"Saga" - Chapter 23, Part 2
For information on content, disclaimer, A/Ns and rating, see the chapter’s Part 1.
Eoin arrived at the clearing in the early evening the next day. Ragnvald was already sitting on a fallen log, dressed in trousers and a simple tunic, and sharpening his sword with a whet-stone while he waited. He looked up with a smile at Eoin’s approach.
“Wasn’t certain you’d show. It’s good to see you.”
Eoin looked around. The clearing was small and secluded, hidden among tall spruces, and there was a simple little wooden lean-to to the side.
“I promised I’d be here, didn’t I?”
The blond-haired warrior grinned and rose to his feet, pulling his tunic over his head and throwing it to the side. He stretched and flexed his massive shoulders. “Well, get your sword out, pal. Let’s go at it!”
Eoin couldn’t help laughing, amused. “I see that when it’s time for action, you speak much less than usual,” he said. “And I somehow hadn’t expected your sword-fighting today to involve real iron."
“Ah, come now, there’s a time and a place for everything,” Ragnvald replied and raised his sword to hold it at the ready. “This is the time for first working up an honest sweat, and I can’t do that with my tongue. Though later I may find a use for my mouth that should do the trick. I’ll make you sweat all over and in every way,” he grinned, licking his lips lasciviously.
Eoin chuckled again at Ragnvald’s bold approach. He drew his own sword. “Well, here I am,” he said. “Come get me if you can.”
They circled each other for some time, thrusting and parrying, dancing past each other, sword meeting sword with loud clangs. Ragnvald was a strong and competent fighter, and his bulging muscles gave him the advantage of brute force, but nevertheless he did not overwhelm Eoin who more than once managed to get a thrust in to send the other jumping back wildly. At long last they ended up chest to chest, panting and pushing, blades crossed at the hilts and shuddering with the strain, each trying to force the other’s sword arm to the side. Ragnvald held the pressure up as he looked Eoin straight in the eye, gasping and wheezing, a nod of his head indicating the lean-to. “Enough now, don’t you think? I’ve got a full ale skin waiting for us.”
Eoin exhaled in a rush and stepped back, still breathing heavily as he lowered both his sword and his eyes and wiped sweat off his brow.
“Sounds good. I won’t mind going in there for a while.”
Once they stepped through the opening to the shadows within they were up against each other, chest to chest as before, gasping, scrabbling for purchase, pulling at each other’s trousers to get them down and off and out of the way. It was fast and hard, frantic and furious, but no less satisfying for all that.
Afterwards they lay comfortably side by side on the blanket Ragnvald had taken care to place on the dirt floor in advance. Spent and drowsy, they looked up to the makeshift ceiling under lazily drooping eyelids.
“How can you be sure no-one will come around here?” Eoin murmured.
“Can’t ever be sure, but I told the others I’d be meeting someone for swordplay. They know what that means - well, near enough. They think I’m tupping some wench or other, so they stay away. I do the same for each of them now and then.”
Eoin had to laugh. “Perhaps every single one of you is secretly meeting up with another man, and all the women have to go without. Ever think of that?”
Ragnvald laughed too. “Oh no, I don’t think so. But if you’re right, that truly would be a jest played on us by Loki himself.” He turned towards Eoin, his glance roving freely over the Irishman’s naked body. “I am pretty good at spotting others like us. Oh yes, I could make you a bet or two, if you’re interested. You’d be surprised. But make one mistake in this game, and you’re dead as well as dishonored. It’s a dangerous sport. It pays to be careful.”
They lay in silence for a while, then Ragnvald tapped Eoin lightly on the arm. “Danger aside, do you want to do this again sometime? Care for another round of swordplay? I’ve had a good time today,” he said, pushing himself up on his elbows and drinking deeply from his ale-skin before passing it on.
“So have I,” Eoin replied before drinking in his turn, his voice quiet. “I wouldn’t say no to a next time.”
When they left the clearing a little while later, properly dressed and walking separately, they had agreed on a day and time when they’d meet up again. Eoin found that he was looking forward to it. He walked on quietly in the gathering dusk, trying to understand his own reactions, examining his feelings.
He knew without a doubt that his heart and his affection still belonged to Einnis, completely and utterly. Sigrid’s news had not changed that. He knew now that Einnis had married, that he had a child, that he was head of his clan with property, riches and obligations. Einnis was more elusive than ever, and yet Eoin knew in his heart of hearts that he was neither willing nor able to stop hoping. If Einnis should need him, if Einnis should want him to, he’d be ready to go to the Norseman, to make a living with him, yes - even to die with him. He wanted a life with Einnis more than anything else. That was his burning passion, that was the one unshakable desire his heart preserved at its very core.
As long as this was so, he would stay in this foreign land far from home, and make a living as well as he might. He would not attempt a return to Ireland till all hope had left him and the Lord told him plainly to accept defeat.
And yet he’d enjoyed his time with Ragnvald. It had been uncomplicated and fun. Eoin was keenly aware that he was lonely. Muirenn and Gunnar’s marriage had brought that back to him. He longed for companionship. Everyday happiness, simple delights. And his body made demands on him that he increasingly struggled to reject, demands that recently had intensified into a nightly torment. In the monastery he had learned to suppress those insistent urges for long periods of time, but after the winter with Einnis he had been fighting a losing battle with himself.
Being with Ragnvald gave him the sustenance he needed to keep going, day by day and night by night away from Einnis, not knowing if this loneliness would last a lifetime. For all his pleasing and cheerful ways, Ragnvald was no more to Eoin than the bland everyday gruel a man would eat to get himself through many a lean day and month, filling the stomach but never slaking the hunger for better and more tempting fare to satisfy the senses and the body, mind and soul. Once a man had tasted truly heavenly delights, everything else would forever seem dull and unfulfilling in comparison.
More than anything Ragnvald served as an easy-going, pleasant reminder of all that he was not. But he helped Eoin to keep going.
---
In the fall of that year Einnis and Arna traveled to Jorunn Haraldsdottir’s marriage. Einnis was eager to meet his sister and brother-in-law again. Arna was no less anxious to travel out of the valley, for the wedding between Ulv Sigurdarson and Helga Hauksdottir was about to be celebrated at Helga’s farm with much pomp and circumstance. Even though Arna had been unwell for some time after little-Arna’s birth, she was adamant in her desire to be far away when every other person of rank in the valley gathered at the neighboring farm to cheer this man who should have been dead and buried, if the Norns had paid proper attention.
Einnis therefore took his wife and daughter and rode south, accompanied by several of the farm’s guards and one of Arna’s servant-women. Their meeting with Torgeirr and Sigrid was both hearty and happy. To the proud parents’ delight, Einnis’s sister and brother-in-law could not praise little-Arna enough. There was scant time for catching up, though, and less time for quiet togetherness, for the wedding was large and lively and measured up to Torgeirr’s own in every way, meeting the expectations of the most demanding guests and becoming a small legend in its own right. Three sword fights broke out among the wedding guests during the days of the wedding revels, and two men had to be carried home on stretchers because they were too wounded to ride.
Einnis and Arna for once could enjoy a feast as honored guests but without responsibilities or duties of their own. Being freed of their many everyday obligations and chores did them both good.
When the marriage feast was at an end at last, Torgeirr’s farm returned to normal, though with barns and byres, storehouses and sheds all emptied of much of their contents. Einnis and Arna stayed on for some days, enjoying the quiet after the storm with the master and mistress of the farm.
Little-Arna had turned fussy and was giving her mother scant rest by day or by night, so the last evenings of their stay Arna left early to catch some much-needed sleep on their bench in the guest-hall. One night Einnis was left sitting alone with Sigrid, who sent for a bowl of the best ale and suggested they play a game of tafl, the way they would sometimes do of an evening in the old days shortly after their parents died.
While contemplating the game, and now and then moving the pieces, they spoke of all that had happened since they’d last met at Einnis’s wedding. Einnis gave his sister the details of Ketil’s last days and the Holmgang that killed him, and described the funeral. Based on her younger brother’s tale Sigrid agreed that they had little cause to keep a feud with Ulv’s clan alive, though she said that the young man had acted both unwisely and rashly in challenging Ketil, and so in causing her brother’s death. She cautioned Einnis to keep his distance from such an unpredictable hot-head as far as their clan’s honor would allow it.
For a while brother and sister discussed the terms reached for dividing and managing Ketil’s inheritance between them. Their talk then turned to other matters, to the birth of little-Arna, and to the events and activities at Einstad and in the valley. Sigrid was keen to learn as much as she could of all the goings-on in her old home, and she asked many questions that Einnis answered more sparingly than she would have liked, his eyes rarely meeting hers as he focused on the board game.
Sigrid eventually turned her talk to Kaupang and her recent stay there, and mentioned that she and Torgeirr had attended the marriage of little Sverri Torgeirrson’s Irish mother. Einnis ducked his head over the board and froze, his shoulders hunched and his hand hovering forgotten in the air. He had been about to move one of his pawns.
“You’d perhaps expected to hear that she would be marrying that one-time Irish thrall of yours, Jaran the loysing?” Sigrid asked. When Einnis neither moved nor answered, his sister went right on. “Well, she did not. She married Gunnar Gavlpryd, the famed wood-carver. The marriage pleases Torgeirr. He wants his son to live in a proper and well-respected home. But your Jaran both lives and works with Gunnar now. They tell me he is well on his way to becoming a wood-carver of note himself. And though his year of service after liberation is soon out, he intends to continue working in Kaupang, at least till he has learned his trade.”
Einnis still did not reply, but he exhaled audibly, as if he’d been holding his breath. His hand descended on the board to grab a pawn, seemingly at random.
Sigrid continued, undeterred. “Jaran asked me to bring you greetings - to tell you that he wishes you well.”
Einnis scoffed, barely managing to force his words out. “Who cares what some loysing or other has to say?”
