Tim Severin - Sworn Brother

These were times of glorious pleasure and intimacy: and at last I could tell Aelfgifu how much I longed for her and how inadequate I felt, she being so much more experienced and high born.

'Love needs no teaching,' she replied softly and with that characteristic habit of hers she ran the tip of her finger along the profile of my face. We were lying naked, side by side, so her finger continued across my chest and belly. 'And haven't you ever heard the saying that love makes all men equal? That means women too.'

I bent over to brush my lips across her cheek and she smiled with contentment.

'And speaking of teaching, Edgar tells me that you trained Habrok in less than five weeks. That you have a natural way with hunting birds. Why do you think that is?'

'I don't know,' I replied, 'but maybe it has something to do with my veneration for Odinn. Since I was a child in Greenland I have been attracted to Odinn's ways. He is the God whose accomplishments I most admire. He gave mankind so much of what we possess — whether poetry or self-knowledge or the master spells — and he is always seeking to learn more. So much so that he sacrificed the sight of one eye to gain extra wisdom. He comes in many forms, but to any person who wanders as far from home as I have done, Odinn can be an inspiration. He is ever the traveller himself and a seeker after truths. That is why I venerate him as Odinn the wanderer, the empowerer of journeys.'

'So what, my little courtier, has your devotion to Odinn to do with birds and teaching them?' she enquired. 'I thought that Odinn is the God of War, bringing victory on the battlefield. That, at least, is how my husband and his war captains regard him. They invoke Odinn before their campaigns. While their priests do the same to the White Christ.'

'Odinn is the God of victories, yes, and the God of the dead too,' I answered. 'But do you know how he learned the secret of poetry and gave it to men?'

'Tell me,' Aelfgifu said, nestling closer.

'Poetry is the mead of the Gods, created from their spittle, which ran in the veins of the creature Kvasir. But Kvasir was killed by evil dwarves, who preserved his blood in three great cauldrons. When these cauldrons passed into the possession of the giant Suttung and his daughter Gunnlod, Odinn took it upon himself to steal the mead. He changed himself into a snake - Odinn is a shape-changer, as is often said - and crept through a hole in the mountain which guarded Suttung's lair, and seduced Gunnlod into allowing him three sips, one at each cauldron. Such was Odinn's power that he drained each cauldron dry. Then he changed himself into an eagle to fly back to Asgard, the home of the Gods, with the precious liquid in his throat. But the giant Suttung also changed himself into a great eagle and pursued Odinn, chasing him as fast as Edgar's peregrine chases a fleeing hawk. Suttung would have overtaken Odinn, if Odinn had not spewed out a few drops of the mead and thus lightened of his precious load managed to reach the safety of Asgard just ahead of his pursuer. He escaped by the narrowest of margins. Suttung had come so close that when he swung his sword at the fleeing Odinn-eagle, Odinn was forced to dodge and dive and the sword cut away the tips of his tail feathers.'

'A charming story,' said Aelfgifu as I finished. 'But is it true?'

'Look over there,' I answered, rolling onto my side, and pointing to where Habrok sat quietly on her perch. 'Ever since Odinn lost his tail feathers to Suttung's sword, all hawks and falcons have been born with short tail feathers.'

Just then the gentle tinkle of Edgar's hawk bells warned us it was time to return to the burh.

Our idyll could not last for ever and there was to be just one more tryst at our hidden refuge before its sanctuary was destroyed. The day was sultry with the threat of a thunderstorm and, for some reason, when Aelfgifu arrived to meet Edgar and myself she had no attendant with her but had chosen to bring her lapdog. To most people it was an appealing little creature, brown and white, constantly alert, with bright intelligent eyes. But I knew Edgar's view of lapdogs - he thought they were spoiled pests — and I had a sense of foreboding which, mistakenly, I put down to my usual dislike of dogs.

Aelfgifu detected our disapproval and was adamant. 'I insist Maccus comes with us today. He too needs his fun in the country. He will not disturb Habrok or the other hawks.'

So we rode out, Maccus riding on the pommel of Aelfgifu's saddle, until we tethered our mounts at the usual place and walked into the marshland. Maccus bounced happily ahead through the undergrowth and long grass, his ears napping. He even put up a partridge, which Habrok struck down in a dazzling attacking flight. 'Look!' said Aelfgifu to me, 'I don't know why you and Edgar made such long faces about the little dog. He's proving himself useful.'

It was when she and I were once again in our bower and had made love that Maccus barked excitedly. A moment later I heard Edgar's warning bell ring urgently. Aelfgifu and I dressed quickly. Hurriedly I picked up Habrok and tried to pretend that we had been waiting in ambush by the mere. It was too late. A servant, Aelfgifu's old nursemaid, had been sent to find her mistress as she was wanted at the burh, and Maccus's enthusiastic barking had led her to where Edgar was standing guard. Edgar tried to distract the servant from advancing along the little causeway leading to the bower, but the dog went dashing out from our little hut and eagerly led her servant to our trysting place. Not till much later did I know what harm had been done.

We were returning to our horses when Edgar glanced behind us and saw, high in the sky, a lone heron flying towards his roost. The bird was moving through the air with broad, measured wing beats, his winding course following the line of the stream that would lead him to his home. The arrival of the servant had ruined our sport so Edgar thought perhaps he could retrieve our day's enjoyment. A heron is the peregrine's greatest prey. So Edgar loosed his peregrine and the faithful bird began to mount. The peregrine spiralled upwards, not underneath the heron but adjacent to the great bird's 'flight so as not to alarm her quarry. When she had reached her height, she turned and came slicing down, hurtling through the air at such a pace that it was difficult to follow the stoop. But the heron was courageous. At the last moment the great bird swerved, and tilted up, showing its fearsome beak and claws. Edgar's peregrine swerved aside, overshot, and a moment later was climbing back into the sky to gain height for a second onslaught. This was the rare opportunity that Edgar and I had discussed a dozen times: the chance to launch Habrok against a heron.

'Quick, Thorgils. Let Habrok fly!' Edgar called urgently.

Both of us knew that a gyrfalcon will only attack a heron if there is an experienced bird to imitate. I fumbled for the leash and reached out to remove the leather hood, but a strange presentiment came over me. I felt as if my hands were shackled.

'Hurry, Thorgils, hurry! There's not much time. The peregrine's got one more chance, and then the heron will be among the trees.'

But I could not go on. I looked across at Edgar. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'There's something wrong. I must not fly Habrok. I don't know why.'

Edgar was getting angry. I could see the scowl developing, the eyes sinking back into his head, his jaw set. Then he looked into my face and it was like the day at the well in the forest. The words died in his throat, and he said, 'Thorgils, are you feeling all right? You look odd.'

'It's fine,' I replied. 'The feeling is over. I don't know what it was.'

Edgar took Habruk from me, removed hood and leash, and with a single gesture let loose the falcon. Habrok rose and rose in the air, and for a moment we were sure that the gyrfalcon would join the waiting peregrine and learn its trade. But then, the white and speckled bird seemed to sense some ancient call, and instead of flying up to join the waiting peregrine, Habrok changed direction and with steady sure wingbeats began to fly towards the north. From the ground we watched the falcon disappearing, flying strongly until we could see it no more.