LEGEND of the LAST VIKINGS - Taklamakan E-Book

John Halsted

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

A VIKING EPIC!
Finalist – ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Award

Action, Adventure and Romance from Norway, across the Steppe and along the Silk Route into China’s notorious Taklamakan desert! Experience friendship, dignity, honour, love, betrayal and greed against the backdrop of a hostile environment which gives no quarter – just what one expects from a Viking.

As the Viking age is brought to an end in 1066 with ignominious defeat at the battle of Stamford Bridge, a rag-tag group of Vikings conclude the quiet life is not for them and they decide to go-a-Viking one last time.

They retrace a journey of their youth across the European Steppe and down the mighty Dniepr River to Byzantium. However a chance discovery in a Kiev library leads them to venture even further afield - to Astrakhan, across the Caspian sea, up the mighty Oxus river, through Parthia and Bactria and along the ancient Silk Route into Asia and Tian Xia (China).

Engaged in a battle not of their choosing, they inflict fatalities on the sinister and evil Black Scorpions who want to exact their revenge. Pursued, they flee by night across the Roof of the World and meet the remnants of the "lost" European tribe of Asia, the Hepthalites, who offer them protection in their city, hidden in the Tien Shan - the Celestial Mountains. A place where romance is kindled and love unexpectedly blossoms.

During their winter sojourn in the Hidden City they gather more clues, and in the spring continue with their quest, on into the Taklamakan desert. The desert so called by locals because those who venture in seldom venture out.  More danger and peril lies in wait for this rag-tag Viking crew as they travel along the Silk Route - the world's first super-highway.

At the eastern end of their journey they meet the Lang Ren, the Wolf people of Lou Lan, outcasts thieves and criminals living in an abandoned city in the desert. A city without water. A city about to die. A city in which the final clue to their quest is uncovered.

What fate awaits this rejected element of Asian society? Can this motley crew intercede on their behalf? Will the fundamental cultural differences between the Vikings, Jews and Moslems in the group cause them to self destruct, or will the adversities they face cause them to overcome these differences and become a unified fighting unit? - with historical companion, place name lexicon, character descriptions
and maps.

Leseprobe

Legend of the Last Vikings

-

Taklamakan

By

John Halsted

Legend of the Last Vikings

Copyright © 2006 John Halsted

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever,

electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including

photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis,

or any other information storage and retrieval system) without the

prior written permission of the publisher or author.

Published in England by Abela Publishing Ltd.

Sandhurst, Berkshire, England

Email: [email protected]

Website: www.abelapublishing.com

ISBN 13: 978-1-907256-00-4

First Edition, 2006

First Reprint, 2010

Second Reprint, 2017

This book is dedicated to my wife and children

who “lost” me to my research for two years.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In the main, the British Library and British Museum

and to all those academic staff at universities and

institutions around the world who took the time

to reply to my unsolicited emails.

Prologue

1043AD

The rumble could be heard and felt long before it arrived. In the room everyone braced themselves as it rolled towards them. Then it struck. The building rocked and shook and centuries-old dust fell in a light rain from the roof. Outside roof tiles could be heard crashing to the ground.

“Ying, I fear this may be the last we can withstand. Already two of our four wells are dry and the other two are almost dry too.”

“Before you admit defeat, tomorrow we must find out what has happened to the river.”

Raising his voice over the noise, his companion shouted, “Yes, Ying, but the aqueduct bringing our water collapsed yesterday as well!”

Then as soon as it had started, the rumbling and shaking stopped. His voice sounded unnatural in his ears as he said, “It can be repaired.”

“Yes, it can. But how long can we go on like this? All we seem to be doing is clearing sand out of the canal and repairing aqueducts. Already a good number of the people have left.”

“I know. But when it’s all over they will come back. They always do.”

“They won’t come back until the river does, and it left ages ago.”

The two men rose and dusted themselves off and walked outside to see many others doing the same. An elderly woman lay in the street under a pile of slate tiles. A young girl stood over her wailing.

“Who is it?”

“I think it is Grandmother Chen.”

“I am sorry. She was one of our most reliable citizens.”

The two standing next to each other made for an odd pairing. One was short with straight black hair and a droopy moustache. The other had long, lean limbs and towered over his companion. Unlike his companion he was clean shaven and his blonde hair flowed down to his shoulders. They walked through the town to the outskirts and climbed a sand dune. The once thick green forest was showing signs of death. Instead of its former lush green, the undergrowth was now tinged with yellow and brown. A rim of chocolate-coloured silt ringed the lake, which had receded so far that the pier now stood orphaned in the fast-drying mud. Beyond that lay the ever present, ever creeping desert.

Wistfully the blonde one said “I could cry when I see it thus.”

“I know.”

“My Shambhala—being slowly reduced to a pile of mud and dust.”

“From ashes to ashes… At least you were here when it was in its prime.”

“Don’t you start that Christian stuff with me, I get enough from my wife, thank you.”

Quickly changing the subject, he said, “You know it would have been better if it had died suddenly and quickly, rather than this slow, painful strangulation.”

After standing and considering their own thoughts for a moment or two longer, the two unlikely companions walked down the dune, back towards the town.

As they approached the town gate a woman waved and started towards them. Her hair, also shoulder length, was raven black and curly. Unlike the women of the town her skin was fair and, like her lover, her limbs were long and straight. Smiling and holding the hands of two fair-skinned children, she walked towards the two men.

Another rumble sounded in the distance. Its approach was marked by the fleeing of dogs and cats, and by birds taking to the air. People could be seen running for cover. One of the gate towers began to gyrate uncontrollably and large sandstone blocks, loosened by previous earthquakes, began to fall. The two children frightened by the earthquake froze and began crying. The woman stopped to comfort them.

Instinctively the two men began to run towards the woman and children, the tall blonde man outrunning his smaller companion. Before he could get to the woman, a falling block struck her neck and she dropped to the earth, at one with the block. While masonry rained down around them, the two children began screaming for their mother, who was now lying under a square-cut block of yellow sandstone.

