Asa's body was not among those taken up that evening. I can only suppose she climbed the tree and, as the Wanderer had told us, could not come back.
The matter between Olaf and Erling stood yet unsettled. When the mob was cowed, Olaf came and they faced one another, poised like fighting cocks in a pit. It might have come to battle except for the next surprise.
"A sign from God!" came the cry, and it was the voice of Deacon Ketil once again. "Make way! Make way!"
The crowd parted, and the deacon came on. He held Freydis Sotisdatter by the hand.
"No!" I cried. "Have pity, Your Majesty! She's but a child! She cannot help having visions!"
"I do not take your meaning," said Ketil. "I intend no harm to this child. She is a seer. She has a message for the king."
Olaf addressed Freydis. "Is this true, daughter?" he asked.
I turned to the bishop. "You can't permit this!" I said. "The girl needs to be weaned off heathenry, not confirmed in it."
"Perhaps she truly has the gift of prophecy . . . " he said vaguely.
"No. She does not. She's the daughter of a witch and a smith. She's told me herself she has no faith in Christ. This puts her soul, and the whole kingdom, in peril."
"But Deacon Ketil is a prophet, you see. I cannot gainsay the words of God through him."
"Has this Yorker put a bit in your mouth? You're the bishop! Who's in charge here?"
"I'm not sure anymore . . . " he said, and I knew I'd lost him. He wandered off in no particular direction.
I looked to find Erling, but things were already in motion.
They'd set Freydis up on Ketil's rock, where she sat much as her mother had when she'd perched on the platform at the great summer sacrifice, the last night of her life.
I could not help myself. After all I'd been through this day, I could not let the smallest one go without one last grab. I ran to her and said, "Freydis, don't do this. I swear to you there are better things in the world than vengeance. Give yourself a chance to learn them."
"Take this man away," she said, and two of Olaf's men grabbed my arms and pulled me off into the crowd. I slumped and stood where they left me. I too had a vision of the future, and I could see no way undoomed.
"This is the year," said Freydis.
"This is the year of the hundred hundredsthe year of the M. The M stands for Milesthe warrior."
I shuddered. Where had this child learned Latin? The other priests murmured to one another.
"In the final year of the age, when the Highest One of All stands at the threshold, every servant must work his utmost to be prepared; to have his apportioned work done. The priests and monks must fast and pray with all their strength. The common people must be diligent at mass, and in good works and obedience. And men of war must unsheath their swords, make them sharp and bear them against the heathen, bringing them to baptism by gentle means or hard."
Olaf kneeled, holding his sword like a crucifix. "This is my year," he said. "For this year I was born."
"Yes, Olaf Trygvesson," said Freydis. "For this year you were born. This is the year you will see your Lord. This is the year you will account to Him for the talents entrusted to you."
"Where shall I go?" he cried. "Whom shall I fight?"
"Go to Wendland. Make a pact with Burisleif. Other kings will join you as you cut a swath through the lands of the heathen and turn them to the truth. You will march all the way to Jerusalem and present your trophies to the Highest One when He descends in glory upon the Mount of Olives. It will be a Holy War."
"Holy War!" Olaf shouted, rising and lifting his sword to the sky.
"HOLY WAR!" shouted every warrior, and they joined him in his salute.
In that hinged moment, when all we'd built in Norway began to sag and splinter about us, all things seemed (to me) to halt in place for a few breaths. God's sky rolled up like a fine blue cloak, discovering something the color of molten bronze behind it, too huge to see.
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |