Ale and meat and bread were brought and placed before the revellers in perpetual supply. Now other dishes and delicacies began appearing also: apples baked in honey, stewed fish with onions, fat boiled sausages, pork with lentils, dried plums swimming in ale. Now and then someone would rise from the table and totter to one of the sleeping nooks, or stagger from the board to vomit or relieve themselves, and another would take the empty place.
Every so often, the merrymaking was leavened with a quarrel as men’s tempers, whetted and abetted by drink, overtook them. All of these fights came to blows, and two ended with both combatants prone and unconscious—much to the demented delight of the onlookers, who cheered lustily whenever anyone drew blood.
Thus the feast trundled noisily on: a drunken brawl in a muggy hall reeking of smoke, blood, piss and vomit. Whether night or day, I could not tell: tired, hungry, thirsty, it was all the same to me. I longed to crawl into one of the many sleeping nooks along the walls, but each time I made to slip away, Gunnar would rouse himself and order me to fetch him more ale.
Treading my way to the vat, stepping carefully among the bones and shards of broken vessels that now lay strewn over the floor, I noticed that the serving boys often snatched a furtive drink from the vessel they were filling before returning it to the board. This, it seemed, was how they obtained their food and drink: pilfering it while no one was looking.
Provoked by this thought, I stepped to the vat, leaned over and plunged the cup into the cool brown liquid. I smelled the heady sweetness of the ale and my thirst overcame me. Before I could think to stop myself, the cup was at my lips and the ale sliding down my throat. Ah, bliss! I had only tasted such fine beer once or twice in my life, and drank this down greedily.
Lord help me, for I could not help myself, I drained the whole cup down, then hastily refilled it, whereupon I turned and stepped quickly away—only to find my way blocked by a hulking Dane.
He glared at me and said something, which I could not understand. I bowed my head and made to step around him, but he caught my arm and twisted it, shouting his demand the louder. I could not make out what he wanted, but he eyed the cup in my hand, so I offered it to him.
“Nay!” he thundered, and with a violent swipe of his arm sent the jar flying from my hands. The metal cup sailed through the air, spewing ale in a shower all around and striking the board a few paces away. Those nearby stopped and stared.
The angry barbarian shouted something at me again and, when I made no answer, seized me in his arms and lifted me off my feet. He crossed to the vat with a single swift step and shoved me hard against the oaken tub—forcing my head down towards the frothy liquid.
Fortunately, the vat was no longer full. The top of my head touched the foam, but I was able to keep my face out of the drink. All those looking on laughed to see this odd contest.
The Sea Wolf roared with anger and, seizing my legs, lifted me, intent on thrusting me bodily into the vat. I grabbed the iron rim and held on with all my might. The wood and metal was sticky slick, however, and I could not maintain my grip. Lower and lower I slipped while all those looking on laughed all the harder at my predicament.
Unable to hold on any longer, I took a deep breath as my head plunged beneath the frothy liquid. Bubbles prickled my nostrils and ears; I shook my head furiously, and managed to catch another breath before my head was forced under again—further this time, and though I thrashed around, flailing my arms and kicking my legs, I could not get free. I stopped struggling to save what little air I had left in my lungs, and prayed for deliverance.
Father God, defend me, I thought. It would be a sorry shame to let your servant drown in beer!
Even as I loosed this prayer, I was yanked backwards, overturning the tub and spilling all the ale. I rolled onto my back, gasping for breath, squirming on the ground and shielding my head with my hands and arms against the heavy blows falling on me.
I glimpsed a red face swaying over me and heard an outraged cry. The Sea Wolf seemed to grow another head, for another face appeared on his shoulder, and it was Gunnar’s. All at once the teetering barbarian toppled, sprawling over me with my master on his back.
The two rolled like snakes entwined, thrashing and sliding in the beer. I squirmed free of the fight and drew myself up a little apart. The hall’s inhabitants, roused from their various stupors, quickly formed a ring around the combatants and goaded them on with taunts and cheers.
