Flamehair the Skald : a tale of the days of Hardrede

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A Tale of the Days of Hardrede

By

H. BEDFORD-JONES

Illustrated By

DAN SAYRE GROESBECK

CHICAGO

19*3

Copyright

Published October, 1913

Copyrighted in Great Britain

Dedicated to MY FATHER

Introduction

The story of King Harald Hardrede of Norway is one of the least-known of all the old Viking tales, but it best displays the rugged courage and daring which led those Viking wanderers across the world. King Harald is better known as the Harald killed by the last Saxon king of England; but the manner of that killing is not always told, and reflects no great credit on Harald the Saxon.

Most of the characters in this volume are historical. That of Flamehair is not, nor are one or two others, such as Svein Arnison; in other respects I have followed the sagas closely, save as regards the scene of Svein Arnison’s death. As for the scenes in Byzan¬ tium, the revolt of the Varangars, as well as the capture of the Emperor, are well vouched for by the Sagaman, Snorri. I have softened the character of Harald a trifle, and by the intro¬ duction of Sigurd Thick into the tale, endeav¬ ored to clear up a puzzling bit of the Saga itself.

Introduction

Harald’s life was even more wild than that of Olaf Tryggvison. Fighting at his Kingbrother’s side as a boy, exiled to Russia at fif¬ teen, in command of ships and armies under Jarisleif, then speeding down to Byzantium, becoming Acolyth of the Emperor’s guard, leading cruises in the Mediterranean and con¬ quering the Holy Land — finally to sweep up to a throne and die as he had lived, at the head of his men and disdaining to seek shelter! Blots on his character there may have been, but Harald Hardrede was a man, and a great one ! And it may be that Flamehair the Skald, despite his youth, shared in no small measure that greatness — although on this point the Saga is silent.

— The Author.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Raven Ship . i

II Alfgar's Challenge .... 13

Chapter I The Raven Ship

IN the little bay to the east of the great harbor of the island of Chios lay a small ship, the like of which had not often been seen in the Aegean Sea. She was long and low, very different from the high, heavy galleys of Byzantium. Instead of the sweeping lateen sails of Mohammedan or southern craft, the sail flapping idly at her mast was cut long and square, hanging from a single yard.

On either side extended long oars, moving very slowly, and glittering in the sun. The prow of the ship ended in a high black figure¬ head shaped like that of a bird, while the stern ended in a carved wooden bird’s tail. As the long oars moved silently, the ship appeared not unlike some huge bird of prey flapping listlessly and slowly along the heavy swells. The ship was filled with men — dark-haired fellows, most of them — who pulled at the oars or sat about cleaning ring shirts and weapons. Their shields hung beside the oars, on the outer bulwarks. But up on the high poop deck in the stern there were but two figures.

One of these stood at the helm. A tall, bronzed old sea wolf he was, with black hair blowing about his face and knotted hand easily controlling the heavy steering-oar, while the sun glittered on his woven ring shirt and golden arm rings. The other figure was that of a boy of some sixteen years.

Golden-haired and blue-eyed, there was no trace of weakness in his browned face. His nose was well shaped and curved like an eagle’s beak, while the merry lips and strongly chiseled chin beneath betokened that this lad was of no common mould. As he sat beside the helmsman his long fingers swept across the strings of a harp, and the men below paused in their talk to listen eagerly.

Thin and fine is the far blue line where the daughters of Ran lie waiting To clutch and smother and downward reel With heroes torn from the dragon-keel !

Ho for the feel and the clash of steel, and the splintering bulwarks’ grating —

The Haven Ship

Of a sudden the boy ceased and laid down the harp. As he did so there came a quick clash of steel from the deck below and a shout.

“ More, Saxon! Sing us the stave of Beo¬ wulf! More!”

“Not now,” returned the boy, shaking his head decidedly. “Wait till it is cooler!”

There was a low mutter and a growl, and the boy turned to the friendly helmsman with a smile.

“ Do Vikings never tire of songs, Atli? ”

“ Nay, Alfgar,” rejoined the old Viking, “ not from such golden throats as yours ! Well indeed was it for you that you were born a skald, else had your bones been lying in the smoking rafters of the monks’ roost back yonder.”

