CHAPTER FIVE

HOW THEY SAILED TO THE GOTLAND VI

OLOF SUMMERBIRD rode home to make ready for the voyage and to hire men whom he knew in Halland to serve as crew, while Orm, Toke, and Harald Ormsson rode down to the coast in search of a ship. At the mouth of the river they found one for sale. The man who owned it was growing old and wanted to sell it in order to have a good inheritance to leave his daughters when he died. They examined it carefully and found it in good order. It carried twenty-four pairs of oars; ships of such a size were reckoned to be large, but Orm thought it could without harm have been bigger, and Toke agreed with him.

“For great chieftains will be sailing in it,” he said, “and thirty pairs of oars would not be too many for us.”

“When we come to the portage, which Olof Summerbird has told us of,” said Harald Ormsson, “we may be glad that it is no larger.”

“You are luckier even than I had supposed you to be, Orm,” said Toke, “for I see that wisdom does not reside in you only, but in your children also.”

“It is a bad thing when a man receives instruction from his son,” said Orm, “and it shall not happen in my house, so long as I retain my tongue and my good right arm. But in this instance I admit that the boy is right. This will be heavier work than when we dragged St. James’ bell.”

“We were young men then,” said Toke. “Now we are great chieftains and shall not need to touch the rope ourselves. The young men will strain at the harness, while we walk beside them with our thumbs in our belts, marveling at the paucity of their strength. But it may be that a ship such as this will be too big for them to manage.”

At length, after much bargaining, Orm bought the ship.

Around the mouth of the river, there lay great houses; and from these he bought malt, hogs, and oxen and arranged with the farmers that they should brew, butcher, and smoke his purchases, that the ship might be well provided with food and drink. He was astonished when he discovered how much all this was to cost him in silver; his astonishment became even greater when he sought to hire a number of young men from the houses for a year’s voyage; and he rode dejectedly home with the others, mumbling that this Bulgar gold would surely bring him into poverty and wretchedness.

“One thing I have learned,” said Harald Ormsson, “namely, that a man needs to have much silver before he can go in search of gold.”

“That is well said,” said Toke. “If you continue as you have begun, you will, with experience, become as wise as your mother’s father was. The old ones used to say that from Odin’s bracelet a new bracelet used to issue every Wednesday, so that he came to have many; but that if he had not had the first, he would never have had any. Never set yourself up as a Viking if you have not plenty of silver; nor as a skin-trader, neither. That is my advice to you. Only poets can win wealth with empty hands; but then they must make better songs than other poets, and competition spoils the pleasures of composition.”

On their way home, they rode in to speak with Sone the Sharp-Sighted, for Orm had a request that he wished to make to him.

Sone’s house was large, with many rooms, and was everywhere full of his sons and their children. He himself, by this time, was immeasurably old and very frozen, and spent all his time sitting by the fire and mumbling to himself. Orm greeted him respectfully. After a few moments Sone recognized him, nodded amiably, asked him for news, and began to talk about his health. This was less good than it had been, but nothing to grumble about; and one good thing, he said, was that he still had his understanding left to him, in prime condition, so that it was still, as before, better than other men’s.

A crowd of his sons had come in to greet the visitors and listen to them. They were powerful men, and of all ages. When they heard their father speak of his understanding, they cried that the old man was talking nonsense; there was, they said, nothing left of his understanding, but only his tongue and chatter. Resenting this, Sone brandished his stick and quieted them.

“They are foolish boys,” he said to Orm. “They think that my understanding has been used up by begetting all of them, and that I have none left for myself. But that, as may easily be observed, is not the case; for little of it have they inherited from me. Sometimes it happens that I confuse their names, or forget one altogether, and that angers them, so that they talk ill of me. But the truth is that names are not a thing that it is important to remember.”

“I have come here partly to see you,” said Orm, “and partly to see your sons. I intend to sail forth shortly on a long voyage, to Gardarike, to claim an inheritance. I have already bought a ship. It may be that I shall need good fighting-men on this voyage. Now I have always heard your sons praised as bold men, and it therefore seemed to me that it would be a good thing if I could have some of them with me in my ship. I shall pay them honorably, and if all goes well, there may be silver to be shared out among such of us as survive the voyage.”

