Chapter 9 - Village IV
The evening went fairly as they had planned out, such as their plan had been formed. The men were all calling for the women to serve them, even when it appeared as if they really didn't need anything. That too was fairly normal, the men liked being near the pretty young women. Arroch and Theyer and Sooth, and now Eira, were the only people in the room that were in on this little plot.
The women were all in it for the obvious. The women didn't really like the Bear all that much. This was simply a really good job for an unmarried single woman to hold, save from being some sort of craftsman or low merchant. The coin was good. The free food and drink they could enjoy and take home was a great bonus. Any serving wench intuitively understood as well, that there was no greater protection in their world to be had, save for being able to count these 'beasts' among their friends.
It would take a minimum of creativity to imagine what would happen, should one of the pretty serving girls start walking around the great hall, sporting a black eye or a man's hand-print on her arms, where a man grabbed her too roughly. After all, how would it appear to be, if the king's own men couldn't even protect their own serving girls? It was one of those rare things, that should it happen… it will not happen twice.
If the right word went in the right ear at the tables, at just the right moment? Any of these women knew they actually held great power of some sort in the hollow of their hand. Men outside these great halls they worked in, well, they actually courted these women's favor.
Fighting men not yet selected to be a kingsman? Would practically kill for the chance to be noticed by men such as these. Having a friendship or even a romantic dalliance with any of these women could be their ticket to what was quite honestly, the highest and most "noble" title a man could ever aspire to become in his lifetime.
The Bear's cubs really ran the gamut as well. Some were more or less just as he was. A big man, that was useful in his armor when you were in a tight spot.
Some, it was widely suspected, had been as any fighting man not yet picked out; they were happy to at least become a true kingsman. They would fulfill their oaths and duties, of course. They would fight when they were commanded to fight, they would stay their hand no matter what, if that was the command. They were expected to die if it came to it, either from fighting or from staying their hand. Such did not necessarily mean they personally loved, nor even liked the Bear.
A few, were even suspected to personally dislike the man. His ways were crude. He was abrasive, and considered far too boastful. Now, when a far north-man that wears the king's signature armor, thinks that a fellow far north-man that wears the same armor is too boastful? Well, that said a lot.
Most of his lot of bear cubs however, were most likely somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing. Perhaps the Bear was the lesser of other evils. Perhaps he was more of the devil you knew, and was therefore better then the devil you did not know.
The Bear himself? Was just certain and sure, that he inspired what he thought of as respect among his men, and others that had dealings with him. Or maybe, it was just simple fear that he actually inspired other men with around him. Was there really any difference, in the end, between fear and respect?
Most men thought so. A few men didn't see any distinction. Such men would explain it thus.
You respect your father. And why, they would ask. Because your father would issue commands, and if you didn't follow them? You risked getting yelled at, or smacked upside the head, or… even his simple displeasure and disappointment. You feared the big kid in the village that was always starting fights over nothing more than to show off. He could make you follow his orders. And why, they would ask you.
It was obvious then. There was no practical difference at all, between fear and respect. The only difference, was how you viewed the situation. Some fathers were mean and irritable and unpredictable. You still called it "respect". Some big village kids were not unpredictable, and even not prone to violence. Yet, it was still called "fear", if it were only their voicing their disappointment in you.
While fear and respect might well be the same thing, the high king was almost always said to inspire respect, not fear. Even Wulfgar, terrifying as he was… was said to have all of the men's complete, utter, and total respect.
Sure, both were not to be taken lightly. Still, they were said to be universally respected. Men like the Bear? Sure, people who were forced to have dealings with him called it respect publicly, but if they trusted you? It was simple fear. If a bigger man could be found, and Bear somehow replaced? A bigger man with a better attitude? Well, almost everyone that made any distinction between fear and respect, always preferred respect over fear.
Some part of any man, either knows or at least senses… that deep down inside? Every man needs to have something to fear, or to respect, so as to give him motivation to do the right thing.
One man, considered quite the sage for a fighting man, once put it best.
Respect? Is when you want to do what the man wishes. You fear his disappointment, you fear his feelings that you failed him. Before you feared the physical consequences of the matter. The man is your personal hero, you want to imitate your hero, and become more like him.
Fear, as this sage-fighter had phrased it so eloquently, was when you did not want to be like the man, you simply had no other choice but to obey his wishes. Or else. You likely did not even care truly, one way or the other, if the man was disappointed in you.
The sage-fighter had finished by saying it.
While they may be the same practical thing? Respect is divine, and fear is a necessary evil.
Gossip was robust at this feast. The Bear was going to once again, examine a new man. This was sport, this was entertainment. This was wagering. This was idle time spent with your brothers-in-arms. The lead hunting dog? Always has to at least nip at the new dog. Any man with more than one dog understood this. What the hell, the men would wager on that as well, given the chance.
The winner was toasted. Fighting men like winners, in whatever form they appear in. The loser was toasted equally well, sometimes even more robustly. He had guts and balls. Fighting after all, to "real" fighting men? Is in the end, just another game to be played. You have a winner, you have a loser, and sometimes you end in a draw. Real fighting men, were expected for it to be nothing personal. That puppy shit was reserved for women, children, and pampered pussies, IE "nobility".
The only "nobles" to be found anywhere in these parts? Hung as trophies on the walls. If a high kingsman took a petty king or a nobleman's head? He brought back maybe the head, if he was wont to do so; he always brought back the crown.
The king was well known to have a fair sized empty wine cask. Such an empty used wine cask, was said to be seasoned. Of the type of seasoned vessel the RavinLunden, the food-preservers, called a "pickul barral". Filled with crowns. He liked to show them off to new "stewards" he appointed to replace deposed "petty kings". The meaning was all too clear. Do your job, and well… or? You will go into the pickle barrel with the others.
The only skull the high king kept as a decoration? Was the first petty king he himself had disposed of, the one that started it all. Wulfgar did not actually eat sweet bread with cream over it from a bowl made of some petty king's skull cap, that was just a scary bedtime story that had gotten around, that everyone found amusing. Outside the kingdom? Well, the untrue but scary story was considered… useful, as the high king put it.
Arroch asked of Theyer and Sooth.
"My oxen… have you any rumor of… odds being tossed about? Surely someone has said something."
Theyer, the talker, the reckoner… answered him quietly.