“True enough,” nodded Alfgar, a look of sadness overspreading his face. “ Think you I will ever see England again? ”

“ Perchance, if Odin so wills,” and the harsh voice softened. “ Yet methinks you have much to be grateful to us for, young Christian. You have learned sword play and oar play, and you who were a weakling have become wellnigh a man in these few months. I have taught you more of sword skill and foot skill than even my comrades deem.”

“ Yes, old friend,” returned Alfgar, his blue eyes gazing up into the stern black ones above, “ you have indeed been a second father to me, and I thank you most warmly. Yet — yet — ” The boy fell silent, gazing across the waters to the wooded hillsides of the fair island.

Alfgar’s story was not an uncommon one in those days of strife. His parents dead, he had been educated by the good monks of Carthfriars, and had learned more than most bovs of that age knew. Then had come the terrible night when the Vikings of Raud the Red swept in from the sea and laid the monastery in ashes, sparing none of the monks and rifling the place of all it held.

By chance they had found that Alfgar was a skald, so Raud and his men carried off the Saxon lad in the Raven. About his neck, in¬ stead of the iron collar of a thrall, was riveted one of thin gold ; yet it was the mark of slavery, and the freeborn English boy chafed under the yoke.

Out to sea they had gone, across the channel to France, down south, and farther south, halt-

The Raven Ship ing here and there to burn and plunder. Then they had come to Gibraltar, or Norfasund, and after prolonged discussion Raud and his men had determined to sweep across the Medi¬ terranean. Now, the Raven s hold loaded with plunder, the Vikings were eager to return to Denmark with their slaves and booty. One more ravage, one more scene of blood and fire, and the Raven would head for home.

Through it all Alfgar had passed as in a dream. Instead of being a thegn, a ward of his own King, a ruler in his own land, he was a slave, a thrall. Still, the Vikings had been kind enough to him, in their way; they had not forced him to adopt their religion, and Atli the Farsighted in particular had be¬ friended him. He had learned the ways of war, although he had taken no part in the forays, and his skill in juggling and in the dangerous “ oar walking ” had made him a prime favorite among the men.

“ Think you there are other Vikings in these seas? ” asked the boy idly, after a time. The old warrior shook his head.

“ Nay, lad. Men say that a ship from Nor¬ way swept through Norfasund a few years since, but that may be idle rumor. We have accomplished a great deed, Alfgar Flamehair, and men will talk long of us.”

“ Still,” persisted the boy, “ there is the Varangar Guard, the bodymen of the Emperor yonder,” and he jerked his thumb north toward Byzantium. “ Many from England and Denmark and Norway go thither — nay, my own mother’s brother, Eadgar, joined it when he was outlawed from England by King Harald, Canute’s son.”

“ Harald was a bad enough King,” assented Atli with a nod. “ Yet the Varangars are not Vikings, lad, for they are Christian men all. I have heard men say that Harald, the brother of King Olaf Stout of Norway, fled to this part of the world after Olaf fell in battle. If that be true, we should hear of him. Harald was a kingly boy at the time, and must be a man by now.”

A hoarse laugh sounded behind them, and Alfgar twisted about to see Raud the Red standing almost at their side. He had emerged from the cabin as they were speaking, and his flaming red beard and hair glowed almost crimson in the light of the falling sun.

The Raven Ship

“ Aye, Atli Farseer,” he chuckled in a deep voice, “ that Harald you speak of was a kingly lad indeed. Well I mind me how we marched up against King Olaf — ”

“ We? ” broke in Alfgar in surprise. “ How was that? ”

“ I was in Thrandheim at the time,” said Raud, his little red eyes sweeping the shores of the wooded island. “ When the army of the rebels went out to meet Olaf I went along for the sport. And by Odin we got it! Olaf all but whipped us, until Thorer Hund got him down. The young Harald fought like a wolf, and wellnigh sent his spear through me. I hope we may meet him ere we return ! ”

As Alfgar gazed on the giant form that tow¬ ered above him, noting the cruel face, the mighty hands, the long, gold-hilted sword that had taken so many lives, he felt a thrill of apprehension for the other when that meeting should come to pass. And he knew, too, that the Harald in question was hardly older than himself in years when he was first a leader of men.

