have recognised the chant, for she began to respond, catching the refrain, repeating the stanzas, changing a line, adding a line. Back and forth went the chant between the two women, their voices weaving together, and the volva began to rock back and forth in her chair. Then the words made a circle on themselves. There were repetitions and long pauses. People in the crowd began to shuffle their feet, glance at one another, then turn their gaze back to the blue-cloaked figure on its high seat. Not a person left the hall. Finally, after a little more than half an hour, the Sibyl's voice slowed. Gudrid, still standing beside her, seemed to sense that her role was at an end. The volva's head sank forward on her chest, and she appeared to be both awake and asleep. For a long moment nothing happened, and then very slowly the volva raised her head and looked straight down the crowded room. She nodded to Gudrid, and Gudrid quietly walked back to the edge of the crowd of onlookers, turned and faced the Little Sibyl.
Herjolf cleared his throat with a nervous cough. 'Can you tell us the answer to the question we all ask?' he said. The volva's reply was matter of fact. 'Yes, my dream was clear and cloudless. My spirit circled up through the air and I saw ice breaking in the fjord. I saw the first signs of new grass even though the migrating birds had not yet come to feed and prepare their nesting sites. The air was warm around me though the day was still short. Spring will come very early this year and your trials will finish within a few days. The hunger you are suffering will be at an end and no one else will die. You have put your trust in the Gods, and you will be rewarded.'
Unexpectedly the volva turned towards Gudrid and spoke directly to her. 'And for you,' she said, 'I also have a prophecy. My spirit messengers were so charmed by your seidr knowledge and the songs you sang that they have brought me news of your destiny. I can now reward you for the help you have given me. You are fated to make a distinguished marriage here in Greenland, but it will not last for long. Rather, I see how all your links lead you towards Iceland and its peoples. In that land you will give rise to an illustrious family line and, through its people, you will attain an enduring renown.'
T YRKIR CAME TO the end of his story.
'So you see, Thorgils,' he said, 'that's why Thorvall thought, when you imitated the hopping One Foot in your game, that you might have inherited seidr skill, the power of spirit flight, through your foster mother. Gudrid herself could be a skilful volva, if only she did not consort so much with White Christ fanatics.'.
I knew what Tyrkir meant. Ever since Gudrid had come back from Lyusfjord, she had been spending time with Leif’s wife Gyda, a zealous Christian. The two women were often seen visiting the White Rabbit Hutch together. Tyrkir and Thorvall found it worrying that someone so gifted with the skills and knowledge of the Old Ways was drifting towards the newfangled Christian beliefs. Gudrid's interest in Christianity shook their own faith in the Old Gods, and they felt uneasy. They did not realise, as I do now, that the underlying truth is that good pagans make good Christians and vice versa. The choice of religion is less important than the talents of the person who is involved. The same is true of generals and politicians, as I have noticed during my travels. I have seen that it makes no difference whether an outstanding military commander is clad only in skins and painted woad, or in a gilded helmet and a beautifully tailored uniform of Persian silk as worn by the horse-warriors of the kingdom between the two great rivers. The martial genius is identical, and the brilliant, decisive reaction to the moment is the same whatever the dress. Similarly with politicians. I have listened to speeches delivered at a flea-infested tribal council meeting held around a guttering campfire in a bare forest glade which, if
Herjolf cleared his throat with a nervous cough. 'Can you tell us the answer to the question we all ask?' he said. The volva's reply was matter of fact. 'Yes, my dream was clear and cloudless. My spirit circled up through the air and I saw ice breaking in the fjord. I saw the first signs of new grass even though the migrating birds had not yet come to feed and prepare their nesting sites. The air was warm around me though the day was still short. Spring will come very early this year and your trials will finish within a few days. The hunger you are suffering will be at an end and no one else will die. You have put your trust in the Gods, and you will be rewarded.'
Unexpectedly the volva turned towards Gudrid and spoke directly to her. 'And for you,' she said, 'I also have a prophecy. My spirit messengers were so charmed by your seidr knowledge and the songs you sang that they have brought me news of your destiny. I can now reward you for the help you have given me. You are fated to make a distinguished marriage here in Greenland, but it will not last for long. Rather, I see how all your links lead you towards Iceland and its peoples. In that land you will give rise to an illustrious family line and, through its people, you will attain an enduring renown.'
T YRKIR CAME TO the end of his story.
'So you see, Thorgils,' he said, 'that's why Thorvall thought, when you imitated the hopping One Foot in your game, that you might have inherited seidr skill, the power of spirit flight, through your foster mother. Gudrid herself could be a skilful volva, if only she did not consort so much with White Christ fanatics.'.
I knew what Tyrkir meant. Ever since Gudrid had come back from Lyusfjord, she had been spending time with Leif’s wife Gyda, a zealous Christian. The two women were often seen visiting the White Rabbit Hutch together. Tyrkir and Thorvall found it worrying that someone so gifted with the skills and knowledge of the Old Ways was drifting towards the newfangled Christian beliefs. Gudrid's interest in Christianity shook their own faith in the Old Gods, and they felt uneasy. They did not realise, as I do now, that the underlying truth is that good pagans make good Christians and vice versa. The choice of religion is less important than the talents of the person who is involved. The same is true of generals and politicians, as I have noticed during my travels. I have seen that it makes no difference whether an outstanding military commander is clad only in skins and painted woad, or in a gilded helmet and a beautifully tailored uniform of Persian silk as worn by the horse-warriors of the kingdom between the two great rivers. The martial genius is identical, and the brilliant, decisive reaction to the moment is the same whatever the dress. Similarly with politicians. I have listened to speeches delivered at a flea-infested tribal council meeting held around a guttering campfire in a bare forest glade which, if
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