Asa and Father Willibald agreed that such dreams as these must possess some significance, and Asa wept when Orm told her of his second vision. But when she considered the matter more closely, she became less despondent.
“It may be that you have inherited from me the gift of truthful dreaming,” she said, “though it is a gift that I would not willingly bestow on anyone, for I myself have never gained profit from it, and it has brought me nothing but anxiety and sorrow that I would not otherwise have known. One thing, however, comforts me, and that is that I myself have not had any dream which could be interpreted as a warning of evil luck to come. For any stroke of bad luck that injured you would touch me no less nearly, so that if anything was to threaten you and your house, I, too, should receive warning of it in a dream.”
“For my part,” said Father Willibald, “I believe that King Sven has enough to occupy him elsewhere and has little time to spare trying to search you out in these wild forests. Besides which, do not forget that it is against me, and not you, that his anger is primarily directed, for it was my hand that flung the stone that felled him, as David, the servant of God, smote the heathen Goliath; and I have had no evil dreams. It cannot, though, be denied that the paths of evil are long and crooked, and that it is always a good thing to be prepared for the worst.”
Orm agreed with this last observation, and had the stockade on his rampart strengthened and tested, and the great gate reinforced with good crossbeams, that he might sleep the more soundly at night. Before long the memory of these bad dreams had almost passed from his mind, and he began to think less of them than of the great christening feast that he was intending to hold in his son’s honor.
He lost no sleep in trying to think of a name for the child, for he was determined that the boy should be called Harald.
“There is always the danger,” he said, “that, by giving him a king’s name, I may expose him to some grievous fate. But few men have enjoyed such luck as King Harald, or have won a greater name; and of all the chieftains I have met, only one, Almansur of Andalusia, was as wise as he. So I think I should be denying my son great possibilities if I withheld from him the name that his grandfather bore so well.”
“There is only one thing about that name that worries me,” said Ylva. “It might cause him to become inordinately greedy for women as my father was. He could never have enough of them. It may be a good quality in a king to be so inclined, but I do not think it is to be desired in other men.”
“He will be strong and well-shaped,” said Asa. “That I can tell already. And if he is blessed with a merry humor also, he will need no king’s name for women to fall ready victims to the snares he will lay for them. My son Are was such a man, though his talent brought him bad luck. Women could not resist him when he winked at them and took them by their plaits. I have heard them confess as much with their own lips. He had laughing eyes and a humor that was never clouded, and was the best of all my sons after Orm; and I pray that God may never allow you, Ylva, to know such grief as I knew when he came to bad luck because of his skill at love-making and went the way to Miklagard and never came back.”
“That is my wish, too,” said Ylva. “Though, now that I think about it, I would rather that my son had his way with women than that he should stand tongue-tied in their presence and never dare to chance his luck with them.”
“You need have no fear of that,” said Orm. “There is little bashfulness in his ancestry.”
They now began to make great preparations for their son’s christening feast, to which many guests were to be invited; for word of it was to be sent to all good people for miles around. It was Orm’s wish that there should be no stint of anything, whether baked, brewed, or slaughtered; for he was anxious that these forest people should have the opportunity to see what happened when a chieftain held open house for three whole days. All the eating and drinking was to take place in the church, because there was more room there than in any of the other buildings; then on the third day, when all the guests were merry and replete, Father Willibald would preach them a sermon, after which, Orm doubted not, many of them would offer themselves for baptism.
At first Father Willibald flatly refused to allow a feast to be held in his church, because of the rowdiness and blasphemy that would certainly accompany such an occasion, especially since he had just completed his altar and had carved a fine cross to stand upon it. In the end, however, the consideration that many souls might thereby be won over to the true religion overcame his scruples and he consented. Two things troubled Ylva: first, she was anxious that the ale should not be brewed too strong, since their guests were, many of them, wild folk, and women as well as men would be sitting at the tables; and secondly, she could not make up her mind whether to wear her gold chain or whether it might not perhaps be wiser to keep this hidden.
“For the last time it appeared at a feast,” she said, “swords were bared; and the greed for gold is even greater in these parts than it was at Jellinge.”
“My advice is that you shall wear it,” said Orm. “For I want men to see that you are superior to other women; and you will gain little joy from it if you keep it always locked in a chest.”
The whole household now began to busy itself with preparations for the feast. There was great brewing and baking, and every day Orm fingered the flesh of his slaughter-beasts and had them fattened further.
One day a man came out of the forest from the south with two pack-horses and rode toward the house, where they welcomed him warmly and bade him enter. His name was Ole; he was an old man, and had for many years wandered from house to house throughout the forest country peddling skins and salt, for which reason he was called Salt-Ole and was well known everywhere. No one ever offered him violence, though he always traveled alone, for he was cloven-minded and was held to be different from other men; but he knew all there was to be known about skins and was difficult to deceive, and was always welcomed for his salt in such houses as could afford to indulge in such an extravagant luxury. The great hounds bayed as he approached; but he and his old horses paid no heed to their noise. He remained at the door, however, refusing to cross the threshold, until they had assured him that the priest was not in the house, for of him he was terrified.
