“There is no denying,” said Östen, “that your luck is better than mine.”
“But it only became as good as it is now,” said Orm, “after I got baptized. For in former days, when I knew no religion save that of the old gods, I suffered many misfortunes, and sat for two years as a slave in Almansur’s galley, chained to a bench with iron. It is true that I won this sword you see here, which is the finest weapon that was ever forged, so that Styrbjörn himself, who knew more about swords than any other man, vowed when he weighed it in his hand in King Harald’s hall that he had never seen a better; but even that was scant compensation for all that I underwent to secure it. Then I embraced the religion of the Andalusians, at the bidding of my master Almansur, and thereby won a necklace, a jewel of royal worth. But for that necklace’s sake I was wounded almost to death in King Harald’s hall, despite my good Andalusian chain shirt, and if it had not been for this little priest and his healing skill I should have died from that wound. Then, at last, I became baptized and came under the protection of Christ and straightway won King Harald’s daughter, whom I count the most precious jewel that I own. And now you yourself have witnessed how Christ helped me to overcome you and all the men you brought with you to kill me. If you consider the matter well, you will, being a wise man, realize that you will not lose anything by being baptized, but will, instead, gain much profit, even if you do not regard it as important that your head should remain on its shoulders.”
This was the longest sermon that anyone heard from Orm in the whole of his life, and Father Willibald told him afterwards that he had acquitted himself by no means poorly, considering his inexperience in the art.
Östen sat and pondered for a long while. Then he said: “If all that you say is true, I must agree that you have not lost by becoming a Christian, but have rather gained; for it is no small feat to have won King Harald’s daughter, nor are the wares that you have got from me to be despised. But in Smaland, where I live, there are Christian men who are thralls, and they have little to show for their religion; and I cannot be sure whether I may not have their luck instead of yours. But there is one thing I wish to know. If I do as you bid me, what do you intend to do with me then?”
“Set you free, and let you depart in peace,” replied Orm. “And your men with you.”
Östen eyed him suspiciously, but at length he nodded.
“If you are ready to swear this before us all,” he said, “I shall believe that you mean to keep your word. Though what good it can do you to see me baptized is more than I can understand.”
“It is no more than just,” said Orm, “that I should do something to please God and His Son, after all that They have done for me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CONCERNING THE GREAT CHRISTENING FEAST, AND HOW THE FIRST SMALANDERS CAME TO BE BAPTIZED
WHEN the bees had swarmed and the first hay had been garnered, Orm held his great christening feast. As he had intended from the first, it lasted for three days, and was, in every way, a feast unlike all other feasts, not least in that no weapon was blooded from beginning to end of it, despite the fact that every evening all the guests were as drunk as a man could wish to be at a great lord’s banquet. The only misfortune occurred on the first evening, when, in the first flush of intoxication, two young men went to play with the great hounds in their kennel. One of them came smartly out again, having sustained nothing worse than a few gashes and the transformation of his clothes into ribbons; but the other attempted to withstand their assault, and it was only after much screaming that two women of the household, who were known to the hounds, rushed in and rescued him with his arms and legs lacerated and one ear missing. When the news of this reached the feasters, it occasioned much merriment, and the hounds were praised as a credit to the district; but there were no further attempts to play with them.
Asa and Ylva had difficulty in finding room for all the guests to sleep, for more had come than had been invited, and many had brought their sons and daughters with them; and though many of the older guests fell contentedly asleep each evening on the benches on which they had dined, or on the floor beneath, and remained there throughout the night, thereby saving much trouble, still, in spite of this, there was little room to spare. The young people managed well enough, for the girls were bedded in one barn and the boys in another, in good, soft hay; and though a surprising number of them experienced difficulty in finding their right barn, or in remaining in it once they had found it, still, no complaints were heard on this score. In the morning the girls mumbled blushingly to their mothers of the strayings that had taken place and of the difficulty of distinguishing one bank of hay from another, and were warned to take care that no other man stumbled over their legs on the following night, since to trip up two different men on successive nights was a thing that might damage a girl’s reputation; after which there ensued lengthy and amiable discussions between various parents, so that by the time the feast ended seven or eight marriages were as good as arranged. The news of these happenings delighted Orm and Ylva, for it was a sign that their guests, both young and old, were enjoying the feast; and only Father Willibald muttered blackly to himself, without, however, making any representations about the way things were going.
In other connections, though, Father Willibald had a great deal to say at this feast; and already on the first day, when all the guests had been fitted into their places in the church and every man and woman had received his or her cup of welcome-ale, he lit before his altar, on which his cross had been set up, three fine wax candles that he and Asa had molded, and spoke to the gathering about the holy place in which they now found themselves.
