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After a victorious and profitable season of raiding, it is time to celebrate. |
| "Put your back into the oar!" That old familiar phrase. We redoubled our efforts, and the sea-steed lurched forward. Neither rolling thunder nor piercing hail could stop us. We'd bloodied the sea behind us but this time, we rowed with joy in our hearts, for as we rounded the last jut of land, a small, sheltered bay opened before us. Most of the crew gave a roar of recognition. For them, this was home. As for me, I wasn't sure what it was just yet. The village reduced to utter pandemonium that evening when as the ship made landfall. Men splashed through the shallows, unwilling to wait their turn to disembark. Before them lay their families and, of course, their women. Brothers slapped each other heartily on the back. Fathers nodded with quiet relief. Many of the women were reduced to tears; some in joy of seeing their sons and lovers return, and a few in anguish when the face they sought could no longer be found among the men on the ship. With no one to greet me, I started unloading the ship and carrying all of the spoils to the longhouse. The villagers kept their distance. I was a stranger. In fact, everything seemed to be at a distance, as if I were sleepwalking. The commotion all seemed muted. Even the omnipresent raven perched on the spruce bough seemed far away. The people's faces seemed open, unguarded. I had fought up and down the coast, side by side with my new comrades, and had proven myself. Therefore, I arrived as one of the men. This meant that while I did not receive any kind of welcome, I also was not treated as a threat. Could I make this my new home? At minimum, I could make it sanctuary. No one here knew or cared about my feud with The Earl and his men. And if his men came, they didn't face only me. They now faced the Jomsviking - the most fearsome band of warriors in all the north lands. The kings of Europe knelt in fear before us, and deservedly so. There were over 30 drakkar in the harbor and each had a crew of highly trained Norsemen at the ready. Let them come. That night was a time to celebrate. I followed the villagers to the captain's longhouse, where my crewmates had already begun the celebration. I ducked my head through the low door and saw nothing save for a large fire in the hearth in front of me. This is by design. Making the door awkward and putting a fire directly across from it, sets a potential attacker at a huge disadvantage. They're cramped and they can't see anything inside the longhouse save the fire. A friend receives welcome and gets taken aside and given time for his eyes to adjust. An enemy receives a very different welcome. On this night the friend also gets ale! Someone placed a large horn in my hand. I looked and saw the bear of a man who had faced me that first day. Fortunately his breath no longer reeked of garlic. It was Stein, and we had quickly become fast friends. He had rowed on the bench in front of me and when he put his back into the oar, the entire drakkar shuddered. "Skål," he announced with a wide grin. "Skål," I returned. We raised our horns and drank deeply, joining the merriment. Many big men act slowly and methodically. Not Stein. He was all action, all the time. In battle, it made him utterly terrifying to face. In camp, it left him constantly restless. He sought any action he could, be it dice, a hunt, a night of drunken debauchery, or any sort of fun which might avail itself to us. He had an endless supply of jokes about wenches, yet in serious moments wanted nothing more than to return here alive to his wife and family. "Welcome to Jomsborg, Thorgrim!" he bellowed. He followed it with a hearty slap on my back which knocked me forward a pace. "Hope you like it!" This was not his first horn of the evening. Probably not his second either. I turned to respond and he'd already moved on, slapping backs and raising horns with everyone he met. Stein could be heard from one end of the hall to the other, and merriment followed with him. I took another drink, savoring the honey-smooth mead. If Jomsborg had mead this sweet and this smooth, perhaps I could be happy here. Tonight was a reward for all the hard-fought victories and brutal fighting. A seemingly endless supply of drink had been laid out; ale, mead, spirits, beer, whatever a man should desire. There was even some wine which had been confiscated off the coast of West Francia. Likewise, the table groaned with abundance; sausages, leeks, venison, fowl, even a honey glazed suckling pig. All of it seasoned with wild garlic and onions and rosemary. There were turnips and apples and raisins and even some off-season greens. I examined the horn as I sought a refill. This halberd of the aurochs actually came from an ox, and some craftsman had done impressive work with it. A traditional pattern had been etched into the rim. Below that, so subtle that it almost blended in, the maker had carved runes that read 'Bjorn made this." Then, spiraling around the horn from rim to tip was the famous scene where Loki tricked Tor. The artisan had done a masterful job. Loki's impish grin stood out, as did the bottom of Thor's horn, connected to the sea, as even the mighty Thor could not drain the entire ocean itself. He did, however, create the tides, and they were subtly depicted as the scene tapered to the tip of the horn. This was not a horn for a lord - there was no gold or silver inlay, for example. Nonetheless, it was a horn a warrior from which a warrior could drink with pride. The craftsman had captured the very essence of our people, and I swelled with pride to hold such a fine vessel in my hand. Food on the ship had been ample - our victims had seen to that - but nothing like this sort of abundance. I took my neck-knife out of its sheath and carved off a large slab of pork and a leg of duck. Then I took my eating picker - a metal utensil which tapered to a single pointed tine - out of my pouch and stabbed at a chunk of dried apple, spooned a dollop of honey over top, and looked for a quiet place to eat. On either side of the hearth were long tables and benches running the length of the hall. Along the walls were large chests which were covered with furs. For now, people would sit on them. Later, those who couldn't make it to their own home would sleep on them. "Friends!" yelled the noble voice of the ship's captain. The noise simmered. "A toast!" He raised a precious glass cup. The men joined him raising tankards, drinking horns, and anything else that would hold intoxicating liquor. I should note that despite the lies of the southern nations, no one in the hall drank from the skull of their enemies. At least, not on this night. But as my mind drifted to thoughts of revenge - I'd never once forgotten - I thought such a cup might be satisfying. "Make sure every thirsty man has beer. You've earned it!" "Before we go further," he continued, "let us acknowledge our brave fallen friends. We honor those who lost their lives, but we do not grieve. May we all meet them again where the beer never ends. To the departed - we will see you in Valhalla! Skål!" We drained our glasses. The beer tasted every bit as fine as the mead. Thick and malty with just a slight bitter kick at the end. Far superior to that of my home village, which was also known for quality beer. "And again." You would be stunned to see how fast a hall full of Norsemen can refill their horns. "This time we drink for you. My friends. My comrades. My Warriors! Raise your horns! Raise them up to the sky! We will drink to glory tonight! Skål!" The room was not only full of Norseman, however. Half the crowd were women. And such women they were! Each fairer and prettier than the last. Strong, powerful women who could stand beside their man in the shield wall. Dainty, fair lasses who could melt a man's heart. I realized now just how long I'd been away from society. However, I was new here. Many were obviously attached to someone already, but many appeared to be available. I gave pause, however, as I did not know anything about this village. Who was powerful? Who was not? Who was jealous? Which of these lasses were manipulative? Unsure of my own place, I forced myself to be content to merely feast my eyes. Besides, I had not forgotten my true love. I had sworn to return and I had not forgotten. Word Count ▼ Raise Your Horns Lyrics ▼ |
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