Sone became excited at this news. Better tidings he had not heard for many a day, he said, and he would be glad to send a flock of his sons to aid Orm. It was time that they went out into the world and learned wisdom and understanding. Besides which, he said, it would make things less crowded in the house.

“They are too many for me, now that I am old,” he said. “Take half of them with you, and it will be to the advantage of us both. Do not take the eldest ones, nor yet the youngest, but a half score of those between. They have never been in a ship, but will serve for fighting.”

Some of his sons were immediately willing to go; others pondered the matter and then agreed to come. They had heard tell how Orm had killed his two berserks, and thought him a chieftain after their liking. They conferred with Orm about the voyage late into the evening, and the end of it was that eleven of them agreed to come with him. They promised to be ready by midsummer, when Orm would come to collect them.

Toke thought this a good addition to their strength, for these men looked to him likely to render good service. Orm, too, was pleased, so that when they rode away on the following morning, his dejection had left him.

When they reached home, everyone came running out to meet them with sad news. Are was dead; his body had lately been fished up out of the river. Blackhair was the only person who had seen what had happened, and he had little to tell. He and Are had been sitting together fishing, and Are had been as usual, save that he had, once and then again, stroked Blackhair across his cheeks and hair. After a short while he had risen suddenly to his feet, made the sign of the cross thrice upon his breast, and had then strode forth into the river with bold steps until, reaching that part where the water was deepest, he had disappeared. He had not been seen again, and Blackhair had been unable to do anything to save him. It had been a long time before Rapp had found his body.

When the news of this had been brought to Asa, she had taken to her bed and prayed that she might die. Orm sat with her and comforted her as well as he could. Any man, he said, who had been treated as Are had been treated might be forgiven for wearying of life; and it was clear that he longed to escape from his wretchedness and seek peace with God, now that he had imparted to his kinsfolk his knowledge of the Bulgar gold.

“From God,” he said, “he will by now have received back his sight, his tongue, and his right hand; besides which, I doubt not, he has also found his son again. That is no small sum of things to win, and any wise man would have done the same.”

Asa agreed with his reasoning; none the less, she found his death a hard thing to endure, and it was three days before she was able to move about again. They buried Are beside the church, near the place where Father Willibald had interred the two heads that Östen of Öre had hewn from the holy men. Asa chose a place for herself next to Are, for she thought it would not be long before she would go to join him.

Toke now rode home to make preparations for the voyage, and shortly before midsummer he and Olof Summerbird arrived at Gröning with good men accompanying them. Olof had had much to do; he had given his two wives rich compensation and driven them out of his house, though one of them had been unwilling to go and had resisted stubbornly. There was, therefore, now no obstacle to his taking Ludmilla in honorable marriage, and when he appeared at Gröning he expressed his wish that the ceremony might be performed immediately. But Orm held to his decision, finding it foolish of Olof to think of marrying the girl before the voyage was completed.

“She is betrothed to you,” he said, “and with that you must rest satisfied. A newly married man is a poor comrade to have on a long voyage. We have shaken hands upon the bargain, and you must stand by our original agreement. First let us get the gold; then, when that is done, you shall have my daughter as reward for your good help. But it is, I think, nowhere customary to pay first and receive help afterwards.”

Olof Summerbird was a reasonable-minded man in all matters, and he could not deny that Orm had spoken wisely; he himself had no argument to advance but the great desire he felt for the girl, which was such that it was a source of merriment to them all. She could not come near him but his voice changed and he struggled hard for breath; he said himself that such a thing had never happened to him before. Ludmilla was as eager as he was that the marriage should take place as soon as possible, but knew that Orm was not to be persuaded from his original decision. Olof and she agreed, however, that there was no reason for them to be downhearted, seeing that they felt the same toward each other.

