Authors: Frans G. Bengtsson
“But I shall not be surprised,” Thorkel said, “if the errand on which they have come is to ransom our prisoners and those people up in the tower.”
A short while afterwards the Bishops rode into the town. They were of venerable aspect, with staffs in their hands and hoods covering their heads. They had with them a great company of outriders and priests, grooms, stewards, and musicians; and they pronounced the peace of God upon all who met their eye. All of Thorkel’s men who were in the camp came to gaze at them, but some shrank away when the Bishops raised their hands. The people in the tower broke into loud acclamations at the sight of them and began again to ring their bells.
Thorkel and Gudmund showed them every hospitality; and when they had rested and had given thanks to God for their lucky journey, they explained their mission.
The Bishop who appeared to be the senior of the two, and who was called the Bishop of St. Edmund’s Bury, addressed Thorkel and Gudmund and such others of the Vikings as had gathered to hear what he had to say. These, he said, were evil times, and it was a great grief to Christ and His Church that men did not know how to live peacefully with one another in love and tolerance. Fortunately, however, he continued, they now had in England a King who loved peace above all other things, and this despite the magnitude of his power and the legions of warriors that lay awaiting his command. He preferred to win the love of his enemies rather than to destroy them by the sword. King Ethelred regarded the Northmen as zealous young men who lacked counsel and did not know what was best for them; and, after having consulted his own wise counselors, he had decided on this occasion not to march against them and put them to the sword, but rather to point out peacefully to them the error of their ways. He had, accordingly, sent his envoys to find out how the gallant chieftains of the north and their followers could be persuaded to turn their thoughts toward peace and abandon the dangerous paths which they were now treading. It was King Ethelred’s desire that they should return to their ships and depart from his coasts to dwell in their own land in peace and contentment; and to facilitate this and win their friendship for all time, he was ready to give them such presents as would fill them all with joy and gratitude. Such royal munificence would, he trusted, so soften the hardness of their young hearts that they would learn to love God’s holy law and Christ’s gospel. If this should come to pass, good King Ethelred’s joy would know no bounds and his love for them would become even greater.
The Bishop was bent with age and toothless, and few of the Vikings could understand what he said; but his words were translated for them by a wise priest of his suite, and all those who stood there listening turned and stared at one another in bewilderment. Gudmund was seated on an ale-butt, drunken and contented, rubbing a little gold cross to polish it, and when they explained to him what the Bishop had said, he began to rock backwards and forwards with delight. He shouted to Thorkel that the latter should lose no time in replying to this excellent discourse.
So Thorkel replied, in a manner befitting a chieftain. He said that what they had just heard was without doubt something worth pondering. King Ethelred had already a great name in the Danish kingdom, but it now appeared that he was an even finer king than they had been led to believe; and this proposal of his, to give them all presents, accorded well with the opinion of his worth that they had hitherto held.
“For,” he continued, “as we told Jarl Byrhtnoth, when we spoke with him across the river, you who dwell in this land are rich, and we poor seafarers are only too anxious to be your friends if you will but share your wealth with us. It is good to hear that King Ethelred himself shares our feelings in this matter; and, seeing that he is so rich and powerful and full of wisdom, I do not doubt that he will show himself most liberal toward us. How much he intends to offer us we have not yet been told; but we need a lot to make us merry, for we are a melancholy race. I think it best that his gifts should take the form of gold and minted silver, for this will be easiest to count, and easiest, too, for us to carry home. While everything is being settled, we shall be glad if he will permit us to remain here undisturbed, taking from the district what we need for our upkeep and pleasure. There is, though, someone who has as much say in this matter as Gudmund and myself, and that is Jostein. He is at present away plundering with many of his followers, and until he returns we cannot decide how large King Ethelred’s gift is to be. But there is one thing I should like to know at once, and that is whether you have any priest skilled in medicine among your followers; for, as you see, I have this damaged arm which needs plastering.”
The younger Bishop replied that they had with them two men who were learned in the craft of healing, and said he would be glad to bid them attend to Thorkel’s arm. He requested, however, that in return for this service Thorkel should allow the people who were shut up in the tower to descend and go their ways without hindrance; for it was a heavy thing, he said, to think of them up there tormented by hunger and thirst.
“As far as I am concerned,” said Thorkel, “they can come down as soon as they like. We have been trying to persuade them to do so ever since we took this town, but they have resisted our offers most obstinately; in fact, it was they who broke my arm. Half of what they have in the tower they must give to us. This is small repayment for the injury to my arm and all the bother they have caused us. But when they have done that, they may go whithersoever they please.”
Soon, therefore, all the people in the tower descended, looking pale and wasted. Some of them wept and threw themselves at the Bishop’s feet, while others cried piteously for water and food. Thorkel’s men were disappointed to find that there was little of value in the tower; nevertheless, they gave them food and did them no harm.
Orm happened to pass a water-trough where a number of those who had been in the tower were drinking. Among them was a little bald man in a priest’s cowl, with a long nose and a red scar across his forehead. Orm stared at him in astonishment. Then he went up and seized him by the shoulder.
“I am glad to see you again,” he said, “and I have something to thank you for since the last time we met. But I little thought to meet King Harald’s physician in England. How did you come here?”
“I came here from the tower,” retorted Brother Willibald wrathfully, “where you heathen berserks have compelled me to spend the last fortnight.”
“I have several things to discuss with you,” said Orm. “Come with me, and I will give you food and drink.”
“I have nothing to discuss with you,” replied Brother Willibald. “The less I see of Danes, the better it will be for me. That much, at least, I have learned by now. I will get my meat and drink elsewhere.”
Orm was afraid lest the little priest, in his anger, might dart away and give him the slip, so he picked him up and carried him away under one arm, promising him as he did so that no harm should come to him. Brother Willibald struggled vigorously, demanding sternly to be put down and informing Orm that leprosy and fearful battle-wounds were the least retribution that would descend on any man who laid his hand on a priest; but Orm ignored his protests and carried him into a house he had chosen as his quarters after they had stormed the town, which now contained only a few members of his crew who had been wounded and two old women.
The little priest was obviously famished, but when meat and drink were placed before him, he sat for some time staring bitterly at the platter and tankard, making no effort to touch them. Then he sighed, muttered something to himself, made the sign of the cross over the food, and began to eat greedily. Orm refilled his tankard with ale and waited patiently until Brother Willibald had appeased his hunger. The good ale appeared to have no soothing effect upon his temper, for the harshness of his retorts did not diminish; he found it in himself to answer Orm’s questions, however, and before long he was talking as ebulliently as ever.
He had escaped from Denmark, he explained, with Bishop Poppo when the evil and unchristian King Sven had descended upon Jellinge to destroy God’s servants there. The Bishop, sick and fragile, was now living on the charity of the Abbot of Westminster, grieving over the destruction of all his work in the north. Brother Willibald, though, felt that there was in fact little to grieve about when you considered the matter aright; for there could be no doubt that what had happened was a sign from God that holy men should cease their efforts to convert the heathens of the north and should instead leave them to destroy one another by their evil practices, which were, in truth, past all understanding. For his own part, Brother Willibald added, he had no intention of ever again attempting to convert anyone from those parts; and he was prepared to proclaim the fact upon the Cross and Passion of Christ in the presence of anyone who wished to hear it, including, if necessary, the Archbishop of Bremen himself.
His eyes smoldering, he drained his tankard, smacked his lips, and observed that ale was more nourishing than meat for a starving man. Orm refilled his tankard, and he continued with his story.
When Bishop Poppo had heard that Danish Vikings had landed on the east coast of England, he had been anxious to try to learn from them how things now were in the Danish kingdom; whether any Christians were still alive, whether the rumor that King Harald had died was true, and many other things besides. But the Bishop had felt too weak to undertake the journey from Westminster himself, and so had sent Brother Willibald to get the information for him.