"From what I have overheard, five to one, is the lowest I have heard of. It goes up from there, depending on the man and the rumor. Eira? Claimed she heard ten to one, coming from several men more than once. You know how it is; the men can't wait to eat, and the men can't wait for some sport."
All three exchanged knowing glances. Five to one would be a tidy sum; ten to one? Wasn't exactly a king's ransom, but it was more coin than a lot of low merchants could lay their hands upon at any given time.
Bear's reputation as the biggest man around the villages? Ruled out any even bets. If you even suggested an even bet? It was just the punch line to a joke. The three looked over at their "little oxling", and raised their goblets to him. He smiled, and raised his own back.
They knew what was under the big, loose tunic he wore. They had bathed with the man, damn it. But honestly, to see him sitting there, in the rolled up sleeves and rolled up trousers legs? It just didn't "show" like they knew it should. His shorter height and his quiet mannerisms, did somehow, some way, make him appear to be a much smaller man than they knew he actually was.
His light beard, and his as of yet light body hair? Completed the facade. They smiled, this was going to be good, and it just couldn't be going any better.
Arroch said it again, quietly.
"I can not believe it… the ox will finally gore the bear. I never once thought I would live to see this night."
Eira appeared out the kitchen, after a couple hours of this going on. She had her three girls in tow. It was time. The boar was ready. The three girls went around and made sure every plate of small foodstuffs was re-stacked and more. They made diligently sure that the pitchers of mead and wine and ale were within every man's easy reach.
She raised her hands, and made grabbing motions in the air with her fingers… a couple of shouts of approval went up, and several men got up unbidden to go help the women wheel in the big table. The slow roasted boar, that would go in the end of the open space, right in front of the fireplace.
This, they all knew, would leave the big center open for… well, the men would expect to be entertained, after all. That would happen of its own accord all by itself. After all, it always did.
Everyone was abuzz with Wulfgar's presence. This was a truly somewhat rare honor. The man did not often grace any great-house but his own, for idle pursuits. He almost never stayed after the main feast was underway. It was equally rare that men were whispering that he was actually enjoying a few goblets of mead, and he wasn't refilling his water goblet more often than his mead goblet. The Bear was about beaming with pride. Wulfgar himself? Was gracing his great-house, with his idle time and presence.
He was practically giddy. He was now to soon be the absolute envy of most of the other Heyermannen. As the leader of his own great-house, he was expected to socialize with everyone, and in particular with such an honored guest as the king's own wolf. Wow. In his great-house. Life? Just couldn't get any sweeter. This, was what it was all about. Being the biggest man, having some of the highest number of bigmen under him, everyone knowing that his great-house had some of the prettiest serving wenches to be found working here.
Having his very own bath house to show off, was yet another mark of distinction for him to entertain everyone with. Life was good. It was, he decided? Good to be the Bear.
The men slowly grew to a roar, as the boar was wheeled in on the stout table. The roasted pig was steaming hot. Slow roasted and smoked whole pig? Was a feast fit for kings. As was a hot bathhouse. As was having men of high quality around. These men, were to a man? They simply knew they were living the life of a king. Better even, than some petty kings. There was a crown nailed up on the trophy wall, over the mantle above the fireplace.
A man had nailed it there, to great fanfare, years before. A man from this great-house? Had therefore personally claimed the foolhardy king's crown. The man that had thought, and quite erroneously, as it had turned out… that the high king's laws and customs were optional. The presence of that empty crown, nailed there forever, for all to see and laugh at? Punctuated the meaning. Kings were less than these men, that sat at these tables.
Eira, when this was all completed… had some matter which required her to go in and out the great front doors several times. Whatever the matter was, it didn't really matter. No one noticed or cared any great deal about it; all eyes were fixed upon the coming feast. The serving girls came and went, dressed alike, beneath any scrutiny.
Unsurprisingly then, it was a matter of almost no importance whatsoever to anyone, that a fairly small dog sneaked in. It wasn't starving, yet it obviously wasn't doing so well either. All it knew, as a dog, was that it could smell food. That was what motivated the dog. The wonderful smell of hot, fresh winter-wheat baked bread, in small hand sized loaves.
Stews. Vegetables. Cheeses. Smoked and dried foodstuffs from the RavinLunden's village. The little dog knew, either from past experience or from intuition… and likely both, to make itself scarce, to make itself blend in and creep around. It kept to the corners, it moved under the tables, it disappeared down dark corridors through cracked doors and reappeared through others. It's nose told it there was something here, it just wanted to find it. The dog was hungry, it simply wanted food.
Ryeamund Thorson, as men called him now, was much the same as the dog. He was smelling the same foodstuffs. Had the food been out of his reach? He was sure he would have wandered around, trying to sniff it out in much the same fashion. Ryeamund Thorsen was not entirely enthralled with all this loud boasting, and the beating of the fists on the tables. He did not find all the yelling and commotion, all the pushing and shoving at all necessary; Ryeamund Thorsen, would greatly have preferred a quiet room to dine in, with quiet people. Yet? This was where the food was, so here he sat.
Ryeamund was, as dictated by custom, seated by himself without any men within a couple of chairs to either side of him. He sat alone, as he was still in his coin. He was but a probationary kingsman. When his coin was removed from him, he would be declared a full kingsman. Men then if they so wished, could seek to sit near him. If he so chose? He could as well choose to sit next to them. That was not now, that was later. The food and the drink, however? That was right now, so Ryeamund Thorsen could honestly and truly, about care less what else went on around him.
If he had not dropped one of the small hand sized loaves of winter wheat bread that he had never before sniffed, much less eaten? He might have never noticed. But, as fate would have it, he bent over to retrieve it. Wasting food was not something he was in the habit of. Even if he did not have to eat something that had fallen on the floor, he had done so in the past when food was scarce for him and his father, as it almost always had been.
He had been raised a farmer. Nothing was to go to waste. If nothing else? Left over or unwanted or in any way spoiled food… was to be saved and given to some animal. No reason they should not get it. He was not much concerned to look down, having thought he saw something moving around… when he detected the tip of the tail of some small animal moving around.
Oh. It was that little dog he had picked up outside earlier that day, before coming into this hall. It had found him, again. This was the little dog he had given the rest of his dried meat to. He was all set to feast, why not let the friendly little fellow have what he did not need.
