It looked for a time as if Lemming might be lost too. He came away with a new set of scars for his collectionone on the face and another in the chest muscles, and one that might have bled his life out in the upper left leg. He was a full two weeks in beda very long time for him.
"Freedmen. Thralls with arms. And we owe our lives to them," said Bergthor to me in the hall that night. "Damned awkward place to put a man in. But a debt's a debt. It must be paid somehow."
We found Eystein and the guard bound in one of the byres. The only great harm that had been done at Sola was to the women, especially the thralls. The berserkers had used them as you'd expect. None of them actually died though, which is the best I can say about it.
Meanwhile the king nailed up the skins of a hundred shape-changers on the walls of the buildings, and built a mound of severed berserker heads near the boathouses at Somme (Astrid firmly refused to let him pile them in the steading). At their top he sat Baug Kollasson's head (Hoskuld Kollasson was not seen again in those parts). Among the many dead Eyvind Kellda was not found, which surprised no one. Olaf then sent out messengers to call a Thing.
We didn't hold it at Klepp. Olaf wanted to stay near his wounded, so he moved into our new hall and we used the Thing-meadow at Sola. Every free man was to assemble there, to swear that he'd been baptized or to receive baptism, on pain of . . . well, pain. There weren't in fact many heathens left in Jaeder by thenwe were one of the best-christened places in the kingdom, even before I came. But the heathens were aboutmany of them refugees like Asa, Ulf and Arnor. Such people might runperhaps to Swedenor they could face Olaf, to defy or submit.
I met with Erling in the church and said, "You cannot permit Olaf to do what he plans here."
"I gave my word," said Erling.
"Some things are worse than oath-breaking. King Herod vowed to give Salome whatever she asked; but when she asked for the head of John the Baptist, he should have said no and settled for the lesser sin."
"There's more than one way to cross a king," said Erling.
"What do you mean?"
"This is Norway. The king still rules by leave of the lords, and the lords still need the support of the bonders to hold their high seats. Let Olaf have his say at the Thing. He'll find it takes more than big words to break our traditions and undercut our rights."
That night I had another of my dreams. I thought I stood on a vast, frozen plain, white snow all around, where no horizon could be seen for the mist. A looming white shape, hardly discernible at first, heaved itself out of the cloudscape and came to me. It was the great white bear I'd seen before, with the blue eyes of a man.
In his mouth he carried two gray stone tablets, the size of fishheads to him, but about an arm long to me. He came near (I knew better than to run, though my knees knocked together) and dropped them at my feet.
"These are the Law," he said to me, in a voice like the ocean. He gave the tablets a cuff with one paw and they marvelously whirled, stood, and came to rest standing face-to-face, heads leaning one against the other.
"Look through them," he said. "Look at me."
"You mean, between the tablets?" I asked.
"Yes."
I walked around to the other side, got down on my hands and knees and peered back through the triangle space framed by the leaning stones.
I saw the bear, but he was not the same. He'd been frightening before, but only because of his size and hiswhat should I call it?his bearishness.
But this bear was a nightmare. His white fur shone bright as the sun, and just as hard to gaze on. His eyes shot red flames. His teeth were long as swords, and sharper. He reared on his hinders and slashed the air with iron claws, and the air itself seemed to scream in pain.
I was certain he must slay me and I screamed in death-horror. Yet I had no thought of running. Something within me seemed to accept that I was the bear's lawful prey, and that he could do nothing to me I'd not earned.
I rocked back on my heels and covered my eyes, where the image of the awful creature remained etched as by lightning.
"What did you see, man of Ireland?" the bear asked, and I opened my eyes and looked up to see him as he'd been before, and so I was comforted.
" 'Twas you," said I. "Yet 'twas not the same. You were great and beautiful and terrible. I feared you and I loved you."
"You saw Me as I am," said the bear. "Yet you did not see Me whole. You saw only My hinder parts. Something greater remains to be seen. Now let Me show you a more excellent way to look."
He reached a paw up to his face and set the claws about his right eye. To my horror he gouged his own eye out, roaring in pain as he did so, and letting loose a gout of blood that stained his bright fur down to his feet and made a steaming pool there in the snow.
