When the day was done and the last reveller collapsed onto his fire side pallet, it was agreed that this year's theng was the best since Olaf Broken-Nose killed an ox with his bare hands.
And that night, as the deep summer stillness lay heavy upon the sleeping celebrants, I dreamed again.
21
A tawny owl swept low over the meadow on silent wings, eyes wide in surprise at finding so many humans strewn over its hunting ground. With a muted shriek of irritation, the bird flew off along the river.
The wind rose, gusting gently, rippling the meadow grass and making a strange, fluttering hiss. I heard the sound and stood up from my mat of rushes and looked around. Gone were the tents and fire-rings; gone were the people sleeping on the ground; gone was the theng-stone and gathering place. Even as I watched, the meadow changed and became a sea: the slow-waving meadowgrass became billowing waves and the pale flowers flecks of foam scattered over a rising swell.
I wondered how it was that I should stand upon the waters, but the ground I stood upon had become the curving deck of a ship. The ship itself could not be seen in the gloom, but I heard the wind-snap of the sails, and the slash of its sharp prow through the waves.
The sky above was dim; there was neither sun, nor moon, and the few stars were strangely configured. The ship carried us swiftly over dark, unknown waters, the rest of the seafarers and I-for though I could not see them, I could hear the others working nearby, talking low in muttered whispers to one another. I stood at the rail, gazing out into the misty distance toward an unseen horizon.
I do not know how long we sailed; a year, a day, an age of years…I cannot say. The wind did not fail, nor the ship alter its course. But the waters gradually changed from the cold grey of northern storms to a deep brilliant blue. I searched the far flat horizon for any sign of land-a rock, an island, the clouded hump of a hill or mountain-and I searched in vain. All was sea and sky and queer stars in alien skies. Still the ship ran boldly before the wind, swift-gliding as a winged gull.
Gradually, the sky began to change; it softened and grew pale, then blushed with pearly light the colour of rose petals. The hue deepened and became seamed with gold which swirled and brightened, fusing into the arc of a great, shining disk of blazing light, still half-hidden below the sea line. It was then I knew I faced the east, and we flew towards the rising sun.
On and on we sailed. The sun rose higher, its rays piercing the eastern sky with swordblades of shimmering light-so bright I had to close my eyes and turn my face away. When I looked again, it was not the sun I saw, but a vast golden dome: the enormous rising sphere of a palatial roof, supported on pillars of white marble the size and girth of the tallest trees. I marvelled that a palace so huge should float on the fickle sea. But as we drew swiftly nearer, I saw that this eastern extravagance rested on a spit of land; the contours of the palace's walls and many-chambered halls hugged the steep hump-backed hill. This hill rose from the sea to divide three vast waterways, and three great peoples.
A sound arose from the sea and land. At first I thought it must be the soughing of the water upon the rocky shore, for the soft thunder rose and fell with the regularity of waves. Closer, the sea thunder resolved into human voices singing in a curious, breathless chant.
And then I was standing inside an enormous chamber wrought of many-coloured stones whose roof was vast as the great curved bowl of heaven-so large that the sun and stars burned in its high firmament. Light poured down in curtained shafts and I moved from the shadow of a mighty pillar towards the light, treading across stone polished smooth by centuries of slow, reverential steps.
As I walked forward, I heard someone call my name. I looked up into the dazzling light and saw the face of a man. He gazed on me with large, sad eyes, and an expression of infinite love and sorrow. "Aidan," he said gently, and my heart moved within me for I knew it was Christ himself who spoke.
"Aidan," he said again, and oh! my heart melted to hear the sadness of his voice. "Aidan, why do you run from me?"
"Lord," I said, "I have served you all my life."
"Away from me, false servant!" he said and his voice echoed like the crack of doom.
I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them again, it was night once more and I was lying on the ground beside a fire burned to embers.
The celebration following King Harald's announcement proceeded through the next day with no sign of abating. Since Hrothgar's failed attempt at killing me, no one had so much as raised an eyebrow at my comings and goings. Even my beefy tormentor, whom I had seen several times after the fight, appeared to take no further interest in me. Perhaps, as Gunnar had suggested, he possessed no memory of the scuffle.
Gunnar, like everyone else, was intensely occupied with the feasting and drinking, and required little of his slave, leaving me free to wander where I would. Thus, I used my liberty to withdraw to a quiet place and pray. It was not easy to find such a place, but a shaded birch bower on the riverbank served as a chapel in the green. Cool, peaceful, the earth soft with thick-grown grass…I spent most of the day there away from the loud revel of the camp.
I sang the psalms and performed the luirch leire, the cross-vigil and, feeling penitent and contrite for my lapse in daily worship, recited the Canticle of the Three Youths, whose ordeal in the furnace of fire always produced in me a renewed enthusiasm for devotion.
Thus, I passed the day happily, and, as a reward for my diligence, indulged in one of Ylva's sweetmeats; the taste in my mouth gave me pleasant thoughts of her, which I enjoyed as much as the honeyed morsel. Returning from my wildwood cell, I happened to pass by the place where the king's ship lay anchored; a movement aboard the vessel caught my attention, and I saw two women emerge from the tented covering behind the mast. A third figure stepped from the tent-King Harald himself. He spoke a word to the women, and then disembarked by means of the planks; there were no house karlar to bear him aloft this time.
He saw me lingering near the ship and stopped. As he appeared about to speak, I also halted. The king stood for a moment staring at me, his forehead low, his gaze menacing. He turned away abruptly, as if the sight of me offended him, and stalked back to his camp, apparently deep in thought, swinging his right arm like a weapon.
Returning to camp myself, I found Gunnar, Tolar, Ragnar, and several others sitting around an empty tub with cups in their hands, trying to decide who should go and fetch more ol.
"I think Jarn and Leif should go," Gunnar was saying. "Tolar and I went last time."
Tolar, staring at his empty cup, nodded forlornly.
"You speak the very truth, Gunnar. But you are forgetting that Jarn and I went twice before," replied the one called Leif. "I think you are forgetting this."
Ragnar raised his cup and drained it. "Well then," he said, "it seems that I must go." He made to rise.
"Nay, jarl," said Leif, putting out his hand to stay his lord, "we cannot allow that. It is for us to go."
"Then I hope it is soon that you are going," Ragnar replied. "For I fear I will grow too old to raise my cup."
Leif sighed heavily, as if shouldering an immense and onerous burden, "Come, Jarn," he said, making no move to rise. "Our luck is not with us. It seems we have drawn the black stone once again."
I stepped into the camp and all eyes turned hopefully to me. "Aeddan will fetch the ol!" cried Gunnar. Pointing to the empty tub, he said, "More. Bring more."
I nodded, stooped to the wooden tub, and picked it up. "But he cannot carry it alone," Gunnar pointed out. His eyes swept the ring quickly. "Tolar must go with him."