The Long Ships (48 page)

With this he ended his story. Ylva laughed and gave him more ale.

“It seems that you are unlucky with women, whichever way you treat them,” she said, “despite all that you have read in the book which tells everything about the art of love. And I do not think you will be likely to have better success with them in these parts.”

But Magister Rainald replied that he was done with all such vanity.

“You must be a very foolish man in more respects than one,” said Orm, “and your holy Bishop too, if you think you have any hope of ransoming your priest from the Smalanders, or even of escaping from them with your life, without the aid of silver and gold.”

The magister shook his head and smiled sorrowfully.

“I have no gold or silver,” he said, “for I do not intend to offer metal to the Smalanders in exchange for Father Sebastian. I wish to offer myself to be their slave in place of him. I am younger than he, and stronger, so that I think they will agree to the exchange. By this means I hope to atone in some measure for causing the deaths of the two priests.”

They were all amazed at this reply and at first refused to believe that he could be serious in what he said. But the magister swore that this was so.

“I think I am as good a Christian as most men,” said Orm, “but I would rather commit all manner of sins than offer myself as a thrall.”

Father Willibald said that such Christian zeal was not what every man might feel, but that the magister was acting rightly.

“Your thralldom will not last for long,” he added, “for there are now no more than five years left before Christ shall return to the earth, according to the best calculations. If, therefore, you avoid women and meet no further misfortunes at their hands, it may be that you will succeed in baptizing many Smalanders before that day arrives, in which case you will be able to appear with a calm conscience before the judgment throne of God.”

“What you say is true,” replied the magister, “and the same thought has occurred to me. But the worst is that I still have my third sin to commit, and the wisewoman said that this would be the most heinous of all.”

None of them could think of any comfort to offer him, but Orm said that he hoped it would be some time before this third sin might be due.

“For I should not like you to commit it while you are a guest in my house,” he said. “But be sure of this, priest, and you, too, Spjalle, and both you Irish masters, that you are welcome to stay in my house for as long as you please.”

“That is my wish also,” said Ylva.

They thanked them both for this invitation, but Spjalle said that he could not accept for more than a few days.

“For I must not loiter on my journey,” he explained, “with the luck of the Kings of Sweden bound to my leg.”

Both the jesters said that they would go with Spjalle, since they, too, were heading for Uppsala. If they did not find things to their satisfaction there, there were other kings elsewhere who would make them welcome.

“We can go to Norway,” they said, “where Olaf Tryggvasson is now King; for he is said to have become a zealous Christian. Or we could voyage to the Eastland, to Prince Valdemar of Gardarike, who has a great name for power and wealth, and is said to be well disposed toward men skillful in the arts.”

“That will be a long journey for you to travel,” said Orm.

“We have no home,” they replied, “and it is our life to wander over the earth; but where kings are, thither will we gladly journey, for all kings welcome us. Beyond Gardarike is the kingdom of Basil, him whom they call the Hammer of the Bulgars, and who is the most powerful of all the monarchs in the world, now that King Harald and King Erik are dead; though it may be that the young Emperor of Germany would be displeased to hear us say so, and King Brian, too, who rules in Ireland now. We have heard it said by far-traveled men that the jesters of the Emperor in Miklagard have a great name and can perform marvelous feats; men speak especially of a performance they gave before the envoys of the old German Emperor, in the days when Nikeforos ruled at Miklagard. They are said to have climbed miraculously upon a pole; and this is a trick new to us, though we reckon that we know more tricks than most men. It might, therefore, be worth our while to journey there to see how skillful they really are, and to show them what the Erin Masters can perform. It would, besides, be a great honor for us to jest before the Emperor Basil, and for him to receive a visit from us. But first we shall go to Uppsala, to the young King there, and we think it best that we should travel there in Spjalle’s company. For he is a good man to go a-begging with.”

They held to this decision; and after a few days, when he had regained his strength, Spjalle once again bound his royal sword to his leg, and he and the two masters took up their sacks and beggars’ staffs. Asa and Ylva gave them fine fare for their journey, so that they said they had small hope of encountering again such hospitality as it had been their fortune to receive here at Gröning.

