seized, looted, and burned the Danish trading town Heidhaby. But then Svein brought up overwhelming strength. The Norse escaped only by throwing most of the booty out of their ships. Harald could have won if he had had the following he needed; but Einar and his kind had denied him that. Raging, Harald swore that he would at least raid Denmark every year. His raven banner Landwaster, which Elizabeth had woven for him, would fly in front of swords and torches, until at last Svein must meet him on something like equal terms.

The struggle was not only for the name of king in another country; it was for kingship itself.

Einar saw that just as clearly, but would not agree that an all-powerful Icing was good to have. Rather, he believed most strength should lie with the chieftains as of old, and with the yeomen.

A Thing met at Nidharos on the Throndheimsfjord, the greatest town in Norway. There a dispute between Harald and Einar led to Einar's use of armed force. This was a grave breach of law, foreboding open revolt. Egged on by Thora, Harald killed Einar and Eindridhi.

At once, the Thronds rose—the dwellers around that fjord and in the countryside behind, the Throndlaw. Often before had they been at loggerheads with the southern-born Ynglings. Harald sought the respected chieftain Finn Arnason, hoping he could make peace before outright civil war broke loose. Finn agreed to try, but wanted a reward: amnesty for his exiled brother Kalf, who had fought against St. Olaf and was still no friend to any Yngling.

The foremost man to conciliate was Haakon Ivarsson, a kinsman of Einar's widow. Though young and unwed, he was the leader of the Uplands district, which had also long resisted high-handed kings. Harald told Finn to offer Haakon any compensation within reason.

It was not easy, but at length Finn persuaded Haakon that rebellion would do more harm than good. As his condition for settling with Harald, and thus persuading other men to lay down their arms, Haakon demanded Ragnhild in marriage, the daughter of the late King Magnus. Such an alliance would make him so strong that Harald did not press for it. Instead, while he made the young man welcome in Nidharos, he said Haakon must do his own courting.

Though still a girl, Ragnhild told her suitor she would not wed a man of lesser rank than jarl. When Haakon asked Harald for that title, Harald replied that the kings before him had had no more than one jarl in Norway, and he would not take that dignity away from the present Jarl Orm who had ever been loyal to him.

Haakon left in a white rage. It was too late to rebel; too much time had passed since Einar's fall. Haakon took ship to Denmark and entered the service of King Svein.

Harald set himself to pacify Norway. A nickname stuck to him, "Hardrede" or "Hard Counsel," for his sternness. Yet well-liked followers of his such as Ulf and Thjodholf spoke to people on his behalf, and he did carry out works that were of use to the country—among them, founding the town of Oslo. Each of his queens gave him a second child. Thora bore his son Olaf, Elizabeth his daughter Ingigerdh.

Kalf Arnason came home, and was soon plotting against the king. Harald learned of this from spies, but thought it unwise to accuse the man openly. Instead, next year, when they were campaigning in Denmark, he sent Kalf ashore with a small force . . . then hung back while the Danes cut it down. When Finn learned about this, he left Norway to join Svein.

He had thought to meet Haakon Ivarsson there, but that did not happen. Haakon had, just then, fallen out with his Danish lord. Homesick, he sailed back to Norway, where he met Harald in shared wariness. The king first gave him truce—for the king was, indeed, trying to get along better with the people—and then, having gotten an oath of fealty, pardoned him, and even made him jarl, since Orm had died. Haakon sought out Ragnhild, who was now ready to marry him.

Harald found Thora enraged at what he had done to her kinsmen Kalf and Finn, but after a while she forgave him. He was what he was, a living storm, but also a man with a vision of the future, and the one she loved.

During all these years, and later, England had its own woes. When the line of Knut the Great died out, the Witan chose a king from the old Wessex house—Edward, known as the Confessor, pious but a childless weakling and with close ties to the upsurging Duchy of Normandy. Wessex itself remained a center of resistance to Norman encroachments, under the leadership of its Earl Godwin. Among the sons of Godwin were Harold, a doughty warrior, and his younger brother Tosti, also bold in battle but a wild and haughty sort. Conflict worsened between these men and the royal party. For some while, Godwin and his sons were even outlawed; but they returned with such force that the king and his court perforce made peace, and the Norman favorites were banished.

Soon after, Godwin died. Tosti was so dissatisfied with the settlements that followed that he made endless trouble. This led to renewed war with the Welsh, whom Harold had difficulty in quelling. He also had to repel a Viking fleet sent from Norway as a probe of English strength (1058).

Otherwise Harald Hardrede could do little about the claim to the throne of England that he had inherited from Magnus the Good—unless and until he ended his feud with Svein Estridhsson. He continued to raid Denmark year after year. When warfaring season was past, he would work on other things, buildings, foreign trade, the steering and strengthening of Norway. He had little more opposition at home; hounding down robbers, he even got some peace for people in their daily lives. His queens bore him no more children that lived, but the four that he had—Magnus and Olaf by Thora, Maria and In-gigerdh by Elizabeth—were growing apace.

Yet Harald was not content. He felt life slipping past him while he lay in a war he could not win. Once he had dreamed of seeing the whole world.

To him there came, in 1061, a huge young man named Gunnar Geiroddsson. Child of a poor household in the far North, Gunnar had heard rumors of the king in the South, and wandered thither to seek his fortune. Along the way, he met Eystein Gorcock, royal guardsman, who took him into his own following—no small beginning, since Eystein was brother to the king's mistress Thora. Later Gunnar met such famous warriors as Styrkaar, and Thjodholf the skald, and Ulf the marshal. He even saw Harald's older daughter Maria, now a fair young woman who drew Eystein's gaze more than was right for a married man.

Harald's restlessness finally broke the bonds he laid on it. He had sent Svein a challenge to a battle that would settle the matter between them once and for all, and it had been accepted. He could not know if he would outlive that day. Meanwhile, all the world beckoned. In Constantinople he had heard Greek legends about Hyperborea, the fair land lying north of the North; elsewhere in those parts, he had heard that the world might be round, so one could sail over the pole to half-known Vinland, or to the fabulous lands of the Orient, or to . . . who knew what?

Despite the fears of both his men and his women, he outfitted ships to explore. He did not let Ulf the marshal come along, for the Icelander had lately been getting pains in his breast. Besides, if Harald never came back, the kingdom would need a strong regent, and Ulf had always been close to Queen Elizabeth—Ellisif, as he called her.

The ships fared north. They found only ice. Harald made his way home in a mighty feat of seamanship. If he had failed in this undertaking, he was the more grimly resolved to master the world that he knew.

The horse, gone weary, hastens

homeward in the twilight,

making through a meadow

marked by hoofs at evening.

O'er becks the steed has brought me

Borne me from the Danelands;

the horse now stumbled heavily

in half light; darkness meets day.

I

How a Ship Was Launched

1

After Yule, the king's older son Magnus went hunting and was gone for many days. He was just turning thirteen, a tall, slim, handsome boy with blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, deft in all exercises, rather cocky and vain but well liked by the men. His father had promised to take him warring in summer, and this he often bragged about.

He came home on a clear day when shadows reached blue between the sun-glitter on snowdrifts. Several fine horns hung at his saddlebow. As he clattered into the courtyard, he shouted for a bath to be made ready. He and his closest friends steamed for a while, whipped each other with light birch rods, then ran out to roll and romp. Their laughter rose like the clamor of waterfowl from behind the screen around the sauna.

As he came forth, toweled dry but still fiery red, his fresh clothes a bright splotch of color, Magnus saw two of his siblings making a snowman in the courtyard: Olaf and Ingigerdh. They were nearly of an age, twelve years, and good friends; both were quiet among most people but merry enough when those they trusted were at hand. The girl was not homely, though her bones were too thick and her features too heavy to be called fair; she had dull-yellow hair and gray eyes. Olaf's gaze was deep blue, his locks the hue of ripe grain; he was big for his age, and had his mother's blunt, wide-boned comeliness of face. Magnus did not get on well with him.

The older boy stopped, hands on hips, and stared. His brother grew aware of him, ceased work, and looked up.

"Let me not keep you from what you're doing," said Magnus with a grin. "Children must play."

Olaf reddened but made no answer. "Go away," said Ingigerdh. "We didn't ask you to join."

"Oh, I've enough else to do," replied Magnus. "Horns and skins. I brought down an elk, among other beasts. I ran up and put a spear in him myself, and was almost trampled when he rushed. But that would not interest you."

"No," said Olaf. "Your boasting gets dull."

Magnus' temper flicked up, but he said only: "I've something to boast about. This year I'll hunt a greater game."

Ingigerdh smiled nastily. "From behind your mother's skirts," she said.

Magnus wadded a snowball and threw it at her. "Go on," she cried as she dodged it. "War on girls. If your cast is no better than that, the Danes have little to fear."

Magnus shouted and rushed at Olaf. They met in a whirl of fists and went down, locked together. Ingigerdh chanted: "Magnus is a nidhing. Magnus is a nidhing."

Olaf was strong, he could match his brother even now. The fight went on for a space, then a hand grabbed the neck of each boy and they were lifted up and thrown aside.

King Harald stood there, glaring at them. They were sobbing with their rage. "Olaf mocked me," said Magnus through his tears. "They both m-m-mocked me."

"I—I—" Olaf stuttered but could get no words out.

"Be still!" snapped Harald. "Are you dogs, that you'd behave thus in sight of all? No food for either of you today."

"And Ingigerdh started it, and she goes free!" yelled Magnus.

"I did not!" said the girl.

"Go into the house, the lot of you," said Harald.

Magnus stamped his foot. "I won't!"

Harald stepped forward and cuffed him so his head rang. He said to his father, through tight lips: "When I am king I'll have my revenge."

Harald grabbed him and gave him two more slaps, so he wondered if his head still sat firm on its neck. "That's no way to speak to me," said his father. "Show more respect, or I'll make you sorry."

"I'm not sorry," said Magnus defiantly. "I am in the right this time. Go on, beat me if you will, but I'm not sorry."

"Go into the house, I said," Harald answered.

Magnus went with stiff, offended strides. Ingigerdh snuffled, her head hanging. Olaf was harder to understand; he walked as calmly as if he were leaving by his own choice.

Harald stood staring after them. His palm still tingled, and he rubbed it on his breeches. It was not easy to strike your own son.

A promising hellion, he thought. I was as unruly at his age. He'll make a good king.

But Olaf ... in the saint's name, how had he and Thora begotten such a one? The boy was Maria's sort, still and gentle. He was good enough with weapons, he practiced doggedly at the hours set, but there was no fire in him; he would rather turn over the leaves of some book in the bishop's home, he liked to work with his hands, he was kindly to horses and dogs. . . . Sigurdh Sow's blood, yes, that must be his.

Harald sighed. If Magnus lived, he might well follow the conquering course his father had set; it would not be so ill to go down into dust knowing that Magnus held Norway. But they were apt to be short of years, these breakneck youths: a few tumults and then the doomsday ax in their skulls. It was a wonder that he, Harald Hardrede, was still above ground.

And if only Olaf remained in the king's seat, God alone knew which way the land would drift. The boy thought too much.

Slowly, Harald left the courtyard. He would offer candles in the Lady Church.

When spring blew up from the south, the new warship was almost finished. She lay in her cradle, a long sweep of red-painted strakes, and stem and sternposts lifting toward heaven. The king himself had chosen every bit of tackle, from walrus-hide ropes to iron anchor; his wife had led the women who embroidered the sail, a giant square blue- and white-striped with the raven winging black across.

Her launching was a merry day, when men had come from far around to attend the Thing in Nidharos. Mass had been heard, and now folk crowded the riverbank; it was awash with color, spears blinked under the pale sky and thin hurrying clouds. Harald and his guardsmen stood at the slip.

"Do you name her," he said to Thora.

The tall woman smiled, and took a cup of wine which a priest had blessed to replace the old heathen sacrifices. As she poured it over the bow, she cried: "Let your name be Fafnir, and hasten you to eat our foes."

The ropes were loosed, the wedges knocked free, and the craft slid down the greased way and splashed into the river. Briefly, she rocked, and men held their breaths; then, as they saw she rode steadily, they lifted a cheer.

Harald sprang aboard from the bank, a long leap. His great frame decked in red and green, folk would have thought him twenty years younger than he was. He raised the gilt dragon head and held it fast. Ulf the marshal was among the carpenters who nailed it in place.

Thjodholf made a verse:

"I saw the vessel striding

seaward from the river.

Girl, did you see the golden

galley 'neath the houses?

Fiercely flashed her mane

when the firedrake hastened outward;

hot with gold, her hewn-out

head was rearing haughty."

With shouts and laughter, the carles brought what else was needful, the ship was rigged and her crew stormed aboard for the first trial. Harald meant to sail her out of the fjord mouth and see how she behaved in unsheltered waters. He took the steering oar himself, his crew dipped blades, and swiftly the Fafnir glided forth as Thjodholf chanted:

"Soon upon a Saturday

struck the king the awning;

broadside to, the boat was

bespied by waiting maidens.

Westward from these waters

wends the new-launched longship

as our gallant oarsmen

eat the miles before them.

"Craftily the king's

own carles swing slender oar blades;

women see a wonder

walking on the billows;

much it joys the maidens,

men to see thus faring;

let them never learn

that lean black oars

were storm-snapped.

"Onward, then, and eager

is our keel now leaping,

surging through the sea

with seven tens of oar shafts.

It's like seeing eagles'

open wings, when Northmen

drive the hammered dragon

down to surf and hailstorm."

He turned a face of laughter to the king. "Am I giving them the stroke well enough, my lord?" he asked.

"Aye . . . more than well." Harald stared before him. "And she goes like an angel. Now let Svein Estridhsson await us!"

3

Haakon Ivarsson had settled down as jarl in the Uplands, where he soon made himself the friend of all the people. They looked more to him for judgment and leadership than to the king, who had never been liked in these shires. Haakon lived lavishly, with more feasts than any jarl before him, but managed his affairs so well that he grew rich regardless. Between him and his wife Ragnhild was a close love, in spite of many quarrels; they had four living children by now.

Though he and the king often disagreed, and sometimes thwarted each other at the Things, there had been no fresh break between them. Each was an honored guest at the rare times he sought the other's home, and Haakon had sailed on many of the raids in Denmark.

This summer, word went through the land that Svein had accepted Harald's challenge and would meet him in August near the Gota mouth for a sea fight to settle their differences. When Ragnhild heard that, her lip lifted and she said: "It'll be a wonder if he comes. Most likely he'll slink away as he did before."

"No," replied Haakon thoughtfully. "Svein is a strange man, his soul is full of kinks, but he's not a coward. That is, he does know fear, but he can master it . . . which takes more bravery than to be a witless berserker."

"You've often spoken well of him," said Ragnhild, "but I've never yet understood why. He drove you from Denmark."

"No, he only warned me that his kin would take vengeance for Asmund's death if I stayed. He himself was always a good friend to me, apart from some hasty words now and then. He saved my life when I had to flee Norway." Haakon sighed. "And now old Finn Arnason is with him. Odd to think of bearing shield against Finn. My earliest memory of him is of sitting on his knee while he told me a story."

"Bitterest of all to carry that shield on behalf of a king who robbed and bullied and murdered your own folk."

"Say no more." Haakon's voice was sharp. "I've given oaths."

He had reached the full ripeness of his manhood, tall and powerful, soft on his feet, the handsome unlined face and curly yellow hair giving him somewhat of a boyish look. Ragnhild was young enough yet to remain fair in spite of childbearing and work. When they rode out together, they were a goodly couple.

But this time Haakon went alone. He summoned the Upland levies and prepared to take them down to Oslo, where he had gathered a fleet. There was complaint among the yeomen at having to go just when hay harvest neared; Haakon thought that Svein must have planned this when he set the time of battle, but could only obey.

After he was mounted, Ragnhild came to him with her children about her. "Must you leave so early?" she asked.

"I want to be waiting for the king," he answered. "It shall not be said I hung back. He distrusts me enough, thinks I have too much strength, and from his own standpoint he is right."

She looked up at him. This they had talked about many times before. He did not plan rebellion, but he wanted might to withstand the royal power.

"Go with God," she said, handing him a beaker of mead. He swallowed it at a gulp, leaned over, and kissed her. The taste of the honey was on his lips.

"I'll bring you home a chest of Danish gold," he said cheerfully.

"Bring yourself," she replied. "That will be all I want."

He drew in his reins till the horse reared, swept his hat in a wave, and galloped out to where the men waited. His voice drifted back, a boy's shout:,

"hey! Off we go! Give us a song!" And the tune he himself struck up was neither hymn nor war verse but a bouncing bawdy ballad from Oslo's alehouses.

Ragnhild stared after the army till the steep dales hid them. Then she returned to her work.

II

How They Fought at the River Niss

1

As King Harald went south along Norway's coast, and the shire levies joined him, his fleet became a mighty one. The whole sea power of his land was met. From his own Fafnir, with gold-flashing head and tail, down to the lowliest tarred fisher boat, helmets and weapons glittered and shields banged on the sides. To larboard rose the tall shores of Norway, but to starboard the water held ships and ships and ships, as far as a man could see.

Standing at the steering oar, Harald looked with pride on his crew. They were youthful; his old followers now commanded vessels of their own. Even Magnus was captain in one dragon, with a warrior of experience to counsel him. Here he had the pick of the new generation, young gamecocks in some ways strange to him. They were more vain, more mannerly, more afraid of hellfire to come than men of his age; but they seemed also more reckless and quarrelsome, touchy about a small point of honor, not rooted in some ancient garth but given over to the splendid unrest of the royal service. The brown faces were smooth, unlined, still scant of beard but with heavy locks falling to their shoulders; life had not yet scarred and battered them, they were all mindless leaping flame. He felt a wan envy. So had he been, once.

"Well . . . what of it?" he asked himself. He could still flatten any of those pups, and he had the dearly bought wisdom of years, and he was the king. After this summer's work, he would be the king of two realms, and then . . .

As they turned east into the Skaggerak, a wind sprang up against them, and clouds lifted darkly behind it. Thora went over to the side and faced forward, tasting its chill. She had not let her man escape his promise to take her along this year, and the voyage had seemed a wide-eyed drunkenness to her. Now the wind pressed her gown flat to the high breasts and long legs, a stray lock broke away from the ruddy coils of her hair and floated bannerlike; her eyes were half closed and a smile dwelt on her face.

"I think it blows up to a gale," she said.

"Aye." Thjodholf, the only one of Harald's nearer friends aboard, scowled. "It could be a stiff one, too."

"The more sport," she laughed.

"The more work," said Harald. Wind squealed in the rigging, and the Fafnir began to roll heavily. "Down mast! Out oars! Stand by to bail!"

The sea was rising, murky, streaked with foam. Scud whipped into his nostrils. As the ship entered a trough, a great wrinkled wave marched past her, overtopping the bulwarks. Clouds sheeted across the sky; ahead lay darkness and rattling thunder.

Harald gripped the oar, feeling it strain against him, a thrum as of living muscles. The prow dug into a surge, foam spouted up with the dragon head shaking above. Men cursed as their garments were suddenly drenched.

Now the light was changing, a weird hard brass yellow which seemed to fill the rushing air. Ships climbed for the sky and swooped toward hell, the water was black and steel gray and tattered white. Overhead the lightning began a crazy blink, flashed across miles from cloud to cloud, and thunder rolled.

Harald felt the wind stand into his mouth like an iron bar. Somehow he filled his lungs and bawled his orders: "Row! Row, you bastards, or you'll not see land again! Ease on the starboard . . . hard alee ... get her bow to the seas or we'll be swamped!"

There came a swift rain. From afar they saw it rushing down, pocking the enraged waves, and then it was on the fleet. Blindness whirled over them in a thousand sharp lances. The lightning leaped through a howling dark, thunder banged in heaven; ha, Thor drove his goat car to war yonder! Its wheels cracked the vault of cloud, and the sky fell down in a fury of hailstones.

The ship staggered. A wave smashed across the sides, the hull flurried in bitter waters. Harald felt her groan and roll sluggish. "Bail! Bail her out, for Christ's sake! Are you lame?" The wind hooted and whistled. Fire was in the sky and doomsday below.

The booming of thunder shivered Harald's teeth in his jaws.

In a short, blinding whiteness of lightning, he saw Thora. She clung to the racked mast with both hands, knees bent to the pitch and yaw of the ship, standing up and laughing—laughing! The hailstones skittered between the thwarts, they had cut her cheek, her dress was whipped into rags and her hair full of rain. Then darkness clamped down again.

The ship mounted a wave as if she would be flung into heaven. She poised on its crest, while scud and rain and hail drove across her, and in another flash Harald saw an outlying island. He slammed the helm over and threw his weight upon it. There was shelter, could they live to reach it.

Down she went, a dive which caught at his throat, and the sea ramped above her. Wind yammered between earth and sky. He heard, through the thunder, how waves snarled and strakes moaned.

Shaking herself, the dragon rose again, slipped down the side of a billow, bucked like a wild horse, and bit the water in twain. The sea shouted, tossing her from hand to hand, climbed aboard and sucked at men's legs. Thunder beat drums as the wind chanted the Devil's Mass. Hoo, Thor was angry, . . . Crack went his hammer, and fire spurted as it struck!

The island loomed near, dimly seen through the rain, and Harald cried orders to the crew. "Larboard, get her to larboard!" Surf was piled mountainous on the windward side. He heard it ripping chunks out of the world.

"Now . . . around . . . break your backs, you louse-bitten rascals!" Waves burst over the starboard rail, one after another, until only the dragon's head and tail rose streaming from them. Harald lost his footing, the gale snatched at him and the sea rolled hungrily; he caught at a thwart, pulled himself back, and got the tiller again.

Of a sudden they were in the lee of the island. It lifted bleak and stony, the sea tossed and bellowed even here and wind came around the cliffs with claws of rain. But they might be safe. "Out anchors!" Even this small shelter seemed to hold a ringing, shuddering stillness after what they had just weathered.

The iron hook went overboard, and stone anchors followed. Their cables stretched, drew taut. If the lines broke or the ship dragged there would be an end to Harald Hardrede. Men still clutched their oars, trying to hold the vessel steady while their comrades bailed. It was a weary while before the darkness began to lift and the storm to lessen.

Thjodholf went up to where Harald stood, Thora by his side. His verse could just reach their ears above the racket:

"The king now lets his keel boards

cleave the ground of billows;

all that tow and tackle

can take, he sets on trial;

the heavy storm-blows harshly

haul upon our cables,

anchor claws are eaten

by angry waves and sea stones."

Harald smiled shakily. "Well, at least you've not had your gifts of speech blown away," he said. Looking about, he saw that two other ships lay close; the rest must be scattered into every shelter for miles about.

It was not a good sign. "Ill is our luck," he said to Thora.

She held his arm tightly. Her lips passed over his, a wet cold kiss, to reach his ear, and she answered merrily: "No, this is the best of tokens. If we overcame such weather, we can trample down anything which stands against us."

2

The fleet had suffered astonishingly little loss, and rallied itself the next day. Though seas still ran heavy, the Norse reached the Gota mouth in a short time and steered into the bay on the evening. By then there was a flat calm.

Harald frowned when he saw the water empty of Danish ships. A little smoke rose from the nearby thorp, but no one was in sight, the people must have fled. Foreboding stabbed through him. Did Svein once more mean to avoid battle?

"They may also have been held up by the storm," said Eystein Gorcock when he met the king on shore.

"The wind would have favored them," replied Harald. "Even if they waited out the gale, they should be here now. Take some men and go find news. There must be someone about who knows."

Eystein nodded. His sister asked anxiously: "What if Svein does refuse to meet us?"

"Then we must seek him out ... or burn his country down around his ears," said Harald.

"The yeomen will not like a long campaign at this time of year," said Haakon Ivarsson. "Bad enough to call them out just when their hay was getting ready. If their grain rots in the field, we may look for rebellion."

Harald gave him a cold stare. "So now you too will go home with your belly dragging the ground?"

Haakon flushed red. "I'll stay, my lord," he responded angrily. "It's not my fault if you won't listen to sensible redes."

"There's no luck in this voyage," muttered Ulf. "It's what comes of taking a woman along."

Thora stamped her foot. "And you'd liefer be lounging at home?"

"Be still, all of you!" said Harald.

A jag of pain ran over Ulf's ugly face; he turned and walked with faltering steps toward his tent. Harald had half a mind to run after him. It must be lonely to feel death gnawing in your breast. But the bitterness of Svein's betrayal was too thick in his mouth.

He would scarcely say a word throughout that evening.

On the morrow he called a Thing of his men and related his challenge to them, bidding Svein be all men's nidhing did he not accept. Thereafter it was a dreary waiting, while Eystein and Gunnar and others were out after word. The thorp saw much carousing, ball games, fights between such horses as had been carried along; but the host was as sullen as its leader.

Eystein's band came back in three days. The sheriff rode up to the king's tent, and Harald sprang out and almost dragged him from his steed. "Well?" barked the king. "What have you learned?"

"We stole up on a steading which seemed rich, and took the folk prisoner." Eystein tugged his mustache unhappily. "They said Svein has his fleet out indeed, but far to the south, near Fyen. They know because two of their sons had gone to join him—"

Harald whirled and grabbed a tent stay. The whole thing came down under that, and he took the ridge pole and broke it across his knee. "God curse that craven," he choked. "Hell take his worthless soul and fry it. That whelp of a mangy dog, that dead and rotting fish, that eater of maggots—"

Thora listened in awe till he fell silent. Then she said briskly: "Well, put the torch to Denmark."

"Seek him out," said Magnus. "Hunt him down and spit him."

Haakon Jarl had come up with the other chiefs and now shook his curly head. "My lord, the yeomen will not stand for such a chase. What boots victory if they starve this winter?"

"Aye . . . aye ..." Harald's knuckles were white on his fists, he stared before him like a blind man, but his tone came soft: "Yes, I suppose you have right. We'll call the Thing together, offer rich reward to those who'll remain true, and then sail on."

"Svein will have a larger fleet if our yeomen go home," said Thora. "Is it not so?"

"Yes," nodded Ulf. "The Danes care less for their crops than for revenge—or for safety. They know we'll fire their fields if we can."

Harald sighed. "I've a greater foe than Svein Estridhsson," he said. "It is the old woman who wrestled Thor to a fall, the hag who eats years. I'll not waste what's left in this sour corner of the earth. St. Olaf witness, we'll end the war this time, one way or another."

Thora's nostrils flared. "There speaks Harald Hardrede!" she cried.

At the Thing, most of the yeomen said stubbornly they would return. "What use is gold? My children can't chew on it this winter." But enough of the younger sons were ready to fight that Harald could man a hundred and eighty ships. He steered from the Gota, southward along Halland, and wherever there was settlement he landed to sack and burn. It was his hope that news of this would draw Svein up to him. But if he must, he vowed, he'd ride into Roskilde and cut the Dane king down in his own hall.

After a week or so of thus harrying, he entered the shallow curve of Lofufjord, where the river Niss empties into the sea. Hills rolled gently back from the beach, yellow with ripening grain, dark with patches of woods; a sizable hamlet lay under thatch roofs near the shore. As the Norse rowed closer, they saw a line of armed yeomen forming.

"They haven't the hope of a snowflake in hell," said Thjodholf. Sadness crossed his face. "Those are brave men."

"They are Danes," said Harald.

He let the anchor drop and the horns blow to summon his captains for council. Haakon Jarl was First aboard, with troubled mien. "I have a boon to ask of you, my king," he said.

"Well?" Harald waited, arms folded on his breast.

Haakon met his gaze steadily, though Harald's eyes smoldered. "When I was serving Svein," he said, "I lay to at this spot for a while, being sick. One of the folk here took me in and treated me kindly—Carl, his name is. It would be an ill repayment to slay him and make his children thralls."

"Aye, so." The jarl was astonished to get a mild answer; he had been ready to use strong words and even threats. "Well, we can spare this one thorp since you ask it. Go you and tell them we will grant peace if they lay down their arms and give us such provisions as we need."

Haakon bowed deeply, and sprang into his boat with a joyful face. Thora gave her man a puzzled look. "It's not your wont to do thus," she murmured, "especially when it's a favor to one you distrust."

Harald stared across the quiet waters. The jarl was in his boat, holding empty hands aloft as he was rowed close to the strand. "That fellow stands by his friends," he replied. "It was well to make him ours, if we can."

Agreement was quickly reached, and the Norse swarmed merrily ashore. That night there was cheer in the hamlet, and Harald supposed a number of new souls would be added to it nine months hence. He himself tented with Thora on the beach, but Haakon was a guest in Carl's home.

The next day Harald led his host inland, where they slaughtered cattle and robbed houses as before.

It was a mighty strand hewing, and the countryside smoked when they came back that evening. Haakon felt that his host Carl's eyes were reproachful, and gave the man a good horse.

In the misty morning, Harald ordered the fleet to ready itself. That went slowly, for there was much to take aboard, and they were still there after noon.

Then a shout rose up. Harald ran from the beached Fafnir and stared west. A bright hard glimmer was on the horizon, sunlight bouncing off gilt.

"Ships!" exclaimed Ulf. "A whole fleet!"

"Svein, by God!" Harald whooped it forth. He tossed his hat in the air and hugged his marshal and danced Thora across the sward. "Blow the battle call! On armor, out swords, here comes the end of the war!"

By the time the chiefs were gathered, it was plain that the nearing force was of overwhelming size, easily twice their own number. The ships spilled over the sea, it was dark with them; against the dazzle of the westering sun they swarmed like midges.

Eystein frowned uneasily. "So Svein has used his old trick once more," he said, "and this time we cannot escape unless we start soon."

"Yeomen!" snorted Styrkaar. "We can cut them into flitches and eat them for breakfast."

"I've seen a pack of dogs pull down a boar," said Haakon. "What think you, my lord? Shall we stand and fight, or shall we take to our heels? It's no dishonor to run from such odds."

Harald's tawny head lifted as he answered: "Sooner shall we fall man by man, one atop the other, than fly."

Magnus' eyes glowed.

3

Thora refused to stay ashore, and Harald had no time to compel her. "Keep down below the foredeck, then," he said as he put his shoulder to the longship. "The men will have work to do."

Wading out and pulling himself over the side, he scrambled into helmet and byrnie, hung a sword at his waist, and laid shield and ax nearby. For the shooting that would come First, he had a six-foot bow from Finland and a chestful of goose-feathered arrows, each a yard long with barbed iron head. He told off one of the younger men to steer, while he placed himself in the bows. As they rowed slowly off, he took out his banner and lashed it to the figurehead. A light breeze caught the red and gold, the raven seemed to beat hungry wings, Landwaster was going to sea.

Ulf's ship, a dragon smaller only than the Fafnir, slipped alongside to larboard. The marshal paced up and down the plank laid across the benches, urging his crew to readiness—a bearlike form in bright helmet and rattling mail, eyes greenly alight. To starboard, Styrkaar yelled oaths and orders. Further along on that side was Magnus, his boy's face drawn white and tense, shivering in his costly armor; beyond him were the Throndheim men under Ey-stein's command. Larboard were the ships of the Dale and other southern districts, farthest out the Upland fleet of Haakon Ivarsson.

They had not come a great way when they found sea room. Harald snapped an order, and ropes were tossed, linking ship to ship with his own at the point of a blunt wedge. On the wings of it, many remained free to go where their captains should see need; among these were Jarl Haakon's.

Svein steered closer, the evening sun ablaze behind him. It was hard to see against that glare of molten gold, but Harald descried the royal banner of Denmark on the foremost enemy craft, and beside it a ship flying Finn Arnason's standard. Harald smiled sleepily. Calm had come over him. All waiting and yearning were past; now it was only to fight.

The Danish force was indeed mighty, bound together into a many-legged giant. This was going to be a hard battle, and Harald hoped the men on his wings could keep the enemy from flanking him. He thought so. His host was only half as great, but proven warriors, not bewildered yeomen.

Through the rise and fall of voices, clank of arms, rattle and splash of oars, he heard a skald on Ulf's ship chanting. Thjodholf was silent, hefting a spear. Rags blew above helmeted heads; it could almost have been a May queen's pageant. But . . .

"Sound the attack," said Harald.

Thjodholf set a horn to his lips, and the hooting lifted, wild. Answers cried down the line, and the fleet lumbered forward.

"Now on, lads, on," shouted Harald. "St. Olaf is with us, and he who stands fast this night will not be forgotten while the world endures. He who wants fame, honor, riches, let him fight!"

He thought he heard Svein egging his own folk on, and nocked an arrow and let fly. It was at long range, but the gap was closing.

Shafts and stones began to fall. Harald's own bowstring hummed and sang, snap, snap, snap, give them iron in their hearts!

A rock bounced off the Fafnir's snake head, an arrow thunked shuddering into the nearest bench. A man by Harald lurched and fell, holding on to the dart which had pierced mail and breast alike. The king howled and sent his shots toward the eye of the sun. The pale evening sky was darkened by the whistling flight of missiles.

Glancing down the larboard line, Harald saw Haakon's green-painted dragon lunge forth at a knot of loose Danish boats. Hooks went out, they grappled, the jarl led the storming party. Sounds of banging metal and yelping men drifted through the sunset air.

Now Svein's ship loomed close. Its eagle figurehead seemed to hiss at the Fafnir's gape. The sun was down, the western sky a huge wash of yellow, and black against it a man in a gilt helmet stood by the royal banner. Harald sent an arrow with his curses, but it missed. Stooping, he gathered more shafts and kept up his fire. A flung spear grazed his shoulder.

"Onward!" he bellowed. "Lay to, you bilge mice! Up to the Dane king's ship and clear it!"

But they could not, then, reach Svein. The binding ropes held the Fafnir back and the Danish wedge, giving way before Haakon but pressing hard on Eystein, was being swung around. Almost, Harald wanted to cut the lines, but common sense warned him against it.

He stood shooting, lost in a drunkenness of battle, as light waned. The first stars twinkled forth. Men became a shout and a shadow. Here and there, ships locked at each other's throats, warriors struggled across blood-slippery benches, smote and thrust. Harald could see shields glimmer even when night was fully on him, and shot for those. With a hundred pounds behind it, one of his arrows could go through shield and byrnie, flesh and bone and lungs, to come out the other side. He was hardly aware of the shafts and stones that hailed about him, of wounded men calling out, of Thora handing him a cup of beer; he was become a human bow.

Haakon, holding his ships together with horn signals, had cleared one Danish craft after another. In the blue darkness, the rest began to see what an enemy they faced and to seek away from him. He yelled joyously and urged his oarsmen on, into their line, cut the ropes, let them drift apart and spring on board! One sword in his hand grew blunt from use, he grabbed another and wore that down, snatched a third from a Danish jarl who fell at his feet.

Panting, painted with blood, he was back on his flagship looking for another place to attack when a boat bumped his hull. This was one of the lifeboats which were towed behind the longships. A Throndish voice cried: "I seek Haakon Jarl. I've word for him."

"Here he is." The Upland chief leaned over the bulwark.

"I'm from Eystein Gorcock," said the rower. "We're sore beset at our end of the line. Can you come help us?"

"Aye, that I can." Haakon sighed; he had almost been at the point of buckling this end of the Danish wedge, but that would be of small use if Eystein's wing was broken. Reaching forth a sinewy hand, he helped the Thrond aboard and winded his horn.

It was slow work, even going behind Harald's fleet. There were so many loose ships, manned only by corpses. Haakon was faintly surprised to see a glimmer of false dawn; had he been fighting so long? He steered around the north end of the line, and saw the Danish vessels grinding up, bow to bow with Eystein's command, ropes being cut and men swarming aboard.

He blew his horn again. Attack them!

It was as if his hours of shooting had gone in a blink when Harald saw he was almost at Svein's ship. Roaring his glee, he dropped the bow and took up a two-handed ax. As the Fafnir sprang forward, he leaned over and slashed the ropes holding Svein's larboard side fast

"Now—Olaf guard the right!"

Shields and whetted metal stood before him as he met the enemy craft. His ax lifted, a spear shaft cracked beneath it, he raised it again and felt it bite on a shield rim. A sword hummed, he took the blade on his iron-bound haft and smashed down a storm of blows.

Framework splintered, and he broke bone the next time. The Dane fell back, crying out. Harald jumped through the gap, whirled about and got another man's neck from behind. It was getting light now; he could just see the struggle at the side and the Danish oarsmen snatching up their arms.

"Svein! Svein Estridhsson, where are you?"

Roar and clangor boomed to the paling stars as the Norsemen snapped the Danish line and leaped aboard. Harald stood gigantic on a bench, waving to his standard-bearer. The boy took up the raven flag and came at a run. They held the prow of Svein's warship; let them now advance into the rest.

Harald strode forth, his ax awhirl. Two men stood on the lengthwise walk, and the spaces at either side bristled with weapons. The king came at those two in a rush, ignoring the men who stabbed at him from below. His weapon blazed. The shock tumbled one Dane off the plank. The other smote with a sword, Harald felt the shock on his heavy byrnie and struck in his turn. His ax split the wooden shield and stuck fast. Pushing on its shaft, he got the enemy off balance and sent him falling too. He whipped out his own sword and killed the man from above.

Battle roiled between and across the benches. Blades flickered, axes crunched, war hammers clanked on helmets. Harald ran down the plank to Svein's banner, slashed the cords, and flung it on the heads of the Danes.

"Estridhsson!" he shouted. "Svein Estridhsson, I'm looking for you!"

When the foe saw their flag gone, terror smote them. The Norse went aft and scythed them down. Harald's sword caught the dawn light in a runneling of red. With one last howl, he cried his pack on to the kill.

Such of the Danes as still lived sprang overboard. The sea gulped all but a few, who managed to reach the loose boats that drifted about. Harald stood at the tail of Svein's ship and looked across the waters.

The scene was frightful. Even in this part of the lines, full seventy ships floated manless. Blood dripped from the planks and stained the sea; a horde of gulls was already swooping down to feast. Harald scarcely noticed any of that. What he saw was the Danish fleet broken, fleeing in disorder, finished!

