The Long Ships (44 page)

THEY looked as beggars usually look, trudging on foot with sack and staff, as they arrived at the house craving food and drink. Ylva was seated on the bench before the house in earnest conversation with the mothers of Gisle and Rannvi; for both these young people had come to her that morning in a state of extreme bliss to say that they were well content with each other, and to beg her to speak persuasively on their behalf to their respective parents, so that the wedding might be arranged as soon as possible; in which project Ylva had willingly undertaken to help them to the best of her ability. When news was brought her that there were beggars standing at the gate, she bade her servants request Orm to come to her, for he had ordered that no strangers were to be admitted until he had himself first carefully scrutinized them.

So he examined the travelers, who replied freely to his questions; but they did not seem to him to be like ordinary beggars. Their leader was a big man, broad of loin and well fleshed, with a grizzled beard and sharp eyes beneath his hat-brim. As he moved, he trailed one leg behind him, as though it might be somewhat stiff at the knee. He answered Orm’s questions in a bold voice, and it was plain from his accent that he was a Swede. He said that they had come from Sjælland and were heading northwards across the border; a fisherman had brought them across the Sound, and they had begged their way up from Landöre.

“But today we have eaten nothing,” he concluded, “for hereabouts the houses lie far apart, and at the last house we visited we were given nothing to put in our sacks.”

“Nevertheless,” said Orm, “you carry more flesh than I have seen on the bones of some beggars.”

“There is nourishment in Danish and Skanian pancakes,” replied the other with a sigh. “But I fear their effect may wear somewhat thin, and I with it, before I come to the Mälar country.”

The man who stood beside him was younger, of slender build and pale of skin. His cheeks and jaw were black with a short, dense beard. Orm studied him for a few moments. Then he said: “From your appearance, a man might suppose that you had been shaven for the priesthood.”

The slender man smiled sadly. “My beard was burned from my face one evening when I was roasting pork in a wind,” he said, “and it has not yet regained its old fullness.”

But it was at the other two beggars that Orm gazed most curiously, for of them he could make nothing. They had the appearance of being brothers, for they were both small and lean, long-eared and large-nosed, and both of them stared at him with wise brown eyes like those of squirrels. Although small, they nevertheless looked to be agile and muscular. They stood with their heads on one side, listening to the baying of the hounds; then, of a sudden, one of them placed a finger in his mouth and emitted a strange whistle, soft and vibrant. Immediately the hounds stopped howling and began to pant, as they did when no strangers were about.

“Are you trolls,” asked Orm, “or merely conjurors?”

“Neither, alas,” replied the man who had whistled, “much as we should like to be either. For we cannot conjure food from anywhere, despite our hunger.”

Orm smiled. “I shall not refuse you food,” he said, “and I do not fear your witchcraft while there is yet daylight; but such beggars as you I have never before set eyes on. No other stranger has succeeded in quieting my hounds; indeed, I sometimes find it difficult to do so myself.”

“We will teach you a way,” said the second of the two small men, “once we have got a good meal in our bellies, and food for two more in our sacks. We are wandering men who serve no master, and we understand hounds better than most men.”

Orm assured them that he would not send them away with empty sacks, and bade them enter.

“You have chosen a good time to arrive,” he said, “for you have come in the midst of a great feast, so that there will be pancakes enough for you all, and perhaps something else besides. It is a pity for my guests that you cannot play as skillfully as you whistle.”

The two small men glanced at each other and winked, but said nothing; and they and their two companions followed Orm into the house.

Orm cried to Ylva: “Here are wayfarers, both large and small, come to crave a plate of your feast-food.”

Ylva looked up from her conversation and nodded, with her thoughts elsewhere; then, as she caught sight of the two small men, her eyes grew large with wonder, and she sprang up from the bench on which she was sitting.

“The Erin Masters!” she cried. “Felimid and Ferdiad! My father’s jesters! Are you still alive? In God’s name, dear friends, what has forced you to turn beggars? Have you grown too old to practice your arts?”

The two small men stared at her in equal astonishment; then they both smiled. They dropped their staffs and beggars’ sacks, took a couple of paces toward Ylva, and then, in the same instant, they both sprang head over heels. One of them remained thus standing on his hands, on which he proceeded to jump to and fro, uttering small joyful cries, while the other tied himself into a ball and rolled toward her feet. Then they both leaped to their feet again and, gravely and expressionlessly, saluted her.

“We have not grown too old,” said one of them, “as you can see for yourself, O fairest of all King Harald’s daughters. For you must know that the years fear such masters as us; though it is a good while since you sat on your father’s knee and saw us frolic for the first time. But we are hungrier now than we were then.”

