“Are you blind?” roared Gudmund across the water, “or have you lost your wits? Do you not see that we come with a shield of peace on our masthead, and have holy bishops aboard?”
“Do not try to fool us,” replied a voice from the watch-ships. “We want no pirates here.”
“We have your own King’s envoys aboard,” roared Gudmund.
“We know you,” came the reply. “You are full of cunning and devilry.”
“We are coming to be baptized,” shouted Orm impatiently.
At this, there was loud laughter on the watch-ships, and a voice shouted back: “Have you grown tired of your lord and master the Devil?”
“Yes!” roared Orm furiously, and at this the laughter on the other ships was redoubled.
Then it looked as though there was going to be fighting, for Orm was enraged by their laughter and bade Rapp heave to and grapple the nearest ship, which was doing most of the laughing. But by this time the Bishops had hastily donned their robes, and now, raising their staffs aloft, they cried to both sides to be still. Orm was unwilling to obey, and Gudmund, too, thought that this was asking too much. Then the Bishops cried across the water to their countrymen, addressing them sternly, so that at last they realized that the holy men were what they appeared to be, and not prisoners or pirates in disguise. So the ships were allowed to pass, and nothing came of the encounter, apart from smart exchanges of insults between the rival crews as the Vikings rowed past.
Orm stood with a spear in his hand, staring at the watch-ships, still white with wrath.
“I should have liked to teach them some manners,” he said to Brother Willibald, who was standing beside him, and who had not shown any evidence of fear when the fighting had seemed about to begin.
“He who lives by the sword shall perish by the sword,” replied the little priest. “Thus it is written in the holy book, where all wisdom is. How could you have come to King Harald’s daughter if you had fought with King Ethelred’s ships? But you are a man of violence, and will always remain one. And you will suffer sorely for it.”
Orm sighed and threw down his spear.
“When I have won her,” he said, “I shall be a man of peace.”
But the little priest shook his head sadly.
“Can the leopard change its spots?” he said. “Or the blue man his skin? Thus, too, is it written in the holy book. But thank God and the blessed Bishops that they have helped you now.”
Soon they rounded a curve in the river and saw London lying before them on the right bank. It was a sight that struck the Vikings speechless with wonder, for the town was so great that, from the river, they could not see its end, and the priests told them it had been calculated that more than thirty thousand men dwelt there. Many of the Vikings found it difficult to imagine what so many men could find to live on in such a crowded place, with no fields or cattle. But the wise ones among them knew and said that such town-dwellers were an evil and cunning race, who understood well how to earn a livelihood from honest countryfolk without themselves ever setting their hands to a plow or a flail. It was therefore, these wise men argued, a good thing for bold sailors to pay occasional visits to these people and relieve them of what they had stolen from other folk. So they all gazed spellbound at the town as they rowed slowly up against the tide, thinking that here indeed there must be riches worth the taking.
But Orm and Rapp the One-Eyed said that they had seen bigger cities, and that this was only a village compared with Córdoba.
So they rowed on toward the great bridge, which was built of huge tree trunks, and which was so high that the biggest ships could row under it, once they had lowered their masts. Many people rushed out to see them, including armed men, yelling at the tops of their voices about heathens and devils; but they broke into shouts of jubilation when they heard their Bishops cry resonantly to them that all was well and that peace had been concluded with the men from the sea. As the ships approached, people crowded on to the bridge to catch a glimpse of them at close quarters. When the crews caught sight of several fine young women among them, they shouted enthusiastically to them to make haste and come down, promising that they would find good prizes aboard, silver and merriment and bold men, as well as plenty of priests to pardon their sins in the best Christian manner. One or two of the young women giggled coyly and answered that they had a mind to do as the men bade them, but that it was a long way to jump; whereupon they were immediately grabbed by the hair by furious kinsfolk, who promised them the birch on their bare bodies for indulging in such lewd chatter with heathen men.
Brother Willibald shook his head sadly and said that young people were very difficult nowadays, even in Christian communities. And Rapp, too, standing at his steering-oar, shook his head as they passed beneath the bridge, and muttered sullenly that women were always full of useless chatter, wherever you found them.
“They ought to have kept their mouths shut,” he said, “and to have jumped at once, as they were told to do.”
They were now approaching Westminster and could see tall spires rising up behind the trees. The Bishops clothed themselves once more in all their finery; and the priests attending them began to chant an ancient hymn, which St. Columbanus had been wont to sing when baptizing heathens.
Lo! Here’s a host from darkness won
—Do not reject them, Lord!—
Who late in need and peril spun
Upon the sinful flood.
To the cross which the wide world o’er hath blazed
They lift their eyes, and Thy name is praised
By souls which late with the Devil grazed.
—Do not reject them, Lord!
Their voices rang sweetly over the water in the clear evening; and as soon as the men at the oars had grasped the rhythm of the hymn, they began to pull in time to it and voted it a fine chantey to row by.
As the singing ceased, they brought the ship to starboard and made her fast to one of the piers beneath the red walls of Westminster.
CHAPTER THREE
CONCERNING MARRIAGE AND BAPTISM, AND KING ETHELRED’S SILVER
KING ETHELRED THE REDELESS sat miserably in Westminster, surrounded by rede-givers, waiting to hear the outcome of his negotiations with the Northmen. He had gathered all his warriors together about him, partly to protect his own person in these dangerous times, and partly to keep an eye on the people of London, who had begun to murmur somewhat after the defeat at Maldon. He had his Archbishop with him to help and comfort him, but the latter could achieve little in that direction; and the King’s uneasiness had so increased since the envoys had departed that he had given up hunting entirely and had lost his desire for Masses and women. He spent most of his time swatting flies, at which occupation he was exceedingly skillful.
When, however, he heard that the envoys had returned, having concluded peace with the invaders, he emerged from his melancholy; and when they told him that the chieftains and their crews had come with the Bishops to be baptized, his excitement knew no bounds. He immediately ordered all the bells in the town to be rung, and commanded that the foreigners should be entertained sumptuously; but when he heard that there were two strong ships’ companies of them, he became uneasy again and could not make up his mind whether such tidings should be regarded as excellent or calamitous. He scratched his beard earnestly and consulted his priests, courtiers, and chamberlains on their opinions in the matter. Eventually it was decided that the Vikings should be permitted to encamp in some fields outside the town, but should not be allowed to enter it, and that the guards on the walls should be strengthened; also, that it should be proclaimed in all the churches that the heathens were flocking to London in their multitudes in search of baptism and spiritual education, so that all the people, when they heard this, might sing praise and thanksgiving to their God and King for causing such a miracle to occur. The very next morning, he added, so soon as he had had a few hours to rest and relax after the anxiety of the past fortnight, the envoys would be grante
d audience; and they might bring with them the chieftains who were to be baptized.
The Northmen proceeded to their camping-ground, and the King’s officers made haste to furnish them with everything that they might require, treating them like royal guests. Before long the air was filled with the crackling of huge fires and the lowing of cattle beneath the slaughter-knife, and there was much demand for white bread, fat cheese, honey, egg-cakes, fresh pork, and ale such as kings and bishops were wont to drink. Orm’s men were rowdier than Gudmund’s, and more exacting in their demands, for they reckoned that, as they were about to be baptized, they had a right to the best of everything.
Orm, however, had something other than the stomachs of his men uppermost in his thoughts, being anxious to visit another part of the town with Brother Willibald, whom he refused to let out of his sight. He was wretched with anxiety lest Ylva should have come to harm, and could still hardly believe that he would find her safe and sound, despite all Brother Willibald’s assurances. He felt certain that she had already promised herself to another, or that she had run away, or been carried off, or that the King, who was said to be much addicted to women, had noted her beauty and had taken her to be his concubine.
They passed through the city gate without hindrance, for the guards dared not oppose the entry of a foreigner accompanied by a priest, and Brother Willibald led the way to the great abbey, where Bishop Poppo was residing as the Abbot’s guest. He had just returned from evensong, and looked older and thinner than when Orm had last seen him at King Harald’s court, but his face lit up with pleasure when he saw Brother Willibald.
“God be praised that you have returned safely!” he said. “You have been away for a long time, and I had begun to fear lest misfortune might have overtaken you on your journey. There is much that I wish to learn from you. But who is this man whom you have brought with you?”
“We sat at the same table in King Harald’s hall,” said Orm, “the time you told the story about the King’s son who got hanged by his hair. But there were many others there besides me, and much has happened since that evening. I am called Orm Tostesson, and I have come to this land commanding my own ship under Thorkel the Tall. And I have come to this place this evening to be baptized and to fetch my woman.”
“He used to be a follower of Mohammed,” put in Brother Willibald eagerly, “but now he wishes to abandon his allegiance to the Devil. He is the man I made well after the last Christmas feast at King Harald’s the time they fought with swords in the dining-hall before the drunken kings. It was he and his comrade who threatened Brother Matthias with spears because he tried to instruct them in Christian doctrine. But now he wishes to be baptized.”
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!” exclaimed the Bishop in alarm. “Has this man served Mohammed?”
“He has been purged and sprinkled by the Bishop of London,” said the little priest soothingly, “who found no evil spirit left in him.”
“I have come to fetch Ylva, King Harald’s daughter,” said Orm impatiently. “She has been promised to me, both by herself and by King Harald.”
“Who is now dead,” said the little priest, “leaving the heathens to war among themselves in Denmark.”
“Holy Bishop,” said Orm, “I should dearly like to see her at once.”
“This matter cannot be settled so simply,” said the Bishop, and bade them seat themselves.
“He has come to London to be baptized, and all his crew with him, for her sake,” said Brother Willibald.
“And he has served Mohammed?” cried the Bishop. “This is indeed a mighty miracle. God still grants me moments of felicity, even though He has seen fit to condemn me to end my days in exile with all my life’s work ruined and set at naught.”
He bade his servant bring them ale and asked for tidings of recent events in Denmark and of all that had happened at Maldon.
