The Long Ships (11 page)

Toke was placed several oars behind Orm, so that they seldom had a chance to speak to each other—only, indeed, while they were being led ashore or back to the ship; for in the slave-house they were tethered together in groups of four in tiny cells, according to their places in the ship. Toke had by now regained something of his former humor and could still manage to find something to laugh at, though he was usually at loggerheads with the man who shared his oar, whose name was Tume and who, in Toke’s view, did less than his share of the rowing and ate more than his share of the rations. Toke composed abusive lampoons, some about Tume and some about the overseer, and sang them as chanteys while he rowed, so that Orm and the others could hear them.

Most of the time, however, he occupied his thoughts with trying to plan some method of escape. The first time that Orm and he had a chance to speak to each other, he whispered that he had a good plan almost worked out. All he needed was a small bit of iron. With this he could prize open one of the links in his ankle-chain one dark night when the ship was in port and everybody except the watchmen would be asleep. Having done this, he would pass the iron on to the other Vikings, each of whom would quietly break his chain. When they had all freed themselves, they would throttle the watchmen in the dark, without making a noise, and steal their weapons; then, once ashore, they would be able to fend for themselves.

Orm said that this would be a fine idea if only it were practicable; and he would be glad to lend a hand in throttling the guards if they got that far, which he rather doubted. Where, though, could they find a suitable piece of iron, and how could naked men, who were always under close observation, manage to smuggle it aboard without being detected? Toke sighed, and admitted that these were difficulties that would require careful consideration; but he could not think of any better plan and said they would merely have to bide their time until an opportunity should present itself.

He succeeded in having a surreptitious word with Krok, too, and told him of his plan; but Krok listened to him abstractedly and showed little interest or enthusiasm.

Not long afterwards the ship was put into dry dock in one of the Caliph’s shipyards to be scraped and pitched. Many of the slaves were detailed to assist with the work, chained in pairs; and the Northmen, who knew the ways of ships, were among these. Armed guards kept watch over them; and the overseer walked his rounds with his whip, to speed the work, two guards, armed with swords and bows, following him everywhere he went to protect him. Close to the ship there stood a large caldron full of simmering pitch, next to which was a barrel containing drinking-water for the slaves.

Krok and Gunne were drinking from this barrel when one of the slaves approached supporting his oar-companion, who had lost his foothold while engaged on the work and had so injured his foot that he was unable to stand on it. He was lowered to the ground and had begun to drink when the overseer came up to see what was afoot. The injured man was lying on his side, groaning; whereupon the overseer, thinking that the man was shamming, gave him a cut with his whip to bring him to his feet. The man, however, remained where he was, with everybody’s eyes fixed upon him.

Krok was standing a few paces behind them, on the far side of the barrel. He shifted toward them, dragging Gunne with him; and suddenly it seemed as though all his previous apathy had dropped away from him. When he was close enough and saw that there was sufficient slack in the chain, he sprang forward, seized the overseer by the belt and the neck, and lifted him above his head. The overseer cried out in terror, and the nearest of the guards turned and ran his sword through Krok’s body. Krok seemed not to feel the blow. Taking two sideward paces, he flung the overseer head downwards into the boiling pitch as the other guard’s sword bit into his head. Krok tottered, but he kept his eyes fixed on what could be seen of the overseer. Then he gave a laugh and said: “Now my luck has turned again,” and fell to the ground and died.

All the slaves raised a great shout of joy to see the overseer meet such an end; but the gladness of the Vikings was mingled with grief, and in the months that followed they often recalled Krok’s deed and the last words that he had uttered. They all agreed that he had died in a manner befitting a chieftain; and they expressed the hope that the overseer had lived long enough in the caldron to get a good feel of the pitch. Toke wrought a strophe in Krok’s honor, which ran thus:

Worse than the whiplash burned
The whipper, when his head
Was drowned deep in the hot wash-
Tub of the sea-mare’s bows.
Krok, who by cruel fate
Had slaved at a foreign oar,
Won his revenge and freedom:
His luck had turned again.

