Friday, August 2, 2019

Part 13: Magnus the Good


Good For Nothing

Cast back. The year examined now is ’35. Cnut the Great, there did he die at Shaftsbury in Anglestead, where he had put to work in later life to straighten out the Diocese, and so emplace in offices across the island realm the clever, pious men who over souls of men, would best administer their ken. And in response these men do now report to us across the gulf of years and leagues that Cnut was great indeed, and to his name he surely make. When died he, ere his Son named Swein was chased from Norway by the Lade. And after Swein came Magnus, placed in place by Danish mercantiles to sit about the throne whereat he granted Lades his grace.

And then in ’42, Harald Hardrade Sigurdsson take’d up his fortune, kept as safe then had it been with Yaroslav, and take’d as well his dainty fair wife, Elisiv, and moved to Germany. For in those years (be three), it was a simple thing for men of war, should have they geld, to live like to a king. A pretty new château they built, and did he sire on his bride two girls with curls of tow. It was a pretty season, and the peasantry remember Elisiv and Harald on unto this day.  

He dedicated time to raising up an army, seasoning these men, and made them iron-like, to take the throne of Norway once again. This was in ‘45. The great Norwegian throne had been restored to Olaf’s bastard son, called then by Magnus, ere the Good. Good for nothing, did the insult go. Watched he like the raven did, this puppet, Magnus, sitting king there for these last ten pallored years. Hardrade, then in Constantin in ’35 and all about the Inland Sea, he never knew until returned to Europe in 1042. The Danish mercantile lords, who tired of the yoke of kingdom down about their narrow chests, dissembled to install young Magnus as the king of Norway and the Danes and Faroeish, but kept him weak and child-like, without an army fitted well for battle. The power lay within aristocratic hands, with they who kept the soldiers and the sailors and the power of excheuquery. Never for poor Magnus were these three. In Norway, were the Jarls of Lade in charge of ere so many of the daily tasks of governance. Magnus was kept comfortable, but had he not the whip to drive the carriage of his state. So Magnus was a figurehead. A double-ass.

But fortune smiled down on Harald for there was another Dane contender to the throne. A man named Sweyn II Estridsson. Sweyn was Saxon, born in England and he of Hadrada’s vintage, too. Stood him very tall and had thick limbs, but walked he with a limp from injuries equestrian. Estridsson was dashing and did very well with women. Also, was courageous he in battle, and led naval pirate sorties so to neutralize the Danish king. That this made him rich as kings was just, in his opinion make.

Consulting Harald did with scribe monastics, and found none who could by their beards endorse this pirate’s ancestry such made him up a king. Therefore Sweyn, this dashing rogue, would well provide the benefit of allies for the throne, without legitimate contesting of the Norselands should the two men win it o’er.

Briny Summit

So then, Harald sent his heralds off to Sweyn (and with them gold and silver!) to entreat him to a union of contenders to the throne. Promised Harald to the rogue that he’d support Sweyn’s claim on Copenhagen, if then Sweyn would back Hadrada’s ouster of the bastard Magnus eft from dearest Oslo’s manalets.

Sweyn and Harald met upon the deck of Bølgenes Bryst,[1] that flag-ship of the pirate’s mighty naval band. Each found in one another up a man’s man’s man and each could see the other as the father of a country be. And so they shook their hands and broke their bread. Drank up they did of grog and ate they then of hard-tack softened by the Baltic brine. And came along did Harald and twenty-three his men to raid upon the Faroese. Together burned they up three villages, and took with them the wealth of each, and there became they allies and together filled against ere Juteland’s breach.

A warsle for a torsel![2] And so upon it was it well agreed.

Sword-Craft from the South

The year considered now, 1046. Magnus rode with color-guard across the tail of ere his broke formations; he and following, two other men, each with royal colors of their banners, did they fly. Rode he near and fro, but never did approacheth up the skirmishers, and there he watched as all his men did fall away, enblooded by their own hot, murky sway.

Harald’s sorties up along the coast had cost the seat of Norway were the cost be dear. Harald, ambulated by Sweyn’s scourges of the main, would quicker in with numbers, break the lines with boar’s head spike formation, and then away from land, ere to another thorp, to strike again in much the same. Over and he over more, did Harald take the little country forces by surprise. Burned he villages and slew he hap a longer-hundred knights and then a score, and many, many footmen more.

It were enow. Magnus sued for peace. He sued for peace and shared his crown with Harald. Harald shared his wealth with Magnus, and the two were coronated up again, both King of this, the Norseman’s realm.

In the Drink

No sooner had the deal been minted, but King Magnus, there he back in Denmark, died!

Magnus was in Zeeland, in the fishing town of Copenhagen. Herring there were plentiful, and merchants of the realm kept mansions up upon the hill. It was a rich and peaceful town, with goodly palisade to keep the rabble in the downs. Also did it have a pretty harbor, made just for king and grandeemen to keep their little fleets; this neighborhood called kongepladsen,[3] ne’er to be confused with where’s the fishermen did leave. In late October, thereupon the final day of shipping season be, King Magnus, as by custom, did review the mercantile ships as they came into view. Wore he, also customary, burnished up and golden armor, shining in the sun. Oh, what a sight our monarch, nimbulant in mid-day light! He stood out on his flagship, Lykke, on the deck, there for all the peoplement of Copenhagen there to shew.

But this armor which he bore, it made for show and not for war, was heavy – mayhap fourteen leiviskä[4] were if it but an ounce. The man himself weighed precious more than this. After many hours, Magnus, overdrinking good red wine, and eating swinefully, and standing out in sun and heady breeze, he found he needed to relieve. And when he perched up on the railing of his flagship, did the wealstone soup turn into foul gruel. He tumbled he, a corps perdu,[5] far-gone, into the briny stew!

His armor, bright above the waves, were underneath like anchor be, and pulled upon the knave. He drowned that afternoon, and left good Norway and foul Denmark headless, buried ‘neath the waves.

And Sweyn, the crafty pirate, took control of maritimes about the island realm and choked it off from trade and fish and weal. Quickly Denmark fell and Sweyn was crowned the king of there.




[1] Bosom of the Waves
[2] Coöperation, usually among rivals or otherwise non-friendly parties.
[3] King’s Square
[4] About 70 pounds.
[5] “Head over heels”; literally, “a lost body.”

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