The Black Jarl/Chapter 2

LREADY the ship was coming down the fiord. She was a picture of a ship, some hundred and seventy feet from stem to stern and seventeen feet wide. Her sails were furled, and cascades of watery gems flashed in the sun as the big oars worked through the sixteen oar openings.

Down on the shore, those of the establishment of Svend the Bloody made ready the welcome. It was a long time since this great ship had been sent away, to loot, to trade, and to return to the land of his father Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover. Wherefore, women crowded the water front to greet husbands and sons they had not seen for long, some of them fearing and all hoping, for not always did all of a ship's company return from a perilous voyage.

Thralls rushed this way and that preparing for the landing. Shield maidens strutted back and forth across the rocky beach. Their eyes glinted as they looked at one another, and with reason. Edvard Haakonsson, so report said, was as yet unmarried. It was to be expected that he soon would take one to wife. And he was a man worth the winning.

Edvard Haakonsson was a jarl and heir to broad estates. Moreover, he had been born and reared in that land far to the south, where, it was whispered, men had delicious manners. They were great lovers, those men of the foreign land. And was not this Edvard's father known as Haakon the Lover?

Not a man or woman in the establishment of Svend the Bloody but knew the story. Years before, Haakon had gone on a Viking cruise, and he never had returned. He had met a maid in the land to the south, had wooed and won her, and there he had remained to make his home. The northland called to him in vain.

And now he was dead, and his wife also, and Edvard, their son, alone remained of the family. Wherefore he was returning to claim his place in the land of King Olaf.

There was much speculation among the maidens, and not a little among the men. Haakon the Lover had been a giant of a man, with long fair hair, a proper brother of Svend the Bloody so far as strength was concerned. Yet his great frame protected the heart of a woman. He had been kind alike to men at arms and thralls. He had been known to weep at the death of a close friend in battle. And a great love had softened him.

Edvard Haakonsson, these people of Svend's supposed, would be another such giant. Yet in his blood flowed the influence of the soft land to the south. Perchance his great frame, too, would hide the heart of a woman. Yet he was a jarl!

Now the great ship was approaching the landing place, and men and women shouted their greetings. Thralls waded out into the water, ready to be of service in the landing. There would be great casks of wine to be taken ashore and carried to the big house, they knew. There would be bundles of other things fetched from the lands to the south. The homecoming meant naught but much work for the thralls. Yet there would be a great feast at which Svend the Bloody welcomed his kinsman, and then the thralls would have their share, eating on the floor with the hounds.

Down to the beach Svend the Bloody stalked in company of Magnus. He had forced a smile to his face, and Magnus likewise. They stood aloof, and others gave them space.

"He will be a hulk of a man with the heart of a sheep," Svend said, in low tones. "Such a man was his father, my brother. My mother must have been under the curse of Odin when my brother was born. By the hammer of Thor—"

"The ship is handled well," Magnus put in, hoping to change the other's manner.

"Let us hope that she brings a cargo of profit, since she brings this other also," Svend whispered. "I must be under a curse myself. This, and the command to wait upon King Olaf at Trondhjem, and the activities of the cursed priests with their cross—"

"I have a thought!" Magnus said. "This nephew of yours, Svend, comes from a land where the Christians rule. Do you think it possible—"

"That he be a Christian?" Svend thundered. "A man of my blood? Fool my brother may have been, and soft, but he died in the grace of Odin and went to Valhalla in a viking funeral ship. That much I know! Would he allow his son to be a follower of the Christ? No more words of this! It were an insult even to ask the lad. And, after all, he is a jarl!"

Now the ship was near to the land, and the oars were in. The craft drifted slowly toward the landing place. The thralls were up to their knees in tie water, to their thighs, their necks, waiting to help. On the deck of the craft were cheering mariners and men-at-arms. Frantic women called to their loved ones. Others lifted high above their heads babes that had been born since their fathers had sailed away.

The ship grounded, and the thralls pulled her broadside to the land. Over the side tumbled a score of men in armor, to wade through the surging waters and so claim the dry land. They shouted, brandished their weapons, laughed and called round oaths because they were home again.

Over the side of the ship the end of a landing stage appeared. Sailors thrust it outward and lowered it, until its end rested on the land.

"What is this?" Svend roared. "Is there a man aboard who cannot jump into the water and swim or wade to land?"

"Perhaps there are captive women," said Magnus.

"Even so! Has the day come when a man cannot pack a captive woman on his back? This is a touch of that southern softness, by the hammer of Thor!"

Svend the Bloody started to make his way toward the landing, and Magnus stalked at his heels. Svend was in an ugly mood, though he endeavored not to show it. He cuffed thralls out of his way. He struck a shield maiden aside, and she snarled at him, and put her hand to the dagger at her waist. Svend laughed and cuffed her again.