War boiled in his veins. "Back to the Fafnir!’ he cried. "Back, cut the cables, after them!"

As he entered his flagship and the nearer vessels began rallying about, he saw Thora. She had put a helmet over her red locks and bore a shield, as if she were a young Valkyrie. "Did you not stay where I told you?" he asked.

"No—how could I? When you were like Odhinn come back to earth!" She leaped up to kiss him. Blood was on her mouth when she stood aside.

He had no time for her then. It was hard work getting out past the wreckage which littered the water. He cursed his crews and egged them on to toil faster. It was as if he bellowed so loudly to drown out the forbidden thought: that he had not seen Svein, not anywhere.

III

How a War Was Lost

1

Haakon Ivarsson knelt in the forward part of his ship, between the first bench and the deck across the prow. Sunrise colored the sky pink and gold, from shadowed hills came the first drowsy noise of birds, and waters gleamed like dull metal. Ships wallowed about him, their crews staring sightlessly into heaven, blood clotted over the grinning lips of death wounds. He could make no headway in that clutter, and had not joined Harald's pursuit of the Danes.

The jarl had taken off his battered helm and byrnie. A light wind ruffled his hair. Sweat, soaking his garments, made him shiver in the chill; there were gashes in his arms and legs, and he felt a drag of weariness. But his hands were gentle as a woman's, binding the hurt of the man who lay beside him.

"Steady, there, Leif," he said. Splintered bone stood out of the fellow's left arm. He took the limb and brought it together. The grating sound gave him a queasiness in the groin, but nothing showed on his face. The warrior's sweat-studded features grew death white, his eyes rolled up and he slumped.

"Best for you, I suppose." Haakon took splints carved from a broken oar, laid them on, and began lashing them fast with strips torn off his shirt. "You'll have little use of this arm, my friend, but if it doesn't inflame you ought to live." He stroked the fainted man's forehead. "You fought well, Leif; you shall lack for naught while I have my land."

A boat which had been feeling its way between the wrecks now struck the longship. A tall man who rowed it called: "Where is the jarl?"

Haakon finished his work before going to the side and leaning over. "Here I am," he said. "Who are you?"

The man edged his boat closer. "I am Vandraadh," he said in a tired, slumping voice. "Speak with me, jarl."

As he stood up, Haakon saw that he wore good clothes under a plain gray cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. But rust spots marked his coat, and a red line across the forehead told where a helmet had been. For weapon he had only a nicked, worn ax.

The jarl bent over to peer closely. He saw tangled brown hair and a short beard, eyes crowding a hook nose, full lips adroop. Breath hissed between Haakon's teeth, and a coldness ran down his back.

Vandraadh gave him a bloodshot stare. The jarl thought of a dog which has been kicked and starved. "I've come to take my life from your hand, if you will give it," said Vandraadh.

Haakon's fingers tightened on the bulwark. He looked down, bit his lip, remembered oaths, but remembered too that he had never betrayed a friend. Vandraadh—he who cannot decide for himself— waited with a dead man's patience.

"Well—" Haakon shook himself. Turning, he called on two of his folk whom he believed trustworthy. When they came to him, he said in a hurried murmur, "Get into this boat and take my friend Vandraadh ashore and up to Carl the yeoman. Tell him, as token of who sent you, that he shall let Vandraadh have the horse I gave him two days ago, as well as his own saddle and his son to guide him whither he wishes."

The man in the boat bowed his head. "I shall not forget this," he said.

"Nor I," said Haakon gloomily. "We may both hear more of it." He nodded curtly to his men, who gave him a strange look but climbed down into the boat and took the oars. Vandraadh steered, sitting hunched over.

Much traffic was on the water, ships and boats moving about as men sought their friends or took the wounded ashore or gloated over the booty. Vandraadh went where there were the fewest. Now and again a Norseman hailed him, but Haakon's men said who they were and met no trouble. They rowed till a jut of tree-covered land hid them from the fleet, then Vandraadh grounded the boat and took a long way around to Carl's house.

The yeoman, a burly gray fellow, was just dressing to go to work when they entered. The room was small, soot blackened, crowded with tools and chests; a hen pecked idly at the dirt floor; stalls for the beasts filled one end; a fire danced on the open hearth, pale against the young sunlight that streamed through the doorway. Haakon's men gave him the jarl's word. When Carl looked closely at Vandraadh, fright flickered in his eyes, but at once he clapped down the commoner's earthy mask.

"Well, let it be so," he said. "But you must break your fast." He took a kettle off the fire and poured warm water into some bowls. "Here, wash yourselves."

His wife came in from the stalls, carrying a bucket of milk. She was a lean and wrinkled woman, who gave the strangers a sharp good morning. "This has been a weird night!" she went on. "We could get no sleep for all the racket."

"Know you not that the kings held battle tonight?" asked Carl.

The woman shrugged. To her it meant little what the great folk did, so she was left in peace. "Who won?" she muttered as she poured the milk into a crock.

"The Norsemen did," said Carl after looking out the door at the ships.

His wife showed snag teeth in a sneer. "Then our king has fled," she decided and gave a stir to oatmeal she had boiling.

Carl answered carefully: "Whether he has fallen or fled, that is something no one knows."

The woman banged her spoon down on a shelf. Her lips set tightly. "God better that king we have," she snapped. "He's both lame and craven."

Vandraadh winced. "The king is no coward," he said in a low voice, "but he is not a lucky man."

Carl coughed. "Wash your hands, friends, the meal will soon be ready," he said loudly.

Vandraadh was the last to do so. When the good-wife handed him the towel, he dried himself in the middle of it. She snatched it back and cried shrilly: "You've not been brought up well; thorp-dwellers don't get the whole cloth wet at one time!"

Vandraadh smiled wearily. "Perhaps that day will come again when I can dry myself on the middle of a towel," he said.

Carl's children appeared, to lay out the trestle table and set it. Vandraadh placed himself between yeoman and goodwife, and ate with scant appetite. After he was finished, Carl gave him the horse and put his oldest son on another for guide. They rode briskly inland, bending southward, while Haakon's men returned to their ship.

2

Harald and his following came back toward evening, having given up the chase after the Danes; those had too long a head start. The king was still in good humor, though. His muscles ached, but he felt too happy to want sleep.

As they entered Lofufjord, they saw that Haakon had taken charge and gotten the ships into some kind of order. Campfires smoked on the beach, the hale sat about them resting and the wounded lay under tents. Harald went boisterously ashore, and the host cheered him. Thora was by his side, flushed with joy, and Magnus was not far off.

Styrkaar shambled forth. "I have a gift for you, my lord," he said. "The traitor Finn Arnason would not flee, so we took him and his crew prisoner, and here they are."

He waved a hairy hand, and several warriors led out the jarl of Halland. Harald felt a little shocked at sight of the man. He had grown very old in eleven years. He shuffled along, bent over, trembling faintly with age; his hair and beard were white, the once massive face shrunken inward, the eyes rheumy and almost blind. They had tied his hands behind his back.

He stopped before Harald and looked up. He could no longer make out faces, but only one man had that height. The king laughed and said:

"Well, Finn, so we meet again, whose last meeting was in Norway. The Danes did not stand very firmly by you, did they? Now the Norse will have a troublesome task, dragging you about and keeping you alive, blind as you are."

Finn's voice had become a near whisper, but he answered stoutly: "The Norse must put hands to many foul tasks; but worst of all are those you set them to."

It seemed wrong to Harald that this proud man should stand with ropes on his arms. He asked more gently: "Will you accept mercy, little though you deserve it?"

Finn spat. "Not from you, you dog!"

The king had expected no other reply. It seemed to him he had wronged Finn's house enough, without putting a helpless captive to death. "Well," he asked, "will you take peace from your kinsman Magnus?"

Finn peered around, as if trying to find the prince; he looked like a turtle. "Shall such a whelp yield peace to a man?" he snapped.

Harald laughed. "But Thora, your niece," he said. "Will you take mercy from her?"

Finn squinted and seemed to draw into himself. "Is she here?"

"That she is," said Harald.

Once more the jarl spat. He said shakily: "It's no wonder you bit so hard last night, if the mare was with you!"

Thora stepped back, her face whitened and she raised a hand to strike him. Harald caught her wrist. "Let him live," he said. "Keep watch over him, but take those cords off."

Styrkaar looked puzzled, but obeyed, and led Finn back to the tent he had raised. Thora swung furiously on Harald. She hissed: "Are you going to spare him after what he said about me?"

He gave her a wondering glance. "Your own uncle," he replied at last, slowly. Turning his back on her, he went toward the tent where Haakon's banner flew.

He thought his jarl had an uneasy air, but they got to work together at once. Much needed to be done. The chaplains of the fleet paid the Norse fallen the last honors; the Danish dead were brought ashore and the Halland yeomen told to bury them as best they could. There were many wounded to be cared for and prisoners to be guarded—held for ransom or sold as thralls. There was the booty to be divided, ships and weapons and whatever else of value could be found; this alone took a couple of days.

Slain men had been heaped on the Danish flagship. Harald looked at each corpse himself, and was disquieted not to find Svein's among them. But surely his enemy had fallen, perhaps gone overboard and been sunk by his mail. This had been one trap the fox could not have escaped.

He felt no great need of haste. Leaderless, Denmark lay open to him. Svein had many sons, but the oldest was still a boy, and the best of the Danish chiefs who might have supported him were killed. Some fighting would remain, though, so he let his men rest, sent the badly hurt home with the captured ships, kept anvils ringing with weapons to be mended. Meanwhile, a few craft under Ulf went down to Sealand as scouts.

Finn Arnason brooded alone; he was sunk into sullenness, and those who spoke to him got a short answer. Thora and Magnus began to yawn and urge Harald to start again. Out in the fields, the hamlet's folk went about their work, caring little that they had changed overlords; only Carl was absent, having discovered an errand which required he take his whole family elsewhere.

The fleet was busking itself to sail when Ulf returned. It was a day of gusty winds and sallow light; the sea tossed noisy and anchor cables creaked. Harald hastened to the strand when he saw Ulf's ship grounding.

"Well?" he cried. "Have you learned aught?"

The Icelander walked slowly up to meet him. His face was a block of dark, scored wood. "I have ill tidings," he said.

Harald waited. A cold dampness sprang forth on his palms.

"The Devil guards his own," said Ulf. "Somehow

Svein Estridhsson has gotten back to Sealand. He has rallied not only the broken fleet, but men who're swarming to him from the whole realm. Everyone told us his host was already grown huge, and we saw troops of armed men hastening along the shore roads."

There was a crackling in Harald's head. Tatters of darkness wavered before his eyes.

"You're mistaken," he croaked. "They lied to you."

"No. I sent in spies who came from the Ranriki border and so could pass themselves off as Hallanders. Everywhere the war arrows were passing, and word that King Svein was back."

"Don't call him king."

"We've not enough strength to fare against him now." Ulf took his lord's arm and steered him toward his tent. "Next year ..."

"Perhaps we should call him king after all." Harald gave a rattle of laughter.

They entered the tent. No one else was there. Harald sat down on the bench and dropped his face into his hands.

"How can it be?" he asked wildly. "Is it possible to lose every single fight and still win a war?"

Ulf put an arm around his shoulders. "It's no mean foe you have," he said. "The man bends easily, but there's good steel in him and he springs back. Never erenow have two such kings met."

"Many are they who have cursed me," mumbled Harald. "So many prayers for vengeance, so much witchcraft brewed in lonely places."

"Are you one to heed old wives' chatter?" snorted Ulf.

"God is patient," said Harald. "He can as well torment a man with a lifetime's failure as strike him dead."

"No man escapes his weird," said Ulf, "but who knows what his fate may be? We'll try it again next year."

"And the year after that, and the year after that . . . How long can we whirl about in this stinking pool?" Harald groaned.

"Well, yes, we may find better work for our hands," agreed Ulf. "Denmark is not the whole Midhgardh."

Harald looked up. "Once I thought to engulf the world," he said. "Now it seems I cannot even take a few bogs and heaths."

"It will look better tomorrow," said Ulf. "Let's drink ourselves to sleep tonight, and leave thinking for some other time."

"Yes . . . yes, your rede is good. There will be other days." Harald got to his feet, head brushing the tent roof. "Best we call the chiefs now and tell them, then break out the beer."

3

Before sailing home, he summoned Finn Arnason. When he had met the jarl's gaze for a while, he said, "I can see, Finn, that you no longer wish the friendship of me or your kinfolk. So I give you leave now to return to your king, Svein in Denmark."

"I thank you for that," said the old man scornfully, "and will be the more grateful, the sooner I can get away."

Harald nodded to the guardsmen, who took Finn out and released him. Thora snapped, "It's not enough to give up the war, you must let that doddering scoundrel go free."

"Be still," said the king. His leman dared not speak further, so black had his mood been since Ulf's news; but her lips drew into a thin line.

The fleet sailed back. Harald turned off at Oslofjord with the crews from those parts. The men were cheerful. They had fought a battle which would be famous and laid hands on much plunder; that was full measure for them. But both the king and Jarl Haakon were evil tempered.

It was raining when the Fafnir lay to at Oslo harbor, a thick windless rain as if summer bled to death. The streets chuckled with muddy water, roofs shimmered wet, the hills were lost to sight. Harald stepped to the wharf shivering. Yes, men grew old. He was not the hell's carle he had been.

Elizabeth had hastened to the dock as soon as word was cried. She had known her husband would return to Oslo, and had driven down with her household. Behind her came the guards, their waterslick helmets and drenched cloaks the only color under heaven. Her daughters and young Olaf were beside her.

She seemed too small and slight to bear the thick woolen mantle she had. Under its cowl, her features were drawn and pale, but the gray eyes kindled as Harald neared. Heedlessly, she ran to take his hands.

"You live," she said. "You weren't hurt. . . God is good to us."

"That's as may be." He looked down at her, and a one-sided smile creased his face. "We had the victory at Niss River—"

"Yes, so I heard from those who came back early." She laughed aloud. "And now you have your wish—king of Denmark!"

"No," he said. "Somehow Svein escaped us and raised too great an army at home. We're no farther along than we've ever been."

She stood quiet. The rain beat in her face and pulled one brown lock across the finely lined forehead. Then her lips opened, as if she had been struck.

"Oh my darling," she whispered.

She took his arm and led him away, toward the hall. "It's nothing," she said. "Next year you will win."

"I know not if I'm man enough to fight a curse," he said.

"Oh, but you're home, my dearest, and you won a mighty battle." She was glad the raindrops running down her cheeks hid the tears.

Olaf stared after them. "It's a bootless war," he muttered. "Best to make peace ere we lose all."

"So you would say!" jeered Magnus.

Thora's eyes left Elizabeth's back. They held anger. "Come," she said in a strained tone. "Let's get out of this damp."

Eystein was being greeted by his wife. He responded absently, scarce able to withhold his gaze from Maria Haraldsdottir. When he looked at her, war and fame seemed child's toys.

It is to be told of Finn Arnason that the Hallanders received him well, he having been a kindly and valiant lord. But he fell sick during the winter and died. His family went to King Svein, who saw to their welfare.

The Danish ruler made great offerings in thanks for his life, and steered his realm as before, keeping a rich and learned court. Though ready to fight or flee again if he must, he was beginning to think that the saints were with him, and was immensely cheered thereby.

Early in winter, he sent men to Halland to bring back Carl and his wife. When they arrived, nervous in their faded finery, Svein took the yeoman alone into a side room and asked: "Well, friend, do you know me, or think you've seen me before?"

Carl fumbled his hat in stumpy fingers and answered awkwardly, "Yes, my lord, I know you now. I knew you when first I saw you. God be praised that what small help I could give you was of use."

Svein's words were solemn. "I have you to thank for every day I live hereafter. So I shall reward you thus: with a fine garth on Sealand, which you may choose yourself; and if you show yourself to be a man of good understanding, I will make you powerful."

"I thank you, my lord," said Carl. "I looked not for reward; 'twas enough to serve my king." Svein, who knew his yeomen, had certain doubts of this, but remained silent. "Yet if I may, my lord, I've one more thing to ask of you." "And what may that be?"

"If, well, if I may take my old woman with me."

Svein's face colored a bit, and he grinned. "No, that I will not allow," he said, "for I've chosen another wife for you, who is far better and wiser. Let the one you now have keep your old steading in Halland; she can manage that, and get her living from it."

Carl wrestled with his conscience, but not for long. Good acres were hardly to be refused, nor his wife's stringy flesh to be kept in favor of a bouncing broad-hipped young wench. He thanked the king mightily. In later years, he became a great man in Denmark.

IV

Of Haakon Ivarsson

1

Haakon went home at once to his Upland garth, and stayed there through the winter; but Oslo buzzed with talk about him for his part in the Niss battle. Harald, who was dwelling in the town, heard much of this, and liked it little. Granted, the jarl had done well, but there had been other men in the fight, and who had taken the Danish flagship?

Such thoughts led him on to the uselessness of the whole affair. Fame and plunder had been gained, naught else. All the booty in Denmark could not buy him back the years he had lost.

It made him harsh of tongue and judgment. Only Ulf could have softened his words, and the marshal was wintering on his Throndheim estate. Elizabeth was mute under her husband's quick anger, hoping the mood would go away in time. Thora gave him as good as she got, and this brought many quarrels between them.

On a leaden day shortly after the new year had come, Harald went to look at his hoard. He kept most of it in a locked outbuilding, under trustworthy guard, and liked to go in and tell it over once in a while.

This time he left the door ajar for the sake of light. A damp, quiet was cold in the air; his skin prickled beneath its furs and his fingers were numb. He rubbed them together, looking thoughtfully at the chests and casks. There were not as many as there had been. He had given much away, as a king must, or sold it to pay for his wars. But it was still a mighty trove, and it should have cheered him.

Today it would not. He opened a chest. Coins glistened dustily—Byzantine, Arabic, English, Irish, German, Northern. Atop them lay a string of pearls, a gold-hilted scimitar, and a velvet robe trimmed with ermine. He saw that moths had been eating the robe.

Even thus, even thus ... his years were being nibbled away, and what had he to show for them? A backward kingdom and a famous name spoken in hatred as often as not. He had cut down hostile chiefs, but had not broken chiefship itself; he had slain foemen, but their sons would grow up to bear an unforgiving spear; he had defied the Pope, but the Church would outlive him. He remained a giant, but he could no longer go days on end without sleep while fighting a battle, bedding a woman, and joining a drinking bout. The veins in his big scarred hands stood forth like ropes, his hair grew dull and his eyes farsighted. He had begotten two princes, and one of them was ever at odds with him while the other was a stranger.

He thought, briefly, of trying to get more sons with some new woman. His wife and leman seemed both to have become barren. But no, two healthy boys were enough. A third might easily start a war for the throne.

Did he really think that, or—a tired smile dragged at his mouth—did he simply not wish to face the thunders and lightnings which Thora would pour on him?

The room was darkened, and he looked about to see Elizabeth in the doorway. "Oh," she said in a nearly frightened voice. "I saw the door was open and no guards about, and thought—"

She started to go. "Come in if you wish," said Harald. "Am I such a dragon?"

She entered quickly. "No, surely not." He could barely hear her.

Looking into a chest, she smiled and went on: "I remember the time you first showed me this, long ago in Kiev. I was a silly little goose then; it seemed to me there was blood on it."

"There is, on most," said Harald. "But whoever lives with me grows used to blood."

"Do not reproach yourself," she said. "I've learned that all men fight, unless they are thralls or monks, and even those bear, arms sometimes. Learning to take the world as it is—I think that is what growing up means."

"Still . . ." He lifted the pearl necklace. "Would you like this?"

"Oh ..." Her eyes widened, childlike, and one hand came timidly out to touch the miracle.

He wondered why he had made the gift; now he would have to give Thora something of equal value, to keep peace in the home. "Well, take it," he said gruffly.

She glanced about, saw no one looking in, and stood on tiptoe. Even so, he had to stoop to be kissed. Her lips were cool, but there was a hunger on them. His hands moved up and down her back, feeling its slenderness. It made his blood pulse thickly, he wanted to—No, not here.

She reached up and ran fingers through his hair. "You are a strange man," she said in a shaky voice. "I wonder why I love you so."

He regarded her closely. "I've not really understood you either," he said. "At first, I thought you meek and colorless, but—" He shrugged. "I may have told you before that I think you're the only person alive who can still surprise me."

"You should be old and wise enough not to tell that to a woman," she laughed.

"If things had been otherwise ..."

"They could not have been," she said gravely. "You are one who goes his own way, and naught but the will of God will ever stop you."

"You should have been queen of Denmark by now." He felt the cold strike into his flesh, and drew away from her and pulled his cloak about him.

"Do you think I care about that?"

He shook his head. "No. I know you don't. But I do, and there lies part of the gulf between us."

"Thora does," said Elizabeth. She did not look at him.

"Aye. In that, she and I are one." A hollowness was in him, as if he had used up whatever strength and joy he could muster during one day. He wished he had not halted with a kiss, but desire had gone.

"Nobody shares my every wish," he said, and tried a grin. "As well for the world!" The wry mirth faded. "None up here."

Elizabeth fingered her pearls. "Then there is someone elsewhere," she answered.

"I know not. It has been many years. The Miklagardh envoys could not tell me."

The queen stared at the floor. "And all this time, locked away in your heart—" she whispered.

"Have done!" A pale, senseless anger licked up in him. "I don't wish to hear more of this."

He slammed the door full open and strode out. Elizabeth stared after him till he was gone. Then she sat down on a box and looked at the pearls. She shook her head and rubbed an eye with her knuckles. A queen should not weep where anyone might see her.

Harald walked from the courtyard and down a street of frozen mud, under a low gray sky. Half a dozen guardsmen followed, not venturing to speak. Folk bowed carefully, but he did not hail them.

His mind shied from some thoughts and returned to worry over what he had lost at the Niss. Only a madman would bend a whole life toward one dream; and yet—What had he done, that God had raised Svein Estridhsson against him?

He was dimly glad to see Styrkaar, Thjodholf, and some lesser men of the court standing in talk before an alehouse. He went over to them and gave greeting. "What are you about?" he asked.

"We were but swapping stories, my lord," said Styrkaar, "and thinking we might go into this place for a drop of beer."

"The landlord is a highwayman," said Thjodholf. "What he wants for a crock of slimy green troll tears would raise your hair."

Harald glanced at the inn. It was newly and hastily built, with a sunken main room, and he could see firelight dance beyond the sagging door. The voices of several men within came loud.

"Aye, I were in the Upland ships, I were, and saw 't myself. The jarl laid his ship between two Dane craft, and his crew stormed 'em both at once and cleared 'em."

"No surprise to me, though I was with Eystein, the sheriff. Haakon Jarl, I owe him my life, I do. We'd ha' been plain broken if he'd not come to save us."

"Speak no ill o' Eystein Gorcock; he's a gallant man."

"Aye, but he's no Haakon Ivarsson. Christ witness, I've seen a many good warriors, but none like him, Haakon. It's like it says in the saga, when he fights ye'd think he had three swords in his hand."

"Bravest fellow I ever saw. But then, luck loves him."

"He's not o' these snotty king's men, neither. I stayed at his house one night last year, whilst traveling hitherward, and he was as soft-spoke to me like I'd been high-born myself."

"A wise king we got, to take Haakon Ivarsson back and make him jarl. Haakon's repaid him . . .nay, put the debt on t' other side ... by winning the battle at Niss."

Harald's face darkened. He stalked over to open the alehouse door and lean in.

"Every man here would gladly be called Haakon!" he spat.

Thereafter he left the place, speaking to no one.

2

When the snow melted and the first thin green shivered on the birches, Eystein Gorcock rode down from the North with a score of his men. It was given out that he was going to Oslo to buy shares in some England-bound merchant ships, and that was what he also tried to tell himself. The miry roads taxed the horses, and when he came to Haakon's steading the jarl bade him lie over for a day. Eystein was fond of his host, both of them had the same love of good horses and dogs and clothes and wine; both had the same sense of mirth, so he accepted happily.

While those two conversed, the men sat at their ease in one of the lodges, to drink and trade gossip. The door stood open to a high, fluffy-clouded heaven and a drenched land—a bright lazy day which stirred old yearnings and then contented them with dreams. The warriors sat on the benches, getting drunker and more comradely for each hour that passed.

Gunnar Geiroddsson tilted a horn with the best, but a man his size is not easily befuddled by drink. He felt only a warm buzzing, as of bees in a summer meadow, while the rest shouted into each other's mouths.

Talk turned back to the combat at Niss River. Gunnar had wielded a frightful broadax under Eystein's banner, and had enjoyed himself hugely even during the most desperate moments. Now, when men began to praise Haakon Jarl and say he had saved the day, the young warrior frowned and spoke slowly:

"I—it seems me that, well—"

No one heard him. Gunnar shook his mane and bellowed through the chatter:

"My chief's luck was not of the best that night, but no man fought braver and I'll hear naught said against him."

The babble died away, Gunnar being the largest there. "Aye," said another of the sheriff's troop, "I'll hold with you, our chief was as good as any."

"King Harald was in the forefront too," said a youngster.

"And forget not Ulf the marshal," added a man from Iceland.

"Styrkaar ..." began someone else.

A slender youth of Haakon's troop hiccupped, grinned secretively, and declared: "Ah, yes, it may well be that several fought as bravely at the Niss as Haakon Jarl; but I can tell you this, none had such luck in that battle as he."

Gunnar scratched his head. "Mean you that he put so mickle a number of they Danes to flight?"

The youth was very drunk. He looked important and said, "No, I had somewhat else in mind."

"What was it, then?"

"I shou'n' tell."

The older men shrugged. "You've naught to tell," sneered one.

"Oh, haven't I?" The youth started forward on the bench. "Well, then, hear. His greatest luck was this: that he gave King Svein quarter."

"You know not what you speak of!" said Gunnar.

"Oh, yes, I do. One o' the men who set King Svein ashore told me about it when he was in his cups this winter."

The room became altogether still. Gunnar looked out at the day, which seemed suddenly less bright.

The whole way down to Oslo, he brooded over what he had heard. Surely such a thing could not be true of the great Haakon Jarl. And yet, and yet!

He looked at Eystein. The sheriff rode like a rainbow, all in gold and green and scarlet. What to do? Eystein would know . . . but suppose Eystein said to keep the story secret.

The king was God's chosen man, and he had spoken kindly to Gunnar Geiroddsson. If there was treachery abroad, it would be a worse treason not to warn him.

Eystein was Haakon's near friend, but he was also close to the king. Which would he choose, if it came to that? If he stood by the jarl, what should his man, who was also sworn to the king, do?

The warrior groaned aloud. His chief turned a concerned face. "Are you ill, Gunnar?" he asked. "You were ever the loudest and merriest among us, but today you sit like a sack of meal."

"I . . . drank too much yesterday."

"Ah, so. Well, watch your health. Spring is a devilish time for colds." Eystein began whistling.

They traveled easily, overnighted at another farm garth and reached Oslo the next afternoon. Harald bade the sheriff welcome and gave lodging to his men. It was to be seen that the king was less cheerful than of yore.

Gunnar sat moodily that evening. He had no heed for the fair young women who served. It was late before he got up the courage to do what must be done.

The fires were low, and men were yawning. Harald left the high seat to go to bed. Gunnar stumbled after him. "My lord!"

"Yes?"

"I . . . I'd speak to you . . . under four eyes."

Harald searched the broad freckled face. "Is it important?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord." Gunnar's fingers twisted together.

"Then come." Harald's tall form went to the foreroom door.

An old carline beyond was sweeping by a rushlight. Harald waved her out and closed the door. He sat down, crossed his legs, and regarded Gunnar over bridged fingers.

"Well?" he asked.

The warrior could not meet that gaze. He dug his toes at the floor. "We was to Jarl Haakon's two days agone," he said. "I heard somewhat there. ..."

Harald's face remained a lean mask. He waited. "One of the jarl's men, he said he had it from another, that 'twas Haakon himself what spared King Svein. ..."

Harald's foot crashed to the ground. He sat bolt upright. "What?"

"Aye, 'tis but a tale, my lord, and yet the man what told it swore he had it from one of they what set the king ashore that day. He said Svein came in a boat and talked to the jarl, and the jarl had two men set him aland. So he said. It may be a lie."

Harald rose, very slowly and carefully, and went to the door. "Eystein!" he shouted.

The sheriff came running. "What is it, my lord?"

Harald grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside and cracked the door shut again. The king's face was terrible to see. "This man tells me that it was Haakon Ivarsson who saved Svein Estridhsson's life at the Niss. What know you of it?"

Eystein broke free. "Not a word, my lord," he whispered. "Whence came so foul a story?"

Gunnar stared at the floor. "We was drinking," he said miserably. "The tale came from a drunk lad's mouth."

"In vino Veritas," said Harald. It was eerie to hear so much venom in priest language.

"It may be a lie, a brag," said Eystein. "Who knows?"

Harald spoke grimly. "Would one of Haakon's own men slander him, even when drunk? We know Svein escaped, and with all the traffic there was on the water, all the men watching for any Dane they might clap hands on for ransom, how else could he win free but by help of a Norse traitor? And who else in our host had any love for Svein? To what other man would he even have turned for help? Oh, yes, there's but one answer, and we are fools for not having seen it erenow."

"At least hear him out," begged Eystein. "Let him defend himself."

"He may do so . . . with a sword," snarled Harald.

"But . . ."

"With whom do you stand, Eystein?"

The sheriff doubled his fists. "I stand with you," he said at last.

"Good!" Harald went to the door. "Up, every man! Busk yourselves! We ride tonight!"

3

At the head of a dozen score warriors, the king stormed northward over roads of darkness. Each man had been ordered to take an extra horse, and use the mounts in turn, for they would not halt and were bound into hill country. No word passed Harald's lips the whole way and none dared speak to him.

When morning came, they were on a narrow, slippery upward track. Ahead of them, the land climbed for the clouds. Men chewed hastily snatched bread and cheese, passed jugs from hand to hand, and forced their tired bodies to stay in the saddle. The horses went with drooping heads and eyes that pleaded for rest.

Several oxcarts came creaking the other way, bound to Oslo market with meal and malt. The yeomen stared fearfully at the mailed men who rattled by them, and muttered to each other.

One of the troopers drew rein and squinted at a farmer who rode a horse. "Is it you, Skafti?" he asked.

"Aye . . . and you are Gamall Eiriksson," nodded the yeoman, who had been his neighbor of old. "Whither fare you?"

Gamall looked around. The guardsmen were going past at a walk, and no one paid him any heed. He laid his mouth near Skafti's ear and whispered: "I've a boon to ask of you. It's a matter of life and death."

"So? Tell me and I'll think on it."

"I'll reward you well, if you'll ride as fast as your horse can take you, by the shortest bypaths you know, straight to Haakon Jarl. Tell him the king is out after his life, because he's now learned it was the jarl who helped King Svein ashore at the Niss."

Skafti's eyes snapped wide. He crossed himself. "That's a dangerous errand," he said.

"Not so loud, man! I told you I'd pay for the help."

"What the jarl's life to you?" asked Skafti shrewdly.

"Jesu Kristi! Who else can stand up for the folk's right against this overweening king we have? Now quickly, be off!"

Skafti rubbed his chin. "How much did you say you'd give?"

"Half a mark in silver. Here, I have it in my pouch."

"Silver's no use to a dead man, and that's what I'll be if ever the king hears of this. I should be a true soul and tell him what you just said, but for old times' sake ..."

"A full mark!" groaned Gamall.

"Two marks, and I'm your man."

"One and a half. I'm not rich, you dog."

"Calling me a dog will cost you another half mark, Gamall."

"Well, then, two and a half. You shall have it. . . . Here's my pouch, I'll give you the rest in Oslo and hope you fry in hell. Be quick!" Gamall wheeled his horse and clattered back into the troop.

Skafti sighed. "It's a chancy life," he said to the boy on his lead oxcart. "Sell our loads as best you can without me, but not a copper less than half a mark." He steered his mount off the road, found a trail that cut into the forest, and settled down to urge speed out of the nag.

The early dusk was turning to night when Skafti came to Haakon's hall. He dismounted stiffly and rapped his ax on the door. The steward opened it.

"I've word for the jarl," said the yeoman. "Do you rub down my horse and give him some water, but not enough to founder him."

"And who are you to speak so bold?" asked the steward.

"Well," said Skafti, "if you want to be hanged from the same tree as your master when the king comes, I'll go home."

He was hastily led inside. Haakon and Ragnhild were not yet abed, but sat drinking by a low fire. The jarl nodded pleasantly. "What brings you here, fellow, and what's your name?"

Skafti kept to the shadow. "My name's of no moment, but my news is." He told the story in a few words. "The way the men was riding, they should be here ere midnight."

Haakon sprang to his feet. "Christ have mercy!" he said in a shattered voice. "Is the man a warlock that he knows?"

Ragnhild came to him. "The tale is true?" she whispered.

"Yes. . . ." Haakon bent his face into his hands. "I could not refuse him when he stood there, alone and friendless—he who had only sought to keep what was his lawful right. But now I've lost all for both of us,"

"No," she said softly. "Not while we live." Pride rang in her tone. "I'd not have had my man do otherwise."

Haakon clutched her to him, and it was as if he drew strength from the slim body. When he stepped from her, he was the chief who had conquered at Niss River.

"Thorkell, Sverting, Sigurdh, Hallvardh, Saeming—up, every man and woman, if you want to see dawn again! Lights! Here, to me, and break open the weapon chests!"

The garth burst into a roar. Folk hurried about, stowing, packing, provisioning, while Haakon moved among them giving orders. Some were to take the monies and movable goods into the forest and hide them, some were to arm themselves and follow him, there must not be a living soul to meet Harald Hardrede when he came.

The jarl had wife and children on horseback before Ragnhild asked him where he meant to go.

He grinned, as if this were only a boy's prank.

"Why not to Sweden?" he asked. "King Steinkell will make us welcome, he has no love for our lord. And we'll still be near home."

She watched him for a while. "So you mean to come back?"

"Aye. There's no freedom for our folk while Harald lives." Haakon shook his banner, furled around its staff. "This belonged to your father, Ragnhild, King Magnus the Good. It has a bear on it. Good willing, someday the bear is going to eat the raven."

With a score of armed carles, the jarl and his family spurred horses and were soon lost in the moonlit woods.

Skafti the yeoman sighed. He'd not had a chance to speak of reward for his tidings. These great folk were a mean lot.

Well. . . best not be found here when the king arrived. Skafti mounted his horse and rode slowly the other way.

V

How Peace Was Made

1

Early in summer, Harald moved his court up to Nidharos. He had scant reason for it, but in his mood Oslo seemed a cage. A few days after arriving thither, he rode out to visit Ulf.

It was a windy afternoon when he and his troop clattered into the garth; cloud shadows swept the rolling land and the trees roared. The marshal did not bid him welcome, but merely nodded. He was busy. Two strong men held the arms of a thrall seated before him, in front of the main house; Ulf himself gripped a blacksmith's tongs.

"What has this fellow done?" asked Harald.

"Sinned, I suppose, like anyone else," chuckled Ulf. "God has seen fit to punish him with toothache. Now, Gest, open your mouth." He stuck the tongs in, caught fast, and gave a yank. The tooth came out with a cracking sound, and the thrall whined.

"Hm." Ulf looked at the bloody thing. "It seems healthy enough. Open again." He peered into the gaping jaws. "Aye, I got the wrong one. Well, we'll try afresh." Snap! "There, now. Go get a stoup of ale. . . . No, you may have wine, as weregild for your good tooth." The marshal clapped him on the shoulder and turned laughing to his king. "So let evil ever be uprooted."

"And the good with it?" wondered Harald. He dismounted. A carle took his horse.

Ulf led him inside his small private lodge. Jorunn came quietly to set out mead for them, and closed the door as she left. They raised beakers and drank in silence.

"Well," asked the Icelander finally, "came you to speak of somewhat, or is it only a guesting?"

Harald ran a hand through his hair. "I know not. These days I seem to go in a fog."

Ulf nodded. Kindness stood on the dented face. "Hard it is to find one's road. I've heard tell of your trouble with Haakon Ivarsson."

"Did I do well there?" Harald rubbed his eyes, wearily. "It's not good having a powerful man in the kingdom who cannot be trusted."

"Haakon could be, if you two saw the world the same way."

"But that's the trouble." Harald sat up straight, anger in his voice. "Who is lord in this realm, Haakon Jarl or myself? No, let me but catch that traitor, and he'll ride Odhinn's horse."

"Hanging is no end for a brave man," protested Ulf. "By such deeds you drive the folk to rebellion."

"Would the folk but obey their rightful master, there'd be no need of such deeds!"

Ulf shrugged. "Be not wrathful at me," he said.

"It's too late to change anything . . . and had you been otherwise, old friend, I'd scarce have followed you these many years. Best we take the world as it stands and see what can be wrought."

Harald regarded him at length. "I may have stiffened," he said after a while, "but you have changed."

"A man grows old," said Ulf. "It no longer seems of great moment who shall have what." "Is it your sickness?"

"Perhaps. It plagues me oftener as time goes by. A leech-wife counseled me to live more easily, but the Devil take that. A life spent drowsing by the fire were not worth keeping. One old witch makes me a brew of toad skins that seems to help a little." Ulf made a face. "It should, so foul it tastes!"

"St. Olaf has healed many at his shrine."

"Aye, there I've been, but belike am not pious enough to win his favor; and I'm too set in my ways and have too much sport baiting the priest." Ulf's grin faded. "It hardly matters, Harald. In these late years, everything we have done seems one halloo, with naught to show for it and the world much the same whether we won or lost." His grizzled head nodded, slowly and carefully.

Harald felt an eeriness at the sight, and would not endure the thought. "We must weigh what's to be done," he said briskly. "It were madness to attack Denmark this year, with Haakon ready to pounce. Yet it galls me to have Svein go free."

"I know." Ulf's quick mood shifted, he was again the rasp-tongued troll. "You've gotten into the habit of looting Denmark, and that's not an easy one to break."