“The God who rules in this house,” he said, “is the only true god, and surpasses all others in wisdom, strength, and the ability to impart luck. His house, into which you have been permitted to enter, is the house of peace. For He dwelleth in peace, and rejoiceth in it, and giveth of it to such as come to Him for succor. You have come to this house from the regions of darkness and heresy to rest for a brief moment in His presence; and to darkness and heresy you will return when you have left it, to wallow in sin and luxuriate in abomination until the span of your life is ended, when you will take your places among the regiments of the damned. But Christ offers His infinite friendship even to you, although you daily slight His name and teaching; therefore you have been permitted to enter this house. For He wants all men to be happy; that is why, when He himself was a wanderer on this earth, He turned water into good ale, that He might give joy to His friends. But the time is almost come when He will cease to be meek to such as refuse His friendship; and when they feel the whip of His anger, terrible indeed shall be their suffering, worse than that of the chieftain in the song who perished in a pit of snakes. So I think you will all agree that it will be a bad thing to be counted among His enemies. But as yet His offer still holds good, that any man or woman who wishes to do may become His servant and gain His protection merely by being baptized. Those, however, who will not do this must protect themselves as best they can.”
The guests listened with interest to Father Willibald’s address and murmured to one another that there was wisdom in a good deal of the things he had said, though some of his observations were difficult to be taken seriously. It was noticeable that the old people listened more attentively than the young, for the latter, whether boys or girls, found it difficult to take their eyes from Ylva. She was, indeed, a sight to marvel at, for she was now in the full prime of her beauty, at peace with the world and full of good-will toward everyone. She wore new garments, made from the costliest cloth that had been found in Östen’s sacks, embroidered with silk and silver; and around her throat she wore the Andalusian chain. It was clear from the way so many of the guests gazed at her that such a woman and such an ornament were sights the like of which a man did not often see; and Orm was not the less happy for observing that they were properly appreciated.
When the priest had finished his speech, Orm tried to persuade on
e or two of the wiser among his guests to agree that a sensible man would be neglecting his own interests if he did not become a Christian; but he got no further than that two men expressed the opinion that the matter was, certainly, worth consideration; and even several hours later, when they were well on the way toward being drunk, they refused to commit themselves further.
The next day was a Sunday, and Father Willibald told the guests how God had built the world in six days and had then rested on the seventh, which they agreed to be an excellent story; also, how on this same day, many years later, Christ had risen from the dead, which they found more difficult to believe. Then Harald Ormsson was brought into the church to be baptized. Asa carried him to the tub, and Father Willibald performed the ceremony with the maximum of pomp and solemnity, chanting Latin prayers so loudly that they drowned the infant’s bawling and caused the congregation to tremble on their benches. When the ceremony was over, toasts were drunk to the infant’s luck, and to the memory of the three great heroes, Harald Blue-Tooth, Sven Rat-Nose, and Ivar Broad-Hug, whose blood ran in his veins.
Then all the guests trooped out of the church to see the Smalanders baptized in the river. Östen and his two men were led from the bathhouse and were made to wade a short way into the water. There they stood in a row, bareheaded and scowling, while Father Willibald stood before them on the washing-barge, with Rapp beside him holding a couple of spears in case the men should try to offer resistance. Father Willibald read over them, his voice quivering with excitement and joy, for this was, for him, a great day; then he bade them bow their heads and dowsed them one by one with a scoop. Having done this, he blessed each of them in order, placing his hands upon each man’s head; then he leaned perilously forward from his barge and gave each of them a brotherly kiss upon the forehead.
They endured all this with no sign of expression in their faces, as though they were scarcely aware of Father Willibald’s presence or of what he was doing to them, and as though the spectators on the banks did not exist at all.
When they had waded ashore again, Orm told them that they were now free to go whithersoever they pleased.
“But before you leave me,” he said, “I wish to give you one further example of Christian behavior. It is commanded that we who follow Christ shall be generous toward our enemies, even to such as have sought our life; and I do not intend to show myself less religious in my observance of this command than anyone else.”
He then ordered each of the three men to be given food for their journey, the same as the guests had enjoyed in the church on the previous evening. In addition, he presented every one of them with a horse, from those that they had brought with them in their caravan.
“Now depart in peace,” he said, “and do not forget that you belong to Christ.”
Östen glared at him and, for the first time that day, words passed his lips.
“I am a man whose memory is long,” he said slowly; and he spoke as though he was very weary.
He said no more, but climbed upon his horse, rode out through the gate, and, together with his two companions, disappeared into the forest.
Then everybody returned to the church, and the feast proceeded amid much merriment and noise, so that when Father Willibald tried to tell them more about the Christian religion, he had difficulty in getting a hearing. They would prefer, the guests declared, to hear about the adventures that Orm had had in foreign lands, as well as about his feud with King Sven; so Orm complied with this request. There was little love lost between King Sven and the inhabitants of these parts, for it was a peculiarity of the border-dwellers that they were always generous in their praise of dead kings, but seldom found anything good to say about living ones. When, therefore, Orm told them how Father Willibald had thrown a stone at King Sven and hit him in the mouth, so that blood had appeared and his teeth had been loosened, there was tremendous applause and jubilation, and all the guests made haste to fill their cups that they might drink to the honor of the little priest. Many of them swayed backwards and forwards on their benches with tears streaming from their eyes, and their mouths wide open, while others were unable to swallow their ale for laughing, and snorted it out on the table in front of them; and they all cried joyfully that they had never heard the like of such a feat by so tiny a man.
