The Long Ships (45 page)

When Felimid had finished telling his story, there was a tremendous uproar at the tables; for many of the guests were now beginning to be drunk, and they cried that, though the Irishman had spoken well, it was not talk that they wanted but an exhibition of the antics that had killed King Colla. Orm himself agreed with this viewpoint.

“You have already heard,” he said to the jesters, “that our curiosity has been great from the first moment that we learned your identity; and that curiosity is now much greater, as a result of the story you have just told us. Nor need you be alarmed lest any man or woman here should burst with laughter; for if this should happen, nobody will seek to be revenged upon you, and it will provide an excellent climax to my feast and cause it to be long remembered throughout the border country.”

“And if it is as you say,” said Ylva, “that you can only jest in the presence of one of royal blood, do I not count as such, as much as any small Irish king?”

“Of course you do,” said Felimid hastily, “no one has a better right to be called royal than you, Ylva. But there is another obstacle to prevent us from performing here, and if you will bear patiently with me, I shall tell you how the matter lies. Know, then, that my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Felimid Goatbeard, after whom I was named, was the most famous of all jesters in the days when King Finechta the Feaster was Ireland’s over-king, and he was the first of our line to become a Christian. Now, it so happened that on one occasion, when he was traveling, this Goatbeard met in the place where he was lodging for the night St. Adamnan and became inspired with a great respect and reverence for this holy man, finding him greater than any king. So, to show his admiration for him, he jested before him, while the good man sat at his dinner table, performing the most intricate and difficult antics that he knew with such enthusiasm that at length he broke his neck and lay on the floor as if dead. As soon, however, as the holy man realized his plight, he rose from his table, went over to him, touched his neck, and prayed for him, with powerful words, so that life returned to him, though his head sat crooked on his neck for the rest of his days. In gratitude for this miracle, it has ever since been a tradition in our family that we may jest before the Archbishop of Cashel and the Archbishop of Armagh, the Abbot of Iona and the Abbot of Clonmacnoise, as well as before kings; and also that we never display our art in the presence of any man or woman who has not been baptized. For that reason, we cannot perform for you here, gladly as we would otherwise have done so.”

Orm stared at the little man in amazement when he heard these words, for, from his memory of the Christmas at King Harald’s court, he knew them to be a lie; and he was on the point of saying so when he caught a warning glance from Father Willibald, which caused him to shut his mouth and remain silent.

“It may be that God Himself willed it so,” said the other Irishman in a small voice, “for, without boasting, I think it may be said that many of King Harald’s best men chose to be baptized chiefly in order that they might not have to leave the hall when the time came for us to display our arts before the King.”

Ylva opened her mouth and began to speak, but Orm, Father Willibald, and both the jesters immediately started talking at the same time, so that, what with their voices, the cries of disappointment, and the gurgles and snores of drunkenness that were arising from various parts of the hall, it was impossible to hear what she was saying.

Orm said: “It is my hope that both you masters will remain here for some short while longer, so that I and my household may be able to enjoy your jests and antics when these our guests have left us; for every man and woman in my house is a good Christian.”

But at this many of the young people began to shout louder than ever that they would see the jesters perform their tricks, whatever sacrifice might be involved.

“Baptize us, if there is no other way,” cried one, “and do not delay, but let the rite be performed at once.”

“Yes, yes!” cried the rest. “That is the best solution. Let us all be baptized at once.”

Some of the older people laughed at this, but others looked thoughtful and glanced doubtfully at one another.

Gisle, Black Grim’s son, jumped up on his bench and shouted: “Let those who are not willing to be a party to this go and make themselves comfortable in the hay-barn, that they may be out of the way.”

The excitement and shouting became more and more vociferous. Father Willibald sat with his head bowed upon his chest, mumbling to himself, while the two jesters peacefully sipped their ale.

Black Grim said: “At this moment it seems to me but a small thing to be baptized, and no cause for alarm; but that may be because I have drunk deeply of this excellent ale and am warmed by the feast and by the wise conversation of my friends. It may be that I shall feel differently when the ale-joy has gone from me and I begin to think of the way my neighbors will laugh and gibe at me.”

“Your neighbors are all here,” said Orm, “and who will laugh or gibe at you if everyone does as you do? It is more likely that you will all be laughing at men who are not baptized when you all find how much you have improved your luck by submitting to the ritual.”

“It may be that you are right,” said Grim, “for no one can deny that your luck has been as good as a man’s could be.”

Brother Willibald now rose to his feet and read over them in Latin, with his hands spread wide, so that all the guests sat silent and motionless beneath the sound of his words, and several of the women turned pale and began to tremble. Two of the more drunken men got up and bade their women straightway come with them and leave this witchcraft; but when those addressed remained in their seats as though they had not heard their husbands speak, with no eyes or ears for anyone save Father Willibald, both the men sat down again, with the air of men who have done all they can, and returned with glum faces to their drinking.

Everyone felt a great relief when Father Willibald came to the end of his Latin, which sounded like nothing so much as the squealing of pigs. He now began to address them in ordinary language on the subject of Christ, His power and goodness, and His willingness to take all men and women into His protection, not excluding robbers and adulterers. “So you see,” he said, “there is no one here unqualified to receive all the good that Christ has to offer you; for He is a chieftain who bids every man and woman welcome to His feast, and has rich gifts for every one of His guests.”

The company were greatly pleased with this speech, and many of them burst out laughing; for everyone found it an amusing and proper thing to hear his neighbors described as robbers and adulterers, comfortable in the knowledge that he himself could not be classed among those sorts of people.

“It is my earnest hope,” continued Father Willibald, “that you will be willing to follow Him for the rest of your lives, and that you will appreciate what that involves—namely, that you shall mend your ways and follow His commandments and never worship any other god.”

