"Indeed," Ragnar agreed bitterly. "And now that I see the trove of wealth we have given him, I am sick at heart."
Tolar nodded and, on sudden inspiration, he spat.
They continued complaining like this, each one having his say, but all the time their eyes kept stealing over the long, sweeping lines of the ship and its high, handsome sails. And step by step they moved down to where wooden stakes were now being hammered into the earth for the ropes which would secure the vessel. I found myself walking beside Scop.
"So! The monk becomes a warrior," he sneered. "Mayhap warriors will now wield pens."
"The beer unhorsed Hrothgar," I said. "I merely provided a soft place for him to fall."
Scop made a nasty grunt and reached up a filthy hand to pat my clean-shaven tonsure. "Shaven One," he cooed malevolently.
Ignoring his foul mood, I said, "I did not think to see you again."
"Ha!" he scoffed. "Dost think it a happy surprise?"
"I do," I replied, annoyed at his disagreeable manner. "And I thank God for it, too."
The Truth Sayer looked sideways at me. Seizing me suddenly by the arm, he spun me to face him. "Look around you, Irish. Is this your precious abbey? Are these your brother priests?"
Before I could make an answer, he put his filthy hand upon my neck and drew me close. "God abandoned me, my friend," he whispered with strangled rage. "And now, Aidan the Innocent, he has abandoned you!"
With that, he stumped away quickly, taking himself back to camp alone. I watched him go, frustrated and angered by his impudence and presumption. Shaking off the disgust of his provocation, I continued on to the river-bank and rejoined the others gathered there.
King Harald had arrived with all his house karlar and three of his five wives. Some of the other women who had come with their men noticed and made much of this fact. Several warriors dropped over the side of the ship and into the water; they waded onto dry land, while others readied a number of long planks made from split pine trees. The planks were placed between the rail and bank, and made secure by the men on the bank.
Only then did Harald Bull-Roar deign to show himself. And when he did it was to the astonished delight of the throng.
King Harald Bull-Roar, Jarl of the Danefolk of Skania, arose from the ship like Odin himself, arrayed in blue the colour of a northern midnight; he stood in the bright sunshine, glinting of gold and silver, his long red beard brushed and its ends braided. Gold sparkled on his chest, at his throat and on each wrist; seven silver bands were on his arms, and seven silver brooches secured his cloak.
He stepped to the rail, and I saw that he was barefooted. Gold and silver bracelets gleamed at his ankles. He was a big man: deep-chested, with thick-muscled arms, and long, strong legs. Standing tall upon the rail, a king in the prime of life, he gazed with quick, intelligent eyes upon the assembled host.
A king is a king anywhere, I thought. Harald had the same regal bearing of any lord I had ever seen. Sure, he and Lord Aengus were brothers under the skin; each laying eye to other would have recognized royalty. Of this I had no doubt.
Raising his hands in salutation, he opened his mouth to speak and I saw that youthful battles had left him with a livid scar from chin to throat. He spoke in a voice both deep and loud, turning this way and that, and spreading wide his arms as if to embrace all those thronged below him on the bank.
The substance of his speech seemed to be about setting aside differences during the council. I think he called on everyone to sit down together in peace as free men in order to best decide what to do-or something like that. It is the sort of speech all lords make when they want their way, and there was much sceptical grunting and clearing of throats.
Then, without the least hesitation, Harald lifted one bare foot and stepped from the ship's rail into the air. Some of the women gasped, but they need not have worried. For as the king stepped out from the rail, a hand appeared and caught his foot. Another hand joined the first, and the king took another step. Two more hands-those of the warriors who had set out the planks-caught the king's right foot and bore him up.
In this way, Jarl Harald was conveyed onto the river-bank, carried by his house karlar as he stood upright-a most impressive feat. For the rest of the day, it was all anyone talked about: "Did you see how they carried him?" "Heya! The king's feet never touched the earth!"