At this moment their attention was dis¬ tracted by a quarrel that arose among the men in the waist of the ship. Blows were ex¬ changed, then there came the flash of steel, and a sharp clash. With a roar Raud the Red leaped from the quarterdeck into the midst of the throng, laying about with his huge fists, and as by magic the men scattered. Alfgar, watching, wondered if the time would ever come when brute strength would no longer be the greatest thing in the world. And there was good cause for the suppressed sigh that he uttered as he turned from the scene to gaze at the quiet island.

In the year of our Lord 1044 but small part of the world was civilized. England was half Saxon and half Dane; the Arabs were sweep¬ ing up through Spain into France; Denmark and Norway were still half-savage, and were Christian but in name; while the bulwark of the Cross was the Greek Empire, still strong and upheld by the Saxons, Danes, and other westerners who poured into the Varangar ranks.

That the greatest of them all was even now biding his time to seize a throne, the boy in the Viking ship knew not. He knew nothing of the wars waged in the Holy Land by Greek

The Raven Skip and Moslem, of the conquests that had been made by the Greek leader, and the stern train¬ ing which the latter was going through. To him, the civilized world seemed fallen to pieces in the hands of barbarians; and many a wiser man thought the same in those dark times.

In the north, Olaf Tryggvison had fallen, and after him Olaf the Saint, fighting for the Cross. Ireland groaned under the hand of the Viking, and England was seething with discontent. The dominion of Charlemagne was scattered to the winds. Small wonder that Eadgar of Northumbria, outlawed by a cruel king fifteen years before, had never turned his face toward England again!

Thus thought the boy in the stern of the Raven , as the ship slowly beat her way past fishing villages and olive groves, which were not worth plundering, toward the head of the little bay. The sun was halfway to its setting, and was almost hidden by the trees on the hill above. Beyond lay a wooded promontory stretching ahead of them.

Suddenly Atli, worthy of his nickname, gave a shout and pointed to this promontory.

“ Ho, Raud! What is that gleam among the trees? ”

In an instant the bows were lined with men, as were the port bulwarks. The Vikings has¬ tily donned their byrnies, or ring-mail shirts, for here danger might betide at any instant. Raud, springing up beside the helm, gazed long and earnestly under his hand.

“ By the hammer of Thor! ” he cried sud¬ denly. “ It is the gilded prow of a ship on the other side of yonder headland ! Arm, men ! ”

Alfgar saw a dull gleam among the trees, a twinkle of gold that blazed and then died suddenly. But the warning had been suffi¬ cient. Already the men were emptying chests of arrows, bringing up spears from the hold, and tearing down their shields; bows were strung, the Greek slaves forward were driven below, and Raud with his chosen berserkers posted themselves on the forecastle. Atli Farseer had charge of the stern.

“ Quick, Flamehair,” he cried sharply to Alfgar. “Into your byrnie, lad! Use my spare sword, the one I took from the Moslem chief! ”

The Haven Ship

“Why?” exclaimed the Saxon boy, sur¬ prised. “ What need of all this — ”

“ Need enough,” broke in Atli. “ Have we ever seen a ship with gilded figurehead since leaving our own land? Yonder is a Sea-snake, or I — ”

The Viking did not finish. Even as he spoke, something came around the headland that drew a subdued gasp from the men, while Alfgar stood and stared.

It was a ship, not unlike the Raven , save that it was larger in every way. That it had once been a dragon ship was evident, for the gilded tail still curled above the stern, the shields overlapped like scales, the oars formed the crawling feet of the beast; but instead of a dragon prow the sunlight blazed on a great gilded cross, and on the square sail was another of blood-red. Alfgar heard a startled cry from Raud.