Ryeamund looked at the soiled little loaf of winter wheat bread. Animal food now, and a dog was slightly higher on his personal pecking order than were the pigs out back. He deliberately dropped the roll, and smiled as the dog came and sniffed it. It looked up at him, and he smiled again and nudged the roll closer to the dogs head. The little fellow seemed happy to have found the man that had given him some meat. Now a small loaf of bread. That won the furry little guy over, and he sat down and looked up at Ryeamund, seemingly pleased as punch to have a master to sit by.
"We are the same, are we not, little dog? Surely we are…"
And he reached down and patted the dog on the head. He had no other company, if his coin did not get lifted off of him, so… what the hell. He picked the little guy up, and had him sitting on his lap. Ryeamund glanced around. There were other dogs here and there, obviously keeping near their masters or sometimes wandering around and returning. It was obviously a custom that dogs were allowed with the men. He saw other men tossed morsels to their dogs. One man, even had his big dog seated next to him, the chair beside him. The peg behind the dog's chair? Had the dog's armor on it, all thick leather with some plated metal and spikes to make it even tougher. A real war dog.
Ryeamund did not care if he had some pure, noble breed of dog with him; he was but a simple farmer. He was happy to just have a dog again. He would take this little fellow with him. Had not his new brothers taken him in? They had. He would pass the favor along to this little guy.
The dog took another sniff, and decided he liked this man. He rubbed his face up against Ryeamund, and Ryeamund never did care what anyone ever thought of him and any animal he chose to favor. That was between himself, and the animal. Ryeamund decided, life was after all, good. Food and brothers. Now a dog. He was promised help getting some pigs and some goats. Why would be ever want to leave such a place as this. Ryeamund couldn't even believe he wasn't really what he thought of as working. He felt as if he had constant days off, as compared to his regular work schedule.
Ryeamund was just in the middle of explaining to his new friend that he was happy to get reacquainted with him, when he was rudely interrupted. Now, Ryeamund did not like rude people, much less did he enjoy people being rude to him. He was, however, under instruction from his new headman that he was to be as polite and as accommodating as possible to everyone here. So, he was.
"Bear. Nice to see you again, big fellow."
Ryeamund politely did what everyone else seemed to do, which was to raise his goblet or horn at the man that approached him to socialize.
"To the bear…"
Ryeamund took a sip from his mead goblet. Washed it down with a sip from his water goblet. He had seen his meadow friend, the one they called the Wolf, doing so. Ryeamund's father had instructed him, that when in the tavern with the woodcutters that all but demanded the young man's presence, Little Rye was to have water with his wine. So as not to act like a fool in the tavern, as others would.
"Are you enjoying my great-house, Little Ryeamund?"
"Aye. Your house is great. Your food is great. Your drink is great. You must be a great man."
The bear dipped his head at the compliment, but only slightly.
"Aye, I am. There's just a small matter, Little Ryeamund."
"And, the small matter is…?"
"Ryeamund. You can not have that… rat in here. I am hosting the king's right hand man. All is going well. I do not want to have some dirty little rat running up to him to beg for scraps. Remove it; remove it quickly."
"Bear. Are you in your goblet, man. This is no rat; this is but a small dog."
Bear smiled, and leaned down with his hands on the table. Still smiling, but, it did not go with his quiet, insistent voice.
"Ryeamund. I know it is a dog. It is an unworthy dog. Get it out of here. If you wish a dog? I will bring you one of my own war-dogs. You can set him in the chair next to you. You can be proud of him."
"Did the Bear not tell me I was to have anything I wanted in his house? Other than the food and drink, I want but the company of this small dog. He is as I am. He is smaller than the other dog's here. As I am. He is hungry, and not eaten well. As I am. He is unworthy of the other dogs? This might be so, yet, I am unworthy as well…"
…pointing at his coin he still wore.
The Bear was about to raise his voice, then got his voice back down. He did not wish a scene in front of such an honored guest as Wulfgar. He did however, glare his eyes as best he could at Ryeamund. He lowered his head to be closer. He no longer had his hands flat on the table, supporting his bulk as before; he scrunched his big meaty hands up into fists.
"Ryeamund. If you do not throw that unworthy thing out of here? I will do it for you. I will throw it in the air, and I will kick it out the front door. You can claim him when you leave, then. If he lives. So, maybe you would do it, for me. So the little dog does not get hurt… am I making myself clear?"
"Big man… dogs are allowed in here with their masters. I have seen them about. Dogs are allowed to be given food. I have seen it with my own eyes. I do not know all of ye customs, yet, I can see this with my own eyes. This is my dog; he stays. Do not let this be any matter, big man. Ye do not know of me. Ye do not yet know what my customs are. I will tell ye of one, here and now. No man, may strike any of my animals with no just cause. Ye may take that as you will, big man. I will not bargain on that matter."
The Bear smiled.
"Little man? Ye coin will not stay on ye neck forever. When that coin comes off? We will see what any of the other customs you claim, might be. Ye are brave with that coin…"
Bear made a show of sniffing at Ryeamund.
"Yet… I smell a coward that hides behind his little coin. Do we understand each other, little man?"
Ryeamund smiled. He was as quiet as ever. He put his arm protectively around his new little friend. He kissed the dog, and allowed the dog to lick his face some. He rubbed cheeks with the dog. Then he put the dog down, and it sat next to him.
"I believe we understand each other. I really do. And, since ye seem keen on knowing my customs? I will tell ye of them. No man will strike my animal. No man will strike me. And, if ye wish? I will tell ye my third custom."
Bear smiled.
"Well…?"
"I am a man for fun. Ye and your men? Ye have nothing to fear, if ye wish to have fun and sport with me. Ye can point, and tease. I will laugh with you. It is no matter. Take care, though, ye laugh with me, and not at me. Ye have already called me a coward once. Do not do it many more times. Or, there will be no bargain on the matter."
"Ye are a fool, little man."
Ryeamund looked up at the Bear, still holding the little dog that had jumped back up on his lap once again. Ryeamund patted it's head and put it back down.
"I have examined all the boys and young men in my village. I have examined any of the men that I cut wood with, in their beard. I have also examined blacksmiths. These were not small men. I tell you, as they would. Ryeamund's customs… they stand. Take that as you will, big man."
"Okay, little man. Have it your way, then. When that coin comes off yer little neck? I am going to wring it… as I will, yer little dog. You can watch."
"That may happen, big man. We will see. Are we done?"
"Aye. You are done… enjoy it while it lasts."
And the Bear walked off. Puffing himself up. Some of the men were pointing and gabbing. This was new gossip. Perhaps, even new entertainment was developing. This, the men approved of.
Ryeamund stood, and raised his goblet, as was their custom. Ryeamund raised his voice to toast, as the other men did. While cradling his little friend in his arm.
"To the Big man! To the Bear!"
The hall full of big men all raised their voices in approval, and repeated it in their booming tones. The Bear always enjoyed that. He raised and lowered his arms, and they raised their voices and hammered on the tables. Then?
There was laughter starting. The Bear looked around at his men. Some were pointing, some were talking to the man seated next to them. Chuckling. The booming slowly turned to laughter. Now, that wasn't right. What the hell. He glared at his men, who smiled and laughed more. If he glared at one man, he looked away politely. But, it continued. Confused, it made the men laugh more. Some were slapping the tables for laughter. The Bear finally looked around behind him.
Ryeamund had remained standing after politely toasting Bear, and even the way he liked to be toasted. But, he had put his goblet down and was doing something with the little dog. With his paw.
As if playing with a little baby, moving the little hands around? Ryeamund was tapping the little dog's paw to its own chest, then gently extending it. While cheek to cheek with it.
Ryeamund raised his voice to match those of the big men about him, and they lowered themselves just enough to hear him.
"Aye!! And, my dog toasts the Bear as well!! Ah!!"
Ryeamund went back to sit down. The men? They roared with laughter. They approved of dry wit and humor. This was going to be fine entertainment, they were just sure of it. Because after all, fighting men intuitively can sniff out entertainment developing, as a dog can sniff out a morsel of food. They all had a nose for it. That's why they were who they were.
The Bear went and sat with his men, and he occasionally glared at Ryeamund across the room. Ryeamund smiled politely, and raised his goblet to the big man. This just seemed to piss the Bear off even further. The gossip flew more, and there was little else now to gossip about, every man could taste it in the air. Ryeamund was the new man, and he was smaller. He was foolish enough to goad the Bear, and this was not good.
Within the hour, while eating and drinking, the odds went up. Not only would the bear give the man his usual cursory examination? He was pissed. He would examine the man more thoroughly, was what everyone claimed he had said.
In the midst of eating, Arroch conferred with Eira standing by them, as well as Theyer and Sooth. Theyer and Sooth nodded and smiled. Arroch the ox, stood and raised his goblet. As a Heyermannen raising his goblet, it brought silence and more respect than when just any man did it.
"Aye. My new man, that we toast. Ryeamund. He sits by himself. This is our custom, he is new. He still wears my coin I gave to him. It is also our custom, that my coin stays around his neck, until he has been approved. By my Heyermannen. My Heyermannen be Wulfgar, the king's own Wolf, that sits at his master's own right hand. We men? Heyermannen and kingsmen alike, each of us? We but sit at the king's left hand."
"To the North Star !!", and the men toasted back, and hammered the table.
"To Wulfgar! The High King's right hand !!", and the men hammered and toasted even louder.
Arroch raised both hands, his goblet now down. The men slowly quit hammering and toasting and slowly quieted. As a Heyermannen, he had this amount of respect, and he used it.
"Wulfgar… will ye do me the honor, of speaking with me? Here and now."
Wulfgar sat there. Running his finger over his goblet's rim. He seemed to be deciding. Then, he shrugged and picked up his goblet, and walked slowly over to Arroch.
He stood near Arroch, still sniffing his goblet idly. Then he raised it.
"Aye. I will speak with you. In the hall. With great men to hear me. Now, Arroch. Heyermannen to your men. What would you speak with me of. Is it a matter."
Arroch thumped his breast with his free hand, and dipped his head, far enough and low and slow enough it showed the respect all the men had for this dangerous man.
"It is a matter, Wulfgar. I would ask you, if ye see fit, to lift my coin. And to do with my coin, what ye see fit."
The men were all silent now. No one dared move a goblet or eat. You… well, you simply didn't ask Wulfgar things like that. You waited, until Wulfgar himself told you. It was no custom, it was just the simplest of wisdom. This was a bold move. To politely demand an answer. To put this man on the spot, in public.
"What is your new man's name, Arroch. By what name will we call him, for now."
"My new man's name, be Ryeamund. He is called Ryeamund Thorson."
Wulfgar appeared indifferent. This was but an idle distraction to the man, as was eating and drinking. As was whisking his sword across a man's throat, and watching all his blood drain out before him, while he futilely attempted to keep the last of it in his veins. He sniffed his goblet.
"Why not, Arroch. I am here. You are here. These men? They are here. Tell me, Arroch. Is your new man here, as well?"
"Aye. He is."
"Well… where is he?"
Arroch pointed at Ryeamund, across the hall and seated by himself.
"Well, Arroch. He should be standing here, with us. Should he not?"
The men around the room stayed respectfully quiet, watching and listening as intently as they could. No one wanted to miss a word, a gesture. This was gossip for weeks to come, for men that were not here.
"Aye."
"He is your man. Do you command him."
"Aye."
"Does he obey your commands."
"Aye."
"Command him to come here, then."
Arroch raised his voice…
"Ryeamund! Come here! We have a matter!"
All eyes were on the shorter man as he stood up, put his little dog down, and dropped a piece of bread so the dog stayed. He walked over to Wulfgar and Arroch, and stood by them.
The wolf walked around Ryeamund. Looked him up and down. He did this several times, drawing out the now very palpable tension in the room. He could tell Ryeamund to keep his coin, indicating he was not sure yet. He could take the coin, and keep it. Indicating Arroch had chosen unwisely. If he did that? He might well keep the coin, and either return it to Arroch later, or even destroy it. Which would then utterly and completely destroy Arroch's career, forever.
Wulfgar finally stopped. Sniffed his goblet of mead. Idly ran his finger around the rim. Deciding.
"I have examined him."
Wulfgar took out a knife he always wore, and grabbed it by the blade, carefully. He held it out, handle first, to Ryeamund.
"Ryeamund. Give me your coin. It is no longer yours to keep."
Ryeamund lifted the iron coin off of his neck, and hung the leather cord it rode on, upon the handle of Wulfgar's knife.
Wulfgar sniffed the coin. He swung it about on its cord.
"Ryeamund. Do not kneel. I am not a king, I am but the king's man. As are you. In the past? You may have knelt and groveled, before petty kings, and their petty men. You will never again in your life, do so. Do you understand this, Ryeamund?"
"Aye."
"You will only kneel, from this day forward, before one man, and one man only. And, you will do it only once. That man, should you ever meet him, is the High King. The North Star. Ryeamund, do you understand this?"
"Aye."
"Do you swear, to obey your Heyermannen."
"Aye."
"Do you swear, to obey me, Wulfgar, the king's right hand man?"
"Aye."
"Do you swear, that the high king's friends, will be your friends?"
"Aye."
"Do you swear, that the high king's enemies, will be your enemies?"
"Aye."
"Then I am well pleased. My words are the words of the high king. My deeds, are the deeds of the high king… Arroch? Take back your sign coin. The high king has a new kingsman."
Wulfgar delicately placed the cord back around Arroch's neck.
"You have chosen wisely, Arroch. See that you continue to do so in the future. Ryeamund? I will give you my first command…"
"Aye ?"
"Drain my goblet !!"
The men yelled and hammered their hands on the tables, as Ryeamund drained it and handed it back to Wulfgar. Wulfgar clasped forearms with Ryeamund. Then, to the amazement of all there, he drew the man to him, and embraced him. Held him in his embrace for a few seconds, then held him out at his arm's length. Shook his head slowly to say "yes". Wulfgar called loudly for more mead, and walked back to his seat. Serving women's feet rushed quickly to fulfill his desire. What no one else had seen, and had no way to have seen… only Ryeamund knew. Wulfgar had showed him the one-eye.
Arroch smiled, and gestured for Ryeamund to not go back to his seat, to come and sit with them. He was a full kingsman now. He would sit with his men, and other men could come and sit with him, if they wanted.
The two of them went to sit with Theyer and Sooth, who were smiling as well.
All the men in the room, slowly by one to three at a time, came up to them seated there, and toasted Ryeamund. Introduced themselves. It wasn't every day a new kingsman was declared.
Arroch winked at Ryeamund.
"Ryeamund?"
"Aye…"
"Since we are here, would you suspect that our host, the Bear, does not really like you?"
"Aye. We had idle words, at my seat I was at."
"I saw this. What was the matter about?"
"The Bear? He is as the boys in my village used to be. Before my Father gave me leave to examine them, as you men say up here."
"What matters were discussed, if it pleases you to tell me. You do not have to tell me, if you would keep it under your helmet."
"Nay. It is no matter. He declared me a coward… twice."
"I see. And, was there another matter, as well?"
"Aye…"
Ryeamund had said it quietly. Almost, too quietly.
"Would it please you to tell me what that matter is?"
"Aye… the Bear would harm my little dog. The one I gave my extra dried meat to. That… will be the main matter, then…"
The three kingsmen exchanged knowing glances. Ryeamund was studying his goblets. As if looking to them for something. He was very quiet now. He was looking down at his hands now and again. Clenching them, and releasing them. Every so often, he would roll his neck around slowly.
He continued to study his two goblets.
Arroch asked Ryeamund, softly, if he could take a drink from his goblet.
"Aye…"
Ryeamund had almost whispered it, without looking up.
Arroch tasted it. It was water.
Arroch then asked, even softer, if he could taste the other goblet.
"Aye…"
It too, was water… with but the slightest hint of mead. He let his two companions taste it, as well.
They exchanged quiet glances, and rolled their eyes at one another. Ryeamund was not drinking hardly at all. He was just letting all the men think he was.
Ryeamund preferred to study his nearly empty plate, and his two goblets. When Arroch asked him to look up, Ryeamund did not want to. Arroch asked him to again.
They did not entirely like what they saw. Ryeamund had changed in some way. Some way they could not put their finger on. He did not breathe any heavier, like a man getting angry would. He did not sweat, as a man about to fight a man the size of the Bear would normally. His hands and feet did not show the telltale tremors of a man about to be in even a minor battle. He just sat there. All that betrayed his change, was the occasional roll of his head around slowly on his neck, and the occasional clench and release of his fists.
It was his face. It had changed in some way. Then they saw it. It was the man's eyes. They were vacant… distant… like a man at his ease, studying the horizon or the clouds idly. It did not go with the situation. It actually frightened them.
"Aye. Ye see it. My curse…"
They did not answer him. They did not know what to say anyways, so they said nothing.
Arroch spoke softly, and put his arm on his shoulder, friendly and gently.
"Ryeamund. Are you all right?"
"Brother? If it pleases you, I would ask you do not touch me. I would ask you do not speak to me much, now. I am going away. I will be back. After I have examined the Bear… I would prefer to eat. How long must I wait?"
Arroch slowly took his hand off of his friend's shoulder.
"Aye… I don't think it will be long now. Ryeamund, where are you going to?"
Ryeamund looked down.
"Away… it is always like this…"
"What is like this, Ryeamund?"
He suddenly jerked his head to stare into Arroch's eyes.
"Do you see the same man… as you enjoy spending idle time with, Arroch?"
"Nay…"
"I am… two men. When I get angry. I get warm all over. Then… it is… like I am looking out of some other man's eyes. Until it is over, and my blood cools. I can control this, other man's body. I see what he sees. I hear what he hears. My curse."
"Ryeamund… you were not like this, when we had sport."
"Nay. I was not angry with you. I like you three. I did, what I did, to Arroch… so you men would not do anything foolish. I did not want this other man, to hurt any of you."
Theyer waited a little while, then said it.
"Well, I do not think it will be long, Ryeamund. Here comes your new friend. The Bear."
"Arroch? I tried not to hurt you. When we had sport…"
"Aye."
"I am going to hurt this man. Bad. I do not like him. I do not like anything about him."
Then, they quit talking to Ryeamund. He was content to stare into his two goblets, and his empty plate.
The Bear was walking over. Smiling. Pointing at his neck, at his coin. The meaning was clear. The shorter man, the new man? No more coin. No more protection from his examination of the new man. He was a complete and utter fool, the three of them figured.
