The Long Ships

CHAPTER THREE

CONCERNING THE STRANGERS THAT CAME WITH SALT, AND HOW KING SVEN LOST A HEAD

THE NEXT evening the strangers of whom Salt-Ole had warned Orm arrived at Gröning. It had begun to rain, and the men and their horses halted a short way from the gate while one of their number came forward and asked for Orm, adding that they would be glad of shelter for the night. The hounds had given warning of the strangers’ approach, and Orm was already standing before the gate with Rapp, the priest, and five men of his household, all well armed except for Father Willibald.

The stranger who had addressed them was a tall, lean man, clad in a broad cloak. He brushed the rain from his eyes and said: “Such rain as this is unwelcome to peddlers, for neither bales nor leathern sacks can long withstand it, and I have on my horses’ backs salt and cloth, which will suffer if they become damp. Therefore, though I am a stranger to you, I beg, Orm, that you will give me shelter for my wares and a roof to cover the heads of me and my men. I who address you thus am no mere vagabond, but Östen, the son of Ugge, from örestad in Finnveden, a descendant of Long Grim; and my mother’s brother was Styr the Wise, whom all men know of.”

As he spoke, Orm looked at him closely. “You have many men with you,” he said.

“I have sometimes thought them too few,” replied Östen; “for the wares I carry are valuable, and this is not the safest of districts for peddlers to travel in. But so far all has gone well with me, and I trust it may continue so. It may be that I have in my sacks one thing or another that you or your wife might care to buy from me.”

“Have you been baptized?” asked Father Willibald.

“Certainly not!” said Östen indignantly; “nor have any of my companions. We are all honorable men.”

“Your tongue led you astray there,” said Orm sternly. “All of us are baptized men, and the man who asked you that question is a priest of Christ.”

“A stranger cannot be expected to know such things,” replied Östen humbly; “though, now that I remember it, a man we met on the way did tell me that there was a priest in your house. But it had slipped my memory, for most of what he had to say concerned you, Orm, and your reputation for hospitality and your fame as a warrior.”

The rain began to descend more heavily than ever, and thunder could be heard crackling in the distance. Östen glanced toward his wares, and his face began to wear a worried look. His men stood waiting beside the horses with their backs turned toward the wind and their cloaks drawn over their heads, while the rain stood like smoke about them.

Rapp smiled. “Here is a good opportunity for us to buy salt cheaply,” he said.

But Orm said: “Your ancestry may be good, Smalander, and I have no wish to think evil of you, but it is a great deal to ask of a man that he should take eleven armed men into his house for the night. I would not appear inhospitable, but I do not think you can blame me for being hesitant. But I give you two choices: either to depart and seek night shelter elsewhere, or to enter my land and take shelter in my bathhouse for the night with your men and your wares, having first surrendered your weapons to me here before my gate.”

“That is a hard condition,” said Östen, “for if I accept, I place myself and all my wealth in your hands, and no man willingly takes such a risk. But I think you are too great a chieftain to contrive treachery against me, and I am so placed that I cannot but accept your condition. It shall therefore be as you demand.”

So saying, he unhooked his sword from his belt and handed it to Orm. Then he turned and bade his men make haste to bring his wares into the dry. They lost no time in obeying his command, but each man had to surrender his weapons at the gate before he was permitted to enter. The horses were tethered in the grass by the river, there being no danger from wolves at this season.

When all this had been done, Orm invited the stranger to take food and ale with him. After the meal he bargained with Östen for salt and cloth and found him an honorable man to deal with, for he asked no more for his wares than what a man might reasonably be expected to pay. They drank upon the bargain as friends; then Östen said that he and his men were tired after their long day’s journey, and they thanked him for the good fare he had given them and retired to rest.

Outside, the storm increased in violence, and after a while a noise of lowing was heard from the cattle, which were kept at night in a shed next to the house. Rapp and the old cowman went out to see if the beasts had become frightened and broken loose. It was by now quite dark, apart from an occasional flash of lightning. Rapp and the cowman went carefully round the cattleshed and found it undamaged.

Then a thin voice asked from the darkness: “Are you Red Orm?”

“I am not he,” said Rapp, “but I am the next after him in this house. What do you want with him?”

The lightning flashed, and by its light he saw that the speaker was the little boy whom the peddlers had brought with them.

“I want to ask him how much he will give me for his head,” said the boy.

Rapp leaned swiftly down and seized him by the arm.

“What kind of a peddler are you?” he said.

“If I tell him everything I know, perhaps he will give me something for my knowledge,” said the boy eagerly. “Östen has sold his head to King Sven and has come here to collect it.”

“Come with me,” said Rapp.

Together they hurried into the house. Orm had gone to bed with his clothes on, for the storm and the strangers had made him uneasy, and Rapp’s news at once set him wide awake. He forbade them to strike a light, but slipped on his chain shirt.

“How did they deceive me?” he said. “I have their weapons here.”

“They have swords and axes hidden in their bales,” replied the boy. “They say your head is worth a deal of trouble. But I am to have no share of the reward, and they drove me out into the rain to keep a watch on the horses, so I shall not be sorry to see them get the wrong end of the bargain; for I am not of their party any more. They will be here any moment now.”

All Orm’s men were now awake and armed. Including Orm himself and Rapp, they numbered nine; but some of them were old and could not be reckoned upon for much help when it came to fighting.

“We had better go to their place at once,” said Orm. “With luck, we may be able to smoke them in their sleeping-quarters.”

Rapp opened the door a few inches and glanced out.

“The luck is with us,” he said. “It is beginning to grow lighter. If they try to run, they will make good targets for our spears.”

The storm had passed, and the moon was beginning to glimmer feebly through the clouds.

