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CHAPTER XI

Erling came back from Scotland with few men lost and good profit. I almost wished I'd gone along. Thorir the hostage bore a new scar on his arm, of which he was exceeding proud.

But in the midst of the feasting, while the ale flowed and the skalds sang, I felt something like a wet turf laid over the fire of my soul. I saw before my eyes (somewhat fuzzy with drink, I'll grant you) the faces of farmers whose living was gone and winter yet to endure; and their wives and their children. I saw houses burned and horses run off. Perhaps the farmers were little souls, with little dreams—men whose deeds would never be sung in a hall. But the dreams were their own, and as precious to them as mine to me. And their hunger would pinch no less than anyone's, Norse or Irish.

The dimness of the hall seemed of a sudden gloomy to me; the smoke thick and stinging in my eye-corners. I went out again to seek comfort in the fresh air and the twilight.

My wavering steps took me at last on the path to Big Melhaug, and there I came on Asa, kneeling before her god-tree. The chickens hanging in space did not stir in the still air. She sang a song to Thor, holding a horn of ale over her head. When the song was done, she poured the ale out where the tree roots should be.

She stood and turned then, and saw me watching her.

"Perhaps you should convert to my faith," she said. "We could pray together, and there'd be nothing to keep us from wedding."

"Do you really think you're keeping the sky up with these things?" I asked.

"If the gods can keep my offerings hanging in the air, they can surely keep the sky up too. And I have my own sky, you know—inside my heart. If the offerings but keep that one from falling, 'tis enough."

"The Lord Christ could do that for you as well. Better."

"Thor gave me this tree, and he showed me his face. Gifts from a lord are not to be despised."

We said nothing for a few breaths.

"Thormod Hrolfsson has asked me to be his wife," she said at last. Thormod was one of the bodyguard.

My throat felt tight. Apparently matrimony was going around like the croup. "That's a good man. And you're too young and fair to be alone."

"But he's a Christian, too. I'm not sure I care enough for him to be baptized for his sake. If I'm to take the Christ-bath, it must be for someone I care for deeply."

I turned my back on her, shuddering, then came around again. "The best thing of all is to be baptized for Christ's sake, His alone."

"And how often does that happen?"

I hugged my stomach and sank to my knees, too shaken to stand. All the folly of this work in the North seemed to drop upon my shoulders like a brynje of leaden links. What were we doing, baptizing people out of fear, or the promise of gifts, or the king's friendship? What had any of it to do with the things I knew, deepest in my soul, to be true?

Asa came and knelt by me, putting her arms around my shoulders and leaning her head against mine.

"Please don't," I said. "I haven't the strength to fight you, but I beg you."

"I won't lead you to bed," she whispered. "You'd only hate me for it tomorrow."

"Why do you cling so tightly to the old ways?" I asked. "You know they'll never come back. Thor is passing, whatever gifts he's given you."

"Gifts from a lord are chains of loyalty. So are gifts to a lord."

"I don't follow."

"I had a child once. In her first year the lot fell on her, and she was given to Thor at the Summer Sacrifice."

"Sweet Mother of God . . . 'Tis plain then. If you were baptized—'twould make your child's death meaningless, wouldn't it?"

"She was a sweet babe. She had her father's eyes."

Asa went to her house, and I stood and looked about me. I needed sleep, but was too troubled to seek my bed. I looked westward, toward the sea, and clouds were roiling there, blocking the stars and glowing now and then with lightning like a flame in an eggshell.

I wanted to meet this storm. I wanted to stand in Thor's path and say, "Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther!" I set out on the path to the bay.

As I came to the stone-walled lane, I met a hulking shape. I thought for one muddled moment it was indeed Thor. But 'twas only Ulf, gentle Ulf who'd been party to the greatest outrage ever done to me.

I tried to ignore him, as usual, but he put himself in my way and blocked me. He held something out in his hand. I thought it at first some kind of knife.

"For you," he said.

What he offered stopped my breath. It was a wooden crucifix, as like to the one over the altar in the church as one shamrock to another, only smaller. It was excellently done, and strung with a leather thong. I stared at it. I'd never guessed he had such skill.

"Take," he said.

I wanted nothing in the world from Ulf, but somehow I could not refuse this thing. It put me so in mind of poor Enda, and I'd missed his crucifix so much. . . .

I took it from his hand. Even in the darkness I could see the ugly man's wide grin.

"Jesus water?" he asked for the umpteenth time.

"Perhaps," I said distractedly, and went on my way to the sea, cross in hand. Almost without knowing what I did, I hung it around my neck.

And as I came to the storm, the storm came to me, welcoming as a kinsman. The surf threw down and spat, and the wind braced a big hand against my chest, and my hair drove straight back from my head and stiffened there with salt. Soon I was wet to the skin and shivering. It felt grateful to my soul.

I stood on the dune above the sand and shouted, "What am I doing here, O God? Your enemies offer me gifts—is it treason to take them? What is the greater sin? To serve You with the devil's tools, fire and iron, or to receive simple kindness from Your foes? You who feasted with publicans and sinners, tell me what it means to do Your work!"

I was answered with a vision.

The storm let its guard down for the time it takes to sigh, and the moon peeked through the clouds. Out of the wind and water that blew in my eyes, the face of a dragon appeared. It broke from the weather a couple of spear-casts offshore so suddenly that it stopped my breath and froze my blood.

Then I heard the screaming and knew it for naught but a ship with a dragon's head, a knarr in fact, running before the wind and set to smash itself on the reef. There came a screeching and crunching as the keel plowed into the rock and the ship came to a sickening check, springing and snapping its strakes and sending the naked mast toppling forward.

I rushed out into the surf, struggling to keep my feet and getting buffeted under twice by waves that fell on my head. With cries the people on shipboard began throwing themselves overboard, carrying oars and sea chests and clinging to anything that might bear them up. I waded to each as they drifted in and helped lift them or push them shoreward.

At last every living person had abandoned ship but one. A woman slogged to me, put her hands on my arm and shouted over the blast, "My husband! He's the ship's master and he won't come off!"

"What's his name?" I cried.

"Thorgrim!"

I called, "Thorgrim! Thorgrim Skipper! Speak to me! I am a priest!"

His sodden head appeared above the rail. The ship had listed and lay heaving on her port beam. "Go away!" he called. "I die with my ship!"

"You must live!" I cried. "You've a wife who needs you!"

"This ship is my living! I can no longer feed a family. She's better off widowed!"

" 'Tis sin to speak thus! There is hope if you believe in God!"

"I don't believe in your god, priest! I've seen my own fetch—I know it's my time. I sleep in Aegir's hall tonight!"

Then the ship shuddered and went to pieces, and the man appeared no more, until his body washed up the day after.

I waded shoreward and got overborne from behind by another great wave, so that the surviving castaways themselves had to drag me out of the surf and up the dune and lay me down in the stiff grass. When I came to myself a tall shadow loomed over me, bent and dripping and peering down in my face.

"Brother Aillil? Is that you? Then praise God, this must be Sola!"

'Twas Thangbrand the priest, back from his mission to Iceland.

* * *

We managed to drag ourselves up the path to the farm. Erling, Astrid and Ragna rallied the thralls, and soon everyone was warmly wrapped and drinking ale before a roaring fire in the old hall. Shortly there was hot broth for all.

Everyone wanted to talk—to tell or to learn all that had happened, but weariness overcame us and they put us to bed on the benches. I didn't even bother to crawl to my own house.

We woke to the bustle of the thralls making ready for breakfast. I could have slept longer—much longer—but the tables needed setting up where we lay. We dragged ourselves out, scratched, and did our morning things. I noticed with surprise that Thangbrand, who'd lain by me the night before, was already up and gone, his wheat-colored head nowhere to be seen.

