“We are all together, we Icelanders,” Bjarni said. “You talk to us all when you talk to me.”
“Hoskuld hates you. Now, why would he send me a son he hates? It sounds to me as if he wants you done away with.”
“I don’t know about that,” Bjarni said. “Neither does Kristjan.”
Sigurd snapped his fingers and the servant brought him the napkin so that the lord could wipe his greasy beard. He drank from his gold cup. Voices sounded at the far end of the hall. Footsteps ground on the floor. Sigurd struck the table with his palm.
“You are an innocent,” he said to Bjarni. “No one lives the way you want to live. In this world, everyone has his master; everyone has his underlings. I can protect you from your father. Serve me, fight for me, obey me, and I will make you rich. But you must take Christ.”
“My god is Asa-Thor,” Bjarni said.
“Your stepbrother says that all save you are Christian.”
“All save me and Ulf. His mother turned to the white altars when he was weaned. What about this Bishop you are warring with? Is he not a Christian? I thought you loved one another, you Christians.”
“The Bishop is a false priest who claims lands where I alone am lord,” Sigurd said. “But you do not see the advantages in taking Christ. Your god-goat gives you nothing. I need only repent at the proper moment, and Christ will give me life eternal.”
“Do you have to die first? Then I don’t see that he gives you very much.”
Sigurd thrust his empty cup at the servant, who took it at a run down the table. The lord thrust his grey head forward toward Bjarni. The shredded gold flashed on his sleeves and collar. When he spoke he pushed each word at Bjarni with a bobbing of his head.
“Your goat-god, your dirty-handed farmer-god, did he save you from the beating last night? Can he save you from death?”
“Every man comes to die,” Bjarni said. “It is the price of life. There is no choice in it, save to meet it well.”
“That is the weakness in the old way, do you not see? If there is no choice, a man is worthless, the slave of Fate. Christ has freed us from that.”
“Free. You have no claim on that word. You Christians are ever telling folk how to act.”
“A man can sin,” Sigurd said.
“You leave me unconvinced.”
“Because you will not bend your mind,” Sigurd said. He tossed the picked bone under the table. “We shall argue again—I enjoy this. In time you will agree. Now take leave of me, I must talk to these other men.”
He rose from the High Seat and walked off along the table, his hand stretched out to a small troop of newcomers. Bjarni turned slowly away from the table.
Sigurd’s men were coming in and out of the hall. Some stood idly talking by the door, and some were drinking. Bjarni had seen no one here do any work, except the servants. The belts of the men were stuffed with knives and swords and hatchets. On their arms they wore heavy bracelets of gold, and there were gold rings in their ears and on their fingers. Bjarni was a misfit here, poorer than the servants. His gaze caught on a man sitting on the bench by the fire.
It was Lyr, the burly man with the feathers in his beard, who had started the fight. Bjarni went around the hearth to him.
“Get up,” he said.
The feathered man raised his startled face. He looked to right and left; there was room on the bench.
“Get up,” Bjarni said again.
Reluctantly the burly man stood. He watched uncertainly as Bjarni took his place on the bench. After a moment he slunk away down the hall.
* * *
TWO MORE LONGSHIPS rowed into the cove between then and nightfall. In the crowded anchorage, Bjarni took the ship’s small boat again and again around Swan, directing his brothers inside the ship to move the ballast here and there, so that Swan rode better in the water.
“When shall we sail?” Andres said.
He sat in the stern of the boat; Bjarni and Jon were rowing back to the beach.
“Do you have someplace to go?” Bjarni asked.
“Anywhere but here,” Andres said, intensely. “This is a wicked place.”
“He’s right,” Jon said, behind Bjarni at the bow oars. “Let’s go back to Iceland. These people are sinners.”
Bjarni trailed his oars to turn the boat. The little waves lifted her sideways up onto the gravelly beach. “I have been beaten worse in Iceland. Hop out.”
His half brothers sprang out of the boat, and he waited for another wave to carry him higher on the shore and got out onto the land. They dragged the boat out of the surf. Jon walked on his left, Andres on his right, and they flung arguments at him, none convincing. They were both a head shorter than he was. Their fair faces, broad and stub-nosed, reminded him of Hoskuld. He let them argue and said nothing.
They went into the little booth where Swan’s crew slept. The men from the two new longships were staying there as well and the place was crowded. Ulf sat on the wooden bench where he slept; he smiled, and in his hands held a piece of fine linen.
“What is that?” Jon said.
Ulf held it out to him. “Smell of it.”
Bjarni took a bucket out the door and filled it from the rainbarrel under the eave. When he came in again, Jon was holding the linen at arm’s length. It was a piece of a woman’s underclothing, the top piece. Jon threw it down.
“You will get us all in trouble,” Andres hissed, and glanced around them at the other men scattered through the dark room.
Bjarni set the bucket on the bench, stripped off his shirt, and washed himself. Ulf was grinning. He took the linen in his hands and sniffed it and laid it against his cheek.
“I notice there’s only one piece,” Bjarni said. He splashed cold water on his arms.
“If she lets me in the loft,” Ulf said, “she’ll let me into the kitchen.”
Bjarni stooped over the bucket and scooped water onto his face. He scrubbed himself and dried himself and combed his hair and his beard. He was of a mind to stay here until he heard more about the Bishop and the war; but Ulf and Gudrun were adding to the risks of that. He took a clean shirt out of his sea-chest and put it on.
“I am going to the hall,” he said. “Are you coming?”
Jon and Andres rounded on him, their eyes wide, and spoke at once. “You are mad. Do you like being beaten?” Andres said, “They are all sinners.”
Bjarni shrugged. He left the sleeping booth. The sun had set. Streaks of red and orange lay across the sky; in the east, the night had come. A cold wind touched his cheek. The boardwalk resounded under the feet of the streams of men on their way to the hall. The little waves of the cove lapped on the shore. The water was dark as death. The longships slapped and creaked at their moorings. His eyes fastened on a high coiled prow, black against the ruddy sky. The beauty stirred his heart. All his life he had heard of such ships, of the glory of the men who sailed them. Maybe in those earlier days the men had been different. He saw nothing glorious in Sigurd’s men, falling as soon as he hit them so that another could take the fight. He went up the boardwalk toward the crowded hall.
He ate; he drank beer; he found someone to play chess with him. While he was studying a difficult position Sigurd called him to the High Seat.
“Tell your brother to leave off courting my daughter,” Sigurd said.
The table’s breadth was between them, littered with food and cups. Bjarni set his hand on it. He said, “I don’t see that she objects.”
“I object,” Sigurd said. He waggled his finger at Bjarni. “You do something about it. Then come back. I have some work for you and your ship.”
Bjarni went down the hall. The door was open and he stepped past the men coming through it, out to the evening air. A mist was rising out of the damp grass. Off to his left, halfway down the boardwalk to the beach, was the Christian temple, and Ulf and Gudrun were sitting on the porch together. Bjarni went down to them.
“Come over here a moment,” he said to Ulf.
They went a few yards down the boardwalk. Bjarni said, “Her father just spoke to me about you and this girl.”
“Oh? Is he talking about a dowry?”
“No, he wants me to tell you to leave her alone.”
Ulf grunted. He put his hands on his hips. “Damn him. No. Tell him I have not trifled with her. Tell him—” His face worked. “Tell him I will marry her.”
“He also has some work for Swan. After I have told you to leave his daughter alone.” Bjarni turned his eyes down the dark slope. The mist blurred the shapes of the longships on the water.
“He is ready to attack the Bishop,” Ulf said. “Maybe he will use us as a scout.” He glanced to either side. A file of men trampled past them, dividing to go by them on the plank walk. Under his breath, Ulf said, “I can see Gudrun in secret.”
“I am not telling you to leave her,” Bjarni said. “I do not take his orders. Go tell our crew to load their chests into the ship.”
Ulf grinned at him. “You are a very stubborn man.”
“We will be in some trouble before long,” Bjarni said. He went back to the hall.
After an hour or so had passed Sigurd called to him again. He went up before the High Seat.