As he sprinted towards the children, the tall blonde man screamed in a voice not often heard this side of the grave. He reached his children just as the capstone of the gate arch gave way and the whole structure tumbled inwards, crushing the man and his children. In a cruel twist of fate the very city he had fought long and hard to keep alive took his life and all that was dear to him. The short man arrived just seconds after the collapse, saved, ironically, by his short legs.

When the rumbling and shaking had ceased and the dust had settled, survivors began emerging from their safe hiding places in ones and twos. This time they looked not to the tall blonde man for leadership, but to him. He stood, silently staring at the pile of rubble while people gathered around. Eventually he said, “Now it is over. But first we dig them out and we prepare them for burial.”

Someone asked, “Where are they to be buried?”

A puzzled look crossed his face, then he said, “In the crypt of the elders. Where else? Heaven only knows he fought long and hard enough to keep us and this city alive.”

A voice from the crowd asked, “And then what?”

He stood silently for a while contemplating the question. The crowd stood and waited.

“And then we leave. Lou Lan is dead. There is not enough water to sustain us. While we have the strength and wherewithal, we will walk out of here.”

1030 AD - 1066 AD

Standing night watch on an open ship in the middle of the North Sea is reason enough for anyone to take stock of their life; their past, their present, and above all, their future. But after the cataclysmic events of the past few days, I, of all people, had more than enough reason to consider my future.

My name is Ulf Uspakson, a grandson of Usvifer Spake. The story I am about to tell has unfolded over the past thirty-five years or so, with each event having an influence on the next.

In 1030 AD I had fled Scandinavia with my lifelong friends; the king’s brother Harald Sigurdsson and Haldor, a son of the gode Snorre. The Norwegian army had been defeated in a fight for the crown of all Scandinavia at Stiklestad. Harald was brother to King Olaf Sigurdsson, who was later to become St Olaf. Harald Sigurdsson later became known as ‘Hardraada’, or ‘Harald the Ruthless’.

It had all started in 1030—or was it 1029—when King Olaf of Norway called for the army to be assembled. Although Harald was only fourteen, his physique was already impressive, and no one could keep him from joining up. If they’d tried we would have probably stowed away and joined anyway, in secret. With reluctance Olaf decided that it was better to have him along where he could be watched and protected; the deal was that Haldor and I would come along too.

It had all come apart at Stiklestad when my king was killed in battle. His dying request was to keep Harald from being captured and executed, which would end the line of succession. With the battle having been lost, Ragnvald Brusason quickly assembled a crew and I, together with Harald and Haldor, fled eastwards using the back paths, eventually joining a remnant of our army in Svithjod. Who knew where the others fled to, or if they indeed survived?

Being the remarkable man that he was, the wounded Harald even composed a poem of his escape while wounded. It went thus:

My wounds were bleeding as I rode;

And down below the bondes strode,

Killing the wounded with the sword,

The followers of their rightful lord.

From wood to wood I crept along,

Unnoticed by the bonde-throng;

`Who knows,' I thought, `a day may come

My name will yet be great at home.’

As winter was now upon us we were forced to remain at Svithjod until the spring. This was as good a reason as any, as Harald was so badly wounded I don’t believe he would have survived any more travel.

During the winter we gradually acquired ships. Repairing those we could, we worked and reworked them until they were ship-shape.

When the spring came, while a lot stronger, Harald was not yet back to his usual self. However we departed for Novgorod, where we sought and were given the protection of Prince Jarisleif, more commonly known as Yaroslav the Wise, who coincidentally was also Harald’s father’s half-brother.

With better medical care and long hours of sunshine, it wasn’t long before Harald had recovered from his wounds and had started taking an active interest in “things military”. His strength returned and he also began taking an active interest in the local female population.

By the end of that summer, Harald had distinguished himself in a number of skirmishes. He had grown to be a trusted captain in Yaroslav’s army, and he had yet to have his twentieth birthday. Within another year Yaroslav had appointed Harald and Ragnvald Brusason to be heads of his Land Forces.

It was impossible to keep from Harald’s ears the stories about Miklagaard and the merchants’ fables of its gold, ready for plundering. After all, Novgorod was a major stopping point for Viking merchants travelling between northern Viking kingdoms and Miklagaard. It was also here that we first came across the brown, smooth-skinned Arabs, along with their impeccable manners and their incredible attention to personal hygiene.

Harald was itching to be “off a Viking” to Miklagaard. Between Prince Yaroslav, Ragnvald and myself, we managed to dampen his sense of adventure for a while longer by improving his education in the classroom, as well as turning a blind eye to his escapades with the local female populace.

I also improved my education by learning to read and write my native Runic, as well as Greek and the Roman language, Latin, and their strange texts. If my parents were alive now, I often wonder what they would say about me being able to read and write, and not in one, but three languages! On one hand my mother would state, “What’s the use of reading?” and on the other she would nudge her friends at the women’s gatherings, and proudly say, “He can read and write Norse, Greek and Latin!”

It was during those long winter days and nights that I became a slave to the beautifully illuminated manuscripts and documents in the great library in Yaroslav’s palace. The documents were brought to life by magnificently illustrated texts and paintings—never before had I seen such beauty. Every day, from before sunrise, I could be found in the library poring over manuscripts. Harald and Haldor had to drag me out to practise my riding and swordsmanship.

Olaf, the court librarian, was at first suspicious of me, but answered my questions as best and politely as he could, considering he was under royal command to assist. He later became very helpful when he realised that he was in fact acting as my unofficial tutor. I soon found myself gravitating towards the historical documents and read through the accounts of Yaroslav’s ancestors and how the Rus had come to be.

I was also becoming Harald’s personal Scald. Because of our hasty flight, Harald did not have the luxury of the court Scald and someone would have to record the forthcoming events in the life of this bright and rising star.

During these library sessions I came across the account of Igor’s ill-fated raid on the Kaspian port of Baku in 911 and of the 943 Volga Viking raid on Bredaa, the ancient Arran capital near Baku. Little did I know that Baku was to take a significant role in my future.

