Northern Fiction - The Saga of Freydis Eiriksdattir
Chapter 1
The young priest, who had collapsed onto the ground from the sharp blow to his head, gingerly touched at his bleeding scalp. He looked up piteously. Scarlet blood ran down the left side of his pale face and neck soaking a black stain into his blue cloak. He groped in the dirt struggling to rise as Freydis glared down upon him:
The caldron of her indignation seethed
Gentle voiced, Lady Freydis replied soothingly: “Be calm Hrolf. I am not a heretic. I am not a believer. I cannot be excommunicated because I never accepted your Christ as my Lord and my God. I will not show contrition for my beliefs any more than you would admit shame in your faith. Besides, would you have me chuck the corpse of Agdi, our hero and friend, into a hole in the ground? He clearly died a warrior's death. He deserved to be sent to Valhalla. He earned his feast with other heroes of old. Is it that you do not approve of cremation?”
“Not entirely, my lady, for in theBible, I Samuel, 31, it is written that, ‘the inhabitants of Jabesh-Gilead took the body of King Saul and the bodies of his three slain sons from the wall of Beth-shan, took them to Jabesh, and burned them.’ It is rather the small matter of the human sacrifice that accompanied the pagan rites you have conducted.”
“Oh, that,” she said dismissively. “Well the girl was a slave. The law permits the killing of a slave.”
“Those days are past, my Lady.”
“No!” she barked. Between clenched teeth she hissed: “Ragnarok, the last great battle, is still being fought, right out here, on these western shores. I seem to recall that you Christians were predicting the end of the world with, as you count the years, the ‘Millennium’ just passed. Did not the Church convince the people to give all their worldly goods to the churches and monasteries? Even though all was to be totally destroyed! Did not your millennium promise to bring a second coming? It came. It went. When nothing happened in the year 1,000, they said it would be the year 1033, the millennium of Jesus’ death. People ran off to Jerusalem by the thousands. People gave the Church their wealth to save their souls. Then what? Nothing. How so? Then, did not the Church keep all the wealth that terror of imminent doom had brought it when the so called ‘Last Days’ never came? Perhaps we need to wait another thousand years for more of the same? I expect so? Hrolf, I see that we and the world are still here. Perhaps the time of Ragnarok has been too hastily called as well. My mother never accepted the new faith, nor did Eirik my father. That my half-brother, Leif, and his mother, Thorhild, the daughter of Jorund Atlisson and Thorbjorg Ship-Bosom, were churched, means nothing to me. Many of us here still follow the old ways of our people. Even those who go to Mass, still pray to the old gods when they alone. When we are gone, who knows . . . But for now, I am still Lady Freydis, and you are but Hrolf the priest. Here you are endured, tolerated, even cosseted and indulged perhaps, but nevertheless a subject of mine and not my master . . . Never!”
Then, slyly: “Besides, priest, have I not attended your Mass to the Christ? Did I not build you that fine stone church? Did I not endow your church with lands and slaves to see you live well.”
Then, sarcastically: “Have I not sent you pretty youths to help you serve your mass?”
Then, reasonably: “Do not your congregants and the followers of the old ways live together here in peace under my guidance? Have I not encouraged all men here to at least be primesigned? (Prima signatio: A half-way measure, authorized by the early church, whereby pagans were signed with the cross, but not baptized. This enabled them to associate and engage in trade with Christians, and permitted them to be buried at the outer verges of a Christian graveyard.) We of the old faith are entrepreneurs not evangelists, it is you Christians who are intolerant. If I tolerate you, you should tolerate me as well, no? But Christians are always whining about being hard done by and martyred, when in fact it is you who are busy burning everyone whose actions you disapprove or who are non-believers in your faith.”
Then, suddenly changing to a gentler tone: “Come, Hrolf walk with me alone Micklegata, keep me company on the Great Street, talk with me a while, and we shall be friends once more.” He took her arm. They walked up from the shore and passed through the gates of the stockade that were flanked by poles hung with horsehide’s with the bones of the skull and legs left intact. These prehistoric wardens symbolized power and strength and it was generally accepted that they served to ward off danger and evils. Hrolf crossed himself and Freydis smiled as she gave them a casual inspection.
The mismatched couple trod slowly at Freydis’ stately pace along the wooden way that edged the mired and rutted main street of Norumbega. Hrolf submissively murmured “Lady Freydis, I am grateful for your generosity. I value your friendship. I treasure our talks. Most of all I desire to save your soul through Christ. But, how can I not abhor a murder, blood sacrifices, unholy rites, an endless list of offenses to God, and to Mother Church, that leads many good God fearing people astray?” Plaintively, Hrolf said to the spectral-fair woman: “You try to woo souls away from Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the only son of God.”
Freydis: “Away? No. You Christians came to us. You burned the temples. You cut down the groves. You gentle followers of Jesus tortured our believers into bowing down to your Christ. Our Odin has been the father of the gods since time out of mind, you took away our faith from the people by force with fire and sword. You undertook ferocious proselytizing, in Trindag and in the north of Norway where our old beliefs held strong against the minions of Christ. The monks and king resorted to savage force. In the name of your “God of Love” you branded and hanged men and women, and even our children. This is your gentile faith? Did not Olaf Tryggveson invited our priests to dine with him and then shut them up in the hall and burn them to death? Did he not capture Eyvind Kelda and three of our priests and tie them on a sandbar, that was covered by the high tide, so they drowned?”
“Those were witches.”
“Those were called ‘witches’ by your priests and the Christian skalds, but they were our chieftain-priests, the godi. They were landholding men learned in the ways of Odin and the ancestors. Your Christian kings converted to steal the lands and power from the bonde. When the nobles lost power, the king and priests of Jesus took it. They also took the wealth of the land and the freedom of our people. Iceland was settled by men fleeing from your Christianizing kings. In Iceland, and later under my father in Greenland, all possible precautions were taken to secure the powers that lay with the chieftains. Each landlord was a priest in the old faith and government was purely in the hands of the people. When our people assembled in the All Thing there were no overlords. There was no king.”
“Your belief in one God inspires men to emulate your Heaven and insure that one ruler is absolute lord over all, as you say ‘on Earth as it is in Heaven.’ Olaf Trggveson knew what he wanted: His aim was to be king over the whole land of Norway. A Christian land was more docile than a land under the free land holding bonde. When each noble was both lord and priest on his own domain the people were truly free. Olaf did not count the costs to the people and the bonde who lost there freedom. Nor did he trouble himself about the groves cut down, the temples despoiled, or the good men burnt and murdered for your Christ. Even the land rebelled: When Eirik Bloodax’s sons rammed Christ down the peoples throats there were lean years. When Jarl Haakon Lade restored the temples his reign was one of fruitful years and peace. Harald Eiriksson, called Grayfell, who was the son of Eirik Bloodax, did battle with the old faith. He plundered the temples of their treasures and murdered the old landed nobles to make himself high king. And, the land was waste. Then your ‘sainted’ Olaf lay waste the land in Christ’s name. Did he not?”
“The kings destroyed the landholders in Christ’s name. They raised up the lesser men who were then beholden to them. They put priests to listen to men’s confessions. That way they might control men’s souls and hearts. It was the way to root out the old faith. You Christians always cry about being martyrs and being so misused. Yet, every time you gain the upper hand you burn and kill to save people for your Christ! King Olaf Tryggvason was no gentile missionary. He was ferocious with ‘recalcitrant pagans’ who were not eager to serve gentle Jesus. You are familiar with the ordeal of the snake?”
“Yes, but . . “
“No ‘buts’ about it Hrolf. Yes, the ordeal of the snake. Let’s see. Ah, yes: Take the mouthpiece of a metal war-horn. Force it into a man’s mouth. Take a snake. An adder is the usual choice, not too large you see, but filled with deadly poison. Place the snake in the bowl of the horn. Clamp a lid on and leave only the end in the mouth open. Heat the horn until the tortured snake escaped by crawling down the victim’s throat. Yes, Christianity. The ordeal of the snake is a gentle conversion. It can be stopped before completed. Very Christian. Mild. Gentle. I seldom hear you Christians speak of these matters. No pagan martyrs are allowed to tell their tales. Modesty I suppose.”
“It was cruel of Olaf,” Hrolf conceded.
“But effective?” sneered Freydis. “Did not your Saint Olaf threaten to burn all of the Ottaelven Valley if the bonde did not convert? Some Prince of Peace your Jesus has been. We only hear of Christian martyrs. Nobody ever questions why whole nations converted so quickly. Maybe they feared for their lives and families. Perhaps, you priests are not all so gentle as your Christ?”
Freydis continued: “And, what about the bonders rights and lands? Did not the poet Sigvat sing warning to King Magnus, Olaf the Saint’s son, that he must not steal the land and udal rights, the title rights from his landholding bondermen, to increase his powers? Did Sigvat not sing:”
Two kings Olaf and the Earls when there
where Magnus sits, confirmed to all
Their lands and gear, both great and small.
Observed the laws themselves had made,
And none was for his own afraid.
Now dread king, who urges you to break
Thy pledged word? That, back your promise take!
Who urges thee, who seek’s renoun,
The bonder cattle to cut down?
No king before e’er took in hand
Such Viking-work in his own land,
Such rapine men will not long bear,
And the king’s councillor’s will but share
In their-ill will: when once inflamed
The king himself for all is blamed.
It would be wise not to oppose
Thy bonder, and make them your foes.
A dangerous sign it is I fear,
That old gray-bearded men appear
In corners whispering at the Thing,
As if they had bad news to bring.
The young sit still -- no laugh, no shout --
More looks than words are passed about.
The king, if he could have his way,
Would sieze the bonder’s udal land,
And free-born men must this withstand.
In truth the man whose udal field,
By any doom that law can yield
From him adjudges the king would take
Could the king’s throne and power shake.
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