Merlin's Ring

by H. Warner Munn

  He raised his head and peered at the knorr standing in to harbor, under sail. The sun was in his eyes and at first he could not make out clearly what he was seeing. When he was sure, he quickly wound in his line and hailed the shore.

  The alarm had already been given. A man was beating with a mallet upon a long bone hung between two posts. At the not unmusical sound, which carried clearly to the visitors across the water, other folk came out of the houses and thronged the beach.

  They did not appear to be armed. Men and women alike wore long robes. A few of these were cloth, but most were made of fox skins. Here and there could be seen a person of more commanding presence than the others, though all were mainly a rather short, dark people. Many of the men had white beards.

  One, carrying a long staff, came down close to the water’s edge and called out to them, “If ye be friendly disposed, brothers, come without fear. If not, then depart in peace.”

  Skeggi had already taken in the sail and the knorr was holding its distance, under oars. He looked at the man, narrowly. He was not sure if the shout had been to welcome them in or to warn them away, but when it was repeated in Norse, his face cleared.

  He had already made out that the staff had a crook in the upper end and could be nothing but a bishop’s crozier.

  Flann was already satisfied of this, for the language first used had been Erse, and he recognized the phrasing.

  “Celi Deil The Children of God! We are among friends.”

  Skeggi smiled. He had known many such in the Faroes and found them all to be good men—harmless, devout, though somewhat narrow and rigid in their principles. They were definitely a strong-minded group, acknowledging no other master than the Christian God.

  Secretly, Skeggi had some leanings in that direction, having observed the effect of their teachings upon other men, but old beliefs die hard and his loyalty was to his old gods.

  Flann understood them even better. The Celi Dei, or Culdees as they were commonly called, lived a life of austerity, disciplining their bodies to increase the glory of the soul. To know the will of God was their joy, to do it was their life. They lived apart from large groups of mankind, not to win their own personal salvation, for they were already convinced of that; their motive was to testify by their own example the blessedness of a simple way of living.

  However, the roistering, blustering, fighting Norse had another way of life. Although the Culdees possessed no treasure, the Viking raiders could never believe it. Time and again the Culdees’ settlements were sacked and their people killed or taken into slavery, as Flann had been. So the Culdees fought in the only way they could and still remain God’s Men: they left every place that the Norsemen penetrated and sought another safer home.

  They had been pushed out of Ireland and Scotland, north into the Orkneys, the Shetlands, and the Faroes. For three quarters of a century this little group had dwelt peacefully, as far away as they thought man could go—in the land that they supposed was the most distant on earth and that the Greeks knew as Thule.

  No wonder that, recognizing the lines of the knorr as Norse, they stood in dread upon this black strand, their backs against the ocean, which stretched westward to limitless expanse, offering no other haven. They had been discovered. This might mean invasion, slavery, and further persecution.

  Yet so kind of heart they were that their Bishop now invited the wayfarers to land in good cheer, offering them rest, comfort, and peace—providing only that they came in good will.

  Biarki grunted hi contempt. “Good will toward the West-men?* Good will toward thralls? Sooner would I take what we need with our axes than anything they would give with open hands!”

  Flann shot him a look of hate, but Skeggi said, “You will keep this peace they offer, hothead, or you will answer to me! We are in their land, not ours, and you will do well to remember it!”

  Raising his voice, he called out, “We accept your hospitality, Gaffer. We come only hi peace.” Then the oars struck the water and in a few strokes the keel grated on the shingle.

  The sides of the boat were seized by willing hands and it was dragged high upon the beach. Now that their dismay was over, the Culdees surrounded the strangers with smiling faces. As Skeggi had first thought, then* appearance marked many as of a distant Pictish descent, although some were tall and fair and a few had red hah- and blue eyes.

  All looked on Gwalchmai. with curiosity, admiring his strength and stature, but wondering at his strange clothing and reddish-brown skin. They did not know his mother had been a girl of Aztlan. The information would have meant nothing to them, but they recognized him as something beyond their ken.

  The Culdees crowded in, clapping the newcomers on the shoulders and shaking hands. The Bishop came forward and bestowed the kiss of peace upon Skeggi’s hairy cheeks. Women and children timidly gathered around Gwalchmai and Corenice, fingering the fabric of Thyra’s gown and admiring his flamboyant beadwork embroidery.

  It was plain to see that they had long been separated from knowledge of what women were wearing in Europe.

  No one offered to kiss Biarki. His frown caused the men to keep their distance. The burning glances he directed upon the prettiest of the girls made it plain what was hi his dark thoughts.

  Flann bent down and picked up a small child who had

  *The Norse term for Irishmen.

  fallen and was crying because of a hurt knee. He nuzzled his nose into the boy’s soft neck and crooned to him, blowing warmly down his collar, which tickled and made the child laugh. He hugged and kissed Flann, who set him gently down and gave him into the hands of his smiling mother. Children always liked Flann.

  Corenice glanced tenderly at the man from Erin. She knew that, deep down, where Thyra lay in dream, this action had not gone unnoticed by her.

  The little group was now urged toward the beehive huts, which were quite low, being partly dug into the ground for warmth, made of stone, chinked with moss and well roofed with turf. Most of them had long entrances, roofed over against the prevailing winter winds, and the rooms were quite comfortable, surprisingly large and commodious.

  The Bishop’s house, to which they were invited, consisted of two buildings connected by a narrow passageway. In the larger of the two, Maire Ethne, his wife, a buxom little woman, made them welcome.

  She was a busy, cheerful person, who bustled about preparing a stew that bubbled over a central fire. There was no chimney, the smoke finding its way out by itself through a hole in the conical peak of the roof. The glowing peat beneath the kettle cast off a pleasant warmth and the dim light it gave was increased by several open grease lamps.

  These were carved from soapstone in a design unchanged since Roman times and still in use among the Esquimos. The Culdees burned seal or whale oil and used wicks made of white-headed cotton grass, which grew profusely everywhere. The single lamp that was different was a small brass one, evidently an article of pride and value, for it was kept burnished and gave a brighter light.

  Upon enquiry, the Bishop explained that it was a family heirloom and was fed with a finer oil, pressed from the breasts of the great auk—that unfortunate effort of Nature to create a penguin out of a puffin.

  Altogether, these various burning fuels combined with the fragrant stew to create an aroma that made the visitors feel fault with hunger.

  Flann was sent to bring in the remaining biscuit and cheese as their contribution. This was a great treat to their hosts, since no cereals could grow in the short summers and they had not tasted bread of any kind for years.

  The low table of driftwood planks was hastily set with Wooden bowls and spoons, intricately carved with loving care during the long dark winters. The voyagers were about to fall too when they noticed that the Bishop and his wife had bowed their heads in prayer. They watched, in uneasy embarrassment, not quite knowing what to do.

  When the short blessing had been asked upon the meat, Flann, Bishop Malachi, and Maire Ethne made the sign of the cross over their bowls an
d began to eat. Biarki defiantly made the sign of the hammer over his and after a moment’s hesitation Skeggi did the same, in deference to Thor. Corenice spilled a little water on the floor in honor of the Spirit of the Wave.

  It was not evident that the Bishop had noticed the actions of the others, but he beamed when Gwalchmai likewise made the sign of the cross, for he supposed the Aztlanian was also a Christian. He could not know that whatever leanings he had in that direction, Gwalchmai had absorbed them from the questionable books of Merlin Am-brosius, the Druid Mage.

  There was little talk during the meal. Biarki hinted for strong drink, then for ale or beer, but this austere community had neither. There was no cereal or fruit for its manufacture. After eating, the cups were filled with a light but unfermented wine made of crowberries, and with that Biarki, to his disgust, was obliged to make do.

  He made a mental reservation that if plans he was vaguely formulating should turn out successfully, many changes would take place.