There was also mention of various other, usually unsuccessful, raids by the Volga Vikings into the Kaspian area in the late 900s.

I also read of Ibn Khordo Adbeh’s accounts of Vikings travelling to Hind, Sind and Tianxia. What and where were these places? Olaf showed me the maps with their strange names and even stranger symbols, ranges of mountains and rivers that ran for thousands of miles across vast and open grassy plains and of deserts that stretched even further.

Eventually came the day when we departed for Miklagaard. We couldn’t keep Harald at bay anymore. Over the intervening two years, remnants of our once proud army had filtered through to Novgorod in ones and twos and our ranks had slowly swollen so that we were almost a full regiment in Yaroslav’s army. Yaroslav was soon feeding an army of thousands. It was he who eventually suggested that we embark on our journey south and east, and even provided the ships and provisions. In retrospect I think he was only too keen to get such a large force focussed on objectives other than on local matters—like maybe his throne, although that wouldn’t have happened. After all, he was Harald’s family and we had too much respect and admiration for him, especially after what he had done for us. We would have gladly laid down our lives for him.

Our adventures and service to the Royal Court at Miklagaard, where we became leaders of the Varangian Horde, are well documented and, allegedly, legendary. During our thirteen years we all amassed large individual fortunes, taken mainly from pirates, Harald more so than the rest of us. And why not? After all, he was our leader, and was considered by many of us to be “king in waiting”. We had taken on and conquered forces from Arabia in the east, North Africa in the south and Italy to the Pillars of Hercules in the west. In the main we had ruled the Mediterranean in the name of Byzantium.

All the while, we had been sending our share of the booty we had earned back to Yaroslav for safekeeping. In the meantime Harald had risen to hold the third highest position in the Byzantine Empire.

He was refused the hand of Princess Mary, and was imprisoned for requesting it. It was then obvious that our time in Miklagaard was over; Harald had played his hand. So, in 1045AD we returned to our beloved Norway, paying tribute to Yaroslav on our return. Harald insisted on repaying Yaroslav, with interest, for the cost of the ships and provisions he had provided all those years before. Of course Yaroslav refused, so Harald insisted that the money be used to provide for the poor and orphans. So much treasure was deposited in Yaroslav’s treasury that the poor and downtrodden of Kyiv could have lived like royalty for many a year.

Yaroslav, as wise as ever, cemented his link with Harald by giving the hand of his daughter Ellisif in marriage. He had already cemented ties with France and Hungary in a similar fashion.

It was my reacquainting with Olaf the Librarian that made me aware of the detailed journey of Ingvar Vittfarne, a Svea Scandinavian of royal blood. His 1041 journey record describes how he fought off dragons and serpents on his voyage down the Volga and across the Kaspian Sea, travelling to the east in an attempt to reach Samarkand, in Sarkland, and reopen trade links. It was thought that he died there, as he did not return from his last journey. It also mentioned his intention to travel on to the fabled Tavastaland. I wondered if he was still travelling and searching or if he had indeed gone on to Valhalla. What had he discovered on his journey? What sights had he seen that possibly no European had ever before seen?

Word had gone ahead from Aldeigjuborg. The Swedish King Olaf, uncle to Ellisif, had sent his nephew, Svein Ulfson, to invite Harald to sup with him in Svithjod. Harald and Svein entered into a pact of friendship and because of this pact, Svein accompanied Harald on his last leg to Norway. On the way we laid waste to Seeland and Feyn.

King Magnus Olafsson, then King of Denmark and Norway, heard of his uncle’s arrival and wisely offered his legendary uncle half of his kingdom, to be ruled in league with him. Perhaps the thought of six thousand battle-hardened men suddenly arriving in his capital had something to do with it. Whichever it was, it felt good and right.

However, within two years Magnus Olafsson had died and Harald was asked to be king, a role he readily accepted. He was more than prepared for it. His previous fifteen years had taught him what it was like to be homeless and kingdom-less. It had also taught him leadership in both victory and defeat; but more of the former. Within two years Harald had earned the title of Hardradi or Hadraada—‘The Ruthless One’. His experiences from 13 years “a-Viking” in the Mediterranean and half-running the Byzantine Empire stood him in good stead.

In the intervening years Harald waged a ceaseless war against the Swedes, trying to win that crown and make him king of all Scandinavia. I often wondered if it was it a subconscious response to Stiklestad all those years ago.

He even founded a new town in 1048, Oslo, which gave him a staging post and easier access to the Swedish mainland. Even so, Harald eventually made peace with the Swedes in 1064. For the first time in my life the knowledge that next summer there was not going to be another series of battles was a great relief.

August & September 1066 A.D.

It was one of those usual high-summer days in 1066. The court’s agenda had been confirmed the previous day, so in reality there was nothing much to look forward to. Harald was insistent that we Vikings start keeping records as the emperors did in Miklagaard, otherwise our great military and seafaring feats would be forgotten, not to mention how we Vikings had trail-blazed trading routes across the world.

I had been conducting paper-making experiments using mulched pine bark and gum, trying to replicate the soft paper that was imported to Miklagaard from Sind, but I might say, with not much success. In frustration I had stopped just after lunch and was enjoying a mug of ale. I had dismissed my apprentices for the afternoon and it seemed that they disappeared before I had let them off.

Then it all changed in an instant.

The signal horn sounded from the hill tower, and men rushed about gathering shields, swords and battle-axes, and raced out to take their positions. The town readied to defend against an attack that never came. But the news that was brought was to turn our world upside down forever. Edward the Confessor, King of England had died!

The bringer of news was Tostig, brother of Harold of Wessex. Harold had cunningly outmanoeuvred his brother Tostig, had seized power and was now the self-proclaimed King of England. It was obvious that Tostig had fallen out with his brother when Harold had done this, and he was now asking Harald to raise an army and invade England with him. Bored with the necessary routine of court, this was something Harald was only too keen to do. But what was Tostig hoping to achieve? If Harald’s invasion succeeded, Tostig would still not be ruler. I told Harald that he would have to watch his back with this one. He smiled cunningly at me and all he said was, “I know.”