Before his departure Orm made careful plans to arrange how everything should be in the house during his absence. Rapp was to remain at home and be in charge of everything, though up to the last moment he grumbled in the hope that Orm might change his mind and allow him to go with the others. Orm saw to it that he had sufficient men left with him to do the work and protect the house. Ylva was to see to the house itself and all that went on inside it, and nothing important was to be done without her consent. Harald was to remain at home, for Orm was unwilling to risk his first-born on so dangerous a voyage, and Harald himself showed no particular desire to go; but Glad Ulf was allowed to come with them and, at length, Blackhair also, after he had besought Orm and Ylva with many prayers. The obstinacy of his desire to go drove Ylva more than once to weep tears of grief and rage. She asked him what he thought a thirteen-year-old boy could do in a company of full-grown fighting-men; but he said that if he was not permitted to sail in this ship, he would run away and join another, and Glad Ulf promised to take better care of Black-hair than of himself. That, thought Blackhair, was not necessary; however, he promised always to be careful, though he said that he fully intended to do his worst to men who robbed honest people of their eyes, if he should happen to encounter any of them. He now had both a sword and a spear, and regarded himself as a fully-fledged warrior. Orm was pleased at the prospect of having him with him, though he did not allow Ylva to know this.

Father Willibald preached a great sermon about people going down to the sea in ships, and blessed them all with a lengthy blessing. Toke and Olof Summerbird and the heathen men they had brought with them sat and listened to the sermon with the others and agreed that they all felt hugely strengthened after the blessing. Many of them after the service went to the priest and, drawing their swords, asked for a blessing on them also.

When the time came for their departure, the women wept loudly, and among those who were going away there were not a few who felt grief. But most of them were glad at the prospect of adventure and promised to bring fine things home with them when they returned; and Orm felt well contented to be riding at the head of so proud a company.

They came to Sone the Sharp-Sighted to collect his sons, who speedily made themselves ready. The old man was sitting on a bench against the house wall, warming himself in the sun. He ordered his sons, the eleven who were leaving him, to come to him one by one, that he might bid them each farewell. They did so, and he gazed earnestly at them, mumbling their names and addressing each one correctly without exception. When the last of them had saluted him, he sat silent, staring straight before him; then a tremor ran through his limbs, and he laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. At this his sons shifted their feet and murmured uneasily: “Now he sees! He sees!” After a while he opened his eyes again and looked around with an absent expression, as though he had just awakened from a long sleep. Then he blinked, moistened his lips, nodded to his sons, and said that they might now start on their voyage.

“What did you see?” they asked.

“Your fate,” he answered.

“Shall we come back?” they all cried eagerly.

“Seven shall come back.”

“But the four others?”

“They shall remain where they shall remain.”

All the eleven crowded round him, begging him to say which of them would not return.

“If four of us are doomed to die out there, it is best that those four should stay at home, so that no harm may come to them.”

But the old man smiled sadly.

“Now you talk foolishly,” he said, “as you often do. I have seen the web that the Spinners are spinning, and for four of you there is but a short time left. Their thread no man can lengthen. Four of you must die, whether they go or stay; which four will be revealed to you in good time.”

He shook his head and sat buried in thought. Then he said: “It is no joy for a man to see the Spinners’ fingers, and few are they who see them. But I am granted that vision, though I would gladly not see it. But the faces of the Spinners I have never seen.”

Again he sat silent. Then he looked at his sons and nodded.

“Go now,” he said. “Seven of you will return. That is enough for you to know.”

His sons protested no longer, for it was as though a shyness had come over them in the old man’s presence; and so it was also with Orm and all his following. But as they rode away, the sons continued for some time to mutter bitterly against the old man and the strangeness of his ways.

“I should have liked to ask him how I would fare,” said Toke, “but I dared not.”

“I had the same thought,” said Olof Summerbird, “but I, too, lacked the courage.”

“It may be that his words were but empty talk,” said Orm, “though it is true that the old woman at Gröning, too, sometimes sees what is to be.”

“Only a man who does not know him could think his words empty talk,” said one of Sone’s sons who was riding beside them. “It will happen as he has foretold, for so it has always been. But by telling us this he has made it worse for us than he knows.”

