by Mark Coakley
Halfdan stared at her.
"Your mother must have been a Christian, just like me and my sisters. Do you believe that souls live after death, watching us here on earth?"
Halfdan said nothing.
Leoba said, "Do you think your mother is proud of what you've done?"
Halfdan said, "I don't believe she was Christian."
"You think I'm lying?"
Halfdan looked closely into Leoba's squinting grey eyes.
"No," grudgingly.
She said, "Most of Africa has been conquered by the Mohammedans, but —"
"'Mohammedans'?"
"Those are followers of a new heresy from the East."
"'Heresy'?"
"A false interpretation of our holy book. My point is that Nubia is still a strongly Christian land. One of the first evangelists to England was —"
"'Evangelist'?"
"A travelling priest who tries to convince people to change religions. One of the first ones to come to England, at around the same time as Saint Cuthbert, was an African man, Saint Hadrian. In pictures, he looks as dark as you, with the same curly hair. Many of our greatest Saints —"
"'Saints'?"
"Heroes of our religion. Many of our Saints have been from Africa. The idea that nuns and monks should live apart from the rest of society in religious communities, that idea started in Africa. And one of the five capitals of our Church is in Africa: an Egyptian city called Alexandria."
"What about this Christ? Was he African?"
"No. But His parents took Him to Egypt as a child, to hide from the Romans."
Halfdan said, "Tell me more about Nubia."
"I've already told you a lot. A lot of interesting facts. What else do you want to know?"
"Is Nubia a rich country?"
"Yes, very rich. There are gold-mines and the land is good for farming. Nubia gets a lot of salt from trade with the pagan barbarians who live south of Nubia, in a great burning desert."
"Who is the king of Nubia?"
"I don't know."
"Is it possible to sail there?"
"Yes. Nubia is many miles inland, but the Nile River can be sailed upstream to get there."
"Could you guide a ship there?"
Leoba shook her head and said, "I'm not a sailor. And even a sailor would need a map."
"And there are maps like that in England?"
"Yes, many."
Halfdan stood up, saying, "I may have to return to England some day, try to find one of those maps. Thanks."
Leoba yelped, "Wait!"
"What?"
"Was what I told you about Nubia interesting enough? Are you going to set me free?"
Halfdan said, "It was interesting enough that I've decided not to drown you in the sacred swamp." Halfdan pointed at the nun sitting beside Leoba. "I'll drown this one instead."
Leoba looked at the middle-aged nun beside her and wailed in horror, "No! Don't drown anybody!"
"I have to drown somebody, or the gods will be annoyed."
"Then drown me. Not Sister Wilthburga here, not anybody else. I won't save myself by another's unholy murder."
"You are brave."
"And you are a devil! All of you, stinking devils!"
Halfdan smiled. "I was just toying with you. Yes, what you taught me about Nubia was interesting, and I will set you free when we get to Norway. I don't break my vows."
"Will you drown any of my sisters?"
Halfdan said, "The gods can go hungry for once."
Leoba's rope-wrapped body slumped in relief, and a tear slid from one of her eyes.
Halfdan walked away, deep in thought.
Late that night on Wave-Jumper, only the look-out and a few captives were awake. And Venn. Venn lay on the wave-swaying deck, wrapped in blankets and a butter-smeared tarp, until an idea came to him. An idea that made him grin and tremble with excitement.
Now!
He stood up. Lying in blankets and tarps on the mid-deck around him, all the other fighters were asleep, except for the look-out at the bow. A few of the deck-sitting nuns were awake, but could not and would not interfere. The unsleeping English-women watched Venn rise, a spear in his hands, and start stepping over the sleeping fighters as he moved towards the rear-deck.
Halfdan and the steersman were sleeping by the pile of treasure; the steersman slept here to be near the steering-oar at the stern; Halfdan was here to protect the treasure from night sneak-theft.
Venn walked to Halfdan, looked in the light of moon and stars at the hated black face below him.
"For Torvald," Venn whispered. He pulled back his spear, screaming, "For Torvald!"
Halfdan's eyes popped open. Halfdan saw Venn standing over him.