"There's been much talk of making peace with Svein," said Harald tonelessly. "Do you join in it?"

"Well . . . I've never been a peacemaker, but you might think on it. What would you gain from winning that crown? A sullen folk, even more troublesome than your Norsemen; a lifetime of border wars against Wendish raiders; your strength and wealth spent on holding a little frog pond. . . . There are better things to do."

"And all the years of trying to go for naught?" cried Harald.

"Before I taught myself to, hm, better my luck with the dice, I would get streaks where they ran against me. At such time I had wisdom enough not to throw away more money seeking to regain what was lost. Moreover, you've won great booty there, and wealth to outfit a mighty host."

"Against whom? The Swedes? It were worth going in there, if only to uproot Haakon Ivarsson. And the Swedish land is broad and good."

Ulf picked his bent nose. "Aye. But think you, Harald, the Swedes are still more stubborn than Norse or Danes . . . and more backward. You have no claim whatsoever to that throne, so you could scarce raise a man of them to fight for you."

"And most of them are heathen," agreed Harald. "Even if I got the kingdom, I would have to give my life to making them Christian or face the Church's ban in truth. It's a worthy work, but not one for which I feel a calling." He laughed sadly. "I thought, once, that kingship was pure power and glory, and naught could stay the king's hand save open defeat in war! Bitter is the wisdom I've gained."

"You'll not settle down to hold what you have," said Ulf. "It's not in you. Well, then . . . you have Haakon to reckon with, but if you can break him we must look for something else. Now, where else have you a claim?"

Harald's eyes looked far off. "England," he murmured.

"It's a mighty task," said Ulf. "Yet you have a certain right there, through Magnus Olafsson's treaty with Hardhaknut. You have the Orkneys and other western islands. You'd have Norsemen to help from Ireland and Scotland. Edward the Good dodders toward his deathbed, with no likely successor but Harold Godwinsson and he a mere earl."

"The crown of the North," said Harald, as if to himself. "He who held England would have riches and might beyond reckoning. He—or his son—could make short work of Denmark."

"The time is not ripe," said Ulf hastily. "It may never be."

Harald clamped his fists together. "It remains to be seen whether a man can shape the time or must be shaped by it."

Ulf's hardy soul shivered, ever so faintly, as he stared at the giant before him.

2

As soon as Haakon Ivarsson learned that King Harald was gone north, he returned to the Uplands. There he traveled widely about, spoke to many men and won them over to his cause. In fall, when his foe turned horse toward Oslo, Haakon went back to

Sweden. King Steinkell gave him a fief in Varmland, on the Raumariki border; this he steered well through the winter, so that both peoples of the kingdom, Swedes and Goths, also came to love him.

Snow fell, the land lay white and mute, folk huddled into the half sleep of winter. Haakon did not sit idle. After Yule he called up a host and went briefly through the Eidha Forest into Raumariki, where he gathered the taxes that were due him as Upland jarl; thereafter he withdrew to his fief.

When King Harald sent men into the shire to collect scot, the Raumariki yeomen answered that they had already paid to Haakon, and would pay to no one else while he lived and had not forfeited life and honors. Harald's men told them that this he had done, but the Uplanders' spokesman replied that the judgment of outlawry was unlawful, not having been passed by a Thing. They were many more than the royal troop, and well armed, so the bailiffs departed.

They expected fire and fury, and were the more frightened when the king did not move. Only his face changed, growing very white, and he said between his teeth: "This matter will not be let rest."

For days afterward he was not good to speak with.

Some time later, messengers came from Denmark to talk of peace. Harald heard them out, and sent back a cold answer. However, it was not a flat refusal, and Svein got enough hope from it to return another embassy. In the meantime, the best of the Norse court—Ulf, Eystein, Thjodholf, Thori of Steig, and others—urged an end to the war. "Our folk are weary, too many women are in mourning, surely God has shown He will not give us victory."

The king listened moodily, but when the Danish envoys came afresh he gave them a courteous welcome.

There was a day of darkling skies, the town gray and white, a few small snowflakes drifting windlessly earthward. Magnus and Olaf, who had become somewhat better friends as they grew up, were out for a breath of air and walked to and fro the courtyard. A pair of thralls were carting dung from the stables, otherwise no one was about; a single crow perched sadly on the storehouse rooftree.

Magnus stooped, made a ball of the crusted snow, and threw it at the bird. At fifteen, he was getting his growth, a slim long-legged boy with flowing hair and bright restless eyes. He laughed to see the crow flap off. Breath smoked from his mouth.

"Why did you so?" asked Olaf. A year younger, he was becoming big and heavy boned, still much given to silence; men said that in spite of being overly peaceful, he was wise beyond his years. "What harm had the bird done you?"

"What matters that?" answered Magnus. "He sat there waiting to have something thrown at him. Let him fight me, or bring suit at the Thing, if he feels it an injustice."

"Can you not bear justice within yourself?"

"You talk like a priest. Would you be a monk?"

"No," said Olaf gravely. "The world is too fair. But I'd not go seeking fights."

"Small wonder that father yells at you so often. He does at me, too, but it's a different anger."

Magnus wiped wrist across nose and tossed back his thick locks of hair. "When I am king, you'll see some real warfare!" "What boots it?"

"Why . . . wealth, strength, fame!"

"Wealth is better built than stolen; strength better kept for use when really needed; and there is more than one kind of fame. What has father gained in all his years of striving?"

Magnus' eyes widened, and he looked around him almost in fright. "Let him not hear you say that!"

"I say what I will," replied Olaf steadily, "though most times I find it best to keep my own counsel."

Magnus scratched his head. "You're an odd one."

They paced for a while, talking of other matters. Magnus tried to speak of the battle at the Niss like an old warrior, and of the girl he had lately bedded as if she were the hundredth rather than the first, but had an uneasy feeling that his brother held back a grin.

A door opened in the ladies' bower, and Elizabeth came out with her daughters and a couple of servant women. She smiled shyly at the boys. "Good day," she said.

Magnus nodded stiffly, he had long ago taken his mother's side, but Olaf showed her the same aloof courtesy he gave all the world. Ingigerdh said: "We were weaving in there, but it got too dark. Hoo, it's cold today!" She rubbed her hands: a plump apple-cheeked girl of fourteen, neither fair nor ugly, the one who was always only half remembered.

Maria outshone her too much. In eighteen years she had reached the full bloom of her youth, tall and slender, white skinned and high-breasted, with lustrous sorrel tresses and a face carved thin and lovely. There seemed a sadness on her, though she did not speak of it.

"Best I go in," said Magnus frostily. "The king is talking privately with the Danes, but he may have need of me." He walked off stiff legged.

Elizabeth's lips twitched, and she was surprised to see the same smile hover on Olaf. "Know you how the talk fares?" she asked.

"No," said Olaf, "no man knows that."

"I hoped . . ." Elizabeth sighed. "No matter. Let him decide; none else can do it."

"My mother ..." Olaf stopped, reddening.

"Yes?" said Elizabeth gently.

"My mother counsels war to the end," he blurted. "She should remember it's not an affair for women. ... I meant no offense, my lady."

"None taken, Olaf. It's truth you speak."

He mumbled some excuse and followed Magnus.

Elizabeth looked after him. "When that lad grows up, he will be a wise man," she said. "I think already he knows how much may be done simply by waiting."

"As Svein Estridhsson has waited?" said Ingigerdh.

"Yes." The queen dismissed her servants and began to walk the courtyard. Her daughters accompanied her on either side. Snow scrunched beneath their feet, otherwise the court lay frozen into silence.

"I wonder if King Svein does not have tomorrow with him," she went on after a moment. "He uses his head."

"Father is a man of deep mind," said Ingigerdh staunchly.

"Yes . . . deeper, perhaps, than anyone knows, even himself. Who can tell what he means to do, or how much he has already done? It's a lonely work he has—the last and greatest of the Vikings, seeking the end of the Viking age. I know not, I know not. . . ." Her voice faded away. A few snowflakes swirled down to lie on her cowl.

"If we get peace with Denmark," said Maria, "then Thora will be ill pleased." More than a little malice was in her tone.

Elizabeth flushed. "Peace would be best," she said, "but peace or war, none of us is to say a word against it. A woman who can wait—a lifetime if she must—and stand by her man in good and ill, wisdom and madness—which Thora cannot—such a woman has hope."

"Waiting!" said Maria bitterly.

Elizabeth gave her a glance of compassion. "Yes, it is the hardest part," she said. "To wait, and not to wish death on anyone else, but to accept God's will—it is no easy thing to be a Christian."

The girl looked away. "Think you father will end the war?" she asked in a hurried slur.

Elizabeth's hands writhed together. "I know not. Never a word will I say if he chooses to fight, but—Christ give it be peace!"

3

In spring, Harald and Svein called out goodly fleets and made a stormy passage to the Gota border between their kingdoms. Men knew the meeting would be to discuss terms, but none could say it would not end in battle.

Tents spread over the shores, the banners of mighty owners flapping red and blue, green and gold before them. Ships crowded the river and warriors the banks, sunbeams glared off arms and helmets, the woods and fields spilled boisterous men.

As the Fafnir moved inward, Harald stood at the prow, looking before him through cold eyes. "This meeting was called long ago," he said.

Thjodholf answered soothingly: "That was for another purpose, my lord. Now we seek to clear our decks for greater things."

Harald made no reply to that. The dragon dropped anchor, and he went silently to his boat and was rowed ashore.

King Svein had come down to greet him. They regarded each other closely; it was many years since they had stood face to face. Harald saw lines furrowed deeply into the Dane's countenance and a darkness under the eyes, and he thought harshly that this much, at least, he had gained.

"In God's name, welcome, King Harald," said Svein; his hand went forth a little, but when no move was made to take it, withdrew carelessly.

The Norseman said in a chill tone: "Let us at once take oaths concerning the truce, and then talk. I would not remain here longer than I must."

"As you will," said Svein. It was hard to tell whether his mask decked fear or joy. Belike he felt both. That which he had striven for during half his life trembled within his hands, and the giant might dash it away again.

Harald refused Svein's invitation to feast, but ate in his own tent as soon as it was set up. Thereafter he led the great men of his court to the meeting place. This was in a yeoman's house, and strange it was to see that much power and finery under its smoky rafters.

The kings sat opposite each other. Harald was flanked by Ulf and Thori of Steig, while Svein had Bishop William on his right hand. Dane and Norse looked across the fire trench through hooded eyes. Outside, their men mingled cheerily, and the tide rocked both their fleets. Beyond the anchorage, the sea heaved restless, empty to the earth's rim.

Bishop William took the word. "We are met to further God's will, which is ever for peace among Christians," he said pompously. "Long and cruel has the strife been, little gain to either side and much wrong done both." Harald listened with half an ear as he went on, ending in a prayer for divine guidance. Then the Norse king spoke:

"It is less by our own will than by the wish of our folk that we are here. Ill fares the land which has not its rightful king, and for our part we do not agree that Svein is entitled to the Danish crown. He is no son or grandson of Knut the Great; and by a treaty sworn long ago between Hardhaknut and Magnus, the Norse king is also ruler of Denmark. Moreover, Svein himself gave oaths of fealty to Magnus Olafsson, which he later broke. All men know our belief in this matter; but for the sake of mercy, we are willing to consider coming to terms."

Svein sprang up, red-faced. His tone was shaky as he replied: "As for my own birth, it is not lowly, and I am the nearest living kin of Knut Sveinsson. By ancient law and right, the Danish crown descends according to degrees of kinship, and is given only by the Danish folk. Any treaty which says otherwise is unlawful. Long ago did Holy Church absolve me of any oaths I might have had to yield, and since then I have been forced to fight, and my people to suffer under, the attacks of lawless greed. The Church, which binds and looses on earth as in heaven, has been well pleased with my reign, while taking ill the heathenish insolence of certain other kings who would set themselves above Christ's vicar. Speak not of law to me."

Harald smiled starkly. "We wished but to make our stand clear," he said. "We came not hither to bandy insults like a fishwife. The Danes have sent messages that they desire peace. Let them set forward such terms as they have in mind, and we will consider them. But let no man think we yield aught in weakness or fear."

Svein stroked his beard; calm had again come over him, and he spoke with the craftiness of many years' royal dealings. "The border between our realms must be agreed on," he said, "and furthermore we must remember the destruction which this war has wrought. Perhaps some of my jarls can speak of that."

"Aye." A white-bearded Dane, wrapped in costly furs, stood up. "My lords, I say naught of my own two sons slain, dear though they were to me, nor of ships lost and warriors crippled and killed, for this could happen in any war. But in my fief are homeless folk, wasted fields, burned houses, slaughtered kine that rotted where they fell, goods and monies stolen, harmless people murdered and raped and carried off to thralldom. For these evil deeds there must be some atonement."

"What!" bellowed Ulf. "When have men paid weregild to their sworn foes? If you choose a king too weak to defend you, you must bear the outcome."

"It is not only a reaving of Denmark," said Svein quickly, "but of all Christendom. Each year the heathen Wends come sailing to rob and kill, until few men dare live in sight of the coast. Denmark stands as a bulwark against them, and so do the bodies of Danish men, while you harry us from the north. Beware of weakening Denmark too much. If we fall, your coasts will burn next."

Harald snorted. "Ever must you wear the pious cloak, Svein Estridhsson," he said. "But sooner will I be slain than rob the brave lads who followed me of that which they earned with blood."

Both kings were standing now, and glaring at each other. An uproar lifted through the hall, men shouting into men's mouths, fists aloft and oaths on lips.

"Think not I ask peace because I fear you, Harald Hardrede," cried Svein. "It is for the sake of my people. But I've thwarted your greed for nigh twenty years, and will fight you for twenty more rather than that they have an evildoer such as you for king."

"If you are not too great a coward, we can put the matter to test this day," growled Harald. "Or are you afraid no traitor this time will help you run away?"

"My lords!" exclaimed Bishop William. "My lords, think where you are! In God's name, keep peace during the truce, at least!"

Harald wheeled and stalked from the hall. His men followed.

That night Danes and Norse camped apart, guards out and weapons beside every sleeper. It did not escape Harald how much gloom there was among his folk; they had little stomach for a war which gutted two kingdoms for no clear gain. The knowledge struck him anew, shatteringly, that even if he wiped out the whole Danish army and court, the land would not be his.

Well—time went, dreams crumbled and blew away. He wondered if he had will and courage enough to start afresh. It was eighteen years since he had been hailed king with Magnus, and he had come no farther who once meant to shape the empire of the North.

A verse went among the camps, none knew who had made it, but men said it to each other:

"Many folk their mouths use,

at meeting, in each army;

haughtiness breeds hatred

in hosts of Dane and Norseman.

None will wish to nod

his neck unto another;

and the kings are angry,

egging on the trouble.

* * *

"Warlike royal wills

give warning of ill tidings;

men who'd act as makepeace

measure into scalepans.

Fearlessly and freely,

folk should say their wishes:

evil is this hour

if enemies go homeward."

It was like a groan out of the darkened earth.

Perhaps King Svein heard it too. Men went between the rulers: Ulf, Thori, Thjodholf, Eystein from the Norse; William and Harald Sveinsson from the Danes. Days of wrangling followed, but the lords who looked out the door to see the armies mingled, talking and drinking and gaming like old friends, felt something of a shudder. Here they sat, in gold and marten furs, masters of men and broad lands, still building up their power; was it possible that someday they would give an order and no one would obey? Svein wondered a little about that. . . God might in time bring all things to pass. Harald was only concerned, bleakly, with getting what he could.

And peace was made. Each king would reign over his own, to the border which had been laid down dim ages ago; neither would pay aught to the other, but each man must bear his own gain or loss as best he could. This peace was to remain between the realms for as long as both kings lived; and it was sworn to with mighty oaths on holy relics, and confirmed by exchange of hostages.

When the news was spread about, the warriors broke into shameless cheering, dancing around and clashing sword on shield and falling into the arms of erstwhile foes, until the forest birds fled upward in a startled cloud. When he came home, Harald thought, bells would ring as they had never rung for a victory.

He felt more alone than ever before in his life.

Svein sought him. The Dane bore a warmth in his eyes which few had seen erenow.

"You fought bravely," he said. "No man has had a more valiant foe than I, and if we gained naught else we have honor and names which will not be forgotten. I bear you no ill will, Harald Sigurdharson. Shall we not be friends?"

The Norse king looked down at him. "We have sworn peace," he said. "See that you keep this one vow."

He turned and walked slowly away.

VI

How They Fought in Sweden

1

That summer King Harald again dwelt in Oslo, busying himself with everday matters; but he sent many spies into the Uplands and questioned closely all men who came back from foreign voyages. It was to be seen that he was often in a dark humor, but these fits slowly lifted and became less common, as if he had found some new hope. No man was told what this might be, and talk of it ranged everywhere from another journey toward Jotunheim to a conquest of England.

In midseason, the royal bailiffs went forth to gather taxes, and the Upland yeomen refused them afresh. When this was told the king, he nodded. "I expected naught else," he said evenly. "They have had two chances now; there shall not be a third."

The bailiffs felt a freezing, as if the quiet words had held winter cold.

Still Harald dawdled, while harvest time approached. Elizabeth often sang at her work, but Thora grew more and more sullen. Finally she could hold herself in no longer.

It was on an evening of rain and mist, the first bite of frost in the air as days shortened, that her man went in to her. He had been sleeping more with his wife of late, which whetted his leman's temper. She was seated before a mirror, tending her hair, when he walked into the bedchamber of her house.

His great height filled the doorway as he dropped the bolt behind him. She turned the face of a foe and regarded him.

"Well," she said, "did you want a change? Now that summer is past, you seem less fond of icicles."

"I order my own affairs," he answered shortly.

"And never have you thought that someone else might have rights in the matter." Thora slammed her brush down on the table. "Indeed you are Harald Hardrede. Yet already, as you near the half century mark, you become a coal biter."

He raised his left brow. "So now you would wear breeches and steer the kingdom," he murmured.

Thora got up and came toward him, her fists doubled at her flanks. He thought anew what a fair and lively woman she was, and felt an old wish. It was saddening how all in life, power and friends, horses and ships and love, could become simple habit.

Yes, he thought, it was past time that we ended the war against Svein and sought something new. "I do not wish to," said Thora, "but someone must be king, and it seems you've no more heart for the task."

That stung, but he held himself on tight rein. "There is more to ruling than you know," he said. "Have you ever had a thought in your life?"

"So now you must reproach me," she flared. "I must bear the blame of your life's failures."

"In what way think you I have failed? Luck was not always mine, but we still hold Norway's throne."

"And what else? Svein Estridhsson rubbed your nose in the dirt for nearly two decades, and you slunk home a whipped dog. Haakon Jarl sits in Sweden and laughs at you. The Upland ground grubbers make mock of your rule. And you piddle about in Oslo! You've not even the courage to go hunting anymore—are you afraid some big bad fawn will trample you?"

The unbound hair caught the candlelight in a fiery gleam. Her mouth was drawn back, teeth flashing wetly, her nostrils widened and the long green-gold eyes defied him.

"You'll not even keep this muckheap of a town if you let your own folk flout you," she cried. "What have you ever done but rush around like a landless Viking, stealing when no one was there to defend and turning tail when men appeared?"

Anger beat in his temples. "We whipped twice our own number at the Niss," he said loudly. "That much you saw for yourself."

"Who won over them?" She laughed on a shrill note. "Haakon Ivarsson! He gave you victory at that battle, and took the war away from you, and today he yaps across the border knowing you dare not seek him out! Before God, I should go throw myself on my back before Haakon and hope to have sons by a man!"

"Now you've said too much," he rumbled. One hand leaped forth to grip her shoulder. She set teeth against a shriek at its force.

"Make war on women!" she yelled. "Little else are you fit for!"

He pushed her from him, and she staggered back. "Hear me," he said. "I've wrought what will endure when our wars are a page in a dusty book: strengthened the throne, built this town, brought in outland goods and ways. But you do not even try to understand. I bear plans you've not the power to dream of. If I choose not to tell them to a blabber-tongued wench whom it were better to turn across my knee, that's my affair. Naught ails you save greed. My work has never meant a thing to you but more gold, more silks, more thralls to serve your laziness. I've not heard one new word from you in all the years we've lived together. You've taken with both hands and given naught save nagging, like any crofter's carline."

"I gave you two sons," she answered. She stood half crouched, as if to leap upon him with claws. "That's more than Ellisif has done, for all her bookreading."

"Speak no word against her," he said out of a tightening throat. "Sometimes I rue the day I met you. When things have gone well, you were ready enough to reap the good of them; but in an evil moment, you stand by my foes."

She stiffened, and then something went from her and she flung herself onto a chair and wept. His wrath sputtered and sparked, suddenly drenched.

"So you would try tears," he said at last, but his mockery was unsure.

She raised a wet face and he saw the hunger on it.

"No," she gulped. "It's that I've wished so much for you ... for us . . . and there has been so little "

He bent over and laid an awkward hand on her head. "We've had luck in the small things," he said, "but somehow have never gained the great. It may be we never shall; that the times are indeed unready, and no man can ripen a field before harvest season. Yet I mean to try, Thora. This winter I mean to seek out Haakon and destroy him; I wait till then lest the whole Swedish levy be brought against us. And afterward— Mighty deeds remain to do. Our sons shall have a greater inheritance than any Norse king ever gained, if God and St. Olaf aid. Perhaps I forget you're younger than I and time goes more slowly for you."

She came into his arms, and he caressed her, and that night was as if the years since their first meeting had dropped away. Thereafter they were together all the time, and Elizabeth sang no more.

2

Only a few ragged leaves were on the oaks, the rest of the woods shivered in nakedness and the fields had begun to stiffen, when a scout galloped into Haakon Ivarsson's Varmland garth. He stayed not for meat or drink ere blurting his tale: that King Harald and the best of his troop were on their way.

"I looked for naught else," said Haakon, and let the war arrows start their summons. He felt no fear, rather a swift upward flaming of eagerness. Belike this was his time to bring down his foe. Countless were the ghosts that would be avenged when Harald Hardrede was slain. And thereafter a return in triumph to a Norway made free!

While his host of Goths and Varmlanders was rallying, he had spies out who brought him news of the king's faring. Harald had sailed to Konungahella, where he took the lightest of his ships and steered them up the Gota; at the falls he let them be dragged overland, and so came to Lake Vanern. This he crossed in an easterly direction, went a short way up a thinly frozen river beyond, and then left the ships under guard while he led the rest of his men on horse and foot. They pushed through a murky forest, and over moors and mires, toward Haakon's steading; but the jarl did not intend that Harald should look again on Ragnhild and the children.

It was late afternoon of a bitter-cold day when the two bands met each other. Haakon and his little army came out of a wood and saw the Norsemen not far off; horns blew, banners lifted, and both hosts fell into ranks.

The jarl sat his horse in the forefront of his battle line, looking over at the enemy. A bog lay between, where reeds thrust brown and forlorn through ice that glimmered beneath the low pale sun. Beyond the bog rose a hill, on which the king's men stood. Their spears and helmets caught the light as a flash of bleakness. Haakon could plainly spy Harald, astride a black Spanish barb that stamped and snorted and blew steam from its nose. There could be no mistaking that huge form, and the king wore a helmet that burned with gold. Beside him, a youth held the flag Landwaster; it curled in the breeze, blood-red and raven-black. Elsewhere Haakon recognized the standards of Ulf, Eystein, Styrkaar . . . men who had once been his friends. He shivered and crossed himself.

The Norse made no move. Haakon could just hear their king's voice, but the order was plain to him; they sat down under their shields, waiting rather than yield the advantage of higher ground. Glancing to right and left of his own lines, he saw the Swedish yeomen blue with cold. They had not had Harald's foresight and brought heavy garments.

"Let us bide awhile," he said. "Let them come to us through the mire. We'll make it warm for them."

Clouds hurried out of the east; soon the sun was hidden and it began to snow. Those were tiny, dry flakes, but fell thickly; it was hard to see the king's men through them. Haakon slapped his hands together, trying to drive blood back into the skin.

Thorvidh, the lawman of the Goths, was mounted nearby, a swag-bellied old man, his nose red above white whiskers. He alone of his folk was warmly clad. His horse was tethered to a peg driven into the stone-hard earth, and he was quite ready to wait.

Now he puffed himself importantly, turned in the saddle, and spoke to his followers:

"God knows we have gathered here a host to be proud of, so strong and handsome as we are; therefore, let King Steinkell hear that we have stood honestly by our good jarl. Certain am I that if the Norsemen dare come to us, they'll soon mark whom they have to deal with!" His men hunched their shoulders and blew on numbed hands and wiped snow from their beards. Thorvidh roared on:

"But should it happen that the young among us, unripe in war, give way, then we are not to run further than to yon brook. Or if the youngest men—which is unthinkable—should give way again, then we will run to that hill over there, but not one step further!"

At this moment, the Norse raised their war cry, leaping up and clamoring sword on shield. The Swedes answered, till ears rang. The lawman's horse shied, yanking up the peg so that it whizzed past Thorvidh's head.

"Damn those Norsemen!" he wailed. "How they do shoot!" And off went the lawman, to be seen no more that day.

Haakon cursed as the Goths wavered. "Up our banner!" he yelled. "Charge them!"

He spurred his own horse, down the bank and into the mire. Ice crackled beneath. Suddenly the beast was knee-deep in half-frozen mud. Behind him, the Swedes shouted anew, some calling on Odhinn and some on Christ, and rolled after.

Haakon beat his horse, driving it forward. A gust of snow whirled in his eyes. "Holy Olaf, stand by us today," he prayed. "It's your son's banner we bear." His heart drummed within him. Over the bog and up the hill and see King Harald's guts!

With a gasp and a squelch, the horse pulled free on the other side, Haakon's blade hummed in his fingers. Shadowy forms were before him. A stone bounced off his shield. He reined in his steed, looked back and saw his men struggle through the muck behind.

"God send the right!" he shouted.

"Hola, Odhinn!" The heathen warriors formed their line afresh, raggedly, and panted up the slope in his trail.

Horns blasted and the Norse charged down to meet them. Haakon saw two men before him, axes aloft. His horse reared again, brought hoofs down on one—the fellow toppled, while Haakon's sword bit at his friend. He glimpsed a face gaping up at him, blood was a sudden crimson in the snow. Once more he struck; the man sank beneath his glaive.

Thus from horseback had he seen the Normans make war in the West. He wished he had their cavalry now. Harald would get short shrift!

Someone else bawled an oath, and a giant loomed out of the snow. Briefly, wildly, Haakon thought it King Harald, then he remembered Gunnar Geiroddsson. The carle was shieldless, wielding an ax two-handed which few men could have swung. He stormed down, the weapon whistled, and Haakon himself felt the shock that split the horse's head.

The jarl kicked free of his stirrups and was on the ground before his mount had fallen. His blade reached out. Gunnar stopped it on the ax helve. Haakon caught the next blow on his iron shield rim. It gave way, wood splintered and leather sheared, the jarl’s arm nearly lost the handgrip.

"Hoo, there!" roared Gunnar. "Stand fast, little man, stand fast!"

Haakon dropped the broken shield and danced before his enemy, blade like a snake's tongue. Gunnar had not such swiftness, but wounds seemed to mean naught to him. If one of his own blows landed, there was an end of Haakon Ivarsson.

The jarl darted in, swinging for the thick neck. Almost, he had Gunnar, but the fellow slipped and went on his back. Haakon leaped for him. Gunnar lifted both feet and kicked out. Haakon lurched away.

When the jarl's head cleared, he found himself elsewhere in a monstrous confusion. The Norse stood together, hammering as one creature with a hundred arms. These were no hastily summoned carles, but men whose trade was war. The Swedes were already giving ground, here a man fell, there a man was pushed aside; their ranks were being broken up.

"Christ help us!" groaned Haakon. The battle fury jumped anew in him, he went into the line and began trading blows. The guardsman before him dropped his shield a moment, long enough for Haakon to cut his arm to the bone. The jarl sprang over him as he fell to one knee.

"Forward, my men!" he cried. "Forward and kill them!"

The din of weapons came through whirling sheets of snow. Haakon found himself against three Norsemen squeezed out of their own ranks. A spear thrust at him. He sidestepped it and clove the spearman's neck. A sword banged off his byrnie. Wrenching his own blade free, he fell to the attack, clash, clash, clash, and suddenly the foe was shrieking on the ground. The third man had been circling about, in search of a chance to strike. Haakon fell on him. Swords belled together, sparks jumped where they met, and the warrior's was torn from his grasp. Haakon cut him down and turned panting after more enemies.

A wild whoop rose. As the snowfall lessened, he saw the Swedish line buckle. He saw King Harald, blade ablaze, lead the final charge.

Darkness swam before Haakon's eyes. He was done, he had failed, Harald Hardrede had smashed his hopes and trampled them underfoot. There they went, the heartless cravens, breaking and running into the woods, little they cared to sit in Valhall!

Haakon shook his fist at the sky. "Why did You not give me some Norsemen?" he shrieked.

Then he picked up a spear and went swiftly in among the trees himself.

3

Pursuit of the Swedes did not last long, for darkness came fast. In the guttering glare of torches, Harald's army gathered itself again. The snow had stopped falling, but lay white on the dead. Strange how helpless a man was once he had died, not even able to keep the snow off his freezing body; he went back to babyhood and soiled himself and crept into the night from which he had come.

Harald regarded the banner of Magnus. "This much we have," he said. "But did the jarl fall?"

"I know not," said Ulf. He and Gunnar were tilting a jug the latter had carried along; being wearied, they were well started toward drunkenness. "Too many dead; I've no wish t' turn o'er corpses."

"Haw!" said Gunnar. "You'd liefer turn over a Swedish wench, eh?" He felt cocky; the king had promised him fine gifts and a place in the royal guard for his work today.

"If she lay on her belly, aye," said Ulf. He made owl eyes. "But she nee'n' be Sweesh. Any race'll do. I min' one Moorish maid down in Miklagardh ... see, skaldcraft there . . . many years agone; ah, yes, t' be young!"

Harald's face thrust its red-splashed crags out of shadow. "We've broken the Gotland and Varmland hosts, at least," he said. "Late will they follow Haakon again after this drubbing! Now it's a matter of teaching our own Uplanders some manners."

"That will be harder," said Eystein. A wryness twisted his mouth. "They are Norse. I like it not."

"Nor I," said Harald, "but the task must be done." His glance fell on Magnus, who had come with this band and fought well. "I'd not leave you a kingdom where men dared rebel, my son."

The youth's face kindled.

The host worked busily, binding up hurt friends and putting these with their fallen comrades on litters chopped from branches. Thereafter they stripped the Swedish dead, for a good plunder of weapons and ornaments, but let the wounded foemen, fallen into their hands, go home as best they might. It was some time before the conquerors started back to the ships.

That would be several hours' walk, but Harald had no wish to camp in the snow. He mounted his stallion and led the way. Behind him, torches flickered down the trail, like a snake with scales of fire. Overhead the sky was clearing, stars glistened out and the moon threw an eldritch whiteness on the land.

Ulf rode too. "Walk alongside me, Gunnar," he asked. "I'm like t' fall off. Wha' the Devil'd you put in 'at jug?"

"Wine, I bought some wine off a chapman ere we left Oslo. Methought 'twould serve well."

"So it has, so it has." Ulf hiccupped. "I'll be less happy t'morr'w, but tonight . . . stars, moon, aye, i's cold an' well I'd like t' get into a good warm woman."

"I know some in Oslo," said Gunnar.

"No." The marshal shook his head dolefully. "Back at home I'm good steady househol'er. One at a time. . . Got good wife. Sweet li'l woman once she's shouted at enough. No' th' man I use't' be. Time was when ... I ramble. All women're alike, saving only one, see you. So why mus' a man ever be looking f'r a new one, she's but more o' th' same, an' yet t'night . . ."

He threw back his head and broke into bawdy song. The men nearby grinned and took it up. Soon the whole host was roaring it out.

Harald hunched in the saddle. He had taken off his chill armor and donned a thick coat, but still the winter struck at him. There was time. . . . His head lifted, defiantly. Before God, he was not yet old, he would still stand the world on its tail!

They had crossed the open ground and now entered the main forest. It gloomed about them, tangled brush and frost-glittery beech, a wall on either side. Stars flickered in the twigs, as if netted there. So narrow was the trail that just one at a time could pass. Harald's standard-bearers rode in front of him and behind, the leader carrying the bear flag of King Magnus. Its white folds glimmered like victory.

Ulf was wandering off on a long discourse. His words drifted faintly to Harald: "... see you, many ways t' buil' a ship, down south th' galleys 're clumsy, but they've a thought with decking o'er the whole of 'em. Woul'n' y' like t' row dry f'r once? An' warm—Hell take me, 's cold! No more in that jug, Gunnar? No? Well, well, I'd but have more o' headache t'morr'w. . . ."

The king smiled. A drowsy warmth rose inside him. Good it was to ride victorious with friends at his back.

He heard brushwood snap to the right, and started awake. The broken moonlight shuddered off steel. A man was leaping across the path—a tall man who bore a spear in one hand.

"Hoy!" shouted Harald, and snatched for his sword.

The tall man lifted the spear and hurled it. The king heard it smack in flesh; suddenly the point gleamed out of his foremost standard-bearer's back. The youth gave a scream as he fell from the saddle.

Ere Harald could draw blade, the tall man had seized Magnus' banner and was gone with it.

The Norse line jarred to a halt. Torches bobbed, throwing eyes and teeth out of night. "What is it, what happened? In Christ's name what's this latest ill?"

Harald drew a shaking breath. He felt the cold crackle around and through him.

"Give me my byrnie," he said. "The jarl lives."

VII

How Ellisif Was Angry

1

In that part of the night which remained, the Norse stayed aboard their ships. By dawn the chill had deepened, and in the first light men saw that the river had frozen over again, this time so thickly that one could walk on the ice.

Magnus came sliding merrily down it, until he reached his father's craft; there he caught the stem and twirled to a halt. "What shall we do?" he asked.

The king glowered over the side. It was a gnawing in his soul that Haakon had escaped; he told himself it mattered not, the jarl's power was broken, but that was a frosty comfort. "We must chop a way clear," he said. "The Uplanders shall not enjoy their insolence a day longer than I can help."

"So be it. Whoo-oo!" Magnus skated back on his boot soles. His ship had been last to enter the river, and thus lay closest to the lake. He cried orders to the crew, and took a hand himself.

Though the air was searingly cold, it was a bright morning, with blue shadows across an utter whiteness of snow and the ice ashimmer. The sound of axes and boat hooks made echoes bounce over the stream and back from the woods. Tired though they were from yesterday, the men worked fast, if only to keep warm; the cooks wavered across the ice with food and drink for them, and water swirled blackly in the holes they cut.

Erelong they were in sight of the lake. The ships behind Magnus' were using the channel, so that their men had less to do and came to help his. Last of all was the king's vessel. From it sprang a guardsman, Hall Otryggsson, who was renowned for his great deeds and stood high in Harald's favor. He fell to with a wild strength; the ax was blurred in his hand.

One of Magnus' crew stopped to watch, and said admiringly: "There you see it, as often before; no one can lay so much power where it's needed as Hall Kodhran's bane. See how it goes!"

A young man in the prince's following grew suddenly pale. This was Thormodh Eindridhason, who had but lately joined Magnus from the North country; it was his first taste of war, though he had already made himself a good friend of the king's son.

"Is that . . ." He gulped and asked through dry lips: "Is that indeed the Hall who slew Kodhran Gudhmundarson many years ago?"

"So it is; they had some quarrel. What of it?"

"Only this," whispered Thormodh, "that Kodhran was my mother's cousin. I was scarce a year old when he was killed, but ..."

Stumbling on the ice, he went over. Hall looked at him, puzzled, and Thormodh's ax came down. It split Hall's head to the jaws.

A bellow went up. Magnus came jumping from one loose floe to the next. "What is it?" he cried. "Have you gone mad, Thormodh?"

"No ..." The youth crossed himself and stared at the corpse. Blood and brains steamed as they flowed out onto the ice. "I was but avenging my kin."

Magnus bit his lip. "Ill is this. The king will make short work of you if he gets his hands . . . No, I'll stand by you, my friend. Quickly, let's away!"

Silent, half stunned, his crew finished their task under his barked orders. They entered the ship, got oars, and pushed into the unfrozen lake. An east wind had come up, and Magnus had mast and sail raised. The light vessel surged ahead, westward over Lake Vanem.

It was some time before the others were clear. Harald's craft was the last one out. By then he had heard the tale, and wrath boiled in him.

"That he would dare! That the lout would dare murder my own guardsman! For this I'll hang him myself. ... Set sail and after them!"

The king took the steering oar himself and nursed what speed his ship could make out of her. His face was stiff, but he gnawed his mustache and muttered to himself.

Thjodholf the skald ventured to speak: "This was a matter of blood feud, my lord."

"If Thormodh had a lawful complaint, he could have brought it before me and the Thing," said Harald. "There's been enough of men who think they are the law."

Only one man has that right? wondered the skald, but did not dare say it aloud.

The short day had worn thin when Harald's ships reached the agreed anchorage. He saw Magnus' beached there, and sprang ashore and stormed toward his son.

"Where is the murderer?" he snapped. "Bring him to me!"

The prince flinched, then gathered courage to look up into his father's eyes. "He is gone. I let him go free."

"You—!"

"He is my friend. I myself will pay the weregild and whatever fine you levy-."

Harald seized the boy's coat in both hands and shook him till his teeth rattled. "I want no monies, you cub! I want that rascal's life. Are you too in rebellion against me?"

Magnus wrenched free and clapped a hand on his sword hilt; rage darkened his cheeks and drove out fear. "Have a care, father," he said shakily. "I'm not one of your dogs."

"No—a dog keeps faith!" Harald lifted his arm and shouted through the winter dusk: "Hoy guardsmen! Come bind this puppy for judgment."

Magnus looked around; his crew, young men like himself, mustered heart and bristled behind him. "If anyone lays hands on me," said the prince, "he is a dead man."