“I think he is wiser than most men,” said Toke. “But is it not a comfort to you all to know that seven of you will return safe and sound?”

“Seven,” replied the other darkly, “but which seven? Now we brothers cannot have a merry moment until four of us are dead.”

“So much the merrier will that moment be,” said Orm; at which Sone’s sons grunted doubtfully.

When they had reached the ship and sent their horses home, Orm straightway set his men to repaint the dragon-head; for if their ship was to enjoy good luck, it was necessary that its dragon-head should gleam as redly as blood. They carried everything aboard, and each man took his place. At first Orm was unwilling to sacrifice a goat for luck on the voyage; but in this everyone opposed him, so that at last he yielded.

“You may be as Christian as you will,” said Toke, “but at sea the old customs are still the best; and if you do not comply with them, you may as well jump headfirst into the sea where the water is deepest.”

Orm agreed that there might be some truth in this, though he found it hard that the price of a goat should now be added to all that he had had to pay out for this voyage before it had yet begun.

At last all was ready; and as soon as the goat’s blood had streamed down the bows, they sailed out in fine weather with a good favorable wind. Ever since his boyhood Toke had known the waters as far east as Gotland, and he had undertaken to pilot the ship until they reached the Gotland Vi. Beyond, few knew how the waters ran; but they reckoned to be able to hire a pilot there to help them, for there were many pilots in Gotland.

Orm and Toke were both happy to be at sea again; it was as though many of the burdens that oppressed them ashore had suddenly fallen from them. When they sighted the coast of Lister in the distance, Toke said that the life of a skin-trader was, in truth, a hard one, but that now he felt once more as light of heart as when he had first sailed forth with Krok.

“I cannot understand why I have kept away from the sea for so long,” he said, “for a well-manned ship is the best of all things. It is good to sit contented ashore, and no man need be ashamed to do so; but a voyage to a far land, with booty awaiting a man and this smell in his nostrils, is as good a lot as could be desired, and a sure cure for age and sorrow. It is strange that we Northmen, who know this and are more skillful seamen than other men, sit at home as much as we do, when we have the whole world to plunder.”

“Perhaps,” said Orm, “some men prefer to grow old ashore rather than to risk encountering that surest of all cures for age that seafarers sometimes meet with.”

“I smell many odors,” said Blackhair in a distressed voice, “but think none of them good.”

“That is because you are unaccustomed to them and know no better,” replied Orm. “It may be that the sea-smell here is not so rich as that in the west, for there the sea is greener with salt and so has a richer tang to it. But this smell is nothing to complain of.”

To this Blackhair made no reply, for the seasickness had come over him. At first he was much ashamed of this, but his shame became less when he saw that many of the inland-dwellers were also beginning to hang over the ship’s side. One and another of them were soon heard to beg in unsteady voices that the ship might be turned back at once, before they all perished.

Orm and Toke, however, stood by the steering-oar and found everything to their liking.

“They will have to grow used to it, poor wretches,” said Orm. “I, too, once suffered thus.”

“Look at Sone’s sons,” said Toke. “Now they have something besides their father’s prophecy to worry about. It takes time for landlubbers to appreciate the beauty of life at sea. With this wind, though, they can vomit to windward without its blowing back into the face of the next man, and many quarrels between irritable persons will thereby be avoided. But I doubt whether they appreciate this. Understanding does not come naturally to a man at sea, but only by experience.”

“It comes in time,” said Orm, “however painful the process. If the wind drops, they will have to take to the oars, and I fear those who are not used to rowing will find the sport somewhat strenuous in such a sea as this. Then they will look back regretfully on the time when they were free to vomit in peace and had no need to toil.”

“Let us make Olof overseer,” said Toke. “The task needs someone who is used to commanding obedience.”

“Obeyed he may be,” said Orm, “but his popularity will suffer for it. It is a hard office for a man to perform, and hardest when the rowers are free men who are not used to the whip.”

“It will occupy his mind,” said Toke. “From his face, his thoughts would appear to be elsewhere; which I can well understand.”