Brother Willibald answered him at considerable length; and Orm, despite his impatience, assisted him with such details as he was able to provide; for the Bishop was a gentle and reverend man, and Orm could not find it in himself to refuse him the information he was so eager to obtain.
When they had told the Bishop everything they knew, he turned to Orm and said: “So now you have come to take from me my baptismal child, Ylva? It is no small ambition to seek the hand of a king’s daughter. But I have heard the girl express her feelings in the matter; and she is, God witness, a person who knows her own mind!”
He shook his head and smiled silently to himself.
“She is a charge to make an old man hasten toward his grave,” he continued, “and if you can rule her judgment, you are a wiser man than I am, or than good King Harald was. But the Lord our God moves along mysterious paths; and, once you have been baptized, I shall not stand in your way. Indeed, her marriage would lift a heavy burden from my old shoulders.”
“We have been parted for long enough, she and I,” said Orm. “Do not keep me from her any longer.”
The Bishop rubbed his nose uncertainly and remarked that such zeal was understandable in a young man, but that the hour was late, and that it might perhaps be more advisable to postpone the meeting until after the baptism. In the end, however, he allowed himself to be persuaded, summoned one of his deacons, and bade him rouse four men, go with them to the Lady Ermentrude, greet her from the Bishop, and beg her, despite the lateness of the hour, to permit them to bring King Harald’s daughter to him.
“I have done my best to keep her safe from the eyes of men,” he continued when the deacon had left them, “which was very necessary with a girl of her comeliness in such a place as this is, now that the King and his court and all his soldiers have taken up residence here. She is lodged with the blessed Queen Bertha’s nuns, hard by this abbey; and a troublesome guest she has proved to be, despite the fact that all the nuns treat her most affectionately. Twice she has tried to escape, because, so she said, the life wearied her; and on one occasion, not so long ago, she inflamed the lust of two young men of good family who had caught a glimpse of her in the nuns’ garden and had managed to exchange words with her over the wall. Such was the passion that she aroused in them that they climbed into the convent grounds early one morning, accompanied by their servants and henchmen, and fought a duel with swords among the nuns’ flowerbeds to decide which of them should have the right of wooing her. They fought so desperately that in the end they both had to be carried away, bleeding fearfully from their wounds, while she sat at her window laughing to see such sport. Conduct of this nature is unseemly in a convent, for it may infect the pious sisters’ souls and do them great harm. But I confess that her behavior seems to me to be the result of thoughtlessness rather than of evil intentions.”
“Did they both die?” asked Orm.
“No,” replied the Bishop. “They recovered, though their wounds were grave. I myself joined in the prayers for them. I was sick and weary at the time and felt it a heavy burden to have such a charge upon my hands. I admonished her severely and begged her to accept the hand of one or other of the men, seeing that they had fought so desperately for her sake and were both of noble birth. I told her that I should die easier in my mind if I could see her wedded first. But on hearing this she fell into a frenzy and declared that, since both the young men were still living, their duel could not have been very seriously fought, and that she would hear no more of their suits. She said she preferred the sort of man whose enemies needed no prayers or bandages after fighting. It was then that I heard her mention your name.”
The Bishop smiled benevolently at Orm and bade him not to neglect his ale.
“I had other troubles to contend with in this affair,” he continued, “for the Abbess, the pious Lady Ermentrude, had it in her mind to birch the girl on her bare skin for having incited these men to combat. But seeing that my poor godchild was only a guest in the convent, and a king’s daughter to boot, I succeeded in dissuading her from pursuing this extreme course. It was not an easy tas
k, for abbesses are, in general, unwilling to listen to counsel and have little confidence in the wisdom of men, even when they happen to be bishops. In the end, however, she mitigated her sentence to three days’ prayer and fasting, and I think it was probably fortunate that she did so. True it is that the pious Lady Ermentrude is a woman of adamant will and no mean strength of body, being broader in the loins than most of her sex; none the less, God alone can say with certainty which of their two skins would have smarted the more had she attempted to bring the birch to King Harald’s daughter. My poor godchild might have prevailed, and so have fallen even further from grace.”
“The first time she and I spoke together,” said Orm, “it was plain to me that she had never tasted the rod, though I doubted not that she had sometimes deserved it. As I saw more of her, though, the question ceased to trouble me; and I think I shall be able to manage her, even though she may occasionally prove obstinate.”
“The wise King Solomon,” said the Bishop, “observed that a beautiful woman who lacks discipline is like a sow with a gold ring in her snout. This may well be true, for King Solomon was knowledgeable on the subject of women; and sometimes, when her behavior has troubled me, I have been sadly reminded of his words. On the other hand, and it has often surprised me that this is so, I have never found it easy to feel angry toward her. I like to think that her conduct reflects no more than the frenzy and intemperance of youth; and it may be that, as you say, you will be able to curb her without resorting to chastisement, even when she is your wife.”
“There is a further point worth considering,” said Brother Willibald. “I have often observed that women tend to become more tractable after they have borne their first three or four children. Indeed, I have heard married men say that if God had not ordered it so, the state of wedlock would not be easy to endure.”
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