"Then see if you dare fall on your own father!" Harald's blade whined out. Ulf and Eystein arrived. The marshal thrust his own body between the two. "What witch has been working here?" he cried. "Are you mad, that you make war on your own flesh?"

Magnus stuttered in his wrath; Harald cuffed at Ulf. "Stand aside or it'll be the worse for you. I am the king."

"Horse shit!" spat the marshal. "Take those tin swords, both of you, and cram them where they'll do the most good. Else I'll turn you brats over my knee and send you hungry to bed!"

Eystein spoke more soothingly, but his voice was not heard until the anger of father and son had bent toward Ulf. Meanwhile, Thjodholf threatened Styrkaar, who was ready to fall single-handed on Magnus' crew: "Hold back, you ruffian, or I'll spit you myself and eat you raw." The skald's sword was poised at the warrior's neck,

"Have done," begged Eystein. "In Christ's holy name, have done. Truly there must be witchcraft here; this quarrel can please none but our foes."

"Well . . ." Harald's blade drooped. "If we can lay hands on the murderer ... if you will help in that task, Magnus ..."

"That I will not," said the prince, "but I offer again to pay the fines, also one for any insult I may have shown you. A man stands behind his friends."

"You call yourself a man?" growled Harald. He clashed his sword back into the sheath. "Well, then, so be it, if you give me self-doom. I warn you the fines will be heavy."

"I can afford that." Magnus drew breath and grinned with stiff lips. "A warrior grows wealthy following you."

Harald's mouth twitched, ever so faintly. He set the penalties, and they were high, but men noted that his humor was good that evening and that he looked on his son with pride.

2

Svein Estridhsson was holding court at Roskilde when word came that a shipful of Swedes had landed and were on their way to see him. The Danish king wondered at this, but had a feast readied.

It was late the next day when the party reached him. Svein sat at his ease in the high seat. The hard-won peace had lifted care from him, he could sleep of nights and was putting on flesh; but there were thin gray streaks in his hair, and sometimes he woke up whimpering. He was richly clad, in scarlet Southland hose, a silken Eastern blouse, a broidered Russian coat trimmed in ermine, velvet shoes, and gold on his arms and at his throat. The great men who sat below him were scarcely less colorful.

Firelight splashed red and yellow on the man who entered. He was a tall and strongly built warrior, with curly yellow hair and a well-trimmed mustache, a tilted nose and forthright gray eyes. Behind him came a young woman of exceeding fairness, four children about her skirts, and after her the Swedish crew. All were weary and sea-stained.

"So." King Svein tugged his short beard. "We meet again, Haakon Ivarsson."

"Aye, my lord." The jarl strode boldly up, but bowed as courtesy required. "It seems I must claim your friendship."

"Well . . . you saved my life and kingdom," said Svein. "Is this your wife and family? Come, sit beside me and we'll talk of it."

Haakon sighed and gulped down the cup of wine handed him. "Know you what has happened, my lord?"

"I heard somewhat of a battle between you and King Harald."

"Aye." Haakon's tone was acrid; the youthful gaiety had left him; it was a tired grim man who sat by the Dane-king. "He put us to flight. I urged King Steinkell to make war on him for such an invasion, but Steinkell dared not." Haakon sneered his scorn. "Now I seek the only lord who ever had courage to stand against Harold Hardrede and beat him."

"There is no more war between us two," said Svein carefully. "We are both sworn to keep the peace."

"I know. It was too much to hope for. . . ." Haakon's head lowered. He was worn out by the seething within him. "Yet I'd liefer serve you, my lord, than any living man."

Svein made a lengthy business of drinking from a fresh beaker. His eyes were kind. "I think I understand you, Haakon," he said, "and you shall not find me ungrateful. The feeling over Asmund's death has died down; I can pay the weregild and threaten his kin with my displeasure if they carry on the feud. As for you—" He paused. "I have no jarl in Halland since Finn Arnason died, and a good man is needed. He must ward the shire against Wends and Norse alike."

He regarded Haakon narrowly. "Yet homesickness has smitten you erenow."

"Norway is not my home," sighed the other. "Not while Harald and his cursed brood reign. I've no wish to see it again in chains."

"Then we will take oaths tomorrow, and you shall be my jarl." Svein smiled and slapped Haakon on the back and signaled for more wine. "Come, friend, here's an end to your wanderings. I too have known landlessness and been tossed in many storms; but the storms pass, and a reed lives where an oak has been uprooted. Let your folk strike root in Denmark and flourish!"

Haakon smiled back; it cost him an effort. "I thank you, my lord," he said. "To a fresh beginning—skaal!"

Svein clinked beakers with him. "A new beginning for us all," he said.

Thereafter Haakon Ivarsson dwelt in Halland. He steered it well, guarded it bravely, and lived long years as jarl. But his kindred marked that he was not the glad warrior he had been.

3

After his journey into Varmland, Harald came back to Oslo, but waited there only to raise a new host. He levied it from the Dale and nearby shires—men who had no deep love for the Laplanders—and took it into Raumariki the same winter.

Folk in steadings and hamlets woke to find their homes ringed in by spears. They were haled forth, and the king himself towered there to accuse them.

They had not known he had so many spies; some thought in the thunder of their brains that he must have used witchcraft to learn so closely what each yeoman had done and said. He ripped forth judgment: death for some, hands or feet lopped off for others, everything they owned taken from most. Women and children stumbled weeping into the snow as their homes were fired.

The word ran through the mountains, and folk fled where they could; more and more empty houses met the royal troop. These were looted and burned like any enemy's, kine were slaughtered and left to the crows, cribs set ablaze. Hunger would stalk the Uplands that year.

A few tried to make a stand. They were quickly beaten down, and those who did not escape were hanged.

Smoke rose on the slopes, and ravens grew fat. As he rode along in the van of the army, Thjodholf made a verse:

"The deep-minded tamer of Denmark

drives with tightened reins now

(striking with his stalwarts)

straight the Upland yeomen.

'Brands they'll get for bread!'

So bade the king. The leaping

balefires brought the people

back unto their senses."

"That was well spoken," said Styrkaar. He slapped a muscled thigh. "Ha, I thought we'd have men to meet, but it's a war against mice!"

Harald said nothing. He was short spoken on this trip.

Thjodholf dropped a ways back to ride beside Eystein. The sheriff looked pained. "I never thought you a bootlicker," he said.

"I see you here among the rest of us," answered the skald sharply.

"Aye, being the king's sworn man; yet I've not hidden from him that this work turns my guts."

Thjodholf shrugged. "I could not do it at all, did I not tell myself this is a needful thing."

The creak of saddles and plop of hoofs were loud in the winter quiet. "In truth," said Eystein, "the realm must have a strong king if it's to endure; yet would God that were not so!"

They saw Ulf, ahead of them, raise a flask to his lips. The marshal was often drunk these days.

The snows melted, and spring bloomed while the long-drawn strife went on. It was slow, seeking out every nest of stubborn folk in this huge and tilted land. When Raumariki was broken, the host went on through Heidhmork and down again through Hadhaland and the king's own birth shire Hringariki, where his brothers were cold to him though they had not rebelled. Desolation lay in his track. Most of the warriors were well pleased; the fighting was easy and the plunder good.

The months dragged by, summer came where fields lay fallow; it was not till near fall that the yeomen finally gave up. They sent a group of haggard half-starved men to speak for them, laying their whole case in the king's hand. It was two years since they had first raised themselves against him—some reckoned it as three, counting from the time Haakon began the trouble by letting Svein go—and it would be many years more before the Uplands were healed.

Harald named certain leaders who must be given over to him for execution, and laid heavy fines on the rest. "But terms may be set for paying these off," he added. "It is not our will to ruin you, though you betrayed and sought to ruin us."

When the work was finished, he disbanded his army and led the Viken men down to Oslo. A cloud was off his soul, he was merry again; it was as if a thunderstorm had washed his skies clean, and a new day waited.

Bells rang when he entered the town, and folk came out to see, albeit few cheered. He spurred his horse to a swift trot, banners flew and harness jingled as his warriors went to the royal hall.

Elizabeth was not there to greet him; Thora gave such a glad welcome that he scarce noticed that at first. It was not till the next day that he wondered where his wife and daughters had been.

He crossed the courtyard to her house. Sunlight streamed from heaven, the fjord danced and glittered, the dying summer welled forth in a last passion of green. Harald whistled as he walked, and rapped loudly on the door.

A serving woman opened it. "Is the queen here?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord." She gave him a frightened look. "I will tell her."

"I will myself," he said. "Let the housefolk take themselves elsewhere."

They scuttled from him like ants as he went into the main room. Elizabeth sat with her daughters, spinning yarn. The girls started when he loomed in the doorway, but their mother hardly stirred. When she looked around, he saw how thin she was. Her face had blanched and darkness lay in her eyes.

Fear struck him. "Are you ill?" he said.

"Maria, Ingigerdh, leave us," she murmured. He stood puzzled while they did so. Elizabeth set down her spindle.

Harald stooped over her and stroked the faintly-lined forehead. "There seems to be no fever," he said.

Her voice became weary. "Do not touch me. You've too much blood on your hands,"

He dropped them. "So you liked not what I did this year?" he asked slowly.

"I never thought you would murder helpless folk."

Through a thickness in his gullet, he answered: "What would you have me do? If those shires had gone scot-free, how long do you think it would be till the whole land rose against us?"

"The land should." Still no tone was in her words. Her hands rested in her lap; he saw the Fine blue tracery of veins. "A king who makes himself hated is not worthy to be king."

Harald kicked a stool over and sat down before her. He took her hands in his, where they lay cold and unstirring.

"Ellisif," he said, "it was not my wish to fare thus. Think you I like to see a man jerk out his life on a rope's end? Think you it pleasures me when women and children and grandsires are left in the snow without a roof?"

She raised blind wild eyes. "Then why did you do it?" she cried.

"For the kingdom, for . . . my sons and daughters, and those who'll come after them. It is said in Holy Writ: 'If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.' "

She spoke with chill: "I liked you better as a simple warrior, a plain lusty Viking who could kill men in honest hate and greed. It ill becomes you to talk like a priest."

He sat quiet for a while. Then, heavily: "I sought but to give you the reasons, Ellisif. I'll not deny I was wrathful, and that I liked trading sword strokes. God has so made me that I cannot be second man to anyone. If a man flouts me, one of us must die."

"And did babes in arms raise a flag against you?" she asked bitterly. "I think of children whose bellies are swollen by hunger, who freeze to death. ..."

"I've heard of none such." He tried to laugh. "Oh, no doubt a few were unlucky, but that is war. You were ready enough to let me hack and burn in Denmark."

"And now I am ready to go home," she said. He sat dead still.

"If you have any honor left, you'll give me a ship to Russia," she went on. "Once I've taken the veil there, I can perhaps forget."

He felt lame.

"You have your bawd Thora to keep you warm of nights," she said. For the first time, he caught a wavering in her voice.

"I looked not for this," he mumbled.

"No . . . not for someone who thinks justice and mercy better than power." Fright was in her eyes as she looked at him. "It seems as if already I see the fires of hell around you. Satan's wings seem to flap near this house of nights. ..."

He rose. Pain twisted within him. "I am no saint," he said harshly. "God knows I've sinned, and wrought evil, and the worst of it is that I feel no remorse. They say pride is deadly to the soul, yet when I look about me, the king of Norway who was once a hunted outlaw, and hear the skalds chant of deeds which will long be remembered, and see my children and horses and ships. . . . Before God, who would not be proud? Is it so little I've wrought? And what have I done that a hundred kings erenow, your own father and brothers among them, have not done? Nothing, save bring more heart and strength to the task. Nothing, save goad a backward folk along the road that willy-nilly they must follow, hoping that their children might be rulers instead of thralls. Olaf the Stout had less ruth than I, yet he is a saint. The strong may not look for love."

She twisted her fingers together, staring at them. "Have done," she said. "You've cracked my heart too often before."

Harald paused, watchfully. He had meant what he said. Yet whatever the truth might be, he must find the right words—

"I told you I was no saint, Ellisif," he spoke slowly. "I am a man, naught else, and men do wrong unless they have God's grace. Since He has never vouchsafed me that, I must make my own way as best I can.

"Think you, my beloved—" He saw her start, "—what I have sought. It was to be one realm, this North, drawn together under one king; no more spilling of our blood in senseless fights of brother against brother, no more weakness before heathen Wend and plundering German and cruel Norman. Yes, I have lusted after power for myself—that wish was born in me—but think you the work so evil?

"Now the hope of gaining Denmark is gone, and so in time to come there will surely be war between Dane and Norseman, a river of blood will sunder the two folk. Haakon Jarl broke that dream, and he was too dangerous to go unpunished. The Uplanders followed him, forgetting that this Norway is one land with one king or else is nothing. I was harsh with them—but think you Knut's rule, after he had played the chiefs off against each other, was mild?

"I do not mean to rest. I will not live to take Denmark, but it may be I can outflank her and leave her for my sons. This world is full of spears, and I am of this world. If someday it knows peace, all folk under one king, they'll remember who hammered their fathers together. Is it such an unworthy work?"

He was watching her closely. When her face sank into her hands, he gave a long sigh. "Well, Ellisif, if you cannot endure it, you may surely leave. It was never my wish to torment you. Will you say a few prayers for me?"

"I will not leave," she cried. "I will not leave."

He raised her head and held her to his breast while she wept. Above her shoulder, he grinned, but there was a thawing in his soul.

VIII

Of Harold Godwinsson and Tosti

1

In the year of grace 1064, Earl Harold Godwinsson and his brother Earl Tosti went into Wales, by sea and land, with a strong force. They battled mightily, driving their foes before them, reaving and burning in the hills, until the Welsh saw no hope but to yield. Their king, Griffin, was a proud man who would not hear of surrender. Finally, to save themselves, his men slew him and brought his head as earnest of submission. Harold took the grisly thing back to King Edward, as well as the figurehead and rigging of Griffin's ship. The Confessor whitened and was near being sick, but the English hailed Harold as conqueror.

Tosti was a haughty and grasping man, more fond of the court at London, Winchester, or Canterbury than his own seat in York. While he caroused in the South, his reeve and bailiffs went harshly forward in Northumbria, laying heavy dues on the people and slaying those who murmured. The folk thereabouts, being largely of Danish blood and used to freedom, muttered all the more, and began to sharpen weapons which had once gone behind Earl Siward against Macbeth.

In the fall, Harold gave out that he had business in Wales and sailed from Bosham with two ships. A gale arose to thrust them south. The other vessel finally limped back to port, but Harold and his brother Wulfnoth were wrecked on the French coast near Ponthieu, where Count Guy took them prisoner. He was going to demand ransom, but then his overlord Duke William came hastening at the head of a large troop.

The count smiled sourly. "It were better that you stayed here, Earl," he said. "I would only ask money to set you free."

Harold was angry at the treatment he had received. "The duke is no bandit," he replied.

"No," shrugged the count. "When banditry becomes as vast as his, men name it conquest."

Duke William received Harold and Wulfnoth honorably. "God be praised I have been able to rescue you from such foulness," he said. "Now you must come be my guests for as long as you will."

Harold looked out toward the channel. Seas stamped and snorted under a sweep of cloud. "I have much to do at home," he said.

"Well I know it, my friend," answered William heartily. "Every man understands that you are the pilot in England. But the more reason to rest awhile. I'd not let you venture forth in weather as ugly as this."

They stood for a moment, taking each other's measure. Harold was a handsome man, strongly built and lithely made, with sharp clean-shaven features and bright gray eyes. He was still shabby from his imprisonment, but wore his garments jauntily, and his brown hair fell combed past his ears. Having traveled abroad, and being no stranger to books, he spoke French easily, as well as Latin and several other tongues. Men said he was as guileful as he was gallant.

William was plainly clad for so mighty a lord—a stoutly built man of middle height with square and powerful hands, and a blunt visage gashed by a wide mouth, its cheeks made blue by crowding hair roots. His hair was straight and reddish black, cut around the crown and shaven below and behind in the Norman manner. His eyes were ice pale. He was renowned as the most ruthless of warriors, and had also a name for guile.

They rode together to his castle at Eu, young Wulfnoth and the English seamen accompanying them. Its walls were of gray stone, and after the wealth to which Harold was accustomed, the interior was gaunt. Nonetheless William gave his guests a kingly welcome, rich gifts and lavish feasts. His beautiful wife, Mathilda of Flanders, seemed much taken with Earl Harold.

The English chief was unsure whether or not he was caught in a worse trap than the Ponthieu dungeon. But it was good to lie back at ease while winter whooped outside; it was good to rest from care. In his forty-two years, he had had little surcease. Here, amidst the wining, hawking, and jousts, minstrels and eager young women, he felt almost a boy again. The year waned and the new springtime came while William guested Harold. Now and then the earl spoke of returning, but his host always put him off with some excuse or other.

On an evening shortly before Lent, the two men and Mathilda were sitting up late in the main hall, as was often their custom. "It's past time I went back to England," said Harold. "I've too much to do."

William's countenance jutted out of the dark. "It seems me strange that you bear all the cares of kingship, and yet have not the crown," he murmured.

"God forbid I should say aught against Edward the Good," exclaimed Harold. "The man is a saint."

"But these are not times in which a saint rules well," answered William. He grinned. "As for me, I tossed my liege lord the French king out of Normandy long ago. Twice, in fact. But look you, friend, this is a troublous age. I have word of what goes on in your realm. Your brother Tosti is not liked, and the sons of Alfgar jostle and scheme for power. You face threats from abroad: the Danes may come back, though King Svein is your kinsman; and now that he has made peace there, Harald Hard-counsel of Norway looks for fresh booty. What if one of your English lords should make common cause with him?"

"That is as God wills," said Harold. "But you yourself have just shown me good reason for my speedy return."

William turned the signet ring on his finger, staring at it. "Have you not thought of looking for allies yourself?" he asked. "I must say it was not well done of you to throw King Edward's Norman friends out of the land. That was a mistake which may cost you dear."

Harold's fingertips tightened a little on the arms of his seat. "No offense was meant to you, Duke," he said slowly, "but England must remain English."

William's gaze lifted, to clash against his. "Edward, son of Aethelred, has promised I will succeed him," he spoke. "All men know that. And Edward is not one to break a vow."

Harold's teeth caught at his lower lip. "By old law and right, the English crown lies in no man's gift," he said. "Only the Witanagemot, the great council, and the folk themselves may give it. This too is known to all men."

"Yet the council will follow your word, Earl Harold. It was best that you stood by sworn promises. England and Normandy together could laugh at foes, and your honors would not be small."

"I could take no vows on other men's behalf," said Harold at once.

William nodded. "Well, think on it, I pray you. If you have so much care for the English people, you will not wish to loose the wrath of God and men on them."

He yawned then and bade good night, for he was an early riser. Harold felt drawn too tight to sleep; he remained where he was with Mathilda near him. This they had often done.

"It seems me your lord was somewhat angered," said Harold at last. "I would be sorry if he thought me ungrateful."

"He is a hasty man," answered Mathilda. "But he is not to be swerved from his path, once it is taken."

Harold crossed himself. Mathilda arched her brows and asked him what he thought.

"Of trouble," he said gloomily. "Let us not chop words, my lady; your lord does not mean to let me go until I have sworn to that which I cannot do."

"He means you well," she said. "His will toward you is better than you think. There has been talk between us. . . ."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Our daughter Agatha is but a child as yet. Still, a good betrothal could be made for her."

Harold's eyes widened. He thought of Edith Swan-neck his leman, and their children, and the fair dales of England. He thought of a crown.

"It were well to join two great houses," he said at last.

When Easter had gone, Harold aided William in a short but bloody war against Count Conan of Brittany. Wulfnoth said when they were alone: "You do ill, brother. It was not your way of old to strengthen enemies, or to betray friends."

"Be still." Harold's eyes shifted nervously. "Someone might hear. Can you not see, I am buying our way home? If I fight this war, and betroth his daughter, he must think me true to him. Once across the channel ..."

The boy's face broke into a sunrise.

At length came the time when Harold was busking himself to return. Word from England was that King Edward grew weaker every day and that the northern shires grumbled against Tosti. There could be no dawdling now. William provided ships and escort.

"But first," he said smiling, "we must hold the betrothal feast, and take our own vows."

Harold's heart stumbled. "What mean you?"

"Why, my friend," said William blandly, "it's but a matter of form, since I know you are so well disposed to us. It is but that you openly confirm King Edward's promise."

He stood thick and heavy, mouth creased upward, one hand on his hip and the other spread a little in a careless gesture. But his eyes were chips of ice, and armed guards were near.

"Yes. . . ." Harold swallowed. "So be it."

Before the bishops and the barons, before William and his sword, Harold laid hand on a consecrated jewel and called God and the saints to witness that he would support William's claim and also give Dover castle to the Normans; for this he should have Agatha to wife and become second man in England. He had not slept the night before, his head felt hollow, and it surprised him that his voice should come steady.

William's half brother, Bishop Odo the crafty, let the golden cloth on which the jewel rested be drawn aside. No table was beneath, but a casket, and when it was opened men saw it full of bones.

"These are the relics of many saints," said Odo. "It's a mighty oath you've sworn."

Harold stepped back. A skull stared eyelessly up at him. He could only feebly protest William's demand for Wulfnoth as a hostage . . . merely pro forma, of course.

"Let it be so," the boy told him quietly.

"He will be as a son to me," said the duke. "No honorable man has aught to fear."

Like one emptied of heart and brain, Harold took the betrothal vows with Agatha. She was a sweet and gentle child, flushed with a happiness she scarce understood. He spoke kindly to her at the feast that night.

And the next morning he sailed for England.

2

When Tosti heard the news, his sallow face flushed dark. "Then you've sold the realm to save your skin!" he cried.

"No," said Harold. A grimness had come over him. "A forced oath is no oath. Alfred the Great laid down that law, and the Church holds to it as well. Had I not done this thing, I would still be rotting in Normandy, and England would fall apart."

"Instead, you sold Wulfnoth," sneered Tosti.

"We were both undone," said Harold. "Now that I'm free, we can work to rescue him. What other chance had we?"

"Have you become so vainglorious that you think yourself the only man to save England? God's bones, you've played us all false in your greed!"

"Speak not to me of bones," said Harold, white faced. "You are the one whose drunken misrule is like to tear the north country from us."

Tosti snarled and turned away.

Harold threw himself into work, seeking forgetfulness. He went into Wales, where he subdued the region around Portskeweth and had a great hall built. It was his thought to invite King Edward thither for the hunting, which was good, and thus win back his lord's favor. But scarce was it finished when Caradoc ap Griffin swept vengefully from the hills, a host at his back, slew the English workers, and plundered it. Harold thought this an evil omen, but clamped teeth together. At least Bishop Wulfstan had absolved him of his oath; now let hell itself come against him, he meant to do battle for his right.

Summer waned, hay and grain were brought in, cattle lowed across smoky blue hills. It was soon after Michaelmas that messengers came galloping to Earl Harold and gasped out their story.

The thanes of Northumberland and Yorkshire had had enough of Tosti's heartless reeve. They had met and solemnly proclaimed the earl an outlaw; then they went to York, where they slew all of his household men they could catch, both English and Danish, and sacked the halls. Thereafter they sent for Alfgar's son Morkar to be their earl, and he rode gladly to meet them.

"And now they are moving south. Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and Lincolnshire rally to them. They'll split the realm in twain if they have not their will."

"Rouse my housecarles," said Harold. "We ride at once."

He sped north, thinking bitterly that Tosti sat at Britford with the king and made no move to right matters. "Easy it is for him to call me craven for what was done in Normandy," he said. Only the roll of hoofbeats answered him.

At Northampton he met the rebels, a huge and sullen host. Morkar's brother Edwin had joined them with his own levy, and the countryside smoked from their looting. They made way for Harold. Some even cheered him, as he dismounted before the house where the Alfgarssons were staying.

They gave him a cold welcome. They were both tall, slender men with the long bony face of their father, years younger than Harold but already renowned warriors. The earl plunged into talk the moment he was seated.

"Ill is this," he told them. "You rise against God's anointed, and set Englishmen at the throat of Englishmen, at a time when half the world lusts to rule us,"

"We give our duty to the king," said Morkar sharply. "Not to the house of Godwin."

"The king himself gave Tosti earldom in the North."

"Which was our father's by right," said Edwin. "He is no earl who robs and kills his own folk. We seek but justice,"

Harold waved a hand at the door. "I saw burned garths and slain yeomen. Call you that justice?"

"Our folk are wrathful and wild," said Morkar. "Can you blame them? You know not how they have groaned and feared for their lives."

Harold stared at his lap. There would be no turning these bleak young men without battle; and civil war would leave England open for the first enemy that came.

"In God's name, let us have a reconciliation," he said. "1 myself will go between you and Tosti and the king."

"There can be no peace with Tosti," said Morkar. "He himself has robbed God—churches and abbeys and holy men; he has bereaved the folk over whom he had power of life and land. We would ourselves be slain by our men if we accepted less than outlawry for him."

They spoke at length, and with heat; finally Harold yielded, and went to seek King Edward. Meanwhile another great council met at Oxford; weapons were rattling too close to London.

"Yes ... yes ... let them have their way. . . ." The king fingered a crucifix; it trembled in his thin grasp. "God help us, we can do naught else. Let Knut's law be renewed in Northumbria, and— and—"

The Oxford Witan heard out Harold's last attempt to mitigate, but their judgment was foregone. Tosti Godwinsson was declared outlaw, granted short time to depart lest his life as well as his lands be forfeit. Morkar would go to York as earl, and Edwin would dwell nearby to aid him. When the northern men heard that, they raised a shout which sent rooks whirling aloft from the housetops.

Harold sought out his brother. As he came in, Tosti spat and said: "Sweyn, Wulfnoth, and now me! You work fast to rid yourself of us."

"Peace," said the earl. He sank wearily into a chair. "I strove for you."

"With your tongue bulging out your cheek!" Tosti threw back his long hair. "Oh, cunningly have you wrought, my dear sib. But perhaps you have already made one betrayal too many."

"Be less rash," advised Harold. "Bide your time, and I shall work to have you inlawed again. 1 know you are hasty, but do not do that which would make it forever impossible to get you home."

"When I come home," said Tosti, "it shall not be to kiss the foot of King Harold. My wife and children have wept. I will not forgive those Northumbrian clods for that."

Harold rose. "I see I'm unwelcome." He sighed. "If you forget all else, Tosti, remember that England is greater than any one man."

"Save Harold Godwinsson?" Tosti turned his back.

In a wild November gale, the outlaw departed with his family and several ships of friends ... for he could be charming enough to make some men die for him. It took skill to cross the narrow seas in such weather, but he reached Flanders unscathed. Count Baldwin received him well, and he spent the winter at St. Omer's. It was no small treasure he had carried along. He used it to hire bold men who would spy and speak and fight.

3

Everyone could see that King Edward was sinking fast. Almost no flesh remained on him; it was as if the naked soul shone out between his bones. He had scant strength, but a quiet cheer lit his face. Very tired, longing only to go home to his God, he found naught left to do on earth but finish the great abbey church he was building in Westminster.

Edwin Alfgarsson visited Earl Harold in Wessex.

They spoke carefully of small matters for a while, sitting before a crackle of fire; an early snow drifted down outside. Then Edwin took the word.

"I fear our good king will not be with us next Easter."

"God grant him many more years," said Harold, dutifully but without much fervor.

"No, now . . . you know I wish him no ill. What is wrong with his dying? He'll surely be numbered among the saints. But we worldly men must think on worldly matters."

"And stand together."

"Behind whom? Edgar the Atheling is the last of Alfred's house, and he a sickly child. Can he bear the weight of Norse or Norman?"

Harold regarded him closely. "You have not often echoed my own thoughts," he said.

"I know not how far I echo them now," answered the younger man. "Our houses have not always been friendly. The Witan waver between Edgar's right and England's need. My brother and I would fain be your friends, Harold, yet we know not how far we can trust you. It were foolishness to make you king only to have you turn on us because of Tosti."

"I would not do so," said Harold, checking his temper. "I would need you too much."

"And when the hour of need is past? . . . No, be not angered. Morkar and I have threshed this out, and decided it were best to end old feuds and join our two lines."

"What mean you?" asked Harold, though he could guess.

"Our sister Aldyth was never glad to wed the Welsh king Griffith ap Llewellyn. She could scarce bring herself to mourn him decently when he died. Her mind has ever been kindly toward you. . . ."

England's need, and England's crown, and Edith the fair and gentle. Harold bowed his head. "Let us think on it," he mumbled.

The betrothal feast was held soon afterward.

On Childermas the abbey of Westminster was consecrated, to the glory of God and St. Peter and all God's saints. King Edward was joyous, though he was so weak that he could not be at the service. Folk had swarmed into the town, and the great lords and the Witan were met, but talk was of only one thing and there was scant joy of the Christmas season.

Edward lay as if dead. Now and then he would rouse, but his eyes looked not on this world. A lowering sky pressed down over the whitened earth. On Twelfth Day Eve, word ran through the royal household that the king wrestled death's angel.

Harold, guesting there, was roused by a frightened servant, and pulled on his clothes and hastened across the courtyard. Torches streamed in the early winter gloom; the household folk scurried about knowing not what they did. As he entered the king's house, Harold heard a bell tinkling, and drew back crossing himself in awe; for it was the Host that went before him.

When Edward had received the Wayfaring Bread, the men of the realm entered his bedchamber. His queen, Edith, knelt near her lord's head. Earls and archbishops were on their knees likewise. The child Edgar Atheling was shivering with fear and cold.

Edward lay staring at the canopy. His eyes caught the candlelight in a red gleam, and his wasted frame was utterly still; but they heard his breath labor in and out, the soul fluttering and clawing at its shell.

He spoke at last, a whisper, but it was clear: "God shield the land. For the sins of the people, God's anger is come on us. . . . May He show us His mercy when it pleases Him. . . ." The voice faded.

Harold rose and went to the bedside. His shadow fell black and misshapen over the king's face. "Lord," he said gently, "make known to us your will. Who shall follow you on the throne?"

Edward moved cold lips, but could get no word out.

"Lord, the land is in sore need," said Harold. "Grant us your counsel."

The white head lifted, just an inch, as if it would rise to see who stood there and to single one out.

Harold gathered his courage. Dark wings were beating close, but he could hear the whimper of wind, as if from a storm across winter seas. And England's crown—he had not bartered half his hopes for less.

"Tell us, my lord, whom you would have," he said, and bent his ear close. His hand brushed Edward's and felt an icy cold.

A voiceless whisper, and then a rattling back in the throat.

Harold stood up. His eyes swept the room, and he said into its silence: "Now I take you here to witness, that the king has given me the kingdom and all power in England."

He went back to his knees and prayed with the rest while the death struggle ebbed out before him. It did not last long.

Epiphany dawned cheerless gray, but the great of the realm had no time for mourning. It was old usage that a king was hallowed on a high feast; this was the last day possible before Easter, and the land could not wait that long for a master. Not only King Edward's burial, but the making of a successor must take place today, in a ripping haste which told how perilous a new year had begun.

After vigil and deathwatch, Harold repaired to the Witanagemot. Edgar Atheling was there, like a wistful little ghost whom folk paid scant heed. Not a voice was raised for him, or Duke William, or Harald Hardrede; as one, the chiefs named Harold Godwinsson, and the people cried yea till walls shivered.

Coiffed, anointed, and crowned, the new king sat at feast that night. It seemed forever since he had slept, but no sleep was on his eyes; before him went a steady march of rememberings, Wulfnoth, Tosti, Edward, Edith Swan-neck. "Have done," he groaned under his breath.' "I could do naught else."

The earls Edwin and Morkar, who had crowned him, had seats of honor. They lifted their beakers to him. "Hail, lord king!" cried Edwin. "Joy to your reign!''

"It will be a troubled one," he answered.

"The more chance for it to be glorious, my lord," said Morkar.

Harold bent his head in thanks. But it was true, he told himself, it was true. Let him only weather this year, and there was nothing he could not do.

Even as he sat, he began thinking of war. The Northumbrians must be reconciled to having Tosti's brother for king. Yes, best he go speedily up to York with the Alfgarssons and win their love. Ship levies would have to lie out, come summer. There must be guard mounted and spies sent into Normandy, Norway . . . Could he look for help from Denmark or Ireland? Rome favored William; Harold must at the least get England's bishops on his side. A mighty task! But his ghosts did not follow him when he went into the maze of it.

IX

How St. Michael Drew His Sword

1

Harald Sigurdharson remained in Oslo the winter after he put down the Upland rebellion, and had trusty men out in foreign parts. Word ran about the land: Edward the Good was in his grave, Harold Godwinsson sat a shaky throne, Tosti Godwinsson gathered English outlaws and Flemish hirelings at St. Omer's, William the Bastard had messengers hurrying over hundreds of miles and gave out he would knock England's crown off Harold's head. . . . Aye, aye, this was a time of uproar, the old men shook their heads and peered through dim eyes into the coals, the young men spoke of riches to be had, the women began to lie awake nights and grow silent by day. The king kept his own counsel, but he was often seen sunk in thought.

Early in spring, he sent to his chief men who had gone elsewhere for the winter, bidding them hasten down to Oslo. Ulf Uspaksson rode down from the Throndlaw with a small following. He was overnighting at a yeoman's house in Sogn—his way south skirted the Uplands, which he did not care to visit again—when Eystein Gorcock came thither.

As the sheriff entered, he was seen to be tired and muddy; his garments were somber, against his known usage, and the handsome face troubled. Ulf did not rise for him, but waved him to a seat next to his own.

"Good evening to you, Eystein," he said. "I thought you'd have been in Oslo erenow."

"I lingered, in hopes I'd meet you, and asked what roads you'd been taking." The sheriff slumped into the seat and stretched long legs out toward the fire. "It seemed well if we could travel together."

Ulf's shaggy brows went up, but he said nothing. Eystein was shocked at how much the marshal had aged in a few months. His skin hung in gray folds over the heavy bones, his eyes were deep sunken, and eld lay like rime frost in the coarse black hair.

"God grant you have not been sick."

"Oh . . . somewhat. My heart plays me traitor." Ulf smiled sourly. "Now and then I feel like the clay giant Mokkurkalf. . . . You remember he had a mare's heart, which made him such a coward that when he saw Thor coming he wet his breeks and flooded the countryside. But how have you fared?"

"Not well. My wife died this winter."

Ulf turned his haggard face to Eystein's. "That was a hard blow, my friend."

"Yes. Our children had one by one died before her, as you know, and then she took the coughing sickness and I saw it gnaw her hollow from within." Eystein crossed himself. "God rest her, she was a good woman."

"Aye." Ulf's bony hand rested lightly for a moment on Eystein's arm. "May you build your house again."

They went early to bed without speaking more of it.

The next morning their joined troops rode forth, the two leaders well ahead of them. It was a cold, clear day, the wind swept from the hills with a smell of ice, the sky arched blue, and white clouds wandered. The road was muddy, here and there water streamed black across it or raised hackles under the wind; a few crusted snowbanks were left in the stubble fields, rooks cawed from naked forests, and an eagle mounted guard beneath the sun.

Ulf threw back his head and snuffed the wet air into his lungs. "Hard going today," he said, "but I like this season. It was what I missed most down in the South, our wild tricky Northern springtime."

"A time of hope," said Eystein. His coppery hair fluttered under the hat, and his cloak flapped like wings. "Or a time of sorrow. To me there's ever been a sadness in spring, I know not why."

Ulf shifted his weight, the saddle creaked and his mare blew out her lips in a long sigh. "Be not so glum," he advised. "It's an ill thing to lose a wife, but . . ."

Eystein looked at his mount's neck. His hands doubled over the reins. "I sought your company for a reason, Ulf," he said.

"I thought as much." The marshal laughed noiselessly.

Eystein gave him a look of misery. "Has my breast been so open to sight?" he asked.

"Mmm . . . perhaps not. But I, at least, know a hankering when I see one. Speak as freely as you wish. I've no sense of shame."

"It's not easy." Eystein's winter-pale cheeks reddened. "I've prayed, and made offerings, and . . . there's still a thought I can't drive from my soul."

"If you must dance around like a courting grouse, then I'll say it for you. Maria Haraldsdottir."

Eystein's head drooped. "God help me," he mumbled. "Thordis was a good and true wife who ever sought to make me happy. Even when our children died, it was she who comforted me. Will you understand, knowing how easy it is to make some pretext for divorce, will you understand how I could never find it in me to turn her out? But I lay with one woman after the next. ..."

"What of it? I think God, or the gods, or whatever shaped man meant him to wallow in the she-sex, like a stallion or a bull seal." Ulf chuckled dreamily. "Is aught better than a nice round ticklish young wench, high in the prow and bluff in the stern?"

Eystein's hand lifted. "Have done," he said unhappily. "This is no jesting matter. Thordis was good, I say, and kind, and even on her deathbed made no plaint . . . and you know how that sickness often turns folk mean. Yet we were wedded because her father was a powerful chief and her dowry large, and she wearied me. Christ alone knows how she wearied me! And when she was dying, I strove to speak gently to her, but all I could think of was how ugly she had grown, and how she stank, and how I was cooped up with death. . . ." He covered his eyes. "God have mercy, when she died I was glad! In my inmost heart I rejoiced."

"Well," said Ulf, "her suffering was past."

"I was glad for myself!" said Eystein in a haunted voice.

"It's my thought that Christendom is making liars of us," said the marshal. "Better it was in the old days, when a man felt no need to cloak honest wickedness."

Eystein startled. "Be careful!" he whispered. "You speak blasphemy."

Ulf shrugged. "So the priests have told us. As for me, I believe what I see with my own eyes, and doubt any man's bare word."

"But the miracles! I myself have seen a man who lay lame for ten years brought to Olaf's shrine and walk away."

"Are you quite sure someone was not making magic?" leered Ulf. "I've never heard of the saint growing a new leg on a cut-off stump; those healed are ever folk who have limbs or eyes but have somehow lost the use of them."

"I'll hear no more!" cried Eystein.

