Henry Treece - The Last of the Vikings (Henry Treece) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

Earl Rognvald said, 'The lad speaks honestly, Swein, he is no thrall or byre-slave. He is to be a king one day, and kings speak their mind, as you know. He should not be harmed for that.'

The Dane smiled, though his smiling was worse than his frowning. And he said, 'Not every egg becomes an eagle. It may fall from the nest and be smashed before it is hatched. Or a man may carry it away and give it to his children so that they can say they have blown an eagle's egg. There is nothing certain in this life, as you must know, old man, for you have seen your family perish when you thought they would grow to be a fine brood of young warriors.'

For a while, both the Earl and Harald glowered at the Dane, as though they might leap up and try to kill him, in spite of all his bowmen who ringed them round. But Swein disregarded their looks and, half-shutting his eyes, looked above them towards the hilltop.

'You hate me because I have come with my ships and my swords into your country,' he said. 'But you are wise enough to understand, surely, that I come because your Bonders, your hard-working farmers, are weary of your rule—weary of paying their heavy taxes, weary of bowing down to a harsh king.'

Harald cried out, 'Olaf is no harsh king. He takes his dues, no more. And even if he were what you say, that gives you no right to come here. A farmer does not break into his neighbour's land because that neighbour sows a different crop from himself. A shepherd does not lead away his neighbour's flock because the silly sheep call out to him.'

At first it seemed that King Swein would jump up and strike the lad: but suddenly he laughed and said, 'They told me you were a sharp young fellow, but they did not tell me you were half a priest and half a lawyer already! Oh, lad, it is a waste of a good life for you to go on living in this rainy desert. Forget Olaf, and come back with me to Hedeby and sit on a stool beside my throne. I'll see that you get the crown you want, one day, if you are a good lad and mind your manners.'

Now a great madness came over Harald. His heart beat like a smith's hammer, and the grey clouds came down right over his eyes. He leapt up, though Earl Rognvald tried to stop him, and plunged at the Danish king.

But Swein was stronger and quicker than most men. Harald, in his wildness, felt a hard blow at the side of his head, then he was sprawling at the king's feet, and, high above him, Swein was standing with his sword drawn and flecks of spittle all over his harsh beard.

Yet, even so, Harald's anger had not left him. Snatching out, he grasped the king's ankle and sank his teeth into it, hoping to gain some revenge, however small, against this man who spoke so slightingly of Olaf.

With a sudden hard movement, King Swein kicked him away, and what might have happened then, no man knows; but all at once the world seemed to fall apart. There came a loud shouting from the hilltop, and then men stood dark on the skyline, with their spears bristling and the wild sea-birds swirling about them. For a moment, Harald on the ground thought that it was Olaf and his companions, come to save him. But then he heard Swein's high shout of triumph, answered even more wildly from the hillside: and when he looked more closely, he saw that these men also were Danes, and that they carried with them a great man, whose arms and legs hung down limply, and whose swinging head was white.

Then Harald knew who it was. He knew the tattered banner, with its red ground and its spread-winged raven. And, beside it, he saw other men carrying Olaf's high-crested helmet and his shield garnished with plates of copper and ivory.

Tears spurted from his eyes. His voice went and left him dumb, although he tried with all his power to shout out for vengeance.

Then his head whirled so much that he did not know what was happening to him. He only felt two strong hands on his shoulders, dragging him up to his feet. And when any sense at all came back to him, he was running beside Earl Rognvald, with arrows slapping into the turf all about him, towards a wood.

'Faster! Faster!' the Earl was crying. 'We may still get clear, while they are rejoicing over the body of Olaf.'

Harald wanted to stop then, and weep again: or to turn back and do his best, against the arrow-hail, to get vengeance for his dead brother. But Earl Rognvald took him by the hair and dragged him on.

'Run! You donkey!' he was shouting. 'There will be time for Dane-killing later. You owe it to Olaf to come clear out of this. So run!'

And when their hearts were almost bursting, and their legs too weak to carry them much farther, the two broke through the spiky brambles and so into a dark pinewood, where the tree-trunks stood, grey and green and solemn, like the pillars of a church, and the thick carpet of ancient pine-needles muffled all sounds their feet made.

'Into this bush,' gasped Earl Rognvald. 'Draw the leaves about you and lie still. They will be coming for us before long, you can depend on that!'

So, they lay, every gasp as painful as a dagger-thrust, their limbs twitching from their race to freedom, while, now in the distance, the Danes shouted again and again, like hounds on the scent of a frightened hare.

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