We spent the night on the High Seat, talking over the marvels we'd seen. Someone brought out flint and steel and built a fire, and we sat in a circle around it while the lights danced overhead.
"He had real power," said Helge, holding his hands out to the warmth. "He was a warlock born of warlocks, and a great soul even among them. But his power deceived him. Because he could control some things, he came to believe he could control everything, and confused himself with God. Strange to say, his very madness increased his power, for it gave him leave to take risks no sane trickster would dare. And if he failed to do a thing, he simply sent a seeming to make men think he'd succeeded. He came to believe these seemings himself, having persuaded himself that fancies are as real as flesh."
"He carried so many wounds all these years?" Steinulf asked. "His suffering must have been terrible."
"He'd learned to bend his mind so that he did not feel painwhich is dangerous in itself, for it is by pain that sane men learn. The wounds were terrible, and they healed but slowly in his ancient body, but he'd enough magic to keep himself alive. By the end he barely remembered what he truly was. The greatest danger of hypocrisy comes the day one is a hypocrite no more, when one truly believes one's own tales. Such men are probably beyond redemption, though that is not for me to say."
"Olaf will be glad of this, when he returns," said Erling.
There was little night left, and ere long the sun began to unblanket the mountain heights and stripe the walls of the fjord, so that I saw at last how high in the world we stood, and shivered. We stretched our limbs and made our way down the mountain to sail back to Sola. Nothing of interest happened on the way.
It was late summer, and there was hay to make and harvests to get in. The road south got finished as far as Sigurd Eriksson's lands, and more thralls earned their freedom.
And every day Erling climbed atop the home-field fence and surveyed the sea to the south, looking for Olaf. If he lived, surely he'd have seen his folly and headed home . . .
But the Long Serpent never appeared.
At last there came a single ship, whose sail Erling knew. She rode low in the water and made her way sluggishly, as if overloaded with men above and taking on water below.
We watched as she hove to and made for the entrance to Hafrsfjord, and Erling called out the thralls to prepare a feast. He sent Eystein and some of the bodyguard with horses to greet the visitors. He quivered like a hound as he stood watching them dock and disembark, a hand shading his eyes.
I saw his shoulders sag as he recognized the leader of the crew. It wasn't the man he expected. 'Twas young Einar Eindridisson, riding slouched, no longer the boy.
Erling greeted him in the yard. "I expected your father," he said as he took Einar's hand.
"Yes, 'tis his ship. I sailed with the Long Serpent. But Jarl Erik let me have this one and sail it home with whatever crew I could put together."
Erling stood stock still at those words.
"Jarl Erik?" he asked. "Jarl Haakon's son?"
"Yes, of course. Do you mean you've not heard?"
"Nothing. Not even a rumor. What of the king? Tell mewhat of Olaf?"
"I thought you'd know by now," said Einar, his blue eyes wide. "Olaf is dead, at the bottom of the sea!"
We went through the civilities of the drinking and feasting in the old hall, but quickly and with no pleasure. We were awaiting the moment when Einar would tell his story.
I can see him still, old eyes in a young face, sitting in the guest's seat across from Erling's, a silver horn in his hand, sipping from it often, as if for more than refreshment.
"Olaf was furious after you left him. He sat in the hall in Jomne and drank steadily all day, until he fell into a stupor and slept.
"He spoke much with Jarl Sigvald, trying to make a new strategy for his march to Jerusalem. The bishop he would not speak to at all.
"The next morning Olaf made up his mind. We found him awake at breakfast time, and he told us we would be sailing for England. He was certain King Ethelred would give him ships and men for a voyage to Jerusalem. Instead of fighting our way across Europe, we would attack the Musselmen in Eastland, and baptize them, offering them to the Lord as our tribute when He returned.
"And so we set sail with our fleet, our ships plus those of the Jomsvikings under Sigvald. There was a rumor about that King Svein and the Danish fleet were out seeking usthey could hardly have missed the news of our voyageand Sigvald promised he had a hidden way to bring us through the islands to the Belts.
"What we did not know was that the son of a whore was in Svein's pay.
"He led the way into a soundsomebody called it Svoldand suddenly his ships were gone and there was Svein's fleet, along with Jarl Erik Haakonson and King Olaf of Sweden. There they were, and there we were, and we stood outnumbered three to one. There was no parleying, no bid for surrender. We went to arms without delay.
