So he rowed to the limit of his strength, even when his eyes blurred and his arms and his back ached like fire. After some weeks, however, he found that he was ceasing to be aware of his tiredness. His strength waxed, and soon he had to be careful not to pull too hard for fear of snapping his oar, which now felt like a stick in his hands; for a broken oar meant a sharp lesson from the whip. Throughout his long term as one of the Caliph’s galley slaves, he rowed a larboard oar, which involved sitting with the oar on his right and taking the strain of the stroke on his left hand. Always afterwards, as long as he lived, he wielded his sword and suchlike weapons with his left hand, though he still used his right arm for casting spears. The strength he gained through this labor, which was greater than that of other men, remained with him, and he still had much of it left when he was old.
But there was a third sign, apart from the growth of his beard and of his strength, to remind him that time was passing as he labored at his oar; for he found himself gradually beginning to understand something of the foreign tongues that were being spoken around him, at first only a word here and there, but in time much more. Some of the slaves were from distant lands in the south and east and spoke tongues like the yapping of dogs, which none but themselves could understand; others were prisoners from the Christian lands in the north and spoke the languages of those regions. Many, however, were Andalusians, who had been put to the oar because they had been pirates or rebels, or because they had angered the Caliph with seditious teaching concerning their God and prophet; and these, like their masters, spoke Arabic. The overseer with the whip expressed himself in this tongue, and as it was always a wise thing for every slave to try to understand what this man wanted from them, he proved a good language-master to Orm, without causing himself any exertion in the process.
It was a cumbrous language to understand, and even more so to speak, for it consisted of guttural sounds that came from the depths of the throat and resembled nothing so much as the grunting of oxen or the croaking of frogs. Orm and his comrades never ceased to wonder that these foreigners should have chosen to give themselves the trouble of having to produce such complicated noises instead of talking in the simple and natural manner of the north. However, he showed himself to be quicker than any of the others in picking it up, partly, perhaps, because he was younger than they, but partly also because he had always shown an aptitude for pronouncing difficult and unfamiliar words that he had found in the old ballads, even when he had not been able to understand their meaning.
So it came to pass that Orm was the first of them who was able to understand what was being said to them, and the only one who could speak a word or two in reply. The consequence was that he became his companions' spokesman and interpreter, and that all orders were addressed to him. He was, besides, able to discover many things for the others by asking questions, as well as he could, of such of the other slaves as spoke Arabic and were able to tell him what he wanted to know. Thus, though he was the youngest of the Northmen, and a slave as they were, he came to regard himself as their chieftain, for neither Krok nor Toke was able to learn a word of the strange language; and Orm always afterwards used to say that, after good luck, strength, and skill at arms, nothing was so useful to a man who found himself among foreigners as the ability to learn a language.
The ship was manned by fifty soldiers, and the galley slaves numbered seventy-two; for there were eighteen pairs of oars. From bench to bench they would often murmur of the possibility of working themselves free from their chains, overpowering the soldiers, and so winning their freedom; but the chains were strong and were carefully watched, and guards were always posted when the ship was lying at anchor. Even when they engaged an enemy ship, some of the soldiers were always detailed to keep an eye on the slaves, with orders to kill any who showed signs of restlessness. When they were led ashore in any of the Caliph’s great military harbors, they were shut up in a slave-house until the ship was ready to depart again, being kept all the time under strict surveillance, and were never allowed to be together in large numbers; so that there seemed to be no future for them but to row for as long as life remained in their bodies, or until some enemy ship might chance to conquer their own and set them at liberty. But the Caliph’s ships were many, and always outnumbered their enemies, so that this eventuality was scarcely to be reckoned with. Such of them as showed themselves refractory, or relieved their hatred with curses, were flogged to death or thrown overboard alive; though occasionally, when the culprit was a strong oarsman, he was merely castrated and set again to his oar, which, though the slaves were never permitted a woman, they held to be the worst punishment of all.
When, in his old age, Orm used to tell of his years as a galley slave, he still remembered all the positions that his fellow Vikings occupied in the ship, as well as those of most of the other slaves; and as he told his story, he would take his listeners from oar to oar, describing what sort of man sat at each, and which among them died, and how others came to take their places, and which of them received the most whippings. He said that it was not difficult for him to remember these things, for in his dreams he often returned to the slave-ship and saw the wealed backs straining before his eyes and heard the men groaning with the terrible labor of their rowing, and, always, the feet of the overseer approaching behind him. His bed needed all the good craftsmanship that had gone into its making to keep it from splitting asunder as he would grip one of its beams to heave at the oar of his sleep; and he often said that there was no happiness in the world to compare with that of awakening from such a dream and finding it to be only a dream.
