I ducked into the little booth behind Catriona. As my eyes adjusted to the light I saw that the christman with the white robes was there, and the other who I had seen in the river; the third man was the judge called Peter. Catriona introduced me to the man in white -- "Holy Father, this is Kirsten who is wife to Lief Trygvasson"
"Daughter, you are welcome here. It is a joy to me to know that that devil-worshipper has chosen a woman of the true faith. If you could but persuade him to come into our flock"
I had expected to be repelled by him. I wasn't disappointed. He spoke the speech of the north, but with the flat dull sound of the Saxon folk -- not the Saxons of England, but those of the marshlands away south beyond the Dan Mark. His voice lacked wholesomeness: clammy, like the soft damp touch of his hand. I interrupted him; he did not like it.
"I am not of your flock."
"But surely you are named for the Christ?"
"It is true that I am named for the christ. But I will not put my trust in a god whose priests speak peace, and bathe the land in blood. The folk of Thor and Odin, of the Aesir, talk of blood, and bring blood, so that we know they are against peace. The folk of Njord and Freyja, of the Vanir, talk of peace and fruitfulness, and they bring peace and fruitfulness, so that we know that they are for peace. But you of the white christ, you talk of peace and bring blood. How shall we trust you, or your god?"
The brown christman spoke.
"We do not bring blood. The blood is here. It has always been here, in the north. It will always be here, while you worship those demons you call Thor and Odin and Loki and Freyja, and all their kin. We did not bring it. We seek to end it."
"But did I not see you in the river, when Jarl Olaf was driving children to you with his dripping sword?"
"I did not hold the sword. If folk would come to Christ, no matter why they come, they must be welcomed. Their sins must be washed away. I am bound to do this."
As I built up in my mind a fierce, clever reply, I saw the dismay on Catriona's face. I looked across the booth at Peter, and saw it echoed there. I remembered what we had gone there for, and changed my words.
"So... so. You wish to end the blood. I wish to end the blood, and Lief does, I know. But the young men outside smell blood coming, as the raven smells battle on the wind. How can we end the blood?"
The Bishop looked at me across the little brazier, like a man playing chess, and trying to measure how good his opponent is.
"None of my flock will start trouble. So if trouble comes, we will know that it is of Lief's making..."
This time it was Peter who interrupted him, speaking for the first time, before I had time to --
"No: I'm sorry, that's not true. We cannot hold our younger men, least of all those in the King's household. We cannot hold Olaf himself, and I do not altogether trust him to keep the peace. Neither can we expect Lief to control the young men of the Aesir party, for I don't think that he is even of that party. We know they would follow him if he would lead them, but he has not said that he will."
When he was talking just to the few of us, his voice was quiet, as his words were reasonable. I felt that we could trust him.
"Lief will not join the party of any god" -- I said, speaking directly to Peter --
"but he will stand with the folk against Jarl Olaf. Are you the party of the christ, or just the party of the king?"
"I am for the party of the Christ. The King is of that party, too."
"There is no difference", said the Bishop --
"for the Christ has appointed that the world should be governed by Princes under the Emperor, and Olaf is the prince whom the Christ has appointed to govern the Northlands. So to stand against the King is to stand against the Christ. Furthermore, there can be no party of the folk opposed to the King, for the Christ has appointed the King to serve the folk. So if you are not with the party of Christ, then you must be with the Party of the demons, of the Aesir."
I lost a bit of my temper.
"Look, we can sit here calling each other names until Heimdall blows his horn, but it will not stop the flow of blood. You and your `king', you want to change the way of life for the folk. Many of the folk don't want the changes you want, but they have no leader, and so they don't oppose you very effectively. Lief wants to change the way of life for the folk, too, although differently, and some folk wouldn't like those changes. If Lief leads the folk who oppose you, there will be war, which he might win, and none of us want that, because we're all for peace, aren't we? But if you can bring yourself to support the changes that he seeks, there need be no war, and you will get most of what you want. So can we talk about that, please, instead of calling one another names?"
So we talked a bit longer, but I won't say it was to much purpose.
As we ducked out of the booth again, the dark closed around us like a wet mantle. The heft of the weeping, ink-wet clouds had squeezed the light out of midsummer night, and the sound of its leakage was a drumming on the slushy turf. Around nearer side of the place of the Thing we could see lamps and braziers gleaming through the grey curtain of the rain, and hear voices in song or the faint gleaming ripple of harp strings. And there and again, loud voices raised, in mirth perhaps, or anger.
