‘Two weeks at least. And yet you stride out like a man on a good breakfast. You don’t even wrap your feet in rags. What is it that drives you on?’
‘God.’
Ofaeti nodded. ‘Tell me about this god.’
So Jehan told him the story of Jesus’ birth, how he had been born among the animals, raised as a carpenter and died on the cross so mankind could live eternally.
The Norsemen loved stories and they all listened with great interest. Ofaeti in particular seemed intrigued. ‘I will try this god of yours. He will sit alongside Tyr in my heart for a while and I will see the luck he brings.’
‘Christ sits alongside no one. You must reject your idol.’
‘That I will not do. Is your god so jealous that he cannot admit another?’
‘Yes,’ said Jehan. ‘If you were baptised but did not reject your devil then God would punish your descendants to the third generation.’
‘For what?’ said Egil. ‘I have a wife, but can’t I lie with another woman if I choose? Will my wife curse me if she hears of it?’
‘Your wife should curse you. You should be bound to one woman only.’
‘I am bound but not so tightly I can’t take a roll in the hay with another if I choose. What woman would begrudge her seafaring man that? Do such witches exist?’
‘The Lord tells us, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” I will tell you a holy story and see if it can sway your pagan heart.’ Jehan told the story of Moses and how he had brought down the Ten Commandments from Mount Sinai.
Ofaeti and the berserkers laughed.
‘So you Franks believe, “Thou shalt not kill?” How many of us northerners would you slaughter if you went to it without a tender heart?’
‘It is permissible to kill the enemies of God. There is just and unjust killing, the Hebrew makes that clear. The command is closer to “Thou shalt not murder.”’
‘How do you know an enemy of God?’
‘Ordinary men need not worry about such things; the priests can point them out,’ said Jehan.
The Vikings laughed again.
‘A convenient set-up for all, I think. I like this God, he who knows the difference between noble fight and murder,’ said Ofaeti.
‘He is my strength and my light.’
‘And for that reason I’ll think him a good god. He has made you a mighty man.’
‘He has,’ said Jehan, ‘though I would thank him more if he had made me the weakest.’
‘Why?’
‘Because God tests those that he favours. From his own son, he asked the sacrifice of life.’
‘That is not such a great sacrifice,’ said Ofaeti, ‘not to us. You go on to dwell in the halls of the All Father to feast eternally and battle eternally. Death is like moving to another land, as so many of our people do.’
‘In pain, crucified, nailed to a cross?’
‘A funny end for a carpenter,’ said Ofaeti.
‘King Nesbjorn crucified a shoddy boatbuilder once — said he’d teach him how to drive in nails,’ said Egil. ‘Perhaps it was similar.’
Jehan swallowed his anger. ‘He knew what his fate was and went willingly, for our sins.’
‘To be fair,’ said Ofaeti, ‘I’ve got any number of uncles who knew the Valkyries were hovering above them. Heggr and his boys got trapped by a bunch of islanders out west. They could have surrendered and waited for ransom but a man called him a coward — only word the bastard knew in Norse — so they showed them they weren’t. Two out of ten came out alive, but no one in those parts has ever called us cowards again, so it was worth it. A brave man, this Jesus, no doubt, but the world’s full of brave men. Or rather the next world is!’
‘When you are downtrodden, when you are at your lowest, when every one of your fellows has deserted you, my god lifts you up and walks beside you. Does yours?’
‘Tyr likes powerful warriors. He leaves cowards to make their own way,’ said Ofaeti.
Jehan turned to the big Viking and took him by the shoulder. ‘Am I a coward?’
Ofaeti looked into his eyes. ‘I believe you are not,’ he said.
‘No Christian is. Let me tell you the story of this place. Do you know who the black saint was?’
‘No.’
‘A saint is someone perfect in holiness, as Maurice was. He is known as the black saint because that was the colour of his skin.’
‘Black skin!’ said Egil. ‘A dwarf then?’
‘A man of the Roman Theban legion, a descendant of the ancient pharaohs.’
‘The people of those lands are blue,’ said Ofaeti. ‘I know it because it is said that is why they are called Blaumen.’
‘One man’s blue is another’s black,’ said Jehan. ‘The Theban legion was composed entirely of Christians, 6,666 men strong.’
‘That’s a mighty force,’ said Ofaeti.
‘Depending on the mettle of the men,’ said Egil.
Jehan went on: ‘They served the pagan king Maximium Caesar, who ordered them, for the pleasure of his god Mercury, to kill some Christian families who were living in this place. The legion refused.’
‘They were wrong to do so if they had taken an oath to the king,’ said Ofaeti.
‘They had a stronger bond to their god,’ said Jehan. ‘When the news of their refusal came back to Caesar he ordered that one-tenth of their number be killed.’
‘What is a tenth?’ said Astarth
‘A lot.’
‘More than a dozen?’ said Ofaeti.
‘It is 666 of them,’ said Jehan.
‘And their fellows stood by and saw so many slaughtered?’ said Egil.
‘They welcomed martyrdom.’
‘What’s that mean?’ said Egil. ‘Your Latin means nothing to me, priest.’
‘The chance to die for their god.’
‘They’d have been better men if they’d killed for him. It’d be a mighty king who came in and took so many from Rollo’s army, I tell you that,’ said Egil.
‘When the first tenth had died, the emperor sent his orders again. They were refused. And he killed 666 men again, and again, until only six remained. Then he killed them and the whole legion was dead.’
‘Would they not have been better defending these families of their god? The Roman king could now order his other soldiers to slaughter them,’ said Ofaeti.
Jehan ignored the question in order to drive home his point. ‘Six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six men stood and died in this place. Their bones may be beneath your feet. Do you call them cowards?’
‘I don’t know what to call them,’ said Ofaeti. ‘I know what to call a man who fights; I know what to call a man who runs. One who does neither I have no name for.’
‘He said he was called a Saint Maurice,’ said Egil.
Jehan spoke in a low voice: ‘You are less than serious, Egil, and yet you should quake in fear before my god. I am not a warrior. Your idols would not be interested in me. I have been downtrodden, taken from my homeland by savage men, my companions killed, my future promising only death. Do I tremble? No, because my god is a god of love.’ He grabbed the tip of Egil’s spear and held it to his own breast, staring the Viking down. ‘You are brave men, but it is the bravery of fools who do not know what is arrayed against them. You would shake to your boots if you knew his wrath. Yet God wants to love you. He offers you deliverance, asks you to dwell for ever in his house. If you refuse, damnation awaits. You will be tied and pinioned and thrown into the mouth of hell, where the eternal suffering of fire awaits.’
‘Burned for eternity by the god of love?’ said Ofaeti. He seemed puzzled.
‘He offers you his mercy. If you refuse it, you condemn yourself,’ said Jehan.
‘I could do with something to warm me up,’ said Egil. ‘It’s like Nifhelm up here.’
