The Long Ships

CHAPTER THREE

CONCERNING MARRIAGE AND BAPTISM, AND KING ETHELRED’S SILVER

KING ETHELRED THE REDELESS sat miserably in Westminster, surrounded by rede-givers, waiting to hear the outcome of his negotiations with the Northmen. He had gathered all his warriors together about him, partly to protect his own person in these dangerous times, and partly to keep an eye on the people of London, who had begun to murmur somewhat after the defeat at Maldon. He had his Archbishop with him to help and comfort him, but the latter could achieve little in that direction; and the King’s uneasiness had so increased since the envoys had departed that he had given up hunting entirely and had lost his desire for Masses and women. He spent most of his time swatting flies, at which occupation he was exceedingly skillful.

When, however, he heard that the envoys had returned, having concluded peace with the invaders, he emerged from his melancholy; and when they told him that the chieftains and their crews had come with the Bishops to be baptized, his excitement knew no bounds. He immediately ordered all the bells in the town to be rung, and commanded that the foreigners should be entertained sumptuously; but when he heard that there were two strong ships’ companies of them, he became uneasy again and could not make up his mind whether such tidings should be regarded as excellent or calamitous. He scratched his beard earnestly and consulted his priests, courtiers, and chamberlains on their opinions in the matter. Eventually it was decided that the Vikings should be permitted to encamp in some fields outside the town, but should not be allowed to enter it, and that the guards on the walls should be strengthened; also, that it should be proclaimed in all the churches that the heathens were flocking to London in their multitudes in search of baptism and spiritual education, so that all the people, when they heard this, might sing praise and thanksgiving to their God and King for causing such a miracle to occur. The very next morning, he added, so soon as he had had a few hours to rest and relax after the anxiety of the past fortnight, the envoys would be granted audience; and they might bring with them the chieftains who were to be baptized.

The Northmen proceeded to their camping-ground, and the King’s officers made haste to furnish them with everything that they might require, treating them like royal guests. Before long the air was filled with the crackling of huge fires and the lowing of cattle beneath the slaughter-knife, and there was much demand for white bread, fat cheese, honey, egg-cakes, fresh pork, and ale such as kings and bishops were wont to drink. Orm’s men were rowdier than Gudmund’s, and more exacting in their demands, for they reckoned that, as they were about to be baptized, they had a right to the best of everything.

Orm, however, had something other than the stomachs of his men uppermost in his thoughts, being anxious to visit another part of the town with Brother Willibald, whom he refused to let out of his sight. He was wretched with anxiety lest Ylva should have come to harm, and could still hardly believe that he would find her safe and sound, despite all Brother Willibald’s assurances. He felt certain that she had already promised herself to another, or that she had run away, or been carried off, or that the King, who was said to be much addicted to women, had noted her beauty and had taken her to be his concubine.

They passed through the city gate without hindrance, for the guards dared not oppose the entry of a foreigner accompanied by a priest, and Brother Willibald led the way to the great abbey, where Bishop Poppo was residing as the Abbot’s guest. He had just returned from evensong, and looked older and thinner than when Orm had last seen him at King Harald’s court, but his face lit up with pleasure when he saw Brother Willibald.

“God be praised that you have returned safely!” he said. “You have been away for a long time, and I had begun to fear lest misfortune might have overtaken you on your journey. There is much that I wish to learn from you. But who is this man whom you have brought with you?”

“We sat at the same table in King Harald’s hall,” said Orm, “the time you told the story about the King’s son who got hanged by his hair. But there were many others there besides me, and much has happened since that evening. I am called Orm Tostesson, and I have come to this land commanding my own ship under Thorkel the Tall. And I have come to this place this evening to be baptized and to fetch my woman.”

“He used to be a follower of Mohammed,” put in Brother Willibald eagerly, “but now he wishes to abandon his allegiance to the Devil. He is the man I made well after the last Christmas feast at King Harald’s the time they fought with swords in the dining-hall before the drunken kings. It was he and his comrade who threatened Brother Matthias with spears because he tried to instruct them in Christian doctrine. But now he wishes to be baptized.”

