IT WAS A tricky moment. Tostig looked surprised and angry in equal measure, and Hakon reached for his sword. The Norman guards grabbed their sword hilts too, quickly stepping forward to form a wall of chain-mailed bodies in front of the duke. But the duke pushed through them and said something in French. Magnus guessed the duke had asked his question again.
“I know of no such promise, my lord,” said Magnus, shaking his head.
The duke stared at him with those small, dark, glittering eyes, and Magnus thought it was as if they were burning off his outer flesh to see what lay inside his mind and heart. Eventually the duke seemed satisfied. He nodded and spoke rapidly in French once more, and this time the priest who had translated before turned his words into English. “The duke says you seem honest – he believes you.”
“Come, we eat,” said the duke, in Danish now, but with a heavy French accent. He walked off, gripping Magnus by the arm and pulling him along. “Eat – and talk.”
Magnus looked over his shoulder and saw that the guards had drawn their swords and surrounded Hakon. The housecarl smiled, letting go of his sword hilt and raising his hands to show he would be no danger, then followed the duke and Magnus. Tostig elbowed his way past the guards and priests and hurried after them as well, clearly determined not to be forgotten, his face a mask of fury and frustration.
They were led through the castle to a great hall, and given seats at a long table that was set for a feast, Magnus and Tostig on either side of the duke, Hakon and the others further down. The priest who spoke English hovered behind the duke while they ate, translating as the duke shot questions at Magnus. The duke was well informed, also asking about the argument between Magnus and his father.
“I’d like to know more about this promise you spoke of,” Tostig said at last.
The duke stopped eating, turned to look at him, then spoke rapidly in French again. The priest translated. “It was more of an oath than a promise…”
Magnus listened to the strange tale. According to the duke, Magnus’s father had set out from Bosham on a sea voyage to London a few years ago, but there was a storm and he was shipwrecked on the Normandy coast. The duke had given him shelter, and in gratitude Magnus’s father had agreed to support the duke’s claim to the throne – King Edward’s mother Emma had been the duke’s aunt, so he and the king were cousins. The duke said Harold had sworn his oath on holy relics.
“I can believe it,” Tostig said bitterly. “That sounds like my brother. He’s an oath-breaker, a man who will break any promise so he can get what he wants.”
“Maybe you made him swear the oath,” said Magnus, looking at the duke. “Maybe you threatened to keep him a prisoner till he did. Or kill him if he didn’t.”
The priest translated for the duke, who scowled fiercely and spoke in French, wagging his finger at Magnus. “He did it of his own free will,” said the priest.
Magnus felt Tostig’s eyes on him, and realized he might have sprung to his father’s defence a little too quickly. Whatever the truth of it, he remembered his task here was to find out what Tostig had in mind. “Well then, it seems that you are right, Uncle,” he said, smiling at Tostig. “My father has had a busy time of it with his lies.”
“He has indeed,” murmured Tostig. “My brother betrayed me, William, so we both have good cause to hate him. We should work together.”
The duke’s face gave nothing away, but he rose from the table and beckoned to Tostig to come with him. Magnus rose to his feet too, but the duke shook his head.
“I understand,” said Magnus. “Only Tostig.”
The duke nodded, and he and Tostig left the chamber, the priest scurrying after them. Magnus glanced at Hakon, who shrugged. “You will just have to be patient, Magnus,” he said quietly. “Such things are not decided in a heartbeat.”
In fact it was two days before Magnus heard anything. There was plenty to eat and drink – the duke had given orders that Tostig’s men were to be looked after – but there was nothing to do. Hakon spent most of his time watching the duke’s men practising their skills, but Magnus nearly went mad with frustration. Tostig emerged on the third day, striding angrily out of the duke’s chamber.
“Come, Magnus,” he said. “It is time we left this Norman dung-heap.”
Within the hour both ships were heading back down the River Orne, the oars beating rhythmically. When they reached the sea they turned east, but they sailed past Flanders without stopping, and headed north along the Frisian coast instead.
It seemed that Tostig had decided to visit Sweyn, King of Denmark.
“So Duke William didn’t want to lend you his army,” said Magnus.
The sky and sea were grey, the land a distant dark line to the right of the ship, the sail snapping in the wind. Tostig was sitting under an awning in the stern, huddled into a thick cloak, sheltering from the icy rain and salt spray. He had been sulking ever since they had left Normandy, refusing to reveal what had happened in the duke’s castle. But now he looked up at Magnus and slowly shook his head.
“I offered him a fortune if he would help me take the throne, the kingdom’s taxes for a year,” he said. “I even offered him Harold’s earldom. But he just kept saying he wanted the throne for himself, and that he’ll invade England when he’s ready.”
“Did he say when that might be? His soldiers looked ready enough.”
“They are for the kind of campaigns he fights against his neighbours, but an invasion by sea is a different matter. It could take him months to prepare.”
Magnus looked past the man at the steerboard and out over the waves. Hakon had said much the same – which meant there was no need to leave his uncle just yet.
“Do you think you can persuade Sweyn to help you?” said Magnus.
“He is a Dane, is he not? And Danes love gold above all else. I should know – I’m half Danish, and I would snap up an offer like the one I made to William.”
He smiled, and by the time they reached King Sweyn’s great hall at the head of Roskilde Fjord a week later, Tostig was his old self again – confident, sure he would get what he wanted. But Sweyn gave him a frosty welcome and hard words.
“I know why you are here, Tostig,” he said, sitting in a chair carved from a huge chunk of oak tree. He was a big man but no longer young, with white streaks in his long red hair and thick beard, and the belly of a man who liked to feast. His warriors stood round the hall, watching silently, hands on their sword hilts. “And all I will say is this – a man who stands between quarrelling brothers is a fool.”
Tostig blustered and tried to charm him, but Sweyn would have none of it. He let them stay the night, but they left early the next morning, a couple of Sweyn’s ships following them along the fjord until they were back in the open sea.
“Where now, Uncle?” said Magnus as the ship’s prow hit the first waves.
“We head north,” Tostig said grimly. “To Hardrada, my one last hope.”
Harald Hardrada was the tallest man Magnus had ever seen, but then he was a legend, King of Norway and the greatest Viking of all time. He was more than fifty winters old, yet his back was straight, and his golden yellow hair hung down it like the mane of some legendary stallion. He gave them a much warmer welcome and laid on a rich feast in his enormous hall.
There were many longships tied up at the wharves lining the fjord below the hall, and Hardrada clearly had many warriors. The long tables in the hall were crowded with men, laughing and singing while women served them meat and ale and mead, torches burning on the walls and casting strange shadows. Magnus sat at the top table, watching and listening as his uncle talked to Hardrada.
“I hear you have been having trouble with your brother, Tostig,” Hardrada said, speaking Danish with a strong Norwegian accent, his voice a deep rumble. “Why don’t you settle things the Viking way? A fight to the death, winner takes all.”
“I think he would accept the challenge,” said Tostig, smiling. “But then he would turn up with an army at his back, and we would not be evenly matched.”
“So you would need an army yourself,” said Hardrada. “Yes, I can see that…”
Magnus saw a glitter of interest in Hardrada’s eyes. They talked through the feast and the next day Tostig told Magnus that he and Hardrada had struck a deal. But it had been a hard bargain.
“Hardrada promises to restore me to my earldom if I help him take the throne,” said Tostig, trying to smile and failing. “It’s the best I could hope for, Magnus, and at least I’ll get my revenge on my brother.”
Magnus felt a brief pang of pity for his uncle, but one thought filled his mind. It was time to go home – but how could he get away without Tostig knowing?