"We lashed our ships together. The Long Serpent was far longer than any of the rest of the fleet, of course, and Olaf insisted that she be fixed with her stern flush with the other ships, so that she stuck far out in front. 'Twas suicide. 'Twas murder toomurder of all his faithful men on the foredeck. Whatever was driving Olaf was leading him to forget his duty to his followers, his very kingship. Every man of us aboard the Serpent was angry, though most said nothing. Ulf the Red, up in the forecastle, spoke his mind though, and Olaf nearly put an arrow through him.
"King Svein's ships met us breast to breast while Olaf's of Sweden's and Erik's ships began picking off the ships at the outer wings of our formation, one by one. It was only a matter of time of course. Svein's ships made little headway against us, because the Serpent's sides were so high it gave us an advantage, higher ground so to speak. Our men shot down into their decks and killed them from above, as if spearing fish. But the other ships had less advantage; and on the flanks it was plain slaughter, especially on our right, where Erik attacked. He had much of his own to get back, did Erik.
"He left his ship behind and simply fought from ship to ship, clearing each and going on to the next. Our defense became his bridge to Olaf and revenge.
"I didn't see this all at the timewe've put it together from the stories of the survivors I sailed home with. But we all knew the chief thing. We were being sacrificed to Olaf's death-dream. I was standing near him, shooting arrows, when my bow snapped. The thing was hot as a gridiron. Olaf said to me, `What did I hear breaking?' and I answered, `Norway, from your hand, O King!' I think he nearly struck me down then, but instead he handed me his own bow. I tried it, but it broke too, so I fought with my sword thereafter.
" 'Twas Erik's force that boarded us at last. They cleared the forecastle and worked their way back. I got struck down and left for dead and did not see the end, but I'm told that Olaf and Kolbjorn the marshal jumped overboard together to escape capture. Kolbjorn the Danes fished out of the sea alive, but Olaf was seen no more. Some say he may have swum free, but I'd seen him go earlier to a chest in the hold to get fresh swords for the men. There was blood running down his arm, leaving a track wherever he went. A wound like that, in salt water, and a heavy brynje on his backI think he lies in Aegir's hall like a lost anchor."
"And you got quarter?" Erling asked.
"Everyone got quarter at the end," said Einar, "on the condition we took Svein as our king and Erik as his jarl, as in Jarl Haakon's day. We are under Denmark again now, and to speak truth it matters little to me, after what Olaf did to us. Call me betrayer if you will, but I look for better from a king. I certainly looked for better from Olaf.
"Be prepared, Erling Skjalgsson. Svein has given Erik rule of the west from Trondheim south to Lindesness. Make the best terms you can with him, but terms you'll have to make."
Erling spoke no word, but rose from his seat. All of us tensed our limbs, ready for some act of rage. But Erling merely turned and walked down the hearth-way to the entrance room, and passed out from among us.
I followed, drawing my cloak about me, wondering what Erling felt. Was he angry at Olaf? Angry at Einar? Angry at himself? Would he do himself harm? Would he take a boat and sail to Greenland? I was prepared for anything.
Night was falling. I followed him down to the seashore, his thinking place and mine. He walked with head bowed, then sat on a large rock, staring out over the sea towards the last red stain of the setting sun.
When Erling was troubled, his usual course was actionto run or to fight, or to throw stones or ride an unbroken horse. This quiet sitting troubled me more than madness would.
It seemed sin to intrude on his meditation, but I feared for Erling, so I gathered my courage and walked straight to him.
He was weeping. He wept in great, shuddering sobs, like a child, and the sunset shone in his tears.
"My king!" he cried. "Olaf, my king! You went alone to the Loneliest Place, and I was not by you! How could you do this to me? How can I forgive you? How can you forgive me?"
I knew nothing to say, and my words would not have helped in any case. I laid my hands on his head and prayed for him.
We remained thus for some time, until there was only moonlight, and little of that. I heard the approaching footsteps but did not know whose they were until the face of Astrid was near enough to touch. She had come alone.
She placed an arm around Erling's shoulders and said, "Come with me, husband. 'Tis time we went to our bed."
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |