jaws of infinity, the beast that would draw all creation, the works of men and gods alike, into its endless maw. Jarl Rognvald still believed in this pagan apocalypse, despite Olaf’s relentless campaign to establish Kristr as Norway’s God.
Olaf watched the Jarl deal with doom in the fashion of his youth. ‘I know you still believe in the old gods,’ he told him softly. ‘I wish I could have placed your feet on the ladder to Paradise. But when you drink at the ale benches in the Valhol this evening, tell Norway’s Kings that I tried to honour them with my death, and that no man honoured me more with his life than Jarl Rognvald.’
The Jarl’s thick neck pumped with emotion. ‘What of Norway’s next King?’
Olaf strapped his sword belt around his waist. ‘Yes. Where is Haraldr?’ Haraldr Sigurdarson was Olaf’s fifteen-year-old half-brother and next in line for the throne; Haraldr’s father, Sygurd Syr, had been King before Olaf. But Olaf had been much more than half a brother to Haraldr; Sygurd Syr had died when Haraldr was only a small child, and Olaf had become by any measure Haraldr’s father.
‘Haraldr is with the skalds,’ said Jarl Rognvald. The skalds were the court poets. ‘He will want to fight.’
‘All boys who have never fought want to fight. It is time for Haraldr to learn that sometimes it requires more valour to live than to die.’
‘Where will you send him? His life will be worthless in Norway.’
‘Kiev, in Rus. Ingigerd will look after him there.’
‘They will hunt him down in Rus, even. Every hired thug, sand wanderer and Dane’s slave will want to earn the price on the head of the Prince who did not die at Stiklestad.’
‘He will take a new name. Within a year he will probably grow so much, he will look entirely different. I am not worried that other men will take him for the Prince of Norway, if he can keep quiet about who he is.’ Olaf glowered, the light of the dying fire on his troubled eyes making him seem more haunted than haunting. ‘I am worried that Haraldr himself will forget he is the King of Norway.’
‘Steadfast will we feed the gulls-of-blood.’ The skald pulled anxiously at his whiskers, contemplating his newly minted verse. If he had to recite it this morning, he realised, it would probably be his last.
‘Gulls-of-blood,’ repeated Haraldr Sigurdarson in his piping, occasionally cracking adolescent voice; he stood next to the pensive skald, no such doubt reflected in his swaggering version of a court poet’s elegant oratorical pose. He was immature for his age, his lean, fine-featured face all pale down, his long golden hair almost as beautiful as a woman’s. His blue eyes were said to be the image of his brother’s. His metal-studded canvas byrnnie swallowed skeletal limbs; only his man-sized hands and feet hinted at the stature he might acquire. ‘That is the kenning for raven,’ Haraldr said authoritatively; kennings were the elaborate metaphors favoured by Norse poets. ‘The gull is a bird, and the bird that drinks blood is the raven. We will feed the ravens the Danemen’s blood.’
The skald ignored Haraldr and squinted at the men approaching in the dim light. He dipped to his knee when he recognised King Olaf. The King was attended by Jarl Rognvald and two of his house-karls, members of his personal guard.
‘Olaf! Jarl Rognvald! Listen! “Dark nigh the dread of arrow-storm--” ‘ Haraldr broke off when he saw the grim set of Olaf’s face.
‘Haraldr.’ Olaf’s beefy hands engulfed his brother’s frail shoulders. ‘This morning I am going to ask you to serve your King and our Norway with a hard task. It is the most difficult I will ask of any man this entire day.’
Haraldr had already imagined so many acts of his own heroism that he hardly knew which image to supply, now that his years of day-dreaming had culminated in reality. What feat did his brother and king require?
‘You cannot enter the shield-wall today.’
Haraldr’s head snapped back as if he had been struck. He was too shocked to say anything.
‘Guaka and Asti’ – Olaf indicated the house-karls – ‘are going to take you to Rus. You have heard me talk of the Rus Queen, Ingigerd. I want you to stay at the Rus court in Kiev until you are told it is safe to return home. Your name will be known only to Guaka and Asti, and to Ingigerd and her husband.’ Olaf squeezed Haraldr’s shoulders so hard that the boy’s eyes glazed with pain. ‘You must swear to me on your father’s soul that you will tell no one else your name until you are able to return home to Norway. No one. If anyone discovers who you are, you will never come home. I can promise you that.’