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!” exclaimed the Bishop in alarm. “Has this man served Mohammed?”

“He has been purged and sprinkled by the Bishop of London,” said the little priest soothingly, “who found no evil spirit left in him.”

“I have come to fetch Ylva, King Harald’s daughter,” said Orm impatiently. “She has been promised to me, both by herself and by King Harald.”

“Who is now dead,” said the little priest, “leaving the heathens to war among themselves in Denmark.”

“Holy Bishop,” said Orm, “I should dearly like to see her at once.”

“This matter cannot be settled so simply,” said the Bishop, and bade them seat themselves.

“He has come to London to be baptized, and all his crew with him, for her sake,” said Brother Willibald.

“And he has served Mohammed?” cried the Bishop. “This is indeed a mighty miracle. God still grants me moments of felicity, even though He has seen fit to condemn me to end my days in exile with all my life’s work ruined and set at naught.”

He bade his servant bring them ale and asked for tidings of recent events in Denmark and of all that had happened at Maldon.

Brother Willibald answered him at considerable length; and Orm, despite his impatience, assisted him with such details as he was able to provide; for the Bishop was a gentle and reverend man, and Orm could not find it in himself to refuse him the information he was so eager to obtain.

When they had told the Bishop everything they knew, he turned to Orm and said: “So now you have come to take from me my baptismal child, Ylva? It is no small ambition to seek the hand of a king’s daughter. But I have heard the girl express her feelings in the matter; and she is, God witness, a person who knows her own mind!”

He shook his head and smiled silently to himself.

“She is a charge to make an old man hasten toward his grave,” he continued, “and if you can rule her judgment, you are a wiser man than I am, or than good King Harald was. But the Lord our God moves along mysterious paths; and, once you have been baptized, I shall not stand in your way. Indeed, her marriage would lift a heavy burden from my old shoulders.”

“We have been parted for long enough, she and I,” said Orm. “Do not keep me from her any longer.”

The Bishop rubbed his nose uncertainly and remarked that such zeal was understandable in a young man, but that the hour was late, and that it might perhaps be more advisable to postpone the meeting until after the baptism. In the end, however, he allowed himself to be persuaded, summoned one of his deacons, and bade him rouse four men, go with them to the Lady Ermentrude, greet her from the Bishop, and beg her, despite the lateness of the hour, to permit them to bring King Harald’s daughter to him.

“I have done my best to keep her safe from the eyes of men,” he continued when the deacon had left them, “which was very necessary with a girl of her comeliness in such a place as this is, now that the King and his court and all his soldiers have taken up residence here. She is lodged with the blessed Queen Bertha’s nuns, hard by this abbey; and a troublesome guest she has proved to be, despite the fact that all the nuns treat her most affectionately. Twice she has tried to escape, because, so she said, the life wearied her; and on one occasion, not so long ago, she inflamed the lust of two young men of good family who had caught a glimpse of her in the nuns’ garden and had managed to exchange words with her over the wall. Such was the passion that she aroused in them that they climbed into the convent grounds early one morning, accompanied by their servants and henchmen, and fought a duel with swords among the nuns’ flowerbeds to decide which of them should have the right of wooing her. They fought so desperately that in the end they both had to be carried away, bleeding fearfully from their wounds, while she sat at her window laughing to see such sport. Conduct of this nature is unseemly in a convent, for it may infect the pious sisters’ souls and do them great harm. But I confess that her behavior seems to me to be the result of thoughtlessness rather than of evil intentions.”

“Did they both die?” asked Orm.

“No,” replied the Bishop. “They recovered, though their wounds were grave. I myself joined in the prayers for them. I was sick and weary at the time and felt it a heavy burden to have such a charge upon my hands. I admonished her severely and begged her to accept the hand of one or other of the men, seeing that they had fought so desperately for her sake and were both of noble birth. I told her that I should die easier in my mind if I could see her wedded first. But on hearing this she fell into a frenzy and declared that, since both the young men were still living, their duel could not have been very seriously fought, and that she would hear no more of their suits. She said she preferred the sort of man whose enemies needed no prayers or bandages after fighting. It was then that I heard her mention your name.”

