Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  They all agreed that it was just that: a matter worthy of further consideration. And such deep cogitation required the aid of öl, to which they applied themselves forthwith. Such strenuous thought, it was then suggested, should not be undertaken without the strength provided by a full stomach; it would be folly to even contemplate such a task without proper sustenance. Thus, the talk quickly turned to who should go and fetch the meat which was soon to be coming off the spits.

  In the end, Gunnar, Leif and I went to claim our portion of the meat. We ate and drank amiably, and I fell asleep thinking that, whatever else happened to me in the days to come, my time among the barbarians had not been entirely wasted.

  22

  The next morning, King Harald held court in the ring of stones. Anyone with a grievance, or anyone seeking redress, could come before him for a judgement. This custom is roughly similar to the way it is done with the Irish kings and their people. Perhaps it is the same everywhere; I cannot say. But I understood the process well enough just by watching how the people behaved: they came before the king, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, with their supporters behind them for encouragement. They then declared the nature of their grievance and beseeched the king, who sat upon a wooden plank resting on two stones, for his decision.

  King Harald seemed to enjoy the proceedings, leaning forward eagerly, hands on knees, listening to the complaints, and making up his mind, often very quickly after only a few questions. I watched the faces of those who went before him, and most often the people appeared to come away satisfied with the justice they had received.

  Several times, however, there were scowls and dark mutterings as the aggrieved stumped off to lick their wounds. That is also the way of it in Éire, for it is not possible, even in all fairness, to please everyone, and there is no pleasing some people ever.

  As we stood waiting for our turn, I wondered whether Gunnar would be pleased with his judgement, for it was the king himself he held to fault. What would Harald Bull-Roar do?

  When called at last, Gunnar strode forth boldly, pulling me along and making me stand beside him. The king looked at me, and his glance put me in mind of our previous meeting; something of the same curious thoughtfulness appeared in his expression.

  Lifting a hand to Gunnar, he recognized my master as a free man of Rägnar’s tribe and asked him what it was that concerned him. Gunnar answered forthrightly, saying that it was a matter of grievous concern, involving nothing less than the murder of a trusted and long-serving slave.

  The king agreed that this was indeed a serious affair. “It would seem,” said the king, “a matter for grave consideration.” He paused long enough for those gathered around to enjoy his wit, and then said, “You call it murder, why?”

  Gunnar replied that he called it murder indeed when a man’s slaves were attacked by armed men—indeed, king’s men!—attacked and killed without cause. “Odd did not have a weapon,” he concluded. “Not even a rock.”

  “Now that you bring it before me,” Harald replied, “I seem to recall that I sent two karlar into that region and only one returned. Perhaps you can tell me how this happened.”

  Gunnar, anticipating the question, had his answer ready. “During the attack, my good hound killed the man who murdered my slave. For this my hound was killed also. Thus, you can see that I have lost a hound and a slave for no reason. It is not a loss I can easily bear.”

  The king was not swift to agree with Gunnar, but allowed that hounds did not kill king’s men unless provoked. “Who provoked the hound?”

  “The karlar,” Gunnar answered.

  “And who loosed the hound?” asked Harald, suggesting that he knew more about this incident than he had revealed.

  “This man, my slave,” said Gunnar, indicating me. “He loosed the hound.”

  Harald Bull-Roar’s eyes became hard and his features grew rigid. “Is this so?” he demanded.

  I think he expected me to deny it, or to try to explain it away somehow. It took him aback when I simply replied, “It is true.”

  “Did you know the hound would kill my man?”

  “No, lord,” I answered.

  “Did you think it might happen?”

  “Yes.”

  “You thought the hound might kill a king’s man,” Harald’s voice grew angry and loud, “and yet you loosed the dog anyway?”

  “I thought it would be no bad thing if the hound stopped the karlar from killing Odd.”

  At this, Harald grew puzzled. I think he had made up his mind how this would be settled, but my admission had put a slightly different face on the thing and he now wondered what to do. Looking away from me, he said to Gunnar: “You have lost a slave, and I have lost a warrior. I will pay you for your slave—”

  “And hound,” added Gunnar respectfully.

