TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven (19 page)

"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.