Tim Severin - King's Man

'Does that include human sacrifice as well?' I asked.

'In earlier times, that was so,' explained Folkmar, 'But no longer.'

He led me inside the Hof. Even though the autumn festival was of less importance than the spring celebration, the dark interior of the temple was crowded with worshippers bringing gifts. The builders of the temple had left openings in the high roof so that the daylight fell in shafts, illuminating the statues of the Gods. And today, despite the fact that it was cloudy, the three Gods seemed to loom over the congregation. Thor was in the centre — powerful, bearded, and holding his hammer aloft. To his right stood my own God, Odinn. Carved from a single enormous block of wood, and black with the smoke of centuries of sacrifices, Odinn squinted down with his single eye. To Thor's left stood Frey's image. This statue too was of wood, but brightly painted with the colours of the bountiful earth — ochre, red, brown, gold and green. Frey was seated cross-legged, a conical helmet on his head, one hand clutching his pointed beard, which jutted forward, the other hand on his knee. His eyes bulged. He was stark naked, and from his loins rose the gigantic phallus that was the symbol of the fertility he controlled, and also of physical joy.

Folkmar approached one of the Frey priests and handed over the package he had carried on his back all the way during our walk. I had no idea what the package contained, but knowing the poverty of Folkmar and his neighbours I doubted it was anything more than a few items of farmer's produce, yet the priest took the package as if it was of great value and thanked the farmer graciously. He beckoned to an assistant, and a moment later a small pig was dragged out from the shadows, and with a quick movement the priest cut its throat. The assistant already had a bowl in place, and as the blood drained into it, the priest took a whisk of twigs and, dipping it into the blood, nicked the drops towards the image of the God, then over Folkmar, who stood with bowed head.

I had expected the priest to set the pig's carcass aside, but instead he handed it to Folkmar and said, 'Feast well tonight.'

His duty done, Folkmar turned and began to leave when he remembered that I had not yet honoured Odinn. 'I am sorry, Thorgils, I did not think to keep something back that you could offer to your God.'

'Your people collected for Frey's honour,' I said as we moved through the crowd towards the soot-black image of the father of the Gods. 'It would not have been right to divert the slightest morsel of it elsewhere.'

We had reached the foot of Odinn's statue. It towered above us, twice the height of a man. The image was so old that the timber from which it had been carved was split and dry, and I wondered how many centuries it had stood there. Apart from the closed eye, the details of the God's face were blurred with age. I reached inside my shirt where my money pouch hung on a leather thong around my neck, then laid my offering at the God's feet. Folkmar's eyes opened wide in surprise. I had set down a solid gold coin, an imperial nomisma, worth more than all the farmer's worldly possessions. To me, it was a small token of my gratitude to Odinn for having brought me to Folkmar and his home.

'You SAY THAT you follow Harald Sigurdsson and are sworn to serve him,' said Folkmar to me that evening as we roasted the sacrificial pig, 'but it is too late in the season for Harald to arrive. The earliest he can be expected is in the spring. Why don't you spend the winter with us. I know that would please my wife and her sister.'

'First I must visit Svein Estrithson in Denmark so that later I can tell Harald what the man is like,' I answered cautiously, though Folkmar's invitation had forced me to acknowledge that

perhaps I was not as solitary and self-possessed as I had always imagined myself to be. During the days I had spent with him and his family, I had experienced a sense of quiet harmony that I had never expected. Gazing into the flames of our cooking fire, I found myself wondering if my advancing years were having their effect, and whether the time had come when I should consider forsaking my rootless life and, if not settling down, at least having a place where I could stay and rest. So I allowed myself the luxury of calculating just how quickly I could complete my mission to Denmark and get back to Vaster Gotland.

Odinn must have favoured me because snow fell the very next morning and the ground froze hard. Travelling across a frozen landscape is far easier and quicker than in spring or autumn mud, and I made the journey to Denmark in less than two weeks' travel. I found that I neither liked nor trusted Svein Estrithson. He was stout, foul-mouthed and a great womaniser. He was also a powerful advocate for the White Christ, whose priests overlooked his lewd behaviour. For some reason, the Danes were very loyal to him, and rallied to his cause whenever Magnus's Norwegians threatened. I judged that Harald would find it almost as hard to dislodge Svein as to replace Magnus.

It was no hardship to cut short my visit and retrace my steps to Vaster Gotland. On the way there I stopped in a trading station to make some purchases and hire a carter. The man demanded a substantial sum to make such a long journey, but I was wealthy and his payment barely touched my store of ready funds. Thus, soon after I was once again back with Folkmar's family, a shout brought them to the door. Outside stood two small and sturdy horses with shaggy winter coats, their breath steaming in the cold air. Fitted to their hooves were the spiked shoes that had allowed them to traverse the icy ground as they dragged the sled that contained the furs, cloth, utensils and extra food that I now presented to Folkmar and his family as my guest offering.

Runa and I were joined as man and wife soon after the Jol festival, and no one in that remote community was in the least surprised. Runa and I had discovered that we were quietly suited, as if we had known one another for many years. We shared a mutual understanding, which neither of us mentioned because we already knew that the other was equally sensitive to it. In the confines of the little cabin our harmony occasionally revealed itself in a shared glance, or a half smile that passed between us. But more often it was simply that Runa and I were gladdened by each other's presence, and savoured the contentment that flowed from being together. Naturally Folkmar and his wife had noticed what was happening, and took care not to intrude.

Our wedding was not, of course, a marriage in the Christian rite, all priest and prayers. As a young man I had married that way in Iceland, and the union had been a humiliating failure. This time Folkmar himself performed the ceremony, because Runa and her sister had been orphaned at an early age and this left him as her senior male relative. Folkmar made a simple declaration to the Gods, and then, standing before the images of Frey and Freyja, took steel and flint, and, striking one against the other, produced a trail of sparks. It was to show that within each substance, stone and metal, as in man and woman, lived a vital element which, when brought together, provided life.

Next day he hosted a feast for our immediate neighbours, at which they consumed the smoked and salted delicacies that I had earlier provided, and toasted our happiness in mead made from forest honey and shoots of bog myrtle in place of hops. During their toasts, several guests gave praise to Frey and Freyja, saying that the Gods had surely arranged for Runa to marry me. The Gods had taken her first husband when he was far away in Serkland, they said, and from Serkland they had sent his successor. They were fulsome in their congratulations, and during the winter months several of them came to help to construct the small extension that was built on Folkmar's cabin where Runa and I had our bedchamber. I could have told them to wait until the spring, when I could hire professional builders and purchase costly materials because I was rich. But I desisted. I liked my haven and I feared to disturb its equilibrium.