Ulf rocked with laughter, though no sound came from his lips. "Very well," he said. "Yet I horrified you out of your grief, no?"

"I . . . well . . ." The sheriff stroked his red mustache with shaky fingers. "Indeed it turned my mind—but even speaking of such things is perilous."

"It served the purpose. Let me bide alone with what I really believe; that's no man's affair." Ulf glanced behind. The warriors riding there were too far off to hear him through the wind. "Let's talk of your woes. You've hankered after Maria for some time, and had reason to think she felt kindly toward you. Now you're knotting up your courage to ask her hand."

"It scarce seems decent, with Thordis not cold in her grave."

"Bah! There's no marriage in heaven, so grab what years you have on earth." Ulf's scorn faded, and he went on very softly while looking at something known but to himself: "Happy the man who gets the woman he cares about. Life can be strangely empty without her. Maria is much like her mother, and I could wish her to have the man who would make her happy, rather than one who might only make her a queen. Eystein, you're a good sort who can drink most men under the table, and I'll support you before the king. All I ask in return is that you forget what's past and look to tomorrow."

He himself stared across the hills for a while, till Eystein should have gotten his face in order. He did not think it right to see a man's soul.

King Harald received them well, with a cheer which had not been in him for years. He said he was assembling the court to hear a messenger from Flanders. Ulf nodded, unsurprised, and turned the talk until it reached Eystein's suit.

The king raised his brows. "I've not been altogether blind," he said. "Maria has refused three offers already, and I'd not compel her. Come, you two, follow me, and I'll have the girl sent for,"

Eystein's heart leaped in his breast. He had not felt thus since he was a youth.

The three men sat alone in the foreroom of the hall. It was chill and gloomy. Eystein could not take his eyes from the door. When it opened, sunlight and springtime streamed in.

Maria entered. She wore a cowled mantle of gray which gave her a look almost of holiness in the sheriff's mind . . . but as she came toward him, with the gracious stride that had walked through his nights, he thought of Freyja.

She turned her head, the big gray eyes half blinded by sudden murk. "You wished me here, father?"

"Yes." King Harald chuckled. "I thought you'd like to welcome our guest. We shall have Gorcock for supper."

She stopped, unmoving save that a small hand lifted to her lips, as if by its own will. "Oh," she said faintly. "I see you now . . . Well met, Eystein."

"The sheriff has, hm," Harald cleared his throat savoring the moment. "He has brought us somewhat of a surprise."

Maria made no answer.

"He has asked for your hand in marriage," went on the king. "I wondered if you would think of . . ."

His voice trailed off when he saw them looking at each other. They would not have heard him.

2

Osric Cynewulfsson was a short man, rather ugly, who bore a glib and fearless tongue. He admitted freely that Harold Godwinsson had outlawed him for a murder done in England, and that he had gone to Flanders to save his neck; but he spoke well of Tosti. He had come to Norway by ship, and Harald guested him and his crew with no more hospitality than custom demanded.

After his chiefs were gathered, the king brought them into a lesser hall used for audiences. It was on a day when rain scurried before the wind. He bade them not speak to anyone else of what would be said, but to think well on the matter and give him their best redes. Then he told Osric to stand forth and declare his errand.

The Englishman - rose and walked out onto the floor. His eyes went around the seats and benches; he seemed a gray sparrow in a mew of blooded hawks.

There they sat, the power and pride of Norway, the warriors whose fame was like thunder. Firelight glittered off golden rings, threw heavy cloth and costly furs into a moving shadow, splashed stern faces and gleamed in hooded eyes; axes hanging on the walls seemed to run with blood, and the sound of rain on the roof was as of horses galloping.

King Harald Hardrede was in the high seat, leaning back at ease, legs crossed and fingers bridged: an overwhelming giant, scarce a sign of his fifty-one years in tawny mane or beard. His weathered countenance was lined, the nose thrust out in a crag, the eyes seemed too brilliant for a mortal man. At his feet sprawled a wolfhound whom few dared go too near; its collar was studded with rubies.

On his right was Prince Magnus, shifting restlessly, a tall and goodly youth; Olaf on his left was nearly as large as a man at sixteen years of age, calm and quiet, but the blunt-fingered hands held a bear's strength. To the latter's left was the skald Thjodholf, whose gaze had looked on many stricken fields and whose voice had chanted of battles where he himself wielded not the least sword. At Magnus' right was Eystein Gorcock, whose clothes were a shout of color, who had a secret smile on his lips; but Eystein's brand had cloven shields.

Opposite the king was his marshal Ulf, bristle bearded and hideous, cold craftiness in his thick skull. On his right he had Thori of Steig, a weighty man, slow spoken and sage; on his left Styrkaar, dark and gloomy, chill of eye and hoarse of voice, whose hands had wrought much evil but whose bravery was boundless.

And there were many others, sheriffs and guardsmen, down to the young giant Gunnar Geiroddsson whose doglike gaze seldom left Harald. These men had driven armies before them and gladdened ravens; now they sat to hear the word of Osric.

The Englishman cleared his throat and faced the king. His speech was outlandish in Norway, but not so different that it could not be understood. "Your majesty and my lords," he began. "I have come hither on behalf of my master, Earl Tosti Godwinsson, whom you know to be unjustly outlawed, and whom you must also know to be among the wisest and most valiant of men. He seeks your help in a war which must not only bring greater riches than folk ever dreamed erenow, but also a fame which will endure while the world remains."

He went on at length, telling how matters stood in England and how Tosti had gotten no few ships and warriors of his own. It was his plan to come back, overthrow his brother, and seize the crown; but for the Norse help he offered to become Harald's man. Harald should be king of England and Tosti his earl in charge of half the realm.

The ruler tilted his left eyebrow upward. "I've heard that this offer was first made to my enemy Svein Estridhsson," he said.

"It was, my lord," answered Osric unabashed. "For after all, King Svein is Tosti's near relative. And these were the Dane's words: 'So little can I measure myself against my kinsman King Knut, that I can scarce defend my own land from the Norsemen. Old Knut got Denmark in heritage, and England he conquered with slash and blow, and yet for a time it seemed he must lose his very life over there. Norway he won without battle; but I have learned to be content, and to remain by my own holdings however small, rather than seek a might such as that my kinsman King Knut gained.'

"And these, sire, were my words in answer: 'When so great a man as you can bid us no more help, now when we need it the most, I understand that my journey hither will not bring what I had hoped. Therefore I must needs seek friendship where it is less to be expected; and yet it could happen that I found there a chieftain who owns more courage than you, king, to go under the eyes of danger and not shy away from a great deed.'

"And so," Finished Osric with a grin, "we parted, not just the best of friends."

The Norsemen laughed.

Harald said slowly: "We are not much for going in Viking to England, if our folk must have an English chief over them. It's thought hereabouts that the English are not to be trusted."

Osric met his stare and replied boldly: "My lord, what is the truth of that story I heard in England, that your kinsman King Magnus sent a message to King Edward claiming the English throne by reason of the agreement sworn to by Hardhaknut and himself?"

Harald countered with a question of his own. "Why did he not take it, if he owned it?"

"Yes, my lord, and why do you not have Denmark, as King Magnus had it before your time?"

Harald paled and said harshly: "The Danes have naught to brag of where we Norse are concerned; often enough have we scorched the pelts of your dear kinsmen in Denmark."

Osric folded his arms, more than ever the sparrow defying the hawk, and said: "Will you not answer my question, lord, then I shall answer it for you. King Magnus got Denmark because the Danish chieftains were on his side; you won it not, because the folk of that land were against you. And when Magnus did not attack England, it was because he knew the whole people stood together behind King Edward. But if you now wish to be the overlord of England, my master Earl Tosti shall so contrive it that the greater part of the English chiefs give you friendship and help.

"All know, king, that never in the North has there been born a man who could measure up to you as a warrior; therefore it seems me strange that you could fight so many years to conquer Denmark, but now will not travel to get England which lies open for you."

He finished and stood waiting. The Norse stirred; a few hands dropped to where sword hilts would have been.

Harald laid his chin in his palm. "I think those are less your words than your master's," he said; "so you shall be forgiven this insolence. But do not try our temper further. Now you may go."

Osric bowed cockily and went out.

There was a moment's silence. The wind hooted around the hall, somewhere a loose shutter banged; rain hammered the roof, flooding off eaves, gurgling between flagstones; early thunder boomed in the Viken hills: the trolls were playing ball!

"Well," said Harald, "what think you?"

Magnus leaped to his feet. "God's name, it's a deed which would never be forgotten!" he cried.

"Slow," smiled his father. "This is not something to be jumped blindly into. I want everyone here to think long and well; and meanwhile I shall have spies , out, that we may know the truth. Let no word of this escape your mouths."

"And why so, my lord?" asked Styrkaar. "The thought is one to fire men's hearts."

"My namesake will be looking for aid. Svein in Denmark or King Dermot in Ireland might well come to his help. But if they know not whom we prepare a war against—perhaps themselves—they will stay at home."

"It's William the Bastard who means to go traveling this year," said Thori. He had lately spoken to a trader from France. "And that is a man to reckon with."

"Who is he?" snorted Harald. "A little brawling bandit. The English king has fought better than he. And as for myself, I have waged fifty battles—I count not skirmishes—" he caught Ulf's ironic eye,"—nor riots with city rabble . . . fifty battles, and in each of them have carried the victory."

"It's apt to be a three-cornered war," said Eystein. "We could reach England only to find William there before us."

"That would suit me well," answered Harald, grinning. "Indeed, my thought is to sail late in summer or early in fall. Belike William will have tried a landing first. If the English king wins, the Normans will still have whittled down his strength; if the duke should win, then his own army will be less than it was, and we can come as deliverers, the whole English folk rising to welcome us."

The wind cried out in the streets.

"Then you are already bound to embark on this venture?" asked Ulf.

"I've taken no vows," said Harald. "I wish your counsel, all of you; and surely we must know more ere beginning the war. Yet it seems a good thought to me. My claim to England is better than Harold Godwinsson's, far better than William Bastard's; and as for you, and the whole Norse folk, it's a land as rich as Miklagardh and fair as Paradise, where those who are now sheriffs could become jarls, and where we might forge one unbreakable kingdom of the North."

Ulf shook his head doubtfully.

"I was in England two years ago," said one of the chiefs, a former Viking whose judgment was respected. "A mighty realm, my lord, so swarming with people that all the Norse could be lost among them, wealthy cities behind stout walls, strong and stubborn yeomen. I saw Harold Godwinsson, he was jarl then, go by with his household troops. Lord, they are giants, every one of them, no worse than Knut's old Thingmen. One of them, I fear, would be a match for any two of us."

"That's no way for a Norseman to talk," said Eystein angrily.

Ulf's faded eyes looked into the corner; rain drummed under his tones as he made a verse:

"If each single ax

of England's guards counts double

(surely I'll not shy

from shining plunder elsewise),

I will not be eager

England-ward to travel;

once in youth, oh woman,

was I bolder hearted. "

Harald leaned from his chair. "What mean you, Ulf?" he asked. "Would you stay behind when most needed?"

"No ... I suppose not." The marshal sighed. "I but spoke aloud to myself."

"Think you, then, we should sit by the fire at home for the rest of our days, farting at the mouth of how great we used to be?"

Ulf smiled wearily. "That will never be your doom, Harald," he said. "Yet 1 counsel you against this war. It's too much for us, we're too like to leave our bones to English crows."

That is what it means to grow old, thought Harald, but bit the words back. Ulf meant him well.

He wondered what woman his friend had been thinking of.

3

Eystein Gorcock was sent to Orkney to bid the Thorfinnssons, Pall and Erlend, who held the jarldom after their father, have men and ships rallied at full strength in Scapa Flow by hay harvest. They were not to be told why. The king had as yet not decided finally what he would do, but his orders could be countermanded if need be; meanwhile it was well to make everything ready, for this would be the mightest work any Norseman had undertaken.

The sheriff was loath to leave Maria even for a few weeks, but consoled himself. The betrothal feast would be held on his return, and the wedding was set for early next year.

"I think my lord means to marry his daughter to a jarl of England," said Eystein to himself. His heart swelled.

April was a moody month that year, lowering heavens and scudding squalls and rare sunlight. Old men wise in weather said the whole summer would be one of gales.

From the rich deep valleys of Throndheim and Gudhbrandsdal, to marshy northern forests and wind-reaved islands and lonesome huts on the flanks of Dofra, the word ran that the king had some great plan afoot and would be calling out a full levy. Certain it was that he had many ships building and spent money for arms with a free hand.

During the last week of April, a long spell of unbroken cloudiness ended; suddenly the sky flashed out and Oslofjord glittered blue under a dazzling sun. Harald was readying to move up to Nidharos, but broke off his work and ordered a light yacht launched instead. With a small crew, he and Thora embarked for a day's outing on the bay; it was too choppy for Elizabeth, and his sons were gone hunting.

The wind blew briskly from the north, to catch the sail and strain it taut; rigging sang and waves slapped the hull and the boat danced in a skirt of foam. Behind her and on either side the land lay freshly green, fields and woods rising toward hills where toy farms and hamlets nestled. Fisher craft skipped merrily in the distance. Clouds walked overhead, unbelievably white.

The dozen crewmen sat idly by the one who steered. The king and his mistress were alone in the bows. Harald sat, knees cramped up almost to his chin, eyes crinkled against the glare. Thora seemed less happy; her tall form sprawled on a cushion and she stared sullenly ahead. The sunlight lost itself in the burnished coils of her hair, seeming to become an inner glow.

"Well," said Harald, "it's good to leave the house. Too much winter stink indoors."

Thora's countenance did not turn to his. Her mouth bent downward.

"What ails you?" he asked. "I thought you'd be glad of a holiday."

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'm good enough to go boating with."

He scowled. "I've told you often before, I'll have none of your woman's jealousies."

"So I must swallow my own vomit?" she flared. "This whole winter you've been making up to that whey-faced—" She stopped. "No. I'll not say it. But cold is the life you've given me."

"A man's moods shift about," he said, with a mildness that astonished her. He smiled, one-sided. "It seems your turn today."

"Faithless you ever were," she said, more sadness than venom in her tone.

"You know well enough how it stands between men and women," he answered. "To a woman, the household is the whole of life ... to a man, only a small part. Ask not to fill all my days and nights, for you cannot." With a barb: "I think perhaps it's only an unfulfilled lust which makes you brood."

She met his gaze frankly. "Yes," she said.

"Well," he laughed, "that can be amended." His hand stole over hers and tightened. "I've ever liked you, Thora, for being so easily understood. Greedy and bawdy and quick-tempered and unforgiving—like myself."

Her lids dropped. "And that is the hold Ellisif has on you," she whispered, "that you never quite fathom her."

"Say no more."

She tried to jest: "When you take England, you can keep one of us in each kingdom. May I have England?"

"Speak not too freely. It's unlucky, nor has anything been decided yet."

"I know you well, Harald. I know what it will be. Take me along!"

He looked away, over the water. "A great work," he murmured. "A work fit for gods."

I know who has given you that idea, thought the woman. For you alone, as for me, the riches and the glory—yes, and the breakneck sport of it—were enough. But that outland queen must try to make it a holy war; oh, yes, my darling Ellisif, we butcher men in God's name, we fight not because we can gain booty and like to fight, but because we build the Holy Norse Empire. . . . God curse you, Ellisif!

"Knut did the same," she said slyly, "and his realm did not long outlive him."

"I am not Knut," he told her. "There'll be none left to raise rebellion after me."

She laughed aloud.

Thereafter she was merry, and they cruised about for the whole day. At sundown they were still some distance from Oslo; the mast was lowered and the crew took oars, since the wind blew yet from the north.

Harald and Thora remained in the bows, facing aft. The water ran bloody to the west, dark to the east; night came striding swiftly in pursuit of the sun.

Thora shivered, and Harald flung his cloak over her shoulders. She nestled against him, and he remembered how they had once sat in just this way, atop the cliffs of Gizki.

His lips brushed her cheek—the rowers had their backs turned, and the steersman could not see him in the dusk. "Let them make haste," he whispered. "I'd not want you too sleepy by the time we get home and abed."

She laughed low in her throat. It faded as she looked to the last red clouds. The wind seemed colder than it had been.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I know not. . . ." She pressed more tightly to him. "An evil thought I had . . . blood in the west, and night in the east, like a sign ..."

They heard a gull cry harshly out in the dark. Waves whooshed around the boat, which took one on the prow and shuddered.

"That's a common kind of sign," said the king dryly.

"But . . . Harald, of a sudden I wonder how wise this is. Have we not enough already?"

"No," he said. The shrill air yanked the words from his mouth. "While I live, never enough."

"I could not endure it if aught happened to you," she murmured.

"No man escapes his doom." Then she knew dully that all urging him against this war would only drive him toward it. "We die when God wills, neither sooner nor later, and best it is to die striving mightily."

She was silent, but her arm went tight about his waist. The night thickened; stars began to twinkle forth, high and frosty above the world.

Harald started. "What's that?" he snapped. "See, toward the south—something waxing, a glow."

Thora looked aft. The hull was a well of darkness, the fjord like cold metal. She saw the wash of light, far off beyond the hidden horizon.

The crew's voices lifted, and they lost the stroke. "Bend to it, you bastards!" said Harald sharply. "Soonest home, soonest safe."

He stood up as the boat surged forward under new speed. One hand gripped an ax; Thora clung to the other.

"It's like the earth afire at the Weird of the Gods," she said through dry lips. "But never have I seen a light so cold."

It rose and brightened while they wallowed harborward. The wind carried to them the sound of Oslo's church bells clamoring in panic.

"A new star," said Harald. "I've seen the sun darken once, but this ..."

It burned with a chill radiance across the sky, its head was clotted silver and three tails streamed thence like great leaping flames. They saw the fjord catch its baleful light and shudder.

"Almighty Christ," gasped Thora. "Blessed Virgin Mary ..."

Harald stiffened his will. "I've heard of these things," he said. "They appear of a sudden, and go away again, and they portend mighty happenings."

"It's like a sword," she said through clattering teeth. Her hand was cold and wet where it grasped his. "A three-bladed sword."

"Aye." His own soul shook, but he cried aloud: "Aye, see it there, a sign of war! The Archangel Michael has drawn his sword, lads, and there'll be wrath on the world this year."

"God help us sinners," groaned a man down in the hull.

"I tell you, it's a token of luck," shouted Harald. "See how its blades stream easterly. St. Michael has drawn his burning brand for us."

"Against us," shivered Thora. "It points against us from the west."

The token was seen till the last night of April, that night called Walpurgis in some lands, when the powers of hell run loose and Asgardh's Ride howls through the sky. Men trembled before it, and the church bells rang throughout the dark hours.

Then it was gone, and the hosting went apace in the kingdoms of earth.

X

How Ulf Uspaksson Fared Alone

1

The May Queen had gone garlanded through the land, in a wagon heaped with flowers, while the folk danced and sang about her, ere Eystein Gorcock returned. He steered into Throndheimsfjord, where he knew the king would be now, cursing his men that their near-broken backs could not pull the oars faster; as his ship came toward the dock, he made a leap from her, landed on the wharf, and sped afoot to the royal hall.

A guardsman tried to have him enter in seemly fashion. Eystein sent the fellow sprawling and burst inside. Harald was at meat, with Ulf who had come guesting. The sheriff's eyes went to the women's end of the hall, and Maria stood there, and she took a step forward while joy flashed between them..

"Well!" boomed Harald. "So you're home already. Come eat, and then we'll talk of what you've found out. . . . Yes, yes, your betrothed is in good health."

Eystein's face burned and he seated himself decently. "Everything looks hopeful, my lord," he mumbled.

Harald's face remained wooden; he picked up his bone again and cracked it open and sucked the marrow noisily. Then he spoke of weather and crops and a dog which had lately encountered a hedgehog, as if naught of greater moment were at hand. Not till the meal was past and the hand-washing bowls had gone around did he rise and beckon Ulf and Eystein to follow.

They went into the foreroom, closed the door, and found chairs. The king sprawled his legs halfway across the floor as he loosened his belt. "Now, then," he said. "Tell us how matters have gone."

Eystein cleared his throat. "Well, I came to Orkney," he began.

"Strange," murmured Ulf. "I thought you bound for Wendland."

Eystein grinned and felt his muscles ease. "The Thorfinnssons promised to get the levies ready when you send word," he told them. "They will also raise as many warriors as they can from the Norsemen in Scotland and Ireland. Thereafter I went south along the coast, to learn what was happening. That was not little.

"Tosti came across the sea and ravaged the Isle of Wight and the coast as far as Sandwich, till his brother King Harold raised a force against him. Then he took some of the Kentish boatmen along, willingly or otherwise, and went up to the Humber. I hear he had sixty ships. There he harried about Lindsey, till the earls Edwin and Morkar drove him out. Now he has gone to the Scottish king, Malcolm Duncansson, who has received him well and is helping him with provisions; but the story is that he brought only twelve ships thither."

"Hm," said Ulf. "Those English can fight."

"His man Osric is carrying back word that we are interested in his offer," said Harald. "There will be many crossings of the North Sea this year. But what of my namesake?"

"He lies out with his whole ship levy, around the Isle of Wight," said Eystein. "He seems more to fear the Normans than us."

"That suits me well," said Harald. "Spies I've sent to France tell me that William is gathering men from a dozen lands, any he can get, and is promising them vast English holdings—for he has not the means to pay them otherwise." He stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "The term of a levy in England is forty days; Harold can extend that somewhat if he must, but he cannot stretch their provisions . . . and the men will worry about their harvest and begin deserting after a while. William also has an army to feed, which will grow restless if he keeps them waiting too long. But as for us, our folk can stay well fed at home till we are ready to sail."

"There is one other thing," said Eystein uneasily. "I heard talk of it even in Scotland. Pope Alexander has blessed William's cause and proclaimed him rightful king of England."

Harald snorted.

"It were not well to wage an unholy war," said the sheriff.

"Who steers Rome?" asked Harald. "Not the Pope, but Hildebrand; that much even I know. Take heart, Eystein. ..." He clapped his man on the shoulder. "You'd not want Maria to marry beneath her?"

"No." The sheriff twisted his mustache.

Harald's fist smote his palm. "We've a host fit to storm hell itself," he said.

Ulf sighed. He looked tired and shrunken. "I wonder why you asked the court's advice," he said. "I knew from the beginning you'd not hang back."

"The venture looks more hopeful each day," replied Harald. "You're not the man you were, Ulf."

"Belike not. I draw near the end of my days. It seems better to sit and think what has been done, and try to make peace with the Powers, than play at being still a youth."

"Nonsense! You'll outlive us all, old wolf. You'll bore your grandchildren with tales of what you wrought in England."

"I would I might see my grandchildren," said Ulf. "It would be good to have babies around the house again. Well . . ." He rose. "Best I start back. It's a lengthy ride home; I can scarce reach my steading before dark."

"I thought you'd help me with the household troops," said Harald in a flash of anger. "It's your task as marshal."

"Let Styrkaar do it. He knows them better than I. Too many strange young faces . . . Where is the queen? I'd fain say good-bye to her."

"Which one?" asked Harald coldly.

Ulf's tone frosted over. "There is only one queen in this land."

Harald turned his back. The marshal sighed again and shuffled out.

Elizabeth was directing her servants as they scrubbed her dwelling when Ulf found her. She stood in the courtyard before the little house, facing the open door. The light breeze played with her hair and ruffled the simple white gown she had on.

"Oh. ..." She saw him and smiled. Calm dwelt on the finely cut features and peace on the brow; she stood straight, even at forty-two years of age as slim as a young girl. "Are you leaving already, Ulf?"

"Yes." The marshal fumbled with his sword belt. A carle brought out his horse, and his few men busked themselves. He blinked in the bright, spilling sunlight. "You seem busy, my lady."

"Ever there's work to do. I was unused to it at first, and shocked at the thought a queen should have to steer her own household, but now I like it. Time passes quickly."

"So it does." Ulf stood for a moment, squat and dark and gnarled, his face wrinkled by a smile. It died, and he asked in a low voice: "Are you in such haste to end your days that you must find means to shorten them?"

"Why . . . no." Elizabeth flushed. "No, I have been ... I am happy. Of course I am."

"I wish I knew that to be the truth," said Ulf.

She regarded him wide-eyed. "You've been odd of late. Is aught wrong?"

"Not for me—but for you. You see," said Ulf earnestly, "your, well, your house has ever been a good friend to us of Norway, and I would gladly serve you if I might. If you lack something ..."

She dropped her own voice. "No need to walk around your thought, Ulf. I know what you mean. And I swear to you, there has been unhappiness in my life as there must be in all, but now I know the way I wish to fare and how to. . . . No, there is little I need."-

"Those are good tidings," said Ulf. He took her hand; it felt small and warm in his. "Then farewell, my lady, and God keep you."

She watched him, puzzled, as he rode from the hall.

2

Twice on the way home, Ulf reined in and almost fell from the saddle. His man Thorbrand held him till the fit was past. Stars were out when they reached the marshal's hall.

There he paused, looking up to the light Northern night. Stars glimmered pale in dark blue; his eyes followed the great sprawl of Carl's Wain toward the North Star. It seemed to wink at him, as one old friend at another. The woods rustled, a nightingale sang, a rill tumbled over rocks. He breathed the smell of forest mold and young leaves.

"This is a fair world, Thorbrand," he said. "Let not the priests tell you otherwise."

"Yes. . . ." The warrior's tongue stumbled.

Ulf leaned heavily on him as they went into the hall. Fires were guttering low, but Jorunn sat waiting for him. "You're late," she said. "I had begun to think you would stay in Nidharos."

He lowered himself to the bench beside her and rested elbows on knees. "It was a troublous road homeward," he replied.

Thorbrand bade good night and went to join the other unwed men in their lodge. Ulf and Jorunn were alone.

Her eyes were anxious. "You sound tired," she said.

"Yes, I am, somewhat." Ulf looked into the waning red coals.

"Jorunn . . ." he began after a while.

She raised her brows; he could just see the movement in the dimness which was her face.

"I fear I've not been much of a husband to you," he said.

"No woman ever had a better," she answered stoutly.

He chuckled. "That I grant you. But this sickness, it has made me less than a man in the past year."

Blood beat in her; he could not see that, but he knew it. "Think you that I wed only for . . ."

"No. Though there are worse reasons." Ulf shook his head. "I cannot understand this world anymore. The folk in it, I mean. It seems they turn their faces from everything which lies good and clean, ready to their hands, and scourge their souls instead."

"Hush," she said quickly. "You should not say such things, the more so if you're sick."

"Perhaps not. Few would listen." Ulf's head lowered. "Well, shall we to bed?"

He slept very lightly, dreams and memories streaming past his eyes, until he knew not if he woke or drowsed. Once he saw his father's farm on

Iceland. Once he saw a green meadow in which horses ran and leaped.

At midmorning he rose and dressed himself carefully. Jorunn set a bowl of porridge out for him, but he had little appetite. His head felt weightless and hollow, as if it were about to burst its moorings and go skyward on the wind.

His son Jon came in, laughing. Ulf had ever been pleased that the children had their mother's handsomeness rather than his own looks. "Good morning, father," said the youth.

"What was so funny?" asked Ulf.

"The lambs hopping about." Jon wriggled with sheer gladness of being alive. "What said the king?" """Oh . . . he's bound he'll go conquer England." Ulf looked up with a cold green stare. "You are not to go along, Jon."

"What? But . . ."

"I say you are to stay at home this year. You're too young."

"I am not!" shouted the boy. "I am sixteen winters old. Hjalmar Leifsson is going, and he . . ."

"Be still!" After months in which he could scarce be heard, Ulf's roar shocked Jon into stiffness. "I say you are not to go, and I want your oath on it."

"St. Olaf left home younger than I." The words were sullen.

"That was on a luckier venture than this. Now swear before me you will stay behind this year."

Jon tried to hold back tears. "You'd not have me win any fame of my own," he said.

"That's enough." The marshal stood up, and there was that about him which would not be disobeyed. He got the oath.

Thereon he went around the table and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "It's only that I wish you well," he said gently. "I'd not have you cast your life away on a foredoomed war."

The lad wrenched free and stormed out of the hall.

"Think you the king is fey?" asked Jorunn. "I hear there'll be no such force out this year such as he can raise."

"It may be," said Ulf. He looked down at the table, touched its scarred surface. "If anyone has might to stuff his will down the Norns' teeth, that man is Harald Hardrede. Yet I think of a Norse realm chafing under his grimness, and I think of a sea between him and any retreat, and I think of brave men warding their own hearths, and it seems ill to me. . . . Do you remember how this scratch was made, Jorunn? Little Brigida was sitting on my lap one Yule eve, and playing with my dagger, and . . . Where are the children?"

"They are about. Shall I call them?"

"No. Let them play. I think I'll walk around for a while." Ulf kissed his wife on the forehead.

Taking a spear, he went from the garth. When he climbed the stile to get into a meadow, breath left him and darkness swam before his eyes. He sat till his heart eased; he could feel it shiver in his breast like a wounded bird. When it lost a few beats, a cold jag of fear would go through him, and that was worst of all.

Presently he felt strong enough to go down into the meadow. He walked slowly, leaning on his spear shaft. The grass whispered with wind, early flowers danced in it, and a swallow darted lightning blue through sunbeams. He looked over to a patch of woods, and marveled at how many different shades of green it held.

Now if only some foeman would come after me, he thought. But the meadow sloped off empty toward the distant heights.

In the middle of it was a grass-grown mound. Folk believed it was the home of some old Viking, and Ulf had wanted to dig and see if any treasures had been buried there. Now he felt somehow glad that he had not.

He climbed the mound, stopping often to rest, and sat down with his back against a stone. Its warmth was good on his ribs. The steading was behind him, he faced the unseen mountains.

"As well that she never ..." His voice seemed too loud in the stillness, where only the wind spoke, and he stopped.

Well, he thought, here I am. Come and take me.

The sun reached its height and began to fall again. He felt a small hunger and wished he had brought something to eat. A crock of ale, at least, would be welcome. He reckoned up the beer he had poured down his gullet in a lifetime—surely it would float a ship—and chuckled. The Norns had not treated him so badly.

The sun slipped toward night. He started out of a doze, feeling chilled. It would not be fair if he had to go back. But they would come looking for him soon. Best go on his own feet.

A raven flapped overhead. In this sign conquer.

Ulf gripped his spear, planted the butt in the earth, and began hauling himself up.

Thunder and darkness smote him.

Jorunn found him sprawled on his face atop the mound. He had flung the spear a long way.

3

Harald was drinking among his men the next evening when Jon Ulfsson trod into the hall. "What brings you here?" asked the king.

"My father is dead, lord," said the youth. "I thought you should be told."

The ale horn splintered in Harald's grasp. He looked at his bleeding hand for a while, and silence dropped into the room.

"What did he die of?" he asked at length. "If any man has harmed him, the feud is my own."

"It was his illness. He lay dead in a meadow." Jon gulped, striving for calm. "We brought him home."

Harald turned to his footboy. "Go you and rouse the bishop," he said. "Ulf Uspaksson shall be buried in the Lady Church. I myself will bring him down."

He went from the hall with giant strides, stopping only to fasten on sword and helmet. His men swarmed after. The courtyard was a shout of torches as their mounts were led forth.

Harald swung to the saddle. When the groom had put spurs on his boots, he dug them in deep. The stallion reared, neighing, and the king gave him his head.

Nidharos town roared with a hundred horses at gallop. When he was clear of buildings and on the outward road, Harald spurred his barb again. The land lay still and shadowy, starlight glistened off dew and the dust of his riding whirled white behind him. He gave himself to the steady pulse of muscles and to his own thoughts.

Now we are the old ones, he told himself. It is our turn to stand as a wall between man and eternity, and one by one we are pulled away into we know not what. Oh Ulf my sworn brother, where do you wander tonight? Bare is brotherless back.

A hundred men followed him from Nidharos, but when he reached the steading he rode alone.

His horse shuddered to a halt, almost falling. He tethered the beast—let those who came after see to its needs—and walked to the door. Light gleamed past shutters. He tried the door and it was not barred, so he entered.

Ulf lay with closed eyes, his chin bound up and a sheet over his clothes. A crucifix was in the shrunken hands, and his face had the terrible calm of death. Candles burned at head and feet, while his wife and children and housefolk kept watch on their knees.

King Harald trod quietly to the bier. Jorunn's eyes flickered his way as he stood over her husband, but she did not break off her praying.

Well, now, old wolf, he thought, I wish they had let me close your eyes. But sleep well. He drew his sword and laid the naked blade on the body. Then he knelt with the others.

. . . Holy St. Olaf, I know this man has sinned, I know he was lustful and greedy and well-nigh godless. Yet he fought bravely and there was no treachery in him. Olaf, warrior saint, forgive him his trespasses and take him home. For whatever love you bear this Norway and her sons, for whatever I myself may have done which was pleasing to you, Olaf, pray for Ulf Uspaksson.

And thus they watched through the night.

In morning, a weary Jorunn offered food and drink to the whole troop. "If I can do aught for you and yours," said the king, "you have but to ask me."

"There is something, lord. ..." Jon came to stand before him in wretchedness. "Yes?"

"The day before he died ... he took an oath of me, lord. I would ask leave to absolve myself of it."

"Hush!" said Jorunn angrily.

"No, let him speak," said Harald. "Sick men often demand kittle things."

"He . . . wished me not to follow you to England this year."

Harald towered without moving, but they saw his eyes blink as in pain. "Why did he ask that?" he murmured tonelessly.

"He . . . Forgive me, lord, he said it was a rash and unlucky venture. But I would fain go."

Harald struck his hands silently together. "It is well thought of you," he said after a while. "But abide by your father's wish. Rightly or wrongly, it was the last thing he ever wanted from me."

Jon ran from the room.

The guardsmen took Ulf's body down to Nidharos. The bishop raised some objection, protesting that the marshal had been a heathenish sort and had not received the last rites; it was a bad deed to bury him in Olaf's shrine. But the king scowled so fiercely that he gave way; this was not valiant old Grimkell, but one of the newer handpicked priests.

Afterward King Harald stood for a time by Ulf's grave, and when he left it he said: "There he lies now, the truest among men and the most faithful to his lord."

He slept ill that night, and had strange dreams. It seemed to him that he saw Ulf Uspaksson walk alone on pilgrimage through a darkness full of wind and chill. Shoes kept the whins from piercing his feet, yet they were not the hell shoes that had never been bound on him; they were a pair he had once given a beggar he saw stand barefoot in the snow. Ulf came to a bridge, thin as a sword blade above a sounding torrent, from which any man who had ever been false would surely fall, and crossed it. On the far side, white flames roared and whirled as high as the unseen sky. Through them he must walk; the meat he had given to the poor strengthened him, the drink he had given quenched their heat. Beyond was a throne, and one who sat unstirring upon it, in front of great brazen gates from which came screams that never ended. Yet a road led upward from the throne until it was lost to sight. For hundreds of years Ulf waited, naked and alone, but gripping to his breast each small thing which on earth had been dear to him. Then he answered a call and went forward to hear his doom.

The king wakened to a dawn which took long to seem quite real.

XI

How the Host Was Gathered

1

Harald and the court named Styrkaar marshal, and that redoubtable warrior went briskly to work. He was not beloved of the guardsmen, but all agreed he knew how to ready for a fight.

The word went forth through Norway: half her men of arms-bearing age were to take ship and meet at Solund outside Sognefjord, in September. It was not told them where they would be going, only that they might have to winter abroad, and many wild guesses were made. The older men were apt to grumble about this, but by now no one dared set his will against the king's; and the youths were for the most part eager. Here was the chance to see new lands, win fame and gold and perhaps a farm of one's own. Surely there would be fair young women; hm, ha, how their slender legs would twinkle as they ran and how meltingly warm they would be afterward! Oh ho ho!

That summer was a chill and rainy one; storms whistled from the barrens of Finnmark and seas spumed on skerries. Many a fisherman found himself netted, hanging to the keel of his overturned boat till rescue came or the water gurgled him down. Yeomen wrung their hands as they saw crops beaten flat in the fields, hunters coughed and cursed in brushwood shelters, the chapman's cloth mildewed and the smith's iron rusted. Folk crowded the churches to pray for good weather and then, not wishing to overlook anyone, went off privately and sacrificed to Freyr. The king himself swore when he must pay double to provision his ships.

His spies battled their way home from the West to report that discontent was rife both among the weather-bound Normans and the English who must lie out under hail and gale. When he heard this, Harald dipped more cheerfully into his dwindling hoard.

Days of calm and sunshine were the more glorious for their rarity. On one such morning, Harald decided not to work on his preparations but to ride forth and enjoy the weather. He dressed in rough wadmal clothes, bound sword at side, and called for his horse.

Elizabeth came out as he was readying. "Where do you go?" she asked.

The king saw her stand pale and tired; he could almost feel how she must fight to keep a merry countenance. On an impulse, he answered: "I meant but to ride along the shore. Why do you not come?"

Her look was like the sun breaking through rain. "Gladly," she said. "I will be with you at once."

He had not long to wait, though usually she was a slow and careful dresser. She came out in a gown as simple as his garments, still pinning on her cloak, and mounted the easy old gelding he had for her without needing help. Half a dozen guardsmen rode behind, out of earshot.

They crossed the bridge over the Nidh; planks boomed under the hoofs. Harald gestured to the scores of longships tied up or drawn ashore for scraping and caulking. "A brave sight!" he said.

"Yes. ..." A little frown crossed her brow. "It has ever seemed strange to me, how weapons and warships—the tools of death—are the loveliest things man has made."

"So?" He looked at her, puzzled. "I thought you favored your books and icons."

"Those things are holy, and good to see," she answered, "but somehow they have not the ... I know not what to call it. Something clean and strong." She rode for a while, eyes lowered, seeking words. "Think you, now, Harald. God fashioned man and the beasts and the world itself for a purpose, not only the aim of salvation but the common purpose of eating and walking and working, of staying alive. And wondrously did He wreak; naught of ours can compare to a mountain or a sunset or a blooded horse. Yet He did not gild it, or cover it with twined serpents. In his own tiny way, man has done likewise when making his tools."

