TLV - 02 - The Road of the Sea Horse by Poul Anderson Page B
Authors: Poul Anderson
Tags: Historical Novel
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shields above them to ward off raining stones.
"We'd not escape this easily if the Danes knew siegecraft," panted Ulf. "Were this the South, we'd be cooked in our mail like lobsters."
Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his men grouped, and now sped to meet the enemy. Shields thudded together, spears thrust provoking grunts at one end and screams at the other, swords blurred and axes belled. The sun went down and the light night of Northern summer spread across the sky, dusk blue, a scattering of pale stars, the river gleamed metallic and the noise of war lost itself under a tall cool stillness. Somewhere a nightingale was singing.
The heavy river gate went down, and Harald drew his lines back to enter it. Townsmen were now at front and rear, hammering out their rage against Norse shields. "Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"
Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. A little flame ran up in the thatch. It was a very small devil, newly hatched from hell, and sputtered and smoked and almost went out in the dew. Then it gained strength, stood up and looked around. Elsewhere its brothers were raising red-and-yellow flags. The flame hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily, and ran to meet its fellows. They formed a host and lifted their heads and roared!
Dismayed, the Heidhaby men broke from the battle. Some fled into the fields and others toward their homes. The Norse hallooed and rushed after. Now the fires were high around them, bellowing against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. A wall went down, crash and boom. Sparks burst heavenward. A woman stumbled away, one baby shrieking in her arms and another clinging to her skirts. An old man stood before his burning house, cursing, shaking his fists at gleeful enemy faces; oh, were he young once more to split their skulls!
Looting a town where flame ran wild was risky work. Some of the Norse died with their arms full of cloth and gold when a roof fell on them. Most of the townsfolk used the chance to escape, though a number were captured and bound and led to the ships. They went dry-eyed, dumbly, not yet understanding what had happened to them, and the dawn shivered across wreckage that had been their homes.
Harald camped outside the town and watched it burn. His men deserved a rest ere they wended homeward. There was not much need for care. Hogs and oxen were slaughtered and ale casks opened; the next evening filled with bawdy songs and rough sport, women went from hand to hand like the drinking horns and men quarreled in their cups or swore maudlin friendship. The town was an ashheap, thin smoke blowing into the sky, a few laggard flames still grazing on charred beams. Campfires twinkled up the riverbank and across the fields.
Restlessly, Harald threw a hooded cloak over his shoulders and went out alone. Clouds were dimming the world, this night was darker than the last. He prowled among his men, hardly noticed. At one spot he paused, standing beneath a shadowing tree and listening to somebody's verse:
"Hastily burned we the whole
of Heidhaby down to the groundworks;
to me that seems a mighty
man's work, that I can tell you.
Svein it will scorch that the flames
have swallowed up all the houses.
Early at dawn ere eight-song
I entered the walls of the stronghold."
Laughter followed. "Aye, Guthorm, you're no ill skald yourself. We should pass those lines around amongst t'others." It was a big-bellied, red-faced yeoman who spoke.
The young fellow nodded, pleased. "God keep good King Harald," he said. "S'long's he can lead me to the likes o' this, I'm his man."
The third warrior, a middle-aged one knotted with a lifetime's fight against grudging soil, shook his gray head doubtfully. "I mislike this hurrahing about. No good'll come of it. What if you'd been the one to lie with
"We'd not escape this easily if the Danes knew siegecraft," panted Ulf. "Were this the South, we'd be cooked in our mail like lobsters."
Around the wall came a force of townsmen, sallying from another gate. Harald had kept most of his men grouped, and now sped to meet the enemy. Shields thudded together, spears thrust provoking grunts at one end and screams at the other, swords blurred and axes belled. The sun went down and the light night of Northern summer spread across the sky, dusk blue, a scattering of pale stars, the river gleamed metallic and the noise of war lost itself under a tall cool stillness. Somewhere a nightingale was singing.
The heavy river gate went down, and Harald drew his lines back to enter it. Townsmen were now at front and rear, hammering out their rage against Norse shields. "Fire arrows!" bawled Harald. "Set the damned town on fire!"
Like shooting stars, the blazing shafts arced from the harbor and onto the roofs. A little flame ran up in the thatch. It was a very small devil, newly hatched from hell, and sputtered and smoked and almost went out in the dew. Then it gained strength, stood up and looked around. Elsewhere its brothers were raising red-and-yellow flags. The flame hissed, nuzzled into the thatch and ate hungrily, and ran to meet its fellows. They formed a host and lifted their heads and roared!
Dismayed, the Heidhaby men broke from the battle. Some fled into the fields and others toward their homes. The Norse hallooed and rushed after. Now the fires were high around them, bellowing against a wan sky, a wave of heat smote men's faces and the crumbling buildings glowed white-hot. A wall went down, crash and boom. Sparks burst heavenward. A woman stumbled away, one baby shrieking in her arms and another clinging to her skirts. An old man stood before his burning house, cursing, shaking his fists at gleeful enemy faces; oh, were he young once more to split their skulls!
Looting a town where flame ran wild was risky work. Some of the Norse died with their arms full of cloth and gold when a roof fell on them. Most of the townsfolk used the chance to escape, though a number were captured and bound and led to the ships. They went dry-eyed, dumbly, not yet understanding what had happened to them, and the dawn shivered across wreckage that had been their homes.
Harald camped outside the town and watched it burn. His men deserved a rest ere they wended homeward. There was not much need for care. Hogs and oxen were slaughtered and ale casks opened; the next evening filled with bawdy songs and rough sport, women went from hand to hand like the drinking horns and men quarreled in their cups or swore maudlin friendship. The town was an ashheap, thin smoke blowing into the sky, a few laggard flames still grazing on charred beams. Campfires twinkled up the riverbank and across the fields.
Restlessly, Harald threw a hooded cloak over his shoulders and went out alone. Clouds were dimming the world, this night was darker than the last. He prowled among his men, hardly noticed. At one spot he paused, standing beneath a shadowing tree and listening to somebody's verse:
"Hastily burned we the whole
of Heidhaby down to the groundworks;
to me that seems a mighty
man's work, that I can tell you.
Svein it will scorch that the flames
have swallowed up all the houses.
Early at dawn ere eight-song
I entered the walls of the stronghold."
Laughter followed. "Aye, Guthorm, you're no ill skald yourself. We should pass those lines around amongst t'others." It was a big-bellied, red-faced yeoman who spoke.
The young fellow nodded, pleased. "God keep good King Harald," he said. "S'long's he can lead me to the likes o' this, I'm his man."
The third warrior, a middle-aged one knotted with a lifetime's fight against grudging soil, shook his gray head doubtfully. "I mislike this hurrahing about. No good'll come of it. What if you'd been the one to lie with
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