“Come tonight to our hall, Champion,” said she.
The Blue Tooth did not gainsay her. The woman of the Jarl had spoken. Free women in the north have much power. TheJarl’s Woman, in the Kaissa oit the north, is a more powerful piece than the Ubara in the Kaissa of the south. This is not to deny that the Ubara in the south, in fact, exercises as much or more power than her northern counterpart. It is only to recognize that her power in the south is iess explicitly acknowledged.
The Forkbeard looked to Svein Blue Tooth. Svein fingered the tooth on its chain.
“Yes,” said he, “come tonight to my hall-Champion.”
There had then been again much cheering. SveinB1ue Tooth, high jarl of Torvaldsland, followed by his woman, and high officers and counselors, and other followers, thentook his way from the dais.
We had fed well in the hall of Svein Blue Tooth.
Many were the roast tarsk and roast bosk that had roasted over the long fire, on the iron spits. Splendid was the quality of the ale at the tables of the Blue Tooth. Sweet and strong was the mead.
The smoke from the fire found its way high into the rafters, and, eventually, out of the holes cut in the peaked roof. Some of these were eighteen inches square. Light was furnished from the cooking fire but, too, from torches set in rings on the wall, backed with metal plating; too, here and there, on chains from the beams, high above, there hung large tharlarion oil lamps, which could be raised and lowered from the sides. At places, too, there were bowls, with oil and wicks, with spikes on their bottoms, set in the dirtfloor, some six inches from the floor, others as high as five feet; this mode of lamp, incidentally, is more common in the private chambers. It was not unusual, incidentally, tha the floor of the great hall, rich as it was, was of dirt, strewnwith rushes. This is common in the halls of Torvaldsland. When the Forkbeard, and I, and other followers, many oi them bearing riches, entered the hall, we had been given a room to one side, in which we might wash and dry ourselves before the feast. In this room, unusual in halls, was a window. I had put my finger against it, and pressed outward. I was not paned with glass, but with some sort of membrane but the membrane was almost as clear as glass.
“What is this?” I had asked the Forkbeard.
“It is the dried afterbirth membrane of a bosk fetus,” he said.
“It will last many months, even against rain.”
Looking out through the window I could see the palisade about the hall and its associated buildings. The palisade inclosed some two acres; within it were many shops and storage houses, even an ice house; in the center, of course, reared the great hall itself, that rude high-roofed palace of the north, the house of Svein Blue Tooth. Through the membrane, hardly distorted, I saw the palisade, the catwalk about it, the guards, and, over it, the moons of Gor. In the far distance, the moonlight reflected from its snowy heights I saw, too, the Torvaldsberg, in which the legendary Torvald was reputed to sleep, supposedly to waken again if needed once more in Torvaldsland.
I smiled.
I turned to Ivar Forkbeard. I saw that treasures, borne by his men, had been placed in this side room.
He grinned.
