Father Willibald now commanded them all to come forward to the baptism-tub, in which Harald Ormsson had been baptized; and there twenty-three men and nineteen women, young and old, were duly sprinkled. Orm and Rapp pulled the two sleepers out from under the table and tried to shake some life into them; but, finding that all their efforts failed, they carried them up to the tub and held them in position until they, too, had been sprinkled like the rest, after which they were thrown into a quiet corner to continue with their sleeping. The whole company was now in excellent spirits. They wrung the water out of their hair, went joyfully back to their places at the tables, and, when Father Willibald attempted to conclude the ceremony by pronouncing a general blessing, the noise was so great that little of what he said could be heard.
“Nobody here is afraid of a little water,” they roared proudly, grinning at one another across the tables.
“Everything is ready now.”
“Up, now, jesters, and show us your skill!”
The jesters exchanged small smiles and rose willingly from their benches. Immediately a deep silence fell on the hall. They saluted Ylva with great courtliness when they had come into the center of the hall, as though she were their only spectator; then, for a long while, they held the gathering alternately dumb with amazement and helpless with laughter. They turned somersaults both backwards and forwards, without the help of their hands, landing always on their feet; they imitated birds and beasts, played ditties on small pipes while dancing on their hands, and juggled with tankards, knives, and swords. Then out of their sacks they produced two great dolls, clad in motley and with faces carved in the likeness of old women. These they held in their hands, Felimid taking one and Ferdiad the other, and immediately the dolls began to speak, at first amiably, then shaking their heads and hissing angrily, and at the last furiously abusing each other, vituperating tirelessly like squabbling crows. A shiver went through the gathering as the dolls began to talk; the women ground their teeth, and the men went white and reached for their swords; but Ylva and Father Willibald, who knew the Irishmen’s tricks of old, calmed them with the assurance that all was the result of the jesters’ skill and that there was no witchcraft in it. Orm himself looked uncertain for a few moments, but soon recovered his mirth; and when the jesters brought their dolls closer to each other and made them fight with their arms, while their voices cursed each other yet more shrilly, as though they might at any moment seize each other by the hair, he burst into such a bellow of laughter that Ylva leaned anxiously across to him and bade him remember what had happened to King Colla. Orm wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at her.
“It is not easy to be prudent when one is merry,” he said. “But I do not think God will allow any harm to befall me now, when I have just done Him so great a service.”
It was noticeable, however, that he took Ylva’s warning seriously, for he was never able to ignore any observation relating to his health.
At length the jesters concluded their performance, though the guests begged them many times to continue; and the evening ended without anyone suffering the fate of King Colla. Father Willibald then thanked God for all the happiness that they had enjoyed, and for all the souls that he had been permitted to lead to Christ. So Orm’s great christening feast came to a close; and the guests rode home from Gröning in the gray dawn twilight, talking of all the good ale and victuals that they had consumed and of the marvelous feats that had been performed for them by these Irish jesters.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CONCERNING THE KING OF SWEDEN’S SWORD-BEARER, AND THE MAGISTER FROM AACHEN AND HIS SINS
WHEN all the guests save the four beggars had departed and peace had returned to Gröning, Orm and all his household agreed that the feast had passed off better than any of them could have dared to hope, and that Harald Ormsson had had a christening that would without doubt bring much honor to himself and them. Only Asa wore a thoughtful look. She said that his sharp-toothed guests had consumed practically their entire stock of provisions, both wet and dry, so that there was scarcely enough left for their own needs.
“The bakehouse is empty,” she said, “save for one small bin; and the larder looks as though a pack of wolves had visited it. I tell you both that, if you have many sons, you will not be able to hold christening feasts like this for all of them, or it will eat up all your wealth. I do not wish to complain too loudly over so much waste on this occasion, for it is right that the first-born son should be thus honored; but now we shall all have to be content with small-beer with our meals, until the next hop harvest.”
Orm said that he had no wish to hear any grumbling over the fact that a little extra food had been consumed. “But I know you mean well,” he said to Asa, “and that your grumbling arises chiefly from habit. And I have heard that small-beer is a drink that a man can be content with.”
“You must remember, Asa,” said Father Willibald, “that this has been no ordinary feast. For it has advanced the cause of Christ, and has caused heathens to become baptized. Let us, therefore, not complain that so much has disappeared, for God will repay us tenfold.”
Asa admitted that there might be something in this argument, for she never liked to oppose Father Willibald, even when she was in her sharper moods.
Father Willibald was especially jubilant because he had achieved so much during the feast, not only having converted all the guests but having also become the first of all Christ’s servants to succeed in baptizing men from Smaland.
“Now, indeed, I can truthfully say,” he said, “that patience has earned its reward and that I have not accompanied you to this foul land in vain. During these three feast-days forty-five souls have received baptism at my hand. True, alas, it is that none of them can be said to have been impelled by a genuine heartfelt longing for Christ, though I told them so much about Him. Our guests were persuaded by the Irish Masters, and the men from Smaland were baptized against their will. But it is my belief that if a servant of Christ were to sit and wait for the people of this land to come to him out of the longing of their hearts, he would have to wait a long time. And I believe that much good may result from all that has happened during this feast. But the credit for all this is not mine; but belongs to these two Irish Masters; and it was certainly a true miracle of God that they were sent here at the very time when their art was most needed.”
“Only God could have thought of it,” said Asa.
“But now,” said Orm to the four strangers, “it is time for us to hear something more about you curious men who have come to us in the guise of beggars. We should like to know why you two masters wander thus about our land, and who your two companions are, and on what errand you are bound.”
The large man with the grizzled beard glanced at his companions and nodded his head slowly. Then he said, in a heavy voice: “My name is Spjalle and my home is in Uppsala. I have accompanied King Erik on all his campaigns, and have stood beside him as his shield-bearer, because of my size and strength. But now I no longer perform that task; instead, it has been commanded that I shall return to Uppsala in the guise of a beggar, with a sword bound to my leg.”
He ceased speaking, and all the others stared at him in astonishment.
“Why have you a sword bound to your leg?” asked Ylva.
“There is much that I could say in reply to that question,” he replied. “And much else besides; but perchance I have already said too much, for I know that you, woman, are King Sven’s sister. But my chief news is my worst; which is that King Erik, whom men called the Victorious, is dead.”