As they parted, Felimid said to Orm: “If we should meet again, you may be sure that you will always have good friends in us.”

“I dearly hope that we may meet again,” said Orm. “But if you set forth for Miklagard, I fear my hope is not likely to be fulfilled. For I shall remain here, a man of peace, watching my children grow and my herds fatten, and shall never wander across the seas any more.”

“Who knows?” said the small, long-eared men. “Who can tell?”

They wagged their heads, received a blessing from Father Willibald, and departed with Spjalle on their journey.

But Magister Rainald remained with Orm for a while longer, it having been decided that this was the wisest thing for him to do. They all agreed that it would be madness for him to go alone across the border to look for Father Sebastian, for if he did so, he would be caught or killed without achieving anything. So it was decided that he should stay at Gröning until the time arrived for the border peoples to hold their great annual conference, which they called Thing, at the Kraka Stone; for the time for this was shortly due. At the Thing, said Orm, they might be able to come to some agreement with the Smalanders about the matter on which his mind was set.

SO Magister Rainald remained with them over the summer. He helped Father Willibald to minister to the spiritual needs of the household and to such of the newly baptized Christians as thought it worth their while to keep their promise to attend divine service. The magister was greatly praised by them all for his singing at Mass, which was more beautiful than anything that had been heard in these parts before. At first the newcomers to Christianity showed some reluctance to appear on Sundays, but as the news of the magister’s singing spread, more and more people began to turn up; and tears could be seen standing in the women’s eyes as he sang. Father Willibald was much gratified to receive this assistance, for he himself had an unmelodious voice.

The magister was poorly qualified, however, to do other forms of useful work. Orm wanted to give him something to occupy him during the week, and did his best to discover some task that he might be able to perform competently; but they could not find anything at which he was of the slightest use. He knew no trade and was unable to handle any sort of tool. Orm said: “This is a bad thing; for soon you will be a thrall in Smaland, and if you can do nothing but sing, I fear you will have a hard time of it up there. It would be best for you if you could learn to do something useful while you are staying here with me, for this will save you many stripes on your back.”

Sighing, the magister concurred; and he tried his hand at many simple tasks, but could not succeed with any of them. When they set him to cut grass, his efforts were pathetic to see, for he could not learn to swing the scythe. He was useless at carpentry, though Rapp and even Orm himself spent long hours trying to teach him the craft; and when he tried to chop wood for the bake-oven, he hit himself in the leg, so that when they came to fetch the wood, they found him groaning on the ground in a puddle of blood. When he had recovered from this, they sent him out with a man to watch the fishing-lines in the river; but there he was attacked by an enormous eel, which twined itself round his arm. In his terror he upset the punt, so that all the fish they had caught fell into the water, and it was only with difficulty that he and his companion managed to reach the bank safely. So he gained the name of being a hero in church, and a good man to have in the house of an evening, when everybody would be seated at his or her handicraft and he would tell them stories about saints and emperors; but in all matters else he was regarded as an incomparable duffer, unable to do any of the simple things that every man has to know about. Still, he was not disliked; and least of all by the women, who, from Asa and Ylva to the youngest serving-girls, fussed over him continually and, at the least excuse, spoke out manfully in his defense.

Early in the spring of that year, One-Eyed Rapp had taken himself a wife, a plump farmer’s daughter called Torgunn, whom, despite his one-eyedness, he had had no difficulty in winning, on account of the great name he possessed as a widely traveled and weapon-skillful man. Rapp having ordered her to get herself baptized, she had lost no time in doing so, and had never since failed to attend a service; she was well liked by everyone and performed her duties industriously, and Rapp and she were well content with each other, though he was occasionally heard to mumble that she was difficult to silence and slow to bear him a child. Ylva liked her greatly, and these two often sat together exchanging confidences; nor did the flow of words from their mouths ever slacken.