Harald claimed that his father and descendants had been promised the English throne by King Hardicanute, the last true-blood Viking king, who ruled England until 1042. So he, Harald, believed he should now be King of England. But who knows who had told him this? After all, he was a mere lad when his father was king. Maybe he had overheard something, or maybe his father or brother had told him this? It was such a long time ago and much had happened in the intervening twenty-four years.

Harald said summer was running out and that all haste must be made to assemble the army and invade England else the element of surprise would be lost. If only Tostig had been a few weeks earlier!

Tostig also told us that Duke William of Normandy was claiming the title. While the northern Frenchmen did have Viking ancestry, they were so intermarried with the local populace that they were, at the very best, only half Viking, if not a quarter or even an eighth. This claim was summarily dismissed by a confident Harald.

In early September some 300 ships set sail for England. Along the way we were reinforced by our Scottish brethren. On landfall we sacked Scarborough, and a few days later we defeated Morcar's army at Gate Fulford. Four days later we took York.

Unbeknown to us, on 25th September Harold's army arrived in Yorkshire after a forced march from the south. Buoyed by our victories and brimming with confidence, he took us by surprise at a place called Stamford Bridge.

It was a hot day and we had just taken off our byrnies ready to make camp for the night. Harold and his English troops waited patiently in the hot afternoon sun for this moment, then swooped in and devastated us. Our losses were considerable. Even worse, Harald and Tostig were killed, Harald with an arrow through the throat. This all seemed a little too familiar to me. Yet again I had been spared. Why? I could understand this happening once, but a second time? What plans did Odin have for me?

Of the three-hundred ships we had arrived in, Harold was gracious enough to let twenty-four return home. As the most senior remaining invader, Harold let me return to Norway as an emissary with a message that was all too clear. I had managed to persuade Olaf, Harald’s son, to maintain a low profile and put myself forward as the most senior Viking. Had Harold uncovered our ploy, he may have kept Olaf as ransom or maybe even worse. However, I assembled our remainders and we headed the reduced fleet out into the North Sea.

During mid-morning on the second day at sea, Bijana Smedjrute’s ship approached and he hailed me. Some crew had elected him as spokesman. He said they had been talking amongst themselves and did not want to return to Norway and to lives of so-called normality.

Was this the real reason? I asked myself. Did they really yearn for more adventure or was it that they did not want to return in disgrace after leaving with so many boasts of victory? I clearly had much to think about and told them I would give them my answer in the morning, knowing full-well that I did not have the power nor the inclination to stop them.

After the events of the past few days, I was not able to sleep and was awake most of the night. In the early hours and half-light of morning, I saw Bijana stand up in the bow of his ship. I knew he could see me, as he tentatively raised a hand and waved a farewell. I half raised my hand in return, knowing what was about to happen, and powerless to stop him. His ship, and a few others, then turned towards the Pole Star and headed north. I would not know the exact numbers until we took roll call after sunrise.

In considering their request I also realised that I too had a yearning for the old days, to “go-a-Viking”. Well, more adventure-seeking than marauding. When thinking more about it, I really did not have a life to go back to. I had never married. My true love had died a lifetime ago while I was on my first English raid. We had intended to marry on my return. Since then most women who showed interest gave up when they realised that they were fighting a losing battle with a ghost.

Since then my marriage had been my duty to my king. In theory I now had no ties to Norway. Any ties and loyalties I had, had died at Stamford Bridge.

So, in the middle of the North Sea, in the half-light of morning, my future path crystallised before me in an instant. It was as if the sun had suddenly started shining brilliantly. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

Chapter 1

NIDAROS

On the middle of the fourth day we arrived back in Nidaros. The populace lined the shore in a silent vigil as our eighteen boats rowed slowly into the harbour.

As soon as we had beached, I wearily climbed down from the prow of my vessel. The crowd, still silent and staring, parted as I strode up the beach. Haldor followed directly behind me.

There, standing stoically at the door of her long house, was Queen Ellisif with Magnus, the eldest of Harald’s sons, a supporting arm around his mother’s shoulders. Ellisif stood tall, regal and proud, knowing what was about to come. But I knew that on the inside she was crying, if not wailing, for the loss of her beloved husband.

The silent crowd followed, with only the sound of their footsteps crunching on the beach. To stop her seeing the tears in my eyes I went down on my knee and, keeping my head bowed, “My lady I bring…” I said, speaking more to the ground than to her, my voice breaking.

She stopped me before I could say anything further and bade me stand. “Ulf, we have known each other for far too long, and now is not the time for such formality. Tell me—no—tell us what happened,” she said, raising her voice and including the gathered crowd with a sweep of her hand.

I recounted the events of our journey, skipping the unimportant details. Helped by Haldor, I also listed the dead. It was only at this point that the wailing started. Some of the older folk interjected with questions, which I answered as best I could.

When finished she immediately addressed her son, but it was more intended for the gathered crowd to hear. “Magnus, you realise that this now makes you king?”

“I do,” he replied woodenly. The realisation that his beloved father wouldn’t be returning was only too evident on his face.

“Send word for the Althing to gather in three days,” Ellisif said to no one in particular, but knowing that the command would be out within the hour. This would ensure that no one would disturb her during the night with questions she could not answer.

“Ulf, Haldor, dine with us tonight, please?” The pleading and pain in her eyes were clear.

Haldor and I then walked slowly and wearily to our lodgings. We had not spoken much on the voyage back. Commanding separate ships made private conversation difficult.

All he said to me was, “For once I am glad that you’re older than me.” I knew exactly what he meant.

On returning to Ellisif’s house later that evening, washed and in clean clothing, we were led straight to the long table. Magnus and Olaf joined us. No sooner had we sat down than soup and bread were put in front of us.

Ellisif said, “Ulf, I know you only too well. I know you will not have eaten for at least two days. So, eat first and then we will talk.” She held up her hand, not allowing any objections. We ate slowly.

When I refused the offer of seconds, Cook shook her head in disbelief.

“So. What now?” asked Ellisif.

