“Why did you not go to the castle yourself?” asked Þorgeir Hávarsson.
“I am doddering, and have no desire to betray Óðinn in my old age. I wish to go home to Iceland, to a lake on a heath where I can catch a few fish. Another skald will occupy the seat that was mine, and by Christ spread the good names of kings whom we extolled by Óðinn and Þórr.”
26
THE VIKINGS SAILED inland up the rivers, while Duke Richard rode overland with his barons and bishops, as well as the bodyguard that always accompanied him, in the custom of kings. When the Vikings reached the river Eure, which borders the county of Chartres, they went ashore, leaving men to guard the boats. The region is mainly a vast plain, and from a distance a cathedral can be seen standing prominently on a hill, dominating the landscape. There stands the town of Chartres, girded with walls and towers. In old Icelandic books, the place is called Hill-in-France. Since the recent hostilities between Odo of Chartres and the Duke of Normandy had dwindled to nothing after neither had gained the upper hand, there was no one on guard in the town, and the next thing the townsfolk knew was that a hostile foreign army was standing at their gate, making a rather unpleasant commotion, blowing flutes and beating drums and shaking all sorts of rattles. Next, these raucous newcomers raised a war cry and, without further ado, broke into the town and began pillaging and burning. Whatever they encountered – man, dog, or other living creature – they assaulted.
It is said that in those days, Chartres Cathedral was one of the greatest houses of God north of the Alps, and administered by the wisest of clerics. It was built with a high tower of many storeys, where folk could take shelter when the town was besieged or battles were fought within its walls, every resident taking with him whatever possession or possessions he valued most highly – silver and gold or precious stones. When the church was full, portcullises that not even iron could breach were lowered before its doors. The Vikings now assaulted the cathedral, but the portcullises had been lowered to stop them. Word spread that Odo of Chartres was inside, with his bishops and mistresses and other dignitaries, as well as an abundance of jewels.
At that time, churches were not as exquisite in materials and workmanship as they later became. Folk did not yet know how to construct columns and arches for tall buildings solely from stone, but set beams in the walls to bind the stonework and supported the vault and roof with rafters. For an entire night and day, the Vikings besieged the cathedral, and by evening they began to lose patience. Several voices said that it would be wiser to burn the king and the other folk inside the church, rather than wait for the wickedest of all fiends, the rabble, to rise up and ambush the besiegers in the town. Among the Viking horde were several who had devoted themselves, to some degree, to the Christian faith – these declared it sheer recklessness to reduce such an outstanding temple of God to ashes. In the end, they said, Christ would be ill disposed toward those who carried out such a deed. Yet there were also those, no less Christian, who reckoned it a far worse crime that Count Odo bedded women whom Christ rejected, and neglected those he had been given by holy sacrament. They declared the laws of Christ to be more precious than an earthly house built by mortal men. The Vikings debated this theology for some time without coming to an agreement, whereupon King Thorkell stated that the case should be submitted to the judgment of those who apparently knew Christ’s will most clearly – that is, the bishops. Envoys were now sent to the bishops to ask them to decide whether this church should be spared, and with it the miscreant they had come to kill. “Or does Christ wish the church to be burned, along with everything in it?”
It has always been the case that great warlords never sleep more soundly than when a crucial battle is being fought – and now, Duke Richard of Normandy was fast asleep in a castle room near the town gates, as was Archbishop Robert, Richard’s brother. They had ordered that they were not to be woken unless Odo was taken alive, for they wished to be present when he was dismembered.
Now Richard and his brother get a rude awakening, when envoys of the Vikings come to ask whether Chartres Cathedral should be burned, with its holy relics, together with the king, the noblemen and their possessions, as well as the town populace, including women and children.