“Hrothgar!” shouted some. “Gunnar!” cried others.
Rägnar leaped up on the seat of his throne, clattering a spear against a shield, drawing the crowd’s notice long enough to make himself heard. He shouted a command and the rabble surged forward, gathering up the fighting men and sweeping them out of the hall and into the yard where, cheering and shouting, they quickly reformed the ring.
Though the Dane called Hrothgar was larger, Gunnar was quicker and fearless: he stood head-to-head against the big barbarian taking each terrible blow and giving the same—again, again, again, the fists struck, face and neck and shoulder and stomach. Blood flowed from noses and mouths, and still they traded blows, any one of which would have stunned a horse.
Hrothgar, unable to find any advantage over his opponent, broke off abruptly. He stepped back, lowered his head and charged like a bull, bellowing as he came. Gunnar remained motionless, his feet firmly planted. Hrothgar closed on him and appeared to whelm him over, but the barbarian’s arms closed on empty air. For, quick as a flick, Gunnar dropped to his knees, seizing Hrothgar around the neck in the same swift motion. The startled barbarian gave out a strangled cry and followed his head to the ground.
Hrothgar made to rise, but my master was on his back. Gunnar joined both hands together, raised them over his head and brought them sharply down on the back of his adversary’s neck between the shoulderblades. Hrothgar gave out a grunt like that of a killed ox, and put his face to the ground; he tried once to rise, but his legs collapsed and he hugged the earth in a wide embrace.
Gunnar stood, wiping blood from his eyes and mouth, while the crowd clamoured out his name. He cast his gaze around the ring and raised his arm in triumph. All at once the throng rushed forward, seized Gunnar, raised him up, and carried him into the hall to celebrate his victory.
I watched them go, but made no move to follow. For the sun was shining on a fine bright day and I had no wish to return to that dark, stinking hall.
“They were fighting about you, Irish.”
I turned. “Scop!” The sight of him surprised and alarmed me. He stood red-eyed and haggard; sweat ran from him in rivulets down his neck. “Why would they fight about me?” I asked. “What did I do?”
“You drank from Jarl Rägnar’s ale vat, and then offered the cup to Hrothgar.” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “Most impolite that was.”
He turned and began shuffling away. I called him back. “Stay. Please, Scop. I have been looking for you. I thought you would sing again.”
The shabby skald slowly turned his head and gave me a sly wink and smile. “I throw my pearls to these swine only with greatest reluctance,” he replied. “I sing when it suits me.”
“Does this not displease Rägnar, your lord and master?”
Scop frowned and thrust out his chin. “Jarl Rägnar is my lord, but he is no master to me. I sing when I choose.”
“But are you not a slave?”
“I was once. No longer. It took twenty years, but I am a free man now.”
“Forgive me, brother, but if you are free, why do you stay? Why not go back to your people?”
The ignoble bard shrugged and shook back his rags. “This is my home. These are my people.”
“That I can scarce believe,” I told him.
“Believe it, boy; it is the truth,” he spat, flaring suddenly. “God abandoned me here and left me to die. But I did not die. I lived, and while I live, I am my own man and I serve no one but myself alone.”
“Then tell me, if nothing prevents you, how d
o you know Latin?”
Scop turned and began hobbling away. I fell into step a pace behind him. “Please,” I insisted, “I would know how it is that you speak the cleric’s tongue.”
I thought he would not answer, for he limped on without heed. But after a dozen or so paces, he stopped abruptly and turned. “How think you I came by it?” he demanded. “Think you I found it at the bottom of my mead bowl? Or perhaps you imagined I went a-viking with the Sea Wolves and plundered it from some poor defenceless priest?”
“I thought no ill, brother,” I soothed. “But it seems a very mystery to me, that is all.”
“A mystery?” he wondered, rubbing his blackened neck with a dirty hand. “Dost speak to me of mysteries, Irish?” He glared at me. “Ah, mayhap you think your own speech mysterious.”
“Nothing could be less so,” I answered. “I am a priest. I was taught in the abbey.”
“Well, I likewise learned my tongue that way.”
“Indeed?” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Why amazed?” he countered defiantly. “Is that so unchancy? Do you find it beyond your narrow ability to believe?”
“I find it,” I confessed, “most unlikely.”
“Then tell me,” he challenged, “which is the more unlikely: that you should find yourself a slave of the Danes, or that I should be sent out a priest among them?”
So saying, he gathered himself in his rags and stumped off, tatters flapping like the bedraggled feathers of a great, ungainly bird.
I did not see him again for, after more eating and drinking, and sport—the throwing of hammers and axes and, heaven forbid it! even pigs, which they caught and hefted into the air to the loud acclamation of their fellows—Gunnar took his leave of his lord, bade farewell to all his kinsmen, gathered his weapons and plunder in a leather bag, and departed the settlement, taking me with him—tied to him by a long rope around my waist.
We walked through close-grown forest all the day, moving exceedingly slow, for Gunnar’s head hurt him and he stopped often to lie down. During one such rest, I made a meal from the fragments of bread and meat he had in his bag. My master could stomach no food, but raised no objection when I ate. Thus, I broke my long fast on hard bread and rancid meat—poor fare, but welcome nonetheless. After my meal, I untied myself and searched among the forest plants and found some ffa’r gos, which I crushed and mixed with clear-running water from a nearby stream. Upon straining out the pulp I gave it to Gunnar to drink—which he did, but not before I drank some first. He slept again and upon waking seemed in much better spirit.
At night we camped on the trail; Gunnar made a fire and we slept on either side of it, moving on again when the birds woke us at dawn. Once the bread and meat were gone, we had nothing to eat; still, we stopped often to drink from the sweet streams that abounded in that land. I looked for berries, and found some, but they were unripe.
We walked by day, Gunnar striding ahead, the bag on his shoulder, and myself trailing after. Though the bag was weighty, Gunnar would not allow me to touch it, preferring to tote it himself. We must have made an unusual sight, I reflected: master labouring under his load while the slave sauntered along empty-handed behind. But he would have it no other way.
As my master did not deign to speak to me—not that I would have understood him if he had—I had ample time to think. Mostly, I thought about my brother monks, and wondered if any had survived, and if so, what had become of them. Would they return to the abbey? Would they continue on to Constantinople? Since the blessed book had not turned up with the plunder, I reckoned some of the brothers may have escaped, and that our treasure had not been discovered.
I felt secure in this belief, reasoning that if the book had been found, it would certainly have been taken; and if it had been taken, I would have seen it shared out among the barbarians as payment for their hateful deeds. I had not seen it, so I considered it had not been stolen. This gave me hope that perhaps the pilgrimage would proceed—without me, it is true, but it would continue.
I made this my prayer, as I walked along, that however many of our company yet survived, be they many or few, would yet journey on and reach Byzantium with the emperor’s gift. This produced in me a peculiar feeling: a curious mingling of remorse and relief: remorse for the lives so suddenly required in the Red Martyrdom of this pilgrimage, and relief that I would not now have to join them.
For, despite my current enslavement—which would seem to thwart the fulfillment of my dream—I still did not doubt that I would die in Byzantium. Even so, I will not tempt heaven by denying that relief may have outweighed remorse in my heart. I was ever a contrary creature, I do freely confess it.
As dusk fell on the fourth day, I noticed that the forest thinned somewhat and, as the first stars began glowing in the sky, we stepped out from the wood and into a wide meadow clearing. In the centre of the clearing stood a huge timber house with a barn and cattle enclosure hard by. Two neatly-ploughed fields lay west and south of the house, green shoots showing golden in the lowering light.
Gunnar took one look at the house and loosed a wild whoop that resounded across the meadow. Dogs began barking, and within the space of three heartbeats I could see two black canine shapes racing towards us; a moment later, these were joined by three human figures—two of which were women, judging by their dress.
The dogs reached us first and Gunnar greeted them as happily as if they had been children long lost to him and given up for dead. He hugged them to him and kissed their muzzles time and again, calling their names and stroking their glossy coats. They were big dogs, with large heads and powerful jaws. I was heartily glad that I was with Gunnar just then, for I did not doubt these same creatures would joyfully rip the throat from any intruder.
My master met his kinfolk with as much zeal as he had shown in greeting the dogs. The women—though one, I now saw was little more than a girl—were clearly glad to see him, embracing him many times, pressing kisses on his face and neck, clutching at his hands and arms. The elder of the two, I soon learned, was Karin, his wife; the younger was called Ylva, and was a kinswoman of his wife, and helped them as a serving maid.
The third figure was a lad, tall and slender, and younger than he first appeared. At the boy’s approach, Gunnar left off kissing his wife and gathered the youngster into a fierce embrace. I feared the boy would be crushed, but he survived, laughing and hugging his father. After another round of kissing and embracing, the boy turned to gawk at me.
His father saw his wide-eyed stare and, clapping a heavy hand to my shoulder, said, “Aeddan.”
The boy dutifully repeated the name, whereupon his father placed his hand on the boy and said, “Ulf.”
He presented the women next, calling each by name, which I repeated until he was satisfied that I could utter them properly. Karin, his wife, was a sturdy woman with a broad, kindly face; her hair was light brown and her eyes green as the sea. Her movements were deft and, I quickly learned, perfectly matched to her purposeful manner. She was a most practical woman, accomplished in all the craft of her kind. And sure, no tyrant ever ruled with more aplomb; her authority in her house was absolute.
Ylva, her young kinswoman, was a sylph of a girl, bright as sunbeams, slender and fair as a woodland flower. Her hair was pale yellow and her brow was straight; her arms and breasts were shapely, her hands long-fingered. She was as much a joy to the eye as to the mind, for as I came to know her better, I found her quiet, thoughtful, and easy in her manner.
Ulf was a boy through and through, a happy lad, fond of fishing and hunting and berry picking, and full of youthful high spirits. He adored his father, and if not for the fishpond would rarely have left Gunnar’s side.
These, then, were presented to me one by one, and all welcomed me, not as a conquered enemy, but as a guest or kinsman. I felt, in spite of the harsh treatment I had received on the journey, that having now arrived at Gunnar’s holding, I had been admitted into the warm embrace of this f
amily. Perhaps life in the cold northern forests is harsh enough as it is without adding to its bitterness unnecessarily.
With a clap of his hands and a shout, Gunnar sent the hounds racing back across the meadow to the house. He laughed to see how they ran to his command. Ulf, unable to contain himself any longer, gave a whoop and dashed after the dogs, as Gunnar, throwing his arm around Karin’s shoulders, gathered his wife to him and proceeded to the house, his stride long and swift. He threw back his head and began singing loudly, to the amusement of the ladies, who laughed and joined him in song.
Gunnar’s leather bag, forgotten for the moment, lay on the ground at my feet. Like a good slave, I slung it onto my back and followed my master home.
16
I stayed that night in the barn with Gunnar’s ox and cows. He did not bother to chain or restrain me in any way, and I soon learned why. As the moon rose in the tall pines, the wolves began to howl. Sure, I had heard wolves before, but never so many or so close. From the sound of their mournful wailing, I reckoned they must be swarming on the very edges of the forest. The barn was secure enough—a very fortress, for Gunnar had no wish to lose his valuable animals; but the howling kept me awake long into the night, and I fell asleep with the sound in my ears.
In the morning, the maid Ylva came to rouse me and bring me to the kitchen. The Danefolk build their dwellings in such a way as to make the kitchen part of the house itself, and no small part, either. Indeed, Gunnar’s house was a fair likeness of Rägnar’s hall, save that he had made a sleeping loft among the rooftrees above the table. This loft was reached by a ladder and overlooked the hearth below. Adjacent to the hearth was a nook where the ale and water tubs were kept, and a low door leading to a small storeroom. At the end of the hall, there was a place where animals could be kept in bad weather; this was strewn with straw and had a manger for feeding them.
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