“My lady, you could return to Novgorod or Kyiv, to your nephew. He would give you shelter,” I suggested.

“No,” she said. “Norway is now my home, my country and my duty. I must stay and support Magnus. Besides, Norway needs leadership now more than ever.”

Only a Royal Princess and Queen could have answered thus.

She raised a hand to her throat and asked abruptly, “Did he die quickly?”

Now the wife and lover.

“Yes,” I lied. In truth it had taken Harald a full half hour to bleed slowly to death, while Haldor and I tried to get him off the battlefield. But there was nowhere to run to. The English were everywhere.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at me knowingly. “It is good to know that he did not suffer. Did he have any dying command?”

“No, my lady. It was too quick,” I replied, continuing the lie. Haldor glanced at me from under his eyelids, as he sipped a spoonful of soup. I’m sure the look wasn’t missed by Ellisif, either.

“The body?”

“King Harold would not allow us to bring it back.”

“I see.”

“What will you do now?” she asked.

“I think I may do more study of the East in the new library in Kyiv,” I said.

“You won’t stay and help me, us?”

“I think it may be considered bad luck if I do. After all, I was at Stiklestad with Harald and now at Stamford Bridge. Many may consider the omens to be bad, which may have an effect on how they view the reign of the new king.”

“I see. But you had thirteen years of success with Harald in Byzantium.”

“Indeed. But that was Byzantium, this is Norway. Many will say that in Norway I bring bad luck, but that in Byzantium I bring good luck. You know how they are. So it will be better that I go.”

“And what of you, Haldor?”

“I’m with Ulf, my Lady”.

“Ah, Haldor. Always a man of few words.”

“Yes, but consider—we will be seen as part of ‘The Hard One’s’ reign, which was not liked by the chieftains and the people. Having us around may raise suspicions that you intend for Magnus to rule in the same way.”

“I see. Your points are quite valid. A passing of the old… Are your minds made up? Is there any way I can change them?”

“Yes and no, my lady. But we will stay for the Althing and the proclamation of the new king,” I offered.

“Oh. And why?”

“Ah, to ensure that no mischief is practised. We would hate to see the late king’s lineage disappear after all we’ve been through with him.”

“Thank you. I, we, would be most grateful,” she said, giving a half smile.

After finishing our tankards of ale, we bade Ellisif and the princes goodnight and returned to our lodgings.

“And just what are you really intending to do in Kyiv, Ulf?” asked Haldor on the way back.

I told him of my North Sea revelation and the Legend of Ingvar the lost Viking.

“First off, I never heard of a lost Viking. But if’n he is, I guess we had better go and find him,” he said firmly. It was good to have a focus, something to look forward to.

“We’ll talk more about this in the morning.”

“No, I fear it will not be for a few days yet.”

“Oh. And why so?”

“Because, my friend, we have an Althing to oversee. And with a number of the elders now dead we will have to ensure that any ideas of mini-kingdom building are put to bed rather quickly.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“See you in the morning then.”

And with that we entered our own houses, with sleep not far behind.

Chapter 2

A NEW BEGINNING

The Althing was assembled by mid-morning on the third day as requested.

Ellisif was her regal self in a full-length blue gown of shimmering silk, brought from Miklagaard by Harald. The silk was spun and woven in Sind and transported thousands of miles over the trade routes, passing hands who knows how many times, until it reached Byzantium. And now here it was, even further west, adorning the Queen of Norway.

On seeing her glide in, pan-faced with her back as straight as a rod, the throng stilled. Ellisif addressed the Althing and recounted the events leading up to Stamford Bridge and the tragic results thereof. Then the first order of business was for the remaining elders to pay their respects to Ellisif on the death of Harald. This went on for hours, with each elder trying to outdo the former with praise of Harald and his feats. At times this brought forth peals of laughter at others’ silent solemnity as they remembered Harald, gracious to his friends, ruthless to his enemies.

The first order of business after lunch was the succession. The hush quietened, she then proposed Magnus be the next king, reciting his lineage and claim of birthright. She was regal and eloquent in her delivery, so much so that there was mute acceptance and no one challenged her or Magnus. Finally Ellisif addressed the gathering and stated that Haldor and I would be leaving for Kyiv, and gave our reasons for going. This raised more than a murmur but what was done was done.

On reflection I have to believe that there was an inner recognition and realisation that this was a time for change and for moving on. Because there were no objections to Magnus being appointed king, all present then hailed the new king and paid him homage. Once again, each elder was trying to outdo the former with speeches and orations that really revealed the hopes of the nation; the desire for peace and prosperity. I had to ponder; was the age of the Viking coming to an end?

All through this Magnus looked rather overwhelmed and at times bored. Two-and-half hours later it was over and a massive feast was laid on. This time I did not refuse Cook’s offers of seconds, which brought a smile to her face. The feast lasted two days.

Word was out about my intentions to go east of Kyiv and search for Ingvar Vittfarne in Sarkland. Over the next few days more than a handful of men approached Haldor and me, asking if they could join us. Some we turned down, others we gladly accepted.

With October looming we had to get a move on and prepare for our voyage. Thankfully the greatest risk would be the first and most northerly portion of our journey. If we could make Novgorod before the first snowfalls, the rivers should be open long enough for us to make Kyiv. With minimal preparation necessary for the boats, we prepared, loaded and stacked supplies at breakneck speed. It was good to focus on something positive. We had our two knarrs ready within a week. We would not be taking longboats, as most of our voyage would be on rivers and we required vessels with a shallow draft. We re-jigged two four-oar knarrs to be eight-oared boats. We would not be trading, so the extra room was turned into rowing stations.

Then on an October morning in 1066 I stood on the shore of Nidaros again. I had a feeling in my gut that I would never again see Norway and this gathering of friends. I think they were thinking the same. Cook, as always, pressed a loaf of bread on me, but this time uncharacteristically gave me a hug as well, almost breaking my back. Despite her size, that woman was strong!