“I think perhaps you do, Einnis Eldhug,” Sigrid said, shaking her head slowly as she studied him. “Do you not?”
Einnis did not respond, nor did he look at her. He clenched his jaws and clutched the finely carved walrus-tooth piece in his hand as if it held the answer to the riddle of his life.
Sigrid sighed. “I wish you would open your mind to me, brother. I worry when I see that despite your growing and healthy family, your prosperity and your standing, you seem discontent and far from happy. What good did it do Ketil to keep all his sadness and loneliness inside till the last day he lived? If something is weighing on your mind, please won’t you tell me? Maybe I can help you sort things out. We were so close, back in that difficult time when last there were only the two of us. Now when I look at you, I am reminded of the words of the wise ones of yore;
No-one knows what another
hides deep in his heart,
In the mind every man is alone;
To the sensible there is
no ailment so sore
As in nothing to know content.”
Einnis shook his head dismissively. “I am content, Sigrid. I have everything a man can hope for; health and a good wife, a fine daughter, wealth and rich farms, clansmen to do me proud. All is well. Do not concern yourself with me.”
He finally decided where to place his pawn, and put it down on the tafl-board decisively. Sigrid looked down at it, and then back up at him, surprised.
“You’ve lost the game, Einnis!”
He looked right past her with an enigmatic little half-smile. “So I have, sister. I surely have.”
With that he rose to bid her good night, and left to find his bed. For one reason or the other he was never alone with her again till the time soon came for him to take his little family and return to their home.
Tbc………
Notes and explanations;
Dubh Linn / Dublin - The name of the Irish capital comes from Dubh Linn “The Black Pool”, originally a lake used by the Norse to moor their ships in. Dublin was founded as a township by the Norse in AD 841 and ruled by Norsemen from its founding year till AD 999. (In Saga terms, Dublin town was founded a short time before Muirenn and Eoin were born).
Muirenn’s soul-searching (and information about St. Sunniva for the sake of comparison) - That marrying a heathen would be a sin and should be avoided was very much the topic of the day for Muirenn (and Eoin) - especially when the heathen was a ruthless invader of their own land. Muirenn’s dilemma echoes that of St. Sunniva, whose story serves to illustrate that this was a realistic issue at the time. Sunniva according to legend was an Irish princess who had to flee from her realm in Ireland ca AD 950 when a heathen viking king, who wanted to marry her, invaded. Trusting in God she set forth with her companions in 3 boats without oars, rudder or sail and eventually stranded at the Norwegian island of Selja. There she and her followers later were buried by a landslide in a cave when they prayed God to protect them from some approaching heathens. In the years to come miracles were reported on the island, and in AD 996 the body of Sunniva was alledgedly found intact. A monastery, Selje Abbey, was built on the site. From shortly after AD 1,000 and onwards Sunniva was much revered as the patron saint of western Norway.
The reason that Muirenn cannot directly refer to this story in her Saga soul-searching is that the Irish princess Sunniva, if real, lived ca. 80 years later than Muirenn….! Nevertheless this shows that marrying a Norse invader should be close to anathema to a decent Irish woman. Here’s an image of the Selje Abbey ruins the way they look today, I include it because it also gives a glimpse of the nature that formed the vikings! http://www.geoportalen.no/sfiles/2/26/9/picture/selje.jpg
St. Dorothy - a young virgin from Cæsarea who was martyred in the Diocletian persecution (ca. AD 300). She was stretched upon the rack, and offered marriage if she would consent to sacrifice to heathen gods, or death if she refused. She refused, and was executed.
St. Lucy - Christian martyr from Cyracuse (AD 283 - 304), equally martyred in the Diocletian persecution of Christians. She consecrated her virginity to God and refused to marry a heathen, who subsequently denounced her as a Christian in revenge. Her captors took her eyes out with a fork, before she was executed.
St. Bréanainn (or Saint Brendan) of Clonfert - (ca. AD 484 - 577) called "the Navigator" or "the Voyager", is one of the early Irish monastic saints, and one of the most famous. His voyages created one of the most enduring European legends. St Brendan is chiefly renowned for his legendary journey to The Isle of the Blessed as described in the ninth century Voyage of St Brendan the Navigator, which tells of how he set out onto the Atlantic Ocean with sixty pilgrims searching for the Garden of Eden. While the story is often assumed to be a religious allegory, many think that the legends may be based on actual events, and there is speculation that the Isle of the Blessed was actually America. The tale of St. Brendan is meshed with a religious ascetic tradition where Irish monks would travel alone in boats. For instance, there are certain indications that there were Irish monks on Iceland when the first Norse settlers got there in the ninth century.
Tafl (or hnefa-tafl) - Norse board game resembling chess, played with various pieces and pawns on a board of squares. Here’s a picture of a tafl replica: http://www.northvegr.org/family/tafl/imgs/taflboard.jpg
“No-one knows what another hides deep in his heart, etc” - This poem is stanza no. 93/95 from Havamal.