"Saga" - Chapter 25, Part 2
For information on content, A/Ns, disclaimer and rating, see the chapter’s Part 1.
The feast began in the early afternoon, when all the guests gathered in the main hall, thronging it to the very rafters. The floor next to the hearth was however left free, and in the middle of the cleared space stood the most important object of the whole ceremonial: The ættleiding shoe.
It had been made especially for the occasion, in accordance with the requirements set forth in the laws. A big, strong three-year old bull had been slaughtered, the hide on its right front leg above the hock carefully removed, then tanned and prepared separately. A single unusually large but simple shoe, its form made to fit a human right foot, had been sewn from the leather.
Now Torgeirr walked up to stand next to the shoe. Clad in his best finery, a blue tunic bordered with red, and with a magnificent golden brooch glinting on his shoulder, he lifted his arms and gestured for everyone to be silent. Thereafter he looked over to where Sverri and Muirenn were waiting, and signaled for them to approach.
Muirenn took her son by the hand and stepped forward slowly and with considerable composure, her head held high and her pale face carefully neutral. She walked among those who had once seen her as a lowly foreign ambatt, mere property to be bought and sold, distraught and humbled, with no rights and no friends. Then she had been a frightened and ignorant girl, now she was a mature and dignified woman. A fine white wife’s coif with green borders covered her head, though her long red braid hung visible over one shoulder. She wore a moss-green apron dress of rich foreign cloth over a crisp linen under-dress, its long train trailing her as she walked forward. Several strings of amber beads glinted between the domed shoulder brooches, but her most striking piece of jewelry was a simple but beautiful golden cross, glittering brightly on her chest. The cloth for the dress Muirenn had bought with her own silver, the one she earned from negotiating Gunnar and Eoin’s work. But the cross had been Gunnar’s personal gift of gratitude to her, bought at the market in Kaupang and freely given for saving his life.
Sverri was dressed in clothes much like his father’s. He held on hard to his mother’s hand, trying to look big and brave as he walked towards his father and the strange shoe in the middle of the floor. The two of them stopped right in front of Torgeirr, who reached out to take Sverri’s other hand in his.
For a moment the boy stood connected to both his parents, then Muirenn squeezed the boy’s hand and let it go. She stepped back, one step and then another and another, backing off slowly and solemnly so that Torgeirr and Sverri were left alone in the middle of the floor, the boy’s face a childish but unmistakable copy of his father’s. Torgeirr squared his shoulders and looked out over the gathered throng of his kinsmen and clansmen. The ættleiding had begun.
Torgeirr took off his own shoe, and placed his right foot in the ceremonial shoe on the floor for a moment. Thereafter he bent down to help Sverri, and placed the boy’s small foot in the large bull-hide shoe, holding him still in this position so that every person in the room could get a good look.
Torgeirr spoke up with a strong and carrying voice. “This is Sverri Torgeirrson. I lead this boy now to all wealth that I have, to rank and to riches, to honor and high seat, to goods and to gifts, and to full rights in our clan. May the gods bear witness hereto, and all men and all women who are here assembled. So let it be done.”
He paused for a moment, holding Sverri’s hand. Sverri looked frightened, his little face pale and scrunched up to keep tears from flowing, but he bravely kept himself still, comforted just enough by his father’s strong calm hold on him.
Then Torgeirr went down on one knee and embraced his son, at the same time beckoning for Sigrid. She walked across the floor to them, and bent down to embrace the boy in her turn. This was a ceremonial requirement, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her eyes as she regarded the boy. Husband and wife now walked to the side of the floor, Sverri between them, leaving the bull-hide shoe standing alone once more. Next there was much movement in the throng of witnesses, as the men of the clan came forward one by one, formally placing their feet in the ættleiding shoe for a moment. Torgeirr’s young brother was first in line, next came Olaf Haka and his sons, then one after the other of the men connected to Torgeirr and Sverri by blood. Following them, the clan members connected by marriage came forth, Einnis and Ottar Kvite among them. Ottar had traveled alone to the ættleiding, bringing Torgeirr greetings and good news from his sister Jorunn: She had just been delivered of a son, and was not yet up and about when Ottar left Einstad.
Eoin stood at the very back of the throng of spectators, having no rights and no claim on anyone in this clan. He watched the ceremony intently in the flickering light from the hearth and the torches.
Arna was sitting with the other visiting clan mistresses at the women’s high table, her eyes methodically searching the crowd till they eventually found Eoin. She studied his face even as he had his eyes fixed on Muirenn, and for a moment her features contorted into a bitter grimace of disgust. Then she managed to compose herself, drawing on her pride and the self-control she had been taught to master from her very first year, and once more she presented an unreadable mask to the hall.