We oriented ourselves and walked out across the middle of place, towards the lights we knew we would find beyond, feeling our footfalls before us in the dark, feeling the mud splash up on our hems and calves, feeling our clothes close around us under crowding water. The lights faded away behind us, and the sounds, and we walked across the middle of that great open place, alone in our cocoon of falling wet. After we had gone some way, so that we thought that soon we must come to the judges bench, a sound came to us out of the dark, over the drum of rain on grass and the splat and slither of our footsteps.
The sound was the hollow, gasping groan of a creature suffering beyond reason. And there, in night so black that sound and touch were our whole world, we two women stood, still, silent, handfast, and felt that cry though our ears, through our guts, through our skins.
We went on, a step at a time, feeling with toes pointed, feet skating forward. I led; Catriona, behind me, muttering the words which went with counting the beads which hung at her belt. The moaning, gasping, moaning, drew us on. My foot struck against something that was soft. I bent at once, and felt clothing -- rough wool; then leather, a jerkin? - and then sticky, sticky, the stench of blood. A face, but not, I think, very much left of a head. And the groaning was not from here, but beyond.
I led Catriona round that first corpse, foot, slide, feel, foot, slide, feel, and then away on again into the clean of the falling rain, following the cries as a beacon.
And then the groaning came from before us and my foot again felt cloth, and there was a man on the ground. I spoke to him, but the pain was with him that he didn't hear me, or couldn't answer. So I felt along his body and found that the wound was in the lower part of his trunk, in his gut or in his groin, I couldn't be quite sure for the dark, and the heavy leather clothing he wore. Well, you don't move a man that is hurt like that; but what could we do? In that rain, we'd not find him again, let alone bring light that we could examine him as he lay: and the cold, cold of the falling rain would kill him sure before morning. So we lifted him between us, one arm to each our shoulders, despite his cries, and pressed on into the dark.
We'd have stopped at the first booth we came to, with that burden. But in the way of things that is when the gods are waiting on the choices of the folk, the first booth that we came to was Lochlann's. So we brought him into the light, and laid him on the bed that was mine and Lochlann's, and we saw that he was a young man wearing the gear of Olaf's household. Lochlann and Catriona set to to look to him, and I was glad to let them; so that I turned to heat the water and make the dish of onions that would be needed if that it should be a gut wound, which indeed it turned out to be. Trigvi Camel, who was there, recognised the lad, and went off through the dark to fetch his father.
After that, for a while, my memory is confused, for it was very late by then and so much had happened that I was well tired; I know that there was much coming and going, and steam, and folk pushing past, and smell of onions and blood and smoke and ale and wet wool.
Then there was us there, and Trigvi, and some others of Lochlann's folk. There was the father of the lad, who was a man I think called Harald Thorvaldson, and was of Jarl Olaf's party. There was the christman, John, although I can't remember how he came to be there; and we were all crowded into the booth, which wasn't a big place, to keep out of the wet. Then suddenly there was a whole crowd of folk outside that we didn't hear coming for the noise of folk talking, and they called on Lochlann to come out.
There was not much light, but for the flicker of two tallow lamps and the red glow of the brazier, and outside the rain still fell like Audhumla's milk. Through the falling curtain the dim gleam picked up on a face, a belt buckle there, a helm band, a cloak pin -- little gleams and reflections and hints of shape that spoke of a great crowd of warriors standing silent. Lochlann took up his staff, and pushed through to the front of the booth, standing just within the edge of the awning.
"I am Lief Trigvasson. What do you want of me?"
From among the crowd a dozen men stepped forward, each with his sword drawn, and as the light was clearer on them I saw that in their midst was Haakon the Judge; and I saw too that the clothes of the others were plain, of leather and of grey wool, the clothes of craftsmen and small traders and farming folk, not lords or sea wolves. They formed a half circle around Lochlann, who was standing there, quietly, his staff held before him in both hands in the way he had.
