by Jason Born
One such morning I lay wrapped in my cloak on Serpent in a fjord near Gokstad when the ring-pin I received as a gift from Erik poked me in the neck. I rolled over to change its position and awoke facing my little trunk from Sweynsey sitting in the hold. Without moving I studied the Christian artwork again and remembered when I had no idea what the carvings meant. A monk had explained them to me at the time, but afterward I still looked at the stories as unknown, almost mysterious. By that morning in the fjord, however, I had heard many masses, heard the stories on the chest many times and they felt comfortable. That cool morning, the carving of the boy David carrying his sling looked at me and spoke. In a voice that reminded me of Fife, he told me to open the trunk. Looking back it was probably the ale from the night before speaking, it seemed real enough in the morning fog, however, so I slowly crawled to the box, pulled the key from beneath my jerkin, and unlocked the chest.
I set the trunk in front of me, sitting cross-legged still wrapped in my cloak. One of the crewmen snored loudly behind me, his lips flapping every time he exhaled. The contents of the trunk were as I expected. It was fuller than it had been when I first opened it in Dyflin with Fife and the smith looking on. Since then, I had added to my wealth, of course, and much of it I kept in the trunk. The wealth I didn’t keep in the trunk, I had buried beneath my home in Dyflin. I wondered if I would ever get back to retrieve it. I shrugged to myself. Even without it, I was rich with the contents of the trunk and my consistent income from the generous Olaf.
Loose hacksilver was scattered in a thick layer at the top covering other items. Hacksilver was a catch-all term used to describe the silver ingots or coins or pieces of jewelry or tableware we used as currency. I had accumulated much from raiding and working with Olaf and Leif before. Carefully, I lifted the bunches of silver and set them into the open lid. I didn’t want attention from the men that an open chest would bring so I tried to transfer the metal quietly. Several of the pieces made an extra-loud clanking noise which caused the snorer to stir. I just kicked him and told him to shut up. He rolled over and returned to his flapping snores. I looked at one brooch I had taken from a raid in Frankia several years earlier. It was unremarkable except that I realized it took me longer than normal to think of Freydis when I looked on the brooch. She haunted my thoughts less and less. Kenna sprung to mind more often and I frowned when I thought of not seeing her until after the long winter. I closed my eyes and tried to picture her as she looked the day we left for that was really the only time I had truly seen her. I remembered her deep brown eyes and hair, her delicate frame, her simple brown dress – or was the dress green that day? I decided I liked to imagine it as green and, therefore, it became green in my mind. I reached the point where she kissed my cheek, but this time she sat on my lap with her feet dangling to one side. This time, when her lips crept in for the kiss, I swooped in and stole a kiss on her lips. As the image faded, I opened my eyes and set the brooch into the lid.
My Thor’s hammer amulet was next, dangling from its silver chain. I picked it up and moved it without dwelling on it. My walrus tusk comb from Greenland came out. Some assorted chess pieces carved from ivory were next. I chuckled at one because it showed a warrior holding a teardrop-shaped shield and stout sword. He had no helmet on his head and gnawed on the top of the shield; he was a Berserker! While I never chewed on my shield and didn’t think I had any special favor given to me by Odin, I accepted the title with pride. Since the three of us were named Berserkers, Olaf had added a few more of his most trusted men, like Vikar and Ox-foot, to our ranks. I carefully set the chess pieces atop the hacksilver and regretted that I didn’t have the whole set. I never learned to play the game and if I had learned I don’t know who I would have played with, but they were impressive carvings and quite beautiful.
Silver and gold trinkets from Arwel, the original owner of the chest, still lay toward the bottom. There were several strings of jewelry which I pulled out next. Four of the strings held beads of colored glass with deep reds, blues, and greens. A fifth string held beads made from amber. The entire lot came from a wealthy jarl’s wife in Scotland. If I remembered correctly, Cnute was forced to kill the man when he wouldn’t tell us where his treasures were hidden. His wife was very forthcoming once the jarl was dead. She also fetched a fine price at the Dyflin auction yard and so was doubly profitable. I thought that I would give the beads as a gift to Kenna when we returned to Kaupangen.
The chest was empty now except for the heavy purse at the bottom which held the book. I hadn’t looked at the book since the very first day I opened the trunk in Dyflin and it occurred to me that because of my instruction from Crevan in the intervening time, perhaps I could read it if it was written in Latin. The leather purse was still cinched closed when I hefted it out of the trunk so I opened it to reveal the book, still in marvelous condition. I say marvelous because I found that I had a new appreciation for the object. It was summarily dismissed after the raid which brought it to me, but now I understood the work that had gone into making it. I thought of Kenna’s ideas of how the words and thoughts contained in the book could span kingdoms and time. The blunt book felt almost sharp and dangerous to me. A strange thought entered my mind that the book could be more powerful than my sword, but I quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
I held the tough leather book in one hand and ran the other hand across the three dimensional front cover. The face was brown leather with straight lines stamped in the form of a square. Inside the square was another stamp containing detailed carvings of leaves and branches. The branches wound around a set of animals such as monkeys, deer, lions, dragons, and even angels arrayed in two vertical columns near the center of the cover. The back cover was made of the same leather but only carried the plain square stamp. The covers and pages were bound together with leather thongs. The vellum pages themselves were attached to the thong with silk thread. Before even opening the cover I realized it was a masterpiece. I couldn’t imagine how such a thing had found its way into Sweynsey in the first place.