Muirenn had been watching all the ættleiding proceedings from the side of the hall, Gunnar at her side. As the ceremony concluded her face was inscrutable, almost frozen. But Sverri looked up at his father and smiled.
As every grown man of the extended clan had now stepped into the shoe, it was taken aside to be preserved as an heirloom of the clan. The feast could begin in earnest. Sigrid clapped her hands to have the thralls and servants start serving food and drink. Steaming meat was carried in on big trays, directly from the cooking pits, and all sorts of tasty and tempting dishes besides. Large quantities of the best ale had been brewed in accordance with the laws’ ættleiding requirements, and it had been poured into large, finely carved and decorated bowls. On the table in front of the high seat there were beakers with mead and even with wine. Torgeirr had not spared any expense on this important occasion.
The guests fell to with ravenous joy, and the cheer rose even higher when Bjarni Berseson, who had once been the old king’s personal bard, stepped up to the high table in order to say forth his best kvads as well as a few well-known and much-loved poems of the gods. There was silence in the hall as he spoke the verses in richly nuanced and ringing tones, long honed to hold listeners enraptured, painting images and scenes with his mere voice. It was still early in the evening, and people were for the most part sober and able to appreciate the finer stylistic points as well as the tale each kvad told. Cheers and toasts rang out after every one.
Eventually Torgeirr rose to thank the bard for his performance with words of high praise. It was evident for all that Torgeirr was not stinting as far as his son’s ættleiding was concerned. Bards of Bjarni’s quality and fame expected gold in payment, and now Torgeirr took a ring off his finger and gave it in bard’s pay, earning more cheers and toasts for his generosity to the bard - and to all the assembled guests.
The celebrations continued through the evening and into the night. At one point Bjarni sat down at the women’s high table to thank the mistress of the farm for the feast, congratulate her on her fine foster-son, and to praise the food, as the custom was. “A wonderful feast, and such good cheer! We may all be grateful that thanks to you, mistress Sigrid, this proves to be the very opposite of the feast that the gods gave in Loki’s Quarrel - yes, I imagine you know that lay?” Sigrid was weary but was still keeping a sharp eye on proceedings. She thanked the bard for his fair words and spoke with him for a little while, then excused herself to go order more ale brought to the tables, though of a poorer quality this late in the evening. When Sigrid left, Bjarni rose too, clearly intending to return to the high table where Torgeirr sat with his brother, uncle and cousins, but Arna leaned forward and placed a light hand on the bard’s arm.
“I heard you mentioning Loki’s Quarrel in speaking to mistress Sigrid, did I not? I have been trying to remember Skadi’s words to Loki, but they seem to have slipped my mind. Could you remind me of them, good bard?”
Bjarni looked at her, his quick glance taking in and assessing her rich attire and the many jewels and keys dangling from her brooches. He nodded graciously. “It will be my pleasure, mistress. Though let us hope Skadi’s words are not taking root in anyone’s heart here tonight!” He cleared his throat, his trained voice modulating each spoken word carefully.
“You are merry now, Loki, but not for long
You may frisk and flourish your tail.
From my fields and farms shall ever strike forth
Frost-cold counsel to foil you.”
Arna nodded, a stiff jerk of the head, and thanked him, but did not comment any further. The bard smiled politely and left the table. After a little while Arna also excused herself and went to seek her bed. She told the other women she was tired, and they could easily see she was speaking the truth - there were dark smudges like bruises under her eyes.
---
The next day after the morning meal Arna asked Einnis to step aside with her. He was grouchy and out of sorts, having spent a night in the hall with too much ale and too little sleep, constantly fighting restlessness that hardly would let him sit still. Nevertheless he walked with his wife to a bench at the side of the yard.
Arna sat down with her hands lightly clasped in her lap, looking straight ahead of her.
“Einnis, all this merriment among Torgeirr’s clansmen has struck me with a sudden longing for my own clan. It is long since I last saw my father, and the ride to his farm from here is not overlong…”
“You want us to ride on to visit Mjod?” Einnis asked. “Well do I understand your wish, Arna, and loath am I to tell you no, but it will be difficult, for I was planning to….”
Arna overrode him, her voice low but forceful. “I’ve been thinking that I might bring little-Arna along, and with our men for protection the two of us could ride to my father’s even today. You can follow us when the clan gathering is at an end. And if other things have come up and you need to stay longer, or you want to visit with others in the clan, or travel down to Kaupang, even - you could do that too. Arna and I will be safe at my father’s farm. We’ll stay there for a while, maybe a week at most. I know father will send additional guards with us to see us safely back home if the time comes for us to leave and you haven’t arrived yet.”
