"What do you do when you've climbed the highest mountain to fetch the magic ring, and you've reached the top, and the ring's not magic at all?" asked Olaf Trygvesson. " 'Tis the highest mountain you know of, and cost much blood and weariness to climb, and you know you haven't years enough left to climb another, even if you could find it. What's left then? It's all a cheat. I've given the only lifetime I've got for a cheat. If a throne doesn't feed my soul, what else is there?"
This was a different Olaf from the jolly Viking I'd first seen sailing in the Boknafjord. He wasn't an old man, but he seemed old. He'd put on weight in the wrong places, and sometimes in the mornings or when he was drunk and tired, you could tell the old whip scars from his slave days were giving him pain, and he'd walk a little bent.
I was an unwilling vessel for the king's confidence. We'd come to Agvaldsness again, for Christmas this time, and night came early and the drinking carried on late, and Olaf took pride in being the last to sleep however much he'd tippled. Most of the men were snoring on the benches, blankets around them or not, and he and I were among the few still up in the dim hall. Somewhere in the shadows I could hear Father Thangbrand arguing with someone, but that was a sound as constant as the sea, and as easily ignored. It wasn't my strong head that accounted for my wakefulness; I just hadn't been in the drinking mood. I was drunk, but not sociably. The whole feast had set my teeth on edge. Nobody dared be unsociable though when Olaf Tryggvesson cornered him. He was big and he stuck close, like a goiter.
"You're not the first to feel thus, my lord," I told him. "It's as the Scripture sayswhat shall it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?"
He closed one eye and peered at me with the other (red) over his ale-horn. "Are you saying, Irishman, that I've lost my soul?"
"No, no, no, no," I burbled. "No, no. No. No. Not at all. It's the . . . the principle . . . of the thing. What the Lord meant was that everything in this worldeven kinging it . . . will let you down. Only the love of God gives the soul the nood it feeds. Food it needs."
"But I'm doing God's work! I'm His tool to convert the land! Isn't that as good to Him as some capon monk hoeing peas or scratching away in a scrip- scrip- . . . writing room?"
"I guess that depends on what reward you're looking for," said I.
Olaf slumped back on the bench. "You know, I've never thought about that." The hearth-fire and the hanging lamps made shifting shadows on his face.
"Well, what do you truly want?"
"What does anyone want? I want to have my way. I want to be right."
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but that's a thing for the next world. In this one you can have one or the othernot both."
"I want to be king. That's been the mark all my life. What more could there be for a man?"
"If that were the only goal, very few would have a chance of happiness. And to speak truth my lord, I've known monks who owned not a stick of furniture or a pair of shoes who were happier than you seem. There are so many good things to strive for. Mercy. Love. Justice. Continence. Truthfulness."
"Humph. They don't sound a lot of fun."
"There comes a time to grow up, my king. Manhood has its pleasures too. I'll wager when you were a small boy, you had no taste for women. But you matured, and learned a new thing to enjoy."
"Women," said Olaf. "There's another of life's cheats. First I marry Iron-beard's daughter up in Yriar, who tries to stab me on our wedding night"
"Well, you did kill her father."
"And I call it unwomanly of her to take it so to heart! Vengeance is a son's business. Daughters should be content with the husbands their pin kick them. Kin pick them.
"And now I have my new bride, my Danish princess. What think you of Thyri, priest? Answer honestly."
"She's fair and pious."
"And ambitious. Ambitious as I was not long since. I suppose that's why we got on so, when she showed up at my door. I'd been an exile as she had; we'd both been through adventures and hair's-breadth escapes.
"And I thought, it will truly tweak King Svein Forkbeard's nose in Denmark if I marry his sister without his blessing. Remind him that I'm king here, whatever he may say about overlordship. It seemed a good plan.
"But she's mad. She harps on the lands she claims are coming to her in Wendland. I've pointed out to her a thousand times that the lands were to be her morning-gift from King Burisleif the Pole. Since she naysaid her brother and refused to marry Burisleif, she can hardly expect him to hand over the property."
