King's Man (41 page)

'The king,' I said, 'I need to speak with him.'

Again the anxiety in my tone took my audience aback, until one of the councillors looked a little more closely.

'Thorgils Leifsson, isn't it? I didn't recognise you at first. I'm sorry.'

I brushed aside his apology. It seemed to me that everyone was being fatally obtuse. My voice was quivering with emotion as I repeated my demand. I had to speak with the king. It was a matter of the greatest urgency.

'Oh, the king,' said the councillor, whom I now remembered as one of Harald's sworn men from the Upplands. 'You won't find him here. He left at first light.'

I clenched my teeth in frustration. 'Where did he go?' I asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep my voice calm.

'Inland,' said the Norwegian casually, 'to the meeting place, to accept hostages and tribute from the English. Took nearly half the army with him. It's going to be a scorching day.' He turned back to his conversation.

I seized him by the arm. 'The meeting place, where's that?' I begged. 'I need to speak with him, or at least with Marshal Ulf.'

That brought a different reaction. The Norwegian shook his head.

'Ulf Ospaksson. Don't you know? He died in late spring. Great loss. At his burial ceremony the king described him as the most loyal and valiant soldier he had ever known. Styrkar is the marshal now.'

Another chill swept over me. Ulf Ospaksson had been Harald's marshal ever since Harald had come to the throne. Ulf was the most level-headed of the military advisers. It was Ulf who had opposed the idea of the invasion of England, and now that he was gone, there was no one to rein in Harald's reckless ambition to be another Knut.

The blood was pounding in my ears.

'Steady, Thorgils. Easy now.' It was Skule behind me.

'I must speak with Harald,' I repeated. It seemed to me that I was wading through a swamp of indifference. 'He has to reshape his campaign.'

'Why are you so agitated, Thorgils?' said one of the other councillors soothingly. 'You've only just got here and already you're wanting to change the king's mind. Everything has been working out just as planned. These English troops aren't as fearsome as their reputation. We gave them a thrashing just five days ago. We advanced on York as soon as we had got off our ships. The garrison came out to fight, led by a couple of their local earls. They blocked our road, and it was a fair fight, though perhaps we had a slight advantage in numbers. Harald led us brilliantly. Just as he always does. They came at us first. Hit us hard with a bold charge against our right wing. For a while it looked as if they might even overwhelm our men, but then Harald led the counter-attack and took them in the flank. Rolled up their line in double-quick time, and the next thing they knew we had them penned up against marshy ground, and nowhere to go. That was when we punished them. We killed so many that we walked on corpses as though the quagmire was solid ground. The city surrendered, of course, and now Harald's gone off to collect the tribute and stores the city fathers promised, as well as hostages for good behaviour in the future. He won't be long. You might as well stay here until he returns to camp. Or maybe you would prefer to give your information to Prince Olaf, who will tell his father when he gets back.'

'No,' I said firmly, 'my message is for Harald himself, and it cannot wait. Can someone arrange for me to have a horse so that I can try to overtake the army?'

The councillor shrugged. 'We didn't bring many horses with us on the fleet — we needed the ship space for men and weapons. But we've captured a few animals locally, and if you look around the camp, maybe you'll find one that suits. Harald can't have gone far.'

I lost more time trying to locate a horse, and succeeded only in finding a starveling pack pony. But the scrawny little creature was better than nothing, and before the troops had finished their breakfast I was riding away from the ships and along the trail that Harald and his army had taken as they marched north.

'Tell him we need some good juicy cattle,' a soldier yelled after me as I left the outskirts of the camp. 'Something to get our teeth into instead of stale bread and mouldy cheese. And as much beer as he can bring back. This weather makes a man thirsty.'

The soldier was right. The air had a dry, still feel. The sky was cloudless, and soon the heat would be intense. Already the ground was cracked in many places, baked hard by the sun, and I could feel my pony's unshod hooves hammering down on the unyielding surface.

It was easy to follow the army's trail. The dust was churned up where the foot soldiers had tramped along, and occasionally there were piles of dung left by the horses that Harald and his leading men were riding. Their road followed the line of a small river, the track keeping to the higher ground on its left bank, and on both sides the low hills were desiccated and brown from the summer drought. From time to time I could see the footmarks where men had left the track and gone down to the water's edge to slake their thirst. I saw nothing of the soldiery themselves, except at one place where I came across a small detachment of men guarding a pile of weapons and armour. At first I thought it was captured material left behind by the enemy, but then I recognised that the weaponry and shields and the thick leather jerkins sewn with plates of metal belonged to our own men. They must have taken them off and left them there, under guard, as it was too hot to march in such heavy gear.

The soldiers told me that Harald and his army were not far
ahead, and sure enough I saw them in the distance when I topped
the next rise and found myself looking across a bend on the river.
The army was waiting on the far bank. Side tracks converged on
the main road shortly before it crossed a wooden bridge, and from
there the main road continued on up the far slope and over the
crest of the hill, leading directly to the city of York. It was a
natural crossroads and I could see why the place had been chosen
for the assembly point where the men of York would bring their
tribute.

I kicked my pony into one last effort, and came down into the valley. A handful of Harald's troops had not yet crossed the bridge, and my haste attracted their curious glances as I scurried past. Most of the men were sprawling on the ground in the sunshine. Many had stripped off their shirts and were bare-chested. Swords, helmets and shields lay where they had casually put them aside. A score of men were standing in the shallows of the river, splashing water on themselves to keep cool.

