"Saga" - Chapter 16, Part 1
Content - Saga is a 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.
Since my wonderful beta has other commitments, I’m taking the chance on posting this chapter un-beta’d. Every error therefore is mine and mine alone, and I would appreciate it if readers pointed out really glaring ones, if any, so I may correct them.
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
Chapter 9: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/36279.html
Chapter 10, part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/37232.html
Chapter 10, part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/37564.html
Chapter 11, part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/38138.html
Chapter 11, part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/38245.html
Chapter 12, part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/39029.html
Chapter 12, part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/39347.html
Chapter 13, part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/39503.html
Chapter 13, part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/39897.html
Chapter 14, Part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/40191.html
Chapter 14, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/40392.html
Chapter 15, Part 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/40732.html
Chapter 15, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/41027.html
Saga - Chapter 16
Four days after the birth of her son, Muirenn was sitting up on the bench after the midday meal, cradling the infant in her lap. She’d had a hard delivery and had needed rest and care afterwards. This was the first day she felt well enough to get dressed and to do more than the merest cat-wash in the morning.
It was a fine, warm day, but Eoin was still in the cottage. She’d asked him to remain when the others went outside.
The little boy was sleeping, and she sat lost in thought, stroking his downy head with a gentle finger, humming softly. Then she loosened her long braid, fetched a comb from her little bundle of possessions and started working out the snarls and tangles in her hair with slow and careful movements.
Eventually she was satisfied and braided her hair into a long thick rope, dangling over her shoulder. She looked up at Eoin, who was sitting opposite her, watching the two of them. “Brother Eoin, would you fetch a bowl of water, please? My little one is not baptized yet, and there are no priests here, nor in Kaupang, I should think. The world is full of dangers, I don’t want his immortal soul to be at permanent risk. Would you baptize my son?”
Eoin smiled at her, happy to see her feeling better, and approving of her question, which did not come entirely as a surprise. “Don’t you want to wait till the child’s father arrives?” he nevertheless asked, making sure she’d thought her actions through.
“Torgeirr need not know about it,” Muirenn said firmly. “I think he would not accept it, and would stop me from having the boy baptized. In most matters I would not go against Torgeirr’s wishes, but in this I have no choice. My son will not be left to the mercy of the likes of Tor and Odin. He must be baptized!”
“Then so let it be done,” Eoin nodded. He walked over to wash his hands in the bucket of water by the door. Then he quietly went about the room, fetching a bowl of water, some grains of salt and Muirenn’s white scarf, before sitting down next to Muirenn on the bench, looking down on her innocently sleeping little boy.
“I am no priest, and I do not know the full ritual,” he said apologetically. “But I know the good Lord will receive him and bless him even so”.
He bent his head. “Let us pray.”
Muirenn immediately followed his lead. “Ave Maria, gratia plena….”
Eoin bent down and breathed gently on the little boy’s head. “May the powers of darkness retire before you!”
He looked up at Muirenn questioningly. “What name shall he be given?”
She did not hesitate. “Padraig,” she answered clearly.
Eoin smiled approvingly. “A good name.” He made the sign of the cross on the forehead and chest of the little one, and gently pried his lips open to place the few grains of salt in his mouth.
“Peace be with you, Padraig,” he said. Once more he and Muirenn bowed their heads, and now solemnly spoke the Lord’s prayer. Little Padraig started whimpering in his mother’s arms. He didn’t appreciate the salty taste on his tongue. Muirenn gently rocked him in her arms, watching him with tender eyes while holding him out towards Eoin.
“Hush, hush, little one. We’re almost there!”
Eoin held the bowl of water under the boy’s head, and three times carefully poured water from the palm of his hand over the crown of the little head. “Padraig, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Now little Padraig started howling in earnest, protesting the cold water, and Eoin made haste to dry his head with the white scarf, the sign of innocence. He looked at mother and child and smiled warmly.
“The Lord be with you. The Lord bless you both. Amen.”
Muirenn happily stroked the cheek of her bawling son. “Thank you. Now I can rest easy!” She shook her head at a particularly loud scream. “Well, at least there will be rest when Padraig stops this infernal hollering!”
She hurriedly unfastened one of her brooches and let the front of her dress down just enough to be able to lay the boy to her breast, as Eoin modestly averted his eyes. Silence descended on the room as the infant started suckling, and Muirenn leaned back against the wall, tiredly closing her eyes. The tension of their secret baptism ceremony had taken its toll on her.
