“Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ knows! I served Northumbria and York. I gave them stable government. By my strength I maintained order: I kept Macbeth at home; I repelled the Vikings. And what do they do to me? They drive me out when they should have welcomed me as their saviour. They rallied behind those two fuzz-cheeked youths!”

“Earl Tostig, sit and let us discuss this rationally.”

“King Malcolm, you are the king of all of Scotland. What would you do with such rebellious thanes? Punish them, correct? I will beat their sorry bottoms with the flat of my sword before I deal the final blow. I will hurt them and then I will kill them!”

“Sit down, Tostig. Raving in moon madness will get us nowhere.”

“You think I’m mad!”

“No Tostig—hurt! Now sit!”

Tostig finally complied.

“Now Tostig, what do you purpose?”

“I need men; men I can depend on: men who know how to fight. The Scots could do it. They are staunch allies and fierce fighters. They know those rebellious thanes of Northumbria. They would make me Earl of Northumbria under the banner of Malcolm King of Scots.”

A quiet descended on the room. Tostig had subsided and Malcolm was weighing the odds. King of Scotland and England—tempting!

The Thane of Fife broke the king’s reverie and whispered to the young man with the crown.

“Lord Tostig, leave us and I will discuss your position with my advisors.”

“Very well, Sire.”

A page ushered Tostig and his cohorts away from the crowned of the Stone of Scone. All was quiet until the Scots were certain the English were well out of ear shot.

“Well, Fife, what is the problem?”

“Sire, for seventeen years Scotland has been under the tyrant heel of Macbeth. We cannot afford our new king in an inane war with the Saxons.”

“Just yesterday, you told me Macbeth was a financial wizard who ruled Scotland prudently.”

“Both statements are true. I have waited fifteen years since the destruction of Fife to avenge my wife and family. However, the economy has never been as strong in Scotland’s history. Macbeth has left you both lessons to learn.”

“Don’t talk down to me, MacDuff!”

“No, Sire. Secondly, without English assistance do you believe you could have deposed Macbeth? Now you can’t turn against your former allies.”

“I paid them for their efforts, Bloody Mercenaries!”

“No Sire. We, your loyal subjects paid them. Thirdly, Tostig is a madman. His reign as Earl of Northumbria was rocked with dissent and internal strife. Only the intervention of King Harold prevented civil war. Only the strength of Scotland prevented invasion by Tostig.”

“Well, insanity isn’t catching.”

“No, Sire? Lastly, Macbeth had strong support. Only the strength of your army swung the thanes to your coronation. You must prove your worth to Scotland or face rebellion at home.’

“However, I could be king of Scotland and England.”

“With the aid of the Devil you could not defeat the English. You haven’t a hope in Hell!”

“I don’t like your tone, MacDuff! What do you think Cawdor?”

“I am sorry, Sire, but I must agree with Fife. I may not agree with his demeanor, but his reason is sound. Tell Tostig you must secure Scotland and rebuild an economy decimated by Macbeth.”

“Yes, but I’ll not forget your impertinence MacDuff.”

“Sire, you don’t have to have reasons or reveal Scotland. Just refuse.”

“Very well. Send for Tostig.”

“I said, Sire, Let it pass.”

A hopeful expectant smiling Tostig was preceded by the page. “Lord Tostig, Sire.”

Tostig bowed.

“Lord Tostig, I must refuse your request.”

In despair, “Why ,Sire?”

“Scotland demands it of me.”

“Very well—Sire!” he sneered and stomped from the room.

“I’m afraid my Lords, I have created a mortal enemy. See that he has supplies for his vessels.”

Tostig gathered the remnant of his Isle of Wight invasionary force decimated by his incursion into York. His recalcitrant former thanes under Morcar and Edwin rejected him again.

“What now, Tostig?”

“We have one more chance, Harald Hardrada. Captain, how does the wind blow?”

“Westerly, My Lord. With a little row north from Edinburgh along the Scottish coast we’ll sail the North Sea into the Skaggerak.”

“Load the supplies afforded by the half-wit Malcolm and roll these ships into the sea. Let’s shake the plaid of Scotland and leave their squealing pipes.”

“Aye, My Lord. Make haste you lubbers! Stow that food in oil skins. You can’t trust the North Sea.” The captain began his rounds of the remaining fleet. “Secure that stuff! I don’t want it rolling about the bilge in a North Sea swell.” He found someone else to yell at. “Fresh water, now, fill those skins. One hour, one hour! And we launch. Be prepared.”

He continued his circuit of the twelve vessels berating all, but stirring them too. After the disheartenment and loss of comrades in York they appeared what they were—defeated. He gave them life, ambition and heart. They were once again men. They scurried about their tasks.

In one hour with cargo stowed and lashed, the captain called again. “Stand by the ways!” and the men gathered with pole levers to start the log rollers down the wooden ways. “Heave!” and with straining muscles of the men and the mechanical advantage of the levers the ships one by one found themselves again afloat. The vessels were no longer beached whales, but live active dragonships, a challenge to the waves. Did the vessel chuckle as the lee waves licked the lapstrake of the hull or was it the latent power of the North Sea that laughed in anticipation of another victim.

The ships were poled by crew and pulled by painter to the jetty one at a time to take on the crew from the ways. The crew unshipped sweeps and were twelve ready small ships against the North Sea manned by twenty men each. All were expected to row, ten men to the oars. They made good headway north in the lee of the Scottish coast with a slight chop to the sea raised by a brisk westerly. Off St. Andrews, the captain veered to starboard and the sweeps were shipped. Crewmen accustomed to the vessel raised the lateen sail and the twelve ships held the breath of the world and dove into the following waves. The waves raised the stern and the ship surfed on the breaker. The resultant spray was frigid from the Arctic current. Precipitation fell from the scudding clouds; rain mixed with snow began to obscure vision. It was creating a miserable journey. Men searched out oilskins to repel the water. They would gladly have rowed just for body heat, but not in these swells. The sea running eight to twelve feet sometimes hid vessel from vessel and as night approached all attempts at maintaining contact were abandoned. The high stern

design shed most of the wave force, but the run along the lapstrake was often dangerously close to the gunwales. Often the steering oar was thrust above the surface while men bailed putting the sea back where it belonged. By sunset and the last vestiges of light the wind diminished and the sea ran four to six feet. The overcast broke and the sleety rain abated. A frigid full moon streaked the darkened waters and a silvery pallor glinted on the waves. Six of the twelve boats made contact. The other six were nowhere to be seen. As night north of fifty in early summer turned quickly into day, the westerlies freshened, but not with the force of yesterday. Their speed increased, a fifty hour trip to the Skaggarak. The second day passed with nineteen hours of light warmed by the sun. One more short night and they would be in the confines of the fjord. A seventh ship appeared; still five were missing. At the second dawn, the tip of the Norwegian peninsula was in sight off the port bow and boats eight and nine hove into view. As they rounded the cape the sweeps were again unshipped for the row north to Oslo and hopefully the king’s court. With luck King Harald Hardrada would be there rather than the capital Trondheim.

“So Tostig, you little weasel, how many men did you save?”

“We landed one hundred eighty men in Oslo. Three ships with another sixty are missing at present, but we still expect them.”

“Where are the men now?”

“Your harbor master has found us lodging and we brought stores of food with us.”

“Why did you think, you idiot, that you could defeat England by yourself?”

Tostig noticeably bristled, but when you are asking favors you maintain a level temperament.

“I gathered a small force in Flanders. The Duke of Boulogne, my father-in-law was expelled by the English many years ago and he pushed me. He has an elevated view of the soldiers of Flanders and he was willing to expend them to make the English pay for their insult.

Secondly, I was operating under false intelligence. An exiled Saxon anxious to punish Harold led me to believe the English thanes were ready to revolt. Harold, the bastard, had doubled their taxes he told me. That dog knew nothing. When I landed on the Isle of Wight, I found them expecting Harold’s army. Five thousand men in defense of the south coast were expected to repel a suspected Norman invasion.”

“Why on an island?’

“For mobility! They had ships coming in.”

“Not a big army?”

“No, but he had small units stationed behind the south beaches. We met a few of those who put up a token resistance. They had some sort of signal fire system that called reinforcements.”

“So--if the Saxon army is in the south, how were you defeated at the Humber?”

“Desertion! Rebellious thanes! A small force!”

“If Harold is concentrating on the south, the north is open to assault?”

“Certainly.”

“How long would it take to move an army London to York?”

“Ten days.”

“Uh hu, and how much land could we conquer in ten days?”

“At least Northumbria and Mercia. Maybe more.”

“And what do you expect to gain from an invasion?”

Ah-h-h, here was a conundrum for Tostig. What should he say? ‘I want to be king. I want to be Earl of Northumbria. I want you to be king. I just want the plunder.’ When you are asking for the moon it is inadvisable to request the stars as well. Besides, he had already failed in his own attempt. He sat quietly, elbow on knee staring at the floor. Harald waited patiently, hands clasped, elbows on knees, eyes hard on the bowed head of the supplicant.

“Sire,” and Tostig raised his head and stared Harald in the eyes. “Sire, my greed says I want it all, crown, land, and loot, but—beggars can’t be chosers. I need you and the Vikings. I suspect you will name your own price and I’ll take the hindmost.”

“Yes, you are right. You realize I could take the north without you. It may be easier if you have any thanes loyal to your banner. I will decide and set the terms of our involvement. Return in two days.”

Tostig retired and gathering his aides returned to their camp. A pall of depression pervaded the Saxon leadership. Harald Hardrada could have been called hard head. The Saxons, even Tostig, realized they could not convince Harald to engage in war with England. He’d do it if he felt like it and nothing they could say could persuade or dissuade him.

A ray of hope lifted their spirits when they found two more ships from their fleet had rowed ashore at Oslo. One had lost a sail and mast and for many a nautical mile the crew had manned the sweeps. The twelfth boat had broken up at sea and twelve of the twenty men had been rescued by the other vessels. The crossing had cost them eight men. The Flander’s mercenaries would gladly have gone home. They had been repelled at every landing. Tostig had to reassure them of success with the aid of King Hardrada.

In two days Tostig and aides returned to Hardrada.

“Sire,” and they bowed low.

“Tostig,” there were no familiarities with Hardrada. “ We’ve talked it over. If we want England, we don’t need you.” And! He wanted England for excitement, blood , greed and diversion!

Tostig was involved in a game of chance. He had one trump card with which to save the day, but it was a problem to decide when to play it. He threw caution the winds.

“Is it true your predecessor, Magnus, had a right to England?”*

Harald reacted, “If he had a right to it, why did he not possess it?”

“Why did you not possess Denmark as Magnus did?”

Harald angered, “Many a hole we burned in Denmark!”

Tostig couldn’t stop now. “I will tell you why. Magnus took Denmark-- because he had the support of the Danish nobles. You couldn’t take Denmark because the Danish nobles rejected you. Likewise Magnus realized the English nobles wanted Edward as king. But if you want England I can arrange English noble support. It is strange to me you’d fight for Denmark for fifteen years and ignore England that is ripe for the taking*

In spite of his anger Harald saw the reason of Tostig’s argument. He had long ago decided to move on England—even before Tostig’s last visit. Silence filled the room. Everyone waited; breath bated.

“It’s fortunate for you that your reasoning is sound . You were treading on dangerous soft ground. It was about to swallow you. Tostig, you will deliver the English thanes and I will prepare my invasionary force. “

War was declared the Viking way; unannounced , by stealth, with fire, sword, axe and blood thirsty warriors. While Tostig and Harald planned, the messengers set out to raise an army of a “half levy’ which may have been only half his total force. The army and therefore the fleet were to meet at Solund Island in the mouth of Sognefjord. Would it take two months for assembly? Harald would not face the problems William of Normandy met with nobles and church.

* 114 Ibid.