  “I will pay you for the loss of your slave and hound,” Harald said, “and you will pay me for the loss of my warrior. I will tell you now, my warrior was worth twenty gold pieces. Your slave, I think, was not worth half so much.”

  “No lord.” The colour had drained from Gunnar’s face; he was no longer so eager for justice as he had been only moments before.

  “How much then?” demanded the king.

  “Eight pieces of silver,” Gunnar suggested.

  “Five, perhaps?” wondered the king.

  “Six,” allowed Gunnar. “And six for the hound.”

  “If we grant that twelve pieces of silver are worth two of gold, you still owe me eighteen gold pieces for the death of my warrior,” said the king. “Pay me now and the matter is settled.”

  “Lord,” said Gunnar ruefully, “I have never held so great a sum in all my wealth, nor has my father, nor his father before him. Not even Rägnar Yellow Hair has so much gold.” On sudden inspiration, he added, “All we have, we give to you in tribute.”

  King Harald dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand. “I care nothing for that. We have made a bargain. You must find the way to pay your part, heya?”

  “Though I sell all I have, I could never raise so much wealth,” Gunnar said.

  Harald seemed to soften then; he lifted a hand to his chin and appeared to consider what could be done to help Gunnar out of his predicament. He granted that it was not good to leave affairs like this unsettled, and conceded that the attack had been fomented by his karlar in the first place.

  “Taking this into account,” he concluded, “I will not demand the full blood price. The gift of your slave will suffice.”

  Gunnar, not quite believing his good fortune, made no further protest but agreed at once, lest the king change his mind. Harald summoned one of his men, who stepped to the king’s rough throne. The king put out his hand and the warrior gave him a leather bag from which the king withdrew a handful of silver coins. “I would not have you think ill of your king,” he said and, selecting a few coins from his hand, motioned for Gunnar and me to approach.

  “For the loss of your slave,” Harald said, pouring six silver coins into Gunnar’s outstretched hands. Then, as if thinking better of his offer, he took three more coins and added these to the others. “For your hound,” the king said, and gave Gunnar six more silver pieces. “Heya?”

  Gunnar glanced at me and shrugged. “Heya,” he replied, greatly relieved. With a flick of the king’s hand, my master retreated gratefully, tucking his silver into his belt. The warrior stepped up and took me by the arm; I was brought to the king’s throne. Harald Bull-Roar reached out, seized hold of my slave collar and pulled me down to my knees.

  “You are my slave now,” he said. “Do you understand this?”

  I indicated my submission with a bow of my head, whereupon I was hauled to my feet and shoved roughly back behind the king and made to stand with the king’s other servants. Even as I was struggling to adjust to this startling turn of fortune, I was thinking that the king had planned his justice very carefully. I think that from the moment he had seen me on the riverbank, he had begun scheming and thi
s was the result.

  I found my place among the king’s following of serving men and slaves. Once out of sight, the king seemed to lose interest in me and, since no one gave me anything to do, I stayed out of the way and observed the ordering of his court. I learned little for my effort, however, for there was no order to anything.

  At the conclusion of the theng the next morning, everyone bade farewell to friends and kinsmen, most of whom would not be seen again until the next summons brought them all back to the council ring. The forest trails round about echoed with the sounds of homewarding Danefolk calling to one another, and whooping with loud exuberance at the heady prospect of sailing into fame and fortune with Harald Bull-Roar.

  For, before dismissing them to their various journeys, the king had stood at the fierce dragon prow of his handsome ship and restated the terms of his offer: anyone who followed him to Miklagård would be exempt from paying tribute for five years and would also gain a share in the treasure to be won. Sure, most of the free men and nobles had pledged to join the king straightaway.

  Most, I say, but not all. Rägnar Yellow Hair did not pledge his support and, following their lord’s reluctance, neither had Gunnar or Tolar, nor several of Rägnar’s house karlar, though these, it must be said, were less than pleased with their jarl’s opposition to the plan.

  When the last of the people had gone, the king boarded his ship and we started down the river. I found a place at the rail and watched the theng-place disappear behind us. Sorrow overwhelmed me at the thought that I would never see Ylva or Karin again, nor Helmuth, nor little Ulf, nor even Gunnar. They had been good to me, and I never had the chance to bid them fare well. I did what I could, however, and prayed for them, and asked the Lord Christ to send an angel to be with them. As I did not know what kind of master Jarl Harald might be, I prayed for myself, too, that I would prove worthy of my calling.

  After three days, travelling both day and night, we arrived at the river mouth and, after another day’s travel north and east along the coast, came to the king’s holding at a tiny bay called Bjorvika: little more than an armed camp with a low turf wall raised around a double handful of mud-and-thatch houses, and a stout timber dock for his ships, of which there were three. The dragon longship was the largest, but the other two had twenty benches each.

  The king’s holding, I soon learned, was but one of three. In addition to his port, Harald maintained a summer settlement, with fields and cattle, and a winter holding where he drank and hunted during the cold months. As he planned to sail from Skania with the next full moon, the king had brought only those people he would need to the port settlement; the rest remained elsewhere.

  In the days to follow, I roamed the holding at will, and even explored the furthest extent of the small cove without raising objection. Occasionally, I was given some small chore to do—carrying wood, fetching water, or feeding the pigs. One morning, two of the king’s men came and replaced my leather collar with one of iron, whereupon they took it into their heads to beat me. They hit me and kicked me so hard I lost consciousness and could hardly walk for three days. Otherwise, I was left to myself. This, despite the fact that everyone was busy dawn to dusk readying supplies and provisions for the king’s great raiding journey.

  For myself, I determined that I would use my time to improve my mastery of the Danefolk speech as much as I could, and I rehearsed that uncouth tongue until my lips grew limp and my head ached. Even so, time hung heavy on me, and I thought often of Gunnar and his family, and wished I was back with them.

  The season turned, passing swiftly from summer to a chill, damp autumn. The wind changed and blew more insistently from the north and east; the sun sank ever lower in the sky. I marked the changes and occupied myself as best I could, being careful to stay out of the warriors’ way lest any of them take the opportunity to beat me again. Then, two days before the king was to leave, he suddenly remembered me, and I was summoned by one of the karlar to his hall.

  Harald’s hall was much like Rägnar’s—slightly larger, perhaps, but essentially the same. Nor was there much difference in the affairs conducted there. The hearth was large and accommodating, the benches long, the board wide and perpetually filled with men eating and drinking any time of the day or night. Unlike Rägnar, however, Harald Bull-Roar had an oaken throne established at the south side of the hearth; the back of this huge chair was shaped like a great shield, with boss and studs of polished bronze, and a rim of silver secured with golden nails. The king’s bare feet rested on a low stool covered with the white winter pelts of young seals.

  The warrior pushed me before the throne and left without a word. The king, who was talking to one of the advisors forever clustered about the throne, saw me out of the corner of his eye and sent his confidant away. Placing his hands on his knees, Harald stared at me in no friendly way, slowly squinting his eyes as if what he saw standing before him was not altogether to his liking.

  “They tell me,” he said after a moment, “that you speak to yourself. Why is this?”

  I answered straightaway. “It is to learn the ways of the Danefolk speech.”

  He pursed his lips, accepting this answer without comment. Then, as if making an observation: “You are of the Shaven Ones.”

  As no answer seemed required of me, I remained silent.

  “Do you understand what I am saying to you now?” the king demanded.

  “Yes, jarl,” I replied. “I understand.”

  “Then make an answer.”

  “It is true, lord, I am of the Shaven Ones.”

  “And do you know the making of runor?”

  “Lord, forgive me, I do not know this word. What is runor?”