“Yes, yes,” cried many of them impatiently; “we appreciate everything. And now make haste, so that we can get on with the important business.”

“One thing you must not forget,” proceeded Father Willibald, “is that, from this day forward, you must all come to me in this church of God on every Sunday, or at least on every third Sunday, to hear the will of God and be instructed in the teaching of Christ. Will you promise me this?”

“We promise!” they roared eagerly. “And now shut your mouth. Time is running on, and it will soon be evening.”

“It would be most beneficial to your souls if you could all come every Sunday; but for those who live a long way off, every third week will suffice.”

“Cease gabbing, priest, and baptize us!” roared the more impatient members of the gathering.

“Quiet!” thundered Father Willibald. “These are the ancient and cunning devils of your false beliefs that tempt you to bawl thus and interrupt my speech, hoping thereby to obstruct the will of God and so keep you for their own. But this is no superfluous information that I give you, when I speak to you of Christ and of the decrees of God, but important instruction, to which you must listen attentively and in silence. I shall now pray that all such devilry may instantly depart from you, so that you may be worthy to receive baptism.”

He then began again to read in Latin, slowly and in a stern voice, so that before long several of the older women began to wail and weep. None of the men dared utter a word; they all sat staring anxiously at him with large eyes and open mouths. Two of them, however, were seen to nod; their heads dropped nearer and nearer to their ale-cups, and after a short while they slid slowly beneath the table, whence lengthy snores soon began to emerge.

Father Willibald now commanded them all to come forward to the baptism-tub, in which Harald Ormsson had been baptized; and there twenty-three men and nineteen women, young and old, were duly sprinkled. Orm and Rapp pulled the two sleepers out from under the table and tried to shake some life into them; but, finding that all their efforts failed, they carried them up to the tub and held them in position until they, too, had been sprinkled like the rest, after which they were thrown into a quiet corner to continue with their sleeping. The whole company was now in excellent spirits. They wrung the water out of their hair, went joyfully back to their places at the tables, and, when Father Willibald attempted to conclude the ceremony by pronouncing a general blessing, the noise was so great that little of what he said could be heard.

“Nobody here is afraid of a little water,” they roared proudly, grinning at one another across the tables.

“Everything is ready now.”

“Up, now, jesters, and show us your skill!”

The jesters exchanged small smiles and rose willingly from their benches. Immediately a deep silence fell on the hall. They saluted Ylva with great courtliness when they had come into the center of the hall, as though she were their only spectator; then, for a long while, they held the gathering alternately dumb with amazement and helpless with laughter. They turned somersaults both backwards and forwards, without the help of their hands, landing always on their feet; they imitated birds and beasts, played ditties on small pipes while dancing on their hands, and juggled with tankards, knives, and swords. Then out of their sacks they produced two great dolls, clad in motley and with faces carved in the likeness of old women. These they held in their hands, Felimid taking one and Ferdiad the other, and immediately the dolls began to speak, at first amiably, then shaking their heads and hissing angrily, and at the last furiously abusing each other, vituperating tirelessly like squabbling crows. A shiver went through the gathering as the dolls began to talk; the women ground their teeth, and the men went white and reached for their swords; but Ylva and Father Willibald, who knew the Irishmen’s tricks of old, calmed them with the assurance that all was the result of the jesters’ skill and that there was no witchcraft in it. Orm himself looked uncertain for a few moments, but soon recovered his mirth; and when the jesters brought their dolls closer to each other and made them fight with their arms, while their voices cursed each other yet more shrilly, as though they might at any moment seize each other by the hair, he burst into such a bellow of laughter that Ylva leaned anxiously across to him and bade him remember what had happened to King Colla. Orm wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at her.

“It is not easy to be prudent when one is merry,” he said. “But I do not think God will allow any harm to befall me now, when I have just done Him so great a service.”

It was noticeable, however, that he took Ylva’s warning seriously, for he was never able to ignore any observation relating to his health.

At length the jesters concluded their performance, though the guests begged them many times to continue; and the evening ended without anyone suffering the fate of King Colla. Father Willibald then thanked God for all the happiness that they had enjoyed, and for all the souls that he had been permitted to lead to Christ. So Orm’s great christening feast came to a close; and the guests rode home from Gröning in the gray dawn twilight, talking of all the good ale and victuals that they had consumed and of the marvelous feats that had been performed for them by these Irish jesters.

WHEN all the guests save the four beggars had departed and peace had returned to Gröning, Orm and all his household agreed that the feast had passed off better than any of them could have dared to hope, and that Harald Ormsson had had a christening that would without doubt bring much honor to himself and them. Only Asa wore a thoughtful look. She said that his sharp-toothed guests had consumed practically their entire stock of provisions, both wet and dry, so that there was scarcely enough left for their own needs.

“The bakehouse is empty,” she said, “save for one small bin; and the larder looks as though a pack of wolves had visited it. I tell you both that, if you have many sons, you will not be able to hold christening feasts like this for all of them, or it will eat up all your wealth. I do not wish to complain too loudly over so much waste on this occasion, for it is right that the first-born son should be thus honored; but now we shall all have to be content with small-beer with our meals, until the next hop harvest.”

Orm said that he had no wish to hear any grumbling over the fact that a little extra food had been consumed. “But I know you mean well,” he said to Asa, “and that your grumbling arises chiefly from habit. And I have heard that small-beer is a drink that a man can be content with.”

“You must remember, Asa,” said Father Willibald, “that this has been no ordinary feast. For it has advanced the cause of Christ, and has caused heathens to become baptized. Let us, therefore, not complain that so much has disappeared, for God will repay us tenfold.”

Asa admitted that there might be something in this argument, for she never liked to oppose Father Willibald, even when she was in her sharper moods.