Berserk Revenge

by Mark Coakley

28: A SAD HOMECOMING

 

  The war-ships reached Norway's mountain-toothy coast and sailed north to Fjordane-fjord, which led them to Eid. The body of Halfdan -- stretched on a plank, wrapped from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head in blankets -- was carried by six glum raiders from the deck of Wave-Jumper and onto the docks, then borne into the rebuilt town. Folk gathered in the street by the docks to watch the arrival. The early-summer sun was bright that morning, the air nicely warm, and the arrival of the ships meant that many Fjordane-fighters (who had been away since mid-winter: crossing Nis glacier, fighting a battle, occupying Sogndal, raiding England) would soon see their wives, girlfriends, parents, children and extended families again. But there was little cheer among the returning raiders; their gloomy mood spread to the folk of Eid, when they learned of the tragic fates of Haki and Halfdan.

 

  The temporary shelter that had housed Halfdan, Yngvild and Siv after the Great Fire of Eid had, in the spring, been replaced by a normal house. On a bronze hook beside the front door, a freshly-killed lamb hung by its neck, a gift for Freya; on the roof of the new house, the small sprouts of grass and wildflowers swayed in warm wind.

 

  Yngvild and Siv were sitting on a sunny bench near the front door, weaving wool socks, when Yngvild saw the body-bearing procession on the street, approaching their house. The half-dozen fighters with sad, down-cast faces carried Halfdan's body into their yard, Yngvild staring in shock and horror at their cloth-wrapped load, a sick feeling deep inside her.

 

  Siv said, "What is happening, Yngvild?"

 

  Yngvild said to her blind mother, "Halfdan is home," and started to weep.

 

  "Dead?"

 

  "He is wrapped in cloth, carried on a piece of wood," Yngvild sobbed.

 

  "Oh, no."

 

  Both women stood and waited.

 

  When the body-bearers were close, Yngvild said, "Is he dead?"

 

  One of the six men was the steersman of Wave-Jumper. He said, "Yes. I am very sorry. Halfdan was stabbed in the gut by a crazed traitor when we were sailing home."

 

  "Who did it?"

 

  The steersman said, "A nobody. The coward killed himself after the crime. His name is not worth mentioning."

 

  Siv said, "Did Halfdan die immediately?"

 

  One of the other fighters said, "No. I know medicine, and tried to heal him. He lived for four days and three nights, but the infection got worse and worse, and yesterday night he left us."

 

  Yngvild said, "Yesterday night?" and dropped back down onto the bench, bawling into her hands.

 

  The healer-fighter said, "I fed him onions right after the stabbing. Soon the hole in his belly smelled of onion, which told me that there was a hole in his stomach. Some of his gut-tubes had slipped out, so I stuck them back inside the hole as best I could, then I put a bandage on it and carved some magic runes on a bone amulet, which I placed in his hands. I spent most of the rest of the trip by his side, chanting the most powerful magic I knew, but his belly got more and more swollen. Three nights ago, Halfdan fell into a sleep that we could not wake him from, and he slept until yesterday night, when his heart-beat and his breathing stopped."

 

  "Let me feel him," Siv said.

 

  Yngvild was weeping violently and paid little attention as the men carried the body into the house and placed it on the bed that Siv and Yngvild shared.

 

  The healer-fighter started peeling the blankets from Halfdan's head, saying, "When I saw that he was dead, naturally I wanted to plug his eyes and nose and mouth with wax, to stop evil spirits from crawling in -- but we had no wax on board."

 

  Siv's fingers stroked the slack, greyish skin of Halfdan's face. She put a finger on his black moustache. Then she touched his neck, gently squeezing.

 

  Siv said, "It's a good thing that you did not have wax on board."

 

  "Why?"

 

  "Because it would have suffocated him. Fool! This man is not dead. How dare you call yourself a healer? I can definitely feel a pulse -- a faint one, but still -- and how could you not notice his shallow breathing? Fool! Yngvild! Get inside!"

 

  Yngvild shuffled inside, wet-faced. She said, "What?"

 

  "Your troll-faced boyfriend isn't dead. Quit blubbering and let's get to work. The rest of you, go away."

 

  Yngvild stood staring at Halfdan, unable to believe her mother's words.

 

  Five of the fighters, smiling, left to spread the good news.

 

  But the embarrassed healer-man remained inside the house. He said, "I would like to stay. To help. And learn."

 

  "What's your name, anyway?"

 

  "Ole, son of Tryggve. Folk call me Ole the Healer."

 

  "Ole the Incompetent would be better. Will you take orders from an old, blind woman?"

 

  "Yes."

 

  "Will you take orders from my daughter too? Without any complaints from male pride?"

 

  "Yes."

 

  "Then light the fire, Ole the Beginner-Student, and fill the biggest pot with water and get it to boil. Unless that is beyond your medical skills."

 

  Blushing with shame, Ole said, "Thank you," and did as he was told.