Olof Summerbird was in a deep melancholy. He had seated himself on the deck beside them; he looked sleepy and said little. After a while he mumbled that he was unsure whether it was the sea-sickness or the lovesickness that was weighing on him, and asked whether they would be putting in to land for the night. Orm and Toke agreed, however, that this would be unwise if the wind held and the sky remained clear.

“To do so,” said Toke, “would merely be pandering to the landlubbers, more than one of whom, I doubt not, would disappear during the night. For they would easily be able to find their way home from here, happy at having escaped further misery. But by the time we reach Gotland, they will have found their sea-legs, and there we shall be safely able to let them ashore.”

Olof Summerbird sighed and said nothing.

“We shall save much food, besides, by keeping on our course,” said Orm. “For if we went ashore, they would eat a good meal, and then vomit it up again the next day, so that it would be wasted.”

In this he was right; for the wind remained favorable to them, and barely half of the men succeeded in doing themselves justice at mealtimes before they sighted Gotland. Blackhair soon collected himself, and Glad Ulf had been used to the sea from boyhood; and they took great pleasure in munching their food and praising its quality, watched by pale men who had no stomach to eat. But as soon as they reached calmer water near Gotland the men began to find their appetite, and Orm thought he had never seen such gluttony as they now displayed.

“But I must not grudge it them,” he said, “and now, perhaps, they will begin to be of some use.”

In the harbor of the Gotland Vi so many ships lay at anchor that Orm was at first doubtful whether it would be wise to sail in. But they took down the dragon-head, set up a shield of peace in its place, and rowed in without any ship opposing their passage. The town was very great, and full of seamen and rich merchants; and when Orm’s men came ashore, they found much to marvel at. There were houses built entirely of stone, and others erected for the sole purpose of drinking ale in; and the wealth of the town was such that whores walked the streets with rings of pure gold in their ears and spat at any man who had not a fistful of silver to offer for their services. But one thing in this town they marveled at most of all and refused to believe in till they had actually seen it. This was a man from the Saxons’ land who spent the whole of every day scraping the beards from the chins of the rich men of the town. For this he received a copper coin from every man he scraped, even when he had cut them so that they bled freely. Orm’s men thought this a more astonishing custom than any they had ever before seen or heard tell of, and one that would be unlikely to afford a man much pleasure.

Olof Summerbird was now in a more cheerful humor, and he and Orm went in search of a skillful helmsman. Few men remained on board, for all wanted to stretch their legs and refresh themselves. Toke, however, stayed behind to guard the ship.

“The ale these Gothlanders brew is so good,” he said, “that once, when I was a young man, I drank somewhat too deeply of it in this very harbor. As a result, I became miserable and killed a man, and only with difficulty managed to swim away with my life. These Gothlanders have a long memory, and it would be an ill thing if I were to be recognized and taken to task for such an old and trivial offense when we have important work ahead of us; so I shall remain on board. But I would advise such of you as go ashore to conduct yourselves peacefully, for they have little patience with strangers who cause disturbances.”

Some while later Orm and Olof came aboard with the helmsman they had chosen. He was a small, thickset, grizzled man called Spof. He had been many times in the East and knew all the routes, and would not agree to go with them until he had carefully inspected the whole ship. He said little, but nodded at most of what he saw. Finally he asked to be allowed to sample the ship’s ale. This was the ale that Orm had had specially brewed in the estuary before they had embarked, and nobody had yet found cause to complain of it. Spof tasted it and stood thinking.

“Is this all the ale you have?” he said.

“Is it not good enough?” said Orm.

“It is good enough to drink during the voyage,” said Spof, “and I shall not object to drinking it. Now, these men you have with you, are they meek and submissive, addicted to hard work and easily contented?”

“Easily contented?” said Orm. “That they are not; indeed, the only time they do not complain is when the seasickness is upon them. Nor did I choose them for the meekness of their nature; and as for hard work, I do not think they like it better than most men.”

Spof nodded thoughtfully.

“It is as I feared,” he said. “We shall arrive at the great portage in the worst of the summer heat, and you will need better portageale than this if all is to go well.”

“Portage-ale?” said Orm to Toke.