  The king puffed his cheeks in exasperation. “Runor… runor! Like this—” Harald clicked his fingers impatiently. One of his men produced a rolled-up skin, which the king unrolled and thrust at me.

  I looked at it and saw that it was a crudely drawn map with a list of settlements down one side; next to each settlement was a terse description of the people who lived in the region and the trade to be had there. It was written in Latin, and I told the king that if these were what he called runor, then, yes, I could indeed read them without difficulty.

  If I thought this would please Jarl Harald, I was mistaken. He snapped his fingers again and another scroll appeared. “And this?” he demanded, throwing the roll at me.

  Unwrapping the roll, I gazed at the antiquated document. “This I can read also,” I told him.

  “Tell me what is written there,” he said, making of the request a challenge.

  Glancing at the parchment again, I saw that it was a tally of some sort—such as might be made of goods in a storehouse; it was written in Greek. I shared this observation with the king, whereupon he said, “Nay, nay. Speak it out.”

  I began to do so, but had only uttered half a dozen words, when he stopped me. “Nay! Tell it in Danespeak.”

  “Forgive me, jarl,” I said, and began again. “Barley, six bags…salt bacon, three sides…oil of olives, seven small casks…”

  “Enough,” said Harald distractedly. He looked at me hard, as if trying to decide whether to press me further, or banish me from his sight forever. After a moment, he appeared to resolve something within himself, for he lifted his hand and summoned two of his karlar, who approached carrying a wooden trove box; the box was bound in iron bands and had an odd peaked top like the roof of a house.

  The treasure box was opened and a square object wrapped in cloth lifted out, and placed in the king’s hands. Harald took the cloth-wrapped bundle into his lap and began unwrapping the long binding strips. I caught a glint of silver as one by one the strips of cloth fell away. Then the king was holding the thing and beckoning me forward.

  I do not know what I expected to see. But the sight that met my eyes made my heart leap into my throat. I gasped at the sight of it, and stared in heart-sick astonishment at the object in his hands. For there, almost within my very grasp, lay the cumtach of C
olum Cille.

  Not the whole book, no—that would have held no interest to a marauding Sea Wolf—but the great book’s gem-crusted silver cover was more than pleasing to their greedy eyes.

  Kyrie eleison, I breathed. Lord have mercy! Christ have mercy!

  King Harald opened the cover and I saw that a few leaves yet remained—three or perhaps four, not many; likely, they had come away in the haste of pillage. To my holy horror, the king took one of these pages and cut it from the others with his knife. It was all I could do to keep from crying out. The Book of Colum Cille was desecrated.

  “Speak it,” said the king, offering the sacred page to me.

  But I could not speak. With trembling fingers I lifted the fragment to my eyes—one of the initial pages of the Gospel known as Matthew’s Book—and looked once more upon the richly glowing colours and the impossibly intricate braiding of the knotwork cross, the spirals and keys and triscs—all the while thinking: Great Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.

  “Speak it!” commanded the king again, more sternly this time.

  Mastering my distress, I forced myself to calmness under the king’s gaze. It would not do, I thought, to allow him to see that I held any knowledge of the book. Even then, my very heart breaking, I reckoned my best hope of remaining close to the treasure was to betray no attachment.

  Turning the page in my hands, I scanned the lines—the page was one of those written in our own abbey. I opened my mouth and read out the passage—I do not know what I read. The words swam before my eyes, and it was all I could to do keep my hand steady. One line, and then another—my voice ringing hollow in my ears: “Now when Jesu was born in Bethlehem in Judea during the reign of Herod the King, behold, Magi from the East came to Jerusalem—”

  “Enough!” roared Harald, as if the sound hurt his ears. He stared at me for a moment, silence coiling at his feet like a length of rope. The hall grew hushed; everyone waited to see what he would do.

  I stood uncertainly under his gaze, trying to determine if I had betrayed my knowledge of the book. Though he regarded me closely, I think it was not myself the king heeded. Rather, it seemed that some other matter now preyed on his mind. My reading was perhaps part of his preoccupation, but not the larger portion.