The Long Ships (57 page)

This suggestion was enthusiastically received by the assembly, so Orm rose and said that the story of what had happened was short and simple. But before he could go further, Gudmund leaped to his feet and roared that he did not wish it to be repeated.

“We made this matter up a good while ago, Orm and I,” he declared, “and it is not a story worth listening to. Wait but a short while, for I have just remembered another man whom I might ask, and I think he will be able to supply what is lacking.”

With that, he lumbered hastily away toward his camp. As he disappeared, many shouted that they wished, nevertheless, to hear the story of how Orm had persuaded him. But Orm said that they would have to get somebody else to tell it to them.

“For what Gudmund says is true,” he said, “that we made this matter up long ago; and why should I provoke him to no purpose, when he has already gone to fetch his silver to avoid having this story repeated? It was only to make him do this that Sone, in his wisdom, referred to the incident.”

Before anyone could say more, Gudmund returned, puffing, from his camp with the missing money. Toke weighed it and found it correct; so two thirds of the bride-money due from Slatte and Agne was handed over by Ugge to Glum and Askman, whereupon these two admitted the men who had stolen their daughters to be good and blameless sons-in-law. The remaining third, which was to be paid by Slatte and Agne themselves, they were to receive at the end of the winter, so that the young men might be able to collect the necessary amount in skins.

But as soon as this matter was settled, Olof Summerbird said that he would now like to hear the story that had been promised them of how Orm had persuaded Gudmund to change his mind. All the representatives cried assent to this, and Ugge himself supported the suggestion.

“Instructive stories,” he said, “are always worth hearing, and this is one that is new to me. It may be that Gudmund would prefer that we should not hear it, but you must remember, Gudmund, that you have caused us all a great deal of inconvenience by your attitude toward this case, and that we have paid a third of the money demanded of your kinsmen, though you were wealthy enough to have given it yourself. Seeing that you have been saved so much silver, you can put up with the shame of hearing this story repeated. If, though, you would prefer to tell it yourself, by all means do so; and Orm Tostesson will doubtless be able to refresh your memory if any details should escape you.”

Gudmund now flew into a fury and began to roar. This was an old habit with him when he was angry, and because of it he had come to be known as the Thunderer. He sank his head down between his shoulders and shook throughout his whole body and brandished his fists before his face and roared like a werewolf. It was his hope that people might suppose from this that he was about to go berserk, and in his younger days he had often succeeded in frightening men by this means; but nobody was deceived by it any longer, and the more he roared, the louder the assembly laughed. Suddenly he fell silent and glared around him.

“I am a dangerous man,” he said, “and no man provokes me without regretting it.”

“When a representative breaks the peace of the Thing,” said Toke, “by threat or abuse, drunken talk or malicious accusation, he shall be required to pay a fine of—I forget the sum, but doubtless there are men here who can remind me.”

“He shall be expelled from the precincts of the Thing by the judges and representatives,” said Sone. “And if he should resist or attempt to return, he shall pay with his beard. Such is the ancient law.”

“Only twice in my life have I known a representative to be deprived of his beard,” said Ugge reflectively. “And neither of them was able to endure life for much longer, after suffering such shame.”

Many now began to be incensed with Gudmund, not because he had howled at them, which nobody bothered much about, but because the honor that they had won by their openhandedness had cost them so much silver; and they now blamed Gudmund for this. So they roared furiously at him to depart from the Thing, swearing that otherwise they would take his beard from him. Gudmund had a very fine beard, long and luxuriant, of which he evidently took great care; he therefore yielded to their clamor and left the Thing rather than risk exposing his beard to danger. But as he departed, he was heard to mumble: “No man provokes me without living to regret it.”

Orm was now commanded to tell the story of his first meeting with Gudmund and how he had persuaded him to change his mind by holding him over his own well. This hugely delighted the assembly; but Orm himself was not greatly pleased at having to repeat the tale and, when he had finished, said that he would now have to be prepared for some attempt by Gudmund at revenge.

So this difficult case of woman-theft was successfully concluded. Many had won honor through it, but it was the general opinion that Olof Summerbird and Orm of Gröning deserved the most praise for the way they had spoken.