Harald did not follow her thought very well; but then, he remembered, no few of her ideas had lain beyond him.

"Sometimes I think you must be a saint." He laughed.

"No!" She turned a stricken face to him. "Do not jest with such matters."

He made no reply, but guided his stallion along the bayshore path. The waters lulled, aglitter; a snowstorm of gulls flew up; a sail splashed red across white-specked blue. On their left were green trees and upward-rolling fields, murmurous under a low wind that tasted of salt and summer.

After a while, Harald said carefully: "Ellisif, I meant not to mock God or yourself. It's only that ... no one else in my life has ever made me feel unworthy, save you."

"I had no such intent," she whispered.

"Well I know it. That's one reason you can humble me. These unwashed monks and hermits I've seen, ever prating of their own holiness, are more like lice than men. You, I think, would buy a beggar's salvation with your own."

She shook her head. "I am no saint, my darling. God knows how sinful I am. There is greed in me, and hate and fear and . . . yes, lust. If you knew what a battle it has been, through how many years, to beat down ill-wishing for . . . others. . . . Even now I can wish to wish evil. All I can strive to do is not to judge anyone else."

"That's more than I've ever even tried, or have any will to try," he said frankly. "Yet only of late have I understood how much manhood Christ had, to die on the cross and not call down the angels to avenge him."

She colored. "I like not to speak of myself," she said. "Nor am I fit to give ghostly counsel. But if truly you have such thoughts, then stop this war. Do not go off to kill men who've done you no harm."

Bleakness settled on his face. "This much I have decided," he replied. "It's no use for me to strive after holiness, I have it not in me. So rather than wrestle with myself, I have turned my whole heart elsewhere. As regards England, you know my wish—to rebuild Knut's realm and strengthen it beyond ever cracking again."

"And thus, long after we are dead, to have peace on earth?"

He smiled wryly. "The saints be thanked, I'll not live to see that day. I could dream of naught duller. . . . No, Ellisif, I hope there will always be good honest wars. You women can perhaps not understand the pleasure in war, something keen and comradely. A man is never more alive than when he throws his whole strength into battle with his neck at stake."

"And what of those killed and maimed?"

Harald shrugged. "All men are hurt, one way or another. I'd liefer get a spear rammed through me than lie puffed and stinking with plague."

"Indeed this world is one of pain," said Elizabeth. Her mouth drooped.

"No," said Harald. "It is a fair and joyous place."

High above them a lark was singing, drunk on sun and sky.

Elizabeth bowed her head. "This is God's will."

"And mine," said Harald. He threw back his long hair. "The undying power and glory of my house, my blood in the kings of earth to come; there's a goal to work for."

A calm came over the woman. "Go, then," she spoke. "I shall say no more, only pray that your St. Olaf ward you from harm."

He looked at her, wonderingly. Her cowl had fallen back, and the sun washed over the rich tints of her hair. The face was turned forward, and his eyes followed it: down the brow and the delicate tilt of nose, to finely chiseled lips and curve of chin and throat. Her body was not full, but he remembered the feel of it.

There was a strength in Ellisif which he was only beginning to find out. Not for naught was she the child of Jaroslav the wise and mighty, and of Ingigerdh whom St. Olaf had loved. He murmured something to himself.

"What did you say?" asked his wife, facing back to him. He marked how beautiful her eyes were.

"It was a story I heard in Russia," he answered. "A man who had gone there with St. Olaf told it to me. The king was standing on a hill outside Novgorod one day when your mother rode by; her form was bowed and her face was faded. He looked on her and made a verse:

" 'From my hill I followed

the faring, when on horseback

lightly did the lovely

let herself be out-borne.

And her shining eyes

did all my joy bereave me:

known it is, to no one

naught of sorrow happens.

" 'Formerly in fairness,

filled with golden blossoms,

trees stood green and trembling,

tall above the jarldom.

Soon their leaves grew sallow

silently, in Russia-gold

alone now garlands

Ingigerdh's sweet forehead.' "

They rode for a while without speaking. Then Elizabeth shook herself, as if waking from a heavy dream.

"Luckier am I than my mother," she said. "I got the man I cared for."

Harold drew a long breath. "We've kept too high a wall between us," he said. "Let it come down. Would you like to fare with me to England?"

Red and white ran across her. "Yes," she whispered. "Oh yes, my beloved."

He smiled crookedly. "You are not fond of the sea," he warned.

"That shall not hold me back." She stared

elsewhere. "I looked not for this. ... I never dared hope "

"I can give you naught else," he said. "Strange to have wealth and men, and still be a beggar." "It is enough," she answered.

2

The next day rain scudded out of the north, and folk stayed indoors. The world drew close, gray and horizonless; there was only the beat of rain on the roofs and its drip from the eaves; now and then lightning forked in heaven and thunder banged down endless stairs. The wind piped and whined.

Harald sought Thora's dwelling. She must be told what he had decided, though he liked not the outlook of so doing. He found her sewing in her main room with several maidservants. The shutter in the loft window was closed, but many candles burned; the damp air made them smoke, the flames guttered in black and orange tiger stripes.

The king paused in the doorway. Odd that he should think of tigers. He had seen a few down in Miklagardh, and remembered them bearing the hot colors of his youth. Well . . .

Stepping inside, he said curtly: "Let the women go hence." They fluttered and cooed, a dovecote into which a lynx had strolled, and gathered their needles and scissors and cloths.

Thora remained seated. A tomcat sprang to her lap as she laid down the sewing, one yellow-eyed streak of midnight. She stroked it absently.

Harald watched her, and liked still less the thought of the hurt he must give. Tall and fair she was, with heavy copper coils about the handsome head, and she had stood by him as bravely as any man. Her redes had not always been good—now and then he still dreamed of Einar Thambaskelfir, after all these years—but each had been for the best as she saw it; and she had given him Magnus and Olaf, without whom his striving had been empty.

Yes, he thought, most men love not at all, once past their youth; the rest give their hearts to one; but mine was sundered long ago, and its halves lie in two pairs of hands.

He tried to call up the image of Maria Skleraina, but somehow it was blurred; she wore the face now of Ellisif and now of Thora.

His leman smiled, with the warmth that was hers alone, and pointed to the cloth laid beside her. "See, we are making you new garments," she said. "You must be well clad when they hail you king of England."

He drew up a chair and sat down before her.

"We could make you a new banner too," she said. "The old one is faded."

"Landwaster has ever brought me luck," he answered.

Strange that the grim blood-red raven flag should have been woven by Ellisif.

"If these northerly winds hold till Michaelmas, we shall have a swift passage," said Thora.

"Though then we're like to land before the Normans, and must fight them after the English," he replied.

"So much the more glory," she said.

Thunder bawled in the sky.

Harald looked at the floor; he tugged at his beard. "Thora," he said slowly, "I've somewhat to tell you."

"Yes?" Her fingers tightened on the cat's fur; it glanced up as a jarl might at some churl who defied him.

"The venture will be a mighty one," said Harald, still without meeting her eyes. "All I have ever gained will be set at stake. It may be that I will not return."

"Surely you will," she cried. Then, after a nervous little laugh: "Unless you find the English maidens too fair. But I'll see that you don't."

"That's what I was thinking of," he plowed forward. "The realm cannot be left headless. I mean to have Magnus made under-king ere I leave; he must stay behind to ward Norway."

"You must fight another battle of the Niss to make him do so," she smiled. "But you have right, and I'll help you in this."

"You must help me in more than that," he said, and now he looked squarely at her. "Magnus is too young and hot-headed. He'll have counselors, the older court-men, but is likely to override them. You can bend him toward wisdom."

Thora sat quiet for a long time. The rain spilled on the roof, and the oaks in the yard mourned with wind.

"Hard is it to let you go into such danger alone," she said at last.

"It must be done," he replied. "I could not give you a greater trust."

"Well, then ..." Tears blurred the long gold-green eyes. She caught herself with the sternness of forefathers who had been kings. "Aye."

"There's one other thing," he said. "Ellisif goes with me."

Thora sat as if lamed.

"I promised her," he said, almost pleading. "And English usage ..."

"You need not lie to me," she answered softly.

He looked for a spitting, swearing fury; this bewildered him.

"You must understand . . ." he began.

"I do," she said. "Much too well. Faithless were you born and faithless will you die."

He spurred his anger. "How often have I told you . .."

"Peace!" She lifted a hand and laughed harshly. "I know the story. And I am but your mistress. Your mind is not to be altered, so I must learn to live with it, like all Norway."

"It was never my thought to give either of you less honor than the other," he said.

"Or less hurts."

He looked away. "It's a thing beyond my understanding," he said. "I've broken Norway to my will, which even St. Olaf could not do. Yet the lowliest crofter can keep two women under one roof and rule them so he has peace at home. I cannot."

She put the cat gently on the floor and got up to come behind his chair and lean over his shoulder. One hand stroked his head. "The reason for that," she said in a very soft tone, "is this: you are not any other man, but Harald Hardrede. What woman would be content to share you?"

She laid her cheek on his. "No, I've not the heart to blame you. You are as you are, and were you another my life would have been the poorer. Yet one

thing would I ask of you."

"What is that?"

"Abide with me till you sail. Let it be us two alone, as once it was." He could not refuse her.

* * *

In September Nidharos began to fill with armed men—the Throndish and northern levies. By day the town roared and brawled, even by night it was a storm of swaggering warriors, beer and brags and then fists or swords till the guardsmen came and judgment was passed! Yet a foreigner would have been surprised to know that a woman could walk safely in the wildest midnight. There would be raffish words said, but naught else unless she agreed. The violation of a woman of one's country was not unknown, but he who did it was counted the worst of men, to be slain out of hand by the rest and left unburied.

Harald called a Thing to crown Magnus. Before they went to it, the youth protested once more: "What sort of king is it you give the folk, who'll not be on this trip?"

"You'll have battles aplenty in your lifetime," said Harald. "Now let me hear no more of this."

"But Olaf goes! Even Maria and Ingigerdh are going!"

"The hardest part is to wait and watch."

"They why don't you do it?"

"Be still!" rapped Harald. "I'm yet man enough to turn a puppy like you over my knee."

Olaf stood silently by, dressed in his finery, letting them have it out. He had grown tall and strong limbed, his yellow hair fell sleekly past a broad handsome face, but he remained the quiet one. Among friends he could be merry, toward the rest of the world he turned blankness. It puzzled Harald that even the lustiest youths respected his judgment, seemed to stand a little in awe of him who would liefer think a matter out than draw a sword. Between Olaf and his father was a coolness, and the boy had shown neither happiness nor misery when told he was to come along. It was plain he thought the expedition a crazy risk, but he accepted it as he did most things.

What could be done about him? There was nothing to catch at, no insolence, not even sullenness; but God be praised that Magnus was there. Harald was leaving his oldest son behind less to have a king than to guard him.

They went to the meeting place, where Harald made known his wish, and the royal name was given Magnus. He took it glumly, but the warriors cheered. To a man, they liked him.

The day of departure drew nigh. On the last day ere sailing to meet the rest of his levy, Harald heard a Mass said for victory. He felt a thick heartbeat; when they brought forth the Host, it seemed him that Olaf the Holy hovered close. King and saint, you know me well, he thought; you know my cruelty and greed and haughtiness, you know I have been ungodly all too often. Yet what is it but the heritage we share, the Yngling race which hammered out a kingdom in blood and sweat? Warriors were we ever, and warriors will we remain. Not for the glory of God—I cannot pretend that before you, Olaf—but for the strength and fame of our house, bless us and ward us and lead us to victory.

When the service was over, he sought out Bishop Alfgeir in the minster's treasury. "We leave at dawn tomorrow, if the wind turn not against us," he said.

"God go with you, my son," said the biship unctuously.

"There is one thing. It was the custom of my forerunner King Magnus to care for the saint, clipping his hair and nails and showing him all honor. In this I have been remiss; I have only seen him once, many years ago. Give me the key to his shrine, and tomorrow I will go alone to do it."

Alfgeir started. Fear ran over the smooth-shaven face. "It is not needful, my son," he stammered. "It ... it was done only a short time ago."

"Nevertheless I will. Give me the key."

"No . . . no, my lord, I tell you it isn't needful; the saint likes not to be . . ."

Harald stood up, tall and threatening. "The key," he said.

Alfgeir tottered to his feet and got it with shaking hands from a chest. Harald smiled ironically. "Thank you, lord bishop," he said. "Pray for our success."

"I ... I will. ..." Alfgeir shuddered.

Harald wondered what ailed the man, but had so much to do on this last day that he soon forgot. In the evening he held a mighty feast, but went early to bed, telling his footboy to call him two hours before daybreak.

Thora shivered in the raw damp cold of the hall's bedchamber. She had been fierce and tender with him of late; tonight there was grief in her.

"What if you never come back?" she asked wildly.

"No, now, such words are unlucky," he said. "Indeed I'll return. Fifty battles have I won. It may well take a year or so to subdue England, but if it's that long I'll send for you."

She crept into his arms. The unbound hair streamed down her back as she buried her face against his breast. "I am afraid," she whimpered.

"This is unlike you," he said. "Ever you gave me a glad good-bye."

"I was younger then," she said. "It seemed as if we had all time before us, that we were deathless gods. But now I know how much is to lose . . . and how little to gain."

"Never was more to be had."

"What is it measured with having you?" He felt a stiffening in her, and she lifted her face in the darkness and kissed him. "Only God knows how much I love you, Harald. But go you must, and wait I must, so go with victory."

He drew her more tightly to him.

"Come," she murmured. "Let us not sleep tonight. There will be too much sleeping later."

He lost himself with her, and wondered why he had ever promised to take another woman along, and then forgot the wondering.

Nevertheless he drowsed off toward morning. Half awake, he had an evil dream. It seemed that Olaf came to him shining in the cold light of his holiness, and that the saint looked on him with wrath and warned him that God did not stand behind this faring. He jerked fully awake and shuddered toward the dear realness which lay beside him.

A knock boomed on the door, and the footboy's voice called: "It is two hours before matins, my lord."

"Aye . . . aye, so." Harald sat up. He felt empty with weariness.

Thora stirred, the pallet rustled beneath her. "So soon?" she asked.

"I go to tend the saint," he answered. A chill struck through him as he remembered the dream. But surely it was a false one; belike they brewed magic against him in England. "Thereafter I must to the ships and get all embarked."

"Then this is farewell," she said.

"Why, will you not come see me off?" He tried to laugh; it rattled in his throat.

"Oh, yes. But that's not the same. . . . Come to me." Her mouth sought his with hunger.

"Go, then," she said at length. "And whatever happens, I will always love you."

Once another woman had said that, on another shore.

He struck light to a candle and pulled on his clothes. Thora knelt to bind his cross-gaiters. When she was through, she looked at him wordlessly. He smiled to her and left.

The streets were dark, stars gleamed from the sky, and frost lay in the earth. Many men were abroad, torches bobbed and flared, echoes boomed between shadowy walls. The footsteps and clatter, the talk and barking laughter, seemed to come from very far away. Harald led his several guards to where the Lady Church loomed.

There he stopped and turned to them. The bearded faces sprang in and out of night as the torches flickered. Somewhere a dog howled. "Wait you here," said the king. "I go in alone."

The floor gave his footfalls back to him in a cold clashing. This minster was small and humble beside the cathedrals of Miklagardh, but it seemed vast now when only a few candles lit it. He thought of demons crouched in the hidden corners, dark wings beating up in the arch of the roof . . . and the graveyard that lay behind; the sun had not yet risen to drive the unquiet dead back into the earth. Harald shivered.

Before Ulf Uspaksson's tomb he stopped and gave prayers for the soul's repose. "I would you were beside me," he said. "It's been lonely since you died. Sleep in peace, my wolf."

Olaf's shrine glittered ahead, cloth of gold and candles burning. Harald offered his own, and knelt for an Ave and a Paternoster.

Olaf, watch over us. You who were the finest flower of the old North, remember us who follow.

Rising, he took out the scissors he had and laid them before the great casket. He signed himself and put the key to the lock and turned it. The clicking was louder than he had thought it would be.

Well . . .

He swung the lid back and looked in. Death grinned at him.

His heart lost a beat, and a freezing ran down his veins. "No," he said.

Moldered bones reddened with the rust of crumbling mail, an eyeless skull where the hair and beard still clung. Never in his life had he seen such a horror as the bearded skull.

His heart picked up, leaping within his ribs, and he clawed after air. A sign, a warning, now God was wrathful and let slip the hounds of hell!

No……

Harald Hardrede, Yngling of the Ynglings, locked his jaws together. Who would expect a saint's remnants to endure through eternity? Every other relic he had ever seen was bone and dust. Olaf had been embalmed, that much he knew, and the priests had not seen fit to let the world know the embalming was not very skillful. It meant nothing. It could not mean anything. Yet . . .

"No," said Harald again. His laughter snapped forth, beyond his own will, as if the Norns laughed for him. "No, my brother, I will do you honor."

Most carefully, he closed and locked the shrine. When he came out of the church, he was trembling with cold.

"Come," he rasped. "We've work to do."

He went down to the docks, almost running, and there he threw the key into the river. "Let no man break the saint's rest from this day," he said.

Then he threw himself into the work of readying.

XII

How They Fared to Orkney

1

The fleet which gathered at Solund was among the mightiest ever seen in the North: nigh two hundred and forty ships, as well as vessels carrying provisions and many lesser craft. From Finnmark's marshy woods to the hills of Viken, from the broad deep farmlands of the Dale to the gnarled Upland wilderness, men had come, scarred graybeards and heavy-muscled swains and beardless youths hot to prove their manhood—ax and sword and hammer, bow and spear and sling, shield and helm and byrnie, here rattled the scales of a dragon.

The Fafnir was a gallant sight as she led the northern levies down to the meeting place: the long sweep of hull blood red, the worm flashing golden head and tail, the raven in flight across her blue and white sail; she trod the waves underfoot, almost dancing, and the shields hung at her bulwarks clanked a song for her. Behind swept her followers, under the banners of Styrkaar Marshal, Eystein Gorcock, and the other great men in Norway.

They lay to outside the island for a couple of days, awaiting a favorable wind. In that time it was seen that the king looked haggard and was often brooding alone. Ill dreams were talked of. A guardsman named Gyrdh who was aboard the royal ship had one.

He thought he saw a giant troll-wife standing on the island, a hideous thing with coarse heavy legs planted in the mold and a skin that moved on her bones. In her right hand she had a short wide sword, in her left a trough. As her eyes, wells of blackness, looked out over the ships, Gyrdh saw that a bird sat on every prow, eagles or ravens. The troll-wife chanted:

"Eager from the Eastlands

is the king now westbound

to meet the old Man-reaper,

much unto my pleasure.

Birds await a baleful

booty on his vessels:

suet for the starving,

such as I will give them."

Gyrdh awoke in a shudder and sweat. It seemed him that he could still hear the hoarse tone and the screaming of the eagles.

He told others of his dream, and word went from ship to ship of many men who had had such warnings. But when Gunnar Geiroddsson heard of it, he told Gyrdh to be still with such croakings; any harm they betokened would be to Gyrdh alone, and Gunnar would fulfill that.

Despite these forebodings, most of the Norsemen kept their courage up. The farms were ready for winter, or nearly enough ready so that the folk staying behind could finish the work; King Harald might be a harsh man whom the commons did not love, but he was the greatest of warriors; England the beautiful lay open to him who dared take her. The skalds had many a lay to render of old brave days, how the sons of Ragnar Hairybreeks had plundered in the South and afterward taken a huge bite of England, how Olaf Tryggvason had fought at Maldon and Olaf the Saint had taken London Bridge in his wild youth. . . . Yes, we are a strong folk, we have birthed kingdoms erenow and will do it again.

Harald had the Fafnir rowed into Sognefjord. There he and Elizabeth stood side by side, looking up to the windy cliffs, down to the glitter of waves, and inland to where waterfalls toppled white from the sky and eagles soared above pine woods.

"It is a fair land," said the king.

"A giant's land," said his wife. "Stern and cold, too big for men, and yet when it blooms every spring ..."

And the waters rush from the mountains, and green is breathed across the forests, and the skies are wild with bird song, and the elk bellow across ringing valleys, and the first little anemones peep white and tender from oaken roots. . . . High and lovely is this land which brought us forth, strong with the bones of our fathers and dear with the footsteps of our mothers, and strange it is how we are driven out in a devil's haro across the world. . . . No!

"We will come here again," said Harald.

"God willing," whispered Elizabeth. He looked long at her. "We have never left it," he said. "We will always be here." Then he took the ship back out to sea.

The next day a strong wind blew from the northeast, and the waters ran in thunder. Horns howled, masts came up and sails bloomed, the king's fleet faced the west.

Long did Harald stand looking back, until the last smoke-blue line had vanished and the horizon held only sea, before he leaned in the bows and fell to thinking.

Despite her great length and beam, the Fafnir was crowded. Under the foredeck a shelter had been built for Elizabeth and her daughters. Just aft of this was a pen for several horses, among them the royal stallion stamping restless, his coat blue-black and his mane flying; and there was a cage of chickens, and a big stock of the best provisions. The pick of the guardsmen were aboard, filling the ship with their long legs and their boastful talk. Sixteen-year-old Ingigerdh stood watching them wistfully: a plain girl, neither fair nor ugly, a little too heavy as she got her growth. The men's gaze was apt to stray to Maria, but she looked always over toward Eystein's ship. Harald brooded under the figurehead, his wife sat silent near him, and Prince Olaf had the steering oar.

With no need to row, the crew took their ease. A small group lounged between the amidships thwarts, and to them wandered Thjodholf the skald, stout and red haired. Gunnar was holding forth, the newest and least wealthy of the household troopers, but also the biggest. The rest were half a dozen of the younger men, as well as dark and gloomy Gyrdh who sat fingering a crucifix.

"Now you may have your English farms and thralls," said Gunnar, "but myself, I'll take the gold and the girls. I'm not one to drive a plow . . . hm, I mean a wooden plow."

The men laughed. Gunnar's round face, peeling with sunburn, glowed like a happy moon. "They do say the English ale is of the best too," he went on. "Rich and brown, like unto honey in your gullet, and afterward is all the bees in all the world's meadows buzzing." He smacked his lips. "Did not the old Valkyries offer such beer to them what fell as heroes, Thjodholf?"

"So it's told," answered the skald. "And I think not Odhinn would have kings and jarls and other noble men at his board, with nothing better to drink than water."

"This is heathenish talk!" burst out Gyrdh. "Best we think on our sins and make what peace we can with Christ."

"Why, how have us ever offended him?" asked Gunnar, surprised. "I make no doubt he'll bid us welcome, come our weird, and spread a feast for us."

Gyrdh jerked. "Now you mock holy things," he said. "All know that in heaven there's no eating or drinking or marrying."

"Say not so!" cried Gunnar in alarm. "That were a rotten trick to play on an honest man."

"We should ask the priest about such matters," counseled Thjodholf. He glanced to the Russian who was Elizabeth's chaplain and the only cleric aboard. The black-clad man met his regard steadily, gray beard whipping in the wind.

"Heathendom again," muttered Gyrdh. "That outlander! He's in pact with the Devil, you mark my words."

The priest's face did not stir; it was hard to say if he had heard or not. He seemed indeed to have stepped from the gaunt strangeness of a southern icon.

"There's enough," growled Gunnar. "Too much have you spoke against our good king and his ways. Better you keep still." He lifted a fist the size of a young ham, and Gyrdh withdrew sullenly.

"Always the ravens to croak at us," went on Gunnar. "And us with a kingdom to overrun." He scratched after a flea, caught it, and chuckled. "Hoy, little one, thought you to come along and sit you on some sweet English maiden? That's my own task, so go to Valhall and pump Thor." He cracked it between his teeth. "And now I've won that battle, I thirst. How's for some beer, lads?"

"If you have any in your chest," said Thjodholf. "The ship's beer goes out only at the king's word."

"Oh, aye. My chest holds ax, armor, a lucky charm, and a change of garments. The rest is beer jugs."

Thjodholf whistled. "There speaks a man! But what if your ax should break?"

"Why," said Gunnar, "I'll snatch me a new one. They say those English Housecarles bear axes of right size."

He opened his box, got out a crock, and passed it around. When it came back to him, he drained it.

"Ah! That goes good. What about a verse, Thjodholf—a merrier one than those we've been hearing of late?"

The skald cleared his throat. Gunnar had not the means to give him a reward, so he said: "Perhaps you'd like to hear one I made for the king awhile back. It treats of his warfare down in the south.

"I heard that mighty Harald

held full eighteen battles.

All were bloody—often

urged the chieftain peace-breach.

Eagles' claws you colored,

king, ere wending homeward;

and the wolves were eating

everywhere you tarried."

"A fine verse!" roared Gunnar. "A noble verse! Skall!”

2

They had not sailed long when the wind stiffened into a gale and the waters crashed and boomed and climbed over the gunwales. Across a crazed salt waste, under a low-flying wrack, Harald saw his fleet scattered. Far off, through the spindrift, Eystein's ship could be seen; now she was borne into the sky, now she was pitched hell ward, a chip in a maelstrom, until the darkness ate her. That long did Maria cling to the bulwark and stare after the sliver which impaled her hopes: her mantle was ripped, her dress and hair sodden, ere she went down to join her mother and sister in the cabin.

Harald took the steering oar himself, bracing his feet and bending his thews. Down in the hull, the rowers fought to hold the Fafnir steady, while the rest bailed. A wave marched by, overtopping the ship like a wrinkled cliff; men craned their necks back to see its white mane. They slid below it, writhed across its roots, and dug nose into another. Spray sheeted at the bows. The wind skirled and chanted till their heads rang.

Hoo-ah! The ship stood on her beam-ends, shook herself so the crew rattled about, and the sky whirled as she canted over to the other side. Two lesser waves picked her up at bow and stern, Harald heard the keel yammer between, then they dropped her and the sea fountained to starboard and larboard.

A billow washed across the decks. Suddenly the horse pen was smashed. The beasts had been securely bound, but the tall black stallion broke free. Screaming, he went to his knees, staggered up, and lashed with his forefeet at Thor. "Get him tied!" shouted Harald. "Get him tied ere he brains someone!" The wind snatched his voice and shredded it.

Olaf dropped his bailing bucket and leaped toward the horse. A roll threw him beneath the creature's legs. He grabbed a thwart and pulled himself to his feet while maddened hoofs flailed around him. Lunging, he got the bridle and fell with it.

The stallion jerked and bit at the boy. Gunnar Geiroddsson let go his oar and jumped to give aid. He got hold of the hind legs and yanked them out from under. Down came the horse. Gunnar fell on top and wrestled him while Olaf got him tied.

Rising, Gunnar cut the ropes that held the chicken coop and lifted it with its squawking cargo and threw it overboard. Then he found another oar and gave himself again to the ship.

So the night went. Toward morning the wind fell, but the seas still ran heavy. Day brought thick overcast and smoky clouds racing beneath it; men gaped at each other in a kind of dull-eyed wonder that they yet lived.

Harald gave the helm to Thjodholf and went forward. His hands were cramped together, he could not at once uncurl the blistered fingers, and he ached and his belly growled; but there was a strange lightness in him. The storm had blown away his forebodings and he felt almost young again.

"Ease up," he cried. "We'll stay afloat now. Hjalti, see if you can make some kind of breakfast. . . . Olaf! Are you well, boy?"

"Yes." The lad slumped on a thwart, his drenched hair hiding a bent head. He shivered in the keen wind. "I'm tired but otherwise naught ails me."

"I thought you a dead man when you lay there under Kolfaxi's hooves." Harald gripped his son's shoulder. "That was bravely done. I never thought you a man before."

Olaf lifted weary eyes. "Must one kill to be a man?" he asked.

Harald did not reply, but turned to Gunnar. "You did well also," he said, "and I'll not forget it."

"Aa . . . 'twas naught, my lord." The giant blushed and looked at his feet. Water still gurgled around them. All the crew were soaked to the bone, their hands were puffy with waterlogging.

"But why did you throw the hens overboard? We'll have no eggs or fowl till we see England."

"Why, my lord, when Ran is hungry, she must be fed. Else she'd have eaten us."

Harald grinned. "Still a heathen at heart!"

"No, my lord," cried Gunnar, shocked. "It can't be heathendom, because priest says the heathen get no good from their sacrifices, and we was saved."

Harald lifted his shoulders, spread his hands, and looked to heaven.

He found Hallvardh Flatnose, a gray old Viking who had made several voyages west, and asked him: "Know you where we are or which way we're bound?"

Hallvardh scratched his head. "I'm not sure, my lord. I think the wind's shifted more southerly. Had we any sun, I could tell more or less how far north we are, but the clouds are too thick for even a sunstone to help. I'd say we are bound almost due west, like to fetch up around Shetland, but could take no oath on it."

"Well ..." The king looked outward. He saw many ships, widely scattered, but more than half his fleet was not in sight. "Let's bring together what craft we can find and run before the wind. The rest know where to meet, and I think few if any went down."

While food was readied, he went among the crew, cheering them and calming their fears. "What, this gale a bad sign? Nonsense! Not a man of us was hurt, and we've hardly even sprung a leak. I take it to be the best of signs, a token that we'll overcome whatever seeks to stop us." They had rarely seen him in so friendly a mood.

Elizabeth and the girls emerged, to huddle together with teeth chattering. Maria looked hollow-eyed, and Harald chucked her under the chin and laughed: "There, there, fear not for your betrothed, he's the best of sailors. You'll meet him at Orkney, where we'll rest a bit ere leaving you to await our victory."

She tried to smile.

Ingigerdh snuffled and sneezed. "The worst will be going back to that dripping cabin while the men change their garments," she complained. Olaf grinned, and she grew aware of what she had said and turned fire-red. "No, no ... I meant not ... I meant to say that . . .oh, stop it, you big lout!"

Harald whooped laughter.

They had rallied the ships and were running on reefed sail before Elizabeth sought out her husband. He stood soothing his mount while the pen was repaired. Some of the other horses had broken legs and were killed and thrown overboard; no few men remembered heathen feasts and looked dreamily at that forbidden meat. "There, you," murmured the king. "There, my handsome one, there, Kolfaxi, think of bearing me in triumph through London. Think of green English pastures and sleek English fillies." His hands were gentle on the blue-black hide.

The queen was pale from seasickness, she shivered inside her heavy cloak and crept near her husband. Harald regarded her with compassion. "You should have had a keel under you more often," he said. "Even the best sailors are apt to turn their stomachs the first day or two. But I seem to have done you an ill turn by asking you along."

"I'd not have stayed behind," she whispered.

He smiled and, making it seem by chance, lowered his head and brushed his lips across her cheek.

"You've changed," she said. "You were so gloomy when we left Nidharos; but now you're like a young boy."

He nodded. "Aye. There were evil tokens, I'd almost a mind to stop the whole faring. But since we wrestled that gale to its knees ..."

He squinted out across the hurrying sea. "The heart of man is a strange thing," he murmured. "I had many doubts. . . . You, my dear, planted no few of them. And yet . . . look you, Ellisif. All these years, since I won the throne, I've done naught. I tried, I battered my head against a mountain. ... No, say rather I went around and around in a scummy pool, while the river flowed past me and I grew old. I could not bend the folk, I could not win Denmark, you know not what a bitterness that was."

"Did it matter greatly?" she asked. "Your soul is worth more than any earthly gain."

"It mattered," he said. "I am so made. But today there's an end of doubt. I'll not leave England till it's mine—ours—or till I'm dead. There's no more questioning about whether it can be done, or whether it's righteous, or . . . anything save the doing. A great venture and a last spending of strength, it's what I wanted and all I wanted."

"You are a strong man," she said in pity, "and yet you flee from your own thoughts."

He shrugged. "That's as may be, Ellisif. But riddle me this: now when I go to war against men who never offended me, there's no more hatred in me, not for anyone. I see that Svein Estridhsson is a wise and valiant man. . . . Only now do I see what courage it took to fight a losing war for twenty years, and never give up, and live by hope alone. And Haakon Jarl, there's another good warrior; and my namesake in England. . . . Oh, I'd fight them yet, but they'd be almost friends even as we crossed blades."

He sighed happily. "Yes, much to do. I was wrong to war endlessly for Denmark when a whole world waited. After we have England . . . another voyage to Jotunheim, in a real fleet? Or seeking out this fair Vinland they seem to have lost again? Or—I know not. I know only that my heart has returned to me."

3

The Fafnir and her following reached Shetland after a quick passage, saw moorland rise steep from a smother of surf, and made landing at Lorwick to rest and refurbish for a day or two. The folk here were mostly Norse, smallholders who greeted their king well, but Harald did not wish to tarry. Erelong he steered south to the Orkneys, and in Scapa Row he found the rest of his fleet anchored with the Thorfinnssons' ships. It was a mighty array, the water seemed floored with strakes and Stromness was ringed by camp fires.

Harald went ashore at the little town. Here for the first time he saw Scots, rangy kilted men who spoke a strange tongue; but again, the Orkney people had come mostly from Norway and their dialect was not much different from his.

Paul and Erlend, tall weather-bitten youths, received him at their hall and gave him the high seat. They had good news: the English ship-fyrd had disbanded on the Nativity of St. Mary, and no few vessels were lost in the gales on their way home; likewise the land levies which Harold Godwinsson had kept out during summer were gone home; Earl Tosti would meet the Norse at Tynemouth with such English and Flemings as he had, to do homage and give help; the Normans were still weatherbound, and it was said desertion was melting William's army away. King Harold lay in the south, and it would be long ere he could reach north to help the Alfgarssons.

Harold Hardrede drained the jarls of their knowledge. He had questioned so many, so closely, that it seemed he had already been in England; he knew where every Northumbrian river ran, and where the strongpoints were, and what to expect at each. There would be hard fighting, but he was certain his army could quickly take the northern shires; then, if the Normans should land, the southern English would look on him as a rescuer, and aid him. "But if need be," he said, "we'll break both nations. We'll hold England by spring."

Under the walls of the town, Eystein and Maria found each other. They stood for long, only looking, until she gave a small cry, forgot the folk around and threw herself into his arms.

He held her close, and did not let go her hands when she stepped back. "Each day you grow more fair," he said.

"I was afraid for you," said the girl. "When I thought we were going to sink, I prayed God to take me rather than you ... or if He must take you, to have pity and bring me along."

"No," smiled Eystein, "you should not ask that. Whatever happens to me, I hope you will live to gladden the earth for many years."

Her small fine head shook. "It will always be my prayer," she said, "that we go together."

"Once this war is over, we will," he vowed, purposely misunderstanding her.

"It will be hard to wait, and harder still not to know."

"I'll send messengers." Eystein smiled. "Come now, my darling, this is no time for tears. We've a good three days ere I sail again."

"I would I could live only for the hour."

"What else does man have?" Eystein's head lifted, and he laughed. "No more of such sorrow. I go to win a jarldom for our sons. Meanwhile we have each other, and I want naught but your nearness."

She blinked back the tears and laughed with him; for she was a king's daughter.

On the last evening before the fleet went south, Harald and Elizabeth walked out alone. They did not reckon the guardsmen who followed several yards behind. "Shall we go along the shore?" asked Harald.

"No," said the queen. "Inland, if you will. I hate the sea."

"Oh, you've earth underfoot."

"It, the sea, has taken too many men."

Harald shrugged, but obeyed her wish. They left the town behind and followed an upward road. When they reached a height, they stopped and sat down on a rock.

Heath and the little farms gnawed from it lay at their backs; the ling was blooming in purple, and gulls flew into the low red sun. Beneath them bustled the town, and Scapa Flow brawled with ships and men, but here they were alone where only the wind and the gulls had voice.

"And so you sail," murmured Elizabeth after a while. "How long will you be gone?"

"I know not. It shouldn't be too long. As soon as we hold Northumbria and Yorkshire firmly, I'll send for you."

"May it be soon."

Harald leaned back on his elbow. He saw her face graven across a hugeness of sky. Beyond, clouds were turning gold, as if to make a crown for her.

"I've done you much harm," he said gently. "And I fear I always will."

"It is naught," she answered, laying a hand in his. "You have done me more good, simply by being."

"A strange life we've had," he mused. "What began as a wedding of two houses has become one of two humans."

"Three," she replied.

"Well . . ."

"I hold no more grudge against Thora. She gives you something I cannot. Let that be to her honor."

"You are the first," he told her. "At times I think you were ever the first, and I too blind to know it."

Elizabeth smiled and looked down at him. "What should I say?" she asked. "Should I tell you to keep your feet warm, and not to fare forth without a mail coat? Or should I ask you to deal justly with your foes and remember God? I can give you no counsel . . . only wait."

"It should not be for long. We'll have a merry winter, you and I."

"I pray it be so." Something tore her voice. "If it is not . . ."

"All men must die. If I should fall, Ellisif, do you look after our daughters, and lend Olaf your wisdom. He heeds you."

The gray eyes blurred. "I would not be able to keep living without you," she said.

He sat up and laid an arm about her waist. "Indeed you would. You've more strength than you know of. More than I, in some ways. How else could you have endured me?" He laughed.

"Come, now," he said when she remained silent, "we've still an evening and a night together. I'd sail more gladly if I knew your soul was not too heavy."

Elizabeth drew breath. This much she could give him, she thought, mirth and courage and a highhearted farewell: a lie. It was not such an overwhelmingly great gift in return for the years she had had.

"Why, I meant it not thus," she said with a smile. "I was but asking you to take care, and surely you will. Ever have you carried victory, and it will be something new when you hail me Queen of England." Her eyes shone at him. "Yet it was always enough to be wife of Harald Sigurdharson." They walked back to the hall hand in hand.

XIII

Of Kings in England

1

The wind shifted until it blew almost due south, and the Norse fleet went swiftly along the coast of Scotland. Looking on hills purple with ling and yellow with gorse, tumbling steeply down to the waters, Harald felt a stirring. This was his kind of land; he understood suddenly the fierce quick pride of its folk and almost he wanted to stop here and seek them out and league with them. But England the green lay ahead.

