Leif sighed heavily, as if shouldering an immense and onerous burden, "Come, Jarn," he said, making no move to rise. "Our luck is not with us. It seems we have drawn the black stone once again."
I stepped into the camp and all eyes turned hopefully to me. "Aeddan will fetch the ol!" cried Gunnar. Pointing to the empty tub, he said, "More. Bring more."
I nodded, stooped to the wooden tub, and picked it up. "But he cannot carry it alone," Gunnar pointed out. His eyes swept the ring quickly. "Tolar must go with him."
Tolar raised his head, glanced at Gunnar, shrugged, then put down his cup and stood.
"Come, Tolar," I said. "Let us hope there is still a drop or two left."
"We must hurry," said Tolar. Grasping the ale tub, he took it from me and hefted it to his shoulder. "This way," he said, striding rapidly away.
Sure, he had never spoken so much at once, nor moved so swiftly. I fell into step beside him and we hastened to the place outside the stone circle where the king's cooking fires had been established. There were more pigs on the spits, and an ox sizzled slowly over the fire. A stack of casks had been brought up from the ship; several of these had been breached and were being emptied into the larger vats. We joined the others waiting there and watched the golden-brown liquid sloshing into the vats, in a beautiful creamy froth, drawing the slightly sweetish, yeasty scent into our nostrils.
"Ah!" I said to Tolar, "I wish I had a lake of ale."
He smiled and regarded me knowingly.
"Had I a lake of ol," I said, raising my hand in the age-old bardic gesture, "I should hold a great ale-feast for the King of Kings and Lord of Lords; I should like the Host of Heaven to be drinking with me for all eternity!"
Tolar smiled, so I continued, reciting the Brewer's Prayer: "I should like to have the fruits of Faith flowing in my house for all to taste; I should like the Saints of Christ in my own hall; I should like the tubs of Long-suffering to be at their service always. I should like cups of Charity to quench their thirst; I should like jars of Mercy for each member of that angelic company. I should like Love to be never-ending in their midst; I should like the Blessed Jesu to be in the Hero's seat.
"Ah, mo croi, I should like to hold an everlasting alefeast for the High King of Heaven, and Jesu to be drinking with me always."
I do not know what Tolar made of this outburst-probably I had rendered it poorly in the tongue I still spoke so inelegantly, but he endured it with a vague smile. When the vats were replenished, we elbowed our way to the edge and plunged our tub into the foamy depths. Together, holding tight to the rope handles with both hands, we carried the tub back to our camp, careful not to spill even the smallest drop along the way.
The others praised our diligence and skill as they crowded round with cups in hand. "The Shaven One," Tolar said, meaning me, "has charmed this ol with a rune to his god."
"Is this so?" wondered Ragnar.
"I said a prayer my people know," I explained simply.
"You respect this god of yours," said Leif, cocking his head to one side.
"He does that," Gunnar assured him, taking some pride in this fact. "Aeddan has not ceased making prayers to his god since he came to us. He even makes prayers over our supper."
"Indeed?" asked Ragnar wonderingly. "Scop never does this. He was of the Shaven Men, I am told. Is this something your god demands of you?"
"It is not a demand of the god," I replied. "It is-" I paused, desperately trying to think how to describe devotion. "It is a thing we do out of gratitude for his care of us."
"Your god gives you food and drink?" hooted the one called Jarn. "Now I have heard everything!"
Talk turned to whether it was worth a man's time to hold to any gods, and which ones were best to worship. Leif insisted that it made no difference whether a man worshipped all of them or none. The debate occupied them for a goodly while, the ale vat supplying the necessary moisture when throats grew hoarse from argument.
Finally, Ragnar turned to me. "Shaven One, what say you? Is it that men should obey the old gods or give them up?"
"The gods you are speaking of," I replied carelessly, "are like the chaff thrown to the pigs; they are the dried grass knotted and burned for kindling. They are worth less than the breath it takes to speak out their names."
They all stared at me. But the ol was making me feel expansive and wise, so I blustered on. "The sun has set on their day, and it will not rise again."
"Hoo! Hoo!" cried Jarn derisively. "Hear him! We have a thul among us now. Hoo!"
"Quiet, Jarn," growled Ragnar Yellow Hair. "I would hear his answer, for this question has vexed me sorely many years." When silence had been enforced, he turned to me. "Speak more. I am listening."