Venn — as he had done in wet training back in Eid, and in the battle of the frozen river, and in the raid — stabbed his foe without hesitation. The spear-tip poked through the buttered tarp and the blankets, hitting Halfdan just over his belt-buckle and plunging deep into his guts.
"Die slow, you black troll! You murdering mud-face!"
Halfdan grunted from the deep, awful pain inside his body. His face twisted with hurt and shock, as he tried to free his arms from the wool blankets and greasy tarp.
Venn twisted the rusty spear-tip deeper into Halfdan's belly, feeling the soft, wet flesh inside rip and tear.
"Ha!"
Venn saw blood staining Halfdan's blankets.
Done!
Venn let go of the spear-handle, leaving it sticking up from Halfdan. Venn had to hurry, before the steersman could stand up and grab him. Venn stepped fast to the treasure-pile. With one hand, he grabbed the iron box he had filled with gems. With his other hand, Venn grabbed the heavy bag of gold items.
Venn carried the box and the bag of precious, outlandish treasure to the side of Wave-Jumper. He stepped up onto the edge of the bulwark (a wooden wall that kept waves off the deck). He balanced there — with the sea in front, a deck of fighters waking in confusion behind him — a box of priceless gems in one hand, a bag of priceless gold in the other — and he laughed.
"I'm free!" he crowed.
Before the lunging steersman could grab his legs, Venn jumped, yelping, "Free! I'm free!" and splashed into the bone-chilling water, tightly gripping the stolen treasure with both hands. He sank, trailing bubbles of laughter, down into the frigid depths of darker and darker water; sinking past jellyfish, eels, sharks and sea-monsters, towards a crab-crawling bottom; down and down, drowning with joy.
Chapter 28
A SAD HOMECOMING
The war-ships reached Norway's mountain-toothy coast and sailed north to Fjordane-fjord, which led them to Eid. The body of Halfdan — stretched on a plank, wrapped from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head in blankets — was carried by six glum raiders from the deck of Wave-Jumper and onto the docks, then borne into the rebuilt town. Folk gathered in the street by the docks to watch the arrival. The early-summer sun was bright that morning, the air nicely warm, and the arrival of the ships meant that many Fjordane-fighters (who had been away since mid-winter: crossing Nis glacier, fighting a battle, occupying Sogndal, raiding England) would soon see their wives, girlfriends, parents, children and extended families again. But there was little cheer among the returning raiders; their gloomy mood spread to the folk of Eid, when they learned of the tragic fates of Haki and Halfdan.
The temporary shelter that had housed Halfdan, Yngvild and Siv after the Great Fire of Eid had, in the spring, been replaced by a normal house. On a bronze hook beside the front door, a freshly-killed lamb hung by its neck, a gift for Freya; on the roof of the new house, the small sprouts of grass and wildflowers swayed in warm wind.
Yngvild and Siv were sitting on a sunny bench near the front door, weaving wool socks, when Yngvild saw the body-bearing procession on the street, approaching their house. The half-dozen fighters with sad, down-cast faces carried Halfdan's body into their yard, Yngvild staring in shock and horror at their cloth-wrapped load, a sick
feeling deep inside her.
Siv said, "What is happening, Yngvild?"
Yngvild said to her blind mother, "Halfdan is home," and started to weep.
"Dead?"
"He is wrapped in cloth, carried on a piece of wood," Yngvild sobbed.
"Oh, no."
Both women stood and waited.
When the body-bearers were close, Yngvild said, "Is he dead?"
One of the six men was the steersman of Wave-Jumper. He said, "Yes. I am very sorry. Halfdan was stabbed in the gut by a crazed traitor when we were sailing home."
"Who did it?"
The steersman said, "A nobody. The coward killed himself after the crime. His name is not worth mentioning."
Siv said, "Did Halfdan die immediately?"
One of the other fighters said, "No. I know medicine, and tried to heal him. He lived for four days and three nights, but the infection got worse and worse, and yesterday night he left us."
Yngvild said, "Yesterday night?" and dropped back down onto the bench, bawling into her hands.
The healer-fighter said, "I fed him onions right after the stabbing. Soon the hole in his belly smelled of onion, which told me that there was a hole in his stomach. Some of his gut-tubes had slipped out, so I stuck them back inside the hole as best I could, then I put a bandage on it and carved some magic runes on a bone amulet, which I placed in his hands. I spent most of the rest of the trip by his side, chanting the most powerful magic I knew, but his belly got more and more swollen. Three nights ago, Halfdan fell into a sleep that we could not wake him from, and he slept until yesterday night, when his heart-beat and his breathing stopped."
"Let me feel him," Siv said.
Yngvild was weeping violently and paid little attention as the men carried the body into the house and placed it on the bed that Siv and Yngvild shared.
The healer-fighter started peeling the blankets from Halfdan's head, saying, "When I saw that he was dead, naturally I wanted to plug his eyes and nose and mouth with wax, to stop evil spirits from crawling in — but we had no wax on board."
Siv's fingers stroked the slack, greyish skin of Halfdan's face. She put a finger on his black moustache. Then she touched his neck, gently squeezing.
Siv said, "It's a good thing that you did not have wax on board."
"Why?"
"Because it would have suffocated him. Fool! This man is not dead. How dare you call yourself a healer? I can definitely feel a pulse — a faint one, but still — and how could you not notice his shallow breathing? Fool! Yngvild! Get inside!"
Yngvild shuffled inside, wet-faced. She said, "What?"
"Your troll-faced boyfriend isn't dead. Quit blubbering and let's get to work. The rest of you, go away."
Yngvild stood staring at Halfdan, unable to believe her mother's words.
Five of the fighters, smiling, left to spread the good news.
But the embarrassed healer-man remained inside the house. He said, "I would like to stay. To help. And learn."
"What's your name, anyway?"
"Ole, son of Tryggve. Folk call me Ole the Healer."
"Ole the Incompetent would be better. Will you take orders from an old, blind woman?"
"Yes."
"Will you take orders from my daughter too? Without any complaints from male pride?"
"Yes."
"Then light the fire, Ole the Beginner-Student, and fill the biggest pot with water and get it to boil. Unless that is beyond your medical skills."
Blushing with shame, Ole said, "Thank you," and did as he was told.
Yngvild lay on the bed by Halfdan's body, frantically kissing and stroking his unmoving face. His face looked much paler than normal, and much thinner, as if most of his face-muscles had melted away.
Siv said, "Get up. Enough of that. Time for work. He might still die — you know most gut-piercings are fatal. Find a clean knife to cut off this corpse-cloth."
His scab-crusted belly was swollen to the size of a pregnant woman's. The spear had pierced just below his belly-button. The red-black scabs were cracked, and white pus oozed out from the hurt.
Siv sniffed at Halfdan's belly.
"There are disease-demons inside there," she said, "but not the worst kind. Not like those in Njal's leg."
The first step was to wash the hurt, and the stretched skin around it, with a cloth soaked in a brew made from the boiled leaves of a plant called wolf's-bane. Then, Ole was told to collect maggots.
"Maggots?" he said, with disgust. "Why?"
Siv said, "You're here to do what we say, not question us."
"Fine. But where am I supposed to collect maggots?"
Yngvild said, "Garbage dump. Bring a bowl. We need about a hundred. Go!"
Ole left, shaking his head.
He soon returned, holding the bowl as far from himself as he could, a queasy look on his face.
"Here they are," he said.
Siv said, "Now, clean them."
"Sweet Tor. How do you clean a maggot?"
Siv said, "Rinse them in water that's neither hot nor cold. Then get a cloth and wipe each one dry. Gently. Be careful not to hurt them; they're sensitive and delicate."
For a moment, Ole seemed ready to walk out. But, after a glance at Halfdan's body on the bed, he carried the bowl to the water-mug on the eating-table and did as he was told.
Siv dumped the scrubbed maggots — a wriggling, squirming mass of white worms — onto Halfdan's hugely-swollen belly. Covering the pale bugs with a sheet of boiled-clean cloth, Siv explained to Ole, "Maggots eat dead flesh, never living. They'll make their way into the cut, eating some of the nasty stuff in there, while leaving the healthy parts alone."
"Thank you," Ole said. He stepped out the front door and puked on the grass, then returned.