The Bishop smiled benevolently at Orm and bade him not to neglect his ale.

“I had other troubles to contend with in this affair,” he continued, “for the Abbess, the pious Lady Ermentrude, had it in her mind to birch the girl on her bare skin for having incited these men to combat. But seeing that my poor godchild was only a guest in the convent, and a king’s daughter to boot, I succeeded in dissuading her from pursuing this extreme course. It was not an easy task, for abbesses are, in general, unwilling to listen to counsel and have little confidence in the wisdom of men, even when they happen to be bishops. In the end, however, she mitigated her sentence to three days’ prayer and fasting, and I think it was probably fortunate that she did so. True it is that the pious Lady Ermentrude is a woman of adamant will and no mean strength of body, being broader in the loins than most of her sex; none the less, God alone can say with certainty which of their two skins would have smarted the more had she attempted to bring the birch to King Harald’s daughter. My poor godchild might have prevailed, and so have fallen even further from grace.”

“The first time she and I spoke together,” said Orm, “it was plain to me that she had never tasted the rod, though I doubted not that she had sometimes deserved it. As I saw more of her, though, the question ceased to trouble me; and I think I shall be able to manage her, even though she may occasionally prove obstinate.”

“The wise King Solomon,” said the Bishop, “observed that a beautiful woman who lacks discipline is like a sow with a gold ring in her snout. This may well be true, for King Solomon was knowledgeable on the subject of women; and sometimes, when her behavior has troubled me, I have been sadly reminded of his words. On the other hand, and it has often surprised me that this is so, I have never found it easy to feel angry toward her. I like to think that her conduct reflects no more than the frenzy and intemperance of youth; and it may be that, as you say, you will be able to curb her without resorting to chastisement, even when she is your wife.”

“There is a further point worth considering,” said Brother Willibald. “I have often observed that women tend to become more tractable after they have borne their first three or four children. Indeed, I have heard married men say that if God had not ordered it so, the state of wedlock would not be easy to endure.”

Orm and the Bishop expressed their agreement with this observation. Then they heard footsteps approaching the door, and Ylva entered. It was dark in the Bishop’s chamber, for no lamps had yet been lighted; but she straightway recognized Orm and ran toward him crying excitedly. The Bishop, however, despite his years, sprang nimbly to his feet and placed himself between them, with his arms stretched wide.

“Not so, not so!” he cried importunately. “In God’s name, calm yourself, dear child! Enter not into lewd embraces in the sight of priests and in the sacred precincts of an abbey! Besides which, he is not yet baptized. Have you forgotten that?”

Ylva tried to push the Bishop aside, but he stood his ground manfully, and Brother Willibald ran to his assistance and seized her by the arm. She ceased struggling and smiled happily at Orm over the Bishop’s shoulder.

“Orm!” she said. “I saw the ships row up the river and knew that men from Denmark were aboard. Then I saw a red beard next to the helmsman of one of them and began to weep, for it looked like you and yet I knew that it could not be you. And the old woman would not let me come to see.”

She rested her head upon the Bishop’s shoulder and began to shake with weeping.

Orm moved toward her, and stroked her hair, but he did not well know what to say, for he knew little about women’s tears.

“I shall thrash the old woman if you so wish it,” he said. “Only promise me that you will not be sad.”

The Bishop tried to edge him away and to persuade Ylva to sit down, speaking soothing words to her.

“My poor child,” he said, “do not weep. You have been alone in a foreign land among strange people, but God has been good to you. Seat yourself on this bench, and you shall have hot wine with honey in it. Brother Willibald shall go at once to prepare it, and there shall be plenty of honey in it; and bright lights also shall be lit. And you shall taste strange nuts from the southland, called almonds, which my good brother the Abbot has given me. You may eat as many of them as you wish to.”

