was like Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, and it stained the altar.
I did not know it then, but such a window was as rare as teeth on a hen—I did not see another until the Great City, Constantinople.
But it was nothing next to what was below it, stuck on the wall. Two thick beams, one vertical, one horizontal, held the wooden figure of a man, hanging there by his hands.
No, not hanging, I saw. Nailed, through his hands and his feet. He had some strange crown, which stuck spikes in his forehead, and what seemed to be another gaping wound in one side. It was a fine carving.
Ìs that their god, then?' I asked Illugi Godi, much to Einar's annoyance.
`The son of their god,' answered the priest. `The Romans stuck him on those poles, but the Christ-followers say he didn't die.'
That was impressive. I had thought any god who allowed himself to be nailed to a bit of wood wasn't up to much—ours were clever or strong fighting men, after all but if he had survived all that and come out smiling, this Christ was to be reckoned with.
`Finished?' demanded Einar pointedly. Then he turned to Illugi Godi. 'So where? You are the expert here, priest.'
Illugi Godi squatted, fumbled in his pouch and came up with his rune bones. I saw the brown figures flailing one hand back and forward on their chests, which seemed to be their way of warding off the evil eye.
I laughed. Illugi wasn't evil.
He cast; the bones tinkled. He took some fine white sand from his pouch and blew it off the palm of his hand towards the altar, then stood and smiled.
`There,' he said and pointed at the altar.
As a hiding place, it wasn't hard to work out—it was almost the only thing in the hov of this hall. And, I saw, the sand he had blown hadn't settled neatly where the altar touched the flagstoned floor. It had sunk into the cracks, which meant it was hollow beneath. He was clever, was Illugi Godi.
Einar and Valknut circled it, but there was nothing: no handle, no mark of any kind. Puzzled, they were scratching their heads when Gunnar Raudi, wiser in the ways of hiding valuables, stepped up, leaned his shoulder into it and gave it a shove.
With a grinding sound, the altar slid back several feet, revealing a set of stone steps. A torch uncovered a small chamber and the contents were soon up and on the flagstones.
There was a thin silver plate, two metal cups—gold, Illugi said—and a couple of hollow silver columns, which Gunnar Raudi said were sticks for holding fat tallow candles. Strange to relate now, but I had never seen the like and was so marvelling at them I nearly missed the next wonders.
Geir came up from the chamber with two chests. The first was clearly the one Einar wanted, a fat, ornate effort about the size of a man's head. The other was flatter; Geir held it up and turned it round. It was studded with coloured glass and had a huge clasp on it, which Geir snapped off easily, bit and announced admiringly: 'Silver.'
Then, to my astonishment, the chest fell open in two halves and loads of leaves riffled. Geir turned it over and over while I stared, my mouth dropped open like a droop-lipped horse. 'It's full of leaves,' I said, wondering. 'With colours on them—and little animals and birds.'
Ìt's a book,' said Illugi Godi patiently as Geir chuckled. 'The Christ monks make them. It has their holy writings. Like runes.'
Not much, I thought scornfully. Runes were worked on stone, or wood, or metal; otherwise, how would they last? Geir ripped one of the leaves out to show me how this book thing worked and I heard a brown-robed man, one with silver hair, moan.
Steinthor, more practical, grunted with annoyance over something else. 'No women, then?'
`Christ priests don't go with women,' advised Illugi Godi and Steinthor shot him a hard glance.
`Bollocks. I have tupped women before in these Christ places.'
`There are women Christ priests,' Illugi said patiently. 'But they don't go with men.'
`Just as well,' grunted Einar, cuffing Steinthor on
I did not know it then, but such a window was as rare as teeth on a hen—I did not see another until the Great City, Constantinople.
But it was nothing next to what was below it, stuck on the wall. Two thick beams, one vertical, one horizontal, held the wooden figure of a man, hanging there by his hands.
No, not hanging, I saw. Nailed, through his hands and his feet. He had some strange crown, which stuck spikes in his forehead, and what seemed to be another gaping wound in one side. It was a fine carving.
Ìs that their god, then?' I asked Illugi Godi, much to Einar's annoyance.
`The son of their god,' answered the priest. `The Romans stuck him on those poles, but the Christ-followers say he didn't die.'
That was impressive. I had thought any god who allowed himself to be nailed to a bit of wood wasn't up to much—ours were clever or strong fighting men, after all but if he had survived all that and come out smiling, this Christ was to be reckoned with.
`Finished?' demanded Einar pointedly. Then he turned to Illugi Godi. 'So where? You are the expert here, priest.'
Illugi Godi squatted, fumbled in his pouch and came up with his rune bones. I saw the brown figures flailing one hand back and forward on their chests, which seemed to be their way of warding off the evil eye.
I laughed. Illugi wasn't evil.
He cast; the bones tinkled. He took some fine white sand from his pouch and blew it off the palm of his hand towards the altar, then stood and smiled.
`There,' he said and pointed at the altar.
As a hiding place, it wasn't hard to work out—it was almost the only thing in the hov of this hall. And, I saw, the sand he had blown hadn't settled neatly where the altar touched the flagstoned floor. It had sunk into the cracks, which meant it was hollow beneath. He was clever, was Illugi Godi.
Einar and Valknut circled it, but there was nothing: no handle, no mark of any kind. Puzzled, they were scratching their heads when Gunnar Raudi, wiser in the ways of hiding valuables, stepped up, leaned his shoulder into it and gave it a shove.
With a grinding sound, the altar slid back several feet, revealing a set of stone steps. A torch uncovered a small chamber and the contents were soon up and on the flagstones.
There was a thin silver plate, two metal cups—gold, Illugi said—and a couple of hollow silver columns, which Gunnar Raudi said were sticks for holding fat tallow candles. Strange to relate now, but I had never seen the like and was so marvelling at them I nearly missed the next wonders.
Geir came up from the chamber with two chests. The first was clearly the one Einar wanted, a fat, ornate effort about the size of a man's head. The other was flatter; Geir held it up and turned it round. It was studded with coloured glass and had a huge clasp on it, which Geir snapped off easily, bit and announced admiringly: 'Silver.'
Then, to my astonishment, the chest fell open in two halves and loads of leaves riffled. Geir turned it over and over while I stared, my mouth dropped open like a droop-lipped horse. 'It's full of leaves,' I said, wondering. 'With colours on them—and little animals and birds.'
Ìt's a book,' said Illugi Godi patiently as Geir chuckled. 'The Christ monks make them. It has their holy writings. Like runes.'
Not much, I thought scornfully. Runes were worked on stone, or wood, or metal; otherwise, how would they last? Geir ripped one of the leaves out to show me how this book thing worked and I heard a brown-robed man, one with silver hair, moan.
Steinthor, more practical, grunted with annoyance over something else. 'No women, then?'
`Christ priests don't go with women,' advised Illugi Godi and Steinthor shot him a hard glance.
`Bollocks. I have tupped women before in these Christ places.'
`There are women Christ priests,' Illugi said patiently. 'But they don't go with men.'
`Just as well,' grunted Einar, cuffing Steinthor on
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