TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven (5 page)

"Now on, lads, on," shouted Harald. "St. Olaf is with us, and he who stands fast this night will not be forgotten while the world endures. He who wants fame, honor, riches, let him fight!"

He thought he heard Svein egging his own folk on, and nocked an arrow and let fly. It was at long range, but the gap was closing.

Shafts and stones began to fall. Harald's own bowstring hummed and sang,
snap, snap, snap,
give them iron in their hearts!

A rock bounced off the
Fafnir's
snake head, an arrow thunked shuddering into the nearest bench. A man by Harald lurched and fell, holding on to the dart which had pierced mail and breast alike. The king howled and sent his shots toward the eye of the sun. The pale evening sky was darkened by the whistling flight of missiles.

Glancing down the larboard line, Harald saw Haakon's green-painted dragon lunge forth at a knot of loose Danish boats. Hooks went out, they grappled, the jarl led the storming party. Sounds of banging metal and yelping men drifted through the sunset air.

Now Svein's ship loomed close. Its eagle figurehead seemed to hiss at the
Fafnir's
gape. The sun was down, the western sky a huge wash of yellow, and black against it a man in a gilt helmet stood by the royal banner. Harald sent an arrow with his curses, but it missed. Stooping, he gathered more shafts and kept up his fire. A flung spear grazed his shoulder.

"Onward!" he bellowed. "Lay to, you bilge mice! Up to the Dane king's ship and clear it!"

But they could not, then, reach Svein. The binding ropes held the
Fafnir
back and the Danish wedge, giving way before Haakon but pressing hard on Eystein, was being swung around. Almost, Harald wanted to cut the lines, but common sense warned him against it.

He stood shooting, lost in a drunkenness of battle, as light waned. The first stars twinkled forth. Men became a shout and a shadow. Here and there, ships locked at each other's throats, warriors struggled across blood-slippery benches, smote and thrust. Harald could see shields glimmer even when night was fully on him, and shot for those. With a hundred pounds behind it, one of his arrows could go through shield and byrnie, flesh and bone and lungs, to come out the other side. He was hardly aware of the shafts and stones that hailed about him, of wounded men calling out, of Thora handing him a cup of beer; he was become a human bow.

Haakon, holding his ships together with horn signals, had cleared one Danish craft after another. In the blue darkness, the rest began to see what an enemy they faced and to seek away from him. He yelled joyously and urged his oarsmen on, into their line, cut the ropes, let them drift apart and spring on board! One sword in his hand grew blunt from use, he grabbed another and wore that down, snatched a third from a Danish jarl who fell at his feet.

Panting, painted with blood, he was back on his flagship looking for another place to attack when a boat bumped his hull. This was one of the lifeboats which were towed
behind the longships. A Thrond
ish voice cried: "I seek Haakon Jarl. I've word for him."

"Here he is." The Upland chief leaned over the bulwark.

"I'm from Eystein Gorcock," said the rower. "We're sore beset at our end of the line. Can you come help us?"

"Aye, that I can." Haakon sighed; he had almost been at the point of buckling this end of the Danish wedge, but that would be of small use if Eystein's wing was broken. Reaching forth
a sinewy hand, he helped the Th
rond aboard and winded his horn.

It was slow work, even going behind Harald's fleet. There were so many loose ships, manned only by corpses. Haakon was faintly surprised to see a glimmer of false dawn; had he been fighting so long? He steered around the north end of the line, and saw the Danish vessels grinding up, bow to bow with Eystein's command, ropes being cut and men swarming aboard.

He blew his horn again. Attack them!

It was as if his hours of shooting had gone in a blink when Harald saw he was almost at Svein's ship. Roaring his glee, he dropped the bow and took up a two-handed ax. As the
Fafnir
sprang forward, he leaned over and slashed the ropes holding Svein's larboard side fast

"Now—Olaf guard the right!"

Shields and whetted metal stood before him as he met the enemy craft. His ax lifted, a spear shaft cracked beneath it, he raised it again and felt it bite on a shield rim. A sword hummed, he took the blade on his iron-bound haft and smashed down a storm of blows.

Framework splintered, and he broke bone the next time. The Dane fell back, crying out. Harald jumped through the gap, whirled about and got another man's neck from behind. It was getting light now; he could just see the struggle at the side and the Danish oarsmen snatching up their arms.

"Svein! Svein Estridhsson, where are you?"

Roar and clangor boomed to the paling stars as the Norsemen snapped the Danish line and leaped aboard. Harald stood gigantic on a bench, waving to his standard-bearer. The boy took up the raven flag and came at a run. They held the prow of Svein's warship; let them now advance into the rest.

Harald strode forth, his ax awhirl. Two men stood on the lengthwise walk, and the spaces at either side bristled with weapons. The king came at those two in a rush, ignoring the men who stabbed at him from below. His weapon blazed. The shock tumbled one Dane off the plank. The other smote with a sword, Harald felt the shock on his heavy byrnie and struck in his turn. His ax split the wooden shield and stuck fast. Pushing on its shaft, he got the enemy off balance and sent him falling too. He whipped out his own sword and killed the man from above.

Battle roiled between and across the benches. Blades flickered, axes crunched, war hammers clanked on helmets. Harald ran down the plank to Svein's banner, slashed the cords, and flung it on the heads of the Danes.

"Estridhsson!" he shouted. "Svein Estridhsson, I'm looking for you!"

When the foe saw their flag gone, terror smote them. The Norse went aft and scythed them down. Harald's sword caught the dawn light in a runneling of red. With one last howl, he cried his pack on to the kill.

Such of the Danes as still lived sprang overboard. The sea gulped all but a few, who managed to reach the loose boats that drifted about. Harald stood at the tail of Svein's ship and looked across the waters.

The scene was frightful. Even in this part of the lines, full seventy ships floated manless. Blood dripped from the planks and stained the sea; a horde of gulls was already swooping down to feast. Harald scarcely noticed any of that. What he saw was the Danish fleet broken, fleeing in disorder, finished!

War boiled in his veins. "Back to the
Fafnir!’
he cried. "Back, cut the cables, after them!"

As he entered his flagship and the nearer vessels began rallying about, he saw Thora. She had put a helmet over her red locks and bore a shield, as if she were a young Valkyrie. "Did you not stay where I told you?" he asked.

"No—how could I? When you were like Odhinn come back to earth!" She leaped up to kiss him. Blood was on her mouth when she stood aside.

He had no time for her then. It was hard work getting out past the wreckage which littered the water. He cursed his crews and egged them on to toil faster. It was as if he bellowed so loudly to drown out the forbidden thought: that he had not seen Svein, not anywhere.

III

How a War Was Lost

1

Haakon Ivarsson knelt in the forward part of his ship, between the first bench and the deck across the prow. Sunrise colored the sky pink and gold, from shadowed hills came the first drowsy noise of birds, and waters gleamed like dull metal. Ships wallowed about him, their crews staring sightlessly into heaven, blood clotted over the grinning lips of death wounds. He could make no headway in that clutter, and had not joined Harald's pursuit of the Danes.

The jarl had taken off his battered helm and byrnie. A light wind ruffled his hair. Sweat, soaking his garments, made him shiver in the chill; there were gashes in his arms and legs, and he felt a drag of weariness. But his hands were gentle as a woman's, binding the hurt of the man who lay beside him.

"Steady, there, Leif," he said. Splintered bone stood out of the fellow's left arm. He took the limb and brought it together. The grating sound gave him a queasiness in the groin, but nothing showed on his face. The warrior's sweat-studded features grew
death white, his eyes rolled up and he slumped.

"Best for you, I suppose." Haakon took splints carved from a broken oar, laid them on, and began lashing them fast with strips torn off his shirt. "You'll have little use of this arm, my friend, but if it doesn't inflame you ought to live." He stroked the fainted man's forehead. "You fought well, Leif; you shall lack for naught while I have my land."

A boat which had been feeling its way between the wrecks now struck the longship. A tall man who rowed it called: "Where is the jarl?"

Haakon finished his work before going to the side and leaning over. "Here I am," he said. "Who are you?"

The man edged his boat closer. "I am Vandraadh," he said in a tired, slumping voice. "Speak with me, jarl."

As he stood up, Haakon saw that he wore good clothes under a plain gray cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. But rust spots marked his coat, and a red line across the forehead told where a helmet had been. For weapon he had only a nicked, worn ax.

The jarl bent over to peer closely. He saw tangled brown hair and a short beard, eyes crowding a hook nose, full lips adroop. Breath hissed between Haakon's teeth, and a coldness ran down his back.

Vandraadh gave him a bloodshot stare. The jarl thought of a dog which has been kicked and starved. "I've come to take my life from your hand, if you will give it," said Vandraadh.

Haakon's fingers tightened on the bulwark. He looked down, bit his lip, remembered oaths, but remembered too that he had never betrayed a friend.
Vandraadh—he who cannot decide for himself— waited with a dead man's patience.

"Well—" Haakon shook himself. Turning, he called on two of his folk whom he believed trustworthy. When they came to him, he said in a hurried murmur, "Get into this boat and take my friend Vandraadh ashore and up to Carl the yeoman. Tell him, as token of who
sent you, that he shall let Van
draadh have the horse I gave him two days ago, as well as his own saddle and his son to guide him whither he wishes."

The man in the boat bowed his head. "I shall not forget this," he said.

"Nor I," said Haakon gloomily. "We may both hear more of it." He nodded curtly to his men, who gave him a strange look but climbed down into the boat and took the oars. Vandraadh steered, sitting hunched over.

Much traffic was on the water, ships and boats moving about as men sought their friends or took the wounded ashore or gloated over the booty. Vandraadh went where there were the fewest. Now and again a Norseman hailed him, but Haakon's men said who they were and met no trouble. They rowed till a jut of tree-covered land hid them from the fleet, then Vandraadh grounded the boat and took a long way around to Carl's house.

The yeoman, a burly gray fellow, was just dressing to go to work when they entered. The room was small, soot blackened, crowded with tools and chests; a hen pecked idly at the dirt floor; stalls for the beasts filled one end; a fire danced on the open hearth, pale against the young sunlight that streamed through the doorway. Haakon's men gave him the jarl's word. When Carl looked closely at Vandraadh, fright flickered in his eyes, but at once he clapped down the commoner's earthy mask.

"Well, let it be so," he said. "But you must break your fast." He took a kettle off the fire and poured warm water into some bowls. "Here, wash yourselves."

His wife came in from the stalls, carrying a bucket of milk. She was a lean and wrinkled woman, who gave the strangers a sharp good morning. "This has been a weird night!" she went on. "We could get no sleep for all the racket."

"Know you not that the kings held battle tonight?" asked Carl.

The woman shrugged. To her it meant little what the great folk did, so she was left in peace. "Who won?" she muttered as she poured the milk into a crock.

"The Norsemen did," said Carl after looking out the door at the ships.

His wife showed snag teeth in a sneer. "Then our king has fled," she decided and gave a stir to oatmeal she had boiling.

Carl answered carefully: "Whether he has fallen or fled, that is something no one knows."

The woman banged her spoon down on a shelf. Her lips set tightly. "God better that king we have," she snapped. "He's both lame and craven."