He held the eye out to me, like a blue gem. "Look again, but gaze through this."
I took it from him. 'Twas big as a kettle to me, warm and rock-hard and unworldly lovely.
I went back around, set it on the snow in front of the tablets, then hunkered down and looked again.
This time I saw a man who looked much like the Wanderer, holding children on his lap and laughing with them, while twelve scowling bearded men looked on.
"Do you know what you see now?" asked the bear.
"I think so," said I. "What does it mean?"
"It means that you must look through the Law with My eye. Too often men look through the Law alone, even to look at Me, but that way lies confusion and wickedness.
"There was a time before I gave My eye to men, when they had only the Law to see through, and they did right to follow what light they had. But cases are altered now, and a terrible judgment awaits those who will not use the light they've been offered. Remember this, son of Ireland."
And so I awoke.
The Thing began on a Thursday, as they all do, with the usual formalities that filled up the first day so that the real business didn't begin till the next morning.
Olaf took his place on another large rock (Heaven knows there are plenty of them in Jaeder) and addressed the assembly.
"If you travel the world, as I have," said Olaf, "you see many wonders. In the southern lands there are buildingsoften churchesbig enough to hold ten or twenty of our great halls. These buildings are made of stone and do not rot away like our wooden ones. Their roofs are tall enough to fit two of our temples underneath. And they have windows covered over in glass, not cows' afterbirth. To stand in such a building is to feel as small as a louse, and to wonder at the marvels that men can create when guided by the wisdom of God.
"To stand in such a building and be a Norseman is to know shame. I've stood in such places and feared that someone would know me for a Norseman, for we Norse raise no such buildings. We've no stonecutters like theirs. We've no painters like theirs. We've no musicians or thinkers or artisans or physicians or teachers like theirs. No, all we can do is rob those buildings, and steal the things that they have made. We are feared in the wide world, yes. But we are also despised as savages.
"I am Olaf, son of Trygve Olafsson. I am king of Norway. The holy Scriptures tell us that kings are appointed by God. I have been appointed to take away the shame of this land. That is my calling. For this I was born. For this I kept alive through kidnapping and slavery and a hundred battles. For this I am here today.
"You have heard, no doubt, that a few of my followers have turned their backs on me. You have heard that I am no longer welcome in Nidaros. So it is. I have made wrong steps as king, I will admit it. But no more.
"For too long I have been lax in following the will of God. I have permitted His enemies to live at peace in certain places. I shall do so no more. I stand before you to declare that there will be no more refuge for heathens within my realm. I demand an oath from all of you. Those who cannot swear to their christening must be baptized, or they will be put to the swordmen, women, children. This is my word. This is the king's law."
A shouting arose from the crowd, a chorus of angry words.
Helge of Klepp went forward, led by his brother, Gunnar of Hauge, a tall man much younger than he. He struck the earth twice with his staff and called for quiet.
"Olaf Trygvesson," he said, "pardon the outburst. Finish your speech, O King."
"My speech is finished," said Olaf, frowning.
"Strange. I missed the part where you ask for our advice and counsel."
Olaf crossed his arms. "Advice and counsel come not into it. I have spoken. Your hersir has agreed. It is for you to obey."
Helge shook his gray head. " 'Tis terrible to be old," he said. "Your hearing dwindles; your mind plays tricks on you. I actually thought I heard you say you were above the law. I thought I heard you say you had no need of counsel from your fellow Christians. Since I know you to be a man of God, my old ears must be going the way of my eyes."
Olaf said, "Don't play at riddles with me, grandfather. The Scriptures say that the king is God's minister."
"Yes, but they do not say he can do no wrong. In fact they tell us of many kingseven good kingswho went far wrong, and were rebuked by God's prophets. Good kings should listen to those who love them enough to speak them true."
"Aye, of course! To defy me is to love me. If you slapped my face it would be more loving still. And to slay me or drive me out of the land would be the greatest love of all."
" 'Tis a perilous place to be, where you think only your will is right, and only those who flatter you are your friends."
