Then they returned to their village and came back with a great quantity of fresh hay and two plump young women. The crones undressed Olof, washed him in birch sap, and bedded him in the hay with a bearskin under him and one of the two young women on either side of him to keep him warm; then they gave him more of the bitter drink and covered the three of them with oxhides. He fell asleep almost immediately, and slept thus for two nights and a day in great warmth; and as soon as he awoke, the young women cried that his health was returning to him. The crones were richly paid for this; and the young women, too, were well rewarded, though they steadfastly refused to perform the same service for any of the other men.
Olof Summerbird recovered swiftly after this. By the time they reached the city of the Polotjans, his wound was healed, and he was able to eat and drink as well as the best of them. Here the chieftains visited Faste again and told him what had happened to his scribe, but the news did not appear to trouble him greatly.
In this town the men felt as though at home. They remained there for three days, drinking and love-making, to the profit and delight of all the people there. Then, as the leaves were beginning to fall, they rowed down at their leisure to the mouth of the Dvina, reaching the sea just as the first frost-nights came.
One morning, off Ösel, they were attacked by Estonian pirates in four small ships full of howling men. Spof saw them as they emerged out of the mist, and straightway bade the men at the oars pull as hard as they could; then, as the pirates drew abreast, two off either bow, and prepared to grapple, he swung the helm smartly round and rammed one of them so that those aboard her had to pull smartly for the shore, sinking swiftly. One of the others succeeded in grappling Orm’s ship, but no sooner had they done this than Sone’s seven sons swarmed over into the pirate ship, shieldless and whooping triumphantly, and hewed about them so furiously with sword and ax that they cleared the ship of its occupants well-nigh unaided. When the other pirates saw this happen, they realized that they had encountered berserks, and rowed hastily away.
Sone’s sons were much praised for this feat, but several of them climbed back over the gunwale in an ill humor, cursing the old man their father. One of them had lost two fingers, another’s cheek had been split by a spear, a third had had his nose pulped, and scarcely one of them had come through unscathed. Those of them who had been wounded most severely said that the old man was to blame for this, having lured them by his prophecy into attempting too much; for they had assumed that they would suffer no hurt. But the others spoke against them, saying that the old man had promised no more than that seven of them should return home alive; he had said nothing about wounds and scratches. It looked as though there was going to be fighting between the brothers, but Orm and Toke calmed them with wise words, and they proceeded on their journey without more incident.
They had good weather all the way from Ösel to the river mouth and made the whole journey under sail. Meanwhile Orm measured out silver to every man aboard, both their hire-money and their share of the treasure. No one was discontented, for he gave each man more than he had expected to receive.
One morning at dawn, as Toke stood at the steering-oar and the rest of the men were sleeping, Orm seated himself beside him, and it was plain from his face that he was heavy-hearted.
“Most men would be merry in your clothes,” said Toke. “Everything has gone well, you have won a great treasure, and we shall soon be home.”
“My mind is troubled,” said Orm, “though I cannot say why. Perhaps it is the gold that makes me uneasy.”
“How can the gold make you uneasy?” said Toke. “You are now as rich as a king, and kings do not hang their heads because their wealth is great.”
“There is too much of it,” said Orm gloomily. “You and Olof shall both have your good shares, but even so, too much will remain for me. I have deceived the men, telling them that the chests contain trash for women, and my lie will bring me bad luck.”
“You meet bad luck before it comes,” said Toke. “None of us yet knows what the chests contain; it may be only silver. It was wise of you to say that they contained women’s trash, and I should have done the same in your clothes; for even the best of men become crazed when they know that gold is near.”
“Before God,” said Orm, “I now make this vow. I shall open one of these chests, and if it contains gold, I shall divide it among the men. We shall then have three chests left, one of which shall be yours, one Olof’s, and the third mine. Now that I have said that, I feel better.”
“You shall do as you please,” said Toke. “As for me, I shall no longer need to be a skin-trader.”
Orm fetched one of the small chests, set it down on the deck between them, and cut away the red ropes that were sealed with the Emperor’s seal. The chest was strongly locked, but Orm drove his knife and Toke’s under the lid and leaned upon them with all his weight until the lock broke. Then he lifted the lid, and the two of them stared silently into the chest.
“Not Fafnir1
In time of yore
Guarded e’er
A brood more bonny,”
said Toke reverently; and Orm remained silent, though usually, when Toke wrought a verse, it was his habit to reply with one as good or better.
The sun had by now risen, and its rays struck into the chest. It was filled with gold, which the river water had not tarnished. Most of it was coins, of many different sorts and sizes, filling the chest to its rim; but among them many precious ornaments lay bedded—rings great and small, chains, necklaces, clasps, bracelets, and suchlike, marvelously worked—“like lovely pieces of pork,” thought Toke, “in a soup of good pease.”
“This trash will please our women well enough when we bring it home,” he said. “Indeed, I fear the sight of it may make them mad.”
“It will be no easy task to share this out,” said Orm.
The men had by now begun to wake up. Orm told them that one of the chests of women’s trash was to be shared out among them, and that its contents were better than he had expected them to be.