The duke rises and summons the clergy there to council. Having, however, but small store of books by which to seek guidance in Holy Scripture and the Church fathers, Robert, Bishop of Rouen, announces that he has reached a verdict, after fervent invocation of the Holy Spirit and chanting of three paternosters – besides whispering an Ave Maria with sighs and tears – and sends word to his Christian brother in Christ, King Thorkell Strutharaldsson the Tall, as follows:
“Assuredly, Christ holds it neither laudable nor just, for any reason whatsoever, to set fire to churches and burn kings inside them, or commoners, women and children, or other wretched folk. Yet it should be kept in mind that although Christ is a great fisherman, he will not be caught in his own net. He is too skilled a lawman to be snared in the laws that he himself has laid down. Thus, he overrides his own laws whenever they become a bulwark for the fiend who dwells in Hell, and who is so clever, cunning, and underhanded that he has frequently wrapped himself in a mantle of light and adorned his own head with the halo granted to saints alone, in order to dispute with learned men over articles of faith and refute their dialectic. It is also the greatest of heresies for people to believe that Christ ever stated, in carne or in spiritu, or that the Holy Spirit ever decreed in synodo, that churches and holy relics, clergymen, women and children or other defenseless folk are to be spared, de facto, from destruction by fire, come what may – for example, when the stewards of Satan deprive good jarls of their property or disown virtuous princesses, and in doing so deluge the world with vainglory and arrogance. In such a case, a swift verdict shall be rendered: when Satan rears his head, no decree issued by a king or alderman or lawgiver or warlord shall apply, or by a bishop or magistrate or tax collector or warden, or any other of the king’s or God’s servants. Neither shall the Ten Commandments, which God inscribed with his finger on tablets of stone for Moses, remain in force, and Christians, for the love of Christ, must in fact burn children and women and other wretches, exterminate beasts and birds and grasses, and set fire to churches and holy relics, if, by this means, they are able to defeat the Enemy. In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti.”
Having received the bishop’s verdict, Thorkell the Tall orders that timber, hay, and tar be piled around Chartres Cathedral and set alight.
When the Norsemen went to war, it was an old custom of theirs to gather together all the infants they found, remove their swaddling bands, and skewer them on their spear points. The Vikings had learned early on that the more horrendously they behaved, and the more terror they employed, the less resistance was put up by the populace, and the more readily lands and towns were surrendered to them. The Norsemen deemed it a paltry campaign if they failed to maim three dozen defenseless individuals for every fighting man they killed, and it has always been thought fitting that this ratio be maintained by bands of valiant warriors – those who have any respect for fame and heroism – when they make war on other lands.
After ravaging the town throughout the day and setting fire to the cathedral, the Vikings treat themselves to a feast that evening, rolling casks of red wine into the square, and boiling meat. An excellent banquet commences as the flames consume the cathedral’s timbers. Among the entertainments is the reciting of the lay Glory of London, composed by Þórður the Skald of Strutharaldsson in praise of Thorkell the Tall – describing how he wreaked destruction on London and satiated the eagle and wolf.
The Vikings had spent that day in town indulging in all kinds of pleasures, as befitted fine men, and they adorned themselves for the feast in all the finery and jewels that they had looted. Some of them sported several gold rings on each finger, according to old Viking custom, and a few were clad in three scarlet mantles, one on top the other, or were girt with two swords, though not
a single man in the Viking host knew how to wield such weapons. Some decked themselves with enameled tankards and other drinking vessels, rosaries, amber and coral, women’s shoes embroidered with silver, miniver, or tanned hides, or even rolled-up, artfully woven tapestries. Hanging from the belts of others were the heads of the women that they had raped that day. They felt as if they had the world at their feet, and as if the future shone with beautiful light. As they feasted, they delighted in hearing their praises sung, and boisterously joined in with the refrain and the final stanza. They gave free rein to their tongues at the banquet table as they competed in pledging vows – and many a valiant vow they made. Some vowed never to fight again for any other king than Christ, since he had given them articles of faith, revelations, and sacraments to defend by force of arms instead of spending their time salting down cows on the coasts of the North, for the sole purpose of filling their bellies. As they made their vows, they ardently praised their new god for his almighty works and prowess, and especially for having led them to such a prosperous royal town as Chartres. Several vowed to marry the woman they had loved in childhood, in the valley or on the island or headland where they had grown up, but to trade other women in England for tar, and then become freeholders, petty kings, or holy men in Norway.
