Land of the Silver Dragon

NINE

Presently, the sons and daughters sitting beside Thorfinn began to drift away. It was approaching the middle of the day, and I imagined they all had tasks to do. Last to go was Einar. He turned to look back at me before he left, and I thought he was about to speak. Almost imperceptibly, Thorfinn shook his head. Einar spun on his heel and strode away.

Thorfinn looked down at me. ‘Just now, you asked me a couple of questions,’ he said softly. ‘Understandably, you wish to be told why you have been brought here and what we want of you.’ I opened my mouth to ask the questions again, but he put up a hand for silence. ‘Forgive me, my child,’ he said. ‘It is natural that you want to know these things, and you have my word that all will be explained to you in due course.’ When? I cried silently. And how soon will they take me home again?

He nodded, as if he had heard. Then he said, ‘It is my habit, on such days as this, to eat but sparingly during the day, so as to have the best appetite for later.’ I was right, then, about the feast. I wondered what they were celebrating, and how long into the night they’d go on carousing. I wouldn’t be getting any sleep till they’d finished … But he was still speaking, so I stopped feeling sorry for myself and listened. ‘It would please me if you would now eat with me,’ he was saying, ‘and perhaps you will tell me about yourself?’

It wasn’t fair! He had put off answering my questions, yet now he was expecting me to satisfy his curiosity! ‘Apparently you already know my name,’ I said stiffly. ‘You also seem to know where I live, where my kinsfolk live, and the fact that I regularly travel to and fro between my village and Camb- er, a big town nearby.’

‘Cambridge,’ Thorfinn murmured.

I barely heard. My anger rising again, I hissed, ‘Your son killed my sister’s mother-in-law and my aunt! He came hunting for something, either on your instructions or on his own behalf, and he-’

‘Stop.’ The single word, quietly spoken, had an instant effect: I felt as if the words lining up to tumble out of my mouth had been pushed back down my throat. ‘Have patience, Lassair,’ he went on. ‘For now, do not speak of what you do not understand.’

I understand that my people have been killed, wounded and suffered the distress of having their homes ransacked! I wanted to shout. But there was an unseen power emanating from the huge man beside me, and I did not dare.

Food was brought — flat bread, dried cod, pots of a cool, slightly sharp substance that I guessed was some sort of coagulated milk, and that proved to be delicious — and Thorfinn made sure I took my share. As we ate, he asked me about my village, about Cambridge, about my training as a healer. Although we only spoke in fairly general terms, I had the feeling he already knew much of what I was telling him.

It was very strange, and I still had absolutely no idea why he was interested in my kinsfolk and me, nor what it was he believed we possessed, and that he was going to such extraordinary lengths to find.

The food was all gone. Thorfinn sat quietly beside me. Suddenly I yawned, hugely and uncontrollably. Recalling where I was, belatedly I put a hand in front of my mouth and muttered an apology.

‘Would you like to sleep?’ he asked. I nodded. Despite everything, I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Thorfinn beckoned, and one of the women busy preparing food came across to us, wiping her hands on her apron. He said something to her in their own tongue — thanks to my lessons with Olaf, I could pretty much understand the words — and, with a smile, she held out her hand to me. I got up, and she led me away.

We went on down the hall, then through a narrow doorway into another, smaller room. I remembered that, from the outside, the homestead looked like two buildings set end to end, so this must be the second one. There was a central hearth, and around it wide platforms set around the inside of the walls, strewn with furs and bedding. A group of four or five women sat together close to the hearth, quietly talking. They looked up, nodding to my companion and staring with interest at me. My companion led me to the far end of the room, indicating a cosy corner of the platform, tucked deep beneath the steeply sloping roof. She patted the heavy sheepskins spread out ready, miming sleep by putting her face down sideways on to her joined hands.

I needed no further invitation. I got up on to the platform, crawled inside the nest of sheepskins and curled up. I was aware of the woman’s soft footfalls as she went back to the main hall, and of the gentle, murmuring voices of the women beside the hearth as they resumed their conversation. Then sleep took a firm hold of me, and that was that.

I woke to a babble of muted chatter, interspersed with bursts of laughter and a voice suddenly raised in song. There seemed to be a lot of people in the main hall, and it sounded as if the feast had begun. I looked up at the bit of sky visible through the smoke hole, and saw that it was deep, twilight blue.

I got up, carefully tidying the sheepskins, then straightened my borrowed gown. I smoothed back some loose strands of hair, retied my shawl, then crept across the room and along the short, narrow passage till I was standing in the doorway of the main hall.