A child was in his path, and he kicked it aside. A girl, shouting to one of the sailors, was hurled back into the throng. So Svend the Bloody made his way down to the shore and the end of the landing stage.

"Hail, Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover!" the crowd was shouting. "Hail, Edvard Haakonsson!"

The ship was fast. At the top of the landing stage appeared her master. He turned to shout orders to those behind him. And then he walked slowly down to the beach, a giant of a man in armor and helmet, his fair beard blowing back over one shoulder. A dagger was in his girdle, an ax was fastened to his belt. The muscles stood out in knots on his bare legs beneath his mail.

Above him were other men-at-arms, swords and axes gleaming, bows, arrows, and spears near at hand. Some were armed with javelins, light and deadly weapons in the hands of those skilled in their use. They shouted, and then they were still. Their commander walked on down the landing stage, which bent beneath his tread.

"Hail, Svend!" he called, lifting a hand.

"Hail, Rolf! What of the voyage?"

"One profitable raid, and only five men missing," the ship's commander replied. "Much of value have we aboard to be landed."

"Once more you have done well," Svend declared. "And—my kinsman?"

"Is aboard and ready to land and be greeted," Rolf replied.

The ship's commander now was at the foot of the landing stage. Svend clasped him for a moment by the hand, then stood back and spoke in low tones.

"What manner of man?"

"A most peculiar one," Rolf answered. "He is one not to be judged hastily. A man may make his decision at a first glance, and find later that he has decided amiss."

"Let him land! We wait to welcome him!" Svend said.

Rolf turned and lifted his hand. Down the landing stage trooped half a score of men-at-arms, eager to be ashore. They touched the land and stood aside, making an aisle.

"Edvard Haakonsson, come to land!" Svend the Bloody called.

The throng ashore stilled its tumult. Every eye was upon the top of the landing stage. A man appeared there.

Came a gasp from those on the shore.

"He is black of hair!"

"A black jarl, we have!"

"And small! Little in stature!" a woman cried.

Edvard, son of Haakon the Lover, stopped for a moment at the top of the landing stage. He looked at those below him, and his teeth flashed in a smile. He stood in silhouette, and those below had their good look at him.

"By the hammer of Thor!" Svend swore, lightly.

For Edvard Haakonsson did not wear gleaming mail. His bare arms were not crowded with bracelets to show his jarl's rank. His legs were incased in cloth, and he wore a jacket. No helmet was upon his head, but that thing known as a hat. He was a picture of the lazy and woman-hearted land to the south.

Again he smiled, and then he swept down the landing stage like the breath of a gale. His movements were quick. His eyes were glistening, he glanced rapidly from side to side. He came to a stop before Svend and Magnus, and looked up at them.

"You are Edvard Haakonsson, my kinsman?" Svend demanded as though he hoped it were not true.

"I am. And you are Svend, brother of my father!"

"It is so," Svend agreed. "Welcome to the land of your fathers! May Odin give you long life and Thor lend you his hammer against your enemies! My house stands open for you!"

Without another word, Svend the Bloody turned his back and stalked through the crowd, Magnus beside him. Edvard Haakonsson followed beside Rolf. The crowd fell back to let them pass. Thralls gazed at the black jarl, wide eyed. Eric the Dumb showed a flash of interest, because this man was in part like the men of his own land. The shield maidens with their helmets of gleaming silver smiled upon him. Small he was, and black, yet he was a jarl!

They crowded forward closer to look at him. A girl stumbled and fell under his feet. But Edvard Haakonsson did not kick her out of the way and shower oaths upon her. He stopped, gave an exclamation, reached down, and gently lifted her to her feet. He brushed some dust from her kirtle, laughed lightly, and then walked on.

"By Odin!" swore Svend the Bloody, who had noticed the incident. "He is as soft as his father! Magnus, did you see?"

"I saw!" Magnus replied.

"He stoops—he, a jarl—to lift from the earth a maiden of no rank at all! These be soft southern ways! There are certain things that this pretty black jarl must be taught! I suppose he would pet a thrall!"

Magnus laughed. "Any of the shield maidens could defeat him in combat," the lieutenant said.

Edvard had dropped a few feet behind and was looking back at the ship. And now Rolf bent forward and dropped a few words into Magnus's ear.

"Do not be too quick to judge!" Rolf said. "I am no weakling, am I?"

"By Thor—no!"

"And you would think me able to take care of myself?"

"That goes without question."

"Yet were it not for this black jarl I would not be with you now," Rolf declared. "Once he saved my life in combat, and once he saved the ship in a storm, when the men were terrified and on the verge of mutiny and would not work the vessel!"

"This man?" Magnus gasped.

"That man!" Rolf said.

"A man of his small body?"

"Yet in that small body, Magnus, my friend, he has a thing that not all men possess in a great degree," Rolf declared.

"What is this thing he possesses of which you speak?"

"Brains!" answered Rolf. "Brains!"