by C. R. May
Thunor, the god of Thunder was sat to Frey’s left on a massive chair. Held before him was his hammer Mjollnir, Crusher, which he hurled about the sky causing the crash of thunder and the flash of lightning. With it he slew the giants which would otherwise plague the world of men. It was the same hammer under which Astrid and Eofer had been wed, the same hammer which would be held above their children when they were born. It was the same hammer under which he hoped to marry Halldis.
In front of the gods stood the altar on which lay the sacred ring of the Swedes. Unlike the Geatish ring Beowulf was surprised to see that it was an unspectacular arm ring made of what looked like iron. Two godi appeared and began to remove Ongentheow’s clothing. In moments he was naked save for the magnificent grim helm. A huge Auroch drinking horn was brought forward and they watched as Ongentheow drained the contents.
The godi returned to their places beside the statues of the gods and seemed to be waiting for a reaction from the king before they continued with the ceremony. Suddenly they both prostrated themselves before Ongentheow. Beowulf and Heardred exchanged a glance as Ongentheow moved forward and slipped the arm ring onto his left arm and the godi rose and secured the pelt of an enormous boar to his body.
A murmur from the waiting crowd told those in the temple that the sun had finally begun to clear the eastern hills. Suddenly a shaft of light appeared from above and Beowulf saw for the first time that the king was standing at the base of the tower. Ongentheow turned and took his place inside the circle of brilliant light. They could see that his body was now completely enclosed inside the boar skin, his aroused genitalia being the only part of him which remained uncovered.
Spreading his arms wide he looked directly up the tower at the source of light.
“Lord Frey, We ask that you bring peace and plenty to our land. Nourish your children and guard us from the malevolent intent our enemies. Lord, I freely give you my body to do with what you will. Go forward from this place and visit your people!”
Beowulf felt Heardred move closer beside him. His cousin was afraid of no man but something fantastic was clearly about to happen and Heardred had never been comfortable amongst the gods. Beowulf watched in awe as a spirit force infused the room and began to concentrate around the figure of the king. Heardred gasped and involuntarily clutched Beowulf’s sleeve in fear as Ongentheow began to transfigure into the god Frey before their eyes.
Abruptly their fellow worshippers fell to one knee and lowered their gaze as the transfiguration completed itself. Although they had been forewarned, the Geats were slower to react and stood, stupidly exposed, as the god turned his gaze on them. Beowulf quickly fell to one knee and tugged the still gaping and clearly terrified Heardred down alongside him. Beowulf closed his eyes and prayed that he had given no offence.
Allfather, keep us safe from harm!
A blast of noise entered the chamber as the godi at the entrance blew horns to announce to the waiting Swedes that Frey was among them. Beowulf felt the powerful aura of the god increase as he approached the passageway. He started as a hand lightly brushed his head as it passed him and a voice entered his thoughts.
You have no need of protection in my hall Beowulf. You are welcome here.
11
A low moan came from the waiting crowd as the figure of Frey emerged from the gleaming doorway. Inside the temple Beowulf and Heardred rose to their feet and filed outside behind the other dignitaries. The sun had now cleared the tops of the trees in the holy grove and the plain before the temple was flooded with a brilliant golden light.
The figure of the god stood facing his people, whose prostrate forms now littered the plain before him. The softly muffled rumble of wheels on grass drew Beowulf’s attention to his left. Beowulf and Heardred exchanged a look of wonder as a godi led a finely decorated chariot pulled by a large male boar into view. The chariot drew to a halt before Frey and the godi immediately threw his body to the ground in supplication.
As Frey mounted the chariot and took the reins, Beowulf and Heardred moved forward with their companions, forming an escort. The godi rose and removed the wattle gate to the enclosure. With a crack of the golden reins Frey slowly drove the sacred chariot towards the waiting multitude.
As they moved out into the crowd a low mournful note resonated around the natural bowl formed by the enclosing holy grove and western ridge as the godi in the upper levels of the temple sounded their horns.
At the sound of the horns the people rose to their feet and silently drew apart, allowing the procession to move amongst them. Beowulf watched as young women made their way to intercept the god as he passed by. Soon the route ahead was lined by naked women, all plainly offering themselves him.
The mood of the crowd had changed Beowulf noticed. Whereas before they had seemed in awe, a little afraid of the god, a joyful spirit now seemed to emanate from them. The air filled with the old fertility songs of the country folk and a spirit of ecstasy gripped them as they swayed rhythmically in time to the music. The air around them almost crackled as the emotions of thousands of people were released to add to the charged atmosphere which had enveloped the plain.
As Frey approached, the women gyrated and attempted to look as alluring as they could. Dozens of women were invited onto the chariot during the course of the progress and taken by the god as the crowd cheered around them. As the chosen women rejoined the crowd people near them moved forward to reverently touch them.
It was mid morning when the procession completed its journey and returned to the temple. Frey alighted from the chariot and approached the boar which had drawn him on his progress. Taking a boar spear from the hand of a godi he carefully placed the tip at the back of the animal's head before driving it down and into the brain. The boar collapsed immediately and jerked spasmodically before growing still.
