TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse (6 page)

When he had spoken of such things to Elizabeth, she had flinched and tried to change the discourse. Thora laughed aloud, clapping her hands together. She could describe her own sea journeys, and, with some malice, quarrels and intrigues to which she had been witness—even the hawking which Thorberg like other Vikings had learned abroad. It was surprising how much she knew of Northern affairs, but she admitted shamelessly stretching her ears when men had speech with her father.

The fires were down to coals when the drinking ended. Men laid themselves on the benches or spread their sleeping bags on the juniper-strewn floor. Harald was given a shut bed into which he folded his giant frame, but was long awake.

Weeks had passed since he had bedded a woman, and he had not really spoken freely to one since . . . well, since he had left Maria. Almost, he wished Thorberg were a Dane, so he could bear Thora away. He didn't think she would struggle more than decency required.

2

In the next few days, the king's men sat about taking their ease: drowsing, trading stories, going onto the bay to fish or ashore to hunt. They were content to let time slip past them. But Harald's mind prowled. So much to do! He had Norway to secure, Denmark to win back, perhaps Sweden to fight
...
or even England, since the old treaty between Magnus and Hardhaknut gave him some claim to that throne. There were churches to build; only the Church and its learning could bring his wild folk up with the times, and yet it would not do to let Rome become too powerful. It was necessary to nourish trade, bring new arts into the land, catch and hang robbers. And ever he would have most of the stiff-necked chieftains against him. At whatever cost in blood and gold and treachery, they must be whittled down or his son would never sit easy.

His son. He wondered about that. Ellisif had not been well since the birth of Maria, and he knew from Nidharos she had not conceived again. True, he had been too much away to give her a great chance, but many women grew barren after the first child. Even if she gave him a boy, how strong was the lad likely to be?

Almost unawares, he turned to Thora Thorbergsdottir, and spoke much with her. The sheriff and his plump shy wife left them alone, not wishing to cross Harald Hardrede, nor did the island offer a place for unseemliness. The king thought only that he enjoyed her wit and looks.

On the last day before he was to leave, he saw that she was weaving in the maiden's bower and that her face was downcast. Sticking his head through the door, he said: "Leave that for now and come walk with me."

"As my lord wishes," she answered low. Color flooded her cheeks, but he liked the way she paid no heed to the shocked eyes of her women.

She matched his stride; he need not hobble his steps as he did for Ellisif. The sun was bright in a gusty sky, flimmering coppery off her hair and tossing the blue cloak behind her. They strolled out of the garth and into the little patch of woods beyond, saying naught.

"I'll be sorry to go," he said at last.

She did not look up at him. "Must you?" she replied.

The high, noisy wind ripped a handful of yellow leaves from a tree and flung them across the footpath.

"Yes." He looked into sun-flecked shadows. A squirrel chittered and shot up one gray bole. He wondered how squirrels had come to the island. . . . Swum, perhaps?

"I cannot wait longer," he said. "The snow will be here soon, and too many roads impassable. I must get to the Ora Thing in the Throndlaw before then. An old belief is that no king has really been raised till they hail him there; and the Thronds are not friendly to me."

"I cannot see why men should be unfriendly
...
to you," she murmured.

"Here in the North, they've made a religion of pride," he said. "Having been where customs are otherwise, I can now see it more clearly than most. A man who is not stubborn and ready to fight has no weight. So I must be harsher than anyone else, though it earn me foes. Better to have peace, but that cannot be."

"Not unless you yield on a few things," she laughed, "and that you will never do." Her lips were wide and red about the white gleam of teeth. He thought they would be soft.

"It isn't in me," he admitted.

They came out of the woods and up a slope where the grass was thick and sere, turned into hay by the summer which was now dying. When they sat down, they caught its dry sweet smell, and Harald thought of the horses he had tended as a boy. They dangled their legs over the edge of a small cliff. Below them, the sea was a swirl of white and green, galloping in to smash hooves against stone. Now and then a mountainous wave spurted its scud up toward them.

A salt taste dwelt on their mouths. Wind shrilled through the pale cold sky, and Thora shivered. Harald spread his cloak around them both. When her body touched his, he felt half drunken.

"I remember a storm once, when we were sailing back from a visit in Raumsdal," she said after a while. Her eyes, deep gold-flecked green, were turned to the horizon. "We came near being swamped. I remember seeing a wave rise over the side, it seemed to hang there forever and I thought it would never break. Then it did, and I was drenched and cold, with water over my ankles. But somehow I was merry, as if I'd drunk much ale. Oh, sheer joy, the wind and the water, darkness, the ship standing on her thwarts; I was never so happy as then."

A gull dipped and soared overhead, riding the wind. Thora's eyes went up to it. "When I get to heaven," she said, "after many years in purgatory, that will be the greatest joy, to fly. I've ever wanted to fly
...
up around the moon!"

"And scorch your pinfeathers near the sun," grinned Harald. "That may be a longer trip than you think. I talked with a Saracen once, a very learned man, and he thought the world was round and the stars so far away no one could dream how far. Afterward, at night, I looked up and tried to imagine myself falling up to the Carl's Wain." He paused. "The only time I was really frightened."

Thora crossed herself. "I don't understand that," she said. "It's not good to deal with wizards. I never even liked the old witch-wife near here who spaes with runes and cooks healing brews. God knows she's a harmless creature, but I don't understand what she does."

"It were worth trying to understand," he said. "I would there were more time to think about these matters."

