TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (11 page)

"Yes. Yes, of course I am." He wandered over to Maria's crib and stood regarding the girl's face. "How has she been?" he asked.

"Christ be thanked, well. She's a sweet child." Elizabeth took his arm. "And the boy?"

"Strong and loud and very wrathful." He tilted up her chin till their eyes met. "Ellisif, would you not have wanted Maria to be a boy?"

"I did, at first. Now I'd not change her. We have it well together, and she will give me grandchildren someday."

"I've never understood you," he said awkwardly. "I fear you've suffered much from me."

"This is a night to be glad," she said, though tears lay in her eyes. "It is enough that you came here, to tell me yourself; that makes me happy."

He pulled her to him without thinking, and her lips sought his blindly. Laughing and weeping at once, she drew him toward the bed.

4

Harald was watching the foundation being dug for his new minster when Bishop Grimkell found him. They stood together for a while, saying naught. The sound of picks and spades was loud in the chill calm air.

"A great work, my lord," said the bishop at last.

"It goes well." Harald nodded. "May it bring luck to the land."

"I wished to talk over a Church matter. Shall we seek my house?"

Harald fell into step with him. "What is it?"

"Word has just come that the bishop in Vingulmark is dead, God rest his soul. We must agree on a candidate for his successor and send him down to Hamburg with letters urging he be consecrated."

"That's a long journey," said Harald. "I know of some ships making a voyage to England in spring. Let our man—and I know who it will be, the priest Thorgils Grimsson is friendly to me—let him go to Canterbury instead to take his vows."

"My lord!" Grimkell stopped dead. "You jest!"

"No, your reverence. Why should I?"

"But . . . Norway belongs to the Archdiocese of Bremen and Hamburg!"

"Yes," said Harald coldly, "and Archbishop Adalbert of Bremen, like the German emperor, is too good a friend of Svein Estridhsson. As for me, I shall cleave to our old allies, the Saxon dukes, in worldly matters, and in the ghostly—"

"The Holy Father has appointed—"

"Then I shall appoint otherwise," said Harald. "I do not intend this kingdom shall be ruled in any way from outside, and I will not have Svein's creatures turning the Church of my own land against me. Our bishops will be ordained in Rome, England, France—anywhere I choose—and I will select them myself."

Grimkell set his jaws together. He might be in holy orders, but warriors had been among his fathers. "You've dared God's wrath erenow, my lord," he said. "Those bearded priests with their heathenish Russian chants who keep the queen's chapel are bad enough. Would you now bring the ban down on yourself, perhaps on the whole country?"

"I have thought this through, your reverence," said Harald, "and you cannot turn my will."

"The Pope himself shall hear of it."

"Write if you wish, but save your breath for the Mass."

Grimkell swallowed hard. Harald laughed and took his arm. "Come, Your Reverence, we need not be at sword's point over a difference of opinion. It has ever seemed to me that God is greater than any of these narrow creeds in which men seek to pen Him. Now, to show we are friends, will you hear my confession?"

"That is for your own chaplain," said Grimkell thinly; he knew what a fat, lazy, tolerant priest Harald had named to that task. He stood a moment, then said, "My lord, it may well be that dogma is too small to encompass God. . . . Yes, it must be, since God is infinite. Nevertheless, the canon law is His holy will for our behavior, and no good fortune comes to those who rebel. I would show you a mystery, that you may better appreciate the power of Our Father."

Harald followed him into Clement's church, where the king took off his fur cap and signed himself. They were alone in the weaponhouse, the entryroom where men left their arms, and the building stood silent.

Grimkell brought forth some keys on a chain. "These open up the shrine of holy Olaf," he said. "You have not yet tended the saint as Magnus did. Dare you look on him now and keep your hard heart?"

Harald felt a stumbling in his breast; sweat was on his palms, but he answered steadily, "Let us go in."

They said an Ave and a Paternoster before the high altar and then, reverently, the bishop drew aside the fur coverings and unlocked the great casket. Harald helped him raise the lid, heavy as death.

There he lay, Olaf the Stout, who had been more a man than any other in his age and was now a saint. Harald had seen a few miracles himself; he knew it was no tale. One man had been stricken blind ten years ago, when his farm was ruined by blights and murrains; for a decade he had lived helpless with his brother, and then he had been led here, had shambled up to the altar and laid uncertain hands on the casket . . . and he saw.

Olaf the Stout, Olaf the Holy, God's trusty warrior in heaven, ruled Norway more now he was dead than ever in his reckless life. Harald met him afresh after almost twenty years.

He lay altogether still; strange to see him quiet who had been so strong and hasty; but the stillness was of a mountain, a mighty peace had come over him, and he slept with a world under his head. He
wore rich clothes, spurs on his feet, a sword at his side, but the hands were folded over a crucifix. In the dim light of a few narrow windows, his face seemed little changed, drawn gaunt but with color in it; the hands had shrunk, skin pulling back from bluish nails, but the combed hair and beard still flowed thickly.

Harald shivered and crossed himself. A faint odor wafted from the coffin: spices, herbs, like some old forgotten summer. . . . Yes, embalming, and color put on the dead skin, but it was nonetheless a wonder that the relic had endured.

"Pater noster, qui est in coelis
..."

When they were again outside, they walked in silence for a while. Then the bishop said quietly: "Well, my lord?"

"I have seen bodies as well kept," answered Harald. In haste: "I mean no impiety. Remember that I fought on Olaf's side at Stiklastadh, and have ever thought of him as my patron. But the fact that he is a saint seems to me to have little to do with the question of our archbishopric."

