"The god I serve is the Most High God," I told them. Jarn snorted at my presumption, but I ignored him and blundered on, mangling the few words at my disposal, but pushing on regardless. "This God is the Creator of all that is, and ruler of all Heaven and Earth, and of the unseen realms, both above and below. He is not worshipped by way of stone images or wooden idols, but in the heart and spirit of those who humble themselves before him. It is ever his desire to befriend and welcome the people who call upon his name."
Leif spoke up. "How do you know this? Has anyone ever seen this god of yours? Has anyone ever spoken to him, eaten with him, drunk with him?" He took a long pull on his cup. The others reinforced themselves likewise.
"Ah!" I answered. "Many years ago, this very thing came to pass. God himself came down from his Great Hall. He took flesh and was born as an infant, grew to manhood and astonished everyone with his wisdom and the wonders he performed. Many people believed and followed him."
"Wonders?" sneered Jarn. "What are these wonders?"
"He brought dead people back to life, restored sight to men born blind, gave the deaf to hear. He touched the sick with his hands and they were healed. Once, at a wedding feast, he even turned water into ol-"
"That is a god worthy of worship!" cried Leif enthusiastically.
"Heya, but the jarls and truth-singers of that land could not abide his presence," I continued. "Despite the good things he did and taught, the skalds of the kings feared him. So, one dark night, up they leapt and seized him and dragged him before the Roman Magister; they accused him falsely and demanded that he be put to death."
"Ho!" shouted Gunnar, growing excited by the tale. "But his followers raised the battle cry and descended upon the Romans and slew them. They cut off their heads and hands, and made a feast for the crows."
"Alas," I informed him sadly, "his followers were not warriors."
"Nay? What were they then, jarls?"
"Neither were they lords. They were fisherfolk," I told him.
"Fisherfolk!" hooted Jarn, who acted as if he had never heard anything so funny.
"Yes, fisherfolk and shepherds and the like," I replied. "Thus, when the Romans seized him, all his followers scattered to the hills lest they should be caught and tortured and put to death also."
"Ha!" laughed Ragnar scornfully. "I would not have run away. I would have driven them down with my spear and axe. I would have stood before them with my shield and fought them like a man."
"What happened to this God-man?" wondered Gunnar.
"The skalds and Romans killed him."
"What are you saying!" cried Leif, aghast with incredulity. "Is it that this god of yours was killed by the Romans? If he was truly creator of the world, he could take any form he wished. Why did he not change himself into a fire and burn them up? Could he not seize them and crush them with his mighty strength? Could he not send the death wind among them and slay his enemies in their beds?"
"You are forgetting," I said, "that he had become a man and could do only what a man might do."
"He let them kill him?" hooted Leif. "Even my hound would never allow such a thing."
"Maybe your hound is a better god than the one Aeddan worships," Jarn suggested maliciously. "Perhaps we should all worship Leif's hound instead."
"Is this so?" demanded Ragnar, frowning with concern. "He let the Romans kill him? How could this happen?"
"The Roman warriors chained him and took him out; they stripped him, tied him to a post, and beat him with the iron-tipped lash," I said. "They beat him so hard the flesh came off his bones and his blood covered the ground. Even so, he did not cry out."
"That is manful, at least," put in Gunnar, much impressed. "I am certain Leif's hound could not do that."
"Then, when he was already half dead, they laid a timber door post on his shoulders and made him carry it naked through the city, all the way to Skull Hill."
"The Romans are cowardly dogs," spat Ragnar. "Everyone knows this."
"The Romans took him and laid him on the ground…" Putting aside my cup, I lay down and stretched myself in the cross position. "While a warrior knelt on his arms and legs, another took up a hammer and spike, and nailed each arm and leg to the timber beam. Then they hoisted him up and stuck the beam in the ground, leaving him to hang there until he died."
My listeners gaped.
"While he hung high above the ground, the sky grew dark. The wind blew fierce. The thunder roared through the sky-vault."
"Did he turn into a storm and strike them all dead with thunderbolts?" wondered Gunnar wistfully.
"Nay," I said.
"What did he do?" asked Jarn suspiciously.
"He died." I closed my eyes and let my limbs go limp.
"It is just as well," sniffed Jarn. "If your god is so weak and useless as that."
"Odin once sacrificed himself in such a way," Ragnar pointed out. "He hung on the World Tree for nine days and nights, allowing his flesh to be consumed by ravens and owls."
