by Jason Born
The hold of Serpent was lightly packed because our provisions were not in abundance after our first winter. The bread, salted meat, and smoked fish would last us on our travels until we could trade for more or simply take it. Olaf watched the men clamor aboard with great anticipation. The king was anxious to get moving. He was right in his speech at his coronation; he would be a warlord sea-king. Olaf was not much for administration; he was, rather, a man of action, and the inaction of winter made him ready to move. Einar, Cnute, and I would serve as part of the king’s personal bodyguard and form the core of his warriors on Serpent. The three of us stood next to Olaf, who didn’t seem to notice us.
The men who had families said their goodbyes at the shoreline. Some tussled the long hair of their young boys or stooped to kiss their daughter’s foreheads. They embraced their wives before climbing on their ships. One man had a tight hold of his woman’s backside as they kissed. This brought a soft moan from her mouth and she whispered something I could not hear into his ear. Another young man and young woman went one better, emerging from the bilberry bushes lining the forest, adjusting their tunics while grinning mischievously. Thordis, the voluptuous woman I watched sleeping one early morning, sprang up next to us, her full form looking beautiful. Einar put his arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side. She wrapped both arms around his massive chest but could not bring her hands together because of his size. I predicted she would be married by spring and was not proven wrong. Einar and Thordis were married by Crevan in a makeshift ceremony inside Olaf’s immense hall when the last snow was melting from the ground. Their passionate nights, and some mornings, under their covers on the platform along the wall made it difficult for me to concentrate on my studies at my little desk. I still lusted after Einar’s wife – another reason to welcome our journey.
Olaf finally sensed our presence and turned to us. His glance went straight to Thordis, as most men’s did. The king smiled at her and reached both arms out to her. She let go of her husband and stepped to Olaf who gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Einar you are a great warrior, but you don’t deserve such beauty. And she’s full of fire,” said Olaf with genuine envy. Thordis blushed at his compliment and pride made Einar stand a bit taller than his already extreme height. Olaf let her go back into her husband’s arms while saying, “It’s right that a man should find a good woman. Why else do we do all the killing and building but for the love of a woman.” His comments seemed to be directed at me and so I took the chance to look away from the group up toward the village. Kenna, Thordis’ sister, stood over my study table which had been set up nearby. My inkwell and a quill sat atop the desk. Kenna was sneaking a peek down at a piece of parchment. I didn’t know why the table was set up there. “Cnute take Vigi aboard Serpent. We leave shortly.”
“Yes lord,” Cnute said and walked off. He gave one whistle and the intelligent dog knew he was to follow the Berserker.
“Einar, you make sure you give this woman a proper goodbye. Maybe when we return in the fall you’ll find that a boy is on the way,” advised the king. “You’ve got a few more minutes.”
Both Einar and Thordis answered simultaneously, “Yes lord,” while walking toward the previously occupied bilberry bushes.
That left me standing there with the king, my adopted father. When the two lovers were out of earshot Olaf said, “Look at them. Halldorr, a man should have a good woman. It’s not right for us to be alone.” He paused and I thought, oh Thor, or oh God. I hoped that Olaf didn’t have someone picked out for me. The seer on Scilly told me I would find love again, but I wanted to find it myself. For once I was not willing to let fate dictate. “Geira was my love. She was a good woman, kind and beautiful. I have never felt anything so perfect as that in all my life. After her death I didn’t know what else to do so I went off to war and have been battling ever since. Gytha was a brilliant woman, also a good woman. Her death brought sadness, but not the kind from Geira’s. I was content to follow your lead of being a single warrior able to leave and kill and profit without warning, but now I am king. I need a queen. Walk with me.” He led me up toward the table where Kenna still stood. He watched his boots as we walked and kicked a pebble up ahead of us. Kenna saw our approach and stepped away from her king to give him space and his conversation privacy. “I doubt I’ll find love again. Certainly, not love like I had with Geira. I need to think strategically about my marriage. I need to marry for Norway, for alliances, for wealth, for an heir.” I didn’t think this was what a king told his bodyguard, but maybe it was what a king told his adopted son.