“We Gothlanders,” said Spof, “have sailed the rivers of Gardarike more often than other men and have penetrated them farthest. We know all their currents and hazards, even beyond the portage of the Meres, beyond which no man has voyaged in large ships save we. And it is thanks to our portage-ale that we have succeeded in making progress there, where all other men have been forced to turn back. This ale needs to be of extraordinary strength and flavor, so that it fortifies the spirit and cheers the heart; and it is to be given to the men only while they are hauling the ship across the portage. At no other time during the voyage must they be allowed to drink it. This device have we Gothlanders invented, and because of it we brew finer ale than any other people, for on the excellence of it our wealth depends.”

“Unless I am much mistaken,” said Orm, “this ale is not to be bought at a low price.”

“It is dearer than other ales,” replied Spof, “in proportion as it is superior to them; possibly a fraction more. But it is well worth its price, for without its help no ship can cross the portage into the hinterland of Gardarike.”

“How much shall we need?” asked Orm.

“Let me see,” said Spof. “Twenty-four oars; sixty-six men; Kiev. That will involve seven small portages, but they will not be difficult. It is the great portage to the Dnieper that presents the problem. I think that five of our largest barrels will suffice.”

“Now I understand,” said Orm, “why most men prefer to sail westwards.”

And when he had paid for the ale and had given Spof half of his hire-money for the voyage, he began to wish more strongly still that Are’s treasure had been buried in some river in west-oversea instead of in Gardarike. As he reckoned out the silver, he mumbled heavily that he would never reach Kiev save as a beggar, armed only with his staff, for he would certainly have pawned his ship and weapons to the Gothlanders long before he sighted its walls.

“Still, you seem to me to be a good man, Spof,” he said, “possessing both cunning and wisdom; and it may be that I shall not regret hiring you as my helmsman, though your price is high.”

“It is with me as with the portage-ale,” replied Spof, unoffended. “I am expensive, but I am worth my price.”

They remained at anchor in the Gotland Vi for three days, and Spof ordered the men to carpenter strong cradles to hold the ale-casks firmly in position, until everything was as he wanted it. The ale occupied a deal of room and weighted the ship heavily, but the men did not grumble at the extra labor it would cost them, for they had already sampled it in the town and knew its flavor. By the end of their first day ashore many of them had drunk up all their silver and besought Orm to advance them part of their hire-money for the voyage, but nobody succeeded in persuading him to comply with this request. Some of the men then tried to barter their skin jackets in exchange for ale, and others their helmets, and when the Gothlanders refused to accept them, fights were started, as the result of which law-men from the town came to the ship demanding stern compensation. Orm and Olof Summerbird sat arguing with them for half a day until they had reduced their original demands by half, though even that sum, Orm thought, was more than sufficiently large. Thereafter they let no man ashore without first divesting him of his weapons.

Sone’s sons were well supplied with silver of their own and drank deeply in the town, but found it difficult, none the less, to put their father’s prophecy wholly out of their minds. On the second day ten of them returned to the ship, carrying the eleventh, who was on the point of expiring. They had warned him, they said, to control his passions, but in spite of this he had crept up upon a young woman whom he had seen chopping cabbages behind a cottage and had managed, by persuasive use of his tongue and hands, to put her on her back. He had no sooner done this, however, than a crone had emerged from the house, picked up the chopper, and deposited it in his head, which they had not been able to prevent.

Toke examined the wound and said that the man had not long to live. He died during the night, and his brothers buried him sadly and drank to a lucky death voyage for him.

“It was his fate to die thus,” they said. “When the old man sees, he sees the truth.”

But although they mourned their brother and had nought but good to speak of him, it was noticeable that something of their melancholy had been lifted from them. For now, they reminded each other, there was bad luck in store for three of them only, so that a quarter of their troubles were past.

The next morning they put out to sea and steered northwards, with Spof at the helm. Orm said that how they might fare in the future was uncertain, but that he dearly cherished one hope at least: namely, that he would not soon find himself anchored in another harbor as ruinous to seafarers as the Gotland Vi.