I was about to retrace my steps when two of the men stood and approached the bush I hid behind. I was sure that somehow they had noticed my presence. My heart beat loudly in my ears and I was about to dart into the trees to avoid capture, when they stopped. I heard the unmistakeable sound of men making water. It was the oldster and one of his helpers.
“We take them while they sleep. All me wants is five of them gold coins. And the boy. I need a thrall to row and cook food. I will soon break him in, I will.” My stomach churned at the fate the old ferryman had in mind for me.
“We’ll take the merchandise and the rest of his coin”, the other replied. He issued a snicker. “We will wait a week or two and trade them goods at Uppsala, Father.”
“You make a father proud”, the oldster hissed and they strolled back to the fire.
Not long after, I sat beside Trokondas and retold the words I had heard. My companion seemed unaffected, even relieved, which surprised me.
He offered the explanation. “I was not about to gamble our lives on whether the intentions of those men were honest or not. What I am about to do, I would have done, no matter what. Their words have just confirmed my suspicions.”
He took a small mouthful of mead and slowly sucked the sweet liquor through his teeth. He sighed: “Ragnaris, those men are sheep. We are the wolves. They have sized us up and have made a grave error. If they had been warriors, it would have been a challenge. Learn from this.”
Again I studied the man who sat across from me. I too, had grown accustomed to the giant. I tried to see him in the way a stranger would. A chill went down my spine. His eyes were cold and black. His arms rippled with muscle. He truly was a wolf, maybe even a bear. Suddenly my fear of the men sitting sixty paces away vanished. I even pitied them.
“Come”, he said, “let us settle this.” I noticed that he left his axe lying on the furs.
We strolled over to where the men sat beside the fire, feasting on freshly caught fish.
As one they stood. Four men facing off against a warrior and a boy, but in my heart I knew that these sheep were no match for even this one wolf.
The eldest of his sons said: “We have more of them fish. One silver buys you as much …”
He never finished. The side of Trokondas’s palm slammed into his temple. His body went limp and he collapsed where he stood.
The second son next to him produced a dagger and drew back his right hand to strike from above. I expected Trokondas to retreat out of range, but he stepped in, blocked the strike with his left hand and using the attacker’s momentum, threw him to the ground over his hip. The boatman’s head hit the ground with a sickening crunch.
The oldster and his one remaining son retreated two steps, the confidence of moments before replaced by a paralyzing fear radiating from their demeanour.
The warrior hissed: “I will give you this one chance to live. Do as you have agreed and you may still have the gold. Displease me, and I will kill you slowly.”
They had no idea what he was saying, as he spoke in Greek, but they nodded their heads vigorously, while going down on their knees. Trokondas scowled at my silence and I gave them his words.
“Also tell them this”, he said when I was done. “If you so much as move from this fire before I tell you to, you will die. If you run away, I will find you, no matter how long it takes, and you will die. If you stand to make water, you will die. Do not test my patience.”
He turned on his heel and started towards the fire. Without looking back he said: “And bring their fish, boy. All of it. I am famished.”
Chapter 21 – Return (November 464 AD)
I learned a valuable lesson. The power of intimidation and fear.
And, I began to understand that what seems right and fair is not always the best course of action. If I had not overheard the treacherous words of the oldster and his son, I would have frowned upon the actions of Trokondas. I would have thought that what he did was cruel and heavy-handed. But I was shown a glimpse of the backstabbing nature of the sheep. If we had done the right thing, they would have slit our throats while we were asleep.
We woke the next morning to find that the ferryman and his sons had not stirred from where we had left them. It was a wise decision.
None made eye contact with us, but just stared at the ground while they received their instructions from Trokondas. They nodded and did as they were told.
When our purchases were securely loaded upon the newly acquired wagons on the far side of the water, Trokondas handed three gold coins to the oldster. Again, it did not seem fair to give payment to a man who had murder on his mind.
I did not understand, but he explained it to me. “These men respect and fear us, like sheep would a wolf. There is no risk in paying them, on the contrary, they will prosper and should we require their services again, they will serve us well. They now understand where they fit in.”
I stood beside Trokondas who was inspecting the horses and wagons before we would be on our way. The oldster waved and yelled from afar, too scared to approach: “Thank you lord, we are forever your servants. You are a wise lord, may the gods bless you.”
Trokondas grinned. “They will sacrifice to their gods and pray that we die. But they fear us and they will serve us, so it matters not.”
“Yes, lord”, I replied.
He scowled at me. “We will each drive a wagon. And”, he said, “never, ever call me ‘lord’ again.”
“But”, I countered, “I am not yet a man, not yet a warrior.”
“Leave that to me, boy. Soon you will be”, Trokondas said, and climbed onto the leading wagon.
* * *
Lumbered with the wagons and the livestock, the thirty mile journey back to the village turned into a trying affair which took no less than three days to complete.
We eventually reached the outskirts of the village on the afternoon of the third day.
“I will return to my home, boy. I do not wish to mingle with the villagers”, Trokondas said, and collected his belongings.
“Give them my instructions, Ragnaris”, he said. After a heartbeat he added: “Remember, they are but sheep, but in this case they are our sheep and they need caring for.” Without saying goodbye, he turned around and disappeared into the trees.
I secured the wagons and walked the last mile to the settlement. I was amazed at what I found. The villagers had not been idle during our absence. On the crest of the hill, not far from the burnt remains from the raid, stood a nearly completed longhouse. It was larger by far than the dwellings it replaced, and needed to be, as it would be the communal house of all in the village.
My return did not go unnoticed and soon I was swamped by the people, most of whom were the unfamiliar faces belonging to the new villagers.
“Did you not get food?” one said. “We should not have come here”, another voice added. “The boy returned empty-handed”, a third replied.
But the time with Trokondas had changed me. I was no longer the same boy who had left the village half a moon before.
Runa, assisted by Unni, joined the throng of people. “I need four men to assist me with the wagons”, I said to no one in particular. Then I met the gaze of the last villager who commented, and I replied: “And I am not your boy, stranger.”
Runa smiled and gave me a slight nod. “Njord has saved us.” She walked up to me and put her arm through mine. “Come, Ragnar, we will all lend a hand.”
* * *
All I wished to do was to go to Trokondas and train to be a warrior, but alas, I had to put it aside. For a while at least.
The priority was to complete the longhouse before the first snowfall. In the end, the wagons saved us. One thing we underestimated was the time it would take to cut and transport the elk sedge from the nearby wetland. For seven long days I joined the men and women in harvesting the sedge, binding it in bundles and laying it on the enormous roof of the building. By the end of the week Runa mixed a special salve for all to apply to the
ir lacerated hands, compliments of the serrated edges of the elk sedge.
On the evening of the seventh day, the hall was complete. We were all relieved to say goodbye to our leaky temporary shelter once and for all, and moved to the comfort of the longhouse with our meagre belongings and a few animals.
That evening we made a roaring fire in the brand-new hearth and feasted on horsemeat. We did not have enough fodder to sustain all the horses during the winter so two were slaughtered, providing an abundance of meat.
I spent my time with Runa and Unni. They were different from the rest, they were my family.
During the evening the first winter snow fell in Runaville, which became our name for the settlement. The next morning, although it was bitterly cold, I donned a fur cloak and went to find Trokondas.
Chapter 22 – Apprentice
“I see that you have completed the hall”, he said.
I nodded and proudly displayed my lacerated hands.
“Wielding the axe will hurt, even without those cuts”, he said.
“I don’t mind”, I replied stubbornly.
“Good”, Trokondas said, and hefted the weapon that he had purchased at the market in Uppsala.
I was filled with nervous anticipation. Today my training would begin.
We walked outside through the fissure in the ancient rock, and emerged among the trees. Trokondas strolled towards a pine tree and said: “Watch carefully.”
“I wish the tree to fall this way”, he said and pointed. “But the tree cannot be told, one has to show it where to fall.”
He positioned his feet and swung the heavy axe, the blade biting deep into the wood. Every strike was perfect, and within a span of heartbeats he had removed a wedge from the trunk on the side facing the direction he wished it to fall.
“The tree will know where to go”, he said and beckoned me closer.
He walked around to the opposite side of the tree. “Now, I will cut another wedge three fingers above this one on the other side.” He expertly struck a double handful of blows that rocked the tree, removing large chunks of wood with every strike. Then he changed hands and continued to open the same wedge from the other side of the tree, with his left hand leading. After another double handful of blows, he stopped again and waved me closer.
“Do not stand where you have shown the tree to fall, but do not stand behind it either. Sometimes, the tree will kick backwards. Even a small one will kick hard enough to break every bone in your body.” He took me by the shoulder and moved me two paces to the side. “Here, you will be safe.”
He hefted the axe one final time and struck an almighty blow in the centre on the back wedge, then took a quick step to stand at my side. The tree started to creak and moan, then with an almighty roar it fell away from us, crashing into the undergrowth.
He took a step back to admire his handiwork. “You will need at least ten of these to anchor the palisade. Take them down as close to the longhouse as possible. Visit me when you are done.” He turned on his heel and walked off. I noticed that he had left the axe leaning against the stump of the fallen tree.
Before he disappeared through the fissure in the rock, he paused. He did not turn around, just said: “A tree does not fight back as does a man. If you wish to fight a man, first you must learn to conquer a tree.”
After he had left, I stood rooted to the spot for a long time. I wished to become a warrior, to learn how to wield an axe with skill. Rather than a lesson in war-craft, I had received instruction in how to be a woodsman.
I felt the familiar anger rising from deep within and did nothing to cage the beast. I walked towards the axe and, like the petulant child I was, hurled the weapon deep into the undergrowth, then stormed off towards the village. A mile down the road, I had calmed down enough to reconsider. An hour later I was searching for the axe on all fours. I was near the entrance of Trokondas’s dwelling and constantly looked over my shoulder, dreading his appearance. Eventually I found the axe to my great relief and skulked off to the village.
I arrived in the woods close to the town by early afternoon. By then, my initial negativity had turned to a steely determination to show my would-be trainer that I could take down the trees without strain.
Soon I located a tree of similar size less than a hundred paces from the edge of the fields bordering the settlement, and set to work immediately. Where Trokondas’s strikes bit deep into the wood, mine seemed to bounce off the bark, sending a shudder through my shoulder at every impact. Before I had managed to create the guiding wedge, the skin was peeling from my palms and fingers, leaving red, oozing blisters.
It grew dark long before I had conquered the tree. That evening I was beset by a dark mood, wolfing down my food and ignoring the attempts of Runa and Unni to make pleasant conversation. I had only one thing on my mind: conquering the ten trees.
I woke up early the following day and left the longhouse before the morning meal to do battle. My adversary eventually succumbed early in the afternoon. Trokondas’s instructions saved my life as the tree kicked back violently when it crashed down, no doubt due to my poor form with the axe. The handle of the axe was red with the blood from my blisters. That same afternoon I felled the second with blood dripping down the haft of the axe, but the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of accomplishment I experienced.
Four days later I went to visit Trokondas, my task completed.
I was proud when I told him that the ten trees had been felled, yet ashamed that it took five days. “You did well”, he said. “I thought that it would take much longer.”
“Show me your palms”, he said.
I held out my blistered, bleeding hands for him to inspect. “Wash it in the sea every morning and afternoon and wet it with vinegar before you go to sleep.”
“Come back in ten days when the blisters have healed.”
For the next ten days I religiously followed the instructions of my mentor. Every evening after cleaning my hands with vinegar, I rubbed Runa’s healing herb paste onto the blisters. Every morning after I had rinsed my hands in the sea, I repeated the process and Unni bound linen rags around my palms to protect them during the toils of the day.
Ten days passed and my hands healed.
Unsurprisingly my next assignment was to fell a hundred smaller trees that would be used as the logs for the palisade. Again I ended up with blisters, but when they healed my palms were tough and calloused.
During that winter I learned how to wield an axe. Not in the way of the warrior, but in the way of the woodsman. When the days lengthened and the first flowers of spring came, my hands were as tough as a bear’s, my shoulders had gained muscle and I was sure I was a hand taller than when I had washed up on the shore.
And the village, which was still only one large hall, was surrounded by a wooden palisade as high as two men, built according to the instructions of Trokondas.
Spring was also the planting season, the season when the fields were ploughed, weeded and fertilised. On one of my regular visits to my mentor, I explained to him that I would see him less often due to my responsibilities at the village. It was expected that I, like any other able-bodied villager, would assist with the preparation of the fields.
A frown creased his brow: “No. You will not work in the fields.”
He motioned for me to sit down opposite him. “I will tell you how it will be from now on. When you return to the village you will explain our wishes to the people. They will listen.” He picked up on my slight hesitation. “It is part of your training, Ragnar. You do not have to convince them. Tell them how it will be. You will see - sheep wish to be guided.”
Later that same evening I joined the villagers in the hall. With a heavy heart I told Runa and Unni what ‘Njord’, which was the villagers’ name for Trokondas, wished of me.
Runa listened intently, but did not reply. She clapped her hands together three times until all in the hall was staring at her expectantly. “Ragnar wishes to speak”, she croaked.
She nodded to me and said: “Tell them.”
“I have a message from the one who dwells within the woods. Our protector”, I said. A low murmur could be heard from the gathered villagers.
“Starting tomorrow, I will be tutored by him in the way of the warrior six days out of seven. On the seventh day, I will instruct the men of the village in the use of arms. We will start when the crop has been planted. And”, I continued, “I will not join you in the fields, rather I will hunt within the woods.”
I looked at the blank faces of the sheep staring back at me and added: “Is there anyone who wishes to gainsay these words?” Unsurprisingly, no sound came from the crowd. “Good. It will be done this way”, I said, and turned my back on the rest of the people in the hall. Immediately the chatter continued. It was as Trokondas had predicted: the sheep wished to be told what to do.
Armed with my two calloused palms, I returned to Trokondas the following morning.
He grinned. “What did the villagers say when you informed them of our plans?”
“They said nothing”, I replied. “They just accepted my words.”
“The dog listens to the hand that feeds him. It is ever thus”, he snorted. “And they fear me. I am an unknown to them. Men fear the unknown. Come Ragnar, let us go make you someone to be feared.”
I followed Trokondas outside and saw that he held the haft of an axe in each hand.
When we stood on the leaf carpet underneath the ancient trees, he motioned for me to place my axe against a tree. He stepped towards me and held out a haft. I accepted it and noticed that the head of the axe was missing.
“An axe is three weapons disguised as one. It is a staff, a war hammer and also a blade. To know the axe, one needs to learn how to handle all three.”
He pointed with his axe to the haft in my hand. “That thing in your hand, Ragnar, is a staff. I will show you how it should be wielded.”
Trokondas performed a series of movements which seemed simple, yet complex at the same time, which is the only way I am able to describe it. I watched him in amazement, my mouth agape. He then performed the actions and the steps in reverse order, ending up in exactly the same place.
Stranger from Another Land Page 10