At that moment Gerd tore the door open and looked in on them. “Myrunn, the master is here! Look sharp!” With that the door banged shut again, and Muirenn looked to Eoin in consternation.
“I think I had better see him alone….”
Eoin at once got up and made for the door, but had only made the first few steps when the door was torn open once more and Torgeirr Haraldson ducked through in a hurry, his glance immediately drawn to Muirenn with their son at her breast.
“Muirenn!” he said breathlessly. “How are you?” He strode across the floor, sitting down next to her in the dim space on the bench and looking into her face. Muirenn bent her head so that her thick braid covered part of her suddenly blushing countenance. Eoin hurried out of the cottage before she could respond. The last thing he saw before closing the door quietly behind himself was Torgeirr placing one arm around Muirenn’s shoulders while gently cradling the head of the still-suckling infant with his free hand.
---
Some time went by before Torgeirr came to the door and looked out.
“Orm, may I borrow the house a little longer? I have some business to attend to. And Jaran, come back in again. Bring a bowl of ale with you. I am thirsty.”
When Eoin entered, bowl in hand, Muirenn had placed the sated and sleeping infant in his sleeping basket, and had brought her clothes into order. She was looking down into her lap and seemed both calm and collected.
Eoin set the bowl on the bench, quietly placed himself opposite the two others, and waited.
“I have recently seen the godi who is my neighbor and a well-known law speaker,” Torgeirr began. “I needed to hear what the laws say about liberation of thralls. I’ve never had occasion to look into it before, but the mother of my first-born son is not going to remain an ambatt. And from what my wife tells me, Muirenn is not the only thrall that I may be setting free. What say you, Jaran?” He looked quizzically at Eoin, who met him stare for stare.
“That is true, Torgeirr Haraldson. I do wish to buy my freedom, now that I have the means to do so.”
“Sigrid told me of the golden pendant. Would you let me see it?”
Eoin hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at Muirenn, then pulled the golden object out from under his rough tunic. Muirenn gasped, her eyes going wide as she stared at it, stunned speechless. The cross glittered in the cottage dimness like a star descended to earth.
Torgeirr looked at it in surprise, and shook his head. “It is a beautiful thing, and costly. Sigrid did not exaggerate. I do not know why my brother-in-law would give you such a magnificent thing. You must have done him a service beyond compare…?”
Torgeirr waited for a moment, but Eoin did not reply, and the Norseman continued. “I fully respect Einnis’s wishes, though, just as I respect him. He must have good reasons for keeping silent about the story behind this valuable gift to you. That tale is yours and his to keep and guard unless you will it differently. The gold pendant is yours, too, and you may do with it what you want. It is certainly worth more than what I paid Einnis for you.”
He looked at Muirenn, and then back at Eoin.
“Now the laws say that I may set a thrall free in front of witnesses, but that thrall will still remain just like a thrall in many respects,” Torgeirr began. “He can’t marry without my acceptance, and can neither buy nor sell. But if there is a Liberation Ale feast, and witnesses to prove that all formalities of the law have been followed, then the thrall will be considered free from then on and counted as a man - or a woman - and not as someone’s property. The law requires that a thrall works one full year for his master after liberation though, as a servant earning wages.”
A sigh escaped Eoin and was echoed by Muirenn. They were both taken aback at this news. “One year?”
Torgeirr looked uncomfortable. “That’s the law. I cannot change it. If we do not abide by it, you would risk someone capturing you and making a thrall of you again. The laws would allow that. In fact, the laws require it.”
Eoin sighed. “What then is this Liberation Ale feast? What must I do?”
He carefully listened to Torgeirr’s explanation, silently marveling at the strange Norse laws and customs, and nodded once the Norseman finished, drinking deeply from the bowl of ale in conclusion.
“All of that should be possible. If we are to travel to Kaupang, I can sell the gold, and then when you come there, I will pay to arrange a Liberation Ale feast, for both myself and Muirenn.”
Muirenn smiled, and Torgeirr looked pleased, his eyes moving from Eoin to Muirenn and back. “That is good,” he said. “In two weeks' time or so I will ride south to Kaupang to see to my clan’s business there, and my own trading. I will go with you to hear what the gold is valued at and what it weighs, so that you get your full price. I had intended to take you both south to Kaupang in any case.”
