“Give me back that priest,” said Orm grimly. “He is mine and has not my permission to depart.”
“What loud-mouthed fellow might you be?” asked the other.
This was a mode of address to which Orm was not accustomed, and he was seized by a fury such as seldom came over him.
“A man who is not afraid to teach you manners,” he cried, “and that straightway.”
“Come over here,” said the other, “and we shall see which of us is the better teacher.”
“Have I peace from your following?” said Orm.
“You have peace from us,” said the Virds calmly.
Orm drew his sword and leaped across the brook.
“You come here nimbly,” said the other, “but you will be carried back.”
Orm charged at his adversary, and their swords met so fiercely that sparks came from them. Then the hatted man said:
“Dame Red-Jowl,
Thou hardly forged one,
Hard the fight
When sparks fly from thee.”
Orm took a fierce slash on his shield, and his voice was changed as he replied:
“Friend, thy word
Was timely spoken.
Know, Red-Jowl
Hath joined with Blue-Tongue.”
They lowered their swords and stood motionless.
“Welcome, Orm Tostesson, chieftain of the sea. What do you among these Göing savages?”
“Welcome, Toke Gray-Gullsson, warrior of Lister! What do you among the Virds?”
Both of them now began to talk eagerly and simultaneously, laughing with joy; for the friendship between them was very great, and it was several years since they had last seen each other.
“We have much to talk of,” said Toke. “And it is fortunate that you are swift at composing verses, the way I taught you to be; for if it had not been so, we two might have hewn at each other for a while longer, and might have suffered thereby. Though I do not think your verse was so good as mine.”
“In that you may claim superiority without offense,” said Orm. “I have had but little practice at making verses since last we parted.”
Toke drew his finger along Red-Jowl’s edge.
“There is a dent here, where our swords met,” he said. “She was never dented before.”
Orm likewise passed his finger along his blade.
“It is the same with mine,” he said. “Andalusian-forged iron can only be dented by Andalusian blades.”
“It is my hope,” said Toke, “that they will not kiss edges again.”
“That is my hope also,” said Orm.
“It would be good to know whether she who gave them to us is yet living,” said Toke. “And how our lord Almansur now fares, and where his great war-banners now wave before him, and whether his luck still holds.”
“Who can tell?” said Orm. “That land is far from here, and these things happened long ago; though it is true that my thoughts often turn to him. But come with me now, that we may talk alone; I wish I had ale with which to bid you welcome.”
“Have you no ale?” asked Toke in alarm. “How can we talk without ale? Ale is the best friend of friends.”
“Nobody has brought ale to the Thing,” said Orm. “Ale is the provoker of quarrels—which I think you know as well as the next man.”
“Our luck is good tonight,” said Toke, “and yours is better than mine. For one man has brought ale to the Thing, and I am he. You must know that I am now a great man among the merchants of Värend, and I deal particularly in skins; and no skin-sale can be arranged without ale. I have brought five pack-horses to the Thing, all laden with ale, and I shall not be taking any of it home again if all goes as it should; for I intend that they shall carry nothing but skins. Therefore come with me.”
“It shall be as you wish,” said Orm. “Perhaps I shall find my lost priest there, too.”
“The women took him with them,” said Toke. “They said they liked the sorcery he practiced, so you need not worry your head about him. He looked to me to be a bold fellow, the way he went for Styrkar with his cross. Though what will happen to him for killing the old goat is a matter for the Thing to decide.”
“I have another priest with me here,” said Orm, “an old friend of yours.”
Father Willibald had come across the brook to discover what had happened to the magister. Toke greeted him joyfully.
“I remember you well,” he said. “You shall come with us and sample my ale. I owe you a great debt for the way you mended my leg in King Harald’s castle, better than any other man could have done. But what are you doing here, so far from the Danish court?”
“I am God’s priest to Orm’s household,” said Father Willibald. “And my mission is to Christianize heathens in this wild outpost of the world, as I have already Christianized him. Your turn likewise shall come, though I remember you as a man deep in godlessness; it is the finger of God that has led you here to meet us.”
“That is a point that might be argued,” said Toke, “but what is certain is that we three shall now sit down together in friendship. Bismillahi, er-rahmani, er-rahimi! as we used to say when we served my lord Almansur.”
“What is that you said?” asked Father Willibald. “What language is that? Are you, too, a victim of southern witchcraft?”
“It is the tongue of Spain,” said Toke. “I remember it still, for my woman is from that land and still likes to speak her own tongue, especially when she is in an ill humor. It enables me to keep in practice.”
“And I can tell you the meaning of what he said,” said Orm. “It is: In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. The Merciful One is Christ, as everybody knows; and the Compassionate One evidently refers to the Holy Ghost, for who could be more Compassionate than He? You can see that Toke is practically a Christian already, though he pretends otherwise.”
Father Willibald mumbled doubtfully to himself; but without more argument about the matter they proceeded with Toke to the Vird camp.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CONCERNING TOKE GRAY-GULLSSON AND A MISFORTUNE THAT BEFELL HIM, AND OF A FOUL GIFT ORM RECEIVED FROM THE FINNVEDINGS
THEY sat over Toke’s ale late into the night, talking of all that had happened to them since they had parted. Orm told how he had gone a-viking in England under Thorkel the Tall, and of the great battle at Maldon and all the booty they had won there; how he had chanced to meet Father Willibald and had been baptized and had found again King Harald’s daughter (here the little priest had a good deal to add to Orm’s narrative), and of the great sum of silver that King Ethelred had elected to pay to buy himself and his country relief from the Northmen’s fury. Then he spoke of his voyage home, of his visit to Jellinge, and of his encounter with King Sven there; of what had happened at this meeting, and how he had then been forced to flee in haste to his mother’s estate in the border country, in order to escape the vengeance of his brother-in-law.
“But his memory is long, like his arm,” said Orm, “so that even in these distant parts he still pursues me, to avenge the nose-burn that this good priest gave him when last we met. This very spring I had to fight in night-darkness outside my own door with a traveler who was staying in my house as my guest, a man from Finnveden named Östen of Örestad, who had served at sea with the Danes. He had come with a strong band of followers to slay me secretly and send my head to King Sven. But instead he lost many men, and his horses and goods, and suffered a split skull into the bargain; which affair will, I doubt not, come up for discussion during the Thing. For as soon as his head had healed, I let him depart in peace, and two of his men with him; but first I forced him to become a Christian, because Father Willibald here, whose will I seldom oppose, preferred that they should be Christianized rather than killed.”
“Even the wisest of men sometimes act foolishly,” said Toke, “and a man who lets his enemy live has only himself to blame if he comes to regret it. I know that Christians sometimes do this, to put themselves in good odor with their god; but in these parts the old method is still regarded as the best. Next time you may find difficulty in killing the fellow, for he will certainly seek revenge for all he lost and for the insult you did to him by baptizing him.”