The Black Jarl/Chapter 4

ECAUSE of circumstances, Svend the Bloody did not hesitate in leaving Rolf, the shipmaster, in charge of the estate, with only the ship's crew and a handful of thralls as guards. For King Olaf had commanded all the jarls to appear before him at Trondhjem; hence none would be prowling through the forests with men at arms behind him, ready to fall upon the unprotected domain of a foe.

Two days after the arrival of Edvard, Svend the Bloody gave the word and the start was made. Svend, having some knowledge of the situation, journeyed as became a jarl of wealth and fame, the better to make an impression upon King Olaf and upon certain other jarls who might be close to the throne.

None knew better than Svend the Bloody that King Olaf had turned Christian, and some of his jarls and their households with him, and that Olaf was seeking to convert others. Yet there were stolid jarls like Svend, who clung to the gods of their fathers and turned against the cross. And this was to be their last stand at Trondhjem before the king. Either they won permission to worship as pleased them, or bloody war would follow.

Svend the Bloody led his host from the clearing and took up the trail through the woods. At his side rode Magnus, and at his other side Edvard. Behind them came men at arms, mounted and on foot, swordsmen and archers and spearmen. And then the armies of thralls, tugging with the oxen at carts that bore Svend's tents and booths, presents, weapons, foodstuffs.

They made a brave company as they won their way slowly through the woods, those in the fore sitting their horses regally, their armor glistening where the sun struggled through the tree tops, their huge swords clanking, their shields swinging, each man with a battle ax at his saddle bow.

Throughout the day they marched, and when the dusk came they camped beside a tumbling stream, pitched a few of the tents, cooked and ate and rested. Edvard Haakonsson, as became his rank, had a tent of his own, and Eric the Dumb to serve him. The choice had been a natural one, for Eric the Dumb had managed to be close at hand when the black jarl had wanted a thrall.

In Svend's pavilion that night there was a whispered conversation between himself and Magnus, while a sentry stood before the opening and another at the rear. Magnus the sly was not the one to overlook such a chance.

"It is in my mind, jarl," he said, "that it might be an ill thing to allow this Edvard to see the king."

"How so?" Svend demanded.

"Know you not the story of Olaf Trygvesson? He came of the race of Harald the Fair-Haired. Did not his mother carry him to Russia to escape the murder decree of the wicked Gunhild? Were they not captured by pirate vikings and sold as slaves?"

"But what has that to do with this affair?"

"In Russia he was well trained for kingship after his identity was discovered. Then he journeyed to foreign lands, to the one they call Greece, and there went through that mysterious rite that the Christians call baptism. That softened him, and because he had been a slave he felt pity for the lot of slaves."

"Still I do not see—"

"He also visited the land of the Gauls, and Normandy, and Scotland. He raided Britain. The mild winds of the southern countries softened him. And this Edvard is new come from there. King Olaf, once he meets him, will observe him well, talk with him, perhaps make him a favorite.

"By Odin!" Svend swore.

"He may whisper into the king's ear, jarl, that he would like an accounting of his father's estate."

"By the hammer of Thor! If he did that—"

"I see that you understand my meaning," Magnus said. "It would have been a good thing if you had left this black jarl behind to guard the estate."

"But he has come with us," Svend replied. "And how am I to prevent him seeing Olaf? It is his right."

"Being a stranger, perhaps that task will be an easy one," Magnus answered. "Tell him that there may be trouble between the followers of the gods and the Christian jarls. Say that you must go to the king, since he has commanded, and that you leave this Edvard at the camp, in command in case of a surprise."

"By Thor! That is a rare idea!"

"I have a rarer one—to split the head of this black jarl some night while he sleeps!"

"Why not come face to face with him?" Svend asked.

"Give me but the chance!"

"It will not do. After all, he is my brother's son, I may have need of him. But I do not trust him yet. Therefore, say nothing to him regarding our policies."

"Do not fear I shall exchange words with him unless it must be done," Magnus said.

"However, it will be well to keep him from Olaf. I thank you for the thought."

"It was freely given," Magnus replied.

"I must face Harald the Just at Trondhjem, I suppose," Svend said. "Each time I face him, it is in my mind to lay open his brains with an ax. Thoughts of him disturb my sleep and bother my days."

Svend the Bloody sought his furs, and Magnus left the tent to go to his own.

In the morning the gay company moved forward again, and late that afternoon they came to the vicinity of Trondhjem. Svend was one of the last of the jarls to arrive for the fair. He growled angrily as he ordered his men to pitch the camp. He did not like King Olaf, and little cared he whether men knew it.

Svend had selected a good place for the camp, on the bank of the fiord and at the edge of the woods, close beside the road that ran into the town. Here was water and fuel, and a place easy to defend. Tents were pitched and pavilions erected. Fires were started, meat was roasted. Other jarls encamped in the neighborhood sent men with greetings, and Svend returned them.

They slept, and were up with the sun. Already the road was a trail of dust clouds as horsemen and footmen hurried toward the town. Jarls rode by with their guards, shield maidens smiled when they saw Svend's camp, thralls trotted beside the horses.

Svend the Bloody ordered out his men and had the horses made ready. Magnus stood to one side talking to two of his warriors. Edvard Haakonsson came from his tent, dressed in his armor, the bracelets of rank upon his bare arms.