"Speak truth, Rogalander! The fact is you westlanders have lived without true kings from time unknown. You have stiff necks and will not bow. You do not know how Christians live, and you think you can have your own kind of Christianity, different from that of civilized men. That Irish priest probably filled your head with such stuff."
"Yes, he taught us to do justice, to love mercy, to walk humbly before God. Treasonous, heretical things."
"Heresy is for the bishop to judge," said Olaf. "Bishop Sigurd! Come and teach these people!"
If he expected the grandeur of the bishop to overawe the crowd, Olaf was disappointed. Sigurd's mitre was on crooked, and he had some trouble getting up on the rock. Two of Olaf's men had to help him, and he looked unsteady when he was up.
"The Word of the Lord . . . " said the bishop, in a faltering voice; then he seemed to lose his train of thought.
"The Word of the Lord . . . " he repeated. He dropped his crosier and someone handed it back up to him.
"The Word of the Lord is wrath!" We all turned. Deacon Ketil had mounted another rock, and glared at us with the eyes of a plague angel.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, ROGALANDERS?" he roared.
It was so sudden and unexpected that no one made a reply. His voice was deep, thunderous, not what you'd have expected from him.
"You are barbarians!" the deacon thundered. "You are ignorant; you are backward; your speech and your table manners are uncouth! You are like children who think they can do all that their parents may, but in fact can only make messes and break things!
"You presume to counsel your king! Why would the king need your counsel? You cannot think! You do not know how to think! You have a king, and a bishop, to think for you! Your duty is to obey!"
"That is not the way of Norsemen!" cried Helge. "It is not the way of the gospel either! That way is all about power, and not Christ's way!"
"Christ's way is God's way!" shouted the deacon. "And God's way is the way of power! He is the God who smote Egypt! He is the God who smote the Canaanites! He is the God who sends fire from Heaven and a voice that no man could bear to hear!" He raised an arm and pointed skyward.
My heart stopped. The clouds were rolling innot just from the west, as you'd have expected, but from every direction at once. As water swirls as it pours out a hole in a bucket, so gray-black clouds swirled above us, converging in an angry center over the Thingstead.
A voice made of thunder, a voice that shook the earth and knocked us off our feet rumbled, "OBEY!" and blue lightning struck the earth in our midst, deafening us and leaving a smell of burnt air behind.
The next thing I heard was someone crying, "Forgive us!"
Actually it was more than someoneit was nearly everyone. Their faces were on the ground for the most part. I saw only a few standing, or sitting, up: Deacon Ketil, Bishop Sigurd (knocked from his rock but leaning against it), Erling, Helge and the king.
I got up on my hands and knees and crawled to the bishop. He looked dazed. "This is wrong!" I cried, shaking him. "Don't think? That's heresy, and you know it!"
He looked at me with wide eyes, the pupils so large that the gray could barely be seen. "The power" he said. "The power of God"
"Strong may be wrong! You know this! You've said it yourself, the devil can deceive us!"
He shook his head. "The power . . . the power . . ."
"Slay the heathen! Slay the heathen that we share not their fate!" The cry rose from the assembly. Who knows who said it first? Deacon Ketil, likely enough. I could see the unchristened moving apart, gathering together, raising swords and axes to defend themselves and their families.
The choice I made then took but a moment, and must have looked easy. 'Twas anything but that. In a moment I weighed the life I'd come to know, and life itself, against my troth to One whose face I'd seen but a time or two in my life. The choice was very, very hard, yet wonderfully simple.
It had, in fact, already been made, in a thousand small choices that had shaped the new course of my life. It's a falsehood to think you can practice cowardice daily, then be brave when it comes to the pinch. You do what you arewhat you've let yourself become. 'Tis as simple as that, and if you think it isn't you're either a scoundrel or you've lived your life in an herb garden.
"Sanctuary!" I screamed. "There is sanctuary in God's Church!"
I leaped and hopped my way through the crowd, still mostly on hands and knees, and made it to the church. I put my hand on the brass ring of the door and shouted, "I cry sanctuary for all who would save their lives! Come in and take protection!"
And they came. They came at a runmost of them.