Then if that was not enough, Ellisif hugged me so tight she almost took my wind away. With tears in her eyes, she said, “Ulf, for so long you have been the foundation that Harald stood on and the anchor that kept him from doing foolish things. You have no idea how much you have meant to Harald and me, and to us as a family”.

This revelation took me completely by surprise. I must have had a look of bewilderment on my face. I began to stutter, lost for words. She then said, “Yes, you were always there for us, always when we needed someone to talk a matter over with, you were there. I know you never thought of it in this way, but we know why you never married and you will never know how high we held you in this regard, for sacrificing so much for your King and country.”

“My lady, I….”

“No more ‘my lady’, Ulf. I am now Ellisif again. My son is King and his wife is Queen. I shall now take the role that you filled for so long.”

Magnus, whom I had bounced on my knee, now my King, approached and gave us his blessing. I could see that like me, he was holding back the tears. I said to him, “Keep that humility and you will make a great king. Remember you will have to be leader and servant at the same time. If you can do this, you will succeed.”

We gave each other a hug and slapped backs. Then with that I turned and climbed aboard my ship and we were pushed off into the North Sea and steered for the Skagerrak and the Öresund.

Chapter 3

THE JOURNEY BACK

Our first stopover was in Denmark. Thereafter we made our way through the Öresund, turning North into the Ostersjoen, heading for the Gulf of Vinland.

While the knarrs were built for sea and river travel, they were a lot slower than the longboats I was used to travelling and raiding in. Haldor made comment on this as well.

“Ulf, I fear that we are going too slow and may have to winter over in Holmgard. That is if we make Holmgard before winter sets in.”

“Don’t be so defeatist, Haldor. I have worked out that it may take us two days longer than usual.”

“Ah—but just what is usual, considering that this is the first time we have travelled in knarrs and it is only the second time we have travelled this route in this direction?”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, what the knarrs lack in speed they make up for in manoeuvrability. This feature will help make up time on the rivers, so all should be equal by the time we get to Kyiv.”

“Oh, Master, I bow to your superior intellect,” he said mockingly. The crews laughed heartily for the first time since leaving Nidaros. Someone started humming one of our old rowing songs, and soon everyone was in full voice. This was more like it. We would need this spirit for the portages, which were ahead of us.

I made a point of stopping at Gripsholm, Södermanland in Svithjod. Gripsholm was allegedly the home Ingvar, and it was rumoured that stones had been erected in his honour, which also gave details of his route.

We were welcomed by a war party. Who could blame them? After all, we had been at war with Sweden for nigh on fifteen years. I jumped down onto the beach with no sword strapped to my waist.

The Karl addressed me. “I know you. You are Ulf Uspakson, chief lieutenant to Harald Hardraada, King of Norway. What do you want here? Have you now come to kill women and children?”

“I am Ulf Uspakson. King Harald is dead and I am no longer chief lieutenant to the throne of Norway. I come in peace, bearing no arms. My life is in your hands.” With that I raised my arms to show that I was unarmed.

“And what of your men? Do they bear arms?”

“If you will allow them to disembark, they will do so without any weapons.”

“We will allow them to disembark—weaponless. But first, what do you seek here?”

“I come in search of the stones erected in honour of Ingvar Vittfarne. I have made it my personal quest to seek out his resting place.”

“You? A Norwegian, seeking out the resting place of a royal Swede? Why? What do you hope to gain from this?”

“Nothing but the satisfaction of knowing where he lies.” I then recounted the story of my reading about Ingvar at Kyiv all those years ago. We were allowed to disembark.

I was shown the stones, and spent time taking detailed notes. The village scald also gave me a great deal more information, which I noted.

Late in the afternoon, my mission complete, I approached the Karl to offer my thanks and say that we would trouble him no more and would be on our way. During the afternoon he had obviously had a change of heart and invited us to dine with them and stay over.

That evening we had countless toasts to renewed friendship with our Swedish cousins and more for good luck on the journey.

In the morning we prepared to board and be on our way, with very sore heads to boot, and found we had gained four crew members, thrust upon us in the name of friendship. How could I refuse?

“Besides,” the Karl said, “we couldn’t let a Norwegian take all the honour for finding one of Sweden’s most famous royal sons!”

So we gained Filip Brandsson, the twins Knut and Justus Ormsson and Ingvar Hallsteinsson. Ingvar had been thrust upon us with the skewed logic that having someone on the journey called Ingvar, from the same village as Ingvar Vittfarne, would bring us good luck. We would see. Initially I worried that Ingvar, at just nineteen, would be the youngest crewmember. I had to remind myself that Harald was in command of a regiment at his age.

With that we cast off and sailed back into the Ostersjoen and took a northerly bearing. After reaching the Gulf of Vinland we turned east and entered the River Neva. From this point on our world was almost entirely hemmed in by forests right down to the water’s edge. Fortunately it was the end of summer and the rivers were slow flowing. We rowed into Lake Ladoga and set sail for the Volchov River. At Aldeigjuborg we stopped over for a night’s well-earned rest. Sailing and rowing the knarrs in the open sea had been hard work. Had the rivers been flowing faster we most certainly would have had our work cut out for us.

We used tried and tested Viking river navigation methods as we made our way upstream. By observing the shape of the shoreline, the shapes of waves and the presence of river grass, it was easy to see where the current was weakest, and hence our headway was somewhat eased.

A few days later we rowed into Lake Ilmen and took a bearing on Holmgard. The sudden openness of the lake after the confines of the rivers was a joy to the senses. The entire area north of Ladoga to Holmgard and beyond was forested, although there was more evidence of man’s handiwork than there had been twenty-one years ago.

Holmgard was almost entirely surrounded by swamps and the town was made almost entirely out of wood. Wooden houses and wooden churches, even wooden streets to lift the locals above the mud. Even letters had been written on bark. It was only in 1044 that the first stone building, the Detinets, was erected. Only the most powerful and richest of cities could afford stone fortifications. The following year the Church of Saint Sofia was built within the Detinets and it soon became the main cathedral of the North, due to its beautiful architecture and great size. But building with stone in Novgorod was expensive, as it had to be shipped in. This task was made harder as there was no good overland route. In summer the swamps thawed, which only left transport via water. But it is the swamps which give Novgorod its strength, for it can also only be invaded by water.