Many of the guests, both men and women, had come running up in haste to look more closely at these marvelous men who could jump on their hands; but Ylva said that the newcomers were to eat and drink in peace, and that they were to be treated with as much honor as any guest in the church. She conducted them into the house herself and placed before them the best of meat and drink; nor did they need any persuasion before they set to. The twins and Glad Ulf followed them in and sat silently in a corner, in the hope that the two little men might perform further antics; meanwhile Orm explained to his other guests who these two strange beggars were, who had so aroused their wonder.

“They were King Harald’s jesters,” he said, “though now they have no master; they come from Ireland, and are widely famed. I saw them once when I was drinking Christmas with the King; but then they were prinked out with feathers and motley, so that I did not recognize them now. What they can be doing as wandering beggars I do not know, and it puzzles me sadly; but let us sit down to our ale again, and then, in a short while, we will hear their story.”

When all the beggars had eaten their fill, the jesters offered no objection to joining the drinkers, who, after their short rest, had now begun again in earnest. Both their companions, however, sat staring silently at their empty plates. When asked the reason for their melancholy, they replied that they were weary after the hardships of their journey and the good meal that they had just eaten. So Father Willibald led them to his room, that they might rest there undisturbed. Then he took the two jesters aside and sat with them for some time in earnest conversation, which none dared to disturb; for they had been old friends ever since they had first met at King Harald’s court, and were overjoyed to renew their acquaintance after so long an interval of time.

When at last all the guests had taken their places in the church, the two jesters were placed one on either side of Father Willibald. Many questions were asked concerning them, and all were anxious to see them display their skill; but the two jesters sat supping their ale in silence, as though unconscious of the excitement they were causing.

Then Orm said: “It would be ungracious of us to demand that you should show us your skill, for you have a right to be weary after your wanderings, and no guest or stranger who receives hospitality in my house is required to pay for it. But I cannot deny that we should like to take advantage of the fact that two such masters as you have arrived in the midst of my son’s christening feast. For I know that you are both famous men, and I have always heard that no jesters in the world can match those of Ireland.”

“Chieftain,” replied one of the Irishmen, “what you heard was the truth; and I can assure you that even in Ireland there are not two men more famous for their skill than I, Felimid O’Flann, and my brother Ferdiad here, who is as good as I am. My ancestors have been royal jesters ever since our great forefather Flann Long-Ear performed, long ago, before King Conchobar MacNessa of Ulster and the heroes of the Red Branch in the hall of Emain Macha; and it has always been a law in our family that, once we have become proficient in our art and have earned the right to call ourselves master jesters, we display our skill only when commanded to do so by a person of royal blood. And this you must know, that we who jest before kings follow not only the most difficult calling in the world but also that which, more than any other calling, benefits mankind. For when a king is out of humor, and his fighting-men feel the itch of boredom, they are a danger to other men; but when good jesters perform for them, they rock with laughter over their ale and go contented to their beds and let their neighbors and subjects sleep in peace. After priests, therefore, we perform a more useful function than any other sort of men; for priests offer happiness in heaven, through the influence they have with God, while we offer happiness on earth, because of the influence we have on the humors of kings. And since there are many kings in Ireland, the jesters of that land are the best in the world, and are of many different kinds; tumblers, clowns, ventriloquists, imitators of animals, men who contort their bodies, others who contort their faces, sword-swallowers, egg-dancers, and men who snort fire through their nostrils. But the true master jester is not he who can perform one or another of these arts, but he who knows them all. And it is held by wise men in Ireland that the best among us today are almost as good as King Conaire’s three jesters were in ancient times, of whom it was said that no man who saw them could help laughing, even though he might be sitting with his father’s or his mother’s corpse on the table before him.”

Everyone in the church had by now fallen silent, and all the guests were hanging on the Irishman’s words and staring at him and at his brother, who was sitting on the other side of Father Willibald with a contented look on his face, slowly moving his large ears backwards and forwards. All agreed that the like of these men had never before been seen in these parts.

“You speak well,” said Gudmund of Uvaberg, “and yet it is not easy to believe that all you say is true; for if you are both such great masters in your own land, why have you come to the north, where kings are few and live far apart?”