It happened one day that all the people of the household had to go into the woods to look for strayed heifers; and a lengthy search ensued. Toward evening, while Rapp was on his way homewards, having found nothing, he heard a sound from a birch copse; and on approaching nearer he saw Torgunn lying in the grass by the side of a great boulder, with Magister Rainald arched above her. More than that he could not see, because of the height of the grass; and both of them rose hastily to their feet as soon as they heard his footsteps. Rapp stood there without saying anything, but Torgunn immediately hopped toward him on one leg, with her mouth full of words.

“It is indeed lucky that you have come,” she said, “for now you can help me home. I twisted my knee, falling over a root, and was lying there crying for help when this good man came to my aid. He lacked the strength to pick me up and carry me; instead, therefore, he has been reading prayers over my knee, so that it has already begun to feel better.”

“I have only one eye,” replied Rapp, “but with that I see clearly. Was it necessary for him to lie upon you while he prayed?”

“He was not lying upon me,” said Torgunn indignantly. “Rapp, Rapp, what is in your mind? He was kneeling beside me, holding my knee, and praying thrice over it.”

“Thrice?” said Rapp.

“Do not make yourself more stupid than you are,” said Torgunn. “First in the name of the Father, secondly in the name of the Son, and lastly in the name of the Holy Ghost. That makes three.”

Rapp looked at the priest. The latter was pale, and there was a tremble in his mouth, but otherwise he looked as usual.

“If you had been out of breath,” said Rapp thoughtfully, “you would by now be a dead man.”

“I have come to this land in search of martyrdom,” replied the magister mildly.

“You will find it, sure enough,” said Rapp. “But first let me look at this knee of yours, woman, if you can remember which it is that is hurting you.”

Torgunn grumbled plaintively and said that she had never been treated thus before; however, she seated herself obediently on the stone and bared her left knee. They found difficulty in agreeing whether or not there was any swelling to be seen; but when he thumbed it, she screamed aloud.

“And it was worse a few minutes ago,” she said. “But I think I might manage to hobble back to the house, with your help.”

Rapp stood with a dark face, thinking to himself. Then he said: “Whether any harm has come to your knee I do not know, for your screams mean nothing. But I do not want Orm to be able to say that I killed a guest of his without good cause. Father Willibald knows best about these things, and he will be able to tell me whether the limb is really damaged.”

They started homewards and made fair progress, though Torgunn often had to stop and rest because of her great pain. Over the last stretch she was forced to support herself on both of the men, with one arm round the neck of each.

“You are hanging heavily enough on me,” said Rapp, “but I still do not know whether I can believe you in this matter.”

“Believe what you will,” replied Torgunn, “but of this I am sure: that my knee will never be right again. I caught my foot between two roots, as I was jumping down from a fallen trunk; that was how it happened. I shall be lame for the rest of my days as the result of this.”

“If that is so,” replied Rapp bitterly, “all his praying will have been to no purpose.”

They carried Torgunn to bed, and Father Willibald went to examine her. Rapp at once took Orm and Ylva aside and told them what had happened and what he believed to be the truth of the matter. Orm and Ylva agreed that this was a most unfortunate occurrence, and that it would be a sad thing for all of them if there should be discord between Rapp and Torgunn as a result of this.

“It is a good thing that you think before you act,” said Orm, “otherwise you might have killed him, which would have been a bad matter if he should turn out to be innocent. For to kill a priest would bring God’s punishment down upon us all.”

“I have a better opinion than you of Torgunn, Rapp,” said Ylva. “It is an easy thing to twist a knee when one is clambering among logs and stones. And you have admitted yourself that you saw nothing take place.”

“What I saw was bad enough,” said Rapp, “and they were in the darkest part of the forest.”

“It is wisest not to judge too hastily in such matters,” said Orm. “You remember the judgment delivered by our lord Almansur’s magistrate in Córdoba, the time when Toke Gray-Gullsson had managed by cunning to gain entry to the woman’s room in the house of the Egyptian sugar-baker, the one that lived in the Street of Penitents, and a wind blew aside the curtain that hung across the window so that four of the sugar-baker’s friends, who happened to be walking across the court, saw Toke and the sugar-baker’s wife together on her bed.”