Authors: Juliet Marillier
Eyvind waited while the horses cropped the meager grasses near the
clifftop. He watched the birds circling and the clouds gathering to the south. He thought about the sickness, and the people he had helped bury, small infants just days old, young women of Margaret's age, old men laid hastily in earth without due ritual, since there was barely time to attend to one burial before the next must come. They were a strange folk, little and dark. There was something about these people and this land that suggested secrets, mysteries hidden below the surface. The hills here were dotted with ancient mounds, the dunes with half-buried structures of neatly laid slabs. You'd be walking across open ground and come suddenly upon some great standing stone, lichen-crusted, a monumental thing like a huge earth troll, and you could hardly go by without asking its permission. He wondered if the people, too, were not quite what they seemed; he had sensed this. Brother Tadhg, now: who'd have thought such a plain little fellow could wield such influence over a strong leader like Ulf? The rumors were increasing daily in the drinking hall; they whispered that Ulf would be baptised a Christian before Yuletide. It seemed that Tadhg had strengths not visible on the surface. And there was that girl, Eyvind had only seen her once, on the beach down by the tidal island, on a day when misery had sent him farther than he should have gone, to seek Thor in the thunderous expanses of the western sky. Her footsteps had been soft as a wren's, but something had made him turn, and when he saw her, he couldn't tell if she were human or spirit, a waif of a thing with long hair streaming in the wind, and eyes such as he'd never seen before, the palest sea-gray with a darker rim to them. She'd fled, as if by looking he had uncovered something best left untouched. He wondered if she had died with the rest of them.
It was a long wait. When at last Somerled and Margaret returned, it seemed to Eyvind that they had quarrelled. Margaret's lips were set tight, her dark eyes angry.
Somerled wore a mask of nonchalance. “It's a fine spot,” he said. “A great rock stack, like a giant standing in the ocean with the waves breaking over its feet. Quite a spectacle. We'll wait, if you want to go and take a look.”
“We should head for home before the mist comes in,” said Eyvind tightly. “You wouldn't want your new horse to break its leg, would you? And Ulf will be expecting us.”
Somerled attempted a laugh. “You think so? For a man of vision, it is surprising how much my brother fails to see. Come on, then, I suppose we must go back some time.”
Nobody asked Eyvind about this ride, and he did not speak of it. It was
surely wiser to think the best of folk until the truth, whatever it was, became plain. If he spoke of his misgivings, to Eirik for instance, all he'd be doing was spreading rumors. Besides, he'd be going home to Norway soon, and they could work this out for themselves. Eirik might decide to make the trip again next spring, when Ulf would expect his ships to sail back with a cargo of timber and the other things he needed, but Eyvind would not be part of that voyage. It shouldn't be hard to convince the Jarl. He must simply acquit himself so well in this season's viking that he became quite indispensable.
It was around this time that Eyvind began to hear another kind of talk that disquieted him. Eirik knew of it, too; he commented that he could not for the life of him imagine where such notions came from, but his tone suggested he knew all too well. It was put about in Hafnarvagr that Ulf was missing an opportunity, with the islanders much weakened by the sickness. Instead of setting his folk on errands of mercy, people said, a real leader would seize the advantage and establish control while he could. There was fine land for the taking, perhaps even treasure hidden away in Engus's stronghold on the brough. Eyvind heard this sort of thing more than once, and reminded one fellow who said it that Ulf had given his word; there was a treaty. And someone commented that a treaty was only as good as the man who swore it. Everyone knew Ulf was about to put aside the old gods and let Brother Tadhg baptize him as a Christian. Where did that leave the rest of them? If enemies came, Ulf would not be prepared to take up arms, not if he followed a god of peace and forgiveness. If Ulf demanded that his people follow his example, the shoe would indeed be on the other foot. What was to stop Engus's barbarians from coming in the night and killing them all? And if the natives didn't account for them, Odin surely would, once he learned they'd turned their backs on him. Either way, they were doomed. When Eyvind pointed out that this was nonsense, somebody grumbled that if Ulf's own warriors couldn't see what was coming, they'd only have themselves to blame when they were cut to ribbons in their sleep. Treaty or no treaty, you couldn't trust folk who lived in such an outlandish place, full of monstrous stones and underground chambers with who knew what lurking in them.
