King Sven spat meditatively, took a swig from his cup, fingered his beard, and said that it would be difficult for him to spare either men or ships, since he could not neglect his obligations toward his own people, whom he could not leave a defenseless prey to the Saxons and Obotrites.
“I think it fairer,” he added, “that if any assistance be lent, it should be provided by my father; for now that he is old, his men have little to do but wait for the next mealtime and listen to the twittering of priests.”
King Harald exploded with fury at this remark, and there was uproar in the hall; he said that it was easy to see that Sven would be glad to see him left defenseless in Jellinge. “But it shall be as I command!” he screamed, and his face was scarlet; “for I am the King of the Danes, and I alone! So, Sven, you shall lend ships and men to Styrbjörn!”
Hearing these words, King Sven sat silent, for he was afraid of his father’s wrath; besides which, it was clear that many of his men were eager to follow Styrbjörn to Uppsala.
Then Styrbjörn spoke. “I am delighted,” he said, “to see how anxious you both are to help me. I think the best solution would be that you, Harald, should decide how many ships Sven shall send; and that you, my good friend Sven, shall determine the extent to which your father shall aid me.”
This suggestion caused great merriment among all the feasters, so that the tension in the hall decreased; and finally it was agreed that Harald and Sven should each send twelve well-manned ships to fight with Styrbjörn, in addition to whatever help he might succeed in persuading the Skanians to lend him; in return for which, Harald and Sven were to have a share of the treasure that lay in King Erik’s coffers. So that evening, too, drew to its close.
The next day, since they had finished the Yule pork, cabbage soup and mutton appeared on the tables, which they all agreed to be an excellent change. In the evening a man from Halland told them about a great wedding that he had been present at in Finnveden, among the wild people of Smaland. During the celebrations a dispute had broken out concerning a horse deal, and knives had quickly appeared; whereupon the bride and her attendant maidens had laughed delightedly and applauded and had encouraged the disputants to settle the matter there and then. However, when the bride, who belonged to a well-known local family, saw her uncle’s eye gouged out by one of the bridegroom’s kinsmen, she had seized a torch from the wall and hit her bridegroom over the head with it, so that his hair caught fire. One of the bridesmaids, with great presence of mind, had forced her petticoat over his head and twisted it tight, thereby saving his life, though he screamed fearfully and his head, when it appeared again, was burned black and raw. Meanwhile the fire had caught the straw on the floor, and eleven drunken or wounded men lying in it had been burned to death; so that this wedding was generally agreed to have been one of the best they had had for years in Finnveden, and one that would be long remembered. The bride and bridegroom were now living together in blissful happiness, though he had not been able to grow new hair to replace that which he had lost in the fire.
When this story was finished, King Harald said that it was good to hear of such merry goings-on among the Smalanders, for they were in general a sour and treacherous people; and, he went on, Bishop Poppo ought to thank God every time he said his prayers that he had been sent to Denmark, where men knew how to behave themselves, when he might have fallen instead among the robber folk of Finnveden or Värend.
“But tomorrow,” he concluded, “let us hear about the country of the Andalusians, and the strange adventures that befell Orm the son of Toste and Toke the son of Gray Gull on their voyage; for this, I think, will amuse us all.”
So that evening ended.
The next morning Orm and Toke debated which of them should tell the story of their travels.
“You are our chieftain,” said Toke, “so you must also be our historian.”
“You were on the expedition before I joined it,” said Orm. “Besides which, you have a readier gift for words than I. Anyway, it is time you had a chance to talk your fill, for I seem to have noticed during these last evenings that once or twice you have found difficulty in listening in silence to all these stories that we have had to hear.”
“It is not the speaking that worries me,” said Toke, “for I think I have as ready a tongue as most men. The thing that troubles me is that I cannot tell a story unless I am well supplied with ale, for my throat becomes dry easily, and our story is not one that can be told in a few sentences. I have managed to control myself for four evenings, on each of which I have quitted the King’s table soberly and peacefully. None the less, it has not been easy for me, though I have had little occasion for talking. It would be a pity if I were to lapse into one of my melancholy moods and gain the reputation of being an ill-conducted man, and one unworthy to eat at the tables of kings.”