Haraldr sniffled and tried to force his shoulders up and his chest out. ‘I won’t go to Rus. My wand-of-wounds will feed the raven-wine to those Dane-sucking dung haulers!’
Olaf squeezed Haraldr’s shoulders again. ‘Haraldr, you have not passed fifteen summers. I never intended to let you fight. No boy your age will ever die for me.’
‘You went a-viking in your twelfth summer.’
‘I carried water skins to men who had gone a-viking.’
‘The skald Thorfinn Munnr says you killed a man that same year.’
Olaf shook his ponderous head wearily. ‘When a man becomes King, he magically grows two ells taller and suddenly he has ploughed the belly-barley of a different woman for each night since he was a swaddled infant. The truth is that I became strong because I was not asked to pull an oar until my back was ready for it. That is how I intend it for you.’
‘My back is ready. If you are going to fight here, I am staying with you.’
‘I do not have the time to convince you that I am not jesting, little brother. We are not playing games at Nidaros.’
‘I am aware of that.’
Olaf’s hands gripped so hard that Haraldr thought his bones would be ground to meal. ‘You are about to shame yourself. If I have to have you tied up, I will.’
‘And if I have to tie my sword to my hand, I am going to fight today!’ Haraldr was momentarily startled by his own shrill shouting. His face was suddenly brilliant with outrage.
Olaf reached swiftly for Haraldr’s sword and whipped the blade out of his brother’s scabbard. Haraldr leapt like a springing cat, his eyes wild. He clamped both hands on Olaf’s wrist, which was as thick as a small tree, and wrestled it with mad fury, as if it were indeed a tree he was trying to uproot. With his free hand Olaf tried to prise Haraldr’s astonishingly powerful grip but after a moment gave up. He drew back his immense fist and clobbered Haraldr just behind the ear.
Haraldr dizzied and fell to his knees, sparks popping in his head. ‘You don’t have to truss me up,’ he said meekly. This isn’t finished, he told himself.
Olaf gave Haraldr’s sword to Guaka. ‘You must go before it gets too light.’ He brought his bristling, burly face close to Haraldr’s and his eyes were dark, endlessly deep, as if fate had somehow chased the entire star-flecked universe into their void. This can’t be happening, Haraldr told himself. But Olaf’s eyes said it was. ‘Do you swear on your father’s soul not to reveal your name to anyone?’
Haraldr swallowed thickly; a cold stone seemed to be stuck in his throat. ‘I swear it.’
Olaf’s eyes filled again, not with life but with the swirling mists of memory. ‘Haraldr, when you get to Rus, you must remember me to Queen Ingigerd. Tell her she was with me.’ He snatched his brother into his arms and held him against his massive metalled chest. ‘I will always be beside you,’ Olaf said. ‘No matter where you are, no matter where I am. I love you, little brother.’
The next thing Haraldr knew, he was walking into the pall of the new day, Guaka and Asti flanking him, and the tears on his cheeks were cold.
‘I’ll carry it.’ Guaka shrugged and handed Haraldr his sword. The dense forest was dappled with mid- morning light; the patches of sky visible through the trees were like glazed cerulean tiles. The ether of the pine resin was intoxicating. To the right, only fifty ells away the woods parted and a field of large jumbled black rocks descended to a nearly dry creek.
‘Guaka, I have to piss.’
Guaka turned to Asti. The towering, armoured house-karl shook his head as if to ask, ‘We have to go all the way to Rus with him?’
Haraldr pointed to a dark, almost mysterious clump of pines to his left. ‘I need to go in there.’
Guaka grinned knowingly at Asti and again shook his head. ‘You can go right here. We don’t mind.’
Haraldr hiked up his byrnnie and tunic. His urine splashed over the pine needles for a moment and then he turned quickly and directed the stream over Guaka’s bare knees.
‘Kristr, damn!’ shouted Guaka, and he danced backwards several steps. Haraldr immediately dashed to his