Therefore locals never saw the need to build with stone or brick, as cutting down another tree was easier than quarrying and shipping stone. It is this entirely wooden appearance that gives Novgorod its frontier town image. While the buildings remain wooden, the town gives a feeling that it is temporary, even after two hundred years. Until more brick and stone buildings are erected, and an air of permanence is established, Novgorod will always be a stopover.

We steered for Jan Ullrichsson’s place. He was standing on the dock, his right foot on a keg of ale and his hands on hips. He threw his head back, guffawed and said, “Well, I never thought I’d see the day when the great Ulf Uspakson and Haldor Snorresson would arrive at my dock in knarrs!”

I jumped to the dock and we embraced each other, slapping backs.

“Jan, it’s good to see you. I never thought you’d stay in the hospitality and goods business, especially after our adventures in the Mediterranean.”

“Ah, Ulf, like I told you then—the blood lust had gone and there comes a time a man realises that he has to settle down.”

“Aye. I know what you mean,” I replied.

Just then a very pretty young girl brought out a tray with three tankards filled with ale. She had plaited blond hair and a full breast. Her arrival brought wolf whistles from the crew.

Jan raised his voice. “Just so we get this straight now—that woman is MY DAUGHTER! Anyone who fools with her answers to me.”

“YOUR daughter?” I asked incredulously. “Jan, a businessman and now a family man as well! The world is full of surprises. You must have married soon after setting up business here.”

“Aye. A young buck with his pockets bulging with gold from Miklagaard would make a woman a fine catch. And believe me, I had them

lining up. But this tavern and the store was up for sale by a recently widowed mother with a young family. She saw me coming. Not only did she sell me the business but got me married to her daughter as well.”

“So she got you both ways, eh?”

“Yes, she did. She got my money for the tavern and store and she got it all again when I married Olga. Come, let’s go in and meet the family. Our tankards are empty.”

Jan’s wife Olga was beautiful, even in middle age and after four children.

“Now I see the real reason why you stayed,” I said. Olga blushed.

“Like I said, Ulf, there comes a time a man must settle down. It will happen to you one day as well.”

“No, Jan. If it was meant to happen, it would have happened already.”

“Says who? You’re not dead yet. Least I hope you’re not!”

Laughingly I replied, “I hope not either.”

“Well then, there’s still hope.” Our tankards drained, Jan said, “Ulf, your quartermaster is hovering. Let’s see to your supplies.”

Over our evening meal I filled Jan in on the purpose of our journey.

“Ah, I see the bloodlust has left you but the wanderlust hasn’t.”

“You could say that,” I replied. Jan had not lost his talent for being able to see what was really within a person’s heart. His insights had come in quite useful on our campaigns.

After the meal I was besieged by his sons, regaling me to tell them stories about their father’s adventures as part of the Varangian guard. I had to keep a close eye on Jan and Olga, as some stories were strictly off limits.

The following morning we cast off and headed on up the Volchov back into our hemmed-in world of forest and river. Jan, Olga and their whole family rose early to see us off. Jan had given us our supplies at cost and hadn’t charged for our accommodation and meals.

We branched into the Lovat River and at the portage point we beached the boats. The long haul began. Oh, how I hated this part of the journey! Mind you, the exercise would keep us warm.

Because this was such a well-used route, a portage station existed here on the Lovat, another on the Dvina and yet another on the Dniepr, with half-way stations at the mid-points between each. Local teams, assisted by the crew, would haul the boats to the mid-points, swap boats, and haul back to where they started from. A very sensible arrangement.

In a moment of reflection on one of the frequent rest stops during the portage, I thought how it is not until you leave a land of great natural beauty and see lands that are bleak and featureless that you can truly appreciate what you have seen. This flat open landscape with its open plains was stark and featureless and made me really appreciate the beauty of Norway’s fiords. I thought that I could never see myself hauling boats for a living—especially along the route month in and month out—but still, there were worse jobs a man could do.

The portage eventually over, we rested overnight before re-entering our river and forest world. It would be like this all the way to Kyiv, with a few small exceptions along the way. In the morning we recommenced our journey down the Dniepr towards Kyiv, but first we called in at Smolensk.

Haldor and I were ushered into the court of Valdimir II Vsevelodovich, son of Vsevelodovich I Yaroslavavich, son of the late Prince, Yaroslav the Wise of Kyiv.

I knew his father well from the time Harald, Haldor and I had spent in his grandfather’s employ in Novgorod on our first journey to Miklagaard after the fiasco at Stiklestad.

He greeted us warmly. “Welcome, Lords Ulf and Haldor. I fear you have been absent from the Kyivan courts for far too long. How is your King Harald and my Aunt Ellisif?”

Haldor and I glanced at each other; a glance that wasn’t missed by Vladimir.

“Your Highness, I fear we bring sad tidings.”

Valdimir’s left eyebrow rose. “Oh?” he said

“Your Highness, King Harald was killed in battle in England but a few weeks ago.”

“This is indeed sad news. Who is now King of Norway?”

“You cousin Magnus was proclaimed King but two weeks hence.”

“And my aunt, the Queen?”

“She is as well as can be expected. I believe that her new role as advisor to the King will keep her mind off her loss.”

“Yes, it may do. Well, it had to come sooner or later.”

“What had to, sire?”

“Harald’s death, of course. What else? Live by the sword, die by the sword. It’s a wonder it did not happen sooner. So, what will you do now?”

“We are on our way first to Kiev and then to Sarkland.”

“You’ve become traders?”

“Not quite, sire. We are on a quest to find the lost Vikings.”

“You are? Tell me, have you ever heard of a lost Viking? I certainly haven’t. No. If your Viking wanted to be found, he would have been by now. I fear you are chasing a shadow.”

“Nay, sire. His journey is well recorded. I first read of the account in your father’s library in Novgorod a long time ago. On the way here I have made detailed recordings of the stones erected in his honour in his home town in Svithjod.”