Ryeamund looked up, and saw it. He smiled.
"Arroch? I promised to ask for your leave. I will remember my oath. This man I am, listens to you, as I do…"
And Ryeamund stood quickly, and placed one hand on the table, and simply in far too nimble a fashion for a man of his bulk, easily leaped over the big table and landed on his feet, already walking.
He met the Bear about a quarter of the way to his table where they sat. He did not once take his eyes off of his new friend. They stood about one pace apart. Eyeing each other up. The Bear liked looking down at him, the way he did to all smaller men. Ryeamund had to look up at the Bear. A thing he did with no expression whatsoever.
"Bear man? This is foolish. I would beg you, do not do this thing. This is your last warning… I have nothing else to say."
The Bear said many things. Ryeamund just stood there. The Bear gesticulated, he raised his arms up and down, which brought his men to a fevered pitch of yelling and hooting and whistling. Hammering on the tables. This was their sport. This, was their champion. The Bear. For whatever reason? This new, and smaller man… wanted the Bear to examine him more thoroughly than was the normal custom. A foolish thing, really.
Then, as they stood there eyeing each other up, a hush quickly fell over the room. Wulfgar was walking over, and motioned with his hand, a waving motion.
They backed up, obediently. No one questioned Wulfgar, ever.
Wulfgar sipped his mead, looked at both of them, and smiled a little before he raised his voice to speak.
"Aye! I know it is the custom here, in the den of the Bear? For the Bear to… examine any new man. I see it plain, that our newest kingsman? Wishes to be examined. Am I mistaken?"
The men hooted and hollered, and drummed their hands on the tables. Wulfgar knew he was not mistaken. He held his hand up, to silence them.
"All right, you two. I will explain this, mainly for the benefit of Ryeamund here, who does not know all of our customs. You men are going to fight with no weapons. There are only three rules. No weapons, do not strike a man off his feet, and the fight is over when one man no longer stands. Now… go to your men, each of you. When everyone has tended to their wagers? We will begin."
"Men! I do not often spend my idle time, with my hunting dogs! I know you are not well used to seeing me here. Why? The high king, my friend… he has suggested I spend some idle time with my hunting dogs. Apparently, the north star feels I would benefit from some idle sport… and entertainment."
The men cheered loudly.
"Someone? Please let me know when we are all done wagering."
Ryeamund came back to his men, and sat down. A group of the Bear's men came over, and talk of odds was the main topic of conversation. Theyer finally liked the offer, of ten to one. He brought out a sack of coin, and thunk-ed it down on the table.
"I offer this small wager."
He took out the coins in a pile, and separated them by type. Copper… silver… and a surprising number of them were gold.
"Now. I am the reckoner of my Heyermannen. You must wager with me. If the Bear stands, and Ryeamund stays down? You men all get this…"
Indicating the tidy sum of coins, with a wave of his hands.
"Now… the matter is, the Bear is a very large man. I can't remember the last time the Bear ever fell. Yet… if the Bear would happen to fall and not rise? You men, all of you… will be responsible to make a pile for me, ten times each pile here. Yes, we risk a lot. Honestly, I think the odds should be better, as the Bear never loses. Yet? I will take your coins, at ten to one. Now… go off, and show me you all have enough coin to take that wager, then."
Ryeamund ignored every attempt at talking to him. He was content to sit idle, and study his goblets and his empty plate. His little dog had long ago found him over here, and sniffed him, and sat back. The man smelled different to him, somehow.
There was a lot of good nature confusion around. Yelling, arguing. Men were seeking to find enough coin to cover this large bet being offered. The money was, they claimed, easy. They just needed ten times the amount to cover the loss, which of course the Bear never lost.
It took some time before it was brought over, and Theyer and the Bear's reckoner, agreed to the piles. Theyer's wager for his men, was placed back in the bag, and it was tied shut. The much larger bag, all in gold, was tied shut as well, and sat at the Bear's table.
No one was allowed to touch either bag, until a winner and a loser developed. The men started yelling, and whistling, and hooting and hollering. A crowd of the bear cubs, were around their champion. Slapping his shoulders and chest. The Bear was working himself up. He finally raised his hands, and walked out to the center of the room, and waited.
Wulfgar came out, and walked around him, looking him over, sipping his mead.
The drumming on the table was in even beats now. "Bear… Bear… Bear…", over and over again.
Wulfgar raised his hands, and the hush was instant.
"This is, I believe… not a simple matter of some… quick and light examination of a new man, by our own Bear. I do not believe these two enjoy each other's company."
"So! That's going to be even BETTER sport for us, will it not, men! LET… ME… HEAR… YOU!!"
The men yelled, screamed, and made as much noise as they could. This was going to be great sport. They would all get to see blood. Hot blood, the kind they craved. These men were all but dogs of war, they had all tasted blood, and what's more? They enjoyed it.
"Men? Each of you… return to your own men. I… will return to my seat. When I drain my goblet? I will place it down on the table. You will then begin your… examination of each other's courage. And? We will enjoy it, will we not!"
Each went back to their table, and stood. Waiting. The Bear was all worked up now, and Ryeamund just stood there. Calm. As if nothing was amiss. Men pointed at him from across the room, and shook their heads. He was going to get hurt, and he was going to cost his men a big sack of coin.
Wulfgar went back and was about to sit down, when he raised his full goblet of mead. He raised it, to silence.
"To BludenBruders !!"
And the men all toasted him back. Wulfgar downed his goblet, and with a thunk, placed it upside down on the table. They could begin.
The Bear walked quickly to the middle of the room. Ryeamund stayed.
"What's the matter, little Ryeamund? Are ye a coward now, without ye little coin to hide behind?"
Ryeamund raised his hand, and a hush fell. Then he spoke so all could hear him, even if in a quiet voice.
"My Heyermannen, has not given me leave to fight. I was commanded to stay my hand, until told I had leave to fight."
Arroch stood, drained his goblet and loudly exclaimed.
"Well spoken, Ryeamund Thorson! You have my leave!"
Then to the amazement of all? The quiet man that refused to boast, did not walk out to greet the Bear. He put both of his hands in the air, and they thought he was going to do a little roll on the stone floor, like children tumbling at play.
He came up, and walked over… but, on his hands as easily as a man walked on his feet. No one spoke, many had never seen this before. No one knew what to think. When Ryeamund was a couple paces from the Bear, he quite neatly lowered his feet back down to the ground. He was obviously quite nimble and light on his feet, for his size.
He finally looked at the Bear.
"Come. Feel my gentle caress, big man. I am going to enjoy this… you… will not."
The men went crazy.
Ryeamund raised himself up onto the balls of his feet, and could move around quite easily for a man of his size. The Bear, walked around flat footed, like many a big man about to wrestle or hand fight. It didn't take long at all.
Ryeamund came right for him, and moved around him. The Bear swung in even bigger, slower windmills than Arroch had. Ryeamund walked around easily avoiding these slow arcs, that landed on almost always air.
When Bear did manage to land a blow on Ryeamund? It seemed to have absolutely no effect, whatsoever. Ryeamund tired the big man out, and it did not take half as long as Arroch had. Ryeamund, when he was satisfied he had found whatever it was he seemed to be looking for? Walked flatfooted up to the big man, and just stood there. No longer dancing on the balls of his feet.
He just stood there. The Bear ran at him and swung on his now stationary target. Big arcs that landed on Ryeamund's shoulders, or on occasion, his head or face. To seemingly no effect. His war-hammers on the ends of his forearms came in fast, and started cracking the Bear's ribs.
Ryeamund was content to simply stand there, and exchange blows with this huge man, and only took body blows to the man. When the Bear suddenly realized he was having trouble breathing, he started to back up, and Ryeamund stalked him. Smiling. Back up now on the balls of his feet, he started going to work on him.
Arroch knew what the Bear now had to endure. He saw Ryeamund shift his weight around to deliver the big shots, like the one that had put him to sleep. The Bear had retreated to nearer his own table, and Ryeamund had followed him. One vicious blow in particular, spattered blood across the table the men sat at. One man picked up and marveled at something that had rolled near his plate, and picked it up to examine it.
It was one of the Bear's teeth.
Another man, had to wipe warm blood spray off of his face, and he put his goblet down with a look of disgust. A swollen lip had exploded.
There was nowhere he could run, and he had to come back at Ryeamund. Ryeamund grabbed the bigger man by the throat, and began to all but hammer the mans ribs. Hard. Very hard. He switched hands holding the Bears throat, so he could do the same to the other set of ribs.
Ryeamund danced back, and stood. Quite calmly. Not even seeming to even be breathing hard. The room got quieter. There was no more pounding the tables and chanting bear-bear-bear. This was… well, it was something new, and they didn't know exactly what to do. The Bear now had no choice, but to shuffle over to this smaller, and seemingly crazy man.
The Bear bellowed, and ran at Ryeamund. Arroch was waiting on it, but it didn't happen. Arroch was initially confused, why didn't he put him to sleep? Then he figured it out. Ryeamund had told them. He was actually mad now. He wanted to hurt this man. He hated him. He was going to keep from knocking him out. He wanted the Bear on his feet. He wanted to hurt him as much as he possibly could.
Ryeamund was smiling now, and it was even scarier. He had the Bear in a headlock, and was simply hammering the man's face. He closed both his eyes. The eyes swelled up, and he broke them both open. He broke, then completely shattered the man's nose… lips… then, he took the man by the hair, and began to go back to work on the ribs again… bad.
It took a while for everyone else in the great hall to figure out that the Bear? Was already asleep. Ryeamund was holding him up. So that he could continue to hurt him more.
Ryeamund began laughing, but it sounded evil. His laughter increased. He was now at the big man's own table, and no longer had to look at his opponent. He held the man's bloody and disfigured face out for his men to see it… his own eyes glared.
Instead of dropping him, he began to really hit the man. He was yanking the giant man's head back, and stepping back to really lean into it. There was no more jaw, cheekbones were likely being cracked. Teeth and blood flew across the man's own table. Ryeamund held the mans face, or, what was left of it? For his men to look at. Laughing evil, with glaring and vacant eyes. As if mildly amused.
His hands were covered in blood, and his rough knuckles were bleeding, likely from the Bear's teeth.
Bear was finally dispatched with one final, leaden, blow. Ryeamund had really stepped back to deliver it, and his fist smacked audibly into the man's ear and allowed his upper body to fall on the man's own table. He was long out cold.
Ryeamund looked at the Bear's own men. He leaned over, and scooped the sleeping man's leg up, so as to toss him easily onto the table. The bear was rolled, bleeding and unconscious, onto the plates and knocked over goblets. The men looked up, not as much in awe, but, mainly in fear.
Ryeamund was just chuckling.
The great hall was silent, you could have heard a mouse fart. Ryeamund waved his hands at the bloody unconscious giant.
"What is the matter, little bear cubs? I thought you are real men… not scared by a little blood."
And Ryeamund stood there. Just smiling, with his cold, scary eyes. He licked the blood off of his big, meaty fists.
"Go on, have some. It is good."
Then he turned away, and walked in silence back to sit down with his men. He stopped short. No one said a word. No one knew what to say. No one knew what to do.
Ryeamund lifted his hands, still bloody and cut. He stated, quite quietly.
"If any other cubs wish to… examine my courage? You have my leave to do so, do not be shy."
"No? I had been hoping for more… sport."
Apparently, no one else wished to examine Ryeamund or his courage.
Ryeamund just shrugged.
"May I enjoy my meal, in peace now?"
The Bear's men looked at one another, and back. A couple of them nodded, yes.
Ryeamund spit on the ground, in front of the Bear laid out on his own men's table. He did not move at all, and his breathing came in shallow gurgles. The only movement from him? Was some twitching of his feet and his fingers.
Ryeamund walked back over to his place, and set down with his men. Arroch had to break the silence, which was somehow deafening.
"I believe, it is the custom, to bring the coin over… or, do I have to send Ryeamund over to fetch it?"
His men looked over at one another. It was the Heyermannen's place to go over and take the coin to them. They didn't have one able to do so. One of the men finally gained his composure, and hefted the surprisingly heavy bag of coin they now owed to the Oxen.
The man dropped the bag down with an audible "thunk!" in front of Arroch.
He turned to walk back to his own table, then stopped before doing so. He walked over to stand in front of Ryeamund, and held out his forearm. Ryeamund took it.
"Well done, man. Well done."
And he walked back to his men. Ryeamund nodded, then dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. The man dipped his head, and left. The conversation came up slowly. No more loud yelling, no more hammering on the tables. The Bear's men, several of them, he was a big man… carried him off, ostensibly to whatever village healers were available to them.
Ryeamund slowly dribbled water from his goblets over his bloody hands and forearms. Someone came by and tossed him a cloth to wipe with. It was one of the Bear's own cubs. Again, a hearty "well done" from him.
When Ryeamund was done cleaning the blood off of himself, another of the cubs came over. He handed over a clean tunic. Ryeamund hadn't really noticed, he was covered down his sleeves and the front of his tunic, with goblets of fresh blood.
Everyone was silent as Ryeamund stood up and idly stripped off his bloody tunic and moved his arms around working his shoulders, rolling his neck around. Slowly. He tossed the bloody tunic onto the ground in front of his table, as a man tosses a napkin.
No one said a word. They were in awe of the man's musculature. As his own men had been when bathing with him. They hadn't seen anything like it.
When Ryeamund was done, he simply put on this clean tunic. Rolled the too long of sleeves up several times. Sat down, and went back to examining his goblets, and his empty plate. No one, not even his own men, dared speak to him nor touch him. It was, after all, what this other man had requested of them.
Periodically, the little dog came up and sniffed at Ryeamund. After the third or so exploratory sniff, the dog was happier again. He wagged his tail.
Ryeamund raised his head, and looked down at the little dog, standing to paw his thigh. Ryeamund smiled easily, and picked the little fellow up, and placed him on the table in front of him. He rubbed his face on the little dog's face, and the dog stood and put his face to his for more. Licked his cheeks a few times. Wagged his tail.
Ryeamund closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly, and held it. He exhaled slowly, and held it out. Then he opened his eyes, and looked over and back, at his men seated around him.
"It is all right, big brothers. I am back."
Then he all but whispered to them.
"Please, I beg of you. I will not harm any of my brothers. Do not fear my curse."
Then? Ryeamund seemed to be instantly back to normal. Quiet. Friendly. Happy.
"I would like to eat now. Maybe now, I can enjoy some of that honey wine. I like it."
Arroch motioned for a serving girl to come over.
She smiled at Ryeamund as she filled his goblet, both of them, with mead.
"Well done, Ryeamund. Well done."
Before she scurried off. The men were returning to their normal noise level. Once the blood and teeth were cleaned off of the floor, and the Bear's own table was wiped down, things returned to more or less what was "normal" for the hall. Bear was quickly out of sight, and out of mind for the time being.
Ryeamund went over and filled his plate up with large pieces of roasted boar. A bowl of the stew he liked the smell of. He dropped in some bread and some of the smoked cheese back at his table.
He went to work, eating.
"This is really good, you should have some."
"Aye."
Arroch said it quietly.
"Enjoy your food Ryeamund. Enjoy it. Your work is done now, I am sure of it."
Ryeamund just nodded, without stopping eating. Ryeamund was, after all, quite keen on food, as they all three well knew already. Ryeamund "worked" at his eating, for quite some time. He made several trips to the boar platter. He finally leaned back, smiling. Patting his distended belly.
"My brothers? I can not remember when last I ever ate so well. Thank you."
"Enjoy yourself, Ryeamund."
"Why do you men not eat? This is good food."
Theyer answered him for them.
"Oh, we will, Ryeamund. In a little while. We have all night and then some."
The Bear cubs were coming over now, one by one. Some of them seemed less happy, but polite, with a hearty well done for Ryeamund. Some of them seemed more happy, perhaps. Most were between the two.
Apparently, the Bear had not been half as well respected as he had once thought. He had been only feared.
Ryeamund was, to all outward appearances, very happy and nothing was amiss. He enjoyed kissing and fondling his new little furry friend. Letting the dog have as much smoked boar as he wanted, and anything else around. The little dog was in his glory. He liked his new master.
Sooth asked of Ryeamund.
"So, Ryeamund. Have you named your little friend yet? I think, he will follow you."
"Well, I had not thought about such. Something of him, reminds me of father's dog, when I was younger. He does not look like Thann, yet, it is in his eyes. It is as if, my little Thann has found me again…
And the three of them, marveled at Ryeamund with his new found little friend. He would cradle the little dog back in his meaty forearm, as if it were his own baby. He held him in both hands, and rubbed his face all over the dogs belly. The dog seemed to quite enjoy this, much better than being kicked at and chased around.
Arroch shook his head slowly, and smiled.
"Thann", was old speech for "goat". Ryeamund's father had one eye, and gained wisdom and caution from losing it. The villagers had come to him for advice, and called him the oldest father, a common name for Odin. The three of them had named him Ryeamund Thorson.
The mighty Thor, in all the old stories? Was always said to favor goats as pets, and he had two as his favorites. Both goat's names started with "Thann".
Ryeamund was talking to his little friend, as if it were a wee child.
"Little Thann… come back to me… and, will my little Thann once again help me herd the goats, eh? Yes, you will… yes, you will… yes, you can give father kisses… little Thann…"
The dancing fingers up and down Arroch's spine, no longer frightened him. The hair that stood up on the back of his neck, no longer startled him.
He no longer feared this. Thor himself was reborn. Arroch, and his oxen? Were his friends. The only thing left, was to get Ryeamund to the high king, to explain what was going on down there in the south lands.
Then? Arroch could place Mjolnir in Thor's own hand. He knew where it was to be found. As unworthy as he felt he was? Odin had still selected him. He had no choice but to answer his call.
Probably in the spring, if Arroch's calculations were correct. The earth was going to tremble. Loki, whoever he was, wherever he was, was going to shit his pants.
Odin had examined the petty kings in the south-lands. He had not been pleased. He had been angered. He had sent his son to set things right. The mighty Thor himself, was going to lead his band of oxen into battle. There wasn't even any need for a real army to go with them. In every story? Thor had a few friends he drew close to him, who accompanied him everywhere he went. Men of any quality, would simply flock around and follow them.
Not only was the mighty Thor unable to be stopped by ordinary men in battle, his men around him took greater heart and courage than normal men, when they fought and stood at his side.
To live, or to die, doing such? There was no greater honor to be had in this world. Or in the next.