Ylva seated herself, drew her arm across her face, and burst into a loud and merry peal of laughter.

“The old man is as much a fool as you are, Orm,” she said, “though he is the best god-man I have yet come across. He thinks I am unhappy and that he can comfort me with nuts. But even in his kingdom of heaven I do not think there can be many people who are as full of joy as I am at this moment.”

Wax candles were brought in, fair and gleaming, and Brother Willibald followed with the mulled wine. He poured it out into a beaker of green glass, announcing as he did so that it must be drunk at once for its strength and flavor to be fully appreciated; and none of them dared to say that it should be otherwise.

Orm said:

“Fair the glow

Of gleaming candles,

Roman glass

And god-men’s goodness;

Fairer yet

The glow that gleams

Through the tears

Of virgin eyes.

“And that,” he added, “is the first verse that has come to my lips for many a long day.”

“Were I a poet,” said Ylva, “I, too, should dearly love to make a verse to enshrine this moment. But, alas, I cannot. This I know well, for, when the old Abbess condemned me to spend three days in prayer and fasting, I spent the whole time trying to compose lampoons about her. But I could not, though my father had on occasion tried to teach me the craft, when he was in one of his forthcoming moods. He could not compose verses himself, but he knew how it should be done. And that was the worse part of my punishment, that I was unable to compose a single verse to indict the crone who set me there. But it is all one now, for I shall not be ruled by old women any more.”

“That you shall not,” replied Orm.

There was much besides that he wished to learn from her, so she and the Bishop told him all that had happened during their last days in Denmark, and about their flight from King Sven.

“But one thing I have to confess to you,” said Ylva. “When Sven was almost upon us, and I did not know whether I should manage to escape his clutches, I hid the necklace. For, above all things, I wanted to prevent that from falling into his hands. And I had no time to get it back before we boarded the ship. I know this news will grieve you, Orm, but I could not think of anything else to do.”

“I would rather have you without the necklace than the necklace without you,” he replied. “But it is a jewel of royal worth, and I fear you will feel its loss more deeply than I shall. Where did you hide it?”

“That, at least, I can tell you,” she said, “for I think there is nobody here who will betray the secret. A short way from the great gate of the palace, there is a small rise, covered with heather and juniper, just to the right of the path below the bridge. On that rise, there are three large stones lying together in the undergrowth. Two of them are large and are buried deep in the ground, so that they are scarcely visible. The third lies balanced on top of them, and is not so heavy but that I managed to shift it. I wrapped the necklace in a cloth, and the cloth in a skin, and put them beneath this stone. It was a hard thing for me to have to leave it there, for it was the only keepsake I had by which to remember you. But I think it must still be lying there safely, more so than if it had accompanied me to this foreign land, for no man ever goes near that place, nor even cattle.”

“I know those stones,” said Brother Willibald. “I used to go there to gather wild thyme and cat’s-foot against the heartburn.”

“It may prove to be a lucky chance that you hid it outside the rampart,” said Orm, “though I fear it will be a difficult enough task to fetch it from its present hiding-place, so near as it is to the wolf’s lair.”

Now that Ylva had eased her mind of this burden, her heart was lightened. She flung her arms round the Bishop’s neck, squeezed almonds into his mouth, and begged him to bless them and marry them there and then. But this suggestion so horrified the Bishop that he got an almond lodged in his windpipe and waved his hands in dismay.

“I am of the same mind as the woman,” said Orm. “God Himself saw to it that we should meet again, and we do not intend to part any more.”

“You do not know what you are saying,” protested the Bishop. “Such ideas are the Devil’s prompting.”

“I will not return to the crone,” said Ylva, “and I cannot stay here. I shall go with Orm in any case, and it will be better if you wed us first.”

“He is not yet baptized!” cried the Bishop in despair. “Dear child, how can I marry you to a heathen? It is a scandalous thing to see a young girl so hot with lust. Have you never been taught the meaning of modesty?”

“No,” replied Ylva without hesitation. “My father taught me many things, but modesty was something of which he knew little. But how can there be any harm in my wishing to get married?”

Orm took from his belt six gold pieces, which remained from the small hoard he had brought home from Andalusia, and laid them on the table before the Bishop.

“I am already paying one Bishop to baptize me,” he said, “and I am not so poor but that I can afford to pay another to marry me. If you speak well of me to God, and buy candles for His church out of this money, I do not think He will mind if I get married first and baptized later.”

“He has the blood of Broad-Hug in his veins,” said Ylva proudly, “and if you have any scruples about marrying an unbaptized man, why do you not baptize him yourself here and now? Bid your servants bring water, and sprinkle him as you used to sprinkle the sick in Denmark. What matter if he gets baptized again later, with the others before the King? Twice cannot be worse than once.”

“The sacrament must not be abused,” said the Bishop chidingly, “and I do not know if he is yet ready to receive it.”

“He is ready,” said Brother Willibald. “And he might perhaps receive provisional baptism, though that is a ceremony which is seldom performed nowadays. It is lawful for a Christian woman to marry a man who has been provisionally baptized.”

Orm and Ylva looked admiringly at Brother Willibald, and the Bishop clasped his hands together and his face grew less troubled.

“Old age has clouded my powers of memory,” he said, “unless it is this good wine that has done it, though its effect is, in general, salutary. In ancient times it was a common practice for men who were not prepared to allow themselves to be baptized, but who yet held Christ in honor, to be provisionally baptized. It is lucky for all of us that we have Brother Willibald here to remind us of these things.”

“I have felt friendly toward him for some time,” said Orm, “and now he stands even higher in my affection. From the very first moment that I met him after the battle, my luck turned for the better.”

The Bishop straightway sent a messenger to summon the Abbot and two of his canons, who came readily to help him perform the rite and to see this foreign chieftain. When the Bishop had robed himself, he dipped his hand in holy water and made the sign of the cross over Orm, touching him on the forehead, the breast, and the hands, the while pronouncing blessings upon him.

“I must be growing used to this,” said Orm when the Bishop had finished, “for this frightened me much less than when the other fellow sprinkled me with the branch.”

All the churchmen agreed that an unbaptized man could not be married in the abbey chapel, but that the ceremony might take place in the Bishop’s chamber. So Orm and Ylva were told to kneel before the Bishop, on two hassocks that were provided for them.

“This is a posture I do not think you are used to,” said Ylva.

“I have spent more time than most men upon my knees,” replied Orm, “in the days when I used to serve Mohammed. But it is a good thing not to have to beat my brow against the floor!”

When the Bishop came to the part of the service in which he had to exhort them to multiply and to dwell together in peace for the remainder of their days, they nodded their affirmation. But when he commanded Ylva to obey her husband in everything, they looked doubtfully at each other.

“I shall do my best,” said Ylva.

“It will be hard for her at first,” said Orm, “for she is not accustomed to obedience. But I will remind her of these words of yours if ever they should slip her memory.”

When the ceremony had been completed and all the churchmen had wished them good luck and many children, it occurred to the Bishop to worry about where they were to spend their bridal night. For there was no room available in the abbey, nor in the houses adjoining it, and he knew of no place in the city where they might find lodgings.

“I will go with Orm,” said Ylva contentedly. “What is good enough for him will be good enough for me.”

“You cannot lie with him by the campfires, among all the other men,” exclaimed the Bishop in alarm.

But Orm said:

“The voyager,

Heir to the sea,

The good plower

Of the auk-bird’s meadow,

Hath a bridal bed

For his royal spouse

Better than straw

Or cushioned couches.”

Brother Willibald accompanied them as far as the city gate, to make sure the guards allowed them to pass through the postern. There they parted from him, with many expressions of gratitude, and made their way down to the pier where the ships lay. Rapp had left two men on board, to guard against thieves. These men, left to their own devices, had drunk deeply, so that the sound of their sleeping was audible from a good distance. Orm shook them awake and bade them help him pull the ship into midstream, which, though they were still befuddled, they succeeded at last in doing. Then they dropped anchor, and the ship stood swaying upon the tide.