“Well,” said Orm, “we must hope for the best. Even if you should become tipsy during your narration, I do not think that such fine ale as King Harald provides will be likely to make you violent or quarrelsome.”
“It shall be as it shall be,” said Toke, and shook his head doubtfully.
So that evening Toke told the story of Krok’s expedition and of all that had befallen them on their travels; how Orm had come to join them, how they had discovered the Jew in the sea, and how they had plundered the fortress in Ramiro’s kingdom; of the sea battle they fought against the Andalusians, and how they had become galley slaves; and he told them how Krok had died. Then he described how they had been freed from their slavery, and the services that the Jew had performed for them, and how they had received their swords from Subaida.
When he reached this point in his story, both King Harald and Styrbjörn expressed their wish to see these swords; so Orm and Toke passed Blue-Tongue and Red-Jowl up the table. King Harald and Styrbjörn drew them from their scabbards and weighed them in their hands, studying them carefully; and both agreed that they had never in their lives seen finer swords than these. Then the swords were passed round the whole table, for many of the guests were curious to examine such fine weapons, and Orm fidgeted nervously until he had Blue-Tongue back at his waist again, for he felt half naked without her cheek against his thigh.
Almost opposite Orm and Toke there sat two of Sven’s followers named Sigtrygg and Dyre, who were brothers. Sigtrygg belonged to King Sven’s own ship. He was a huge, coarse-framed man, with a broad and extraordinarily bushy beard, which reached right up to his eyebrows. Dyre was younger, but he, too, was rated one of King Sven’s boldest warriors. Orm had noticed that Sigtrygg had, for some time during Toke’s account of their adventures, been throwing dark glances in their direction and had once or twice appeared to be about to interrupt with some remark. When the swords reached him in the course of their passage round the table, he examined them closely and nodded to himself and seemed reluctant to pass them back.
King Sven, who liked to hear about distant lands, now exhorted Toke to proceed with his story. Toke, who had been utilizing the interval well, replied that he would be glad to continue as soon as the men opposite him had finished looking at his sword and that of Orm. At this, Sigtrygg and Dyre returned the swords, without saying anything, and Toke took up his tale again.
He told them of Almansur and of his might and wealth, and how they had entered his service as members of his Imperial bodyguard and had had to worship the Prophet, bowing toward the east each evening and renouncing many of the good things of life; and he told of the wars in which they had partaken, and of the booty they had won. When he came to the story of their march through the Empty Land toward St. James’ burial place and described to them how Orm had saved Almansur’s life and how Almansur had given him the great gold chain as a token of gratitude, King Harald said: “If you still have that chain, Orm, I should be interested to see it; for if it is as surpassing an example of the goldsmith’s art as your sword is of the smith’s, it must indeed be a marvel to look upon.”
“I have it still, King Harald,” r
eplied Orm, “I intend to keep it always; and I have always thought it wise to show it to other men as little as possible, for it is of such beauty as to awaken the covetousness of any man who is not a king or the wealthiest of lords. It would be churlish of me to refuse to show it to you, O King, and to King Styrbjörn and King Sven and the jarls; but I beg that it shall not be passed round for the other guests to see.”
Then he opened his tunic and drew out the chain, which he wore around his neck, and handed it to Sigurd Buesson. Sigurd passed it to Hallbjörn, the groom of the bedchamber, who sat on his right, and Hallbjörn passed it across Bishop Poppo’s place to King Harald; for the Bishop’s place now stood empty, he having had his fill of the Yuletide drinking and being now confined to his bed, where Brother Willibald was tending him.
King Harald measured the chain, and held it against the light, that he might the better examine its beauty. Then he announced that he had spent his whole life collecting jewels and precious ornaments, but that he could not remember ever having seen a finer work of art than this. The chain consisted of thick lozenges of pure gold, each lozenge being long and narrow, a good thumb in length and the breadth of a thumbnail at its middle point, where it was widest, and from which it tapered inwards toward its ends; and each lozenge was joined to its fellow by a small gold ring. The chain comprised thirty-six such lozenges; every first lozenge had a precious red stone set in its center, and every second, a green.
