"Saga" - Chapter 9
Content - Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). No warnings for this chapter. This chapter rated PG.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Links to previous chapters follow after the cut. Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan who beta’d this chapter.
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/22271.html
Chapter 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/32308.html
Chapter 3: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/33130.html
Chapter 4: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/33946.html
Chapter 5: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/34153.html
Chapter 6: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/34535.html
Chapter 7: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/35104.html
Chapter 8: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/35376.html
Saga - Chapter 9
Two days before it was time to start drinking yule, an unexpected but very welcome visitor arrived at the farm. Einnis’s companion and friend from the summer’s raiding in Ireland, Torgeirr Haraldson, came riding accompanied by his father’s brother Olaf Haka and several of their men.
“Do not be so surprised, Einnis,” he said and laughed when his friend hastened to greet them. “We did talk about visiting with each other, remember? Time flies. And anyway, this is perfect - imagine all the silver I’ll save, not having to pay for all my own ale and Olaf’s all through yule!”
As always, good cheer followed wherever Torgeirr went.
Torgeirr soon enough belied his own jest about saving his riches, as he presented his hosts with costly gifts. To Sigrid he gave a heavy gold finger-ring with a purple stone.
“It has been well earned, Sigrid Elmarsdottir,” he told her sincerely. “It’s to thank you, mistress, for making it possible for me to get to know Einnis. He proved a true friend to me in Ireland, and if not for your competent rule of the farm I know he could not have left home to travel the West with us this year.”
Sigrid was visibly pleased both by the ring and his words, and during the following week’s celebrations she would sit up with the men and talk over the ale bowls till late in the evening. Otherwise she had taken to seeking her boxed-in sleeping bench early.
Their talk turned often to the men’s adventures in the East and the West, and Ketil once more proved a good and spirited story-teller, his salty sagas egging Torgeirr on to laughingly provide equally fantastic tales from Ireland.
Turning serious, Torgeirr and Olaf also brought troubling news of the unrest and skirmishes that continued in the kingdoms as the various minor kings vied for land and power. Tales of new battles along the coast had reached Kaupang several times during Torgeirr’s prolonged stay there, and he knew of a goodly number of free men and chieftains who had gone into their own king’s service. Some of the men Einnis would know too, he said, as they had been among the crew on the Raven’s Wing. He mentioned their names, and Einnis nodded, looking both interested and concerned.
“It seems that troubled times cannot be avoided, since every king wants more power for himself. Anyone may find a battle brewing on their own doorstep,” Torgeirr said. “Our king is a strong and clever leader, but he’s as power-hungry as they come. Now rumor has it he has sworn to make himself overlord of every kingdom in the east and west, and won’t rest or be content till he succeeds. There’s a woman behind his efforts, wouldn’t you know? There’s no length even the strongest man won’t go to when love is involved,” he grinned even as he shook his head. “At least it gives many a warrior the opportunity to win fame and fortune, the gods willing.”
Despite the looming prospects of danger and war, however, the midwinter celebrations were first on everyone’s mind. In this cold, dark and barren time of year drinking yule provided joy and hope. Good food and better ale filled the tables for all to enjoy, and both the hall and the lesser houses blazed with light from torches, hearths and lamps.
--
As many among the farm’s free men and women as could possibly be spared from their duties followed Ketil, Einnis, Sigrid and their guests when they rode down the valley to join in the Midwinter Blot festival. Their ride was longer than it needed have been - they didn’t cross the frozen lake in the valley, but rode around it. Elmar’s children had every reason to remember how treacherous the ice could still be this early in winter.
Their local hov stood loftily on a hillock next to the largest manor in the district, and was visible from far away. The chieftain at the manor was responsible for maintaining the sacred place and arranging the large blot meals, and he also served as the hov’s foremost godi.
People from all the surrounding farms brought their own food and sacrificial animals for slaughter, and all the ale and mead they planned to drink. Before the rites at the hov started there was a large press of people at the manor, visitors from far and wide and from every farm in the district. Groups of over-excited children ran around and got under the feet of the grown-ups, hardly noiseless in their plays and games. Frightened sheep, horses and pigs being readied as sacrifice to the gods added to the already deafening din.