He paused, studying the two of them. “I suppose neither of you have ever heard of Gunnar Grimson Gavlpryd?” he asked.
Eoin and Muirenn exchanged a look, before shaking their heads.
“Well, he’s a master wood-carver in Kaupang,” Torgeirr explained. “The master woodcarver, would perhaps be nearer the mark. He’s an artist of the highest order, his work is as fine as it gets, he has carved ship stems and sleighs and wagons for earls and godis and even for kings and queens. But there’s a problem… he drinks too much. He drinks a lot. There’s no denying he’s living proof of the wisdom of yore;
A better burden may no man bear
when wandering wide than wisdom;
Worse food for the journey he brings not afield
Than too many draughts of ale.”
Torgeirr snorted in derision. “Because of all the ale Gunnar frequently doesn’t manage to finish his work, and neglects his orders, so rich patrons have started to shun him. It’s a pity. I made a deal with him when he came north this spring. I’ll help him get back on his feet and have someone manage his life and his agreements, and in return I will get a cut off his fees when he starts working his craft properly - as he should do. A talent such as his is too rarely seen.”
Distracted despite himself, Torgeirr leaned forward to gently stroke his sleeping son’s cheek a few times, staring in fascination at the tiny face, then sat back to continue.
“Do you know anything at all about wood-carving, Jaran?”
Eoin laughed, a harsh bitter bark.
The two others looked at him in surprise, and he shrugged. “Yes, I sometimes helped my father, when he had to hurry to make delivery of his orders. He was a wood-carver. He never taught me a thing, though, never once - but I learned from watching him anyway. To think anything to do with that man would become useful in my life!”
“Well, that’s good,” Torgeirr said, a bit uncertainly. ”My plan is that Muirenn will keep Gunnar’s house in Kaupang, maybe help sort out the agreements and the payments too, if the little one here leaves her time for it.”
He glanced at Muirenn. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, girl, and don’t you forget it!” he said, addressing her in a quick aside. “And I thought that you Jaran will accompany Gunnar on his travels to customers, help him with tools and the planks and logs and ensure he gets quality material, keep an eye on him, remind him to keep working, do your best to stop him from drinking all the time.” He shrugged. “He will be drinking now and then, not even Odin himself with all his magic and wisdom can stop that, but Gunnar will feel better when he can keep it together more and work his craft instead of constantly ending up dead-drunk in the nearest ditch.”
He shrugged. “What say you both? You will live in Gunnar’s house in Kaupang. As you know, thralls can’t marry, but people will likely think you’re a couple, even so. Both of you and the little one will be the safer for that. But what you decide to do between yourselves and behind the walls of your new home, is up to the both of you and no-one else’s business.”
Muirenn blushed and lowered her eyes. Eoin shifted on the bench uncomfortably. “I am a man of God, the Christian God, and I have sworn off women for the rest of my life,” he said slowly.
Torgeirr shook his head in wonder. “Man, you are truly missing out on the best things in life! Why would your god be such a killjoy, and require that of you? Why would he want you to remain childless? Having sons is every man’s delight, and his obligation to kin and clan!”
Torgeirr once more stroked the sleeping Padraig’s cheek, a proud smile on his face. “Just look at little Sverri, here!“
Startled, Eoin looked at Muirenn, who met his eyes and gave him the slightest shake of her head.
“He is indeed a fine strong son to make any father proud,” Eoin said, his voice neutral.
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the child, then Muirenn spoke up in her halting Norse. “I will go to Kaupang with your son, Torgeirr, and do as you propose. It sounds good to me. I’ll look after the house of this Gunnar… Grimson?”
“Gavlpryd,” Torgeirr grinned. “He got the name because he carved dragon’s heads for the gables of one of the dowager queen’s manors. Then he got blind drunk and somehow managed to climb up on her roof and got stuck there, just like one of his own carvings, but looking far worse, so the story goes. It is true he is no Balder as far as looks go! Men had to climb up and set him free from there and tie him up to get him back down.” Torgeirr laughed. “Since that day, the name has stuck!”
He turned serious, and looked at Eoin. “What do you say?”
Eoin nodded and reached his right hand out to the other. “I agree with Muirenn. It is a good plan”.
Torgeirr gripped his hand firmly, and they shook hands. The matter was settled.