Felimid smiled and nodded his head. “You may well ask that,” he said, “for Ireland is a land that no man willingly leaves; and I will gladly tell you how we came to do so, even if what I say may sound like boasting. I must tell you all that my brother and I are exiles from our land on account of a feat which, I think, none but we could have performed. When we were young, but already expert in our art, we were jesters to the good King Domnal of Leighlin. He was a man who loved laughter and music, the word of God, and legends of heroes, poetry, women’s beauty, and the wisdom of old men; and he showed us great honor, rewarding our skill with silver and cattle and fine pastures in which to keep them. Because of this we loved him dearly and were well content to be his servants; and our only worry was lest in our contentment we should grow too fat, for that is the worst thing that can happen to any man who practices our art. His neighbor was King Colla of Kilkenny, a dangerous man, very proud, and cunning at planning ways to discomfort those who lived too near him. One Whitsun, King Domnal held a great feast, and his priests, his poets, and we, his jesters, were kept busier than usual; for the King was to wed Emer, the daughter of the King of Cashel. She looked as a princess should, clear-eyed, purple-mouthed, and white of skin, high-breasted, slender of waist, and broad of hip, and with hair so long that she could sit on the ends of it; so that even you, Ylva, would hardly have known which was the lovelier, you or she, if you could have seen her. This marriage was a source of great joy, not only to King Domnal, but to all his men, so that it was as merry a feast as a man could wish for. Then, on the second evening of the feast, when we were all drunk, King Colla descended upon us. King Domnal was killed as he hewed naked about him at his chamber door; many of his men fell with him; his Queen was taken from her bridal bed and carried off with the rest of the booty; and my brother and I suffered the same fate, for such was our fame. When King Colla saw Queen Emer, his lips grew moist and he leered like a hound, but us he threw into one of his dungeons until his wedding-day; for he had set his mind on marrying the woman he had stolen. Then he told us that we were to jest at his wedding feast. At first we refused to do this, for we were still heavy with grief at the death of our master; but when he swore that he would have us flogged with sharp-twigged birches unless we obeyed his bidding, we changed our tone and promised to appear before him and exhibit our finest arts. And that we kept that promise I do not think he could well deny.”

Felimid smiled thoughtfully to himself as he drank long and slowly from his cup. All the guests drank to him, crying that he was a fine story-teller and that they were eager to hear about this great feat that he had performed. He nodded, and continued:

“There he sat on his royal throne as we entered his presence, and already he was drunk; and never have I seen any man who looked so well at peace with himself and the world. As he saw us enter, he roared in a loud voice to his guests that the two masters from Leighlin would now display their quality as conjurors of mirth and merriment. Nor did she who sat beside him in her bridal jewels wear a sad face; for young women soon accustom themselves to a change of man, and perchance King Colla seemed to her to be an even finer match than our lord, King Domnal, had been. We began with simple jests, though we spoke them well, and with tricks that we were wont to perform on common occasions; and King Colla was in such a capital humor that he began at once to bellow with laughter. The whole hall laughed with him; and when Ferdiad stood on his head and played the flute, while I danced the bear-dance round him, uttering growls, the applause became tremendous, and the King flung himself backwards on his throne with his mouth wide open, splashing mead from his stoup over his lady’s robe. He gasped for breath and shrieked that he had never before set eyes on jesters to compare with us. At this, we pricked up our ears and bethought ourselves and exchanged a word in whispers; for if he had never seen jesters like us, it was no less true that we had never before heard anyone laugh like him at the simple antics which were all that we had yet performed for him. So we turned to more difficult feats and meatier jests, and at these the King laughed like a magpie in May when the sun appears through an Irish mist. Then we began to feel merrier ourselves, and displayed our rarest arts and told our most uproarious jests, such as contort the bellies and pain the jaws even of men who are weighed down with grief or plagued with sickness. All the while, King Colla’s laughter grew louder and more breathless until it sounded like the ninth wave breaking upon the coast of Donegal when the spring tide is at its height. Then, of a sudden, his face turned black and he fell from his throne to the floor, where he remained lying; for he had burst inwardly with the violence of his laughter. When this happened, Ferdiad and I glanced at each other and nodded, remembering our master Domnal and thinking that we had now repaid, in some measure, the gifts and kindnesses that he had showered upon us. The Queen screamed wildly with terror, and all those in the hall rushed toward him, save we, who headed for the door; but before we reached it, we heard the cry go up that he was dead. We did not wait to hear more, but took to our heels and fled northwards across the heath as speedily as Bishop Asaph fled across the fields at Magh Slecht when the red ghosts were after him. We sought sanctuary with King Sigtrygg of Dublin, supposing we should be safe there; but Queen Emer sent armed men after us, who told King Sigtrygg that we were slaves whom she had inherited from her former husband, King Domnal, and that now, with evil and malicious intent, we had caused the death of her new husband, thereby doing great damage to her and her good name, and that she therefore wished to kill us. But we escaped in a trading ship and fled to King Harald of Denmark, into whose service we entered; and there we prospered. But never, as long as he was alive, did we tell anyone of what we had done to King Colla, for we did not want King Harald to hear of it. For it might have caused him to worry lest he might suffer a similar fate.”