At the appointed time everyone went in a long procession from the manor up to the hov on the hill. The godi walked in front with two men blowing on lurs behind him, as well as a group of women rhythmically shaking large and skillfully wrought rattles. Next rode or walked the valley’s most important men and women in all their winter finery; long red and blue cloaks made from expensive foreign cloth and decorated with silk and woven ribbons. Many of the men held ceremonial spears upright, and both men and women as well as their horses’ harnesses were richly adorned with silver or gold. The first part of the long procession sparkled and shone like the stars in the sky whenever the pale winter sunlight was reflected in spear points, helmets and jewelry. It was a colorful and awe-inspiring sight for all the people who followed behind on foot.
The ceremony in the hov itself was solemn and secretive. Only the most important members of each clan were able to actually enter the inner sanctum. Everyone else gathered around on the outside of the wooden building, waiting to be told that the rites had been properly concluded so that the feasting could begin in earnest. The day was very cold. Breaths looked like puffs of white smoke, and there was much stamping of feet and flapping of arms as people tried to keep warm while the blot progressed inside.
Einnis wore his blue cloak into the hov, having first left the ceremonial spear and his sword Holmhogg outside. He stood next to his siblings during the rites. The characteristic smells in the hov’s dim interior immediately brought the gods’ presence to his mind, the way they’d done since he was a boy - intense odors of spice-laced smoke, damp earth and most of all the strong sweetish tang of sacrificial blood, both old and fresh.
A gydje now stepped forth before those assembled. She shook her ceremonial rattle to call the gods’ attention, and then stuck the sharp spiked end of two large gilded tallow-lamps firmly into the earthen floor. She lighted the lamps with a torch, and stepped back.
The lamp flames lit up the large carved figures of Odin, Tor and Frey where they stood on high between richly carved upright pillars in the hov’s innermost part. Light and shadows danced over the gods and all at once seemed to bring them to life. They were darkened with many layers of dried blood, given in sacrifice over the years, and adorned with sacred gold for the occasion. Odin the one-eyed in the middle looked powerful and sinister, Tor as ever held his big hammer Mjolne in front of himself as a sign of his might, and the shape of Frey did not leave any doubts about his fertility, the way his magnificently large and erect member was on proud display.
The godi chanted the incantations to the gods, and sprinkled them and their altars liberally with the still-warm sacrificial animal blood, carried into the hof in two richly adorned silver bowls. Once the larger bowl had been emptied, he knelt down over it, muttering imprecations and prayers while searching for the gods’ will and omens in the patterns created by the blood.
Everyone bent their heads in respect and awe of the gods and their powers. Eventually the godi rose to his feet again and intoned the final sacred chants directly in front of the three gods, every word rich with ancient and powerful magics.
Loud shouts of praise rose from the crowd of people once the godi stepped out of the hov, lifting a smaller blot bowl high before sprinkling a little sacrificial blood to every corner of the world. He ended by revealing the gods’ omens with a loud voice. In the blood he had seen no portents of great ills to befall their valley in the year to come, he said. The people cheered in gratitude and relief.
The gods had been properly honored and had received their due; now they had no cause to turn against the people of the valley.
The whole raucous procession returned back to the manor and entered the large wooden blot-hall, where fires blazed on the long open hearth and boiled sacrificial meat from the cooking pits was being carried through the doors in vats so big that the thralls nearly crumbled under the weight. The hall was filled to the rafters with revelers as the godi solemnly dedicated all the drinking goblets and the meat to Odin. The goblets and drinking horns, filled to the brim, were thereafter passed over the blazing hearth fire and rapidly distributed among the guests. Everyone rose to formally make Odin's toast, asking for victory and power to their king, and then came the most important toast of all. They all loudly hailed Frey and drank to árs ok friðar - a good year and peace.
As the blot feast now progressed, people threw themselves with abandon at the rich food and drink, and many a loud additional toast was made while ale and mead flowed throughout the evening. Men emptied Brage-goblets, swearing to do one brave feat or another, and others drank in remembrance of recently departed kin.
Einnis kept unusually quiet, even for him, and didn’t drink overmuch. Early on, while they were still in a state to notice such things, his men close by thought that he seemed preoccupied and distant. They found it reasonable that he drank no Brage-goblet. After all, he’d already taken on more than one man’s work with the farm he was building. Ketil Efni Elmarson on the other hand did rise to toast Brage later in the evening, but by then his voice was slurred, and there were loud screams and bellows of laughter from a group of near-by men. Ketil’s words were lost in the din, and later he kept his vow to himself.
The celebrations lasted far into the night, according to custom and tradition, and the gods had no reason to be displeased with the people’s fervour and their dedication to the blot festival.
