table, there he goes.’
And up Tyr stood indeed, to give what was always a popular piece, though this was the first time of many that I ever heard it. He had a sausage in his hand, and as he recited he alternately took bites and made obscene gestures.
‘It fell, a couple of years ago, at the end of a long wet summer, that Ulla and Hermod and I went to forage down in Thuringia. The pickings weren’t very good, not enough to live through the winter, just a few furs and some girls, that we sold off cheap to the Marcomen. All those goods that went straight down, to Carnuntum and Vindabonum, they sold for silver and glass and wine, and all we got was some sausage.’
‘What, sausage?’ shouted the audience, they weren’t subtle and this was the traditional response to Tyr.
‘Yes, sausage,’ and the one he had was as long as your arm and as thick as your wrist.
‘Well, the girls weren’t up to much, and we very soon finished the sausage. We hadn’t as much as a roof to our heads, when the leaves were beginning to fall. My trousers were full of enormous holes, and Ulla was hardly decent, so Hermod, who was respectable then, said we ought to go on into Dacia. There we’d meet no one who knew us before, and bring no disgrace to our families. At worst we’d beg bread from the peasants and slaves, and we might find a chieftain to feast us.’
‘But the people of Dacia are crafty and mean, the crows starve to death in their cornfields. The rags of my bottom were beating my brains out, and the cold struck chill to my liver …’
‘To your liver?’ and they all cheered.
‘To my liver. For a good square meal, I’d have gone past the river to ride for a soldier in Britain. It was then that Hermod found us a horse, a fine black horse with a saddle. The man who rode it was drunk in a ditch, he left us never a penny, and his trousers wouldn’t fit any of us, so we went on east by the river. We slept that night in a hole in a ditch, and the horse we hobbled and tethered. We slept in a ditch as beggars do, and that night a Roman robbed us!’
‘Robbed you?’
‘Aye, robbed us. We woke in the morning, our horse was gone, and our trousers were hung in a treetop. The thief left his runes in the bark of a tree, Aristarchos the son of Demos. Let Romans rob beggars as much as they like, but they ought to stay in their own country. We weren’t going to let them do it again, so we went north in a hurry. North we went in hunger and cold, for the snow had come and the winter, till up in the mountains we came to a hall that belonged to a noble named Fenris.’
‘Named Fenris?’ they all bawled.
‘Yes, Fenris. We told him the tale of how we’d been robbed by Romans down by the river. They’d taken our horses, our silver, our gold, they’d taken our horns and our trousers. Only our swords that we slept on at night were left to show we were noble. They’d driven us out in hunger and cold to trudge our way home through the mountains, when all that we wanted was freedom to go, to the east to try Scythian women. But we’ll never see Scythian women now, the Polyani have got all the traffic.
‘Fenris was warm-hearted and generous, the fool, and he took us into his household. He had seven fine daughters and seven strapping sons, though these last had gone off to … forage.’
‘To forage?’
‘Yes, to forage.’ They passed Tyr up another sausage, he’d finished the first one.
‘Now old Fenris lived well, with Amber and bronzes, wine, furs and salt fishes, with silver and salt. He lived on the Asers, though little they knew it. He bribed men and bought men, he raided, he cheated, he swam across rivers and emptied the trap lines, and all that he got he sent down to the Romans, he passedit through Otho to sell at cut prices. No, he had no morals and no sense of beauty, no rings or cartels could appeal to his soul. And so he grew wealthy on crumbs from the table of great Njord Borsson, the Lord of the Asers. Drink all
And up Tyr stood indeed, to give what was always a popular piece, though this was the first time of many that I ever heard it. He had a sausage in his hand, and as he recited he alternately took bites and made obscene gestures.
‘It fell, a couple of years ago, at the end of a long wet summer, that Ulla and Hermod and I went to forage down in Thuringia. The pickings weren’t very good, not enough to live through the winter, just a few furs and some girls, that we sold off cheap to the Marcomen. All those goods that went straight down, to Carnuntum and Vindabonum, they sold for silver and glass and wine, and all we got was some sausage.’
‘What, sausage?’ shouted the audience, they weren’t subtle and this was the traditional response to Tyr.
‘Yes, sausage,’ and the one he had was as long as your arm and as thick as your wrist.
‘Well, the girls weren’t up to much, and we very soon finished the sausage. We hadn’t as much as a roof to our heads, when the leaves were beginning to fall. My trousers were full of enormous holes, and Ulla was hardly decent, so Hermod, who was respectable then, said we ought to go on into Dacia. There we’d meet no one who knew us before, and bring no disgrace to our families. At worst we’d beg bread from the peasants and slaves, and we might find a chieftain to feast us.’
‘But the people of Dacia are crafty and mean, the crows starve to death in their cornfields. The rags of my bottom were beating my brains out, and the cold struck chill to my liver …’
‘To your liver?’ and they all cheered.
‘To my liver. For a good square meal, I’d have gone past the river to ride for a soldier in Britain. It was then that Hermod found us a horse, a fine black horse with a saddle. The man who rode it was drunk in a ditch, he left us never a penny, and his trousers wouldn’t fit any of us, so we went on east by the river. We slept that night in a hole in a ditch, and the horse we hobbled and tethered. We slept in a ditch as beggars do, and that night a Roman robbed us!’
‘Robbed you?’
‘Aye, robbed us. We woke in the morning, our horse was gone, and our trousers were hung in a treetop. The thief left his runes in the bark of a tree, Aristarchos the son of Demos. Let Romans rob beggars as much as they like, but they ought to stay in their own country. We weren’t going to let them do it again, so we went north in a hurry. North we went in hunger and cold, for the snow had come and the winter, till up in the mountains we came to a hall that belonged to a noble named Fenris.’
‘Named Fenris?’ they all bawled.
‘Yes, Fenris. We told him the tale of how we’d been robbed by Romans down by the river. They’d taken our horses, our silver, our gold, they’d taken our horns and our trousers. Only our swords that we slept on at night were left to show we were noble. They’d driven us out in hunger and cold to trudge our way home through the mountains, when all that we wanted was freedom to go, to the east to try Scythian women. But we’ll never see Scythian women now, the Polyani have got all the traffic.
‘Fenris was warm-hearted and generous, the fool, and he took us into his household. He had seven fine daughters and seven strapping sons, though these last had gone off to … forage.’
‘To forage?’
‘Yes, to forage.’ They passed Tyr up another sausage, he’d finished the first one.
‘Now old Fenris lived well, with Amber and bronzes, wine, furs and salt fishes, with silver and salt. He lived on the Asers, though little they knew it. He bribed men and bought men, he raided, he cheated, he swam across rivers and emptied the trap lines, and all that he got he sent down to the Romans, he passedit through Otho to sell at cut prices. No, he had no morals and no sense of beauty, no rings or cartels could appeal to his soul. And so he grew wealthy on crumbs from the table of great Njord Borsson, the Lord of the Asers. Drink all
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