Ever since the opening of the Thing, Orm had been expecting to hear some accusation from the Finnvedings about the way he had treated Östen of Öre, or some reference to the two heads that had been thrown across the brook on the first evening. But as nobody mentioned either matter, he decided to find out for himself whether they felt bound as a tribe to avenge the insult inflicted upon one of their members. Accordingly, on the evening of this the third day of the Thing, he went alone to the Finnveding camp, having first requested and obtained safe-conduct to do so, in order that he might discuss the matter privately with Olof Summerbird.

The latter received him in a manner befitting a chieftain. He had sheepskins spread out for Orm to sit on, offered him fried sausage, sour milk, and white bread, and commanded his servant to bring forth his feasting-cup. This was a tall clay cup with handles, narrow-necked, and terminating in a leaden stopper. It was placed carefully on flat ground between them, together with two silver mugs.

“You conduct yourself like a chieftain,” said Orm, “here, as at the Thing.”

“It is a bad thing to sit talking without ale to drink,” said Olof Summerbird; “and when chieftain entertains chieftain, they should have something better to swallow than water from the brook. You are a man who has traveled widely, as I have, and perhaps you have tasted this drink before, though it is seldom offered to guests here in the north.”

He took the stopper from the cup and poured a liquid from it into the two mugs. Orm nodded as he saw its color.

“This is wine,” he said, “the Roman drink. I have tasted it in Andalusia, where many people drank it secretly, though it was forbidden them by their prophet; and once again, on a later occasion, at the court of King Ethelred in England.”

“In Constantinople, which we call Miklagard,” said Olof Summerbird, “it is drunk by everyone, morning and evening, especially by the priests, who thin it with water and drink twice as much as anyone else. They hold it to be a sacred drink, but I think that ale is better. I pledge you welcome.”

They both drank.

“Its sweetness is soothing to the throat when a man has eaten fat sausage with salt in it,” said Orm, “though I agree with you about ale being the better drink. But it is time for me to tell you why I have come to speak with you, though I think you know the reason already. I wish to know whether the two heads that were thrown to me across the brook were sent by your kinsman Östen. They belonged to two Christian priests who had become your slaves. I also wish to know whether this Östen still seeks my life. If he does so, it is without cause, for I spared his life and gave him his freedom when he was in my power, the time he treacherously gained entry to my house to get my head, which he had promised to King Sven. You know that I am a baptized man and a follower of Christ; and I know that you regard Christians as evil men, because of the way you saw them act in Miklagard. But I promise you that I am not that sort of Christian; and here at this Thing I have learned that you, too, are a man who hates evil and villainy. It is because I know this that I have come to you this evening; otherwise I would have been foolish to cross the brook.”

“How you could have become a Christian,” said Olof Summer-bird, “is more than I can understand. Nor can I make much of your little bald priest; for I hear that he helps all members of the Thing who come to him with ailments, and refuses reward for his labor. So I hold you both to be good men, as though you had never been tainted with Christianity. Nevertheless, you must admit, Orm, that you and your priest laid a cruel burden on my kinsman Östen when you forced him to receive baptism. The shame of that has driven him mad; though it may be that the ax-blow he received on his head also had something to do with it. He has become folk-shy and spends most of his time wandering in the forest or lying in his room groaning to himself. He refused to come to the Thing; but he bought these two slave-priests from their owners, paying a big price for them, and straightway hewed off their heads and sent them here by his servant, that he might give them to you and your little priest as a reminder and a greeting. He has, indeed, been well punished for his attempt against your life, for he has been baptized and has lost all the wares you took from him, and his understanding too; but though he is my kinsman, I will not say that he has got more than he deserved, for he was too rich a man, and too nobly born, to be a party to such a bargain as he made with King Sven. I have told him as much myself and have said that I shall not order any feud against you to avenge him; but it is certain that he will gladly kill you if he gets the chance. For he believes that he will become brave and merry again, as he was before, once he has killed you and your little priest.”