  When the company was replete, a further blessing was said and another prayer and then Bishop Malachi settled back comfortably for talk, while the table was being cleared. When his wife came back, she sat down with them and began sewing upon a foxskin cap.

  Neither pressed their guests with questions, but when they were told of the Norse fishers’ journey before the storm, it confirmed their suspicion that this was indeed Iceland. The wonderful rescue of Gwalchmai was not mentioned, nor his identity.

  Skeggi, as spokesman for the party, said nothing of that which had befallen his daughter, for he did not understand it himself. Neither could he make himself yet fully believe in this strange changeling whom he had fathered.

  The bishop was too polite to probe into mysteries he could sense, for he was a good judge of men, and instead brought the conversation around to himself and his flock.

  Thus the Norse learned that this happy, contented people had lived upon the island for seventy-five years, having established a community and an economy that suited them well. They had come there in curraghs of oak-tanned hides, made of three layers in such a way that air chambers were sealed in. Such boats were still in use. The curraghs carried a mast, with a triangular lug-sail also made of hides, and were fitted for oars as well. Even when loaded, the craft drew but a few inches and when empty was easily carried up on the land and stowed away.

  The original colony had been increased by several other shiploads of the Children of Ood during that time. They had sought a peaceful refuge and found it here, some in curraghs and others in ships of wood large enough to bold sixty people.

  Some had brought sheep and a carefully tended flock was now increasing, though somewhat harassed by foxes. Wool was as yet in short supply. They had no cattle and no horses —and they had thrown away such weapons they had come with, for they trusted in the protection of God.

  Biarki grunted, thinking his own black thoughts, but said nothing of such folly.

  The Bishop went on, undisturbed.

  As other visitors came, less kindly minded, the Culdees had withdrawn before them to the little islands, hidden their skin boats in places made ready for them, and kept their larger ships upon the other side of Iceland proper. So it was that neither Gardar, the Swede, nor the Viking Floki had ever been aware of the people and had thought the land to be uninhabited.

  However, the Celts knew that this isolation could not continue and it must come about one day that they would be discovered by those who had driven diem for so many weary years and hundreds of sea miles. Now there was no other place to go, unless they submitted to slavery or death by returning to their southern homelands.

  At this, Gwalchmai started, remembering Ms own warm homeland of Alata. It would seem a paradise to these people, who lacked so many things and who were in such dread-ful danger. But at this time he said nothing and, catching the eye of Corenice, he saw that she concurred with his opinion.

  The heat and the warm food began to take its toll among the weary wayfarers. Soon one, then another, began to yawn.

  The Bishop, noticing this, broke off his discourse.

  “Enough, brothers,” he said. “Let us pray and sleep. There will be time for talk tomorrow. Woman of tke house, will you put away your sewing now, for I see you have done little upon it in all this time. Our guests would rest now.”

  The robes were brougkt in from the boat and spread down upon heaps of heather in the farther chamber. It was not large, but there was room for everyone. After all necessary things were done, the Bishop took down one of his holy books from a short shelf and prayers were said. Flann, as thrall, was delegated to smoor the fire.

  Well accustomed to the task, he ‘quickly covered the coals with dry peat, damp peat, and ashes, following these layers with a good coating of wet peat on top. The banking would last through the short night

  Then, under the warm cloud of smoke and steam that layered the upper part of the room, adding to the streamers of soot that hung there, he lay down on his pallet near the fire where he could tend it if he must. He blew out the remaining grease lamp and was soon asleep, although thoughts of Thyra disturbed him in his dreams.

  In the following days, it was a marvel to the voyagers to see how lightsome of spirit these people were. It was not an occasional gaiety, but a steady outpouring of happiness that extended to all. They were a hardworking folk, for to prepare for the winter no time could-be wasted. The men fished every day; the women laid by the berries in great store, drying them in the sun; the young boys danced and played, but gathered eggs, cotton grass, and salt from the evaporating pans. Birds were snared, their flesh likewise to be dried and salted, and seal meat and oil were put away.

