So Thorkel replied, in a manner befitting a chieftain. He said that what they had just heard was without doubt something worth pondering. King Ethelred had already a great name in the Danish kingdom, but it now appeared that he was an even finer king than they had been led to believe; and this proposal of his, to give them all presents, accorded well with the opinion of his worth that they had hitherto held.
“For,” he continued, “as we told Jarl Byrhtnoth, when we spoke with him across the river, you who dwell in this land are rich, and we poor seafarers are only too anxious to be your friends if you will but share your wealth with us. It is good to hear that King Ethelred himself shares our feelings in this matter; and, seeing that he is so rich and powerful and full of wisdom, I do not doubt that he will show himself most liberal toward us. How much he intends to offer us we have not yet been told; but we need a lot to make us merry, for we are a melancholy race. I think it best that his gifts should take the form of gold and minted silver, for this will be easiest to count, and easiest, too, for us to carry home. While everything is being settled, we shall be glad if he will permit us to remain here undisturbed, taking from the district what we need for our upkeep and pleasure. There is, though, someone who has as much say in this matter as Gudmund and myself, and that is Jostein. He is at present away plundering with many of his followers, and until he returns we cannot decide how large King Ethelred’s gift is to be. But there is one thing I should like to know at once, and that is whether you have any priest skilled in medicine among your followers; for, as you see, I have this damaged arm which needs plastering.”
The younger Bishop replied that they had with them two men who were learned in the craft of healing, and said he would be glad to bid them attend to Thorkel’s arm. He requested, however, that in return for this service Thorkel should allow the people who were shut up in the tower to descend and go their ways without hindrance; for it was a heavy thing, he said, to think of them up there tormented by hunger and thirst.
“As far as I am concerned,” said Thorkel, “they can come down as soon as they like. We have been trying to persuade them to do so ever since we took this town, but they have resisted our offers most obstinately; in fact, it was they who broke my arm. Half of what they have in the tower they must give to us. This is small repayment for the injury to my arm and all the bother they have caused us. But when they have done that, they may go whithersoever they please.”
Soon, therefore, all the people in the tower descended, looking pale and wasted. Some of them wept and threw themselves at the Bishop’s feet, while others cried piteously for water and food. Thorkel’s men were disappointed to find that there was little of value in the tower; nevertheless, they gave them food and did them no harm.
Orm happened to pass a water-trough where a number of those who had been in the tower were drinking. Among them was a little bald man in a priest’s cowl, with a long nose and a red scar across his forehead. Orm stared at him in astonishment. Then he went up and seized him by the shoulder.
“I am glad to see you again,” he said, “and I have something to thank you for since the last time we met. But I little thought to meet King Harald’s physician in England. How did you come here?”
“I came here from the tower,” retorted Brother Willibald wrathfully, “where you heathen berserks have compelled me to spend the last fortnight.”
“I have several things to discuss with you,” said Orm. “Come with me, and I will give you food and drink.”
“I have nothing to discuss with you,” replied Brother Willibald. “The less I see of Danes, the better it will be for me. That much, at least, I have learned by now. I will get my meat and drink elsewhere.”
Orm was afraid lest the little priest, in his anger, might dart away and give him the slip, so he picked him up and carried him away under one arm, promising him as he did so that no harm should come to him. Brother Willibald struggled vigorously, demanding sternly to be put down and informing Orm that leprosy and fearful battle-wounds were the least retribution that would descend on any man who laid his hand on a priest; but Orm ignored his protests and carried him into a house he had chosen as his quarters after they had stormed the town, which now contained only a few members of his crew who had been wounded and two old women.
The little priest was obviously famished, but when meat and drink were placed before him, he sat for some time staring bitterly at the platter and tankard, making no effort to touch them. Then he sighed, muttered something to himself, made the sign of the cross over the food, and began to eat greedily. Orm refilled his tankard with ale and waited patiently until Brother Willibald had appeased his hunger. The good ale appeared to have no soothing effect upon his temper, for the harshness of his retorts did not diminish; he found it in himself to answer Orm’s questions, however, and before long he was talking as ebulliently as ever.
He had escaped from Denmark, he explained, with Bishop Poppo when the evil and unchristian King Sven had descended upon Jellinge to destroy God’s servants there. The Bishop, sick and fragile, was now living on the charity of the Abbot of Westminster, grieving over the destruction of all his work in the north. Brother Willibald, though, felt that there was in fact little to grieve about when you considered the matter aright; for there could be no doubt that what had happened was a sign from God that holy men should cease their efforts to convert the heathens of the north and should instead leave them to destroy one another by their evil practices, which were, in truth, past all understanding. For his own part, Brother Willibald added, he had no intention of ever again attempting to convert anyone from those parts; and he was prepared to proclaim the fact upon the Cross and Passion of Christ in the presence of anyone who wished to hear it, including, if necessary, the Archbishop of Bremen himself.
His eyes smoldering, he drained his tankard, smacked his lips, and observed that ale was more nourishing than meat for a starving man. Orm refilled his tankard, and he continued with his story.
When Bishop Poppo had heard that Danish Vikings had landed on the east coast of England, he had been anxious to try to learn from them how things now were in the Danish kingdom; whether any Christians were still alive, whether the rumor that King Harald had died was true, and many other things besides. But the Bishop had felt too weak to undertake the journey from Westminster himself, and so had sent Brother Willibald to get the information for him.
“For the Bishop told me I would run little risk of injury among the heathens, however inflamed their passions might be. He said they would welcome me on account of my knowledge of medicine; in addition to which, there would be men among them who had known me at King Harald’s court. I had my own feelings on the matter, for he is too good for this world, and knows you less well than I do. However, it is not seemly to contradict one’s Bishop; so I did as he bade me. I reached this town one evening, very exhausted, and, after celebrating evensong, laid myself down to sleep in the church house. There I was waked by screaming and thick smoke, and men and women came running in half-naked, crying that the foul fiends had descended on us. Fiends there were none, but worse adversaries, and it seemed to me that little was likely to be gained by greeting them with words of salutation from Bishop Poppo. So I fled with the rest up into the church tower, and there I should have perished, and the others with me, had God not elected to liberate us from our plight upon this blessed Whitsun day.”