Читать книгу Viking's Dawn - Henry Treece - Страница 5

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Now she lay ready, the proud long ship of the fjord. In the three days since Thorkell Fairhair had returned to the village, the master painters had been at work on her, using their bright hues to transform the smooth-planed oak to a picture of magnificent color. Each strake of her sides was painted a different color, red and blue and ocher. Her gunwales were gilded. Each shutter over the oarports was painted a deep black. Her tall mast stood silver in the sunlight. The high-flung bows and stern shone richly under a thick layer of gold leaf, varnished with an Eastern resin to withstand the salty ravages of any deep and distant ocean. Even the platforms, fore and aft, were colored leaf green, with an especially durable pigment whose secret was known only to these traveling craftsmen, who journeyed here and there along the fjords at this time, selling their skill to any community that had such a venture in hand.

Thorkell Fairhair and his henchman Wolf sat at a rough table on the edge of the village, at the spot where the shore first started to run down to the fjord. On the board before them lay a heap of white knucklebones, perhaps four score in all. Thorkell’s long sword lay beside them in its sheath, its hilt turned away from his hand so that he might only draw it at a disadvantage.

Behind the table stood the villagers, in many rows, old men, women and the children. Dogs and grunting pigs wandered here and there, some of them even stopping to rub against the trestles, or to push beneath the stools of the seated men.

Before the table stood a long line of men, some of them villagers, even men who had wielded the heavy adze on the oaken planks or dragged the giant spokeshave along the tall mast; others were men from farther away, who had heard the news of the venture and were anxious to share the excitements of the voyage. Yet others came from beyond the fjord, from far away where different kings ruled and different gods haunted a man’s dreams. Yet all were welcome to Thorkell Fairhair, whatever strange tongue they spoke, whatever the color of their skin.

For Thorkell must gather about him forty sailors before his new long ship might set her face toward the farthermost seas. Forty men who feared nothing and who used a weapon as readily as they pulled at an oar. It was not always easy to find so many men of such qualities from one small community. And now men stood before him, saying their names, and the name of their weapon, laying their hands palm upwards on the table top so that Thorkell could judge whether they were callused enough to pull at an oar for days on end.... Those he rejected with a grim smile and a nod of his golden head smiled back as grimly and walked away, taking the path they had come, to find another village where a good ship was being pushed out into the fjord—for at this time a great restlessness was sweeping across the countries and men everywhere woke up with the itch to be moving.... Those he chose were given a pair of the knucklebones to keep, as sign that they were under contract to Thorkell. They must keep these bones safely, until such time as they wished to break with him and leave the ship. Then, all they had to do was to hand them both back, putting one in his right hand and one in his left, with the words: “The snow leaves the hills, the leaf leaves the trees, the bird leaves the nest—and I leave you.” Once the bones were given and the words spoken, neither man was under any obligation to the other, and might even kill each other should they feel the need to do so. But while the man had the bones and the words had not been said, he was bound to serve and to obey; nor might either harm the other even in the slightest degree, without becoming liable under the law of the folk meeting to severe penalties. And these laws were strictly adhered to, even among men who might be called thieves and murderers by the rest of the world—the Christian world of the Franks and the English....

“I am Rolf Wryneck, steersman, and my dagger is named Battlefang,” said a thin man who carried his head on one side and seemed to sniff with a perpetual cold.

Thorkell turned back to Wolf and both laughed. “This man should serve us well,” said Thorkell, “for he will be able to see round the corners before we get there! Here are the bones, Rolf Wryneck, and may you steer us well!”

“I am Gnorre Nithing, from Finland, and my sword is Grunter,” said the next man, so stooped and round-shouldered that he almost looked deformed.

Wolf said, “Nithing is a strange name, man. It is only given to one who has broken the law and whose life is any man’s to take.”

Thorkell looked at him searchingly. “What did you do, Nithing?” he asked sternly. “No outlaw can sail with me.”

The Finn looked piteously at Thorkell. “Master,” he stammered, “I killed a man. Only that.”

“Only that!” echoed Thorkell, gazing at the Finn’s bent back and stooped posture. “What was he, a straw man in the spring festival?”

The villagers began to laugh and the Finn’s face went red. He stammered and could not answer. His coarse hands trembled as he laid them on the table.

“Come man, speak up,” said Wolf, half-jeering.

Then the man behind the Finn pushed forward. In height and breadth he was the biggest man the village had ever seen. His harsh black hair hung down unkempt beneath his iron, horned helmet. About his massive chest he wore an untanned bearskin, pulled in to his thick waist with a length of rawhide. A double-bladed ax swung down to the ground from the strap.

