I tramped the woods for most of that day before reaching the outskirts of the city. As I drew near, the smell of smoke filled my nostrils and I began to notice signs of devastation all around me. Whole streets had been ransacked and burned out. Here and there people stood about or sat in silent groups or else wearily picked through the smoldering wreckage of their homes.
The Novgorodtsi are no strangers to fire. Hardly a month passes without some conflagration, and the people, patient and resigned, always set to work at once clearing and rebuilding. But this felt different. The faces I saw were grim and vengeful. Every man or youth I passed was armed and many, too, were bloodied. A bitter civil war had been waged here with steel and fire. At the moment all seemed quiet; who could say for how long?
I followed Yanina Street through the Nerev End towards the river, passing on my way the jail, or what remained of it. The painted bridge, at least, was intact, although I had to talk my way past suspicious guards at either end of it. The Market Side had fared only a little better than the Saint Sophia side. Yaroslav’s dvor was unscathed except for blackened stretches of the palisade. Undamaged, too, were the Norwegian barracks, but those of the Swedes’ together with the great merchant warehouses in Gotland Court were a complete loss. In the Court scores of wounded druzhiniks sat or lay stretched out on their cloaks—some of them gambling or drinking; most doing nothing. I felt their eyes on me as I picked my way among them to the Norwegians’ quarters.
There one of Harald’s former men—a fellow who knew me well—lounged in the doorway, gnawing a mutton bone. He looked straight into my eyes and asked me my name and business.
I swallowed hard and replied “Churillo Igorevich,” in Rus-accented Norse. “I look for Harald, the giant.”
“Gone,” he sneered. “Cleared out.”
My heart sank. “Gone where? Who might know?”
The fellow gave a shrug. “Wait here.”
A moment later who should appear in the doorway but Dag Hringsson. I should have seen his hand in this all along!
“And who might you be?” he asked.
A moment later, he stood laughing and scratching his head in astonishment when, out of earshot of the others, I revealed myself.
“Damn my eyes! Well, one thing’s sure: we can’t call you Tangle-Hair anymore.”
“Walk with me along the river,” I said, “we have things to talk about.”
He grimaced with pain and touched his thigh which was tightly bandaged. Leaning on a stick, he limped along beside me. I asked how he came to be here and what had happened.
“What happened is that the Swedes and Norwegians fought the Novgorodtsi until the whole place turned into one big bonfire. Many were killed on both sides—one of them our friend the mayor. Now it’s a stand-off—they on their bank of the river, we on ours. And all for the sake of rescuing the fair Ingigerd—and you too, I might add. You have a lot of friends among Harald’s men.”
“Rescuing me or killing me to keep me quiet? Someone tried to roast Putscha and me in our cell.”
“Ah, well, that was suggested by Ragnvald, though I opposed it—much too fond of you for that; and feeling a bit guilty, too, if you must know. I owe you an apology, Odd. I’m the one who spoiled your party. After Harald dismissed me, you see, I sailed home to Stavangerfjord, where my lands are. It so happened that I was in the neighborhood the day that you and the jarls put into the fjord for food and fresh water on your way south. Any fleet of unknown dragon ships is cause for alarm to the local people and so they ran to tell me. I got there in time to see you at a distance without being seen. Now, where could you and the Tronder jarls be going, I asked myself, if not to Novgorod for some purpose involving Harald?
“To say it short, I followed you to Aldeigjuborg in my own ship. There I lay low until you got fed up with waiting and took yourself off to Novgorod. Then Ragnvald and I went to work on the jarls. Not that I have great hopes for little Magnus as a king, mind you, but that’s of no importance for the moment. Anyway, I came here with the jarls and kept out of sight in a house that Ragnvald keeps in the town.”
“But damn it, Dag,” I protested, “it’s you who got me here in the first place with the promise that Harald would be king of Norway someday. Your parting words to me were ‘stay the course’. And then you turn right around and do this! I call it unfriendly of you.”
“Yes, yes but how could I have known that a chance to do him harm would come along so soon? I couldn’t let that pass, now could I? Come, you’d have done the same thing yourself.”
I supposed I would have. “All right, I bear you no grudge.”
“I’m glad of it, my friend.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Anyway, I ask you to believe that I did everything I could to save you. While Yngvar and his Swedes recaptured lovely Ingigerd from her guards, I made straight for the bishop’s palace with Jarl Kalv and his men. There we ran up against Harald with a few Rus, holding the stairs. He and I faced each other with drawn swords at last. I tried with all the strength and skill in me to kill him, and he likewise. Neither of us succeeded, but he left me this leg for a souvenir. He and his comrades beat a retreat when we found the back stairs and got around behind them, though by that time the mayor’s militiamen had carried you off.
“After that, the fight shifted back and forth across the river. Men of ours reported seeing Harald everywhere in the town, hunting for Norwegians, like so many rabbits, to punish them for deserting to Magnus. The boyars’ army crossed the river in boats and sacked the warehouses. In revenge, Ragnvald organized a raid on their side to burn down their houses—and the jail, too, I’ve no doubt. I hope it will console you to learn that he didn’t come back alive. Anyway, you saved yourself. Tell me all about it.”
I described the trial and my escape.
“So Ragnvald tried to stab you and Harald to flog you? Have you learned something about fishing on both sides of the stream, my boy? Store it up as a lesson for the future. And, being lucky enough to escape with a whole skin, you’ve come back in this colorful get-up? Why?”
“Can’t you guess? But Fate has cheated me. When did he leave, where would he have gone?”
“Ah, I see. All I can tell you is that when order was restored, Yaroslav safe on his throne, and Inge at her husband’s side again—for the old fool believes her lies—Harald found himself suddenly without friends. The jarls were out for his blood by order of Magnus; he could hardly go back to Yaroslav after calling his wife a whore; and even the boyars, whose cause he took up, had no use for him. To them he was, after all, just another greedy outlander.
“The very next day, his betrothal to Yelisaveta was called off, he was stripped of his rank and lands, and ordered to take himself far away. Which he did, four days ago, with a handful men whom he bribed or bullied into going with him. All we know is that they sneaked off in the middle of the night with a string of Yaroslav’s best horses. By now he could be anywhere. He’s a beaten man, Odd—for the moment anyway.”
None of this surprised me, but I would not give up so easily. “Yelisaveta knows where he is, by God, I’ll wring it out of her!”
“How? By breaking into her bed chamber at night? My boy, you have a positive genius for self-destruction.”
I sank down on the river bank and put my head in my hands. “Dag, I’m tired of losing, tired of running, tired of starting over, tired of being cheated of my revenge. My luck is hopeless. I think I will drown myself.”
“Now look,” he said, easing himself down beside me, “stow that. Anyone as fearsome to look at as you are shouldn’t be talking such talk. And, as for Harald, he’s not the boy to stay hidden for long. That great carcass? Just give him time. You’ll have your chance yet. In the meantime, though, you really have to get clear of Novgorod, unless you plan to spend the rest of your life in disguise. Yaroslav has put a price of fifty grivny on your head.”
“But where shall I go?”
“Not easy to say. For one thing, you’ve no money left. Harald ran off with everything he could carry, including your savings. In his mind you owed it to him. I’d urge you to come back to Norway with King Magnus and me, but we may be here for weeks yet and you need to do something before that. Have you no ideas at all?”
“Well, now look, here’s a thought. The boyars have made Yaroslav agree to cut down the number of Swedish mercenaries in the city—which, in fact, the old boy doesn’t mind doing; you know Yaroslav—fewer mouths to feed. The first to go will be Yngvar and his men—off to the Volga and Serkland to claim it for the new Grand Prince.
“Yes, Yaroslav said something about that.”
“Why not go with them, Odd? Pull an oar, bash some skulls—best thing for you! Who knows, you might come back rich. Tell him you know the Volga blindfolded—Jesu, you look like you do. By the time he finds out you’re an impostor it’ll be too late to do anything about.”
“Except kill me for raping his aunt.”
“Oh, Yngvar’s got more sense than that. You just tell him the truth, I don’t think he has any illusions about Ingigerd. Besides, he likes you.”
“The last person you said that about was Harald.”
“Did I? Why, I never—, I mean—” He looked at me and I looked at him, and we began to chuckle, and then to laugh out loud, and then to roar, helplessly, till our sides ached. People in the street stopped and smiled in spite of themselves. Still howling like a couple of madmen, we went reeling down the street arm in arm in search of the nearest tavern.