Trestle tables had been set out, one each side of the fire pit and one up on the dais. People were seated, on benches and, up on the dais, on chairs. Thorfinn sat on his throne, his back to me. The food smells were wonderful, making my stomach growl. It seemed a long time since I had shared Thorfinn’s light meal. I hoped they hadn’t forgotten about me; perhaps someone — friendly Thyra, maybe — would bring me a platter of varied delicacies …

A man’s voice, deep and strong, rose up above the others. He was singing, and, from the shouts of male laughter and loud guffaws, I guessed it was a ribald song. It was ever the way, my Granny Cordeilla once informed me, to concentrate on the bawdy, light-hearted songs and tales before and during the feast. When people’s minds are on filling their bellies, she used to say with a wicked grin, it’s no use trying to make them concentrate on some deep, serious and significant tale of the ancestors; save that for when they’re replete, my girl, and you’ll have their full attention.

Would a bard tell a tale later tonight? Would anyone notice if I stayed there, crouched in the doorway, and shared it? I noticed again, as I stood listening, that I could understand quite a lot of what people were saying. It was more than curiosity that prompted my interest: when my granny died, she bequeathed to me the role of family bard. Professionally, I am always interested to hear how a fellow storyteller sets about it.

People were striding up and down the tables now, brawny-armed men and women with bulging biceps, carrying vats of food and ladling it out on to the waiting platters. I smelt a variety of delicious aromas, some familiar, some new to me. Among the servers strode a huge man with white-fair hair, carrying an enormous jug in each hand. His job, it appeared, was to keep the drinking mugs full.

I shivered. It was cold, standing there well away from the heat of the two hearths. My exclusion was making me feel miserable, although I realized it was unreasonable. Yes, they had been friendly — welcoming, even — but I was still their prisoner, and prisoners didn’t get invited to feasts.

Just as I was firmly reminding myself of that fact, a tall, slender figure stood up from a chair on the dais, descended and walked elegantly over to me. It was the elder daughter — Asa — and her expression was cool. Fully expecting to be curtly ordered back to the room where I’d slept, I turned away from her.

She did issue an order, but it wasn’t the one I was anticipating. In a voice as chilly as her ice-maiden appearance, she said, ‘My father invites you to come to the feast. Please, accompany me.’

She turned and walked away, and I hurried after her. Bemused, I hoped they would have set a place for me well away from the dais, where I would be out of the eagle eyes of Thorfinn and his immediate family. They hadn’t: Asa led the way right back up on to the dais, where, on Thorfinn’s left hand, Einar stood up to give me his place.

As he began to move away — I saw that another seat had been brought for him — Thorfinn shot out an arm, and clutched at his son’s wrist. Einar’s wrist was huge, yet his father’s hand easily encompassed it, holding him firm. ‘Einar has something to say to you,’ Thorfinn said, very softly.

I didn’t realize he meant me until, bending to crouch beside my chair, Einar spoke. ‘I regret that I hit you,’ he muttered.

Astounded, it took me a moment to think how to respond. I’d been about to say, Oh, that’s all right, I realize I provoked you. But then I met Einar’s eyes.

My aunt Edild has been trying to teach me how to read people. I’m not very good at it yet. But in that instant, I saw something in Einar that told me to stand up to him. If I meekly crumpled now, effectively letting him get away with what had been a hard and surely unnecessary blow, then he would make up his mind about me and never change it, probably writing me off as a weak and timid little girl who had no guts.

I did have guts; I do. I am descended from many generations of fen people, and life has never been easy. Among my ancestors are wise women, bards and warriors: Ligach the Pearl Maiden sang before kings; my namesake forebear walked with the spirits; and three of my Granny Cordeilla’s brothers fought at Hastings, two of them to the death.

Keeping my eyes on Einar’s, I lifted my chin and said coldly, ‘You hit me hard enough that I was unconscious for a day.’ It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. ‘Next time, either give me fair warning and a weapon, or pick on someone your own size.’

I thought I’d provoked him too far. There was dead silence on the dais, and I knew the others were all closely observing. I’d unwittingly spoken so loudly that I guessed some of the people sitting closest at the other tables had heard, too. Einar’s eyes narrowed, and I thought he had gone pale.

The tension was broken by a chuckle, not quite muffled. A male voice said, ‘Sounds fair enough to me, Einar.’ I spun round, to see that the white-fair giant with the jugs was standing at one side of the dais.

Someone else laughed, and others joined in. My eyes flashed back to Einar, and I saw the struggle between lashing out at me — which would surely only serve to increase the company’s enjoyment of his discomfiture — or joining in the laughter. To my relief, he began to smile.

‘I’ll find you a sword,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘unless you would prefer a battle axe.’ I took his hand, and my own was engulfed. The he let me go and went to take his seat.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. The giant filled my mug, and Thorfinn himself dug his eating knife into the communal dishes, set down before him on the table, and loaded my platter till it overflowed.

As far as I could judge, it seemed that the people here ate anything that the natural world put in their way: salmon, cod, water fowl, swans, puffins, ptarmigan, all featured in the feast. Some of the meats had been fried in what I thought was butter, except, when I asked, Thyra said it was seal blubber. Other meats had been roasted or stewed, and there were also sausages made of liver and blood, appetizingly seasoned, as well as salted fish. More of the soured milk stuff was served, and I learned it was called skyr. I ate everything I was offered, and only stopped when I was starting to feel slightly sick.

Everyone else in Thorfinn’s hall had a greater capacity than I, and for some time I sat back and watched as the feast slowly wound down. From time to time one of the family would speak to me, but I sensed it was more for the sake of politeness than because they really wanted to.

Eventually, even the giants had finished eating; the white-haired one who had carried the ale and mead jugs celebrated the moment with a resounding belch so loud that it caused a round of applause. Then there was a burst of activity as pots, dishes and platters were cleared and the trestles dismantled and stowed away. Somebody threw a huge log on the fire, cups and mugs were topped up, and all the oil lamps were extinguished. Apart from a couple of flares set in the walls, the hall was lit only by the light from the long fire.

I knew what would happen next. I had never in my life been to such a feast as this, but I knew the general form. Now, as well-fed, slightly inebriated people sat back, warm, secure and comfortable, it was the turn of the bard to step forward. I wondered who served that function in Thorfinn’s household. One of his sons? Some long-serving retainer, such as Olaf who sailed with Einar? A wise woman or cunning man, or whatever they were called here?

None of those: the figure who stepped forward into the firelight was broad-shouldered, like so many of these people, and had dark blonde hair whose reddish tones shone bright in the light from the flames. The hair had been plaited earlier; now it flowed in long waves, reaching to the waist.

The bard held up one hand, which I saw held a staff tipped with a brownish crystal shaped to a point. The base of the staff struck the floor, twice, three times. There was absolute silence in the hall.

Then Thorfinn’s daughter Freydis began to speak.

‘In the days of King Harald Fairhair, when brave men in their longboats ever pushed back the boundaries of this world, our forefathers came to this land,’ she said. ‘They were proud and independent, and desired to make a new dwelling place. Despite the dangers and the hardships, which were many and various, they preferred life in a new land that was theirs alone to existence under the tyranny of a king who sought to impose his own wishes on to his subjects.’ She paused, her eyes raking around the intent circle of listeners. ‘Thus it was, or so say the wise, that the perilous, seductive spirit of adventure entered the blood of our ancestors. From that time forward, each generation would throw up one whose feet ever itched to walk upon new shores, and who, despite the love of wife, children and kinsmen, despite the hard-won security and comfort of this our homeland, always wished to seek for more.

‘In the days of our fathers’ forefathers, there lived a mariner whose name was Thorkel Jorundsson.’ The name fell like a spell, and I thought I heard a soft, collective gasp. ‘And his indomitable courage was such that he ventured everywhere that the sun, moon and stars shed light.’ A pause, and once more her gaze swept slowly around her audience. ‘Thorkel knew his destiny from an early age, for it was foretold to him by his mother that he would cross the endless seas and, in time, come to a land of liquid fire where men say time began.’

She had only been speaking for a matter of moments but already she had grabbed her audience, and I knew she would not let them go until she had finished. Freydis was a born storyteller; her very bearing — standing straight, tall and strong, dressed in a beautiful gown of pale wool with silver glittering at her shoulders, pacing slowly, hypnotically, to and fro in front of the fire — commanded her listeners’ respectful attention. Willingly, helplessly, I gave her mine.

Her tale might have been one her people had heard before, but to me its powerful impact was heightened by its novelty. She told of a man who was driven, by his fearsome mother’s predictions and by his own dangerous recklessness, to sail behind the sun; to venture on, when sense and self-preservation pleaded with him to turn back, until he reached his goal and, unwittingly, the seeds of his own ultimate destruction.

Behind the sun. It was an emotive phrase, and I wondered what it meant. Gurdyman had told me of the travels of the Norsemen; how they had ventured far away, crossing unknown seas, penetrating deep inside alien continents, following the never-ending rivers. Hrype’s jade stones had come out of the east — was that what was meant by behind the sun? The east was, after all, where the sun rose …

But Freydis was well into her stride now, and I focused my attention on her strong, melodious voice.