The Vikings declared it wholesome for young children to die on spear-tips when their mothers had been taken captive or beheaded, their fathers slain, and their homes burned to cinders. By means of such a death, these children were consecrated to the Spear-Lord, Óðinn. The man who was oldest in the band and best with children was generally assigned to look after them, and was named the Friend of Children. His job, at feasts, was to ensure that the children lived until the warriors were sated. Then, when the men were ready for the entertainment, the Friend of Children would remove their swaddlings and toss them into the air one at a time, naked. Where an infant came down, a Viking would be standing with his spear at the ready to skewer it. Then the child would be tossed aloft three times from the spear-point, before being cast off it, dead. The Norsemen always hollered up a storm at this game. Newcomers to the band were called upon to play first, and then those who were more skilled at this sport. That evening in Chartres, as the cathedral burned, Þorgeir Hávarsson was called upon to raise his spear. The Icelander rose slowly to his feet, still gnawing a knucklebone, and said:
“I thought, when I joined your company, that I would be among men – I did not join to play games. I do not consider myself more cowardly than any of my valiant comrades, though I am less inclined than you toward those arts in which manhood and prowess are lacking; nor do I see what need there is for tossing these infants into the air. Back home in Iceland, my mother taught me that all fun and games are useless, little beseeming red-blooded men. Nor do I recall any of the poems of my sworn brother Þormóður Kolbrúnarskáld praising warriors for jabbing spears into sucklings.”
One man said: “Barons as noble as Christ and Óðinn can never be fully repaid for their assistance, and these are but trifling sacrifices compared to those made of old, when doughty men and kings were hung from trees or burned for the people’s prosperity. You must be a godless man.”
Another man said: “It is my belief that the happiest of children are those hoisted on spears, for they laugh merrily as they fly through the air, until they are dead and in Heaven, where Christ our foster father sits with his friend, King Olaf Tryggvason. You must be a stupid man.”
A third man added: “Word has spread in this band that you are unable to satisfy women, Þorgeir Hávarsson, and it is little wonder that such a man quails at games with children. You must be both a sod and a poltroon.”
Þorgeir Hávarsson answered these men as follows: “From Earth I received my might and main, and I will never turn my mind to mirth, and neither bow to women nor hoist children, nor sacrifice to the gods, and never hope for assistance from any man, woman, or god, but only from Earth. Nor will I ever lay a weapon to an unspeaking infant or any man that lacks the manhood to defend what is his. Yet if any man among you thinks himself a match for me, I challenge him to fight me in single combat. I will not heed idle prattle, but only the true declarations of weapons.”
It was law among the Vikings that peace be maintained between the various bands during war, and that he who wrecked this peace was a níðingur.1 The chieftains decreed that Þorgeir’s challenge to single combat offset the men’s taunts, and let the matter drop. They were gathered to celebrate the death of Odo of Chartres, and no one had the right to spoil the others’ merriment. Nor was any man obliged to toss infants on spear-points unless he wished it.
27
THAT NIGHT, when the flames from the cathedral rose highest over the plain of Chartres and the feast was in full swing, the tramping of hooves and a blare of trumpets sounded in the darkness. A distinguished company of legates came riding up, carrying torches and bearing flapping banners. These men asked where the Duke of Normandy was lodged – and for the second time that night, Duke Richard was woken.