“I have no further need of you now,” he said to the two men.

“How shall we get ashore?” they asked.

“It is not far for a bold man to swim,” he replied.

They both complained that they were drunk and that the water was cold.

“I am not in a waiting mood,” said Orm; and, with those words, he picked one of them up by the neck and belt and tossed him headfirst into the river, whereupon the other promptly followed him, without further ado. From the darkness echoed back the sounds of their coughing and sneezing as they splashed their way toward the bank.

“I do not think anyone will disturb us now,” said Orm.

“This is a bridal bed that I shall not complain of,” said Ylva.

It was late that night before they closed their eyes, but when at last they did so, they slept well.

When, next day, the envoys appeared before King Ethelred with Gudmund and Orm, they found the King in an excellent humor. After bidding them a warm welcome, he praised the chieftains for their zeal to be baptized, and asked whether they were enjoying their sojourn at Westminster. Gudmund had occupied the night with a tremendous drinking-bout, the effects of which were still noticeable in his speech, so that he and Orm both felt honestly able to reply that they were.

The Bishops began by relating the outcome of their mission and giving details of the agreement they had reached with the Vikings, while everyone in the hall hung upon their words. The King was seated on a throne beneath a canopy, with his crown upon his head and his scepter in his hand. Orm thought that this was a new sort of monarch to see after Almansur and King Harald. He was a tall man, of dignified appearance, swathed in a velvet cloak, and pale-complexioned, with a sparse brown beard and large eyes.

When the Bishops named the amount of silver that they had promised the Vikings, King Ethelred smote the arm of his throne violently with his scepter, whereupon all the gathering in the hall rose to their feet.

“Look!” he exclaimed to the Archbishop, who was seated by his side on a lower chair. “Four flies at a single blow! And yet this is but poorly shaped for the work.”

The Archbishop said he thought there were not many kings in the world who could have performed such a feat, and that it testified both to his dexterity and to the excellence of his luck. The King nodded delightedly; then the envoys proceeded with their narration, and everybody began again to listen to them.

When at last they had concluded, the King thanked them and praised the wisdom and zeal they had displayed. He asked the Archbishop what he thought the general reaction to the settlement would be. The Archbishop replied that the sum that the Bishops had named would, indeed, be a heavy burden for the land to bear, but that it was, beyond doubt, the best solution of a difficult situation; to which the King nodded his agreement.

“It is, moreover, a good thing,” continued the Archbishop, “a joy to all Christian folk and highly pleasing to the Lord our God that our pious envoys have succeeded in winning these great warchieftains and many of their followers over to the army of Christ. Let us not forget to rejoice at this.”

“By no means,” said King Ethelred.

The Bishop of London murmured to Gudmund that it was now his turn to speak, and Gudmund willingly stepped forward. He thanked the King for the hospitality and generosity he had shown them, and informed him that his fame would hereafter stretch as far as the most distant villages of East Guteland, if not farther still. But, he went on, there was one thing that he was anxious to know: namely, how long it would be before the silver was actually placed in their hands.

The King regarded him closely while he was speaking and, when he had concluded, asked him what the scar on his face might signify.

Gudmund replied that it was a wound he had received from a bear he had once attacked rather thoughtlessly, allowing the bear to break the shaft of the spear that he had driven into its chest and then maul him with its claws before he at last managed to fell it with his ax.

King Ethelred’s face clouded with sympathy as he listened to the story of this unfortunate incident.

“We have no bears in this land,” he said, “much to our loss. But my brother, King Hugo of Frankland, has lately sent me two bears that know how to dance and thereby give us great pleasure. I should have liked to show them to you, but unfortunately my best trainer marched away with Byrhtnoth and was slain by you in the battle. I miss him greatly, for when other men try to make them dance, they move but sluggishly or not at all.”

Gudmund agreed that this was a great misfortune. “But all men have their worries,” he said, “and ours is: when are we going to get the silver?”

King Ethelred scratched his beard and glanced at the Archbishop.