“I thank you for this information,” said Orm. “Now I know how I stand. There is nothing I can do about the two priests whose heads he took, and I shall not seek revenge for their death. But I shall be on my guard, in case his madness drives him to make some further attempt against me.”

Olof Summerbird nodded and refilled their mugs with wine.

It was now quite still in the camp, and there was no sound to be heard save the breathing of sleeping men. A light breeze stirred the trees, and the aspen leaves rustled. They pledged each other again, and as Orm drank, he heard a branch crack in the wood behind him. As he leaned forward to replace his mug on the ground, he heard a sudden gasp at his ear, as of a man fighting for his breath. Olof Summerbird sat up alertly and gave a cry, and Orm turned half around, saw a movement in the woods, and crouched closer to the ground.

“It is a lucky thing I am sharp of hearing and moved quickly,” he said afterwards, “for the spear flew so close to me that it scarred the back of my neck.”

There was a howl from the woods, and a man rushed out at them whirling a sword. It was Östen of Öre, and they could see at once that he was mad, for his eyes stared stiffly out of his head like a ghost’s, and there was froth on his lips. Orm had no time to seize his sword or get to his feet. Flinging himself sideways, he managed to grip the madman’s leg and throw him across his body at the same time as he received a slash across the hip from his sword. Then he heard a blow and a groan, and as he got to his feet he saw Olof Summerbird standing sword in hand, and östen lying still on the ground. His kinsman had hewed him in the neck, and he was already dead.

Men came running toward them, awakened by the noise. Olof Summerbird looked with a pale face at the dead man.

“I have killed him,” he said, “though he was my kinsman. But I do not intend that any guest of mine shall be attacked, even by a madman. Besides which, his spear broke my feasting-cup; and whoever had done that, I would have killed him.”

The cup lay in fragments, and he was much grieved at its loss, for such a one he would not easily find again.

He ordered his men to carry the dead man to the marsh and sink him there, driving pointed stakes through his body; for if this is not done, madmen walk again and are the most fearful of earthbound spirits.

Orm had come out of this adventure with a scar on his neck and a wound in his hip; but the latter was not dangerous, for the sword-blade had struck his knife and eating-spoon, which he wore on his belt. He was accordingly able to walk back to his camp; and as he said farewell to Olof Summerbird, they took each other by the hand.

“You have lost your cup,” said Orm, “which is a pity. But you are the richer by a friend, if that is any consolation to you. And I should be happy if I could think that I had won as much.”

“You have,” replied Olof Summerbird. “And this is no small prize that you and I have won.”

From this time the friendship between them was very great.

On the last day of the Thing, it was agreed that peace should reign throughout the border country until the time of the next Thing. So this Thing at the Kraka Stone ended, though many thought that it had been disappointing, and nothing to boast of, because no good combat had been fought during it.

Father Willibald went to the Vird camp to look for the magister and say farewell to him, but the woman Katla had already taken him away. Orm wanted Toke to come back to Gröning with him, but Toke refused, saying that he had to buy his skins. But they promised to entertain each other honorably in the near future and always to keep their friendship firm.

All now rode off toward their respective homes; and Orm felt much relieved that he was rid of both the magister and his enemy, östen of öre. When Christmas came, Toke and his Andalusian wife Mirah visited Gröning; and all that Orm and Toke had to tell each other was as nothing compared with what Ylva and Mirah had to say to each other.

At the beginning of spring Rapp’s wife, Torgunn, bore her man a boy. Rapp was much pleased at this; but when he reckoned the months backwards, he felt somewhat suspicious, for the date of conception was not far from that time when the magister had read over Torgunn’s injured knee. All the house-folk, men and women alike, praised the child and his resemblance to his father; this comforted Rapp, but did not completely allay his fears. The only man whose word he wholly relied upon was Orm; so he went to him and begged him to examine the child and say whom he thought it most resembled. Orm looked at the child closely for a long while; then he said: “There is a great difference between him and you, and nobody can fail to see it. The child has two eyes, and you have only one. But it would be churlish of you to resent this, for you, too, had two eyes when you came into the world. Apart from this disparity, I have never seen a child that more resembled its father.”