Tomorrow,
thought Eyvind.
Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next we will be gone, and I need never return here.
And it seemed to him Thor's voice grew stronger in his ear, and his heart beat more steadily, as if the drum were not so far beneath the surface.
Come then, my loyal son. Come home and wield your axe for me once more.
Then Ulf called a Thing, a council to which all his people were sum
moned. It was the first such assembly in their new home, and Ulf had invited King Engus to attend as his guest, with four men of his household and Brother Tadhg. Ulf required the putting aside of all arms before folk entered the hall. Eyvind oversaw this process, laying the knives and spears of the islanders beside the handsome swords and axes, the hammers and bows of his own people in the anteroom. Some were not so keen to give up their weapons; that was why Eyvind had been given this job. It didn't pay to argue with a Wolfskin.
For the benefit of his guests Ulf explained the formal process. First, a law speaker would recite a portion of the body of legal wisdom, which it was his job to retain in his memory. The usual rule was that one-third was presented at each Thing. This was to keep the laws clear in men's minds. Then the cases would begin, perhaps only one if there were a major dispute over, say, a hall-burning or an ambush with multiple casualties. Respected men would be appointed judges for the case. Evidence would be heard and arguments presented for either party. Then, after deliberation, culpability would be apportioned and penalties determined. It was not uncommon for compensation to be paid up then and there, and the matter neatly concluded. Usually, Ulf explained, the system worked very well, since the parties agreed in advance to accept the decision of the judges as to guilt or innocence, and to abide by whatever punishment was chosen. Sometimes there was wrongdoing on both sides, and each must pay. King Engus nodded, and asked what penalties might be applied beyond the payment of restitution. Banishment, Ulf said, for a year, or three years, or forever. A man who chose to ignore that did so at his peril; he could expect a short life and a surprising death.
“Do you ever impose a punishment of execution?” Engus asked. “What of a man who harms a child, say, or defaces a place of ritual?”
Ulf shook his head. “We are not barbarians,” he said. “Such a wrong-doer would be exiled beyond the borders of Rogaland, never to return.”
“That's if he ever got as far as a trial,” put in Eirik, and Ulf frowned at him. But Tadhg translated this comment faithfully, and King Engus gave a nod.
“So, justice might be done outside the walls of this assembly,” he commented. “Here in the Light Isles, there is no need for such measures. For crimes such as those, the ancestors mete out their own punishment. A man who acted thus would certainly perish soon after, weighed down by guilt and crazed with fear.”
“Indeed,” said Ulf. “And how do you deal with lesser crimes? A family
feud, perhaps, where violent deaths occur? A man who steals his neighbor's wife, or beats his own?”
“I am king here,” Engus said. “These grievances are brought before me, and I am the sole arbiter. Such ill-doing is rare among my people. In the end, we are all subject to the old powers.”
The Thing began. There were but two cases to be heard, and both of them trifling. One of the knarr's crew said another man had stolen a fine woolen cloak, a knife, and a sack of dried beans from his sea chest. They had come to blows over it. The second man accused the first of giving him a black eye and half blinding him; he'd never be the same again, he added piteously. Each had appointed Somerled to speak for him. It was unheard of that one man should represent both parties in a legal dispute, but Somerled did so with a dazzling display of wit and humor. By the end of it, everyone was bent double with laughter, including the two litigants themselves. The judges did not take long to reach a verdict, finding some merit on both sides, and some culpability. In the absence of any wealthy kin, Ulf offered to replace the cloak and knife, but not the beans, and he volunteered the services of his own physician to give the second fellow a look over and cure him if he could. The case was pronounced closed. They paused to take a meal.
Then there was a wrangle over a woman: more tricky, this, since she was one of Engus's folk. Two of the men had taken a fancy to her, and each claimed she'd given a promise of marriage. The judges sought Engus's advice. Engus suggested the girl be packed off home to her father on Sandy Island, and the fellows left to cool their heels awhile. With some reluctance they clasped hands and agreed, and that was the day's business over. But Ulf was not finished. He stood to address the assembled people. Eyvind had not been concentrating. He was keeping an eye on the weapons, making sure none disappeared before their owners came to claim them. Then, suddenly, he realized what Ulf was telling them.