“You have asked for a considerable sum,” said the Archbishop, and not even great King Ethelred has that amount in his coffers. We shall have to dispatch messengers throughout the land to collect the balance. This may take two months, or even three.”

Gudmund shook his head at this. “You must help me now, Skanian,” he said to Orm, “for we cannot wait as long as that; but I have talked myself dry in the mouth.”

Orm stepped forward and said that he was young and poorly qualified to speak before so great a monarch and so wise an assembly, but that he would explain the case as well as he was able.

“It is no small matter,” he said, “to make chieftains and soldiers wait so long for what has been promised to them. For they are men who quickly change their moods and are little inclined toward meekness, and it sometimes happens that they grow weary of the tedium of waiting when they are still hot with the flush of victory and know that good plunder lies ready for them to gather whithersoever they choose to turn. This Gudmund whom you see here is a mild and merry man as long as he is content with the way things are going, but when he is angry the boldest chieftains of the Eastern Sea quake at his approach, and neither man nor bear can withstand his fury. And he has berserks among his followers who are scarcely less fearful than he.”

All the assembly looked at Gudmund, who went red in the face and cleared his throat.

Orm continued: “Thorkel and Jostein are men of similar mettle, and their followers are fully as ferocious as Gudmund’s. Therefore I would suggest that half the sum due to us should be paid immediately. This will enable us to wait more patiently until the balance has been collected.”

The King nodded his head, glanced at the Archbishop, and nodded again.

“And since,” continued Orm, “both God and yourself, King Ethelred, find it a cause for rejoicing that so many of us have come up to Westminster to be baptized, it might perhaps be a wise thing to allow all such converts to receive their share here and now. If this should happen, many of our comrades might be driven to wonder whether it would not be beneficial to their souls, also, that they should become Christians.”

Gudmund declared in a loud voice that these words exactly expressed his own feelings on the matter. “If you do as he suggests,” he added, “I can promise you that every follower of mine who is encamped outside this town will become a Christian at the same time as I do.”

The Archbishop said that this was capital news, and promised that skilled instructors would be sent immediately to prepare the men for conversion. It was then agreed that all the Vikings who had come to London should receive their share of the silver as soon as they had been baptized, and that the army at Maldon should have a third of its silver dispatched without delay, the balance to follow in six weeks.

When the meeting had concluded and they had left the hall, Gudmund thanked Orm warmly for the help he had given him. “I have never heard wiser words issue from the mouth of so young a man,” he said. “There is no doubt that you were born to be a chieftain. It will be very advantageous to me to get my silver now, for I have the feeling that some of those who are going to wait till later may experience some difficulty in obtaining their full amount. I do not intend that you shall go unrewarded for this service; so when I receive my share, five marks of it shall be yours.”

“I have observed,” replied Orm, “that, despite the measure of your wisdom, you are in some ways an excessively modest man. If you were a common or petty chieftain, with five or six ships and no name to speak of, five marks might be regarded as a proper sum to offer me for the service I have rendered you. But, seeing that your fame stretches far beyond the frontiers of Sweden, it ill befits you to offer me so niggardly a sum, and it would ill befit me to accept it. For if this were to become known, your good name might suffer.”

“It is possible that you are right in what you say,” said Gudmund doubtfully. “How much would you give if you were in my place?”

“I have known men who would have given fifteen marks in return for such a service,” said Orm. “Styrbjörn would have given no less; and Thorkel would give twelve. On the other hand, I know some men who would not give anything. But I have no wish to sway your own judgment in this matter; and, whatever the outcome, we shall remain good friends.”

“It is not easy for a man to be sure just how famous he is,” said Gudmund, troubled; and he went his way buried in calculation.

