The Norseman

by Jason Born

  Her past and travels were interesting. She was born of Swedish royal parents in Kiev and spent much of her youth there. When the king of Sweden asked for her hand in marriage, she agreed. That was ten years earlier, but the older king became ill about five years ago and died shortly thereafter. She was now a single woman and queen of Sweden.

  The conversation was so easy, so relaxed that when we stood after the humble meal, it seemed all but certain that a wedding would occur in the coming days. Olaf pulled the gloves from his belt and slapped them into one of his hands and then he spoke, “I think it best if we send someone to fetch Crevan. He didn’t endorse our union which is why he lingers at the boats with the dog, but he’s my priest and he can see that you are properly baptized into the true faith before we wed.”

  At first Sigrid chortled coyly and said, “Olaf, I had heard you left the old gods because of some marvelous fortune teller. But you must know I’ll not leave them behind. We shouldn’t take this new faith too seriously.”

  Olaf bristled somewhat and said, “Well Sigrid, you are haughty indeed. I will not marry a woman who is not right with the One True God! My destiny is to convert kingdoms to the True Faith! I can’t do that with a heathen in my bed!” It took a second for the interpreter to catch up. When he did Sigrid fumed.

  “Depart from my faith I have held for thirty years? I should depart from a faith my kindred have held for generations before me? I will never!” Then she regained some composure, and perhaps her senses, and calmly said, “But Olaf, as a wife I won’t count it against you to believe in whatever god seems best in your mind.” Good, I thought, they were going to be able to work this out.

  But Olaf would have none of her rationality. I had seen him angry before and this was one of those times. His face reddened beneath his whitening beard. His nostrils flared like the courser I rode on that morning. He spat words out as if they were mucus-laden saliva, each one dripped with venom and came out like a condemnation on its own, “Heathen! Heathen as a dog are you! Why should I ever wed you?” Then he ended any hopes we would have of salvaging the tryst. Olaf smote her face with a back-handed blow from the leather gloves he held.

  Truls put a hand on his sword and had it half drawn when Sigrid stopped him still holding the quickly reddening cheek with one hand. She straightened to gain as much height as she could muster and responded to his affront, “Take your new horses and ride to your boats. Row them away for you are never again welcome in my kingdom.” She breathed heavily through her broad nose and added, “Olaf, this will be your undoing.” Sigrid turned on her heals with both Truls and the interpreter following in her wake. The four of us stood in silence in the great hall.

  I quietly said to Olaf, “King, we should make haste back to the ships. We are far from our army and Sigrid could change her mind quickly about letting us go.”

  Olaf carefully slid the riding gloves onto his hands and agreed. He led us outside where the thralls had watered and brushed the horses. We climbed into our new saddles and rode down the hill with our heads held high, lacking our escort. But when we were further out in the valley from the residence, we kicked the bellies of our horses and galloped off to the boats. We completed the two hour ride in under an hour, loaded the sweating horses while hastening the drunk Swedes off the ships, and pulled hard on the oars out to sea.

  At least we left with four fine horses and their tackle as plunder.

  CHAPTER 9

  My wedding day arrived. After running from Sigrid with our tails tucked between our legs, we spent the summer in Vik once again. Occasional forrays for baptisms or conversions went on as they had last year. This time, however, we had less killing to do. I say less for there were some who wanted to cling to the old gods and Olaf decreed they must perish. Olaf’s reputation for religious fervor had spread far and wide and always arrived at a village before his ships. The common peasantry wanted no fight and so gratefully accepted the True God with a wash in the river. But we came back to Kaupangen in the fall, just two weeks ago, and my wedding day was today.

  The day of my arrival from Vik I went to Kenna’s father, Meili, and paid him the mundr. This was also called the bride-price. It was a small amount of money to prove to her family and to the community that I could support a wife. The accepted minimum in Norway at the time was twelve ounces of silver, which I gladly doubled. Meili in his weather-worn skin was sullen when I gave him the one and one-half pounds of silver for Kenna. He hastily put it into his drawstring purse, nonetheless. We then opened negotiations for the rest of the wealth exchange common at the time. This part of the discussion was of great interest to Auda, Kenna’s mother, because part of the conversation would cover the morgengifu, or morning gift. The morning following our wedding I would give a permanent gift outright to Kenna. This would be rather large, especially for someone who was in the upperclass, like me. It ensured that Kenna would be provided for during her life and served as a sort of payment for her availability to me sexually which was why it was customary to pay it on the day after the wedding. Since I was not really a landowner, I agreed to gift fine clothes, many livestock, and two thralls. I would have to buy the thralls especially for her since I had none.

  The last sum that was to be negotiated was the heiman fyglia, which has become known as the dowry. I would have accepted Kenna as a wife without a heiman fyglia, but it was her portion of the inheritance from her father, so she, and therefore we, would get it. Meili was rich from fighting for Olaf for many years and offerred what was a too small amount when I considered he had only two children, both of them daughters. I argued back that the amount should be more, not out of greed, but rather based upon Kenna’s value as a daughter and wife. I found a quick ally in Auda, who was vocal in her support of a higher price. Meili tired rapidly from all the talk and we agreed on a sum of twenty pounds of silver. That was equivalent to the gift of almost five hundred finished hogs and was very generous. We shook hands, agreed to the date for the wedding, then went outside his home and called six of the neighboring men to listen to all the terms of our agreement as witnesses.

