Out of the corner of his eye he saw Father Ignatius politely taking his leave, and frowning a little when Mathilda and Odard shook their heads and stayed. Rudi wasn?t too concerned; he?d gathered that there were still some Christians around here, and that they came to this type of ceremony, if not the blot -sacrifices. It would be difficult to be a member of the community if you didn?t.
Bjarni rose and spoke: ?Bjornings and guests! Now we drink sumbel; to the Gods, in memory of the ancestors, and to make boast and oath. Take care when you do, for to make oath before all is to lay your words in the well of Wyrd, binding the fate of all. My uncle Ranulf Waltersson shall be thul of this sumbel? An older warrior in his forties nodded, with his arms crossed across his tunic; he was darker and leaner than his nephew, but had a family look of him.
– ?and none shall dispute his judgments. Let the Valkyries fill the horns!?
Harberga and Gudrun led a group of women-kin of the chief, for this was a duty of honor and high regard-to pour mead from the pitchers they carried. Most of the drinking so far had been ale, and usually not very strong ale at that; this mead was heady, smelling of flowering meadows gone, and itself a boast of sorts-being made from honey it was expensive in this land where life lay sparely, and only a great chief could bestow it so lavishly.
Bjarni?s horn was bound and tipped with rune-graven gold, and bore a carving of a woman carrying a horn to a man who rode a chariot pulled by goats. He held it high: ?I drink to Odin, to Freyr and Freyja, to Njord, to almighty Thor, and to all the Gods and Goddesses. Hail, Aesir, hail Asynjur!? ?Wassail!?
Rudi raised his horn and drank; the mead was dry and strong, and left a slight catch at the back of his throat. There was nothing in his faith that forbade it. Some of the dwellers signed the Hammer over their horns before they lifted them; a few used the Cross. Some touched the mead with a finger and then their foreheads rather than drinking; Harberga did, he noticed, probably for the unborn babe?s sake.
Bjarni lifed his horn again:?I drink to our ancestors, who made Norrheim with their might, their main, their craft and luck. Most of all, I drink to my father, Erik Waltersson, Erik the Strong. Drink hail!? ?Wassail!?
The Bjorning chieftain paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was matter-of-fact. ?Most of you were here when the seidhkona took the high seat last night. Through her the Allfather spoke, and laid a duty on all those who would stand with the Gods to aid our guest, Rudi Mikesson of the Mackenzies, called Artos, Son of Bear and Raven.?
He stepped down from the dais and laid his free hand on the golden ring clenched in the jaws of the gilt boar; there was a tense hush, for that was the oath-ring of their folk. Swearing on it bound doubly. ?As first bragarfull, I swear to make Rudi Mackenzie my blood brother; to have the same friends and the same enemies, to give each other sanctuary without stint, to share our goods, to foster each other?s children at need, and each to avenge the other?s death on any foe and give him his rites if he falls on foreign soil. This I swear by almighty Thor.?
His uncle Ranulf stood; the thul could object to an oath.?You swear more than you can perform, Bjarni Eriksson, for blood brotherhood needs the will of two. Will our guest support your oath??
Rudi nodded.?I will,? he said, calmly but forcefully.
He rose as well, and they stood facing one another across the golden boar. He drew the sgian dubh from his sock-hose and nicked the flesh at the base of his right thumb. Bjarni did the same with his seax. They clasped hands, letting the blood mingle, then raised them to allow a drop to fall on the holy earth; then each ran a drop into his mead horn and offered it to the other to drink through linked arms. ?Drink hail!? ?Wassail!?
A murmur ran through the hall as the two resumed their seats; the oath bound the Bjornings as a whole, through their chief. Rudi thought most of them were satisfied; he was himself. Bjarni was a man you could trust to have your back; their acquaintance had been brief, but intense.
A young woman stood and raised her horn. The looks and exclamations and a few gasps told him that this was not expected. ?I drink to Odin, Lord of Ravens,? she said.?And I ask him to witness the oath I shall make.?
It was as if the room held its breath. Rudi recognized the girl who?d asked after her man Sigurd at the divination, though she looked to have aged a decade in a day.
But the long amber-blond hair was shorter now-roughly hacked off below the ears, a man?s style among the Bjornings. And she was wearing a belted tunic and breeks and boots, not the gown and long apron; all her clothing was in black or dark blue. These folk didn?t make as much of the differences between men?s dress and women?s as Mathilda?s did but from what he?d seen they were more particular about it than Mackenzies, especially on formal occasions like this.
The clothes had some significance here, something that he wasn?t quite grasping. Bjarni?s mouth had closed in a grim line, and Harberga was frowning. An older man and woman seemed caught between anger and tears; probably her parents.
The tall young woman walked down and crossed to the Oath-Swine; as she did the lamplight glittered on a pendant she wore, a valknut, a set of three interlaced equal-sided triangles with the points upright.
Now that I know. It is Odin?s mark. I think She laid her hand on the ring and spoke:?This I swear and promise: that I will have vengeance for my betrothed, Sigurd Jeansson; I will be a shield-maid until I have taken a wergild of lives tenfold for his, taken them by my own hand-?
The thul stood, and more quickly than before.?Asgerd Karlsdottir! To speak these words in sumbel is to link our fates to yours in the well of Wyrd! If you fail, all of us bear the ill luck that falls on the foresworn. What sith, what recompense, can you pay if fulfilling this oath is beyond your might??
The ravaged face lifted.?If it is beyond my might, it is not beyond my main, my soul strength. If I fail in this oath, the price I offer is this: my life. I will fulfill my oath, or I will die with my face to the foe.?
Rudi hissed slightly between his teeth. If ever I saw someone in most desperate earnest, this is she, he thought. ?This is a dreadful oath,? the thul said.?By it you deprive your kindred of strength, not only yours but that of your children who might be.?
Proudly, she replied:?I am a free woman of Norrheim, and of the Bjorning folk, and of age. I have said what sith I will pay to support my oath. May I swear, or not?? ?All men are born fey. All women, too,? Ranulf said heavily.?You may swear; your oath is accepted.? ?So I swear, by Victory-Father. Drink hail!?
She did more than take a draught; she drank steadily, until the horn shed only a drop when she held it upside down. The Wassail was ragged; when it died down, Asgerd turned and looked Rudi in the eye. The mead had put red in her cheeks, but her voice was still cold: ?Since the High One commanded us to aid Rudi Mikesson of the Mackenzies, and his foes are those who slew my man, I will fulfill my oath in his service if he will have me. I am trained to arms, I can use sword and spear, and I am better than most with the bow. I?ve hunted and trapped and know the ways of land and water. There are deer and wolves who could testify to it, if they lived! But if he will not, I will follow nonetheless.?
Hmmm. That I didn?t expect either, he thought, a little dismayed.
Then his gaze turned professional. She was tall for a woman-a hair less than his half sisters, perhaps the slightest touch taller than Mathilda-and looked fit.
She moves well. And there?s nothing wrong with her nerve, I?d judge. Apart from that He looked over to Ranulf; he?d gathered that the brother of the Bjorning founder was an arms master and one of his nephew?s right-hand men. ?All our folk are trained to weapons play,? Ranulf said.
It was a little grudging, but with the air of a man who wouldn?t bend the truth about the trade he loved. The same judicious appraisal went through the rest. ?Though women usually put it aside when they wed, and few ever fight except at greatest need, when their home garths are attacked. Asgerd isn?t as strong as a man with her inches, of course, but she?s strong for her weight, and quick, and more skilled than most girls her age. Sigurd Jeansson was a fine fighting man, often in viking, and he sparred with her much. Nor have I seen her flinch from a blow on the practice field, even the hardest.?