“Our priest is no wolf or bear,” said Asa reprovingly as, with her own hands, she set food before him. “But in any case he is out today fishing with Rapp, so you will not have to meet him. A wise man like you ought not to be afraid of a priest of God. But you are welcome none the less; sit you here and eat, old man. You are particularly welcome with your salt just now, for our stock is nearly at an end, and we shall need more than a little to see us through this christening feast if Orm is to have everything as he wants it. It is his wish that every guest shall have a three-finger pinch of white salt to dip his food in, not merely for his meat and sausage, but for his porridge also, though most folk would say that this was going too far, even for people of our position, and that butter and honey ought to be good enough flavoring for porridge even at the greatest feast.”
The old man sat guzzling sour milk, breaking bread into it, and shaking his head at Asa’s talk.
“There is nothing like salt,” he said. “A man should eat all the salt he can. It gives health and strength and long life. It drives bad things from the body and makes the blood good and fresh. Everybody likes salt. Watch this, now!”
The twins were standing hand in hand, gazing earnestly at the old man as he ate and talked. He took two pieces of salt from his belt and held them out toward the children, making a cheerful clucking noise with his tongue. They approached him hesitantly, but at length accepted the crystals and began at once to suck them.
“You see!” cried the old man, hugely jubilant. “Nobody can say no to salt.”
But when he had finished eating and had drunk a cup of ale and been asked for news, and Ylva was ready to argue a price for his wares, it transpired that he had in fact practically no salt left in his bags; none at all of
the white, which was called emperor’s salt, and which Orm wanted for his feast, and only a little of the brown.
Asa shook her fist at him. “You should have told us this at the beginning,” she said, “and I would have given you a different welcome. But it is as I have always said: old men, trolls, and old bullocks, one gets no reward for stuffing them with food.”
Ole, however, was by now full and contented, and said that every disappointment brought consolation in its wake. “For there are other peddlers on their way here,” he said. “I passed them yesterday while they were resting at Gökliden; eleven men, fourteen horses, and a boy. They had nails in their sacks, and cloth and salt. They had come up through the Long Stocks, they told me, and were heading for Smaland. I did not know them, though I have sometimes thought that I knew all people; but I am growing old, and new ones get born. But of this I am sure, that they will visit you, for their chieftain inquired about you, Orm.”
Orm had been taking his midday nap in his room, but had now come out to join the others and listen to the old man’s gossip.
“About me?” said Orm. “Who was he?”
“His name is Östen of öre, and he comes from the Finnveding country, but has never been in these parts before. He said he had spent many years at sea, but had invested all his gains in the wares he was carrying, so as to be able to return home still richer.”
“Why did he ask about me?” said Orm.
“He had heard men speak of you as a rich and famous man, such as peddlers like to visit. He had, besides, silver ornaments in his sacks, he told me, and good arrows and bow-sinews.”
“Did he ask about anyone else?” said Orm.
“He wanted to know what other great men there were in the district who would be likely to buy his wares without haggling and complaining about the price. But most of the time he asked about you, because he had heard that you were the richest.”
Orm sat for a while in silence, looking thoughtful.
“Eleven men?” he said.
“And a boy,” replied the old man, “a small one. Such fine wares as he carries need good men to guard them. The boy was there to help with the horses.”
“No doubt,” said Orm. “None the less, it is a good thing to be warned in advance when strangers come in such strength.”
“I marked no evil in him,” said Ole; “but I can tell you this, that he is a bold man, for I told him that you have a priest in your house, and he was not frightened.”
At this they all laughed.
“Why are you afraid of the priest?” asked Orm.
But to this question the old man would give no answer; only he shook his head and looked cunningly at them and mumbled beneath his breath that he was not so stupid but that he knew that that sort of folk were worse than trolls. Then he got up and left without tarrying longer.
“Seven weeks from now I shall be holding my feast,” Orm said to him as he rode away, “and if you are in these parts then, you will be welcome; for it may be that you have this day done me a good service.”
CHAPTER THREE
CONCERNING THE STRANGERS THAT CAME WITH SALT, AND HOW KING SVEN LOST A HEAD
THE NEXT evening the strangers of whom Salt-Ole had warned Orm arrived at Gröning. It had begun to rain, and the men and their horses halted a short way from the gate while one of their number came forward and asked for Orm, adding that they would be glad of shelter for the night. The hounds had given warning of the strangers’ approach, and Orm was already standing before the gate with Rapp, the priest, and five men of his household, all well armed except for Father Willibald.