“For the Bishop told me I would run little risk of injury among the heathens, however inflamed their passions might be. He said they would welcome me on account of my knowledge of medicine; in addition to which, there would be men among them who had known me at King Harald’s court. I had my own feelings on the matter, for he is too good for this world, and knows you less well than I do. However, it is not seemly to contradict one’s Bishop; so I did as he bade me. I reached this town one evening, very exhausted, and, after celebrating evensong, laid myself down to sleep in the church house. There I was waked by screaming and thick smoke, and men and women came running in half-naked, crying that the foul fiends had descended on us. Fiends there were none, but worse adversaries, and it seemed to me that little was likely to be gained by greeting them with words of salutation from Bishop Poppo. So I fled with the rest up into the church tower, and there I should have perished, and the others with me, had God not elected to liberate us from our plight upon this blessed Whitsun day.”
He wagged his head mournfully and regarded Orm with weary eyes.
“All this was fourteen days ago,” he said, “and since then I have had little sleep. And my body is weak—nay, not weak, for it is as strong as the spirit that inhabits it; still, there are limits to its strength.”
“You can sleep later,” said Orm impatiently. “Do you know aught of what has happened to Ylva, King Harald’s daughter?”
“This much I know,” replied Brother Willibald promptly, “that unless she shortly mends her ways, she will burn in hell-fire for her brazenness of spirit and scandalous conduct. And what hope can one cherish that any daughter of King Harald will ever mend her ways?”
“Do you hate our women, too?” asked Orm. “What harm has she ever done to you?”
“It matters little what she has done to me,” said the little priest bitterly, “though she did, in fact, call me a bald old owl merely because I threatened her with the vengeance of the Lord.”
“You threatened her, priest?” said Orm, getting to his feet. “Why did you threaten her?”
“Because she swore that she would do as she pleased and marry a heathen, even though all the bishops in the world should strive to stop her.”
Orm clutched his beard and stared open-eyed at the little priest. Then he seated himself again.
“I am the heathen she wishes to marry,” he said quietly. “Where is she now?”
But he received no answer to his question that evening, for, as he spoke, Brother Willibald drooped slowly down on to the table and fell fast asleep with his head upon his arms. Orm did his best to wake him, but in vain; at length he picked him up, carried him to the settle, laid him there, and threw a skin over him. He noted with surprise that he was beginning to grow fond of this little priest. For a while he sat alone brooding over his ale. Then, as he found that he had no desire for sleep, his impatience began again to swell within him, and he got up, crossed to the settle, and gave Brother Willibald a vigorous shaking.
But Brother Willibald merely turned over in his sleep and muttered in a drowsy and peevish whisper: “Worse than fiends!”
When next morning the little priest at length awoke, he proved to be somewhat milder of temper and seemed fairly contented with his situation; so Orm lost no time in extracting from him details of everything that had happened to Ylva since he had last seen her. She had fled from Jellinge with the Bishop, preferring exile to remaining at home in her brother Sven’s care, and had spent the winter with him at Westminster, in great impatience to return home to Denmark as soon as good news should arrive of the situation there. Of late, however, the rumor had reached them that King Harald had died in exile. This had caused Ylva to consider journeying north to the home of her sister Gunhild, who was wedded to the Danish Jarl Palling of Northumberland. The Bishop was unwilling to allow her to undertake such a dangerous journey, preferring that she should remain in the south and marry some chieftain from those parts, whom he would help to find for her. But whenever he had brought this subject up, she had turned white with rage and had broken into fearful invective against anyone who happened to be near her, not excluding the Bishop himself.
This was what the little priest had to tell Orm concerning Ylva. Orm was happy to know that she had escaped King Sven’s clutches, but it vexed him not to be able to think of any means of seeing her. He worried, too, about the blow he had received on his neck, and the pain he still suffered as a result of it; but Brother Willibald smiled disparagingly and said that skulls as thick as his would survive worse cracks than that. However, he put blood-leeches behind Orm’s ears, with the result that he soon began to feel better. Nevertheless, he could not keep his thoughts from Ylva. It occurred to him to try to talk Thorkel and the other chieftains into undertaking a great plundering expedition against London and Westminster, in the hope that this might enable him to make contact with her; but the chieftains were occupied in tedious conferences with the envoys, settling details regarding the gifts they were to receive from King Ethelred, and the whole army sat idle-fingered, doing nothing but eat and drink and speculate on how much so great a King could fittingly be asked to pay.