"You would not be afraid," she told him softly. Her face turned to his, and somehow the freckles dusting her nose were sweet to him.

"Nor you." He felt a prickle of sweat along his ribs, but tried to smile. "I'll wager you'd even sail to battle with your husband."

Her eyes glowed. "That were something to live through!"

"The thing's . . . mixed
...
at the time. You strike at someone, but seldom know what good it does. Only shouting, and hitting, and your mail hot and heavy. . ." He had a sudden feeling that somewhere, sometime, he had lived through this before. It was eerie, and he crossed himself, until he remembered speaking in much these words to Maria Skleraina. Her image was vague in his mind; instead he saw the sunlight shards against Thora's thick fair brows.

"I've practiced with the box," she was saying, and then, breaking off: "You look so unhappy all at once."

"Oh . . . it's naught." He shook himself, smiling a little stiffly. "I regret having to leave this place. Nothing more."

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved closer against him, and his arm stole around her shoulder. "Will you come, back?" she asked. Her words were hurried, and a pulse fluttered in her throat.

"Yes. Surely. How could I stay away from such, such good company?"

"You have a wife, a Russian princess," rasped from her. "She must be happy."

Harald did not answer. Down below him, the sea worried the island like a dog with a bone.

"I . . ." Thora bent her head away, rubbing her eyes with one fist. "No matter."

"But you're crying!" he said.

"No. Wind in my eyes, it stings."

"The wind is from the side." He tried to make a jesting tone, but his throat was tightened and a hammering went in his temples.

She pulled away from him and sprang to her feet. "I must go now," she said thickly.

"No—" He rose and ran after her. His hands closed on her waist and swung her around to face him. They stared at each other. Her lips moved, but there were no words.

It was hard to say whether he drew her to him or she fell into his arms.

3

Thorberg tugged his beard unhappily. "You are wed, my lord," he said.

"That means nothing," said Harald. "I . . . had hoped—"

"Let's talk frankly," said Harald. "I want your daughter, and she is willing. There's naught shameful about a leman; such have been mothers to no few kings. St. Olaf fathered Magnus on Alfhild, and gave her the rank of queen. I shall do the same for Thora, and add thereto a morning-gift of three estates. And you, of course, will always have my help and friendship."

The chief bit his lip. "She's a headstrong sort. You may have trouble with her."

"I could have as much with a church-wed wife. Thorberg, I hope for your support, but we two will have each other with or without the consent of anyone else."

"Well . . . well
..."
The man sat for a while, stroking his beard.

"You shall have great dignities from me, and if you wish I will see that your other daughter makes a good marriage." Harald grinned to himself. The fish was hooked. Already Thorberg was weighing his gain like the hardheaded Viking he was.

"She is young and hot-blooded," said the sheriff at last. "As an honest man, you would not unduly hasten her, nor would the rough journey ahead of you be good for a woman. Shall we say that she comes to you in spring with suitable escort, if she is still of the same mind?"

Harald scowled. But there was truth in Thorberg's words. One thing, though, was certain. He would not again let a chance of happiness slip by, though he had to fight the world for it.

They handseled the bargain, and the next day Harald left. Thora clung to him while they were alone, weeping bitterly, but when she went to see him off a haughty calm was on her face. That pleased him enough to make the parting less of a wrench.

Nevertheless, he drove his men and their steeds hard, wearing himself out enough to be soon asleep every night.

Ulf had said naught to the news, nor did he speak to Harald more than was needful for weeks. Plainly his feeling was that Ellisif was being ill treated. Halldor could not have cared less, he stayed even tempered and cool as ever, but something secret had come over him and often he stood staring westward. It was a lonely trip for Harald.

The first snow lay thin on the frozen, ringing ground when Harald reached Ora and the shire's men met him. Einar Thambaskelfir was there, to give a surly greeting. He should have been the one to lead the Thing, but he let a kinsman do so and give Harald the king's name. Some few cheered, the rest were stony; but on the whole, it had gone more easily than it might have done.

"And now," said Ulf as they rode away toward Nidharos, "we can have a winter's rest." He was losing his grudge here at journey's end, not being one to nurse wrath.

"Haw!" said Halldor. "For you, my lad, a summer at war is rest. Winters, you wear youself out drinking and whoring."

"Well, a man must do something," said Ulf, "and besides, so many men are getting killed these days that it's but my duty to beget more."

Saddles creaked, harness jingled, hooves plopped on the earth as Harald's troop entered Nidharos. An early winter dusk was falling, a few snowflakes drifted across the street, the air was quiet and raw. Harald went to the new house he had had built for himself during the summer—not wishing to stir up the folk by moving into Magnus's home and forcing out the two queens there. It sprawled with its outbuildings next to the half-finished Olaf's church. He and Elizabeth both had a wish for more privacy than the usual dwelling afforded, so he had ordered a chamber made for them in the loft over the foreroom, with an open bed in the foreign style. A fresh smell of wood and paint still clung to the house.

Word had gone before, and as he trod inside, his wife came to meet him with a golden beaker. She had put on some weight and color, her eyes were not so enormous in the heart-shaped face, and she smiled gladly. "Welcome home, Norway's king!" she said.

Harald took the cup. It held wine from the South, and the tables were already laid with a noble feast. Elizabeth was richly dressed, a red silk gown and an embroidered jacket and many jewels. She took his arm with laughter. "I've missed you so much," she said.