“ Harald of Norway! By Baldur — down, men, and quickly! ”

Save for helmsman and one man in the bow, the approaching ship seemed deserted, although the oars moved slowly. But the man in the bow — what a man! thought the Saxon

Flamehcdr the Skald boy, with a deep breath of admiration. Taller than any of the Vikings, taller than Raud him¬ self, with sweeping crimson cloak and golden helm bearing a dragon with outstretched wings, and with long golden hair that hung about his shoulders, this commander of the strange ship was one to awaken the interest of any beholder. Then Alfgar heard a sudden, tense whisper from Raud the Red, a whisper that thrilled back through the whole ship.

“ Out bows, men! At his throat, remember — before he suspects us! ”

CHAPTER II “\AT HO are ye who sail under the raven VV of Odin?”

The deep, hard, yet musical voice lifted across the waters to the Viking ship. As yet the crew of the Raven were crouched at the oars or beneath the bulwarks, but at a sudden motion of Raud’s hand Alfgar saw the arrows fitted to the bows. Not until then had he com¬ prehended the plan of the sea wolf, and with a little gasp of horror he realized that in another moment the splendid figure —

“ Down, Harald, down! ”

Hardly conscious that he had screamed forth the words, Alfgar leaped to the stern as the Vikings rose. The tall figure disappeared, and a storm of arrows sang where he had stood a moment before. Then Alfgar felt the heavy hand of Atli dash him aside and a spear sank quivering in the deck. Raud, in the bow, was poising a second spear as Alfgar came to him¬ self.

Flcimeliair the Skald

Without an instant’s hesitation the Saxon boy flung off his cloak and leaped overboard. He dove deeply, but as he came to the surface something tore through his hair and he went down again. When he emerged for the second time Raud the Red had something else with which to busy himself.

The shore was not far and Alfgar soon gained the shelving beach. Wading up to the water’s edge, he seated himself on a rock to watch the combat, with bated breath. For, like some monster wakened from a sleep, the strange ship had sprung into sudden life. Her decks were covered with steel-clad men, and with every long oar spurning the water she swept down on the Raven.

Raud’s men lashed their oars, but before they could gain headway the prow of the other ship crashed into them and the air was filled with arrows. Alfgar saw the tall figure in the golden helm leap from his post down into the Viking ship, and as if by magic the defense seemed to melt away. But when it came to taking the stern and the forecastle, where Raud and Atli were, it was a very different matter.

Harald led his men to the attack, but time after time they were beaten back. Then Alfgar saw the tall young leader leap back to his own ship, shout an order, and for an instant he thought the attack was to be abandoned, as the ship drew away. But only for an instant ; even as an exultant yell went up from the Vikings, the Cross ship leaped forward again, and this time her forecastle lay alongside that of the Viking, and the grappling-irons bound the two ships closely.

Over the bulwarks went Harald, and Raud the Red met him, sword in hand. A moment the sunlight sparkled on clashing steel, then of a sudden the Viking leader disappeared. A peal of warhorns, and Harald’s men poured into the Raven.

With the fall of Raud the combat was over. The Viking crew either yielded or fought on stubbornly in berserk rage to the end. Alfgar saw three or four hold the prow until they were cut down, then the fight swept to the stern. Here Atli Farseer defended himself for a brief space, but it was hopeless. Some of his men leaped overboard, others surrendered, and Alfgar saw the old helmsman yield at last r to Harald himself. Then, slipping again into the water, the Saxon boy swam out to the ships.

He was greeted by a shout from the men and a peal of horns, while Harald himself pulled him over the side, the men crowding around. Then for the first time Alfgar found himself facing one of the greatest men of his own times.

Taller than the Saxon by head and shoul¬ ders, and broad in proportion, the Norseman was truly gigantic. His golden helm had been cloven, and his long yellow hair, fairer than that of Alfgar, dripped blood. But Alfgar barely noted this, for his eyes were fastened on the proud, handsome face of the young leader. High of brow, long of chin, with a great curved nose — these details were lost in the light from the blue eyes, which almost seemed to send forth sparks, so hard and cold and level were they. Then Alfgar found him¬ self clasping a hand of iron.

