TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (4 page)

"Well, now, we must decide what to do," said Harald, lowering his big frame to the bench. "I understand Svein is in Roskilde on Sealand and will not be eager to meet us."

"Then we must meet him," said Magnus, his eyes alight. "We can clear northern Jutland quickly enough, then sail around to the island. If he hangs back from a sea battle, we'll walk to Roskilde and drag him out."

"No," said Harald. "Jutland is the backbone of Denmark. Her kings are named at the Viborg Thing, and there are more men to be had here than in the islands. I say grip this peninsula first, get ourselves hailed at Viborg, raise Jutish levies to help our own, and only then go across the Belts."

"Leaving Svein to work his mischief all summer," said Einar. "No, no, best we go after him to start with."

"And he will retreat to Sweden as he has ever done," answered Harald. "Take the land; with it in our hands, Svein is helpless, and if I know him should soon come to terms."

"Aye," sneered Eindridhi, "you know Svein very well, do you not?"

Harald sprang to his feet with a curse. Finn Arnason rose as well, "Who are we fighting?" he cried. "That was ill spoken, Eindridhi. I think Harald's rede is best."

"Not so," interrupted Magnus. "Svein is the rallying point of the Danes; with him out of the way—"

"I think," said Harald quickly, "you're but opposing my plan because I offered it. That's not a good sign for our success."

"Remember who is first of us two," Magnus told him hotly.

"And remember who has more knowledge of war," said Finn. His squinting eyes peered at Magnus without great love; all knew he missed his brother Kalf. "How many here set the pride of Norway above their own?"

It grew into such a quarrel that Harald finally left. In the morning, when heads had cooled, Magnus agreed sulkily that it would be wisest at least to take Jutland first. But through that whole summer's campaigning, he was at odds with Harald, and the older man often had to fight to keep his temper.

From the beaches of the Skaw, across a vastness of heath, down into the forests and plains of Schleswig, the Norse Army moved. This was not a Byzantine force of lifetime soldiers with their own supplies and years of training; up in the North, each man kept what weapons he willed, and brought them with him when the war arrow was passed from house to house. These were Lofoten fishermen, twisted and bent from their age
-
long strife with the sea; hunters of Finnmark, shy and skin-clad; rough burly Uplanders; rich yeomen of the valleys, who could even afford coats of mail; traders and artisans from the small young towns—a host of many thousands, fighting on foot, each shire under its own chiefs and banners. They lived off the country, slaughtering cattle and sheep and pigs, looting barns and cribs and homes, plundering and burning with more glee than malice. When the Jutes, little different from themselves, made a stand, they formed a ragged wedge and rolled down hallooing. A few oxcarts carried their badly wounded, but these seldom lived many days.

There was no chance to call a Thing at Viborg, because the Danes fought stoutly there and, when beaten, had to be pursued. Nevertheless, Harald was well pleased at how swiftly the land was overrun and the chiefs made submission. In battle, he took the right wing with the Southern levies, Einar the Northerners on the left, while Magnus had the tip of the wedge: the "swine-fylking" which Odhinn himself had taught to men. There was no denying that the young king fought well and cheerily.

Toward fall, when the heath was a sudden purple glory of bloom, scouts brought word that Svein Estridhsson was raising a host among the islanders. Harald had to agree it was best to go meet him now. The ships had been left with skeleton crews, to round the Skaw and come down the Little Belt; now the Norsemen embarked and sailed for Sealand.

They landed in the South, where the country was rich and green, long ago cleared of forest, and went up through it toward Roskilde. Emptiness met them, folk had fled, the garths and hamlets stood open with a few unlatched doors creaking drearily in the wind. It was ghostly, this walking through miles where only the ravens spoke. Overhead reached Danish sky, dizzily far above that low wet land; smoke of burning farmsteads stained the horizon, and the stone tombs of a forgotten people brooded in murmuring grass.

