“Great of Heaven, you pour your gifts upon all who walk your world below, pagan and Christian souls alike. Odd, here, was a slave, and worked hard for his master. He loved Ylva, I think, and died trying to protect her. Jesu said that there is no greater love than that shown by a man who lays down his life for a friend. Sure, I know Christians who would not do as much. Therefore, account this to Odd’s credit, Lord. And if there is any room in your banquet hall for a man whose life was lived by such light as he had, then please let Odd join the heavenly feast—not for his sake, mind, but for the sake of your own dear Son. Amen, so be it.”
The king’s man glared at me as I prayed, and when I finished, he seized me by my slave collar and spat in my face, and then spat into the grave. Jerking hard on the collar then, he forced my to my knees, whereupon he kicked me in the stomach, once, and then again—releasing his hold on my collar with the second kick, so that I fell backwards into the grave and landed on top of poor Odd’s corpse. The king’s man then began throwing dirt over me, as if he would bury me alive.
In a little while he tired, however, and sat down again. I climbed warily from the grave, and continued with the burials, pausing to make a prayer for the stranger, too. “Lord God,” I said, “I give you a man who lived by the sword. His deeds you know; his soul stands before you now. In judgement, Lord, remember mercy. Amen.”
The dark man stared at me as if in amazement. I do not know what he found to astonish him so, but he did not spit at me this time. I finished pushing the dirt over the bodies and pressed the earth down, marking the graves with a round stone fetched from the pond. I also buried the dog in a shallow grave beside the two men, but said no prayer for the beast. When I finished, I looked around, but the king’s man was gone. Nor did I see him when I went back to the house.
That night, I lay for a long time unable to sleep, a curious, unsettling feeling fluttering in my breast. It was not fear of the king’s man, or worry that he would try to harm us in our sleep, no. It was the thought that I had caused the death of a fellow human being—pagan barbarian though he was. One moment he existed and now he did not, and I had brought this about.
Even so, I held no remorse for the deed. What I had done, I did to save Odd. Shameful to say, my only regret was that I had stayed my hand. My heart and mind, my whole being was consumed with the certainty that had I loosed Surt sooner, Odd would still be alive.
Sure, I knew I should feel deep grief and guilt for a sin of such iniquitous magnitude. Christ save me, I could not find it in me to repent. Thus, I lay on my bed of straw, trying to work up a sincere feeling of remorse for the hateful act. Oh, but defiance had me in its wicked grip; I knew beyond all doubt that had I to do it again, I would not hesitate. At last, abandoning sleep altogether, I made my way down to the fishpond where I stripped and stood to my waist in the water reciting the Psalms—the chastisement I had previously favoured.
Alas, the water was not cold enough to produce true penance. Rather, I found the cool, still water refreshing on my skin, and the deep stillness of the night a balm to my soul. In the end, I could but admit defeat; I hauled myself from the water and fell asleep on the bank as the pale slivered moon set in the trees.
18
Gunnar returned at dusk the next day. The king’s man had waited through the long summer day, maintaining a sullen, brooding vigil in the woods. I saw him once or twice while I was fishing. Later, I was cleaning the fish when Gunnar called, announcing his arrival. The master of the holding came striding into the yard, singing out for his wife and cup. I rose from my work and went to meet him, my stomach churning with dreadful anticipation.
They were standing in the yard by the house. Little Ulf fidgeted under his mother’s embrace; he had a new knife tucked into his belt. And Helmuth, I noticed, was wearing new leather boots, and carrying a bundle of cloth.
“Where is this stranger?” Gunnar demanded as I joined them. The happy greeting had faded into sour suspicion.
“I have not seen him since the killing,” Karin said.
Gunnar, his face squeezing into a scowl, turned to me.
“He helped me to—ah,” I tried to think of the word.
“Bury them.” Karin completed the thought for me. “He helped Aeddan to bury the bodies.”
“There were two of them?” growled Gunnar, his anger rising.
“Yes, two. One killed Odd, and then Surt killed him,” I explained as best I could. “The other killed Surt.”
“Surt killed one?
“Heya,” I said.
“They said they are King Harald’s men. They came for you, husband,” Karin told him, and continued, but I lost the thread. “…they said only Gunnar must hear this message.”
The two began speaking to one another so rapidly that I could not follow what they said, but I think they were discussing how the killings had taken place; I know Ylva’s name came into it, and also my own, for Gunnar turned to me and demanded something which I did not understand. I shook my head helplessly.
Helmuth, standing near, said, “Gunnar wants to know if it is true that you loosed the dog.”
To Helmuth I said, “Tell him that I only thought to protect Odd, but I did not act swiftly enough to prevent the attack.”
My master said something else and placed his question again. Helmuth relayed his words to me. “He asks if you loosed the dog. Tell him the truth.”
“Yes, I did that,” I replied, and, Jesu forgive me, I confess I felt no guilt.
“Good,” Gunnar said gruffly.
Just then Helmuth raised his pigstaff and pointed across the yard. “Master Gunnar,” he said, “here he comes.”
Gunnar took one look at the approaching stranger, and turned to Karin and Ylva. “Go into the house and stay there.”
Karin took Ulf’s hand in her own and pulled him away with her. As they disappeared into the house, Gunnar started forward to meet the stranger. “You two will come with me,” he said, gesturing for Helmuth and me to follow.
“Is that the man?” Gunnar asked as I fell into step with him.
I nodded. “Yes.”
When only a few dozen paces separated us, Gunnar halted and waited for the stranger to approach him. He looked little worse for his night in the woods, though none better either; his hands were dirty, and his eyes red from lack of sleep. When he came near enough, Gunnar called out to him. I understood some of what was said, and Helmuth explained the rest later.
“You say you are King Harald’s man,” Gunnar said curtly. “I ask myself, what would your king do to men who raped his kinswoman and killed his slave and hound?”
At this, the warrior blanched. “No one raped your kinswoman,” he muttered. “We only wanted to talk to her.”
“What of Odd? As he did not understand your speech, no doubt you thought he would understand your sword. I think he understood you well.”
“Eanmund killed him,” the dark man replied. Raising an accusing finger at me, he said, “He killed Eanmund. He loosed the hound. As to the girl, we did not know she was your kinswoman; we thought she was a slave.”
“Because of you,” Gunnar said, “my good slave is dead, and my hound also. What have you to say to this?”
“If you think yourself aggrieved, take your complaint to the king. For myself, I say only this: My name is Hrethel and I am accustomed to holding council in the halls of jarls and kings, yet you keep me standing here like a slave or foreigner.”
“Do you expect the welcome bowl even now? After bringing death and strife to my house, you think I should pour out my best ale for you?” Gunnar laughed harshly. “Be thankful I do not pour out your blood instead.”
“I am a man of rank,” the stranger said. “I merely meant for you to bear that in mind.
“Then cease your worrying on that point,” Gunnar sneered haughtily. “I know well what manner of man I have before me.”
Hrethel frowned, but abandoned any further attempt to gain the better of Gunnar. “The message I bring is th
is: King Harald Bull-Roar has proclaimed a theng to commence the first full moon after next. As a free man and land-holder of Skania, the king charges you to attend.”
Gunnar’s eyes narrowed. “But I am Jarl Rägnar’s man.”
“Rägnar Yellow Hair has pledged fealty to Harald. Therefore, you are summoned along with your king. If you fail to attend, your lands will be seized in forfeit to King Harald.”
“I see.” Gunnar stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Is there nothing more? This message might easily have been given to my wife or my slave. I am thinking that if you had done so, my slave and my good hound would still live.”
“I am charged by my king to deliver the message to the jarls and free men of Skania, not,” Hrethel sneered, “their wives and slaves. This I have done, and now I will leave you.”
“Go your way,” Gunnar told him. “I will not prevent you. I will go to the theng—of that you may be certain. For I intend to bring your crime before the king.”
Hrethel nodded, his frown indignant. “That is your right.”
He turned on his heel and walked from the yard, across the meadow and into the forest. Gunnar watched him out of sight and then turned to me. “We will go to the council, you and me,” my master said, pressing his finger into my chest. “You saw what happened. This you will tell the king.”
If the message Gunnar received troubled him, he gave no sign—neither that night, nor in the days to follow. Life on the small holding continued as before, but without Odd there was that much more for everyone else to do. I took on most of his chores, but considered it no hardship, for it meant I could speak more often with Helmuth. I applied myself to the work of the holding, and no less diligently to my speech, practising the rough tongue with Helmuth as often as I could, and also on my own. I began speaking with more precision as my confidence increased; I reckoned that if I were to give an accounting before the king, I would benefit from increased fluency, and this thought inspired my efforts. Helmuth helped me with the speech I would make; he questioned me as if he were king of all the Danes, and I answered him over and over again until I could offer a clear account of all that happened the day Odd was killed.
When I was not practising, I prayed as it seemed right to me, and my mind turned again and again to my brothers on the pilgrimage. I often found myself wondering where they were, what they were doing, and what had happened to them since I last saw them. I prayed for them in the daily round, praying the protection of Michael Militant and his angels to shield them on their way.
Summer drew on and the days passed; the time for the theng approached. One day a free man from a neighbouring holding came to speak to Gunnar. His name was Tolar and he was on his way to market; he stopped for a meal, but did not stay the night. I do not know what they talked about, but Gunnar was very thoughtful when he left.
From that day Gunnar began to grow short-tempered and particular. He found fault in everything; no one could please him. Once or twice, he even shouted at Ulf. In fact, one evening just before we were to leave he became so unpleasant that I left the house to sit outside on a stump in the yard so that I might eat my meal in peace without his complaining. I was enjoying the warm evening and the long northern twilight, saying vespers aloud to myself when I became aware that someone had crept up beside me.
I opened my eyes and raised my head to see Ylva standing over me with her hands clasped, as mine had been, in an attitude of prayer.
“You are singing again to your god, heya?” she observed.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps this god of yours would help our Gunnar.”
I did not know what to say to this, so I merely agreed. “Perhaps.”
“Something preys on Gunnar’s mind,” she declared quietly. She knelt down in the grass beside the stump. “He is worried about the theng. He fears it will go ill with him there.”
I turned to look at her face in the soft dusky light. It was a beautiful face in its way, fine-featured and good-natured, with deep brown eyes and a small, straight nose. Her long braids were still neat after a whole day’s labour. She smoothed her mantle with her hands. Her clothing carried the scent of the kitchen.
“Tell me about this—this theng,” I suggested.
“It is the theng,” she answered. “It is a…” she hesitated, thinking how best to describe it, “a place where jarls and free men go to talk.”
“A council.” I drew a circle in the air.
“Heya,” she nodded brightly, “it is a talking-ring.”
“Has Gunnar any purpose—ah, no, that is not right.” I thought for a moment. “Reason! Has he any reason to fear this council?”
She shook her head, peering at her hands in her lap. “None that I know. Always before, he welcomes the theng. Every day everyone drinks the king’s öl and gets drunk. It is enjoyable for them, I think.”
“Ylva,” I said on sudden inspiration, “would you do something for me?”
She looked at me suspiciously. “What is this you wish me to do?”
“Would you…” I did not know the word, “ah, would you cut me?” I patted my bristly forehead. “Here?”
She laughed. “You want me to shave you!”
“Heya. I want you to shave me. If I am to stand before the king, I must look like a…ah—”
“Shaven one,” she said, supplying the barbarian term for priest.
“Yes, I want to look like a shaven one. Will you do this?”
Ylva assented and fetched Gunnar’s razor and a bowl of water. She settled herself on the stump and I on the ground before her, and, at my direction, she renewed my tonsure with swift strokes of her deft fingers. Karin, concerned over Ylva’s absence, came out to look for us and, when she saw what we were about, hurried back to the house and called Ulf and Gunnar to see as well. They thought the sight immensely humorous and laughed loud and long at me.