 

  Yngvild lay on the bed by Halfdan's body, frantically kissing and stroking his unmoving face. His face looked much paler than normal, and much thinner, as if most of his face-muscles had melted away.

 

  Siv said, "Get up. Enough of that. Time for work. He might still die -- you know most gut-piercings are fatal. Find a clean knife to cut off this corpse-cloth."

 

  His scab-crusted belly was swollen to the size of a pregnant woman's. The spear had pierced just below his belly-button. The red-black scabs were cracked, and white pus oozed out from the hurt.

 

  Siv sniffed at Halfdan's belly.

 

  "There are disease-demons inside there," she said, "but not the worst kind. Not like those in Njal's leg."

 

  The first step was to wash the hurt, and the stretched skin around it, with a cloth soaked in a brew made from the boiled leaves of a plant called wolf's-bane. Then, Ole was told to collect maggots.

 

  "Maggots?" he said, with disgust. "Why?"

 

  Siv said, "You're here to do what we say, not question us."

 

  "Fine. But where am I supposed to collect maggots?"

 

  Yngvild said, "Garbage dump. Bring a bowl. We need about a hundred. Go!"

 

  Ole left, shaking his head.

 

  He soon returned, holding the bowl as far from himself as he could, a queasy look on his face.

 

  "Here they are," he said.

 

  Siv said, "Now, clean them."

 

  "Sweet Tor. How do you clean a maggot?"

 

  Siv said, "Rinse them in water that's neither hot nor cold. Then get a cloth and wipe each one dry. Gently. Be ca
reful not to hurt them; they're sensitive and delicate."

 

  For a moment, Ole seemed ready to walk out. But, after a glance at Halfdan's body on the bed, he carried the bowl to the water-mug on the eating-table and did as he was told.

 

  Siv dumped the scrubbed maggots -- a wriggling, squirming mass of white worms -- onto Halfdan's hugely-swollen belly. Covering the pale bugs with a sheet of boiled-clean cloth, Siv explained to Ole, "Maggots eat dead flesh, never living. They'll make their way into the cut, eating some of the nasty stuff in there, while leaving the healthy parts alone."

 

  "Thank you," Ole said. He stepped out the front door and puked on the grass, then returned.

 

  While the maggots were working, Ole was told to watch over Halfdan while Siv and Yngvild went for a walk, carrying a bucket, to the sacred swamp. They returned with the bucket full of moist grey stuff, put it by the bed.

 

  "Mud?" Ole said.

 

  Yngvild said, "Magic clay."

 

  She often checked under the cloth and described to Siv the feasting maggots. It was mid-afternoon when Siv decided that the maggots had done enough. Yngvild brushed most of them off. Some of the maggots had squirmed into the spear-hole, only their tails sticking out. Yngvild pulled these worms out, one by one, with wooden tweezers.

 

  Ole went outside again, his empty stomach heaving.

 

  Guided by Siv's instructions, Yngvild again washed Halfdan's huge belly with the wolf's-bane brew. After sprinkling a powder of dried toad-warts onto him, she smeared a thick layer of the magic swamp-clay over Halfdan's hurt, then loosely covered the clay with boiled-clean bandages.

 

  Ole said, "Shouldn't we do some chanting now?"

 

  "You can chant as much as you want," Siv said, "as long as you keep working and don't distract us."

 

  Ole stayed quiet.

 

  Siv told him to close all the doors and windows of the house, sealing any cracks with stuffed rags. Then bring the water-pot back to a boil, after pouring in a large cup of vinegar.

 

  Soon, acidic steam drifted up from the pot.

 

  "We need to fill the house with steam," Siv told Ole. "Keep filling the pot with water and vinegar; keep feeding lots of wood to the fire. The vinegar-steam should help the healing. Hopefully, he will wake up soon."

 

  Two days later, Halfdan's long eyelashes suddenly fluttered in the steamy air, one hand clenching in a fist. He groaned and opened his eyes.

 

  Yngvild yelped, "He's awake! You're awake!"

 

  Siv said, "Quick. Have him drink the potion."

 

  Yngvild opened Halfdan's lips with a finger-tip, then poured liquid from a cup in his mouth: water brewed with honey (for energy) and the fungus of a birch-tree (a strong laxative) and wolf's-bane (to kill disease-demons).

 

  Halfdan choked and coughed. But some of it went down his throat.

 

  Yngvild said, "Can you hear me?"

 

  He seemed to be looking at her, but she could not tell if he recognized her.

 

  "It's Yngvild. Can you hear me?"

 

  Nothing.

 

  She said, "Blink twice, fast, if you can hear me."

 

  His eyelids twitched twice.

 

  Yngvild laughed, clapping her hands with relief.

 

  She said with a sly grin, "Blink three times if you still think I'm pretty and will love me with all of your heart, forever."

 

  A pause, then three quick blinks.