“Svithjod? It’s a wonder they let you in.”

“It was touch and go for a moment. But we patched up our differences and even have four of them along with us.”

“Ah, ever the diplomat. So, now you’ve become a varjager, eh?”

“Aye, sire.”

“Oh well, I wish you luck. Although I could do with your services here.”

“Sire, the bloodlust, like our youth, has gone.”

“So you say. It happens to all of us sooner or later. Give my regards to my brother when you get to Kyiv.”

“We most certainly will, sire.”

With that the audience was over.

At least Iziaslav and Vladimir were still on speaking terms, which meant that the Dniepr should be open and quite safe to travel.

Chapter 4

The SAVING of KYIV

Our arrival in Kyiv was not noteworthy in any way whatsoever. After all, to anyone watching, we were just another two Viking knarrs on our way south to trade, albeit late in the season. We were intercepted in mid-river by a customs boat and directed to a dock by a young official and told to make ready for inspection. The crew looked at me in amazement. Didn’t this young upstart official know who he was talking to? I gave a brief shake of my head, which was noted by the crew, who began to realise that a game was afoot.

We tied up and a senior customs official started walked down the quay towards us. He paused briefly, staring at us, and then began running, gesticulating and shouting all at once, “Boris, you fool! Don’t you know who this is? This is the great Lord Ulf Uspakson and that is the great Lord Haldor Snorresson! They should have been directed to the ROYAL dock, you fool! The Prince will have your guts for garters because of your insult to these great men.”

The young official’s face dropped and his complexion took on a deathly pale hue. He started stuttering “But, but, but….”

By this time the crew were rolling in the gunwales with laughter. I too was struggling to hold back my mirth.

“Karl, it is good to see you, old friend. Do not worry, we are not here on official business.”

“Nevertheless, My Lords, you should have sent word ahead, and we could have prepared a suitable welcome for you.”

Boris looked decidedly paler.

“No, Karl. That is all over. King Harald is dead. We are no longer officials of his court. We are here as visitors only.”

“My Lords, you could never be just visitors to Kyiv. You played a significant part in the establishment of Kyiv. The people will forever be in your debt.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Until we’re dead and buried. Then we’ll be forgotten.”

“NO, my Lords! Never. Always.”

By this time a crowd had gathered, some of them recognising us and pointing, despite it being years since we had played any part in Kyiv’s ascendancy on the central European stage.

The crowd suddenly parted and out from the throng strode Olaf, surrounded by a guard of honour; older, balder, greyer and definitely fatter, but twenty years stuck in a library can do that to a man.

“Ulf! Haldor! My friends, it is so good to see you.” There was much hugging and slapping of backs in the Slavic style. “How are you both? What moron made you moor here?”

“Oh, it was Boris over there. What are you going to do to him for making us moor here with the riff-raff of the world?” we asked mockingly.

If Boris could have shrunk to become an ant, I’m sure he would have. Olaf did not hold an extremely high or important office, but for the Prince’s personal librarian to be here on his dock, with the Royal Guard of Honour and on first name terms with these two men was simply too much for Boris to bear. Not to mention his boss calling them Lords! Boris fainted.

This raised raucous laughter all around.

“Karl,” I called, “see to Boris. It’s not his fault he does not know who we are. He couldn’t have been born when we were taming central Russia. Oh, and Karl—send him to Olaf in the morning. He’ll be studying history.”

“Yes, yes, My Lord,” stammered Karl, only too happy to have been let off the hook so lightly.

“Now, my friends,” said Olaf, “the Prince awaits you.”

“He knows we’re here—already?”

“Yes. He saw you coming.”

We looked at Olaf in amazement.

“No, no. He does not have the eyesight of an eagle, but he does have a new toy sent to him from Arabia, called a spyglass. We were having an audience on the balcony and he was testing his new Arab invention and happened to see you on the river. He monitored your progress, recognised who you were when you were closer, and sent me to, ah, request you join him for refreshments.”

With that, Haldor, Olaf and I marched off to see the Prince. It was just like old times. Only, I had to remind myself it wasn’t.

Kyiv had certainly become a city worthy of note, almost rivalling Miklagaard for its beauty and architecture. It was hard to believe that Yaroslav had taken a trading post of wood and mud huts and turned it into a place of such beauty in just twenty years.

The city consisted of two parts. The lower part, the Podil, and the upper fortified part where the Prince and his retainers and bodyguard lived. The docks were in the Podil, and we were being conducted to the Upper City.

Haldor and I recognised some of the older buildings and wanted to stop and explore. But royalty does not like being kept waiting. Compared to Kyiv, Novgorod was a hovel. I mentioned this to Olaf.

“Yes,” he said, “but it is all likely to be lost if Yaroslav’s heirs don’t sort out the line of succession.”

“I had heard about the problems, but did not realise they were that bad.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it! When is a civil war not bad? Just a warning—Prince Iziaslav is likely to ask you to take up arms with him against the pretender. Consider yourselves lucky that he saw you first. If he had heard of your arrival without seeing you first, then it is likely that you would have been locked up as spies.”

“That bad, eh? Thanks for the warning.”

On entering the royal palace, I could not help but notice the double guards at almost every entrance. This infighting must have been costing the Prince.

“Well, the Lords Ulf Uspakson and Haldor Snorresson. Why did you come to my Kingdom disguised as traders, when in fact I know your true vocations?”

“Your Highness,” I replied, “your brother Valdimir II Vsevelodovich of Smolensk sends greetings.”

“Oh, you’ve seen him, then?”

“We have indeed, Your Highness.”

“He is well?”

“In very good health, sire.”

“So, what is the purpose of your being in Kyiv?”

“Sire, we bring sad news. Harald of King Norway is dead and his son Magnus is King.”

“Harald DEAD! How?” This was obviously news to the Kyivan court. “Go on.”

“King Harald died in an attempt to wrest the crown of England, promised to him by King Hardicanut, but usurped by Harold of Wessex.”

“When did this happen?”

“But two months ago sire.”

“Ah. And what of my sister, Queen Ellisif?”