Free TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse by Poul Anderson Page A

carved from the estates Magnus took for himself. That should make a good income, some twelve marks I imagine. And thereto I'll lay half a shire in the Throndlaw."
    The green eyes blurred. "From me and my sons you shall ever have friendship!"
    "Ah, yes, your sons. It's long past time you were wed, Ulf, if only to build up your own power with a good alliance. What say you to Jorunn Tho rbergs dottir, sister of Queen Thora?"
    Ulf scratched his black thatch. "She's not a bad-looking wench, and spoke kindly to me the time we guested at Gizki. But how do you know she will—?"
    "Go a-wooing this winter and find out," laughed Harald. "I'll give you an escort of guardsmen and send gifts. Thorberg will not refuse if I know him."
    Something oddly like pain crossed Ulf's face. "Well," he said tonelessly, "if wed I must, she's as good as any, I suppose." He sat for a while without speaking, the wind loud around him, and then said, "Harald, I would you were kinder to Queen Ellisif. She—"
    "That's enough!" rapped the King. "Heed your own affairs and I'll tend to mine."
    "I thank you for your gifts," said Ulf coldly. He got up and went toward the bows.
    The ships steered into the fjord and lay to at Nidharos that evening. A crowd had come down to see them arrive. There were cheers, arms embracing as women and children sought their men. A few women searched through the disembarking crews, halted someone to cry a question, then hid their faces and walked slowly back.
    Harald noticed a big, richly clad man with a guard of warriors strange to him. This one strode up and bowed. "Greetings, my lord," he said with a burred accent. "I had hoped you would come back ere I must return home."
    "I've not met you before," said Harald.
    "No, my lord, but none could fail to know you by your height alone. I am Thorfinn Sigurdharson, jarl of the Orkney and Shetland Islands, come hither to offer my submission."
    Harald stood rock still, staring at the ugly, sharp-featured man; under the sallow skin lay strength. Thorfinn was known for a mighty chief. At the death of St. Olaf, he had taken his independence of Norway in all but name. Magnus had sent Rognvald Brusason thither to claim a third of the lands, and Thorfinn had fought him for a long time; at last Rognvald had fallen. It was also known that he was a clo se friend of the exiled Kalf Ar nason and had given that stubborn lord goodly fiefs. Harald had thought something must be done about Thorfinn Jarl . . . and here the man himself had entered the bear's den.
    "Is there any reason why we should be friends?" asked the king. His intent was to gall Thorfinn by thus speaking to him before the whole town; see what came of that, and how real the jarl's offer was.
    Thorfinn opened his mouth angrily, but mastered himself. "You are my rightful sovereign."
    "Well, then, come with me to the hall. I suppose you are already guesting there?" Harald led the way, the two bands of guardsmen tramping after. Dusk was soaking into the streets, and lanterns guttered in the high wind.
    "My lord," said Thorfinn, "best I tell you at once why I have come to do homage, then you'll know that no treachery is planned."
    The tale was simple enough; Harald could have fitted it together himself from accounts brought by men who had been in the West. Thorfinn's friend and ally, Macbeth, lord of Moray, had refused to acknowledge Duncan, the new king of Scotland. Together Thorfinn and Macbeth overthrew and slew him, and now Macbeth was king of the Scots. Folk said he was a good ruler, but he was being threatened by Duncan's son Malcolm, who was supported by the powerful English earl Siward. Open war could not be many years delayed, and Thorfinn did not wish to risk having Harald on his back while Malcolm and Siward attacked from the South.
    The submission was the more valuable because Thorfinn had lately brought the Hebrides under him. Harald did not long weigh his thoughts. It would have been more valiant, perhaps, to avenge his old