Three oars in front of Orm, also on the larboard side, sat Krok; and he was now a much changed man. Orm and the others knew that being a galley slave fell harder on him than on the rest of them, because he was a man accustomed to command, and one who had always believed himself to be lucky. He was very silent, seldom replying when his neighbors addressed him; and though, with his great strength, he found no difficulty in doing the work required of him, he rowed always as though half asleep and deep in reflection on other matters. His stroke would gradually become slower, and his oar would fall out of time, and he would be savagely lashed by the overseer; but none of them ever heard him utter any cry as he received his punishment, or even mumble a curse. He would pull hard on his oar and take up the stroke again; but his gaze would follow the overseer’s back thoughtfully as the latter moved forward, as a man watches a troublesome wasp that he cannot lay his hands on.
Krok shared his oar with a man called Gunne, who complained loudly of the many whippings he received on Krok’s account; but Krok paid little heed to his lamentations. At length, on one occasion when the overseer had flogged them both cruelly and Gunne’s complaints were louder and his resentment greater than usual, Krok turned his eyes toward him, as though noticing his presence for the first time, and said: “Be patient, Gunne. You will not have to endure my company for much longer. I am a chieftain and was not born to serve other men; but I have one task yet to accomplish, if only my luck will stretch sufficiently to allow me to do what I have to do.”
He said no more, and what task it was that he had to perform, Gunne could not wring from him.
Just in front of Orm there sat two men named Halle and ögmund. They spoke often of the good days that they had spent in the past, of the food and the ale and the fine girls at home in the north, and conjured up various fitting deaths for the overseer; but they could never think of a way to bring any of them about. Orm himself was seated with a dark-brown foreigner who, for some misdemeanor, had had his tongue cut out. He was a good oarsman and seldom needed the whip, but Orm would have preferred to be next to one of his own countrymen, or at any rate somebody able to talk. The worst of it, as far as Orm was concerned, was that the tongueless man, though unable to talk, was able all the more to cough, and his cough was more frightful than any that Orm had ever heard; when he coughed, he became gray in the face and gulped like a landed fish, and altogether wore
such a wretched and woebegone appearance that it seemed impossible that he could live much longer. This made Orm anxious concerning his own health. He did not prize the life of a galley slave very highly, but he was unwilling to be carried off by a cough; the tongueless man’s performance made him certain in his mind of that. The more he reflected on the possibility of his dying like this, the more it dejected his spirits, and he wished that Toke had been seated nearer to him.
Toke was placed several oars behind Orm, so that they seldom had a chance to speak to each other—only, indeed, while they were being led ashore or back to the ship; for in the slave-house they were tethered together in groups of four in tiny cells, according to their places in the ship. Toke had by now regained something of his former humor and could still manage to find something to laugh at, though he was usually at loggerheads with the man who shared his oar, whose name was Tume and who, in Toke’s view, did less than his share of the rowing and ate more than his share of the rations. Toke composed abusive lampoons, some about Tume and some about the overseer, and sang them as chanteys while he rowed, so that Orm and the others could hear them.
Most of the time, however, he occupied his thoughts with trying to plan some method of escape. The first time that Orm and he had a chance to speak to each other, he whispered that he had a good plan almost worked out. All he needed was a small bit of iron. With this he could prize open one of the links in his ankle-chain one dark night when the ship was in port and everybody except the watchmen would be asleep. Having done this, he would pass the iron on to the other Vikings, each of whom would quietly break his chain. When they had all freed themselves, they would throttle the watchmen in the dark, without making a noise, and steal their weapons; then, once ashore, they would be able to fend for themselves.
Orm said that this would be a fine idea if only it were practicable; and he would be glad to lend a hand in throttling the guards if they got that far, which he rather doubted. Where, though, could they find a suitable piece of iron, and how could naked men, who were always under close observation, manage to smuggle it aboard without being detected? Toke sighed, and admitted that these were difficulties that would require careful consideration; but he could not think of any better plan and said they would merely have to bide their time until an opportunity should present itself.
He succeeded in having a surreptitious word with Krok, too, and told him of his plan; but Krok listened to him abstractedly and showed little interest or enthusiasm.
Not long afterwards the ship was put into dry dock in one of the Caliph’s shipyards to be scraped and pitched. Many of the slaves were detailed to assist with the work, chained in pairs; and the Northmen, who knew the ways of ships, were among these. Armed guards kept watch over them; and the overseer walked his rounds with his whip, to speed the work, two guards, armed with swords and bows, following him everywhere he went to protect him. Close to the ship there stood a large caldron full of simmering pitch, next to which was a barrel containing drinking-water for the slaves.
Krok and Gunne were drinking from this barrel when one of the slaves approached supporting his oar-companion, who had lost his foothold while engaged on the work and had so injured his foot that he was unable to stand on it. He was lowered to the ground and had begun to drink when the overseer came up to see what was afoot. The injured man was lying on his side, groaning; whereupon the overseer, thinking that the man was shamming, gave him a cut with his whip to bring him to his feet. The man, however, remained where he was, with everybody’s eyes fixed upon him.
