status, and was too nervous to ask him directly, so I translated the question to Halldor, who had joined us. But it was Harald himself who replied.
'Tell him that my country was ruled by my half-brother until he was killed in battle by his enemies and that I am the rightful heir.'
Harald, I thought to myself, had a very clear idea of his own worth. I translated his statement and the official wrote it down carefully. He was clearly feeling more comfortable now that he could reduce everything to the written word.
'I will need an exact roster of the people in his company -their names, ages, rank and places of origin. Also a full inventory of any goods they are carrying: type, size and description of their weapons; number and condition of the sea craft they have; whether there has been any sickness during the journey from Kiev . . .'
I sensed that Harald, beside me, was losing patience.
'Making lists, are they?' he interrupted.
'Yes, my lord. They have to report back to their office with a full description of your war band and all its equipment.'
'Excellent,' he said. 'Tell them to make a second copy for me. It could be useful for my quartermasters.' Then he turned on his heel and strode away.
Fortunately one of the Rus guides who had brought Harald and his men downriver from Kiev spoke adequate Greek and volunteered to relieve me of the chore of translating as the bureaucrats from the dromos patiently went about their task. I took the chance to draw Halldor to one side and ask him about Harald.
'What's this about him being the rightful heir to the throne of Norway?' I asked. 'And if he is the rightful heir, why has he been spending time at the court of King Jaroslav in Kiev?'
'He had to flee Norway when his half-brother was defeated and killed in battle while trying to regain the throne. He found refuge with King Jaroslav, as did many other Norwegians who backed the wrong side in the civil war. He spent three years in Kiev as a military commander and was so outstanding that he asked the king if he could marry his daughter Elizabeth.'
It seemed that there was no limit to the self-confidence of Harald Sigurdsson.
'So what was the king's answer?'
'He didn't need to say anything. The Princess Elizabeth told Harald to come back when he had riches and renown, and as Harald is not one to let the grass grow under his feet, he retorted that he would win his fortune in the service of the Basileus. Anyone who wanted to join him could do so if they were good warriors and swore allegiance to him. Then he left Kiev with his war band.'
'Well, what about you? Was Harald's boast enough to make you join up?'
'It's just as I said, Thorgils. I want to be rich. If there's anyone on this earth who's going to win plunder, it's Harald Sigurdsson. He's ambitious, he's energetic, and, above all, he's got battle luck.'
There was one more question which I had to ask, and I dreaded the reply.
'Is Harald a follower of the White Christ,' I asked, 'or does he follow the Old Ways?'
'That's the odd thing,' replied Halldor. 'You would have thought Harald would be as Christian as his half-brother King Olaf, whom many are now calling "St Olaf". Yet, I've never seen Harald go out of his way to attend a church service or say a prayer to Christ. He serves just one God — himself. He knows exactly what he wants: to win the throne of Norway, and he will follow any God or belief that will help him achieve his ambition.'
It was that statement which, in due course, convinced me to throw in my lot with Harald Sigurdsson. Later I was to join him, not for riches, but because I believed that I had finally met the one man capable of restoring the fortunes of the Old Ways. If I could help Harald to gain his throne and show that Odinn and the Old Gods had favoured him, then he might return his kingdom to the Elder Faith. My scheme was refined and shaped in my mind over the weeks and months to come, but it began on the day that Halldor Snorrason told me of
'Tell him that my country was ruled by my half-brother until he was killed in battle by his enemies and that I am the rightful heir.'
Harald, I thought to myself, had a very clear idea of his own worth. I translated his statement and the official wrote it down carefully. He was clearly feeling more comfortable now that he could reduce everything to the written word.
'I will need an exact roster of the people in his company -their names, ages, rank and places of origin. Also a full inventory of any goods they are carrying: type, size and description of their weapons; number and condition of the sea craft they have; whether there has been any sickness during the journey from Kiev . . .'
I sensed that Harald, beside me, was losing patience.
'Making lists, are they?' he interrupted.
'Yes, my lord. They have to report back to their office with a full description of your war band and all its equipment.'
'Excellent,' he said. 'Tell them to make a second copy for me. It could be useful for my quartermasters.' Then he turned on his heel and strode away.
Fortunately one of the Rus guides who had brought Harald and his men downriver from Kiev spoke adequate Greek and volunteered to relieve me of the chore of translating as the bureaucrats from the dromos patiently went about their task. I took the chance to draw Halldor to one side and ask him about Harald.
'What's this about him being the rightful heir to the throne of Norway?' I asked. 'And if he is the rightful heir, why has he been spending time at the court of King Jaroslav in Kiev?'
'He had to flee Norway when his half-brother was defeated and killed in battle while trying to regain the throne. He found refuge with King Jaroslav, as did many other Norwegians who backed the wrong side in the civil war. He spent three years in Kiev as a military commander and was so outstanding that he asked the king if he could marry his daughter Elizabeth.'
It seemed that there was no limit to the self-confidence of Harald Sigurdsson.
'So what was the king's answer?'
'He didn't need to say anything. The Princess Elizabeth told Harald to come back when he had riches and renown, and as Harald is not one to let the grass grow under his feet, he retorted that he would win his fortune in the service of the Basileus. Anyone who wanted to join him could do so if they were good warriors and swore allegiance to him. Then he left Kiev with his war band.'
'Well, what about you? Was Harald's boast enough to make you join up?'
'It's just as I said, Thorgils. I want to be rich. If there's anyone on this earth who's going to win plunder, it's Harald Sigurdsson. He's ambitious, he's energetic, and, above all, he's got battle luck.'
There was one more question which I had to ask, and I dreaded the reply.
'Is Harald a follower of the White Christ,' I asked, 'or does he follow the Old Ways?'
'That's the odd thing,' replied Halldor. 'You would have thought Harald would be as Christian as his half-brother King Olaf, whom many are now calling "St Olaf". Yet, I've never seen Harald go out of his way to attend a church service or say a prayer to Christ. He serves just one God — himself. He knows exactly what he wants: to win the throne of Norway, and he will follow any God or belief that will help him achieve his ambition.'
It was that statement which, in due course, convinced me to throw in my lot with Harald Sigurdsson. Later I was to join him, not for riches, but because I believed that I had finally met the one man capable of restoring the fortunes of the Old Ways. If I could help Harald to gain his throne and show that Odinn and the Old Gods had favoured him, then he might return his kingdom to the Elder Faith. My scheme was refined and shaped in my mind over the weeks and months to come, but it began on the day that Halldor Snorrason told me of
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