The Forkbeard was in a good mood. The last night had been quite a pleasant one for him. He had handed off Pudding and Gunnhild to his men, for the night, and had ordered to his furs Honey Cake, the former Miss Stevens of Earth, and the wench, Leah, the Canadian girl, whom I had won at archery and given to him as a gift. Honey Cake, like manyshy, introverted, timid girls, fearing her own sexuality and fearing that of men, sensing them in terror as her natural masters, was the mistress of secret, incredible depths of repressed sexual emotion and feeling; the Forkbeard, of course, a rude barbarian, was not in the least concerned with the walls which she had, carefully, over years, built to conceal her own needs and desires from herself; he simply shattered them; he had forced her, unable to resist, as only a bond-maid without choice, to look deeply and openly on her own naked needs and desires; then he had used her as a slave; she had yielded to him helplessly, wondrously, laughing, weeping, crying out with joy; the wench, Leah, whom I had won at archery, had tried to resist the Forkbeard; he had her beaten and thrown back to his furs; soon she, too, in her turn, was moaning with pleasure; helplessly; she was responding beautifully to him; by morning both girls, on and about him, fighting one another, jealous of one another, were begging for his touch; at dawn he had ordered one of his men, that he might get some sleep, to chain them prone head to foot, the right ankle of each chained to the projecting ring on the collar of the other; the Forkbeard did not rise until afternoon; he was then much refreshed; I had, in my turn, with several of the other of the Forkbeard’s men, enjoyed Pudding and Gunnhild; both were superb; toward morning, too, I had felt Olga’s small fingers at my ankle; she was, like several of the other bond-maids, chained by the right ankle, the chain some eight feet in length, to a stake driven into the earth near the center of the Forkbeard’s tent; she had crawled to the extent of her chain, her right leg extended behind her, and had stretched her right hand toward me; I took the furs to her side, wrapped her within them with me, and had much pleasure with her; we fell asleep two Ahn afterwards, she still held in my arms, her head on my shoulder. When the Forkbeard himself rose, ofcourse, the camp became quite active, and the slaves were put about many menial labors; the thrall, Tarsk, was unchained from Thyri, and set about the sawing of wood; Thyri herself, her kirtle thrown to her, was ordered to pound grain to make flour; she could not even look Tarsk in the face, I noted; she looked down, shyly; from her cries the night before I knew that she had, behind the tent, yielded to him; the other girls much teased her foryielding to a thrall; “I would have been beaten had I not yielded,” she said in defense; then she looked down once more, and smiled; she did not seem discontent.
I saw her, late in the afternoon, unbidden, secretly bringing him water at his work.
“Thank you, bond-maid,” said he.
She put down her head.
“You are pretty, bond-maid,” he said.
“Thank you, my Jarl,” she said.
He looked after her, as she sped away. He grinned. He then, whistling, worked with gusto. He did not then seem to me unlike a free man.
“If you are washed and readied,” said a young thrall, collared, in a kirtle of white wool, “it is permissible to present yourselves before the high seat of the house, before my master, Svein Blue Tooth, Jarl of Torvaldsland.”
“We are honored,” had said the Forkbeard. He designated four of his men to guard the treasures.
We looked at one another.
“I feel,” I said, “as though I were walking into the jaws of a larl.”
“Do not fear,” said Ivar. “I, Forkbeard, am at your side.”
“Were you not at my side,” I said, “I doubt that I should feel as I do.”
“I see,” said the Forkbeard.
“Could we not,” I suggested, “simply leap naked into a pit of venomous osts, or, perhaps, race madly across the plains of the Wagon Peoples during a lightning storm, our swords raised over our heads?”
“The trick,” said the Forkbeard, “is not simply to walk into the jaws of a larl. Any fool can do that.”
“I am well aware of that,” I said.
“The trick,” said the Forkbeard, winking, but not thereby much reassuring me, “is to walk back out again!”
“You have some intention, then,” I asked, “of emerging from this escapade alive?”
“That is a portion of my plan,” acknowledged the Forkbeard. “And, failing that, we will die nobly, against heavy odds. Thus, my plan is foolproof.”
“You have reasoned it out well,” I admitted. “Lead on.”
The Forkbeard lifted his head boldly and, smiling, emerged from the side room, at the entrance to which he stopped and raised his hands, saluting the tables. He was greeted with warmth from the many warriors there. He had won six talmits. “The Forkbeard greets you!” shouted Ivar. I blinked. The hall was light. I had not understood it to be so large. At the tables, lifting ale and knives to the Forkbeard were more than a thousand men. Then he took his way to the bench opposite the high seat, stopping here and there to exchange pleasantries with the men of Svein Blue Tooth. I, and his men, followed him. The Blue Tooth, I noted, did not look too pleased at the Forkbeard’s popularity with his men. Near him, beside the high seat, sat his woman, Bera, her hair worn high on her head, in a kirtle of yellow wool with scarlet cape of the fur of the red sea sleen, and, about her neck, necklaces of gold.