Ylva watched the men as they slipped out through the door.

“I wish this business was over,” she said.

“Do not worry,” said Orm, “but warm some ale for our return. One or another of us may find himself in need of it when we have finished this night’s work.”

They walked silently across the grass toward the bathhouse. A woodshed stood beside it, and they had just reached this when they saw the door of the bathhouse slowly open. Through the gap they could see gray faces and the glint of arms. Orm and several of his men immediately flung their spears at the gap, but none found their mark; then the whoop of battle-cries filled the air, and the doorway became thick with figures as the peddlers swarmed forth. Orm bent down and seized hold of the great chopping-block that stood at the entrance to the woodshed. With his arms almost cracking under the strain, he lifted it from the ground, took a step forward, and flung it with all his might at the open doorway. The foremost of his enemies managed to throw themselves aside in time, but several of those behind were hit and fell to the earth groaning.

“That was a useful thought,” said Rapp.

The peddlers were bold men, though things had turned out otherwise than they had expected, and such as still remained on their feet rushed at once into the attack. Fierce and confused fighting followed, for as clouds passed across the moon, it became difficult to discern friend from foe. Orm was attacked by two men, one of whom he quickly felled; but the other, a short, thickset, heavy-limbed man, lowered his head and charged Orm like a goat, bowling him to the ground and at the same time wounding him in the thigh with a long knife. Orm let go his sword and gripped the man’s neck with one arm, squeezing it as tightly as he could, while with his other hand he grasped the wrist holding the knife. They rolled around in the rain for a good while, for the peddler was short in the neck, as strong as a bear, and as slippery as a troll; but eventually they rolled up against the wall of the bathhouse, and there Orm got a good purchase and slightly altered his grip. The other man began to make a sound like snoring; then something snapped in his neck and he ceased to struggle. Orm got to his feet again and regained his sword; but he was troubled by the knife-wound he had received, and it pained him to move a step, though he could hear two of his men calling for help in the darkness.

Then, over the clang of weapons and the screams of wounded and dying men, there arose a terrible sound of baying, and Father Willibald, with a spear clutched in his hand, came running round the corner of the house with the great Irish hounds, which he had freed from their kennel. All four of them were raging mad, with froth on their lips, and they sprang savagely at the peddlers, who were convulsed with terror at the sight of them, for hounds of the size of four-month calves were a spectacle to which they were unaccustomed. Such of them as could disengage their adversaries turned and fled toward the river, with the hounds and Orm’s men at their heels. Two of them were overtaken and killed, but three managed to make good their escape through the water. Orm hobbled after them as fast as he could, for he feared Östen might be among those who were getting away; but when he came back to the house, he found Rapp seated on a log, leaning on his ax, and regarding a man who lay stretched on the ground before him.

“Here is the master peddler himself,” said Rapp as he saw Orm approach, “though whether he is alive or not is more than I know. He was no mean fighter, though I say it myself.”

Östen was lying on his back, pale and bloody, his helmet split by a blow from Rapp’s ax. Orm seated himself beside Rapp and looked down at his defeated enemy, and the sight so cheered him that he forgot the pain from his wound. Ylva and Asa came running out of the house, with joy and anxiety mingled in their faces. They tried to persuade Orm to come indoors at once that they might dress his wounds; but he remained where he was, staring at Östen and mumbling beneath his breath. At last, he said:

“Now I know

A gift full worthy

To be sent

To Sven my brother.

Peddler, he

Shall have his head;

But the hair on it

Shall not be red.”

Father Willibald now joined them. He examined Orm’s wound and ordered him to go at once into the house, saying that if he could not walk he must allow Rapp and the women to carry him there. Then he bent down over Östen and felt with his fingers the place where Rapp’s ax had made its mark.

“He is alive,” he said at last, “but how long he will live I cannot tell.”

“I shall send his head to King Sven,” said Orm.

But Father Willibald answered sternly that such a thing was not to be thought of, and that Östen and the other wounded peddlers who were still alive were to be carried into the house.

“This night’s work will keep me busy for some time,” he said jubilantly.

Father Willibald was always a man of determination, but never more so than when there was any sick or wounded man to be dealt with; for then no man dared to say that it should be otherwise than as he commanded. So everyone who could lend a hand had to help carry the wounded men into the house and make them comfortable there.

Orm had no sooner been assisted to his room and had his wound dressed than he fainted; for he had lost a great quantity of blood. The next day, however, he felt better than he could have expected. He reflected with satisfaction on the way everything had turned out, and said that the peddlers’ boy was to remain in his household for always and was to be treated as one of the family. He learned that he had lost two men killed, and that two others had been badly wounded, as also had one of the hounds; but Father Willibald thought it likely that, with God’s help, they would all eventually recover, the hound included. Orm was grieved at losing two of his men, but he comforted himself with the thought that things might easily have turned out worse. Of the peddlers, Östen and two others were still alive, apart from the three who had escaped into the river. In the bathhouse they had discovered two men who had been hit by the chopping-block. One of these was dead, and the other had a broken leg and a crushed foot. Father Willibald had had all the wounded men taken into the church, where he had bedded them in straw. There they were receiving the most careful attention, and every day it became more evident that the little priest was by no means discontented with the labor of looking after them. For of late there had been few calls upon his skill as a physician, so that time had begun to grow somewhat heavy on his hands.

Orm was soon on his feet again, with little to show for the wound he had received; and one day Father Willibald came to the dinner table with a more than usually cheerful look on his face and announced that even Östen, who had been the most gravely wounded of them all, now looked to be on the road to recovery.

Rapp shook his head doubtfully at this piece of news. “If that is so,” he said, “my aim is less sure than it used to be.”

And Orm, too, thought it little cause for joy.