The Highlands fell away as his ships galloped south. Now there were wooded hills bearing wan hues of summer; garths and crofts were to be seen, and men driving their cattle inland as the fleet hove into view. Houses and outbuildings were made differently from those in Norway, lower and more plain but with a solidness that bespoke wealth. The further south he came, the more thickly settled the country was.

When they passed the Tweed mouth, Hallvardh Flatnose told him: "This is more or less where Scotland ends, my lord. Henceforth we're going by England."

"Should not Hadrian's Wall be near?" asked the king. "I am fain to see it." "Whose wall?"

"The one the old Romans made, when they held England. And much else." Harald sighed. "A great folk, those of Romaborg. The rest of us, ever since Carl the Great, have been trying to do only a small part of what they wrought. And we have failed, every one of us."

"Perhaps the time is another," suggested Thjodholf.

"Aye, so. And then, the Romans took hundreds of years to eat the world. Can it be gobbled again in one lifetime?" Harald brooded for a moment, before he raised his head haughtily. "We are not a lesser race."

No, thought the skald, but we come at an ill time, in an age of wolves. Still, if ever a man lived who could bend time itself to his will, he stands by me now overtopping us all.

With the favoring wind, it was not a long run from the Tweed to the Tyne. They entered this on a gray afternoon with frost in the air and the sea chopping outside. A dozen ships lay to near the stockade of a little town whose men watched their approach with trepidation. One of the vessels was of great size and gaudily painted; her mast was up, and a green and gold banner flew at its tip.

"Out anchor!" cried Harald. "Stand by! This must be Tosti Jarl."

The royal standard-bearer today was Fridhrek Kolbjarnarson, a slender yellow-haired youth of good family, whose first war this was. He went to the chest where the raven flag lay, and took Land-waster forth and raised it on its staff. Wind caught the folds, bloody red uncurled and the swart bird seemed to flap its wings. "Now let them know this is the king's ship!" he said loudly.

"Who could mistake it, lad?" drawled Gunnar. "No other boat'd have so long a man sticking up in her."

The earl's craft swarmed with men, weapons blinked and hallooing went across the river mouth. Presently a boat rowed from her to the Fafnir. The men who had been seated in its bows leaped aboard, disdaining the hands which offered help.

For a moment he and King Harald stood regarding each other. He was of middling height, slim waisted and broad shouldered, with a wildcat gait. Seldom had men in the North known one so richly clad, in silken shirt and broidered velvet coat, scarlet hose and sable-trimmed cloak made stiff by gold thread. His face, framed in thick brown hair that tumbled to his collarbones in the Danish manner, was very handsome, almost beautiful, with its short straight nose, full lips and wide-set gray eyes. Yet there was nothing womanish about him, and the sword at his waist bore marks of use.

Against him the Norse king, in a plain blue kirtle and rough wadmal breeches, seemed a commoner . . . or would have seemed thus, had it not been for his clifflike height and the iron in his gaze. The men crowded about, hairy giants with a child's wide eyes; the planks creaked under their tread.

"Greeting, my lord," said the Englishman, "and God speed your cause. I am Tosti Godwinsson, Earl of Northumbria and your faithful servant." He bent a knee.

Harald stroked his beard and raised his left brow. A smoldering was in this man, wrath had eaten lines in his face and the mouth drooped downward. Yet that was all to the good; he was not likely to forget what he had suffered and make peace with his brother. Tosti, Day of Storm, yes, he had been well named.

"Be welcome among us," said Harald. "It is known that I am hard to my foes but have ever rewarded troth. Together we may do much."

Tosti got up. "I have only twelve ships, my lord," he said, "but they are large and well stocked, and every man aboard, English or Flemish, is of proven worth." His hot glance went over the Norse fleet where it sprawled vastly out into the sea. "Truly you're not one to take half measures!"

"I think you'll find us a better ally than King Svein or Duke William," said Harold.

Tosti flushed. "So you know that? Yes, my lord, I make no secret of it. ... I sought help where it was to be had. None but you offered it to me on any terms worthy of a king. Now I will stand by you as long as God gives us both life."

Harald wondered. A proud and avaricious earl with half of England as fief would likely prove troublesome in years ahead; not for nothing had the English chiefs outlawed him. But if he remained true until the realm was well in hand, that would be enough.

"Let us go ashore if we can, and rest tonight and talk of our plans," he said aloud.

The townsfolk opened their gates on promise of safety; Harald took only his leaders and some guards inside, leaving the rest of his men to ring the burgh in. He and Tosti held feast at the best house, together with the Norse chiefs and Tosti's young sons Skuli and Ketill. Harald questioned the outlaw carefully.

"Yes," said Tosti, "my brother Harold is not a weakling. And his Housecarles are a troop to reckon with, the very core of the English fighting strength. But he's far to the south, in London I think, and in no case—" he drained his beaker at a gulp and mumbled out his anger—"in no case will God help a perjurer."

"They say no grass will grow on the grave of any who's sworn falsely," said Harald. "But my namesake is not yet in the earth."

"We can hold the North long before Harold can reach us, and raise its levies against him," said Tosti. "They may not fight very willingly for us, but sheer numbers . . . Edwin and Morkar are the earls we must beat. Brave men, but hotheaded and without deep knowledge of war."

Harald rested his chin in a hand and looked thoughtfully at his ally. The leaping firelight splashed Tosti's face with red. "How does it feel to battle your own brother?" he murmured.

Tosti started. His voice cracked. "Ha' done, my lord! They say that a slayer of his own kin was never lacking in the Yngling race."

Eystein jumped to his feet, grabbing after a sword; but Harald laughed. "I was only testing you," he said. "I like a man without guile."

Tosti slumped back. "The world is splitting asunder," he mumbled. "Naught is left of Alfred's house save one sickly child. Your claim is better than William's, my lord, and at least as good as Harold Godwinsson's. I'll stand by you to save what can be saved from the wreck, and . . . and to come home again."

"That wish I can understand," said Harald gently.

They talked at length of what was to be done. Harald found it odd, the liking which sprang up between them. Sometimes it happened thus, men looking at each other as tenderly as at a woman; friendship could be as mysterious as love. Tosti was sullen, touchy, guilt ridden, driven as much by greed as anything else . . . but he had charm, and his will and skill were not to be surpassed.

At dawn they went to the church, and there the earl swore faith on the altar and laid his hands between Harald's. For his part, the king promised him dominion over half of England, the northern and eastern shires which he loved.

Thereafter the fleet set out again.

2

It was needful to strike fast, so that the north could be taken ere Harold Godwinsson arrived to dispute it. At the same time, Harald Hardrede thought it wise to test both friend and foe. He decided to harry the coasts as he went on down toward the Humber.

At Cleveland, therefore, the Norse landed. So swiftly had they come that no war word had gone before them and no army was raised. They swarmed ashore and across the countryside. Farms and hamlets stood ablaze, cattle were slaughtered on the strand, men cut down when they fought and women passed from hand to hand. Then the horns summoned the warriors back and they stood out to sea anew, shouting and singing and wild with the feeling that they already gripped England in her helplessness.

Their next landfall was at Scarborough, a sizable town: walled, like all the English burghs, and defended by men who cried defiance and sent an arrow sleet from their towers. Harald and Tosti led the host, swords belled on shields and the townsfolk were driven back within their gates. But here they in their turn sent the Norse reeling away.

"Now what's to be done?" asked Eystein. "Have we time for a siege?"

"No," said Harald. He looked about him. The land rose steeply. A nearby hill overlooked the walls. "Do you take some men, Eystein, and go around to the farms hereabouts and take every pitchfork you can find."

"Pitchforks?" cried the sheriff. "That's a weird booty."

"I've seen stranger." Harald looked at the high wood and earth palisade before him and remembered the day he and Ulf and Halldor thundered at the gates of Messina. And now Ulf was dead, and Halldor sat on his farm out on Iceland with scarcely a word, and Harald Sigurdharson fought alone. But . . . work to do.

While Eystein was getting the wooden forks, the king told off men to gather hay and branches atop the hill. When this was heaped high, he lit the fire, and his warriors took forkfuls of blaze and tossed them downwind to Scarborough's roofs. Much of it fell short, but enough landed in the thatch to set houses aflame, and erelong the English were driven out. They fought for a while, the Norsemen reaped them, and then the rest gave in.

Harald regarded the ruins and said to Tosti: "Your folk are as brave as any I've met; but they seem never to make ready for danger till too late."

"It's our great fault," nodded the earl. "And yet, hurt and unprepared, we've thrown back more than one foe."

Harald gave him a sharp look but said naught.

Still looting as he went, the king sailed on to Holderness. Here he met ships of Earl Morkar, but they were greatly outnumbered and fled. Landing, he found a levy raised to oppose him, and that was not an easy battle; but he broke them and laid the Wolds waste.

In these fights Olaf was beside him and proved a valiant if unskilled warrior. The prince went into a fight as to a task he hated, and did not join the roaring celebrations of victory but slipped off alone to pray forgiveness. Tosti and his followers were good allies, and as the host rolled on, the earl's dark moods lifted until he was merry toward every companion.

After Holderness came the Humber. It was Harald's plan to steer inland, up the River Ouse, and make camp. Belike Morkar would give battle ere they came to York; once he was beaten, that great city must yield, and then Northumbria and Yorkshire would be grasped.

Harald and Eystein stood together by the shore, where the Humber met the sea, and looked east. The weather had turned almost warm of late, mild winds and sunny skies, as if heaven smiled on the conquerors. The sea danced and glittered, rushed to the beach and back again in a huge rattling roar; gulls swooped aloft and their mewing ran out, lonesome, across a restless waste to the world's rim.

Harald drew in a deep lungful. "I wonder when we shall see this again," he said.

"Soon, I hope," replied Eystein. His red hair fluttered in the breeze and his eyes wandered northward.

"Down in the South," Harald told him, "I heard a story of the old Greeks, about a giant who drew his strength from the earth. He could not be overcome until a hero lifted him into the air. Sometimes I think we are like that, save that our life is the sea. No other folk have ever sailed so far; nor have I ever felt myself more alive than when I had a keel beneath me."

He turned. "Enough. Back to the ships and on our way."

He rowed a goodly distance inland before the crying of the waters was lost to him.

Around the Humber and the Ouse, England was low, rolling easily shoreward; the windy heights of Yorkshire were out of sight in the west. Here the hills were old, worn down to forested slopes and broad green valleys. Reeds whispered on the banks of the quietly flowing Ouse, waterfowl rose clamorous from them as the dragons swam by, the sky stooped big overhead. There were many farms in sight, empty now of folk who had fled; the fields were yellow with stubble, and the grass of the meadows dry and sallow, turned to hay by the waning summer, and the trees—oak, ash, elm, thorn—talking to each other of the autumn which had already faded them. An eeriness lay over this landscape; the chunk and splash of oars came unnaturally loud, men dropped their voices without thinking.

That night the fleet lay to in the river. The next day, near sundown, they reached Riccal, nine miles from York. It was a small town whose gates creaked drearily in the breeze, its people run away. "This is a good place," said Harold. "We can camp here and sally forth against York when we will."

The ships were drawn up on the bank, to line it for almost a mile with sharp prows and carved heads: and then the men went ashore. Their camp-fires twinkled as far as one could see in the dusk; woodsmoke and voices drifted under stars that blinked forth; the tramp and iron rattle of watchmen made the night loud. Their chiefs took the houses of Riccall and found goodly stocks of food and drink inside.

"We will lie here for a day or two, and send out scouts, ere faring to York," said Harald. "Tosti, can you get spies into the city itself?"

"I think so," answered the earl. "It will be so full of fugitives that one more new face means naught." He glanced up. "Yet I thought you not such a cautious leader."

Harald smiled and raised a silver goblet. "I've seen battles lost because someone was heedless," he said. "It's best to work carefully when you build an empire."

Olaf spoke suddenly: "No man can think of everything. In the last, it's only God who gives victory."

"And our own sword arms," laughed Eystein. "Fear not, we have St. Olaf with us."

Harold shivered, remembering. "It grows cold," he said. "Stoke the fire."

He took his ease the next day, sharpening his weapons himself and oiling the knee-length byrnie he called Emma; so heavy was that coat that no other man could bear it for long, and it had never been pierced. Meanwhile his scouts ranged afar. Gunnar Geiroddsson came back with a shapely little English girl perched on his shoulder and clinging to his hair; she giggled and seemed not to mind the raw whoops which lifted around her.

Word was that Earl Edwin had brought the Mercian levies to join Morkar in York, and that they would go forth the following day. King Harald laid his sword down, its blade shimmering in the torch-gleam, and nodded. "Good," he said. "We shall meet them."

3

Wednesday, the eve of St. Matthew's Mass, dawned fair. The Norse host was early afoot, men by the thousands spilling off the road and into the fields; a dust cloud hung over them and their steel flashed through it. They had the Ouse at their left and York ahead of them. Harald rode the black Spanish stallion, his chiefs mounted near him and Landwaster streaming in the van. He bore a gilt helmet, sword at his waist and ax at the saddlebow. He felt utterly glad and whistled as he rode.

"A good day for fighting," said Eystein. "Cool enough to make men brisk, and not so cold as to sap them."

"It is a good day to be alive," muttered Olaf, "but many will not be at sunset."

"What did you say?" asked his father.

"Naught you would think important," said Olaf.

After several miles, the host reached low ground. On their right flank, a ditch cut past a deep marsh. Water shone between reeds and thick green of lily pads, and a flight of wild swans rose impossibly white. The sun, a ways toward the west, turned the river into one blinding sheet.

Up ahead came another pillar of dust, and Harald saw an army moving to meet him. Those were the northern levies, half-Danish men as big as his own tramping stolidly forward with axes at shoulder; they were well equipped and seemed in good training. The king waved Tosti over to him and asked: "Where are we now?"

"This must be near Gate Fulford, about two miles from York," said the earl. "We could see the city beyond that ridge there." His face gleamed with sweat under the helmet and his lips were drawn back tightly. "Yes . . . those are the banners of Edwin and Morkar. I have much to avenge on them."

Harald's mind whirred as he studied the land. "Do you take our right wing, on the marsh's edge," he said. "There I'll have the Irish Vikings, the Orkney levies, and others least to be trusted." As Tosti's brows drew down: "No, no, it's a post of great value. You must give battle but let yourself be driven back. Thus we'll turn their line and I, on the left wing, can flank them."

"Are you already making a pawn of me?" burst out the earl.

"Be still!" roared Harald. He clapped hand to his sword hilt. "Remember who your king is . . . now."

Tosti jerked his head but rode off to obey.

Harold cantered up and down his line, shouting orders. It was an unwieldy host; he had a brief wistfulness about the well-drilled troops of Byzantium. But his yeomen found their places, step by maddening step as the English neared, and the array was formed.

At its center flew the banners of Harald's best chiefs, Eystein, Styrkaar, Gudhrodh of Iceland, and others; to the right stood Tosti and the Thorfinnssons; on the left rose Landwaster, and there the spears crowded thickest. Harald dismounted, tethered his horse, and walked over to stand by Fridhrek and the flag. His sword rasped out and he fitted his left hand more snugly to the iron-rimmed shield. Its wood had grown in Viken and its leather had once bellowed in Haalogaland; let the North ward her own!

Olaf bit his lip. Sweat runneled down the dust on his face, and he shivered. "Are you ill, son?" asked Harald.

"No. It's the . . . the waiting. . . ."

Harald clapped him on the back. "Well I know it. That goes away when you start fighting."

"And what is worse comes afterward," said Olaf to himself.

The ground rose a little toward the Norse ranks. Harald saw the English host pause just out of bowshot. They were a big force, not as great as his but nearly so; this might not be the first time valiant men had overthrown a larger army. But . . .

He leaned on his sword, smiling, and felt a cold peace in his breast. His heart pumped slowly and steadily, and a small part of his mind dwelt on years to come. Those were good carles down there, brave strong men; Norse and English together could mount the world.

Trumpets screamed. The enemy broke into a lumbering trot. Stones, spears, arrows thickened the air, whht, whht, whht, a thunk and a howl. Harald saw one of his men fall, clawing at the iron in his face. But two Englanders rolled over and were trampled by their onrushing comrades. And now the Norse spears snapped down, a wall with teeth, and the ranks shocked together.

Harald lifted his sword. A strange face snarled at him under a steel cap. His blade whistled, the force of its landing hammered in his own shoulders. Blood spurted and a head rolled at the king's feet. He shouted, caught a falling ax on his shield, returned the blow and drove the wielder back.

Up and down, up and down, slash, cut, and slew the edge about! Iron roared along the ranks. Through a blur of iron, Harald saw the banner of Earl Edwin flying above the helmets. For a wild moment he wanted to cut his way to it—but wait, hold fast and wait.

Where he stood, men planted their feet in the reddened grass and gave blow for blow. Above their heads to the right, Harald saw Tosti's standard go back and Morkar's press forward. But the line held, the line held.

He turned to hew at those before him. Time was lost in the rage of weapons. It was with a start that he heard the triumphant shouting of the Yorkshire-men and Northumbrians. A spear clawed after his throat as he faced about to see. Fridhrek held the flagstaff in his left hand; his right had a sword that cut the spearshaft in twain.

Tosti was drawing his whole wing back, swiftly but with a skill that could only be measured from afar. Harald thought that the man against whom the outlaw fought was Morkar himself. The English on that side rushed forward, and it was no easy thing to retreat; the Norse right wavered raggedly, about to break.

Harald stuck his sword in the ground and lifted the horn slung at his hip. He set it to his mouth and blew till he felt his eardrums bulge. Forward, king's men!

Snatching up his brand afresh, he leaped at the nearest Englander. The long blade shrieked in his hands. It met a shield rim and crashed through; he felt bone give way before him.

"Forward!" he yelled. "Swing them around!"

Gunnar's ax whirled and thundered. He knocked one man to earth, took a leg off the one beside, and caught a third with the hammer on the backswing. Harald's sword whined down from the sky, he pushed the boss of his shield into men's faces and sent them stumbling. Olaf fought doggedly, smiting without regard for himself. For a moment the lines wobbled, then Harald felt a quiver as if in his own body and the foe were giving ground.

He called aloud to his men, who drove the English till they were running backward. Eystein made a shorter arc, and Tosti stood firm. In a few bloody minutes, the lines had been turned, and the enemy had their backs to the marsh and its ditch.

Land waster flamed against them. Harald cut his way to Edwin's banner, slew the standard-bearer, and cast it down. The Mercian ranks thinned before him. It was hand to hand, man to man, grunting and gasping and slipping on the grass. Gudhrddh and Styrkaar added their strength to Tosti's weak line, and sheer weight of numbers pushed the English into the ditch and the fen beyond.

They fought well until the ground began to suck their feet; then terror seized them and they broke. Many drowned there. The Norse waded after, slaying them until the marsh was so full of dead that men could walk dry-shod across.

Fulford was won and the North was broken.

Through his wildly jubilant host strode Harald. No time to lose. . . . "Stop that! Form ranks! Onward ere they can rally!" It was a good hour before he had them back in order and was leading them toward York.

After dark, the town a dim hulk before him, he arrived and encamped his host. Their fires ringed in the city, and men on the walls heard once again the terrible Viking songs mocking them.

Harald went to bed as soon as his tent was raised and slept better than he had done in a long time.

At dawn he was afoot, gazing toward the beleaguered city. York was a large and wealthy burgh; the man who held her owned the North. The walls were not merely earthern, but stone, the warm yellow sandstone of this district, and he saw the spires of a cathedral over them. Armed men looked down on him, but no arrows were fired.

Tosti sought the king. "I think they can be made to yield, my lord," he said. "They've no hope of beating off a storm."

"Let them come talk to us about it," answered Harald. "And Tosti, what of those chiefs you said would come to our side?"

"They must be sought out, my lord. I'll send men off at once."

Bells rang in the town, a long sweet chiming across the misty land. It would be a sorrowful Mat-thewsmas in there.

Harald bade his own chiefs join him in breaking fast. He was merry at the board, holding them a long time with his accounts of great battles in strange lands. "And yet this one we fought yesterday means more than all of them," he added. "Not only that we won a huge victory with few losses . . . but we fought for ourselves."

"So did the English," said Thjodholf mildly.

"Indeed," nodded Harald. "Still ... I wish not to pretend holiness, but it seems me we fought for them as well. In after years they'll thank us for having come, their brethren, and not the Normans who'd make thralls of them."

Trumpets sounded from York, and a man called down to ask if the king would parley. Harald agreed, and at noontide he awaited Edwin and Morkar with a feast.

They came haggardly into his tent. Edwin's head was bandaged, and Morkar limped. Harald looked closely at the second. "The tale was you had fallen," he said.

"We escaped, through God's mercy, my lord," mumbled the earl.

"That's good. My wish was never to slay brave men. Be seated."

Edwin glared at Tosti, who was on a bench to the rear of the tent. "Not with that traitor," he said thickly.

"And I should sit with two thieves?" cried Tosti, leaping to his feet.

"Have done, the lot of you!" Harald's fist crashed on the table. "We came here to talk, not bandy ill-bred insults."

Morkar said gloomily: "No affront was meant to you, my lord. You fought us well and beat us fairly. Belike you would be a better king than your namesake, lounging down in London ... as worthless as the rest of his family."

Tosti pulled out a dagger. "One more such word," he said through clenched jaws, "and ..."

"Be still, or I'll knock all your heads together," growled Harald. He looked keenly at the brothers. "Have you had no word from your king?"

"He said he was on his way, and not to give battle until he came," answered Edwin. "But it would take him many days to get here, and what use is a worn-out troop?"

Harald sat with an unreadable face. "Have you thought," he asked slowly, "that Harold meant for you to be crushed by us? Ever have you been his rivals."

Edwin whitened. Morkar said in haste: "No, my lord, I can't believe it. He wed our sister, and . . ."

Harald let it go, content to have planted the thought. They dined together, and he strove to show the brothers friendliness. Tosti sat back in some awe. He had thought this Harald Hardrede only a Viking, a living sword; but first had come the shrewdness at Gate Fulford, and today sat a man who could charm the Devil out of his hole.

No agreement was reached then; the earls felt it their duty to hold York to the last. However, they consented to carry on the talks next day. Meanwhile Harald had parts of the host out to subdue the countryside, which was done without much trouble; and Tosti's friends began to arrive, some of them powerful chiefs who pledged to bring goodly followings in a week or two.

For three days Harald bargained with the earls. It was finally agreed that York should be yielded to him, but would be spared sack; nor would the Norse garrison it at once, but wait till they had settled with Harold Godwinsson. Tosti would have the earldom of Northumbria back, but Edwin and Morkar should be granted fiefs and honors. Hostages were to be given, first from the city and then from the whole shire; and the northern levies would go under

Harald's flag and help him against the remaining English.

On Sunday, the twenty-fourth day of September, Harald Hardrede entered York. Shuttered windows and empty streets greeted him, but the cathedral bells rang and there he heard Mass and made thank offerings. Surely Olaf the Holy watched him!

Afterward he summoned the townsfolk to a Thing. Before all of them, Edwin and Morkar knelt and gave homage, and the terms of surrender were spoken aloud. No few of the English must have felt bitterness on learning they would be gathered to conquer their own land. Yet this was old Danish country, there had never been much love for the southern districts up here, so many looked on the Norse spears and thought it best to follow a victorious flag.

Tosti pointed out the foremost chief men of York, whose children Harald took as guarantees. Tomorrow, he said, the hostages for all the shire must be given; and at Tosti's suggestion, Stamford Bridge, a few miles east on the Derwent, was made the meeting place.

Harald sent a large number of men to Aldby, toward the northeast, to establish a new camp—for the host could no longer be fed at Riccall. But this evening he rode back to the ships at the head of the rest of his warriors.

"We'll raise the English and have them join us at Aldby in a day or two," he said to Eystein. "By that time my namesake should be getting close to us." He laughed. "It's most kind of him to come seek us out. It'll save us much walking."

Eystein looked across the fields. Sunset light streamed over them, filling the air with its cool glow. "This is a land to itself," he answered. "Sometimes I think these folk are never so dangerous as when they seem beaten."

4

King Harold Godwinsson had come to London after his ship-fyrd went home. He was sick with a fever, and felt that all his troubles had closed in on him at once. He lay in bed, turning restlessly, when a messenger was brought to him.

"Yes?" The king sat bolt upright. "What is it, man? Have the Normans come?"

The messenger bent his dusty head. "Not yet, my lord," he said. "The Northmen have landed."

Harold's clenched fist beat the covers. "What more can you tell?" he asked very softly.

"A mighty host, my lord . . . perhaps three hundred ships. Your brother Earl Tosti is with them. They've taken Scarborough and ..."

Harold swung his legs to the floor. Sweat studded his face. "God help us," he groaned.

Then, jerkily, he got to his feet. "Call my servants. Have the Housecarles summoned ... the chiefs . . . everyone. Yes, now!"

He sent word north, bidding the Alfgarssons wait and avoid battle until he could arrive. With his brother Leofwin, his Housecarles and thanes, and such levies as could be raised in a couple of days, he took the road. The first day he had to be carried in a litter, but thereafter he mounted a horse; and it was as if every mile put his sickness that much further behind him.

It was a hundred and eighty miles from London to Tadcaster. Harold made the journey in four days. Belike his Housecarles were the only troops in the world who could have done it and still been ready to fight at the end; but as they fared, more and more shire levies joined them, until he had many thousands at his back.

Leofwin blew out his lips and said in a voice dulled by weariness: "I'd not thought it possible."

"We are Englishmen," said Harold with a laugh. "We show ourselves best when the need is greatest."

"Ever have you been thus, brother." Leofwin shook his head. "I mind the time we sat friendless outlaws in Dublin, and even then . . . even then you must have known you would be king." He tried to smile. "This Harald Hardrede is said to be the greatest warrior in the North. What a sight the meeting of you two will be!"

Harold looked unhappy. "I would we could be friends, he and I," he said. "We are too much akin to smite each other when a stranger to us both gathers strength across the Channel."

His gaze was moody down the road. "Since the oldest days . . . Northerner against Northerner, till the old North destroys itself and is forgotten. We'll have need of God's grace."

He reached Tadcaster on the Sunday and gave himself at once to mustering the ships that had fled into the wharf from the Norse fleet. There his cousin Earl Waltheof, who had ridden from York, found him and gave the news.

Harold's face did not change. "They left no garrison in the city?" he asked.

"No, my lord. But they took hostages. . . ."

"Many lives will be at hazard tomorrow. We can't reckon with those few. Come, we ride!"

Harold's army reached York at night. The townsfolk streamed out to watch in disbelief ... It could not be! The king ordered the gates guarded; no word must slip out to the enemy. Then he sought Edwin and Morkar in their hall.

The brothers awaited him white-lipped. "We had not thought you would be here this soon," mumbled Edwin. "We would have held the town if . . ."

"Why, no matter," said Harold cheerily. "The town is still ours, without loss of life in defending it . . . though best you keep watch over those whose kinfolk are prisoner." He rubbed bloodshot eyes. "You were to meet Hardrede tomorrow?"

"Aye—at Stamford Bridge."

"We will meet him indeed," said Harold.

XIV

How They Fought at Stamford Bridge

1

That Monday broke cloudless, and even the early morning was unseasonably hot. Harald awoke in time to see the sun lift out of the east and flash off night dew. Now it shines on Thora, he thought, and Ellisif is at matins to pray for me.

He dressed well, in blue kirtle and breeches, and entered the main room of the house he had taken. His chiefs were already there, and meat and drink on the table. They rose for him, and he took the end of the bench and ate hungrily. The ale was a cool tingle at the back of his throat.

"Well," he said, "today we get our other hostages. I'll lead two parts of the host we have thither, and go on to Aldby with them to meet our men there. Do you keep one third here, Eystein, to guard the ships till we can decide what's to be done next."

The sheriff smiled. "Thank you," he said. "This is not weather in which I'd care to travel." Harald told off Olaf, Tosti's boys, and the Thorbergssons to stay behind with the guards, and then let the summons be blown for his men. While they readied, he strolled out to the riverbank and stood under the Fafnir's dragon head. The sunlight flamed off its gold.

"A good ship," he murmured. "She's borne me to two great victories. Eystein, is aught more fair than a ship?"

"Well ..." The sheriff's gaze yearned northward.

Harald laughed. "Wait a bit, lad," he said, "till you're my jarl in England."

"Sometimes I think there are greater riches than gold and land," said Eystein. He reddened and added swiftly: "But you've been like a father to me, and I'll follow you as long as we both live, and if . . . aught of evil happens, I swear to avenge you."

Harald thought of his leman Thora. It was the same quick spirit that lay in her.

His two-thirds of the host were now gathered, spreading up from the river and across the land in a blink of spears and helmets. Because of the heat, few of them wore byrnies. He saw that Gunnar Geiroddsson did, belike because it was such a fine gold-trimmed piece of mail. Since he would be riding, Harald strapped Emma and the padded undercoat to his horse's back, and Tosti did likewise; but Styrkaar, Thjodholf, and most of the other mounted chiefs did not take the trouble. They had only a peaceful walk to meet a band of broken men.

The king sprang into the saddle, and Kolfaxi reared. His helmet gleamed like a dragon's hoard.

"Till we meet again!" he cried, and went to the front of his men.

Eystein and Olaf stood beneath the Fafnir's prow, looking after his towering form till it was lost to sight. "Glad I am that I need not go today," said the prince. He glanced at the hostage children, where they sat under guard. They had not been ill treated, but most were silent with terror and some had been weeping. "This is an ugly business."

The sheriff tugged his mustache. "Oftimes men must fight," he answered.

"Aye . . . but why to take what is not theirs?"

"A thing is only yours if you're strong enough to hold it."

"That's not right," said Olaf in a low voice. "Were I king, I'd set the law above myself too."

"Your father is not such a man," said Eystein. "He stands above all things. Had the time been a better one, he would have shaped the world as he chose. And still he has the boldness to try." He yawned and stretched himself. "Come, let's have some more ale and then, if you like, a ball game and a swim. The river looks cool."

Harald rode in the forefront of his army, Styrkaar Marshal to the right and Thjodholf and Tosti to the left. Behind them was Fridhrek with Land waster furled on the long staff; thereafter came a few others on horseback, and then the host, nodding spears and slogging feet under a haze of dust, jokes passing from mouth to bearded mouth and raucous laughter following.

"Did we need to take this many?" asked Thjodholf.

"It's as well to do so," said Styrkaar. "We've had it too easy since Fulford; the men grow bored and restless. And we must move them to Aldby anyway."

The sky was a brazen bowl overhead, the sun a molten glare in their eyes as they went east toward the Derwent. Harald felt sweat trickle from under his helmet and down his cheeks.

"When think you my namesake will arrive?" he asked.

"Shortly," replied Tosti. "He's a brisk man. It would be deadly to reckon him at less than his true worth."

The landscape inched away past them, rolling hills and clumps of forest. Leaves hung wilted on the trees, not a breath of air to stir them, and speckled the road with shadow. The grasses rustled dryly beneath men who walked in the fields. Down in the ranks, Gunnar lifted a crock of beer to his mouth.

"How was your little friend?" asked someone.

"Oh, most sweet," said Gunnar. His round face glistened with sweat, and foam flecked his stubbly beard. "I promised to come back later and marry her. But sith there be five girls in Norway what have the same promise ..."

"Haw! Twenty years hence, the whole North will be overrun by freckle-snouted beer-guzzling axmen. I would I knew how you do it."

"Well ..." Gunnar began explaining, as to a child.

"That's not what I meant, you bullhead! I wanted to learn how to win their willingness."

"I know not," said Gunnar, "unless it be the ring

I have with Freyja's sign graven on it."

"Hm. Will you sell that ring?"

"Nay, not for any price. But I might think me to rent it out. ..."

The host fared onward. Harald looked around him in wonder. This was his. Here was land where his house might strike roots and grow till it overshadowed the earth ... or could it endure another soil than its own? Heat shimmered on the horizon, and his shirt was sweated to his skin. He remembered what someone—Halldor? No, himself—had said down in Kiev, that it was as if the Northmen were ice giants who melted away when they left their homes.

A few farmsteads were in sight, empty of men. But none were to be seen when they reached the Der-went; here was grassland and the flocks had been driven to safety.

Harald paused for a look at the river. At this point, swollen by the rainy summer, it ran wide and deep between high, reedy banks. Something of remorselessness was in that brown southward flow. It gurgled and murmured around the piers of the bridge—a narrow wooden bridge with a single handrail and the road going on dusty gray beyond. Trees lined the stream, sun-speckled greenness of ash and willow whose shade was utterly black against the light.

"Where are the Englishmen?" asked Harald.

"They should come soon," replied Tosti. "We've moved fast. It's just a little past midday."

"If they don't . . ." Styrkaar's heavy face writhed into a scowl. "We'll lay the whole north country in ashes."

"Time enough for that if they fail us," said Thjodholf sharply.

Harald looked at the trees. "A good sign," he said. "The ash is Odhinn's tree, and he is god of victories."

"He is also god of the dead," muttered Thjodholf.

Harald rode across the bridge. The stallion skittered nervously, planks boomed hollow under hooves. The men followed; it took time to get everybody across that thin span. Many scrambled down the banks to drink, and thereafter re-formed their array.

Tosti squinted along the road, which bent south. "I see a dust cloud," he spoke. "It must be the hostages coming."

"It seems me they come with an almighty haste," said Thjodholf.

Harald sat waiting, holding his mount steady. A light breeze sprang up, and he breathed deeply. It smelt drowsy, of hay and harvest. . . Yes, this was the reaping time. At home they would be carting in the last sheaves, and the old, joyously heathen feasts and dances would be held under torchlight. He remembered them from his youth—merciful Christ, how long ago that was, and yet how swiftly the years had run!

The newcomers approached. Something gleamed in their dust, far off but hurrying closer. A sudden chill went through Harald.

"Those are spears and helmets," he said.

Tosti sat moveless, his handsome countenance gone wooden. At last he ventured: "They would scarce come altogether unarmed."

The river mumbled behind them.

"No," said Harald after a while. "There are too many."

"They may be some more of my friends, come to join us," said the earl.

Styrkaar cursed. A whisper went among the men, and shields were raised.

Now Harald saw the strangers a bare mile removed. They were a huge force, spilling over the fields and down the road—thousands of men, he thought wildly, vastly more than he had, and every one of their leading ranks armored. Through the dust, the light shone off their weapons as though blinking off ice.

2

Tosti started up in his stirrups. "The banners!" he yelled.

Harald nodded. There was a bleakness in him, he felt no fear but he knew that he was overmatched—that he, the craftsman of war, had walked blithely into a trap and it had snapped down on him. "I see Edwin's and Morkar's," he said. "So much for the faith of Englishmen."

Tosti gave him an angry look. "I was never a friend to their house," he answered. "You shall find that Englishmen know how to stand fast." He pointed. "But that great flag in the van—" It was royal blue, fringed with gold, and across it strode the golden form of a warrior. "That is my brother Harold's."

Styrkaar pulled free his ax. "Then you lied to us!" he growled. "All the time Harold lay near!"

Tosti shook his head dazedly. "No," he whispered. "I spoke truth. Who was to know he could come so swiftly?"

Harald laughed, a rattle in his throat. "Indeed my namesake is no weakling—a foe worthy of anyone." He stroked his beard. Under the helmet, his face was long and lean, the nose jutting, the eyes large and cold, one brow lifted as in mockery. "But let us now find a wise rede; for it can't be hidden that battle is at hand, and that with the king himself."

Tosti looked behind him, along the Norse lines. Some of them gnawed their lips, others cursed, most stood with a foredoomed bravery. "Best would it be to get away while we can," said the earl slowly, "back to the ships to fetch our armor and the rest of our men. Thereafter we can take up the fight, and if worst comes to worst we could escape in the ships."

Harald shook his head. A wintry wrath flared up in him; he knew not if it was against the Norns or against his own foolhardiness. "No," he answered. "They would follow and attack our rear. Let three men on our swiftest horses return to the ships and fetch Eystein and the others. The Englanders will bite much grass ere we draw the shortest straw."

Styrkaar nodded his black-thatched head and snapped orders. The bridge boomed under three steeds; their riders were slim youths who could reach Riccall in a couple of hours.

Tosti smiled. "I'll follow your word in this as in all else, my lord," he said. "I myself were not glad to flee."

Harald blew his horn and the Norse grumbled into line. He cantered along their ranks, shouting his commands. What must be done was to hold the bridge while most of the army got to the farther side; he himself would lead the defenders. Once all were across, they could hope to block off the English till help arrived.

His horse stumbled, and suddenly he pitched from the saddle and hit the earth. The shock jarred in him. A groan went up at this sign. Gunnar bounded to help the king to his feet. "Be you hurt, my lord?" he gasped. "The dear saints give that you be well."

Harald looked into the anxious blue eyes and smiled. "No, Gunnar," he said. "I live yet." Rising, he sprang back into the saddle. The stallion reared and whinnied. "A fall betokens good luck!" he cried so many could hear.

Harold Godwinsson was arraying his own army a quarter mile away. He had crossed the Derwent further south and driven his folk unmercifully; but though he outnumbered the foe, he had never seen men more stout-looking. He nudged Earl Morkar. "Know you who that was, the big man who just fell off his horse—he in the blue kirtle and the beautiful helmet?" he asked.

"That was the king himself, my lord," replied Morkar.

"A great and mighty man," said Harold; "but it looks now as if his luck has forsaken him."

He was mounted on a tall chestnut gelding, and well clad in purple and scarlet beneath his mail. Of a sudden, he snatched the plain white shield of a lad nearby, giving his own in exchange. "Keep this for me," he said. "I go to parley."

Twenty mounted Housecarles followed him as he rode across the sere grass.