When Styrbjörn held it in his hand, he said that this was worthy to have come from Weland’s smithy; he added, however, that there might be articles of equal beauty in his uncle’s coffers. When it reached King Sven, he observed that it was the sort of prize for which warriors gladly gave their blood, and the daughters of kings their maidenheads.
Then Thorkel the Tall examined the chain, and after he had praised it as the others had done, he leaned down the table to hand it back to Orm. As he did so, Sigtrygg thrust out his hand to take it; but Orm was quicker, and his hand reached it first.
“Who are you to snatch at it?” he said to Sigtrygg. “I have not heard that you are a king or a jarl, and I do not want it to be handled by any but them.”
“I wish to fight with you for this ornament,” said Sigtrygg.
“I can believe that,” replied Orm, “for you are plainly a covetous and unmannerly churl. My advice to you is to keep your fingers to yourself and not to meddle with people who know how to behave themselves.”
“You are afraid to fight with me,” thundered Sigtrygg. “But fight you shall, or else surrender your chain to me; for you have long stood in debt to me, and I demand this chain in payment.”
“You have a weak head for ale, and it makes you talk foolishly,” said Orm, “for I never saw you in my life before this feast began, so that I cannot possibly be in your debt. The best thing you can do,” he added sharply, “is to sit still and hold your tongue, before I beg King Harald’s leave to tweak your nose where you sit. I am a man of peace, and loath to dirty my fingers on such a snout as yours; but even the most patient of men would feel an urge to teach you manners.”
Now, Sigtrygg was a renowned warrior, feared by all for his strength and ferocity, and by no means accustomed to being addressed in such a manner as this. He leaped up from his bench bellowing like a bull and pouring out a flood of abuse; but louder still rang King Harald’s voice through the hall as he called furiously for silence and demanded to know the cause of this disturbance.
“Your good ale, O King,” said Orm, “together with this man’s greed for gold, have combined to drive his wits out of him; for he screams that he will have my chain and claims that I stand in his debt, though I have never before set eyes on him.”
King Harald said angrily that Sven’s men were always making trouble, and he demanded sternly of Sigtrygg what had driven him to take leave of his senses and lose control of himself, when he had heard it plainly proclaimed that both the peace of Christ and the peace of King Harald were to be respected in this hall.
“Royal King,” said Sigtrygg, “let me explain how this whole matter stands, and you will see that my claim is just. Seven years ago I suffered a cruel wrong, and now, here at your feast, I have heard that these two men were among the perpetrators of it. That summer we were sailing home from the southern lands in four ships, Bork of Hven, Silverpalle, Fare-Wide Svensson, and myself, when we met three ships sailing southwards. We held converse with them, and from this man Toke’s story I now know whose ships they were. Now, on my ship there served a Spanish slave, a dark-haired, yellow-skinned man. While we were speaking with the strangers, this man jumped overboard, dragging with him my brother-in-law Oskel, a good man; and nothing more was seen of either of them. But now we have all heard that this slave was taken up on board their ship, and that he was this man whom they call Solomon; and that he served them well indeed. These two men who sit here, Orm and Toke, were the men who pulled him out of the water; we have heard as much from their own lips. For such a slave I could have got a fine price. This man Orm is now the chieftain of such as survive from Krok’s company, and it is no more than justice that he should repay me for the loss I thereby incurred. I therefore demand of you, Orm, that you surrender me this chain in payment for the loss of my slave and my brother-in-law, peacefully and of your own free will; failing which, that you meet me in single combat outside this hall, on trodden earth, with shield and sword, now and without delay. Whether or not you give me the chain, I shall in any case kill you; for you have said that you wish to tweak my nose—and to me, Sigtrygg, the son of Stigand, and kinsman of King Sven, no man has ever addressed impertinences and lived to see the end of the day on which he uttered them.”