"What says she to that?"
"She says Burisleif would make an excellent ally, and that I could use one in the Baltic. Which is true enough. She says if we went to Wendland and offered friendship, I could surely get her lands from him as a concession. I don't know why she's so set on Wendish land. I could get her land just as goodhandier anywayhere in Norway, but no, Wendland it has to be."
"A voyage to the Baltic strikes me as a chancy act, with the world as it is."
"You're right in that. The Danes guard the doorway, the Swedes control the east, and they're both enemies of mine. And let's not forget that Burisleif's sister is married to Svein. I've heard tales of Erik Haakonsson, Jarl Haakon's whelp, too. They say he's churning the sea in Svein's service, and recruiting men for a stab at me in his father's memory. I'd be sailing into a wolf's mouth."
He chewed cud for a moment, taking a pull at his horn. "But it would be a kingly act, to take the fight to them rather than awaiting it here. . . . The worst thing about gaining a throne is that it makes you cautious. I'm getting so cautious it makes me want to wring my own neck."
His revery was disturbed by Deacon Ketil, who had approached without either of our notice. "Your Majesty, the queen awaits you," he said.
"And the queen must have her way, whatever the cost," said Olaf, moving to get up but having trouble with it. Ketil gave him his hand.
"One might do worse than heed the lady," said Ketil, helping him rise with easy strength.
"Is that your counsel?" asked Olaf. "Is that what your crowbones tell you?"
Ketil glanced at me, and he must have read my face. "I take it you think divining unfit work for a churchman," he said, without rancor. His tone did not ease me. It was as if he judged my opinion beneath his notice.
" 'Tis not for me to counsel the ding's keakon. King's deacon."
"The Lord adjured us to recognize the signs of the times. That's all my bones arethey are signs of the times."
I'd have liked to sleep late (as would we all) but the bishop said mass in the morning, and anyone who missed that would be marked. It was a sort of test of manhood in those days (like a steam bath) to see how long you could last on little sleep and much ale. Still is, now I think about it.
Much tenacious feasting got done that day, and toward evening the king began to give gifts. That's one of a king's chief jobs of courseto keep the wealth flowing in ways that will bind grateful men to him. The thralls brought in chests and bundles, and one after another the great men received swords or brynjes or helmets, or gold or silver rings, or necklaces of costly stones, depending on their needs and Olaf's reckoning of their dessert.
As the distribution went on, an unease set in among us Jaederers. One name was missing among the gifteesErling Skjalgsson. One by one the king's men received their prizes, but there was naught for Erling. Erling himself sat drinking quietly, giving nothing away by his face, but rage swelled among us as rising water presses against a dam.
"This is infamous," whispered Thorir the hostage, who was sitting across the table from me. His brother Sigurd sat by him, and next to him Sigrid Skjalgsdatter. They were newly betrothed, Erling having worked out an agreement with their foster father the day we arrived (it was a season for weddings that year. Eystein and Deirdre were betrothed as well). I knew the boys' nature, especially Thorir's, and put a finger to my lips, praying they'd heed me.
Everyone in the house felt the strain, and things were unwonted quiet below the expected words of thanks. I happened to look over where Aslak Askelsson sat, who'd been Halla's husband. He sat motionless, staring at Erling with a cat's concentration.
At last the gifts were gone, and Erling yet sat empty-handed. King Olaf called for wine and then said, "Erling Skjalgsson, brother-in-law, do you feel aught has been overlooked?"
Erling said, " 'Tis for the king to say what gifts are given in his own house."
"Don't go all courtly with me, Erling. I give you no gift because you've made it plain you want no gifts from me."
"When did I say such a thing?"
"I offered you the gift of a jarldom, and you spurned it."
"You know my reasons."
"My kinfolk have withdrawn their objection."
"I am still the great-grandson of Horda-Kari. The title of jarl has never been used in my family."