We reached the table with its inkwell full and quill set next to a blank parchment. What had Kenna been looking at? There was nothing here. Olaf indicated that I should sit down on the log next to my desk. I did so and awaited further instruction while Olaf looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He was typically the type of man who was always of good cheer, friendly and comfortable in his own skin. Now he fiddled with a heavy-laden, small sack that was slung from a cord across his chest around his shoulder. I had never seen it before and wondered what it contained. Finally he said, “I need you to write a letter for me to the Queen of Sweden. Her name is Sigrid.” I knew the name of the Queen of Sweden. People called her Sigrid the Haughty because she was renowned for her disdainful pride.
This would be my first official letter and I was not confident enough to write it to a queen so I carefully said, “Lord, Crevan is still in the fjord. Shall I fetch him so that the letter is proper?”
Olaf swore under his breath and said, “He doesn’t approve. I’ve already talked to him about this. You’ll write it.” Crevan had gotten out of the task.
So I slid my sleeves up to my elbows so as not to smear any ink and picked up the quill. I said, “Please speak slowly and I’ll do my best to translate to Latin and get it down.”
“Oh, no, no, no. You write it in whatever words you think are best.”
I knew it best not to protest too much, therefore I simply said, “Lord, do you have a general idea of what you would like to say in the letter?”
He pulled the cord holding the sack over his head and, with a loud thud, plunked it on the table next to the parchment. “Of course, I seek her as my wife. I’d like you to inquire whether or not she would be interested in betrothal. When you are done with the letter, include that as a gift,” he said indicating whatever was inside the bag. “Send it with Einar’s old ship, Shining Sword; it’s going to Sweden to trade. The men aboard are expecting it and know where to deliver it.”
He turned and started back to the Serpent. I sat confounded for a moment. The King of Norway wanted me, a man who had been writing in Latin for two or three months, to pen a letter of marriage proposal to the Queen of Sweden. “Lord,” I said to Olaf as he walked. “Lord, what shall I seal the letter with?” From Crevan I knew that official documents should have a royal seal imprinted in the wax to keep it closed and verify the document’s authenticity.
Olaf gave me an exasperated look and said, “I think I’ve seen them use wax to seal letters.”
“Yes lord. I will use wax, but what imprint would you like me to place into the hot wax?”
Without thinking he answered, “I don’t know. You figure it out.” And he again turned to the shore. The sea-king marched up to some men and was once more at ease telling jokes. He soon pulled out his sword and used the swords of two other men to put on a show juggling the blades. I sighed heavily and thought I would have to talk to the older, more experienced Crevan in the fall about getting some type of official seal made for Olaf.
Before I began writing I set the quill down and peeked into the bag. Inside was a great ring of solid gold we had stolen from the front door of the temple at Ladir some years earlier. Its worth was unquestionable, but even my negligible knowledge of women made me wonder if it would impress Sigrid the Haughty. I carefully tucked the bag closed again and picked up the quill only to stare at the blank page. I didn’t know where or how to start.
I had never written a letter. How did you address a queen?
“King Olaf of Norway to Queen Sigrid of Sweden, a most honorable and noble ruler,” said a light, airy voice several feet away. I turned and saw no one around except Thordis’ sister, Kenna, who stood quietly looking at me. My confusion prompted her to speak again, “That’s how you should start the letter.” She stood with her thin, fine hands gently clasped together at her front and looked small. She had narrow shoulders and narrow hips. Everything about her seemed delicate, breakable. She looked at me and said no more. Instead she waited patiently for me to decide what to do next.
“You know how to write letters?” was all I could think to ask.
“Yes,” was her quiet, simple, yet confident answer.
“Someone told me you can speak other languages, do you know Latin?”