"Beware, my lord," said Grimkell. "Hellfire waits for the proud of heart."

"Olaf was a proud man," said Harald. "I've never known one with more sense of his own worth—and rightly so, to be sure. Yet if I were sinning as grievously as you think, would he not have smitten me erenow? I've heard of his striking men deaf, blind, lame, dead for lesser things. No, you have shown me a miracle, but not given me a reason."

"God help you,"
said the bishop. "You go out
of your way to make enemies. How long do you think it can last?"

He left the king with long strides. Harald watched him, feeling a little daunted. Then, grimly, he straightened his shoulders and went his own way.

VI

How Svein Was Clever

1

In spring Harald knew that both his queens were again with child and the house he owned would be too small before many years had passed, the more so when his court was growing in size and splendor. He ordered a new place built near the river, below the Lady Church, and told his steward to spare no cost.

This dwelling was to be one of the finest yet seen in the North. Its buildings lay around a courtyard which was paved but in which two ancient oaks were let stand. At the north side, above the foreroom, was the hall, with a chamber overlooking the street that led to the river docks. From this a landing led to the downward stairs; and from this landing one could walk onto a gallery above yard and street, under a steep, shingled roof and past dragon-headed beams. The hall was flanked by two lesser houses, one for each of the queens, and those beyond held servants, horses, and treasure. The main entrance to the courtyard was on the south side. Some hundreds of folk could find shelter here.

In those months Harald felt himself lucky: a son,
perhaps two more boys on the way, his women happy, and the challenge to a final combat which Svein had sent.

There was grumbling through the land when half its men were again called out. Yeoman plowed their fields wondering if they would ever come back to harvest them; men looked at hillsides and forests with a sharp knowledge that this might be their last springtime on earth. Still, the fleet was readied and gathered, and early in summer it steered by Konungahella.

Harald stood on the foredeck of his dragon when they reached the meeting place. A light rain blurred the world; now and then the sun flung bright spears down between the clouds to glisten on wet planks. Where the Gota River met the sea, lay a cluster of fishermen's huts, dark-wooded, raindrops caught glittering in their thatch. A few people gaped from the beaches.

"Svein is late," said Thjodholf the skald.

Harald frowned. After the eagerness of his southward voyage, this was an empty feeling, like a puffed-up bladder pricked and hissing itself small. Harshly, he told off a few men to go ashore and find out what had happened to the Danish king.

The ships rocked at anchor, one broad reach of hulls around the curving strand. The air held a sour smell of rain-soaked wool and a belly rumble of sullen voices. Harald sprawled on a bench, rose to pace the crowded deck, flung himself back to his seat. A long time passed before his men returned in the boat.

"Well?" he barked.

"We found some carles, my lord, who said they had heard the Danes were lying to south of Sealand."

"And not coming here?"

"They'd heard no talk of that, my lord, and surely if King Svein meant to steer hither he'd have sent folk ahead to arrange for provisions and—"

Harald turned his back with a snarl. His voice came thickly: "Summon the chiefs. We must decide what to do."

The captains were rowed to his dragon and came aboard: sheriffs, great landowners, Jarl Orm Eilifsson, Eindridhi Einarsson. They filled the benches together with Harald's best guardsmen; the rest of his crew he had sent ashore to make room. He stood in the bow, under the gilt snake head, and glowered at them.

"Well," he said, "after his fine words to us, Svein Estridhsson has once more shown himself a coward. He's skulking with his levy around the islands, and the question is whether we should try to find him or go take his land while he is away."

Eindridhi stood up. "Neither, my lord," he answered. "We came here to fight an honest war, not to play Viking. Svein cannot be fought if he does not wish to be, his rowers are as good as ours; and if we seize Denmark as was done last year, the upshot will be the same."

Harald shook his fists in the air. "It's like trying to grasp water!" he burst out. "Boneless, strengthless, but it will not be caught. The only way is to dam it at the source.
...
I mean we should overrun Denmark though we take three years, and hold it."

"That's no part of a man's duty, my lord," said Eindridhi. "There have been too many great levies; the land is being bled dry and with naught to show save the plunder of some wretched crofts. I, for one, am not going to follow further."

"So you fear the Danish axes?" taunted Harald.

"Let no man call me craven," replied Eindridhi. "But I'm fit for something besides warring."

Harald crammed his wrath back down his throat and looked coldly at Einar Thambaskelfir's son. No mistaking his insolence; he must have a goodly host loyal to him if he dared risk an open break with the king. And in that case, what was not being plotted in his father's hall?

Splitting the fleet in a war of Norseman against Norseman would be a godlike gift to Svein. Slowly, mastering himself with an effort that brought sweat to his forehead, Harald said:

"Later, Eindridhi, we can settle who has the final word. But as for now, let me hear what the other chiefs think."

If think they can, his mind added.

One by one they spoke, the slow heavy words of men who had pondered at great length. Some were in favor of going on, but most were against it, saying that their crews would liefest sail home and know their first peaceful summer in years.

"No." Harald shook his head. "It shall never be told that I slunk back without loosing one shaft. Svein shall regret his treachery; all Denmark will scream because of his cowardice." He swallowed hard. "Let most of you go home, then. I will keep the guardsmen, and such others as are my friends.

And the sheriffs shall repay their rich incomes by coming with me, and we will keep the men from those districts nearest the Danish border. They have raids to avenge."