The Long Ships (24 page)

“Visit me on Bornholm when the cranes begin to stretch their wings,” he said. “I have room for men of your mettle on the prow of my own ship.”

He left them without waiting for their reply, his head being full of urgent matters; so that this was all the converse they had with Styrbjörn. They lay for a time in silence; then Toke said:

“Welcome the day when
From the ship’s deck I shall see
Crane and stork and goose
Steer their course to the north.”

But Orm, after reflecting for a while, replied sadly:

“Speak not of cranes; ere then
They will have buried me
Where mole and curious mouse
Coldly shall brush my mouth.”

When most of the guests had departed and there was less confusion in the kitchens, Brother Willibald ordered meat broth to be prepared for both the wounded Vikings twice a day, to fortify them. Several of the King’s women thereupon volunteered to carry it from the kitchens to the bedchamber, being curious to see the men at close quarters. This they were able to do without hindrance, for, now that the feasting was concluded, King Harald had taken to his bed, and both Brother Willibald and Brother Matthias, to say nothing of the Bishop, were fully occupied in praying over him and giving him purges to cleanse his blood and his bowels.

The first woman to put her head into their room was the young Moorish girl with whom they had spoken on the first occasion on which they had entered King Harald’s presence with the bell. Toke gave a shout of delight on recognizing her and straightway bade her approach nearer. She sidled shyly in, carrying a can and spoon, seated herself on the edge of his bed, and began to feed him. Another girl entered behind her, seated herself beside Orm, and started to feed him likewise. She was young and tall, well made and pale-skinned, with gray eyes and a large and beautiful mouth; she had, besides, dark hair, with an amber hoop around it. Orm had not seen her before, but she did not appear to be one of the servants.

Orm, however, found difficulty in swallowing the broth, for his wound prevented him from sitting up. After a few mouthfuls he got some of the meat into his windpipe and began to cough violently. This made his wound ache and clouded his humor, causing him to groan with the pain. The corners of the girl’s mouth rose in a smile as he glowered sourly at her.

When the fit had passed, he said sullenly: “I have not been put here to be laughed at. Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Ylva,” she replied, “and I did not know until this minute that you were the sort of man who could make anyone laugh. How can you, who slew my brother Sven’s best warrior, whimper at a spoonful of hot broth?”

“It is not the broth that troubles me,” said Orm. “A wound like mine is liable to be painful sometimes. I should have thought even a woman might have guessed that. But if you are King Sven’s sister, it may be that the broth you have brought me is bad; indeed, now I think of it, it has an unpleasant flavor. Have you come to avenge the injury I did to your brother?”

The girl sprang to her feet and flung the can and spoon into the fireplace, so that the broth spattered all over the room. Her eyes blazed fiercely at Orm; then, suddenly, she calmed herself and laughed and sat down again on the edge of the bed.

“You are not afraid to show when you are afraid,” she said. “That much, at least, must be said in your favor; though which of us is behaving the more sensibly is a question to which two answers might be given. But I saw you fight Sigtrygg, and it was a good combat; and be sure of this, that I regard no man as my enemy merely because he has injured my brother Sven. It was high time somebody taught this Sigtrygg a lesson. His breath stank loathsomely, and there was talk between him and Sven of his having me to wife. Had this happened, he would not have enjoyed many nights of wedlock, for I am not to be pleasured by any chance berserk whose fancy I may happen to tickle. So at least I owe you some thanks for saving me from that extremity.”

“You are an impudent and brazen wench,” said Orm, “and, I doubt not, a wildcat to boot; but it is always thus with the daughters of kings. I cannot deny, however, that you seem to be too good for such a man as this Sigtrygg was. But I myself have come out of this contest sorely scathed, and I do not know what the end of it will be for me.”

Ylva squeezed the tip of her tongue between her teeth and nodded and looked thoughtful.

“There may be others besides you and Sigtrygg and Sven who have sustained loss and injury through this contest,” she said. “I have heard about this necklace of yours which Sigtrygg coveted. They say you got it from a southern king, and that it is the finest jewel that was ever seen. I desire to see it, and you need not fear that I shall try to steal it from you, though if Sigtrygg had killed you it might have become my own.”

“It is an unlucky thing to possess an object that all men desire to finger,” said Orm sadly.

“If that is the way you feel,” said Ylva, “why did you not let Sigtrygg have it? You would then have been freed from the cares it brings you.”

“Of one thing I am certain, though I have known you for but a short while,” said Orm: “that whatsoever man weds you, there will be long intervals between those occasions on which he will enjoy the last word.”

“I hardly think you are ever likely to be in a position to prove the truth of that remark,” said Ylva. “The way you look now, I would not lie in the same bed with you if you were to offer me five necklaces. Why have you not got someone to wash your hair and beard? You look worse than a Smalander. But tell me straightway whether you will show me the necklace or no.”

“That is a fine way to speak to a sick man,” said Orm, “to liken him to a Smalander. I would have you know that I am of noble blood on both my father’s and my mother’s side. My mother’s grandmother’s half-brother was Sven Rat-Nose of Göinge, and he, as you may know, was directly descended through his mother from Ivar of the Broad Embrace. It is only because I am sick that I tolerate your impertinences; otherwise I would already have shooed you out of the room. I will confess, however, that I should like to be washed, though I am not really well enough to be touched; and if you are willing to do me that service, I shall have the chance to see whether you can be more skillful at some things than you are at serving soup. Though, it may be that the daughters of kings are not competent to perform such useful duties.”

“You are proposing that I act as your slave-girl,” said Ylva, “which no man has dared to suggest to me before. It is lucky for you that the blood of Broad-Hug runs in your veins. But I confess it would amuse me to see how you look after you have been washed, so I shall come early tomorrow morning, and you will then see that I can perform such tasks as well as anybody.”

“I must be combed, too,” said Orm. “Then, when you have done all this to my satisfaction, I may, perhaps, show you the necklace.”

Meanwhile things were becoming somewhat noisy in Toke’s half of the room. The broth and the sight of a woman had considerably raised his spirits. He had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, and they were endeavoring to converse in her language. This he was able to do but lamely; but he was all the more nimble in the use of his hands, with which he was trying to draw her closer to him. She defended herself against his advances, striking him on the knuckles with her spoon, but made no great effort to move out of distance and seemed not altogether displeased, while Toke praised her beauty as well as he was able and cursed his game leg that kept him sedentary.

Orm and Ylva turned to watch them as their sport became noisier. Ylva smiled at their antics, but Orm shouted crossly to Toke to behave himself and leave the girl alone.

“What do you suppose King Harald will have to say,” he said, “if he hears that you have been fondling one of his women above her knees?”

“Perhaps he will remark, as you did,” said Ylva, “that it is an unlucky thing to own something that all men wish to finger. But he will hear nothing about it from my lips, for he has more than enough women for a man of his years; and she, unhappy girl, finds little joy among us here, and weeps often and is hard to comfort, since she understands little of what we say to her. So do not let it worry you that she sports with a man whose compliments she can understand, and who seems, besides, to be a bold fellow.”

Orm, however, insisted that Toke must control his inclinations while they were enjoying King Harald’s hospitality.

Toke, in the meantime, had become somewhat calmer and was now only holding the girl by one of her plaits. He assured Orm that there was no cause for alarm.

“For nobody can accuse me of anything,” he said, “while my leg is in its present state; besides which, you heard with your own ears the little priest say that King Harald expressly ordered everything possible to be done to make us comfortable, because of the snub we served King Sven. Now, as everybody knows, I am a man to whose comfort women are an essential factor; and this woman seems to me to be an admirable specimen of her kind. I cannot think of anything that could be more likely to hasten my recovery; indeed, I am beginning to feel better already. I have told her to come here as often as she can, for my health’s sake; and I do not think she is afraid of me, though I have been flirting somewhat boldly with her.”

Orm grunted doubtfully; but the end of it was that both the women agreed to come the next morning and wash their heads and beards. Then Brother Willibald arrived in a flurry to dress their wounds, and when he saw the spilt broth, he shrieked with fury and drove the women from the room. Not even Ylva dared to gainsay him, for everyone was afraid of the man who wielded power over their life and health.

When Orm and Toke were left alone, they lay on their beds in silence, having much to occupy their thoughts. At length Toke said: “Our luck has turned good again, now that women have managed to find their way to us. Things are beginning to look more cheerful.”

But Orm said: “We shall have bad luck on our hands if you cannot curb your itches; and I should be easier in my mind if I were sure that you could.”

Toke replied that he had good hopes of his ability to do this, if he really tried in earnest. “Though I doubt whether she would be anxious to spurn my advances,” he said, “if I were fit and able to press them; for an old king cannot be much company for a girl of her spirit, and she has been kept under strict surveillance ever since she first came here. She is called Mirah, and comes from a place called Ronda, and is of good family. She was captured by Vikings who came in the night and bore her away with many others of her village and sold her to the King of Cork. He, in turn, gave her to King Harald as a friendship-gift, because of her great beauty; but she says that she would have appreciated the honor more if he had given her to someone younger with whom she could talk. I have seldom seen such a fine girl, so beautifully formed and smooth-skinned; though the girl who sat on your bed is also fine, if perhaps a trifle skinny and less full of figure than she might be. And she seems to be well disposed toward you. Even in such a place as this, our quality is apparent, for we win the favor of women even from our sickbeds.”

But Orm replied that he had no room in his thoughts for woman-love, for he felt more sick and enfeebled than ever and doubted whether he had much time left.

The next morning, as soon as it was light, the women came to them as they had promised, bringing warm lye, water, and hand-cloths, and washed Orm’s and Toke’s heads and beards meticulously. Ylva had some difficulty in attending to Orm, because he was unable to sit up, but she supported his body with her arm and used him carefully, and emerged from her task with credit, for he got no lye in his eyes or mouth and yet became clean and fine. Then she seated herself on the head of his bed, put his head between her knees, and began to comb him. She asked him if he was uncomfortable, but Orm had to admit that he was not. She found difficulty in passing the comb through his hair, for it was thick and coarse, and very tangled as a result of the washing; but she persevered patiently with the task, so that he thought he had never in his life been better combed. She spoke familiarly to him, as though they had been friends for a long time; and Orm felt well content to have her near him.

“You will have your heads washed again before you get up,” she said, “for the Bishop and his men like to baptize people when they are lying sick on their backs, and I am surprised they have not already spoken to you about it. They baptized my father when he was sorely ill and had small hope of recovery. Most people regard a sickbed as the best place to be baptized in during the winter, for if a man is ill the priests merely sprinkle his head, whereas if he is well he has to be completely immersed in the sea, which few men fancy when the water is still sharp with ice. It is unpleasant for the priests, too, for they have to stand in the water up to their knees, and become blue in the face, and their teeth chatter so that they can scarcely speak the blessings. For this reason, they prefer in winter to baptize men who cannot move from their beds. Myself the Bishop baptized on Midsummer Day, which they call the Day of the Baptist, and that was not unpleasant. We squatted round him in our white shifts, I and my sisters, while he read over us, and then lifted his hand and we held our noses and ducked under the water. I remained below the surface longer than any of the others, so that my baptism was held to be the best. Then we were all given garments that had been blessed, and little crosses to wear about our necks. And no harm came to any of us as a result of this.”

Orm replied that he knew all about such strange customs, having dwelt in the southland, where nobody was permitted to eat pork, and with the monks of Ireland, who had tried to persuade him to allow himself to be baptized.

“But it will take a long time,” he said, “before anyone convinces me that the observances of such customs can do a man good or can seriously gratify any god. I should like to see the bishop or priest who could get me to sit in cold water up to my ears, in summer or winter. Nor have I any desire to have water sprinkled over my head, or to be read over; for it is my belief that a man ought to beware of all such forms of sorcery and trollcraft.”