Tim Severin - King's Man

The silence deepened. All of us knew that the only way Harald could pursue his claim was by force of arms. He was talking about waging full-scale war.

'Who holds the English throne now?' someone enquired tactfully. The questioner knew that it would give Harald a chance to tell us what he had in mind.

'Harold Godwinsson,' said Harald. 'He maintains that Edward named him as his heir while on his deathbed. But there is no proof.'

'That would be the same Harold who defeated the combined Welsh and Irish army last year,' observed one of Harald's captains, a veteran who had family connections among the Norse in Dublin. 'He's a capable field commander. Any campaign against him will need careful planning if it is to be successful.'

'There can be no delay,' declared Harald. 'With each month that passes, Harold Godwinsson makes himself more secure on the throne. I intend to attack this summer.'

'Impossible,' interrupted a voice, and I turned to see who was so bold as to contradict Harald so directly. The speaker was Harald's own marshal, Ulf Ospaksson. I had known him since our campaigns in the service of the Basileus, and he was the most experienced and canny of the king's military advisers. 'Impossible,' Ulf repeated. 'We cannot assemble a sufficiently large invasion fleet in that short time. We need at least a year in which to recruit and train our troops.'

'No one doubts your skill and experience,' answered Harald, 'but it can be done. I have the resources.' He was adamant.

Ulf was equally stubborn. 'Harold Godwinsson has resources too. He rules the wealthiest and largest kingdom in the west. He can raise an army and pay to keep it in the field. And he has his huscarls.'

'We will smash the huscarls to pieces,' boasted a young man, intervening. He was Skule Konfrostre, a close friend of Harald's son, Olaf, and one of the council's hotheads.

The marshal gave a weary sigh. He had heard enough of such bravado in his days as a soldier. 'According to their reputation, one English huscarl is worth two of the best of Norway's fighting men. Think of that when you come up against their axes.'

'Enough!' broke in Harald. 'We may never need to face their axes. There is a better way.'

Everyone was straining to hear what the king had decided. It was another of Harald's rules that everyone had to stand while in the royal presence, unless given permission to be seated. Harald was sitting on a low stool while we stood in a circle around him. It did not make it any easier to hear what was being said.

Deliberately Harald turned his head and looked straight at me. I felt again the power of his stare, and in that moment I realised that Harald of Norway would never settle down to the quiet enjoyment of his realm nor abandon his grand design of being a second Knut. The death of the English king had been something that Harald had been waiting for. To the very last, the king was a predator at heart.

'Thorgils here can help,' he said.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

'If two claimants to the throne act together, we can depose Godwinsson and divide England between ourselves.'

'Like in Forkbeard's time,' said a sycophant. 'Half of England ruled by the Norsemen, the other half in Saxon hands.'

'Something like that,' said Harald dryly, though looking at him I knew him well enough to know that he was lying. Harald of Norway would never share the throne of England for long. It would be like his arrangement with Magnus for the Norwegian throne all over again. If Magnus had not died in an accident, Harald would have dispossessed him when the time was right.

Harald waited for a few moments, then continued. 'My information is that William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy, is convinced that Edward left the throne of England to him and that Harold Godwinsson is a usurper. My spies also tell me that William intends to press his claim, just as I will, by invading England. With Thorgils's help we can make sure that the two invasions are coordinated, and that Harold Godwinsson is crushed between the hammer of Norway and the anvil of Duke William's Normans.'

A glint of humour came into my liege lord's eyes.

'William the Bastard is a devout Christian. He surrounds himself with priests and bishops and listens to their advice. I propose to send Thorgils to his court as my emissary to suggest a coordination of our plans. Nothing would be more appropriate than to send Thorgils disguised as a priest.'

There was an amused murmur from the councillors. All of them knew my reputation as a staunch adherent to the Elder Faith.

'What do you have to say to this scheme, Thorgils?' Harald asked. He was baiting me.

'Of course I will carry out your wishes, my lord,' I said. 'But I am not sure that I will be able to pass myself off as a Christian priest.'

'And why not?'

'Though I had some training in a monastery when I was young,' I said, 'that was long ago, and in Ireland the monks followed a different version of the White Christ belief. Their way of worship has fallen into disuse. It has been supplanted by teachings from the All Father of the Christians in Rome, and by the new generation of reformers in the Frankish lands.'

'Then you must learn their ways and how to think like them so that you are mistaken for one of them. I want you to get close enough to William the Bastard so that you can form an opinion of him before you reveal your true identity as my ambassador. You must satisfy yourself that the Duke of Normandy will make a worthy ally. Only if you think that he will carry out his invasion are you to propose that he coordinate his attack with mine. Otherwise you are to maintain your disguise, and withdraw quietly.'

'And if I judge the duke to be a serious contender, what date should I suggest he launches his invasion?'

Harald chewed his lip, then glanced across at Ulf Ospaksson. 'Marshal, what do you recommend?'

Ospaksson still looked doubtful. Clearly he was uneasy at the idea of launching a major onslaught with so little preparation. I heard the reluctance in his voice as he set out his advice.

"We will need as much time as possible to raise an army, gather our ships and equip the fleet. Yet we cannot risk crossing the English Sea too late in the season when the autumn gales are due. So I would say that early September is as late as we dare leave it. But it will be cutting matters very short, and it will be impossible to supply the army once it is ashore in England. The distance from Norway is too great.'

'Our army will live off the land, just as it always has,' said Harald.

An image came into my mind of the dreadful famine that ravaged my home in the wake of the warriors. I took a deep breath and risked Harald's anger by asking, in front of the councillors, 'My lord, when I go on this mission for you I will be leaving my family and neighbours behind.'

Harald drew his eyebrows down in a scowl. I knew that he hated to be asked favours, and he had detected that I was about to ask for one.

'What are you trying to say? All of us will be leaving families behind.'

'The district where I spent the last four months is wracked by famine,' I explained. 'It would be a kingly act if you could send some assistance.'

'Anything else?'

'I have two children, my lord, a boy and a girl. Their mother died only a few weeks ago. I would be glad if they could benefit from royal favour.'

Harald grunted — whether in agreement I could not tell — before turning back to the matter of raising his army. Half of the levies of Norway were to assemble at Trondheim as soon as the harvest was in, every available warship was to be pressed into service, a bounty would be paid to the smithies for extra production of arrowheads and axe blades and so forth. Only later did I learn that, to his credit, he had arranged for three shiploads of flour to be sent to Vaster Gotland, but that when his messengers reached my home they found they had been mistaken for raiders, and that Folkmar had disappeared. Last seen, he was heading in the direction of the Thor temple at Uppsala, taking my twins with him.