I went to the church to say morning mass, but found the service already begun. Thangbrand, without a by-your-leave, had clothed himself in my vestments and was singing the service (in fine voice, I must admit) to a small gathering which included Erling and his family, Steinulf and the two hostage boys.

When all was done I followed him to my house, where he removed the vestments to reveal a green shirt Erling had lent him, and packed them neatly in my chest.

Before I could reproach him, he reproached me.

"Brother Aillil," he said, in a tone much like my old abbot's, "I must ask you to explain your ways in this parish."

"I explain?" I sputtered. "I explain? How do you explain—"

"I've learned there is a heathen man here who has requested baptism, and you have refused it."

I drew up my dignity. "Brother Thangbrand, I am priest at Sola. I know more about matters here than you do."

"The more shame to you then, to let a sheep run loose."

"This man is no sheep, but a wolf."

"If he repents of his sins—"

"He does not repent of his sins. He has forgotten his sins. He took a knock on the head and became an idiot. I happen to know about this man's sins, and I know he cannot confess them, because he's lost the knowledge."

"Be that as may be. Such matters are for God to decide. Your duty is to give him instruction, such as he can receive, take his confession, such as he can recall, and christen him."

I took a half-step forward and put my face near his chin (he was a big fellow). "It's not for you to tell me how to care for my parish. You are a brother priest, no more!"

"There are priests and priests, Irishman. I am a man of high birth and learning, close to the bishop and the king. You are a peasant with an irregular ordination."

"You are a bladder of gas who was exiled to the end of the world because you'd made Norway too hot for you!"

"I did God's work in Iceland! The only reason I came early back is that those pestilential Icelanders are cursed, and outlawed me!"

"Highborn or low, at least I don't get booted out of every mission I take up!"

"That's because you stand for nothing! I've heard what you've done here! You have heathens right under your nose, allowed to carry on their devilry, and you do naught to hinder them!"

"I do not do naught! I strive to convert them by Christian means!"

"In the last year of the world, when the powers of Satan and God poise for Armageddon, you dawdle along with extra miles and cheek-turning! You must change your ways, and now, or I will report all to the bishop! You can explain to his face the un-Christianity of his ways!"

"Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Cover over your own failure by smearing tar on me!"

"I'm not a failure! I'm next thing to a martyr!"

"You're next thing to a horse's tail!"

"Enough of you, I'm going to see Erling!"

He stalked out and I followed him into the old hall where everyone was having breakfast.

"When are you people here going to begin carrying out the king's will?" Thangbrand demanded of Erling.

Erling put down his knife and said, "Good morning to you too, Father."

"Don't trifle with me, Rogalander. The king has decreed that the people shall be baptized by all necessary means, including the reverent use of force!"

"I think my way is working just as well," said Erling.

"You speak like a peasant—like your priest! I am a man of high blood from Saxony. Do you know how Charlemagne christened Saxony?"

"Oh, aye. Everyone knows that. He fought them, he captured them, he baptized them, and then he slaughtered them by the thousands. Sometimes I am hard put to tell him apart from Christ."

"It worked! Saxony is Christian today! The end is all that matters!"

"God help us if the Church ever comes to believe a thing like that!"

Thangbrand folded his arms. "I will not eat at your board," he said. "I demand immediate passage to Nidaros!"

"Consider it done. Eystein, arrange it."

Thangbrand and Erling went together, in fact, because the king was getting married (again), and Erling and Astrid had to be there. I would have liked to go, but I couldn't stomach spending more time with that ass Thangbrand.

But before he left, Thangbrand baptized Ulf. The half-wit wore his white baptismal gown for weeks, until it grew filthy and Asa took it away.

 

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Framed


Title: The Year of the Warrior
Author: Lars Walker
ISBN: 0-671-57861-8
Copyright: © 2000 by Lars Walker
Publisher: Baen Books