--
After the troubles he experienced at the out-farm, Eoin had tried to not be conspicuous in any way about praying or practicing his religion. Nevertheless, he felt a deep need to celebrate the joyous birth of the son of God and give thanks on that holy night.
He wanted a quiet and private place for his lonely Christ mass. The stables seemed to him perfect for the occasion.
There were only a very few horses now that so many people had ridden to the blot. That meant there was space enough, and also very little risk of interference from other men. The remaining horses still provided the long, low building with pleasant and comforting warmth. The calm low sounds as the horses moved in their stalls created in Eoin a sense of companionship with other living, breathing beings. The Lord Christ himself had been born in a stable, since there had been nowhere else for his blessed virgin mother to turn to. What better place then to celebrate his birth?
Eoin put his little stone lamp on the floor, and kneeled down. He stared into the flame for a while in silence, letting the peace of the holy night settle in his heart, and then he closed his eyes. In a clear voice he sang several of the hymns he had learned in praise of the Lord. In his imagination he joined his own humble voice to the strong, joyful chorus that would have lifted these same hymns to Heaven back in his monastery’s little church, and to the chorus of happy voices rejoicing all around Ireland and everywhere else where this mass was even now being celebrated.
Christ had spoken of love and peace and forgiveness, something Eoin’s life had been woefully short on before he hobbled into the monastery and miraculously was allowed to remain. There he had been offered an acceptance of himself and his abilities that he’d never experienced at home, though the monastery rules were strict and demanding, and the days long enough to many a time make him weary both in body and mind. But more importantly than anything else - he’d found moments of quiet grace and serenity there that his dreamer’s soul had been yearning for just as much as a starved man longs for nourishment, though he hadn’t been fully aware of it.
The lovely hymns, the contemplation, the pretty lights and bells and Latin prayers, the enchanting images of grave saints and of the Lord’s sorrowful mother, the illuminated scriptures resplendent with gold and bright colors, the sweet smell of incense, the monastery’s lush herb garden…. All of it opened up for him a new world, a world that wasn’t just harsh and ugly and filled with pain and scorn, a wondrous world where beauty and kindness, joy and hope, gentleness and mercy existed and were treasured and encouraged, and where he himself wasn’t just considered a useless good-for-nothing.
Taking the initial vows had been no hardship at all. It had been a means for him to forsake his previous sad existence and to give something valuable back to the monastery which had already given him so much.
As a child he had learned how to fight and to deceive in order to merely survive. But in the monastery he had been taught that there was a purpose with his life, and thereby had regained trust in himself. The teachings said that the Lord would not abandon him or completely withhold joy from his life if he kept his soul open and filled with confidence. If he only kept devotion and hope alive in his heart, and fought to preserve and defend what was good and right, all would be made clear in time. Not even a sparrow would fall to earth without God’s knowing of it, so the monks had assured him. Though fate might take difficult or unexpected turns to test his faith and resolve, whatever happened in his life was meant to be so.
Einnis Elmarson came to his mind, as he so often did. His face, the way it looked when he was relaxed and happy. The deep timbre of his voice. The desperate thrill of that strong body moving in time with Eoin’s own. The perfect ecstasy they experienced that one night alone together. An undeniable and intense attraction. Surely this was God’s will and was meant to be. Yes, that which lifted his spirit, gave him joy and filled his life with such unlooked-for loveliness had to be a gift that should not be questioned, feared or denied, but be accepted with humility and gratitude.
Eoin solemnly made the sign of the cross over his heart, and once more bent his head in heartfelt gratitude on this holy night, murmuring first the Pater Noster and then many repeated Ave Marias into the radiance of the little lamp.
He knelt for a long time there in the small circle of softly flickering light. Vast midwinter murk loomed all around, but on this night and in this place the darkness did not hold sway. There were no dangers and no terrors, only a blessed tranquility and peace of mind.
--
Shortly after they all had arrived safely back home from the blot, it was revealed why Torgeirr had wanted Olaf Haka to travel north with him. The two guests asked to have private words with Ketil and Einnis. Once they all were sitting together and out of anyone’s earshot, Olaf spoke up and asked for Sigrid’s hand in marriage on Torgeirr’s behalf. According to custom he spent some considerable time detailing Torgeirr’s clan connections, his talents and achievements, and the extent of his riches. He also outlined how much Torgeirr proposed to contribute as Sigrid’s bride price and mundr.