Trigvi pushed past me hurriedly, his sword ringing into his hand as he moved, but even as he did the men knelt, holding out their swords to Lochlann hilt first; and the whole host behind them knelt also. Haakon the Judge spoke for them, saying:
"Lief son of Trigvi, the son of Olaf, the son of Trigvi, firstborn of the firstborn Brisings, that were first of the children of the allfather, we name you to be our king, to be king of all the folk of all the lands of the North Way. We swear by the golden roof of Val Hall, where your fathers sit, and we bind our hope to sit with them in it in this oath, that we shall cleve to you, so that we will live at your word; so that we will come at your word and go at your word; so that we will fight at your word and die at your word, so long as you shall uphold the laws that are the custom from old among our folk. I, Haakon of Sekkesund, say this for all here who trust the old gods."
In the booth, all was still as carved from a walrus tusk. Only Lochlann still stood, staff between hands, silent; Lochlann, and John, and the man Thorvaldson, and they were back in the shadows, silent, listening. The man next to Haakon, a younger man, then spoke.
"Lief, son of Trigvi, who was the son of Olaf, son of Trigvi, first among the clan of the Brisings, who have served and led the folk of this land since first men walked it, we name you to be our king, king of all the folk of all the lands along the North Way. We swear by the Holy Cross of Christ, and we bind our hope to sit with him in the house of Heaven in this oath, that we shall be true to you, so that we shall live as you tell us, and come at your call, and go at your dismissal, so that we shall fight at your word and die as you ask, so long as you shall uphold the ways that are the custom of old among the folk, and so long as you respect the ways of worship that we follow. I, Ljotolf Arnason, say this on behalf of all those here who trust the White Christ."
Then Lochlann spoke to them, and although his voice was quiet, there was hoarseness in it, so that I thought he was speaking through anger -- "The way to the throne is across the ford of blood; and I no longer have a sword. I will not be your king."
Trigvi was there at his shoulder, his great hand on his shoulder, his sword bare in the other. He cried a great hey! and sent the sword up, whirling, flashing, into the rain and dark. He caught it as fell back into the light, tossed it again -- and catching it by the blade, knelt and presented it to Lochlann, saying "while I live, you have a sword."
"No, Trigvi. I have given my sword to the sea, and the sea has eaten it. I will not carry another. You all know that a throne is not bought, but rented in blood: and the gods are greedy landlords -- no, Ljotolf Clerk, I was not meaning sacrifices, though I too well remember the lines of men my father would hang on trees at midsummer. But a throne draws ambitious men as rotten meat draws flies. Will my brother stand to see me take the throne? Would you have me kill my brother? Would you have name my brother nything? Would you have me drive him forth from the Northlands, so that he may spread fire and blood across some other part of Midgard? And if my brother did not seek my throne, what of Jarl Svein of the Dan Mark? What of Jarl Kali of Skania? Would they stand to see me hold the throne, without trying my strength?"
"Lief, you led us to San Mark, and on to Ch'in, and back to the place of the Sultan at Baghdad; you led us to Miklagard, and in Falestin, to Rome and Andeluz. And everyone that went with us came back with us. Everyone that went with us is at this place now, and that is not the luck given to an ordinary lord of men. Lief, you cannot refuse to be our king. The gods themselves have marked you for our king. It is known of old, is it not, that Huginn and Muninn speak to the king, and only to the king? Yet all know that they speak to you. We need you to be our king. And the men of the North Way will follow a king who does not wear a sword, so that that king is you. Lief, I will be your champion, and bear the sword for you. Or if not I, I will follow any champion you name, and fight and die at his word in your name. But you must be our king. We name you as our king. The gods name you as our king. Only you can hold the folk. Only you will keep the old laws, and respect the folk of the white christ at the same time. Only you can keep the folk together, so that they will not fight, man against man, brother against brother, across all the lands of the north way. You must be our king."
I looked at Lochlann's face, at the strain in it. I wanted to protect him as a mother protects her child. Without intending to move, I found myself at his other side, felt his arm engulf my shoulders, press me hard to him so that I was hurting with it. Outside, the lines of warriors stood silent in the rain, waiting. Behind him, his own men stood silent in the booth, waiting. And I knew that he had no answer to give them.
Old Haakon spoke again, out of the silence, out of the rain.