I carefully turned the cover open and revealed a calendar page for the month of January that listed each day with the saint’s feast associated with that day. The second page was February with its feasts and so on. I turned to the middle of the year before I realized that it was, in fact, written in Latin and I was reading it. Each page had artwork such as a leaf or tree curling around the words. Several pages contained colorful pictures of dogs. Others had drawings of the labors associated with that month. May showed a man following a plow through a field, turning the soil to receive seed which sprinkled magically from the sky above.
A second section of the book contained the four gospels of Christ: John, Luke, Matthew, and Mark. I recognized the first line of John that Crevan had taught me, “In principio erat Verbum.” “In the beginning was the Word.” It reminded me of how strange my new faith really was. There was no battle between the gods in the new faith. The One God didn’t need to lose an eye in order to receive the gift of poetry like Odin had done. “In the beginning was the Word,” said it all. This new God only had to speak and it was so. I wondered why we as his followers had to fight so hard to convert others if the God was so powerful. I’d have to ask Crevan next year.
I quickened my pace through the book now, flipping blocks of pages at a time. There were very long sections called the Hours of the Virgin and the Hours of the Cross which had prayer after prayer listed. Two special prayer sections followed called Obsecro Te and O Intemerata or I Beseech You and O Immaculate Virgin, respectively. Some Psalms followed and the last section was the Office of the Dead. I closed the back cover with a thump and sat staring into the receding mist. I decided that if I couldn’t be with Kenna for the coming winter, I would spend my time with the thing she loved best, the written word.
We didn’t leave Vik until the maples bloomed with their vivid yellow flowers. Olaf spent most of the winter drinking ale and sleeping late, so he did not perform any of the administrative func
tions he promised he would complete. Therefore, he spent the spring busying himself by setting up the most important positions of tax collector and sheriffs for the region. These functions were, in the main, taken by his family and friends. After he had me write one more letter to his friend Aethelred, our flotilla left for Kaupangen.
I prayed to the One True God that we would speed quickly to the capital city so that I could again see Kenna. The wind did carry us swiftly, but Olaf caused a delay of several days in Rogaland, my birthplace, to convert more of his subjects to the faith. I had no family that I knew of in the place, so no one came running to welcome me back; no one even recognized me. Nonetheless, I was pleased to find no need for bloodshed at this stop, as the people were agreeable to baptism. Of course, the choice Olaf gave them was to be baptized or to face his best men in battle. The farmers and shepherds wisely chose to be dipped into the cold sea. Each time he baptized people, Olaf became more and more certain of his own destiny to be king. I didn’t disagree with him. The seer had told us he would be a renowned king and cause many individuals to come to the faith. He was and he did. I thought the soothsayer must be wrong about Olaf’s relatively short reign.
At last we entered the Fjord at Agdenes and the men had to pull on their oars because there was no wind. The blades made their rhythmic dance as they dipped into the water, propelled us forward, rose and flew over the waves, only to dip again into the water. The comforting sound they made was soothing and within two hours we would be in Kaupangen.
I sat in the stern reading my book, next to Einar who ran the rudder. The men had many laughs at my expense because of all the time I spent with the book. Cnute, especially, thought it was all very funny. He said I should find a woman and run my hands over her the way I ran my hands in and out of the book. That comment brought so much laughter that it had become their favorite to repeat again and again. Since they were right for the most part, I laughed along with them. It was rare when a warrior could read, let alone be the owner and lover of a book.
That morning I looked up from my book long enough to see the mountain goats among the rocks as they were the day of our battle with Haakon. One of them stood staring at us as we glided deeper into the fjord, his mouth full of a tuft of grass. It had been two years since the battle. Were they the same goats or their offspring? People and their children were like the goats, I thought, repeating the same tasks day after day, year after year. For what? Survival was the most likely response. Followed by profit, I suppose.
As Serpent and her guardian ships rowed closer to Kaupangen, we passed two knarrs heading out of the fjord toward the sea. They looked to be full of merchandise for trading, their hulls stacked full with packs. The only goods I could think that Kaupangen would have to offer to the outside world at this point in its existence were furs from the wildlife that ran in the forests and mountains around the nascent town. As the men rowed we saw small fishing boats dotting the distant inlets. The goat-people were trying to accumulate enough fish to smoke in order to survive another bitter winter.
We drew closer to the town and I saw that it had grown in the intervening year. Smoke rose from countless fires where thralls or women toiled at their daily chores. With no wind, the smoke lingered above the town as a blanket. Fewer trees stood in the town, replaced by more houses. The wall at the end of the town was complete, secure, and formidable. A grim group of men patrolled the palisade with spears held pointing to the sky, protecting the city from an unknown enemy. They were bored, I was sure, but as it was the simplest method of preventing a surprise attack, someone would have to stand atop the embankment. More trees had been cleared from outside the gate too. Not only did the felled trees provide building material, but the blank spaces left behind were now fields of barley growing outside the wall. The fields gave the town sustenance and an improved field of vision for detecting enemies.
