"What good is a dead god?" asked Leif. "I have never understood that."
"Ah, now you have hit upon the most important point," I told them. "For after he was well and truly dead, the skalds caused him to be taken down; they put him in a cave and sealed the entrance of the cave with a huge stone-a stone so big not even ten strong men could shift it. This they did because they feared him even in death. And they made the Roman warriors to stand guard over the tomb lest anything should happen."
"Did anything happen?" Ragnar asked doubtfully.
"He came back to life." I leaped up from the ground, much to the astonishment of my listeners. "Three days after he died, he rose again, and broke out of the cave-but not before he had descended into the underworld and freed all the slaves of Hel." I used their word, for it very nearly signified the same thing: a place of tortured souls.
This impressed them greatly. "Heya," nodded Ragnar in approval. "And did he wreak vengeance on the skalds and Romans who killed him?"
"Not even then did he demand the blood price. In this he showed his true lordship: for he is a god of righteousness, not revenge-life and not death. And from before the ages of the world he had established loving kindness as the rooftree of his hall. He is alive now, and for ever more. So whoever calls upon his name will be saved out of death and the torment of Hel."
"If he is alive," demanded Jarn scornfully, "where is he now? Have you seen him?"
"Many have seen him," I replied, "for he does often reveal himself to those who diligently seek him. But his kingdom is in heaven where he is building a great hall wherein all his people can gather for the marriage feast when he returns to earth to take his bride."
"When is he returning?" asked Ragnar.
"Soon," I said. "And when he returns the dead will come back to life and he will judge everyone. Those who have practised wickedness and treachery against him, he will exile to Hel where they will mourn for ever that they did not heed him well when they had the chance."
"What of those who held to him?" asked Leif.
"To those who have shown him fealty," I explained, "he will grant everlasting life. And they will join him in the heavenly hall where there will be feasting and celebrating for ever."
My listeners liked this idea. "This hall must be very big to hold so many people," observed Gunnar.
"Valhalla is large," offered Ragnar helpfully.
"It is bigger than Valhalla," I said confidently.
"If it is so big, how can he build it by himself?" wondered Leif.
"He is a god, Leif," answered Gunnar. "Gods, as we know, can do these things."
"Also," I added, "he has seven times seven hosts of angels to help him."
"Who are these angels?" asked Ragnar.
"They are the champions of heaven," I told him. "And they are led by a chieftain called Michael who carries a sword of fire."
"I have heard of this one," put in Gunnar. "My swineherd Helmuth speaks of him often."
"He cannot be much of a god if fisherfolk and swine-herds can call upon him," scoffed Jarn.
"Anyone may call upon him," I said. "Kings and jarls, free men and women, children and slaves."
"I would not hold to any god my slave worshipped," Jarn insisted.
"Has this god a name?" asked Leif.
"His name is Jesu," I said. "Also called the Christ, a word which means jarl in the tongue of the Greekmen."
"You speak well for this god of yours," Ragnar said; Gunnar and Tolar nodded. "I am persuaded that this is a matter worthy of further consideration."
They all agreed that it was just that: a matter worthy of further consideration. And such deep cogitation required the aid of ol, to which they applied themselves forthwith. Such strenuous thought, it was then suggested, should not be undertaken without the strength provided by a full stomach; it would be folly to even contemplate such a task without proper sustenance. Thus, the talk quickly turned to who should go and fetch the meat which was soon to be coming off the spits.
In the end, Gunnar, Leif and I went to claim our portion of the meat. We ate and drank amiably, and I fell asleep thinking that, whatever else happened to me in the days to come, my time among the barbarians had not been entirely wasted.
The next morning, King Harald held court in the ring of stones. Anyone with a grievance, or anyone seeking redress, could come before him for a judgement. This custom is roughly similar to the way it is done with the Irish kings and their people. Perhaps it is the same everywhere; I cannot say. But I understood the process well enough just by watching how the people behaved: they came before the king, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, with their supporters behind them for encouragement. They then declared the nature of their grievance and beseeched the king, who sat upon a wooden plank resting on two stones, for his decision.