"Lief, you know that this meeting is a sham. You know that the Thing cannot make the judgements in this land now, for Olaf will not abide by our judgements. You know that what he wants to do is take all the land under his hand, so that all men must pay taxes to him, and do as he says, so that the old laws are destroyed. You know that his christmen say that the laws of our folk are the laws of demons and should not stand. You know Olaf will not offend the merchants of the coast, for they provide him with the money to pay his hirelings. We want to have the old laws upheld, so that a man may live on his land, in his own place, and, so that he does not offend anyone, have peace. But we have no leader who is lucky in war to bind us together to oppose him. And of the Jarls and Captains who are lucky in war, there is none we trust, for none seek anything but power for themselves. You must be our king. We are your folk and we need you."
I felt that the muscles in Lochlann's cheeks were harpstrings. I felt the helplessness that was in him. I found the courage, then, to speak myself.
"This is not the way the thing is done, by the old law. It is the law that the king be called for in the Thing, in the open field under the sun, not here in the booth in the dark. Lief has a man to tend here, who is dying; leave us that we may tend him. In the morning, when the Thing is assembled call for your king then. Go now! Go back to your tents and to your booths. The time to call the king is in the morning."
Lochlann squeezed me quickly to him, and I felt the tension ease a little. He spoke.
"Kirsten is right. The place is not here, but in the open field in the daylight. But I have listened to your words, and I will answer you. I wish luck to you all, and peace, and the blessing of your own gods, each one of you. Let Haakon and Ljotolf stay here by me, if you will trust them to speak on your behalf. Good rest to you all."
When they had gone, we all gathered round the brazier in the booth, while young Haroldson groaned out his life in our bed at the back. Catriona and his father tended him. Trigvi and Eric wanted to throw Thorvaldson and John out, or else hold them somewhere, so that Olaf's party should not hear what was going forward. But I said no; let them take part, let them listen. If we were to settle this thing without fighting, we would need to have some who could carry our thoughts to the other party. Lochlann agreed with me. Haakon again urged that Lochlann should take the kingship, speaking well and clearly. Trigvi said the same, but simply and hotly. Lochlann asked me what I thought.
I reminded him about how he had told me of the land of Ch'in, where folk lived at peace across a wide country, where a woman could walk alone in places where she was a stranger, and take no hurt. I reminded him that he had told me that this was because of the good rule of the kings of Ch'in. I said that if he were to take the kingship, surely he could rule as well as the king of Ch'in?
He turned to the young man Ljotolf.
"Ljotolf, you speak for the folk of the white christ. You know that Jarl Olaf is of the white christ. I tell you truly that I am not. Would you sooner have me as king than him?"
"I have spoken with Catriona, who was your slave, and is a strong person in our church. I have spoken to Eric who is your man, and who went with you to the birthplace of our lord, and was baptised there. They have told me that you do not choose between folk for the god they follow, and I believe them. Now, I know that while Jarl Olaf holds the kingship, there will be no peace in this land while anyone still follows the old gods. And I know that while Jarl Olaf holds the kingship, all the old laws which bind the peace of our homes will be gone. I would have you for king. I will follow you. I speak for all of my church, and many, I know, of the other churches."
"John, I know that you are not the leader of the christfolk, but you know the mind of the priests. What would the priests say if I took the kingship?"
"I think that you know that we will say what the Bishop says. I think that he will say that you cannot take the kingship, because that is God's to give; and that the folk cannot call on you to be king, but only he, who is God's appointed representative in this place. And he has named Olaf to be king, and blessed him with the holy oil given to him by the Pope himself. So that there is no kingship for you to take. And I say this to you, Ljotolf, that if you rebel against the king that God has sent to you, then that is a mortal sin, and while you are in rebellion there is no mass for you at the churches."
"John, come... I shall not ask of Ljotolf that which is God's. May I not ask of him that which is Caeser's?"
"As to that, I do not know myself whether you are a good man or a demon, as many say. I trust you least when you speak with the Holy words of God; and though I do believe that if you had the kingship there might be peace in this land, yet as you are not baptised so the church will not support you, but will call on all folk of the Christ to war against you. And as you are not Olaf, I think that the Bishop would not support you, even if you took the baptism."
"So that if I take the crown, the church of the prince of peace will urge war?"
"I think that if you take the crown, we will urge war."