  A woman from our fast-growing city of Kaupangen made me a new set of clothes to wear for the wedding. My trousers were linen dyed blue, which had grown to be my favorite color. They fit loosely, but followed the contour of my leg closer than the old style of baggy trousers which had fallen out of favor among the upperclasses. My new tunic was the green color of a summer forest. The sleeves reached to my wrists and the tunic hung to just above my knees. The seamstress had added a patterned ring of blue, yellow, and brown at the end of each of the sleeves. The same pattern wrapped around the neck as well as the base of the tunic. I thought the forest green shirt set against my blue trousers was striking. I purchased a shorter, lighter mail shirt to lay over top my tunic since I was a soldier. The sleeves of the mail shirt were short and it did not hang as low as the tunic. My belt was strapped at my waist, carrying the scabbard and my finest sword, the one given to me by Olaf. Over top all of it, I wore a handsome brown cloak held at my right shoulder by Erik’s ring-pin. Several silver arm-rings accented the top, while new leather boots with expensive buckles at the side rather than the typical leather tied thong carried me to the ceremony.

  I had never seen a proper Christian wedding ceremony so mine would be the first. Any marriages I had a chance to attend, even Einar’s most recently, I avoided because of my distaste for love after Freydis’s dismissal of me. Kenna changed that view. Out of familiarity from my youth, I would have been more comfortable with the old rituals, but Kenna had served in a nunnery and Olaf insisted on the new faith, so I complied. Three of the old rituals snuck into our wedding and I was satisfied at the modest success. We were being married on a Friday which was an honor to Friggas, the old goddess of beauty and marriage. Crevan, who would lead the service, did not even know of the connection with a Friday marriage and was, therefore, more willing to allow the the second old ritual of the sword exchange which I’ll describe later, and the third old
ritual of an out-of-doors ceremony.

  Einar, Cnute, and I marched our way through the city toward the grove of birch trees where the ceremony would be held. It was late autumn and despite the occasional chill, today’s sun was warm. The trees provided shade for our guests and offerred places for them to sit or lean if Crevan became long-winded. While we walked I thought of when Leif, Cnute, and I hiked to the Thing in Greenland. Thankfully, Cnute was not vomitting by the road on my wedding day as he did then. Einar played the role of Leif, but without any foreboding doom like the day the skraelings attacked. I had a sudden jolt of an ominous feeling, but it instantly dissipated when Einar made a comment about the taste of Thordis’s milk and whether or not Kenna’s would be similar. I punched him in the back and he simulated great pain. It was satisfying to have good friends with whom to laugh, to share, to enter battle, and to drink. Einar and Cnute were those men. Leif once was, but he had chosen a domesticated life on Sudreyjar.

  There was yet some green to the leaves on the trees and they rattled and rustled in the autumn breeze. The branches of the birch grove split the sunlight into long spears that penetrated to the forest floor in a haphazard manner. Most of the guests were already present and a din of conversation and laughter carried throughout the woods. Meili and Auda were at the fringes of the crowd to greet me. Olaf was there too and looked like a proud father, my proud father. He wore his crown for the first time since the coronation. I smiled when I saw that his mail was shabby, as usual, and outshone by my own. Meili stepped forward, making a show of giving me a pristine bag filled with the silver for the heiman fyglia. I opened it and peaked inside, bobbed it up and down once or twice to test its weight, and then held it aloft as a sign of my approval. This was all part of the ritual and to protect us both so that witnesses could attest that the dowry was paid. I brought the bundle back down and was careful to hand it to Einar so that Cnute didn’t have any temptation to gamble away the hacksilver.

  When this was done, the crowd obediently separated to make way for Kenna’s parents to advance to the front. They held hands and bowed occasionally to friends in the gathering. Auda chatted in happy nervousness at all the attention while Meili remained stoic. Olaf followed them, taking a long time to walk down the transitory path because he greeted nearly everyone along the way. He slapped backs and shook hands. Vigi slowly made his own way next to his master’s right hand. Einar and Cnute served as my witnesses and walked ahead of me down to the front of the crowd.

  Then I began my walk. I tried to sneak a look to the front where Kenna had to be standing, but guests and participants blocked my view. I walked with a happy expression, I think, though I am not certain because it seemed as if the scene wasn’t real. I don’t remember greeting anyone like Olaf did or waving to friends. I peered ahead looking for my betrothed. Crevan was there. Even he had seen to it that he wore his best robes. They were white and green and looked like he had laundered them just this morning because they still appeared wet at the seams. His white hair and short white beard were neatly combed and he held a book in both hands at his waist. Vidarr, a young man of about fifteen years, was a distant cousin of Kenna on her father’s side. He stood nearby Crevan holding Meili’s sword across both hands.