The Norsemen streamed over the bridge behind the ring of Harald's defenders. They were in hearty spirits, despite the surprise; their king had never failed to snatch victory or, at the least, escape unhurt. But it would take a goodly time to get so many across where only two could go abreast. Landwaster flapped in the breeze behind them, a gash of blood against heaven. Harald sat by Fridhrek, Tosti on his right and Thjodholf on the left, while Styrkaar urged the men in their retreat. The king had shield and sword in hand, he had donned his byrnie and it clinked like scales as he moved.

It was an awesome company which came toward him. The Housecarles were indeed giants, splendidly outfitted, strong and steady as oxen and with an ox-like calm in their eyes. Truly each of those long axes could deal with two ordinary men. There were hundreds of them leading the English levies.

The warrior in the forefront was only of middling height, riding with an easy grace; the nose-guarded helmet almost masked his clean-shaven face. Some herald….

Tosti sucked in a quick breath as the English drew rein, and then clamped blankness over his countenance.

"Hoy!" cried the herald. "Is Earl Tosti here?"

"That cannot be hidden." The outlaw rode forth, to lock eyes with the other man. "Here he is."

The messenger said in a hurried voice: "Your brother Harold sends you his greetings and with them his promise of peace and all Northumbria for you. And rather than do without you in his following, he will give you the third part of the kingdom to rule over with himself."

The earl's brow darkened. "That's something else from the outlawry and disgrace which were bidden me last winter," he snapped. "Had such an offer been made then, many a man who lies dead today would still be in life, and England's might would stand unbroken." He paused, then having looked down at his saddlebow, and up again, spoke sharply. "But if I accept this, what reward shall King Harald Sigurdharson have for his trouble?"

The herald lifted his head and answered in a ringing tone. "He shall have seven feet of English earth, or as much more as he is taller than other men."

Tosti smiled in a strange wistfulness. Again their eyes met, and the earl said quietly: "Then you can ride back and tell King Harold that he must ready for battle; for never shall it be said among the Norse that Earl Tosti, when he should have fought for King Harald Sigurdharson in England, ran from him to his foes. So liefer the same fate: death with honor or England with victory!"

The herald seemed to droop for a moment, before he straightened and replied: "So be it." He rode back with his guards.

Tosti returned to Harald's side and sat brooding.

"He knew how to use words, that man," said the king. "Who was he?"

"That was King Harold Godwinsson," answered Tosti.

Harald felt a lance of cold in his heart. "Too long did you wait to tell me that," he said softly. "Had I known this Harold was that near my hand, he would never have wrought any Norseman's bane."

Tosti shrugged; his byrnie slithered and clashed. "You are right, my lord," he replied. "It was a bold trick for so great a chieftain, and could well have ended as you say. I knew he had come to bid me peace and a mighty fief, and knew too that had I betrayed him it would have been his death. But I would liefer he should be my slayer than I his."

Harald nodded, staring after his namesake. He felt no anger, not now. Turning to Thjodholf, he remarked: "That was not a big man there, but he sat firmly in his stirrups."

The English horsemen were dismounting and falling into their places under the banners. The Norse chiefs began to do likewise, and Harald heard bows being strung behind him. He remained in the saddle for a bit, thinking of what lay ahead, and then he made a verse:

"Forward go we in the fylking,

without byrnies,

under blued edges;

helmets gleam,

we have no mail:

useless it shines upon the ships."

He smiled crookedly, must try to do better."

"That was poorly made; I For a moment Thora's and

Ellisif's images drifted before him. Then he spoke again.

"Creep not at the calling

to war 'neath crooked shield rims,

frightened at the fray—

thus spoke the faithful woman.

High she bade me hold

my head in storms of iron

where sharpened steel is swinging

down on skulls and helmets."

He got off his horse and led the stallion aside and tethered him. When he came back, Thjodholf was chanting, beating out the lines with sword upon shield.

"I do not mean ever your heirs

to leave, my ruler,

if the clash should claim you.

(That comes which God has willed us.)

Sunlight never struck on

such a pair of princes: Harald's sons,

like hawks both, unhooded to avenge him."

Yes, thought the king, that much have I done; I may fall, but my house will live. Watch over them, holy Olaf!

3

The English host moved forward, their footfalls shuddered in the earth. Harald stood by Land waster, the raven gaped and flapped at the warrior. That flag had Ellisif made, oh, many years ago; this very summer had she embroidered it afresh, and woven all her hopes into it. The king had laid a hand on Fridhrek's shoulder. "Take heart, lad," he said. "You shall yet be a jarl in England."

"It cannot fail," said the boy huskily, "not when you lead us, my lord."

Gunnar tossed his ax in the air and caught it again and roared defiance. His shout was taken up by the whole ring. Behind them, their comrades still flooded over the bridge and ranked themselves on the west bank.

Harald had Styrkaar commanding his right wing and Tosti his left; Thjodholf stood near, with other good warriors, their shields making a fence in front of the standard. The whole line curved back to the river on each flank, and spears bristled from it.

Arrows began to fly. Harald felt one strike his shield and stick there, aquiver. He plucked it out. Norsemen fell as their unarmored flesh was pierced, and others sprang to take their places. But a well-shot arrow could go through a byrnie anyhow, thought Harald grimly, and his own archers were replying in kind; it would be when man met man that the lack would tell.

The Housecarles trotted steadily forward, like one, the levies crowding behind them in ranks less orderly and less fully equipped. Harald hefted his sword and waited. As they came closer, he made out faces, here a bearded long-chinned countenance from Denmark, there a broad yeoman's nose, at their point the closeknit little man who steered England. He felt sweat run down his ribs.

"Holy Cross!" thundered from the Housecarles and they broke into a run.

Harald lifted his sword. The burning sunlight poured off it. A remembrance came back, leaping over thirty-six years, and he raised Olaf's cry: "Forward, forward, Christ-men, cross-men, king's men!"

An enemy trooper, nigh as tall as himself, sprang at the shield-burgh. His ax flailed down, a helmet and a head sundered beneath it, blood spouted under the hot bright blue of heaven. The dead Norseman reeled to earth, and Harald trod into his place. Shield by shield! Side by side! Stand fast and smite them!

His sword howled. The Englishman caught the edge on his axhaft. Its tough wood would have turned any common blow, but Harald's clove it in twain. Up whirled the king's brand, and down again, and the Housecarle fell.

Another stepped forth. His great ax swung low, biting into Harald's shield, he felt the fastenings groan. He cut at the helmed head, it bobbed from him and the blade landed on an armored shoulder. The Housecarle wrenched his weapon free and chopped at Harald's arm. The long sleeve of Emma caught that frightful smashing, and numbness burst in the king's hand. Almost, he dropped his sword.

He crammed his shield ahead of him, into the Englishman's face, and felt teeth splinter. The guard lurched. Strength returned to Harald's right arm and he clove the man's wrist. "That for Ellisif!" he shouted. The fellow shook his head and tried to lift the ax again. "That for Thora!" He rolled on the ground, clawed the grass, and was still.

Iron boomed between the ranks. Thjodholf slashed and hacked, gasping out some old battle chant as he fought. Styrkaar lopped and hewed, Gunnar bashed helmets and struck off limbs, Tosti's blade wove a snarl of bane. Landwaster held firm behind the shield wall, and the warrior flag wavered.

Panting, the English withdrew as their charge spent its force. Harald looked to either side. There had been a dreadful toll of his own unarmored men, carles sprawled with sightless eyes, mouths agape, split heads and spitted bellies; crows hovered near, and in the pause flies came to settle on the dead. But the English had paid. A heaped ring of their finest lay as quiet on grass gone slippery with blood, while the wounded sounded forth their anguish.

"Get our hurt across the bridge," said Harald. He breathed heavily through a dry mouth, his lungs seemed on fire.

Gunnar stooped in the ranks and picked up the beer crock he had laid behind him. "Pass this to the king," he said.

Harald drank deep and called: "This shall be rewarded with a shire."

"Enough to have you drink it, my lord," said Gunnar. "When I am a great chief, the sign on my banner'll be a crock."

They heard Harold Godwinsson egg his men on to a fresh attack. He himself led it, ax raised and flag swaying overhead.

Again fury burst on Harald's shield. He struck at the man before him, a burly red man who had a cast in his eye. Never had they seen each other till this day, but now death whipped between them. Ax and sword, strike forward and hold fast, put down that foe and here comes the next!

The press drove the Norsemen back, tightening their ring, but so many of them fell that they were not more crowded. Thjodholf had a moment's freedom in which to cry out, and it was the Bjarkamaal he shouted:

"The sun is rising,

the cock's feathers rustle,

'tis time for thralls

to tread into work. ..."

Harald remembered the dawn of Stiklastadh, and joined his folk in roaring it forth.

"Waken, warriors, wake ye up. . . ."

Then the attack was on them again so fiercely they had not breath to spare.

That onslaught was also blunted and beaten back. By then the corpses made a wall, four feet of reddened flesh where Norway's dead guarded the living. Harald wiped his streaming face and left a smear of blood. Would Eystein never come?

He looked behind him. Nigh all the host was across the river. It would be ticklish getting the rest over, if the English attacked meanwhile; and somehow the bridge must be held till he could form ranks on the other side. Well . . .

"Give the word and don't garble it," he said hoarsely to those beside him. "Let the ring pull back into a circle touching the bridge, and then let the men at its ends go across, one by one, and tighten the line as they do."

Plain yeomen could not have carried it out; but these were the royal guards, the bloom of the North.

Trumpets blared in the English array, and again it rolled down with spears like lightning through the dust. Harald's blade screamed. He struck the nearest Housecarle to earth ere the man could raise ax. Now . . . back a step. . . . Hold firm . . . back another step. Stamford Bridge resounded under feet.

For many crazed minutes they fought. Then the last few Norse stood before the bridge, their king among them, and hewed so mightily that the foe reeled away.

"Get over!" cried Harald. "Who can hold the bridge awhile?"

"I, my lord." Gunnar Geiroddsson stood forth. Blood dripped from his byrnie and clotted his shock of bright hair, but little of it seemed his own; his byrnie was beaten to rags, but he held his ax unwaveringly.

Harald gazed a moment at him. "You and I are the only men who could do that," he said. Gunnar's eyes glowed. "Withdraw when I sound the horn twice and run to the ranks. But it will take us a small time to ready, and the longer you can ward us the better rested we'll be."

Gunnar nodded, grinned, and planted his feet near the English end of the bridge. Harald ran after his men.

"Well, come you," taunted Gunnar. "Come hither and be split into kindling."

A Housecarle rushed forward. His ax blazed high, but Gunnar smote sideways and took off his head. "There's one!" he bellowed.

Two more lunged at him. Gunnar kicked at the right-hand fellow, who lurched and pushed his comrade into the river to drown beneath weight of mail while Gunnar killed him. "Three!" shouted the defender.

A couple of arrows ripped toward him, but they missed and the rest seemed to have been used up. Four troopers lumbered against him in single file. Gunnar's ax smashed helm and head of the first, took a leg off the second, caved in the breast of the third, and knocked the fourth into the Derwent. "Seven!" he jeered.

A spear whistled toward him and missed. Another he struck down in midflight, and a third bounced off his tattered ringmail. He cupped hands to his mouth and cried aloud: "Come on, you milk-livered toothless whelps, come if you dare! Small wonder I found your wives an easy prey. Thor hammer me if I beget not a race o' men in this island!"

The Housecarles howled and went against him. His ax rose and fell, slashed, chopped, hewed, and thundered. The Norse across the river began counting with him, calling it out together: "Ten! Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!"

"Jesu Kristi," said Harald, "if he holds that bridge long enough, help will come to us." As two more English sped to meet the Norseman, the king shouted: "Gunnar, you shall have my daughter Ingigerdh to wife, and the greatest fief in Norway."

Gunnar struck down the two men in as many blows and ran to slay the next.

The dead were heaped before him, nigh two score had been counted. He waved his ax and made rude remarks. Two more attacked. He cut the first down, and his ax haft broke against the second. At once his fist jumped forth; men heard neckbones snap. He picked up a Housecarle weapon in either hand. "Small are these toys," he cried, "but good enough for the likes o' you."

The English drew back. Danes among them remembered Asa Thor and fear struck them. Harold Godwinsson stepped forth. "Will you take peace and lands from me?" he asked.

Gunnar boomed out laughter. "I might take your wife for a whore when I've trimmed you down, lad," he bawled.

Harald Hardrede loomed in his line, watching. "There stands the old North," he said to Thjodholf. "This day decides if it is to live or not."

Suddenly he yelled and cursed. Another Housecarle, a giant of a man, was trading blows with Gunnar; but the English king had spoken to a spearman who ran and slid down the riverbank and crawled along the piers.

"Gunnar!" shouted Harald. "He comes beneath you! Run!" He blew his horn twice, cursing himself that he had not done it before.

The defender heard him not. The clang of steel was too loud. He struck down his foe, but at that moment the spear thrust up between the planks.

"Thor help us!" groaned Gunnar. He sank to his knees, pawing at the shaft which bit through him. Harold Godwinsson winded the trumpet, and the Housecarles streamed across the bridge. The first of them slew Gunnar Geiroddsson and the rest passed over his body.

4

Harald Hardrede had drawn up his ranks in a circle. He himself looked toward the river. There was naught else he could do; so many had fallen that the enemy could flank a line. He felt tired, his bruises throbbed and his cuts stung; a heaviness filled his head.

The English drew into a long row. Harold Godwinsson gave his orders, and they began to throw spears and stones as they went around and around the circle. Such fire was deadly against unarmored men. The Norse crouched behind their shields but the points sought them out. Hallvardh Flatnose fell there, and Arinbjorn Erlendsson whose brother Vigleik lay dead across the river, and Gyrdh, and many more.

A spear plunged toward Harald. He knocked it away and said: "These English know how to fight."

"And we must stand here and suffer it?" shrieked Styrkaar.

"Aye," said Harald.

The rain went on. The Norse cast some spears and hammers, but to small good. Now Harald saw a number of men go back across the bridge and gather arrows.

"If Eystein comes not soon, we are done," he said. He looked to the sun, which was slipping west though the air remained hot. He tried to think of a scheme, but his mind seemed rusty. Visions flashed unbidden through it: a ship on a cold winter sea, the towers of Miklagardh, a time he had held little Maria high above Ellisif. That was in Denmark, when his hopes still lay before him.

King Harold's trumpet blew, a frost-cold note that sent the crows cawing off the dead. The English wheeled about and rushed down on the Norsemen.

Harald struck out at the nearest. His sword bit an arm, but not cleanly through; it was blunted from use. The Englander screamed and tried to swing his ax. Harald pierced him under the mailcoat. "That for Gunnar!" he shouted, and yanked the sword free and smote at the next.

This was a big man. His blade met Harald's in a yell and a rain of sparks. The king felt his grasp almost torn loose. He caught the hilt again and sent the brand down in a red blur. The Englishman's sword spun away. Harald snarled and slew him. Another came leaping over the corpse. Harald took the ax blow on his shield and felt it smash; his own weapon snaked out, sheared through defense and neck.

A triumphant bellow lifted to his rear. Turning, Harald saw an English standard across the circle, some earl's against Gudhrodh's. It went staggering back, and the Icelander whooped and rushed after it with his men.

"You fool!" screamed Harald. "That's a feint…."

He whirled about to meet the Housecarle who threatened him. They battled for minutes, the ax striking helm and shoulder and remnants of shield, the sword raging around. Harald crashed through the man's guard and gave him a mortal wound, he fell and the king threw his useless shield atop him.

And meanwhile Gudhrodh and the nearby men had been drawn out. The English assailed them from all sides and they died.

"St. Olaf!" shouted Harald. "Close the ring! Stand fast!" It was Tosti who drew the line back together. And then the storm broke over them, and they met it and hurled it back.

Harald leaned gasping on his sword. "If we've done naught else," he said to Thjodholf, "we'll be remembered for this day."

"Aye," said the skald. "It may be God does not like men who strive for too much."

"Odhinn did," said Harald. "I was born either too late or too soon."

The English had been thrown into confusion by the fury which met them. They milled about some distance off, regathering their ranks. The ground between was thick with dead and wounded.

But now men sped back across the bridge bearing armloads of arrows. "This will finish us," growled Styrkaar.

"Well," said Harald with a lopsided smile, "we've finished so many in our day that it may be no more than just." He looked westward, but found no sign of help.

"Let them think they can shoot us at will," he said, "but rush at them when I blow my horn." He bent his head. The gilt was gone off his helmet, his sword was nicked and his knees felt strangely weak. "Ellisif," he murmured, "I should have hearkened."

The English lines formed anew. Behind the spearmen and the axmen, the archers were taking arrows. Harald straightened himself. This was the moment of victory. He set the horn to his lips and blew.

"Olaf with us!

God send the right!

Thor help his folk!"

The Norse line swung about, formed a wedge, and charged behind the raven flag.

As Harald ran forward, he felt weariness and despair drop from him. Almost, he was young again, high-hearted, bound forth to take the world. The long blade sang in his hand.

They shocked against the English and the clamor rose to heaven. Ax and sword! Spear and hammer! Drive them into the sea!

Harald's steel whirred. A Housecarle toppled before him, he sent the mortally hurt man staggering into another, he leaped above them both as they fell and clove a third in the jaws. Two men rushed at him, one from either side. He cut down the left, whirled, met the right and split his shield. Thjodholf darted to help him. Back to back they returned into their ranks.

Hew, sword, hew!

Drunk with battle, Harald hardly saw the men he killed. There seemed to be wings beating over him. His blade rose and fell, smashing down whatever stood before it. A Housecarle chopped at him, he caught the ax on his sword and drove it back and sank edge into bone. Their line was before him; he sent down three who stood side by side and sprang into their ranks. Fridhrek came after, holding the banner aloft. It was Edwin's standard which faced them, it wavered and Harald came up to the shield wall before it and the English retreated.

The king's blows belled, and as they fell he began to chant aloud. It was the Krakamaal, the death song of Ragnar Hairybreeks and all the old bold North.

"Swords we were a-swinging!

Sooth, was I a young one

when east in sound of Ore,

all the wolves got booty;

and the yellow-footed fowl

had much to feed on,

where 'gainst high-nailed

helmets hardened swords were singing;

wet with blood, the war birds

waded through the slaughter."

The English gave way. The Norse took up the verses, striking as they croaked them forth.

"Swords we were a-swinging!

Storm of darts struck shields

and angry dead fell earthward

as we in Northumber's morning

had no need to urge

the mustered men on,

where the swords were whining

while they sundered helmets—

men did more than kissing

maidens in the high seat

The Yorkshire banner fell, and the whole line shook and bent. Harold Godwinsson drew back from the fray and sounded his horn, almost on a note of terror.

"Swords we were a-swinging!

Swart bit brands in shield rims

when the spears were splitting;

swords were raised to Valkyrs.

England's isle remembers

ages through, how kings went

boldly into battle,

blazing blades before them. ..."

The Housecarles heard the trumpet, and those in the rear ranks withdrew. "Bowmen!" cried their king. "Give them the arrows or we're dead!"

"Swords were a-swinging!

One and fifty slaughters

have I seen where hosts

were hailed by word of arrow.

Among all men I never found

a one more valiant.

(Young of years and early

yare was I for battle.)

Us now Aesir summon home,

and I go death ward.

"I wish now no waiting

War maids sent by Odhinn

from the halls of heaven

homeward to him bid me.

Ale I'll drink with Aesir

eagerly in the high seat.

Now my life has left me.

Laughing gang I death ward!"

The arrows sleeted down.

Harald did not feel the shaft that smote him. He aw it in his breast and touched it, not understanding it first. Darkness rushed across him and he went to lis knees.

He fell and lay on his side while the battle ramped past. A sharp sweet smell of hay was in his nostrils, t brought him back a little. He saw that his head vas on Thjodholfs knees, while more men stood iround.

"My lord, oh, my lord. ..." groaned the skald.

Amidst the blood that sprang through him and from him, Harald found answer: "I have held up 'our head long enough; now do you hold up mine."

Thunder and night rolled over him.

When their king died, the Norse were driven back, the English followed them, striking and striking, as he arrows gnawed them away. Almost had their line broken, then Tosti came at a run and took the king's Danner even as Fridhrek sank beneath an ax. The raven unfurled anew, the Norse rallied, and the English were beaten off.

There was a pause while both sides re-formed their ranks. Not many of the Norse remained on their feet; the English curved around them and pointed spears inward. Thjodholf stood near Harald's body tears furrowing the dust and blood on his face, am made a lay:

"Hard has it gone with the host now,

hopelessly are we standing;

for little gain has our lord

led us into the Westlands.

Lying there with his life gone,

he of all lords most valiant,

few has he left to follow.

Fallen our king and our hope now."

A growling went up from the men. Wounded lurching in their tracks, garments ragged and weapons blunted, they would not yield. .

Harold Godwinsson trod forth. "Tosti!" he cried "Will you take peace of us?"

"It was never my wont to betray my friends,' croaked the earl.

"You and all with you."

"No!" The voices lifted together. The Norse fell they could not give in while their king lay dead before them.

The battle began anew.

Eystein Gorcock was seated under a willow by the Ouse, making a verse for Maria, when the three messengers came into camp on spent and staggering horses. The sheriff jumped to his feet. "What is it?' he cried. "What word do you bear?"

"The English have set on us at Stamford Bridge, They have an overwhelming army," answered the nearest of the riders. "Your help is sorely needed."

Eystein sped into the house and got his horn. He came out of Riccall’s gate blowing it till echoes hooted.

When Skuli, Ketill, and the Thorbergssons heard the news, they wanted to go, but Eystein told them to stay behind with a small guard for the ships; they were young yet, and untried. Olaf was pulling on his undercoat, a sword at his feet. "Do you stay too," said the sheriff.

"Christ's blood!" shrieked the boy. "My father is in danger of his life!"

"And you may be the last hope of his house," answered Eystein. He would not be gainsaid. Olaf watched him go till tears blurred his sight.

The last third of the Riccall men followed Eystein. They were in armor, and the heat flamed around them. He drove them ruthlessly, no few fainted by the wayside, but the sun was almost down when he reached the bridge.

There he saw the last remnant of Harald's men, still at war. He rushed ahead with a yell, his folk pouring after him, and cut a way to the raven flag. Styrkaar bore it.

"Where is the king?" shouted Eystein.

"Fallen," whispered the marshal. "Earl Tosti fell a short while back, Thjodholf, Gudhrodh, your old friend Gunnar—not many are left. Hell take you, couldn't you have come faster?"

Eystein snatched the standard. "Maria's father," he said in his grief. He lifted his voice like the flag: "God and St. Olaf! Forward, Norsemen!"

That charge, the last of the day, again drove the English back. Almost, they broke and fled. Harald Hardrede and his men had felled a good two-thirds of the Housecarles, the shire levies were worn out, and it was a ghastly thing to see the Raven overhead.

Their king rallied them and led the counterattack. "Once more!" he cried, "you ward your own hearthfires!"

So fiercely had Eystein brought his men here that they were nigh dead from weariness. Some burst their hearts in his charge ere ever weapon touched them. The rest met the English, and were scattered. Harold Godwinsson yelled and followed them at the front of his warriors.

Then battle madness came on the Norse, they cast off their too-heavy byrnies, threw their shields at their feet, and struck two-handed. Spears and arrows reaped them, and as the sun went down they broke. Such as still lived, fled; only a shield-burgh around Eystein remained, where Landwaster flew above the bloodied helmets.

Then did Harold Godwinsson attack. Eystein fought for a long time, even when all the others had been slain. As twilight stole forth, he dropped on a heap of the dead with a spear through him. Harold Godwinsson cast down the raven flag, and it covered the last of the Norsemen.

Epilogue Of Olaf the Quiet

1

Styrkaar was among the few who escaped. He hammered a road for himself through the enemy lines and ran across the darkling battlefield. There he found a tethered horse, and leaped into the saddle and galloped westward.

The breeze began to strengthen, chill and mournful out of the north, and as the first stars appeared Styrkaar grew aware that he was cold. Blood and sweat were thick on him, and he had only a tattered shirt. On his head was a helmet and in his hand a naked sword he had picked up after throwing away his ruined ax.

The teeth clapped in his jaws. He felt too tired and frozen even to curse. After he had ridden for some miles, he saw a bulky shadow on the road ahead. As he neared, he found that it was a hay wagon. The yeoman driving it had on a thick furry coat.

Styrkaar drew rein. "Will you sell me that coat, fellow?" he asked.

The Englander squinted uneasily into the murk. "Not to you," he said as last. "You must be a Northman; I can hear that in your speech."

"Well," said Styrkaar, "if that be so, what would you do with me?"

"I'd kill you," spat the yeoman, "but as ill luck would have it, I've no weapon."

Styrkaar laughed. "If you can't kill me, friend," he said, "it might be I could do away with you." And before the stranger could say aught else, he lay in the road and Styrkaar was donning his coat.

The marshal rode on. As he neared the River Ouse, mists streamed and he heard an owl hoot. Fires glared at Riccall. Olaf came running when he entered the gates.

"What is it?" cried the prince. "What happened?"

"Dead," answered Styrkaar harshly. "Scarce a man of us left. Best we get away while we can." He almost fell from the saddle.

Olaf stood a moment, his face in shadow. Men heard him draw a shaky breath, and saw his fists clench.

"Heed the marshal, my lord!" said Paul Thorfinnsson. "All of us are done unless we flee." "No." Olaf shook his head, very slowly. "But . . ."

"No!" The youth shouted it this time. "There must be many who broke away. I'll not leave them behind. Ready what men we have and stand guard till dawn."

He stalked off alone between the empty houses.

By morning a number of Norse had reached the camp, each with the same tale of doom. Olaf waited for those who had gone to Aldby. His fleet was not yet clear to sail when spears flashed to landward and warships from the wharf came rowing up the Ouse. Olaf regarded them in dry-eyed calm. "It's as well," he said to Erlend. "I liked not the thought of leaving our wounded and captured folk."

He yielded to the English chiefs on condition his warriors might keep their weapons, and rode to York among the former to meet King Harold. Styrkaar and the Thorfinnssons went along. At the town they were brought into the earl's hall, a big and splendidly outfitted house. In the high seat was the king. He looked weary, and his hurts were bandaged, but he sat straight. Olaf regarded him with wonder. This man was not much to see, but he had conquered Harald Hardrede.

The youth bent the knee before the king, who said mildly: "Rise and come sit by me. I bear you no ill will."

Olaf joined him, and took a beaker of wine. It tasted ashen in his mouth. "Know you how my father died?" he asked.

"By an arrow, I hear," said Harold. "He must have passed quickly ... in the vanguard of his battle line, as he himself would have chosen." His face twisted. "God have mercy on us both that we could not have been friends. I would have given much to have him by my side when the Normans come."

"Well . . ." Olaf stirred, awkwardly. "We must ask peace of you, my lord."

"It is granted," said Harold with a smile, "and these are the terms: that you swear peace and friendship with my folk, now and forever hence."

Olaf waited. There was a thrumming within him. "And what else?"

"I shall want hostages, of course. But naught else. No ransom, save for the ships and arms you will not be needing. You may take your men home, also those who are our prisoners."

"I fought on the wrong side," said Olaf thickly. "Never from this day shall Englishmen lack friends in Norway."

He remained for a couple of days, and then sailed. He took only twenty-four ships. Tosti's sons, Skuli and Ketill, followed Olaf and afterward became great men in the North.

On Michaelmas, Duke William landed in England. Harold Godwinsson heard the news and went south with what was left of his Housecarles, to meet the Normans on the heights above Hastings.

2

It was a slow, rough passage north, and Olaf had to lie over for a while at Ravensere in the Humber mouth. Not till fall did he reach Orkney, on a day of leaden skies and whistling wind, when the sea beat heavily on rocks and tide rips in Pentland Firth snarled around the strakes.

Olaf let Paul Thorfinnsson guide the Fafnir into Scapa Flow, but was the first to go ashore where the Stromness folk had gathered upon seeing the vessels near. There they stood mute and shivering as sunset smoldered behind their land.

Elizabeth and Ingigerdh stood foremost. The queen held a black mantle close to her against the wind. Her face had hollowed and paled; the gray eyes which sought Olaf's were huge. Her lips found a whisper: "Are you all that is left?"

The prince nodded. His head was bare, the yellow locks aflutter, and his reply could scarce be heard above the deep noise of waves: "Yes. King Harald fell at Stamford Bridge, and nigh all our men beside him."

"Oh God ..." The queen's fingers strained against each other.

"I was not there," said Olaf. "Would I had been, but— He fell in battle; it was a quick death."

Ingigerdh wept, but her mother seemed too far from the world. She said tonelessly: "Ever I knew it would end thus. Someday he would leave me and not come back. But I knew not how hollow our lives would be afterward."

She stood another moment. "Did Eystein Thorbergsson fall?" she asked.

"Yes," said Olaf.

"God's ways are strange," said Elizabeth. "Maria is dead too." Olaf stood numbly.

"It was a ... I know not what. A sudden fever, where she lay calling on Eystein, and in two days she was gone." Elizabeth bowed her head. "Thy will be done."

"Come," said Olaf. "Let us to the hall."

"Have you your father's body with you?" asked the queen.

"No." Olaf stood with his hands empty at his sides. "The English king gave him Christian burial, and I thought ..."

"We must fetch it when we can," said Elizabeth. "He would want to lie in Norway."

She shook her head, dazedly. "I still cannot believe it. There was too much life in him for this."

The wind howled out over the sea.

Olaf and his folk remained in Orkney during the winter, where the Thorbergssons guested them well. The prince grew in size and strength; it was said there had never been so handsome a chief. He was mild of manner, short-spoken in daily life and at the Things, though cheerful among close friends. His intention was to build peaceable trade at home, and not to embark on foreign wars. Folk called him Olaf the Yeoman, or the Quiet, but did not lack respect for him.

Late in the year came word that Harold Godwinsson was dead and the Normans ruled England. In the spring Queen Elizabeth sent ships down to greet King William and ask for Harald Sigurdharson's bones. This was readily granted, and the Fafnir bore back the coffin. The queen watched over it for the first night, alone.

Thereafter the Norse steered home, to land at Nidharos where Magnus met them. Thora Thorbergsdottir was not present, and when her sons sat privately in a small room, by a sputtering birch-log fire, Olaf asked about her.

Magnus shook his head gloomily. "It is not well with our mother," he said. "When no word came for so long, she grew more and more wild, and at last sent a ship through winter seas to find what had happened. It was not heard from again, and she sent another, wasting her wealth to hire sailors. They brought the news, and since then she has been grieving and drinking overly much."

"I'll seek her out," said Olaf.

Magnus regarded his brother for a while, then asked: "What are your plans?"

"I want to share the kingship with you," said Olaf calmly.

The older youth jerked in his chair. "Are you mad?" he cried. "Father had me named king when ..."

"I know you too well, Magnus," said Olaf. "You have too much of our father in you. Stripped and poor our land is, after this last faring; but you would plunge us into war and finish us. You need another hand on the reins, and I . . . have followers."

"We will talk of this later," said Magnus harshly.

Olaf left him and went to see Thora. The tall red woman sat listlessly weaving in the ladies' bower. She dismissed the servant maids and bade him sit. Her face was haggard, and a half-empty wine flask stood beside her.

"Long is it since we met," said the prince.

"Yes, I know I should have greeted you," answered Thora dully. "But naught seems worth doing anymore."

"You're not old," he said. "Forty winters . . . you have half your life before you."

"A barren life," she said. Her hands curved into claws. "Had I been there! I would have torn out Godwinsson's eyes and flung them to the ravens."

"He was a valiant and gentle man."

"Aye, you men are free to praise each other and drink in good fellowship after a battle. But what of the women whose men never come back? What of them?"

"Ellisif takes this more bravely than you," said Olaf, hoping to sting his mother into quiet.

She nodded bitterly. "I would have known it. She has her God and her one fat daughter left. But you two are grown from me, and I have naught." She turned her face away. "Go. Let me be."

3

Olaf was hailed king with Magnus at the fall Thing. They ruled together, bickering less than might have been expected.

Great was the glee of Svein Estridhsson when he learned his old ogre was dead. He said the peace between Norway and Denmark was over, since it had been sworn only for so long as both he and King Harald were alive; and in both lands a great host was called up the following year. Magnus was eager to fight, but Olaf thought the realm could hardly stand it and sent messengers to Denmark urging peace. His word was that the Norsemen did not wish war, but were it forced on them they would teach their foes sorrow. The end was that Svein met the young kings in a friendly way and swore to a renewal of the treaty. This was confirmed by Olaf's taking in marriage Ingiridh Sveinsdottir, a clever and good-looking maiden.

In 1069 three of Svein's sons brought a large fleet to England, where Edgar Atheling, Earl Waltheof, and others met them. The Northumbrian folk welcomed them joyously, rising against the hard Norman rule, and they captured York. But William came up, drove them away, and made such havoc in the shires that northern England was empty of people for many years. Svein decided ruefully that God had not meant for him to be a warrior, and thereafter sat quiet at home.

The same year Magnus Haraldsson took sick and died. He had been a well-loved king, and was mourned by the folk. Thereafter Olaf reigned alone. About this time, Ingigerdh Haraldsdottir wed the Danish prince Olaf Sveinsson, who became king years later.

Queen Elizabeth remained in the North only long enough to be sure her daughter had made a good marriage and to see her first grandchild. Then she returned to Kiev, where despite the troubles in the land her kin received her well. She took the veil, and rose to be abbess of the cloister Jaroslav had built in the city.

* * *

One day in the summer, anno Domini 1088, a troop of men came riding through the streets of Kiev to Russia's lone convent. They drew rein before the walls, and their leader dismounted. In broken Russian he asked if he might see the abbess, and after some scurrying this was granted him. They were not overly strict about the rules here, Christendom being new and the sisters helping with a hospital and other charitable works.

He walked through the courtyard, a tall stout man of weather-roughened countenance and dark reddish beard; in the crook of his arm he bore a helmet, but had left his ax outside. Folk looked timidly at him, not only the nuns but the poor who had found refuge among them. Into the main building he came, and bowed clumsily before the woman who sat there. She was old and thin, but her back was straight and her lined face still good to watch.

"God bless you," she said. "What would you with me?"

"I . . ." The man cleared his throat and said in Norse: "I hight Jon Ulfsson, my lady, from Throndheim. I came hither on a trading voyage, and having heard that Queen Ellisif lived here, thought to greet her."

The abbess leaned forward. Her frail hands tightened on the arms of the chair. "Not the son of Ulf Marshal?" she asked. The Northern language came slowly from her tongue, unused for many years.

"The same, my lady."

"Then do be seated. . . No, no, come, let us walk in the garden." The nuns had never seen their superior thus shaken; and by an outland heretic at that!

Roses bloomed in neat rows between ivied walls. A sleepy hum of bees filled the sunlight. Man and woman went side by side down graveled paths.

"It's peaceful," said Jon.

"Yes. This has not been an ill life, helping and healing where we could, guiding as well as we are able, and ..." Elizabeth looked at the ground. "It was my thought that such prayers as I offer might carry more weight."

"I came through Denmark, reverend lady," said Jon. "Your daughter fares well."

The coiffed head nodded. "Thanks be to God. I get letters from her now and then. But how goes it with you?"

"Not badly. I have lands and children and gold enough. These are good times, easy times."

"As if after a storm," said Elizabeth. "The world is never so still as when wind and lightning have passed by. . . But tell me of others I once knew. I heard that King Svein died some years ago. But what of Thora Thorbergsdottir, who was queen with me?"

Jon gave her a sharp look, but could find no malice; it seemed the friendliest of tones. Surely this woman had made her peace with the whole world.

"She married a sheriff in Sogn, one Hallkell Bjarnarson," he said. "A man much younger than she. From what I hear, she leads him a devilish life."

Elizabeth bowed her head. "God help her," she murmured. "It cannot be easy for her, who once had the greatest of men."

After a moment: "And how fares the land itself? Often have I remembered Norway."

Jon shook his head, puzzled. "I cannot understand everything that is happening," he said. "King Olaf steers well, and is a merry man with his friends and concubines; but he brings in much that is strange."

"How so?"

"Oh . . . well, he founded a town at Bergen, you may have heard, and all the towns have waxed greatly. Now the tradesfolk are forming guilds and becoming a power in their own right. The halls must be spread with rushes both summer and winter; and the high seat is at one end instead of in the middle; and they build hearths with chimneys rather than fire pits down on the floor; and the rich folk must have glass in their windows. The king's court is twice as big as ever erenow, and their dress runs wild—tight hose, long puffy sleeves, high-heeled shoes. Priests swarm over the land, and churches rise on every side. ..." Jon coughed. "I meant no disrespect, my lady. But I was brought up in the old ways, and these outland customs jar me."

Elizabeth smiled. "I think it is not the looks of your country that disturb," she answered. "It is another spirit."

"Aye," said Jon eagerly. "You make it clear for me. Time was when the North was herself. Now we become like all the rest. I like it not."

"God sends much which none of us like," Elizabeth told him. "The old North died at Stamford Bridge. Would you have your sons live in dead men's ways?"

They walked mutely for a while. The sky stood huge over the low green land.

Jon looked at the woman beside him. She seemed as remote and inhumanly serene as one of her mosaic saints. He found it hard to believe his father had cared for her.

But who could know what the dead had thought? They were down in dust, mold in their mouths and darkness on their eyes; they would not speak again.

"Can I do aught for you, my lady?" he asked. "I could bring you whatever you need."

"No. I thank you, Jon, but unless you wish to give to the poor we have enough here." Elizabeth met his eyes. "You bear somewhat of Ulf in you," she said. "Your folk will be strong, in this or any age."

Somehow that made him flush like a boy.

"God has been good to me," said Elizabeth. "He gave me what shall not be forgotten; and then He spared me throughout these later years, to do what a mortal can for my love's salvation."

Briefly, the calm broke in her, and Jon looked away. "But if he had lived!" she whispered.

After a silence, the Norseman said awkwardly: "Best I go, reverend lady. My men await me."

"Yes. You were good to come. God bless you."

Jon was unsure of the proper usage, but kissed her hand. She smiled after him as he left, and stood listening till the hoofbeats faded into stillness.