the water and swam to the ship to clamber up the sides and join the warriors at the rail. The bellowing sounded again, shaking the very ground beneath our feet, and I saw that this extraordinary noise was produced by two enormous battle horns manned by two barbarians each, who took it in turn to blow into the instruments, lest one of them grow faint.
Ragnar, surrounded by his men, rose to watch the arrival. 'A fine-looking ship,' he observed. 'Had I a longship half so good, it would be Harald paying me tribute, and not the other way.'
Lifting a hand to the vessel, which was now coming to rest against the bank, Gunnar said, 'Ship? I see no ship, Jarl Ragnar. Nay! It is our silver tribute I see before us-with dragon head and banded sails now, but it is our silver just the same.'
'Indeed,' Ragnar agreed bitterly. 'And now that I see the trove of wealth we have given him, I am sick at heart.'
Tolar nodded and, on sudden inspiration, he spat.
They continued complaining like this, each one having his say, but all the time their eyes kept stealing over the long, sweeping lines of the ship and its high, handsome sails. And step by step they moved down to where wooden stakes were now being hammered into the earth for the ropes which would secure the vessel. I found myself walking beside Scop.
'So! The monk becomes a warrior,' he sneered. 'Mayhap warriors will now wield pens.'
'The beer unhorsed Hrothgar,' I said. 'I merely provided a soft place for him to fall.'
Scop made a nasty grunt and reached up a filthy hand to pat my clean-shaven tonsure. 'Shaven One,' he cooed malevolently.
Ignoring his foul mood, I said, 'I did not think to see you again.'
'Ha!' he scoffed. 'Dost think it a happy surprise?'
'I do,' I replied, annoyed at his disagreeable manner. 'And I thank God for it, too.'
The Truth Sayer looked sideways at me. Seizing me suddenly by the arm, he spun me to face him. 'Look around you, Irish. Is this your precious abbey? Are these your brother priests?'
Before I could make an answer, he put his filthy hand upon my neck and drew me close. 'God abandoned me, my friend,' he whispered with strangled rage. 'And now, Aidan the Innocent, he has abandoned you!'
With that, he stumped away quickly, taking himself back to camp alone. I watched him go, frustrated and angered by his impudence and presumption. Shaking off the disgust of his provocation, I continued on to the river- bank and rejoined the others gathered there.
King Harald had arrived with all his house karlar and three of his five wives. Some of the other women who had come with their men noticed and made much of this fact. Several warriors dropped over the side of the ship and into the water; they waded onto dry land, while others readied a number of long planks made from split pine trees. The planks were placed between the rail and bank, and made secure by the men on the bank.
Only then did Harald Bull-Roar deign to show himself. And when he did it was to the astonished delight of the throng.
20
King Harald Bull-Roar, Jarl of the Danefolk of Skania, arose from the ship like Odin himself, arrayed in blue the colour of a northern midnight; he stood in the bright sunshine, glinting of gold and silver, his long red beard brushed and its ends braided. Gold sparkled on his chest, at his throat and on each wrist; seven silver bands were on his arms, and seven silver brooches secured his cloak.
He stepped to the rail, and I saw that he was barefooted. Gold and silver bracelets gleamed at his ankles. He was a big man: deep-chested, with thick-muscled arms, and long, strong legs. Standing tall upon the rail, a king in the prime of life, he gazed with quick, intelligent eyes upon the assembled host.
A king is a king anywhere, I thought. Harald had the same regal bearing of any lord I had ever seen. Sure, he and Lord Aengus were brothers under the skin; each laying eye to other would have recognized royalty. Of this I had no doubt.
Raising his hands in salutation, he opened his mouth to speak and I saw that youthful battles had left him with a livid scar from chin to throat. He spoke in a voice both deep and loud, turning this way and that, and spreading wide his arms as if to embrace all those thronged below him on the bank.
The substance of his speech seemed to be about setting aside differences during the council. I think he called on everyone to sit down together in peace as free men in order to best decide what to do-or something like that. It is the sort of speech all lords make when they want their way, and there was much sceptical grunting and clearing of throats.
Then, without the least hesitation, Harald lifted one bare foot and stepped from the ship's rail into the air. Some of the women gasped, but they need not have worried. For as the king stepped out from the rail, a hand appeared and caught his foot. Another hand joined the first, and the king took another step. Two more hands-those of the warriors who had set out the planks-caught the king's right foot and bore him up.
In this way, Jarl Harald was conveyed onto the river-bank, carried by his house karlar as he stood upright-a most impressive feat. For the rest of the day, it was all anyone talked about: 'Did you see how they carried him?' 'Heya! The king's feet never touched the earth!'
Harald Bull-Roar was carried to the place where his tent would be erected; a red oxhide was spread upon the ground and the king sat down to receive the homage of his people. Everyone came before him, some to lay themselves at his feet, others to bestow gifts of honour and welcome. The jarl accepted his honours with good grace, and I found myself liking the man for his easy deference, despite any misgivings Gunnar or Ragnar might have had-and I did not doubt their fears were genuine, and with ample reason. But Harald was a winsome man: all smiles and bright confidence, always bringing his people close with a gesture or an intimate word.
I watched as he sat upon the red oxhide, calling his noblemen by name, disarming them with flattery and praise. Even before the theng began, the king was plunged deep into his campaign. Men approached him, wooden in speech and movement, full of doubt and mistrust, only to rise again a moment later, beaming, conviction and faith rekindled by a word and a touch.
Oh, Jarl Harald was a very master of kingcraft: subtle, shrewd, persuasive and reassuring, slaying his opponents' objections before they knew to contradict or oppose him.
Sure, I had seen such power once or twice before. For all his gold and silver, this barbarian lord reminded me of Bishop Tudwal of Tara, renowned for his composure, his confidence, his easy mastery of men.
Nor did Gunnar and Tolar, for all their apprehensions, remain aloof from the king's considerable charm. I waited as they performed their duties of respect; they returned glad-hearted and confident once more. When I asked what the king had told them to bring about such a change, Gunnar demanded, 'Have I ever said a word against the king? You must learn to be more trusting, Aeddan.'
This advice brought a concurring nod from Tolar.
Of all the jarls and free men I observed, only Ragnar remained aloof from the king's winning ways. Perhaps he knew too much of kingcraft to be easily swayed by the methods he himself employed from time to time. Perhaps he found it hard, being a lord, to allow himself the indulgence of complete conviction. Many tribesmen depended upon him and his judgement; whatever others might think or do, his own thoughts and actions were circumscribed by his obligations. Thus, Ragnar Yellow Hair could not give complete allegiance to any man, and still remain king in more than name only.
Proud men are all alike. No doubt he resented having Harald over him. Paying tribute was bad enough; he did not like to be seen bowing low as well. I imagine it might have been the same with some of the other lords, but I could not observe them all. Even so, it seemed that when the ceremony of greeting had been concluded, the battle was over and the king had claimed the field. He had, it seemed to me, sowed seeds of hopeful anticipation among the people and then withdrew to let those seeds sprout and take root.
Sure, the mood of the camp that night was buoyant with expectation; all across the meadow, men gazed at one another over the fire and speculated on the council: What would tomorrow bring? What would the king propose?
Though I had no part in the proceedings-nothing they decided could possibly affect me one way or another-I