"Your kin were keen enough to have you made one."
"I prefer to be a hersir. It makes no difference in my service to you."
"So you say. I've spoken much with Sigurd and the Opprostad folk about your family and the history of Westland. In elder times there were no kings or jarls in Hordaland. The chief man was called a hersir. In all ways he was just what a king was, in those days of small kings.
"So this is how I see itwhen you, coming of Horder stock, style yourself hersir, you in fact make yourself equal to a king. You rule in your own realm, and carry a title which is yours by birth, not my gift.
"What does this mean? It means that one day you may decide to take the name of king as well as the dignity. It means that, if you mislike my ways, you may try to put me out of the land. It means I must always watch my back with you."
"Who has bruited such things?" asked Erling. "I'll fight him. I've sworn to support you and taken your sister to wife. Who calls me forsworn?"
"Take my gift if you'd have my trust."
"May a man not be faithful in his own way? Must all men cut their feet off to be the height you decide?"
"I've a dream for Norway. 'Tis a dream from God. Do you believe in my dream or not?"
Erling drank from his horn. He wiped his mouth and said, "Let us talk further of this tomorrow."
After supper I took one of my walks. I know I seem to have taken a lot of walks in those days, but sometimes I needed to be quit of these Norse. I wasn't one of them, and I felt it. 'Tis hard to say how a Norse drinking binge differs from an Irish one, but it always seemed to me it did, and it turned me rueful.
The snow lay thin on the ground, pooled in white shadows in the cart ruts and the north lees of the rocks. The wind blew stiff, and helped to revive me.
A dark figure came on at a rapid pace along the path from the harbor. I saw his approach a good way off in that sheep-stripped country. His long form and the way he swung his staff seemed familiar.
He wore an ankle-length gray cloak with a hood, but I knew him when he neared. 'Twas my dark friend, the Wanderer. He grinned when he saw me.
"Well met, Father Aillil," he said.
"Good morning to you, man of the wide world and worlds beyond," I answered. "The joy of the season."
"To you as well. I'm told the king is at home here."
"He's in the hall."
"I suppose you know him well?"
"He's not one of my bosom mates, but we know one another's names."
"Good. You can introduce me."
"You've business with the king?"
"Oh yes. He doesn't know it, but I do."
"I've never learned your name. Whom shall I say I'm presenting?"
"Tell him I'm a teller of tales, bound by oath not to reveal who I am."
"Just like in the stories. That'll get his attention at least."
"Will you present me?"
I stood quietly a moment. "I'd feel easier if I knew who you were."
He looked in my eyes. His were black, and they shone like beads of jet in water. "You know enough of me," he said.
I looked deeply back. There were things in his eyes I'd never seen before, but felt I remembered, and I wished I'd a century to explore them. " 'Tis important you see the king then," I said, kneeling.
"You love him, don't you?"
"The king?"
"Yes."
"In my way. He's more than a king you knowhe's a hero. A true hero, like Erling. But he doesn't ken a hero's paththe low gate and the narrow road. He could be the man for Norway, the one who builds a kingdom to last a thousand years. But he can't see the way."
"You guess why I've come then."
"Have pity on him. His heart is good, but he's lived in such a worldsuch a hard world, pitiless and full of pains. Not just the Norse worldChristian lands are near as bad. Sometimes worse. We do the best we can with the lives we've been handed."
" 'Tis not about doing the best you can, Aillil. You know that."
"I had to bow to the death-blow; to die to be reborn. But I'm a peasant, and look for little from myself. If it was so hard for such as me, think how it will be for Olaf!"
"Just bring me inside. Leave the rest to me. I know my work."
"True enough. Come on, then."
I rose and led him through the entranceway and into the great hall. Have you ever heard a house go silent when a great, or a much-feared, man stepped inside? It was thus with my dark friend, though he was unknown to all. As we passed down the hearth-way, men hushed their talk. Fully half the house was quiet when we reached the king's high seat. Even Thangbrand shut up.