“Thanks, friend!” said Harald, smiling. “ That was a well-aimed word of yours, and mayhap it saved my life. Who are you? ”

In a few words Alfgar told his story. As he finished, Harald drew his knife and quickly cut the soft gold collar about the boy’s neck.

“ There! ” he laughed, “ no longer a thrall, but one of Harald’s men! Wilt take service with the Emperor, Englishman? ”

“ Not I,” returned Alfgar. A cry of sur¬ prise and a mutter of rage rose from the men crowding around. A flash of terrible anger leaped into Harald’s face.

“What!” he exclaimed. “ Do you pre¬ sume — ”

“ Wait,” smiled Alfgar, catching the two hands of the young leader and falling to his knees. Placing his hands between those of Harald, he went on, “ I take no service with the Emperor, Harald, but with you.”

“ Skoal! Skoal!” A tremendous shout of approval rang, while the delighted warriors clashed their weapons together. Harald looked down into the boy’s face, smiling, and gently loosed his hands.

“ So be it, Alfgar of England. Stay — what name do men give thee? ”

“ Flamehair, Harald,” came the voice of old Atli from behind. “ And a right worthy skald is he.”

Flameliair the Skald

“ Then you shall be my skald,” laughed Harald, shaking back his hair. “ Art skilled with weapons? ”

At this question Atli laughed, but Alfgar hesitated to answer. He knew well that he could have held his own with any of those around, but he hesitated to declare his skill, as yet untried in battle. His silence was misin¬ terpreted by the men around, and one of them clapped his hand down on Alfgar’s shoulder with an oath.

“ We ’ll teach the Saxon wolfing how to fight! ” he laughed harshly, and the tone more than the words were offensive. “ He ’ll forget his monk-bred daintiness and faint-heart ways soon enough — ”

Flushing with anger, Alfgar whirled about and struck at the man. But the warrior caught his hand and brushed it aside, to go staggering back the next instant beneath a blow from Harald.

“ Peace, wolves!” roared the leader, and the men shrank from him. “ If the Saxon be a weakling, remember that he is my man! ”

“ We want no weaklings in Tsargrad,” went up a mutter. Alfgar, at once ashamed of his loss of temper, sprang before Harald and faced them.

“ I am no weakling, Varangars! ” he cried proudly, his hand on his sword. “ Let your best man stand up to me, and you shall take back that word! ”

A shout went up from the men eager to wit¬ ness such a contest.

“Accept it, Harald! He has challenged! He has challenged! You are our champion — accept it!,”

Alfgar heard a faint groan from Atli, who now stood at his back. Then Harald, halfsmiling, turned to him.

“You are over-bold, Flamehair! Take back the challenge, for you knew not what you said. Harald of Norway cannot fight with him who saved his life.”

Alfgar gazed up at the handsome face of the young giant, but he was desperate. Un¬ less he removed the stigma, he knew well^ it would cling to him through his life. “ Alf¬ gar the Weakling! ” The thought stung him like a blow.

“ What I have said, I have said,” he an¬ swered calmly, although his face was pale.

For an instant Harald met his gaze, then turned to his men.

“ So be it. Men, clear the ships and put out the oars. Let those of the Vikings who will accept the White Christ enter my service. When we have left the bay behind we will take up this challenge.”

“ An oar walk!” howled the men as they broke up, and Alfgar clasped hands with Atli Farseer as he turned. Following Harald at his command, the two went aboard the Cross¬ beak , as the other ship was named. Behind them, the Raven was quickly stripped of its dead, the shattered oars were replaced by sound ones, and with the wounded of both crews lying on the deck of the captured ves¬ sel the two ships slowly left the island.

“ May Odin speed you, Flamehair,” mut¬ tered old Atli, standing beside Alfgar in the stern. “ Evidently this Harald is some great champion, for the men are eager. But you have more skill than any I have yet seen, in the oar walk, and it may well be that you will come out unscathed.”

“ I trust so, old friend,” rejoined Alfgar quietly, loosening his belt and taking off his shoes. “ There is little breeze, and it will not be so hard as on the Raven , I think.”