  All the time, through the long days now perceptibly growing shorter, they laughed and sang.

  Biarki laid their high spirits to the taking of strong drink and at one time or another he visited all the houses, hinting and peering about He could never believe that their laughter was due to sheer joy of life and the feeling of brotherhood that permeated the entire settlement His temper grew uglier as his frustration increased.

  He took to swaggering through the village with buckler on his arm and battle ax loose in his hand, swinging it to and fro as though he was instantly ready to strike out with it. His scowl brought soberness to aU he met and nothing Skeggi could say deterred him in this growing habit.

  He watched the women as they worked and one day followed one of the girls on her way to tend the sheep. When he found that they could not be seen from the village, he approached and drew her down into a hollow. As they struggled, a group of children seeking eggs came up, singing, and Biarki let her go with no worse to befall her than torn clothing.

  She said nothing, for she was in fear of her life, but because of her manifest terror whenever she saw Biarki, Bishop Malachi suspected what had happened and afterwards no child watched the sheep alone.

  The others took a hand with their hosts and shared the work. They were well liked and the Culdees considered them, except for their alien faith, as valuable members of the community and would have been glad to have them stay.

  There came a day when Biarki was more restless than usual. He had disdained any kind of labor and he was bored. At the same time he was angry, for Flann had newly become a free man.

  Skeggi had long considered making him so, for he felt that in all but name Flann was not a thrall. His willingness to obey orders, though his status irked him., was cause for admiration, and it seemed to Skeggi that Flann should be in a position to bear arms legally now that Biarki’s temper had become so strained.

  Also, it seemed to him that if the Irishman was able to mingle among them all as equals, this might in some way, which his own slow mind could not comprehend, bring back his girl to her senses. Skeggi had always known that the two of them looked upon each other kindly, until this stranger man had come between them and become responsible for this weird change in her. At times he had regretted pledging her to Biarki and never more than now.

&nbs
p; So thinking, he called Flann to him and snapped the iron thrall collar in twain between his strong fingers.

  “Never call any man master again,” he said.

  “Nay, master,” said Flann, in deep gratitude. “No man but you!”

  And so the matter ended.

  Now, for some little while, it seemed that this action had brought about a change in Thyra. She smiled upon Flann and appeared to pay a little attention to him as for a few days he also went about the village with ax and buckler. He did not strut as did Biarki and no one shrank out of his way. When he found that Biarki avoided him or spoke to him politely as was fitting between equals, he gave over wearing his weapon and spent much of his spare time reading the Bishop’s books.

  But Biarki was biding his time and planning with his slow mind what he meant to do. In accordance with this plan, he invited Skeggi to go on a journey to see the interior of the island and view some of the wonders said to exist there. Skeggi was nothing loath, for work had palled upon him and he too had heard tales.

  They started early, for the days were much shorter now. The first night they slept upon ground warmed by a nearby hot spring. The next day, moving north, they came upon a region of rising ground where meadows changed into a high lava plateau. Eider ducks had nested here hi quantity and they saw foxes that had preyed upon the young and were still lurking about, hunting laggard strays. They took one of these foxes, kept the skin, and cooked and ate some of the rank meat without muck relish.

  Waterfalls abounded here, some of great size and turbulence, and a few of the streams ran warm from other hot springs, for much of this plateau had been laid down not too long before, as earth’s clock counts time, and the fires beneath still flamed.

  Here Skeggi ran down two of the auks, which, being wingless, were easy to capture. Mindful of the oil their bodies contained and which was so highly prized by their friend the Bishop, he wrung their necks, tied their feet together, and went on, carrying them slung about his neck.

  Lichens and mosses covered this young lava like a carpet of greenish-gray dust The low hills looked like slag heaps and between them lay pools that steamed in the chill air. Near one of these, a deep pond of clear water in a white silica basin all of fifty feet across, the two men sat down to eat and talk.