Olaf didn't mark us at first. He was in loud conversation with the steward of the royal farm. "I can't believe no one knows these things!" he said loudly. "For a king to be great and feared, and to leave landmarks behind him, but then to have all his great deeds forgottenit should not be! It must not be! Surely someone remembers!"
The steward got up from his bench across the long-fire. "I can go and ask some of the old people . . ." he said, but he didn't look keen.
"Who's this?" Olaf asked, turning to me and my friend.
"This wanderer has taken a vow not to give his name," I said with a bow, "but I've met him before and know him for a man of wide travel and much learning."
Olaf harumphed. "What I need is someone who can tell me about King Agvald, who lived here in olden times, and after whom the ness and the farm are named."
"I can tell you of him," said the Wanderer.
"You? A southlander? Greek, to judge by your face, or perhaps even an Arab."
"No land under the sky is strange to me, O King. I can tell you of Agvald."
"Then say on. If the story's good, I'll set you beside me on the bench and give you a gold ring and ale to drink."
"The king's ear is all the reward I wish," said the wanderer, leaning on his staff. "Hear then the tale of King Agvald.
"Agvald ruled here at Agvaldsness. 'Twas in his time that men first began to set keels on their boats, and learned to use the wind to ply up and down the north-way, buying, stealing, and selling more widely than ever before.
"This Agvald was out in the meadow looking over his herds one day, and he was alone, and he spoke to himself, thinking no one heard. ` 'Tis a bad year," he said. `The rain's been too heavy; the crops are meager, even the sheep and cattle show their ribs. I fear me the bonders will do according to their custom, and sacrifice the king for a better spring next year.'
"Then he heard a voice say to him, `Would you be the richest king in Westland, and win many battles, and be warded from all wounds and defeats?'
"Agvald looked about him, startled. `Who speaks?' he cried, for he could see no human about.
" ` 'Tis I, the brindled cow,' the voice answered, and Agvald looked and saw that indeed the cow was speaking to him.
" `Who are you?' Agvald asked.
" `One of the underground folk,' the cow answered. `A mighty Old One and a great magician. I was set under a curse by the high gods, and so walk in this body.'
" `And what will you have from me, in return for all these gifts you speak of?'
" `You must worship no god but me. You must make sacrifices to me at the festivals.'
"This was surely a demon of Hell," said Father Thangbrand, breaking in.
"No doubt," said the Wanderer. "Such were much about in old times, and can be met with now and again even today.
" `I shall do what you ask,' said King Agvald. `What good have the high gods ever done me?'
" `Then I shall give you my milk to drink,' said the cow, `and while you drink it every day you will take no deadly wound, and you will have luck in all you undertake. But see that no other man drinks of my milk, or he too will share in my power and so will be a threat to you.
" `Now listen to what I say. Go down to the shore across from Bukk Island without hesitating. There you will find that which will be your fortune.'
"So he did as the cow said, and down on the shore he found a keeled ship wrecked, and with the wreckage a living man, lying senseless on the rocks. He took the living man home, and fed him and restored him to health. The man proved to be a shipbuilder, who became Agvald's man and built him a swift vessel. With this ship Agvald was able to patrol the sound here, at its narrowest place, and exact tolls from all who passed. And so in time he got more ships, laid all the great men under his power, and became rich beyond his dreams; and when any defied him, Agvald made war on them, and he was always victorious.
"Then one day the men of his bodyguard brought a young man in to him. `We found him in the Cow's byre,' they said.
" `Take him out and hang him,' said Agvald. `No man must come near my god.'
" `Think again, O King,' said the young man.
" `What do you mean, rascal?'
" `I drank the milk.'
"Agvald stood up from his seat, and the blood drained from his face. `No common man may drink the milk of my cow!' he cried.
" `Yet I have done so.'
" `Then you must die for your sacrilege!'
" `As I said, think again. You say the cow's milk protects you from harm, and gives you victory. What will men say if one who has drunk the milk can be killed?'