“Yes.”
Excellent, I thought. “Are you willing to help me? I have to get this finished so we can leave on Serpent shortly.”
“Yes.” I had seen the doctor pull five badly decayed teeth from a man over the winter. That task appeared easier than coaxing conversation from Kenna. But I would need the assistance so I said, “Come sit by me then.” She gave me a thin, pleasant grin and floated over with graceful, noiseless steps, her hands still held together at her waist. Her added weight on the log was imperceptible.
“Show me,” I said. This turned out to be a magical phrase for her. She became energetic and engaged, though still with a gentle nature. Her hand left her lap and she pointed to a spot on the parchment about one inch from the top and one inch from the left.
“You should start the letter here. Make the script of the first line elegant and larger than the rest.” I dipped the quill into the iron gall ink and placed the pen where she indicated and slowly wrote,
Olaf Rex Noruagiæ Sigrid reginae Sueciae a clarissimo principe nobilis
As I carefully scratched the page Kenna softly said, “Good,” once or twice like my teacher Crevan had done, though her voice was much more pleasing than the scrape of his old Irish accent.
We worked that way for many minutes, Kenna giving me ideas on what to write and helping with the translation to Latin. When we were halfway finished with the letter I asked her, “What were you staring at on the table when Olaf and I walked up?” She tilted her head down in a demure manner, looking at her hands once more sitting in her lap. I had embarrassed her, but didn’t know how I had done it. The way she carried herself with quiet elegance ensnared me and I found myself saying in a quiet voice, “I am sorry if I upset you. It was not my intent.”
She looked up into my eyes and I noticed hers for the first time. They were deep brown, and seemed to stretch deep into her, revealing her soul. It was almost as if she were naked before me, so much of her self was bared. “The parchment,” she said.
I momentarily forgot my original question, then regained my composure. “What about the parchment?” I finally asked.
“I was looking at it thinking about how amazing it is. Many of our people who see the page see just it as a pale flat object. But I think those of us who write see more. I see the sheep from which it came. I see the woman who dipped the shorn skin into the lime mixture and then stretched it on a frame. She carefully scraped it with her rounded knife. I see how she sanded it smooth and even with pumice.” She was still reserved, yet animated as she spoke. I noticed her really for the first time; my perception of her shifted. Kenna was living in the wrong place in the wrong time. Her mind belonged in Rome one thousand years earlier, discussing issues of grand importance with great thinkers. “Then the parchment comes to writers like you and me.” I thought she was wrong, I was no writer. Olaf and Crevan made me do this. I was not like the Christian monks and their ink-stained hands. Then I looked down and saw my ink-stained hands. “We write, we create words, thoughts, ideas. We write. We place them on the page and they travel. The page becomes a great longboat, taking the writer’s ideas wherever it sails. The possibilities are endless. Our thoughts can reach someone as far away as Rome or Kiev or farther to the Moors. Our thoughts on the page have the possibility of outliving us and speaking to others who come years after us.” Kenna paused a beat and then looked down at her lap again, “That’s what I was thinking about while I looked at the parchment earlier.”
I didn’t want her to stop so I asked her, “What about what we write here today?”
She smiled as a flicker of wind caused a loose bit of deep brown hair to wave and curl around her face. Kenna looked into my eyes again and I thanked God. She said, “Olaf wants us to write a letter proposing a union between two great leaders. We’ll do that and more. If we use the right words and tone, it could help a marriage to become a strong bond between the two kingdoms that endures well past their lives. Wars could be averted between our peoples. But what I am most interested in is that Olaf could once again find love. Men need women to soften them and love them. They don’t need women as they need a thrall. Men and women need companionship for passion and knowledge and conversation. Halldorr, what if your letter helps Olaf and Sigrid fall in love, not just fall into an alliance?” I looked at her and I was stunned. Her intelligence, her carriage was like refined gold. She was beautiful and she was right; my letter could help Olaf, my father, find a love like Geira again. He would be happy. So we wrote.
