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CHAPTER VII

I called Erling's thralls together in the church the next Sunday after mass and laid out his plan. The scheme, I said, would begin in the spring, with the spading.

"But how long will it take?" asked Turlough, a big, black Irishman who talked, as they all did, haltingly, careful not to misspeak.

"That's up to you. If you work hard in the evenings, perhaps two years—perhaps less. If you don't work so hard it may take three or four years. Or more. And of course the weather will make a difference."

"Can we go home then?" asked a woman named Bridget, no longer young, with a wind-dried, seamed face. How old had she been when they took her from Ireland?

"That's up to you. You'll be free to work and save, and go where you like. Erling hopes that most of you will choose to stay here."

"What about our children?" asked a Norse thrall woman named Thorbjorg.

"Children under three go with their mothers. Those over twelve may earn their own freedom."

"How do we know we won't be cheated?" asked Turlough.

"That hangs on whether you trust me. I'll keep the records. I'll make a sign like this on a sheet of parchment—this will be your sign, Turlough—and when your grain or handiwork is brought in to the stores and weighed or valued, you'll be credited with its worth in silver ounces, and I'll make a mark for each ounce beside your sign. When the ounces reach half your value, I'll take the sheet to my lord Erling, and he will declare you a freedman. You won't be fully free, of course, until the other half is paid or you hold your freedom-feast according to law."

"Why not just pay us and let us hold the money?"

"Two reasons. The first is that we don't trust you. I'll not lie about that. Look at Lemming if you wonder why. The second is that it's too easy to rob a thrall, and I'm afraid you'd have the devil's own time getting justice against the thief if he's a free man. But what you earn is yours, and if you have trouble that requires ready money, come to me, and I'll speak to Erling, and we'll give you the silver if we agree it's needed."

"It's an insult, that's what it is," said Turlough.

"No," said Bridget. "It's a better chance than we ever hoped to get in this land, and I thank God for it. Count me in, Father Aillil, and see how fast I can buy myself."

 

A knarr sailed in with the timber from Hordaland, and Erling announced that work on the hall would begin the next day. He asked me to be there at the start to bless the building.

As I walked in the mist with a bowl full of what I called holy water the next morning, I found a small crowd gathered about the site, both men and women, with Soti at their head. He led a goat on a rope, and was trading hard words with Erling.

"It has been thus since men first lived at Sola, and so must it be!" he shouted. "The people expect you to uphold the custom, and the gods and spirits will not brook change! You do not know what you dare!"

"I know what I dare," said Erling. He spoke low, but there were red spots on his cheekbones. "I know that my God is greater than all your gods and spirits together, and all men together, and this hall will be hallowed in His name, and His alone! I bear with you, Soti, because of my mother, but on this I stand firm. Now go away, and take your goat with you."

Ragna pushed through the crowd. "If your father were alive, he'd flay the skin off your back!"

"If my father were alive he'd be lord of Sola and could do what he liked. I am lord of Sola now, and I must do what I think best."

"Do not think yourself beyond your father's power!"

The voice was a woman's, and it belonged to Soti's red-haired wife. She was much younger than her husband, a thin woman with a longish nose, but not unlovely. I'd seen her the night of the fires, kneeling and chanting in the house at the stronghold. Her name was Ulvig. She held by the hand a fair, blue-eyed girl, about twelve, their daughter.

"Your father is nearby, sleeping in his howe," said Ulvig. "Do you think he forgets his home and its affairs? Do you think he cares not whether his gods are welcome in their accustomed places? Do you think he will not act?"

Ragna said, "When the gods see the hall built without sacrifice, they will want their gifts with interest. Are you willing to pay the price they will ask, my son?"

"I owe nothing to the gods. Let them howl for their blood."

"They will do more than howl," said Ulvig.

"I fear them not," said Erling. "I have Christ's messenger with me, whose merest word will put all spirits to flight." He reached a hand out and clapped me on the shoulder.

I felt very cold of a sudden.

They all watched me as I went about the site, sprinkling water and reciting scraps of Latin. Inside I prayed, because I could do nothing else, to the God who had sat and watched while Maeve was raped and my parents and brother killed. To the God who did nothing to protect us from capture and slavery. Who did nothing while wars raged over honest people's farms and wrecked their harvests to starve them, who did nothing while children died of pestilence, who watched the strong and the selfish put their boots on the faces of the weak. I knew what to expect from that God, but where else could I turn?

"Gungnir."

It was Soti speaking. He repeated, "Gungnir." I knew the word. It was the name of Odin's spear.

The people took it up. "Gungnir."

"Gungnir.

"Gungnir. 

"Gungnir."

The chant grew louder and louder, and drowned my baby Latin altogether.

They chanted until I finished, then went silent. The wind came up strong of a sudden, out of the north.

"Odin has heard," said Soti. "Watch yourself at night, Christ-thrall."

 

The workmen (mostly farmers working out obligations to Erling) had only begun setting the wallposts and pillars into the earth when the rain began. It rained harder and harder, until each man's clothing weighed heavy as a sheep and no one could see, and they had to stop. The rain continued, and the men went home to their farms at last, saying this did not bode well.

It did us no good that lightning struck one of the pillars that night and left it in two pieces.

The next day it threatened rain again, and the farmers told Erling they would do their service in some other way. They would not labor on a cursed building. The red spots appeared on his cheeks, but he let them go.

"Why not let the thralls work on it?" I asked Erling. "They can start earning their freedom now. They're none of them skilled carpenters, but they know how to work, and you must have some Christian workman who can guide them and won't be afraid of the old gods."

"I have Christian workmen," said Erling. "But I'm not sure they don't fear the old gods."

"You're not going to give up?"

"No. Not if I have to raise my hall with my own hands. Say a mass for my hall, Father Aillil."

I almost sobbed. "My lord," I said, "I would God that He had sent you a worthier priest."

"Father Aillil, I've never stopped thanking God for you. I would not trade you for the Archbishop of Cantaraborg."

I said his mass, just as if it would do some good.

 

I was sleeping badly, and as I lay waking that particular night I heard a tapping at my door.

I lay in my robe for warmth, although I hadn't yet moved into the box-bed, so I sat up on the bench and poked the hearth fire and then went to the door.

It was a young woman who entered, a plump thrall girl of Soti's. I didn't know her name, as she did not come to church. She was pretty in the porridge-faced way you often see in Norway, and her short hair was yellow.

"My master sent me, Father Aillil."

"What does he want?"

"He says I am to lie with you tonight."

I was surprised. I would have expected a better plan from Soti. "Run home and tell him I said no," I answered, heading back to my bed.

"Please, Father, he'll beat me if you refuse."

That was more like Soti. "Wait a moment," I said, while I pulled on my shoes. Then I took her by the wrist and led her back to Soti's house.

I banged on the door until a thrall woman opened it.

"I want to see your master," I told her.

"He's in bed."

"Then wake him."

"I dare not!"

"Then I'll do it." I pushed past her and strode down the hearthway to the box-beds. "Which one does he sleep in?" I asked.

The woman pointed with a trembling hand, then ran out.

I banged on the box. "Soti, you bastard, wake up!" The thrall girl tugged on my hand, trying to get away. I held her fast.

The door opened and Soti's head appeared. "What do you want, god-man?" he growled.

"Keep your thrall girls at home. I don't want them."

"What are you babbling about?"

"You sent this girl to me with a threat to beat her if I didn't lie with her. I'm telling you to leave off, and if I hear that you've laid a hand on her, Lord Erling will be told of it!"

Soti crawled out and sat with his feet on the step, a blanket around him. "I don't know what you're talking about, god-man. You know you can't believe what these thralls tell you. Half of them don't even believe in the gods, so how can you trust their word? This girl has been telling you tales. I'm sorry she disturbed your sleep. She'll be punished."

"Leave her alone, I said!"

"Fine, fine, whatever you want," said Soti, and crawled back into his bed and shut the door.

The girl fell on the floor, sobbing. I patted her head and told her it would be all right, then trudged home and lay down. I could not sleep.

Again, the tapping at my door. "Father Aillil! Father Aillil!"

It was the same girl. I opened to her, and she slumped against my chest.

I led her inside and lit a lamp. She'd gotten the kind of skillful beating that leaves no lasting marks and breaks no bones, but her eyes were blackened, and she bled from a corner of her mouth.

"My master says . . . you must lie with me or he'll beat me again, and say again that it was all my idea. If you go to Lord Erling, he'll say the same, and beat me worse. Please, Father, is it so terrible to lie with me?"

I stroked her hair. "No, child," I said, "you don't understand. A priest isn't allowed to lie with a woman. He may not even marry, not in law."

She wept then, and I told her she might lie the night on the other bench.

She curled up there with thanks, and I listened to her breathing a long time. When I woke in the morning I found her warm against my back, and my male parts were aware. I jumped up and went out to walk it off.

That day the weather was better, and I spoke to the thralls and got several men willing to work for their freedom-silver. Erling had a man to train them, and they began the labor. It went slowly, and the foreman cursed them loudly and often as they fumbled the staves in the rocky ground.

"At this rate the work won't be finished before snow comes," said Erling.

"They'll learn. Once they get the feel of the work, and know what it's like to do a job well, for their own good, they'll be fine."

"I wonder. We've always believed that there is no chance in life. If you become a king, it's because you were fated to be a king, because you are kingly. If you become a slave, it's because you are slavish, and you run into your right place as water into a hole. Can these things be changed?"

"My lord, we were all born thralls of sin, fated for Hell because we were ourselves hellish. But Christ had mercy on us, and paid a great price to make us sons of God. It seems He believed that people change."

Erling granted that was true, and I walked off wondering if Christ had been too hopeful.

 

I waited for her knock that night, and it came at last.

"Father," she said, "my master says you must lie with me truly, as a man lies with a woman. Otherwise he'll kill me." She fell on her knees at my feet. "A master may kill a thrall, Father, and there is no punishment. None may interfere. Don't let him kill me, Father!"

She was soft and warm, and she tried very hard to please me. And oh, she did please me. It was sweet as laughter to lie in her arms, and touch her, and do all that was forbidden a priest. It was as if I eased a cramp in my soul, and when I slept at last, I slept better than any night since I'd left Ireland.

 

I was awakened by another knocking, this time very loud. I opened the door to find a man standing in the morning light. "Lord Erling sent me," he said. "He wants you at the new hall, right away."

I ran there and found a crowd of people gathered around one of the pillars. They were looking up to where a spear had been driven into it, about two men high. A walrus-hide rope was tied to the spear, near its head, and from the rope a man hung. He hung close against the pillar, a dark shape against the pale sky, for the spear had been dragged to a downward angle by his weight.

It was Turlough the thrall.

Soti the smith was there, and he said, "See—Odin has taken his first sacrifice! And it is far from over."

Erling said, "Get a ladder and cut him down."

A raven flapped down, black as blindness, and perched atop the pillar.

 

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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