“Is your ship ready to sail?” Sigurd said. “You will take one of my pilots here with you and sail south with a message for the Bishop.”
“You are going too fast,” Bjarni said. “We have not agreed yet on the terms of our partnership.”
“Partnership! Listen, Bjarni Hoskuldsson. This is the agreement. You will do as I say, and take the share everyone takes, and you will do it happily because better men than you are doing it.”
“I don’t agree to that,” Bjarni said.
“I don’t care if you do or not,” Sigurd said. His neck swelled. He spoke in volleys of words. “That is my decision. You will kneel down at Mass tomorrow with the rest of us, or I will put you in stocks on the beach.”
Bjarni went out of the hall. Ulf was outside on the boardwalk. He fell into step beside Bjarni. They walked down the rackety boardwalk toward the beach.
“Are we leaving?” Ulf said.
“Yes. Let’s hurry before he decides to take the ship.”
“Gudrun.” Ulf stopped and looked back. Bjarni caught his arm.
“Hurry.”
Jon stood on the threshold of the sleeping booth; he blinked at them as if he had just wakened. He said, “What is the matter?” Bjarni stopped at the edge of the beach. The other men from Swan were gathering below them on the gravel. On the hillside above them, in the mist, each of the hall lights wore a ring.
“I don’t want to leave Gudrun,” Ulf said, beside Bjarni.
“I haven’t time to argue with you.” Bjarni pushed his younger brothers ahead of him. Ulf hung back, his tongue busy.
“We can take her with us. I know she will go.”
“Later.”
“Just let me talk to her.”
“Later.”
They reached the edge of the water. The boat was already at the ship; Kristjan and another man were unloading the sea-chests from it. Bjarni and the others waded out to Swan.
“Ulf,” Bjarni said. “Go into the bow and guide us. Put out the oars.”
On the hillside near the hall someone shouted.
They rowed Swan out of the anchorage. Sigurd did not chase them. Bjarni took Swan on her legs out to sea and turned her bow to the wind. The other men lay down in the hold to sleep. Bjarni and his brothers sat in the bow.
“What did you do?” Kristjan said. “You ruined our chances with them. It was his fault, wasn’t it?” He pointed to Ulf.
“Now we can all go back to Hrafnfell,” Jon said.
“Maybe,” Bjarni said. “We have nothing to eat and we need line and canvas. Tomorrow I want to raid Sigurd for supplies.”
Ulf opened the lid of his sea-chest and took out a bearskin. In a low voice, he said, “If we can steal food, we can steal Gudrun.”
“Why don’t you forget her?” Bjarni said. “You hardly know her.”
Ulf struck his shoulder. “Because I love her. Anyway, this will make it a real raid. We can’t go home with nothing, we will be shamed.”
Jon said, “But—” and Andres elbowed him in the ribs.
“Be quiet. With a woman aboard we will have to go back to Iceland.”
“Sigurd has a hundred men,” Kristjan said. “What you are talking about is impossible. We can fish for food.”
Bjarni said, “There is a way to do it.” To Ulf, he said, “Tomorrow they are sacrificing in their temple.”
Jon shot up onto his feet. The ship teetered under him. “You can’t fight in a church.”
“They won’t take weapons into a church,” Bjarni said.
“Isn’t Sigurd leaving soon to fight against the Bishop?” Kristjan said. He looked from Bjarni to Ulf. “Wait until he goes, and we can take everything we want.”
Ulf said, “You churlish Irish sneak-thief.”
Andres said, “Well, really, either way, it’s stealing.”
Bjarni stood and left them there to argue. He went back to the stern and fell asleep.
IN THE MORNING Sigurd’s men went to the church, and Bjarni took Swan back into the cove. The Icelanders broke into the storerooms above the beach and took meat and cheeses and grain. Ulf and Bjarni went up the grassy slope toward the Christian temple. Ulf was looking around them at the other ships in the cove.
“There are twice as many ships here as there were last night,” he said.
“Just move fast,” Bjarni said. “It doesn’t matter how many there are if they can’t catch us.”