Now, although the Saxon knew it not, Harald was at that time famous for his skill in all exercises. No man could stand before him in combat, and at the “ oar walk ” his rivals were few. This sport was dangerous in the extreme, and only those of great skill dared attempt it.

It consisted in walking along the blades of the oars while these were being rowed by the men, and was the greatest feat of a Viking. A single slip or a mis-step meant certain death, for if the walker fell he would surely be struck by the other oars and ground down. Atli had taught the art to Alfgar, and the quick¬ footed Saxon had proven an adept at it on the long voyage down from England.

The sun was just setting as the two ships gained the open sea. Barely a dozen of the Vikings remained alive. As* their religion meant little to them, they accepted service willingly enough with the famous chief of the Varangars who had conquered Raud, and were already looking forward to gaining huge booty under his command.

Alfgar stood ready as Harald appeared. The latter had removed his arms and was clad only in a skirted crimson garment, belted at the waist. Atli nudged the Saxon.

“ By Thor! He disdains to remove his leg¬ gings! This must be a little thing to him, Flamehair! Now remember — wait for the back-swing, and keep well above the water line on the oars ! ”

Alfgar nodded as Harald approached and clapped him on the shoulder.

“ Ready, Saxon? Think ere it is too late.”

“ All ready,” laughed Alfgar. Then he

glanced at the hair of the Norseman. “ But

your head, Harald? Will it not disadvantage

vou? ”

“ Only a scratch,” said the other carelessly. “ All right, men! Fall into slow stroke, and bear steady! ”

“ Trust us, Harald,” came the answer from the rowers, while the men crowded the bul¬ warks and the Raven drew close to see the fun. Harald stepped to one side of the stern and Alfgar to the other, they poised a moment on the bulwark, then each stepped on the last oar as it swung.

Steadily and carelessly Harald walked, but Alfgar kept even place with him, amid a sur¬ prised murmur from the men and a shout from the other ship. At the prow Harald met him with a word of approval, then took from one of the men two daggers. This time, as he walked back along the oars, he juggled the knives without missing!

Alfgar watched with the rest. As the men turned to him with a roar of delight, he took, not two knives but three, and amid a breath¬ less hush performed the feat. As he finished he was met with a storm of yells, while from the Raven came shouts and the sound of horns.

But Harald, with a quiet smile, took his two knives and a long sword, and juggling these as he went, returned to the bow. The Vikings went wild over this feat, and when the applause quidted Alfgar seized a sword and two knives, pale but determined. Before he could step from the bulwark Atli gripped his shoulder.

“ Harald! Stop the lad! Surely he has done enough, and a sword he has never tried. It would be murder! ”

Alfgar twisted away, but Harald had run back along the rowers’ benches, and seized his hand.

“ Flamehair,” he smiled, gazing deep into the Saxon’s gray eyes, “ you have far surpassed all my own men in skill, so fear not that any will name you weakling after this ! ” A hoarse murmur of assent arose from the men “ Not my man, but my friend, Flamehair! And it may be that I shall need that quick eye of yours if — ”

As Harald paused a roar went up from the men, a roar of delighted joy.

“ Skoal!” they bellowed, pressing around. “ Skoal to Harald of Norway! ”

And the prows were headed for Tsargrad, for so the Vikings called Byzantium, the city of the Emperor.

Chapter III

THE three days’ trip to the Golden Horn was uneventful. In that short time Harald and Alfgar became firm friends. The former, who was the “ Acolyth ” or com¬ mander of the Varangars, had with a handful of men conquered Sicily and Palestine for the Empress, Zoe the Great; but instead of finding him a bloodthirsty Viking like Raud, Alfgar found him a lonely man, stern but kindly. A fugitive at the age of ten, his right¬ ful throne of Norway in other hands, it was small wonder that the young leader was nick¬ named “ Hardrede,” or “ stern counsel.”

Of his family, none had remained with him. This in itself formed a bond between him and the young Saxon; and when Alfgar told of his uncle Eadgar, exiled years before, he found that Eadgar was in command of the palace “ squad ” or bodyguard, and was in high repute.