When they rowed out to sea again, they had a new overseer to supervise their labors; but he seemed to have taken note of the fate of his predecessor, for he was somewhat sparing in the use of his whip.

THE TONGUELESS man who rowed beside Orm grew worse and worse until at last he could row no more; so when the ship anchored in one of the Caliph’s military harbors in the south, called Málaga, he was led ashore, and they waited for another man to be brought to replace him. Orm, who had had to do nearly all the work on his oar during the last few weeks, was curious to know whether he would now have a more congenial workmate. The next morning the new man appeared. He was dragged to the ship by four soldiers, who had their work cut out to get him up the gangway, and nobody needed to peer closely at him to know that he still had his tongue. He was a young man, handsome, beardless, and finely limbed, and he shrieked curses more frightful than anything that had been heard in the ship before.

He was carried to his place and held fast there while the chain was fixed round his ankle. At this, tears streamed down his cheeks, though they seemed to be the effect of anger rather than of sorrow. The ship’s captain and the overseer came to have a look at him, whereupon he immediately began to abuse them with curses and imprecations, calling them many names that Orm had never heard before, so that all the slaves expected to see him receive a fearful flogging. The captain and the overseer, however, merely stroked their beards and looked thoughtful, while they studied a letter that the soldiers had brought with them. They nodded their heads at this sentence and shook them at that one and whispered discreetly among themselves, while all the time the newcomer howled abuse at them, calling them sons of whores, pork-eaters, and copulators of female asses. At last the overseer threatened him with the whip and told him to keep his mouth shut. Then, when the captain and the overseer had moved away, the new-comer began to weep in earnest, so that his whole body shook with it.

Orm did not know what to make of all this, but thought he would get little help from this fellow, unless they used the whip on him. Still, he felt it would be something to have a companion who could at any rate talk, after his experience with the tongueless man. At first, however, the newcomer disdained to hold any converse with him and rejected Orm’s friendly approaches. As Orm had feared, he turned out to be no oarsman and could not adapt himself to his new mode of life at all, finding especial cause for complaint in the food that was supplied to them, which seemed to Orm to be very good, though insufficient. But Orm was forbearing with him, and did the rowing for both of them, and muttered words of encouragement to him, in so far as he was able to in Arabic. Several times he asked the man who he was and why he had been sentenced to this ship, but received in response merely haughty glances and shoulder-shrugs. At length the man condescended to address him and announced that he was a man of breeding and not accustomed to being cross-examined by slaves who could not even talk properly.

At this, Orm said: “For those words you have just uttered, I could take you by the neck so that you felt it; but it is better that there should be peace between us, and that you and I should be friends. In this ship we are all slaves, you no less than the rest of us; nor are you the only man aboard who is of good lineage. I am so myself; my name is Orm, and I am a chieftain’s son. It is true that I speak your language poorly, but you speak mine worse, for you do not know a word of it. It therefore appears to me that there is nothing to choose between us; indeed, if either of us has the advantage, I do not think it is you.”

“Your intonation is deplorable,” replied the newcomer. “However, you seem to be a man of some intelligence. It is possible that among your own people you are reckoned to be well-born; but in this respect you can hardly compare with me, for on my mother’s side I am directly descended from the Prophet, peace be to his immortal soul! Know, too, that the tongue I speak is Allah’s own, all other tongues having been invented by evil spirits to hinder the spread of the true learning. So you see that there can be no comparison between us. Khalid is my name, the son of Yezid; my father was a high officer of the Caliph, and I own great possessions and do no work, apart from supervising my gardens, entertaining my friends, and composing music and poetry. It is true, I admit, that I now temporarily find myself otherwise occupied, but this shall not be for long, may worms eat out the eyes of him who set me here! I have written songs that are sung throughout Málaga, and there are few poets living as skillful as I.”

Orm commented that there must be many poets in the Caliph’s kingdom, as he had met one already. Khalid replied that there were a lot in the sense that many men attempted to write verses, but that very few of them could be considered true poets.