Ketil and Einnis looked with favor on this proposal, and said as much. Sigrid could hardly expect a wealthier husband, and Torgeirr’s clan was well-respected. Such a brother-in-law would benefit the brothers. However, they didn’t want to shake hands on an agreement before Sigrid herself had had her say.
The next day therefore, the two of them spoke to their sister about it, and repeated all that had been discussed the evening before. Einnis added for his own part that Torgeirr was a good friend, who had proven a strong fighter, steadfast and courageous, honest, generous and cheerful during the raiding in Ireland. The brothers advised Sigrid to accept the offered marriage.
Sigrid heard them out in silence, and smiled a little at Einnis’s many words of praise.
“Is there then nothing unfavorable at all to say about Torgeirr and his ways?” she queried mildly.
Einnis pondered this with the gravity her question deserved. “I did think he was far too rash sometimes, rushing forth and taking action without thinking much of the consequences” he said at last. “And for all his good cheer, a few times he lost himself in his own thoughts for a long time, and then he would speak but little even if spoken to. And he snores!”
Sigrid laughed. ”A veritable fiend, this man you want me to marry!”
“I would like few things better than seeing him as my brother-in-law, and I wouldn’t say so if I thought there would be unhappiness for you at his side,” Einnis said earnestly. “But the decision is yours. Neither Ketil nor I would force you into a marriage that is not to your liking.”
Sigrid grew serious in her turn, and squeezed Einnis’s hand a moment. “I like Torgeirr well enough, more so for your praise of him, Einnis.”
She looked up at Ketil. “If you reach an agreement that makes you content, you may tell Torgeirr on my behalf and yours that you accept his proposal.”
She said no more, but Einnis noticed a light blush rising in her cheeks as she modestly lowered her eyes.
That evening, the men talked long over the mead horns, and the terms of the betrothal were worked out to their mutual satisfaction. Eventually Einnis had only one more topic left that he wanted to broach.
“Torgeirr, I remember you told me in Ireland that you have a fridla living on the farm with you,” Einnis said. “What do you intend to do with her, once Sigrid moves in there?”
“Oh, that one,” Torgeirr shook his head even as he grinned.
“She was gone when I returned home at last. Left with one of the freemen. Got tired of waiting for me to return, I think. Women! It is too often true what the old one says; their hearts were shaped on a whirling wheel.” He laughed. “But however that is, I bought myself an ambatt in Kaupang, and I won’t hide from you that she lives on my farm now. She’s an Irish woman.....”
He paused, shrugged and looked at Einnis. “You’ve seen her yourself. One of the women captives from the Raven’s Wing - the pale one who had thick reddish hair? I bought her at the thrall marked not long after you and Ketil left Kaupang. “
He grew serious. “I see how you have every right to think I would not honor your sister much, were I to move her into a farm where my ambatt also lives. I promise to send this woman off somewhere when I marry.”
With that, the two brothers shook hands with Torgeirr and Olaf on the agreement concerning the betrothal between Torgeirr Haraldsson and Sigrid Elmarsdottir. The wedding would take place in the spring, less than four months away. Torgeirr pointed out that both he and Sigrid were grown people who would take quickly to married life, and who would wish for children, so that there was no need to tarry overlong. Sigrid had no objections to this.
Before everyone retired to their beds, Einnis had the opportunity for a few words in private with Sigrid. She leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder for a moment.
”Oh, Einnis. Einnis Eldhug, I think I shall miss you most of all. We have made it through many sorrows and difficult times together. You have been a good brother to me.” She smiled at him warmly. ”Please remember that I am not moving to Utgard and the ends of the world! You must come often to visit me and Torgeirr. I count on that.”
Einnis looked at her. “Are you truly happy with this marriage, sister? You have been the mistress of our farm so long, have worked hard to maintain and improve it - to leave it behind now for good may prove hard.”
Sigrid nodded. “Such is every woman’s lot. It will be no different for Arna Mjodsdottir the day she rides north with you. True, it will feel strange when I leave this place with Torgeirr - finally a married woman, who belongs elsewhere. But this agreement is after my own will, and it pleases me, never fear. I will bring along all my belongings and several of my women - there will be much to remind me of my life here. And I will be mistress in my own right, not just waiting for Ketil to bring home some wife or other to take over all the keys from me and to order me about.”
Einnis was distracted despite himself.
“Has Ketil said more about his marrying to you? Tor knows he’s been visiting frequently with many a farm in the valley and beyond, but I have not heard that he has found any one woman he intends to marry, if her kinsmen prove agreeable.”