News travelled fast on our approach and we had a crowd welcoming us when we landed at the shoreline. There were only ten or so boats at the shore that day, none of them the Boar or Goat. The rest were trading or raiding – the way of the Viking. Those gathered gave Olaf a great cheer as he greeted them from the prow. He smiled widely at his subjects, giving them a wave, then jumped amongst them. Crevan, who had been dropped there last autumn by Brokk, the new commander of Charging Boar, was the first to extend a hand in welcome which Olaf took and shook joyously. Olaf put his big arm around Crevan’s shoulder and led him away, already deep in conversation.
I held the leather purse covering my book and stood on my toes to try to find Kenna among the villagers. I saw children running, men and women talking. Family greeted their returning fathers and husbands. I saw Thordis kissing Einar passionately. He carried his great bow and she carried a baby who looked to be four or five months old. Einar was a father. Finally I found Kenna; she was already gazing at me. She had placed herself next to a small grove of birch trees at the back of the crowd. Kenna looked like she was a part of the grove of thin trees. Their white bark was speckled with dark brown patches and her fair skin was covered by the deep brown hair which was pulled back with a cord. I weaved my way through the teeming mass and stood before her. She held her hands clasped in what I guessed was her typical demur, shy pose and now, rather than looking at me, she tilted her head down and looked at my feet. I lifted her chin with my hand so that I could see those muddy pools of her eyes and said, “You shouldn’t hide your beautiful face from anyone.” She smiled. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to me, picking her feet off the ground, then kissed her. Slowly, her hands crawled around to my broad back and she held me tightly. After several seconds the kiss ended and we held each other. Her head tilted to rest against my shoulder while her feet still dangled in the air. Finally, I set her back down and rose up to my full height to look at her. Kenna’s eyes remained closed from our kiss, her face softened by a delightful smile. She hummed almost imperceptibly. When I put my hand on her cheek she raised both hands to hold my tattooed forearm.
We stood that way for a time, neither of us willing to ruin the moment. I looked on her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her neck, the smooth portion of her chest showing above her dress. She looked at me, I think, with her mind. In her imagination, she made the world more beautiful than it was. Her head rocked slowly to some unheard music. I could take it no longer and said, “Te amo. Tu praeclara. Uxorem meam.”
Her face softened even more and her smile brightened even further. Without opening her eyes she answered, “Halldorr, Te amo. Esto vir.” And we kissed.
Our bliss was short lived, though. Within the hour, Olaf called a meeting with his commanders and the leaders of the community. We assembled in the great hall which the workmen had diligently added to since the first winter. Olaf and Crevan stood at the hearth where a small pile of embers glowed from the morning meal preparation. I recognized about thirty of the men in the hall that day. Another twenty or more were totally foreign to me and all of them wore the robes of priests or monks.
“Men,” Olaf began, “tomorrow I leave Kaupangen and this great hall on a mission of holy peace and union. My whole life has been battle and those battles have brought me the crown of Norway. For the last two years, we united the sea coasts of Norway under the One God with me as king. Sigrid of Sweden, who some call the Haughty, has swallowed that pride of hers and accepted the inevitable; she has agreed to meet to discuss a royal wedding. When she agrees to marry, we will bring together Sweden and Norway into a great nation. We will isolate Eirik Haakonsson and his brother Sveinn Haakonsson who try to whisper in the queen’s ear. We will dominate the Baltic and North Seas. We will have territory that extends from Greenland to Iceland to Dyflin to Kaupangen to Gotaland and beyond.” Those in attendance gave a round of applause while Olaf paused. Like a senile old man, Vigi, the dog, howled his late approval. I thought of Kenna and my own wedding, which would be delayed if I left with Olaf tomorrow. I thought of fate. The threads of destiny were spun by the Norns, three spirits who lived at the r
oots of the Yggdrasill tree which supported the entire earth. Crevan called it Providence or the will of God. I did not curse the fate they wove or God’s will, but instead accepted my destiny.
Crevan outlined his own plans when the applause died away, “While many of you were away converting the populace, these faithful men came to Kaupangen.” He waved his arm over toward where the priests and monks stood scattered in the crowd. “Olaf will send these men to lead churches and communities throughout Norway, to the very towns you baptized.” I remember thinking of Eirling on the Isle of Most with his missing fingers. He would not welcome a full time priest to his church, but the threat of retribution would likely keep the man in robes safe. One of the priests, I found out later, was named Thangbrand and he was to be sent to my old home, Iceland, to convert all the Norse living there.
I spent the rest of the day seeing that the provisions made their way on board Serpent and commanders from other ships did the same. Several of the ships from Olaf’s flotilla were released to trade for the summer, so we would travel with about twenty longboats. Norse hegemony on the sea meant we were safe; twenty would end up as too many. It was a meeting of peace to the Swedes and the only foreign shore we would pass on the way was that of our allies, the Danes.