The division of the gold lasted the whole day. Each man received eighty-six coins, of varying sizes; the same amount was held back for each man who had been killed, to be given to his heirs, and Spof got a helmsman’s quadruple share. Sharing out the ornaments fairly proved a more difficult task, and sometimes they had no alternative but to chop rings and bracelets into pieces, to make sure that nobody received less than the next man; though often the men bargained with one another, giving coins in order that they might have the whole of some trinket that had particularly taken their fancy. One or two arguments began, but Orm said that they would have to wait till they reached land before fighting them out. Several of the men had never seen gold coins before; and when Spof told them how much silver went to a piece of gold, they sat gazing foolishly at the deck, with their heads in their hands, unable to calculate how rich they were, though they racked their brains to do so.
When everything had at last been shared out and the chest was empty, many of the men set to work with needle and twine to enlarge the pockets of their belts. Others rubbed and polished their gold, to make it brighter; and there was great cheerfulness among them as they talked of their luck and the fine homecoming they would have, and the deep drinking that would then take place.
They reached the river mouth and rowed upstream until they came to the land of a farmer whom Orm knew. There they dragged the ship on to the bank, amid the crunch of fresh night-ice, shedded her, and went about hiring horses. Some of the men departed for their homes, but the majority remained.
Spof was uncertain what to do. It might be best for him, he told Orm, to stay with this farmer, who was said to be a good man, until the spring, when he would be able to find a ship to take him home to Gotland.
“But it will be a sleepless winter for me,” he added, shaking his head gloomily. “For what farmer is so good that he will not instantly kill me in my sleep as soon as he discovers what I have in my belt? Besid
es which, all men have a tendency to kill Gothlanders without asking them questions, because of the wealth they think we all possess.”
“You shall come with me,” said Orm, “and be my guest for the winter. It is no more than you have deserved. Then you can return to this place when spring comes and find a ship home.”
Spof thanked him for this offer and said that he would gladly accept it.
They rode their horses away; and it was difficult to guess whether Orm or Olof Summerbird was the more anxious to see Gröning again.
They came to a place where the road forked, and one of the paths led to Sone’s house. But the seven brothers stood sourly scratching their heads. Orm asked them what might be troubling them.
“We are lucky now,” they replied, “more so than other men. For we are rich and know that we cannot die before we reach home. But as soon as we see the old man again, the spell is broken, and we can die as easily as anyone else. Before we left home, we had no fear of death; but things are different now, when we have so much gold to live for.”
“Then you shall come with me,” said Orm, “and join with me in my homecoming feast. You are good men, and it may be that I can find sleeping-room for you all until the spring. Then you can ride forth on a new adventure if you feel so inclined, and thus live as long as you want to.”
Sone’s sons accepted this offer gladly and promised each other that it would be a long while before they revisited their father. Their best plan, they thought, would be to make another voyage to Gardarike.
“If that is your intention, come as my men,” said Blackhair. “It will not be long before Ulf and I return there.”
“You are young to use the words of a chieftain,” said Orm. “You must wait awhile yet.”
As they drew near to Gröning, Orm’s impatience increased, and he and Olof rode ahead of the others. The first sight that met their eyes was that of men repairing the great gate. Then they saw that the church had been burned. At this, so great a fear came over Orm that he scarcely dared to ride up to the house. Then the men working on the gate saw him and uttered a glad cry, and Ylva came running from the house. It was good for him to see that she, at least, was safe.
“It is good that you have come home at last,” she said. “But it would have been better if you had returned five days earlier.”
“Has bad luck come upon the house?” asked Orm.
“Bandits attacked us during the night,” she said, “four days ago. Harald is wounded and Rapp dead, and three others besides. They took Ludmilla, and the necklace, and much else, and three of my women. Father Willibald was clubbed on the head and is lying half-dead. I managed to escape with the little ones and Oddny and Asa. We spent all the next day hiding in the forest. They were Smalanders; that I know. They took the cattle too, but the hounds went after them and came back with fourteen head. Asa thinks that things might have been unluckier, and I think so too, now that you have come safe home.”
“They are unlucky enough,” said Orm. “Rapp dead, Ludmilla stolen, and the priest wounded almost to death.”
“And the necklace,” said Ylva.
“Do not grieve for that,” said Orm. “You shall have all the trinkets you need. It is lucky that I have so many men still with me, for this business shall not go unavenged.”
“You speak the truth, Orm,” said Olof Summerbird. “It shall not go unavenged. Does anyone know where the robbers came from?”
“Nobody knows anything,” said Ylva. “Harald was wounded in the beginning of the fight and dragged himself to the bathhouse and remained lying there. Only Father Willibald may have something to tell us, if he ever recovers sufficiently to be able to do so. The strangest thing is that they set fire to the church only; he was down there when they hit him. They stole all they could lay their hands on, and we could tell from their voices that they were Smalanders. There were very many of them. They took their dead with them; five were killed by Rapp and his men as they fought at the gate. That is all I know.”