One night Magnus woke with a small shriek, struggling against the leather of his bag. Einar Thambaskelfir lay nearby, and crept out to see what the matter was. The light nights were past; darkess lay over the world with stars glinting steely in heaven. A damp wind gusted from the marshes and somewhere an owl hooted.

"What's awry, my lord?" Gently, he laid a callused hand on Magnus's forehead and felt sweat.

"I
...
a dream." The king shook his head as if to clear it. "I dreamt I saw my father St. Olaf again."

Einar crossed himself. "You've seen that erenow, at Hlyrskog Heath, and there he spaed victory for you."

"Yes, but this time—" Magnus sat up, wildness in his voice. "There was something horrible about it. Yet he spoke in a friendly way, though I thought he was saddened. He asked me if I chose to follow him, or to become the mightiest of kings and have long life but to
...
to commit a sin so great that I would late or never atone for it."

Einar shuddered. The night was chill around him. "And what did you choose, my lord?"

"I thought I asked him to choose for me what seemed best. And he said I should follow him. Then I awoke."

"It may be a lucky sign," said Einar. "If he was testing you—"

"I had not thought of death before." Magnus's teeth rattled in his jaws. "It was as if I would live forever. But now it seems that being dead is a lonely thing."

"Lie down, my lord," said Einar. "In the morning this will look better."

Harald heard the story the next day; it was running through the whole army. "It may be that Magnus Olafsson is fey," said Halldor somberly.

"It may be that the night mists got into his head," answered Harald. "Men get dreams and dreams, and most of them mean naught." Nevertheless, he felt a crawling along his nerves, as if something unseen had brushed close.

Toward evening a hard-riding scout brought word that the Danish host was near, headed south, and they could look for battle the next day. Harald made his preparations coolly, but Magnus spent most of the time alone with a priest. That night, the campfires burned high and men sat up late, unable to sleep.

In the morning, after they had broken their fast, horns blew and the army went into war formation. The men spilled from the road and across grain-fields, leaving a giant swath crushed behind them. Harald rode an outsize horse by his banner, raven black against bloody red. A knee-length byrnie dragged at his collarbone, a cuif and helmet bound his hair. Glancing along the lines, he saw endless rows of men, sunburned faces and dully gleaming iron. The host held their spears aloft, axes on their shoulders; their tramping created a sound like low thunder. Ulf was on his right hand, Halldor on his left, faces unsmiling and somehow unhuman behind the nose guards. Through a haze of dust, he could barely spy Magnus, hollow eyed and eerily intent on his own thoughts.

They had not gone far when dust and steel rose ahead of them, and the Danes came into view. Harald shaded his eyes and made out Svein in their van. Wearing a gilt helmet and scarlet cloak, he was astride a high-stepping white horse. Behind his shield-burg was a cluster of brown-robed monks. The sound of their chanting filtered through the windless air and Harald spat. "Ever the priest lover. Those shavepates will help him little today."

Nobody talked of peace. Horns lowed, and arrows darkened the sky. Harald dismounted, hobbling his steed, and lifted the shield up before his face; he grasped a one-handed ax and bore a sword at his waist. Slowly, the two hosts lumbered toward each other. A stone thudded off Harald's shield.

"This is no hastily raised band of farmers," said Ulf. "We'll have work to do."

Ahead and to the left shouts and clangor arose as Magnus engaged Svein's leading men. Harald took the shoulder of the lad carrying his flag. "Hold. Let them come to us, it'll weaken their formation."

Suddenly blue, hating eyes were ranked before him. He whooped, tossed his ax in the air, caught it, and stepped forth. The edge howled down. He felt a wooden shield rim split and the arm beneath it break. The Dane screamed, falling backward. The man behind pushed him forward again. Harald knew a moment of wonder about this fellow he was killing: how many children did he have to weep for him? Then he was down, and a sword was thunderous on the king's own shield.