"Agvald sat in his high seat, set his chin on his fist, and thought. He thought a long time. Everyone sat quiet in the hall while he thought, and after a while they began to grow nervy, for it was clear the king could see no way out. Anything he did to this young man would be something thatconceivablycould be done to him.
" `What are you called, scoundrel?' he asked at last.
" `Varin,' said the young man.
" `Well, Varin the Lucky,' said Agvald, `It seems you have me by the short hairs. I can see no other course than to let you go. I thought perhaps I could bind you and set you adrift in a boat, but that would be a defeat for you, and would reflect on me. So instead I shall give you a silver ring and turn you loose, that all may know what luck the milk brings. But let me never see your face again.'
"And Varin went, and told the story of what he'd done, and was taken into the household of a king near Haugesund, and when that king was burned in his house with all his sons, Varin, once again lucky, was away. He was hailed king by the bonders, and he grew in power, and made war on King Agvald.
"He slew Agvald at last, and Agvald is buried in the mound here, which you know. The Cow is buried nearby."
"An odd tale," said Olaf.
"A riddle follows it."
"Give us it."
"Harken," said the Wanderer. "What killed King Agvald?"
"Varin killed him."
"No. Agvald died of cowardice."
"Cowardice? He was a king defending his rule. A king must do that, if only for the land's sake."
"Must he?"
"Of course he must."
"Answer me this, O Kingwhat is the difference between a hero and a coward?"
"A hero stands and fights. A coward runs away."
"No. All men stand and fight at one time or another, and all men who are not foolseven heroesrun from time to time. The difference is something other."
"Explain to me then."
"A hero knows he will die, and makes changes in himself to prepare himself to die with honor. A coward thinks he can live forever, and tries to make changes in others to protect his life."
"But 'tis a king's work to establish law; and what is that but trying to change others?"
"Very true. Which is why 'tis harder for a king to be a hero than for an ox to squeeze through a needle's eye. It takes great wisdom, and skilled counsel."
"That is my place," said Bishop Sigurd.
"Are you a wise man?" the Wanderer asked in return.
"I hope so," said the bishop.
"Then answer me another riddle."
"I shall try."
"Listenwhat is the loneliest place in the world?"
"May I think a moment?"
"Think all you like."
The bishop sat for a space, staring into the fire.
At last he sat up. "The loneliest place in the world is Calvary," he said.
"True as far as it goes," said the Wanderer. "At His last supper with His disciples, the Lord said, `Where I am going, you cannot follow.' He meant Calvary. Yet only a few moments later He said, `Where I am going you will follow.' He was speaking of the loneliest place.'"
"And what place is that?"
"The place where a man stands alone, knowing that he must do what is right, and that no one else can help him or stand in his stead. 'Tis the place where the things He believes cost him everything, and he knows all men of sense judge him a fool, and even his friends have turned aside. That is the loneliest place in the world. That is where heroes go. The Son of Man went first, and His disciples followed. In one way or another, every Christian comes to that lonely place."
"Even kings?"
"Oh, aye. And since kings must be canny and prudent, it pinches them more than most. When they come to the Loneliest Place they may lose everything, not only for themselves but for their kin and followers."
"There must be passing few kings in Heaven," said Olaf, his beard sunk on his chest.
"With God all things are possible," said the Wanderer. "But this I can say. Few kings are heroes too. Few wear crowns in the Fair Land. Most have all their reward in this world."
"Perhaps that should be enough."
"For a hero, 'tis never enough."
"Tell me of some heroes," said Olaf, in a quiet voice. "Tell me how 'tis done."
So the Wanderer began a story, and there was another story after that, and another. The daylight went, and the long night began, and still the Wanderer spoke, and still the king listened.
At last Bishop Sigurd came to me, and put his hand on my shoulder, drawing me with him out into the entry room.
"Who is this talewright?" he asked, fixing my eyes with his.
