"Give the king our best greeting, and welcome him in the name of our Lord Christ," the abbot said. "Tell him he and his men are to be our honoured guests."
This I told Harald, resplendent in a blue cloak and handsome trousers of deepest red. He stepped before the assembled monks gleaming with gold and silver at throat and wrist; his long red beard was brushed and its ends braided. He wore seven silver bands on each arm, and seven silver brooches secured his cloak.
Upon receiving our good abb's greeting, he inclined his head regally, and motioned to one of his karlar to come near. The man handed him a bulky leather bundle, which Harald took and commenced unwrapping. A moment later, the white blaze of silver dazzled our eyes.
The monks gasped and murmured in amazement at the sight, and it took me a moment to understand the significance of what I was seeing. "A cumtach?" Yes, but what a book cover! It was solid silver embossed with the image of a cross; a square-cut ruby adorned each of the arms and a cluster of emeralds decorated the centre. "Jarl Harald, truly! I have never seen its equal."
"It is for your holy book," the king declared, placing the treasure in Abbot Fraoch's hands. He made a bow and explained, "The first cover was lost to the Jarl of Miklagard, a fact which vexes me sorely. This one will serve to replace it, I think. It is made from some of the silver we got in the Sarazen mines. If not for Aeddan, none of us would be alive now to enjoy our treasure."
The abbot could hardly believe his ears when I translated the jarl's words. "It is a rare and magnificent gift, Lord Harald," replied Fraoch, impressed almost beyond reason. "And completely unexpected. We are at a loss to thank you properly."
To this, the Danish king replied, "Do not thank me," he said. "The treasure is not a gift; we have come to trade and bring that in payment."
"Trade?" wondered the abbot when I told him what Harald had said. I looked to Gunnar, who stood at the king's shoulder fairly trembling with suppressed excitement.
Turning to me, Harald Bull-Roar declared, "Ever since Aeddan returned to fetch us from the slave pit, Gunnar has not ceased telling us of this God of yours. It is all he talks about. He will have it no other way but that we must build a church for the Christ, and begin worshipping him in Skania.
"I have vowed to build the church, but we have no one to teach us what to do. Therefore, if we are to get any peace, you must come with us, I think."
Before I could think what to say, Gunnar seized me, "Come, brother. I want Ulf to be a priest, and there is no better man to teach him."
I looked at Gunnar, the bright happiness of our reunion fading at his words. "Would you had said anything but that," I told him. "I cannot go with you. I am no priest anymore."
"Not a priest?" wondered Gunnar, still smiling. "How can this be?"
Before I could explain further, Abbot Fraoch spoke up and asked me to entreat the Danemen to stay with us and observe the Easter celebration. Harald, always ready for a feast, readily agreed, and we proceeded into the hall where they were offered cups of mead in welcome.
The abbot determined to show the Danes around the abbey and explain each and every detail of monastic life, including the Holy Mass which would mark the beginning of our Eastertide feastday observance. Thus, it fell to me to interpret the abb's instructions. Harald proclaimed himself interested in everything, and it fair exhausted me translating between the two of them. We examined the chapel and oratory, the tower and its bell, the monks' cells, the guest lodge, and even the interiors of the storehouses. Of all the places they saw, the Danes liked the scriptorium best.
"Look here!" cried Harald, seizing a new-copied vellum leaf. "It is like the book Aeddan had."
The Sea Wolves proceeded to examine the work of all the monks, making much over the cunning designs and beautiful colours of the leaves upon which the scribes toiled. Fraoch insisted on showing them how the pigments were ground and made into ink, how the gold was painstakingly applied, and how the various skins were assembled to make a book. The Danes exclaimed like children, gaining their first glimmering of understanding.
Owing to this lengthy distraction, it was not until after our evening meal that I found another chance to speak to Gunnar alone. "This is a very good place," he said approvingly. "We shall build such a place in Skania, I think."
"By all means," I agreed. "But I-"
"Karin would have liked this," he said. "Helmuth, too."
"It is too bad they could not come with you," I replied. "But, Gunnar, I cannot-" The look of sadness on Gunnar's broad face halted me.
"They died while I was a-viking," he sighed. "Ylva said it was a bad winter, and the fever got them and they died. First Helmuth and then Karin. Many others died as well-it was very bad, I think."
"Gunnar, I am sorry to hear it," I told him.