The legates brought tidings from Robert Capet, King of the Franks, that yesterday Count Odo had fled by a secret route from his town of Chartres, along with his bishops, mistresses, and other dignitaries, and taken refuge in a fine monastery where he kept his treasure. From there Odo had sent a complaint to Robert Capet, indicting Richard, Duke of Normandy, for unleashing arson, murder, and rape in his domain – the havoc being wrought by a foul mob of foreigners under Richard’s command who were still wearing the gowns in which they had been received emergency baptism in Rouen. King Robert had his envoys drive home to Richard that he alone was supreme monarch of the realm of France, and that he alone, by the grace of God, bore the name and title of King of the Franks. He would have his vassals bear in mind that they lived under his rule and ate from his hand, and were so ignoble that they could never hold titles higher than duke or earl. The king also had his legates stress that hostilities between the men of Rouen and Chartres were to cease. From now on nothing more was to be given to the flames – and there should be no more murders, rapes, or other heroic deeds. In addition, no one was to reach out his hand to filch so much as a shoe patch in Chartres, or to harm even a single hair on any child’s head, and the foul mob from Norway calling itself Vikings was to leave his realm. As for his vassals, Duke Richard and Count Odo, they were ordered to appear before the king in Paris after peace was restored in the land and the Vikings were either dead or gone. He would then settle their dispute and assign to each the territory he thought fit for them to hold, while he himself would take over Dreux, the demesne over which they had fought, and which was Richard’s sister’s dowry when she was married to Odo. With King Robert’s message came the warning that he had an invincible army to the west of the river, with a great company of knights, as well as all manner of siege engines, war wagons, catapults, and Greek fire.
After receiving the message from the King of the Franks to the Vikings, delivered via Duke Richard’s marshal in the middle of the night, Thorkell Strutharaldsson hastily convened a secret meeting with several men of rank in his company, before going to Duke Richard’s marshal and addressing him loudly and angrily:
“It seems we are in dire straits, being forced to defend ourselves, in the heart of enemy country, against the invincible army of the very King of the Franks – Duke Richard of Normandy duped us badly when he proposed we take part in this campaign. Moreover, it was treacherous of Richard to conceal from us that Robert Capet is not his staunchest friend, setting us at odds with one of the richest, most powerful monarchs in the world. Richard has delivered us to Frankish swords and Greek fire, and lured us into fighting, as foot soldiers, far from our ships, against a company of heavily-armed knights manning war wagons. When Richard invited us to sail from England to fight for him, we thought that we would be allying ourselves with a Norman army at the ready, but it appears that the Duke has hired out his army to the King of the Franks, and now we find ourselves in the predicament of having to fight our master�
��s army. Just a short time ago, Duke Richard called us marauders and ordered us to bathe ourselves and kill our lice, when his own retinue consists only of ground lice that call themselves counts and barons and dare not show themselves near clashes of arms. Duke Richard has also made a bargain with us to adopt the Christian faith, and it is extraordinary that we Vikings, who were heathens yesterday, should be the only ones that could be mustered to recover the wealth that Richard’s sister pledged to old Odo to bed her. She must have been hideously ugly. This Richard seems to us both a petty king and a craven one – you may tell him that it would be fitting for us to kill a milksop like him and renounce the faith.”
Of all the dukes in the line of Rollo who have ruled over Normandy from Rouen, Richard is believed to have possessed one of the sharpest political minds. He summons several of the bishops and counts accompanying him and takes counsel with them. They agree that although Robert Capet has forbidden any further warfare in the county of Chartres, there is still more than enough work left for the Vikings in pacifying Normandy and killing the peasants and other inhabitants who do not recognize Duke Richard’s authority.
The duke now rides with his retinue to meet the Vikings and greets them cordially, kissing those of their leaders who appear to hold most sway. This time he speaks to them in the Norse tongue, glibly and fawningly, calling them his kinsmen or brothers at every other word, never addressing Thorkell Strutharaldsson as anything but “sire,” and asking no one to kill his lice or wash his head before speaking to him. He says:
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