“What happens if we are caught?” Ulf said. They climbed the walk toward the temple.
“That depends on you,” Bjarni said. “I promise you that if Sigurd takes you he will take me also.”
He looked over his shoulder. His crew was scrambling up over Swan’s rails and settling at their places. From the bow, Jon waved to him.
“They are ready. Let’s go.”
They went into the church through the front door. The altar was at the other end of the building and the Christians were kneeling, so that their backs were to the door. Ulf and Bjarni went in among them. Gudrun knelt in the first row; three or four people were between her and Sigurd. No one noticed the Hoskuldssons until Ulf reached her side and pulled her to her feet.
A roar went up from the Christian men. Ulf hoisted the girl over his shoulder and ran down the room toward the door. Sigurd bellowed. His men swarmed after Ulf.
Bjarni went out the door. He let his brother through and slammed the door shut. The bar was tilted against the wall; he seized it and pressed it over the double door to hold it shut. Before he could fit the long bar into the iron brackets over the door, Sigurd and his men reached the other side.
Their first rush nearly threw the doors open. He strained against them. The doors bulged and he saw, through the gap into the church, Sigurd’s face red as fire. Bjarni shoved with all his strength on the bar and forced the doors shut. The bar slipped into the brackets. He wheeled to run.
A shout sounded on the other side of the building. Someone had gotten out the side window. Bjarni raced down the boardwalk; where it swerved off his course he jumped down to the marshy grass and ran for Swan. Right behind him came the man who had climbed out the window. Ulf had reached the water and was splashing out to the ship. Gudrun waded beside him, her hand in his.
With a splintering crash the church door gave way and spilled Sigurd and his men out after Bjarni. He glanced over his shoulder. The man behind was almost within reach of him.
Swan rocked from side to side. Ulf was climbing inboard. Bjarni drove himself faster. The men in Swan were not waiting for him. Their oars ran out. They leaned into the first stroke. A body struck him from behind, just above the knees, and he fell hard onto the cobbles of the beach.
SIGURD’S MEN BOUND HIM and threw him into a storeroom. There he lay for hours, trussed up so tight his fingers w
ent to sleep.
Eventually Sigurd came into the storeroom. He said, “That was an unfriendly thing to do.”
“I’m sorry to offend your hospitality,” Bjarni said. He was lying on his face. By twisting his head he could look up at Sigurd, but he had no wish to see him; he lay still, with Sigurd’s boots before his eyes.
“You know, your brothers are not coming back for you,” Sigurd said. “We chased them for above three hours, and they went due west, straight for the north-running sea.” Sigurd squatted down to peer into Bjarni’s face. “I only wish I had your sneaking brother Ulf as well as you. I don’t care so much for my daughter, and neither will he when he knows her better, but I want to repay him for robbing me in my own church.”
“You don’t need Ulf for that,” Bjarni said. “That was my idea.”
“Was it,” Sigurd said. “Then I will have my revenge after all.”
He walked up and down the storeroom, through the fringes of dried fish that dangled from the beams. Bjarni worked the ropes that bound his wrists. His brothers would return for him; they were only putting Sigurd off. Sigurd came back and sank down on his hams before him.
“My old friend Hoskuld was right about you, and right to send you here. You will be useless to anyone until you are broken. And I am the man to do it.”
He went out of the storeroom. When he came back he had a smith with him, and a length of chain.
During the day Bjarni was chained to the mill, and he ground the corn. At night he was chained to an anvil in the forge. The first night, he tried with all his strength to move the anvil, but it would not yield.
Sigurd loaded his men into their longships and sailed away to fight the Bishop. Ulf and Swan did not come back.
Every day Bjarni walked around the mill turning the millstone. Every night he tried to move the anvil. For seven days his strength was nothing to the weight of the anvil, but on the eighth night, when he heaved against it, he felt it move.
When he thought of his brothers, he clenched his fists around the spoke of the millstone; he set his shoulders and ground his anger with the oats and rye. He thought much of Hiyke, in Hrafnfell, his father’s wife.
Two Ravens Page 4