Ivar Forkbeard’s body was not anointed as it was carried through the gate in the rail.
The dead need no anointing. Only the living, it is held, can profane the sacred.
The four men of Torvaldsland carried the huge body of Ivar Forkbeard up the steps to the altar, on the crossed spears. Then, still beneath the white shroud, they laid it gently on the highest step of the altar.
Then the four men fell back, two to each side, heads down. The High Initiate then began to intone a complex prayer in archaic Gorean to which, at intervals, responses were made by the assembled initiates, those within the railing initially and now, too, the twelve, still carrying candles, who had accompanied the body from the ship through the dirt streets of Kassau, among the wooden buildings, to the temple. When the initiate finished his prayer, the other initiates began to sing a solemn hymn, while the chief initiate, at the altar, his back turned to the congregation, began to prepare, with words and signs, the grease of Priest-Kings, for the anointing of the bones of Ivar Forkbeard.
Toward the front of the temple, behind the rail, and even at the two doors of the temple, by the great beams which close them, stood the mean of Forkbeard. Many of them were giants, huge men, inured to the cold, accustomed to war and the labor of the oar, raised from boyhood on steep, isolated farms near the sea, grown strong and hard on work, and meat and cereals. Such men, from boyhood, in harsh games had learned to run, to leap, to throw the spear, to wield the sword, to wield the axe, to stand against steel, even bloodied, unflinching. Such men, these, would be the hardest of the hard, for only the largest, the swiftest and finest might winfor themselves a bench on the ship of a captain, and the man great enough to command such as they must be first and mightiest among them, for the men of Torvaldsland will obey no other, and that man had been Ivar Forksbeard.
But Ivar Forksbeard had come in death, if not in life, to the temple of Priest-Kings, betraying the old gods, to have his bones anointed with the grease of Priest-Kings. No more would he make over his ale, with his closed fist, the sign of the hammer.
I noted one of the men of Torvaldsland. He was of incredible stature, perhaps eight feet in height and broad as a bosk. His hair was shaggy. His skin seemed grayish. His eyes were vacant and staring, his lips parted. He seemed to me in a stupor, as though he heard or saw nothing.
The High Initiate now turned to face the congregation. In his hands he held the tiny, golden, rounded box in which lay the grease of Priest-Kings. At his feet lay the body of the Forkbeard.
The congregation tensed and, scarcely breathing, lifting their heads, intent, observed the High Initiate of Kassau. I saw the blond girl standing on her toes, in the black shoes, looking over the shoulders of the woman in front of her. On the platform the men of importance, and their families, observed the High Initiate, among them, craning her neck, looking over her father’s shoulder, was the large blond girl, in her black velvet and silver.
“Praises be unto the Priest-Kings!” called out the High Initiate.
“Praises unto the Priest-Kings.” Responded the initiates.
It was in that moment, and in that moment only, that I detected on the thin, cold face of the High Initiate of Kassau, an tiny smile of triumph.
He bent down, on one knee, they tiny, rounded, golden box containing the grease of Priest-Kings in his left hand and drew back with his right hand the long, white shroud concealing the body of Ivar Forksbeard.
Doubtless it was the High Initiate of Kassau who first knew. He seemed frozen. The eyes of the Forkbeard opened, and Ivar Forksbeard grinned at him.
With a roar of laughter, hurling the shroud from him,to the horror of the High Initiate, and other initiates, and the congregation, Ivar Forksbeard, almost seven feet in height, leaped to his feet, in his right hand clutching a great, curved, single-bladed ax of hardened iron.
“Praise be to Odin!” he cried.
Then he with his ax, with a single swing, splattering blood on the sheets of gold, cut the head from the body of the High Initiate of Kassau, and leaped, booted, to the height of the very altar of the temple itself.
He threw back his head laugh, with a wild roaring the bloody ax in his hand.
I heard the beams of the two doors of the temples being thrown in place, locking the people within. I saw ther cloaks of the men of Torvaldsland hurled from them and saw, gripped in their two hands, great axes. I suddenly saw the large man of Torvaldsland, he of incredible stature, seem to come alive, veins prominent on his forehead, mouth slobbering, strikingabout himself almost blindly with a great ax.
Ivar Forksbeard stood on the high altar. “The men of Torvaldsland, “ he cried, are upon you!”
Chapter 3 I make the acquaitance of Ivar Forkbeard and book passage on his ship
Screaming pierced my ears.
I was almost thrown from my feet by the buffeting, shrieking bodies.
I strained my eyes to see through the clouds of incense hanging in the temple.
I smelled blood.
A girl cried out.
People, merchants, the rich, the poor, fishermen, porters, fled towards the great doors, there to be cut down with axes. They fled back to the centre of the temple, huddled together. Axes cut through their midst. I heard shouts. I heard the harsh war cries of Torvaldsland. I heard golden sheets of metal being pried from the square pillars of the temple. The interior of the sanctuary was strewn with deadinitiates, many hacked to pieces. The four boys who had sung in the services held to one another, crying, like girls. From the high altar, standing upon it, Ivar Forkbeard directed his men. “Hurry!” he cried. “Gather what you can!”
“Kneel beneath the ax!” cried out one of the burghers of Kassau, who wore black satin, a silver chain about his neck. I gathered he might be administrator in this town.
The people, obediently, began to kneel on the dirt floor of the temple, their heads down.
I saw two men of T loading their cloaks with golden plate and vessels from the sanctuary, hurling them like tin and iron into the furs.
A fisherman cringed near me. One of the men ofTorvaldslandraised his ax to strike him. I caught the ax as it descended and held it. The warrior ofTorvaldsland looked at me,startled. His eyes widened. At his throat was then point of the sword of Port Kar.
Weapon s are not to be carried in the temple of Priest-Kings but I had been taught, long ago, by Kamchak of the Tuchuks, at a banquet in Turia, that where weapons may not be carried, it is well to carry weapons.
“Kneel before the ax,” I told the fisherman.
He did so.
I released theax of the man of Torvaldsland, and removed my blade from his throat. “Do not strike him,” I told the man of Torvaldsland.
He drew back his ax, and stepped away, regarding me, startled, wary.
“Gather loot!” cried Forkbeard. “ Are you waiting for the Sa-Tarna harvest!”
The man turned away and began to pull the gold hanging from the walls.
I saw, twenty feet from me, screaming, the giant, he of incredible stature, striking down at the kneeling people, who were crying out and trying to crawl away. The great blade dipped and cut, and swept up, and then cut down again. I saw the wild muscles of his bare arms bulging and knotted. Slobber came from his mouth. One man lay half cut through.
“Rollo!” cried out Forkbeard. “The battle is done!”
The giant, with the grayish face and shaggy hair, stood suddenly, unnaturally, quiet, the great, curved blade lifted over a weeping man. He lifted his head slowly, and turned it, slowly, towards the altar.
“The battle is done!” cried Forkbeard.
Two men of Torvaldsland then held the giant by the arms, and lowered his ax, and, gently, turned him away from the people. He turned and looked back at them, and they cowered away. But it did not seem that they recognised them.It seemed he did not know them and had not seen them before. Again his eyes seemed vacant. He turned away, and walked slowly, carrying his ax, toward one of the doors of the temple.