"Kinsman!" Svend's loud voice called to him.

"Jarl?"

"It is my wish that you remain in the camp for the day," Svend said.

"Remain in the camp?" Edvard gasped. "When there is a fair and a king to be seen? When there are ladies—"

"It is a matter of urgency," Svend declared. "In these times, it would be unwise for me to venture into the town without ample men at my back. It would be unwise, also, to leave this camp without leaving some man of proper authority in command. I do not want some Christian jarl to lay waste my goods."

"I would make but a poor commander," Edvard said.

"It is my wish, jarl!"

Edvard's eyes flashed at the tone. For a moment he looked straight at Svend the Bloody.

"It is in my mind," Edvard said, "that it is my right to go to the town."

"Is there to be dissension between us?"

"Not unless it is of your foolish making, uncle! I am a jarl, the son of a jarl! It is my right to face the king! You have warriors fit to command the camp. What of this Magnus?"

"I—I wish him to go with me," Svend said.

"If he were here, I might go?"

"But he will not be here," said Svend. "If at least two of his lieutenants were here you might go. But I need my men-at-arms beside me. Your word, jarl! Your word that you will neither walk nor ride to the fair."

Again there was silence for a moment, and the black jarl seemed puzzled. But presently he raised h!s head, and his eyes were twinkling.

"So be it!" he said. "My honored word that I will neither walk nor ride to the fair."

"And that you will not leave the camp!"

"And that I will not leave the camp, save if two of your lieutenants are here to command it."

Svend the Bloody said nothing more. He swung into his saddle and raised his hand. The others mounted after him. The thralls buckled their belts and prepared to run beside the horses. Magnus turned quickly to the two warriors with whom he had been talking.

"You understand?" he whispered. "Start with us, but drop out along the way. Return to the camp, and pick a quarrel with him. And then slay! He must be dead before we return. Make up what story you will, and Svend will not punish. Your tale will stand. There will be none but thralls to see."

Then Magnus mounted and cantered after the jarl.

Down the dusty road they went, headed for the town, Edvard watched until a bend in the highway sheltered them from his view. He turned back and sat down before his tent, and looked over the camp.

Half a score of thralls were going about their duties. Eric the Dumb was but a short distance away, watching the black jarl and waiting to be called. The light of adoration was in his eyes. Eric was slow of wit, but this man caused things to struggle through the mazes of his memory. This man had been in the country Eric had once called home!

The sun rose higher in the heavens. Edvard Haakonsson got up and entered his tent. The manner of Svend had puzzled him, and he was not a fool. He had given his word, and he would keep it, but he wondered why it had been asked.

Presently he heard horsemen in the camp, and went to the door of his tent again. Two warriors were dismounting, two of Magnus's trusted men. Were they to remain in the camp, Edvard might go to the fair and still keep his oath—providing he did not walk or ride!

He knew them both by sight, but not by name. Giants they were, and no doubt great soldiers. They stretched their shoulders, and threw out their chests and advanced toward him. A few paces away they stopped and spoke to each other, yet the words were for him to hear.

"When a man's body is small, so is his courage!"

"When a man apes the manners of women, he has the heart of one!"

"The fairer the hair, the fairer the honor," said the first. "A man with black hair is not to be trusted."

"It may mean something amiss in his ancestry," the second declared.

Edvard Haakonsson had smiled at the first two remarks, scowled at the third, and had become enraged at the fourth. He hurled himself forward and confronted them, his eyes blazing, his hot southern blood uppermost for the moment.

"You speak of me?" he demanded.

One sneered at him. "If the jarl so wishes to take it," he said.

"Do I understand that you question my courage, my honor, and possibly that of my parents?"

"The day is too hot for a man to repeat his words," said the second.

Edvard Haakonsson took a step backward and looked at them searchingly.

"You are of the company of Magnus," he accused. "Why has he sent you? Is he afraid to come himself?"

"What has this to do with Magnus?"

"Do you think that I am blind" Edvard demanded. "So it is a game, is it? A craven game! Yet two men against one is a compliment. Which of you desires to cross swords with me first?"

"The little jarl would fight," sneered the first.

Edvard whipped out his sword and lifted up his shield from before the tent.

"If a moment more passes, I term you coward!" he said.

With a roar of rage the man nearest drew his blade and darted forward. He was no mean swordsman. The second laughed at the ease of it. Yet he drew his blade, too, and stood ready, in case some accident happened.

The thralls crowded near, but not too near. Eric the Dumb crouched before the tent, making little sounds in his throat. The son of Haakon the Lover advanced.

The blades touched, and then the Norseman found a game he never had seen before. For the black jarl did not fight in the usual manner. He did not waste his strength in the weight of a downward stroke. He fenced. He darted from side to side, and his blade bit into mail. His opponent made great slashes that cut nothing but the empty air.

And Edvard Haakonsson was fighting like a man who intends to avenge an insult. There was deadly intent in his manner. The big Norseman gave ground again and again. He had strength remaining, but no skill to match the skill of the black jarl.

Again he whirled, and he grunted a word to his companion. Into the fray leaped the other man, so that Edvard was compelled to face them both.

"So!" he cried. "Assassination! A part of a foul plot! You came back to taunt me—and kill me! But the end is not yet!"