Sigrid shook her head. “No, he has not taken me into his confidence. I know no more than you.”
“He did tell me he was returning home to settle down with a wife,” Einnis mused. “The clan needs heirs, and the farm does need a proper mistress after you leave.”
“Well, for all his eager searching here on the farm he won’t find her among my serving women,” Sigrid said tartly. “Maybe, if he spent less time and efforts chasing them, and more on courting a proper and fitting wife, he could celebrate his marriage this year like the both of us.”
“You have a point there,” Einnis conceded.
“At least he has remembered his pride and dignity enough to not start bedding the thrall women,” Sigrid sighed.
Einnis had no response to that. Shortly thereafter they said good-night and retreated to their beds.
--
Torgeirr and Olaf now took their leave and rode homewards after many warm and friendly words of goodbye. Einnis all of a sudden took it into his head that he would ride with them as far as Mjod’s farm, and would visit there some few days with Arna and her father before he had to return to the woods by the out-farm to start the tree-felling.
The future brothers-in-law felt at ease together on the ride south, speaking freely of many things such as their plans for the year, Einnis’s new farm and both the weddings. Einnis also returned to the matter of Torgeirr’s Irish ambatt, and suggested a solution that, among other things, would move her off Torgeirr’s farm without him having to sell her.
“For I see that you do not like the thought of sending her off without knowing where fate will take her next, or what befalls her after,” he said.
Torgeirr was pleased with this. “There are signs she may be with child,” he admitted. “Myrunn’s a good woman, and I wish her no harm.”
Soon thereafter Einnis and his men turned off the southwards trail to ride to Mjod’s farm, while Torgeirr and Olaf continued on their way.
Einnis’s visit with his wife-to-be and her father went well in every way. Arna was happy to see him and showed him as much in speech and affectionate caresses, Mjod was interested in all there was to tell about the progress made on rebuilding the out-farm, and in this manner Einnis spent some uneventful and restful days in their company.
Tbc.........
Notes and explanations;
Olaf Haka - Haka means “the chin”. One may therefore assume that Olaf’s chin was a rather prominent feature!
Petty Kingdoms - Before the unification of Norway in 872, as well as during a later period of fragmentation, Norway was divided into numerous small kingdoms of varying size and with shifting borders and alliances.
Godi, hov and gydje - A godi was the “high priest” who led the religious ceremonies at the sacred building, the hov. This priestly duty would belong to one of the most powerful (ie. rich and titled) men in the district. (An equivalent “high priestess” was called a gydje)
Lur - a musical instrument, a straight, end-blown wooden tube without finger holes, around one meter (three feet) long.
Odin - is the war-like king of the gods in Norse mythology. He only has one eye, having given the other in exchange for the right to drink his fill from the well of wisdom.
Frey - the Norse God of fertility (and brother of Freya). The explicitly phallic nature of the Norse Frey statues has been thoroughly documented in a number of ways, and can for instance be seen in this little figure: http://www.ukforsk.se/frey.jpg
Brage - The Norse god of poetry. A “Brage Toast” was a promise to do a specific great and difficult deed, and was spoken out loud in public company.
Fridla - mistress, as in common-law or “additional” wife
Ambatt - Thrall woman who’ve been bought as, or otherwise has become, her owner’s steady mistress
“..their hearts were shaped on a whirling wheel” - another word of “wisdom”, about women this time, from Havamal.
Myrunn - there are several examples of phonetic-based “Norsification” of foreign names in the Icelandic sagas, including the change of Irish “muir” to Norse “myr”.
Public Blot - For the blot feast and the ceremony in the hov, I have used the description in Snorri’s “King Hakon the Good’s Saga” (which was written down by a Christian several hundred years after the last blot took place, and so must be considered with due scepticism). For the procession I have used an image passed down from AD 834 as inspiration, namely the religious procession on a woven tapestry from the Oseberg find, the magnificent ship mound burial of two women, with an enormous wealth of grave goods.
(In the Oseberg find there were among much else finely wrought and decorated large iron rattles with silver inlays, and metal lamps on spikes to stick into the ground.
The modern-day replica of a tapestry fragment at the following link gives a good impression of the procession on the Oseberg tapestries, note the women’s long dresses, the men carrying upright spears and the decorated horses: http://www.sjolander.com/viking/museum/Horned.jpg
And just for the sake of it; here’s what the real tapestry looks like after more than 1,000 years in the ground:
http://www.muninn.dds.nl/borduren/oseberg%20wandkleed%20org.jpg )