“The spirit of the Lord was upon me,” said Father Willibald humbly. “King Sven is God’s enemy, and so my weak hand brought him down.”
“We have heard it said,” remarked a man of note called Ivar the Smith who was seated near Orm, “that King Sven hates all Christians, and their priests especially, so that he kills all he can lay his hands on. It is not difficult to guess the reason for his hatred, if he received such a blow as this from the hand of one of them. For there are few greater indignities that a king could undergo, and few that would take longer to forget.”
“Especially if he lost a tooth or two,” said another good farmer farther down the table, whose name was Black Grim of the Fell.
“For every time he bites a crust of bread, or gnaws a knuckle of sheep, he will be reminded of the incident.”
“That is true,” said a third, by name Uffe Club-Foot. “It was so with me when I lost my foot, the time I fell out with my neighbor, Thorvald of Langaled. Midway through our argument he aimed a blow at my leg, and I jumped too late. Long after the stump had healed and I had learned to walk with a wooden peg, I still felt tired and feeble, not only when I was standing but also when I was sitting down, and even in bed, as my woman can attest, for she was for a long time no better off than if she had been a widow. But when at last my luck changed, so that I saw Thorvald lying before me on his doorstep with my arrow in his throat, I took a great leap over him and all but broke my good leg, so full of vigor I suddenly found myself. And I have kept that vigor ever since.”
“It is not because of Father Willibald that my brother kills Christians,” said Ylva. “He has always hated them bitterly, especially since my father took their part and allowed himself to be baptized. He could not set eyes even on the blessed Bishop Poppo, who was the mildest of men, without mumbling against him; though more than that he dared not do as long as my father retained his power. But now, if reports are true, he kills bishops and priests of all ranks whenever he can lay his hand on them, and it will be a good thing if he does not live too long.”
“The life of evil men is often long,” said Father Willibald, “but it is not so long as the arm of God. They shall not escape his vengeance.”
Down at the end of one of the tables, where the young people were seated and the merriment was greatest, they were now beginning to make verses; and there on this evening a lampoon was composed which was sung along the border for many years afterwards, at feasts, threshings, and flax-strippings, and which came to be known as the “Ballad of King Sven.” It was a young man called Gisle, son to Black Grim, who began it. He was a shapely youth, dark-haired and fair-skinned; and although there was nothing wrong with his head, it was a remarkable thing with him that he was shy of women, though he was often observed to cast by no means hostile glances in the direction of one or another of them. All his family regarded this as a peculiar and disturbing thing, which even the wisest among them knew no cure for; and hitherto he had been sitting bashful and silent in his place, devoting himself solely to his food and drink, though it was well known that he had as ready a tongue as any young man there. Opposite him there sat a girl called Rannvi, a comely virgin with a snub nose and a dimple in her chin, such a woman as might easily cause a young man to cease his chatter; and ever and anon, from the time that he had taken his seat on the bench on the first day of the feast, he had cast stealthy glances toward her, but had not dared to address her and had become stiff with terror whenever it had so happened that their eyes had met. Once or twice she had gone so far as to chide him for his word-meanness, but without avail. Now, however, the good ale had given him better courage, and the story of King Sven’s humiliation at the hand of Father Willibald had made him l
augh very loudly; and of a sudden he began to rock backwards and forwards on his bench, opened his mouth wide, and roared in a high voice:
“You challenged a priest,
And that was the least.
For he toppled you into
The mud, King Sven!”
“Here is something new!” cried those who sat nearest to him. “Gisle has turned poet. He is making a ballad about King Sven. But this is only half a verse. Let us hear the rest.”
Many of the guests now made suggestions how he might finish his poem, but it was no easy thing to find words of the right length and ending; and in the end it was Gisle himself who found the answer and completed his poem so that it might be sung to an old and well-known melody:
“You were always greedy for
More, King Sven!
You thought yourself greater than
Thor, King Sven!
But the priest threw a stone
And down with a groan
You fell on your face to the
Floor, King Sven!”
“He is a poet! He has written a whole poem!” cried those about him; and none cried with so loud a voice as Rannvi.
“Listen to the young people,” said the old ones higher up the table. “They have a poet there among them. Black Grim’s son has wrought a ballad about King Sven. Who would have thought such a thing possible? Has he inherited the gift from you, Grim? If not from you, then from whom, pray?”
“Let us all hear this poem,” said Orm.
So Gisle was called upon to declaim his verse aloud before the whole company. At first his voice trembled somewhat; but when he saw that his audience approved his work, and that Orm himself was nodding and smiling, his fear fell from him; and now he found himself able to meet Rannvi’s eyes without averting his own.
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