Arna smiled, her lips twitching. “I think this is a good plan. Little-Arna should get to spend some time with her mother’s family. I long to see them all and to hear their news - and to tell them mine.”
Einnis readily agreed, delighted at this turn of events, unable to keep his relief out of his voice. “Of course! I am sure Torgeirr and Sigrid will understand. You were here for the ceremony, that’s the important part. I am happy that you get to spend some time with Mjod, and he will surely be glad to see you. I should have thought of this myself! Little-Arna will enjoy staying at her grandfather’s. Time passes so quickly, and none of us know what fate has in store.”
“It is settled, then,” Arna said in an expressionless voice. “I will seek out Torgeirr and Sigrid and give them my goodbyes, if you will find our men and order them to make ready to ride.”
Mere hours later Arna’s company was mounted and ready to depart from the courtyard. Einnis was sending all their men with his wife and daughter. “Above all I want you two to be kept safe,” he said. “I will manage to make my way north anyhow. If worst comes to worst, I can ask Torgeirr for a man or two to accompany me.”
He reached up to hug his daughter who was sitting on the horse in front of her mother, the little girl’s bright eyes sparkling with glee at the prospect of new adventures.
“You be a good girl now and obey your mother. Take care, honey-girl, and behave when you meet your grandfather! Show him what a big and clever girl you are,” Einnis admonished his daughter with a smile in his voice.
Little-Arna’s arms clasped his neck, her soft warm cheek pressing firmly against his. “Bye, daddy, bye. Love you,” she whispered into his ear. Einnis squeezed her for a moment longer, then let her go.
Arna reached out to give him her hand in parting. For the first time in two days she looked her husband straight in the eye, her face curiously devoid of emotion, though her eyes seemed storm-dark in contrast to the pale linen of the wife’s coif framing her stiff face. “Goodbye, Einnis.”
She nudged her horse into motion. It ambled forward, the guards and Arna’s servant-woman following behind as the little party rode out of the gate and onwards along the broad track between the grass-covered ancestors’ barrows. The last thing Einnis saw was little-Arna’s arm, reaching out to be visible to him beyond her mother’s back, waving wildly. He heard his daughter’s high-pitched voice calling happily back to him. “Bye-byyyyye!”
Then they were out of earshot, and gone from sight.
Tbc………
Notes and explanations;
"Long is one night, and longer are two” etc - The concluding stanza to the poem “Skirnismal” (see the notes to chapter 24). The stanza is the lovesick god Frey’s reaction to learning that his beloved Gerd will indeed meet him and make love to him, but not until nine more nights have passed.
Ættleiding ceremony - I have found bits and pieces of information about the ceremony in several sources, some of which partly contradict one another on the finer specifics of requirements. I have combined the elements into one as seemed most symbolically realistic to me. The one thing that every source mentions is the necessity of brewing ale, and the shoe made from the hide of a bull’s right leg, that all male clan members present must step into - an effective if not very subtle indication of the duty of all the clan’s men!
Women’s high table - The Norse did not at all practice segregation of the genders, and women and men frequently sat drinking and talking together. A farm’s high seat had space both for the master and mistress. However at large feasts it appears from sagas and poems that there were separate tables or benches for the women, and dainty dishes prepared especially for the women too.
Kvad - Norse descriptive poem, normally about gods or kings, following very stringent rules as to content and form. The Norse used alliteration instead of end-rhymes, and they used poetic descriptive passages called kennings which makes the poetry more difficult to interpret: A thing or event was not mentioned by its real name but by a fitting descriptive word or phrase instead. Kvads consequently could turn into veritable riddles.
Bard - Bards and their art were highly respected in Norse society, and every king had one or more bards in his retinue to chronicle his achievements through poetic verses (kvads). The kvads lived on long after the bard - and the king - had died, and were a chief source of information when the sagas of the Norse kings were put down on pergament centuries later. The Icelandic sagas sometimes have main protagonists responding with small kvads during important conversations. The ability to do so was much admired.
You are merry now, Loki, but not for long etc. - this verse merges lines spoken by the ski and revenge (!) goddess Skadi from two stanzas, 50 and 51, of the Norse poem Lokasenna (Loki’s Quarrel). In this poem Loki gate-crashes a feast held by the other gods, and insults them horribly in turn, only to be answered in kind, till Tor chases Loki away with his hammer. The lines Arna asks about are the revenge goddess Skadi’s response to Loki when he insults her husband and brags that he was first in line when the gods killed Skadi’s father, the giant Tjatsi. Her full response is longer and more venomous than I quote here.