"You know as much as I. But of this I'm surehe comes from the Beloved."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I've no doubt."
The bishop scratched his long shaved chin. "This puts me in an awkward place."
"How so?"
"Deacon Ketil says the Wanderer is of the Devil, and that you are deceived."
"Deacon Ketil reads crowbones and cat guts. I can't believe you put stock in such."
"He's been right so often . . ."
"Right forecasts may come from springs other than God. You know this."
"But this is Norway! It's not the same as in England!"
"The rule against augury is the same."
"I don't know. I've seen so many marvels . . . I've had to change my mind about so much. . . ."
"Too much! Don't lose sight of the center, my lord! That's why I trust the Wandererhis words remind me of things I know, but so often forget. And he troubles me. That's always a good sign."
"I think it's late," said the bishop. "I think the king should sleep."
"You know best, my lord. But if any were to ask me, I'd say he's chosen the better part and it should not be taken from him."
We went back into the main hall.
"I've heard the saga of Daniel before," Olaf was saying to the Wanderer, who yet stood where we'd left him, leaning on his staff.
"Not this Daniel," said the Wanderer. "You've never heard of this Daniel, because no one remembered him. He lived after the Daniel of whom you've heard; one of the Jews who stayed on in Persia after most had returned to Israel. Like the other Daniel he was a high official in the king's house. Like him, he fell afoul of his enemies because he would not deny God, and was denounced as a traitor.
"The choice was set before himbow down and worship the gods of the land, or be thrown into the lion's den, along with his wife and childrenthis was a sorrow spared to the first Daniel, who had no family.
"The first Daniel was a great and good man, but he never faced the horror of seeing a lovely young wife, and innocent daughters and sons, thrown to be mauled and eaten by starving lions, and to hear their screams as they called to him for help. He went almost eagerly when it was his turn to die."
"What sort of story is this?" Olaf asked. "Such a story would be in no way different if there were no God at all."
"Indeed. Daniel felt much the same as he plunged into the beast-pit."
"So he lost his faith and was damned anyway?" Olaf asked.
"A good question that! The true question of the Loneliest Place! You are near to understanding, O King!
"No, Your Majesty, God did not judge Daniel by his feelings. When he reached the Blessed Land, he was reunited with his wife and children, and repaid a hundredfold for what he'd sufferedfor God will be debtor to no man. But he could not have entered into that happiness without first standing alone in the Loneliest Place."
Bishop Sigurd stepped forward and said, " 'Tis late, O King. Sleep calls us. There'll be time for more stories in the morning."
"Yes, yes," said Deacon Ketil, rising from his seat. " 'Tis very late."
"Yes," said Olaf, making to rise and rubbing his eyes with a big hand. "I feel as if I've been ten days waking."
The Wanderer did not shift his stance. "Have you heard the tale of Honir the god, brother of Odin, Your Majesty?"
"Of how he was sent a hostage to the Vanir?" Olaf asked.
"No. This came later. He was kidnapped by the trolls."
Olaf had been unfolding his big frame. Now he stopped and moved to sit again. "I've not heard of this," he said.
"Your Majesty, you'll want to be up for mass in the morning," said the bishop.
"They put Honir in a cave for a prison," said the Wanderer. "The cave had but one openinga small crackwhere the light could come in, because the trolls care nothing for light, as you know."
"My lord, the hour!" said the bishop.
"Time for trolls tomorrow!" said Deacon Ketil.
Olaf looked at them almost guiltily. "I really must sleep," he said.
"I'll keep you company to your bed," said the Wanderer.
The king rose and went to the far end of the hall, where his great box-bed stood. All the men who slept elsewhere began to move out, while the bodyguard pushed the sitting benches back and began to unroll their sleeping bags.
As he undressed, Olaf asked, "How did the trolls manage to capture a god?"
The Wanderer said, "Honir was never one of the mighty gods. And the trolls created an image of a woman, all of gold, so fair that Honir fell in love with it and lost his senses, so that they could bind and disarm him."