“The Nithing asks for work,” he said to Thorkell, without any sign of respect. “He does not ask to be tried by the folk meeting here. He killed a man who had killed his brother. But that man was a king in Finland, and so Gnorre became a Nithing. I would have killed him. Would not you?” He fixed his red-rimmed eyes on Wolf and his great black beard jutted out toward Thorkell’s henchman.

There were many about the table at that moment who edged away a little and took a firmer grip on their weapons, for it was at such moments as these that a deadly fight might begin.

Wolf scratched the side of his nose calmly and came round the table. He stood within an ax-stroke of the great man and said pleasantly, “It is peaceful up there in the woods, among the trees. Here a man can hardly move for folk. And always there are women under his feet screaming that he will wake the baby.”

The big man smiled back grimly and said, “I am of the woods. I get my clothes from the woods as you see. I am at home there. I know nothing of women and babies, but I will go with you to the woods.”

Now all about the table sucked in their breath for they knew what these calm words meant. Only Thorkell seemed unmoved. He said, “Who are you to come here boasting of your prowess over bears? We have each killed a bear and do not go about parading his skin like a young man who is anxious for the girls to think him brave.”

The big man stopped smiling and said, “I wish to call you Master, or I should answer you another way. I am Aun Doorback and this is Peacegiver.” He rattled the great ax on the table top. “I speak now for Gnorre Nithing because he is not a man to speak for himself. He is a warrior and a viking, not a talker about firesides.”

Thorkell smiled up at him gently, “What right have you to speak for another man, Aun Doorback?” he said.

“The best right of all, Master Goldhair,” said Aun. “It was my brother that Gnorre killed.”

There was a murmur among the villagers.

“Did you not wish to kill Gnorre, then?” asked Thorkell.

“No, Master,” said Aun. “If Gnorre had not killed him, I should have done so, for my brother was an evil man.”

“Should you not be king in his place, then?” asked Thorkell.

Aun said, “Yes, but when the folk meeting judged Gnorre to be an outlaw, I could not stay and rule such a stupid people. I chose to go with Gnorre and keep men from striking him down unjustly.”

Thorkell said, “Take you two pairs of bones, Aun. One for yourself and one for Gnorre. You may be a good man.”

But Aun would not go from the table. He turned now to Wolf. “Have we a debt to settle?” he said.

Wolf said, “Let me feel the weight of your ax.”

He took the great weapon and made the motion of raising it. The veins in his arms stood out and his face was red. He smiled ruefully and said, “I pity the bear on whose skull that falls.”

He handed back the great ax.

“I will fight you with knives or not at all,” he said.

Aun burst into a great laugh and said, “I have never used a knife but to cut my meat. I should not be able to do more than scratch at you.”

Wolf said, “That would suit me, friend! As for me, I should burst a blood vessel if I swung an ax big enough to match that tree trunk.”

They looked long at each other. Then Aun held out his hand and said, “You are too brave a man to feed the ravens. I will not send you to your death, Redhead.”

Wolf took his hand and said, “It would be a pity to spoil such a great mound of a man with my wicked little knife.”

Thus they were friends and Wolf went back behind the table, while Aun and Gnorre drew to one side to let the next man come forward.

And so the names were given, of man and weapon: Hasting and his ax Dreammaker; Gryffi and his sword Yell Stick; Kragge and his knife Homegetter; Ivar and his ax Pretty One, and so on, along the line of men, until at last there was only one man left. Yet Thorkell still had six knucklebones upon the table, enough for three men.

The last man sat silently, away from the others. He seemed to be crouching upon the pebbles, as though he were busy with something that held his attention. He had forgotten where he was. All eyes turned toward him and many men laughed to see him. He was very small and his face was the yellow color of parchment. His black hair was shaven from the sides of his head and his one long plait was wound round and round on top of his skull and held up with bone pins. His eyes were narrow and his cheekbones high.

Thorkell called to him a time or two and at last he heard and came toward the table. Then they laughed. He wore a long heavy cloak of sheepskin and trousers of reindeer hide, but they hung too low between the legs so that his appearance was that of an ape rather than a man. He walked with his toes turned in and his long arms hanging at his sides.

When he got to the table he smiled, ignoring the laughter, and stood silent. Thorkell said, “Are you a man?”

He did not understand the question and said thickly, “No, I think not.” All the village roared, even the children, who crowded round to see what that funny man was like.

“Look at the beads sewn on to his skin tunic,” said one child.

“Yes, but look at the great bone rings on his wrists and arms. No bear has bones big enough to make such rings. He must be a Lapp wizard,” said another.

Thorkell heard the child. “Are you from Lapland?” he asked.

The little man smiled even more broadly and shook his head so violently that it seemed his hair would come undone and fall about his face.

Thorkell said slowly and loudly, as one who speaks to a stupid child, “What sword do you carry?”