Well, if the sight of a monk’s tonsure gave them pleasure, so be it. Laughter, I reckoned, was the least trial a priest of the Holy Church might endure. Anyway, there was no spite in it.
Tolar arrived the day before we were to leave for the king’s council. He and Gunnar were good friends, I soon discovered. They often accompanied one another to market, or, on such occasions as this, to the theng. The next morning, Karin, Ulf, and Ylva came out into the yard to see us away.
Karin wished her husband well, and gave him a bundle of food which he put in the bag at his belt. Ylva also wished Gunnar well on his journey. Then, turning to me, she said, “I made these for you to eat on the way.”
She pressed a leather pouch into my hands, and, leaning close, kissed me quickly on the cheek. “May your God go with you, Aeddan. Journey well and return safely.”
Then, overcome by her own boldness, she ducked her head and hurried back into the house. Thunderstruck, I watched her disappear through the door. My cheek seemed to burn where her lips had touched. I could feel the colour rising to my face.
Gunnar had already turned away, but Tolar stood looking on, smiling at my embarrassment. “Made these for you,” he said, chuckling to himself; he tapped the bag in my hand as he moved past.
Ulf and Garm accompanied us as far as the edge of the forest, whereupon Gunnar sent them back with a last farewell. We then turned to the trail and began walking in earnest; Garm, nose to the ground, ran ahead, searching out the trail and circling through the brush on either side. We rested and watered at midday, and while the others napped I took the opportunity to examine the pouch Ylva had given me; inside were five hard, flat brown disks. They smelled of walnut and honey. I broke off a piece of one, tasted it, and found it sweet and good. I ate half a disk then, and made a habit of eating half each day.
Thus, we progressed: walking steadily, taking only two or three rests each day, stopping early and rising at dawn to move on. It was not until the evening of the third day that I learned of Gunnar’s misgivings. We had stopped by a brook to make camp, and he was sitting with his feet in the water. I removed my shoes and sat d
own a little apart from him. “Ah, it is good after a long day’s walk,” I told him. “We have forests in Éire, but not like this.”
“It is a very big forest, I think,” he replied, looking around as if seeing it for the first time. “But not as big as some.”
He dropped his gaze, and his expression clouded once more. After a moment, he drew a deep breath. “They are saying that Harald is increasing the tribute again. Rägnar owes Harald a very large tribute, and we must all help to pay. Each year it grows more difficult.” He spoke more to himself than to me, as if he were merely thinking aloud. “Harald is a very greedy man. However much we give him, it is never enough. He always wants more.”
“That is the way with kings,” I observed.
“You have greedy kings in Irlandia also, heya?” Gunnar shook his head. “But none as greedy as Harald Bull-Roar, I think. It is because of him that we go a-viking. When the harvest is not good and the winter is hard, we must find silver elsewhere.”
He was silent for a time, looking at his feet in the water—as if they were the cause of his trouble. “Such raiding is hard for a man with a wife and son,” he sighed, and I felt the weight of his burden. “It is all right for the younger men; they have nothing. Raiding teaches them many things useful to a man. And if they get some silver they can get a wife and a holding of their own.”
“I see.”
“But it is not so easy now as it was when my grandfather was a young man,” Gunnar confided. “Then, we only raided in times of war. Or to find wives. Now we must raid to satisfy the silver-lust of greedy jarls. That is not so good.”
“Heya, not so good,” I sympathized.
“I do not like leaving Karin and Ulf. I have a good holding—the land is good. But there are not so many people nearby, and if anything should happen while I am away…” He let the thought go. “It is not so bad for the younger men; they have no wives. But who will be hearth-mate to Karin if I do not return? Who will teach Ulf to hunt?”
“Perhaps King Harald will not increase the tribute this year,” I suggested hopefully.
Byzantium Page 17