Olaf went inside the bed, where his wife already slept, but did not close the door. "What did the trolls want of him?"
"They wanted everything," said the Wanderer, sitting on the bed step.
"Honir spent all his time gazing through this crack at the light if it was day, or at the stars if night. And in time the trolls understood that he drew strength from that light. So the king of the trolls came into Honir's cell and said, `I apologize for my shabby hospitality. All this time there has been a draft in your quarters, and I've done naught about it. I shall send a mason to stop up the hole.'
"And Honir said, `Spare me the light. I will give you anything if you leave the light to me.'
"The troll king said, `What have you to offer, brother of Odin? We've taken your weapons and your jewels. All that remains is your body.'
" `I will give you one of my feet,' said Honir.
"The foot of a god is no small treasure, so the troll king agreed. He cut off Honir's foot and left him to look through the crack at the light of the wide world.
"The next day the king came back and made to stop up the hole yet again, and Honir gave him his other foot.
"The next day he made the same threat, and Honir gave him his left hand. The day after it was the right hand; then Honir gave up his legs and arms, and his ears and nose, until finally he was left with only a cropped torso, and two eyes in his head. And one of those eyes he had to yield up as well."
"Odin gave an eye for wisdom," said Olaf.
"But his brother Honir gave all but an eye, so that he could see the only light he had. That is why Odin will die at Ragnarok, while Honir will return afterward to rule in Asgard under the High God. For he found the pearl of great price, and sold all that he had and bought it."
The bishop came now and put his hand on the bed door. " 'Tis time for sleep, in God's Name!" he said.
"Yes" said the Wanderer. "Sleep in God's Name, O King."
"Of course," said Olaf faintly, from within. "In God's Name."
"You may lie in one of the outbuildings," said the bishop coldly to the Wanderer.
The Wanderer stood and bowed silently, and strode out.
"One more story?" came the voice from the bed. The bishop closed the door firmly.
I followed the Wanderer out. "Aren't you going to bed?" he asked me when we stood under the cold stars. "The bishop is right. 'Tis very late."
"I'd rather not waste the time I have with you," said I.
He smiled, and his teeth were very white in the darkness. "So be it," he said.
"And yet 'tis true I'm weary. But it's not sleep I need."
"What do you need?"
"Hope, my lord. These great men speak great words and rattle their swords and their crosiers, and what hope have I that my chicken peeps will be heard? What hope have I of turning them from the mad courses they've plotted?"
"It puts me in mind of a story," said the Wanderer.
"Now why am I not surprised?"
"Come, let's sit on these stones and I'll tell you about it. There was a kingdom once, far, far away, and it was ruled by the wisest laws ever seen in this world. Good men had made these laws, and they taught them to their children, and the children learned them well. The foundation of the law of that land was that every man should have his say freely, so that each could ponder all sides of a question, and judge what was best. They believed truth was in itself stronger and more beautiful than falsehood, so that no great harm could come from letting each man speak his piece. If he was wrong, he'd be seen for a fool. In that land there was nothing thought so shameful as to be a fool, or a narrow-minded man."
"I'd dearly love to see such a land as that," said I.
"And of all the wise men in that land, the wisest was the king. But even wise men have their weaknesses, and this king, I'm sorry to say, was somewhat vain. And the older he grew, the vainer he got.
"He was specially vain about his body. Therefore he feared growing old, and sought over the world for physicians and remedies that might keep him young and strong.
"One day a man came to see him, claiming to be a healer from distant lands. He told the king that there was one reliable way to healthto throw off the confining, poisonous garments he wore and go naked at all times. The king was not averse to this idea, as he'd always been proud of his appearance.
" `It may be a little chilly at first,' said the healer, `but that is only a temporary condition, while your body grows accustomed to the change. Some people will use the word, "naked." Have such people shut up immediately, for "naked" is an ugly, judgmental word, born of ancient traditions and prejudices, and has no place in the thinking of broad-minded men.'