The Laplander made the motion of carrying a heavy load. When the men had quietened again, Thorkell said, “Have you a weapon?” He pointed to his own sword on the table. The Laplander went forward to take it up, thinking Thorkell had given it to him. Thorkell snatched it away just in time.

“Speak to him, Wolf,” he said. “I do not know how to make him understand.”

Wolf came forward and took the little man by the arm and went through the dumb show of fighting with a knife, then an ax, then a sword, even of wrestling.

It was at the last that he made the mistake of gripping the Laplander’s arm too tightly. It seemed that the man thought he was actually being attacked. What happened then was too fast for most of the men to see properly. First they saw Wolf smiling, and grappling in play with the Lapp. Then they saw Wolf’s legs disappearing over the little man’s shoulder, and Wolf stretched out on the pebbles, the breath knocked quite out of him.

The little Lapp went forward and helped him up again. Wolf rubbed his shoulder painfully and said, “Do your own talking now, Thorkell. I had almost as soon fight Aun Doorback.”

Then Gnorre came forward and whispered in the Lapp’s ear. The man grinned and went to the table, “Horic Laplander,” he said, “no ax, no sword, no knife. This.”

He pulled from his pouch a thin length of tarred twine. There were four knots tied in it along its length. Thorkell put out his hand, in wonder, to touch it, but the man jumped back and shook his head. Gnorre said, “You must not touch it, Master. It is a magic thing.”

“What does he call it?” asked Wolf, bewildered.

Gnorre spoke to him again, and the man said, “Windmaker. Horic bring whatever wind ship wants. Untie knot, wind blow; tie knot, wind go.” Then he laughed aloud and stared from one face to another, in wonder, for no one believed him.

Thorkell said, “No good. We have too many lunatics in the ship’s company already. He must go back to Lapland with his winds.”

Aun stepped forward and said, “If you send this man away, I shall go too. He will take the good winds with him.”

And three or four other men spoke up then and said that they would follow Aun and give back the knucklebones.

Thorkell was almost about to tell them to go when Wolf whispered and a smile came over Thorkell’s face.

“Aun,” he said, “you seem to spend your life fighting other men’s battles, but I think none the less of you for that—unless you become too great a nuisance. You must remember that I am the shipmaster. Now, I will tell you what we will do—if this Horic is as good a wizard as everybody seems to think, let him do something we can all see, something useful to our enterprise, and then I will let him sail with us, for he seems to have strength enough to row the boat himself, without any help from us!”

Gnorre spoke to Horic, telling him to make a magic that would help the ship. Horic nodded and then bent down low over the ground, seeming to search among the coarse grass for something he had lost. Everyone watched him carefully now. Even the children were still.

Horic picked up something from the ground. It was a small black beetle. He stooped then and found a twig. All men watched him as he pulled out one of the black hairs of his head and carefully tied one end round the beetle’s body and the other end to the twig. Then he pushed the twig a little way into the sandy ground and sat down near to it, watching.

The beetle began to walk round the twig, trying to get away, but he was tethered by the long black hair. All he could do was to go round and round. As he walked about the twig, the hair wrapped itself shorter and shorter until the beetle was only an inch from the twig.

By now men were beginning to think that this was only a jest that the Lapp was playing on Thorkell, and they began to laugh. But the little man looked up sternly and waved them to silence. Then, as the beetle approached the twig on the end of the hair, he looked up toward the wooded hilltop, his yellow face anxious, his narrow eyes keen and watchful.

“What in Odin’s name is he doing?” asked Wolf.

“He is bringing you shipmen,” said Gnorre, in a hoarse whisper.

Now Thorkell watched with great concern for he was anxious to make up a full crew before he sailed. Yet every day’s delay was a serious one, for these wandering men were impatient and would hand back the bones if they did not sail quickly.

Now the Lapp was trembling with an inner excitement and Thorkell saw that the beetle had almost touched the twig.

Suddenly it moved its hard-shelled back against the slip of wood, and Horic, gazing up the hill gave a little cry of pleasure and pointed toward the woods with his yellow hand.

They all turned and followed his gaze.

From between the hanging pine boughs two men came, a young one and an older man, staggering as though they had come far across the mountains and through the woods.

The older man’s head was covered by his long cloak, but all men saw that the young one had hair the color of corn. The two waved joyously, as though with relief, and began to descend the hill toward the village. Thorkell shook his head in wonder, then held out the bones to the Lapp. For a moment his eyes were fixed beyond the world’s edge and he did not see them. Then he awoke and took the bones and stood by Gnorre to watch the two come down.

Aun said, “The young one will make a proper viking in time.”

So Harald and his father Sigurd came to the village at last.