Turning, Frey retraced his steps to the temple door. As he did so the godi blew a rising note on the horns which slowly tailed away. At the sound of the horns the crowd once again prostrated themselves as their god finally left their presence and re-entered the temple building.
Beowulf looked across to Heardred. His cousin had been on the opposite side of the escort to him and he was surprised to see that his normally effervescent kinsman looked shocked and drained by the experience. The other members of the escort had relaxed as the sound of the horns faded away. Clearly they had marked the end of the god's visit. Beowulf moved across to Heardred as the body of the boar was being prepared for the ritual meal by godi.
“Have you recovered kinsman?”
Heardred still looked emotionally drained. Beowulf had never seen him look so shaken.
“No, I have not. That was terrifying. Ongentheow became Frey in front of our eyes, I saw his body change. When I looked into his eyes they weren’t Ongentheow’s eyes Beowulf. Frey really was here!”
Beowulf hugged him as Eanmund crossed to them.
“You see how powerful the Lord Frey is, Beowulf. Perhaps you should reconsider which god you follow.”
Beowulf smiled at his friend.
“His power was impressive, as was his libido, but Woden is all-wise and vigorous. Both Heardred and I are Woden born we are descended from him as your family are from Frey. I aim to father a son on Halldis which will unite those lines, the descendants of the Aesir and the Vanir. That should be some boy!”
Eanmund beamed and gripped Beowulf by the shoulders.
“That was well said. I too look forward to seeing this son.”
Turning to Headred, Eanmund reached out and pulled him into the group.
“What do you say Heardred, shall we be kinsmen?”
Heardred was regaining some of his old colour. The crowd beyond the fence were moving away to the sides as they sought out the food and drink sellers which had set up at the perimeter. An air of wonder at witnessing such an event still hung over them as they swapped stories of their experiences of the day in animated gestures.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasur
e, Eanmund, although I don’t think that your grandfather will be up to arranging very much for some time after this morning!” he joked.
Eanmund laughed.
“It’s true that my grandfather needs to rest for a few days after the ceremony. Frey would have returned his body by now and the godi will wash and care for the king until he recovers.”
Heardred was warming to the theme.
“I’ll say he needs a rest. All those women! When the time comes, let me know if you don’t fancy being king of the Swedes. What would have happened if he had not been able to perform with any of them?”
Eanmund grinned.
“Well, then the crowd would have seen that we had been forsaken by Frey. They would have surged forward and torn us to pieces.”
They grouped around the fire for warmth as the carcass of the boar slain by Frey turned slowly on the spit, its flanks running with the juices as the skin split and popped in the heat. Although the day was bright with barely a cloud to spoil the indigo sky, their breath misted as it hung in the cold, still air.
They had been joined by their warriors for the feast after which the sacrifices would commence. The plaintive cries made by the penned animals to the rear of the temple drifted across the clearing as the Geats recharged drinking cups from the ale barrels.
“The whole room!”
Beowulf nodded. He had been describing the interior of the temple to his men who had finally managed to join their lord. They had spent the time when Frey came among the people sitting on the slope of the western ridge which bordered the plain. There had simply been too many people to get any closer once Gunnar had returned from his ‘morning movement’.
“Did you see Thunor, lord?”
Cola was a devotee of the thunder god, as were many English, and he was always anxious that his god was represented as the equal of his father, Woden.
“Only Frey appeared in person but his statue in the temple was flanked by no less impressive statues of our gods, Cola. Woden and Thunor are not ignored here you can rest assured of that.”
Finn took another swig from his cup and pointed it in the direction of a large dark haired man who had joined the drinking dignitaries. Clad in tight fitting trews all that he wore above the waist was a large bearskin to ward off the worst of the chill. Uniquely amongst the assembled warriors it would seem that he alone had been granted the right to wear a sword.
“Who is he, lord?”
Beowulf looked across at the man who was clearly in high spirits. He was moving from one group of warriors to the next, conversing for a short while and moving on. Each time that he did so the warriors raised their cups to him and wished him a safe journey.
“I don’t know but it looks as though we are about to find out.”
The warrior padded across to them, grinning widely.
“It is good ale, is it not?”
They all agreed that it was. Heardred topped up the man’s cup from his own.
“It seems that you are about to go on a journey, is it a long one?”
He raised his cup and laughed.
“You could say that. I have been preparing for it all my life.”
Finn pointed down at the warrior’s sword.
“How is it that you are armed? Could you not retrieve your weapons before you left?”
He laughed loudly again. Clearly he had been drinking steadily for a considerable time.
“I won’t have time for that. My friends and kinsmen are all there already, I am the last to leave. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
With a start Beowulf realised who the man was. He reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder as a mark of respect.
“Travel well, friend.”
The smile fell from the big warrior's face for a moment as he concentrated and focused his eyes on Beowulf.
“I will, lord,” he replied earnestly.
He drained his cup and sauntered off in the direction of the next group of warriors.
Finn still looked confused.
“Where is he going, lord?”
“To Aelfheim; Frey’s hall.”
As the sun approached its zenith a white horse appeared from the rear of the temple. Attached to it by a golden harness was a small, highly decorated, cart. As it drew to a halt before the temple the waiting multitude fell silent as they crowded against the wattle fencing.
They watched as the dark haired warrior breathed deeply and pulled himself up to his full height before he stepped confidently onto the deck of the cart. Before him, a godi stood on a raised platform. The dark warrior placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and looked around at middle earth for the last time.
He turned his head and looked up at the top of the tower, exposing his neck to the holy man. Without a word the godi produced a long narrow blade from within his robes and in one swift movement drove it down between the warrior’s collar bone and his neck. Meeting little resistance the blade plunged down through the soft tissue and tore the heart in two. It was a quick and clean death.
The godi led the horse and the now dead warrior over to the sacred grove and, with the aid of others, drew the body up into the canopy. Even before they had left, a swarm of crows were fighting amongst themselves over the choicest, softest parts of the man’s face and body.
As the people softly chanted their fertility songs on the far side of the fence eight different male animals were led in front of the temple. Each in turn was sacrificed to Frey for the fertility of the land and Swedish people. Each carcass was carried to the sacred grove and hoist amongst the branches. Beowulf watched in silence as the crows’ gathered in numbers, worrying and feasting on the sacrifices as soon as they left the ground until it seemed as though it was a living, cawing mass of birds which were being drawn aloft.
The sacrifices continued for the first eight days of the disablot, the ninth and final day being set aside for a concluding celebration. Each day a human male was sacrificed on the sacred cart, followed by eight different types of male animal. Not all the sacrifices were warriors. On the second day a boy of about eight winters was sacrificed. He had fallen from a tree the previous summer and broken his back. Now unable to move his legs he and his parents had agreed that it would be better that he go to live a full life in Aelfheim with the lord than suffer at home. Beowulf and the others had watched as his distraught parents had managed to keep control of their emotions for the boy’s sake until he was dead before succumbing to their grief.
Others were similarly distressing. A young boy with a withered arm went to his Lord clutching the hilt of his wooden sword. He never would make a warrior if he was unable to hold a shield, although he met his death as bravely as any man.
By the end of the first eight days of the disablot the branches of the holy grove were festooned with the bodies of seventy-two men and animals and the Geats were sick of the spectacle. The cloying smell of decay and putrefaction lay over the whole area like a thick winter cloak.
The trunks of the trees in the holy grove ran red with the blood and gore of the sacrifices. During the dark hours of the night, wolves, foxes and, they suspected, even the local town dogs, crept from the shadows to feast on the piles of entrails and organs which had spilled from the bodies and collected at the base of the trunks.
Heardred spoke for them all as they returned to their hall at the conclusion of the festival to drink themselves senseless.
“I have had my fill of the gods. Why don’t they just leave people alone?”
The following morning they mounted their horses and made their way slowly to Sigtun. They had seen enough of the disablot and they had been asked by the king to remove themselves from the area before the disting, the great Thing of the Swedish Tribes, convened on the plain the following week.
The Geats had been happy to comply with Ongentheow’s request. They had seen enough of Uppsala and its activities for now and the thought of listening to the various complaints and entreaties of the Swedish jarls held even less appeal. They
had not joined in the celebrations which concluded the great disablot on the evening of the ninth and final day. Even though the sacrifices were over they had preferred to keep to their hall and organise their own entertainment.
“It is a shame that we cannot attend the leidang cousin. I should like to see the great Swedish army in its glory.”
Heardred had moved up alongside Beowulf as they passed the royal hall and took the narrow path which skirted the western ridge. Meandering southwards, the path avoided the town before it swung east and rejoined the main road to Sigtun and beyond.
“Aye, so would I, but I can understand why we are not welcome. Our people are still fiend. Just because we are eardwræccan does not change that fact. Hopefully the leidang will decide to invade Geatland this summer and replace Hythcyn. Then all we have to do is find your father and acclaim him king.”
The horses picked their way past a group of thrall women busy washing clothes in a large wooden tub. Despite the mayhem that was the last day of the disablot occurring only half a mile away, work would still go on for lowest classes. Beowulf could not help but notice several of the prettier women blush and concentrate more intently on their work as Heardred passed them by.
Heardred though had other, more important matters on his mind. He placed a hand on Beowulf’s arm and motioned that they draw ahead of their men.
“What happens if we cannot find my father or we find out that he is dead? Do I have your support when I claim the throne?”
Beowulf was shaken. He had never thought beyond the need to remove Hythcyn and replace him with Hygelac, but yes, that would make Heardred the next in line to the throne.
“Yes, of course I would support your claim cousin.”
Heardred stared at Beowulf with an intensity which he had never seen before in his usually straightforward kinsman. It shocked him a little. It was a part of him which had never revealed itself until this moment.