"The next day the king had his governor summon an assembly, and there he announced that the king would display his new, healthful fashion. Some people, he said, might use an ugly word to describe the king's new way, but such people were only showing their ignorance and narrow-mindedness.
"When the speech was finished the king came out and paraded before the crowd. And all the folk were ashamed to be thought narrow-minded fools, so they said nothing against it.
"Only one old woman raised her voice and said, `I don't care what the rest of you say, I say the king is naked!' "
"The king and the governor shouted, `That woman is a narrow-minded fool! Stone her!' And the people did so.
"So the king caught a chill and died of a fever, and in the disorder that followed the enemies of the land attacked and conquered it. They set up a bloody-handed tyranny, and that was the end of the Land of the Wise."
I pondered. "And how is this supposed to cheer me?"
"I'm not such a liar as to promise you that telling the truth is always rewarded in this world. Still and all, it matters to tell it."
It was morning before I got to sleep, and we lugged ourselves out for mass. I looked around for the Wanderer, but missed him. Deacon Ketil assisted the bishop, who was nodding at the slow points.
As we walked back to the hall, King Olaf came up beside Erling, and I heard him say, "I could not sleep last night. I thought about my kingship, and what it means to follow Christ. I will not force you to be a jarl. We will work together, and make a kingdom we can both live in."
"I treasure this gift more than any you've given me," Erling answered, "save only your sister's hand. You'll not regret it."
Then we went in to breakfast. The bishop was blessing the food when Deacon Ketil rushed in and shouted, "Nobody eat!"
"What means this?" the bishop called.
"Dark treachery!" said the deacon. "Demons and witchcraft in the king's own house!"
"Explain yourself!"
"The Wanderer! The tale-teller from last night! Has anyone seen him this morning?"
We all looked around and asked our neighbors, and no one had seen him.
"Come with me to the kitchen house, and hear what I've learned."
Olaf and Bishop Sigurd rose and went out. Erling and I were close behind, and all the company followed us.
The deacon led us to the kitchen house, a short distance from the hall, went inside and brought out the chief cook, a well-fed freedman with a black beard.
"What did the Wanderer say to you?" Ketil demanded.
The cook had a glassy look in his eyes, as if he'd been tippling early in the day. Tonelessly he said, "The stranger came in the night, woke me and said, ` 'Tis passing poor meat you have for the king's table. Take this.' And he gave us a haunch of beef. We boiled it for breakfast."
"So he gave us meat," said the king. "Where's the hurt in that?"
"Much hurt, if it's meat sacrificed to the old gods!"
"What proof have you?"
"A strange wanderer who will not give his name? Clothed in a dark cloak? He had one eye, didn't he?"
"Did he?" asked the king. "I noticed no such thing."
"Had he one eye?" asked the bishop.
"I saw his eyes," said I. "There were two of them, black as midwinter night."
No one heeded me. Some men said one thing, some said another, but the cook, still fish-eyed, said, "I saw him clearly. He had but one."
"Think of all he said!" cried Ketil. "All that music about dying heroically, even a tale of the old gods! Would a messenger of the true God speak thus?"
"I heard nothing un-Christian from him," I tried to say, but no one listened.
"I must think on this," said Olaf.
"Thank God you took no action on his words," said Ketil.
"I did one thing," said Olaf, looking at Erling.
"I know you'll not break your word," Erling answered.
"No, but I will make a demand of you. This I will have in return for my gift. Thangbrand and Ketil will return with you to Sola, and see that all the heathen are baptized. No more delays."
Erling looked at him and saw there was no shifting him.
"Father Aillil," he said without turning to me, "you will take the second ship and go back to Sola now. Give the people fair warning."
"That they may flee us?" asked Ketil.
"If they wish. I owe them that much. NoI owe them more. But this seems the best I can do."
"Enough," said Olaf. "I'm hungry, and I've much to think on."
"He had two eyes," said I. For all the good it did.
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |