The Black Jarl/Chapter 6

RIM and austere. Svend the Bloody led his men through the throngs at the fair, Magnus riding at his left hand. The company was an imposing one, as Svend had intended it to be. Behind the mounted men-at-arms came the footmen, the archers and spearmen. Then the mounted maidens, of whom Svend had taken half a score along. And then the thralls, each in a fresh white kirtle, bearing Svend's presents to the king.

The common folk surged back from beneath the hoofs of the horses and gazed in awe at Svend's magnificence. Yet many looked at his stern and inscrutable countenance, too, and wondered what thoughts were in being behind that mask of flesh. The common folk knew of the clash of religions and played a part in it.

Svend the Bloody was known as one of the richest jarls in Olaf's kingdom, though not many knew that his jarldom belonged in half to his brother's son. Magnus, riding at Svend's side, curled his lips in scorn at the common folk, and now and then shouted rough orders to the men behind him, merely as a show of authority, at which some men glared and others smiled. There were plenty of other lieutenants of other jarls who hated Magnus.

And so Svend the Bloody and his train came before King Olaf where he sat in his big chair on a raised platform at one end of an open space, the booths and pavilions of the fair and the mass of people forming a background.

Svend dismounted, and the others with him. The thralls hurried forward, some to hold the horses and others to spread Svend's presents before the king. Olaf Trygvesson waved a hand to show that he was grateful, and the king's own men carried the presents away.

Then Svend approached the king. He strode like the jarl that he was, pride in his bearing, his head held high, his shoulders braced. Magnus stalked behind him, while the others held back.

Svend the Bloody knew well that he was making an impression in that moment. He was showing his wealth and power, and King Olaf was a shrewd man. Svend bowed before Olaf, and stood back. But as he glanced aside he saw something that angered him.

Another jarl was approaching from the opposite side. He, too, sent forward thralls with rich presents. He, too, had dignity in his bearing, and behind him came men-at-arms richly weaponed, and glorious maidens. Svend the Bloody was facing his ancient enemy, Harald the Just.

For an instant Svend's face was not a mask. But the hatred that flamed in it was extinguished almost instantly. Then he turned and looked at the king.

"I make you welcome, jarls!" Olaf said.

Thus he greeted them both at once, nor showed his preference. He looked from the one to the other, and when he spoke again it was to both.

"There is too much dissension in the land," Olaf said. "It is our wish that our people live in peace. Some of us there are who follow the cross and the teachings of the Christ. Yet there are others who cling to the old gods. If a man is sincere, I have respect for him, regardless of what faith he professes."

Svend the Bloody opened his eyes wide at that. He had expected an attempt at conversion. He had anticipated an argument, for which he was prepared, and wherein he would stand by Odin and Thor and hurl his defiance. But Olaf, he saw now, was too wise to risk splitting his kingdom so. Olaf Trygvesson knew that civil war would follow an attempt to cram Christianity down the throats of those who followed the gods of their fathers. Later, he was to Christianize his country with the ax, but the time was not yet at hand.

Svend merely bowed without speaking, and Harald the Just did likewise. And so the two jarls faced each other before their king, their faces reflecting none of their thoughts, while their retainers waited behind them motionless but ready for instant combat.

"Svend the Bloody, you are a great man!" King Olaf said, after a time. "You often have proved your loyalty. That you have courage and dignity and wealth goes without being said. And you, Harald, also are a great man, and Svend's neighbor. Word has been carried to me that your households are not at peace."

"That word did not come from me," Svend said quickly. "I do not allow my men to carry tales. I fight my own battles. Never have I asked help of the king."

"Nor did it come from me," Harald said firmly. "I, too, can fight my own battles!"

"Yet I have the word," Olaf told them, with something of sternness in his manner. "A man of my own reported on the situation. It is my wish that this strife cease. We gain nothing by fighting among ourselves. It is my prayer that this land be a Christian land, but I know the thing cannot be done in a moment. A man has the right to his individual belief. However, there is no need of this continual strife."

The king ceased speaking, and the jarls waited for his further words, knowing that he had some. And finally Olaf looked down at them again, and his voice was more gentle when he spoke.

"It is our wish that you seal a pact of friendship, here and now," he said. "Svend the Bloody, and you, Harald the Just, clasp hands before me. Differences in religion you may have, but let us have no other differences. Your thralls must not fight. Your men-at-arms must not attack one another."

Svend drew back a pace and a look of astonishment came into his face. Magnus drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. Harald stood waiting proudly, willing to do as the king commanded, but not wishing to be the first to make the advance.

The mind of Svend the Bloody worked like lightning then. He might smite hands with Harald, but there would be no meaning to it. He could repudiate this friendship when it so pleased him, and in the meantime Olaf and Harald would be lulled to a sense of peace and security.

"Harald?" Olaf called.

"I am agreed," Harald the Just said.

"Svend?"

It was a critical moment. Harald had agreed, and for Svend to spurn the offer of friendship now would mean an instant battle royal, for even in the presence of the king and the king's guardsmen Harald could not overlook such an affront to his pride.

Behind Svend, his men reached for their swords, and Magnus glanced quickly around and prepared to shout his commands. But Svend had been thinking to some purpose, and already he had a plan. And so he took one quick step forward and looked up at Olaf.

"I am agreed," he said.

There were cheers from those near the king, but Magnus and Svend's men gasped their astonishment. However, it was not for them to question their jarl's sagacity. Undoubtedly, Svend the Bloody knew to what purpose he was working.

The jarls approached each other before the king. There was a moment of silence as their hands met and touched lightly. And then they stepped apart again.

But there was a tension in the air. The friendship scarcely had been cemented. There seemed to be something lacking, and Harald the Just supplied it.

"Svend, great jarl, this is the thing for which I long have waited," Harald said. "The new religion of the cross teaches that neighbors should dwell in love and respect and friendship. Let us have it so."

"Let it be so," Svend ageed.

"My house is open to you," Harald said. "Do you journey to it as soon as this fair is at an end, with your men-at-arms and your women and thralls. The gates will be standing wide. It will be my pride and pleasure to feast you and yours, to cement this bargain that we have made."

"The invitation is a fair one, and as such cannot be refused," Svend replied. "I will do myself the honor of accepting your hospitality as soon as may be, and in turn will offer mine."

"Well spoken!" King Olaf cried. "Let us then have peace. Let your men-at-arms and thralls mingle without passing hot words and black looks, that they themselves may form friendships after the pattern of their masters!"

Svend and Harald bowed before him, and each stepped back once more. Their followers scarce could believe their ears, yet they knew that they had heard aright. Magnus was scowling, searching in his mind for the truth of the matter, for he knew Svend well, and realized that this was not the end.

And suddenly those in the great throng at the side of the open space began ribald laughter. Hounds scurried to cover and snapped and barked. Children screeched their merriment. The king looked across the clearing, and Harald and Svend turned to look also. Svend turned black with rage.

The reason for the sudden merriment was easy to find. Into the clearing before the king came a giant thrall, perspiration streaming from his face. And, carried pickaback, was a man of black hair and dark skin, who wore the ornaments of a jarl.

Edvard Haakonsson had come before his king!