The following Sunday they were all baptized in the great church. Most of the priests were anxious that the ceremony should be performed in the river, as had been customary in former times when heathens were baptized in London; but both Gudmund and Orm asserted vigorously that there was to be no immersion as far as they were concerned. The two chieftains walked at the head of the procession, with their heads bared, wearing long white cloaks with a red cross sewn on the front of each; and their men followed, also wearing white cloaks, as many as there were enough for in so large a company. All of them carried their weapons, for Orm and Gudmund had explained that they seldom liked to be parted from their swords, and least of all when they were in a foreign land. The King himself sat in the choir, and the church was thronged with people. Ylva was among the congregation. Orm was unwilling to let her show herself in public, for she now appeared to him more beautiful than ever, and he feared lest someone might steal her away. But she had insisted on coming to the church, because, she said, she was curious to see how reverently Orm would conduct himself when the cold water started running down his neck. She sat next to Brother Willibald, who kept a close eye on her and restrained her when she would have laughed at the white cloaks; and Bishop Poppo was also present and assisted with the rites, though he felt exceedingly feeble. He himself baptized Orm, and the Bishop of London Gudmund; then six priests took over from them and baptized the rest of the Vikings as expeditiously as possible.

When the ceremony was over, Gudmund and Orm were received privately by the King. He gave each of them a gold ring and expressed the hope that God would bless all their future enterprises; also, he said, he trusted that they would, in the near future, come and see his bears, which had now begun to show a marked improvement in their dancing.

The next day the silver was paid out by the King’s scribes and treasurers to all the baptized men, which caused great jubilation among them. Orm’s men were somewhat less jubilant than the others, because each of them had to pay his chieftain a penny; none of them, however, chose the less expensive alternative of challenging him to combat.

“With the help of these contributions, I shall build a church in Skania,” said Orm as he stowed the money safely away in his chest.

Then he put fifteen marks in a purse and went with it to the Bishop of London, who, in return, bestowed a special blessing upon him. Later that afternoon Gudmund came aboard carrying the same purse in his hand, very drunk and in capital spirits. He said that all his share of the money had now been counted and stored away, and that, all in all, it had been an excellent day’s work.

“I have been thinking over what you said the other day,” he continued, “and I have come to the conclusion that you were right in saying that five marks would be too paltry a sum for a man of my reputation to give you as a reward for the service you rendered me. Take, instead, these fifteen marks. Now that Styrbjörn is dead, I do not think I can be valued at less.”

Orm said that such generosity was more than he could have anticipated; however, he said, he would not refuse such a gift, seeing that it came from the hand of so great a man. In return he gave Gudmund his Andalusian shield, the same with which he had fought Sigtrygg in King Harald’s hall.

Ylva said she was glad to see that Orm had a good head for collecting silver, for it was not a task at which she would shine, and she thought it likely that they would have a good number of mouths to care for in the years to come.

That evening Orm and Ylva visited Bishop Poppo and bade him farewell; for they were eager to sail for home as soon as possible. Ylva wept, for she found it hard to part from the Bishop, whom she called her second father: and his eyes, too, filled with tears.

“Were I less feeble,” he said, “I would come with you, for I think I could, even now, perform some useful work in Skania, old as I am. But these poor bones can endure no further hardships.”

“You have a good servant in Willibald,” said Orm, “and both Ylva and I delight in his company. Perhaps he could come with us, if you yourself cannot, to fortify us in our beliefs and to persuade others to do as we have done. Though I fear he is not greatly enamored of us Northmen.”

The Bishop said that Willibald was the wisest of his priests and a most zealous worker. “I know of nobody more skillful at converting heathens,” he said, “though, in his own zealous enthusiasm, he is occasionally prone to be somewhat uncharitable toward the sins and weaknesses of others. I think it best that we should ask him his own feelings in the matter; for I do not wish to send an unwilling priest with you.”

Brother Willibald was summoned, and the Bishop informed him what they had in mind. Brother Willibald asked, in vexed tones, when they were intending to sail. Orm replied that he wished to depart on the morrow if the wind remained favorable.

Brother Willibald shook his head gloomily. “It is ungracious of you to give me so little time to prepare myself,” he said. “I must take many salves and medicines with me when I depart for the shores of night and violence. But with God’s good help, and if I make haste, everything shall be ready; for I am loath to be parted from you young people.”