Some did not come. They looked, with yearning in their eyes, but their fear was too great. For them the church was a magic place, a haunt of spirits, a thing to fear. Even to save their lives they would not cross its threshold. They defended themselves, but could not breast the numbers set against them, driven mad by rage and fear.
Asa was one of them.
Our eyes met across the distance. I tried to shout, "I'll wed you!" but the clamor had grown too loud. While she stared at me, two men of Olaf's army seized her. I saw a bright blade raised in the air, and I screamed in horror
And then the blade fell, loosely, spinning. The man who had lifted it fell. His companion dropped in the next moment.
And there was Ulf the Idiot, an axe in his hand, doing the simple, right thingdefending his own. Other men set on him, men of Olaf's and Erling's both, but Asa was free, and she ran.
She ran in the direction of the god-tree.
I could do nothing for her. But for the man-prey who streamed into my church, I could do my best. I closed the door after them, in the faces of the armed men who pursued them, and raised Ulf's crucifix.
"In the name of Christ, hold!" I cried, my throat ragged.
The warriors stopped, at least for a moment. Killing a priest was a tall step, even in their madness.
Thangbrand pushed his way through the press of them, a sword in his hand, and said, "Stand aside, Aillil!"
"Not for any man!"
"Then you are self-condemned, and must die."
"This is a good place to die."
"Go to Hell in your sin then!" he roared, and came at me. I stood on the spot, quaking in body but strangely at peace. It's a good feeling to come to the end of your string and know you've done better than you'd expected.
What it is, in fact, is a gift.
And then a bright figure moved between me and Thangbrand. For a moment I thought it was an angel.
It was Astrid Trygvesdatter, in her best robe of ermine.
"Come through me first, Saxon, if you'd kill my priest," she said.
Then Erling was beside her, and Ragnhild, and it was over.
I went among the wounded to the place where ugly Ulf lay. His head was sticky with blood; his shirt was bloody too. He was sweating and he shivered.
He looked up at me and said, "No need for the porridge-test with me. I'm finished."
"You've your wits back," said I.
He nodded, coughed and grimaced. "I've all my senses again, just when I could use to be rid of some."
"Do you know me, Ulf?"
"Aye. You're Father Aillil, who wouldn't christen me."
"We go back further than that, you and I."
He squinted at me. "Do we? I've no recollection."
I spoke through clenched teeth. "No doubt you took many thralls, murdered many innocents, and raped many girls."
His eyes fluttered closed a moment. " 'Tis true," he said weakly. "Even among us Norse I was hardly a man of honor. I did these things to someone of yours?"
"To me as well."
He shook his head, slowly. "I see the world as if I stood in a doorway, with my nose pressed up against the frame, looking along the wall. With one eye I see inside, with the other out. Sometimes I can't believe I was ever the Viking Ulf; the next I can't believe I was ever the Christian."
"I've seen both. 'Tis true."
"Do you judge me truly a Christian, Father? Is my christening worthy in Heaven's eyes? With my old eye I still look for Thor, but I see only Christ!"
I looked away from him, across the yard, where wounds were a-binding and bodies being dragged off. "I know not," said I. "You've never made full confession, but how could you have?"
"I can now."
"I'll get one of Olaf's priests . . . " I started to step away.
"Nay, Father! It must be you! I've wronged youI must have your pardon!"
"'Tis enough that you ask it. God will accept that for your part. As for my part, I know not if I've pardon to give you."
"Father, take pity! Have you never done an unforgivable deed?"
My heart stopped for a long moment.
"I" I could not get the words out. I tried again, my voice harsh as sleet. "I. Forgive. You."
I looked at Ulf and he lay with his eyes closed. I thought him dead.
But he opened them again and said, " 'Tis a passing hard thing, is it not, this forgiving?"
"Hard as dying," said I.
"More than that, I think. It is dying, of a sort. How strange. When I believed in Thor, I dreamed of a warrior's death. Now I get my wish, not from Thor, but from the White Christ. He gives us all things richlyeven that.
"I think there's a warrior's death of one sort or another for each who takes the cross and follows Him to the murder-place. Not only for men either, but for women, children, thralls."
Then he fell to coughing, and I gave him last rites. He died near morning, in great pain.
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |