Harald thrust his arm in the air as if brandishing a sword, and cried, "Who is able to stand against the Daneman when the wrath of Odin fills his veins with fire?"
Murmured voices rejoined with assurances that no one could stand against the wrath of the Danefolk. The king then commenced a long speech in which he described how all the world trembles when the longship keel slices the deep waters, and how all the world cowers in fear when the Sea Wolf hunts the sea trails. These sentiments were conveyed with much thrusting of imaginary swords and rattling of imaginary spears on invisible shields.
The murmurs now chorused agreement; several cheered, encouraging the king aloud. Most remained silent, but everyone was intent, eyes and ears keen, eager for their great Jarl to declare what had moved him to summon the theng. Seeing that he had them on his side, Harald moved to the heart of his concern.
Now, I have heard of warriors who can leap from one horse to another in full gallop and never miss a stride. This feat Harald now performed. "Brothers," he said, "I know that the yearly tribute weighs heavily on your shoulders. I know that such a burden is difficult to bear."
The king said this with convincing sympathy, as if it were some other lord that had imposed this onerous weight upon his people. He then declared, with an expression of utter conviction, that he would be a vile king indeed if he stood by and did nothing to ease the weight of law from his people's shoulders.
This produced a minor commotion as the people tried to work out what Harald could possibly mean. "Therefore," the king said, "I have devised a means by which the tribute…" The king's listeners leaned forward expectantly. "-by which the tribute may be forgiven."
Sure, this caused such a stir among the listeners, the king was forced to repeat his astonishing decree, not once only, but three times. "You have heard me, heya," he assured them, shaking his fists in the air. "Your tribute will be forgiven."
Harald allowed a moment for this news to make its way to the rearward ranks and to be passed to those standing beyond the stone circle. He stood erect, fists on hips, his smile broad, red hair gleaming in the sun; he fairly beamed confidence, assurance streaming like heat from a flame.
The king went on to describe how he had set his mind on a venture which would bring wealth and riches to every free man in Daneland. He threw his arms wide and begged them to hear him out. The shouting all but overwhelmed his booming bull voice. Harald begged them to listen; he pleaded for their indulgence, and told them that he had determined to go to Miklagard, where there was silver and gold beyond measure, and where even the lowest slave was far wealthier than the richest king of Skania.
The people were amazed at the king's audacity: Did you hear? Miklagard! they said. The king is going to Miklagard. Think of that!
"Now I ask you, brothers," Harald continued, his bull voice thundering above the excitement his announcement had created, "is it right for the slaves of the south to enjoy more wealth than the kings of the north? Is it right that we, Odin's favoured children, should break our backs in toil-ploughing, reaping, chopping wood, drawing water-while brown slaves sit idle in the shade of fruiting trees?"
He let the question hang in the air to do its work.
"No!" cried a voice. It sounded very like Hrothgar to me. "It is not right!" shouted another. And everyone seemed to agree that this state of affairs could not be allowed to continue.
Harald waved his hands for order. He continued, speaking reasonably, and somewhat reluctantly, as if merely acquiescing to the prevailing view-a view which he had no great wish to further himself. He spoke of how he had vowed in his heart to ease the burdens of his people. He said he would go to Miklagard, if that is what they wanted, and he would bring back the wealth of the southern slaves. He would bring back this wealth and use it to better the lives of the Danefolk. He would bring back such wealth that they would not have to pay tribute due him. He would bring back wealth to make even the greediest among them satisfied. He would do all this and more, if that is what they wanted.
He thrust his hand towards the river where his huge new ship lay at anchor. That ship, that very ship, he declared, was the swiftest of any ever built in Skania. He would go with this selfsame ship and he would lead the war host to the city of gold. And he, Harald Bull-Roar, would fill that great fast ship with such treasures as would make all other kings sick with jealousy when they saw what wealth his jarls and freemen would enjoy.
The people could not take such amazing good fortune quietly. They hugged themselves and one another, and cried out and leapt with joy at the prospect of so much wealth within such easy reach. They acclaimed their king and his wisdom and foresight. Here was a king, truly, who knew what was best for his people.
"For this reason," Harald said when the outcry had spent itself once more, "I will forgive the yearly tribute, which is due me as your lord!"
Again, the king was overwhelmed by a seatide of acclamation, and was forced to wait until it had abated before wading on.
"I will forgive the yearly tribute," he repeated, speaking slowly. "Not for one year only will I forgive the tribute. Not for two years! Not for three years-or even four!" he cried. "But for five years will I forgive the tribute to any man who will arm himself and follow me to Miklagard."
Oh, he was a shrewd lord. I do not think that anyone even noticed the subtle trap he had laid for them in his words. All they heard was that the king was forgiving the tribute for five years. They did not yet perceive that in order to receive the benefit of the forgiven tribute, they all had to follow him to Miklagard and help him fill his treasure chests with raid and plunder.
Harald called them kinsmen, he called them brothers. He bade them to fly to the south where wealth beyond measure awaited them. He made it sound as if they had but to take shovels and scoop it off the ground. He flung wide his arms once more. "Who is with me?" the king cried, and they all shouted their approval, surging forward, fighting among themselves to be the first to pledge support for the inspired plan.
Having won his way, Harald quickly declared the council ended, lest, I believe, any dissenting voices should be raised to spoil his impressive victory. Yet, who would have dissented? Even Ragnar left the council ring with his scowl of protest softened into a thoughtful, if not benevolent, smile.
The king then declared that the day should be given to feasting and drinking. To this end, he caused three great ale vats to be placed in the centre of the camp with orders that every vat should be continually replenished from his shipboard store throughout the remaining days and nights of the gathering. He then offered three oxen and six pigs to be roasted for the feeding of his people.
The celebration following Harald's bold decision complimented the king's exuberance full well. That night the daring Jarl's name and far-thinking, even visionary, abilities were lauded in cup by one and all. Around each fire-ring, men, their faces glistening with grease from the rib bones in their hands, licked their lips and proclaimed Harald Bull-Roar the finest king who ever trod the earth on two legs. They hailed him a true and noble lord; a kindly ruler whose only thought was ever for the benefit and uplifting of his people; a man among men, wise beyond his years and beyond his time; a brave and courageous, yet essentially sympathetic, sovereign who could dream and dare great things on behalf of his people.
They had, of course, the king's skald, Skirnir to help them remember these flattering sentiments. The skald roved the meadow, hopping from camp to camp to sing songs in praise of his patron, finding willing, if somewhat bleary-eyed, listeners for his spirited performances.