Now Torgeirr asked Muirenn to undress little Sverri, and bid Orm and Gerd, his herdsmen and the two free-men who’d accompanied him south to enter the cottage. In front of them he solemnly lifted the naked infant onto his round shield while he held it on his knees, and then poured water over the baby. It ran over the edge of the shield in rivulets and splashed down to the earth floor in front of his feet.
“This is my son, and his name is Sverri, after my mother’s father, Sverri Svarte,” Torgeirr said, his voice grave. “As his name-giving gift he shall have this ring, which his mother will guard for him till he can wear it in good health himself.”
Torgeirr pulled a golden ring off his finger, and dropped it into Muirenn’s palm. The witnesses all congratulated him on his healthy son and asked the gods to protect the boy and look to him in favor, and to make him strong. Sverri immediately set about proving that he had at least been gifted with strong lungs, and everyone laughed as Muirenn rescued her dripping-wet bawling son and started drying him off.
Torgeirr grinned happily. “Now let’s all celebrate! Fetch more of your best ale, Gerd!” he shouted through the din.
---
Padraig thrived and grew stronger every day, and Muirenn soon felt well enough after her ordeal to venture outside the cottage and to enjoy the mild summer weather, taking her spinning outside, resting in the shadow of the house, and rocking and nursing the baby. When Torgeirr returned after a few weeks with a company of his men, Muirenn and Eoin immediately packed their few belongings, took their leave of Gerd and Orm and thanked them for their hospitality, and left without a single backward glance.
The ride to Kaupang went without incident. In fact, both Muirenn and Eoin enjoyed being on the road again, and Torgeirr and his men were good and cheerful company as the party rode at an even pace through green forests and small villages with brown houses and huts, and along fields of grass and of grain that would soon be turning golden.
They got their first glimpses of the fjord and the ocean beyond, and soon after rode into Kaupang. Gunnar’s house was a low wooden building in a row of other craftsmen’s very similar houses. The living quarters were in back, with a patch of earth for the growing of herbs outside, and the workshop was in front. The building had a decrepit, unused look about it, and the party found Gunnar snoring loudly on a bare wooden bench, smelling far and wide of ale and vomit, though it was the middle of the day. His wild and unkempt hair and beard and filthy clothes made it hard to form an impression of his looks, but a handsome man he clearly was not. Nevertheless he had uncommonly fine hands with long slender fingers.
Uncharacteristically irritated and clearly disappointed, Torgeirr shook Gunnar awake, briefly introduced Eoin and Muirenn by their Norse names, and had one of his men drag Gunnar off to the bath house without further ado. He himself went on to his clan’s house with the two Irish thralls in order to let them pick up things they would be needing, since Gunnar’s house looked completely empty. They returned with bedding and cooking utensils, foodstuffs and firewood. Muirenn did not want to place all these things inside until the filthy house had been cleaned, so she had Eoin collect water from the nearby well. Soon there was fire on the hearth and water boiling, and she set about changing Gunnar’s pigsty back into a home.
By nightfall the house was in reasonable order. Torgeirr returned to praise their efforts just as Gunnar reappeared from the bathhouse, looking clean and groomed, but drawn, emaciated and with dark circles round his sunken eyes. He appeared to be sober, though, and grumbled as the infant in Muirenn’s arms started mewling.
“Torgeirr Haraldson, you must be joking. Do you plan to keep me away from ale only to force me to live in this horrible racket?”
Muirenn shushed and rocked the baby, but he started wailing lustily, and she sent an apologetic look in Torgeirr’s direction.
Torgeirr shook his head, once more looking annoyed. “Gunnar, I’m leaving my son and his mother with you. Treat them well and with respect. Sverri is a healthy child, as you can hear. See to it that he remains so!”
With that Torgeirr took his leave and left the three strange bedfellows to take each other’s measure warily.
Gunnar grumbled as he went to seek his bench for the night. “Willful Irish thralls and horribly screaming infants, that’s who he’s giving me for companions. I’ve made a deal I’ll too soon regret, I wager. I don’t know how I’ll manage another day of this. Tor protect me!”
Muirenn and Eoin were too tired to take his spite to heart, or to respond. They too sought their benches as soon as Padraig calmed down, and soon all three of them slept deeply on this their first night in Kaupang.
Continued in Chapter 16, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/42148.html