For a long time there followed the confusion of battle. Both armies held together, but the Danish line was pushed back. Overhead ravens and eagles wheeled, waiting for their feast. Banners fluttered, above the hosts. A wounded man clutched his belly, trying to stuff his guts back inside; a father held his dead son in his arms, stroking hair clotted with blood and brains; a warrior looked at the stump of his arm, not yet understanding what had happened. But those were only chance glimpses. Harald's flickering eyes were concerned to see how the whole battle was going. Meanwhile his ax smote till it shivered and he must draw sword.

There, now! All at once, no one stood before him. This Danish wing was broken and men were fleeing in terror. Harald winded his horn and pointed his standard-bearer left. They flanked Svein and smashed their way toward him.

Svein's banner was down!

Harald saw the white horse being mounted anew. "After him!" He battered at the last few shields that barred his way.

"Look yonder!" shouted Halldor. Harald saw Magnus swing back into the saddle and gallop in pursuit of Svein, his guardsmen strung out behind him as they unhobbled their own steeds. He grinned and threw himself back into the fray.

Before long the last Danes were routed or reduced to submission. Across the reddened ground, the dead and wounded lay strewn as far as one could see. Halldor leaned gasping on his worn-out ax and said wearily: "All this for one flea-bitten crown!"

"For naught, if Svein gets away," said Harald. "But let's set things in order here while we wait."

Not till evening did word come. A hare had bolted across Magnus's path as he followed his enemy; the horse shied, and the king was thrown to the ground. He landed on a rock, blood poured from his mouth and nose, and he slumped senseless. His men drew up around him, and Svein Estridhsson escaped.

Magnus Olafsson rested on his ship; the Norsemen camped ashore. They had won. Denmark lay open before them, but not a man smiled. They sat around their fires, now and then talking in low voices; ever their eyes went blindly toward the
Wisent.
There had he been borne, a long way while he lay as if dead. . . . Now it was told that he had wakened and received the last rites.

Einar Thambaskelfir knelt by the king's pallet. It was a strangely altered face which looked up at him, cold and white as if already death's angel had sealed it. The guardsmen stood leaning on their weapons, and three priests muttered prayers. Above them arched the buffalo head; in the low sunlight it was a relentless blaze of gold.

Blood bubbled on Magnus's lips, and they heard how the rib-pierced lungs rattled. "I have sinned," he whispered. "God have mercy on my soul. Pray for me, Einar."

"I will, my lord. I'll buy many Masses for you."

"This is . . . my will. There has been too much pride and too much . . . greed . . . yes." Magnus turned his head, feverishly. "I leave Denmark to Svein." He coughed, which twisted his face with pain.

Einar's head bowed. "As you wish, my lord."

"He has been brave and—God, how it hurts!" Magnus plucked at the blanket. "I had not thought . . . This is how wars end, then, and how many men have I left to die? Christ forgive me, deliver me from hell." He clamped his teeth on a shriek. Even with darkness closing over his eyes, he must remember he was a king.

Einar covered his own face and wept with the sobs of a man who has never learned to cry. And when he looked again, Magnus the Good was dead.

"Pax vobiscum"
said the priest.
"Dominus vobiscum."

"I shall wash him and lay him out," said Magnus's footboy.

"No," said Einar. "That is for me."

After he had cared for his lord and closed the eyes and drawn a blanket over the body, he went ashore and heard Mass for the departed soul. Thereafter he spoke with Magnus's half brother by Alfhild, one Thori, whom the king had told to go to Svein bearing word that Denmark was now his. "Go as he commanded," said Einar, "and take your mother with you. An evil time is coming."

In the morning, Harald arrived from the North where he had been seeing that no further resistance should be raised. When he learned that Magnus was dead, his visage did not move, but he said: "That is a great loss. God rest him well."

Inwardly, he could not make himself feel much grief. Magnus had died in the noontime of youth, but so had many others; Harald was not glad at the news, but did not hide from himself that it could be lucky for him. What must be done now was not to mourn a rival, but to rally the men and secure this land. The army had been warring long past the term of service, and he could not lawfully compel them to remain here; they must be persuaded.