When we finished, both sets of hands had ink stains. I set the quill down and looked at the page, rereading the letter while Kenna did the same. Hours seemed to have passed, but it was only several minutes since she first spoke to me. More practiced, she finished first and waited patiently while I slowly finished reading the letter. When we were done, Kenna showed me how to fold it. Before I had a chance to ask her about sealing it, she told me to wait a moment and sprang up with spritely energy and floated off to the hall. She came back quickly, protecting the flame of a lit candle from the breeze. In the same hand in which she carried the candle, she carried a small chain of some sort with a round object about one inch in diameter swaying on the chain as she walked. In one fluid motion she pressed the folded parchment together tightly and dribbled the hot, red wax onto the seam. Kenna then set the candle down and with her slender fingers pushed the small round object dangling from the chain face down into the wax.
And as quickly as she appeared she was gone. When the seal was done she lifted the chained medallion from the letter and set it over my head about my neck. She said, “The king’s scribe will need to carry these items,” and placed the candle in my hand. Kenna kissed my cheek and it felt like a whisper of air had brushed my skin. She smiled again and skipped away.
By the time I carried the letter to Shining Sword, Einar’s old ship, and lugged the table to Serpent, Olaf and the men were growing impatient to leave. I handed the table up to Cnute who carried it to the hold and Olaf grabbed my hand to help me on board. Thordis stood on the shore waving as we moved away from Kaupangen. Einar looked back with love and lust in his eyes. Olaf looked at the chain around my neck and asked, “What’s that?”
I looked down at it for the first time and held the medallion in one hand. It was made of gold and carried an intricate Christian cross on it with the Latin phrase, “May fides rector vos,” wrapped around the edges. I laughed to myself and said, “It’s your royal seal.” Then I thought that the soothsayer of Scilly was right, I had found love again. I was happy.
We would sail south for the summer to Vik, Olaf’s homeland. It had been years since he had seen his relatives and like most people was eager to return home success-laden. However, the first stop for our fleet of twenty-five ships was the Isle of Most where Olaf had seen to it that a mass was held on his way to seize the crown last year. Olaf wished to see the church, the first church in all of Norway, the men of the island built.
We struck the shoreline and Olaf jumped out of Serpent. He wore a new shirt of mail so it glinted as he walked. Much of it was covered by his old, battle-worn tunic with the serpent emblazoned on the front. He did not wear his crown. In
fact, I had not seen the crown since his coronation on the earthen embankment last autumn. Olaf strode with purpose toward the village elders who had come to greet their king. His three Berserkers and Vigi followed closely behind while the rest of the men either stayed on their ships or loitered about the shore.
The three men were thin for the most part, no doubt a symptom of eking out a living on the windswept island. One was of about Olaf’s age but with more white speckling his beard and hair. He smiled at the king, revealing several substantial gaps in his crooked teeth. The other two were considerably older. One had coarse grey and white hair which he did his best to control with the comb that stuck out of a pocket and a strip of cowhide tied about his hair at the nape of his neck. The other had very fair hair that was intermixed with white so that it was difficult to tell the two shades apart. He would have been a handsome man in his youth with his strong face and broad shoulders. The handsome one held a makeshift gift for Olaf’s arrival that must have been assembled in the last five minutes when they saw us coming. The gift was held out on an oblong wooden plate and consisted of a metal drinking cup filled to the brim with ale and two small loaves of bread from the elders’ morning meal. Olaf gratefully snatched up the bread and tore off a mouthful. While chewing he said, “Skialgr the Fair, I remember you from my last visit and it seems you’ve gotten more handsome.” Then with much sincerity he added, “Thank you for your generosity this morning. If I were a little more like our savior I could feed my entire fleet with this breakfast.” The elders looked back and forth at each other not getting the Biblical reference which Olaf didn’t care to explain.