  And then I walked the last few steps to Crevan and saw Kenna approaching from my left. Her normal small, thin smile was replaced by a wide one that seemed to occupy her entire face. She wore her long dark brown hair down and it was outspread on her shoulders. I felt a tinge of guilt as I thought her hair had a sheen like that of a brushed horse, but I could think of no other way to describe it. On her head, my bride wore a crown of sorts. It was made of woven wildflowers that included purple heather. I thought it was late in the season for the flower, but didn’t really care how she found it. Kenna’s eyes were fixed on me. She hugged her mother and still didn’t take those huge brown orbs from me. They and she were beautiful. She wore the glass beads from Scotland I gave to her over top of a green tunic. The green tunic had yellow piping along the each of the edges and was held on by simple silver brooches. Her dress was a simple soft red and covered her down to her ankles.

  In our old rituals we would have killed a goat for Thor, a sow for Freyja, and a boar for Freyr at this point in the service; instead we approached one another and, without touching, turned to face Crevan. Kenna and I both kneeled before the priest as he had instructed us beforehand. The old priest raised his hands to quiet the crowd and said a few words in Norse, “God loves weddings. And I do too, though I will never know the joy of one for myself,” this brought a small chuckle from the crowd. “I love them because they give me a chance to share and to show God’s love for us all. It gives me a chance to read to you the wedding service. Now I will conduct the service in Latin, but before you groan under your collective breaths, remember that Latin is the language of our beloved pope and the language of God. I am old and foolish, but not so foolish as to think you will all understand what I say next. I only say to you that the bride and the groom today are the perfect couple to interpret the words for you. They may be the only couple I have married in the past ten years who will actually understand what I say.” This planned line also brought Crevan some laughs from the assemblage including from Kenna and me. He then read the service. I did understand his words and it seemed like he just read and read and read. After a time I bit my tongue and closed my eyes to contain a slew of giggles that welled up inside me. They were contagious and Kenna silently shook next to me. Crevan continued his reading during our laughing fit, but showed his displeasure by stepping on my hand with his foot. This only made the scene funnier and I shook with more vigor.

  Eventually he was done reading and indicated that we were to stand. It was my turn to act so I drew my sword and held it with the blade pointing to the ground. Normally I would use the finest ancestral blade I had, but I had inherited nothing from my father except for the saex. I substituted the fine sword Olaf, my third father, had given me at the coronation. The bride would accept the ancestral blade with the intention of giving it to our son someday. Einar passed a gold ring to me. The ring was made by a fine metalworker in Kaupangen and consisted of a thin cord of gold that would wind around Kenna’s finger twice. At the end of the last loop usually sat a miniature Thor’s hammer, but we asked that a cross sit there instead. These rings were called oath-rings. I faced Kenna and placed the ring upon the hilt of my sword and, holding the blade gently in both hands bowed and held the hilt toward Kenna. She used her thin hands to lift the ring and place it on her finger. Then Kenna grasped the hilt of the sword and held it, careful not to move it and slice my fingers off.

  When my hands were safely at my sides, Kenna turned and traded my sword with her father’s blade held by her cousin, Vidarr. She retrieved a ring and repeated the gesture I had just completed. I placed the ring on my finger and grasped the sword. The symbolism here represented the transfer of guardianship and protection of Kenna from Meili to me. I slid the sword into my scabbard and we both faced Crevan. In an anticlimactic finish, he simply announced, “Halldorr and Kenna are now man and wife under the laws of God.” The crowd was clearly surprised by his brevity as well, waiting a second before erupting in applause and shouts.

  I was thirty-one years old and I was finally married.

  Kenna and I spent most of the next month secluded in our bed. Olaf supplied us with enough mead, which was fermented honey, for a month and so we spent our first month together on the honey moon. We made love. I had never made love before, I realized. I had humped Freydis and that was a delight, but with Kenna’s fragile body next to my own, I was made fragile too. Fate put a frail woman in my life as my wife, even though I once thought I wanted the succulent curves of Freydis. The first time Kenna and I joined, I was afraid I would hurt her, such was our size difference. But I did not. I lay on my side on one elbow; my other hand caressed her face. We looked into each other’s eyes and it was like she studied my thoughts. She must have discerned them because she raised her he
ad and we kissed. Slowly, slowly we moved under our linen covers as her hand rubbed my back. I moved my body over hers and we made love. I had to fight every impulse in my body to not attack her, ravage her. That night, and over our month, she taught me patience and gentleness. We made love in the morning, or in the middle of the day, or well after the sun fell from the sky.

  We would laugh together, too. She especially liked the stories of all my travels and the unexpected adventures that befell me. We would lie naked in our bed and talk or laugh. I was never bored, not once. We talked about languages. We practiced those languages and my Latin improved rapidly. My Swedish improved. I even learned some phrases in her mother’s tongue, Gaelic. We talked about travel and books. I wanted desperately to get more books, but they were rare, indeed. We talked about my father, all three of my fathers. One morning, after a breakfast of eggs and mead and a brunch of love making, we lay talking about Olaf. I shared my story of Olaf’s encounter with Sigrid of Sweden and my concern that our king was not winning allies. He had insulted Sigrid and tempted his ally, Sweyn Forkbeard, to battle by reclaiming lands for Norway.