King Harald nodded without speaking; but one of the two young women squatting at his feet turned her head and, staring up at Orm and Toke, said very rapidly in Arabic: “In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate! Are you Almansur’s men?”
They both gazed at her, amazed at hearing this tongue spoken at King Harald’s court. She was fair to look upon, with large brown eyes that stood wide apart in her pale face. Her hair was black and hung from her temples in two long plaits. Toke had never been fluent in Arabic, but it was by now a long time since he had talked with a woman, so that he managed to come out readily with his reply. “You surely come from Andalusia,” he said. “I have seen women there like you, though none so fair.”
She gave him a quick smile, showing her white teeth, but then turned her eyes sadly downwards.
“O stranger, who speak my language,” she said in a soft voice, “you see what reward my beauty has brought me. Here sit I, an Andalusian of Celbitian blood, now a slave-girl among the darkest heathens and shamefully unveiled, rubbing this old Bluetooth’s decaying feet. There is nothing in this country but cold and darkness and skin rugs and lice, and food such as the dogs of Seville would vomit up. Only in Allah can I seek refuge from the miserable fate to which my beauty has brought me.”
“You look to me to be too good for the work you are doing here,” said Toke warmly. “You ought to be able to find yourself a man with something better than his toes to offer you.”
Again she smiled like the sun at him, though tears had come into her eyes; but at that moment King Harald roused himself and said angrily: “Who are you that mumble crow-talk with my woman?”
“I am Toke, the son of Gray Gull of Lister,” replied Toke, “and my sword and the dexterity of my tongue are all that I possess. But I intended no disrespect to you, O King, in addressing your woman. She asked me about the bell, and I answered her; and she replied that she thought it was a gift that would give you as much pleasure as she has given you, and be no less useful.”
King Harald opened his mouth to reply, but as he did so, his face went black and he let out a roar and flung himself backwards among the cushions, so that the two young women working on his feet were thrown head over heels on their backs; for the pain had returned savagely into his bad tooth.
At this there was great confusion in the bedchamber, and those who stood nearest the King’s bed took a step backwards lest he should become violent. But Brother Willibald had by now prepared his potion and came boldly forward with cheerful mien and encouraging words.
“Now, now, royal King!” he said admonishingly, and made the sign of the cross twice, first over the King and then over the bowl containing the potion, which he held in one of his hands. With his other hand he took a little horn spoon and chanted in a solemn voice:
“The cruel pain
Within thee burning
Now shall be quenched
In the well of healing.
Soon shalt thou feel
The ache departing.”
The King stared at him and his bowl, snorted angrily, shook his head and groaned, and then, in his agony, aimed a blow at him and roared violently: “Away from me, priest! Away with your incantations and broth. Ho, there, Hallbjörn, Arnkel, Grim! Up with your axes and split me this louse of a priest!”
But his men had often heard him talk like this and paid no heed to his fulminations; and Brother Willibald, no whit daunted, addressed him boldly: “Be patient, O King, and sit upright and put this in your mouth; for it is rich with the strength of saints. Only three spoonfuls, O King, and you need not swallow them. Sing, Brother Matthias!”
Brother Matthias, who was standing behind Brother Willibald with the great crucifix in his hand, began to intone a sacred hymn:
“Solve vincla reis
profer lumen cæcis,
mala nostra pelle,
bona cuncta posce!”
This seemed to subdue the King, for he patiently allowed himself to be lifted into a sitting position. Brother Willibald promptly inserted a spoonful of the mixture into his mouth, proceeding as he did so to accompany Brother Matthias in his hymn, while everyone in the bedchamber watched them with great expectancy. The King went purple in the face with the strength of the potion, but kept his mouth closed; then, when three verses had been sung, he obediently spat it out, whereupon Brother Willibald, without desisting from his singing, gave him another spoonful.
All the spectators afterwards agreed that it was only a few seconds after receiving the second spoonful, and before the priests had had time to complete a verse of the hymn, when the King suddenly closed his eyes and went rigid. Then he opened them again, spat out the potion, gave vent to a deep sigh, and roared for ale. Brother Willibald stopped singing and leaned anxiously toward him.
“Is it better, Your Majesty? Has the pain ceased?”
“It has,” said the King, spitting again. “Your medicine was sour, but it appears to have been effective.”
Brother Willibald threw up his arms for joy.
“Hosanna!” he cried. “A miracle has occurred! St. James of Spain has answered our prayer! Praise the Lord, O King, for better times are now beginning! The toothache shall no more cloud your spirit, nor shall anxiety dwell in the hearts of your servants!”
King Harald nodded his head and stroked the corners of his beard. He seized with both his hands a large vessel that a page brought to him, and raised it to his mouth. At first he swallowed carefully, evidently afraid lest the pain might return, but then drank confidently until the vessel was empty. He ordered it to be refilled and offered it to Orm.
“Drink!” he commanded. “And accept our thanks for the succor you have brought us.”
Orm took the vessel and drank. It was the finest ale he had ever tasted, strong and full-bodied, such as only kings could afford to brew, and he drank it with a will.
Toke watched him and sighed; then he said:
“In my throat there is a feeling
Of dry rot most unblest.
Do physicians know the healing
For me, that ale is best?”
“If you are a poet, you shall drink,” said King Harald. “But afterwards you will have to compose a poem about your drink.”
So they filled the vessel again for Toke, and he put it to his mouth and drank, leaning his head farther and farther backwards; and all those present in the King’s bedchamber agreed that they had seen few vessels emptied more smartly. Then he reflected for a while, wiping the froth from his beard, and at length declaimed, in a voice stronger than that in which he had made his request:
“Thirsting I rowed for many a year,
And thirsting did good slaughter.
All praise to thee, Gorm’s gracious heir!
Thou knowest my favorite water!”
The men in the bedchamber praised Toke’s poem, and King Harald said: “There are few poets to be found nowadays, and few of those are able to turn out verses without sitting for hours in cogitation. Many men have come to me with odes and lyrics, and it has vexed me sorely to see them while the winter away in my halls with their noses snuffling up my ale, producing nothing whatever once they had declaimed the poem they had brought with them. I like men to whom verses come easily and who can give me some new delight each day when I dine; in which respect, you, Toke of Lister, are more fluent than any poet I have heard since Einar Skalaglam and Vigfus Viga-Glumsson were my guests. You shall both spend Yule with me, and your men too; and my best ale shall be provided for you, for you have earned it by the gift you brought me.”
Then King Harald gave a great yawn, for he was weary after his troublesome night. He wrapped his fur more closely around him, snuggled himself into a more comfortable position in his bed, and lay ready for rest, with the two young women on either side of him. The skin rugs were spread over him, and Brother Matthias and Brother Willibald made the sign of the cross above his head and mumbled a prayer. Then they all left the room, and the groom of the bedchamber strode into the middle of the palace yard with his sword in his hand and cried three times in a loud voice: “The King of Denmark sleeps!” so that no noise should be made which might disturb King Harald’s slumber.