TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven (2 page)

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 Throndheims
fjord, 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
Yngl
ing.

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 unwi
se to accuse the man openly. In
stead, 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 be
cks 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. Ma
gnus did not get on well with h
im.

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 o
f 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.