“Two things only have kept my temper cool as I listened to your words,” replied Orm. “The first is that the chain is mine and shall remain so, whoever may or may not have jumped from your ship into the sea seven years ago. And the second is that Blue-Tongue and I shall have a say in the matter of which of us two shall live to see tomorrow’s sunrise. But first let us hear King Harald’s pleasure regarding this affair.”
Everyone in the hall was happy to see that there was a good prospect of an armed combat; for a fight between two such men as Orm and Sigtrygg was sure to be worth the watching. Both King Sven and Styrbjörn expressed their opinion that this would add pleasant variety to the Yuletide drinking; but King Harald sat pondering the matter deeply, stroking his beard and wearing an expression of perplexed uncertainty.
At length he said: “This is a difficult case on which to pronounce judgment. I think it doubtful whether Sigtrygg can fairly claim compensation from Orm for a loss that he sustained through no fault of Orm’s. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that no man may reasonably be expected to lose a good slave, to say nothing of a brother-in-law, without expecting to receive some compensation for his loss. In any case, now that insults have been exchanged, they are bound to fight it out as soon as they are out of my sight; and such a chain as Orm wears must surely have been the cause of many combats in the past, and will certainly be the cause of many more in the years to come. In the circumstances, therefore, I see no reason why they should not be permitted to settle it here, in armed combat, where we can all enjoy watching them. Therefore, Hallbjörn, see to it that a combat ring be trodden out and roped off here, outside our hall, where the ground is most even, and see to it also that it be well lit with flares and torches; and tell us as soon as it is ready.”
“King Harald,” said Orm, and his voice sounded strangely unhappy, “I am not willing to be a party to such a contest.”
They all stared at him in amazement, and Sigtrygg and a number of King Sven’s followers burst out laughing.
King Harald shook his head sadly and said: “If you are afraid to fight, then there is no alternative but that you surrender your chain to him and hope that it may divert his wrath. To my ears, your voice had a bolder tone in it than this a few minutes ago.”
“It is not the fighting that worries me,” said
Orm, “but the cold. I have always been a man of delicate health, and cold is the thing that I can least endure. Nothing is more dangerous for my health than to go out from a hot room, after heavy drinking, into the cold night air, especially now that I have spent so many years in southern climes and am unaccustomed to the northern winter. I do not see why, to please this Sigtrygg, I should have to endure being racked with coughs for the rest of the winter; for coughs and colds tend to hang about me, and my mother always used to say that they would be the death of me if I did not take good care of myself. Therefore, O King, I humbly propose that the fight take place here, in the hall, before your table, where there is plenty of space, and where you yourself will be able to enjoy the spectacle in comfort.”
Many of those present laughed at Orm’s anxiety; but Sigtrygg did not join in their mirth, bellowing furiously that he would soon settle any fears Orm might cherish concerning his health. Orm, however, paid no attention to him, but remained quietly seated with his face turned toward King Harald, awaiting his decision.
At last King Harald said: “I am sorry to see that young men are growing soft nowadays. They are not what they used to be. The sons of Ragnar Hairy-Breeks never bothered about such trivial considerations as their health or the weather; nor, indeed, did I myself, in my younger days. Really, I do not know of any young man today who is of the old mettle, apart from Styrbjörn. I confess, however, that, now that I am old, it would be a convenience for me to be able to watch the fight without having to move from my present chair. It is lucky that the Bishop is ill in bed, for he would never permit this to take place; still, I do not see that the peace that we have come here to celebrate can be said to be broken by anything to which I give my assent; nor do I think that Christ could have any objection to a contest of skill, provided it be conducted with due propriety and the correct formalities. Therefore let Orm and Sigtrygg fight here in the cleared hall before my table, with sword and shield, helmet and chain shirt; and let no man assist them, except with the putting on of their armor. If one of them be killed, the matter is decided; but if either of them be no longer able to stand upright, or throw down his sword, or seek shelter beneath the tables, his adversary shall not continue to strike at him, for he shall then be deemed to have lost the fight and the chain with it. And I and Styrbjörn and Hallbjörn my groom shall see that the contest is fairly fought.”
The Long Ships Page 17