“This plague has tried King Engus's folk very hard. They have lost many good souls, and are ill prepared for the winter. And they say the season here is harsh indeed: the wind a scourge, the seas merciless. The nights are very long. That is why I have decided thus. Our ships will winter over here in the islands. We will not send them back until after spring seeding. For it seems to me the need is great here. If all of us remain, we can support and aid these good folk who have so generously allowed us to make their home our own.”
Eyvind's heart seemed to shrink down to a hard chip of ice. He had waited so long, all this time, and now, to be told thisâit could not be endured. He had promised Jarl Magnus. He had promised Thor. Signe was expecting him. How could Ulf do this? It was as if he had no control over his own life anymore.
“This is generous indeed,” said Engus, “and I thank you from my heart. There is, of course, still the matter of a cargo of timber which was promised me.”
“I gave my word,” Ulf replied, “and I have not forgotten. In spring my friend Eirik here will take my ships home, and arrange this gift for you. You will have your fine trunks of oak and pine by midsummer.”
“It's not in any agreement of ours to stay here over the winter,” growled the knarr's captain. The men around him wore heavy frowns. “We're working men, not idle courtiers who can afford to sit around twiddling their thumbs a whole season. We're expected back.”
Somerled stepped forward. “You'll be compensated for your time, of course,” he said smoothly. “Generously compensated. And I'll have work for you over the winter. You won't be idle.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the fellow said, somewhat mollified.
“I would remind you, too, that the knarr belongs to me,” put in Ulf. “While you stay with her, you're under my command.”
“You can buy a boat,” the captain muttered, tight-jawed, “but you'll find it's not so easy to buy a man.”
“Anyone can be replaced,” said Ulf coolly. “Let's see if you are so ready with your comments in the spring.”
It was that evening, over supper, that King Engus reminded Ulf of another promise: to sail the
Golden Dragon
across to High Island while the weather was still good enough. He would like to see the longship put through her paces. Besides, he wanted to show Ulf a place of magic there, a center of ritual, where it was customary for the men of the islands to gather once a year to reverence the sun. The significance of this offer was lost on nobody. Engus's words were greeted with a deep hush. By extending this invitation, he was recognizing Ulf as a part of the islands, not merely an ally but almost a kinsman.
“This is the first time,” the king said, “that a man who is not of our people has been offered the chance to see this place. The terrain is difficult; we'll be gone a night or two.”
Ulf nodded gravely. “I am honored by your trust,” he said. “Not tomor
row, but the next day, if the winds are fair, we shall set out on this short voyage.”
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“This king must think we are mountain goats, not men,” observed Somerled as the
Golden Dragon
came in to shore at around midday. Above them rose the daunting flank of a great, bare hillside, the northern of High Island's two massive peaks. “I never thought I'd be grateful for all that running about in the hills above Hammarsby, but the practice may yet come in useful.”
Eyvind grunted in response, watching as the pebbly shore below the dark rise of the land grew closer.
“Poor Eyvind,” said Somerled. “So disappointed. You shouldn't be. I've told you, my brother is on a mission here; he cares for nothing but his own path. Maybe winter won't be so bad.”
“It'll be long and dark,” growled Eyvind, “and, unlike you, I get no pleasure from endless games of dice.”
“There'll be work for you,” Somerled said quietly.
“What work? Feeding pigs? Cutting turf?”
“We'll find something closer to your heart than that, old friend. Trust me.”
They beached the
Golden Dragon
and, carrying their small packs, set off in King Engus's wake up a barely discernible path toward the hills. There was a hidden vale, Engus had said, a fair, sheltered place tucked away between these forbidding peaks, and there they would find an ancient tomb, carven from living stone before ever the Folk walked on this isle. Not all could go close; he would take Ulf to see it, and the others must wait at a distance. Then they would go on to the high cliffs on the island's western margin, for those were a wonder to behold.