‘Thorkel’s crew were loyal and courageous, and at first their souls yearned for adventure just as his did. Yet, as the days and the weeks went by, and as the last familiar landmarks were passed and left far behind, even the doughtiest sailor began to feel the shivers of doubt in his heart. “Where are we going, Thorkel?” asked the bravest of them. “Have you some goal in mind, which you do not choose to share with us? Or do we sail merely in the hope of finding whatever land it is that you see in your dreams?” But Thorkel made no answer.’

Freydis looked around, holding first one pair of eyes, then another. ‘For Thorkel was indeed a dreamer,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. Such was the silence in the hall, however, and such the carrying quality of her voice, that every word was audible. ‘He saw visions, and his visions had an uncanny way of turning into reality. He had not told his crew, but it was true that his quest was driven ever onwards by what his inner eye had revealed to him: a place of brilliant light and colour; a city of hundreds of thousands of souls; a land where they worshipped strange deities under a sun that burned so hot that men’s skins had turned brown; a land where the fierce gods were appeased by the very lifeblood of the people.

‘Now there came a day when Thorkel’s crew would go no further. Home and hearth were but distant memories; the land now visible, when the concealing mists permitted a glimpse, was a strange one, and full of the cries of unknown birds and animals. For many days now, the ship had made no landfall but sailed ever on, day and night. When the winds failed, men took to the oars. “We are tired, Master,” said the crewmen. “We are afraid, we fear that we are lost, and we despair because we do not believe we shall see our loved ones and our homeland again.”

‘Then at last Thorkel broke his silence. “My loyal sailors,” he said, opening his arms as if to embrace them all, “indeed, my dear friends, each and every one of whom is like a brother to me, would I take you into a place from which there was no return? We are not lost: banish that thought from your hearts and your minds. Why, is it not always said among us that a good ship always finds her own way home to port? And a good ship is what we have, my friends” — he paused to put his mighty hand on the neck of the figurehead, rearing high above him — “the very best of ships!”

‘Encouraged by his words, one of his crew — his oldest, most trusted companion — ventured to say, “But will you not tell us where we are bound and why we are going there?” Thorkel looked at him for a long moment, and then, with a slow nod, he said, “I will, for you are worthy men and it is only fair that you should now be told for what purpose we have come so far.”

‘Then Thorkel seemed to go into a trance, and, when at last he broke his silence, it was as if another was using his mouth, lips and tongue to speak for him, for his voice had altered. “Our honoured ancestors have sailed all over the known world,” he intoned, the words falling on the enchanted air like the slow beats of a deep bass drum, “and, for we who follow in their footsteps and would emulate their high, brave courage, and experience the eternal thrill of discovering new shores, there is little left to find. But the spirits came to me in a dream.” A shudder went through his crewmen at the mention of the spirits, and not a few grasped at the crosses or the Thor’s hammers they wore round their necks, many murmuring swift prayers. “The spirits spoke to me,” Thorkel went on, his eyes alight with the flame of passion, “and they told me that there was one more voyage to make; a voyage of exploration open to every man who could force himself to face the perils of the journey.”

‘“And that is this voyage, Master?” a crewman asked nervously. Thorkel smiled, and he said, “No, my friend. It is the journey inside ourselves.”’

Freydis paused, once more turning to rest her eyes on the circle of her audience. ‘They did not know what Thorkel meant and, indeed, some feared that the long voyage and its many perils and privations had caused him to lose his reason. Perhaps Thorkel understood this, for no further word did he speak of this strange inner voyage.

‘The ship sailed on, and in the alien waters in which the crew now found themselves, they saw many marvels and many horrors. A fleet of small boats disappeared before their very eyes. A water spout erupted out of a flat calm, as tall as the highest mountain. Unknown creatures followed the ship, and the crewmen sensed an intelligence behind the curious eyes that studied them. And then, without warning, Thorkel gave the order to make landfall.’

Freydis paused again, long enough for her entranced listeners to turn and glance at each other, their eyes wide in the firelight. But then she spoke again, and instantly her audience’s attention was back with her.

‘The ship entered a busy, vibrant port where men of varied tongues bartered and traded,’ she said. ‘The harbour was filled with crafts of all sizes, although none had come so far as Thorkel and his crew. Their appearance caused much interest, and both men and women approached, wanting to touch their pale skins and stroke their long, fair hair. Leaving instructions for his crew to trade their skins and their walrus ivory for fresh food and good water, Thorkel went ashore alone and he did not return until early the next morning. When his crew saw him, they blanched.’

Freydis stopped. She stood quite still, looking down at the ground, for several heartbeats. The tension mounted, and it seemed as if everyone in the hall, including me, held their breath.

Then into the silence came Freydis’s cool, clear voice, and as I heard her words, I felt a deep chill run up my back. ‘For Thorkel Jorundsson,’ she said, ‘was not the same man he had been when he went ashore.’