Orm’s men had by now reached the house, and Ylva laughed with joy to see Blackhair safe. The first thing Orm did was to send men on horseback to rich neighbors to beg them to lend him food, for there was little left in the storehouse, and nothing at all in the brewhouse, as the result of the bandits’ depredations.
Then he turned his attention to the wounded. Harald had received a spear in his chest and an ax-wound in his shoulder, but was in good heart. He assured them that he would soon be strong again, and said that what he most wanted was to hear Glad Ulf and Blackhair tell him of the adventures that had befallen them.
Asa sat with the priest, nursing him like a son. His head was swathed in bandages, and he was still half senseless. When he saw Orm, his eyes lightened, and he said in a weak voice: “Welcome home!” but then drowsed back into unconsciousness. Asa said that he often mumbled to himself as he lay there, but that nobody could understand what he was saying.
The sight of Orm greatly revived her spirits, and she straightway began to reproach him for not having returned in time to avert this calamity. But when she heard that he had Are’s treasure with him, her temper softened, and she thought that this had been a trivial attack compared with some she could remember from her young days. That Ludmilla had been stolen, she said, was only what she had always said would happen, because of the unlucky name they had given her. Father Willibald, she was sure, would recover, though he had been near to death, for sometimes now he understood what she said to him, which was a good sign. What worried her most was the empty storehouse and all the cattle that had been stolen.
Toke, Spof, and Blackhair took men and followed the tracks of the bandits to see whither they led; Sone’s sons assured them that they would not be difficult to follow, since there had been no rain since the attack. While they were gone, Orm questioned the survivors of Rapp’s men closely, in the hope of discovering more about the identity of the bandits; but they could add little to what he had already learned from Ylva.
The day before the attack, they told him, had been the holiday that the priest called All Saints’ Day; he had preached a great sermon to them all, and in the evening they had drunk to the honor of the saints. Then they had all slept soundly until the gray dawn, when the bandits had fallen on them. The hounds had begun to bay, and almost at once the bandits had attacked the gate with rams made of tree trunks and had broken it open.
Rapp and Harald had been the first to engage them, though the rest of the men had quickly joined them; they had done what they could, so that most of the women had succeeded in escaping with the children out of the back of the house and then down the river and into the forest. But they had been heavily outnumbered and had not been able to hold the gate long. The priest, who had begun of late to grow harder of hearing, had not awakened immediately, despite the hubbub, and when he at last came out, Rapp had been killed and the bandits were everywhere. He had seen them set fire to the church, and at the sight of this had cried in a loud voice and run down toward it, so that the hounds had not been slipped in time to achieve anything.
This, they said, was all they knew; for, on seeing Rapp fall, and others with him, they had realized they were hopelessly outnumbered, and had given up the battle and taken to their heels. Later, when the bandits had gone, the hounds had been released; the bandits had not dared to approach them. The hounds had followed their traces and, after being away for a whole day, had returned with some of the cattle.
Orm listened blackly to all this, thinking that things had been poorly handled; but there seemed little point in upbraiding them now for what could not be mended, and he did not reproach them for saving their own lives after they had seen Rapp killed and Harald wounded.
He hardly knew whether to grieve more over Ludmilla’s fate or Rapp’s; but the more he thought about the business, the greater his anger waxed, and he determined to lose no time in settling accounts with this rabble of bandits. He thought it likeliest that they were men from Värend, though there was peace between
them and the Göings and he could not remember that he had enemies there.
The next day Father Willibald was conscious again, though still very weak, and had important news to tell them.
By the time he came out of the house, he said, the bandits had already stormed the gate, and the first sight that met his eyes was flames leaping from a pile of straw that the bandits had heaped against the church and ignited. Rushing toward the flames, he had cried to them to leave God’s church in peace.
“Then,” he continued, “a man with a black beard strode toward me. He laughed, and cried in a loud voice: ‘God’s church shall burn, for I have renounced God. This is my third sin. Now I can sin no more.’ Those were his words; then he laughed again, and I recognized him. It was Rainald, the priest who lived here long ago, and gave himself up to the Smalanders at the Thing. He it was, and none other; we had already heard, you remember, that he had turned himself over to the Devil. I cursed him and ran to the blazing straw to pull it clear; but then a man struck me, and I knew no more.”
All those listening cried aloud with amazement at this news. Father Willibald closed his eyes and nodded.
“It is the truth,” he said. “One who was God’s servant has burned my church.”
Asa and Ylva began to weep loudly, for it seemed to them a terrible thing that this priest should have given himself so utterly to the Devil’s service.
Olof Summerbird ground his teeth and drew his sword slowly from its sheath. Reversing it, he rested it hilt-downwards on the floor and crossed his hands upon its point.
“This I swear,” he said. “I shall not sit at table, nor sleep in a bed, nor take pleasure in anything, until my sword stands in the body of this man called Rainald, who was a priest of God, and who has stolen Ludmilla Ormsdotter. And if Christ helps me, so that I find her again, I shall follow Him for the rest of my days.”
The Long Ships Page 58