I clattered across the worn grey planks of the bridge. For a moment I thought of dismounting. The bridge was in poor repair, and there were wide cracks between the planks, but the little pony was sure-footed, and a moment later I was riding up the slope of the far bank towards a knot of men gathered around the royal standard. Even if the flag, Land Ravager, had not been flying from its pole, I would have recognised the little group as Harald's entourage. Harald himself was visible, towering above most men. His long yellow hair and drooping moustaches were unmistakable.

I slid off the pony's back, stumbling as my feet touched ground. It had taken me half the morning to reach Harald, and I felt stiff and saddle sore. I brushed aside the bodyguard who tried to intercept me as I approached Harald and his little group. They too
looked completely at ease. Doubtl
ess they were contemplating the pleasant task of how best to divide up the spoils. Among them I saw Tostig, half-brother of the English king. Until recently he had ruled these lands as its earl, but had been deposed. Now he had thrown in his lot with Harald, anticipating that he would regain his former title.

'My lord,' I called out as I approached the little group. 'I am glad to see you well. I have news from Frankia.'

Everyone in the little group turned to look at me. I realised that my voice had sounded cracked and harsh. My throat was dry and dusty from my ride.

'Thorgils. What brings you here?' asked Harald. There was an angry edge to his question. He was staring down at me from his great height, obviously irritated. I knew that he was thinking

I had abandoned my responsibilities. He would have preferred me to stay in Normandy, to act as his intermediary in dealing with Duke William.

'I had no choice, my lord. There are developments which you must know at once. I could not trust anyone else to bring the news.'

'What news is that?' Harald was scowling.

I decided that I had to be blunt. I needed to shock Harald into changing his plans, even if it meant drawing down his wrath on me.

'Duke William has betrayed you, my lord,' I said, adding hastily, 'It was my error. He used me as a tool to deceive you. He made me believe that he had agreed to your offer, and that he would time his invasion to coincide with yours. But that was never his intention. His fleet has not yet sailed. He is deliberately hanging back, giving time for the English king to attack you.'

For a long moment Harald's expression did not change. He continued to scowl at me, and then — to my surprise — he threw back his head and laughed.

'So Bastard William deceived me, did he? Well, so be it. Now I know what he is like, and that knowledge will be useful when we meet face to face and decide who really takes the realm of England. I'll make him regret his treachery. But he has miscalculated. Whoever beats Harold Godwinsson will hold the advantage. There's nothing like a recent victory to put heart into one's troops, and the English will follow the first victor. As soon as I have disposed of Harold Godwinsson, I'll drive William of Normandy back into the sea if he is so bold as to make his invasion. When he hears of my victory he may even cancel his invasion plans altogether.'

Once more, I sensed that I was swimming against a tide of events, and there was little that I could do.

'Duke William will not set aside his invasion, my lord. He has planned it down to the last detail, trained his troops, rehearsed, and committed all his resources to it. He may have as many as eight thousand fighting men. For him, there is no going back.'

'Nor for me,' Harald snapped. 'I came to take the realm of England and that is what I'll do.'

I fell silent, not knowing what to say.

Tostig intervened. 'Harold is far away. He has to march the length of England if he is to meet us on the battlefield. In the meantime our army will grow stronger. As people hear about us they will join our cause. Many in this region have Norse blood in their veins and trace their line back to the time of great Knut. The English will prefer to throw in their lot with us than with a gang of plundering Normans.'

Somewhere near us, a horse neighed. It was one of the handful of small Norwegian horses which Harald had brought with him. They were sturdy animals, ideal for long journeys across bleak moorland, but by no means as powerful as the battle chargers that I had seen in Normandy. I was wondering how they would withstand a charge of Norman knights, when someone said, 'At last! The good burghers of York are finally showing up.'

Everyone in our little group looked westward, up the slope of the hill towards the unseen city. A faint cloud of dust could be seen beyond the distant crest. The horse neighed again.

The first figures to come over the brow of the hill were indistinct, no more than dark shapes. I wiped away the sweat that was trickling down into my eyes. The black and white costume of a follower of the Rule could be very hot on a warm day. I should find myself a light cotton shirt and loose trousers and get rid of the Christian costume.

'That's not a cattle herd,' commented Styrkar, Harald's new marshal. 'Looks more like troops.'

'Reinforcements from the fleet, sent up by Prince Olaf so as not to miss the division of the booty.' The speaker sounded a little resentful.

"Where did they get all those horses, I wonder?' asked a veteran, a note of puzzlement in his voice as he stared into the distance. 'That's cavalry, and a lot of it.'

King Harald had turned and was facing up the hill. 'Styrkar,' he asked softly. 'Did we post any sentinels on the hill?'

'No, my lord. I did not consider it necessary. Our scouts reported only a few peasants in the area.'

'Those are not peasants.'

Tostig was also watching the new arrivals. More and more men, both mounted and on foot, were coming over the brow of the hill. The leading ranks were beginning to descend the slope, fanning out to make room for those behind them.

'If I didn't know otherwise, I would say those are royal huscarls,' said Tostig. 'But that's impossible. Harold Godwinsson would always keep his huscarls with him. They are pledged to serve the king and guard his person.' He turned to me. "When did you say Harold would know that the Norman fleet was delayed and was staying on in Frankia?'

'I didn't say,' I replied, 'but my guess is that Duke William deliberately planted that information on Harold soon after he left Dives. That would be about twelve days ago.'

Styrkar was making his calculation. 'Let's say it was ten days ago, and then allow Godwinsson two days in which to consult his councillors and make his plans. That would give him a little more than a week to march north and get here. It's difficult but not impossible. Those troops could be led by Harold Godwinsson himself.'

'If it is Harold,' said Tostig, 'it might be wise to fall back to our ships and gather the rest of our forces.'