Krok was standing a few paces behind them, on the far side of the barrel. He shifted toward them, dragging Gunne with him; and suddenly it seemed as though all his previous apathy had dropped away from him. When he was close enough and saw that there was sufficient slack in the chain, he sprang forward, seized the overseer by the belt and the neck, and lifted him above his head. The overseer cried out in terror, and the nearest of the guards turned and ran his sword through Krok’s body. Krok seemed not to feel the blow. Taking two sideward paces, he flung the overseer head downwards into the boiling pitch as the other guard’s sword bit into his head. Krok tottered, but he kept his eyes fixed on what could be seen of the overseer. Then he gave a laugh and said: “Now my luck has turned again,” and fell to the ground and died.
All the slaves raised a great shout of joy to see the overseer meet such an end; but the gladness of the Vikings was mingled with grief, and in the months that followed they often recalled Krok’s deed and the last words that he had uttered. They all agreed that he had died in a manner befitting a chieftain; and they expressed the hope that the overseer had lived long enough in the caldron to get a good feel of the pitch. Toke wrought a strophe in Krok’s honor, which ran thus:
Worse than the whiplash burned
The whipper, when his head
Was drowned deep in the hot wash-
Tub of the sea-mare’s bows.
Krok, who by cruel fate
Had slaved at a foreign oar,
Won his revenge and freedom:
His luck had turned again.
When they rowed out to sea again, they had a new overseer to supervise their labors; but he seemed to have taken note of the fate of his predecessor, for he was somewhat sparing in the use of his whip.
CHAPTER SIX
CONCERNING THE JEW SOLOMON AND THE LADY SUBAIDA, AND HOW ORM GOT HIS SWORD BLUE-TONGUE
THE TONGUELESS man who rowed beside Orm grew worse and worse until at last he could row no more; so when the ship anchored in one of the Caliph’s military harbors in the south, called Málaga, he was led ashore, and they waited for another man to be brought to replace him. Orm, who had had to do nearly all the work on his oar during the last few weeks, was curious to know whether he would now have a more congenial workmate. The next morning the new man appeared. He was dragged to the ship by four soldiers, who had their work cut out to get him up the gangway, and nobody needed to peer closely at him to know that he still had his tongue. He was a young man, handsome, beardless, and finely limbed, and he shrieked curses more frightful than anything that had been heard in the ship before.
He was carried to his place and held fast there while the chain was fixed round his ankle. At this, tears streamed down his cheeks, though they seemed to be the effect of anger rather than of sorrow. The ship’s captain and the overseer came to have a look at him, whereupon he immediately began to abuse them with curses and imprecations, calling them many names that Orm had never heard before, so that all the slaves expected to see him receive a fearful flogging. The captain and the overseer, however, merely stroked their beards and looked thoughtful, while they studied a letter that the soldiers had brought with them. They nodded their heads at this sentence and shook them at that one and whispered discreetly among themselves, while all the time the newcomer howled abuse at them, calling them sons of whores, pork-eaters, and copulators of female asses. At last the overseer threatened him with the whip and told him to keep his mouth shut. Then, when the captain and the overseer had moved away, the new-comer began to weep in earnest, so that his whole body shook with it.
Orm did not know what to make of all this, but thought he would get little help from this fellow, unless they used the whip on him. Still, he felt it would be something to have a companion who could at any rate talk, after his experience with the tongueless man. At first, however, the newcomer disdained to hold any converse with him and rejected Orm’s friendly approaches. As Orm had feared, he turned out to be no oarsman and could not adapt himself to his new mode of life at all, finding especial cause for complaint in the food that was supplied to them, which seemed to Orm to be very good, though insufficient. But Orm was forbearing with him, and did the rowing for both of them, and muttered words of encouragement to him, in so far as he was able to in Arabic. Several times he asked the man who he was and why he had been sentenced to this ship, but received in response merely haughty glances and shoulder-shrugs. At length the man condescended to
address him and announced that he was a man of breeding and not accustomed to being cross-examined by slaves who could not even talk properly.
At this, Orm said: “For those words you have just uttered, I could take you by the neck so that you felt it; but it is better that there should be peace between us, and that you and I should be friends. In this ship we are all slaves, you no less than the rest of us; nor are you the only man aboard who is of good lineage. I am so myself; my name is Orm, and I am a chieftain’s son. It is true that I speak your language poorly, but you speak mine worse, for you do not know a word of it. It therefore appears to me that there is nothing to choose between us; indeed, if either of us has the advantage, I do not think it is you.”
“Your intonation is deplorable,” replied the newcomer. “However, you seem to be a man of some intelligence. It is possible that among your own people you are reckoned to be well-born; but in this respect you can hardly compare with me, for on my mother’s side I am directly descended from the Prophet, peace be to his immortal soul! Know, too, that the tongue I speak is Allah’s own, all other tongues having been invented by evil spirits to hinder the spread of the true learning. So you see that there can be no comparison between us. Khalid is my name, the son of Yezid; my father was a high officer of the Caliph, and I own great possessions and do no work, apart from supervising my gardens, entertaining my friends, and composing music and poetry. It is true, I admit, that I now temporarily find myself otherwise occupied, but this shall not be for long, may worms eat out the eyes of him who set me here! I have written songs that are sung throughout Málaga, and there are few poets living as skillful as I.”
The Long Ships Page 8