After this conversation they got on better together, though Khalid continued to be a poor oarsman and was sometimes hardly able to pull at all, because his hands were skinned by the oar. A little later he told Orm how he had come to be sent to the ship. He had to repeat himself several times, and use paraphrases to explain what he meant, for he was difficult to follow; but in the end Orm grasped the gist of what he had to say.

Khalid told him that his present plight arose from the fact of the most beautiful maiden in all Málaga being the daughter of the governor of the city, a man of low birth and evil disposition. The beauty of his daughter, however, was such that not even a poet could conceive of anything lovelier, and on one occasion Khalid had been lucky enough to see her unveiled at a harvest feast. From that moment, he had loved her above all other women, and had written songs in her honor that had melted in his mouth as he sang them. At length, by dint of taking up residence on the roof of a house near where she lived, he had succeeded in catching another glimpse of her when she was sitting alone on her roof. He had shouted ecstatic greetings to her and, by stretching out his arms appealingly toward her, had prevailed on her to lift her veil once more. This was a sign that she reciprocated his love; and the surpassing magnificence of her beauty had almost caused him to faint.

Thus assured that the lady was favorably disposed toward him, he had given rich gifts to her maid-in-waiting and so had managed to convey messages to her. Then the governor had gone to Córdoba to present his annual accounts to the Caliph, and the lady had sent Khalid a red flower; whereupon he had disguised himself as an old crone and, with the connivance of the maid-in-waiting, had gained admission to the lady’s presence, where he had enjoyed lively sport with her. One day, however, not long afterwards, her brother had drawn upon him in the city and in the ensuing fight had, by reason of Khalid’s skill at arms, been wounded. On the governor’s return, Khalid had been arrested and brought before him.

At this point in his story Khalid went black with fury, spat viciously, and shrieked horrible curses upon the governor. Then he proceeded: “Legally, he had no case against me. Granted I had lain with his daughter, but in return for that I had immortalized her in exquisite songs, and even he seemed to realize that a man of my birth could hardly be expected to propose marriage to the daughter of a common Berber. I had wounded his son, but only after he had attacked me; indeed, but for the temperateness of my nature, he would not have escaped with his life. For all this the governor, if he had been a true lover of justice, should have been grateful to me. Instead, he took counsel in his wickedness, which is surpassing even in Málaga, and this is the result. Hearken well, O unbeliever, and be amazed.”

Orm listened to all this with interest, though many of the words were unfamiliar to him, and the men on the nearest benches listened too, for Khalid told his story in a loud voice.

“He had one of my poems read aloud, and asked whether I had written it. I replied that everyone in Málaga knew the poem and knew that I was the author of it, for it is a pæan in praise of the city, the best that was ever written. In the poem occur these lines:

This I know well: that had the Prophet e'er
Tasted the harvest that the grapevines bear,
He would not blindly have forbidden us
(In his strict book) to taste the sweet grape’s juice.
His whiskers berry-drenched, his beaker flowing,
With praise of wine he had enhanced his teaching.”

Having recited these lines, Khalid burst into tears and explained that it was for their sake that he had been condemned to serve in the galleys. For the Caliph, who was the protector of the true faith and the earthly representative of the Prophet, had ordained that any who blasphemed against the Prophet or criticized his teaching should be severely punished, and the governor had hit upon this method of securing his revenge, under the pretext of demanding justice.

“But I solace myself by reflecting that this state of affairs cannot last for long,” said Khalid, “for my family is more powerful than his, and has, besides, the Caliph’s ear, so that I shall shortly be liberated. That is why nobody in this ship dares to bring the whip to me, for they know that no man can with impunity lay his hand on one who is descended from the Prophet.”

Orm asked when this Prophet had lived, and Khalid replied that he had died more than three hundred and fifty years ago. Orm remarked that he must indeed have been a mighty man if he could still, after so long an interval, protect his kinsmen and decide what his people might or might not drink. No man had ever wielded such power in Skania, not even King Ivar of the Broad Embrace, who was the mightiest man that had lived in the north. “No man in my country,” he said, “lays down the law about what another man may drink, be he king or commoner.”