There were only a few bosk visible, and they were milk bosk. The sheds I saw would accomodate many more animals. I surmised, as is common in Torvaldsland, most of the cattle had been driven higher into the mountains, to graze wild during the summer, to be fetched back to the shed only in the fall, with the coming of winter.
Men in the fields wore short tunics of white wool; some carried hoes; their hair was close cropped; about their throats had been hammered bands of black iron, with a welded ring attached. They did not leave the fields; such a departure, without permission, might mean their death; they were thralls.
I saw people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from within the palisade. Among them, white kirtledcollared, excited, ran bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their master, are perrnitted to greet him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids. In the fields I saw an overseer, clad in scarlet, with a gesture of his hand, releasing the thralls. Then, they, too, ran down toward the water.
It would be holiday, I gathered, at the hall of Ivar Forkbeard.
The Forkbeard himself now, from a wooden keg, poured a great tankard of ale, which must have been of the measure of five gallons. Over this he then closed his fist. It was the sign of the hammer, the sign of Thor. The tankard then, with two great bronze handles, was passed from hands to hands among the rowers. The men threw back their heads and, the liquid spilling down their bodies, drank ale. It was the victory ale.
Then the Forkbeard himself drained the remains of the tankard, threw it to the foot of the mast, and then, to my astonishment, leapt from the ship, onto the moving oars. The men sang. The Forkbeard then, to the delight of those on the bank, who cheered him, as the serpent edged into the dock, addressed himself delightedly to the oar-dance of the rover of Torvaldsland. It is not actually a dance, of course, but it is an athletic feat of no little stature requiring a superb eye, fantastic balance and incredible coordination. Ivar Forkbeard, crying out, leaped from moving oar to moving oar, proceeding from the oars nearest the stem on the port side to the stern, then leaping back onto the deck at the stern quarter and leaping again on the oars this time on the starboard side, and proceeding from the oar nearest the stern to that nearest the stem, and then, lifting his arms, he leaped again into the ship, almost thrown into it as the oar lifted. He then stood on the prow, near me, sweating and grinning. I saw cups of ale, on the bank, being lifted to him. Men cheered. I heard the cries of bond-maids.
The serpent of Ivar Forkbeard, gently, slid against the rolls of leather hung at the side of the dock. Eager hands vied on the dock to grasp the mooring ropes. The oars slid inboard; the men hung their shields at the serpent’s flanks.
Men on the dock cried out with pleasure, looking on the harshly roped beauty of the slender, blondish girl, so cruelly fastened, back bent, at the prow of the Forkbeard’s serpent.
“I have eighteen others!” called Ivar Forkbeard. His men, laughing, thrust the other girls forward, to the rail, forcing them to stand on the rowing benches.
“Heat the irons!” called the Forkbeard.
“They are hot!” laughed a brawny man, in leather apron, standing on the dock.
The girls shuddered. They would be branded.
“Bring the anvil to the branding log!” said the Forkbeard.
They knew then they would wear collars.
“It is there!” laughed the brawny fellow, doubtless a smith.
Gorm had now unbound the slender, blond girl from the prow. He put her at the head of the coffle. Aelgifu, in her black velvet, it creased and stained, discolored, the fabric stiff and separated here and there, brought up the rear.Gorm did not refetter the slender, blond girl, though he tie her by the neck in the coffle. Further, he removed the fetterl from the other girls, too, including Aelgifu. All remained however, coffled.
The gangplank was then thrust over the rail of the ser pent and struck on the heavy, adzed boards of the dock.
The slender, blond girl, the hand of Ivar Forkbeard or her arm, was thrust to the head of the gangplank. She looked down at the cheering men.
Gorm then stood beside Ivar Forkbeard. He carried, on a strap over his shoulder, a tall, dark vessel, filled with liquid. The men on the shore laughed. Attached to the vessel, by a light chain, was a golden cup. It had two handles. From a spout on the vessel, grinning, Gorm filled the golden cup. The liquid swirling in the cup was black.
Drink,” said Ivar Forkbeard, thrusting the cup into the hands of the slender, blond girl, she who had, so long ago, in the temple of Kassau, worn the snood of scarlet yarn, with twisted golden wire, the red vest and skirt, the white blouse.
She held the cup. It was decorated; about its sides, cunningly wrought, was a design, bond-maids, chained. A chain design also decorated the rim, and, at five places on the cup, was the image of a slave whip, five-strapped. She looked at the black liquid.
“Drink,” said the Forkbeard.
She lifted it to her lips, and tasted it. She closed her eyes, and twisted her face.
“It is too bitter,” she wept.
She felt the knife of the Forkbeard at her belly. “Drink,” said he.
She threw back her head and drank down the foul brew. She began to cough and weep. The coffle rope was untied from her throat. “Send her to the branding log,” said the Forkbeard. He thrust the girl down the gangplank, into the arms of the waiting men, who hurried her from the dock.One by one, the prizes of Ivar Forkbeard, even the rich, proud Aelgifu, were forced to down the slave wine. Then they were, one by one, freed from the coffle, and hurried to the branding log.
Ivar Forkbeard then, followed by Gorm, and myself, and his men, descended the gangplank. He was much greeted. Many clasped him, and struck him on the back. And he, too, clasped many of them to himself, and shook the heads of many in his great hands.
“Was the luck good?” asked one man, with a spiral silver ring on his arm.
“Fair,” admitted the Forkbeard.
“Who is this?” asked another man, indicating me. “I see his hair has not been cropped, and he does not wear the chains of a thrall.”
“This is Tarl Red Hair,” said the Forkbeard.
“Whose man is he?” asked the man.
“My own,” I said.
“Have you no Jarl?” asked the man.
“I am my own Jarl,” I said.
“Can you play with the ax?” he asked.
“Teach me the ax,” I said to him.
“Your sword is too tiny,” said he. “Is it used for peeling suls?”
“It moves swiftly,” I said. “It bites like the serpent.”
He reached out his hand to me and then, suddenly, gripped me about the waist. Clearly it was his intention, as a joke, to hurl me into the water. He did not move me. He grunted in surprise. I took him, too, about the waist. We swayed on the adzed boards. The men moved back, to give us room.
“Ottar enjoys sport,” said Ivar Forkbeard.
With a sudden wrench I threw him from his feet and hurled him from the dock into the water.
He crawled, drenched and sputtering; back to the dock. Tomorrow,” he laughed, “I will teach you the ax.” We clasped hands. Ottar, in the absence of Ivar Forkbeard, kept hls cattle, his properties, his farm and accounts.
“He plays excellent Kaissa,” said the Forkbeard.
“I shall beat him,” said Ottar.