We got little sleep that night. All around us, folk were astir with the first of the midsummer light, and very soon voices were calling for Lochlann. Before the sun was well over the trees, Catriona had come with hot ale, to rouse us, saying that she could not keep Trigvi quiet much longer. We stumbled out of bed and hauled our clothes on; at once some of the men started taking down the cloth that was hung across the front of the booth. Sunlight spilled in. The heavy grey cloud of the night before were gone. I looked out over the field of the Thing, and saw that there was a great crowd of men standing between us and the judges bench, not wearing their best clothes as folk had done before, but stout leather jerkins and caps, and here and there the gleam of a hauberk. Beyond them, across the far side of the field, a smaller band was forming, bright with steel.
Trigvi and Sverrir, and Haakon the judge, and young Ljotolf with them, came up to us as soon as we came out. Each of them wore war gear, and had a knot of oak leaves on their shoulders. All the men of our party wore them that morning. You could see that Trigvi was excited. He kept telling us how this person and that person had come to join our party, and pointing out more folk joining the throng on our side of the place. At last he said that it would be a slaughter: Olaf's party would not have a chance. Lochlann's reply was angry:
"Look, in the stories there is a great battle, and afterwards everything is settled. But that is not how it is here. I know that we have many more folk than they do, but their men are well armed, and hardened in war, whereas most of our folk are farmers. So the battle could go either way this day. It is what happens next that you should think to. Our men must go back to their farms, for there is the harvest to get in. Win or lose, they must go back. They will be scattered all across the land. We may win today, but we cannot win tomorrow. Olaf's party do not have harvests to gather in. They harvest only with the sword. And those men who are overseas this summer, trading and raiding, when they come back they will mostly be of Olaf's party. So tomorrow they will be stronger, but we will be weaker. If I was Olaf -- and Olaf has fought a few battles, he is no fool -- if I was Olaf, and it came to fighting, I would give ground this day. I would know what I have just told you. Olaf will not beat us here today: not because we are stronger, but because it will not suit his purpose to try."
Before Trigvi could answer him, Eric came running up to say that the young men out on the field were getting restless, and if something was not done the fighting would start soon. Haakon said he would go, for if the fighting started before we were ready, without any planning, then we would surely lose. Trigvi said no, it was he that should go, but Ljotolf said they would all be needed, and so they all went. Lochlann and I found some porrage to make the daymeal, looking out over the field at the great host of men being broken up into bands, the bands formed up into lines, and men being shuffled about.
I asked Lochlann what he thought he would do. He thought a long time before replying, eating his porrage, and watching the army take shape. He said that it wasn't simple:
"I do not think you can buy peace with blood. Perhaps we could win this field today -- no, I'm sure we could. But then we would have to move fast to secure the coast, before Olaf's friends who are beyond the water can band together to strike back. If we do that, we have to scatter our folk over a wide area of rich land where many of Olaf's party have their homes. And many of our folk will have old scores to settle. We would not be able to watch them all. So the old blood feuds would just wind on. Yes, I could be king, perhaps, as my father was king, holding down the land by the blood of Sigi and her sisters. I cannot be that king. But if I will not be that king, then those who stand on this side of the field will feel the weight of Olaf's rule, and that will be bloodier than my father's ever was."
He paused, finished the last of his porrage, and swilled his bowl and spoon in the bucket. Then he looked up at us.
"No: this must not be settled in blood. It can only be settled in peace if Olaf or I give up our claims to the kingship; and he wants it, but I don't. He won't give it up unless he is killed. If we beat him, if we drive him away, he will just come back to try again. So it can't be settled in blood, and we can't win it without blood. What we must find is some way that settles it that leaves Olaf with the prize, but protects the folk. Look: you went and spoke with the bishop last night. Go to him again. Say that you come from me. Tell him that I will swear allegiance to Olaf, and leave this land for ever, if he and Olaf will promise two things: first that they will not compel anyone to take baptism, and second that they will end the trade in slaves."
So we went down in hope through the bright of the morning, passing between the two well armed bands of Trigvi's back line, older men, steadier, held back so that they could throw weight where they were needed, then turning to pass between the middle and right hand bands of the second line, which was made up of the lightest armed men, but which had been given all the bows we had. Finally we passed through our front rank, well armed younger men, mostly with axes, but some with sword and shield. The men stood quietly in their bands, with little talking and no-one stepping out of line. I was impressed by the way Lochlann's men had formed this mass of folk into so formidable looking a force so quickly.
We crossed the broad centre of the place, an empty plain of squelching turf, here and there trampled to mud, empty but for the great old stones of the judges bench.
Then we faced Olaf's troop. They formed a wall of banded leather shields, all painted alike, glittering helms, glinting hauberks, flashing swords and spearblades. On either side of them and behind, smaller warbands of other chiefs, but equally well armed. There were not half as many of them as we had on our side, but I knew why Lochlann had said it would not be an easy fight.
At first they would not let us pass. Then, when we had said we came to speak with the bishop, they made a path for us, jostling us, and making insulting jokes. We ignored them and walked through. We might as well not have bothered. Olaf was with the bishop. The bishop said that he would not listen to the words of a demon. Olaf said that he was king, and that he would not accept deals from anybody. Then we set out to go back, but they would not let us. Some of Olaf's soldiers pulled us away to an empty booth on their side of the field. I struggled at first, but Catriona told me in the Gaelic not to be a fool, there was good enough chance of the both of us getting raped without that we should provoke them. So after that I went quietly up to the booth, and it was from Olaf's side of the place that I saw what happened next.
The first thing that happened next was that a lot of time passed. I suppose that Lochlann was waiting for us to come back. Nothing much happened. The men stood in their lines. Behind the lines, on both sides, women and merchants were packing up their goods and moving away from the place. The sun climbed higher. The wet grass of the place began to steam. Eventually, long after the business of the Thing should have started for the day, Lochlann and Haakon came out to the judges bench in the middle of the place and sat down.
There was another pause. I could see Peter the Judge talking to Olaf. Then he walked out through the lines of men onto the place, and squelched across to the benches. We saw all the judges shake hands, and Haakon stood up and made the customary announcement that the business of the Thing was started.
At once, the men of our party started a great shout of Lief! Lief! - so that I think that that had been planned in advance. Olaf's men were not slow to follow, so that they were yelling Olaf! Olaf! -- between the two great shouts, no-one could hear much. The men who had been set to watch us, were watching the field. Now Haakon the judge raised his hands for quiet. It took a long time to get it; but then I could see leaders on both sides quieting their men, and at last the shouting was done.
Haakon called, facing away from us, so that we could only just hear him, were folk calling for Lief Trygvasson to be the king? There was tremendous cheering from the other side of the field. The judges held up their hands for quiet, and after a bit there was quiet. Now Haakon turned towards us and called, are folk calling for Jarl Olaf to be the king? Now it was the turn of Olaf's men to cheer, so that we were all but deafened. And as the cheering went on, Catriona took me by the hand and led me out of the booth, slipping quietly behind the men who were supposed to be watching us, so that we missed the next bit of what happened.
We crept through the trees down towards the river, but soon we found that everyone else was doing the same. Still, the two parties kept apart, and it wasn't hard for us to get amongst men of our own party in the confusion. We found a man called Little Eric, who was one of Lochlann's men but not the same Eric as was baptised at Betelheim, and he told us what had happened. He said that Haakon had called out saying did Lief claim the kingship, and Lochlann had said that he did. Then Haakon had called out did Olaf claim the kingship, and Olaf walked out onto the field and said that he did. Then Haakon said that the proper thing, according to the law, when two folk both claimed the kingship was for them to have a holmgang. Now this was a popular thing to say, because it was true, and because all men like to watch a fight, and because both sides thought their man must win. So there was tremendous cheering, and everyone had set off to see the holmgang.
Now you probably won't know what a holmgang is, because it is not the custom here in the southlands. But in the north, the custom is that when two men have a disagreement, and the judges can't decide the rights of it, and they won't agree between themselves, then they must go out to a small island and fight, and the allfather would judge them, and give the victory to the one who had the right of it.
When we got to the river bank, we found that just there where we were there was an island in the middle, a long low whaleback of rock and short turf, with boulders and thornscrub along the sides of it. This was the island for the holmgang. More and more folk poured out of the forest onto the river bank. I was looking up and down the bank for Lochlann, but I did not see him until he was already in a boat on the river. Trigvi was rowing him out to the island. I called out to him, but there were a great many folk calling, so that I don't think that he heard me.