The stranger who had addressed them was a tall, lean man, clad in a broad cloak. He brushed the rain from his eyes and said: “Such rain as this is unwelcome to peddlers, for neither bales nor leathern sacks can long withstand it, and I have on my horses’ backs salt and cloth, which will suffer if they become damp. Therefore, though I am a stranger to you, I beg, Orm, that you will give me shelter for my wares and a roof to cover the heads of me and my men. I who address you thus am no mere vagabond, but Östen, the son of Ugge, from örestad in Finnveden, a descendant of Long Grim; and my mother’s brother was Styr the Wise, whom all men know of.”
As he spoke, Orm looked at him closely. “You have many men with you,” he said.
“I have sometimes thought them too few,” replied Östen; “for the wares I carry are valuable, and this is not the safest of districts for peddlers to travel in. But so far all has gone well with me, and I trust it may continue so. It may be that I have in my sacks one thing or another that you or your wife might care to buy from me.”
“Have you been baptized?” asked Father Willibald.
“Certainly not!” said Östen indignantly; “nor have any of my companions. We are all honorable men.”
“Your tongue led you astray there,” said Orm sternly. “All of us are baptized men, and the man who asked you that question is a priest of Christ.”
“A stranger cannot be expected to know such things,” replied Östen humbly; “though, now that I remember it, a man we met on the way did tell me that there was a priest in your house. But it had slipped my memory, for most of what he had to say concerned you, Orm, and your reputation for hospitality and your fame as a warrior.”
The rain began to descend more heavily than ever, and thunder could be heard crackling in the distance. Östen glanced toward his wares, and his face began to wear a worried look. His men stood waiting beside the horses with their backs turned toward the wind and their cloaks drawn over their heads, while the rain stood like smoke about them.
Rapp smiled. “Here is a good opportunity for us to buy salt cheaply,” he said.
But Orm said: “Your ancestry may be good, Smalander, and I have no wish to think evil of you, but it is a great deal to ask of a man that he should take eleven armed men into his house for the night. I would not appear inhospitable, but I do not think you can blame me for being hesitant. But I give you two choices: either to depart and seek night shelter elsewhere, or to enter my land and take shelter in my bathhouse for the night with your men and your wares, having first surrendered your weapons to me here before my gate.”
“That is a hard condition,” said Östen, “for if I accept, I place myself and all my wealth in your hands, and no man willingly takes such a risk. But I think you are too great a chieftain to contrive treachery against me, and I am so placed that I cannot but accept your condition. It shall therefore be as you demand.”
So saying, he unhooked his sword from his belt and handed it to Orm. Then he turned and bade his men make haste to bring his wares into the dry. They lost no time in obeying his command, but each man had to surrender his weapons at the gate before he was permitted to enter. The horses were tethered in the grass by the river, there being no danger from wolves at this season.
When all this had been done, Orm invited the stranger to take food and ale with him. After the meal he bargained with Östen for salt and cloth and found him an honorable man to deal with, for he asked no more for his wares than what a man might reasonably be expected to pay. They drank upon the bargain as friends; then Östen said that he and his men were tired after their long day’s journey, and they thanked him for the good fare he had given them and retired to rest.
Outside, the storm increased in violence, and after a while a noise of lowing was heard from the cattle, which were kept at night in a shed next to the house. Rapp and the old cowman went out to see if the beasts had become frightened and broken loose. It was by now quite dark, apart from an occasional flash of lightning. Rapp and the cowman went carefully round the cattleshed and found it undamaged.
Then a thin voice asked from the darkness: “Are you Red Orm?”
“I am not he,” said Rapp, “but I am the next after him in this house. What do you want with him?”
The lightning flashed, and by its light he saw that the speaker was the little boy whom the peddlers had brought with them.
“I want to ask
him how much he will give me for his head,” said the boy.
Rapp leaned swiftly down and seized him by the arm.
“What kind of a peddler are you?” he said.
“If I tell him everything I know, perhaps he will give me something for my knowledge,” said the boy eagerly. “Östen has sold his head to King Sven and has come here to collect it.”
“Come with me,” said Rapp.
Together they hurried into the house. Orm had gone to bed with his clothes on, for the storm and the strangers had made him uneasy, and Rapp’s news at once set him wide awake. He forbade them to strike a light, but slipped on his chain shirt.
“How did they deceive me?” he said. “I have their weapons here.”
“They have swords and axes hidden in their bales,” replied the boy. “They say your head is worth a deal of trouble. But I am to have no share of the reward, and they drove me out into the rain to keep a watch on the horses, so I shall not be sorry to see them get the wrong end of the bargain; for I am not of their party any more. They will be here any moment now.”
All Orm’s men were now awake and armed. Including Orm himself and Rapp, they numbered nine; but some of them were old and could not be reckoned upon for much help when it came to fighting.
“We had better go to their place at once,” said Orm. “With luck, we may be able to smoke them in their sleeping-quarters.”
Rapp opened the door a few inches and glanced out.
“The luck is with us,” he said. “It is beginning to grow lighter. If they try to run, they will make good targets for our spears.”
The Long Ships Page 31