While the maggots were working, Ole was told to watch over Halfdan while Siv and Yngvild went for a walk, carrying a bucket, to the sacred swamp. They returned with the bucket full of moist grey stuff, put it by the bed.
"Mud?" Ole said.
Yngvild said, "Magic clay."
She often checked under the cloth and described to Siv the feasting maggots. It was mid-afternoon when Siv decided that the maggots had done enough. Yngvild brushed most of them off. Some of the maggots had squirmed into the spear-hole, only their tails sticking out. Yngvild pulled these worms out, one by one, with wooden tweezers.
Ole went outside again, his empty stomach heaving.
Guided by Siv's instructions, Yngvild again washed Halfdan's huge belly with the wolf's-bane brew. After sprinkling a powder of dried toad-warts onto him, she smeared a thick layer of the magic swamp-clay over Halfdan's hurt, then loosely covered the clay with boiled-clean bandages.
Ole said, "Shouldn't we do some chanting now?"
"You can chant as much as you want," Siv said, "as long as you keep working and don't distract us."
Ole stayed quiet.
Siv told him to close all the doors and windows of the house, sealing any cracks with stuffed rags. Then bring the water-pot back to a boil, after pouring in a large cup of vinegar.
Soon, acidic steam drifted up from the pot.
"We need to fill the house with steam," Siv told Ole. "Keep filling the pot with water and vinegar; keep feeding lots of wood to the fire. The vinegar-steam should help the healing. Hopefully, he will wake up soon."
Two days later, Halfdan's long eyelashes suddenly fluttered in the steamy air, one hand clenching in a fist. He groaned and opened his eyes.
Yngvild yelped, "He's awake! You're awake!"
Siv said, "Quick. Have him drink the potion."
Yngvild opened Halfdan's lips with a finger-tip, then poured liquid from a cup in his mouth: water brewed with honey (for energy) and the fungus of a birch-tree (a strong laxative) and wolf's-bane (to kill disease-demons).
Halfdan choked and coughed. But some of it went down his throat.
Yngvild said, "Can you hear me?"
He seemed to be looking at her, but she
could not tell if he recognized her.
"It's Yngvild. Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
She said, "Blink twice, fast, if you can hear me."
His eyelids twitched twice.
Yngvild laughed, clapping her hands with relief.
She said with a sly grin, "Blink three times if you still think I'm pretty and will love me with all of your heart, forever."
A pause, then three quick blinks.
Chapter 29
ELECTION
The mid-summer Assembly — when court cases would be decided by a public vote, and when a king would be elected to rule the newly-unified kingdom called "Sogn and Fjordane" — began early in the morning, with the law-speaker standing on the Law Rock to shout out, from memory, all the traditional laws of Fjordane (which now were Sogn's laws too). The Law Rock was just outside the Eid walls, near the field that had been used in the winter for war-training.
Litigants would stand on the flat-topped, grey Law Rock to shout their cases to the crowd and to call witnesses. At the end of each court-case, the law-speaker would call for the Assembly to vote. Votes were normally "ear-votes," with folk showing their support for one side or the other by yelling and clanging weapons onto shields. (Only if the ear-vote was very close would the law-speaker call for an "eye-vote," which was the counting of raised weapons.)
The case before Yngvild's involved two men who each claimed ownership of a fancy-looking set of carved and painted bed-posts. The man who now had them, Olli, claimed that he had got them as a gift. The man who'd made them, Joran, claimed that he had only loaned them to Olli. Each brought witnesses to attest to their honesty and good character.
After each of the litigants made their arguments and presented their witnesses, the law-speaker asked the crowd to make noise for Olli's position, then Joran's. The support was much louder for Joran than for Olli.
The law-speaker shouted, "The bed-posts were a loan, not a gift. Olli is to return them to Joran in seven days, or will be declared an outlaw. Next case: Yngvild of Starheim's plea for divorce."
Joran strutted from the Law Rock with a pleased grin, while Olli scowled at the crowd as he left.
Yngvild stepped onto the Law Rock.
"Go ahead," the law-speaker said, gesturing at the crowd and stepping to the rear of the big, flat-topped rock.