Lochlann climbed out of the boat, onto a little beach at the south end of the island. I saw him speaking with Trigvi; they hugged each other briefly, and then I saw Lochlann punch Trigvi, and then they were laughing. Lochlann swung away with a swirl of his mantle, and bounded up the slope to the crest of the eyot. The highest point was a great slab of flat grey rock, and there he stood, as I'd so often seen him, upright, legs apart, gentle wind licking at the fall of his mantle, and the tufts of his hair; staff held horizontal between his hands. A man at peace with himself, quiet, relaxed.
Olaf was still on the hither bank, about his business with the christmen. The lesser christmen were standing all together, in a block, singing something mournful. The bishop stood in front of them, saying things which I could not hear, and making grand, slow gestures and signs with his hands over Olaf, and more particularly over his sword.
As we waited, Haakon the judge came pushing up the river bank, through the crouds, and some others with him; and he was looking all about him. When he saw us, he greeted us with relief, and sent one of the others with him back down the bank, saying -- "tell Trigvi it's all right, they're here and safe."
Haakon stood with us. I pointed down the river to where Olaf and the Bishop were yet, and made some rude joke. Haakon said that I had not seen the best of it. He told us that when Lochlann had said that he wouldn't be taking a sword, Olaf had become very upset. He had said that Lochlann should not take his staff, and Lochlann had said, very well, let you not take your sword. But Olaf would not agree to that. So Lochlann had said, would it please you if your priest could bless my staff.
Then the Bishop had started a great play over the staff, chanting something in a language no-one could understand. When he was well into this, Lochlann had interrupted, saying hadn't he got that bit wrong, shouldn't he have said -- and then Lochlann had said something in the language, and the Bishop had become very angry, and you could see that one of the other christmen was having difficulty not laughing.
We all laughed at this tale. All the time Haakon had been telling it, the Bishop had been going on with his act with Olaf. Folk were getting bored, and a noise of whistling and mocking jokes came from wherever folk of our party were gathered; so at last, Olaf got in his boat and was rowed out to the island.
They were brothers, and had the look of brothers. They were much of a height, much of a build, much the same colouring. Out there on the eyot, you would not have known it. Lochlann stood, still, still, tall, straight, quiet, in the old patched clothes of his long travelling, like a stone left by the elder folk, pointing at the sun. Olaf crouched, wary, restless, legs bent, elbows out, light glinting off helm and hauberk and sword, silver and steel and gold, scuttling half sideways, first to the left, then to the right, like a gilded crab.
A raven, sliding on the gentle slopes of air, passed across the face of the sun, easing itself down towards Lochlann. As it's shadow swept over him, Olaf whirled about, shield raised high, slashing with his sword at the empty air behind him. He stumbled, recovered, and dropped again into a fighters crouch, facing Lochlann. The raven settled quietly to Lochlann's shouldered, and shuffled its wings into place.
It cawed, softly, three times.
It cawed softly, but we all heard it, for there was such a hush as you would not believe of such a gathering. This was not the holmgang where folk cheer the champion of their choice: this was the frozen quiet of the moment before the god speaks.
The raven cawed thee times.
Olaf spun again, carving the wind with great flailing strokes, twisting, stumbling, swirling, falling, rolling, scrambling back to his feet, dropping again into a crouch. You could hear his breath over the water, panting harshly. Now he was moving to his right again, long step sideways, crouch, wait, and again; and then swirl and slash like a madman at the silence behind him. But always, for all that he moved more sideways than forward, he was coming closer to the high place where Lochlann stood, still, silent, waiting. At last they were not so far apart as the length of a longship's oar. The raven dropped forward from Lochlann's shoulder and swept round in a long, smooth glide which circled behind Olaf.
Again, Olaf launched a savage swing behind him; and this time, it met not air, but the trunk of a gnarled old thorn tree. There was a crisp thunk, and the tree took the blade, and held it.
For a moment, the scene was frozen: Lochlann, straight and quiet on the crest, Olaf, bunched and straining on the slope below. Then, as simply as it had taken it, the tree let go of the sword, and Olaf was flung like a bowstring that has parted across the slope into the stones at Lochlann's feet. His sword drove into the rock and shattered.
Again there was a moment's stillness. Olaf lay face down on the rock, panting and gasping hoarsely. The raven completed its circuit, and landed again on the shoulder it had left. Then Lochlann took two steps forward, dropped the but of his staff between Olaf's shoulder blades, leant his weight on it, and said in a voice that we all heard:
"Yield."
Copyright © Simon Brooke
1992-1996
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